RICHARD ORANGE
THE WORLD'S top energy watchdog has warned that the UK economy will become a net importer of oil this year for the first time in more than a decade - three years earlier than the government has predicted.
The International Energy Agency (IEA) has forecast that North Sea oil production will dip below 1.7m barrels per day this year, forcing the economy to rely on more imported supplies to meet demand.
The warning follows the Russian decision to shut off gas to Europe that thrust energy security into the foreground and further emphasises the extent of the British government's failure to anticipate energy threats to the economy.
It will also encourage more criticism of Chancellor Gordon Brown's raid on North Sea profits in his November pre-budget report - which has already caused Shell to cut back its UK exploration and production programme and prompted every oil company in the North Sea to review its activities.
The International Energy Agency's supply analyst David Fyfe, said: "Given expected oil production this year of below 1.7m barrels per day, the UK faces the prospect of becoming a net crude importer again this year for the first time since 1992."
The IEA sees UK oil demand for 2007 of more than 1.8m barrels per day, which it expects North Sea production will only be able to match for the first three months of the year.
Output is projected to fall to 1.65m barrels per day between March and June, and to 1.55m barrels per day between July and September, before rebounding slightly to 1.66m barrels per day in the last three months.
The government's more optimistic forecasts do not see the UK becoming a net importer until 2010.
Fyfe said: "In the last three years production has declined every year more than 200,000 barrels per day or more. We are looking at the slate of projects coming up and we are not factoring in any of the unexpected outages which have happened in the past few years."
The IEA's warnings raise the prospect that the government may turn out to be as badly wrong-footed by the decline of UK oil production as it was by the decline of UK gas - a failure which has put the UK on the edge of a gas crisis this winter.
A spokesman for the Department of Trade and Industry, which is responsible for the North Sea said: "We do on occasions become a net importer of oil for certain months, but for the year overall we are not net importers. We think that, by 2010, we will become net importers for the year as a whole."
Although the IEA has not yet completed its forecast for 2007, Fyfe said production may creep back above demand thanks to the Buzzard field coming on stream. But any recovery is not likely to be prolonged.
The news will also come as a shock to UK oil producers who share the government's optimistic forecast.
A spokeswoman for the UK Offshore Operators Association, which represents North Sea producers said: "We believe we will be self-sufficient in oil until the end of the decade, although we are in the process of updating our figures."
Peter Spencer, chief economist for UK Item Club, which uses the same economic forecasting models as the Treasury, said the shift would be mainly symbolic for the UK economy.
He said: "What really matters for the UK economy isn't how much oil production we have, or even oil prices, but interest rates."
He added: "We were in such a hurry to exploit all our oil and gas resources that we burnt it all off when prices were cheap."
Monday, January 09, 2006
The Toddfather
Everest Profile
The most imposing figure on Everest has been told to stay home. But don't count Henry Todd out yet.
By Bruce Barcott
HENRY BARCLAY TODD—Scotsman, ex-con, entrepreneur—is in the business of solving problems. Want to climb Mount Everest but don't have the Benjamins? Henry can solve that. Need oxygen tanks on the cheap? Henry's your man. What's the weather forecast for 27,000 feet? Check with Henry. Need to share a tent at Camp II? Henry!
Fifty-six-year-old Todd is the proprietor of Himalayan Guides, an Edinburgh-based expedition service that specializes in the highly affordable summit trip. If you want to climb Everest with legends like Ed Viesturs and Pete Athans, you'll pony up at least $50,000 to a guide service like Adventure Consultants (Guy Cotter's Wanaka, New Zealand–based outfit) or Alpine Ascents International (Todd Burleson's Seattle operation). But if you can haul your own carcass up the Hillary Step and are willing to subsist on rice and lentil soup, you can ride on Henry's ticket for the low, low price of $29,000. "Adventure Consultants and Alpine Ascents are like the Cadillacs of Everest," says John Leonard, a 26-year-old Mount Rainier wilderness ranger who made his first attempt on Everestwith Todd last spring. "Henry's the vintage Chevy Astrovan. You've got a whole bunch of people, and the ride's a little bumpy, but if you hold on you'll get there."
Todd offers climbers what the Bahamas offers the cruise-ship industry: a flag of convenience. Everest permits aren't as hard to obtain as they were ten years ago, but they still aren't cheap—$70,000 for a party of one to seven climbers. Submitting the application alone involves a teeth-grinding trip through Nepalese bureaucracy, but Todd knows the system well. After securing a permit for Everest, Lhotse, or Cho Oyu, he'll simply put out the word on the mountaineering grapevine and wait for the e-mails to roll in. Todd and his virtual corporation—Himalayan Guides has no physical offices, only an answering machine and an e-mail address—hop from mountain to mountain but rarely want for customers; his trips often fill within days of their announcement.
How does Henry do it? Low overhead (no rent), low labor costs (no guides), excellent international contacts, and volume, volume, volume. Last year 23 climbers were listed on Todd's Everest and Lhotse permits: 14 with the Himalayan Guides expedition in several small independent teams, and nine with Jagged Globe, a Sheffield, England–based guide service that arranged to sublet Todd's permit. He also subsidizes his expeditions with various entrepreneurial activities. For example, for $500 your party can receive a season's worth of weather reports e-mailed every two days from Todd's contact at the Meteorological Office, the UK's national weather service. For an additional, negotiable fee, he'll rent you oxygen tanks, masks, and regulators. How much, exactly? "There's no simple answer to that," Todd says. "But it's half as much as you'd pay for shiny new cylinders. And it's absolutely identical oxygen."
A hearty extrovert with a rugged six-foot-three frame, an impish smile, an impressive scowl, and a plummy accent, Todd conducts business with a combination of charm and toughness. (How tough depends on who you talk to.) In the Everest scene he's referred to as "the mayor of Base Camp," or "the governor." A Canadian climbing magazine once called him "the Toddfather." He can be delightful one moment and stormy the next. "He's an awesome guy, and he's a horrible guy, depending on who he wants to be," says Patrick Kenny, a Utah ski patroller who summited on Henry Todd's permit last year. Todd's admirers speak of his excellent rapport with Sherpas, years of Himalayan experience, and organizational prowess. "He's a big, tough mountaineer who's been very effective at running expeditions for quite a long time," says Steve Bell, the managing director for Jagged Globe. But not everyone's a fan. "I'm fine with Henry now," says another Everest expeditioner, who requested anonymity, "but there were years where it had crossed my mind to throw him in a hole."
In the annals of the Toddfather, 2000 was a year during which the Scotsman may have occasionally wanted to throw himself into a hole. In May, he had a dustup with one of his own clients, American reporter Finn-Olaf Jones—an encounter that, according to Jones and others, left the journalist bleeding and shaken. That same month, two of Todd's clients, Mike and Kristy Woodmansee, complained that the oxygen kits they rented from him malfunctioned, scuttling their summit bid at Camp IV—tantalizingly close to the top. Then, in June, The Sunday Times of London published a story about Michael Matthews, a 22-year-old British stockbroker who summited Everest using one of Todd's oxygen setups on May 13, 1999—but disappeared on the way down. The article didn't implicate Todd in Matthews's death and stated that "nobody can ever be sure what happened," but it was the kind of publicity that would give most Everest outfitters nightmares.
The capper came in November. Finn-Olaf Jones had filed charges with the Nepalese police on May 19, two days after the incident. According to Jones's statement, on July 13th the nation's Joint Secretary of Tourism told Jones that an investigation had been conducted and that Todd would be subject to "serious penalties" as a result of the incident.In a November 6 press release that cited the Jones confrontation and an unspecified "other circumstance," Nepal's Ministry of Tourism noted that it had in the past "warned Henry B. Todd several times to follow...norms and conditions"—and banned him from the whole damn country until the spring of 2002.
Note: for the rest of this article, click on title of this post to link to the article in Outside.
The most imposing figure on Everest has been told to stay home. But don't count Henry Todd out yet.
By Bruce Barcott
HENRY BARCLAY TODD—Scotsman, ex-con, entrepreneur—is in the business of solving problems. Want to climb Mount Everest but don't have the Benjamins? Henry can solve that. Need oxygen tanks on the cheap? Henry's your man. What's the weather forecast for 27,000 feet? Check with Henry. Need to share a tent at Camp II? Henry!
Fifty-six-year-old Todd is the proprietor of Himalayan Guides, an Edinburgh-based expedition service that specializes in the highly affordable summit trip. If you want to climb Everest with legends like Ed Viesturs and Pete Athans, you'll pony up at least $50,000 to a guide service like Adventure Consultants (Guy Cotter's Wanaka, New Zealand–based outfit) or Alpine Ascents International (Todd Burleson's Seattle operation). But if you can haul your own carcass up the Hillary Step and are willing to subsist on rice and lentil soup, you can ride on Henry's ticket for the low, low price of $29,000. "Adventure Consultants and Alpine Ascents are like the Cadillacs of Everest," says John Leonard, a 26-year-old Mount Rainier wilderness ranger who made his first attempt on Everestwith Todd last spring. "Henry's the vintage Chevy Astrovan. You've got a whole bunch of people, and the ride's a little bumpy, but if you hold on you'll get there."
Todd offers climbers what the Bahamas offers the cruise-ship industry: a flag of convenience. Everest permits aren't as hard to obtain as they were ten years ago, but they still aren't cheap—$70,000 for a party of one to seven climbers. Submitting the application alone involves a teeth-grinding trip through Nepalese bureaucracy, but Todd knows the system well. After securing a permit for Everest, Lhotse, or Cho Oyu, he'll simply put out the word on the mountaineering grapevine and wait for the e-mails to roll in. Todd and his virtual corporation—Himalayan Guides has no physical offices, only an answering machine and an e-mail address—hop from mountain to mountain but rarely want for customers; his trips often fill within days of their announcement.
How does Henry do it? Low overhead (no rent), low labor costs (no guides), excellent international contacts, and volume, volume, volume. Last year 23 climbers were listed on Todd's Everest and Lhotse permits: 14 with the Himalayan Guides expedition in several small independent teams, and nine with Jagged Globe, a Sheffield, England–based guide service that arranged to sublet Todd's permit. He also subsidizes his expeditions with various entrepreneurial activities. For example, for $500 your party can receive a season's worth of weather reports e-mailed every two days from Todd's contact at the Meteorological Office, the UK's national weather service. For an additional, negotiable fee, he'll rent you oxygen tanks, masks, and regulators. How much, exactly? "There's no simple answer to that," Todd says. "But it's half as much as you'd pay for shiny new cylinders. And it's absolutely identical oxygen."
A hearty extrovert with a rugged six-foot-three frame, an impish smile, an impressive scowl, and a plummy accent, Todd conducts business with a combination of charm and toughness. (How tough depends on who you talk to.) In the Everest scene he's referred to as "the mayor of Base Camp," or "the governor." A Canadian climbing magazine once called him "the Toddfather." He can be delightful one moment and stormy the next. "He's an awesome guy, and he's a horrible guy, depending on who he wants to be," says Patrick Kenny, a Utah ski patroller who summited on Henry Todd's permit last year. Todd's admirers speak of his excellent rapport with Sherpas, years of Himalayan experience, and organizational prowess. "He's a big, tough mountaineer who's been very effective at running expeditions for quite a long time," says Steve Bell, the managing director for Jagged Globe. But not everyone's a fan. "I'm fine with Henry now," says another Everest expeditioner, who requested anonymity, "but there were years where it had crossed my mind to throw him in a hole."
In the annals of the Toddfather, 2000 was a year during which the Scotsman may have occasionally wanted to throw himself into a hole. In May, he had a dustup with one of his own clients, American reporter Finn-Olaf Jones—an encounter that, according to Jones and others, left the journalist bleeding and shaken. That same month, two of Todd's clients, Mike and Kristy Woodmansee, complained that the oxygen kits they rented from him malfunctioned, scuttling their summit bid at Camp IV—tantalizingly close to the top. Then, in June, The Sunday Times of London published a story about Michael Matthews, a 22-year-old British stockbroker who summited Everest using one of Todd's oxygen setups on May 13, 1999—but disappeared on the way down. The article didn't implicate Todd in Matthews's death and stated that "nobody can ever be sure what happened," but it was the kind of publicity that would give most Everest outfitters nightmares.
The capper came in November. Finn-Olaf Jones had filed charges with the Nepalese police on May 19, two days after the incident. According to Jones's statement, on July 13th the nation's Joint Secretary of Tourism told Jones that an investigation had been conducted and that Todd would be subject to "serious penalties" as a result of the incident.In a November 6 press release that cited the Jones confrontation and an unspecified "other circumstance," Nepal's Ministry of Tourism noted that it had in the past "warned Henry B. Todd several times to follow...norms and conditions"—and banned him from the whole damn country until the spring of 2002.
Note: for the rest of this article, click on title of this post to link to the article in Outside.
Mountain Madness
“A lot of people are up here who shouldn’t be.” – Ed Viesturs, 1996 IMAX Expedition
10 years after the Mount Everest disaster, no one knows what really happened. How did 9 climbers, from 4 expeditions die on a single day on Mount Everest? Why were there so many people choking up the only path up the mountain, and were the leaders (Fischer and Hall), pressured by the presence of journalists climbing on their opposing teams? Were they locked in a deadly rivalry, or did they just run out of oxygen and time? Was it the weather or human error?
Story by Nick van der Leek
By the end of May, that most lethal month in the mountain’s history, the toll stood at 12. Ironically the 13th casualty was the mountain’s first victim. The sherpa that fell ill with High Altitude Pulmonary Edema, began coughing blood and sputum on April 22, and lapsed into a 2 month coma. He finally died, becoming the last to die from that season, but only in June.
A media frenzy ensued. Newspapers around the world, including the Sunday Times in South Africa, put the story on their front page. 5 weeks after the fact a 17 000 word article (that proved inaccurate) appeared in Outside magazine, written by a journalist, and client, on the Adventure Consultants Guided Expedition. Then a socialite/journalist** wrote a self-aggrandizing article in TIME. Something was wrong. More books appeared, some seeming to be self indulgent and attention seeking.
Finally† in 1997, The Climb was published. It was not embroidered, nor overstated. It did not attempt to lay blame. It soon emerged in bitter clarity, that the nightmare was not the mountain, but leaders and clientele who were very competitive, and had paid a cash price for the opportunity to gain glory, but who were reluctant to pay the price of physical preparedness. The mountain stood unmoved as the various characters wished themselves up the mountain. So it was left to an incredibly strong, unassuming and inarticulate but hard as nails Russian climber, Anatoli Boukreev, to save the weak and irrational. He emerged as a hero that day on the mountain, but not through the words or thanks of the people he saved.
Mountaineer and writer Galen Rowell describes Boukreev’s efforts as ‘one of the most amazing rescues in mountaineering history.’ When we go back to the mountain in 1996, we ought to start with the one man who knew best that day and most days, how hard the mountain can be.
I admire the authority of being on one’s knees in front of the event
- Harold Brodkey, “Manipulations”
Circus
In the spring of 1996, the circus that Mount Everest was fast becoming, unraveled. At least 16 expeditions participated, among them the Johannesburg Sunday Times Expedition, the Adventure Consultants Guided Expedition, the MacGillivray Freeman IMAX/IWERKS Expedition and Mountain Madness. Over a hundred people, and a star ‘that didn’t belong’* were running around the colossal flanks of the Mountain. Imagine a hundred astronauts on the moon and you have an idea how festive but bizarre it was at Base Camp.
The Cast and Crew
Boukreev belonged to the Mountain Madness Expedition. He was the head guide, and in his care were 7 American clients, a 34 year old Danish woman, and 11 Sherpas. Lopsang Jangbu was their climbing sirdar from Nepal. He was only 23, and this worried Boukreev.
Gammelgaard, the Danish woman, and Boukreev developed a strong friendship. She had a lot of respect for him because she had heard about Boukreev from Michael Joergensen, and they had other things in common; neither were from the USA or particularly wealthy. Lene Gammelgaard, would try, under his charge to become the first Danish woman1 to make the summit of Everest. Gammelgaard and Sandy Hill Pittman, a multimillionairess and socialite, initially got on well, but soon became competitive and were constantly butting heads. Pittman, as onboard journalist, was not the first choice for the team.
The head of Mountain Madness, Scott Fischer, had first attempted to sign up Jon Krakauer, working for Outside magazine, intending to generate international publicity for his company. At the 11th hour, Outside went to a rival expedition (led by Rob Hall), asking them to beat Fischer’s price, which they did, by a few hundred, maybe a thousand dollars. Fischer was very upset about this, but by signing on Sandy Hill Pittman, and successfully getting her to the summit, he felt he had the means to the same end. Sandy Hill Pittman, according to one of Fischer’s confidants, turned out to be ‘a big piece of work’. Fischer soon realized that she was very self-important, and failure to get her to the top would cost him dearly, and if he got her to the top she wouldn’t mention him.
If Pittman was a questionable choice (as client climber), Dale Kruse, the ‘seed client’, who had paid 18 months in advance was even more so. The first to sign on, he couldn’t cope with altitude – something Gammelgaard had experienced firsthand on a 1995 expedition to Broad Peak, with Fischer. She wondered: Why had Fischer signed him on? It is the first client’s money that gets the expedition rolling, and Scott Fischer possibly wanted to have the money and, being a nice guy, wanted to give his friend of 20 years what he wanted.
From the word go, Kruse began to have difficulties on Everest. He became very, very quiet, and distanced himself from the other clients.
Pete Schoening from Washington was 68. If he could make the summit he would be the oldest person ever to do so. (A Japanese woman on Hall’s Adventure Consultant’s team was attempting to be the oldest woman ever to reach the summit). Pete Schoening’s nephew, Klev, was 38, and inexperienced but athletic and strong. The same could be said, more or less, for Tim Madsen from Colorado. Martin Adams (a retired Wall Street investor), and Charlotte Fox had been higher than 8 000m before.
Of the 8 clients on Mountain Madness, only Sandy Hill Pittman paid the full asking price, of $65 000.
Problems with O2
From the beginning, there were problems, but none that seemed anomalous. The porters had doubled their rates since yaks couldn’t get to Everest Base Camp. The yaks were up to their necks in snow, and had to be dug out, and so equipment was delayed. So the crew, 11 Mountain Madness sherpas, came under increasing strain early on in the season.
By late March, Mountain Madness still didn’t have any oxygen. The Poisk oxygen supply cost 33% more than they ought to have cost because a Scotsman, Henry Todd, introduced to Poisk by Boukreev during an earlier expedition, had effectively made a deal with the Russians to corner the market and distribute it. When Boukreev attempted to buy oxygen for Fischer, he was troubled by this additional outlay, and so attempted to make another deal, but with Zvesda, for a heavier product. When Todd became aware that Boukreev was trying to get a better deal, he threatened to pull the plug. Mountain Madness gave in. They bought 55 Poisk 3 litre bottles, and 54 4 litre cylinders from Zvesda (at about $325/at least R2000 a bottle). Those numbers would become meaningful, adding up to a pile of life and survival for some, but struggle, peril and death for others who would not have enough oxygen on summit day.
Pete Schoening, the oldest man on the team, attempting to be the oldest man to ever climb Everest, started drawing on the oxygen supplies almost immediately. He was unable to sleep without breathing oxygen since his arrival at Base Camp in early April, and this uncommon circumstance continued until May 6, the day they left Base Camp for the summit.
Fischer made some private calls to his publicist, Jane Bromet, and one of the recurring messages was that their money was evaporating with every passing day.
Early Setbacks
Neal Beidleman and Sandy Hill Pittman, since arriving at Base Camp, started suffering from a dry, irritating cough. Beidleman’s was so bad he struggled to sleep at night.
On April 22, just after Mountain Madness’ 3rd (of 4) acclimatizing sorties, 23 year old Lopsang Jangbu’s uncle, Ngawang Topche, suddenly developed High-Altitude Pulmonary Edema (HACE) at Camp II (6500m). He was walking around like a drunk, coughing blood and confused. Fischer, attentive to those around him, had picked up on it and ordered Ngawang down, but for reasons unknown, the Sherpa had continued up and his condition rapidly worsened. Medications are still under debate, but rapid descent – about 600 – 1200 metres – is seen as the most effective measure. It became the task of the clients, Klev Schoening and Tim Madsen, to take care of the Sherpa. When his condition worsened even more, they improvised a makeshift sled and during the night, tried to maneuver him down, through the dangerous Khumbu Icefall.
Boukreev noticed that the Sherpas in Base Camp did not respond to their ailing comrade for several hours. It gave him an indication what he might be able to expect from them in an emergency.
Scott Fischer, weighing the cost and necessity of a helicopter rescue, vacillated; hoping Ngawang would show a sudden improvement.
By April 24 Camp III was still not in place, and the Sherpas were virtually exhausted. While Ngawang fought for his life, the mood on the mountain darkened. The clients were becoming restless and frustrated and some muttered amongst themselves that their guides were not paying attention to details, and were often too busy to offer a helping hand.
Other expeditions noticed that Mountain Madness sent their clients off on sorties, allowing them to move through some difficult situations unattended. And Sherpas began to talk about the disrespect some clients had for the mountain. Sandy Hill Pittman had found a young male climber to share her tent with.
White squalls fell on the mountain. This meant sending a helicopter to pick up Ngawang was out of the question now. Ngawang had to be carried in a basket on the backs of Sherpas down to Pheriche. For over forty hours, amongst blood and vomit, a medical team that included Base camp managed and team doctor Ingrid Hunt tried to keep Ngawang’s lungs working. His heart stopped for ten minutes and they restarted it. His lungs became blocked with fluid and Dr.Hunt sucked it out with a plastic tube. By April 26 the weather had improved and he was airlifted to a hospital in Kathmandu (at a cost of about $10 000). Despite the use of precious oxygen during attempts to revive him, he continued to suffer in hospital, dying in June.
It was April 29 and a deep line began to cut into Scott Fischer’s usually carefree forehead. The Sherpas of Mountain Madness had still not prepared Camp IV, or taken oxygen there.
On April 30, at Base Camp, Boukreev worried about him, their team leader. Boukreev was a strong proponent of self-reliance in the mountains. Now, because he’d needed to hold the hands of the weaker clients, especially Dale Kruse, Scott Fisher’s acclimatization routine had been broken time and time again.
Strategy
Boukreev, at that stage one of the world’s most accomplished mountaineers, was focused and disciplined. He often told his charges, “Save yourself,” because the idea, once arriving at Base Camp, was not only to acclimatize. Since Boukreev spoke only passable English, climbers like Klev Schoening initially misunderstood what he meant. Did “Save yourself,” mean “be careful, don’t get yourself into trouble, and don’t fall down a crevasse”? No. It meant, conserve your energy.
Acclimatizing meant a combination of active rest and gradually climbing to progressively higher altitudes (sometimes well higher than some of the human bodies around him had previously endured). Mountain Madness, throughout April, went on 4 sorties, each going beyond the altitude of the last, and then coming back to Base Camp to rest.
For the summit bid itself, time was all important. 13:00 had been suggested as a good turnaround time, and 14:00 as the absolute deadline. Any longer and climbers would run out of oxygen whilst still high on the mountain.
Boukreev personally did not like to use oxygen, because if the supply suddenly ran out, the brain instantly fogged up and the body struggled to adjust under these conditions of severe hypoxia.
Boukreev believed in preparation, and was meticulous with his own regimen. He held the opinion that while one acclimatized, the body couldn’t rest at Base Camp, because it was too cold, and too high (5300m – just 600m below Kilimanjaro), and his recommendation was after the 4th sortie, at the end of April and just days prior to the final push towards the summit, climbers must go down to the forest region, to about 3800m.
Boukreev suggested this on several occasions, and few were receptive to the idea. It meant going a long way down and then having to make up a lot of territory, including vertical height. Boukreev insisted it was a great way to revive the system, and generate muscle tone.
Martin Adams was the only client who went to the effort of walking as far down as Pheriche (4280m) while Boukreev had gone even lower, to the Garden Lodge of Deboche
(3770m). Adams was the first Mountain Madness client to summit on May 10.
Yak Steak
While everyone else had remained at Base Camp, Sandy Hill Pittman had gone down to meet friends, including Martha Stewart. She later reported via satellite phone that she’d eaten yak steak and french fries at her ‘favorite restaurant’, before walking back to Base Camp overnight.
The next morning, May 6, was the day identified for them to begin the final push for the summit. While her team gathered around for breakfast, Pittman logged on and related the finer points of the previous days to an NBC Interactive audience (the archives for the site www.nbc.com/everest have since been removed).
Meanwhile Beidleman’s cough had improved, but Scott had not been feeling too good, and was on antibiotics.
Later, on May 6, after the clients had left, Boukreev had some time to think about what lay in store for them. Shortly after that almost the entire Mountain Madness camp (at Base Camp) was abandoned.
A Beer
May 6. When Boukreev reached Camp II at the end of that day, Fischer had gone back down with Dale Kruse to Base Camp. That evening Scott was having a beer with Dale Kruse and Pete Schoening – both had finally given up on their attempt.
The next day Fischer had to climb from Base Camp to his clients at Camp II, who were resting so that they could get to Camp III. On his way he struggled to pass Henry Todd, an older climber from Himalayan Guides. When they spoke to one another, Todd said that Scott Fischer struggled to speak, but coughed and coughed.
Finally Scott confided: “I’m worried about these people. I’m worried about the situation.”
By that evening Fischer had burned up precious reserves to get back up to Camp II.
Ed Viesturs
On May 7th, the IMAX team, encountering high winds, and intending to make their bid on the 9th, a day before the other expeditions (with the intention of getting clean shots and not being slowed down) changed their minds and went down. When they encountered Boukreev and the Mountain Madness group, Ed Viesturs, also a very accomplished climber remembers feeling somewhat embarrassed. They wondered whether they were making the right decision. He said, standing amongst the other climbers in reasonable weather, he felt quite ‘sheepish’ going down. Viesturs also said he remembered a lot of smiling faces heading up the mountain.
May 10, 1996
In the darkness of the mountain, the machine gunfire that had battered their tents suddenly drifted down. It became eerily quiet. This happened at about 10pm, on May 9.
Boukreev woke up in a tent he was sharing with Schoening (who was behaving strangely), Martin Adams and the Danish woman, Lene Gammelgaard. They were at Camp IV, at 7900m. After some tea, the climbers set off, most of them leaving by about midnight. Charlotte Fox, who was celebrating her birthday on May 10, walked up the white veil that swooped under a sky dripping with stars.
All were meant to have 18 hours of oxygen, or 3 canisters each, but each person could only carry one at a time. It had been the Sherpa’s job to stash a supply of 21 oxygen canisters on the South Summit (at 8748m), and fix ropes on the dangerous exposed sections above this level.. Boukreev packed oxygen but was unsure whether he would need any (and in fact didn’t use any).
Lopsang fastened a length of rope to Sandy Hill Pittman and headed up with her.
Scott Fischer was very slow to leave Camp IV. He left last just after Gammelgaard.
She turned back to check how he was, but after that, hurried to stick with the group in order to not climb alone on summit day.
Boukreev summitted first at 13:07, followed by Jon Krakauer at 13:12 (from Advenure Consultants, Rob Hall’s team) and Beidleman and Adams 13 minutes later. Klev Schoening arrived at 13:45, and Boukreev took his photograph. After Schoening, the flow stopped. 14:00 came and went, and Boukreev, who by then had been on the summit for almost an hour (and without oxygen) began to feel cold and tired.
Time Out
A star was spotted in the middle of the day above the south summit. It was not the comet, it had long since disappeared. The Sherpas who saw this much lower down the slopes of Everest, became agitated.
Gammelgaard, Fox, Madsen and Pittman (with the help of Lopsang) made the summit by or just before 14:30. They had gotten mixed up in another, much slower moving group which included a Taiwanese Expedition and Halls’ Adventure Consultants. They spent 40 minutes celebrating on the summit. Each minute, would cost them dearly.
By now, all the Mountain Madness clients who had started had made the summit. Fischer had not sent anyone back (13:00 had been suggested as a good turnaround time, and 14:00 as the absolute deadline, but no plan appeared to be in place) because after Gammelgaard had left him, he’d not had any contact with his clients – they were all above him on the mountain. Also, Fischer and Lopsang were using a pair of old 10 channel radios to communicate.
Fischer arrived on the summit at about 15:45. Dr. Hunt made radio contact and Fischer said, “I am so tired.”
Lopsang was there with him, so was Rob Hall, who was impatiently waiting for one more client to summit. Hansen and Hall were on the summit just after 16:00, and not long after that, Hansen collapsed. Hall refused to leave him for several hours, and finally was so weakened that he was unable to move. Andy Harris, a guide with Adventure Consultants, asked Lopsang, who was helping Scott down, to take oxygen to Hall and Hansen for $500. Lopsang said that he had to take care of his group. In the end, Harris went up to help Hall and Hansen himself. Despite these efforts, neither rescuer nor the other two survived.
Meanwhile, Boukreev had hurried down the mountain ahead of everyone else, to prepare tea, to warm himself, and to be ready for the clients reaching Camp IV. Krakauer called this a critical error – having the head guide, and such a strong climber uselessly sitting in a tent at Camp 4, while climbers higher up struggled. Ironically, this is exactly what Krakauer himself did – rushed down the mountain as fast as possible without offering others any assistance, but unlike Boukreev, once he reached his tent he slept for the rest of the night while one climber after another from his team died on the mountain. In all four of Krakauer’s five teammates perished that night, including team leader, Rob Hall.
Drowning
Boukreev arrived at Camp 4 at 17:00. He understood that that the Mountain Madness clients would run out of oxygen, so he left the camp at 18:30 in deteriorating weather. In his pack were three oxygen canisters, which he’d offer to clients as they needed them. But freight trains pounded the mountain, and Boukreev couldn’t see anything or anyone. Lopsang and Scott had the only radios and they were still much higher on the mountain, climbing down together. He went back to his tent at 21:00, and waited for news. With no radio, no way of knowing what was happening, he could only gather his strength and make himself ready. The leaders on the mountain, Hall and Fischer, were weak, still high on the mountain, and in trouble. Leaders and clients, one by one, started to run out of oxygen. Lopsang spent five hours with Fischer, before leaving him to descend on his own.
Meanwhile 8 clients from two expeditions (6 were Mountain Madness clients) and three Sherpas found their way down the mountain, but weren’t able to find Camp IV in the storm, and so huddled together. Their position was 400 metres from Camp IV (15 minutes walk under normal conditions), but just 20 metres from the edge of the deadly Kangshung Face.
Now a number of climbers were in trouble, and there were in fact a number of climbers at Camp IV who had not yet made a summit attempt and were thus well rested. These included Ian Woodall, Cathy ‘O Dowd and Bruce Herrod (from the South African/UK team) and 5 more climbers from Henry Todd’s team.
Boukreev had to locate the huddle of bodies on his own, but could do so only once Neal Beidleman, Mike Groom (from Adventure Consultants)Lene Gammelgaard and Klev Schoening told him, at about 00:45 that people needed his help, and where he would find them.
Acting on their instructions, he went out with no assistance (no other climbers would help), because even the Sherpas who had remained at Camp IV were all suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning, from cooking with a gas stove inside a sealed tent. Boukreev’s first foray in the storm was unsuccessful – he had climbed upwards along the route, instead of walking along the flatter section of the mountain around Camp IV. Boukreev finally found Pittman with Madsen and Fox, and gave them each some tea. He was only strong enough to bring them in one by one, and he brought the birthday girl, Fox, in first. Next he got Pittman, and Madsen struggled to stay with them, leaving behind a 47 year old Japanese woman (Yasuko Namba) and Beck Weathers, who had become irrational and walked off into the storm.
Finally, by 04:30 all of the Mountain Madness team were safe in their tents on the South Col, all except their leader. The Japanese woman, who had attached herself to the Mountain Madness group now found herself alone, less than 20 minutes walk from shelter, while her teammates were either too frightened or exhausted to save her. When Neal Beidleman from Mountain Madness, who had helped her for much of the way down, heard that she died he broke into tears.
Bad Blood
At about 07:00 on May 11, the radio batteries of Hall’s Expedition gave out, and David Breashears, the IMAX leader, called Ian Woodall (from the South African Expedition) who was also on the South Col, and asked him to allow Krakauer to use their powerful radio so Hall’s team could coordinate a rescue. Woodall said no even though he was well aware of the stakes.
At 16:00 that same day Boukreev climbed back up the mountain to Scott, who was at 8 350 meters. Boukreev reached Fischer at 19:00 while a vicious storm blew around him. He found Fischer with his down suit’s zipper open and one hand, without a glove, was frozen solid. His face behind the oxygen mask resembled a bruise. Fischer must have died sometime earlier in the day. Boukreev was “very sad”.
Boukreev climbed alone and in the dark, in a storm as severe as the previous night, and found his way back to his tent. He found a man2 alone in a tent beside his, from Hall’s expedition, screaming.
On the 25th of May, Bruce Herrod, who was climbing on his own way behind Woodall and O’ Dowd (as part of the Johannesburg Sunday Times Expedition), walked over the bodies of first Fischer and then Hall before reaching the summit of Everest at 17:00 or later. It had taken him all of 17 hours to get there. He too, would never return, and Boukreev would find him, still tangled in the ropes at the Hillary Step, the following year.
The Mountain Is Unmoved
Having climbed Kilimanjaro myself, I know how quickly a strong climber can become miserably sick and dim-witted at high altitude. It is not the place for writers, or even climbers present, or not, to make authoritative claims about what cause men on mountains to do what they do in the face of death, and danger. Worse, is the tendency to worship the God of blame. When exploring the adventures of men who died far from the comforts of home, we do their lives justice by simply acknowledging them, and the astonishing confluence of events that come together in the world’s wildest and highest places. We ought to, at the very least, imagine the vivid and stupendous scenes that swept beyond their gas masks and took them so far into the world.
When Gammelgaard, the stoic Danish woman, first stood upon the Khumbu Glacier, she was overtaken by its magnificent beauty. She stood apart from the others and quietly wept. The mountain stands unmoved as men, the wise and the foolish, the tall and the small, find their own meaning on their inward journeys through the great Outside. For some, when facing an objective like Everest for the first time, in the present moment, being there brings about a sinking feeling. For others, like Boukreev, their hearts are made to soar.
Avalanche
The following year Boukreev guided the first Indonesians up the summit of Everest. They also arrived late, at 15:30.
On his way down the lower slopes Boukreev met a Japanese man, who turned out to be Yasuko Namba’s husband. They talked over a pot of tea.
On December 6, 1997 Boukreev was awarded the American Alpine Club’s David A. Sowles Memorial Award for his heroism and courage on Mount Everest in 1996. Boukreev was not in the USA to accept the award; he was in Nepal, attempting to climb Annapurna (8078m), in winter, by a difficult route. During his adventures in the mountains, Boukreev had had some lucky escapes. But this time, he and his climbing friend, were struck down by an avalanche on Christmas Day. Only the Italian climber who was climbing with them, Moro, lived to tell the tale.
Boukreev is known to have said: “Do not forget the mountaineers who have not returned from the summits.”
Words: 4 417
<†The Climb was in response to, and challenges and in part refutes, Krakauer’s slickly written Into Thin Air. *G. Weston DeWalt describes this star, in his book, The Climb, as the comet Hyakutake which he says was “…considered an ominous sign by the Sherpas…” **Sandy Hill Pittman 1. Boukreev had earlier guided the first Welshman, the first Dane and the first Brazilian, and after 1996 would guide the first Indonesian to the summit. 2. Beck Waethers
10 years after the Mount Everest disaster, no one knows what really happened. How did 9 climbers, from 4 expeditions die on a single day on Mount Everest? Why were there so many people choking up the only path up the mountain, and were the leaders (Fischer and Hall), pressured by the presence of journalists climbing on their opposing teams? Were they locked in a deadly rivalry, or did they just run out of oxygen and time? Was it the weather or human error?
Story by Nick van der Leek
By the end of May, that most lethal month in the mountain’s history, the toll stood at 12. Ironically the 13th casualty was the mountain’s first victim. The sherpa that fell ill with High Altitude Pulmonary Edema, began coughing blood and sputum on April 22, and lapsed into a 2 month coma. He finally died, becoming the last to die from that season, but only in June.
A media frenzy ensued. Newspapers around the world, including the Sunday Times in South Africa, put the story on their front page. 5 weeks after the fact a 17 000 word article (that proved inaccurate) appeared in Outside magazine, written by a journalist, and client, on the Adventure Consultants Guided Expedition. Then a socialite/journalist** wrote a self-aggrandizing article in TIME. Something was wrong. More books appeared, some seeming to be self indulgent and attention seeking.
Finally† in 1997, The Climb was published. It was not embroidered, nor overstated. It did not attempt to lay blame. It soon emerged in bitter clarity, that the nightmare was not the mountain, but leaders and clientele who were very competitive, and had paid a cash price for the opportunity to gain glory, but who were reluctant to pay the price of physical preparedness. The mountain stood unmoved as the various characters wished themselves up the mountain. So it was left to an incredibly strong, unassuming and inarticulate but hard as nails Russian climber, Anatoli Boukreev, to save the weak and irrational. He emerged as a hero that day on the mountain, but not through the words or thanks of the people he saved.
Mountaineer and writer Galen Rowell describes Boukreev’s efforts as ‘one of the most amazing rescues in mountaineering history.’ When we go back to the mountain in 1996, we ought to start with the one man who knew best that day and most days, how hard the mountain can be.
I admire the authority of being on one’s knees in front of the event
- Harold Brodkey, “Manipulations”
Circus
In the spring of 1996, the circus that Mount Everest was fast becoming, unraveled. At least 16 expeditions participated, among them the Johannesburg Sunday Times Expedition, the Adventure Consultants Guided Expedition, the MacGillivray Freeman IMAX/IWERKS Expedition and Mountain Madness. Over a hundred people, and a star ‘that didn’t belong’* were running around the colossal flanks of the Mountain. Imagine a hundred astronauts on the moon and you have an idea how festive but bizarre it was at Base Camp.
The Cast and Crew
Boukreev belonged to the Mountain Madness Expedition. He was the head guide, and in his care were 7 American clients, a 34 year old Danish woman, and 11 Sherpas. Lopsang Jangbu was their climbing sirdar from Nepal. He was only 23, and this worried Boukreev.
Gammelgaard, the Danish woman, and Boukreev developed a strong friendship. She had a lot of respect for him because she had heard about Boukreev from Michael Joergensen, and they had other things in common; neither were from the USA or particularly wealthy. Lene Gammelgaard, would try, under his charge to become the first Danish woman1 to make the summit of Everest. Gammelgaard and Sandy Hill Pittman, a multimillionairess and socialite, initially got on well, but soon became competitive and were constantly butting heads. Pittman, as onboard journalist, was not the first choice for the team.
The head of Mountain Madness, Scott Fischer, had first attempted to sign up Jon Krakauer, working for Outside magazine, intending to generate international publicity for his company. At the 11th hour, Outside went to a rival expedition (led by Rob Hall), asking them to beat Fischer’s price, which they did, by a few hundred, maybe a thousand dollars. Fischer was very upset about this, but by signing on Sandy Hill Pittman, and successfully getting her to the summit, he felt he had the means to the same end. Sandy Hill Pittman, according to one of Fischer’s confidants, turned out to be ‘a big piece of work’. Fischer soon realized that she was very self-important, and failure to get her to the top would cost him dearly, and if he got her to the top she wouldn’t mention him.
If Pittman was a questionable choice (as client climber), Dale Kruse, the ‘seed client’, who had paid 18 months in advance was even more so. The first to sign on, he couldn’t cope with altitude – something Gammelgaard had experienced firsthand on a 1995 expedition to Broad Peak, with Fischer. She wondered: Why had Fischer signed him on? It is the first client’s money that gets the expedition rolling, and Scott Fischer possibly wanted to have the money and, being a nice guy, wanted to give his friend of 20 years what he wanted.
From the word go, Kruse began to have difficulties on Everest. He became very, very quiet, and distanced himself from the other clients.
Pete Schoening from Washington was 68. If he could make the summit he would be the oldest person ever to do so. (A Japanese woman on Hall’s Adventure Consultant’s team was attempting to be the oldest woman ever to reach the summit). Pete Schoening’s nephew, Klev, was 38, and inexperienced but athletic and strong. The same could be said, more or less, for Tim Madsen from Colorado. Martin Adams (a retired Wall Street investor), and Charlotte Fox had been higher than 8 000m before.
Of the 8 clients on Mountain Madness, only Sandy Hill Pittman paid the full asking price, of $65 000.
Problems with O2
From the beginning, there were problems, but none that seemed anomalous. The porters had doubled their rates since yaks couldn’t get to Everest Base Camp. The yaks were up to their necks in snow, and had to be dug out, and so equipment was delayed. So the crew, 11 Mountain Madness sherpas, came under increasing strain early on in the season.
By late March, Mountain Madness still didn’t have any oxygen. The Poisk oxygen supply cost 33% more than they ought to have cost because a Scotsman, Henry Todd, introduced to Poisk by Boukreev during an earlier expedition, had effectively made a deal with the Russians to corner the market and distribute it. When Boukreev attempted to buy oxygen for Fischer, he was troubled by this additional outlay, and so attempted to make another deal, but with Zvesda, for a heavier product. When Todd became aware that Boukreev was trying to get a better deal, he threatened to pull the plug. Mountain Madness gave in. They bought 55 Poisk 3 litre bottles, and 54 4 litre cylinders from Zvesda (at about $325/at least R2000 a bottle). Those numbers would become meaningful, adding up to a pile of life and survival for some, but struggle, peril and death for others who would not have enough oxygen on summit day.
Pete Schoening, the oldest man on the team, attempting to be the oldest man to ever climb Everest, started drawing on the oxygen supplies almost immediately. He was unable to sleep without breathing oxygen since his arrival at Base Camp in early April, and this uncommon circumstance continued until May 6, the day they left Base Camp for the summit.
Fischer made some private calls to his publicist, Jane Bromet, and one of the recurring messages was that their money was evaporating with every passing day.
Early Setbacks
Neal Beidleman and Sandy Hill Pittman, since arriving at Base Camp, started suffering from a dry, irritating cough. Beidleman’s was so bad he struggled to sleep at night.
On April 22, just after Mountain Madness’ 3rd (of 4) acclimatizing sorties, 23 year old Lopsang Jangbu’s uncle, Ngawang Topche, suddenly developed High-Altitude Pulmonary Edema (HACE) at Camp II (6500m). He was walking around like a drunk, coughing blood and confused. Fischer, attentive to those around him, had picked up on it and ordered Ngawang down, but for reasons unknown, the Sherpa had continued up and his condition rapidly worsened. Medications are still under debate, but rapid descent – about 600 – 1200 metres – is seen as the most effective measure. It became the task of the clients, Klev Schoening and Tim Madsen, to take care of the Sherpa. When his condition worsened even more, they improvised a makeshift sled and during the night, tried to maneuver him down, through the dangerous Khumbu Icefall.
Boukreev noticed that the Sherpas in Base Camp did not respond to their ailing comrade for several hours. It gave him an indication what he might be able to expect from them in an emergency.
Scott Fischer, weighing the cost and necessity of a helicopter rescue, vacillated; hoping Ngawang would show a sudden improvement.
By April 24 Camp III was still not in place, and the Sherpas were virtually exhausted. While Ngawang fought for his life, the mood on the mountain darkened. The clients were becoming restless and frustrated and some muttered amongst themselves that their guides were not paying attention to details, and were often too busy to offer a helping hand.
Other expeditions noticed that Mountain Madness sent their clients off on sorties, allowing them to move through some difficult situations unattended. And Sherpas began to talk about the disrespect some clients had for the mountain. Sandy Hill Pittman had found a young male climber to share her tent with.
White squalls fell on the mountain. This meant sending a helicopter to pick up Ngawang was out of the question now. Ngawang had to be carried in a basket on the backs of Sherpas down to Pheriche. For over forty hours, amongst blood and vomit, a medical team that included Base camp managed and team doctor Ingrid Hunt tried to keep Ngawang’s lungs working. His heart stopped for ten minutes and they restarted it. His lungs became blocked with fluid and Dr.Hunt sucked it out with a plastic tube. By April 26 the weather had improved and he was airlifted to a hospital in Kathmandu (at a cost of about $10 000). Despite the use of precious oxygen during attempts to revive him, he continued to suffer in hospital, dying in June.
It was April 29 and a deep line began to cut into Scott Fischer’s usually carefree forehead. The Sherpas of Mountain Madness had still not prepared Camp IV, or taken oxygen there.
On April 30, at Base Camp, Boukreev worried about him, their team leader. Boukreev was a strong proponent of self-reliance in the mountains. Now, because he’d needed to hold the hands of the weaker clients, especially Dale Kruse, Scott Fisher’s acclimatization routine had been broken time and time again.
Strategy
Boukreev, at that stage one of the world’s most accomplished mountaineers, was focused and disciplined. He often told his charges, “Save yourself,” because the idea, once arriving at Base Camp, was not only to acclimatize. Since Boukreev spoke only passable English, climbers like Klev Schoening initially misunderstood what he meant. Did “Save yourself,” mean “be careful, don’t get yourself into trouble, and don’t fall down a crevasse”? No. It meant, conserve your energy.
Acclimatizing meant a combination of active rest and gradually climbing to progressively higher altitudes (sometimes well higher than some of the human bodies around him had previously endured). Mountain Madness, throughout April, went on 4 sorties, each going beyond the altitude of the last, and then coming back to Base Camp to rest.
For the summit bid itself, time was all important. 13:00 had been suggested as a good turnaround time, and 14:00 as the absolute deadline. Any longer and climbers would run out of oxygen whilst still high on the mountain.
Boukreev personally did not like to use oxygen, because if the supply suddenly ran out, the brain instantly fogged up and the body struggled to adjust under these conditions of severe hypoxia.
Boukreev believed in preparation, and was meticulous with his own regimen. He held the opinion that while one acclimatized, the body couldn’t rest at Base Camp, because it was too cold, and too high (5300m – just 600m below Kilimanjaro), and his recommendation was after the 4th sortie, at the end of April and just days prior to the final push towards the summit, climbers must go down to the forest region, to about 3800m.
Boukreev suggested this on several occasions, and few were receptive to the idea. It meant going a long way down and then having to make up a lot of territory, including vertical height. Boukreev insisted it was a great way to revive the system, and generate muscle tone.
Martin Adams was the only client who went to the effort of walking as far down as Pheriche (4280m) while Boukreev had gone even lower, to the Garden Lodge of Deboche
(3770m). Adams was the first Mountain Madness client to summit on May 10.
Yak Steak
While everyone else had remained at Base Camp, Sandy Hill Pittman had gone down to meet friends, including Martha Stewart. She later reported via satellite phone that she’d eaten yak steak and french fries at her ‘favorite restaurant’, before walking back to Base Camp overnight.
The next morning, May 6, was the day identified for them to begin the final push for the summit. While her team gathered around for breakfast, Pittman logged on and related the finer points of the previous days to an NBC Interactive audience (the archives for the site www.nbc.com/everest have since been removed).
Meanwhile Beidleman’s cough had improved, but Scott had not been feeling too good, and was on antibiotics.
Later, on May 6, after the clients had left, Boukreev had some time to think about what lay in store for them. Shortly after that almost the entire Mountain Madness camp (at Base Camp) was abandoned.
A Beer
May 6. When Boukreev reached Camp II at the end of that day, Fischer had gone back down with Dale Kruse to Base Camp. That evening Scott was having a beer with Dale Kruse and Pete Schoening – both had finally given up on their attempt.
The next day Fischer had to climb from Base Camp to his clients at Camp II, who were resting so that they could get to Camp III. On his way he struggled to pass Henry Todd, an older climber from Himalayan Guides. When they spoke to one another, Todd said that Scott Fischer struggled to speak, but coughed and coughed.
Finally Scott confided: “I’m worried about these people. I’m worried about the situation.”
By that evening Fischer had burned up precious reserves to get back up to Camp II.
Ed Viesturs
On May 7th, the IMAX team, encountering high winds, and intending to make their bid on the 9th, a day before the other expeditions (with the intention of getting clean shots and not being slowed down) changed their minds and went down. When they encountered Boukreev and the Mountain Madness group, Ed Viesturs, also a very accomplished climber remembers feeling somewhat embarrassed. They wondered whether they were making the right decision. He said, standing amongst the other climbers in reasonable weather, he felt quite ‘sheepish’ going down. Viesturs also said he remembered a lot of smiling faces heading up the mountain.
May 10, 1996
In the darkness of the mountain, the machine gunfire that had battered their tents suddenly drifted down. It became eerily quiet. This happened at about 10pm, on May 9.
Boukreev woke up in a tent he was sharing with Schoening (who was behaving strangely), Martin Adams and the Danish woman, Lene Gammelgaard. They were at Camp IV, at 7900m. After some tea, the climbers set off, most of them leaving by about midnight. Charlotte Fox, who was celebrating her birthday on May 10, walked up the white veil that swooped under a sky dripping with stars.
All were meant to have 18 hours of oxygen, or 3 canisters each, but each person could only carry one at a time. It had been the Sherpa’s job to stash a supply of 21 oxygen canisters on the South Summit (at 8748m), and fix ropes on the dangerous exposed sections above this level.. Boukreev packed oxygen but was unsure whether he would need any (and in fact didn’t use any).
Lopsang fastened a length of rope to Sandy Hill Pittman and headed up with her.
Scott Fischer was very slow to leave Camp IV. He left last just after Gammelgaard.
She turned back to check how he was, but after that, hurried to stick with the group in order to not climb alone on summit day.
Boukreev summitted first at 13:07, followed by Jon Krakauer at 13:12 (from Advenure Consultants, Rob Hall’s team) and Beidleman and Adams 13 minutes later. Klev Schoening arrived at 13:45, and Boukreev took his photograph. After Schoening, the flow stopped. 14:00 came and went, and Boukreev, who by then had been on the summit for almost an hour (and without oxygen) began to feel cold and tired.
Time Out
A star was spotted in the middle of the day above the south summit. It was not the comet, it had long since disappeared. The Sherpas who saw this much lower down the slopes of Everest, became agitated.
Gammelgaard, Fox, Madsen and Pittman (with the help of Lopsang) made the summit by or just before 14:30. They had gotten mixed up in another, much slower moving group which included a Taiwanese Expedition and Halls’ Adventure Consultants. They spent 40 minutes celebrating on the summit. Each minute, would cost them dearly.
By now, all the Mountain Madness clients who had started had made the summit. Fischer had not sent anyone back (13:00 had been suggested as a good turnaround time, and 14:00 as the absolute deadline, but no plan appeared to be in place) because after Gammelgaard had left him, he’d not had any contact with his clients – they were all above him on the mountain. Also, Fischer and Lopsang were using a pair of old 10 channel radios to communicate.
Fischer arrived on the summit at about 15:45. Dr. Hunt made radio contact and Fischer said, “I am so tired.”
Lopsang was there with him, so was Rob Hall, who was impatiently waiting for one more client to summit. Hansen and Hall were on the summit just after 16:00, and not long after that, Hansen collapsed. Hall refused to leave him for several hours, and finally was so weakened that he was unable to move. Andy Harris, a guide with Adventure Consultants, asked Lopsang, who was helping Scott down, to take oxygen to Hall and Hansen for $500. Lopsang said that he had to take care of his group. In the end, Harris went up to help Hall and Hansen himself. Despite these efforts, neither rescuer nor the other two survived.
Meanwhile, Boukreev had hurried down the mountain ahead of everyone else, to prepare tea, to warm himself, and to be ready for the clients reaching Camp IV. Krakauer called this a critical error – having the head guide, and such a strong climber uselessly sitting in a tent at Camp 4, while climbers higher up struggled. Ironically, this is exactly what Krakauer himself did – rushed down the mountain as fast as possible without offering others any assistance, but unlike Boukreev, once he reached his tent he slept for the rest of the night while one climber after another from his team died on the mountain. In all four of Krakauer’s five teammates perished that night, including team leader, Rob Hall.
Drowning
Boukreev arrived at Camp 4 at 17:00. He understood that that the Mountain Madness clients would run out of oxygen, so he left the camp at 18:30 in deteriorating weather. In his pack were three oxygen canisters, which he’d offer to clients as they needed them. But freight trains pounded the mountain, and Boukreev couldn’t see anything or anyone. Lopsang and Scott had the only radios and they were still much higher on the mountain, climbing down together. He went back to his tent at 21:00, and waited for news. With no radio, no way of knowing what was happening, he could only gather his strength and make himself ready. The leaders on the mountain, Hall and Fischer, were weak, still high on the mountain, and in trouble. Leaders and clients, one by one, started to run out of oxygen. Lopsang spent five hours with Fischer, before leaving him to descend on his own.
Meanwhile 8 clients from two expeditions (6 were Mountain Madness clients) and three Sherpas found their way down the mountain, but weren’t able to find Camp IV in the storm, and so huddled together. Their position was 400 metres from Camp IV (15 minutes walk under normal conditions), but just 20 metres from the edge of the deadly Kangshung Face.
Now a number of climbers were in trouble, and there were in fact a number of climbers at Camp IV who had not yet made a summit attempt and were thus well rested. These included Ian Woodall, Cathy ‘O Dowd and Bruce Herrod (from the South African/UK team) and 5 more climbers from Henry Todd’s team.
Boukreev had to locate the huddle of bodies on his own, but could do so only once Neal Beidleman, Mike Groom (from Adventure Consultants)Lene Gammelgaard and Klev Schoening told him, at about 00:45 that people needed his help, and where he would find them.
Acting on their instructions, he went out with no assistance (no other climbers would help), because even the Sherpas who had remained at Camp IV were all suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning, from cooking with a gas stove inside a sealed tent. Boukreev’s first foray in the storm was unsuccessful – he had climbed upwards along the route, instead of walking along the flatter section of the mountain around Camp IV. Boukreev finally found Pittman with Madsen and Fox, and gave them each some tea. He was only strong enough to bring them in one by one, and he brought the birthday girl, Fox, in first. Next he got Pittman, and Madsen struggled to stay with them, leaving behind a 47 year old Japanese woman (Yasuko Namba) and Beck Weathers, who had become irrational and walked off into the storm.
Finally, by 04:30 all of the Mountain Madness team were safe in their tents on the South Col, all except their leader. The Japanese woman, who had attached herself to the Mountain Madness group now found herself alone, less than 20 minutes walk from shelter, while her teammates were either too frightened or exhausted to save her. When Neal Beidleman from Mountain Madness, who had helped her for much of the way down, heard that she died he broke into tears.
Bad Blood
At about 07:00 on May 11, the radio batteries of Hall’s Expedition gave out, and David Breashears, the IMAX leader, called Ian Woodall (from the South African Expedition) who was also on the South Col, and asked him to allow Krakauer to use their powerful radio so Hall’s team could coordinate a rescue. Woodall said no even though he was well aware of the stakes.
At 16:00 that same day Boukreev climbed back up the mountain to Scott, who was at 8 350 meters. Boukreev reached Fischer at 19:00 while a vicious storm blew around him. He found Fischer with his down suit’s zipper open and one hand, without a glove, was frozen solid. His face behind the oxygen mask resembled a bruise. Fischer must have died sometime earlier in the day. Boukreev was “very sad”.
Boukreev climbed alone and in the dark, in a storm as severe as the previous night, and found his way back to his tent. He found a man2 alone in a tent beside his, from Hall’s expedition, screaming.
On the 25th of May, Bruce Herrod, who was climbing on his own way behind Woodall and O’ Dowd (as part of the Johannesburg Sunday Times Expedition), walked over the bodies of first Fischer and then Hall before reaching the summit of Everest at 17:00 or later. It had taken him all of 17 hours to get there. He too, would never return, and Boukreev would find him, still tangled in the ropes at the Hillary Step, the following year.
The Mountain Is Unmoved
Having climbed Kilimanjaro myself, I know how quickly a strong climber can become miserably sick and dim-witted at high altitude. It is not the place for writers, or even climbers present, or not, to make authoritative claims about what cause men on mountains to do what they do in the face of death, and danger. Worse, is the tendency to worship the God of blame. When exploring the adventures of men who died far from the comforts of home, we do their lives justice by simply acknowledging them, and the astonishing confluence of events that come together in the world’s wildest and highest places. We ought to, at the very least, imagine the vivid and stupendous scenes that swept beyond their gas masks and took them so far into the world.
When Gammelgaard, the stoic Danish woman, first stood upon the Khumbu Glacier, she was overtaken by its magnificent beauty. She stood apart from the others and quietly wept. The mountain stands unmoved as men, the wise and the foolish, the tall and the small, find their own meaning on their inward journeys through the great Outside. For some, when facing an objective like Everest for the first time, in the present moment, being there brings about a sinking feeling. For others, like Boukreev, their hearts are made to soar.
Avalanche
The following year Boukreev guided the first Indonesians up the summit of Everest. They also arrived late, at 15:30.
On his way down the lower slopes Boukreev met a Japanese man, who turned out to be Yasuko Namba’s husband. They talked over a pot of tea.
On December 6, 1997 Boukreev was awarded the American Alpine Club’s David A. Sowles Memorial Award for his heroism and courage on Mount Everest in 1996. Boukreev was not in the USA to accept the award; he was in Nepal, attempting to climb Annapurna (8078m), in winter, by a difficult route. During his adventures in the mountains, Boukreev had had some lucky escapes. But this time, he and his climbing friend, were struck down by an avalanche on Christmas Day. Only the Italian climber who was climbing with them, Moro, lived to tell the tale.
Boukreev is known to have said: “Do not forget the mountaineers who have not returned from the summits.”
Words: 4 417
<†The Climb was in response to, and challenges and in part refutes, Krakauer’s slickly written Into Thin Air. *G. Weston DeWalt describes this star, in his book, The Climb, as the comet Hyakutake which he says was “…considered an ominous sign by the Sherpas…” **Sandy Hill Pittman 1. Boukreev had earlier guided the first Welshman, the first Dane and the first Brazilian, and after 1996 would guide the first Indonesian to the summit. 2. Beck Waethers
Runner's World
Apologies for this website showing the same front page for days on end. Believe me, after my religious efforts last year, it's felt strange. Am I addicted to the internet? I sometimes wonder.
The good thing about being away from a PC for any length of time is that you get to smell the flowers, reclaim something of a life (both as lover and adventurer) and a new sense of perspective fills the void that might otherwise be chock full of useless news.
Thats's been good - getting my fill of news in a different language, and only from newspapers, and only every so often. It's the kind of filter that allows only the significant stuff to cipher through.
News of significance is:
Recent deaths in Turkey from H5N1 (Men's Health here carried a 4-5 page article on the subject, and interestingly, their writer's bottom line and mine were pretty congruent).
Oil is back in the $60 range with Kunstler predicting $100 later in the year.
Gold continues to surge, after falling back is biting at the $540 mark. When gold is high, the world is usually worried. One of the reasons gold is so high is because the dollar is particularly weak. China have signalled that they want to invest away from the dollar, and this will cause instability in the market. They can't do away with the dollar completely, because they have a lot riding on the dollar anyway. But it's significant that they are looking elesewhere now.
Home Front
Personally, I am in a strange place. I have moments of great happiness being in South Africa. I love the air and green and exercising is always a thrill. Play is often throwing tennis balls to the dogs and playing with cats (in different people's homes). The fun unfortunately has had to juxtapose with great gloom. The gloom comes courtesy of my Dad, who, instead of providing me with a stressfree base until March, has become stressed, and I've had to tippy toe around him a lot which makes my existence far more troublesome that it might otherwise be. He feels I am 'very dependent' on him, something I find hard to understand as I am buying my own food and doing my thing, only occasionally asking him for the use of the Jeep or to send a fax. I think he is very set in his ways, and would like to be able to do exactly as he wants. We also had a conversation recently, in which he said that he felt I'd achieved 'nothing', and he said he's been waiting and waiting...
Fighting The Dragon
In some ways, what he says is true. In simple terms it is, I haven't achieved very much, especially looking at it as a sum of money. He referred to my Ironman as something for 'kids at school'. I place a huge emphasis on exercise and my training because it not only keeps you healthy, but also sane. It generates a stronger sense of self, and an internal locus of control. It's also a great tool against depression - and one that I have consistently and effectively been able to weild against that dragon. That's not something many people can say. I've noticed a lot of people struggling in atheir mental gulags, and many of them seem to be combatting (their own bad habits and negative patterns of thinking and living) with drugs and expensive therapy. Get out there and train, and wake up - get conscious.
In some ways I also agree with him, but in more important ways I am happy with where I am, under the circumstances, and confident and optimistic about where things are headed right now (he isn't, and doesn't really believe in Heartland, or in my writing - as a job - is an avenue worth pursuing.)
I feel I've done quite well handling a few irrational temper trantrums around me, but I'm human and may eventually lash back.
On the postive side I've produced a number of new articles and am going to send them off and try to hook some major magazines. I've written 'Save Yourself' for Heartland (see below), and Mountain Madness for Men's Health or GQ and Do Pornstars Go to Heaven (also Men's Health, FHM ore GQ).
I'm missing the internet and my buddy Google for quick verifications of such titbits of data such as:
- is Jenna's home in Beverley Hills
- is Henry Tood (from Himalayan Guides)a Scotsman
- sourcing a driver for my Infrared device
- and who visited Sandy Hill Pittman on May 5 just below Base Camp (I'm guessing it was Martha Stewart, and maybe Ivana Trump)
Fransa and I had a lovely day at Pretty Garden yesterday. I took her in the Jeep and we had breakfast and walked around the place, looking at the flowers, many new buildings (many in a sandstone style) and playing with monkeys and parrots. It's been raining a lot, so afterwards we watched a good movie called Into The Blue.
Play
Two weeks ago I cycled 300km over 3 days.
Yesterday I finished the 4th of 4 9km runs over the course of a week.
On Thursday I did the reverse 9km route in 49 minutes (an 11 minute improvement on my first attempt.
Sunday's Run:
Time: 45 minutes (5 minutes per km)
Distance: 9km
Maximum Heart rate 173 bpm
I'm starting to feel lighter and stronger. Let's hope that spreads to the world around me, and rubs off on those around me as well.
The good thing about being away from a PC for any length of time is that you get to smell the flowers, reclaim something of a life (both as lover and adventurer) and a new sense of perspective fills the void that might otherwise be chock full of useless news.
Thats's been good - getting my fill of news in a different language, and only from newspapers, and only every so often. It's the kind of filter that allows only the significant stuff to cipher through.
News of significance is:
Recent deaths in Turkey from H5N1 (Men's Health here carried a 4-5 page article on the subject, and interestingly, their writer's bottom line and mine were pretty congruent).
Oil is back in the $60 range with Kunstler predicting $100 later in the year.
Gold continues to surge, after falling back is biting at the $540 mark. When gold is high, the world is usually worried. One of the reasons gold is so high is because the dollar is particularly weak. China have signalled that they want to invest away from the dollar, and this will cause instability in the market. They can't do away with the dollar completely, because they have a lot riding on the dollar anyway. But it's significant that they are looking elesewhere now.
Home Front
Personally, I am in a strange place. I have moments of great happiness being in South Africa. I love the air and green and exercising is always a thrill. Play is often throwing tennis balls to the dogs and playing with cats (in different people's homes). The fun unfortunately has had to juxtapose with great gloom. The gloom comes courtesy of my Dad, who, instead of providing me with a stressfree base until March, has become stressed, and I've had to tippy toe around him a lot which makes my existence far more troublesome that it might otherwise be. He feels I am 'very dependent' on him, something I find hard to understand as I am buying my own food and doing my thing, only occasionally asking him for the use of the Jeep or to send a fax. I think he is very set in his ways, and would like to be able to do exactly as he wants. We also had a conversation recently, in which he said that he felt I'd achieved 'nothing', and he said he's been waiting and waiting...
Fighting The Dragon
In some ways, what he says is true. In simple terms it is, I haven't achieved very much, especially looking at it as a sum of money. He referred to my Ironman as something for 'kids at school'. I place a huge emphasis on exercise and my training because it not only keeps you healthy, but also sane. It generates a stronger sense of self, and an internal locus of control. It's also a great tool against depression - and one that I have consistently and effectively been able to weild against that dragon. That's not something many people can say. I've noticed a lot of people struggling in atheir mental gulags, and many of them seem to be combatting (their own bad habits and negative patterns of thinking and living) with drugs and expensive therapy. Get out there and train, and wake up - get conscious.
In some ways I also agree with him, but in more important ways I am happy with where I am, under the circumstances, and confident and optimistic about where things are headed right now (he isn't, and doesn't really believe in Heartland, or in my writing - as a job - is an avenue worth pursuing.)
I feel I've done quite well handling a few irrational temper trantrums around me, but I'm human and may eventually lash back.
On the postive side I've produced a number of new articles and am going to send them off and try to hook some major magazines. I've written 'Save Yourself' for Heartland (see below), and Mountain Madness for Men's Health or GQ and Do Pornstars Go to Heaven (also Men's Health, FHM ore GQ).
I'm missing the internet and my buddy Google for quick verifications of such titbits of data such as:
- is Jenna's home in Beverley Hills
- is Henry Tood (from Himalayan Guides)a Scotsman
- sourcing a driver for my Infrared device
- and who visited Sandy Hill Pittman on May 5 just below Base Camp (I'm guessing it was Martha Stewart, and maybe Ivana Trump)
Fransa and I had a lovely day at Pretty Garden yesterday. I took her in the Jeep and we had breakfast and walked around the place, looking at the flowers, many new buildings (many in a sandstone style) and playing with monkeys and parrots. It's been raining a lot, so afterwards we watched a good movie called Into The Blue.
Play
Two weeks ago I cycled 300km over 3 days.
Yesterday I finished the 4th of 4 9km runs over the course of a week.
On Thursday I did the reverse 9km route in 49 minutes (an 11 minute improvement on my first attempt.
Sunday's Run:
Time: 45 minutes (5 minutes per km)
Distance: 9km
Maximum Heart rate 173 bpm
I'm starting to feel lighter and stronger. Let's hope that spreads to the world around me, and rubs off on those around me as well.
Save Yourself
Maybe your name is Heidi, or Peter and you want a story to tell. You’ve read books by Lawrence Hertzog and Jon Krakauer, and now you’re inspired to climb in the Himalayas (where else?). You’ve seen the likes of Ed Viesturs and Annabelle Bond on the Discovery Channel and you want some of that. Maybe you’ve already been there, and like Annabelle, you’re starting to dream of climbing the 7 Summits in a single year, or worse, doing 14 of the world’s highest peaks within 2 years. By now even your skin is something like a goats, and despite the placations of others, you’re off to be a mountaineer. Before you swap your Laz E Boy for Tibet, Nick van der Leek offers a few words of advice.
Into The Wild
Yes, I too had dreams of reaching the top of the world. One lonely man, on a frozen fang of ice, climbing into the jetstream without oxygen. With all the hopes of mankind on my shoulders, could I go where no man had gone before?
My bid for Everest started when I was a pikkie. I’d gotten high in Golden Gate, and not long after that, when I was supposed to be training for an Interstate Biathlon Championship, I was off on the Otter Trail. The Otter Trail made an everlasting impression. Day after day in the fairy tale Tsitsikamma wilderness between the Storms River, beyond Bloukrantz and spilling finally over the mountains onto the long beach at Nature’s Valley. The experience did something intoxicating, on the scale of Obelix falling into a cauldron full of magic potion. I’m not just using pretty words. When I came back from my week in the wild, I was unbeatable at the Biathlon Championships, tying first place with a guy called Almero Strauss, who ought to have been out of my league, especially on the track.
The Good, and the Sleeping Bag
As a lightie we often went climbing in the Drakensberg. There is something hypnotic about Mount Aux Sources, especially the huge brown and black ‘tombstone’ that soars vertically out of an already high mountain. I called it, ‘Death Rock’, and I glanced both longingly and timidly at it from the luxury of the garden paths snaking along the flanks of Mount Aux Sources.
As a light-foot lad I liked the way the air on mountains made my nose burn. It made me think it was clean, and I’d breathe it into my big swimmer’s lungs, and feel restored by the majesty always unfolding around me.
Twice we went up Mount Aux Sources to sleep up there. The first time jaundiced my idea of climbing somewhat. I slept in my sister’s sleeping bag, and so, when I could only pull it a little beyond my navel, I figured it was just small. What had actually happened was the bottom flap had tucked in very tightly under my feet and the sleeper beside me, so when I tried to dislodge it, and nothing happened, I figured, “This is a damn small sleeping bag.”
Only when the sleeper beside me emerged into the brand new morning did I get my first bit of warmth and comfort after a long and blerrie cold night. After 5 minutes of luxurious comfort I had to worm out of it again because we had to pack up the tent and get going!
On the second overnight on the Mount Aux Sources plateau, we found some white twigs, small like gnarled chicken bones, and these were warm and bright, but burnt up very quickly. I recall, when we’d used up our fuel of twigs, we threw dollops of paraffin into the cold soil, and ignited these, making it appear as though the soil was spurting blue flame. We drank rich coffee laced with sweet condense milk. When it is icy cold, these comforts are absolute bliss. Now I was eager to climb even higher.
Playing Chicken under Kili
After exploring some of South Africa’s highest peaks (like Ben Macdhui above the Tiffendale Ski Resort), we were all eager to find another challenge. Then, a few months after Scott Fischer (of the famous Mountain Madness Everest Expedition) had taken a group up Kilimanjaro, we arrived, attached to a big bunch of some 40 climbers from a South African Mountain Climbing Club.
Kilimanjaro is in Tanzania. It’s a very different place, but it’s Africa alright. The icon on our airplane was a giraffe. The landing strip below Kilimanjaro was littered with gray wrecks (much as the roads in the Transkei are littered with rusting busses and cars). The roads are like muddy smears going through very tall and lush tropical forests. Maize plants twice as tall as you’d expect sometimes leapt against the edge of the road.
The road itself has one very narrow lane of flat dirt and cars, and trucks kept moving on this single track in both directions, tirelessly playing chicken. Our driver was very good at it. When another vehicle approached, he’d start hooting, then so would the other driver, and when I could bear it no longer, the other vehicle, most times, made a wild dash off the road, allowing our rickety old bus to swoop through a cloud of unoccupied dust. On either side of these tracks, were muddy dongas and places where the rain liked to form new streams and rivers. It took a while to figure out that our bus driver was not:
a) trying to kill us
b) going to overturn the bus
c) mad
Now we began to look out of the windows for our objective. Kilimanjaro had cleverly surrounded its massive bulk (it’s the highest freestanding mountain on the planet) in thick cloud. At one point, the yellow and pink smoke parted and I caught a fragment of black. Is that it? I expected to see something high, but this fragment was impossibly high. I basically had to turn my head until my shoulders prevented me from looking any higher. “Jeez, that’s high.”
Khubu
Long story short, at 1am on the day of our final push to the summit, we set off from Khubu hut.
Still locked in my psyche was a healthy sense of romance for high altitude climbing. A cold had made a comfortable nest in my throat on the second day up Kilimanjaro, now my alveoli felt like they were filled with nests. That burning feeling I used to like in my nose as a lightie was now more like a furnace in my lungs.
Walking in the dark and cold of this old old mountain, I had to remind myself why we here when no other life forms were. The adventure, the sense of tough, masculine identity, the sheer thrill of the outdoors.
Right, now I remember, on we go.
Again, doubt lingered whether man was such an intelligent life form after all. Chances were good, I felt, that intelligent life hovered here once and went, ‘Hmm. The inhabitants are plain and simple. Let’s move on.’
At 3am and 4am I started to just feel so tired of the repetitive boredom. A few steps up, rest, nothing to look at but rocks in the dark, and the same old pair of boots in front of me and behind me.
What I didn’t expect was the level of misery. Neither did an oom who was intending to be the oldest climber ever to climb Kili (at 72). After only a few steps outside Khubu hut, he stumbled around like a drunk sailor and offered the mountain a letter of resignation. So did quite a few much younger people. The higher you go, the more miserable it gets.
Beyond 5100m all liquid turns to ice, so that my supplies froze and became useless.
If you’re going to climb high, either have your waterbottle close to your body, or put it in a thermos, something that retains its energy.
That Sinking Feeling
The other thing, was that I felt quite sick. I had mild AMS*. Diamox alleviated the symptoms (especially headaches) somewhat. I also felt like my guts had given up. Noxious vapors were merging at both ends, with a disgusting eggy aroma. It’s possible that this was not the mountain’s fault, and also not my body’s fault. Perhaps we were all physically okay, handling the altitude reasonably well, but we’d been fed some pretty old eggs (I wasn’t the only one belching and farting up the cold volcanic slopes).
After 7 hours we reached Gillman’s Peak, and the scenery around us was simply stupendous. If you fail to make enough money to pay for a ticket into space, go to Kili. The view is wicked. Unless you get yourself up a high mountain you’ll never see the immaculate swirlings of space, the immense diamond filled heavens. Unfortunately, and this is the lesson I had the good fortune to learn on Kili, high altitude climbing is not only about stars and scenery, it’s also about misery. It’s not so much uncomfortable or hard, although it can be both, as sheer unadulterated misery. The view, it has to be said, is awesome. Unfortunately, sightseeing feels like the last thing you want to do when you have diarrhea, and your mind keeps coming back to the original question: there’s nothing here, so why are you here?
I yearned for a Steer Burger, and Dolores kept singing in my head, Zoh hombie, Zoh hombie, Zoh hombi,e Zoh hom bie hie hie. . .On the rim of the volcano, it was better. The moon, who had kept a close watch on the all the zombies, had scuttled, like a pearly ship, down the horizon, and on the opposite side of the world, a bright star began to rise. I began to see my world in a whole new way. I saw it for its elementary beauty. Here we were almost 6km high, and our world was just rock, and sun, and air, and ice. And us.
It also felt like we were all underwater. My brain just wasn’t operating very well. The altitude had the same effect on our processing power as spyware on an old PC.
I was thirsty and hungry and fluey and sleepy. Someone offered me some orange juice. It might as well have been champagne. My body got a bit of fire into it again. I started to notice the glaciers and the fumaroles down in the crater.
I stood on the top with our guide, who was also called Nicholas. I handed Mr Steyn my camera and as soon as we struck a pose, the battery caught a chill and died. Finally, after a little massaging, the battery unfroze enough to fizzle back to life. Click.
Going Down
Below Kili’s rim is a giant volcanic dune. It’s just thick gravel. It’s killer to walk up, it takes 7-8 hours. Some of us ran and jumped down it in just one hour. We made it back to camp (below Khubu) at about 15:00. That’s about 14 hours of almost continuous climbing and walking. I’ve done an Ironman in less time than that. The point is, it’s a very long day, when you climb these bigger peaks.
The cold I had going up really dug in its heels by summit day, but it vanished as soon as I was off the mountain.
Kili is an awesome experience, but going higher seems like pure masochism.
Going Up?
So herein lies the lesson. If you climb Kili and you still want to go higher, as in Himalayas high, to 8 000m and more, then fine. But remember Kili is still 3km lower than Mount Everest. Base Camp at Mount Everest is already 5 300m, and you’ll spend more than a month there, and higher.
Many people suffer from the Khumbu cough. The air is very dry, and the body becomes weak in these perpetually cold and rarefied conditions. It’s not easy to maintain a good diet, and the digestive system is apt to break down. That’s not fun at altitude, where keeping many layers of clothes on at all times tends to be a priority.
When climbing mountains, your greatest resource is willpower, and an ironwill will get you very high indeed. But it can also get you killed. That same determination (or is it ambition) is what climbers have to guard against when they climb against their better judgement.
Even on Kili, you only have so much daylight to get back down the mountain. You leave your hut at 1am, and you’re finished by 3pm if you’re quick. Some in our group only got back at 6pm.
On Everest, you leave Camp IV at midnight, and if you’re lucky, and if you’re quick, you’ll be back in your tent 18 hours later. And then you’re still at 7900m with a lot of work left to do. At Camp IV, on Mount Everest, if you want a drink of water, you may have to wait about an hour to melt blocks of snow or ice. How long depends on how strong the stove is that has been lugged all the way up the mountain. Are you tough enough to sleep in a tent filled with frost for days and days and days? Would you mind if it took you 10 minutes to tie your shoelaces, and an hour to get dressed?
The hardest thing on a high mountain is to turn back before you reach the top. It’s usually not a question of can I reach the top, but will I have it in me to survive the long climb down? It’s not only a question of will, at these altitudes; it’s a question of making good time, always having reserves of energy and good weather. Few climbers, within sight of their goal, realize that the summit is at best, a halfway point. It’s not the finish line. Giving up is never easy, and many climbers on Everest have walked over dead bodies towards the summit, unable to quit, unable to lay waste all the thousands of dollars and hours of camping and suffering and misery already invested in search of the summit.
Next
So is the Himalayas for maniacs? Not quite. I reckon a lot of egos are up there that ought to know better. But it is also an ultimate testing ground, and some souls seem to need that.
As for me, I haven’t given up after Kili. I’d like to climb one or two summits on other continents. Maybe I’ll start with Aconcagua. It’s a step up from Kili at about 7 000m. And it’s right next door, in South America? Who’s coming with me?
Words: 2452
Into The Wild
Yes, I too had dreams of reaching the top of the world. One lonely man, on a frozen fang of ice, climbing into the jetstream without oxygen. With all the hopes of mankind on my shoulders, could I go where no man had gone before?
My bid for Everest started when I was a pikkie. I’d gotten high in Golden Gate, and not long after that, when I was supposed to be training for an Interstate Biathlon Championship, I was off on the Otter Trail. The Otter Trail made an everlasting impression. Day after day in the fairy tale Tsitsikamma wilderness between the Storms River, beyond Bloukrantz and spilling finally over the mountains onto the long beach at Nature’s Valley. The experience did something intoxicating, on the scale of Obelix falling into a cauldron full of magic potion. I’m not just using pretty words. When I came back from my week in the wild, I was unbeatable at the Biathlon Championships, tying first place with a guy called Almero Strauss, who ought to have been out of my league, especially on the track.
The Good, and the Sleeping Bag
As a lightie we often went climbing in the Drakensberg. There is something hypnotic about Mount Aux Sources, especially the huge brown and black ‘tombstone’ that soars vertically out of an already high mountain. I called it, ‘Death Rock’, and I glanced both longingly and timidly at it from the luxury of the garden paths snaking along the flanks of Mount Aux Sources.
As a light-foot lad I liked the way the air on mountains made my nose burn. It made me think it was clean, and I’d breathe it into my big swimmer’s lungs, and feel restored by the majesty always unfolding around me.
Twice we went up Mount Aux Sources to sleep up there. The first time jaundiced my idea of climbing somewhat. I slept in my sister’s sleeping bag, and so, when I could only pull it a little beyond my navel, I figured it was just small. What had actually happened was the bottom flap had tucked in very tightly under my feet and the sleeper beside me, so when I tried to dislodge it, and nothing happened, I figured, “This is a damn small sleeping bag.”
Only when the sleeper beside me emerged into the brand new morning did I get my first bit of warmth and comfort after a long and blerrie cold night. After 5 minutes of luxurious comfort I had to worm out of it again because we had to pack up the tent and get going!
On the second overnight on the Mount Aux Sources plateau, we found some white twigs, small like gnarled chicken bones, and these were warm and bright, but burnt up very quickly. I recall, when we’d used up our fuel of twigs, we threw dollops of paraffin into the cold soil, and ignited these, making it appear as though the soil was spurting blue flame. We drank rich coffee laced with sweet condense milk. When it is icy cold, these comforts are absolute bliss. Now I was eager to climb even higher.
Playing Chicken under Kili
After exploring some of South Africa’s highest peaks (like Ben Macdhui above the Tiffendale Ski Resort), we were all eager to find another challenge. Then, a few months after Scott Fischer (of the famous Mountain Madness Everest Expedition) had taken a group up Kilimanjaro, we arrived, attached to a big bunch of some 40 climbers from a South African Mountain Climbing Club.
Kilimanjaro is in Tanzania. It’s a very different place, but it’s Africa alright. The icon on our airplane was a giraffe. The landing strip below Kilimanjaro was littered with gray wrecks (much as the roads in the Transkei are littered with rusting busses and cars). The roads are like muddy smears going through very tall and lush tropical forests. Maize plants twice as tall as you’d expect sometimes leapt against the edge of the road.
The road itself has one very narrow lane of flat dirt and cars, and trucks kept moving on this single track in both directions, tirelessly playing chicken. Our driver was very good at it. When another vehicle approached, he’d start hooting, then so would the other driver, and when I could bear it no longer, the other vehicle, most times, made a wild dash off the road, allowing our rickety old bus to swoop through a cloud of unoccupied dust. On either side of these tracks, were muddy dongas and places where the rain liked to form new streams and rivers. It took a while to figure out that our bus driver was not:
a) trying to kill us
b) going to overturn the bus
c) mad
Now we began to look out of the windows for our objective. Kilimanjaro had cleverly surrounded its massive bulk (it’s the highest freestanding mountain on the planet) in thick cloud. At one point, the yellow and pink smoke parted and I caught a fragment of black. Is that it? I expected to see something high, but this fragment was impossibly high. I basically had to turn my head until my shoulders prevented me from looking any higher. “Jeez, that’s high.”
Khubu
Long story short, at 1am on the day of our final push to the summit, we set off from Khubu hut.
Still locked in my psyche was a healthy sense of romance for high altitude climbing. A cold had made a comfortable nest in my throat on the second day up Kilimanjaro, now my alveoli felt like they were filled with nests. That burning feeling I used to like in my nose as a lightie was now more like a furnace in my lungs.
Walking in the dark and cold of this old old mountain, I had to remind myself why we here when no other life forms were. The adventure, the sense of tough, masculine identity, the sheer thrill of the outdoors.
Right, now I remember, on we go.
Again, doubt lingered whether man was such an intelligent life form after all. Chances were good, I felt, that intelligent life hovered here once and went, ‘Hmm. The inhabitants are plain and simple. Let’s move on.’
At 3am and 4am I started to just feel so tired of the repetitive boredom. A few steps up, rest, nothing to look at but rocks in the dark, and the same old pair of boots in front of me and behind me.
What I didn’t expect was the level of misery. Neither did an oom who was intending to be the oldest climber ever to climb Kili (at 72). After only a few steps outside Khubu hut, he stumbled around like a drunk sailor and offered the mountain a letter of resignation. So did quite a few much younger people. The higher you go, the more miserable it gets.
Beyond 5100m all liquid turns to ice, so that my supplies froze and became useless.
If you’re going to climb high, either have your waterbottle close to your body, or put it in a thermos, something that retains its energy.
That Sinking Feeling
The other thing, was that I felt quite sick. I had mild AMS*. Diamox alleviated the symptoms (especially headaches) somewhat. I also felt like my guts had given up. Noxious vapors were merging at both ends, with a disgusting eggy aroma. It’s possible that this was not the mountain’s fault, and also not my body’s fault. Perhaps we were all physically okay, handling the altitude reasonably well, but we’d been fed some pretty old eggs (I wasn’t the only one belching and farting up the cold volcanic slopes).
After 7 hours we reached Gillman’s Peak, and the scenery around us was simply stupendous. If you fail to make enough money to pay for a ticket into space, go to Kili. The view is wicked. Unless you get yourself up a high mountain you’ll never see the immaculate swirlings of space, the immense diamond filled heavens. Unfortunately, and this is the lesson I had the good fortune to learn on Kili, high altitude climbing is not only about stars and scenery, it’s also about misery. It’s not so much uncomfortable or hard, although it can be both, as sheer unadulterated misery. The view, it has to be said, is awesome. Unfortunately, sightseeing feels like the last thing you want to do when you have diarrhea, and your mind keeps coming back to the original question: there’s nothing here, so why are you here?
I yearned for a Steer Burger, and Dolores kept singing in my head, Zoh hombie, Zoh hombie, Zoh hombi,e Zoh hom bie hie hie. . .On the rim of the volcano, it was better. The moon, who had kept a close watch on the all the zombies, had scuttled, like a pearly ship, down the horizon, and on the opposite side of the world, a bright star began to rise. I began to see my world in a whole new way. I saw it for its elementary beauty. Here we were almost 6km high, and our world was just rock, and sun, and air, and ice. And us.
It also felt like we were all underwater. My brain just wasn’t operating very well. The altitude had the same effect on our processing power as spyware on an old PC.
I was thirsty and hungry and fluey and sleepy. Someone offered me some orange juice. It might as well have been champagne. My body got a bit of fire into it again. I started to notice the glaciers and the fumaroles down in the crater.
I stood on the top with our guide, who was also called Nicholas. I handed Mr Steyn my camera and as soon as we struck a pose, the battery caught a chill and died. Finally, after a little massaging, the battery unfroze enough to fizzle back to life. Click.
Going Down
Below Kili’s rim is a giant volcanic dune. It’s just thick gravel. It’s killer to walk up, it takes 7-8 hours. Some of us ran and jumped down it in just one hour. We made it back to camp (below Khubu) at about 15:00. That’s about 14 hours of almost continuous climbing and walking. I’ve done an Ironman in less time than that. The point is, it’s a very long day, when you climb these bigger peaks.
The cold I had going up really dug in its heels by summit day, but it vanished as soon as I was off the mountain.
Kili is an awesome experience, but going higher seems like pure masochism.
Going Up?
So herein lies the lesson. If you climb Kili and you still want to go higher, as in Himalayas high, to 8 000m and more, then fine. But remember Kili is still 3km lower than Mount Everest. Base Camp at Mount Everest is already 5 300m, and you’ll spend more than a month there, and higher.
Many people suffer from the Khumbu cough. The air is very dry, and the body becomes weak in these perpetually cold and rarefied conditions. It’s not easy to maintain a good diet, and the digestive system is apt to break down. That’s not fun at altitude, where keeping many layers of clothes on at all times tends to be a priority.
When climbing mountains, your greatest resource is willpower, and an ironwill will get you very high indeed. But it can also get you killed. That same determination (or is it ambition) is what climbers have to guard against when they climb against their better judgement.
Even on Kili, you only have so much daylight to get back down the mountain. You leave your hut at 1am, and you’re finished by 3pm if you’re quick. Some in our group only got back at 6pm.
On Everest, you leave Camp IV at midnight, and if you’re lucky, and if you’re quick, you’ll be back in your tent 18 hours later. And then you’re still at 7900m with a lot of work left to do. At Camp IV, on Mount Everest, if you want a drink of water, you may have to wait about an hour to melt blocks of snow or ice. How long depends on how strong the stove is that has been lugged all the way up the mountain. Are you tough enough to sleep in a tent filled with frost for days and days and days? Would you mind if it took you 10 minutes to tie your shoelaces, and an hour to get dressed?
The hardest thing on a high mountain is to turn back before you reach the top. It’s usually not a question of can I reach the top, but will I have it in me to survive the long climb down? It’s not only a question of will, at these altitudes; it’s a question of making good time, always having reserves of energy and good weather. Few climbers, within sight of their goal, realize that the summit is at best, a halfway point. It’s not the finish line. Giving up is never easy, and many climbers on Everest have walked over dead bodies towards the summit, unable to quit, unable to lay waste all the thousands of dollars and hours of camping and suffering and misery already invested in search of the summit.
Next
So is the Himalayas for maniacs? Not quite. I reckon a lot of egos are up there that ought to know better. But it is also an ultimate testing ground, and some souls seem to need that.
As for me, I haven’t given up after Kili. I’d like to climb one or two summits on other continents. Maybe I’ll start with Aconcagua. It’s a step up from Kili at about 7 000m. And it’s right next door, in South America? Who’s coming with me?
Words: 2452
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
The Road to Fitness
Monday:
Run: 1:00:09
Distance: 9km
Felt uncomfortable at first, then better. 2 big hills on this route.
Tuesday:
Run: 55:40 (same route as above but in reverse and running with iPod.
Distance: 9km
Felt even worse at the beginning of this run, but much better after.
Swim: 44 minutes
Distance: 2km
Did 1km with Franna, mostly 50m sprints on 1 minute. Also saw Annalie and Ina at the pool a bit later. Fransa was also at the pool, reading her book.
Picking up my computer later today.
Monday, January 02, 2006
We stayed here from 30th December to the 1st with Julie and Jana. That's Jana's red beetle on the right. She arrived home one afternoon and the windscreen wipers wouldn't stop wiping because she'd broken the knob. Turning off the radio eventually did the trick. Lots more pictures (including Christmas) that I need to add. I will put them on when I can, and write an update on all that is happening. Stay tuned!
Justus and Julie. Julie is working in Clarens as an estate agent (since the beginning of December). We stayed with her in a quaint housie on the mountain. I met her about 12 years ago when we both went alone to watch Dances With Wolves and ended up sitting next to each other. I had no idea I'd find her in Clarens when we arrived.
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