Seven Summits (7 page)

“I don't know anything about mountain climbing,” Ross said, “but I can understand your feelings. When do you want to do it?”

“I don't want it to leak out. So we should announce it very soon, effective January one.”

The next day Ross and Frank called a meeting of the top thirty executives in the company, and Frank announced his decision. The following morning Frank came downstairs to his breakfast table to find the industry paper
Variety
with the headline,
“Wells Quits Warners to Scale Mountain.”
With that, he crossed his Rubicon.

The Aconcagua team was set. In addition to Frank and Dick, there would be Marty Hoey, George “Geo” Dunn (another Rainier guide), Jim Wickwire (the Seattle attorney), and Chuck Goldmark (a partner in Wickwire's law firm).

For Frank, the climb would be his first exposure to really high-altitude, expedition-style mountaineering. Elbrus had been more like the European Alps where climbs are one-to-three-day affairs, often with guides and usually taking advantage of huts. But Aconcagua via the Polish Glacier had all the elements of an expedition climb: an approach march of several days through wilderness to the foot of the glacier where base camp would be established, another week or more establishing camps each a day's climb apart, ferrying loads between these camps to stock them. They planned to set two or three camps above their base camp. The first camp would be stocked with enough provisions so the climbers could move into it and from there work up to the site of the next camp. Then they would ferry up more supplies. When this next camp was ready, they would occupy it and again scout the way to the next higher camp, from which they hoped to be in position to attempt the summit. In this way the establishment and provisioning of camps on a big mountain reflects in a sense the pyramidal shape of the mountain itself, where the lower camps are stocked with a far broader and larger quantity of supplies, and the upper camps contain just the narrow minimum necessary to support a summit team. In part because of the need to make several ferries of food and supplies from one camp to the other, and in part because of the need to move slowly to give time to adjust physically to the increasing altitude, the climb would take between two to three weeks if the weather was favorable.

One of the joys of expedition mountaineering is traveling to exotic places through offtrack regions, often accompanied by local porters or animal drivers. On Aconcagua the approach began at a trailhead off the trans-Andean highway connecting Merida and Santiago, where they hired mule drivers to pack their food and equipment to base camp. These mule drivers were dressed like the gauchos who ride the open ranges of Argentine Patagonia: legs sheathed in heavy leather chaps, boots armed with sharp spurs, heads protected with wide-rimmed hats, shoulders draped with ponchos woven of alpaca. Each carried on his saddle a three-ball bola, the South American lasso that can bring down with a quick flick any errant mules. The approach would take three days, and as they started out the two mule drivers herding the pack animals brought up the rear. It was January, the height of the austral summer, and the country was bare-rocked and dry save for the muddy Vacas River flowing in full flood.

Although Dick had been on one expedition climb (his ascent the previous spring of McKinley), this approach on foot through exotic countryside was also for him a new experience. They set a comfortable pace, sharing stories as they went, Dick doing most of the talking, including reciting poems and singing a wide range of songs. Here and there the trail steepened or passed around boulders that demanded coordinated, concentrated footwork, and Dick had no trouble balancing across any difficulties without missing a sentence. But if Dick showed a natural sense of balance, Frank was awkward and depended on the two ski poles he carried as walking sticks. That Frank seemed a bit klutzy wasn't lost on the other climbers either, and in whispered speculation there was concern about the climb ahead, for if he did something wrong it wouldn't be just Frank's neck, since at least one of the others would be tied on the same rope.

They reached base camp without incident. Even with the few days’ experience on the approach setting up camp each night, it still took Frank and Dick over two hours to level a platform and pitch their tent, mainly because Frank was tired and assumed a supervisory role. The team took the next day off to give themselves time to acclimatize to the 13,500-foot elevation, and also time to organize equipment and divide it into loads. The next day they each took one of the loads, between twenty and forty pounds, and followed the morainal scree toward the location of camp 1. It was a six-hour trip, and Frank was again by far the slowest.

“Let me take some of your weight,” Marty told Frank.

He didn't protest, but even with a lighter pack he couldn't keep up. They cached their loads and returned to base camp, and that evening Wickwire observed that Frank hardly touched his dinner. That was a bad sign, and in his journal that night Wickwire wrote, “Frank is going to have to improve if he is to have a chance at the summit. He seems almost incapable of taking care of himself, and Bass has to look after him when we don't. Nonetheless, his gumption is there, and that's to be admired.”

During the next three days they moved up to camp 1, then carried loads to the site of camp 2. They told Frank he could take a day off if he liked, but Frank insisted on trying to keep up.

Dick was doing very well, though, maintaining the pace, carrying as much weight as anyone. He was excited to be climbing with such hotshots as Wickwire, and as always he had great admiration for Marty. He marveled each time he saw this sprightly 125-pound gal strap onto her back a pack loaded as heavy as any of those the guys carried, and then not just keep the pace but often as not get out in the lead and set it. Since his climb with her up McKinley Dick held for Marty a tremendous admiration, and more than ever she was to him a source of great inspiration.

If that gal can do it, he kept telling himself, I sure think I can!

One afternoon it fell to Dick and Marty to melt snow for the evening's brew. At altitude, where the dry air dehydrates you and the lack of oxygen creates chemical imbalances in your blood that have to be flushed out by a high liquid intake, it is necessary to drink four or more quarts of water a day, and the job of melting that much snow is time consuming. Dick and Marty had their work cut out for them, and they passed the time chatting.

“I haven't told anyone about your Seven Summits dream,” Marty said. “You're still hot on it, aren't you?”

“You bet we are. Between you and me, Frank and I recognize there isn't a great chance we'll get up Everest this try, especially on a new route, so now we're talking about setting aside eighty-three and doing all seven peaks in one calendar year.”

“I’d still love to be a part,” Marty said. “You want me along?”

“Absolutely! How'd I ever expect to climb them without you?”

“Well, I’d love to do it. First, though, I guess we'd better concentrate on this initial Everest trip.”

“Yeah, and I’m just not sure about it,” Dick admitted candidly. “I know a person's abilities are only limited by their self-doubts, but when it comes to Everest I can't help having a few.”

“To be truthful, I don't know how I’ll do, either,” Marty said.

“As long as we're confessing,” Dick said, “there's something else I haven't told anyone. I don't want you to think I’m involved in some kind of mumbo-jumbo, but for some years my wife has been seeing this psychic, a well-known one around Dallas. Now again, I don't want you to think I’m dealing in the occult, but in the past I’ve had a few experiences with psychics telling me about what my business life is going to be like, and the accuracy of those predictions just makes my hair stand on end.

“Well, my wife insisted I go see this psychic before leaving on these climbs,” Dick continued, “and this one predicted that on Everest we are going to have a tragedy, and somebody is going to get killed. So now my wife is up in arms, telling me not to go. The logic side of my brain tells me not to pay attention, but nevertheless I can't get away from it, and I guess it makes me feel better to share it with someone.”

“I don't believe you can just dismiss those things, either,” Marty said. “You never know. And this climbing business is even more dangerous than you presently realize. I think something like two out of three expeditions that tries Everest loses at least one person.”

There was a silence, then Marty said, “You know, Bass, I might not come back from Everest.”

“Don't be silly, Marty. I didn't mean to put ideas in your head.”

“You never know. But if I should make the big mistake, make sure they leave me on the mountain. And another thing, I wouldn't want any mourning. In fact, I would want all my friends to have a wake, but to have it as a big party and not to be sad. Because if I should happen to make the big mistake, I would be going out doing what I love the most, and that's really not that sad.”

If it were in the cards for someone to make a fatal mistake even on this Aconcagua climb, lack of experience and climbing ability would seem to have placed Frank Wells in favored position. If he had been awkward on the approach march to the Polish Glacier route, then he was clumsy and unbalanced on the hard snow, where they had to strap crampons on their boots. The only other time Frank had worn crampons was on Mont Blanc (on Elbrus he had turned back before needing them). It takes some experience to learn to step comfortably with ten steel spikes protruding from the bottom of your boot, and Frank was finding himself not only mistakenly edging his crampons (causing them to slip out from underneath him) but also sometimes hooking the points on the inside of his opposite calf. On the lower glacier, where the slope was low-angled, tripping yourself like that was only an inconvenience; up near the summit, however, it could be fatal.

This climbing business was not child's play, as was all too clearly brought home to them by a frozen, weathered body they passed near the bottom of the glacier above camp 2. Ten days after beginning the climb they had established camp 3, their high camp, at 20,500 feet, and were ready in the morning for a summit attempt. That was, weather permitting. Until then every day had been brilliantly clear, but now clouds brought afternoon hail and there was concern a major storm would develop. Still, Wickwire made plans in case the dawn brought clear skies.

“We'll go in two ropes of three,” he told everyone. “Marty with Dick and Chuck, me with Frank and Geo.”

In this way Wickwire would keep each rope team at maximum strength. He knew he had the big challenge, getting Frank to the top of the mountain, but Marty, who had been tied to Frank all day, said he was doing better. Everyone felt good, too, and that evening they ate a hearty meal, had an extra cup of cocoa, and were to sleep early.

At 4:00 A.M. Wickwire poked his head out of the tent and saw a clear night sky. The morning star was so bright it cast a thin line of light on the glacial ice. It was absolutely still and quiet.

“Okay, everybody, we got our break. Let's get ready.”

After a breakfast of instant oatmeal followed by several cups of tea and cocoa (knowing even with that they would be dehydrated before day's end) the climbers dressed and left camp. First light exposed the clear sky. There was no talk; each person kept his or her own thoughts; the only sound was of the cold steel spikes of their crampons squeaking as they bit into the icy dawn glacier. For a hundred feet their movements were mechanical, until they could walk out the night's stiffness and dispel that slight nauseous feeling that comes from predawn departures at high altitude. The brilliant light of the morning star held long after other stars had disappeared, but finally it too was absorbed into day and soon direct sun was on them. They made their first stop to shed parkas.

Above they could see the angle steepened to 30 degrees, and sometimes even 40 degrees. There were several large sections that showed the telltale gleam of hard ice. Normally this would have been no cause for concern, but as climbing ice (as opposed to snow) requires more expert technique, there was the question of how Frank could get past these sections. George Dunn led across the first; the others followed. As expected, Frank had problems.

Dick could see Frank was incorrectly keeping his ankles rigid instead of bending them so all ten points of his crampons bit evenly. When it got steeper Frank tended to weight the uphill edge of his boot even more. This was probably habit from downhill skiing, but in climbing such technique is disastrous. Dick mentioned this, but his advice didn't seem to make any difference. It was similar to the incident on Elbrus with the heavyweight underwear, and as he had then Dick began to wonder about his Seven Summits partner.

The others were also wondering. Frank was tied on a rope with Wickwire and Geo, and if Frank were to slip on the slick ice it was questionable whether they could hold him. Wickwire looked down the slope and imagined the long ride, certain to end in injury at best. But if they stopped to anchor the rope and give Frank a safety belay up each section, the time required would eliminate any chance of reaching the top in time to descend before nightfall.

Wickwire realized it had been a mistake to choose the Polish Glacier route. He wondered if perhaps they could traverse west and connect with the easier ruta normal. They decided to try, and with Wickwire leading they crossed a fan of scree that was like trying to traverse a sand dune. It was hard going, but at least safe. Spotting a gully that looked like it might connect to the summit ridge on the regular route, Wickwire went to scout it while the. others waited.

“Bad news,” he said when he got back. “It's a cul-de-sac.”

“I’d like to keep traversing anyway,” Marty said. “See if we could connect at a lower altitude.”

“It'd be a long way,” Wickwire pointed out. “And it's eleven-thirty already.”

“It would be a good reconnaissance if nothing else,” Marty countered.

“I’ll go with you,” Geo offered.

“Why don't we all go?” Frank said.