Above the Clouds

by Anatoli Boukreev

  It was close to 2 P.M. before the whole team reassembled at the assault camp. Our plan had been to descend as rapidly as possible to Camp II at 6,200 meters. But the lack of rest combined with the altitude, intense cold, and work was more than some could endure. Being the first to arrive at the tents of Camp III, I could see how difficult it was for most of the members to negotiate the final meters of the descent. At 6 P.M. only eight of the group had arrived. The two missing men were Misha Mikhaelov and Dima Grekov; they had been unable to cope with the summit assault. Leaders at Base Camp informed us they were visible sitting on the snow above the rock face, where the descent from the assault camp began. Something had happened to our friends, though before we had left camp neither had complained of poor samochuvstvie.3 It was evident they did not have enough experience with the extreme altitude to correctly judge their reserves of strength.

  Immediately, without rest or drink, young Shafkat Gataullin and I started back up the slope. Darkness obscured visibility; the distance we could make out seemed disturbingly inadequate. Occasionally we turned on our headlamps, ever mindful that the power in the batteries was limited. Finally, after three hours, we saw the two men sitting in the snow; we arrived in time to help them. Misha did not have enough strength to refasten his crampons or to descend the steep ice slope unassisted.

  It was a risky, cold descent; we worked late into the night. Through fog and frost we moved toward the help waiting below. Above Camp II our friends came to meet us, carrying hot tea; during that encounter a misstep occurred. Below, the refuge of the tents was a tantalizing sight. Drinking tea, the sick Misha and his friend Dima relaxed their guard and slipped down the snowy slope. A sudden jerk tore me from my ice ax, which I had secured as the belay point for the climbers. My gloves went flying; we flew twenty meters and came to rest at the midpoint of the belay line. Our fall was arrested by a carabiner, which was providently locked onto the rope. Fifteen minutes later in the tents, I thawed my instantly frozen hands; luckily I escaped with light frostbite. Emergency oxygen that we had stored at Camp III revived the disabled climbers. Thanks to our solidarity and collective action, we avoided a tragedy. Those qualities had made the high-altitude climbers of the former Soviet Union famous during its heyday.

  We descended to Base Camp together, arriving on December 9. No one had sustained serious frostbite; amputation would not be required. Thanks to a continuous flow of supplemental oxygen, Misha’s condition had improved. Our doctor determined that helicopter evacuation would not be necessary.

  The winter ascent of Manaslu was not an ordinary climb. I hope that is only the first of a series of victories for the Kazakh team, that our success will spark a revival of interest in our sport. It would be better if the accumulated knowledge of previous generations of Soviet mountaineers did not die with the fall of the Communist era, better if our experience could carry us farther and higher to other summits in the Himalayas and Karakoram.

  I want believe that the roads we choose to follow in life depend less on economic problems, on political battles, on the imperfections of our external world, and more on our internal calling. An inner voice compels us to go into the mountains, to the heights above the clouds, breaking new trails. The fathomless sky and sparkling summits with their grandeur and mystery will always appeal to that part of humanity that loves beauty. This is and will always be their magnetic power. They exist free of the petty vanity and trivial worldly aggravations that cloud our experience of the present moment and shadow our view of the beautiful and eternal.

  8

  THE END OF AMBITION, 1996

  Guide to the Unknown

  Guiding experience on mountains above eight thousand meters has a short history. Some think that it can be looked at in the same way you would guide a lower, nontechnical peak. Absolutely, responsibility is the factor those two jobs have in common: responsibility for the lives of the clients and responsibility for conducting a safe ascent and offering timely assistance when necessary. Aid on peaks higher than eight thousand meters cannot be compared with the type of help a guide can guarantee in the Alps, for instance, where you can count on assistance from professional rescuers and special rescue services that are equipped for everything and prepared to arrive quickly. Above eight thousand meters, as a guide you can only count on your own strength and experience to help you avoid irreversible mistakes. Risks are always present in the mountains, and at high altitude the risks are incomparably greater. Climbing as a guide is about three times more difficult and dangerous than going alone. In 1996, my physical and psychological resources were tested as never before. Fortunately, seven months of almost continuous climbing in 1995 had prepared me to endure those challenges.

  Mountain Madness, Everest

  In the three months after my return from Manaslu, my communications with Scott Fischer were handled through his business partner in Seattle, Karen Dickinson. During that time, which I took to rest, Scott worked, constantly traveling. He led an expedition to Kilimanjaro, taught an ice-climbing clinic in Colorado, and visited Europe to raise money for his Everest expedition. Before leaving Almaty for Kathmandu, I received my first direct communication from him in a fax that contained instructions regarding my role in the early stages of the expedition. My job would be to go in ahead of the main party of clients with our gear and supplies and supervise the setup of our Base Camp on the Khumbu Glacier. On March 22 I met Scott in Kathmandu; that evening we joined trekking agent P. B. Thapa and our two sirdars and reviewed the final details and responsibilities for each person. On the twenty-fifth, Ngima Sherpa and I flew to Syangboche airstrip above Namche Bazaar.

  Rain stalled our progress in Namche for forty-eight hours. Once the yaks had arrived and been loaded, the trek to Base Camp took four days. After arriving, I pitched in to help with leveling the glacier rubble for tent sites and the kitchen, enjoying the tranquil, measured life and the physical fatigue after the strenuous exercise. Lopsang, Scott’s climbing sirdar, and most of our Sherpas were from settlements near Gauri Shankar in the Rolwaling Valley of Nepal. Lopsang was young, only twenty-five, a three-time Everest summiter (once with Scott); he had been to Seattle and had worked for Mountain Madness on the Broad Peak expedition in the summer of 1995. His youth was worrisome to me, but I was reassured by the presence of Ngima Sherpa from Phakding, whom P. B. Thapa had put in charge of all our Base Camp operations. Notes from Neal Beidleman informed me of our team’s progress up the Khumbu Valley. With work almost finished, on April 6 I hiked two hours down and across the glacier to Gorak Shep, where I met our team and reported to Scott. After warmly greeting Neal, who has been my friend since my first visit to America in 1990, I was introduced to the people whom I did not know. Scott outlined my experience. Our meeting was cordial.

  With the eye of a coach and trainer, I reviewed our clients’ respective climbing histories, age, and outward appearances at five thousand meters. Sandy Pittman had been on Everest before. I was familiar with her list of mountaineering accomplishments; her robust good health at that altitude left me with no doubts about her wellbeing. Lene Gammelgaard’s excellent appearance and positive frame of mind indicated she was ready to be the first Danish woman to summit Everest. But her desire to make a summit bid without the use of supplemental oxygen, combined with her lack of experience, was alarming. The third woman on the expedition, Charlotte Fox, had succeeded in climbing two lower 8,000-meter peaks, Cho Oyu and Broad Peak. She had also summited McKinley, Aconcagua, and all fifty-four 14,000-foot peaks in Colorado. In addition to that sound résumé, in winter she was on the ski patrol in Aspen, working above three thousand meters. Her boyfriend, Tim Madsen, was also on the ski patrol. As well as being a competitive athlete, he had extensive climbing experience in the American and Canadian Rockies. How his body would respond to very high altitude was an unknown. Another well-conditioned athlete, Klev Schoening, had a strong base of mountaineering skill and experience; Kilimanjaro, Aconcagua, and Kango Karpo, a 7,000-meter peak in China, were behind
him, as well as many years of climbing in the Cascade Mountains in Washington. He was on the expedition with his uncle Pete Schoening, a sixty-seven-year-old American mountaineering veteran and hero. Pete was the first of his countrymen to climb Gasherbrum and was on the first American expedition to K2. His age provoked a guarded feeling in me, though I sympathized with his ambition to be the oldest man to summit Everest. Dale Kruse had been a regular on Scott Fischer expeditions; his greatest mountaineering achievement was Barnutse, a straightforward peak near Makalu. His ability to carry himself at very high altitude was unknown. Martin Adams I knew from our Makalu expedition in 1994; his body had adjusted well to 7,400 meters, but on that expedition too many days waiting at the elevation of Camp II had undermined his strength and thwarted his summit attempt.

  After meeting our team members, I walked back to Base Camp; along the way I analyzed each person. My initial concerns were that Lene, Tim, and Dale had inadequate exposure to elevations above seven thousand meters. Pete was experienced, but I knew age was a factor that affected the body’s ability to acclimate. At five thousand meters, the good form and fighting spirit of our participants were reassuring. For me, final conclusions on their preparation would have to wait until they had recovered from the necessary acclimatization excursions to seven thousand meters. Repeated trips to high elevation make it easier for the human body to adapt to the low oxygen content of the atmosphere; it also gives a climber confidence. Everest is a multiday marathon. The process demands that team members spend enough time high enough to adjust to the elevation increases; the body must compensate for functioning in an unnatural environment. The strength spent during this process is hard to recover even at the elevation of Base Camp. That is why prior conditioning is so important. Scott had to be given his due; this was his first large-scale expedition, and success meant more to him than finding people who were able to write a big check. His sincere desire to create a strong team was evident in the conscientious selection of guides and Sherpas, and the effort he had made to solicit strong members.

  During the first few days after the team reached Base Camp, Scott and I outlined a plan for acclimatization excursions and rest days that would let us follow the adaptation of each individual. That year 250 people were climbing Everest, but every expedition lives by its own rhythm, independent of others. A good route had been secured through the Khumbu Icefall by Sherpas from two British expeditions. With our plan in place our expedition slowly gained speed.

  Scott and I closely observed the level of training that our team members demonstrated on the first acclimatization trips. We agreed their performance made them look far better than the members of other expeditions. Privately, I noted that the overall level of expertise on the mountain was far lower than it had been on the Tibet side in 1995. The weather, route conditions, and clients’ states of mind all instilled some confidence in our success. Our tactics differed quite a bit from those being used by others who were traveling up and down the icefall. That our group was sufficiently prepared technically and physically for self-reliant travel on a completely developed route allowed this. As guides, we were always making global checks on how people were doing and were prepared to render assistance if required.

  I can’t say I had a fixed notion about the work I faced on the Mountain Madness expedition. For me, some things were significantly more important than others, things that I paid attention to that others did not. For me, the most important responsibility of a high-altitude guide is to ensure the safety of ascent conditions and to try to keep the risk of unforeseen danger to a minimum. Along with the usual dangers you face on a mountain, on a very high mountain you must be alert to the greatest danger, which is the altitude itself. Increasing altitude intensifies the consequence of every action. So the second most important aspect of the job is to monitor the client’s acclimatization and physical condition. Only someone with a long record of ascents at very high altitude who is aware of the accommodations his body makes can feel a deviation from the norm. For a person who climbs high for the first time, every sensation in the body feels abnormal; it is difficult for novices to judge how they are adapting.

  My inadequate knowledge of English caused some problems. Sometimes I did not fully understand conversations, therefore I was uncomfortable socializing with clients, and it was hard for me to explain the importance of my opinions and advice. These circumstances were new to me, since before I had worked either as a personal guide, managing all details for one person, or as a climbing leader, solving the more comprehensive problems of the assault. Also, it was the first time that Scott and I worked together. I was working for him and we had different experiences both as high-altitude climbers and in our guiding work.

  Our progress up to Camp II was smooth: the work was accomplished competently and harmoniously. Tim Madsen’s adjustment was slow, which was normal given it was his first time to high altitude. A serious cause for concern was that Pete Schoening, who looked absolutely superb otherwise, was unable to sleep without a continuous flow of oxygen even at the elevation of Base Camp. On April 22, Lopsang’s uncle Ngawang became seriously ill while carrying supplies to Camp II at 6,500 meters. Disoriented, he collapsed and required assistance to descend from the mountain. Despite all the efforts of our team doctor, his condition deteriorated. Because of the bad weather during those days, helicopter rescue from Base Camp was impossible. Our Sherpa staff transported Ngawang down to Pheriche, the nearest air-accessible village. In the hope of stabilizing his condition, he was on a continuous flow of supplemental oxygen. Nothing helped. He lapsed into a coma in Pheriche and was flown to Kathmandu for hospitalization. Lopsang went along; that trip compromised his acclimatization. Scott’s supply of oxygen canisters dwindled under the weight of those unforeseeable demands.

  Our trouble really began with Ngawang’s rescue. Team members had acclimated to 6,500 meters, and most of them were ready to begin the acclimatization ascent to Camp III. Our third camp had not been set up or supplied, nor had the route across the steep sections up to the South Col been opened. The manpower we committed to the rescue of Lopsang’s uncle left us short of strength. I felt positive about volunteering for the job because I knew that actively acclimatizing to elevations above Camp III was the best way to prepare my body to work well during our summit bid. Ang Dorje, who was Rob Hall’s sirdar, and I, with a few Sherpas from the Taiwanese expedition, fixed the rope and anchors on the technical portions of the route up to 7,900 meters. Neal and Scott were left to deal with the problems in Base Camp.

  April 28 at Camp III, I rejoined the team’s rhythm; some of them were spending their first night at that elevation. Dale Kruse developed acute problems with the altitude. Scott and I assisted him down to Camp II, and then I helped him descend to Base Camp to recover. Our climbing plan called for a long rest period after the clients had been provided with the opportunity to acclimatize at 7,300 meters. After that, I suggested to Scott that everyone should descend to Deboche, a village in the forest at 3,800 meters, where the oxygen-rich atmosphere promotes a more complete physical recovery. How the weeklong rest period was spent was up to the individual. Scott consulted with Rob Hall and decided against encouraging my idea. They felt descending so low increased the risk of members becoming sick with stomach problems in the lodges. On May 1 everything was in place for our summit bid; I was not needed in camp. Scott excused me and allowed me to follow my inclination to rest in Deboche.

  Scott and Neal Beidleman made a choice during that time that I did not understand. They attempted to climb Pumori, a 7,000-meter peak in the Everest basin. I respected Scott’s and Neal’s endurance, but to climb during our rest period struck me as a waste of strength. Later, I learned that Scott had developed an illness in those days and began taking antibiotics. Also I found out that he used a medication called Diamox to improve his acclimatization. While this is a commonly accepted practice among American climbers, I do not climb and take medicine. I think it is better to know exactly how your body is resp
onding; even a slight illness can be exacerbated quickly by high altitude with disastrous results.

  During discussion of our plan for the summit assault, I don’t recall that Scott and I spent a lot of time talking about the use of supplemental oxygen. Danish climber Lene Gammelgaard’s wish to ascend without oxygen created a problem for Scott. I joined that dialogue and persuaded Lene that her ambitions were not practical given her level of acclimatization and limited climbing experience. Scott and I agreed Neal Beidleman should climb using oxygen since it would be his first trip above 8,500 meters. Every team member would use supplemental oxygen continuously above 7,300 meters. Since their responses to very high altitude were unpredictable, we agreed on the necessary precaution of transporting a supply of canisters to the South Col for emergency purposes. The Sherpas would use oxygen when working during the summit assault. Lopsang would go without it, as he had performed well that way on his previous Everest climbs. As for me, I got the impression from the conversation with Scott that he was more confident than I was that I could work without it. Though I had climbed Everest twice without using bottled oxygen, I knew the success of our clients’ summit day would depend on my strength and ability to perform. I felt that it was important for me to base my decision on oxygen use on how I was feeling on summit day. I requested that Scott calculate bottles for me into the supply of canisters he would have delivered to the South Col. He agreed; since we were professionals, those were obvious decisions. Analyzing the situation in retrospect, I understand our expensive supply of oxygen had been stretched to the limit by the unforeseen requirements of Pete Schoening and Ngawang Sherpa. If Lopsang and I had climbed on May 10 using oxygen, there would have been no canisters held as a reserve for emergencies.

  On May 6 the Mountain Madness team left Base Camp early, following a familiar, well-beaten trail to Camp II. More than two hundred climbers were in various places on the route preparing for their summit bids. For me it was only a four-hour climb to Camp II, so I left Base Camp at noon. Above the icefall, I met Scott, who was descending with Dale Kruse; once again the elevation was incapacitating, and the climb was over for Dale. I asked Scott to allow me to descend with Dale. For personal reasons Scott said no, that he wanted to accompany his old friend down. He would catch up with us the next day, which was scheduled for rest at Camp II.