English would be the common language used between the team members, support staff, and me. That was some disadvantage. Among the responsible parties on the mountain, I wanted no room for misunderstanding. I requested that General Subianto contract the services of two respected Russian mountaineers, Vladimir Bashkirov and Dr. Evgeny Vinogradski. They would act as trainers, members of the rescue team, and provide a balance to my rather difficult personality. The challenge of preparing an Everest team in ninety days was obvious, but both men agreed to join our experiment. Behind the shoulders of forty-five-year-old Vladimir Bashkirov were twenty-eight years of experience in expedition organization and technical expertise on the great walls in the Pamirs and Caucasus Mountains. He had summited six 8,000-meter peaks including Everest twice. As well as having a good command of English, Volodia is a soft-spoken diplomat compared to me. I would rely on his personable communication skills and good judgment throughout the expedition. To his credit, fifty-year-old Evgeny Vinogradski, seven-time champion climber in the Soviet Union, had thirty-three years of high-altitude experience as an instructor, sports climber, and physician. He had climbed eight 8,000-meter peaks, including Everest twice, once as a personal guide. We had climbed Kanchenjunga together in 1989. In the worst situations the “Old Eagle,” with his gentle good humor and steely calm, had proved to be a friend whom I could count on. His long history as an instructor and sports physician made him an indispensable part of our team.
Ang Tshering chose and hired our Sherpas. The division of labor was spelled out from the beginning. They would provide the usual Base Camp support, fix rope on sections of the route above the ice-fall, set up and supply our mountain camps, and carry extra oxygen on summit day. As sirdar, we were fortunate to have the skill and service of thirty-seven-year-old Apa Tenzing of Thame, a seven-time summiter of Everest.
The politics of the Indonesian expedition were unusual all around. Ang Tshering put us all together and made a bold decision when he bypassed established expedition organizations that usually run the commercial show at Base Camp. The Indonesian organizers and climbers had no experience, but they were motivated by a great deal of national pride. Malaysia also planned to undertake an expedition that spring. Suddenly, the normal competition between these Pacific Rim powers was focused on the top of Everest. Russians, though respected as strong climbers, have been out of mountaineering’s commercial loop altogether. Only since 1995, financed by an emerging class of merchants in our countries, have our teams found their way back to the Himalayas. If Bashkirov, Vinogradski, and I were successful acting as the tactical and strategic leaders for a foreign expedition, it would be a coup that might secure us a means of making a living beyond the borders of our chaotic economy. Outsiders manned each component of the expedition, and each of us had something to gain. I hoped that would make us all more conscious of our objective and in turn inspire an extra degree of cooperative effort.
Our training program was to the point; one cannot invent experience on 8,000-meter peaks. In one season of winter climbing prospective team members could be exposed to severe cold and wind, they could acclimatize to six thousand meters in the Himalayas, and we could test their endurance and mental discipline. Civilians who had some mountaineering background and Special Forces soldiers made up the group of thirty-four candidates for the final expedition. During training climbs we intended to teach and observe their proficiency in the technical skills necessary for mountaineering. Bashkirov and Vinogradski met the group in Kathmandu on December 15, and they climbed 5,900-meter-high Paldor Peak; seventeen members summited. In January all but one of those men reached the top of Island Peak. During that exercise individuals were pushed to ascend and descend a thousand meters in less than five hours for several consecutive days. Beset by howling winter winds, they camped near the 6,000-meter-high summit for seventy-two hours in frigid temperatures. That was the best we could do. Now I shake my head in disbelief—Paldor, Island Peak, Everest. I don’t recommend this as a training program to anyone.
Back in Kathmandu on January 10, we met to discuss team selection. Bashkirov and Vinogradski ranked the men by the following criteria: speed, adjustment to altitude, general health, and attitude. Ten soldiers and six civilians were chosen for the final group. Though we advised the Indonesians to undertake only one expedition, in the end General Subianto hired Richard Pawlowski to head a simultaneous north-side attempt. Ten members were assigned to us and six men would go to Tibet to attempt the mountain with Richard.
On March 12, after a twenty-six day rest, an Asian Airlines, Russian-made helicopter lifted us out of Kathmandu’s smog and headed toward Lukla. Returning to the Everest region always brings me a feeling of relief, for I love the mountains. Only those who have been there will understand this. After an early-morning flight you are dropped off on a precipitous aerie that sits in an embrace of bony mountains—jagged summits rise clearly outlined in the crystal air. Such majesty is humbling, and one is reminded of how small humans are in the scheme of things. A little more than an hour after our departure from Kathmandu, ten Indonesians and three Russian climbing advisers stepped down onto the small landing area. Armed with our ambition, we were headed for the top of the highest mountain on earth. Seven days later we would be in Base Camp, but on that morning I knew no matter what was ahead of me, I was at home, and that mountaineering is the only life for which I am fit.
Seventeen teams were camped on the glacier in 1997. The Malaysians and Indonesians would be the brunt of some jokes. Our expedition became the source of derisive comments by the American reporters; I had some training for that. Certainly it would have been a pleasure to have David Breashears’s IMAX staff members taking my blood pressure at Base Camp, but I was not invited for that honor. The Indonesians were full of determination and I needed to work. We had enough to do, so I tried to keep our team out of the politics in camp.
After our arrival on March 19, the icefall was ahead of us. That is always an important step in psychological adjustment to the task of climbing Everest. Our climbers were shaky at first, but they did well. By the second trip up, they were moving with confidence and at a much faster pace. With that obstacle mastered, we settled into the routine of climb and rest that is acclimatization. On April 6, on our fourth trip up, we climbed to 7,300 meters for a second session of acclimatization at that elevation. My original plan called for us to go on and spend one night on the South Col, then climb to 8,200 meters before we attempted the summit. Due to a mutiny in the Sherpa team I had to abandon that idea.
Because we were the first climbers on the route, we had no help for the work of fixing line above the icefall. To stay ahead of our team, the Sherpas had a huge burden of work. Though I lobbied the other expedition leaders for extra financial support or labor to assist them (since every expedition would later use our path on their way to the summit), my requests fell on deaf ears. I foresee a time when the entire trail to the summit of Everest will be fixed by a team of experienced Sherpas, who will be paid by every expedition that uses the route. This change won’t happen without the protests of those who until now have benefited exorbitantly by the hard work of underpaid men.
Having failed to get our men help or more money, as a compromise I worked with Apa fixing the route up to the Col. His coworkers had limited strength and skill, and my demands put too much pressure on them. In the end only eight of our sixteen Sherpas were able to work at high altitude. Apa Sherpa is an extraordinary man, a hard worker; always he gave more of himself than he expected of the others.
On April 8, eight of the team climbed to an elevation of 7,500 meters and returned to sleep at Camp III for one more night; on the ninth we descended to Base Camp. We saw a difference in individual performance and health after that ascent. Three men were obviously stronger than the others, and they moved easily at high altitude.
We descended to Deboche to rest at 3,770 meters in the forest zone. During our rest period, the Sherpas were supposed to climb ahead of us, fix the route abo
ve the South Col, and ferry supplies up to an emergency camp at 8,500 meters. The official director of the Sherpas’ work was Captain Rochadi. He had no appreciation for how bad things can be when they go wrong at high altitude, so there was no consistent support for my requests. I am in a continual state of watchful apprehension climbing these mountains; everything looks easy until it is too late. Rochadi’s lack of concern was an ongoing threat to the effectiveness of my backup safety measures. There was no one to blame; it takes years of repeated ascents and consistent monetary support to develop a team of Sherpas who can work together in equal strength to assist an expedition. Our manpower crisis worked itself out, but not optimally.
Several personal problems interrupted my concentration and took away my energy. A filling in one of my teeth cracked, an abscess formed, and that required a trip to Kathmandu. Were the ravages of time telling on me? Other questions haunted me. How would I function at high altitude after the bus accident? Minus a tooth, I rejoined our team back at Base Camp on April 21. My return trek from Lukla took one and a half days, which was a speed record on its own. In my absence the Sherpas never left Base Camp. Apa assured me that he would see that his men supplied the emergency camp while we made our summit assault.
We finalized a plan. Bashkirov, Vinogradski, and I would each carry a radio. One of us would be with team members at all times, and we had prescribed intervals to make radio contact with every camp below us. Two Sherpas would wait on the South Col. Members of Bashkirov’s Lhotse team, all strong Russians who were acclimatizing at 7,400 meters, agreed to provide emergency support if we needed it. The second-strongest members of the Indonesian group would be stationed at Camp II.
Weather reports from Kathmandu were encouraging. We were at the end of a small weather disturbance, but the five days ahead of us looked stable. Stable is a relative term in the Himalayas. At the summit of Mount Everest you are at the apex of long river valleys; the gorges become steeper as the elevation increases. Below, the warm daytime temperatures cause water to evaporate; clouds form and naturally rise, flowing up the valleys each afternoon. There always seem to be some clouds around the summits late in the day, and even these benign weather changes can pose a challenge. We knew that we were going to be slow, and Camp V at 8,500 meters was our solution for that unsolvable problem.
Late afternoon of the twenty-first we gathered for a puja ceremony at the chorten above our tents. Buddhist prayer flags and smoke lifted in the thin, cold air. Every day during our time on the glacier, the Indonesians remembered their God, much like the Sherpas with their morning offerings of burning cedar; I appreciated their respectfulness. Serious concentration showed on every face that afternoon, and the evening was spent in private organization. That is always a tense time, loaded with expectation. A meditative calm comes over me and I feel excitement as I get ready for the challenge ahead.
At midnight on April 22, in the light of a full moon, three Russians and six Indonesians left the safety of Base Camp for a journey into the unknown. Without any difficulty, our sturdy climbers moved well, ascending to Camp II in six hours. On the twenty-third we rested. The next day, Bashkirov, Vinogradski, I, and the three strongest Indonesians—Misirin Sersan, Asmujiono Prajurit, and Iwan Lentnan—left for Camp III with Apa and seven other Sherpas. There wasn’t much idle chatter and the men didn’t need reassurance. Evidence of hard winds could be seen at the level of the South Col. After contacting Kathmandu, Rochadi assured us that forecasters did not indicate a change in the weather, and the prediction called for the wind to decrease during the next forty-eight hours. We held the team at Camp III for a day. On the twenty-fifth the Indonesians used oxygen to climb to the Col and arrived coherent, coordinated, and self-motivated.
During our summit attempt each of them would use bottled oxygen, as would the Sherpas, who were supposed to carry nine extra bottles for the three Indonesian climbers. Only Apa and Dawa were going all the way to the summit. Vinogradski, Bashkirov, and I each planned to carry a twelve-hour supply of oxygen, which we intended to use sparingly; we were in good enough condition to work without it if we had to. The weight of the equipment and the oxygen that had to be carried and the number of men we had to do the job did not add up. Knee-deep snow covered the route between 8,100 and 8,600 meters; we were in for some hard work. Apa continued to reassure me that the tent, stove, and supplies for Camp V were going up with us.
Midnight on April 26 we set out from the South Col. Utilizing oxygen, I broke trail. Loaded down as they were, it was unfair to ask the Sherpas to do that work. Bashkirov and Vinogradski climbed with the Indonesian members. After nine hours of wallowing through snow above my knees, with progress slow and difficult, I was fatigued when I arrived at the South Summit. Apa was below me at 8,600 meters fixing the last section of steep slope. It was 11 A.M. when the whole group arrived. Our speed was the same as it had been the year before. Discussing the next move, Apa asked me to break trail and fix the Hillary Step. I asked for rope. We had only forty meters left, he said. I was incredulous; where was the rope? Apa apologized; he had not calculated enough rope for the conditions we faced. Because of the snow, some sections that are normally safe without it had had to be secured with line. Fatigued as I was, I had no inclination to cross the ridge to the Step without a belay.
The margins for success are so close. The shadows of problems you perceive below are all-consuming on summit day; success or failure is in the balance, and you can complain or deal with them. All the reassurance I had been given in conversations evaporated. Time was of the essence. Apa offered to go down and recover the necessary meters of rope. The clock was ticking; we had to go forward or down. Realizing the gravity of our situation, and how this compromised our position, Apa did a brave thing. He took the last forty meters of rope, crossed the ridge before the Step, and pulled old pieces of exposed rope to the surface. In the interval it took for him to complete that work, I gratefully rested, and my overall sense of wellbeing returned. Dawa arrived at the South Summit and informed us that an emergency camp at 8,500 meters had a tent, oxygen bottles, and a stove.
At 12:30 P.M. Apa cleared the top of the Hillary Step. The weather was good and our emergency camp was supplied. Bashkirov, Vinogradski, and I decided to attempt the summit, though we projected we would arrive late in the day, about 3 P.M. I evaluated our team. Misirin was slow but functioning on his own. Asmujiono moved well but was focused like a zombie, consciousness somewhere deep inside. Iwan was alert but slow, and his coordination was suffering. Misirin was in the best shape, though all three demonstrated a kamikaze-like determination; when asked, each demanded the opportunity to go on. My vote was to take only Misirin, turning the others back, but I allowed myself to be convinced that we could postpone that measure until after we had surmounted the Hillary Step. Because I felt that Asmujiono’s mental deterioration would be a critical factor, I assigned him to Dr. Vinogradski. Bashkirov and Misirin went out first, then Iwan and I, followed by Asmujiono and Evgeny. The ridge was much different than it had been in 1996; it was steeper. Iwan moved slowly, then fell; he stopped sliding by hanging tenuously from the old rope. I demonstrated how he should move to right himself, how to use his ax properly so he could regain the route. Realizing I was giving lessons on technique at 8,700 meters to someone who had been introduced to snow for the first time only four months earlier, I could only wonder what the experience meant to this man.
I am a sportsman, and for me a mountaintop is not worth the sacrifice of my life. I would not have ventured into a world so different, unfamiliar with the skills that would preserve me. Soldiers have a different mind-set, and these men felt that they represented the aspirations of a whole nation. In that role they were more committed to striving than they were to life. Iwan regained his footing on the ridge, and we resumed our careful journey in a deep track, coming to the bottom of the Hillary Step. There, tangled in the ropes, we came upon the body of a man, his crampons and feet protruding in our way. With features erased by the harsh c
onditions, all I could say for certain was that his down suit was blue. Though respect is always due fallen climbers, I could not afford to focus on him. That vision had a sobering effect on each of us. At that moment, the end of our ambition was in sight, but our situation was anything but stable. At the top of the Hillary Step, I looked down and watched Iwan and Asmujiono climbing slowly up; gingerly they circumnavigated the obstacle created by the body. Apa and Dawa had gone on ahead. Vinogradski tried to turn Iwan back, but none of the men were willing to admit defeat. My concern was that they were fast approaching the end of their physical resources. If they were going to get down, they had to move under their own power. Above the Step I advised Asmujiono and Iwan to go down. They refused. The whole team moved off toward the summit. I knew for certain that we would be spending the night at 8,500 meters. The weather was calm. Each step required one minute of rest for the Indonesians. On top I congratulated Apa on his eighth successful trip to the top of Everest. We watched as the Indonesians struggled with the last steps. Bashkirov and Misirin were thirty meters away, Asmujiono was behind them. We saw Misirin stumble and collapse in the snow. Asmujiono raised his head, and his eyes focused on the summit marker. Charging, doggedly running in slow motion, he came toward us, falling and embracing the tripod that is the official top of the mountain. He ripped back his down hood, replaced it with his army beret, and unfurled the flag of Indonesia. The determination of all Indonesians was affirmed by the last efforts this young man could wrench from his body. The others inched their way closer; Misirin was only twenty meters away from the tripod.
Above the Clouds Page 24
