A Day to Die For: 1996: Everest's Worst Disaster - One Survivor's Personal Journey to Uncover the Truth (19 page)

As we climbed higher in the coming hours, we began to appreciate the vastness of the Western Cwm. Stretching out behind us as a gently curving sweep approximately three miles long, it ran between the steeply rising ramparts of Everest and Nuptse, both of which added millions of tons of ice to the already considerable volume of the glacier that flowed along the valley floor. Moving imperceptibly, this river of ice, several hundred feet thick, inched its way downwards from the Lhotse Face to the Khumbu Icefall at its lower end. At the midway point, and far-off to the right, the tents of Camp 2 appeared as tiny specks of conspicuous colour contrasted against the dark lateral moraine. They were some 3,000 feet below us.

Staring down at what we knew would be a one-way ticket, we took special care to be clipped in to the fixed ropes at all times, particularly at the points where the rope was fixed to the face by an ice screw. At these junctures, we took heed to clip in above each point before unclipping from the rope below. Although this is normal practice, the need for it was highlighted in our current location. We knew it would be almost impossible to arrest any fall. Over the years, many a climber and Sherpa had come to an untimely end from this point in the climb, more often than not due to overconfidence or through simple human error brought about by the lack of oxygen supplying the brain at this altitude. Our pace was deliberately steady; the object of the climb was acclimatisation, not the unnecessary use of precious energy. Nor did we want to increase the risk by rushing the simple safeguards.

By mid morning, as we rounded one of the many large bulges formed by the thick sheet of ice grinding slowly downwards over the bedrock of the steep mountainside, the tents at Camp 3 came into sight. Several of this year’s expeditions had already erected tents here. Not because they needed them so early on but because tent spaces on these ledges were limited. The ones that remained from previous years saved a serious amount of work in the rarefied air. Each existing tent space that could be ‘booked’ would allow us to avoid several hours of backbreaking work hacking a level platform out of this frozen expanse. This energy-saving opportunity was purely on a first-come, first-served basis. We were no different from several other teams. One of our tents, with the unmistakable capital letters HG sprayed boldly on the side, was already in place.

Nearing Camp 3, we realised that many of the colours we’d picked out as being tents from several hundred feet further down had been correctly identified but not in the sense we expected. True, they had once been tents, but not from this year. They were the remnants of wind-shredded tents from former expeditions, which had been abandoned at Camp 3. They had been engulfed by the ever-forming ice, through which their tattered remains now protruded. They flapped eerily in an almost constant wind. A ghostly reminder that not all had returned from previous endeavours.

From Camp 3, at 24,000 feet, we were given a glimpse of the Himalaya. Cho-Oyu, the sixth-highest mountain in the world, which had been obscured from view at Base Camp by the much smaller Pumori, now dwarfed the mountain that had hidden it from sight. A myriad of other peaks could be seen from this vantage point: a panorama I knew would increase tenfold from the summit of Everest.

The splendour of what lay before us was spoilt by the nagging headache that accompanied us to our newly gained altitude. The need to gather ice and brew essential fluid drew us rapidly in to our awaiting tent.

Balanced on top of our single-burner gas stove was a small aluminium pan. We watched impatiently as the pieces of ice that we’d feebly hacked out of the slope with our axes gradually melted into a pool of tepid clear liquid at the bottom of the receptacle. The reluctance of the resulting water to boil, which happens at a lowly 80°C at this height, seemed interminable as our heads pounded from dehydration. The need to keep drinking kept us occupied for the whole afternoon.

We spent a cold night – through most of which I lay awake with a persistent headache – keenly awaiting the first signs of daylight. I was ready to depart as soon as possible from this necessary outing, eager to return to the comparatively oxygen-rich environment of Base Camp over 6,000 feet below. So eager were Mark and I to depart from Camp 3 that we arrived back into Camp 2 before other members of our expedition encamped there had risen for breakfast. After a quick bite to eat and a cup of tea, I continued straight on down. Others from our team would head up to Camp 3 for their turn.

Mark, although only 16 years old, took our climb up to Camp 3 and the time we had to spend there in his stride. His previous experience was apparent, shown by his lack of complaint at the discomfort we had needed to endure.

My acclimatisation finished, all I could do was rest, recuperate and wait for the weather to allow us a summit bid. Patience and a bit of luck were what we needed now.

The end of April, early May, brought what appeared to be better and warmer weather. With this anticipated change came the first summit attempts. Amongst these was the one made on 3 May by Göran Kropp, a Swedish climber ascending alone and without oxygen. He’d estimated the time at which he expected to reach the summit so that the aeroplane he had arranged could depart from Kathmandu and fly over the top of Everest just as he approached this ultimate height. On board would be a photographer. It was an ambitious plan but one, if it came off, that had the potential to give Göran some spectacular photographs for both a book and press releases. However, his progress was slower than he’d hoped, climbers in Base Camp keenly listening to his transmissions. He radioed that he’d encountered deep snow on a section of the South East Ridge between the Balcony and South Summit. Far above him, over the main summit, circled the aeroplane with the photographer on board. It remained in this holding pattern above Everest for some considerable time before finally heading back to Kathmandu, presumably running low on fuel. Göran also had to turn back, just below the South Summit. He was still a few hundred feet short of the top. He descended to the South Col, where he remained for two days, possibly with the idea of making another attempt or perhaps merely exhausted from his first. As this time passed, he grew dangerously weak, until, I was told, one of his fellow countrymen unselfishly, and probably fearing for Göran’s life, climbed up to the South Col to persuade him to come down for a complete rest. Summit attempts from other small teams around this time also failed.

By the time these early attempts were taking place, the majority of our team had completed their acclimatisation and were resting in readiness for our first summit bid. The weather had seemed more settled in recent days and we hoped we might be moving towards a period of calm conditions – our weather-window for summit attempts. This was the norm for climbers back then; there was no forecast available to us. Such an incredibly rare commodity was the domain of the occasional military-backed expedition who could pull strings in high-up places. We were reliant on personal observations and looked for trends in the weather; clear skies and a continued calmness in the air were the signs we were hoping for. It looked possible these might be coming.

Several dates were discussed, but in the end 10 May was the date that fitted our plans best. It gave those on the team who had most recently been up to Camp 3 enough time to rest, while not delaying our bid for too long. Nervous tension was building within each climber; the mental preparation for the task that lay ahead was as complete as it could be. It was as though, after years of preparation, we were anxiously pacing about the start line of a major sporting event, eagerly anticipating the starter’s orders, in the knowledge that we needed to be in position for the weather window, which we hoped would appear during the first two weeks of May. The date we had chosen allowed time for the second summit team a few days later, and time for still further pushes if bad weather turned us back on either attempt. Although historically the more settled weather usually appeared in the first half of the month, permits for Everest during the spring season ran up until 31 May.

The date we had selected meant that Rob Hall’s and Scott Fischer’s entire teams along with our first summit team and a few climbers from other expeditions were all going to make a summit bid on 10 May. From our team there would be twelve in all: seven climbers – Ray Dorr, Paul Deegan, Neil Laughton, Brigitte Muir, Michael Jörgensen, Mark Pfetzer and myself – along with five of our very strong and capable climbing Sherpas.

However, following discussions between the leaders of the two guided expeditions, Rob, on behalf of himself and Scott, asked Henry if our team would hang back for one day and go on 11 May instead. This would give their two guided teams a clear shot at the summit. He told Henry the benefit to us was that they would put the ropes in place. Henry considered their request. First, fixed ropes would be a great help, giving our team one thing less to worry about. Second, it would remove the chance of us being held up by their two large teams of over thirty people. We saw no problem with their request, which on paper made a lot of sense. So Henry agreed to put our bid back by one day.

Amongst the other teams, the most notorious was the South African expedition, who, having lost their most experienced climbers through an internal wrangle early on, announced they too were going on 10 May. Rob also asked if they would change their planned summit day but was told rather impolitely that they would not. There were many in Base Camp who considered that the remnants of the South African team were trying to use Rob and Scott to shelter them from their own inexperience.

Once the date of our summit attempt had been moved to 11 May, our climbers began preparing their personal equipment: a useful way to fill the time and calm the nerves. Crampons were sharpened, boots checked, climbing harnesses carefully inspected. Hours were spent familiarising ourselves with the oxygen masks, regulators and the lightweight Poisk oxygen bottles (plus the requisite and previously forgotten spanner).

I vividly remember watching other team members as they practised changing an oxygen cylinder: a procedure they would soon have to carry out at over 28,000 feet, an altitude where thought processes would be somewhat impaired by the low oxygen levels and the exhaustion of the ascent. We all knew these specific tasks well and the answers to many of the questions we kept asking. What was the flow rate at which we should set the oxygen for climbing? How long would each bottle last? How many hours did their total oxygen supply give them? What time should we leave from Camp 4 on the South Col? The concerns were limited in number, but each conversation hit on the same topics. Over and over, these issues were raised in a slightly different way. The answers were by now well rehearsed.

The air of apprehension was similar in all expedition Base Camps that were making preparations for an imminent departure up the mountain. This reaction was quite natural. We’d all spent months, if not years, preparing for this moment at our respective homes long before departing for Nepal.

Everyone hoped nothing would happen in the form of either accident or illness that might stop them from having a clear shot at the top. The weeks of preparation and acclimatisation were now complete. We knew that in a matter of days we would be leaving the South Col at 26,000 feet, just before midnight, to make our final push for the summit of Everest.

The Imax team, led by David Breashears, left on 5 May for Camp 2. Here they would spend an extra day resting and preparing their filming equipment before moving up for their planned summit day on 9 May, one day ahead of the two large guided teams.

Everything appeared normal as we heard Rob’s and Scott’s teams depart from Base Camp in the early hours of 6 May, to make their way through the Icefall en route to Camp 2 in the Western Cwm. Rob and Scott, like the Imax team, were going to hold their groups there for a rest day. This meant that Adventure Consultants, Mountain Madness and the Imax expedition would all overnight at Camp 2 on 7 May.

We would make the same journey on 8 May. The reason we were setting off then, and not the day after Rob and Scott, was because we would go to Camp 2 one day and on to Camp 3 the next.

I endured rather a restless final night at Base Camp as I recalled my successful summit bid from the north side less than 12 months earlier, wondering how the events of the next few days would compare. What would the conditions be like on the route up from the South Col? Would we encounter deep snow? If so, it might by that time have already thwarted Rob’s and Scott’s teams attempts, leaving no ropes in place for us to use. We would not carry our own ropes because of the agreement we’d made. These final doubts troubled me as I tossed and turned in my efforts to fall asleep. All these problems could be solved, but still they occupied my mind.

The early start for our climb to Camp 2 brought a welcome end to my fruitless search for rest. I rose at 5 a.m., my rucksack having been carefully packed the previous day. After a light breakfast, I walked the ten minutes to the beginning of the route. My predominant thought was that this ought to be the second-last time I would need to go through this hazardous maze of ice. The last would be on my way down after reaching the summit. Experience had taught me such a positive approach was the way to prepare for the climb. Negative thoughts would only grow in proportion to the effort required.

Now fully acclimatised to the higher altitudes from my previous trips up the mountain, the energy required, although significant, was far less than my first venture into the Icefall a month earlier. This gave me more time to absorb the raw beauty of my surroundings rather than gasping for breath every few steps. The overwhelming feeling was one of being on a journey with a sense of purpose. All the preparation was focused in one direction: up.

Throughout the morning of 8 May, each of our seven climbers arrived at Camp 2. No one was particularly rushing; all were trying to conserve energy. The atmosphere around the camp was one of anticipation as we watched Rob’s and Scott’s teams painstakingly making their way up to Camp 3. They appeared as dark specks, moving slowly, almost imperceptibly, up the huge ice sheet of the Lhotse Face. One by one, they disappeared out of sight as they reached their tents at 24,000 feet.