Hell Is Above Us: The Epic Race to the Top of Fumu, the World's Tallest Mountain (24 page)

Hardly a “pass” at all. More like the giant, flowing cape of some pagan god of suicide. Nonetheless, to the best of Junk’s knowledge, the top of the Qila Pass was the lowest elevation and least steep approach into the domain of Fumu. Just to be sure, Junk sent two parties out at sunrise to check for alternative entry points into Qila. One party went east along the ridge toward the mountain the locals called Abel. They found nothing but a relatively featureless wall of loose rock. There was no variation in its steepness, its shoddy structure, or its height. The height of the ridge also increased as it moved toward the summit of Abel. The other party, which had moved west toward the mountain called Asha, found more of the same. The parties returned by dinner and shared the bad news with Junk. Regardless of the fear roiling the gut of every expedition member, they needed to brave the Qila Pass. They would begin climbing the next morning.

Despite their prayers, morning came. With the exception of the handful of porters who would remain at Base Camp, Junk’s team left the foot of the Qila Pass with the intent of mounting it, descending the other side, and setting up Advanced Base Camp One (there would also be an Advanced Base Camp Two when they reached the north side of Fumu). The hike started out peacefully as expected. The bottom of the pass was a gently sloping basin holding little snow. Walking over the uneven amethyst was at times slippery but by no means difficult. They walked in single file with most of the Sherpa and porters in the front, led by Pasang Dolma, and the Americans in the back. Cole led the Americans with Morrow and Fenimore close behind. River Leaf was behind Fenimore. She practically disappeared into her clothing and equipment which were designed for a man’s frame. The collar came up to her ears. Her mitts could not be seen within the sleeves of her coat. Only her boots fit properly. Junk took up the rear. He chose to be there because of McGee. He did not want the man out of his sight. Before the pass became steep, McGee was already stopping regularly, wiping his brow, and breathing heavily. Nonetheless, he kept up fairly well only falling behind a few hundred feet. Base Camp had sat at about thirteen thousand feet above sea level. The top of the pass was at sixteen thousand five hundred feet. The team made it to fifteen thousand feet within a few hours.

When the first person slipped and fell (it had been Taylor), Junk sent word up the line that the increasing gradient now called for the Elevator. The Sherpa would continue to climb, bringing several lengths of rope with them. The others would wait for the Sherpa to drop one end of the rope down and then they would tie it to a short rope on the top of the Elevator. The short rope was permanently tied to the Elevator through eyeholes in its top two corners, like a giant carrying handle. Then the porters, cooks, and equipment would be brought up, followed finally by the Americans. This process would be repeated eight times to make it to the top of the pass.

Pasang Dolma and his Sherpa team climbed the ever steepening “Fumuri La” with admirable aplomb. They did not even try to hammer pitons into the amethyst. It would have been pointless and they knew it. They simply roped off in groups of four and climbed. Whatever payment they were receiving from the Sahibs, it was not enough.

The Sherpa reached the top of the first of eight pitches without a casualty. Morrow recalled the wild applause from below as the last Sherpa made it up. It set off an avalanche about one hundred yards to the west of them that came barreling down the mountain, entirely wiping out the Base Camp below. “We could just make out porters racing from the tents and escaping with their lives” Morrow wrote. Surplus tents, food, fuel, and climbing equipment were now buried and would have to be recovered at a later date. Junk held back a howl of anger for fear of setting off another avalanche. He quietly ordered several of the porters who had climbed up with them to climb back down and invite those below to come and join them. Waiting for the camp-less porters to catch up slowed progress dramatically and risked putting them on the last pitch after sunset. Setting up advanced Base Camp on the bottom of the other side would no longer be an option. They would have to set up camp at the top of Qila. Junk made a rule as they waited for the porters to catch up: There would be no more clapping on the journey for any reason.

When the porters had caught up, the long rope was dropped down by the Sherpa and tied to the short rope attached to the top corners of the Elevator. As if the poor man were an experimental rat, one unfortunate porter from Calcutta was told by a lead porter to get on the elevator first. The man reluctantly stood on the small board that acted as a platform and tied himself to the larger board at his back. Several pieces of cooking equipment and containers of pemmican were loaded on as well. Other people then gently brought the larger board to rest against the uneven surface of the pass. This put the passenger at a roughly forty-five degree angle, lying with his back on the board and the board on the mountain. They were ready to go. Junk signaled to the Sherpa above to begin pulling on the rope. The Elevator began to rise in an awkward, wild fashion. It rose up the face but it also jerked violently in every direction. The man on the elevator seemed petrified. Despite his fear, within a minute, he and the equipment were with the Sherpa on the ledge above. The people below refrained from applause, but instead chose to pat one another on the back. This set off another avalanche, this time to the east. Quite redundantly, it too hit the former location of Base Camp. Digging out supplies would now take twice as long. Junk made a new rule. There would be no joy on the journey for any reason.

Moving people and equipment up the pass went much quicker now. Two by two and pitch by pitch, cooks, porters, equipment, and Americans were pulled up. Between each pitch, the Sherpa would climb to the next pitch without any security but each other. The weather grew consistently colder despite the southern exposure. The air also grew a little thinner. Pasang Dolma bravely took the lead each time followed closely by the four high altitude Sherpa, and they in turn were followed by the remaining twenty-five Sherpa.

The only gumming up of the works came from McGee, who was terrified of heights. He asked to be strapped into the elevator
facing the board
so he would not have to look out on the shrinking Base Camp and expanding vista. Junk would give him a solid pat on the back before each pitch, and then signal the Sherpa to start hauling up the big Boston tough.

When they arrived at the final pitch before the top, the Sherpa were exhausted. They had gotten everyone within close range of the top of the pass well before sunset, but their bodies were paying the price. Many of the Sherpa complained of headaches, muscle spasms, and blurry vision. These were no doubt the effects of altitude sickness. Those symptoms would recede once they climbed down to the valley between Qila and Fumu, but for now it was compromising their ability to get up the last pitch. The slow pace at which they had climbed before now decreased even further to that of a migrating sponge. Movement was almost invisible to the eye of a bystander. The slow pace was now a risk as much as an asset, keeping the Sherpa on the ever-steepening face much longer. Legs began to shake uncontrollably. Grunts of exhaustion were heard. One Sherpa slipped immediately. He fell only about six feet, before his rope team had begun to climb behind him, but it was enough to make everyone gasp, setting off yet another distant avalanche.

This last pitch was nasty. It rose at approximately seventy degrees along a sliver on the far eastern side, while the rest of the surface surpassed ninety degrees and became an overhang. The Sherpa were required to limit their search for handholds to a narrow chute to the right of the overhang. They moved almost undetectably in single file, nearing a safety that seemed worlds away. Above the overhang, the steepness slowly dissipated. Everything leveled off and became the wide, flat col at the top of the pass. They were almost there.

Morrow wrote, “As if by some miracle, all thirty Sherpa reached the top of the pass.” No miracle was necessary. These men got to the top by way of their strength and skill. Pasang Dolma had been climbing for more than half of his life and, by his estimation, had been the leader on more than half of those expeditions. If anyone could climb on vertical ice-smooth stone with no handholds, it was him and the men he chose to join him on this adventure. When the Sherpa reached the top, it was reason for loud cheers of respect. But no one could celebrate. They simply tied the dropped end of the rope to short rope on the Elevator once again and began to board.

Everyone but River Leaf and Gil Taylor were at the top within an hour’s time. The two were required to load the last of the equipment onto the Elevator before climbing aboard themselves. With everything and everyone else now at the top, River Leaf (who according to Morrow looked “quite the sight in men’s climbing attire about four sizes too big for her”) and Taylor climbed aboard the Elevator and tied themselves to the big board. Taylor gave the sign to the Sherpa above to begin pulling. They left the ledge that formed the bottom of pitch eight and began to rise. They rose quickly. The gradient of the pass was now so precipitous the Elevator did not drag as much along its surface. It dragged just enough to keep them from hanging in mid-air.

Five Sherpa stood at the top pulling the two passengers up. The Sherpa were all grunting now, winded and suffering from altitude sickness. Due to their almost obsessive obedience, they would not take shifts with the other Sherpa unless Junk told them to do so. Junk was not nearby to do so. He had gotten his first uninterrupted, sweeping view of Fumu on the far side of the col and had been lured in by her Majesty. He stood looking at the mountain, rapt. He took sips from a flask of bourbon and allowed his eyes to dart around, taking in every buttress, icefall, and ridge. The sheer size of what he was seeing was enough to make him feel like falling backward. If he did not crane his neck to look straight up or down, there was nothing in front of him that was
not
mountain. It took up his entire field of vision, off to the peripheries where Reality turns black and white. The atmosphere lingering between him and the mountain gave it a misty, otherworldly quality. The glaciers and scree at its wide base. The snowfields interrupted only by Rauff’s Maw. The massive cliff up to the Eastern Ridge petering out as it moved toward the summit. The treacherous Western and Eastern Ridges, climbing gradually but erratically to the top, their cornices sullied by ash. And the cloud at the top, growing, grumbling, endlessly sheered at its outer layers by high winds but still growing from within.

Junk lit a cigar and pulled deeply from a flask of bourbon. He was looking at the route his nemesis would likely take. After climbing down from the col on which he stood, Junk’s plan was to hike to the
other
side of the mountain, the northern side, and climb up to the rim of the Icy Bellows, and follow that rim as it became the Eastern Ridge. So the view in front of Junk right now could only give him a sense of the mountain he was taking on. The details were still obscured.

Behind him, Junk heard yelling followed by avalanches like some sinister form of call-response in a house of worship. It had been the Sherpa pulling the Elevator. When Junk got back to them and demanded to know what was happening, he was notified that River Leaf and Taylor were stuck, dangling over the edge of the overhang. The Sherpa had tried to pull them up the gentler slope on the eastern end of the pass, but several things had gone wrong at once. First, the sun had begun to lower in the sky in the southwest. The glare hitting the amethyst had all but blinded the Sherpa so they could not see the rope on which they were pulling. They did not see it was slowly tending to their right as they pulled it up. The Sherpa in the front might have asked for someone’s tinted goggles to help him see, but the second problem stopped that from happening. The Sherpa in front had gone mad from altitude sickness. He was yelling things in Nepali about being a baby and nursing from an icicle. Temporarily blind and insane, the Sherpa allowed the Elevator to tend right and dangle off the edge of the cliff. The third problem involved the weather. A powerful, icy wind had picked up as the afternoon progressed. Although the people pulling at the top could not see it, the Elevator was now spinning wildly. Whenever the large board was not parallel with the surface of the mountain, which was most of the time, it could not rise over the lip of the cliff without flipping and potentially removing its passengers. The Sherpa could not lower it and start again. If they lowered it, there was a fifty-fifty chance the board would come to rest upside down, and they would end up dragging the humans underneath along the surface of the mountain. They were at an impasse.

“
It was clear from his heightened state of mania that Junk was loaded down with anger and guilt,” wrote Cranston Fenimore. “He had been lured away by the sight of Fumu and had not been around to oversee the Qila Pass ascent to the very end. He was at a loss for what to do next. We could only imagine the fear River Leaf and Taylor were experiencing over that ledge.”

Taylor panicked as the boards they were strapped to slowly revolved. He began to say the Lord’s name over and over interspersed with creative, homemade compound curses involving animals, excreta, and carnal acts. Each curse was followed by a distant snapping sound as another avalanche commenced down the mountain. It was as if the entire ridge from Abel to Asha were giving way.

They were hanging about fifteen feet above the ground, but the “ground” in this case was a steep slope. If they dropped and they landed on top of the wood, they would slide down the pass to their deaths. If they dropped and the wood landed
on top of them
, they would essentially become sled runners for the wood, and death would come even quicker. The wind began to pick up and they spun faster.