Keeper Of The Mountains (19 page)

In 1979 one of the most impressive of the spring's mountaineering objectives was a Yugoslav effort on a new route on the true West Ridge of Everest, which forms the border between Nepal and China. The team was led by Tone Škarja and included strong climbers like Andrej and Marko Štremfelj and Viktor Grošelj. They found the difficult climbing was sustained almost to the top, and the entire route was exposed to horrific winds. However, five climbers reached the summit on this impressive effort.

British climber Doug Scott was back with a small team that included Pete Boardman and Joe Tasker to attempt a new route on the 8586-metre Kangchenjunga from the glacier northwest of the peak. Not only were they trying a new route, they were doing it without oxygen or radios and they limited their support to two Sherpas. The four team members had a total of more than 20 Himalayan expeditions under their belt, so they were well qualified for the task. After 10 weeks, two serious summit attempts, frighteningly high bivouacs and variable weather, they reached the summit in time for sunset on May 16.

The beautiful and remote, twin-summited Gaurishankar, located on the frontier between Nepal and Tibet, had just been opened to climbing after a 20-year ban, with the provision that any climb be a joint effort with Nepalese climbers. At 7134 metres, it was one of the last major unclimbed summits in the Nepal Himalaya. Its two
revered summits represented two Hindu deities: Gauri, goddess of love; and Shankar, god of destruction. Not only was it remote, its approaches were largely unexplored since the Japanese reconnaissance in 1959, and it was expected to be tremendously difficult. Al Read of Mountain Travel put together a formidable team including Nepal's most experienced Sherpa, Pertemba Sherpa, and America's most experienced Himalayan climber, John Roskelley.

Once on the mountain, the climbers changed their route a couple of times, once because the border delineation with China changed, making the Northwest Ridge part of Tibet, and once because the West Face looked slightly more feasible than their other ridge alternative. Extremely difficult climbing at high altitude, rockfall, threatening ice bulges, aid climbing on shifting pitons and uncomfortable camps were the norm, but on May 8 Roskelley and Dorje Sherpa fought their way to the summit. The last great Himalayan summit in Nepal had been climbed.

It was during this time that Elizabeth became better acquainted with Roskelley, a young, somewhat controversial climber from Spokane, Washington. Since his 1973 Dhaulagiri expedition, he had been racing up peaks in the Soviet Union, Bolivia, India, Pakistan and Nepal. Roskelley was a professional climber, so logically he should have been interested in having as much publicity for his climbs as possible. But he was a private person and didn't like the fact that Elizabeth's Reuters reports were being picked up by newspapers everywhere, particularly back home in Spokane, where he avoided talking about his plans. It embarrassed him, as he described his motivation as “just to go with some friends and do a good climb.” But Elizabeth did report on his climbs and her reports undoubtedly helped his career. She understood the significance of his achievements, although she wouldn't tell him directly, saying to him only that he had done a “worthwhile ascent – not a great ascent.” And that was fine with him. He accepted her taciturn style, partly because it reminded him of his father, who was also an old-school journalist.

A climbing event that made a big impression on Elizabeth was the death of Hannelore Schmatz in 1979. Her husband, Gerhard Schmatz, was the leader of the Everest expedition and Hannelore was in charge of the logistics and trekking arrangements. She was not a terribly experienced climber, according to Elizabeth, but she did
reach the summit with about nine other team members. It was on the descent that she died from ex­posure and exhaustion. Her body would be seen for years to come, lying beside the trail of the normal South Col–Southeast Ridge route, providing an unnerving sight because her head and upper torso were completely out of the snow. Climbers reported that her eyes appeared to follow them as they approached and passed her. Elizabeth remains caustic in her assessment of Gerhard Schmatz: “It didn't seem to unnerve her husband. He found consolation with somebody else, another woman.” Elizabeth characterized Hannelore as a “hard-working woman,” perhaps not with the charm of the beautiful French climber Chantal Mauduit, or the skill of Polish climber Wanda Rutkiewicz, but nevertheless a determined climber. “Her determination got her up the mountain, but not down.”

Then, on October 25, 1979, Elizabeth was awakened by a telephone call from the airport saying that a radio message had come through from the New Zealand expedition on Ama Dablam requesting a rescue helicopter. Peter Hillary was on that team, and she agonized for several hours until she saw Peter emerge from the helicopter with a broken arm, cracked rib, broken finger and sprained ankle. She shuddered to think of how Ed Hillary would have handled yet another death in the family. The team had been hit by falling ice; luckily, however, a predominantly Austrian team was nearby and came to their rescue. On that team was Reinhold Messner, who, much to Peter Hillary's chagrin, not only rescued him but left with Hillary's Canadian girlfriend! Elizabeth found this amusing.

From the other end of the world, another accident, again connected with the Hillary family, was reported. An Air New Zealand sightseeing flight in Antarctica crashed and initial reports claimed that Ed Hillary was on it. They were mistaken. But although Hillary was safe, his good friend and climbing partner Peter Mulgrew was on the flight and was killed. Elizabeth had met Mulgrew's wife, June, several times in Kathmandu and knew she would be devastated. Already on the board of directors for the Himalayan Trust, June began spending much more time in Nepal, working on the trust's projects, supporting Hillary in his work and becoming close to him in the process. Eventually, June Mulgrew became Hillary's second wife.

When I came with crazy ideas to Kathmandu, she was listening – she never said it was impossible.

— Reinhold Messner

T
he early '80s saw some exciting new developments and notable climbing achievements in Nepal: winter climbs, difficult face climbs, a solo climb of Everest. According to Elizabeth, a few leading personalities stood out, and they made her work rewarding.

One of those characters was the Polish climber Andrzej Zawada, whom Elizabeth remembered as tall, courtly and charming. Polish climbers were the first to climb to a height of over 7000 metres in winter in 1973 on the 7492-metre Noshaq, and they did it again in 1974 when they reached 8250 metres on Lhotse. In both cases, Zawada was leading. Zawada was a great innovator, the first to approach the Nepalese government about opening a winter climbing season; and for the 1979–80 season, he convinced the ministry to open Everest in winter.

Zawada's mission looked hopeless almost from the start. Winds roared in from the north at up to 160 kilometres per hour and temperatures averaged –25°
C
in the Western Cwm. The peaks grew dark as the winds stripped them of snow. The short winter days were even darker. Elizabeth heard horrific tales of hardship: throats inflamed from the cold, dry air; clear, rock-hard ice; and camps destroyed by incessant, hurricane-force winds. To make matters worse, the team received word from the government that they would need to vacate the mountain by February 15. They negotiated a two-day extension, and with this new deadline and the desire to write a new chapter in mountaineering history spurring them on, Leszek Cichy and Krzysztof Wielicki reached the summit at 2:25 p.m. on February 17.

Two days later they were off the mountain and heading back to Kathmandu, where they reported in to Elizabeth. As she listened to their story, she shuddered to imagine what they had endured. Some of
the Poles stayed on in Nepal and by March, again under the leadership of Zawada, a team reinforced with several new members headed back to Everest for a successful ascent of a new route via the South Pillar. On May 19, Andrzej Czok and Jerzy Kukuczka reached the summit. The Poles were dominating. Some were calling it the Golden Age of Polish mountaineering in Nepal and Elizabeth was inclined to agree.

Nearby on Makalu, an American team led by John Roskelley was attempting a route on the West Pillar. Roskelley described this expedition as one in which they were going to try and rise to the level of the mountain rather than pull the mountain down to theirs. That meant no bottled oxygen, a small team of four climbers and no Sherpas above base camp. It was Roskelley's tenth trip to Asia in seven years and his third time as leader of an expedition, so he was clearly qualified to make the call.

Despite leading a team of highly experienced climbers who were as tenacious as he was, in the end it was up to Roskelley to actually tag the summit. In an impressive solo effort, with frighteningly technical and exposed climbing, he reached the summit in late afternoon on May 15. His descent was wracked with indecision about whether to bivouac or continue. His progress was sometimes interrupted by involuntary lapses into a restless sleep. On his return to Kathmandu, he told Elizabeth an amusing story about how, as he emerged from one of these stupor-like states, he thought he heard voices. He called down to his teammate, Chris Kopczynski, who yelled back, “John, is that you?” Even in his hypoxic state, John couldn't help laughing as he thought, “Who the hell else could it be?”

Then, on August 20, 1980, Messner created another first: Mount Everest solo, partially by the Great Couloir on the Tibetan side, without supplemental oxygen. He did the climb in just three days after a six-week acclimatization period. He carried a 15-kilogram pack that included a small tent. For the final summit sprint, he took only his camera and ice ax. Many would refer to this ascent as the ultimate alpine-style climb: elegant, pure and bold.

Messner was back in October, going from the 5395-metre base camp to 7399 metres in two mornings' climbing on a solo attempt of the South Face of Lhotse. On the third morning, he climbed to 7803 metres, where bad weather defeated him, forcing him back down to base camp.

I
n Elizabeth's opinion, Messner was the climber who stood out the most in the 1980s. She remembered their first meeting in 1972, when he made his ascent of Manaslu. He remembers it too, having immediately sensed she was serious about chronicling the history of mountaineering. She admired Messner's philosophy of “fair means,” which meant no supplemental oxygen; limited fixed rope, if any; and few camps, Sherpas or support team members. Messner and Peter Habeler had shattered preconceived ideas of what was possible with their ascent of Everest in 1978 without bottled oxygen.

But it was during the '80s that Messner excelled: he made his historic solo ascent of Everest; he proved you could climb two 8000ers in one season and that you could traverse two 8000ers if they were close enough. Elizabeth regards him as a pioneer because he showed the mountaineering world new ways of doing things – ways that were thought to be impossible.

Elizabeth is fond of Messner. Many don't share her opinion, but she thinks they simply envy his skills and successes. The two of them enjoyed long conversations about his expeditions and about others' as well. As he began to trust her with his plans and dreams, he found she was an invaluable source of consistently accurate information. Perhaps more important than just sharing information, she encouraged him. “When I came with crazy ideas to Kathmandu, she was listening – she never said it was impossible.”

As his career blossomed and peaked, Messner became more interested in what others were doing in the Himalaya – the next wave. They spent hours discussing the young, up-and-coming climbers. He says she had a good understanding of what was new and exciting in climbing, and that she had a good sense of who the outstanding new climbers would be. “We never disagreed on this point – never,” he says.

They shared many enjoyable evenings together, exchanging ideas and stories. “I have to be thankful to her for her ideas,” Messner says; “in some cases it helped me decide my projects.” This is high praise coming from the man who is often described as the greatest Himalayan climber of all time. In addition to ideas, he obtained valuable information from her – details about who was planning to do what, where and when – and this helped determine the order in which Messner launched his own plans. He describes their meetings
as “giving and getting, giving and getting,” and their relationship was one of equals.

When Elizabeth recollects her relationship with Messner, she admits a feeling of satisfaction in having inadvertently influenced his climbing plans. At one point, she had read in a newspaper that Naomi Uemura was planning a solo attempt of Everest. She mentioned it to Messner, noting, “This is go­ing to be a very interesting climb, isn't it.” He didn't say anything at the time, but told her later that he had been thinking of doing just that. And with this bit of information, he decided to advance the timing of his solo attempt.

One of Elizabeth's favourite stories about Messner had nothing to do with climbing. She was watching him fill out the biography form she used for each and every climber. On the form, she asked each expedition member for basic data such as name, address, birth date, nationality and marital status. Marital status had four possible categories: single, married, living with girlfriend or divorced. On this particular day, Messner ticked all four boxes! She asked him why, and he responded, “I was married in Italy and divorced in Germany, but Italy doesn't recognize divorce, so in one country I am married and in the other country I am divorced. I am also living with a girlfriend.” Elizabeth acquiesced, saying, “Okay, I understand all that, fair enough. But single?” Messner responded, “I feel single.”

A less gregarious yet equally accomplished alpinist during this time was the Polish climber Jerzy Kukuczka. The second person to climb all 14 of the 8000-metre peaks, Kukuczka did several of them in winter and even more by new and difficult routes. Elizabeth remembered Kukuczka as a tenacious and patient climber, recalling his Manaslu expedition where he sat in base camp for over three weeks waiting for the weather to improve. And when it did, he got his summit. She knew that most climbers would have lost patience long before and gone home. She considered him a real mountaineer and blamed his eventual death on the South Face of Lhotse to an inferior grade of rope.