Seven Summits (25 page)

“I’ll go last,” Frank had told Ershler, “and I don't want any of the climbers with me, because I don't want to feel responsible for holding anyone back. So number one, I want three strong Sherpas.”

“Three!” Ershler had said. “I need every one for hauling loads now. How can I hold three in reserve?”

Ignoring Ershler's rejoinder, Frank continued, “Second, I definitely need a high camp above camp four. Otherwise it's too far for me to go in one day.”

“That means hauling a tent, sleeping bags, stoves, fuel, food, sleeping oxygen, all the way to 27,500!”

“Third, I need eight bottles of oxygen: one to sleep on at three, one to climb to four, one to sleep on at four, one to climb to five, one to sleep on at five, two to go to the summit, and one in reserve for descent.”

“Frank, it would be a waste of the Sherpas’ efforts to haul all that crap up there before we even know if you are strong enough to get to the Col.”

“You worry about getting the equipment up there, I’ll worry about myself.”

“I tell you what, then. In the morning why don't you and Dick go up to camp three, and let's see how you do.”

It was a repeat of Ershler's earlier strategy when he had tested Frank by having him climb through the Icefall, only this time he was certain Frank would have trouble. The next morning Frank and Dick were up at dawn, intending an early start. But the Sherpa cook was late with breakfast, and it was nearly 8:00 when they finally got away. For the first hour the climbing was similar to the stage between camps 1 and 2, following a trail through the glacier snow from one marker wand to the next, heading toward the back of the cul-de-sac Western Cwm. At the base of the Lhotse Face they had to cross a crevasse where the glacier floor separated from the face. This bergshrund was offset so the lip on the face side was much higher than the glacier side, and the lead climbers had propped a ladder over it. Dick was first. At the top of the ladder he took his jumar clamp and clipped it to the fixed rope that led up, then disappeared around a bulge of ice. One step above the ladder and he was on the Lhotse Face proper. He felt his crampon points bite the hard ice. He splayed his feet in a duck walk, moving one foot, then the next, then sliding his jumar clamp up, feeling it lock when he pulled back on it, then moving his feet again. In a minute he was around the bulge. Looking up he could see the entire face sweeping to the summit of Lhotse 5,000 feet directly above his head. The yellow rope lay on the gleaming ice in a line from one anchor to the next, nearly 2,000 feet connecting him eventually to the tents at camp 3. He couldn't see the tents—they were hidden behind the snow ledge on which they perched—but he knew their approximate location.

Dick had about thirty pounds of supplies in his pack; he had decided that as long as he was going to camp 3, he might as well do something useful. The wind that had blown most of the night was now abated, and under clear skies he soon had to stop to shed his parka. He carefully removed his pack; if he dropped it here, it would rocket down the steep ice several hundred feet and then no doubt toboggan across the glacier for a few hundred more. When he had the parka stuffed, he put the pack back on. Now he felt he had just the right amount of clothing. This was important to Dick; if he was dressed too warmly, or if some piece of gear was out of adjustment, it created a nagging distraction, one of those negative thoughts that drained him and hampered him from reaching maximum performance.

He slipped into a steady pace, moving one foot, the other, then sliding the jumar, reciting Kipling and Service. Looking down he could see Frank several hundred feet below, moving slowly.

Considering how little time he had to acclimatize since leaving base camp, Dick was climbing amazingly fast. Soon, though, he began to feel the telltale fatigue of hypoxia, but he was confident he would reach camp 3 with no problem. He wasn't so sure about his partner, as Frank was dropping further behind.

About 1:00 in the afternoon Dick saw the tops of the two tents at camp 3, and in a few minutes he stepped onto the snow bulge that formed a small flat area on the otherwise steep face. He unshouldered his pack, unzipped a tent and sat in the doorway. This was a room with a view: from his aerie he gazed down the length of the Western Cwm, Everest on the right, Nuptse on the left. Past the mouth of the Cwm he looked down on the summit of Pumori, and beyond, several valleys removed, the massive Cho, Oyo, the worl's eighth—highest peak.

The first adventure: Africa, 1955. The plane didn't make it, but Frank (right) and his Oxford classmate did climb Kilimanjaro, where Frank first had the seven summits dream.
(Credit: Frank Wells collection)

Dick Bass, Aconcagua 1983.
(Credit: Rick Ridgeway)

Frank on the first Everest attempt, 1982.
(Credit: Jim Wickwire)

Marty Hoey with a guanaco friend, Aconcagua, 1982.
(Credit: Jim Wickwire)

The memorial cairn to Marty, under Everest's North Wall.
(Credit: Jim Wickwire)

Lou Whittaker evacuates a frostbitten Larry Nielson following the unsuccessful summit bid.
(Credit: Jim Wickwire)

Aconcagua, 22,834 feel, highest peak in South America.
(Crerdit: Jim Wickwire)

At the start of big year, Frank signs his will while his wife Luanne watches.
(Credit: Rick Ridegeway)