Dawn of Steam: Gods of the Sun (39 page)

It is fortunate that we have this structure and relative safety, as both I and Mr. Heller have been suffering from the most persistent headaches for most of the day. It is not terrible, but simply will not pass. The Shar Khombo and Miss Bowe alike suggest that it should ease with time, but we need to spend less time in the camp and more walking about the mountain, strange as that advice may seem. We have been doing just that, with breaks in between to catch our breath, and for me to rest and continue in my writing.

The weather is still cooperating with our climb, and the Shar Khombo still do not seem terribly concerned with the effects here, or the dangers present for the next stage of our climb, so we have set a relatively ambitious agenda. Tomorrow we will climb as far as we can during the safer period of the morning, then return to camp to rest one more night. The day after that, we will press upward until we find the next place the Shar Khombo believe to be good for camping. The days after that are when the Shar Khombo warn us that we should begin expecting some of the most difficult and dangerous portions of our climb.

That they know this site so well, and climb to it so easily, unfortunately, does not entirely suffice for purposes of proof of Dr. Bowe's journey. While the recognition of his name and the unusual construction of this camp certainly help, there is nothing definitive here to mark that no one else could have traveled this way.

Additionally, the oddities of the structure seem somewhat behind the tools I would expect a modern gentleman of Dr. Bowe's skill to have used. I begin to wonder just how long ago this place might have been constructed for the first time. Still, it is very similar to what the journal describes, and the photographs should go a long way towards proof that the doctor traveled here.

Even this level of comfort is disturbed regularly by the sounds coming from above and around us, identified by our guides as the sounds of distant avalanches and ice falling. Somehow that is far from comforting.

From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

April 26th, 1817

27º59' N 86º55' E

We have made considerable progress today, in part because of the desperation of our guides to get us through the region we climbed today, taking far longer than they seemed comfortable with.

We left camp very early in the day and with great haste. We had been prepared the night before, and had seen some of what we were to face, because the habit each day is to climb significantly higher than where we will eventually camp, and then to descend again. I do not entirely understand the reasoning behind this, but the Shar Khombo, Miss Bowe, and Sir James are all insistent upon the practice, however much it might seem to be slowing us down.

The region here is mostly ice. Some of it is polished enough to cast distorted reflections about the walls, making concentration, already difficult at times, that much harder. Even the slightest wind echoes eerily through those walls and off the faces. We frequently had to take whatever shelter we could find – or stop moving while the Shar Khombo and Miss Bowe studied the ice above us for any signs of collapse. These pauses became more frequent as the day went on, and it became warmer. The warmer it became, the more often ice structures collapsed down around us. There were numerous close calls, including one with a sheet of ice cracking and collapsing with the impact of my crampons, but Sir James was able to catch me even before the rope tying us together was taut. Breathing here is quite difficult enough without that kind of additional excitement.

In addition to the sheer walls of ice here, the other great difficulties of the day were the great crevasses we continually encountered as we traveled. The process of crossing these is a complex and difficult one. Ropes are secured as best as possible to one side, and the most skilled climbers try to navigate about the expanse or find an area where a rope should catch. Once they have done so, tested it thoroughly, and made it across, then a second rope is attached as well to ease climbing. This provides an emergency hold should the first one break or come loose, which is a constant peril. Then each person crosses singly, trying to ignore the creaking, groaning, and distinct clacking noise of ice breaking around and under them while they move across wide open expanses, with one moment of slippage or lost grip probably resulting in a very long fall.

These crevasses can open at a moment's notice, the ice breaking and separating. Though as the day warmed, there was significant worry of one opening directly beneath us, a nightmare scenario to be sure, that did not happen. The closest we came was being a witness to one of these new chasms opening some fifteen meters behind us. That was still far closer than any of us were comfortable with, giving us just the prompt we needed to hurry along, cautiously, as the Shar Khombo continually directed us. A few times, we did lose a rope and had to use the second, and in the most frightening moment of the day for anyone who was not me, one of the ropes lost its hold on our side while Miss Bowe was climbing across. She swung with the rope neatly, dangling in open air for a few moments before she climbed the rope to the other side, and threw the rest of the rope back to our side.

Miss Penn is not at all certain how much further she wishes to progress – a hesitation I entirely understand. I would, myself, be quite hesitant to go further were it not for the necessity that I travel as far as anyone else reaches, even if they must bodily drag me up the mountain.

After the ice faces, we rested for a time, then found a path by which we might ascend further, so we could rise higher than where we would camp. No one even thought for a moment of camping in the ice wall region of the mountain, with the dangers involved there. We would have a limited window of time to pass this region while it was both light enough to make the climb to our eventual goal, but still be able to descend past the treacherous ice walls before it grew too warm to pass safely through the region.

While still highly dangerous, this place seems as peaceful as any I have ever encountered. There is a vast plain of snow and the occasional exposed rock before us. There are still some of the crevasses here, but far less pure vertical climb. It is more of a time-consuming trudge across this region while slowly making progress higher up the mountain. The guides have cautioned us constantly to beware of even the smallest cracks in the snow and ice, for they may hint at the locations of the crevasses here where the snow might quickly give way under a person. At the very least, their knowledge of this region indicates that they have traveled to this height before.

Breathing is laborious, and all of our number save the Shar Khombo and Miss Bowe suffered under terrible headaches and difficulty focusing. Though this did lessen with some time and movement about this place – and especially descending back to near the beginning of this plane of snow to an area of mostly solid rock – it was still all we could do to keep pressing on. Only Sir James's frequent reviews of the plan, his insistence we follow it absolutely, and the enthusiastic warnings of the Shar Khombo kept us from making camp much sooner than we eventually did.

Despite this, it took quite some time before I could at all bring myself to attempt to write, and the words are coming slowly. Still, they help me concentrate, which is most critical here. Everyone is being checked frequently for what the Oxford texts referred to as altitude sickness. Other than these symptoms and troubles, however, after the ice faces, this area is easy. It simply took some considerable time and struggling through the worst of the headaches in order to realize it. Progress is slow, but not nearly the impossible effort of the early day, so long as we are wary.

Camping, however, is quite unnerving, for with the silence of this valley passage when we are not providing small noise, the sound of even distant crevasses opening sounds like it might well be directly below us. Only the time the scouts took in selecting this site after much searching, combined with exhaustion and shortness of breath, is allowing any of us to get any rest here.

From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

April 27th, 1817

27º59' N 86º55' E

Miss Penn and Mr. Heller have remained behind with one of the guides here. They are preparing a camp further back upon the plain of ice to have more comfort than we had previously managed, with the guide br
inging supplies up from the lower camp so that the two of them do not need to try to brave the ice walls until necessary on our final descent.

Today we came to another sheer wall of snow, covering up a vast expanse of blue ice, which seems to stretch forever above us. We did not attempt the full climb today, instead effectively practicing for tomorrow's effort. There is a long, somewhat steep expanse of snow which we passed through on the way before the sudden rise.

Camp has been set at the beginning of that somewhat flat stretch, far enough from the wall to minimize the danger of rocks, ice, and avalanche falling upon us. Still, in the warmth of the day, some of the rocks which we witnessed falling around us reached quite some distance from the wall, so we remain cautious and keep a watch up at all time, sleeping in shifts, always with one of the Shar Khombo awake among the watch.

The headaches here are more intense – and never entirely go away. Even the peace of camp after descending back down lowers it only to a dull throbbing. It is fortunate that no one dares speak above deep whispers, other than the most urgent of warnings, for the sounds of the ice cracking and rocks falling by themselves are enough to send a new ache through the skull.

When we reached the wall, there was no illusions about attempting to scale it today. We climbed two hours upward before reaching a bulge in the ice, where we were able to gain some small, very cautious rest. We secured ropes as best we could to make reaching this same point tomorrow easier, then climbed back down. The better climbers among us made this trip three times, though I was only able to bring myself to do so once. After that, my shoulder ached almost enough to make me forget my headache. Only the presence of the better-secured ropes this time, should they last the night, makes me the slightest bit hopeful that I can ascend with the rest tomorrow.

There is talk among our guides here, the tone of which, combined with concern on their faces, suggests that while a couple of them may have made this journey before, they certainly have not all climbed this high. They now are going largely upon general experience with the types of hazards found here, rather than any specific knowledge of precisely what we will be facing ahead.

Thankfully, our trip's leaders, Goba and Dorje, are both among the more confident minority. They have repeatedly insisted that we may find Dr. Bowe's highest camp above us past this wall. Their only answers about what comes after tomorrow seem like religious expressions, so I must guess that once we have passed tomorrow's journey, we will soon be reaching the limits of the most ambitious climbers among the Shar Khombo. While exciting, this thought fills me with dread, for their specific experiences have made the trip so far much easier than it would have been fumbling along on our own. Even Eddy appears quite nervous about the next endeavors we have brought upon ourselves, though I must think it insane not to.

Should the headaches and difficulty focusing grow any worse, I shall soon have to cease my journaling and do my best to remember some detail of the climb, though I will try to continue writing as long as I can, both to keep an accurate account of events, and because forcing words onto the page, however slowly, helps me to regain my faculties. It does threaten to make the headaches much worse again, however, so it is a struggle to find the lesser of evils.

From the journals of Jillian Coltrane (translated from the original ancient Greek)

April 27th, 1817

Sitting here in the Shar Khombo village, I cannot help but feel all my focus is farther ahead. What little time I can free up while in the cold, I spend staring at a mountain, Chomolungma. The mountain is their mother goddess, and I can only hope she is feeling benevolent and returns my dear companions to me. At the same time, I feel myself blasphemous for the thought. However, here in the shadow of such wonder, it is hard to not think of nature as living and thinking.

My hands now are idle. Regrettably, my brain is not so, although it is far from productive. It spins on, wondering and imagining what it is like further upwards, and what has happened or might happen to our explorers. I am thankful I do not understand much of the language (although I now recognize an offer of tea) for Matthew tells me the stories might upset me. My head's imagining of tragedy befalling those intrepid companions further into the cold do not need any further fuel.

Some of my time here is spent watching Mathew learn languages the way young boys will, pointing and speaking with a contemporary. Learning languages and exploring as he has done, I am confident Mathew will be the next Sam Bowe, if he doesn't get himself killed first. In the fond memory of Mrs
. Ruth Fisher, I will endeavor to remind him of civilized manners at regular intervals, so long as our travels keep us together. Perhaps the public will be more willing to learn of deepest jungle from a man who dresses his part and knows his forks. However, as the snows shift by the hour, so the future is uncertain.

From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,