Seven Summits (31 page)

There was a silence, then Ershler said, “We're not trying to make it easier on ourselves. We're saying these things out of a concern for you two. We're saying, Here are two guys who have been very good to us, and we don't want to see them get hurt.”

“It's our duty to make you aware just how dangerous it is up there,” Nielson added. “If something went wrong, if a storm came, or you ran out of oxygen, you don't have those years of experience that lets you instinctually get out of a tight spot. And we're afraid if you try to go above the Col, that might happen. We don't want to take your dream away, but we want you to know how risky it is up there.”

“I know it's risky,” Frank said, “but I’ve already considered that. If there's a one in thirty chance I might not come back, I’m willing to accept those numbers.”

“I’d say the odds are worse than one in thirty,” Ershler said.

Then Ed Hixson spoke: “There's another point, Frank. It's not just yours and Dick's neck, but if either of you do get in trouble, then those who have to go up and attempt a rescue are also at great risk. So there's an overall responsibility here.”

“Now we're getting to the heart of the matter,” I said, “whether a climber is justified in taking risks when he might be risking the lives of those who have to rescue him should anything go wrong.”

This question also happened to be at the heart of the controversy surrounding Nielson's decision to push to the summit in spite of illness. Now, perhaps sensing the common ground, Nielson was the first to offer his views in regard to Frank and Dick's case.

“I’ve already said I feel it's our obligation to make Frank and Dick aware of the dangers, but having done that, I would also say it's their right to take the risks if they choose. After all, it's that right that draws most of us to the mountains—the right to make our own decisions, draw our own lines.”

“I agree with that too,” Gary Neptune added. “I might be reluctant to go with Frank on his rope, but we all have the right to take our own risks. That's what climbing's about.”

To this, everyone nodded agreement. For this, everyone in the tent was drawn to mountaineering. Because of this, everyone found the freedom to measure against the indifferent peaks a personal standard that was theirs and theirs alone.

“Just promise me you'll be careful,” Ershler concluded.

“And know we're saying these things because we love you guys,” Nielson added. “And we want you to come back.”

Later that evening Frank and Dick were snug in their sleeping bags, talking about the meeting.

“At first,” Dick said, “I thought everybody not wanting us to go above the South Col was really everybody not wanting you to go, but I figured nobody wanted to come out and say it that way because they didn't want to hurt your feelings. But then as we were leaving the tent Ed Hixson got me aside and said he was not going on our summit attempt because ours was such a weak group. Now I know he wasn't referring to the Sherpas, or Yogendra Thapa, because they have a lot of experience, so what he's saying is the weak link on the team is me.”

“I can't understand why Hixson would say that,” Frank said.

“I can't either,” Dick said. “Especially after he saw me last year on Everest carrying those heavy loads all the way to camp five. He knows I’m strong.”

It wasn't Dick's strength, however, that Hixson questioned as much as his experience. Even before the meeting Hixson had discussed his worries with some of the others.

“I know Dick has lots of guts and really good endurance,” he had said. “And Yogendra is supposed to have good experience, and so do the Sherpas, but nobody else, including myself, has much technical mountaineering ability. I’m afraid that if we were to get in trouble up there we wouldn't have anybody to know how to get us out. I bet if you look through the records you'd find we are the weakest, most inexperienced team that has gone up against Everest.”

Hixson went on to say he felt Dick lacked respect for the difficulties at extreme altitude, and after the first team had returned he was quick to point out that they were all haggard, despite being in superb physical condition. But his criticisms notwithstanding, Hixson never again brought up, beyond his short conversation with Dick, the possibility of dropping out of the third team, and Dick concluded that Hixson's yearning to get a chance at the top of Everest was stronger than his reservations about the strength of the team.

For the next week the climbing schedule unfolded as originally planned. The second summit team—Neptune, States, Ershler, and a Sherpa—departed camp 2, and two days later left from the South Col in the predawn of what promised to be a good summit day. This time those of us at camp 2 had no way to follow their progress; they had left the radio at the Col, and they had no video camera. Mid-morning, though, we unexpectedly received a radio call.

“Camp two, this is Ershler. I’m back at the South Col. I got very cold going up and knew I would risk frostbite if I continued.”

Ershler had tried to repeat Nielson's no-oxygen ascent, and we guessed that without the warming effect of the gas he had become more susceptible to the cold.

“The others are going up,” he continued. “I got a glimpse of them a few minutes ago, and they should be close to the South Summit.”

We mounted our telescope with hope of spotting them at the same place we had seen the previous team, but now clouds blocked our view. There was nothing to do but wait for Ershler's reports. He radioed that the clouds had blocked his view as well. Early evening we had his final report: States, Neptune, and their Sherpa had all reached the summit and were back safe at camp 4.

The expedition had now placed eight climbers on top, more than all but two previous expeditions in Everest's history. Now it was time for Frank's and Dick's attempts. Frank was feeling he was as ready as he could be. The day before he had carried a load to camp 3 and felt much stronger. In addition he had been successful in convincing Ershler to establish an additional high camp above the South Col, and the Sherpas had been freighting the necessary gear to a cache at 27,500 feet.

With everything in place, on May 15 Dick and his group were ready to leave camp 2. Frank gave him a bear hug, and the Sherpas cheered for their good luck as they tied together on a rope for their passage over the crevassed region at the back of the Cwm leading to the Lhotse Face. The weather looked stable: no wind, no clouds.

Dick made good time up the fixed ropes to camp 3, feeling much stronger than he had twelve days before. Arriving in camp, he squeezed in a tent with Hixson and Yogendra, and spread his sleeping bag. Then he arranged his personal gear of extra socks, extra underwear, two types of sun lotion, lip cream, vitamins, personal salves and medicines, a sewing repair kit, backup mittens and goggles, extra hat and hood, Xerox sheets of his favorite poems. We were always chiding Dick about the amount of gear he hauled with him, but he was quick to return our ribbing whenever any of us asked to borrow something from him.

They woke early next morning to start the long task of melting snow for tea water. Hixson called camp 2: “Hello Phil. Everyone had a good night's rest, and we'll be leaving in an hour. We'll call from the South Col.”

“Frank wants to talk to Dick,” Ershler said. Hixson handed the radio to Dick.

“Dick, this is Frank. How are you feeling?”

“Like a bull elk smelling the rut. I’m going to charge right to the top of this mother.”

“We're all rooting like crazy for you. Remember, if you get this one we'll not only have the Seven Summits but you'll be the oldest man ever to have climbed Everest.”

“I’m pushing for all I’ve got.”

Dick finished dressing, then loaded his backpack. Hixson was watching and said, “Dick, you've got too much crap. You'll slow us all down.”

“Well, I think I know what I can handle,” Dick said.

As he finished packing he thought, I’m going to show this guy once and for all I’m not the weak sister of this group.

Outside the tent Dick clamped his jumar on the fixed rope and left camp, setting a determined pace. It didn't bother him that he had more weight on his back than even the Sherpas; he had convinced himself that a heavy pack was good for his conditioning. Anyway, he planned on summit day to leave most of the extra weight at the South Col; he figured that then his pack, even with the oxygen bottle, would be so much lighter he would feel like he had wings on his heels.

He was almost flying now. Each time he glanced back the distance to the others had increased. For about an hour he lost himself first with thoughts about Snowbird, then with stanzas from “The Cremation of Sam Magee” and “The Shooting of Dan McGrew.”

Soon he was sliding his jumar clamp up the rope as it ascended a rocky outcrop named the Geneva Spur. The grade steepened to over fifty degrees near the top of the Spur. The altitude was 26,000 feet. Even though he wasn't using any supplemental oxygen, he felt great.

Dick thought, I really am made for this kind of work. If I’d gotten into mountaineering as a young man I might have been world-class with a whole big list of first ascents. But that might have been at the cost of other things, like Snowbird. But if I do make it up tomorrow, it will be like having my cake and eating it too.

He slid the clamp and pulled back to tighten it on the rope as a balance while he moved his feet. One boot up, scrape the rock to find a foothold, step, move the other foot, balance, slide the clamp, pull tight, move the feet again. The slope eased and he looked up to see an easy snow traverse leading to the South Col. And there, tantalizingly close and awesome, was the upper mass of Everest.

In thirty minutes Dick was at the Col gazing from the saddle across the plateau of Tibet, arid and brown and extending to the horizon. What a vaulted world—to his right the ridge climbed to the summit of Lhotse, to his left to the summit of Everest. He stood transfixed for a moment until he felt the chill of the first afternoon breeze, then he moved his pack into one of the three tents at camp 4. In an hour he heard the crunch-crunch footsteps of the others, and stuck his head out to greet them.

“Howdy you all!”

“We're late because we dropped behind to get photographs,” Hixson said.

Dick thought, Heck, I took pictures too. Why doesn't he just accept the fact he took longer to get here? People are always doubting my ability to be able to do what I set out to do. I’ll show them all tomorrow.

Hixson moved into the next tent, and soon they were all busy melting snow, preparing drinks and dinner so they could get to bed early; they hoped to leave camp about 2:30 next morning. Dick slept restlessly, not so much because of the altitude, he felt, as the anxiety over the task that lay before him. He tried to bolster his confidence by telling himself he had done very well on Everest the year before, and he had done very well so far this year. But at the same time he couldn't help wondering if things would suddenly change when he hit 27,000, or 28,000 feet. Would it be like a marathoner's “wall” that either you had to break through or it broke you?

Man can take bad news, Dick told himself as he rolled and tossed, but he can't stand uncertainty.

At 1:30
A.M.
Dick heard the Sherpa light the small butane stove, and opening his eyes could see the blue flame like a waning moon cast a steel-gray light over his sleeping bag and other gear in the tent.

Well, Bass, he told himself, let's get your tail in gear and have at it.

In this halflight Dick searched for his clothes to dress. He had slept in his long john underwear, and now over this he pulled quilted down pants and a pile fabric jacket. Then over the quilted down, another pair of pants made of nylon to protect against wind and a down parka over the pile jacket. He had slept in one pair of socks, and over these he pulled another, thicker pair.

By now his fingers were numb, and he welcomed the metal cup of hot tea, wrapping his hands around it, sighing with the first sip. Then he finished dressing. He held his boots over the stove, kneading the tongues until he could force his feet in; it took another ten minutes for his toes to overcome the cold-boot shock and regain feeling. Next he pulled on knee-high nylon overboots. He was breathing hard; even something like getting dressed, when at 26,200 feet, can be a major effort. Although he wasn't hungry—another effect of high altitude— he forced down some cereal mush. Then he crawled out of the tent to strap on his crampons.

It appeared their luck with the weather would last. There was no wind, and the stars through the rarefied night sky lit the snowfields so brightly they would be able to navigate without headlamps. One of the Sherpas led the rope, and Dick was second. As they climbed out of the Col the slope abruptly steepened. Soon there was loose snow that sloughed with each step so it was necessary, especially for the first two people, to kick in each foothold. Still, they made good progress and before long Dick was lost in the rhythm of pressure-breathing and rest-stepping so that it came as a surprise when he realized the star-lit snow was growing a brighter, pale pink.

The lead Sherpa began to slow, so he switched places with the Sherpa on the back of the first rope. Dick remained second. An hour past dawn they stopped for their first rest. Dick could now look over the Lhotse-Nuptse ridge that had for so many weeks fenced his view. The giants of the earth were now before him: Lhotse, Makalu, Kanchenjunga, Cho Oyo. There was still no wind, no clouds, everything promised a perfect summit day. Hixson, last on the second rope, arrived and sat down.

“How do you feel?” he asked Dick.

“Tired, but I’m all right.”

“Well, I feel great.”

Dick thought, You should, being sixth on the ropes. You ought to try breaking trail in second position.

He looked away from Hixson, then stared across the sea of peaks. Nearly all the summits were now below him, and soon even the two or three that appeared eye level would be below. All of them, every one across the surface of the planet, would be below. The thought fortified him, helped him put things in perspective. He decided it was foolish to continue letting Hixson upset him. It was only producing negative thoughts that would drain his energy—no, more than that —detract from the joy of what he was about to achieve.