Dead Lucky (25 page)

When Thomas was confirmed dead, Alex went into serious damage control and asked Harry to send Pemba up to help me as well. Pemba had climbed Everest six times and showed plenty of initiative. Hopefully, he would be better at convincing me to cooperate because he spoke very good English.

This was the first time that Mike and the Harrises had heard I was in trouble, and they were shocked and puzzled. They feared the worst, even though they knew I was with three strong and competent Sherpas. Mike, Richard, and Christopher spent the rest of the day in the communications tent, a small space, waiting for developments. Others dropped by from time to time, particularly Slate and Noel.

PEMBA HAD CLIMBED TO within 150 feet of the summit, and now he had been asked to return to that height. Thomas's oxygen mask had malfunctioned not far below their turnaround point, so Pemba had given Thomas his own mask. Now that Thomas was dead, Pemba did not want to reclaim his mask. It was still warm, and Thomas had been his friend.

Pemba had little difficulty surmounting the Second Step for the second time that day. By the time he reached me, I was near the bottom of the Third Step. To Dawa Tenzing's horror, I had unclipped from the rope and climbed solo down the final section. Although I had run out of oxygen, it was a rare moment of lucidity for me, not the crazy act that it seemed. But there were plenty of crazy times to come.

I clipped on to the rope again, and the next minute I was lying in the snow, talking to myself, saying, “There are three black girls up there; I want to go up!”

Then I wanted to jump off the top of the Kangshung Face. Pemba stopped me from making the leap and noticed that I had pushed my oxygen mask away from my face. The 7Summits-Club expedition had a stash of oxygen near the Third Step, so my bottle was replaced with a full bottle turned up to a high flow-rate. I needed the oxygen, but it did not make me more cooperative. I kept pushing the oxygen mask aside.

“Please, Lincoln,” urged Pemba. “Take this mask.”

So I decided to wear the mask for a while. Once again I seemed to want to jump off the Kangshung Face, perhaps because in my dreams I was always flying. The Sherpas slowly dragged me down the mountain, hindered by the fact that I kept wanting to go back up.

Pemba radioed Mingma Gelu at Advance Base Camp, and his message was translated to Luda, who radioed Richard Harris at Base Camp.

“Richard, this is Luda. Do you copy? Over.”

“Go ahead, Luda.”

“Richard, do you know the condition of Lincoln? So, now he's a bit crazy because he is holding on to the rope. All three Sherpas are trying to drag him down, but he's very stubborn. He's fixed to the rope, and he's afraid that the rope will end and he'll fall down.”

“Can you get the Sherpa to put the radio to his ear so that we can talk to him, please?”

“Okay, you want Sherpa to give radio to him and you want to speak to him.”

But I would not listen. Finally, the Sherpas tied three safety ropes to me while I bucked like a stubborn yak. Exhausted by the struggle, I lay in the snow, which made me much easier to manage, although at 26,000 feet it was very hard work for them. The four Sherpas pushed and pulled me down as if I was a sled. My harness had worked loose again, so during a rest I took it off. It was an awkward task, but they managed to put it back on. Near the Second Step I thought I was at the North Col, which was actually a vertical mile below.

“Where is my soup?” I asked. “Where is my tea?” When the Sherpas tightened my harness at the top of the Second Step, my condition seemed to improve and I appeared to remember that this place had significance.

Pemba put his radio in front of my face and pressed the talk button. For the first time since we had left Camp Three, my voice was heard at Base Camp.

“I'm doing the lethargy for about four people,” I slurred. “I don't know if you remember what it was like, but, boy, was it hard to move. And, in fact, I just opened my first eyeball.”

The volume lessened as I turned away and asked, “Where are we?”

“At the Second Step,” said Lakcha.

“We're still at the Second Step,” I relayed. “It's bloody tough up there. Climbing the step was not so hard, but there were some issues. Then I just collapsed, the whole bloody thing. But an amazing place.”

I mumbled that my camera wasn't working properly, then coughed.

Mike took the microphone. “Lincoln! Just keep going on. You've got four Sherpas there who respect you a lot, and they're doing everything they can. . . . Do you want to talk to me some more? Over.”

I was struck by a sudden coughing fit.

“Do you copy?”

After one more cough, I said, “Did you ask, ‘Did you copy?' or ‘Did you cough?'”

There was a pause as if they could not believe my question, followed by relieved chuckles. My sense of humor did not seem to be in as bad shape as the rest of me.

“I'll be fine,” I continued. “Thanks for the well wishes—to everybody. I guess the ones at home . . .” I was puffing hard and had to start again. “I guess they're the ones who are being tortured, but the ones here know what that torture is really like. I don't know what time it is, but I'll talk to you when I can. Okay. Thanks. Bye.”

Mike began to speak desperately, “Okay, Lincoln, we're doing all we can and we're standing by. If you ever want to talk to us again, just get the radio to your ear. Just think of your family, and it's the last hard bit, but there's plenty of support there.”

There was no reply from me.

Then I heard another voice. “Lincoln, this is Kevin at ABC.”

Yes, it was his voice.

“You get yourself down. Get yourself down now, my friend, because we all miss you, and we all want you down safely. So get here now, Lincoln.”

Alex's voice was unmistakable, even though it was only two words repeated, “Go down! Go down!”

I still stood at the top of the Second Step, but again I was overcome with lethargy, partly because I was continuing to refuse the oxygen. Maybe there was a message coming from deep in my psyche that true climbing of mountains is achieved without oxygen. If that was the case, then there could not have been a worse message for my brain to be serving up.

Pemba rappeled down the first section of the step, then, with the help of Lakcha, I rappeled over the lip—very slowly—until, at the top of the lower section, I found a cleft into which I could squeeze myself. It was not secure, but it was good enough for me to sleep in. The Sherpas could not move me.

At Base Camp, Mike and Richard kept calling me on the radio, but it remained switched off in my pocket. Acting on a demand of Mike's, Mingma Gelu radioed Pemba with a request to hand me his own radio.

“Mike wants to talk to you,” said Pemba. “Please talk to him.”

He held the radio to my face, and almost instantly it spoke to me.

“Lincoln,” said Mike's voice. “Your mind is playing tricks with you, and you are trying to fight the Sherpas. They're trying to help you down. Help them, help yourself—for your family's sake and our sakes. . . .

“Please try to change what's happening in your mind to become more clear. Everyone is trying to help you. . . . There's lots of oxygen. All you have to do is use your rock-climbing skills and the help of the Sherpas to get down quickly.”

I did not really grasp his meaning, but I knew that I had to move. I let myself slide down the rope, but it was too fast. Fear kicked in. I had not been feeling fear, but now it was overwhelming me. I slammed into Pemba, who instantly rappeled to the narrow ledge below. Then I found myself at that ledge as well, the fear dragging me back into the real world.

Pemba sensed this and handed me the radio.

“This is quite an exciting spot,” I began. “I'm certainly compos mentis, whereas before I was really freaky. I had this gear to go down there, go down the Second Step. I couldn't even put the bloody gear on. A couple of other guys did it for me. I was out of it then, but I'm definitely into it now.

“These guys have got a huge amount of knowledge in terms of rescuing people. Like, if you want to find the greatest density of rescue people in the mountains, this would have to be it. So we're going pretty well. Keep you posted. You don't have to keep ringing and saying how are we 'cause there'll be times when there'll be a lot going on and there'll be times when there's nothing much going on. Cop you later.”

The Sherpas began hustling along the narrow ledge, and with their help I somehow passed the sections of blank rock.

The radio was blasting, “Lincoln, Lincoln, good to hear from you. This is Kevin at ABC. The problem is your Sherpas are becoming very, very weak and very, very tired, and you only have about three hours of workable daylight left. So please get all your strength. If you don't move, you won't get off this mountain. Come down, Lincoln.”

Then there was a different voice.

“Okay, Lincoln, come on. It's Richard.” His voice was hoarse and full of urgency. “They're all waiting here for you—Dorje and Dylan and Barbara. They're all worried about you. So you just give it your best and keep coming down so you can talk to them, mate.”

The Sherpas did not give me a moment to rest. I staggered some of the way along the rough trail, but my body was too heavy and my eyelids felt like lead. At the times where I could not stand, I was dragged and carried. We reached Mushroom Rock, where I was allowed to rest, and that was all I wanted to do.

Beyond Mushroom Rock the route became more difficult. It was terrain down which I could not be pushed, pulled, or carried. Only beyond the First Step would the route again be manageable for me and my rescuers in my current condition. The Sherpas had no choice but to leave me there. The only decision was who would stay with me.

Pemba had to go down, as he was partly snow-blind and his leg was injured by the accidental kick from my cramponed boot. Dorje was totally exhausted and headed down with my small digital camera, which would hold some kind of record of what had gone before. When Pemba came to leave me, he thought I was dying—a sight he had already witnessed once that day. I was looking in the direction of Mount Everest; my eyes were open but vacant.

Lakcha and Dawa Tenzing stayed with me, trying to rouse me, but they were exhausted by the effort of bringing me down from 28,800 feet to 28,000. They had no oxygen, no food, and no drink. My breathing had dropped to four or five breaths per minute. I did not respond when I was poked in the eye.

Dawa Tenzing made a call to Advance Base Camp. “Alex, you must tell us what to do. Otherwise we will die.”

It was a very hard decision for Alex. At Base Camp the team was desperate for an answer as well. The consensus was that I would not want Sherpas to die because of what happened to me.

“It's very difficult for me, but Lincoln doesn't move. If Sherpas don't move, they will also die near Lincoln now.”

Russell Brice arrived at Base Camp with a weather report. “By seven o'clock tonight you should have wind speeds of fifteen miles per hour. . . .”

Alex's voice came through to Lakcha's radio and to everyone at Base Camp.

“Okay, okay,” he began. “Now I will say: Sherpas will leave Lincoln. First cover him with stones, and then go down.”

There was silence at this now expected announcement.

“You've got a long night ahead, guys,” said Russell. “I don't think I can do much.”

“Thanks, Russell,” said Richard.

But then Mike thought of practicalities.

“Russell, we need to get your advice about what happens if the worst happens to Lincoln. What we need to do, officially.”

“Yeah, I can help you with that,” said Russell. “I've done it, four times during this expedition for other people, so I'll help you with that, no problem. It's just a letter—you write it and get the Sherpas to sign it, saying that's where they saw him last. Then you need his passport and some photos, and take it to the TMA.”

We had seen the Tibetan Mountaineering Association when we arrived at Base Camp. It was a building where the road stopped, on the same hillock as the Mallory and Irvine memorials, only set farther back.

“I'll help you there, no worries,” continued Russell. “I know the guys there, and they know me. But Alex must have done it already for Igor. I helped Alex, and I'm sure Alex won't mind me helping you.”

BACK IN AUSTRALIA, only moments after she finished talking to Iain and Trish, Barbara remembered the call-waiting tone she had heard. When she checked the voicemail, there was a message from Cheryl Harris, asking Barbara to call her, please. The message had been left at 7:30 P.M. Sydney time. She returned the call with her heart beating fast, having sensed that something was wrong. Cheryl told Barbara the latest news—I was still very close to the summit and in difficulty. Cheryl added that radio contact had confirmed I had three Sherpas accompanying me.

Barbara told the boys but reminded them that there was not necessarily anything to worry about. She then rang Julia again to let her know that I was not in as good shape as it had seemed. She left a similar message for Greg Mortimer and Margaret Werner. Half an hour after Barbara's conversation with Cheryl, the phone rang again, but this time it was Mike, saying that radio contact had been made again and he had heard me speak lucidly. It seemed I had overcome my problems, as I was moving faster. Everyone at Base Camp felt encouraged.

Circumstances can change very quickly in the mountains, as Barbara knew all too well. My fortunes could turn to the good or to the bad. As the minutes ticked past, her anxiety grew. At Wentworth Falls it was a cold night at the beginning of winter, so she sat near the fire. Meditation seemed the best way to deal with her worries. Soon warmed by the fire, she silently led her mind into meditation, where the focus was on the present moment. Suddenly she was startled by a kind of vision—she saw a blinding white light, and within that bright space I was putting my arms around her. The vision became frightening when she could physically feel me embracing her. She was shocked out of her meditation. Perhaps this was really happening—perhaps this was my death.