Dead Lucky (14 page)

“I was shooting a film with Ed Hillary at that time,” continued Mike. “And ten years later Russell was on the ‘ballooning over Everest' doco that I was shooting. He was looking after the logistics and the Sherpas. But this is the first time I've seen him since then.”

Although I had not crossed paths with Russell again, I had heard of his exploits. His 1981 attempt to climb Mount Everest with only his old mate Paddy came to a close when the pair was turned back at 25,000 feet by strong winds. The fact that they had made such an audacious attempt with no Sherpa support was a good indication of their willingness to take on big challenges.

Fifteen Everest expeditions later, Russell was just as prepared to face those challenges. When I had interviewed Sue Fear for her book, I had learned more about him. Sue joined his 2003 Himalayan Experience Everest expedition not only because of his reputation as the best operator on the north side of the mountain but also because they had made a good impression on each other some years earlier on Cho Oyu. In all his years as an Everest expedition operator, Russell had faced only two deaths. The first had been Marco Siffredi, who in 2002 willingly attempted to snowboard down the North Face but did not survive. The second had occurred this season, only three weeks before we ran into him, when Tuk Bahadur Thapa Masar, who had been working on the fixed ropes with other members of the Himalayan Experience team, succumbed to complications from high-altitude pulmonary edema after being evacuated from the North Col to Base Camp. It was a freak death, as it is unusual for edema to kill at the relatively low height of the North Col. Russell was devastated.

ON THE WAY DOWN, Mike and I stopped by the Himalayan Experience Camp so I could keep my promise to Bob Killip, and so Mike could catch up with his friend Jen Peedom, a camera operator for the Discovery team. As we reached the mess tent, and before we could find Bob and Jen, Russell stepped out.

“Hello, Russell,” I said, before he wondered who was walking into his camp. “It's Lincoln.”

“Welcome,” he said, and shook my extended hand.

“And this is Mike Dillon . . .”

“Yes,” said Mike, in a rare interruption. “We met on the ballooning expedition.”

“Of course,” said Russell. “Come and have some tea.”

So Mike and I sat down in the kitchen tent and the cook handed around cups of tea. I mentioned that I was a good friend of Sue's and that we had talked in great detail about her Everest climb for the book we had written together.

“And you're in the book,” I said. “Have you read it?”

“No, actually. I live in Chamonix. I doubt it's available in France.”

With Mike, he talked about the two ballooning expeditions they had been part of, the second of which was the first balloon flight over Everest. Then Russell and I talked a little about mutual climbing friends, which is an easy topic of conversation when you don't know a fellow mountaineer very well. Then I commented about the weather, which at Advance Base Camp is far from a subject of idle banter but a vital part of everyone's plans.

“Best weather I can remember,” said Russell.

He told us that not only had his Sherpas gone to the summit, but they had run the ropes 150 feet down the Southeast Ridge as a sort of joke against the Sherpas coming up from the Nepalese side of Everest—a way of saying “we got here first.”

We thanked Russell for the tea, and then he told us where we could find Bob and Jen—not that it was difficult in the compact campsite. The four of us had barely reintroduced ourselves when we were joined by a fifth figure, a short man rugged up against the cold.

“Hi, I'm Mark Inglis,” he whispered. “My voice is shot, but I thought I'd introduce myself.”

Suddenly I realized why he was short. Twenty-four years earlier, Mark's legs had been amputated below the knee. He and his partner, Phil Doole, had survived two weeks' sheltering from a storm and extreme winds in a crevasse on the top of the Middle Peak of Mount Cook, but by the time a helicopter was able to airlift them to safety, they had suffered frostbite so severe that they both became double-amputees.

I thrust out my hand. “Hi, Mark, I'm Lincoln. Remember, I interviewed you about this climb of yours? Before I knew I'd be coming as well.”

“Sure, mate,” he croaked. “And you wanted to get your hands on some PeakFuel, too.”

“Yeah, but I ran out of time.”

He shrugged understandingly, saying nothing, to give his voice a break.

“So your voice will be okay?”

“Hope so.”

“Sorry. I've got to stop asking you questions.”

He smiled, and to show I was holding back my questions, I said nothing at all. Bob and Jen started talking to Mike. My interview with Mark for
Outdoor
magazine had been about his goal to become the first double-amputee to climb Mount Everest, having tested his prosthetic legs by climbing Cho Oyu with Russell.

I had phoned Mark again when I knew I was going to Everest because I wanted to get my hands on the energy gels that he manufactured. For twenty years Mark had been a winemaker, with his focus on the flavors. It was his skill with flavors that had given his PeakFuel energy gels a good reputation. Gels had been developed as instant nutrition for cyclists, marathon runners, and adventurer racers, but they were also ideal for extreme altitudes where mountaineers frequently did not have the energy to dig into their packs for food but could easily suck the gel out of a foil sachet. The difference with Mark's line of gels was that they tasted good.

Mark knew that he shouldn't talk, but when he found that withholding his voice was too hard a chore, he excused himself and returned to his tent. The four of us shared an Australian perspective on what was happening in this extraordinary place, until the temperature dropped sufficiently to send Mike and me back to our camp.

The next morning I was sitting outside my tent, packing and getting ready to head up to the North Col for the first time, when I became aware of somebody nearby.

“Hey, dude,” said a voice. “Is that you, Lincoln?”

I looked up to see the smiling face of Ken Sauls, his beard a bit more rugged than the last time we'd met.

“Sure is,” I said. “What the hell are you doing here?” I stood up and gave him a hug, squeezing him as hard as I could to make him think I was as strong as he was.

We'd first met in Bangkok in 1999, me coming from Sydney, Ken coming from Los Angeles, both of us en route to Kathmandu to join the Australian-American Makalu Expedition. He had introduced himself as the cameraman, which meant that we shared the same role—only he looked like a hardcore rock climber with muscles on his muscles. Turned out that's what he was.

“Long way from Silverton, Colorado,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“Small world, eh?”

“Nah,” said Ken. “Just running out of places to hide. You know how it is . . . IRS . . . Jealous husbands with big fists . . .”

“Hear you climbed Everest a few years back with Sue Fear?”

“Yeah, that was filming with Russ. This year I'm working for Discovery, but still with Russ. That's how I heard you were here.”

“You only just got me. We're about to head up to the North Col for the first time.”

“Yeah, we'll have to catch up at BC. Sink a few beers.”

He slapped me on the back and sauntered back up the hill. It was great to see him. We'd clicked on Makalu, but afterward the trickle of e-mails had slowly dried up, both of us too laid back to keep the cycle going.

BY MIDDAY the B-Team was trudging across the uppermost reaches of the East Rongbuk Glacier, a huge snow bowl contained on three sides by the Northeast Ridge of Changtse and the North and Northeast ridges of Everest. The low point in Everest's North Ridge was the North Col, and that was our destination. There was little breeze, and the sun reflecting from the mountain walls had us baking in the bowl. There was a well-trodden path across the snow, with a line of dots up the snow face below the North Col, marking the line of fixed rope, and with each dot a climber.

Our small Australian party was now four teams of two, as each of us was traveling with a Sherpa. I had directed Lakcha to Mike because I judged him to be the most useful and experienced person when it came to Mike's filmmaking needs. Pasang and Dawa were with Richard and Christopher. I had suggested that Dorje accompany me because he was young and keen, and I felt that, for our short time together, I could be his mentor. The ratio of four Sherpas to four Westerners was the safest option for us, given the special factors of Christopher's young age and our filming of his climb.

We flopped into the snow at the base of the fixed ropes and had a quick drink and a snack before starting up the ropes. The slope was at an angle of only forty degrees and the snow was a good consistency for the sharp crampon points clipped to our boots, so the process of climbing was straightforward. The difficulty came from the altitude. I knew that on any expedition, the first climb up to 23,000 feet is very hard work. I also knew that it would get easier with every subsequent ascent.

There were dozens of climbers on the ropes and a dozen behind us. No doubt there were many more who had already reached the col. I told myself not to be bothered by the crowds and to enjoy the considerable pleasure of being on the mountain again. After all, there is only one Everest.

A climber overtook us, carrying a multicolored Berghaus pack. I noticed it because I had taken one exactly like it to Carstensz Pyramid in 1993. It had given me good service over the years, and I still used it for hiking in Australia. Our pace on the fixed rope was dictated by the speed of those above us, which was not fast. The man with the Berghaus pack was in more of a hurry. Rather than being delayed by the fixed rope full of climbers, he climbed ten feet to the left of the rope. It was not a hugely dangerous thing to be doing, as the snow was good and the slope not too steep. His approach could be compared to cycling in traffic, which is safe enough if you have the right skills and know what you are doing. I became a little frustrated when the climbing train on the rope above slowed down. I looked ahead to see if there was an obvious reason for the go-slow, and I saw Mr. Berghaus climbing confidently and drawing farther away. It was only later, when it had been mentioned in the media, that I realized that this thirteen-year-old Berghaus pack had belonged to David Sharp.

Clouds came in during the afternoon and we climbed up into them. I had dressed for a nonstop push through to the col, planning to have only short stops for filming. However, a serious “rope-block” developed above us, forcing us to stand still minutes at a time and then only moving up a few feet before waiting again. With only thermals and a light fleece jacket underneath my Gore-Tex wind-suit, and with no concerted exercise to generate heat, I became uncomfortably cold. A steep section near the lip of the North Col was slowing everyone down, some climbers much more than others. I unclipped from the rope to step past a few slow-moving people, then clipped back on before tackling the steeper part. I warmed up during the climb and was relieved to reach the first tents. My relief that the up was over evaporated when I realized that the main North Col camp was beyond a huge crevasse spanned by three aluminum ladders strapped together, which rose upward at an angle of forty-five degrees. I climbed the ladders, filming my feet stepping from rung to rung, which meant I had only one hand to keep my balance on the rope. Luckily, Christopher and I wore the same La Sportiva boots, so the feet that I had filmed could be passed off as Christopher's when Mike got the film to editing stage. At the same time, Mike filmed Christopher from below on the ladder. It had started to snow, and I was getting colder by the minute, so I was pleased to put the camera away.

Soon enough we were at the main camp. I had expected a crowded campsite, but there were more tents than I thought possible pitched in a long hollow beneath a sheltering ice cliff. We were a hundred yards away from the lowest part of the col, which was not protected from the wind by the ice cliff.

The 7Summits-Club mess tent contributed to the crowding. It was much smaller than those at Base Camp and Advance Base Camp but still the biggest tent at the North Col. I certainly found it welcoming, with the stoves chugging away producing heat and hot tea poured into my mug by Dawa the cook. Already in residence were Harry, Thomas, and their Sherpas, Pemba and Passang. When I heard Richard and Christopher arrive, I grabbed the camera and recorded their snow-covered entry into the tent.

There was plenty of good food for dinner that night, but none of us ate very much—the altitude was now 23,182 feet. Richard and Christopher headed for their sleeping bags early, as did Thomas, but Harry and I were in no hurry to retire to our tents. I expected a long cold night, with sleep interrupted by waking and gasping for more air to breathe, and that proved to be the outcome.

The difficulty of high-altitude sleeping is the inevitable fall in breath rate as you doze off to sleep. At normal altitudes your body needs less oxygen while you are sleeping, and sleep triggers a slower rate of breathing. The problem at high altitude is that the slow rate is still triggered when you finally manage to sleep, but soon the emergency “not-enough-oxygen” light turns on in your brain, and you wake up gasping for breath. I made my first night at the North Col endurable by reading a book for an hour or two in the middle of the night. During that time I did not let my breathing operate in auto mode. I breathed deeply but not forcefully, making sure my lungs were full with every breath. This got more oxygen into my system and allowed me to sleep more deeply for the rest of the night.

Clear skies greeted us the next morning. The sun shone brightly on the North Ridge of Everest, but the shadow of the ice cliff above us kept our camp bitterly cold. Irregular gusts blew whirlwinds of yesterday's fresh snow around the camp. I figured we were being buffeted by the edges of turbulence caused by a strong wind blowing over the lowest and most exposed part of the North Col.