Freedom Climbers (Legends and Lore)

by Bernadette McDonald

  For years, Voytek had been Jurek’s preferred climbing partner. When that partnership faltered, Jurek had moved from one partner to another, taking advantage of whatever situation arose. He sensed a close bond with Artur, despite the 14-year age difference. Artur was now as active in the Himalaya as Jurek, with two or three expeditions per year. “In that time, nobody had jobs,” Artur explained. “There were no careers; I was like a professional climber.”

  The team was planning a new route on the East Ridge of the main peak of Manaslu, as well as an unofficial, unpermitted climb of Manaslu East, a slender pinnacle that, at almost 8000 metres, was Nepal’s highest unclimbed summit. The climbers were in base camp, lounging in the mess tent, when word arrived that Messner had climbed Makalu, his second-last of the 14 8000ers. Only one to go. Jurek had three mountains left to climb, so it now seemed likely that Messner would win the race. The others watched Jurek closely. How badly did he want this? Would this announcement threaten the Manaslu climb?

  Jurek rose from his seat and left the tent. It looked like the race was over. Looking up at the East Face of Manaslu, he gave himself a little pep talk: “That’s it. Tomorrow we go up there, Mr. Kukuczka.”

  He walked back in and, after a moment of silence, glared at Artur and broke the tension with a joke: “Look what you’ve done. They’re climbing over there and because of you we’re still sitting in base camp, warming our asses. We leave tomorrow.”

  His determination wasn’t shared by Voytek. The warm, wet weather of the preceding weeks had loaded the slopes with tons of unstable snow poised to avalanche at the smallest trigger. Even though the weather had cleared, the route was unquestionably dangerous. They were at around 6000 metres on the mountain when the main discussion occurred.

  “Stop, guys.” Voytek began. “I’m not going on. It’s too dangerous. I’m going back.”

  “Voytek, we have accepted the risk from the word go,” Jurek responded. “We knew it would be like this.”

  A heavily laden, 200-metre-high snowfield lay above them; if they could climb this slope without triggering an avalanche, they would arrive on the much safer ridge. But Jurek and Voytek assessed the level of risk differently. They were both assertive and clear in their arguments, and they couldn’t agree. Frustrated, Jurek suggested a vote.

  “I’m going down. This is senseless,” Voytek said, his voice flat and final. One vote for down.

  Artur chimed in, “I’m the youngest here. It’s true the risk is high, but I would prefer to go up.” One vote for up, one vote for down.

  It was assumed that Jurek would vote for up, so now all eyes turned to Carlos. The air hummed with tension. Carlos agreed with Voytek that the risk was too great, yet in a serious and measured voice he said, “As Mexico’s economy is deteriorating rapidly, it is my firm belief that this is going to be my last expedition to the Himalaya. For that reason I’m going on and I’ll do everything in my power to get to that summit.” Despite the gravity of the situation, everyone broke out laughing.

  Andrzej Czok and Jerzy Kukuczka starting on their summit attempt on Dhaulagiri in winter

  Fixed ropes below Camp II on the Cho Oyu winter expedition

  Rappelling steep ice section from Camp II on the South Face of Lhotse

  Climbing above Camp I on the South Face of Lhotse, 1987

  Artur Hajzer at South Face of Lhotse base camp, smoking because there was “too much oxygen at base camp”!

  The route on the Cho Oyu winter expedition

  Climbing alpine-style on the South Face of Lhotse at around 6500 metres

  Krzysztof Wielicki and Jerzy Kukuczka resting after their descent from the summit of Kangchenjunga—in winter

  Wanda Rutkiewicz at K2 base camp

  K2, with the Magic Line Route, 1986

  Przemyslaw Piasecki climbing in a whiteout on K2, 1986

  Tadek Piotrowski on the South Face of K2, 1986

  Krzysztof Wielicki and Wanda Rutkiewicz on Annapurna in winter

  Wojtek Wróż approaching the ridge near Camp II, K2 Magic Line, 1986

  The slender peak of Manaslu East

  Janusz Majer on his way out from K2, 1986

  Voytek Kurtyka and Jerzy Kukuczka discussing the avalanche risk on Manaslu, 1986

  Ascending Manaslu East Ridge, 1986

  Jerzy Kukuczka on the summit of Manaslu

  Tying slings around the slender summit of Manaslu East (7992 m) to begin the rappels after the first ascent by Jerzy Kukuczka, Artur Hajzer, and Carlos Carsolio

  Artur Hajzer and Jerzy Kukuczka on Annapurna, 1987

  Jerzy Kukuczka on the summit of Shishapangma

  Jerzy Kukuczka in base camp on the Annapurna winter expedition

  Jerzy Kukuczka celebrating his 14th 8000er: Shishapangma

  The team approaches K2 in the winter of 1987-88.

  They headed down to base camp to regroup and try again. Voytek followed through on his decision and left the expedition. There were no hard feelings between him and Jurek, just a difference in climbing philosophy. The rest waited as another spell of bad weather rolled through. Then, one morning while they were relaxing after breakfast in the mess tent, the radio crackled to life once again. “Yesterday, the outstanding mountaineer Reinhold Messner reached the summit of Lhotse. In so doing he has become the first person to reach the top of the 14 highest mountains in the world.”

  Nobody said a word. Jurek’s eyes flickered about the tent, searching for a safe landing. Finally Artur broke the silence. “So, there’s no need for us to hurry anymore. We can climb this mountain gently.”

  Voytek’s assessment of the climbing race seemed to be reflected in Himalayan historian Elizabeth Hawley’s report on Messner’s triumph. “Himalayan mountaineering is not ordinarily considered to be a highly competitive sport,” she wrote. “But last autumn’s climbing season in the Nepalese Himalaya had much of the drama of a World Cup Final when the race to be first to conquer all of the world’s 8000-metre mountains was finally won by Italy’s Reinhold Messner by the relatively narrow margin of 14 to 11. By the end of the season the runner up, Jerzy Kukuczka of Poland, had increased his own score from 11 to 12.” Although she was clearly hamming it up for the benefit of her report, there was an element of truth to her observations.

  Carlos, who was now suffering from frostbite and a hand injury, chose to stay back when Artur and Jurek headed up. But they were turned back at 7400 metres. Defeated and deflated, they returned to base camp. They had been on this mountain for weeks now, endangered by the ferocious winds, avalanches, and increasingly lower temperatures as October ground to its bitter end. The mountains were empty of climbers. All the autumn expeditions were back in Kathmandu, celebrating either success or defeat.

  Jurek wanted one more try. He tossed out an idea for Artur to consider. “Let’s tackle it alpine-style by a different route.” Not only Artur but also the now somewhat recovered Carlos chimed in with enthusiasm. So on November 5, the trio headed up with one tent and their climbing gear onto the unclimbed Northeast Face of Manaslu. Six days later, Artur and Jurek were on the summit, while Carlos huddled in the last camp, attending to his frostbitten hands.

  Frostbite was so common, particularly during late-season expeditions, that climbers almost grew to expect it. Krzysztof once joked, “The fingers are not all equally important. The big one is very important, and maybe the littlest one. But the ones in the middle, not so important. Chop chop.”

  Jurek’s reaction to having lost the race was curious. At some level he must have been devastated. It wasn’t just he who had suffered cruelly in this game: his climbing partners had suffered with him. Several had died. Surely there must have been a part of Jurek that regretted the sacrifices and wondered if it had been worth it. Yet he seemed to move past this disappointment too easily. Had the race been all that important to him? The magnitude of his ambition would suggest that it had. But Jurek was more complicated than that. It’s true he had lost the race with Messner. But he had modified the rules
of the game as he went and, in his mind, and the minds of many knowledgeable alpinists, his version of the race was on a higher level than Messner’s because of the way he climbed. As long as he continued to climb these giants by new routes or in winter, he could still be a winner.

  Or maybe Jurek had fooled everyone with this competition: perhaps the race had just been a tool for him, a funding and marketing strategy that provided him a way to keep doing what he loved—return to the mountains, again and again.

  12

  HIMALAYAN ROSARY

  Tell me, what is it you plan to do With your one wild and precious life?

  —MARY OLIVER, THE SUMMER DAY

  BY THE END OF 1986 there was no country in the world that dominated Himalayan climbing the way Poland did. There were individuals from other nations, of course: Messner and Habeler, Doug Scott and Greg Child. But no single country could boast such a strength and depth of climbing talent. Within that Polish team, with its dozens of amazing performers, the stars rose to the surface: Jurek Kukuczka, Voytek Kurtyka, Wanda Rutkiewicz, Krzysztof Wielicki, Andrzej Zawada, and Artur Hajzer.

  But the team was breaking up. Voytek had long ago given up on the big national-style expeditions, preferring to climb in small groups, often with foreign partners. Wanda too had forsaken any sense of Polish loyalty, climbing with whomever she could, depending on the circumstances. Not just in Poland, but everywhere, individual aspirations had taken over where nationalistic goals once ruled. Jurek wanted the Himalayan Crown. Krzysztof was after speed.

  They struggled to balance their aspirations with the continuing challenge of financing their dreams. Shortly after climbing K2, Wanda met the person who would help her do just that—Dr. Marion Feik. A lawyer from Vienna, Marion was tiring of her profession in the human rights field and offered to become Wanda’s agent and manager. Wanda accepted. Now she could concentrate on what she did best: climbing. Marion would take care of the rest. It was a match that promised long-term stability, a luxury that Wanda had been unable to find in her two attempts at marriage. Their relationship also yielded an invaluable source of correspondence for historians, tracking not only Wanda’s career but also her feelings, her doubts, her dreams, and her fears.

  She wasted little time in Poland and was back in the Himalaya by September of 1986, this time to attempt Makalu, in the eastern part of Nepal. Wanda was in good spirits and wrote from the trek:

  Dear Marion, 6 September 1986

  Your help in organizing this expedition was invaluable. I’m taking your perfume up to base camp, but I’ll eat the ham on the approach march. I’ve left European civilization far behind and I’m enchanted by the landscape below Makalu....

  Ever since Reinhold Messner’s achievement, a great deal of media attention was being paid to 8000-metre peaks. But Messner and Jurek weren’t the only ones chasing 8000ers. Swiss butcher Marcel Rüedi was ticking them off, too. Although none of them had admitted to a “race,” everyone else, including the media, had treated it as such. Wanda too had become an 8000-metre specialist, and it was likely on Makalu that she began to imagine herself climbing all 14, for both Rüedi and Messner were at base camp. Impressed with Wanda’s performance on the mountain, Messner pronounced, “Wanda is the living proof that women can put up performances at high altitude that most men can only dream of. I’m certain that a woman will have conquered the magic fourteen 8000-metre peaks within the next ten years.”47

  Dear Marion, 30 September 1986

  The normal route up Makalu is not particularly difficult, but it is savagely strenuous.... One of the worst trials is having to keep retreading the track in deep snow, often up to your waist and burrowing like a mole ....I think about you often, and I’m looking forward to your warm welcome in Vienna.

  Although Wanda reached 8000 metres on the mountain, the summit eluded her. Not so for Marcel Rüedi, who was climbing with Krzysztof. Krzysztof was faster and reached the summit before Rüedi, who eventually had to bivouac on the way down without a sleeping bag at 8200 metres. When Messner and his partners climbed to the summit the next morning, they were watching out for Rüedi, yet it wasn’t until they were descending that they saw him sitting in the snow with his hands on his ski poles. He appeared to be taking a short rest. But he was dead. After climbing nine of the 14 8000ers, he had died in his tracks, apparently not acclimatized to climb at the pace he was attempting. For Wanda, the 14-8000-metre dream was just beginning.

  Although the race was over for him, Jurek was motivated to finish off his last climbs. Artur, now his preferred climbing partner, was just as enthusiastic. Together with Krzysztof, Wanda, and Rysiek Warecki, they arranged for a winter permit for Annapurna and were back in Nepal by the New Year of 1987.

  Wanda didn’t confine her activities to Annapurna.

  Dear Marion, 11 January 1987

  ...I was busy in Kathmandu working the system to get more permits for the future. I just can’t slow down, even in Nepal ....

  It had been Jurek’s idea to invite Wanda on the trip, although none of the other climbers were particularly excited about climbing with her. If Jurek invited her, then he could climb with her, they reasoned. She didn’t climb as fast as the others; she bivouacked too often; and she always brought too many gadgets. Jurek wasn’t all that keen to climb with her, either, but he had a practical reason for inviting her. Wanda had a film commission from an Austrian network, and she would bring some badly needed cash. In fact Jurek had often commented to Celina that climbing in the Himalaya was not for women. Celina disagreed with him and, in her quiet way, was a strong supporter of Wanda, who she thought was brave and strong for choosing this tough climbing lifestyle.

  They established base camp by January 20, but their time was desperately short: the permit expired on February 15. Annapurna in any season is one of the most dangerous of the 8000-metre peaks. A winter attempt nudged it into another dimension altogether. They were on the north side of the mountain where they saw not one ray of sunlight, not even an hour or two of forgiving warmth to look forward to. Except at base camp, it was just constant cold and shade.

  Since Jurek had done the organizing, there was a lot of food, at least. Rysiek had recently returned from the Tyrol, bringing a supply of delicious Austrian Speck (bacon). Everyone on the team was looking forward to sampling it. When they reached base camp they rummaged through barrel after barrel: no Speck to be found. Their disappointment was mitigated by the amusing sounds emerging from Jurek and Wanda’s tent. The other climbers giggled each night as they listened to the strange smacking sounds. Their imaginations ran wild. “We thought, oh boy, Celina will be jealous,” Artur said. In fact, Celina was a bit worried. She knew that Wanda and Jurek would be sharing a tent on this trip, and, although she admired Wanda, even saw her as a kind of idol, she was not blind to her feminine charm. As it turned out, her worries were unfounded; when the expedition ended and they were packing up base camp, Artur discovered a pile of Speck containers tucked under Jurek and Wanda’s tent. The suspicious noises had been more gastronomical than anatomical.

  Initially the climbers made good progress on their cold, dark mountain. They were resting in base camp before taking another load of gear and food higher up the mountain when Wanda fell ill with a fever and sore throat, as she often did early in an expedition. She opted out of the next load-carrying trip. Jurek, Krzysztof, and Artur began packing up. As usual, Artur wanted to take more gear, and Jurek, as always, wanted to take more food. He belonged to the group of alpinists who, regardless of the altitude, liked to eat well.

  Wanda wasn’t part of this packing up, so she was in the mess tent, chatting with Rysiek. Artur approached the tent and overheard them speaking.

  “I know these sons of bitches. They’re going to try to get to the top now,” Rysiek said.

  “Do you really think so?” Wanda asked, obviously surprised.

  “Well what would they be waiting for?”

  When Artur entered, Wanda asked him directly, “Is it true that yo
u are going to try and get to the top?”

  Artur was caught. This was a much more difficult question than appeared at first glance. He knew that it might be possible to try for an early summit bid and that if any of them could do it, it would be Jurek and him. They climbed quickly and were still acclimatized from Manaslu. But they hadn’t been on the mountain long and the highest camps were not yet in, so the chances of getting to the top right now were very unlikely. The answer was therefore both yes and no. He didn’t know what to tell her, so he deferred to Jurek. “I just follow the leader,” he said. “If the leader stops, I stop. If the leader goes, I go. If the leader backs down, I back down. I’m not the one to make the decision.”

  Wanda saw through the deflection and became angry, accusing Artur of scheming behind her back. She stomped out of the tent in search of Jurek. Upon being questioned, he said that, yes, if there was a chance to go to the summit now, why would they wait? It seemed obvious. She became enraged. She wasn’t ready yet. It was all happening too quickly. “If, as you say, there is a chance that you’ll go all the way to the summit, what will happen to me?” she demanded of Jurek. “You know that I can’t try for the summit right now. I think that you should designate someone to stay behind and be my partner for a later summit attempt.”