Dead Lucky (41 page)

A year later, on the last Saturday of February 2007, I decided to revisit the falls. The wound where my big toe had been had taken a long time to heal properly, so I had only been able to manage walks on level ground, most of which I did with our dogs and either Dorje or Dylan. On this Saturday, I did not bother to take a pack with empty apple juice bottles. Although I was far from fit after months of convalescence, I no longer had a mountain that needed to be climbed. When I came to the lookout on the southern side of the amphitheater of cliffs, I watched the curtain of water pour over the upper cliff, much of it turning to spray. Where the spray caught the sun, there were flashes of rainbow—the full spectrum of colors but none of the bow.

From where I stood, my line of sight was directly down the edge of the second drop, which meant I could see the water pouring over the lip and vanishing. The only proof of its continuous fall was the ripples spreading across the big sunlit pool below. Unexpectedly, as I began to watch the water, I regretted that I had no way to collect any water from the bottom, no way to carry it up and pour it into the stream at the top of the falls. I remembered the satisfaction of fetching, carrying, and releasing the water—my own tiny water cycle at the edge of the thundering falls. The memory made me feel connected to this place again, where a year ago I had felt myself grow stronger. Pouring the fall's water back into itself was like tending a garden, a way of lending a hand to life. But, of course, the only life in this process was mine.

The year between those two Saturdays was an ongoing journey of recovery, combined with a search for meaning and understanding. Writing this book helped me to dig deep into myself, but the search is not over simply because I have finished writing. My brush with death may always remain an enigma, but I won't turn my back on it. Meditation has an extra purpose now.

My twenty-two-year relationship with Everest has reached a turning point. I vividly remember my few minutes alone on the summit, with the world beneath me. And I can still recall how daunted I felt on the day that I stepped onto the North Face for the first time back in 1984. Everest had an undeniable aura then, but at the time, I tried to tell myself that it was just another mountain. However, there is no denying the power of the ongoing accumulation of myths and legends, successes and tragedies—in fact, I had become a part of that accumulation myself.

Edmund Hillary's climbing partner, Tenzing Norgay, reached the summit of Mount Everest on his seventh attempt, in 1953. It took fifty-three-year-old Australian Mike Rheinberger seven attempts as well before he summited in 1994. Mike had declared that 1994 would be his last Everest expedition, and it was. Not far below the summit he died from exhaustion, perhaps boosted by edema. I had known Mike, of course, as there were very few Australian high-altitude mountaineers in those days. It is only now that I realize how his fate could so easily have also been mine.

It is the tragedies more than the triumphs that maintain Everest's aura. The mountain is a mirror, where climbers look to find themselves. They discover their frailty, take heart from their strengths, drink deep of the insights. But if the mountain was to have a perspective, it would be that humans are the dust on the surface of the mirror—readily wiped away by storms, hardly relevant in scale, ephemeral in the scope of the mountain's existence. Human hopes and ambitions are as independent of the mountain as my fetching and pouring water have been for the waterfall beside me.

Although my foot had almost recovered, it took me more than twenty minutes to walk back to our house that Saturday afternoon. I was happy to walk slowly. Thunder clouds were gathering to the south, which meant it was very likely we would enjoy not only lightning but also some rain. I had learned that some of the best sunsets happened when the clouds were moving eastward after a storm.

Often at home we sit outside and watch the sunset from the sandstone slab that slopes away from our doorstep. Dylan likes to take photographs of the best sunsets and regularly updates them as the desktop background to his computer screen. Sometimes all four of us sit and watch the colors change; sometimes it is just me and Barbara, often only me. At that time of day our two big dogs like to burn off the last of their energy, running in circles, biting each other's necks, legs, or tails. I love the dogs, I love my family. In particular, I love the two-way street of love, but I am a man so I'm not going to say that to anybody. I certainly do not have to tell Barbara. All that has to happen is for our eyes to meet.

These days I love to take in the sunset because every time I do so, I remember how lucky I am to be alive. That's a great relationship to have with the setting sun.

I SEE THE WORLD differently after Everest but not because my eyes are hazel now rather than the blue of the preceding fifty years. The difference is that I have a 360-degree view. The devil did not attach eyes to the back of my head before I leaped from his spade. All that has happened is that I am now very aware of what surrounds me. As I sit here at 2:00 A.M., typing these final words, I am aware of the mist swirling around our cozy home, of the cliffs to the west and the valley beyond, of the waterfall thundering in the dark beyond my hearing. I am aware that everyone else in the house is sleeping, not only Norbu on the rug beside me. It is not an assumption; I can feel the pervasiveness of sleep.

There are so many stimuli thrown at us through our lives and so many roads of perception down which we could travel. If we indulged ourselves in all of them, we would go mad, but instead most of us go to the other extreme and numb ourselves by developing habitual responses that allow us to slip into autopilot mode. We go to foreign countries but see everything in the form of postcards.

On the mountain, death had, in effect, begun to consume my consciousness, and the autopilot had been turned off. My habitual responses to everyday issues were deprogrammed. I found myself holding fewer opinions when I realized that they only created dichotomies, and the next step from there is judgment. Too often we judge when we have no need to do so, and just as often we ignore. My scrape with death had shaken me free of some of those restrictions. I now find myself in a space where judgments are fewer, where habits don't seem as necessary. I do not have any more answers than anyone else, or even more than I was accustomed to having. What I do have is a stronger feeling of the unity of which I am a part. There is no messiah complex here—unfortunately, I am just as fallible and imperfect as I have always been.

IN THIS NEW LIGHT I see that the best thing about having climbed Mount Everest is not so much having done it but more the fact that now I don't have to do it. No longer do I have that unfinished business, and I can move on.

7 SUMMITS-CLUB EVEREST EXPEDITION

Leader
Alexander Abramov (Russia)

Sirdar
Mingma Gelu Sherpa* (Nepal)

Sergey Chistyakov (Russia)
Sergey Kofanov (Russia)*
Ludmila Korobeshko (Russia)
Maxim Onipchenko (Russia)
Dr. Andrey Selivanov (Russia)
Igor Svergun* (Ukraine)

Nikolai Cherny (Russia)

Vince Bousselaire (USA)
Johnny Brevik (Norway)
John Delaney (Ireland)
Michael Dillon (Australia)
Patrick Flynn (Ireland)
Giuseppe Gariano (Italy)
Petter Kragset (Norway)
Vladimir Lande* (Russia)
Lorenzo Gariano* (UK)
Noel Hanna* (UK)
Lincoln Hall* (Australia)
Christopher Harris (Australia)
Richard Harris (Australia)
Frode Høgset (Norway)
Vladimir Pushkarev (Russia)
Ilya Rozhkov (Russia)

David A. Lien (USA)
Ron Morrow (USA)
Ronald Muhl** (South Africa)
Henrik Olsen* (Denmark)
Torbjørn Orkelbog (Norway)
Igor Plyushkin
^†
(Russia)
Arkadiy Ryzhenko* (Russia)
Slate Stern* (USA)
Barbara Tyler (USA)
William Tyler III** (USA)
Thomas Weber
^†
(Germany)
Kirk Wheatley* (UK)

Dawa Tenzing Sherpa*
Dorje Sherpa*
Furba Kushang Sherpa*
Jangbu Sherpa*
Lakcha Sherpa*
Mingma Sherpa*
Nima Sherpa*
Pasang Sherpa
Passang Gyalgen Sherpa*
Passang Sherpa
Pemba Sherpa
Pemba Norbu Sherpa

Renjin Sherpa*

Cooks
Chandra Sherpa (chief cook)
Chandra Sherpa (assistant cook)
Dawa Sherpa
Tendi Sherpa

KEY
* Summited 2006
** Summited 2007
† Died

I have been asked many questions about the physical factors that kept me alive during my ordeal. One thing I have learned over the years is that it is often impossible to separate interactions among the mental, the spiritual, and the physical. A good example from my experience is the spiritual practice of yogic breathing, which has the huge benefit—for high-altitude mountaineers, at least—of making everyday breathing more efficient, regardless of the purpose and motivation of the practitioner. The boundaries of the body-mind-spirit trinity are even more blurred for me after my night on Everest.

Some physical realities, on the other hand, are easier to outline. What follows is a list of items—food, clothing, and the like—that are a part of normal life on the mountain. Some of these, I feel, contributed greatly to my survival that night.

MOUNTAIN CLOTHING AND OTHER ESSENTIALS

The climate is uncomfortable at Base Camp and intimidating on the mountain. I knew what to expect from the weather, but the storms, winds, and sub-zero temperatures frightened me more than anything else because these elements were completely beyond my control. Survival on a big mountain begins with appropriate clothing.

Skin layer:
Long-sleeved T-shirt of silk-wool mix, by Silkbody. Merino wool long johns, by Icebreaker.

Second layer:
Long-sleeved zip-neck top of merino, by Icebreaker.

Third layer:
Lhotse lightweight fleece jacket by Mountain Designs. During good weather this garment was rarely worn under the wind suit.

Outer layer:
Gore-Tex wind suit, by Mountain Designs. A great solution for keeping out icy winds; worn with two or three layers underneath, depending on conditions.

Head:
Fleece headband (covering ears), by Mountain Designs. Face scarf, to protect from wind and sun, by Buff.

Hands:
Fleece gloves, or silk gloves inside fleece gloves, or Black Diamond ice climbing gauntlets, depending on conditions and terrain.

Feet:
Scarpa Zero Gravity 10 leather boots with two pairs of woolen socks to 22,000 feet. Above 22,000 feet, La Sportiva Olympus Mons EVO double boots (insulated inner boot and an outer plastic shell with insulated integral gaiters).

In my pack for colder conditions:
Lhotse lightweight fleece jacket with polypropylene panels providing stretch on insides of sleeves and sides, by Mountain Designs; Bee's Knees polypropylene long johns paneled with 100-weight fleece on thighs and buttocks, by Macpac; expedition down jacket, by Mountain Designs; woolen cap; Petzl microlamp (always in my pack for emergencies).

Skin layer:
Long-sleeved T-shirt and long johns of silk-wool mix, by Silkbody.

Second layer:
Zip-zap long-sleeved zip-neck top of polypropylene with 100-weight fleece across shoulders, chest, and outside sleeves, by Macpac. Merino long johns, by Icebreaker.

Outer layer:
Full-body down suit, by Mountain Designs.

Head:
Home-knitted woolen balaclava; face scarf, to protect from wind and sun, by Buff; prescription glacier glasses.

Hands:
My Black Diamond gauntlets proved to be warm enough all the way to High Camp. I used silk or fleece gloves for photography.

Feet:
Bridgedale Trekker socks (70 percent merino wool) inside Bridgedale Summit socks (merino/Coolmax). La Sportiva Olympus Mons EVO double boots.

In my pack:
Lhotse lightweight fleece jacket; Bolle ski goggles; spare prescription glacier glasses; Princeton Tec headlamp; Petzl headlamp as backup; Petzl microlamp; Canon 30 SLR film camera; diary.

Skin layer:
Long-sleeved T-shirt and long johns of silk-wool mix, by Silkbody.

Second layer:
Zip-zap long-sleeved zip-neck top. Bee's Knees long johns, both by Macpac.

Third layer:
Lhotse lightweight fleece jacket.

Outer layer:
Full-body down suit, by Mountain Designs.

Head:
Home-knitted woolen balaclava; face scarf, to protect from wind and sun, by Buff; Bolle ski goggles; oxygen mask.

Hands:
I had expected to be wearing silk gloves inside fleece gloves inside down mitts during my climb from High Camp to the summit and back. Instead, my Black Diamond ice-climbing gauntlets proved warm enough for the rock-climbing sections of the Exit Cracks, and for the North Ridge, including the Second Step. When we rested at the Third Step, I switched to the silk gloves inside fleece gloves inside down mitts.

Feet:
Two pairs Bridgedale merino socks, one sock inside another; La Sportiva Olympus Mons EVO double boots.

In my pockets:
Spare gloves; chemical handwarmers; Diamox diuretic tablets (for treatment of edema); two carbohydrate nutritional gels; two small zip-lock bags with daily allocation of supplements.

Tucked inside my down suit:
Small digital camera on neck strap; thermos of warm flavored water.

Pack:
Pillar Climbing pack, 45 liter capacity, by Mountain Designs, containing: Poisk oxygen cylinder with regulator; handmade Australian flag; copy of
Teaspoon of Courage
by sponsor Bradley Trevor Greive; Princeton Tec headlamp; Petzl headlamp as spare; Petzl microlamp; extra carbohydrate nutritional gel.