Seven Summits (56 page)

“You ready?” Breashears asked Dick.

“Two more minutes.”

Dick was packing the few things he wanted to have on the summit: pictures of his wife and kids, an American flag, a Nepal flag, a Seven Summits flag on a string, a Snowbird banner, and the plastic bag containing his card to Marty.

“Okay,” Dick said, “let's get this show on the road.”

It was 2:00
A.M.
and about twenty below zero. They strapped on their packs and left. Ang Phurba took the lead, following the footprints left by the Norwegians the previous day. For a half hour there was a gibbous moon, then it set and although the night sky was clear, it was very dark and they had to rely on headlamps to see their way.

Dick followed Ang Phurba, thinking this was it, his best and probably his last chance to climb Everest.

But will my lack of acclimatization pre-empt my bid? he thought.

He felt good except for his foot, which now was more of a dull ache than sharp pain.

The slope gradually steepened, arid after an hour the snow gave way to exposed rock. Dick lowered his oxygen mask and asked, “Why don't we move over to the right and stay on the deep snow like we did in eighty-three?”

“The Sherpa knows the way,” Breashears answered.

It was still very dark, and Dick had to pay attention to his moves, especially since they were climbing without a rope and he was not very experienced using crampons on steep rock. Breashears stayed just below Dick to steady him in case Dick started to lose balance.

Just as well I can't see down, Dick thought.

Then Dick's headlamp battery went dead.

“Good Lord,” he said, “what timing.”

“We can make it with just my headlamp if we stay close,” Breashears said.

“Listen, why can't we just go over there to the right, in the snow?”

“It's too soft.”

“But that's where we were in eighty-three …”

Dick started to say more, then checked himself.

Don't get aggravated, he thought, because that's a negative thought, and negative thoughts will drain you.

After a number of scary sections, they finally climbed through the rock and back onto snow. Breashears continued to shine his headlamp ahead of himself to help Dick, but now Dick was able to see a little without the lamp.

“It's getting light,” Dick said.

In a half hour they stopped to rest at the base of a snow gully. It was 5:30. About twelve miles to the southeast, dawn painted the granite pyramid of Makalu—the world's fifth highest peak—a soft pink. Sixty miles to the east the early morning light glowed on the mighty Kanchenjunga Massif, the world's third-highest summit. The sky was clear, and there was no wind.

“How are you doing?” Breashears asked Dick.

“I’m going to make it. But no more of those rock sections, okay?”

They climbed up the snow gully following the frozen path left by the Norwegians. Unfortunately the Norwegians had descended the same path they had climbed, and in the soft afternoon snow their plunging steps had left long skid marks that were now frozen and made footing difficult. Dick had to concentrate on placing each step so the metal crampons firmly spiked the hard snow, and he knew this extra effort was taking valuable energy.

The gully led to the crest of the southeast ridge where they climbed into sunshine. Now they could gaze across the peaks to the south and west. It looked like they were about even with neighboring Lhotse, the fourth-highest peak in the world.

Lowering his mask Dick asked, “What's the altitude?”

“Must be about 27,800,” Breashears said.

“This is the spot where we turned back last time,” Dick replied.

“Let's rest here a minute and change your oxygen bottle.”

The bottle Dick was using still had 40 percent of its gas remaining but Breashears had earlier judged it a good plan to switch him at this point to a full bottle, which would give eight hours of use at three liters per minute, a 25 percent to 30 percent safety margin for summitting and then returning to this spot. The initial bottle could then be used for the final descent to the South Col. Although Breashears and Ang Phurba would have only one bottle for the whole day, Dick was far less experienced and acclimatized—as well as being fifty-five years old, compared to their ages of twenty-nine and twenty-five.

Nearby there were a couple of empty oxygen cylinders the Norwegians had discarded, and they placed Dick's partially filled bottle next to those. Then they continued, with Ang Phurba and Breashears alternating the lead position. The slope steepened, and the snow, now unconsolidated, was only a thin covering over a loose slate section that downsloped like roof tiles. Dick found himself fighting not only to maintain his footwork, but also to control his fear. They were climbing on the Tibetan side of the ridge, and looking down he could see the glacier nearly two vertical miles below him. Without a rope, and with no hope of arresting himself should he even start to slip, he needed no reminding of the consequences of a fall.

Above them and to the left side there were several rock towers looming into the sky that to Dick appeared as enormous mountain spires. When he got closer, though, he could see they were actually quite small. It was odd, but it seemed like his perception was off. Maybe it was his fatigue, the lack of oxygen, making things appear larger than they were.

The altitude was approaching 28,500 feet, higher than Dick had ever been. He still had reserve strength, but the steep climbing, his great fear, his lack of proper acclimatization, his lack of physical conditioning before the climb, all were beginning to take their toll.

The loose snow and slippery rock gave way to snow so hard the crampon points barely pricked the surface. The slope steepened even more as they climbed back onto the ridge crest, and now it fell away suddenly on both sides.

Looking up he could see Breashears gracefully climbing with apparent ease, and he wished he had the same years of experience that allowed such confidence and economy of movement.

Bass, you stupid ass, Dick thought to himself. What a ridiculous place to try to improve your climbing proficiency.

The absurdity of it all made him laugh, and for a moment broke his fear.

Then he glanced down to his left and all he could see was the glacier floor of the Western Cwm on the Nepal side, 7,000 feet below. To his right, on the Tibetan side, the slope quickly dropped away to the Kangshung Glacier 18,000 feet below. He felt a gasping faintness and decided he had better not look down any more. He would instead focus on each step, repeating to himself Marian's words, the same message that had sustained him on the last steep face of Vinson:

“Never let your guard down. Remember how much you have to come home to. I love you.”

He reminded himself again that he was unroped.

If this continues, Dick thought, I don't see how I can make the summit without slipping off somewhere. And even if I do, how in the world am I going to get back down?

As soon as he had that thought, he tried to force it out of his mind.

Get to the top first, he told himself, then worry about getting down.

He had to balance around a knob on the ridge that made correct placement of his crampon points even more critical.

This is the same kind of hard snow I slid on ten days ago, he thought, but that wasn't nearly as steep—and nothing compared to the mile and a half of vertical below me now.

He got around the knob and thought, That earlier fall was just a warning to let me know how quick things can get away from you.

He glanced up and saw Breashears and Ang Phurba resting. There was only open blue sky behind them and it looked as though they were on the summit. He made a step, breathed twice, made another step, and another, until he was only a few feet from Breashears.

“Five more steps and you're on the South Summit,” Breashears said. “28,750 feet.”

Breashears wasn't rejoicing, though. There were clouds wisping over the ridge, and a wind was picking up. He knew the clouds were most likely caused by normal daytime evaporation, but they might be the front edge of a storm. He was also concerned about both his and Dick's growing fatigue. He was now feeling the debilitation of his illness, and he was much weaker than he had been at this point when he climbed the mountain two years before. He could see Dick was slowing, too, and although it warmed his heart to watch how carefully Dick was climbing, Breashears could tell the concentrated effort was taking a lot out of him.

Dick reached the top of the South Summit.

“Take a short rest,” Breashears said.

Dick sat, looked toward the summit, and felt his heart come to his throat. The ridge that continued toward the true summit fell away on the left side down the southwest face, and was guarded on the other side by a large cornice. Partway along the ridge Dick noticed a steep slot that he knew must be the landmark rise called the Hillary Step.

Thinking about the difficulty of the climbing he had just finished, and pondering the challenge that yet lay ahead, Dick realized that on his previous summit attempt in 1983 no one on that team would have had the expertise to safely lead these sections. Ed Hixson was certainly prudent when he insisted we turn around, Dick thought. And I was off-base in being miffed at him.

“We can't waste any time,” Breashears said as he stood and began the descent off the South Summit into the notch at the base of the Hillary Step.

Ang Phurba followed. Dick got up, breathed deeply of the precious gas flowing into his mask, and cautiously worked his way along the descending ridge, finally joining Breashears at the base of the Step. It was about forty feet high and nearly vertical. There were two ropes fixed on it: an older one that disappeared into the ice short of the top of the Step, and another more recent one—apparently left by the Norwegians—that was strung top to bottom. Ang Phurba went first.

When Dick arrived Breashears was untying the Norwegian rope from the base of the Step.

“I’m going to tie you in with this,” Breashears explained. “Then I’ll climb up the Step and belay the rope as you climb. But remember,
do not
climb under that other fixed rope or you'll get hung up in it.”

Dick nodded, and Breashears—himself unroped—skillfully ascended the icy, steep gully.

“Okay, Dick. Your turn.”

Again Dick focused on his feet, trying to move with smooth economy.

Wait a minute, he said to himself. I’m caught in something.

“Dick, I told you not to climb under that fixed rope,” Breashears yelled. “It's snagged on your regulator.”

Dick struggled to reach back and clear it. He made two tries, then had to pause to catch his breath. It was difficult with all the clothing on, the oxygen mask covering his face, the backpack weighting him. He tried again, but couldn't get his hand on it. And he was hanging on to the vertical ice slot by only his ice axe and front points of his crampons.

“Stay there,” Breashears yelled disgustedly. “I’m tying you off and coming down.”

Breashears climbed down to Dick and cleared the rope.

“Every time I tell you not to do something you do it!”

“I was concentrating on my crampons and ice axe.”

“Stay here until I get back up so I can belay you.”

When Breashears was in place he signaled Dick to climb. Dick moved upward slowly and carefully, and was soon on top. He leaned over his axe to catch his breath.

Breashears lowered his oxygen mask and said, “You have to be careful on this next section. Stay exactly in my tracks. It's corniced on the right, and it drops off steeply to the left. So whatever you do, don't slip.”

“Don't tell me that,” Dick said through his oxygen mask. “You'll be hexing me again.”

Dick was still hunched over his axe as Breashears and Ang Phurba set out. He took a few more breaths and stood up.

He pulled his axe from the snow and began making his slow, careful steps. He had to climb exactly in the line of footprints less than six inches wide. With each step he pushed his crampon points into the narrow surface, careful to place his boot as close as he could to the uphill side of each footprint left by Breashears and Ang Phurba.

Never let your guard down. Remember how much you have to come home to. I love you.

It wasn't necessary to look to his left—he could feel the empty air as the slope quickly dropped into space.

Angulate your ankles so all crampon points are in. Place your axe solidly. Make another step.
Never let your guard down. Remember how much you have to come home to …

Breashears yelled back at him, “Be careful of the icy section just in front.”

Dick had already noticed the telltale sheen of ice on the steep slope, and he knew that he didn't have the skill to walk confidently across this fifteen-to-twenty-foot section. In fact, he didn't see how he could keep from slipping right off the mountain.

He neared the ice and felt fear grip him.

He thought, Why Lord, does there have to be another test? Haven't I been through enough? This close, and it'd be just my luck to lose it all right here.

He knew if he dwelled on it he would freeze. So just as in a number of places earlier that morning, he concentrated with all his power. He formed a mental image of himself quickly and lightly stepping over the icy section. As soon as he crossed, he would jam his ice axe and crampons in as quick and as deep as he could, hoping that would give a secure stop. He prayed the snow on the other side was firm enough to hold him.

And that's just what he did. The snow was firm—and held.

What the mind wills, the body follows, Dick thought as he regained his composure on the other side, leaning down on his ice axe and panting like he never had before.

“You're over the hard part, Dick,” Breashears yelled. “It's easy from here.”

Dick looked up. Ahead the slope broadened to what looked like an easy walk.

“But we've got to keep moving,” Breashears added. “I don't like the looks of these clouds.”

Ang Phurba and Breashears continued, and Dick fell in line a dozen yards behind. After a few minutes he looked up and saw them waiting on a small outcropping of rock.