Freedom Climbers (Legends and Lore)

by Bernadette McDonald

  The director offered coffee.

  They accepted.

  Jurek sensed that the coffee routine was just a way of gaining time. He had seen this tactic before. It was obvious they had been sent down from heaven for this “very important person” and his rusted, leaning chimney. They had him! Jurek also knew the amount of money he would be asking for the job: 1 million złotys. This was the equivalent of 200 average monthly wages—a huge amount. But it was exactly what they needed to get to Lhotse.

  “You must realize that we are a state organization . . . impossible for us to contract such a job to ...private individuals,” the director said.

  This, too, they had prepared for. The payment would be to the “Youth Social Action Fund,” and they had the regulation book with them, ready for his inspection, should he require it.

  “Okay, fine, fine. I will still have to consult the legal department. In which case, when could you start on this chimney?”

  It was, as they say, a win–win situation.

  Jurek’s first exposure to India was a shock. Their two-dollar-a-night budget placed them in rock-bottom Bombay hotel rooms: dirty cubicles with a bed of boards and rats scurrying in the corridors. Initially Jurek shied away from local food and refused to drink the water. Yet Coca-Cola was too expensive. As time went on, he relaxed a bit and began to enjoy the local cuisine and people, shedding his European mistrust and fear of Asia.

  At Lhotse base camp he once again had to face the crippling effect of altitude sickness. Situated at 5400 metres, it was just high enough to make his head pound and his stomach heave. But within a few days, he discovered that by continuing to move and work and exert, the pain eased. The continuous activity forced him to breathe deeply, circulating oxygen and blood into his sturdy, untiring legs. For Jurek, hard work seemed to be the answer.

  As they made their way up Lhotse, Jurek couldn’t ignore the fact that their route was the same as one would take to Everest, at least as far as 7300 metres. At that point, the two routes split: turn left for Everest, right for Lhotse. He began to fantasize about switching mountains. After all, Everest was higher. But their permit was for Lhotse, and that’s what he had been invited to climb. Besides, his head still throbbed.

  When he realized that Everest wasn’t his to dream about, he looked back at Lhotse and let his imagination run wild. What about climbing it without oxygen? At that time, most people thought climbing a Himalayan giant without oxygen would result in permanent brain damage. “You’ll see, you’ll lose half your grey cells and become a moron,” his teammates warned him at base camp. This was a sobering thought. But Jurek wanted more than the summit of Lhotse. There was a part of his character that rejected the idea of playing for low stakes. “For me it is the high bid or nothing,” he said. “That’s what fires me.”14

  Two of the four summit climbers opted for bottled oxygen. Andrzej Czok wanted to climb it oxygen-free. Jurek did, too, but in order to hedge his bets, he decided to carry up two bottles of oxygen and a breathing apparatus, just in case. Ten extra kilos on his back.

  All four started up: two using supplemental oxygen, and two not. After the first hour there was little distance between them. Jurek decided to dump his load. He moved more easily without the extra weight, but after three hours the gap widened between those with oxygen and those without. Above 8000 metres now, the distance grew even more. Jurek concentrated on his breathing and his rhythm. Ten steps. Rest. Lean on the ice axe. Breathe deeply. Don’t sit down. Ten steps. Rest. Lean on the ice axe. Breathe deeply. Don’t sit down.

  On the summit, he gasped convulsively, then fumbled in his pack for a pennant from his first Scout Mountaineering Club and another with the Katowice emblem. He felt no summit euphoria, just the knowledge that he needed to take a few photos and turn around and get down.

  When he reached Camp III and had a chance to drink some tea and soup, he paused to reflect. He listened to the complex machine of his body, which had so nearly ground to a halt. Now it slowly calmed down. When the others started down the next day, Jurek declined the offer, preferring to stay on the mountain. He was acclimatized now, and the carbonated fog had left his brain. It felt wonderful being high on the mountain, so why rush down? For the first time he felt healthy and strong on a high mountain—a taste of the life that lay ahead of him—a life at altitude.

  As the climbers walked back down through the Khumbu Valley, proud of their success, they stopped to camp at the village of Namche. While they were unpacking their packs, two Sherpas came running up the trail. “Mr. Messner is coming! Mr. Messner is coming!” they yelled. Jurek watched in amazement as the Sherpas pitched Reinhold Messner’s tent, laid his dry clothes out, hung a lamp, and prepared his bedding. Soon the great man appeared. Jurek was surprised and relieved to realize that the climbing superstar behaved like a normal human being.

  After some pleasantries about where the Poles had been and where Reinhold was going (Ama Dablam), their talk turned to Nanga Parbat. Jurek told him about their expedition two years before, when he had reached a col at around 8000 metres on the mountain and there had found a torch (flashlight).

  “A torch?” Reinhold asked.

  “Yes, an ordinary torch. I could not understand how it had got there, as this was a new route,” Jurek answered.

  Reinhold was visibly shaken. He told Jurek how he and his brother Günther had climbed the South Face in 1970 and had then become separated. He was sure that this col was where Günther had changed the batteries. This was a welcome bit of information, because Reinhold was facing severe criticism and speculation that he had “left his brother” on the other side during their descent. This torch might prove his claim that Günther had died on his way down the Rupal Face. He asked Jurek for the torch, as well as a few words about how and where he had found it. For a book that he was writing, he added.

  By December 4, 1979, Jurek was home. He called Andrzej Zawada the next day to give him the good news. He had proven himself at altitude on Lhotse and he wanted more. Andrzej was just the man to make that happen. He congratulated him and then made his offer: Everest in winter. Everest! Jurek had stared at it, even lusted after it, and now he was being offered it—in winter. But there was a catch. He would need to leave in two weeks. As appealing as the offer was, and it was almost irresistible, Jurek had to decline. Celina was pregnant and the baby was expected in January. She had already miscarried a baby girl, so Jurek needed to be there for her.

  But Andrzej had a consolation prize: he had another Everest permit for the following spring, so Jurek could join that expedition if he was interested. They would try a new route, and that excited Jurek.

  Maciek Kukuczka was born on New Year’s Eve, 1979, and Jurek was there for his first son’s birth.

  5

  HAT TRICK ON EVEREST

  What is a mountain? An obstacle; a transcendence; above all, an effect.

  —SALMAN RUSHDIE, THE SATANIC VERSES

  All mountain landscapes hold stories: the ones we read, the ones we dream, and the ones we create.

  —MICHAEL KENNEDY, ALPINIST

  BY THE LATE 1970S, EVEREST had already seen a number of important ascents. New Zealander Edmund Hillary and Sherpa Tenzing Norgay first climbed it by the South Col route in 1953. It would be nearly a quarter century later, in 1975, that the first woman, Junko Tabei, would make a successful ascent, the same year the expedition led by British climber Chris Bonington astonished the climbing world by cracking the secret of the massive Southwest Face. Three years later Reinhold Messner and Austrian Peter Habeler shattered the perception of what was possible when they climbed the tallest mountain on Earth without bottled oxygen.

  The British, Austrians, Japanese, New Zealanders, Nepalese and many more—all had made their mark on Everest. But no Pole had yet stood on its summit. They were hungry for Everest, not just as individuals but also as a nation.

  Politics, once again, had played a role in this disappointing history. There had been no opportunity to leave the c
ountry for the major ranges in the 1950s and 1960s immediately following World War II. The Socialist system hadn’t allowed it, eliminating any chance of making the first ascent. And while the other major Everest firsts were toppling, Poland’s climbers were just beginning to hit their stride. Somehow, they would need to accelerate their learning curve if they were to catch up with the rest of the world’s climbers on Everest—and surpass them. The Polish Alpine Association understood this as well as the climbers did, and it was prepared to support their efforts.

  At the same time, Wanda’s reputation was growing. She was back in Pakistan in 1977 to attempt the 8126-metre Nanga Parbat, and then she returned to the Alps the following year to climb the North Face of the Matterhorn—in winter. This all-women’s ascent was regarded as quite a notable achievement in the Alps at that time. She was now widely respected as one of the world’s leading female alpinists. Invitations came often, particularly from Europe, where she had established a good network of climbing friends. Her life had become completely focused on expedition climbing: preparing, training, raising money, travelling, climbing and recovering. She confessed in her journal that the only time she could completely relax and be herself was when she was on a mountain. It was there, in camp, in the clean mountain air, surrounded by like-minded people and away from the problems of Poland that she felt most at home.

  In 1978 Wanda hit the jackpot. Her Everest opportunity came, not from the Polish Alpine Association but from Germany, when she was invited by Dr. Karl Herrligkoffer to join him on top of the world. He had assembled a large international team to tackle Everest’s South Col route, and he wanted Wanda as his assistant deputy leader. His choice rankled some team members who felt she wasn’t up to the job, an assumption she attributed to a good old-fashioned case of male chauvinism. Wanda was much too strong to crumple in the face of this kind of condescension. This was her chance to climb the highest mountain on Earth; a few unsupportive men wouldn’t stop her. Still, she couldn’t help feeling that they were against her from the beginning.

  Karl was well aware of the strife amongst his team members, “the like of which I had never experienced on any of my many expeditions,” he reported in his account of the climb. The root of the trouble was the perceived discrepancy between Wanda’s emancipated and self-confident attitude and her inability to share tasks and burdens equally with her male colleagues. “The discussion deteriorated into the most naked display of unfeeling masculine selfishness that I have ever witnessed,” he concluded.

  The difficulty began when Wanda was assigned to the second summit team. One of her responsibilities was to keep an eye on a female German climber in the group. When it became clear that the woman could climb no higher, Karl asked Wanda to take her down to base camp. Wanda refused. She wasn’t here to guide; she had come to climb. Exasperated, Karl threw up his hands and said, “Do what you want, then.” She continued up.

  The conflict continued up the mountain all the way to the South Col at around 7900 metres, when deputy leader Sigi Hupfauer ordered Wanda to carry an extra oxygen bottle to the top. She protested that she was already loaded down with the extra weight of her film equipment. He exploded with some sharp words and, together with the other climbers, walked away. She was alone, abandoned by her fellow climbers, so near the top yet utterly terrified. But Sherpa Mingma was standing nearby and offered to carry the oxygen bottle for her, a gesture others on the expedition later interpreted as proof that women were too weak for Everest.

  Wanda did complete the climb, however, joining her not-so-friendly teammates on the top of the world about 15 minutes after their arrival. There must have been some kind of hypoxic forgiveness, because summit photos show Wanda being embraced by Willi Klimek. Yet the show of solidarity dissipated into thin air on the way down. When she arrived at Camp IV at the South Col, she was unable to find her sleeping bag. As she wandered around in a near state of collapse, nobody offered to help. Finally, Austrian climbing legend Kurt Diemberger offered her his sleeping bag, reasoning that his portly frame could better withstand the cold night they were sure to endure. Wanda fled the expedition as soon as she reached base camp, happy to have made the summit but desperate to leave.

  She had climbed to the top; nothing else mattered.

  There was nothing particularly unusual about this expedition, despite Wanda’s disgust. Karl had chosen his climbers for their experience, not their compatibility. As was the case with many of his previous expeditions, the climbers never coalesced as a team. Each one was as motivated and ambitious as the other, and Everest was Everest. Although their behaviour toward Wanda certainly displayed some chauvinistic tendencies, it was at least as much about sheer competition. There were only so many who would make it to the top, and this driven, self-confident woman, catapulted into a leadership position, displayed all the makings of a prima donna to these men.

  But from Wanda’s perspective, their actions—and her isolation—made her more determined than ever to mount her own women-only expeditions in the future. After Everest, she was convinced that a woman could never assume an equal role in a mixed-gender expedition, and she was tired of fighting for what she felt were her rights on the mountain.

  Her style, when faced with a problem or disagreement, was confrontational. Particularly on a mountain, she refused to back down or consider a compromise. For Wanda, compromise signalled weakness. But the constant fighting and holding her ground was tiring; even someone as resolute as Wanda grew weary of it after a time.

  Consistency wasn’t Wanda’s strong suit, either. While she was often hard-nosed, she was also perfectly capable of using her feminine charms to her advantage. Legions of stories exist of her enticing male climbers to assist her with particularly difficult or onerous tasks. On one K2 expedition, a British team’s doctor was completely captured by her charismatic beauty and responded to her screams for help when she discovered a tick in her thick hair. After she burst yelping out of her tent, he and his teammates rushed over, carefully combed through her tangled mane and finally snagged the offending creature. Another time, while Mexican alpinist Carlos Carsolio waited 17 days for his Pakistani climbing permit, Wanda sashayed up to the authorities in Islamabad, clad in her best summer dress, makeup, and heels, and triumphantly returned with her permit in a matter of hours. She knew how to work the system if she wanted to. But it obviously hadn’t worked on Everest.

  Her erratic behaviour, veering from ardent feminism to wily sensualism, fuelled great stories but frustrated those close to her. They never knew what to expect. Teammates and colleagues didn’t know if they would be faced with the toughness of an equal-opportunist or the softness of a romantic. Wanda was nothing if not unpredictable.

  Despite the bitter aftertaste, her Everest victory was significant and she knew it. On October 16, 1978, she had become the third woman to climb the mountain, the first European woman, and the first Polish climber. Throughout the climb, regular press reports had arrived at the Polish Alpine Association. “Wanda’s on the South Peak...Wanda’s at the Pass...Wanda’s on the South Col ...Wanda’s going up...Wanda’s on the top!” And while these breathless reports continued to arrive from the mountain, Poles were also awaiting news of a different nature. The world’s eyes were focused on Rome as the Vatican’s cardinals elected a new pope; a Pole was on the short list.

  Wanda returned home from Everest nervous about Polish climbers’ reactions to her success. She even queried the alpine association secretary, Hanna Wiktorowska: “What do the guys say? Are they angry?” There was certainly a bit of teeth-gnashing that it was a Polish woman—not a man—who had climbed Everest first, but most were silent on the matter. Some Polish climbers who had harboured Everest aspirations lost interest in the peak now that a Pole had climbed it. Some even came up with a little ditty: “First Wanda climbs the peak—then the rest of the clique.”

  At about this time, Alek Lwow summed up Wanda’s celebrity status by categorizing Polish alpinism into three levels: 1. men’s alpinism, 2.
women’s alpinism, 3. Wanda Rutkiewicz. “She has her own category,” he laughed. Still, it irritated many that Wanda was getting all the attention while their ascents of the Central and South summits of Kangchenjunga that same year—two unclimbed 8000ers in one expedition—went relatively unheralded.

  On one hand, their frustrations were warranted; from a mountaineering perspective, their ascents on Kangchenjunga were more difficult and more important than her Everest ascent—they were true “firsts.” At the same time, they insisted on a more purist approach to alpinism: climbing for themselves, not for fame. At least that’s what they said. Wanda was clearly a self-promoter as well as a climber. She knew Poland’s place in mountaineering history just as well as the next person; Everest had been there for the taking. She had taken it. First.

  Hanna Wiktorowska had little sympathy for the complainers. “I always said that she had enough strength and determination for not five, not 10 but 25 women,” she said. “She just knocked everybody out.”

  Even more auspiciously, Wanda’s summit day coincided with that of Poland’s Karol Cardinal Wojtyla’s election as Pope John Paul II. This fact alone elicited the kind of publicity that a professional climber could only dream of, like Edmund Hillary’s Everest gift to the young Queen Elizabeth II, whose coronation coincided with the announcement of his reaching the summit.

  Pope John Paul II visited Poland in June of 1979. Nobody could have predicted the response: the nation’s sense of pride was boundless. This, after decades of humiliation. Millions of Poles poured onto the streets in a countrywide release of emotion. Finally, they were in the presence of a real leader. The Pope was not a puppet of a foreign power but a man whose authority was based on his own values. He didn’t criticize or reproach but spoke of love, forgiveness and faith.