I could tell early on that Pasang would be a good fit for our team. He had just turned 26 and was in amazing shape. Not only were his climbing skills excellent, but he was also really familiar with the mountains. And in terms of his personality, he was a great guy to have around—friendly, confident, and respectful, and he always cheered us up with a smile or a contagious laugh. We were in good hands.
•
Mount Everest is a mountain of many names. As Westerners, we know it best by the name given by the British in honor of Sir George Everest, the surveyor who charted much of India. Tibetans call it Chomolungma, which means “Goddess Mother of the World.” The Nepalese refer to the mountain as Sagarmatha (“Goddess of the Sky”).
Although the mountain has been revered for centuries, it wasn’t until 1852 that it was officially declared the tallest point on the planet. The Great Trigonometric Survey of India, piloted by George Everest, measured Everest’s elevation as 29,002 feet above sea level. But since Tibet’s borders were closed, no one from outside the country was able to make summit attempts until 1921.
In 1924, George Mallory and Andrew Irvine set out to be the first climbers to get to the top. No one knows for sure what happened, but they didn’t return to tell about it. They were last witnessed heading toward the summit before vanishing into the clouds, and they weren’t seen again until 75 years later, when Mallory’s body was found by a climber—largely preserved by the frozen climate. There were no photographs or evidence on him that indicated he’d reached the top. In all the climbs since, Irvine’s body has yet to be found. It wasn’t until some 30 years later, on May 29, 1953, that New Zealand beekeeper Sir Edmund Hillary and his Sherpa guide, Tenzing Norgay, became the first to reach the top of the world.
Now that I was in the Himalayas, about to meet Mount Everest face-to-face, I thought back to all the times people had asked me this question: “What does it take to climb Mount Everest?” Although there are so many mental and emotional components that go into enduring a climb like this one, people are usually wondering about the physical side. And they’re right—doing such a significant climb isn’t something you can pick up on a whim.
For one thing, the oxygen content at the summit is one-third of what it is at sea level. So if you were to take a bunch of people acclimated to sea level and place them at the top, their bodies wouldn’t know how to respond, and they would pass out and die in a matter of minutes. As a result of research and years of experience, we now know that it is possible for people to climb high-altitude mountains. But it can’t be done cold turkey—you have to follow the “climb high, sleep low” technique, which gives your body a chance to survive at higher altitudes. This process of climbing a few thousand feet and then descending to rest for a few days allows the body to produce more red blood cells. Since red blood cells carry oxygen to all parts of the body, the only way to survive at extreme heights is to condition your body to create enough to accommodate for the lack of oxygen in the air.
But this process takes time. At high altitudes, the body is starving for resources and goes into a hypoxic stage, meaning it’s trying to survive with reduced oxygen. In this state, respiration depth increases, pressure in pulmonary arteries builds, and oxygen is released from hemoglobin to body tissues. That’s the medical explanation, but in layman’s terms, it feels like your body is gradually being overtaken by slowness and nausea. It takes about a month for your body to adjust enough to be able to attempt the summit.
From a psychological perspective, one of the hardest parts of climbing can be the waiting. With so much downtime during acclimatization, you have to be really patient and willing to listen to your body. Not only that, but it’s also really important to pick the right climbing team, because you’re going to be stuck waiting around with them for weeks on end at the various camps.
•
After gathering our gear, our group left for our five-mile trek into Phakding, a small village made up of a handful of huts, a few teahouses, and some local markets. The trail, which wove through a series of hills, was the same one used by local Sherpas and dzo—animals that are a cross between a yak and a cow. With the large bells hanging from their necks, I could hear the dzo coming long before I saw them. Since they weighed more than 500 pounds, I usually gave them the right-of-way.
The trail under my hiking boots was caked with dzo feces and droppings from the yaks we’d brought along to carry some of our gear, so I was constantly watching where I stepped. I also wore a buff around my nose and mouth to keep me from breathing in the particles in the air. Although the air was clean and fresh in the lower areas of the Khumbu Valley, the trail itself, with its dusty cow pies, was another story.
Along the way, I saw prayer wheels and Buddhist prayer flags that people had hung for good luck. One of the superstitions common to the Sherpa is that the wheels have to be in constant motion, so I frequently saw people grabbing the wheels to keep them spinning.
I thought about my own Christian faith and how I felt a special connection with God in the mountains. As I watched people striving to make sure all the conditions were just right so their prayers would be heard, I was grateful that God hears us when we call out to him—not because we’re good, but because he is good. “You will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you” (Jeremiah 29:12).
We hadn’t hiked very far before we got to a metal suspension bridge. I looked over the side of the rickety bridge and saw that we were hovering over a cliff that dropped more than 100 feet straight down to the river below. I knew this was only a small taste of what was to come.
For lunch we stopped at a village inn that belonged to Naga, one of our trekking Sherpas. The inn was basically a large open room for dining, plus a few places to sleep in the attic, which was accessible only by ladder. Naga’s wife made us a big lunch of fried rice and potatoes, with an apple tart for dessert. All the food in the Khumbu Valley is fresh—not fresh as in recently purchased from the market, but fresh as in the vegetables are picked straight from the garden. And if you’re having chicken for dinner, the family goes out and kills a live chicken, plucks the feathers, and puts it on the table.
When we’d been served so much delicious food that I couldn’t take another bite, Naga’s wife came back with seconds, smiling warmly at us with a few gold teeth. She had a child wrapped in a fabric sash hanging from her side, with another toddler running around at her feet. After lunch Naga and his wife presented Bill and me with white silk scarves as a way to wish us good luck on our journey. We strapped the scarves to the outside of our packs and carried them with us on our trip.
In Phakding we crossed another suspension bridge, which brought us to the other side of the village. We stayed at a teahouse there for the night. The scenery reminded me of Washington, with the evergreen forests, rippling rivers, and rocky cliffs. But when it was time to turn in for the night, I was reminded just how far from home I was. I thought about my kids and how I wished I could tuck them into bed. I couldn’t let my thoughts linger there long, though—I still had a lot of nights to go.
The teahouse had an open area for eating and a small room that Bill and I shared. We had two beds and a bathroom with a toilet and a shower, which was a rare treat in the Khumbu Valley. The farther we went up the mountain, the fewer luxuries we’d have. Chances were, this would be the last real shower we’d have for some time.
We all met in the central dining area for dinner, where I ordered a pizza. It wasn’t what you typically think of when you order a pie here in the United States—it was more of a hand-stretched, rubbery dough with some sauce I couldn’t quite identify and a white cheese that definitely wasn’t mozzarella—but it did the job. The most important thing to me was that it was fully cooked. Back home I tried to eat a pretty healthy diet, but here I planned to stick to a steady menu of pizza, potatoes, soup, and rice. I didn’t want to risk falling ill from strange foods or unsanitary food handling. Sushi was definitely out of the question.
•
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br /> I got minimal sleep that night due to a lightning storm that lit up the sky for hours. The next morning the sun pierced a narrow laser beam through the window directly into my eyes, and it felt like a sniper was making a drop on me. Groggily I rose from my –20-degree Fahrenheit sleeping bag and packed my gear, shoving my down clothes into a small sack. It didn’t matter how tired I was; I knew we didn’t have time to spare. We had to keep pressing on to ensure that we reached our next scheduled destination on time.
Bill and I made our way into the eating area for breakfast, where we devoured a few flavorless pancakes and hard-boiled eggs. The day’s destination was the village of Namche Bazaar, about six miles away.
After eating, I went outside, and as I applied sunblock, a young Sherpa boy came up to me.
“Would you open my bottle of Coke?” he asked.
As soon as I opened it, he grabbed his prized possession, shook it as hard as he could, and let it explode into his mouth. I smiled at him, wondering how old he was and what he did for fun. Would he play LEGOs with Jordan if they lived near each other? I wondered.
I felt guilty as I watched the Sherpas work, knowing my bag weighed more than 50 pounds on its own, and now they were putting another 50-pound expedition bag on top of it. With the total weight of 100 pounds, the Sherpas’ forehead straps pulled back as they walked, exposing the whites of their eyeballs. It looked like the excessive force would cause their eyes to pop out of their sockets, but I couldn’t argue. This was their system, and they’d been doing it this way for years. I could only say thank you.
We crossed a metal suspension bridge that hung hundreds of feet above a raging river. The sides of the bridge were adorned with colorful prayer flags flapping in the wind. On the other side of the bridge was the hill leading up to Namche Bazaar, which was nestled into the mountain at an elevation of 11,200 feet. The path was fiercely steep, switching back and forth for about a mile. I set out at my own pace, listening to music on my iPod and keeping a steady rhythm as I climbed.
The music kept me motivated, step-by-step, as I inched toward our destination. The words from Creed’s song “Higher” resounded in my ears as I took in the scene around me:
Up high I feel like I’m alive for the very first time
Set up high I’m strong enough to take these dreams
And make them mine
At the top of the hill, I checked my watch. I’d made the climb in 30 minutes. I found a local store on the outskirts of town, where I paid 10 dollars for a Coke and a Mars bar. I climbed onto an overhanging rock and sat down, enjoying the cold soda and reading the book I’d brought along—Bear Grylls’s The Kid Who Climbed Everest. The weather was perfect. The sun was shining and it was in the low 70s—warm enough not to need too many layers but with a cool enough breeze to make for a refreshing climb. I knew the days like this would be numbered on this climb, as the average May temperature on top of Everest is –13 degrees Fahrenheit.
It’s those brief moments of bliss when I’m climbing that help me reflect on God’s incredible creation. Thank you for this amazing world you made, God. Thank you for a body that’s able to do this and for the drive you’ve given me to make it happen.
I looked out at the view and stood frozen in place, awed by the massive rock formations and the snow-covered cliffs that stretched as far as I could see. With the huge glaciers, jutting snow cornices, and ledges of snow that barely hung on over 1,000-foot drops, the scene looked like something off the pages of a calendar.
Behind me was the town of Namche Bazaar. With a population of about 1,700 locals, it was the largest town in the Khumbu region. The village had a variety of shops, several hotels, a bakery, a couple of monasteries, and a smattering of houses. At all times of the day, trekkers, climbers, and livestock passed through the main thoroughfare, which was little more than cobblestone and dirt. I didn’t hear any sounds of traffic whizzing by or horns blaring, but there was the constant sound of clanging bells as herds of yaks stomped through the village. It didn’t look much like Seattle, but to the Sherpas, it was a major city in the mountains.
After the rest of the group made it to the top, we headed to the center of the village to the teahouse where we’d spend two nights. All the teahouses and shops looked the same to me, so I was glad our Sherpa team knew where they were going.
Our teahouse had a large main area for dining, where we drank tea and got to know each other. We also had a chance to meet the other climbing and trekking groups that were staying there and would be camped near us at Everest base camp. We sat in the dining area at long, lacquered tables with picnic bench–style seating—playing cards, reading books, or just talking about the adventure we were embarking on.
Bill and I shared a simple room with two beds and a bathroom. The beds were just old mattresses set on the floor, and the bathroom had a toilet and a showerhead but no shower. There was a drain in the floor, so we had to spray ourselves with cold water and try not to flood the room as the water made its way down the small hole. It wasn’t fancy, but compared to the kind of camping we’d be doing in below-zero temperatures soon, it might as well have been the Ritz-Carlton.
After a brief tour of the room, I realized that there were no power outlets. The teahouse owners knew what a precious commodity power is in the mountains, so they made a good business charging for a very dull charging station. I was glad to have my portable battery pack, which was recharged by the solar panels, so I didn’t have to recharge there. I unraveled my solar panels in my room and attached them to the window facing the sun. As long as it stayed sunny, I’d have enough power for my phone, laptop, iPod, camera, and a small light for nighttime reading.
•
The following day we hiked up to an Everest lookout at 12,303 feet, near Syangboche Airport, one of the highest-elevation airports in the world. It was once used to bring in climbers for expeditions but was eventually deemed too dangerous. The shock to the body of being exposed to such a high altitude without time to adjust resulted in severe altitude sickness and even death in some cases. Most people can cope at elevations below 8,000 feet, but higher than that, the diminished oxygen can cause physiological issues. Each body has a different tolerance for altitude, but there’s a point where everyone, even Sherpas, feel the effects.
The view from the lookout was perfect. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and we took in the impressive lineup of peaks: Everest, Lhotse, Nuptse, and Ama Dablam. When we descended back to Namche Bazaar, some of the trekkers in our party weren’t feeling well. A few of them had stomach issues, some were suffering with headaches, and others were simply exhausted. I’d had enough hiking experience to have a pretty good idea of how my body would respond—at least to elevations I’d made it to in the past. Typically I could go up to 12,000 feet without symptoms, but as I continued, I’d start noticing that my body wasn’t 100 percent.
The next morning we set out for Tengboche, at 12,700 feet. Before getting on the trail, I went back to check the room to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. When I got there, I noticed the toilet was sprayed with vomit. Bill hadn’t mentioned anything to me, but apparently he wasn’t doing well.
Later in the day, when we were hiking, I stepped in next to Bill.
“Hey, are you feeling okay?” I asked him.
He looked surprised. “Yeah, of course,” he said quickly. “I’m fine.”
Veronique was really sick, so she decided to stay in Namche for a few days before heading higher. She had hired two climbing Sherpas, and they would both stay with her. They’d join up with the rest of us a few weeks later, at Everest base camp.
Initially the trail took us down about a thousand feet in elevation. It was nice walking downhill for a while, but I knew we’d be feeling it on the route back in a few months. Around 9:30 in the morning, we stopped for tea at a teahouse on the side of the main Everest highway. Some of the more adventurous climbers opted for yak butter tea, but I usually stuck with spice tea or milk tea—spice tea made with milk.
I looked at my watch and calculated that it was 10 p.m. back in the States. I fired up my laptop and launched Skype, hoping to connect with JoAnna and the kids.
They were visiting our friends in San Diego—one of the surprise trips I’d left in the scavenger hunt—and I was thrilled to find that the kids were still awake. It was hard to take it all in: here I was with the Ama Dablam peak behind me, talking to my kids from the other side of the world. As I watched JoAnna and the kids through the screen, I thought about the symbolism of this mountain. It’s known as “the Mother’s Necklace” because of its long ridge sides, which look like the arms of a mother protecting her child. I swallowed the rock-sized lump in my throat, silently thanking God for the woman who was at home protecting our children right now.
I turned my computer around so I could introduce my family to our Sherpas, Pasang and Pumba, and the other members of our group. Pasang, always smiling and full of life, waved bashfully at JoAnna and the kids, his cheeks flushing red. Pumba introduced himself so quietly we almost couldn’t hear him. I was proud to have my family meet the brave men undertaking this journey with me.
JoAnna, as always, owned the conversation.
“Where are you right now?” she asked. I knew she had our itinerary memorized, and she’d know if we were off track.
“How are you feeling? How’s the team doing?”
I was glad to be able to tell her that I was feeling healthy and strong and that everything was off to a good start. The team had had a few bumps, but nothing major.
“I miss you so much,” she said.
Blind Descent Page 5
