Entries from Expedition Dispatches
The chatter of Sherpa staff waking up and getting going is the first thing I hear, then the sun hits the tent and it is time to get up. Basecamp is a busy place, but I always think of it as the place that is ruled by the rise and set of the sun. As soon as the sun hits, it is too hot to stay in the tent and once the sun recedes, it is too cold to stay out. I like the simplicity of that; I don't have to think too hard about where exactly to be.
If all goes well and the weather holds, this will be our final rest before the summit push. There is still so much to do, but plenty of time. At Camp 3 on the last rotation, it was a great test of how things will work, and what still needs to be done. Today, I look through the gloves that I can choose from for the summit bid. I scan my climbing clothing, seeing what needs to be washed one last time and what is ready to go. I count out the energy gels that I will use for the summit push, and tuck in a few packages of fruit snacks for good measure. Looking at all of this equipment, it is hard to imagine that in less than a week it will be tucked onto my body and my back, on my way to the summit.
Of course, so much has to line up. A week seems close, but in reality, it is still a world away. The weather has to be good, but also we have to feel good as climbers. Your body has to be strong and your mind open to the challenge that is ahead. On the summit push, I need to stay healthy, avoiding any stomach bugs or head colds that might be trying to come my way. If everything does line up, then you have to be open to the mountain's terms. If I have learned anything, it is that you have to come prepared with health and strength but also humility and openness. Nothing is assumed. You have to be prepared to take this experience and enjoy each step of it, knowing that the mountains will give you exactly what they want to - that is the beauty of it.
These are the thoughts that are roaming through my mind as final preparations are being made for the summit. Somewhere between being aware of what the mountain is telling us, and which gloves I should pack, I realize that all the preparations (the mental and the physical) are the part of the experience that I value so much, the part that I can take with me on the next adventure. But for now, I will focus on this adventure.
That little puff of cloud on top of Lhotse yesterday was a gathering storm. Not a bad storm we are told - no cyclone out of the bay of Bengal, no jetstreams trying to push over mountains, tents and people. But any fool can see that the skies are now full of moisture. There are clouds at all levels, and every 30 minutes or so, there is a snow shower. This isn't all bad in my book - as I've said, a carpet of snow on the Lhotse Face will just make it safer (now a meter of snow is a different animal entirely - lets not go there). Pre-storm, if anyone had been careless enough to drop a carabiner or water bottle from Camp III, it would have rocketed down the ice at terminal velocity, seeking grey matter (helmeted or otherwise) on the ropes below. My hope is that a little texture over the blue ice will make the Face safer and footing easier.
I'm all about easy. Just this morning, when it was cold and snowy outside after breakfast, I invited birthday boy Kent Harvey and his camera into my and Erica's tent, to show him how we pass time in a storm. It was our rest day anyway - so being forced by the weather to focus on puzzles, books and I-pods didn't seem odd to me. I've long considered such skills to be the mark of a good expedition climber - the ability to do nothing, when nothing is what should be done. For active (or hyperactive) Type A climbers this requires an acceptance and a faith that there will be an abundance of physical abuse and over stimulated synapses, all-in-good-time... like, say, tomorrow.
I've made a career out of interspersing corpse-like downtime with long, brutal, unfair, unrelenting sessions on my feet/crampons/skis/snowshoes/etc. It works. It is sustainable.
I'm satisfied after 18 years at 8,000-meter peaks, that my job here is not to compete with the Sherpas at load carrying or route fixing. I've decided that I can do a better job of concentrating at guiding. Within reason.
Today, just when it got ugly, mean and nasty out, with the tent walls shaking and rough snow pellets, peppering everything - just when it seemed proper to turn up the head tunes and guide by hiding from reality - I became aware that all was not right.
Ang Kaji and Tendi were concerned about several dozen Sherpas trying to get heavy packs to 26,000 feet in this intensifying storm. Specifically - they were worried for four of our own team - the guys who were buying me the ability to sit on my butt, a mile below the battle-zone. It was obvious that Ang Kaji and Tendi were gearing up to walk in the storm. They meant to get to the base of the Face - to help out with thermoses of tea and water for Sherpas who battled their way back down in wind and blowing snow. I thought about things for 12 seconds, before declaring that I'd join them and Damian Benegas on the mercy mission. I thought of how little emergency gear sherpas bring on a carry - I thought of how much emergency gear I have surrounding me in a tent. I thought of how very few storms could keep me from reaching the Face if I threw on a First Ascent down suit, and if I pulled on some goggles, and pressed the right buttons on my GPS. Word came up quickly via radio from Lambabu that my services weren't really needed. And I knew that. I also know that the best climbing Sherpas have an admirable pride that this is their mountain, on which they solve their problems. But my client was safe at ABC and I happened to have time and energy and a New Mexico EMT license. And I admire guys like Tendi, Ang Kaji, and Damian who are hardwired to look after others and to make things come out right in the mountains.
We went. And it was no big deal. Our climbers and everyone else's had wisely turned in the storm. We ended up sitting in the sun at the base of the Face as the guys came staggering off the rappel ropes.
I didn't do anything - except watch tired men smile when Tendi handed them tea. I'm calling it a good day.
Camp 1 couldn't have been quieter last night. There wasn't a puff of wind to rattle the tent fabric. No dogs barking, no trucks shifting gears, no loud parties and no roosters crowing when our 5 o'clock alarm went off. Breakfast took about an hour...not because we read newspapers...but more because our little propane canisters barely want to burn when they are cold. So we put our boots on with our sleeping bags on our laps, and we put coffee powder in our cups, and stared at a pot of icy water waiting for a puff of steam. After a few hot drinks, some cereal and a little pre-cooked bacon... it isn't so hard to throw open the tent doors and greet the day. I watched the mere hint of a cloud cap play around Lhotse summit, in an otherwise clear sky as we stuffed our packs.
Today was basically our...tag team...day. Those up the hill were dropping down while we were moving up to take control of the heights.
As planned, Peter Whittaker came through first so that he and I might have a few minutes face-to-face in order to figure out the timing of our various pushes for the mountaintop. My team of Ang Kaji, Kent, Seth and Erica marched out of Camp 1 at 7 a.m., leaving me to my meetings and the small chore of knocking down our tents for safekeeping.
Peter strapped his helmet on and dropped down towards basecamp. Ed Viesturs and John Griber weren't far behind. As I packed up the last tent and stepped into my crampons, I saw Gerry, Melissa, Lambabu and a handful of sherpas bringing up the rear in their strategic withdrawal to basecamp. We chatted for a few minutes as the sun finally found Camp 1.
A half hour later, I was cruising up the middle of the Western Cwm alone - feeling pretty good about the day and my strength...when I heard familiar voices in panic on my radio. I stopped and turned around...now sickeningly aware of an avalanche roaring somewhere down valley...out of my sight. I barged in on the radio - trying to get some clear accounting for where the slide was hitting and who was involved. Others closer and with a view began to do the same, and I shut up. I told myself I could run to the scene - the popcorn in the lower half of the icefall - in 45 minutes, but that would be for some worst case scenario that I hoped would not come to pass. I stood in the Cwm waiting through the tedious process of various teams taking attendance on the radio. My mind kept darting back to the morning in 2006, when my own radio attendance efforts came up short, and I realized I lost a friend to the Icefall. This time the headcounts came out right. It was a near miss and too close a call, but everybody was all right. I continued my walk to ABC, still intent on catching my gang. I still felt healthy and hopeful...but I didn't feel nearly as bulletproof or in control anymore. With vast walls of ice and rock surrounding me, in the world's greatest cathedral, I missed my strong, humble friend Phinjo. I'd trade a thousand pretty mountains so see his smile again...but it doesn't work that way.
I probably shouldn't have accepted the toast from Dave Hahn...after all, red wine with antibiotics to treat a deep-seated chest infection is perhaps not doctor recommended. But, how could I pass it up?
It was nearly 10 years ago that Dave and I and three others - Conrad Anker, Andy Politz, and Tap Richards - stood on a lonely patch of rock at nearly 27,000 feet on Everest's North Face, each in stunned silence, for lying at our feet were the remains of a legend, a hero, a mystery: George Leigh Mallory. He and his climbing companion, Andrew Irvine, had disappeared 75 years before, virtually without a trace, some 800 feet below the summit.
Yup, this is definitely an anniversary worth toasting, antibiotics or not.
That day was, and is now, the most poignant day in my climbing career, far surpassing the fleeting moments I've spent on top of the world, or on top of other peaks around the world. Far removed from personal achievement, our discovery of Mallory was a collision with history, a step back in time, and a humbling, welcome reminder that our goals and accomplishments, successes and failures in the mountains - and in life - are predicated on the efforts of remarkable people who came before. We are, as I wrote in Issue 1000 of Trail & Timberline Magazine, standing on the shoulders of giants.
Indeed, as I sit in my basecamp tent reflecting on May 1, 1999, I can't help but think about my predecessors on this side of the mountain...May 1, 1963, when Jim Whittaker and Nawang Gombu (clad in Eddie Bauer down) struggled through deep snow and blasting winds to stand on the summit of Everest, Jim becoming the first American to reach the top. (Two years later, Gombu would reach the summit again on an Indian expedition, becoming the first person to reach the summit twice.)
Whittaker and Gombu's ascent was made no less impressive by the tracks that came before: Hillary and Tenzin in 1953, the Swiss in 1956 and the oft-forgotten Swiss expedition of 1952, which put Raymond Lambert and Tenzin Norgay within 800 feet of the summit. And, of course, their tracks were only made possible by the reconnaissance expeditions of '50 and '51. And, those, in turn, were enabled by the efforts of the pioneering Everesters of the pre-World War II expeditions of 1938, '36, '35, '33, '24, '22, and 1921. None of those would have happened without Sir Martin Conway, the Duke of Abruzzi, Fanny Bullock Workman, General Bruce, Sir Francis Younghusband, John Noel, and countless others who pushed the limits years before. And...the tracks go back through the ages, each generation standing on the shoulders of the giants who came before.
To some, that may be demoralizing...to them, the idea that someone had climbed the route before takes something essential away from the enterprise today. For me, however, it is far from demoralizing, and rather is invigorating. To look around me high in the Western Cwm, and see hidden in the layers of snow the footsteps of Hillary and Tenzin, the toil of Whittaker and Gombu, the inspiration of those who came before...well, it inspires me to push on against the demon of the day, against the gnawing forces of inertia, lethargy, and the want of comfort, rest, food, and air. Seeing the giants in these hills, the things they accomplished and all they endured, pushes me onward, upward, and forward.
May 1, 1999, was an amazing day, a direct interaction with one of the many giants on whose shoulders we all stand. Tonight, perhaps another toast...
It sounds pretty romantic, and lots of people envy my job. And, I must admit, I'm pretty happy with what I do for a living, and count my blessings every day. But working as an expedition photographer is not always a piece of cake. This goes for me shooting stills, as well as Gerry Moffatt, Kent Harvey, and John Griber shooting our video footage. While I cannot speak exactly for them, I can give an idea of what my days on the hill are like.
Being a photographer on an expedition does not really put you into a special category. There are no chairlifts or trams waiting for us; we must climb the mountain just like anyone else, acclimating, moving up and down, and capturing images along the way.
Along with the standard equipment all of us - Ed, Peter, Melissa, Dave, Seth - carry on the hill, I also have my photo equipment. I've always been a Nikon shooter, and this is my 6th Everest expedition using Nikon gear. So in my pack is a Nikon D300 camera, chosen for its superior image quality complemented by reasonable size and weight. In addition to the D300 body, I have a handful of lenses: a Nikon 18-200mm, Nikon 50mm, Sigma 10-20mm, and a Nikon 80-200. This selection gives me a fantastic range while keeping the weight reasonable. I also bring along my Nikon SB-800 flash unit and an SC-28 remote cord for filling in faces and dark areas in this contrasty environment. Oh, and of course, extra batteries, cleaning supplies, a variety of filters, and a tripod.
My personal M.O. on all expeditions has always been to disrupt the flow of climbing as little as possible while shooting. Certainly there are times when the environment and risk enable me to set up shots and choreograph the scene. But, more often than not, my style is to catch what I can by moving ahead of the climbers and capturing them in real time, in real situations. (You can imagine trying to ask climbers in the Khumbu Icefall to stop for a few minutes under tons of tilting seracs while I compose a shot - not even nice to contemplate!) This style, while my preference, creates some challenges, as I am in a constant game of leapfrog, setting up a shot, shooting, repacking my gear, and shuffling ahead as fast as possible to get ahead of the climbers and find the next spot for a good image. Not easy, but it is an added challenge I strangely relish.
The other challenge with expedition photography is the need to be constantly thinking, looking around at the terrain with a creative angle, trying to find a new perspective on the environment at hand. While this terrain is so spectacular that pointing and shooting often works, the nut for me to crack is how to find a new perspective, how to tell a different story in a single frame and show what perhaps has not been shown before. This requires constant attention to the task at hand, for moments missed may never come again. But, again, this is a cerebral game which adds depth and enjoyment to the climbing at hand.
When looking at the end of the day, I must admit I long a bit for the days of film. Way back then, in the late 1990s, we'd shoot film during the day, pack it away after sunset, and the day was done- but, no longer. Digital, despite its great benefits, has caused quite a bit more work for us photographers. When the day is done, I now take my compact flash cards into our production tent, fire up my solid-state Asus laptop, download my images onto a hard drive, make a backup copy on another drive, and then edit the day's work. Select images are spotted for dust and blemishes, captioned, resized, saved to a thumb drive, and handed over to our field producer, Cherie Silvera, for transfer via satellite phone with the day's text and video dispatch.
It all makes for a long day, to say the least, but, I wouldn't change a thing about it. I love the honor of capturing the amazing people on our team and the stunning environment, and the chance to share those images and moments with a greater audience. It was, many years ago, images by Ansel Adams, Galen Rowell, Barry Bishop, and other greats of mountain photography that first inspired me to tread in the mountain realm. Their images shared with me a place I could scarcely imagine, bringing a new world to my doorstep in Topsfield, Massachusetts. It was through their lenses that a passion was discovered and ignited within me, and my one hope as I photograph our team and our climb is that I may share that same sense of wonder and enjoyment that hit me long ago.
Enjoy the images, and climb on, wherever your trail may lead...
We dragged out an oxygen bottle to practice with, just after breakfast. It does take a little practice, by the way, to get good with the systems we rely on up high. Today we were just familiarizing ourselves with how the regulators attach to the bottles, how the hoses attach to the regulators, and how the masks attach to the face. I like doing this sort of run-through down in the thick air on a rest day in the sunshine so that when we have to get up in the middle of the night at a bajillion feet above sea level with cold hands and dim brains, we can maybe muddle through and get our hook-ups and flow-rates right. It all seemed reasonably simple this morning, and each of my little team put the gas bottle carefully in their pack, the mask on their face and some goggles or glasses on their eyeballs, and then took the rig for a test drive around camp.
Over the radio, we could hear the gang with Peter Whittaker up above as they were taking another stroll on the Lhotse Face. It all sounded like it was going well as they checked in with one another and pointed out interesting features along the route. We heard that Jake Norton was coming down to BC to deal with a chest cold and, like most news, we immediately sorted it into its good and bad components. The bad news: Jake would need to slow down long enough to get well. The good news: Jake is a smart, strong guy who knows how to shake a typical, run-of-the-mill expedition illness out of his system, and we won't mind having him around in BC.
Erica Dohring and I went for a glacier walk after lunch. I do want her following the slacker example that Seth and I set for getting quality rest during our BC downtime. She is a voracious reader, which ought to qualify her for a fine life of expeditioning. I'm impressed with the way she orders her time, alternating between books for fun, books for school, and the odd movie on a borrowed iPod Touch. That is good resting, and it is important, but I also wanted to mix in a little exercise clambering around in the glacier today. I'm a big believer in keeping the legs stretched and the reflexes tuned for making awkward steps. We went out for about two hours, finding our way to a medial moraine and then hiking down-glacier with an occasional semi-frozen stream crossing to negotiate. I'm trying to teach Erica to violently knock over every fragile pinnacle of ice and balancing rock that she encounters...for no particular reason...and she is rapidly gaining skill in this department.
The late afternoon is gray and overcast with a hint of snow flurries. We've gotten so used to the thunder of avalanches now at BC that it takes a particularly loud and violent one to get us out of the tents for a look. At the moment, though, it is quiet and cold enough that the team is starting to find their way to the dining tent for hot drinks, gossip magazines, and card games. Tomorrow, we'll be a little busy preparing for the mountain again, and my guess is that we will be torn between lazy thoughts of staying indefinitely in BC and antsy thoughts of getting up where the action is again.
The first day and night down after an Everest climbing rotation are great for enjoying the novelty of comfort and easy living again. But it isn't really until the second night back down that I normally get full and renewing sleep. And looking at Kent, Seth and Erica over coffee this morning, I'm guessing it was similar for them. We all seemed back to our normal selves again today, ready to make plans and preparations for climbing again.
Toward that end, during breakfast out in the sun, we began sketching a big calendar of the next four weeks. There are plenty of blanks on it still, naturally... and of course a big question mark or two at the end, but I was pleased to at least be building a framework out into the all-important second half of May. I consider it a great luxury to be down merely resting rather than recovering (which can be a much less predictable process). I'm crediting that distinction to my strong, fit and patient partners... but also to my experience and past mistakes in this arena. I'm guessing that we did just enough up high this last time around... not too much, not too little. It is all too easy for me to remember the many trips that formed my learning curve on which I wasn't satisfied to come down the hill until my throat was bleeding, my head was pounding, and my muscles were pulled.
This is better. And I find I can illustrate the elusive "big picture" with the help of a calendar and some colorful marker pens. Pacing is everything in a two-month-long "race." My partners didn't fight me on any of this stuff (making me worry that my own slow learning curve could possibly have been avoided by employing a bigger brain). Erica settled in for a morning of schoolwork. Kent went to fiddle with his cameras and Seth had reading to do. We'd already made good use of yesterday in showering, shaving and leveling our tent platforms, so today was just plain old good rest. That is what they were doing up at C2 today as well. And perhaps it was the plan all over the mountain, as I didn't see very much traffic in the Icefall this morning. Our Sherpa team didn't rest today, but then they were up early enough and moving fast enough that by my morning survey, they were well out of sight and on their way to C2 already.
By afternoon, I was in the mood for struggle and conquest, and so I sought out renowned Scrabble player Justin Merle in the IMG camp. We tussled for a bit (alas, no bingos) before the better man prevailed. And then it was nice to just share afternoon tea with my longtime friends Mark Tucker and Eric Simonson. HimEx leader Russell Brice and Monica, his team doctor, showed as well for an unplanned and relaxing chat. Linden Mallory completed the party when he came to make sure that the "Sirdar" meeting was taking place as scheduled. Far more important than our tea party, this was a meeting of the Sherpa team leaders and dealt with figuring a plan to fix rope -and soon- on the summit terrain. While I may seem smug about taking the longer road and viewing the bigger picture, and all that, in order to get to the summit in the easiest and safest way -three weeks down the road- I'm anxious to have others start pounding away urgently at the door to the top... NOW!
There are plenty of strong and ambitious people here, and I don't want them all going to the top when I want to go to the top. It benefits everybody to have the door to the summit open for a longer period... and it will benefit my team to have that route pounded in and well-tested. Those who desire more challenge and more bragging rights back home can go early when it is colder and meaner. I wish them luck. Kick big footsteps, please.
Now if the first night down low was novel and the second was restful, I wonder what the third will be like... Will I soon be able to brag about having achieved the perfect basecamp rest day? Ambition takes many forms.
Dave, Erica and I are enjoying a day of rest after spending the last four days acclimatizing at Camp 1 and Advance Base Camp. We had an excellent rotation and are feeling healthy. It's nice to come down and get to actually rest our healthy bodies as opposed to needing to recover from an illness or injury picked up while climbing. I know I had the best night of sleep since Namche last night.
On our last day at ABC, Dave, Erica and I climbed to the base of the Lhotse Face for acclimatization purposes. We'd headed out early, made good time up and back, and were left with most of the day as free time. Well, mostly free. Dave and I spent a fair bit of time repositioning the solar panels that power the radio and LED lights at ABC, and I re-tethered our radio antenna. After those chores, we had some true free time. My tent was calling, but Kent, the cinematographer climbing with us, wanted to do some filming out on the glacier. Somewhat reluctantly, I grabbed my crampons and met up with Dave and Kent. As soon as we'd walked a few hundred feet though, I was amazed at Dave pointing out two oxygen bottles partially buried in the ice. I'd just assumed that the camps had been so cleaned up and combed over that you'd never be able to find stuff like this anymore. Not so. As I began carefully chopping away at the ice around one bottle, Dave grabbed the other one, a leftover from an expedition from the early seventies. As we freed the second bottle, we were both impressed at what great shape both were in. In fact it appeared that both could still be holding oxygen. Good thing we didn't just hack away around them with our ice axes! The second bottle appeared to be from an American expedition and was stenciled with the phrase "AVIATORS ON OXYGEN" and was stamped with what looked like a date from 1970. I can't wait to do more research on this once I get home. All in all, we found four bottles that afternoon dating from the mid-sixties to mid-seventies. Not bad for an afternoon of "Goraking". Check out today's video feed, which was shot by Kent while Dave and I were scavenging the glacier like little kids.
Now we're resting at Base Camp and the other part of the team is starting their second acclimatization rotation. Yesterday Ed and Peter moved up to ABC, bypassing Camp 1. Today they have climbed to Camp 3 at just over 23,000 ft. They are returning to ABC to spend the night. Melissa spent one extra day here at Base Camp. She left here early this morning and will meet up with the guys at ABC. All told, the team is doing great. For me, I can't wait to start back up the mountain again, but I could probably use the rest and it does feel good to sleep in a little.
Somehow we kept busy all afternoon at ABC yesterday. Seth Waterfall figured out and fixed problems with the solar panels that the radio "base station" was dependent on. Then he figured out how to make the antenna and base station talk to each other a little better so that ABC could dependably have radio communication with anywhere else on the mountain. Kent Harvey then suggested a little foray out on to the ice just west of camp, which Seth and I found quite interesting. As I've said many times, there is little or no snow from the past winter on Mount Everest. The glacier surfaces are down to old snow and ice; everything is melting out and exposed. Within just a few minutes of poking around, we were finding old and intact oxygen bottles from the 1960's and 70's. Treasure. I have to catch myself every now and then...remembering that not everybody has an oxygen bottle collection...but I do. I love finding old bottles and then matching them to legendary expeditions and climbers of the past. Some of the bottles I've found over the years will eventually be in museums, none will ever be on eBay...they mean too much to me (although they severely challenge my living room decor). As Kent and Seth and I continued to crunch around the glacial surface with our crampons and heavy boots. I came upon a cardboard box, looking... a lot like a damp heap of trash on a 21,000 ft glacier. But when I folded over this particular trash, it said in big black letters "1975 British Everest Expedition". While this wasn't the kind of treasure I could reasonably burden my living room with, it was none-the-less very special to me...in a trash-picking sort of way. I'd already been thinking of the 1975 British Everest Expedition...all day, in fact, as we'd gone for our hike under the great Southwest Face that the '75 BEE famously climbed. All morning I'd been straining to understand again how Chris Bonnington's boys had managed to get up something so steep and foreboding. And out there next to that soggy box I began blathering on about Doug Scott and Dougal Haston and Peter Boardman and Pertemba and that post-monsoon hardman climb, until I could see Kent and Seth's eyeballs rolling back in their heads.
We trudged back over the ice-rolls to our ABC and an afternoon of minor chores in camp. Word came via radio that Nga Tenji had reached the South Col with the rope fixing team and was figuring out a place for our highest camp. He reported strong winds up there, and that certainly seemed to be the case by the time Erica, Seth, Kent and I gathered for dinner in our big dome tent. The strong winds were finding their way down into the Western Cwm. We each went to bed knowing that it would be a noisy night.
And it was. There was the noise of great waves of air periodically rolling down a mountainside...then the frantic flapping as a wave would crash on the 50 tents just uphill from us, and finally the noise of the wind blowing on our own tents and trying to flatten or remove them. But while we couldn't exactly sleep through it all, we could at least relax in the knowledge that we'd diligently done our chores in anchoring and properly securing our strong tents. Poking our heads out into the gusty morning at 5:45 AM, we could see many surrounding tents that were radically different in shape from the previous evening, but our camp had been largely spared. I told Erica not to worry too much about the sleep she'd missed out on in the night. We were going to basecamp...land of good naps. We geared up and crammed a little breakfast and coffee. The wind still whipped around us as we climbed into our crampons. I was interested to see high cloud covering the sky at just about the level of Everest's summit. We've had so many days begin with nothing but pure blue skies that it seemed eerie and frightening to have a sudden change in the pattern. As we thanked our chef and walked out of camp, I could see a silver lining to the cloud cover. I knew that it would make our time down in the Icefall a little more comfortable by blocking out the morning sun...perhaps it would even make things safer.
Ang Kaji, Kent, Seth and Erica let me lead on down the Western Cwm. We passed plenty of the usual "Sherpa Army" moving loads all the way from BC to ABC and then running back down empty. And we began to pass our own gang as they made their way up from BC to take our places up high. Ed Viesturs, Jake Norton, Peter Whittaker and John Griber each seemed to be making fine progress after their 4AM start down low. We moved through Camp I and then down into the chaos of the Icefall itself. I knew it hadn't been just the wind keeping me awake in the night -there were also plenty of wayward thoughts of things that could possibly go wrong with our descent. It would be another big test for Erica's skill and stamina. I didn't let her take the test alone, of course. I pestered her to clip this rope and unclip that one, step fast on that ice chunk before it collapses, step over here to let the Sherpas pass, do this and don't do that...QUICK! And Seth watched and pestered her from behind. She was probably wishing we'd just let her plug in her iPod to drown out all the excess coaching. But she passed another test with flying colors. We radioed Linden Mallory at basecamp just after 10AM to let him know our team of five was out of danger and headed for food, friendship, thick sleeping pads and the low, fat air of 17,500 ft.
Advanced Basecamp sits along a rocky moraine overlaying dense glacial ice.
The rock comes from Everest' immense and steep Southwest Face and a few million avalanches. Once at the base of the Face it is plowed into a neat ridge by the motion of the Khumbu Glacier. I suppose though, that the ridge is only neat in geological terms. Yesterday as we walked the 30 minutes from the tent at its lower end, to our tents near the moraine's upper end, we were treated to views of old sneakers, pots, pans, shredded tents and crushed stoves mixed in with the rock and ice. Fifty seven years worth of Advanced Basecamps in the same slow moving place have made this spot one of the worst on the mountain in terms of ecological damage. A number of those decades of mountaineering were before any ethics existed governing which items should and shouldn't be left in the hills.
Our camp was already up and running and deluxe by Camp I standards. There we were cooking in our tents - here we have Maila, the Camp II Chef, in a comfortable dome dining tent with chairs. We rested through much of yesterday afternoon when it was hot enough to fry eggs on the tents. When the sun ducked behind Nuptse, we each came out in our down suits to watch the light fade on Lhotse and Everest.
It would be normal, after a first night spent at this altitude to do some damage control. Somebody would, quite reasonably, have had a terrible night of headaches and insomnia and would be packing their gear at first light for a fast escape. Not so with our gang. In the cold 6 am shadows this morning, Seth, Kent and Erica emerged looking well rested and comfortable. Along with Ang Kaji, we ate a quick breakfast and then got out for a hike to the foot of the Lhotse Face. I wanted the team to wear their down suits - since that is what we'll wear on the next rotation when we actually tackle the Lhotse Face. We could see several dozen climbers on the new ropes on the Face - and way up high - between Camp III and the Yellow Band at 25,000 feet - we could see dots representing today's fixing team. One of those dots was our own Nga Tenji, pitching in to further the route. Nga Tenji made it all the way to the South Col, at 26,000 feet, staking out a site for our High Camp before heading back to ABC.
My small team climbed perhaps a 1,000 ft above ABC, to 22,000 ft and were treated to new views of Cho Oyu, the worlds 6th highest mountain, 20 miles distant. Nobody felt like doing cartwheels or jumping jacks at the new altitude - but such tricks weren't required. We were perfecting our one and only most important trick: walking higher when walking lower is easier. And we did fine with it. We didn't concern ourselves too much with the next big hurdle - we'll get on the Face next time, after a Basecamp rest.
For today the morning hike was enough. We spent the afternoon tinkering with the solar charging and radio systems at ABC, while drinking liter after liter of water -always trying to counteract the dehydrating effects of high dry air. Tomorrow it will be back to the comforts of Basecamp - provided we watch every single important and awkward step down through the Khumbu Icefall.
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