The Ledge (34 page)

The stars have never seemed as bright as they do here at 25,500 feet. I keep checking my watch and altimeter. We are moving fast. When I detect orange light flashing intermittently in the valley far below us, I worry that I’m seeing things, that perhaps my brain is too oxygen-deprived. But then I realize I’m looking down on the flattened tops of massive thunderclouds illuminated from within as lightning sets them ablaze.

I should eat and drink, but it’s so cold that insulated water bottles freeze and food sets up rock hard. The altitude and the hours roll by. When my altimeter reads 26,000 feet, a distant voice in my mind shouts encouragement.

Stick with it
.

Just as Dad taught me as a kid, I keep checking the stars to confirm our direction. We’ve spent several hours going southeast, directly at the Orion constellation. At first Orion was partially hidden behind Cho Oyu’s summit, but as he has risen higher, so have we. Now his full, friendly outline sparkles in front of us. Then, as we swing east toward the big drop into Nepal, Orion takes a protective flanking position to my right.

At 26,500 feet the terrain eases. We are on the final march across the summit plateau—an agonizing 400 yards. Mount Everest sits twenty miles dead ahead, and I can see a black spot where its bulk blots out stars. A biting wind picks up around three-thirty
A.M.
, and stopping, for even a minute, feels impossible.

The slope flattens more. My mountain sense tells me we’re almost there. The altimeter reads 26,900. In my headlight beam, about fifty feet ahead, I see a small snow bump crowned with a sacred
kata
and bits of frozen food offered up during an informal
puja
.

The top of Cho Oyu.

The northeast wind pushes hard on my left side. It’s gusting to about thirty miles per hour, masking the sound of my boots or ax hitting the crusty snow. All I hear is my ragged breaths and the wind-driven hood of my down suit flapping wildly against my left cheek. Though each torturous step makes my legs feel heavy, excitement churns them forward.

I’m gonna make it!

With ten feet to go, I think about everyone back home. I wish they could know what’s happening right this instant. With my heart and mind, I broadcast out to them: “I’m okay. We’re going to summit!”

I take a final stride and lift my massive high-altitude boot onto the highest snow mound. Next to the food offerings, I rest my gloved hand on the snow and touch the summit.

My thirty-year dream comes true.

The first two members of our team who summited have just started down, so Kay-Two and I have the top to ourselves for a few precious minutes. We hug and slap each other’s backs through inches of pile and down. Surrounded by darkness, with little to see, I look at the blue-white stars instead: spectacular.

Remembering my summit tradition, I ask Kay-Two to snap a picture of me holding photos of Gloria, Jess, and Nick. Tears of joy and relief slip from my eyes. The other eight members of our team are on their way up here, but we can’t wait long. At four-seventeen
A.M.
, numb hands and toes force our retreat, and we start down.

AFTER REACHING CAMP
3, I refuel and rest briefly, then begin the descent toward Camp 2, at 23,600 feet. Now out of the Death Zone, each person on our team finds his or her own pace, with two people descending ahead of me, and our leader, the Sherpas, and most of
my teammates coming down an hour or more behind. Climbing alone down the modest snow slopes below Camp 3, where there are no fixed lines, I plunge my ax in hard, then take two careful steps downhill. I repeat the process over and over.

No mistakes
.

My slow pace allows me to absorb the experience.

During forty-seven years of living and twenty-seven years of climbing, I have had successes and failures, opportunities and obstacles. Though it hasn’t always been easy, I have endeavored to keep moving forward.

I took breaks from climbing, but I always returned. The mountains, I know, are as much a part of me as my skin. The things I find there make me stronger and more resilient. They infuse me with the determination to rally back after I get knocked down and the willpower to engage both the challenges I choose and the adversities thrust before me.

The perseverance instilled in me by my family, my partners, and my experiences allows me to press on far longer than I might think possible. Even this climb of Cho Oyu has been a microcosm of that repeating cycle of resilience: engage, persevere, rally.

NOW THE DESCENT
is happening faster than I’d like. Knowing that I may never again be in such a rare place, on such a fine day, right after a special summit like Cho Oyu, I want to linger.

At 24,000 feet, I find a flat snow ledge, so I stop and sit. The midmorning sun tracks across the Himalayan sky. With no one in sight, I am alone with my joy and my thoughts. I scan the seemingly small 20,000- to 23,000-foot peaks below me, and see the brown plains of Tibet stretch to the northern horizon.

My oxygen mask feels tight on my face. I realize it’s because I’m
smiling so hard. I loosen the straps and let the black mask dangle below my chin. Delighted, I spontaneously speak aloud:

“Dad, Mom—I did it! I finally made the top of an eight-thousand-meter peak, just like I always wanted to.

“Mike! I touched the top, man. I touched the top for both of us. Thanks for watching out for me up there.

“Thank you all for helping me become what I am. I got to be here, to climb this awesome mountain, and now I get to go home. To Glo, and Jess and Nick.”

I’ll probably never be here again, so I soak in the view for a few more minutes and then stand slowly, reluctant to leave.

Four hundred feet below me, I glimpse some climbers trudging uphill. I cannot be alone in this place, this moment, much longer. Soon the magic will slip away.

It is time to move on. Somewhere there’s another mountain, waiting. The climb continues.

This book would not have been possible without the trust, kindness, and support of numerous people.

To Don and Donna Price and Daryl Price, we offer profound gratitude for allowing this story to be told, for sharing stories about Mike, and for granting us permission to quote liberally from his journals and other writings. We will never adequately be able to thank the Prices for their grace. We hope that in some way this book is a tribute to Mike, and to a life well lived.

In addition, we can’t say enough about others who were close to Mike and who opened their hearts and their memories to us: Bob Jamieson, Deb Follo Caughron, Joanne Donohue, U.S. senator Mark Udall, and Dr. James Work.

We are eternally grateful to Jim Trotter, Jim Sheeler, Andrew J. Field, Mike Littwin, Rodney Ley, John Calderazzo, and Kerrie Flanagan, all of whom offered thoughts and direction that shaped and improved our manuscript immensely. Additionally, Kerrie and the Northern Colorado Writers deserve our gratitude for bringing the two of us together at the group’s 2007 conference—and for supporting this project in more ways than we can count.

Portions of this story were originally published on the pages of
the
Rocky Mountain News
. We thank John Temple, the
Rocky
’s longtime editor and publisher, and the E. W. Scripps Company for the permission to use those words.

None of this would have been possible without the best agent in the world. Dan Conaway at Writers House believed in this project—and in us—before we knew we could do it. Knock wood! Thank you also to Stephen Barr at Writers House, whose support and thoughtful insights improved our manuscript, and to Simon Lipskar, who arranged our first literary blind date with Dan.

Luke Dempsey and Mark Tavani and the entire team at Ballantine Books—especially Dennis Ambrose, Bonnie Thompson, Ryan Doherty, and Jessica Waters—have been a joy to work with. We knew five minutes into our first meeting that we wanted to work with Ballantine, and over the ensuing months that faith was rewarded again and again.

JIM DAVIDSON

To Mike Price: Your talents, friendship, and mentorship made our many adventures grand fun. That day on Rainier, you used those gifts to save me. Thank you, Mike. You will be with me always. I am very thankful for the kindness of the Price family, Don, Donna, and Daryl. You all have been gracious, friendly, and supportive from the moment I met you.

My parents, Joe and Jean Davidson, gave me a solid upbringing and a zest for life. Thank you, Mom and Dad. I am especially grateful, Dad, for all those years working by your side, where you taught me the skills, will, and resilience that would one day save my life. To my sisters, Pat, Linda, and Joanne, thanks for sharing our journey through life.

My friend and climbing partner Rodney Ley: I have much to thank you for. You helped me reconnect with climbing, the climbing
community, and myself. During one hundred expedition days and ten times that many days at low altitude, you have been a leader, a wingman, and my co-conspirator in fun.

Over the years I have been fortunate to climb with solid partners. During my formative climbs, I appreciated the companionship of Joe Berlin, Tom Engleson, Jim Seines, Mark Piantedosi, Chris Flood, Patrick Heaney, Scott Anderson, Daryl Miller, Pat Rastall, and many more. I have also been fortunate to share a rope with Shawn Zeigler, Terry Parker, Marlene Swift, Scott Yetman, Megan Burch, John Calderazzo, and Alan Arnette. Through climbing classes and expeditions, I have been invigorated by many student climbers too numerous to list here; I wish you all safe travels to the mountains and beyond. Special thanks to Mike Gauthier, Deb Read, Uwe Schneider, John Norberg, and John Madden for helping to get me off The Mountain. Thank you to the family and friends who welcomed me home.

I appreciate the many writers who have encouraged and taught me, including those at the Lighthouse Writers Workshop and the Northern Colorado Writers. Many colleagues at the National Speakers Association have assisted me, most notably my mentor and friend LeAnn Thieman, who saw potential in me and helped bring it forth. A special thanks to Joe Simpson for writing
Touching the Void
, as it inspired me to believe climbing out of a crevasse was possible.

For my coauthor, Kevin Vaughan, I am quite thankful. Like swinging leads on a tough climb, partnering with you on this book adventure has been exhilarating. As a journalist and coauthor, you are indeed solid. Along with Kevin, the
Rocky Mountain News
kindly let me work with savvy, sensitive professionals like John Temple, Jim Trotter, Chris Schneider, and Wes Pope.

I am most thankful for my wife, Gloria, and our children, Jessica and Nick. Gloria has been a loving and supportive partner through all the twists, turns, and loops of life. Gloria, through your
words, actions, and deeds, you are a shining role model for me and our kids. Jessica and Nick, thanks for showing me fun, for giving me hope, and for making me proud.

KEVIN VAUGHAN

To Jim Davidson, who I met at a time when I was searching for my next interesting story, I offer eternal thanks for his trust in first allowing me to tell his amazing tale of tragedy and, ultimately, triumph on the pages of the
Rocky Mountain News
. I treasure the partnership and the friendship that grew from that and culminated in this book.

I was lucky at the
Rocky
to work for John Temple, an editor who fostered an environment where a writer could dream big. I can’t say enough about the adventure that was my eleven and a half years at that paper, and how sad I was the day its owners shut it down. I also offer thanks to
Rocky
editors Deb Goeken, Carol Hanner, Eric Brown, Cliff Foster, Steve Myers, Tonia Twichell, and especially Jim Trotter, whose contributions to the newspaper series “The Crevasse” and to this book were invaluable and whose friendship is even more meaningful.

Over the course of my writing career, I have been shaped by many gifted and talented editors and storytellers, whose influence I feel in every sentence I write. That began nearly three decades ago with Greg Pearson, a professor at Metropolitan State College who made me believe in myself in a way I never had before, and continued with Bob Spencer, Bill Spencer, Bob Davis, Rich Abrahamson, Chris Cobler, Tony Balandran, Mike Littwin, Todd Hartman, Sara Burnett, David Montero, Jim Sheeler, Lynn Bartels, Chris Barge, M. E. Sprengelmeyer, Charlie Brennan, Michael O’Keeffe, Jeff Kass, Hector Gutierrez, Tina Griego, David Olinger, Jennifer Brown, and the late James B. Meadow. Thank you all.

At
The Denver Post
, Editor Greg Moore threw me a lifeline at a time when I thought my journalism career might end. I don’t know what I would have done without it. His support, and that of news director Kevin Dale, helped make this book possible.

Chris Webster helped me stay sane through it all.

I offer a lifetime of gratitude to my late father, Pete Vaughan, and my mother, Linda Vaughan, for the gentle way they allowed me to figure out my life without the pressure of having to be what they wanted me to be. And to my sister, Rebecca Vaughan, and her husband, Peter Illig, I say “thank you” for teaching me something new every time we talk.

Finally, to Colleen, Forrest, Morgan, and Sawyer, I offer my heart. A writer is supposed to always find the right words, but there aren’t any big enough to explain what each of them means to me. Their love, support, and patience—and their tolerance of the missed meals and middle-of-the-night phone calls as I pursued the story of the day—sustains me. Their hugs are my medicine, their smiles my sunsets. They make my life complete.