Seven Summits (50 page)

Jet-lagged, perhaps, but phlegmatic, never. Frank was like a little kid telling Luanne his Antarctic adventures.

“… and then we took off from Vinson and got to Siple, and you wouldn't believe how the people there live under the ice. But they did have a cassette machine for movies, and even better a kitchen stocked with goodies. You would have been proud of me, darling, cooking my own meals. Well, not really cooking them, but they had this microwave thing that was incredible. Just push a button and presto! Darling, we've got to get one.”

“Frank, we've had one for twelve years.”

Luanne could hardly believe how haggard Frank looked. His frostbitten nose was now covered with a black scab in places cracked and bleeding. On the one hand she had a hard time looking at him, but on the other had never been so glad to see him.

She had originally planned a big party in Australia. Dick's earlier idea to end the film with a tuxedo and champagne banquet on top of Kosciusko had evaporated when they failed to get to the summit of Everest (we'll have it at Snowbird instead, Dick had said, after I make Everest on the next expedition), but Luanne still wanted to celebrate with champagne on top of Kosciusko followed by a gala dinner at a nearby inn. She had bought a case of the best champagne she could find, and made the dinner reservations. The Emmetts had flown down, and Morgan and Jennings were going to come in from Indonesia. With the delay, however, everything was cancelled.

“But we still have the champagne,” Luanne said. “And Betty and I are taking a bottle to the top to help you guys celebrate.”

They took a ski lift from a parking area near the base of Kosciusko to the beginning of the trail. There were already several dozen tourists in front of them, out for a weekend walk to the top of the mountain.

“Maybe we should hike up off to the side,” Marts suggested. “Over by those boulders. We could do some rock scrambling that way. Look a lot better on film.”

Frank and Dick started to argue the merits of Marts’ suggestion.

“I think the trail will look just fine,” Dick said in a pleading and frustrated voice. “It'll be terrific humor, the juxtaposition of the incongruous—all these months of misery and privation living and climbing on rock, snow, and ice, and here we end it like a stroll in the park.”

“Too boring,” Frank said. “Marts is right, we need more action.”

“Wells, I swear, you might be a Hollywood hotshot and all that, but you don't have any sensitivity for the nuances of this moviemaking stuff. Now close your eyes and let me tell you what it will look like …”

Meanwhile Marts had started hiking up his proposed alternate route.

“Marts, get back here,” Dick yelled.

But Marts kept going.

“Guess we have no choice,” Frank said with a sly grin.

“See you mountain climbers on top,” Luanne said as she started up the tourist trail.

Dick reluctantly followed Frank, who followed Marts. An hour later Marts stopped to film a scene of Frank and Dick scrambling up some big boulders. Dick was in the lead, trying to get up a ten-foot rock, scraping his boot as he searched for a toehold. Frank reached up and gave him a boost.

“Damnit, Wells, Marts has got the camera going. What are you trying to do, make me look like I can't get up this on my own?”

“I’m just trying to help you.”

“Well, I don't need it. Besides, we're supposed to look proficient. I mean, otherwise how are we going to be folk heroes?”

It had started as such a beautiful day they wore only T-shirts, and Frank was in shorts, but now a cold south wind started to fill and Dick took off his pack and pulled out his parka. Frank stood by with goose bumps growing on his bare arms and legs. He had no pack at all, and of course no extra clothing.

“Dick, you wouldn't happen to have an extra windbreaker or anything?”

“Wellsie, seven climbs later and you're still not able to take care of yourself. What are you going to do when you don't have me anymore?”

“Fortunately I have another indulging roommate to take over—my wife.”

Dick handed Frank an extra wind suit he had thought might be needed under just such a circumstance. They continued up the boulder-studded slope. The country was open and barren save for a tough tussock grass sprouting between boulders. Below them the treeless brown and green Kosciusko Plateau, reminiscent of the Scottish Highlands, spread to the horizon. To their right they could see the wide trail with a long line of tourists on their weekend stroll. Frank and Dick estimated they had about a half hour to the top.

“Dick, did you bring any sunscreen?”

Despite the chilly breeze, the sky was still clear and Frank was concerned about sunburn.

“Frank, I just don't understand you. Why can't you remember to bring your own stuff?”

“You let me borrow your toothbrush in Punta Arenas, so what's wrong with letting me borrow your sunscreen on Kosciusko?”

“What's wrong is, one, it's a pain in the rear for me having you think you can borrow all the time, and two, it's making you
weak,
Frank. The worst thing in the world you can do is weaken your fellow man by waiting on him all the time. You have that bleeding-heart, social-welfare attitude of yours that makes you feel justified in leaning on your fellow man unconscionably—”

“Dick,” Frank interrupted, “let's not get off on that one again. All I want is some sunscreen,” Frank said impishly.

“Well, here it is. Anything else?”

“Got any chapstick?”

Dick sighed as he dug in his pack. Then they were on their way, Frank with a smile, knowing he was going to miss not having his buddy to badger anymore, Dick shaking his head over Frank's lack of embarrassment, almost glee, in acting so helpless at times. They were now only a few minutes from the top, but as he was about to achieve the final summit of this fantastic year, Frank's emotions were a curious mix of jubilation and melancholy.

“Dick, let's just sit here for a minute and contemplate it before we walk over there, because there's some part of me that doesn't want to finish,” Frank said.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“We're never going to repeat this year. There will never be another one like it.”

“I guess it is kind of sad,” Dick said. “But you have to admit, Pancho, it's been one unbelievable adventure.”

“A lot more than I ever guessed when we started,” Frank agreed. “You know, I just had a thought a moment ago, about what we could call our movie. How about
The Eighth Summit.”

“What's the eighth?”

“What we've learned from the other seven: that there's a wide world out there most people don't even begin to know about. And that thank God we took the time out of our lives to see it.”

“Like Auntie Mame said when talking about how so many people are only marking time and just existing,” Dick said. “’Life's meant to be a banquet, but most poor bastards are starving to death.’ “

They looked toward the summit fifty yards away. Luanne was leaning against the small obelisk summit marker in a kind of what's-taking-you-so-long attitude, motioning them to hurry up.

They stood and walked together toward the obelisk.

“As T. S. Eliot said,” Frank mused aloud, “ ‘Not with a bang, but a whimper.’ “

They strolled to the top and bear-hugged.

“Six and a half down and none to go.”

“Aah-eah-eaahhh!”

Marts had the camera rolling, and with clasped hands they raised their arms while Luanne popped the champagne. Frank took a swig out of the bottle, choked and spit foam.

“Let's try another take of that,” Marts suggested.

Frank choked again, this time with foam running from his nose.

“Take three,” Marts said.

Now he got a full swig down and handed off to Dick.

“Frank, we've come a long way in one year,” Dick said. “From Budweiser on top of Aconcagua to champagne on top of Kosciusko.”

“I wonder how I would have felt if we had made Everest,” Frank said, again melancholy. “If this really were number seven. Maybe in some way we learned more from not making Everest. I don't know, it's going to take awhile to think about.”

“ ‘Men are made strong not by winning easy battles,’ “ Dick said, “ ‘but by losing hard-fought ones.’ “

“You're right. But I just can't help wonder for me anyway what's going to happen next. If there will be another adventure. At least you've got Everest.”

“Yeah, I’m going home from here by way of Katmandu, to talk with Yogendra and try to get on with the Indian expedition.”

“Maybe I’ll go in search of the world's seven greatest beaches,” Frank said.

“When I get Everest behind me, I’m going to get a big boat and sail the seven seas,” Dick said. “Why heck, Pancho, let's
sail
the Seven Seas in search of the seven beaches.”

“You're on, partner.”

Both men were now a little maudlin, a combination of the wistful melancholy from finalizing their goal and the buzz from drinking champagne at 7,316 feet.

“You're great company,” Dick said with a twinkle. “One in a million.”

“I feel the same about you.”

“I couldn't have asked for a better partner.”

“Me neither.”

“I just hope one thing, though,” Dick said. “What's that?”

“I just hope, now that this is over, you're able to go home and find yourself a job.”

As they descended from the summit, the shallow ponds that dotted the gentle Kosciusko slopes reflected the late afternoon alpenglow. Their feet padded softly through ankle-high grass, and Frank kept a slow pace because he didn't want it to end.

It'll never be the same, he told himself.

He felt a growing apprehension about what he was going to do when ge got home. Would he be able to get another job? A meaningful, fulfilling job? He had no idea.

For over two years he had managed to keep that question out of his mind. He had managed not to spoil the adventures by fretting about the future.

But now the future was here.

Well, almost here. He still had an hour or two left before this climb was finished. The thought gave him a smile, and his face glowed in the warmly tinted light of day's end.

15

EVEREST: HUMAN BARRIERS

W
hen they got off Kosciusko Frank and Dick headed back to Sydney and went separate ways. Dick returned home by way of Katmandu, where Yogendra told him that unfortunately the Indians had turned down his request to join their expedition. As soon as he got back to the States he called Frank to tell him the news.

“They said they have some twenty-odd members—including several women—and they just felt adding us would be the straw that broke the camel's back.”

“Can't you explain that your group would be self-sufficient?” Frank asked in his typically imperative way. “Emphasize that Breashears and Neptune would be terrific help putting in the Ice Fall and fixing the Lhotse Face.”

“Frank, Yogendra's already explained that. But they've said no, and he says that's that. Anyway, let me explain that Yogendra also told me that a Dutch national team has the permit for the South Col route next fall. I’m going to call their expedition leader in the morning.”

“Why wait. Call him now.”

“Look, it's the middle of the night there now.”

“Well, that way you'd be sure to catch him.”

“Frank, you're still talking like you're a corporate executive with big company muscle to beat people over the head with. But I’m telling you, now that you're on your own you're going to have to learn to be more patient and considerate. Especially when you're the one doing the asking.”

“Dick, you're always dillydallying.”

“B.S., I’m just more circumspect.”

“Damnit, will you please just call the bastard?”

Dick did—the next morning. The leader of the Dutch team, Hermann Plugge, was not at all receptive, however, and the more Dick tried to explain the merits of having his group along, the more he realized the only chance would be to meet the team face-to-face in Holland.

So, several weeks later, in early January 1984, Dick traveled to Amsterdam and had an initial lunch meeting with Plugge and Han Timmers, the climbing leader. As usual, Dick did all the talking, but no matter how personable he tried to come across, the Dutch pair remained poker-faced. They agreed to have a follow-up dinner meeting that evening, but the two Dutch leaders failed to show. Instead, they sent the team photographer, who could only talk about how much they needed money. Not only was Dick's sense of common decency offended, but he now surmised he could probably join the Dutch climb only if he was willing to contribute enough—like pay for their whole expedition.

From Holland Dick again went home the long way, via Katmandu, to talk once more to Yogendra.

“And I can't afford to underwrite them all the way,” Dick explained to Yogendra. “So I don't see any hope pursuing it further.”

“There must be another expedition we can join,” Yogendra said. “I’ll check and see who has permits for the next couple of years. We will find someone.”

When Dick got back to the States he called Frank again to fill him in.

“Now I have to wait for Yogendra to get back with a list of possible teams we can approach. Then I guess I’ll do my song and dance and see if I can talk someone else into taking me on.”

“Let me know if there's anything I can do,” Frank said.

“Thanks, Pancho. I’ll keep you posted.”

Then, with an ironic laugh, Frank added, “After all, I’ve got plenty of free time.”

To most people what Frank called free time would be full-time work. He still had his consultant job with Warner Bros., and he was busy assisting them in the divestiture of the parent company's Panavision division, and he had been asked to make an analysis of studio operations on the Burbank lot to see if they might be run more efficiently.

The work was challenging, certainly, but to Frank it was less than fulfilling. The reason was simple: he was now on the sidelines waiting to be asked to do things instead of calling the shots and aggressively moving forward on his own.

He knew if he was going to be satisfied, he would have to find another job where he was at the helm.