Seven Summits (55 page)

No one was at camp 1 so he decided to bite the bullet and continue the rest of the way to camp 2. He told a Norwegian who was on his way to base camp to tell the others what he was doing.

Dick found a first aid kit in camp 1 and changed the dressings on his wounds. He limped out of camp. He was halfway up the Western Cwm when he spotted Breashears coming down to meet him.

“Base camp radioed me you were coming up,” Breashears said. “I can't believe you did this to yourself.”

Breashears’ exasperation changed to pity, though, when he saw Dick's face. His brow was furrowed and he limped with his right foot splayed in a kind of duckwalk. He was clearly in pain.

“It's bad,” Dick admitted. “The pain's making me nauseous.”

“Look on the bright side,” Breashears said. “At least until your blisters heal you won't be able to gallivant off and really hurt yourself, or do something else as stupid as this.”

It took Dick five hours to make it to camp 2, and there the Norwegian team doctor instructed him to stay off his foot until the blisters healed. The next day Breashears said he was descending to base camp to pick up a lightweight movie camera he planned to take to the summit. He also wanted to rest a couple of days at a lower altitude; he was feeling debilitated both by his relatively rapid ascent up the Lhotse Face and the hard work of filming for the Norwegians.

As he left camp 2 Breashears issued a final admonition to Dick: “Stay put and don't do anything foolish.”

It took only one day, however, before Dick was going stir-crazy. So he decided to bandage his blisters and take a walk to the base of the Lhotse Face. It took about an hour from camp 2, and while his foot was tender it didn't hurt as much as he expected so he decided to repeat the walk the next day.

The following morning at 5:30 he left camp with the Sherpas, who were carrying loads to camp 3. Since Dick wasn't carrying a pack, he soon pulled ahead. He maintained a steady rhythm, moving one foot after the other. He felt good, and his foot wasn't hurting him too much. It was a clear day, and the morning snow was firm.

For the first half hour the glacier floor was fairly flat, and since he didn't have to pay much attention to his footing he started to daydream, thinking about what he would do when he got to the summit. Over the last several days he had composed a prayer he wanted to say once he got on top, and now he reviewed it in his mind, making sure he had it set to memory. He also wanted to compose another kind of spiritual message—a card addressed to Marty Hoey that he would put in a plastic bag and throw off the summit down the North Wall—so he spent some time thinking about how he might write it.

As he continued his steady step-step his mind drifted to a fantasy about what it would be like to climb Everest without supplemental oxygen.

That would really be something, he thought. I wonder if I could pull it off?

His reverie was interrupted when he noticed the snow starting to get harder and also steeper as he neared the base of the wall. Soon he had to begin kicking small footholds in the slick surface as he climbed the final hill to the beginning of the fixed ropes.

Maybe I ought to put my crampons on, he thought. But I’ve only got a hundred feet to where I turn around. Probably not worth the bother.

Suddenly his feet shot out and in a split second he was on his back sliding. He tried to roll over and dig in his ice axe pick, but it bounced off the hard snow and flew out of his hand. In three seconds he had accelerated beyond control.

My God, just like Marty, he thought. This might be it.

Suddenly he hit a patch of soft snow and stopped—just a short distance above a deep crevasse. He lay for a moment, wondering if he was injured. His right leg and arm hurt, his pants were ripped, but he decided that other than some possible bruises he was okay. He slowly started climbing back to the Sherpas, who had watched the entire slide and now were standing wide-eyed and speechless. He had slid about 350 feet.

“Whatever you do,” he told the Sherpas when he got back to them, “don't tell David-sahib about this. He'd kill me for sure.”

Dick was worried that if Breashears found out, he might question Dick's ability and judgment and perhaps even have second thoughts about wanting to take him to the summit. Back in camp 2 Dick was further chagrined when he found out some of the Norwegians’ Sherpas had seen the fall, and he had to swear them to secrecy as well.

As Dick walked to his tent he thought, Every time Breashears tells me not to do something, I end up doing it. That boy's putting a hex on me!

Inside his tent he pulled down his torn pants to discover a huge hematoma on his right thigh that was already turning red and even purple.

I’m really a mess now, he thought as he bathed his leg, arm, and backside with Absorbine Jr. Black, blue, and blistered. Maybe the weather will turn bad, slow down the Norwegians, and give me a few days to heal before I have to make my summit bid.

As it turned out, the next afternoon Dick got the few days he would need to convalesce when Breashears returned to camp 2 complaining of aching muscles and nausea.

“Feels like the flu or something,” he said as he crawled in his tent.

Breashears stayed in his sleeping bag for three days. Meanwhile the Norwegian team had maintained their rapid progress and two days later the first summit team, including Chris Bonington, reached the top. For Bonington, who had led three previous Everest expeditions but had never reached the top himself, it was an intensely satisfying personal achievement.

Breashears forced himself to come out of his tent to hear Bonington describe his ascent.

“We were unroped above the South Col because you simply don't have time to set up proper belays,” Bonington said.

“We should do the same,” Breashears told Dick. “Wearing a rope would mean two people getting killed instead of one if either of us slip. Also, I think it's important for you to start on oxygen above camp three.”

“But in eighty-three I climbed to camp four twice without oxygen,” Dick protested, “and felt fine.”

“But you're not in as good shape, you're not as acclimatized, and you're two years older.”

Dick reluctantly agreed. The plan now was for the second Norwegian summit team to make the next bid, then Dick and Breashears would have their turn. The second team was scheduled to leave the next day, but then a storm moved in and they had to wait. Three days later, when it looked like it was clearing, Arne Naess, on the second summit team, came to Dick and Breashears with a new idea.

“Why don't we combine our attempts?” he proposed. “You two can go with us in the morning to camp three, then next day to camp four, and next day to the summit.”

“That'd be fantastic,” Dick said.

Breashears was hesitant, however.

“I’d still like to have an extra rest day in camp two,” he said. “Both for my strength and Dick's feet. So how about this: you guys go up to camp three tomorrow, then the next day while you're going to four, Dick, our Sherpa, Ang Phurba, and I will leave here, climb directly to camp four and catch up. Then the next day we'll all go to the summit together.”

“You can't go from here to camp four,” Naess protested. “It's too much for one day. Especially for Dick.”

Breashears was confident, though, he could judge both his and Dick's abilities better than the Norwegians could. He knew how strong Dick was when he needed to be, and he knew the mountain better than any of the Norwegians.

Naess reluctantly agreed. On April 27 the Norwegians left camp 2, overnighting in camp 3, and the next day Breashears, Ang Phurba, and Dick left camp 2 with plans of catching up at the Col.

“I’m going ahead,” Breashears told Dick at the base of the Lhotse Face (which was also the beginning of the fixed rope). “Take your time. We'll have a snack at camp three.”

Breashears was inexhaustible. Even though he was weak from his illness he pushed himself hard up the ropes, climbing the nearly 2,000-foot vertical gain up the 45-degree ice slope in under two hours. He was at camp 3—mid-point on the Face—before the Norwegians had departed to climb the rest of the Face to the South Col.

“Where is Dick?” Naess asked.

“He's a little slow but he's coming.”

“Look, I don't think this is right. You cannot expect him to go all the way to the South Col today, then to the summit tomorrow.”

“I am forty-seven years old,” one of the other Norwegians added. “I am a very fit and very experienced climber. And I could not do that.”

The Norwegians were now pressing Breashears at a weak moment. He had made good time up the ropes, but he didn't feel as strong as he normally would have, and in the wake of his illness he started to question his own judgment.

Maybe they're right, he thought. Maybe I’m pushing Dick and myself too hard.

“Well, let me talk it over with Dick when he gets here,” Breashears said.

The Norwegians left camp, and an hour later Dick arrived.

“What are you talking about?” Dick exploded when Breashears suggested staying at camp 3. “Listen, I could go on up there to the Col today even without oxygen, only I’m using it just because you're pressuring me. I admit I’m slow, but that's because I’m taking care to place each step so as to reduce the pain and not do any further damage to my foot.”

“Okay, okay. I just wanted to make sure.”

From camp 3 they followed the fixed rope, crossing at about 25,000 feet the rock stratum known as the Yellow Band. There had been little snow that winter, and the hard underlying ice was exposed, making it more difficult than usual to stand on their crampon points. Concerned about his blisters, Dick climbed very slowly. Breashears, without oxygen, was also moving slowly. Both of them were feeling the strain of a very long day.

“Dick,” Breashears said as he paused to rest. “It's going to be dark when we get to the Col. I’m not sure we'll be able to get up at one
A.M.
and still be strong enough to go to the top.”

“I’m hearing you. Maybe we should call tomorrow a rest day, and go to the top by ourselves the day after.”

“I was hoping you'd say that.”

When they got to the South Col, at 26,200 feet, the Norwegians were pleased to hear their decision. Everyone went to bed early, and the next morning about 1:30
A.M.
the Norwegians left for the summit.

About 7:00
A.M.
Breashears stuck his head out to get a block of snow for meltwater.

“What's the weather?” Dick asked.

“Clear and calm. Can't see the Norwegians; maybe they're past the South Summit already.”

Breashears pulled back in the tent and added, “This weather looks stable. It should last through tomorrow.”

They spent the rest of the morning eating and drinking as much as they could. Dick crawled out of his sleeping bag and decided it was a good time to change from his mid-weight long johns to the heavyweight undersuit he had brought up for the summit day.

“What in the heck happened to your leg?” Breashears said when he saw Dick's black and blue thigh.

“Well, look at that. Gee, I don't know.”

“What do you mean you don't know?”

“Maybe I got it when I slipped in camp two on the way to the cook tent. Yeah, that must have been it.”

“Dick, you're the only person I know who could have a bruise the size of a watermelon and not know where you got it.”

About 3:30 that afternoon the first of the climbing team staggered back to camp. Their whole group, four Norwegians and four Sherpas, had made it. One of the Norwegians was so exhausted he collapsed about a hundred feet from his tent. Breashears took some oxygen and water to him, and with this he was able to get up and make the final few feet to his sleeping bag.

“It's a long way up there,” Naess told Dick and Breashears later that afternoon. Shaking his head, he added, “It's absolutely ridiculous that a mountain should be that
big.
“

“Arne, I’ve climbed this thing already,” Breashears said, “so I know what you mean. It's going to take everything Dick and I have to get up there and back. So I was wondering, could you leave one of your Sherpas here at camp, in case we need any help getting down? I was thinking of Ang Rita.”

Ang Rita was the same super Sherpa who had reached the summit with Breashears in 1983, the one who had climbed without oxygen and then had assisted Breashears with the microwave transmission from the summit. He had now just been to the summit for the third time—all without oxygen—and when Naess asked if he would mind staying he smiled and said, “Oh, no problem.”

“That makes me feel better,” Breashears said to Arne. “Thanks for asking him.”

When Naess left, Breashears said, “Dick, it really is a long way up there. We've got our work cut out, believe me.”

Breashears paused, then added, “That's why you've got to remember not to think everything's over once we get to the summit. That's when the difficulties really begin. So let's make a pact right now. Let's promise not to congratulate ourselves until we're all the way off the mountain. All the way down safe in base camp. That way you won't be tempted to let your guard down.”

Dick understood, and they spent the rest of the afternoon melting snow. Breashears made sure each man's water bottle was full.

“That will give us a head start melting snow in the morning,” he said. “Make sure you sleep with your bottle in your sleeping bag so it doesn't freeze.”

They got to bed about 7:00, knowing they would have to start the stove again even before midnight.

“What time is it?” Breashears asked.

“Eleven-fifteen.”

Dick lay in his bag as Breashears lit both stoves.

“Let's drink the bottles we slept with right now,” Breashears said. “Then we'll have a hot drink as soon as the water's ready.”

When they had each had two cups, Breashears refilled the water bottles.

“We'll each take a quart with us,” he said. “Make sure you pack it inside your parka or something, so it doesn't freeze.”

They finished dressing, then attached their oxygen regulators to the aluminum cylinders and passed them outside. Breashears and Dick would each take one, and Ang Phurba would take two, one for himself and an extra for Dick, who would need it later in the day because he was climbing at a higher oxygen flow rate than the other two.