Hell Is Above Us: The Epic Race to the Top of Fumu, the World's Tallest Mountain (28 page)

The men pushed against the blockade but it would not budge. A quick decision had to be made between two options. The first was to turn around and briskly make their way back to Base Camp. That option was unappealing because all progress from that day would evaporate. What’s more, returning to Base Camp was worse than simply “starting again at the beginning” – it meant starting again at a loss. Spirits had been compromised by the spelunking. Claustrophobia. Dangerously thin air. Emotional drain. Experiences like these sap the overall health of a team and dig into their chances of a successful ascent. Hoyt needed men who were well-rested and bubbling over with optimism. A futile jaunt in the darkness did nobody any good.

That left them with the other option which was to begin the potentially back-breaking task of razing the wall. They could not be sure how much effort would be required until they started having a go at it. There did not seem to be any cementing of stones, which was good. But the stones appeared to be heavy and wedged in tightly. They could disassemble them, but it could take a while, and who knew how thick it was?

Decisions must have been difficult to make in the sparse air shared by hundreds of tired men. Chhiri Tendi, Mano, and Hoyt tried to talk through the options and come up with a utilitarian solution that would bring the greatest benefit, or at least minimal suffering. Chhiri Tendi recounts:

“
The decision was made even more difficult because, despite hypoxia, Hoyt was managing to find enough sustenance from the air to be visibly enraged. But the rage was not aimed at Mano anymore. Hoyt seemed to finally understand that anyone wearing a bunting was inherently innocent. If you willfully choose to follow someone wearing a bunting, whatever happens after that is your own damned fault. No. His rage had turned to someone not there. He seemed to know in his viscera Junk was the mastermind behind this wall. Hoyt’s theory was that Junk had seen the cave, grown concerned over the easy access it might provide, and in a fit of paranoia, had told his porters to build it.”

Entries into journals from the Junk expedition suggest Hoyt was correct in his theory. After River Leaf has escaped certain death on the Qila Pass and made her way to the base of Fumu via the caves, Junk had indeed told the porters to construct a wall blocking any further passage.

As Hoyt, Mano, and Chhiri Tendi tried to reach a decision, another problem arose. “Hoyt, come back here. You’re not going to like this.” It was Chatham’s voice. It sounded as if it was coming from behind a wall, which made little sense given they all shared the same cave. Putting his pack down, Hoyt slid past the other travelers with lantern in hand, back to the location of Chatham’s voice. Before he could arrive at Chatham he came across the yak. In great frustration he demanded the porter in charge of the yak move the great beast so he could determine what the problem was. Chatham said from nearby “That’s the problem, William. The yak is stuck.”

The yak had been guided with little effort up to that point, but then they had reached the narrow portion of the cave and the old girl had become wedged between the walls. Chatham explained that the yak had been moving fast enough to get its withers into the space, but then it became wedged in between the sides. The load on its back had also become stuck against the top of the cave. They had tried backing it up and pushing it forward to no avail. Hoyt wrote, “The animal complained, grunting and moving its head about wildly. If anyone tried to reach for her head, the horns tried to find purchase in flesh. Its eyes, wide with fear and anger, were fixed on me. Its mouth was open, tongue distended, drool flying to all points on the compass.” The porter assigned to the yak pulled on the rope in vain. This only managed to make the animal more hostile.

The stuck animal posed serious problems. The slight oxygen supply for those ahead of the yak was now even slighter. Who knew if sufficient air was slowly entering from hidden vents and from between the yak’s legs? Would they be smothered? Was the carbon monoxide from the lanterns and torches going to be a problem? For all they knew, oxygen was being replaced with sulfurous air coming from the Earth below. Breathing was now clearly getting more difficult but no one could gauge the rate of decrease in supply. Also, retreat from the cave had now become less probable. Until the animal could be moved, they would have to focus on the man-made wall for escape. The men at the front of the line were trying to get the top stone out of the wall but were having some difficulty working fingers and the tips of ice axes into the crevices and then pulling the stones into the cave. They seem to have been placed in such a way that sending them outward
from
the cave would be easier than pulling them in, but the men could not manage the proper angle to do this. There was no doubt getting the wall down would take precious time.

After a spell, the animal calmed down, possibly due to the lack of air. It sporadically huffed and stared at Hoyt. Hoyt stared back, trying to think of what to do.
Hoyt wrote: “The yak looked at me as if to say ‘Now you die, old fool, and I will be the one to deliver you to the Underworld. This is the demise your hubris has wrought – not at the summit of the world but in a subterranean staring contest with a yak.’” Hoyt looked beneath to see if there was space enough between the four legs for the twenty or so men trapped at the front of the line to make an egress. There was not. Even if a person could slip under the yak’s brisket, any sudden actions by the yak could lead to serious bodily damage. As long as the wall and the animal stayed where they were, there was no exit.

Several plans arose at once. None of them involved the wall because even if it was only one stone thick from bottom to top, the limited diameter of the cave and the crowded conditions did not permit a proper assault. They did not have anything to use as a battering ram and even if they did, they did not have the space for a running start. Because of this, all plans revolved around the yak. Hoyt’s plan was to wait for the animal to relax further. There appeared to be perhaps a few more millimeters of width nearer to the bottom of the cave than in the middle or top. If the yak relaxed then it might drop and in the process come loose. Or at least looser. Chhiri Tendi suggested they settle in for the night and not feed the animal. He believed there was enough air for everyone to breathe and enough water to drink. If they waited it out, Chhiri Tendi believed, then the yak would decrease in girth just enough in twenty-four hours to come loose. Both Hoyt and Chhiri Tendi’s plans demanded patience. Not so Chatham’s. “Kill the beast” Chatham yelled from the other side of the blockage. “Cut its throat and then take it apart.” The tallest mountain in the world was only moments away, and Chatham could not hold back any longer. Safari in the Congo, submersibles under the North Pole, snake-charming in Iraq all paled in comparison to this, the greatest prize. “I am not going to waste another minute staring at this animal’s ass. Let’s kill it and eat well tonight.”

The first to speak up against this idea were the porters, men who usually did not speak. Some came from regions where the yak was sacred, but even those who did not come from such regions knew the worth of a live yak. Its dung provided fuel otherwise hard to find at high altitudes. Its fur could be cut seasonally for clothing. The milk was good too. In their estimation, killing this yak would be hasty and wasteful. Everyone including the animal could come out of this cave alive.

Mano’s protest against slaying the beast was predictable. In the eyes of a child, all violence is bad and should be avoided. He would rather die himself than watch the yak be slaughtered. “He began to weep openly,” wrote Hoyt. “He jerked hard on the sleeve of my wool sweater, begging not to let it happen. He said his people would gladly share the gold in the tunnels with us for eternity if I would spare the yak’s life. I told him to unhand me. The decision would be based on reason, not emotion.”

Hoyt could have very easily agreed with Chatham. He must have certainly shared Chatham’s urge to get to the mountain. Losing Wizzy, a deadly journey around the globe, the murder of his brother, all for the mountain that was
right there
. All he had to do was snuff out a life. The yak was pinned; cutting its throat would be effortless. One swift wave of the hand is if in salutation and the problem would be past.

But then again, Hoyt did not like Chatham very much. All of Hoyt’s writings suggest that he thought Chatham an ass, and an arrogant one at that. Expeditions require camaraderie and Hoyt probably should have picked someone other than Chatham, but he had been desperate due to time constraints. Now here was Chatham pushing on Hoyt to make a decision and Hoyt probably did not like that. What’s more, Hoyt had had a red letter day overall. Some kind of Joy had seeped into his heart, and even though the blasted wall had partially squelched these sentiments, it must have still existed in Hoyt. It existed insignificant and ephemeral as a dust particle, but it was enough for Hoyt to tell Chatham “No.” They would wait for the beast to tire and drop, and then they would pull her out of the tight space.

The mandate did not quiet Chatham. If no one wanted him to kill the yak, then he would at least “give the animal some motivation.” With that he snatched a lantern from the hand of a nearby porter and held it to the yak’s hindquarters. According to Hoyt’s journal entry, “The result was immediate. The yak convulsed and bellowed, all limbs going into action. According to Chatham’s anguished recollections that evening, the hind legs bucked, finding first Chatham’s lantern and then his face, introducing the two in the process. His hair was an oily fire and his face bloodied before he even hit the ground. The enraged yak fared much better than Chatham, coming loose and stampeding forward. The fellow holding the rope around her neck knew he was no match and let go immediately. The animal trampled and knocked aside men in her path as if they were no more than pappus from a dandelion. When she reached the wall she did not slow. Horns and then skull found stone and the wall gave way without resistance. Gold, granite, and amethyst exploded out in all directions. The enraged ungulate ran away into the snow and sunshine, kicking up rubble and dropping its load in the process.

Men on the ground and against the walls of the cave breathed deeply of the fresh air and squinted into the blinding daylight. They could see nothing as their troglodytic eyes had not yet adjusted. Moans could be heard from those who had been trampled. Chatham was unconscious; his newly bald head still smoking. Hoyt had suffered only a mild abrasion when the back of his head hit the wall of the cave. Mano and Chhiri Tendi were spared entirely. The able-bodied helped gather the injured, putting arms around shoulders and picking up those few who could not walk. And then, in a stream of exhausted humanity, the expedition exited the cave and looked upon the view before them.

Imagine you yourself had just stumbled from the cave, head down, exhausted. Train your eyes very slowly skyward, starting from the ground at your feet. You would have first seen little of interest. Loose grey rubble pounded by receding glaciers lie under your hiking boots. Some of the stones around you are as big as boulders, but mostly you are surrounded by pebbles you could hold in your hand. Look up a little more. Patches of snow and ice lay about. There is almost no flora save the occasional scrappy blade of brown grass peeking up between the rocks. Raise your eyes further. There are no inclines or declines to speak of; the earth is perfectly flat for one mile ahead of you up to a scree where foreground meets background. The flatness extends all of the way to the horizons on your left and right. All of this landscape is covered in black soot come to rest after its descent from above.

Now look straight ahead. But brace yourself first. For beyond the one mile stretch of nothing lays Fumu, tall and wide and terrible. The moment your rising eyes see it, all else you have just witnessed - the rocks, the soot, the scrappy grass - is gone from memory. You grow dizzy taking all of it in. The world before you is a vast palimpsest etched in ash over snow and rock and they all say the same words: “Stay away.” There is more mountain in your field of vision than blue sky. Fumu’s white buttresses flay out beyond your peripheral vision. The eastern and Western Ridges (the western one
you
will have to ascend) follow the mountain’s flanks like sharp, cumbersome shoulder armor. They meet at the shrouded summit, which is the highest thing you have ever seen. Its dark cloud billows outward and is sheared flat at the top by the jet stream
.
Could it possibly be within the Earth’s atmosphere? Unfortunately, it is left to you to find out. There but for the Grace of God go you.

“
Several of the men wet themselves immediately upon seeing her,” Thornton wrote. “I was one. Had we simply been paying a visit to Fumu’s base, it would have been a different matter. But knowing we had to wake tomorrow and begin going up – up this cold giant that was completely indifferent to our hopes, fears, and will to live – well, that was enough to seize any man’s urethra.” Thornton’s words are certainly no overstatement. The effect of seeing Fumu from the base is unsettling when paired with the knowledge you are about to scale it. The team had to take some time think about this before proceeding. They tried to eat lunch and meditate on their fate while Ferguson did his best to administer first aid to the trampled and the burned. Ankles were twisted and ribs sprained although most of those who had been in front of the yak simply had the wind taken out of them. Chatham was no delight to behold with his swollen face and lack of eyebrows. However, the beating and scorching did not stop him from prattling on about past adventures. “This is nothing compared to the damage I sustained in Yellowknife on my way to the Arctic Circle. I was caught standing between a mother grizzly bear and her two cubs. The bear already carried my colleague’s right leg in her mouth when she set upon me. The claw marks are still quite visible on my torso.” No one ever happened to see the claw marks, but then again, no one was looking.