“We should do the same,” Breashears told Dick. “Wearing a rope would mean two people getting killed instead of one if either of us slip. Also, I think it's important for you to start on oxygen above camp three.”
“But in eighty-three I climbed to camp four twice without oxygen,” Dick protested, “and felt fine.”
“But you're not in as good shape, you're not as acclimatized, and you're two years older.”
Dick reluctantly agreed. The plan now was for the second Norwegian summit team to make the next bid, then Dick and Breashears would have their turn. The second team was scheduled to leave the next day, but then a storm moved in and they had to wait. Three days later, when it looked like it was clearing, Arne Naess, on the second summit team, came to Dick and Breashears with a new idea.
“Why don't we combine our attempts?” he proposed. “You two can go with us in the morning to camp three, then next day to camp four, and next day to the summit.”
“That'd be fantastic,” Dick said.
Breashears was hesitant, however.
“I’d still like to have an extra rest day in camp two,” he said. “Both for my strength and Dick's feet. So how about this: you guys go up to camp three tomorrow, then the next day while you're going to four, Dick, our Sherpa, Ang Phurba, and I will leave here, climb directly to camp four and catch up. Then the next day we'll all go to the summit together.”
“You can't go from here to camp four,” Naess protested. “It's too much for one day. Especially for Dick.”
Breashears was confident, though, he could judge both his and Dick's abilities better than the Norwegians could. He knew how strong Dick was when he needed to be, and he knew the mountain better than any of the Norwegians.
Naess reluctantly agreed. On April 27 the Norwegians left camp 2, overnighting in camp 3, and the next day Breashears, Ang Phurba, and Dick left camp 2 with plans of catching up at the Col.
“I’m going ahead,” Breashears told Dick at the base of the Lhotse Face (which was also the beginning of the fixed rope). “Take your time. We'll have a snack at camp three.”
Breashears was inexhaustible. Even though he was weak from his illness he pushed himself hard up the ropes, climbing the nearly 2,000-foot vertical gain up the 45-degree ice slope in under two hours. He was at camp 3—mid-point on the Face—before the Norwegians had departed to climb the rest of the Face to the South Col.
“Where is Dick?” Naess asked.
“He's a little slow but he's coming.”
“Look, I don't think this is right. You cannot expect him to go all the way to the South Col today, then to the summit tomorrow.”
“I am forty-seven years old,” one of the other Norwegians added. “I am a very fit and very experienced climber. And I could not do that.”
The Norwegians were now pressing Breashears at a weak moment. He had made good time up the ropes, but he didn't feel as strong as he normally would have, and in the wake of his illness he started to question his own judgment.
Maybe they're right, he thought. Maybe I’m pushing Dick and myself too hard.
“Well, let me talk it over with Dick when he gets here,” Breashears said.
The Norwegians left camp, and an hour later Dick arrived.
“What are you talking about?” Dick exploded when Breashears suggested staying at camp 3. “Listen, I could go on up there to the Col today even without oxygen, only I’m using it just because you're pressuring me. I admit I’m slow, but that's because I’m taking care to place each step so as to reduce the pain and not do any further damage to my foot.”
“Okay, okay. I just wanted to make sure.”
From camp 3 they followed the fixed rope, crossing at about 25,000 feet the rock stratum known as the Yellow Band. There had been little snow that winter, and the hard underlying ice was exposed, making it more difficult than usual to stand on their crampon points. Concerned about his blisters, Dick climbed very slowly. Breashears, without oxygen, was also moving slowly. Both of them were feeling the strain of a very long day.
“Dick,” Breashears said as he paused to rest. “It's going to be dark when we get to the Col. I’m not sure we'll be able to get up at one A.M. and still be strong enough to go to the top.”
“I’m hearing you. Maybe we should call tomorrow a rest day, and go to the top by ourselves the day after.”
“I was hoping you'd say that.”
When they got to the South Col, at 26,200 feet, the Norwegians were pleased to hear their decision. Everyone went to bed early, and the next morning about 1:30 A.M. the Norwegians left for the summit.
About 7:00 A.M. Breashears stuck his head out to get a block of snow for meltwater.
“What's the weather?” Dick asked.
“Clear and calm. Can't see the Norwegians; maybe they're past the South Summit already.”
Breashears pulled back in the tent and added, “This weather looks stable. It should last through tomorrow.”
They spent the rest of the morning eating and drinking as much as they could. Dick crawled out of his sleeping bag and decided it was a good time to change from his mid-weight long johns to the heavyweight undersuit he had brought up for the summit day.
“What in the heck happened to your leg?” Breashears said when he saw Dick's black and blue thigh.
“Well, look at that. Gee, I don't know.”
“What do you mean you don't know?”
“Maybe I got it when I slipped in camp two on the way to the cook tent. Yeah, that must have been it.”
“Dick, you're the only person I know who could have a bruise the size of a watermelon and not know where you got it.”
About 3:30 that afternoon the first of the climbing team staggered back to camp. Their whole group, four Norwegians and four Sherpas, had made it. One of the Norwegians was so exhausted he collapsed about a hundred feet from his tent. Breashears took some oxygen and water to him, and with this he was able to get up and make the final few feet to his sleeping bag.
“It's a long way up there,” Naess told Dick and Breashears later that afternoon. Shaking his head, he added, “It's absolutely ridiculous that a mountain should be that big.“
“Arne, I’ve climbed this thing already,” Breashears said, “so I know what you mean. It's going to take everything Dick and I have to get up there and back. So I was wondering, could you leave one of your Sherpas here at camp, in case we need any help getting down? I was thinking of Ang Rita.”
Ang Rita was the same super Sherpa who had reached the summit with Breashears in 1983, the one who had climbed without oxygen and then had assisted Breashears with the microwave transmission from the summit. He had now just been to the summit for the third time—all without oxygen—and when Naess asked if he would mind staying he smiled and said, “Oh, no problem.”
“That makes me feel better,” Breashears said to Arne. “Thanks for asking him.”
When Naess left, Breashears said, “Dick, it really is a long way up there. We've got our work cut out, believe me.”
Breashears paused, then added, “That's why you've got to remember not to think everything's over once we get to the summit. That's when the difficulties really begin. So let's make a pact right now. Let's promise not to congratulate ourselves until we're all the way off the mountain. All the way down safe in base camp. That way you won't be tempted to let your guard down.”
Dick understood, and they spent the rest of the afternoon melting snow. Breashears made sure each man's water bottle was full.
“That will give us a head start melting snow in the morning,” he said. “Make sure you sleep with your bottle in your sleeping bag so it doesn't freeze.”
They got to bed about 7:00, knowing they would have to start the stove again even before midnight.
“What time is it?” Breashears asked.
“Eleven-fifteen.”
Dick lay in his bag as Breashears lit both stoves.
“Let's drink the bottles we slept with right now,” Br
eashears said. “Then we'll have a hot drink as soon as the water's ready.”
When they had each had two cups, Breashears refilled the water bottles.
“We'll each take a quart with us,” he said. “Make sure you pack it inside your parka or something, so it doesn't freeze.”
They finished dressing, then attached their oxygen regulators to the aluminum cylinders and passed them outside. Breashears and Dick would each take one, and Ang Phurba would take two, one for himself and an extra for Dick, who would need it later in the day because he was climbing at a higher oxygen flow rate than the other two.
“You ready?” Breashears asked Dick.
“Two more minutes.”
Dick was packing the few things he wanted to have on the summit: pictures of his wife and kids, an American flag, a Nepal flag, a Seven Summits flag on a string, a Snowbird banner, and the plastic bag containing his card to Marty.
“Okay,” Dick said, “let's get this show on the road.”
It was 2:00 A.M. and about twenty below zero. They strapped on their packs and left. Ang Phurba took the lead, following the footprints left by the Norwegians the previous day. For a half hour there was a gibbous moon, then it set and although the night sky was clear, it was very dark and they had to rely on headlamps to see their way.
Dick followed Ang Phurba, thinking this was it, his best and probably his last chance to climb Everest.
But will my lack of acclimatization pre-empt my bid? he thought.
He felt good except for his foot, which now was more of a dull ache than sharp pain.
The slope gradually steepened, arid after an hour the snow gave way to exposed rock. Dick lowered his oxygen mask and asked, “Why don't we move over to the right and stay on the deep snow like we did in eighty-three?”
“The Sherpa knows the way,” Breashears answered.
It was still very dark, and Dick had to pay attention to his moves, especially since they were climbing without a rope and he was not very experienced using crampons on steep rock. Breashears stayed just below Dick to steady him in case Dick started to lose balance.
Just as well I can't see down, Dick thought.
Then Dick's headlamp battery went dead.
“Good Lord,” he said, “what timing.”
“We can make it with just my headlamp if we stay close,” Breashears said.
“Listen, why can't we just go over there to the right, in the snow?”
“It's too soft.”
“But that's where we were in eighty-three …”
Dick started to say more, then checked himself.
Don't get aggravated, he thought, because that's a negative thought, and negative thoughts will drain you.
After a number of scary sections, they finally climbed through the rock and back onto snow. Breashears continued to shine his headlamp ahead of himself to help Dick, but now Dick was able to see a little without the lamp.
“It's getting light,” Dick said.
In a half hour they stopped to rest at the base of a snow gully. It was 5:30. About twelve miles to the southeast, dawn painted the granite pyramid of Makalu—the world's fifth highest peak—a soft pink. Sixty miles to the east the early morning light glowed on the mighty Kanchenjunga Massif, the world's third-highest summit. The sky was clear, and there was no wind.
“How are you doing?” Breashears asked Dick.
“I’m going to make it. But no more of those rock sections, okay?”
They climbed up the snow gully following the frozen path left by the Norwegians. Unfortunately the Norwegians had descended the same path they had climbed, and in the soft afternoon snow their plunging steps had left long skid marks that were now frozen and made footing difficult. Dick had to concentrate on placing each step so the metal crampons firmly spiked the hard snow, and he knew this extra effort was taking valuable energy.
The gully led to the crest of the southeast ridge where they climbed into sunshine. Now they could gaze across the peaks to the south and west. It looked like they were about even with neighboring Lhotse, the fourth-highest peak in the world.
Lowering his mask Dick asked, “What's the altitude?”
“Must be about 27,800,” Breashears said.
“This is the spot where we turned back last time,” Dick replied.
“Let's rest here a minute and change your oxygen bottle.”
The bottle Dick was using still had 40 percent of its gas remaining but Breashears had earlier judged it a good plan to switch him at this point to a full bottle, which would give eight hours of use at three liters per minute, a 25 percent to 30 percent safety margin for summitting and then returning to this spot. The initial bottle could then be used for the final descent to the South Col. Although Breashears and Ang Phurba would have only one bottle for the whole day, Dick was far less experienced and acclimatized—as well as being fifty-five years old, compared to their ages of twenty-nine and twenty-five.
Nearby there were a couple of empty oxygen cylinders the Norwegians had discarded, and they placed Dick's partially filled bottle next to those. Then they continued, with Ang Phurba and Breashears alternating the lead position. The slope steepened, and the snow, now unconsolidated, was only a thin covering over a loose slate section that downsloped like roof tiles. Dick found himself fighting not only to maintain his footwork, but also to control his fear. They were climbing on the Tibetan side of the ridge, and looking down he could see the glacier nearly two vertical miles below him. Without a rope, and with no hope of arresting himself should he even start to slip, he needed no reminding of the consequences of a fall.
Above them and to the left side there were several rock towers looming into the sky that to Dick appeared as enormous mountain spires. When he got closer, though, he could see they were actually quite small. It was odd, but it seemed like his perception was off. Maybe it was his fatigue, the lack of oxygen, making things appear larger than they were.
The altitude was approaching 28,500 feet, higher than Dick had ever been. He still had reserve strength, but the steep climbing, his great fear, his lack of proper acclimatization, his lack of physical conditioning before the climb, all were beginning to take their toll.
The loose snow and slippery rock gave way to snow so hard the crampon points barely pricked the surface. The slope steepened even more as they climbed back onto the ridge crest, and now it fell away suddenly on both sides.
Looking up he could see Breashears gracefully climbing with apparent ease, and he wished he had the same years of experience that allowed such confidence and economy of movement.
Bass, you stupid ass, Dick thought to himself. What a ridiculous place to try to improve your climbing proficiency.
The absurdity of it all made him laugh, and for a moment broke his fear.
Then he glanced down to his left and all he could see was the glacier floor of the Western Cwm on the Nepal side, 7,000 feet below. To his right, on the Tibetan side, the slope quickly dropped away to the Kangshung Glacier 18,000 feet below. He felt a gasping faintness and decided he had better not look down any more. He would instead focus on each step, repeating to himself Marian's words, the same message that had sustained him on the last steep face of Vinson:
“Never let your guard down. Remember how much you have to come home to. I love you.”
He reminded himself again that he was unroped.
If this continues, Dick thought, I don't see how I can make the summit without slipping off somewhere. And even if I do, how in the world am I going to get back down?
As soon as he had that thought, he tried to force it out of his mind.
Get to the top first, he told himself, then worry about getting down.
He had to balance around a knob on the ridge that made correct placement of his crampon points even more critical.
This is the same kind of hard snow I slid on ten days ago, he thought, but that wasn't nearly as steep—and nothing compared to the mile and a half of vertical below me now.
/> He got around the knob and thought, That earlier fall was just a warning to let me know how quick things can get away from you.
He glanced up and saw Breashears and Ang Phurba resting. There was only open blue sky behind them and it looked as though they were on the summit. He made a step, breathed twice, made another step, and another, until he was only a few feet from Breashears.
“Five more steps and you're on the South Summit,” Breashears said. “28,750 feet.”
Breashears wasn't rejoicing, though. There were clouds wisping over the ridge, and a wind was picking up. He knew the clouds were most likely caused by normal daytime evaporation, but they might be the front edge of a storm. He was also concerned about both his and Dick's growing fatigue. He was now feeling the debilitation of his illness, and he was much weaker than he had been at this point when he climbed the mountain two years before. He could see Dick was slowing, too, and although it warmed his heart to watch how carefully Dick was climbing, Breashears could tell the concentrated effort was taking a lot out of him.
Dick reached the top of the South Summit.
“Take a short rest,” Breashears said.
Dick sat, looked toward the summit, and felt his heart come to his throat. The ridge that continued toward the true summit fell away on the left side down the southwest face, and was guarded on the other side by a large cornice. Partway along the ridge Dick noticed a steep slot that he knew must be the landmark rise called the Hillary Step.
Thinking about the difficulty of the climbing he had just finished, and pondering the challenge that yet lay ahead, Dick realized that on his previous summit attempt in 1983 no one on that team would have had the expertise to safely lead these sections. Ed Hixson was certainly prudent when he insisted we turn around, Dick thought. And I was off-base in being miffed at him.
“We can't waste any time,” Breashears said as he stood and began the descent off the South Summit into the notch at the base of the Hillary Step.
Ang Phurba followed. Dick got up, breathed deeply of the precious gas flowing into his mask, and cautiously worked his way along the descending ridge, finally joining Breashears at the base of the Step. It was about forty feet high and nearly vertical. There were two ropes fixed on it: an older one that disappeared into the ice short of the top of the Step, and another more recent one—apparently left by the Norwegians—that was strung top to bottom. Ang Phurba went first.
Seven Summits Page 40
