by Junko Tabei
At the pseudo base camp, we woke to the sound of clucking each morning, and the running joke became “The neighbour’s food is calling.” While some of us were tormented by the thought of the British party whittling away at their chicken population every day, others envied the thought of them dining on the freshest meat possible, but none of us could stand the daily wake-up calls.
To establish our bearings thus far, we retraced a short distance in the direction of Deurali and made our way in hip-deep snow down to the Modi Khola. There was a gorge carved out of layered black rock buttresses that eventually led to the West Glacier. Although this section was prone to rockfall, passing through it allowed us to view the summit of Annapurna III. Travelling a bit farther, across a pristine stream that flowed from Glacier Dome, we found a much safer spot with no risk of rockfall or avalanche. We guessed that it might have been Base Camp for the German expedition to Gangapurna in 1965; quite a few rusted empty cans remained strewn about. From that point, a ridge blocked the view of our summit goal, but Modi Peak and Glacier Dome shone bright. All things considered, we determined this to be our Base Camp, with clear drinking water from the glacier providing one of the best perks to our new home.
The next day’s work was to establish the shortest route between the pseudo base camp and Base Camp to ensure quick transport of the remaining boxes. We fixed 120-metre ropes end to end to protect the descent from the pseudo base camp to the Modi Khola. For efficient transport, we split into two groups, one for each camp. At a mid-station between the two, loads were passed off from one group to the other, thus connecting the dots from the pseudo base camp to Base Camp. The process took almost two weeks, and while most of us settled into Base Camp, Mr. Gopal stayed at the pseudo base camp with Manita, where she endured non-stop nose bleeds. Miyazaki remained there, too, until the final boxes were moved.
Base Camp was at 3750 metres, almost the same elevation as the summit of Mount Fuji. Past climbing experience had shown we were all comfortable with that altitude, yet a few members began to suffer from nausea, headaches and menacing nose bleeds. The snow around the camp had turned isothermal and progress was again slowed. Tensions were also on the rise from the final stages of shutting down the pseudo base camp when we had decided to split into a third group that could begin fixing an ascent route to Camp 1. As team members poured their energy into advancement, some of them were already convinced of who would make the cut for the summit assault. Accusations and frustrations mounted, and I could sense the build-up of an “uh-oh, here we go” scenario. We pushed forward, and after four days we established Camp 1 (4350 metres) at the tip of the glacier that feeds the Modi Khola. Two days after that, we reached Camp 2 at 4800 metres. The summit stood more than 2700 metres above. There was much climbing to be done, yet we were still anchored to our pseudo base camp with an endless pile of supplies.
In a leap-frogging fashion, I moved back and forth between the established camps with the other climbers, constantly transferring equipment and marking the route. Although my job was physically tough, Miyazaki had the difficult task of determining the best rotation for the rest of the team. She worked late into the night, solving logistics and preparing the next day’s plan, never flagging and always maintaining her healthy appetite and cheerful walks around camp. Her boots squeaked on the hard snow as she passed by and her signature black bag remained close at hand; she claimed it contained the team’s “VIDs” (very important documents). Even as she performed her office-like duties, she also carried her share of 30-kilogram loads from the pseudo base camp, where snow conditions had deteriorated and travel was difficult. We felt some relief knowing that the British team was also challenged with ferrying loads from their makeshift base camp; the transport of boxes over rotting snow was everyone’s nemesis.
April 14
The final boxes arrived at Base Camp, as did Miyazaki and Mr. Gopal – our dear Mr. Gopal, with his wide canvas army-style Kissling rucksack and ongoing good nature. “He fell big time when the rotten snow under his feet collapsed,” said Miyazaki, excited to share her story and act out the dramatics. “He dislocated his shoulder. And you know what? He put it back in on his own, just grunting ‘Yeah!’” We had already prepared a welcome song, to the tune of a popular Japanese ballad and accompanied by Urushibara’s ukulele, and the story of the shoulder injury made it all the more humorous.
Now! / Here we are at Base Camp
Where? / Annapurna
When? / Are we gonna stand on the top
Why? / Because there is the mountain
For Annapurna III / Our leader exists
For Annapurna III / Our leader exists.
Two days later we officially celebrated our fully established Base Camp. Everyone – climbers, Sherpas and Mr. Gopal – was ready for a party. Afternoon showers ended by evening and a whitish mist hung in the air, giving the place an illusive atmosphere. A bonfire burned bright and the red of the flames highlighted people’s faces, which were already tinged pink with drink and dance. We carried on, Sherpas and team members alike, relaxed and joyous, temporarily forgetting the seriousness of our mission in the Himalayas. The beat continued long into the night, and at some point, I remembered: Here we are at Base Camp. Where? Annapurna … Why? Because there is the mountain.
The next morning was all business. Miyazaki and I met with Dr. O-no to discuss the health of the team with plans to start the more serious climbing the day afterwards. My anxiety grew as the conversation unfolded. There were three climbers under the doctor’s watchful eye for high-altitude sickness – Hirano, Manita and Urushibara. When I crawled into my sleeping bag that night, I felt such desperation, as though I was clinging to God to get us through this. Never had religion played a role in my life, but at that moment I could not help but appeal to a higher entity. More than anything, I wanted the team to summit the mountain without peril, and return home. I had to erase from my mind the harrowing thought, “What if something happens?” And so, I prayed.
A Climber’s Life
An added and often unspoken challenge in mountaineering is that of using the toilet. Of course, there is no avoiding it, yet when tucked in the cocooned warmth of a sleeping bag, climbers delay this task for as long as possible. Our team was no different. Every morning we would painstakingly sip a cup of milky tea, delivered by the Sherpas, to prolong the comfort of the tent and the pleasure of the hot drink. Meanwhile, our bodies were about to burst with the call of nature. The only disciplined soul in the group was Dr. O-no, who wasted no time stepping from the paradoxical comfort between wants and needs. Every day at 5 a.m. we heard her feet patter against the frozen snow as she scurried past the tents. Her routine quickly became a source of fun for us. “Oh, doctor, are you going out? How about a song before your business?” In our best pop-song voices, we serenaded her as she passed us by. “The path we take leads to the toilet / Why we persevere / The discomfort to the limit / Clenching our teeth / By all means.” Secretly, we all wished we had her determination.
From radio talk on the airwaves, we deciphered that the other parties had already reached their respective Camp 3 and Camp 4, which meant they were on an ideal timeline for the summit, but we had barely established Camp 2 by April 11 and still had the crux of the ice wall ahead of us. Following the same route as the 1965 German Gangapurna party, Hirakawa, Sato, Urushibara and three Sherpas spent three days climbing the most direct line up the right side of a main rock buttress, which would ultimately lead to the South Face; however, an impossibly huge crevasse mid-section brought them to a halt. Urushibara and Manita gave up, descended to Camp 2 and switched to the left side of the buttress (April 20), and a day later, thanks to their hard work, Manita and I were eventually able to climb even higher.
After threading through a series of small icefalls and seracs, we arrived on top of the first buttress, made up of rows of thick vertical ice walls with countless gaping crevasses in between them. Instinct told us to travel as quickly as possible through the potential danger,
but our bodies felt heavy and sluggish and our feet moved forward with difficulty. Our only choice was to rely on fate and try to make it through the labyrinth unscathed.
To me, certainty equates to luck in the Himalayas. When one stands on a glacier that might collapse, the climber feels less sure than lucky if the ice remains intact. Amidst the East Glacier, I felt lucky, a fleeting sense of satisfaction at being there, standing on untouched land that had never before seen a human footprint. In order to keep a smile on my face and remain confident in such big terrain, I had to repeat the mantra, “It’s OK,” because I knew that in all its grandeur, the summit could easily escape us. In fact, it seemed like a constant trick – the higher I climbed, the farther away the summit appeared. I could never quite figure out the answer to that illusion.
At 5200 metres, we ran out of flags to mark the route. Although we turned back that day, we were set up for success to establish Camp 3, 100 vertical metres higher, on April 24. From there, it appeared we would not have to cross too many sketchy crevasses before reaching the base of the icefall crux that led to the col above. The views from Camp 3 were spectacular. To the west stood Modi Peak, South Peak, Annapurna Fang and the Annapurna I group; to the south was Machapuchare and Gabelhorn; and in between, to the southwest, flowed the Modi Khola. We were in the heart of the Himalayas and felt the elation of such an opportunity.
Unexpectedly, our joy was crushed with the news that Yamazaki, our Base Camp manager, had been struck with typhoid fever. It would take at least a week to help transport her to Pokhara. With our teammate’s health first and foremost in our mind, we were instantly prepared to let the summit of Annapurna III slip away. Life and death issues outplay standing on a summit, without question. But our trusty Dr. O-no took matters into her own hands and assured us that Yamazaki’s resilient nature would defy the severity of the illness and that she would recover, thus encouraging the team to continue the route upwards. Sure enough, with the doctor’s around-the-clock care, Yamazaki recovered and rejoined us at Camp 1 on May 2, slightly more than two weeks after she fell ill.
Dear Junko,
I feel bad for causing you so much worry. But I’m getting better day by day, and my temperature this morning is finally down to 36.7°C, five days in. It was April 17, after you had gone to Camp 1, that I began to feel ill, then by that night I had a fever. By the 20th, I couldn’t even stand on my feet. I had to use a container in the tent to go to the washroom, and that was the biggest task of the day.
Although it is still painful to sit up all day long, I feel it’s much easier now since the fever at night is no more. As high as the fever was, it never let me sweat a drop, even in the daytime. I have never suffered like that before, and on the worst day, April 19th, I seriously thought it could be my last day alive.
I am as weak as having no vertebrae, like an octopus, and I have no muscle power at all now. But there is no choice other than starting to eat well and get better from here on in. Chloromycetin shots will continue for two to three weeks. I still positively plan to go up to Camp 1 sometime in the first days of May. No worries – I will behave and listen to Dr. O-no.
Don’t let me forget to congratulate you for reaching Camp 3. We, the leftovers at Base Camp, wish you the best.
Sorry, I’m tired now; though I would love to write more, I have to call it a day.
Morie Yamazaki
April 27
It was my wedding anniversary, another cause for celebration. Manita pronounced the occasion with permission to indulge. “I allow you girls to open a can of peaches because it’s Tabei-san’s marriage anniversary,” she said from the depths of her sleeping bag, fighting the symptoms of altitude sickness. Well, well! I wasted no time in opening the biggest can in our supply and heartily dug in. We had a side dish of rations left over from the day’s climb since we had turned back early at 5500 metres when Urushibara also showed signs of illness. Freshly brewed milk tea by Hirakawa had us relaxed and chatting throughout the afternoon. It had been a long time since we had lounged this way.
As it does in an environment where food is limited, conversation drifted to the delicacies we missed most. “What do you want to eat now?” someone asked. Tempura and sushi, warm taro potatoes marinated in soya sauce and sugar, yakitori (barbecued chicken shish kebabs), grilled fish with grated daikon, gyoza (Chinese dumplings), ton-katsu (fried pork wrapped in bread crumbs), strawberries, watermelon – the list of desired dishes was endless. “Sake,” added Hirakawa, always the spirit of the party. “Drink sake with it.” Indeed, we had room in our imagination for a glass or two of sake.
“Ladies, don’t be disappointed. We’re having freeze-dried rice and Knorr soup this evening. Actually, sesame and salt go well with rice; gives it a punch,” said Hirakawa, casually bringing us back to reality. The truth was we had a food shortage. Prior to the trip, research of past expeditions taught us that climbers could only swallow liquid-like foods at high camps. Acting on that, we collected tons of items we thought would be easily consumable: canned peaches, condensed milk, powdered glucose, biscuits and wafers – a menu more suited to an infant’s diet than that of a mountaineer. In short, we were starving. We craved rice and miso soup and begged for a load to be ferried up from Base Camp, but even that was not enough to appease our appetite. We were perpetually hungry, and the days seemed extra long as a result.
Nonetheless, we pushed onwards. The Sherpas returned to camp one day after fixing the route higher up the mountain. It was around 4:30 p.m. and dinner was ready for their arrival. A whiteout had settled outside our tents, and despite the gloomy setting, Girmi had a big smile on his face. “We found a very good spot for Camp 4. We can pitch tents tomorrow,” he said. Whether his friendly smile denoted progress on the route or contentment that supper was made, I will never know, but I sure appreciated it.
April 29
Camp 4 was established at 5900 metres, which allowed us to begin focus on the route’s crux, a steep ice wall that led to the col between Annapurna III and Gangapurna. After a two-hour approach from camp, we encountered the 55° ice on the South Face of Gangapurna where we had to cut steps into the hard, blue surface, fixing rope as we climbed. We were as slow as ants struggling up the frozen face. Swinging an axe into the icy Himalayan wall had us begging for more muscle power. And the wall was not the only obstacle; the higher we climbed the more team members became sick from altitude. The remaining number of strong, healthy climbers began to diminish.
May 2
Fixing the route up the ice wall continued with Sato and Manita and Sherpas Pasang, Kitar and Girmi all tied to a 60-metre rope. From below, what appeared to be a giant crevasse at the bottom of those final pitches that led to the col was a bergschrund, where mountain meets glacier. To cross the bergschrund, the team placed an ice screw and climbed diagonally leftward, securing a 40-metre rope as they went. Task complete, they retreated towards camp, but on the descent, mid-traverse immediately below a series of seracs, Pasang slipped, triggering a domino effect. One by one, the five climbers were plucked from their stance and began to quickly slide down the slope. Fortunately, the fall stopped after 15 metres, but Girmi, who fell the farthest, bore the worst injury, making his right shoulder and arm non-functional. Manita suffered a large blow to her ribs. Pasang fell the least distance and had no injury but later explained that he had felt dizzy on the mountain face prior to falling, likely a result of one of us having administered too much pain medication for a headache he complained of the day before.
May 4
By 11 a.m. the usual crystal-clear sky at Camp 4 was layered with fog. Views beyond our immediate surroundings were hidden, which added doubt to the atmosphere. Despite orders from Miyazaki to return to camp no later than 2 p.m. from setting the route, we had no idea where Hirano, Pasang and Ang Mingma were by 4:00. Miyazaki and I went to look for them.
“It took us two hours to get to the bottom of the ice wall, then fixing the route started after that,” Pasang said when we finally reached ca
mp together three hours later. “The climber cannot move fast enough,” he explained, using Hirano as the reason for their delay. In addition, Dr. O-no piped in that from the fall two days earlier, Manita likely had cracked ribs and Girmi had a broken shoulder. Both were to stay at Camp 1 and rest. This medical update made the fog that shrouded our camp feel even heavier. More so, Girmi had vented that his injury was Pasang’s fault, that Pasang was never doing the right thing in fixing the route and that Girmi wanted him to stop. Without another word, a crevasse of our own began to open in the team.
As sirdar, Girmi’s comment carried weight. His job was to assign the other Sherpas to their tasks, but in Pasang’s case, Miyazaki had stepped in. Pasang, the strong one, seemed to have been tasked the job of ferrying loads more than anyone else. Even from our perspective, we thought it was too much. For a change of pace, Miyazaki asked Girmi to send Pasang up to fix the route as soon as Camp 4 was established. Then the accident occurred. Now with conflict and Girmi injured, and Girmi and Pasang having been the powerhouses and gutsy climbers of the Sherpa team, we were left to see what would develop.
Miyazaki, whose signature duty at Camp 4 had been to chase the miniature silhouettes of faraway climbers on the ice wall through her binoculars, was suddenly stricken with a severe headache at midnight. Her cries for help were a cause for instant reaction, given her otherwise perpetually calm and expressionless nature. I dug around in the first-aid box for the standard pain pills and passed her two. “Are these effective?” she said with skepticism, but within twenty minutes she was in a deep slumber. There I lay, wide awake in the darkness and cold of the Himalayan night, gently cursing her ability to sleep. “Thanks a lot, boss,” I mumbled.
