Seven Summits (19 page)

Frank had hated to leave his partner in Katmandu, but the flip was fair and square. He first flew in a Twin Otter shuttle to a 9,000- foot dirt airstrip at Lukla, 120 miles east of Katmandu. From there he began the two-day walk to Namche Bazar, the principal Sherpa village on the way to base camp. It was a pleasant interlude. The trail was lined with Himalayan blue pine and deodar cedar, and with no automobile roads in the Khumbu, the stones on the trail were polished smooth by the passage of generations.

On the second day they finally crested a hilltop and could see the 100-odd two-story stone houses, arranged like concentric horseshoes on stair-stepped levels of a natural amphitheater, that formed Namche Bazar. Located above the confluence of the two major rivers in the region, at a junction of the trails that follow these drainages, Namche Bazar for over a hundred years had been the trading hub of the mountain Sherpas.

The trail to base camp is traveled by some 5,000 trekkers a year, and with so much traffic the route is divided into standard stages so that it usually takes just over a week to walk from Namche at 11,000 feet to base camp at 17,700 feet including a couple of layover days here and there to acclimatize. The next stage was a five-hour walk to the storybook Tengboche Monastery situated on a steep-sided ridge of land with a commanding view of many magnificent peaks, including the sword-summitted Ama Dablam, and further upvalley, Everest. Here Frank and some of the team members received a blessing for the expedition from the monastery's reincarnate lama.

Traditionally the monastery was supported by donations of labor and food from the Sherpas, but since the advent of trekking and mountaineering most local people were too busy to work at the monastery. It seemed only fair, then, that a principal source of funds was donations from various expeditions that received blessings, a consecration very important to the Sherpas working on the climb. Frank watched bemused as the lama carefully scribed a receipt for the donation, then stamped it.

Here we are nearly to the base of Everest, Frank thought, and even the lamas know about the IRS.

The following morning Frank and the others were on the trail, making good time. After three days they reached the lower Khumbu Glacier, which led to base camp. At the head of the glacial valley Frank could see a 20,000-foot pass called the Lho La, and through the pass the tip of a peak that somehow looked familiar. He couldn't figure it out until he realized the peak was in Tibet, and that it was Changtse, the north satellite of Everest, a mountain he had camped under for two months the previous year. Until then, that other side of Everest—perhaps because the approach through Lhasa contrasted so with this southern route—had seemed a world removed.

While the glimpse of Changtse gave evidence of their proximity to last year's efforts, the first glimpse of base camp underscored the difference of climbing on this side of the mountain. In place of last year's spartan huddle of small mountaineering tents, the Sherpas had erected a tent city with a kitchen, an equipment warehouse, and separate dining areas for the Sherpas and the sahibs. As he entered camp a Sherpa boy greeted him with a metal platter holding a cup of steaming liquid. “Welcome to base camp, sahib. Would you like tea?”

Frank knew immediately that not only would he like tea, but he was going to like climbing Everest from this side in the company of these Sherpas.

#8220;Tea, coffee, or cocoa, sahib?” Again, it was the same Sherpa cookboy, now poking his head in the tent. Frank glanced at his watch: 7:00.
A.M.
He had a slight headache from the altitude, but otherwise had passed a pleasant enough first night in base camp, and having cocoa served in bed (or more accurately, in sleeping bag) was a good way to start the first full day. Frank wrapped his fingers around the warm cup and considered the day ahead. There wouldn't be a lot for him to do, not today, or for the next week or two, since it was the Sherpas’ task to complete the erecting of the remaining base camp tents, and the unloading of the yaks still arriving with food and equipment. Meanwhile, they had received notice it would be another two days before the lead Sherpa, the sirdar, arrived, along with the government liaison officer (or L.O., as he was called) who would stay at base camp the length of the expedition. As they legally couldn't start to climb above base camp until the L.O. was in camp, for the next two days even the lead climbers had little to do but help the Sherpas. No one was especially antsy though, since each day in camp their bodies gained valuable acclimatization to the high altitude.

It was now April 2, early enough that they should have sufficient time to keep to the climbing schedule dictated by pre-monsoon weather patterns. They guessed it would take them a week or so to get through the Icefall, then another few weeks to get up to camps 2 and 3, and finally to the South Col, from where they would be positioned for the first summit attempts. Unless there was unusually bad weather they should be able to make those first attempts in early May, well before the clockwork monsoon that arrives sometime during early June.

The L.O., Mr. Ale, arrived and introduced himself. He was a small, thin man in his late twenties who worked as personal secretary to the Minister of State. Being L.O. was a temporary appointment, a kind of vacation away from the desk. The lead Sherpa, Sonam Girme, also arrived, and he said that while the Sherpas would be happy to assist carrying ladders and rope for the lead climbers they would not sleep anywhere above base camp until after the puja, a Buddhist ceremony to propitiate the goddess of Everest, and to make the snows of Chomolungma—Mother Goddess of the World, as the Sherpas call Everest—safe for climbers. Sonam said they would wait to have this ceremony until everyone was in camp, including Dick. This would be no disruption to the schedule, as the Sherpas would not be required to sleep above base camp anyway until after camp I was well established, and that was at least a week away.

Before entering the Icefall the climbers studied through binoculars the maze of seracs to see if they could spot what might be the best route. Everyone was confident the route through the Icefall would “go” without any unusual difficulties—everyone except Jim States. For two weeks States had suffered forebodings of an accident, a tragedy someplace on the climb, most likely in the Icefall. The first premonition had been on the hike to base camp, when he had a powerful feeling someone was going to get hurt. From past experiences, States had learned to heed his premonitions. Once on Rainier he had been climbing a ridge running between ice and rock walls when he had a notion some disaster was pending. He talked his companions into a quick retreat, and they had only reached the abutting glacier when an avalanche broke above and in seconds buried the area where only minutes before they had been climbing.

“You get clues in the mountains,” he told everyone. “I’m not sure how, but you do. It's kind of like how animals sense earthquakes. And I know it might sound strange, but I’ve really learned to pay attention to these feelings, and the premonitions I’ve been having the last week are so strong I’m thinking of leaving the expedition and going home.”

“Maybe you should just take a couple of days off,” Gerry Roach suggested. The others seconded Roach's advice, adding that they needed States’ contribution to the climb but understood his feelings. Although at base camp he continued to wake each morning with the same vague foreboding, States decided for the time being to stay.

The next day climbing leader Phil Ershler gathered the team. “I’ve made a plan for the initial exploration of the Icefall,” he said. “We'll divide into two teams and alternate so one group rests while the other climbs. Tomorrow Gerry Roach, Peter Jamieson, and Larry Nielson will make the first foray.”

This would be the second time that Roach had explored a route through the Icefall; he had been a lead climber on that 1976 Everest Expedition, the same one Dan Emmett and I had been on. On that trip Roach had made it clear that more than anything in his life he wanted to climb Everest, but he awoke the day before his final departure from camp 2 complaining of stomach cramps, and switched places with one of the second summit team climbers to give himself an extra two days to improve. I had been a member of that second team, and when it was our turn for the attempt, Roach said his health was perfect. He was confident we could reach the top. As we gained the South Col, we met the first summit team on their way down. Two of them had summited, including the climber with whom Roach had traded places, but they told us there had been a mixup and no full bottles of oxygen remained in the upper camps. Furthermore, a wind storm was building, and I was having trouble breathing. We decided to retreat to camp 2, wait for the weather to clear, then go back up with another team of Sherpas carrying more oxygen. Back at camp, though, we learned the Sherpas were unwilling to go back up. So even though he was feeling strong there was nothing he could do to organize another attempt, and the expedition was concluded.

Now, seven years later, Roach was back, once again questing after that elusive square yard of real estate that forms the high throne of the planet, once again scouting the route through the Icefall. With the others, he left base camp in the black hours of predawn planning to finish work early and get back to camp before the sun warmed the ice, increasing the risk of avalanche. As first light illuminated the icy corridors they made rapid progress through the lower section of the Icefall, and by mid-morning they were perhaps a fourth of the way toward camp 1. Roach knew from past experience that this first section was easy and the real difficulties would start higher. But he was concerned they might be heading for trouble, since earlier that morning Larry Nielson had split with a few of the Sherpas and was now exploring an area Roach felt was dangerously close to the left margin of the Icefall, where avalanches frequently thunder off a bordering hanging glacier.

Later that day, when they had all returned to base camp, he spoke his mind: “It's a suicide route. Look what happened last year to Pat Morrow and the Canadians. They had their route over there and lost one climber and two Sherpas when an avalanche hit them.”

“We're a hundred yards out of any avalanche zone,” Nielson countered, “and in a place where there's a lot less risk from having a serac fall over and squash you.”

As climbing leader, the ball was now in Phil Ershler's court, and consulting the Sherpas—many of whom had been on four or five Everest climbs—he learned the route normally did stay closer to center. Ershler decided that was the wiser strategy, and next morning, with Gary Neptune and Jim States, he got a predawn start, following the wand markers and fixed ropes to Roach's previous high point. There his group encountered a chaos of ice blocks, and one glance was sufficient to realize it would take at least two days to get through the maze; once past it, though, it appeared the route was less jumbled. They christened the section the Interconnect.

The following day Roach and Nielson were back, joined by Ershler and Peter Jamieson. Once again they split, Nielson and Ershler working straight up the Interconnect while Roach and Jamieson consolidated the route lower down, exploring an alternate one more toward the middle. Thinking he had found the best way Nielson came down to find Roach working on his alternate.

“It's much faster straight up,” Nielson yelled from the top of a nearby ice block.

“And much more dangerous,” Roach countered.

Nielson was fuming, as was Roach. Back at camp Ershler called a meeting. “Clearly we have some differences here so let's discuss the options.”

Nielson stood and said, “There're four options, as I see it. One, we start listening to the climbing leader. Two, Gerry leaves this expedition. Three, I leave this expedition. Four, we go outside right now, Gerry, and I beat the shit out of you.”

“Wrong,” Roach fired back, jumping to his feet. “You forgot Five: we go outside and I beat the shit out of
you.”

“Hold on,” Ershler said, now on his feet too. “As long as I’m climbing leader of this expedition nobody's going to beat the shit out of anybody.”

When he had the pair calmed Ershler said they would return in the morning and have a look at both ways, then judge the best choice. Meanwhile there was enough work to do consolidating the distance they had already explored so that instead of alternating teams anyone who felt up to it should work each day, taking a rest day only when he felt he really needed one.

The next morning most of the lead climbers were in the Icefall rigging ladders and fixing ropes. Much of this work in the Icefall was mechanical, bolting ladder sections together, lowering them over crevasses, hammering in aluminum picket anchors, turning ice screws into the serac walls, and attaching long handlines of polypropylene rope. States was working to span a badly broken section in the Interconnect when Jamieson arrived to help.

“I’m going up that block to see how many more ladder sections we need,” States said.

“Why don't you tie in first.”

Jamieson belayed the rope while States balanced across the blocks. Getting to a block the size of a station wagon, States spanned his leg to reach it, and the second he transferred his weight the whole mass shifted. In a split second the block dropped quickly in a grinding roar, sending States falling into a maelstrom of car-sized ice blocks breaking about him. There was no sky, only the blue white shine of crunching ice blocks, and the noise. He held his breath, and waited for the crunch, for the awful sound of bones breaking. A big block pressed his right side, and he gritted his teeth, waiting for that final crunching shift.

Then it stopped. His right side was buried, pinning his arm and leg. The ice was pressing under his chin, forcing his head back. Was he hurt? He couldn't tell. Then in a grip of panic, he feared the blocks would shift again and complete the job of crushing him. With his free arm he started grabbing any loose hunks of snow and wedging them under the large block that pinned his right side, to keep it from shifting further. He was working furiously when he saw Steve Marts, who had been nearby filming, down in the hole muscling snow blocks.