Seven Summits (16 page)

“Now let's move up to 1973. I’ve got four teenage kids and all of a sudden my wife drops on me that she wants a divorce. It was a big blow, the two boys staying with me, the girls going with their mother. After that, the only time I ever saw all four kids together was Christmas dinner, so one year I said, ‘You know, we need to go on a trip together. How about Switzerland to climb the Matterhorn!’

“They were all for it, so I cabled Emil Perren. He was over seventy, no longer climbing, but he agreed to arrange guides. So that summer of seventy-eight we went over and gave it a try. We caught a midsummer snowstorm, though, and only got a third of the way up, to the Schwarsee. But at the end of that year we were again at Christmas dinner and all the kids started saying what a great time they'd had so I said, ‘Gosh, if you really enjoyed it that much let's go back and give it another try.’

“They leaped at the idea, and as we made plans I had the thought that as long as we were in Europe we might as well swim the Hellespont like Halliburton did, run the original route of Phidippides from Marathon to Athens, climb the pyramids in Egypt. And if we're going to do all that, why not go to Nepal and trek to the base of Everest, then to Japan to make the climb up Fuji.

“They thought it was a great plan. The only problem was the bank was talking about liquidating me to pay off my loans, and if I took off for several months, my business manager told me I would be finished. I told the kids we might not be able to do it. It was toss and turn in bed for me every night. The date came for our departure and I had to delay. The loan—with a new bank—that I needed to save everything still hadn't gone through. Finally on a night when I couldn't sleep at all I just said, This is it. Those bankers might be able to foreclose on my assets, but they're not going to foreclose on my memories. We left several days later.

“It was a Bass odyssey à la Halliburton. Around the world, we did it all. And I couldn't believe how we all became best friends. You see, the separation had left a kind of gaping hole in my psyche concerning the kids. It was like a mental cancer eating away at me, the thought of them growing up not knowing each other. But we made up for it. And when I reached the base of Everest and looked up at it, I got tears in my eyes and thanked the Lord for helping me set my priorities straight, as otherwise I would not have made the decision to go on the trip.

“While I was away my lawyer and my business manager finished the new bank loan, so I got home and everything was okay. The only thing that was a disappointment was we failed again to climb the Matterhorn—this time we got two thirds of the way up when another summer snowstorm forced us down. That was in 1979. Now in the spring of 1980 I asked Marian, whom I had been dating for five years, to marry me, and I had the idea to do it in the little Anglican chapel in Zermatt at the base of the Matterhorn. And that gave me another idea. Why not get married on the summit! I told her I’d have her helicoptered to the top, and our kids and I would climb up and we'd have the ceremony right there. Well, she put the nyet on that real fast, and when you're asking someone to marry you, you can't be too overbearing, so I yielded and agreed to get married in Dallas. But she agreed at least to have a follow-up ceremony in the little chapel in Zermatt.

“So the day after we were married we flew over. Emil Perren was down in the village cheering us on. And this time the weather was right and we climbed the thing—me and my two boys and twin girls—and we got to the summit before noon and were down by six-fifteen with just enough time for me to jump in the tub and soak my aching muscles and make the ceremony by seven. I was hobbling down the street on blistered feet as the church bells tolled, and inside I stood next to my new wife as sunset light filtered through the stained glass window behind the preacher. And when the preacher finished, he said, ‘I feel compelled by circumstances to say a few words more. I don't know Dick here—as you can see he just arrived—but I realize this must be one of the great days of his life. Marian here, his new wife, has told me about his climbing the Matterhorn in 1949, his vow to return with his kids, and his two prior attempts. So if there's any final words to leave you with, I guess it's just to remember this: ‘The third time works the charm.’”

With Dick's story finished, Frank and I left the group tent for the smaller two-man tent we were sharing. Outside we could see in the moonlight the huge west face of Aconcagua laced with fresh snow. The cloudless sky had opened the air to drafts of cold that slid from the upper slopes and we felt our cheeks glow and we could see our breath in puffs. The clear cold sky put an optimistic capper on a delightful evening: the barometer was climbing and all indications boded fair weather and a morning departure to locate camp 1. When we were warmly cocooned in our mummy bags I wished Frank a good night.

“You know, tonight has underscored for me the importance of choosing the right guys for these climbs,” Frank said. “And I don't mean guys just because you know they can help you get to the top.”

I thought, You're learning, Frank. There's a lot more to this mountain climbing than just that exhilarating moment you reach the summit. No, the parts that matter most are those intangible ones like tonight, those moments of camaraderie that are like sips of good brandy that give your body and spirit a nice, warm glow.

“Drink up boys,” Chouinard said. “We'll need all the liquid we can hold today. It's going to be a hot one.”

Chouinard had a four-quart pot full of steaming water for the morning brews. The dawn sky was cloudless, there was no wind, and although some of the upper slopes might yet be unstable with new-fallen snow the slopes leading toward camp 1 looked safe, and all of us were anxious to stretch our legs, since the storm had kept us tent-bound for three days. We planned to carry a load that day to the campsite, then the following day move up and occupy it. Then another load would be carried to camp 2, and the pattern repeated for another camp or two above that before we would be in position to attempt the summit.

“That way we should be acclimatized for the summit bid,” Chouinard had said. “We'll take the mountain slow and easy, and drink like crazy the whole way.”

Frank was encouraged. He was sure this route would be nothing more than a steep trail, and if he could get properly acclimatized, and if there were no long-term storms, and with the support from the rest of us, he should be able to make it. On that last point Frank was pleased none of us seemed overly disappointed changing from the Polish Glacier. In truth, it didn't really make that much difference any more because we were having such a good time enjoying each other's stories, and the challenge of a harder climb now seemed unimportant. Frank noticed that with this group there was none of the competitive jockeying that had colored the Everest climb, and he concluded there was more than one way to climb a mountain.

For Frank and Dick those weeks of carrying loads on Everest had paid off. Frank had about thirty-five pounds in his pack, Dick about forty-five, and finding that almost trancelike mind-set, they followed hour after hour the steps of us lead climbers as we switchbacked up the virgin snow. The white slopes reflected the noon sun and sweat dripped from our brows. We were down to our last layer of long johns and would have stripped to bare skin except we knew the sunburn would have been worse than the heat. For both Frank and Dick it had come as a surprise, when they first started mountaineering, to discover that often on high altitude climbs you suffer from heat as much as from cold.

We made a short stop to take a drink. Each man carried a plastic one-liter water bottle.

“Dick, could I borrow a packet of that energy stuff you put in your water?” Frank asked.

“How do you know I have any?”

“You always have at least two of everything. That's what I like about you.”

“Frank, you've got to learn to bring your own things. I swear, you'll go to your grave still not knowing how to care for yourself. You know, just before we left on this trip Luanne pulled me aside and said, ‘Dick, please look after Frank. He doesn't know how to take care of himself.’ “

“And what did you tell her?” Frank asked with a sly grin.

“I said, ‘Don't worry, we'll look after him.’ “

“Well then, how about a packet of that stuff?”

After Frank had made his drink mix we rested a few more minutes, then saddled our packs and continued. The sun was past meridian when we found a good spot for camp 1. There was another tent at the campsite, but no one was home and we guessed they were up carrying a load to the next higher camp. We cached our loads of food and cooking fuel and returned toward base camp. Just above the tents Frank yelled ahead to Dick, “Bass, I’ve got fifty more yards, and if I make it this will be the first day of the trip I haven't stumbled and fallen.”

“Well get your buns down here, then,” Dick said. They joined arm-in-arm and came into camp whistling “Marching Along Together.”

The next morning was again clear, and we packed up tents, stoves, personal equipment, sleeping bags, and clothing to move up to camp 1. We decided to leave a tent at base to store some of our backup food and equipment, and since the other climbers in camp who were recently returned from the upper mountain told us there were no technical sections above, we decided to save more weight and leave our ropes.

“But we can't leave our two sixpacks of Budweiser,” Dick said. “That's how we're going to pay for this extravaganza.”

Budweiser was still interested in sponsoring the Seven Summits. Frank had now talked to the executive vice-president of marketing and told him that for only two hundred grand he and Dick would take a sixpack on each climb and bring back footage of them toasting their success on the highest summit of every continent on earth. The vice-president loved the idea, and all he had to do was clear it with his other marketing people.

We knew we had all day to reach camp 1 so we took our time packing. When we were finally ready to go it was 11:00.

“Might as well cook a hot meal before we leave,” Chouinard said. “Otherwise we'll just get started and have to stop for lunch.”

“Away by the crack of noon,” I quipped.

After finishing a full lunch it was even harder to get going, and once on the trail we complained of a malady common to climbers called high altitude foot disease: the inability to place one foot in front of the other. It was late afternoon when we finally reached the cache, and after we set up camp and made dinner it was 8:00 but still an hour before sunset. Some of us read or wrote in our journals, and Dick hauled out his blueprints for a future Snowbird addition, a high-rise hotel/condominium and restaurant complex he had now decided to call the Seven Summits Tower.

“I’m gonna have these penthouses called Summit Suites,” he told us. “They'll be the McKinley suite, the Everest suite, the Aconcagua suite … I’ll do up each one eclectically in the decor of its continent.”

“I think it's great,” Frank said impishly. “To be working on blueprints of Snowbird while you're at 16,200 feet on Aconcagua.”

“Wells, it's better than lying over there reading some paperback.”

“You guys better come out here,” Chouinard interrupted. “There's a fantastic sunset.”

Anyone inside now crawled out to have a look. The sun was casting low slanting rays through Venetian-blind clouds that tinged the snow a pale yellow. The soft light glowed orange on the faces of Frank and Dick, placing a sparkle in their eyes and a warm gleam on their smiles.

“There's no place I’d rather be this moment,” Frank said, “than right here doing what I’m doing.”

That night a cold south wind buffeted our little tents. Morning brought clear skies and though the wind continued we carried loads to camp 2, halfway up the northwest side of the mountain. Returning to camp 1 we noted multiple lens-shaped clouds hovering to leeward of the summit, foreboding bad weather, and vapor streamers whisking over the bare rocks at 22,000 feet, indicating extreme winds at higher altitudes. It would not have been a good summit day.

Back at camp 1 it started to snow, and a 15-knot breeze made it uncomfortable. Chouinard and Emmett were on dinner detail and despite the grim weather chose to cook outside. Two Basque climbers on their way down stopped for a moment and told us a number of climbers were in the upper camps waiting for the wind to abate to try for the top. There was still no sign of the missing Korean, and the Basques thought he was surely dead.

“There's no way someone could survive up there in these conditions without a bag,” Chouinard agreed.

It snowed through the night, then cleared next morning. It was windy and cold. Our plan was to dismantle camp 1 and carry the remaining gear to camp 2, at about 17,500 feet. The route was again up a low-angled snow slope, and the hours passed placing one cramponed boot in front of the other. The slow pace seemed to agree with Frank, and both he and Dick carried substantial loads. All indications suggested Frank had a good shot at reaching the top of the first of his seven summits.

We set our three tents up on a flat bench free of snow. The altitude was now high enough to see beyond the bordering ridges to more distant mountains. Even at this elevation we were higher than most summits, and the multitude of lesser peaks spread to the horizon, interrupted here and there only by a few innocent cumulus. Aconcagua was clear, and the threat of storm had disappeared. That evening there was a strategy session, and as everyone was feeling well—other than Emmett, who had a sore throat—we talked about risking a direct move to the next camp, at 19,700 feet.

“So instead of ferrying loads we would pack everything tomorrow and move up in one carry,” I explained.

“That would mean heavier packs,” Chouinard added, “but since we would do it only once, and that way save at least a day, overall the weight would be less because we wouldn't need as much food.”

“So if the weather holds, and it looks like it will,” I continued, “we would make our summit shot day after tomorrow.”

“So what happened to your idea of climbing the mountain slow and easy?” Frank asked. “That still seems best to me.”