Ascent Into Hell- Mount Everest Page 15

“Welcome, guys, well done.” Ted stands up at the entrance to the mess tent. “That’s the first rotation behind you.”

  One of the kitchen Sherpas holds out a large flask of lemon tea. I sit on a rock step and gulp back liquid. The sun has again changed from enemy to friend. Its warming rays tickle my skin as I relax and chat. Only Ade and Martin have yet to arrive. Everyone else has returned safe.

  It took us forty minutes to cover the ground from Camp 1 down to the top of the Icefall. Another four hours of toil delivered me here. It’s not swift, but I’ve put down a marker. I’d be gutted if this was as far as I got, but at least I reached Camp 2, a personal high. I gaze up at the Icefall, with another full mug in my hand. I see it in a different light to last week. I’ve been there. I’ve met those popcorn lumps up close. I traversed crevasses as big as any that can be crossed. No longer is what looms above me just something from expedition videos. I’ve been up to my oxters in it. I’ve tasted what’s beyond.

  I stroll to my tent and check in with Greg. He’s been here some time and in rude health. There’s only one more ingredient needed to perfect this moment. With a bottle of gel in my hand, I strut to the shower tent to wash the mountain off me.

  April 21 – 24

  Resting at Base Camp before Second Acclimatisation Rotation

  The team breakfasts at 9am on rest days. I wait till about 10am and enjoy the heat of my tent after the cold night. The mornings fly by as I turn another few pages of the book. Once up, I head to the mess for tea and toast. I don’t feel like vomiting while eating toast. Khalid advised that a hard-boiled egg with a shake of salt can be eaten no matter how poor the appetite; he’s correct. During the day, I devour two chocolate bars in my tent. The book’s hero moves closer to solving the mystery of the missing person.

  Lunch and dinner, however, hit me hard. I force myself to clear a small plate. Afterwards, I fight to keep it down. Often outside my tent in the dark, I suffer a mini puke. My system ejects more of an acidic liquid than food. My body can’t last up here forever, far from it. The clock is ticking, and I can see my bulk thinning.

  Greg and Pete always put second helpings on their plate. I wish I’d their iron constitution. Hugo also has a healthy appetite; although, he’s lost a lot of weight since we first met in Kathmandu. His week of illness took its toll, and it’s impossible to rebuild up here. Doug, however, cannot stomach what’s put in front of him. Even the bowl of soup that starts his dinner goes back to the kitchen tent.

  Most days, an avalanche tears down Nuptse or the West Shoulder. The rumble of tons of snow and ice crashing into rock reverberates around Base Camp. If I’m outside, I take in the forceful show of nature and enjoy the spectacle. If I’m reading in my tent, I pay attention for a few seconds to ascertain nothing will hit us. At most, the camp receives a dusting. We’re pitched as close as possible to the Icefall, yet outside the reach of these behemoths.

  An Avalanche Races down Nuptse towards Base Camp

  The top of Angel’s tent is in the foreground.

  Aside from reading, I pass the days chatting in the mess tent, organising my equipment for the next rotation or relaxing in the late morning sun. Often I sit on a rock outside Ade’s tent, shooting the breeze with him and Martin.

  We hear that an American, on the north side in Tibet, is attempting to become the youngest climber to summit Everest. A fifteen year old Nepalese girl set the current record back in 2003. The lower slopes almost wiped me out. I can’t grasp how someone that young has done it. The authorities on this side no longer issue climbing permits to under-sixteen’s, on the grounds of safety. This forced the American to try his luck on a Chinese license. He’ll need all the luck he can muster up. When I became a teenager, I was proud to climb up onto an adult’s bicycle. This thirteen year old from the States is aiming somewhat higher.

  Some of the team trek down to Gorak Shep, a two hour hike each way, to send emails and check in with home. I prefer not to expend such energy.

  Pete displays his crafting skills with a pen knife. He forages around Base Camp and the lower Icefall for shards of wood and other material that he can fashion into a small animal or other curiosity. He returns with fragments from expeditions that took place decades earlier. I gaze on as he chips and scrapes in this near forgotten art, a throwback to days gone by.

  On one of Pete’s scavenging trips he makes a macabre find, one on which he’ll not hone his skills. He reports back that he discovered a body near the start of the Icefall. Two of the others march out with him to examine the site and verify his discovery. I decline the offer. There are plenty of bodies out there and I’ll leave them where they lie. The information is passed on to the authorities who’ll ensure protocol is followed.

  Darkness sets in before 7pm. Early evening, we usually play a DVD on a small portable player. Half a dozen of us crowd around it and a gas heater. We favour a comedy or something light. 9pm is a late night and we retire to our personal tents at that stage.

  I often absorb the sky for a few minutes before bedtime, despite the -10C temperature. I’m not normally one for such romance, but the night-time heavens here amaze. Light pollution and noise can be found far away in cities. The silhouettes of the West Shoulder, Nuptse, Pumori, and the peaks further down the Khumbu Valley contrast against the blue-black above. An endless spectacle of stars, constellations, and galaxies, whose names I shall never know, paint the roof. Up over the Icefall and into Tibetan aerospace, lights dance in the sky. Perhaps they’re lightning storms in the distance, but there’s no thunder. Maybe next month as we voyage through the night to the summit, I’ll look across to Tibet and discover what causes this lightshow.

  After gazing at the Himalayan night sky, I crawl into my home. For such an inhospitable place, the tent is not as cold as it looks. The way I’ve got it set-up insulates me from the glacier:

  I wear long johns, a base layer, fleece top, hat, skinny gloves, socks, and insulated booties.

  A sleeping bag that is good to -20C engulfs me.

  The bag lies on a soft foam pad eight centimetres thick.

  The soft pad sits on a hard foam mat one centimetre thick.

  The hard mat rests on the thin tent floor.

  The tent is pitched on a double plastic ground sheet.

  But I must still keep the draw strings tight on the sleeping bag. If the cords are slack and I judder, warm air races from the bag. By the light of my head torch in -7C, I can now read a book, turn pages, and stay warm, while it plunges to -15C outside.

  With the novel illuminated by a small triangle of light, I forget my physical surroundings. It transports me to Sweden and a world of mystery and intrigue. But the sound of coughing pulls me back to reality. It’s the dreaded Khumbu cough. At times it sounds like we’re in a hospital ward. The low humidity and subzero temperatures cause it. The exertion of climbing leads to an increased breathing rate, which exposes the delicate lung lining to a mass of cold, dry air. Dried out membranes and damaged bronchi result. The extreme irritation manifests as a dry, persistent cough. It can be so violent that it tears chest muscles or breaks ribs. I’ve a rasping pain in my throat, no more than that. But Greg and Nigel have the affliction. By now I recognise their individual styles. In the distance, I hear as yet unidentified victims.

  Charlene has picked up a cold. She descended the valley to Pheriche, which is a kilometre lower. She remains there, hoping the increased oxygen will help her shake the illness. We understand that her competitor, Anne-Mari, is thriving.

  I paid a second visit to Everest ER, to verify there’s nothing untoward affecting my nose and throat. My nose now bleeds with the slightest blow. The doctor performed a quick examination and assured me that all is well. Welcome to Hell; this is the norm here. He dispensed a handful of lozenges and a few tablets for my nose. I can’t remember what they’re supposed to do, but I’ll take them anyway. I add them to my list: a Brufen morning and evening, Motilium before dinner, and paracetamol to ease the headaches that start the day. />
  Having trekked up the trail to Base Camp without head problems, I’d hoped they’d not visit me here. It seems I’ve not acclimatised to this altitude. It could be that my head is cold at night, so I wore a hat. Maybe the hat was too tight, so I wear a loose neck gaiter on my crown instead. Perhaps my bonce is not raised enough, so I shoved more spare clothes under the foam mattress. Maybe my breathing slows down while sleeping and the reduced oxygen causes the trouble. There’s little I can do about that.

  As regards climbing, favourable weather aided the rope fixing progress along the route. By April 21st, the Sherpas had passed the Bergschrund. Word reached us on the 22nd that they’d anchored the trail all the way to Camp 3. Our Sherpas are now lugging oxygen tanks up to Camp 2. The two Turks, Nurhan and Yener, shadowed close on the tail of the rope fixing squad. They’re following a separate schedule to us, as Nurhan will later try to summit without tanks. They’re planning to spend a night at Camp 3 as a part of their acclimatisation, whereas we’ll only touch it. We hear that the track to the summit should open by May 10th.

  We’ll divide into two teams for the summit push. As yet no names have been matched to either. The stronger climbers will ascend first, led by Hugo. Angel will captain the second group a day later. I think Pete belongs to Team 1, always so strong. The Turks are top class mountaineers, but have their own schedule. Outside of those three, everyone else looks human. I’m certain not all these faces around me will qualify for the summit push. It would be insensitive to say it, naïve not to realise it. I hope my face finds a place in one of those groups.

  During one of our team talks, Ted expressed his concern at how long we’d spent in the Icefall. I presume this speech was directed at me and the motley crew that crawled into Camp 1 after ten harrowing hours. The longer a person is among the white boulders, the longer they’re exposed to danger. He demanded that the next ascent be faster. There was a suggestion that if a climber can’t ascend the Icefall in a reasonable time, they’ve no place on the squad. I can’t argue with the theory, but I’m not sure where I’ll find the extra speed. Ted mentioned that we don’t have to be courteous climbing through it. While there mustn’t be rudeness to other mountaineers, we needn’t stand back to let others come against us or overtake. At a bottleneck: just judge the fastest route through and then progress without delay.

  Perhaps I should carry a very light load next time and just concentrate on a successful rotation. I can worry about porting my summit essentials when it’s time for the push. It seems like robbing Peter to pay Paul, but I must knock at least an hour off my next ascent through the Icefall. Carting a heavy load and registering a slow time is not an option.

  Every day we watch a trail of mountaineers and Sherpas stride past our camp, venturing into the Icefall or returning from it. I can’t get the idea out of my head that they’ve more of a right to be here than me. They look professional, at home, and walk with confidence. I climb near my limit, particularly with a heavy load. But I surmise that viewed from a distance, even I might appear as one of them: an Everest climber. It would be something to change that title to Everest summiteer, but that label is far away right now. For a start, I must get through the Icefall twice more. Worse is to follow. Based on what I hear around me, it’s only above Camp 2 that the real climbing starts.

  But every journey progresses with the next step. Ted has decided we’ll launch our second rotation on the 25th. He will lead. Hugo and Angel will accompany as guides. Ted has proposed that we ascend from here to Camp 2 in a single drive. That sounds impossible to me. The option was left open that some may rest at Camp 1 for the night and complete the ascent on the 26th. I’ve no intention of making it in one push, unless between now and then I learn to fly. But I nodded my head and agreed that the plan sounded solid.

  Once at 6,450 metres, we’ll acclimatise for two or three days. The team will touch Camp 3 on the 28th and return to Camp 2 that afternoon. If all goes well, we’ll descend from there to Base Camp on the 29th. Nothing about this strategy surprises me; I knew it was ahead. But I now grasp how much it’s going to hurt and how much it will ask of me.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  It’s the 24th, the day before the next trip into the unknown. The fixed line has reached the Yellow Band. Our Sherpas have pitched the Camp 3 tents. Those shelters, however, will receive one less guest than expected. I always knew the team would disintegrate. Being realistic, despite the training and preparation, I reckon most of us have far less than a fifty-fifty chance of standing on the summit. Today we lose one. Nigel handed in his guns. He cannot suffer the Khumbu cough anymore. Midmorning, he trekked out of camp and down the valley, his dream over. At sixty years of age, he may not see another attempt.

  After lunch, we remain in the mess tent for a team talk. Ade is sitting next to me. Ted stands up.

  “These are the masks we’ll use above Camp 3.” Ted distributes a mask and regulator to everyone. “Treat them with care; your life will depend on them.”

  Most people couldn’t survive an Everest attempt without additional oxygen. By and large, the human body cannot acclimatise above 7,500 metres, that is, it can produce no more red blood cells. Some mountaineers feel that using tanks is cheating, as it makes the ascent easier. Others regard it as standard equipment, like crampons or gloves. Less than five per cent of those who’ve summited Everest have done so without tanks.

  “The cylinders are filled with pure oxygen under pressure. You’ll have five tanks each.”

  Nurhan explains to me the crucial benefit of oxygen. A fire cannot burn without it. Likewise, the body cannot generate heat in a low oxygen environment. It will essentially freeze from the inside out; frostbite and worse threaten.

  “Familiarise yourself with the regulator.” Ted holds one up in his hand. “It screws into the top of the cylinder like this.” He demonstrates. “The oxygen is precious. Ration it. It’s measured in litres per minute. Climbing uphill, set it between one and a half litres per minute and two. Going downhill, one and a half litres is plenty. While sleeping in Camp 4, just sip on it at half a litre a minute.”

  Camp 4 holds the highest tents on the mountain. Above them waits the summit. I’m familiar with scuba diving gear, but I have to start afresh with this arrangement. I think they’re a novelty for all of us except Nurhan and Ade, the ex-paratrooper, who used similar on high altitude jumps.

  “The mask is held over the face with these thick elastic bands. Now try them on. Get comfortable with them.”

  We spend ten minutes playing with the regulator and getting the fit right. I can’t figure out how to breathe while wearing it.

  “Ade, am I doing this right?” I ask.

  “What’s up, mate?”

  “I don’t know. As far as I can see, I’d suffocate if I wore this any longer. There’s no air going in or out.”

  “Here, show it to me.”

  He fiddles with the valves.

  “Yeah, this one was stuck, just there. Try it again.” He passes the mask back to me. “And blow hard.”

  I strap the mask over my nose and mouth. I inhale and exhale a few times. I stretch it back off.

  “Thanks Ade, that’s it. Boy, we’ve got to handle these with care.”

  “As the man said, like your life depended on it.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Night-time on the 24th and sleep eludes me. I’ve finished the novel. I didn’t see those last chapters coming. I try to forget what I must do tomorrow, but cannot. My mind runs over and over my preparations and what lies just hours ahead. The pack sits ready in the vestibule. My clothes are laid out in the tent. Will the Icefall hand me another beating? I’m not sure I could take it.

  April 25

  Climb Up from Base Camp to Camp 1 or Camp 2 on Second Rotation

  It’s go time. Last week we touched Camp 2. Now we’ll start the push to Camp 3. Nigel has surrendered. Charlene’s recuperating down in Pheriche to beat a cold. Her climb persists; she’ll just be a day or two behind. As ever, the two T
urks have their own schedule, preparing Nurhan for an assault without oxygen tanks.

  Ted expects us to climb all the way to Camp 2 today. Many climbers can scale the 1,100 metres in a single day, but I know it’s beyond me. I hope to fall into Camp 1 in a reasonable time. Then I’ll take it from there.

  None of us has forgotten the intense heat of the Icefall, particularly Ade, Martin, Matthew, and I. Once the sun rises over the peak of Lhotse about 9am, the rays drain within minutes. We’ve no wish to repeat that encounter.

  “You up, Greg!” I pull on my insulated pants at 3:30am by the light of a head torch.

  “Just. We’ll leave at four thirty as planned,” Greg says from his tent.

  I crawl out into the frigid darkness. Around me I hear furtive arrangements. Yellow glimmers mark the tents from where these sounds originate.

  “Let’s grab some breakfast,” Greg says. “We’ll see who’s in the mess tent.”

  I manage a cereal bar and a little muesli. I’ll burn masses of energy today. I crave the desire to eat a full hotel breakfast with all the trimmings. I’ve consumed fewer calories than I’ll expend today; it’s just a fact of life on a mountain. I knock back a litre of warm water and fill my bottle to the brim for the passage.

  The other members of the team slip out of camp in ones and twos.

  “Just a fleece on top for me, it’ll be hot.” Ted strides towards the Icefall.

  “What do you think, Greg, just a fleece?” I ask.

  “I think I’d die before the sun comes up.”

  “He’s the expert, but screw it, jacket for me as well,” I say.

  I zip up my eight hundred fill down jacket. It weighs little and will pack up small later, but provides great insulation. Despite the solar oven beating in the Icefall last week, I’m standing in a place that’s the same temperature as a household freezer. Anything could happen later.

  “Right, Greg, check me over.”