Entries from Everest
There were lots of heavy boots trudging by the tents in the dark this morning. Climbers and sherpa bound for the Icefall, naturally. Not from our camp today though. It was another packing/rest day for our team. Seth Waterfall and I took the opportunity to get our climber out on the ice pinnacles after breakfast for some more training in rope techniques.
Erica is looking more comfortable with each session of rappelling down and jugging up the lines we fix. While out there in the middle of the glacier, we heard (and felt) a few big rumbles as ice avalanches cut loose in various places. One tumbled down off Everest's West Shoulder and obviously crossed the Icefall climbing route, luckily missing any climbers in the process. That one certainly pointed up the need for a slightly better and more protected route in the region, and I was encouraged to hear that Willie Benegas may have found just such a route a little farther out toward the middle of the Khumbu Icefall. We shall see whether his discovery is accepted and improved by the Icefall Doctors responsible for fixing ropes and ladders. The Ice Docs are a great bunch of guys. We had them over for a small gift of hats and T-shirts yesterday evening, and we heartily thanked each of the seven men who have been risking their lives to find us safe passage through the big jumbled glacier pouring out of the Western Cwm. We were all astonished when Ang Nima mentioned that he'd been climbing on Everest since 1975, when he worked for Chris Bonington's famous Southwest Face expedition.
Since Gerry shot that beautiful and frightening footage of an avalanche crossing the climbing route above Camp 1 we have received lots of questions and comments about such events. That particular event was likely the result of a snow cornice breaking up near Nuptse's summit at 25,000 ft. The cornice -an overhanging snow deposit- may have built up due to strong prevailing west winds in the night and then busted loose when the first strong rays of the sun hit it in the morning, causing it to settle and fracture. Due to that type of process, we have to worry about "new snow" avalanches even when there hasn't been any "new snow" falling from the sky. An ice avalanche, by contrast, is a piece of glacier breaking loose and cascading down. These are scary. They are also a very normal part of the way glaciers move. One cannot predict when a chunk of glacier has decided that it has hung around long enough and that it is now time to thunder down on whatever is below (chunks of glacier -more properly "seracs"- are not made of light, fluffy snow, but instead of dense ice the consistency of concrete). There are a number of "hanging glaciers" threatening the West Shoulder side of the Khumbu Icefall, as I mentioned, but we also need to be quite careful of the seracs that make up the Icefall itself... a hundred foot high tower of ice collapsing a hundred feet upslope can be difficult to get out of the way of. To most of us, there is something slightly more menacing and inescapable about an avalanche dropping in near freefall for 5000 ft. off the West Shoulder though. I suppose that it is like choosing to get hit by a slow bus rather than by a sports car at top speed, understanding that both bring a fair amount of discomfort. Our various routes do get "dusted" from time to time, as Gerry's video showed, with no actual debris crossing the climbing route, but a big and dramatic powder cloud engulfing those on the track and likely causing them to hit the deck and cover up for a minute or two. Our best strategies for dealing with avalanches on the lower part of the mountain involve moving as quickly as possible through known hazard areas and looking for alternate routes (as Willie apparently did today) when we can. We go early in the day, before sunrise, because this affords us some protection from certain types of avalanches, but it doesn't solve our problems with serac fall. Glaciers move in the night, just as they move in the day, and so their chunks continue to get pushed off randomly rather than when we'd like them to. Getting an early start just feels a lot safer in a world of frozen bridges and towers. The footing can get sloppy later in the day and the heat can get oppressive when the high-altitude sun gets bounced around enough in a concave valley.
So when our first team of climbers (Ed, Melissa and Peter) move up tomorrow, they'll go early and they'll try to move at a business-like pace and they'll look after one another on the move to Camp 1, in addition to checking in by radio with those of us at basecamp. We take the hazards of this lower mountain seriously, which is why we've "waited" a week before setting sites on sleeping at Camp 1. Best to be acclimated and ready to use all of one's fitness for this particular push.
We built up that fitness a little more this afternoon by hiking down to the approaches to basecamp for a building project. Many teams gathered, perhaps a hundred climbers, in order to build a helipad. We don't want to use the helipad for helicopters ... they tend to crash up here in the thin air and hard rock, and we all live in soft shelters that perform poorly when subjected to shrapnel. But of course, if there is an emergency evacuation that a helicopter may be the correct tool for, we want the pilots to enjoy a flat and stable pad of rock. So we all moved rock around for an hour while laughing, breathing heavily, and catching up with long-lost pals from the mountains.
Plenty more Pujas took place today ... the gods have to be at least a little bit impressed with all of the offerings and pretty flags and fragrant smoke. Perhaps they'll mind those seracs and cornices for us while we get the safest possible routes established.
Sherpa. It's a name that we hear with increasing frequency in popular diction worldwide.
But who are the Sherpa, and the sherpa, for that matter? The answer to this is as complex as the country in which they reside.
Let's begin with a bit of context.
The nation of Nepal, one of the poorest in the world in terms of per capita GDP, is arguably one of the richest in terms of geographic and ethnic diversity. A mere 54,000 square kilometers (about the size of Illinois), it ranges geographically from the tropical Indo-Gangetic plains (Terai) in the south to the crest of the Great Himalaya, the highest mountains on earth, in the north. So short is the span from low to high that one can literally sit on the back of an elephant in the Terai, gazing at endangered rhinos, and see, some 90 miles distant, the snowy crest of the Himalaya rising above the haze of the tropical plains.
Not to be outdone by its geography, Nepal's human diversity is rich and complex as well. In its small footprint reside some 25 million people from 36 different ethnic groups speaking 36 (or more) different languages and dialects. From the Indian ethnicities of the Terai to the Tibetan peoples of the mountains, the Gurkhas of the center to the Lepchas of the east and the Thakurs of the far west, the countryside of Nepal rings with diversity.
The Sherpa, so often discussed if not totally understood, are one of these many ethnic groups in Nepal. Crossing over the high Nangpa La (Pass) some 700 years ago from Tibet, the early Sherpa nomads found in the Khumbu Valley a rich region with lush vegetation, flowing rivers, and the possibility of a life far easier than their nomadic one in Tibet. They settled in, making the valley which drains the slopes of Everest their home.
When asked who they were, the early Sherpa would reply, as is common in Tibet, with the region from which they came. Their answer: Shar pa, or "east people." Nomads originally, the Sherpa had come with their yak across the plains of Tibet from the eastern edge of the Plateau, perhaps near Kham. Over time, shar pa turned into Sherpa, their tribal name, and also last name.
Centuries later, when the first Western explorers began their attempts on the high Himalayan peaks, they employed Sherpa as porters to help move equipment on the mountains. From George Mallory to Sir Edmund Hillary to our First Ascent Team, the Sherpa - strong, hard-working, ever-friendly, impeccably kind and loyal - have been a mainstay of Himalayan climbing, with only a small handful of teams getting anywhere in the high peaks without the hard work, diligence, and dedication of these remarkable mountain people. So deep has been their connection to mountain climbing in the Himalaya that the ethnic name Sherpa has come to mean any Nepali who works in the mountains.
However, not every sherpa is, in fact, a Sherpa. Confused? Our team of Nepalis, our sherpa, hail from no less than 4 different ethnic groups: Rai, Gurung, Tamang, and, of course, Sherpa. All have vast experience:
Maila Tamang, Camp 2 cook, with several expeditions and one summit of Everest under his belt
Nima Dorje Tamang, hoping for his 4th summit of Everest on this trip
Kumar Gurung, a veteran expedition cook since 1994, on his 15th Everest expedition
Damber Rai, a seasoned mountain man, on his 7th Everest expedition
All these men, Tamang and Rai, Gurung and Sherpa, work hard, day in and day out, and all are contributing deeply to our efforts on the mountain, just as they are for the 30-some-odd other expeditions on Everest this spring.
Simply put, we couldn't do it without them, and our thanks are beyond words.
Dhanyabhad.
These are busy days at basecamp. The trail into camp is still quite full with trekkers, porters and yak trains. Most, although not all, climbers have now reached base, and the Puja poles with their colorful webs of prayer flags now form an intersecting canopy over the entire area. Each morning, teams of Sherpas are heading up into the Icefall carrying loads and a few teams have their members sleeping up at Camps 1 and 2 already.
I'm not in a big hurry to get through the Icefall with Erica just yet. The route, although complete when I checked it out the other day, could still stand to be tracked in and improved somewhat. And I'd just as soon have my seventeen-year-old client as ready as possible when we go through to Camp 1 for the first time. So our plan has been to keep training and acclimating ... which, it turns out, is not a bad way to pass the time in this place. Yesterday, while half-a-dozen of the team made the early start and tagged C1, Erica and I got a full night's sleep, ate a fine breakfast, and then set out for a good day of walking. We made our way down to Gorak Shep, banged a right turn up into the hills, and began to climb Kalapathar. The weather was perfect throughout most of the day and our views were unlimited and improving as we climbed. We could look back to the peaks that had lined our path on the trek in, with Thamserku, Kangtega, and Ama Dablam in the distance. Tawoche, Cholatse, Nuptse and Pumori were big and beautiful a little closer in. To the east, Lingtren, Changtse and a big, dark, high pyramid by the name of Everest were stunning. From the top, Erica and I could see the South Col and part of the Lhotse Face. I was surprised when a Slovenian climber near Kalapathar's summit recognized me from the time in 1997 when we were alongside one another on Vinson in Antarctica. But such meetings are not uncommon here.
We cruised on down to Gorak Shep for a drink and a rest at the outdoor tables, chatting with trekkers while watching a few soaring birds. We rallied for the hike back up to basecamp and compared notes there with Ed Viesturs, who'd gone for the same circuit a bit earlier in the day.
Today was generally a good rest day in basecamp, which means meetings for those of us who endeavor to figure out schedules and strategies and future meeting possibilities. Erica and I did bust out of camp for a fine walk in the lower glacier before lunch. I love getting out there to explore ... note that I normally refer to walking "in" the glacier near basecamp, whereas anywhere else in the world it would be normal to talk about climbing "on" a glacier. In this particular section of the Khumbu, which is devoid of snow cover, one walks up and down hidden gullies and waterways in the ice. I like to get out to easier walking on a medial moraine of rock and then to find a new way home through the ice with a different gully each time. This time I was able to show Erica a few old logs that had been used for crevasse bridges in the days before ladders. These, of course, had originally been placed up in the Icefall and had been carried down with the passage of decades. Even so, the logs still clearly bore the crampon scars of whichever famous climbers had scrambled across them.
After lunch, our camp was quiet with napping and a few board games. I joined Peter Whittaker, Jeff Martin and Linden Mallory for a short walk to Damian Benegas' camp, where an initial team-leader meeting had been called for. There was plenty of handshaking and backslapping among those gathered. All of the usual suspects of South Side Everest climbing, plus the former North Siders who've all given up on the Chinese restrictions on entrance to Tibet-The big players-IMG and HimEx, Adventure Consultants and Jagged Globe were there, along with Croatians, Russians, Kazakhs, Koreans, Irish, Spanish, Swiss and Canadians. Willie and Damian Benegas went over the group business with input from those assembled. We tried to figure out radio frequency overlaps and attempted to pool resources for rescues and rope fixing. The gang agreed to meet tomorrow to build a helipad to the west of camp. I helped myself to popcorn and pimento-stuffed green olives from the Benegas table while the big business was conducted and the hors d'oeuvres were sadly being overlooked. The olives were tasty and the meeting therefore a great and friendly success.
Base Camp is a busy place these days as all of the teams have arrived and the route through the icefall is now open. In the daytime climbers and trekkers are constantly milling about camp, checking in with friends and other teams to see what everyone's plans are. It's quite a scene.
Since the Icefall Doctors completed the route to Camp 1 teams have been busy staking claims to the prime sites. At least one team has sent climbers to spend the night there thus starting their first acclimatization 'rotation'. The Sherpas in our team went to Camp 1 the day the Icefall Doctors completed the final leg of the route and marked off an area for our camp there. Today our team carried loads of gear to the camp. This accomplished two things. The first and most obvious is to transport some of our gear further up the mountain. The second is to aid our acclimatization by climbing to almost 20,000 feet before returning to Base Camp to recover.
This was my first trip through the icefall in it's entirety. Of course I've heard about it, read about it, and have had plenty of time to obsess about it over the last 6 days. But there's no way to really get a feel for it other than climbing through it. I have climbed on plenty of glaciers. In fact I've spent weeks on end living on glaciers. But climbing through an icefall, where the glacier drops off of a steep slope, picks up speed and breaks up into crevasses (you can fall in these) and ice towers called seracs (these can fall on you) is not a normal or common thing, even for a mountain guide.
So we got up at 2:15 am this morning and started our climb at 3am. There's two reasons to start this early. One is to get ahead of other people that may slow us down in dangerous sections. The other is to climb in the nice, cool temperatures of the night and avoid the oppressive heat of the day. Well, I must admit the 'cool' night time temps here are really ridiculously cold so getting out of my sleeping bag was the first crux of the day. From our camp it's about 45 minutes to the first big crevasses. The Icefall Doctors use aluminum ladders to bridge crevasses. On Rainier we also use ladders to cross crevasses the only difference is that on Rainier we'll use two to three ladders in a season, here there is about 35 ladders crossing crevasses and climbing up and down seracs. The Doctors do a great job of making things as safe as possible in the icefall. Of course there's the ladders, but they also place tons of rope on the route so you can always be clipped in and safe from a big fall.
Once in the icefall itself there are precious few places to safely stop for a break. The glacier is always shifting and moving so you really don't know when a chunk of ice may come crashing down. Your best bet for safety is to move quickly and to climb in control. Fortunately our team was able to stay fairly close together owing to our early departure. There were not many people for us to get caught behind and separated. We did manage to sneak in a couple of rest breaks, though we did make excellent time and we arrived at Camp 1 at the top of the icefall just before 7:00 am.
Camp 1 is a tricky place to camp. It is sandwiched in between the steep faces of Everest's West Ridge and the north face of Nuptse. Both sides of the valley are prone to ice and snow avalanches. The trick there is to position your camp so as to mitigate the danger from both sides of the valley. Also the climbing route from Camp 1 to Camp 2 currently avoids the big crevasses in the center of the glacier but passes directly under some avalanche paths on Nuptse. We were discussing the relative merits of two different campsites and where the climbing route will be the safest when a large avalanche came ripping down off of the summit of Nuptse. To our shock there was a large group of people on the climbing route, directly under the avalanche. Fortunately most of the snow and ice from the avalanche landed in the 'moat' between the glacier and the steeper slopes of Nuptse and the folks on the route, including some Sherpas from our team were only blasted with a 'powder cloud' from the avalanche. Still, this was a scary event and a reminder to be ever respectful of the power of the mountains.
Two in the morning rolls around fast over here. It did today, at least. That is when I got up to stuff a few last things in my pack and meet Ed Viesturs for breakfast in our dining tent. I think we both were focused and keyed up for a journey through the Khumbu Icefall and thus were not too picky about breakfast. Instant coffee and rice porridge did the trick for me. We walked a little before 3 a.m., at first in some fog, but then under stars and a big moon by the time we'd gotten our crampons on at the start of the climbing route. Ed graciously allowed me to go first so that I could set a pace I might live with and complain less about.
I'll admit that my natural tendency might have been to be a little insecure over having Ed Viesturs, one of the world's great aerobic athletes, two steps behind me where he could see just how feeble and weak I might turn out to be on any given day. But ...the short sleep, the rice porridge and bitter coffee must have worked the perfect magic, because I didn't feel feeble and weak as we crossed the first ice ridges. I actually felt ready to go climbing ... ready to feel my heart and lungs ramp up, ready to get some sort of burn going in my leg muscles.
The plan was actually two plans that came together. I swear I don't have any great love for the Khumbu Icefall. I wouldn't generally go through it without good reason, but when I hope to guide someone through it, I've come to value previewing the darn thing first myself. It can be wildly different from year to year (and from the beginning of a climbing season to the end), and I like to know where the hazards are and where reasonable rest breaks might be hiding. Ed, with his goal of going for the summit without oxygen, has to continually push himself in the weeks and months leading up to that attempt. He needs and wants all the exercise that he can squeeze in ...preferably at altitude. And even better if he can preview the Icefall route and get a little gear up to our newly established Camp 1 site. So our schedules converged and it seemed to make good sense that we go together, despite his need for speed and my need to not be humiliated. We both had light loads of gear for CI and our standard guide's pack-load of emergency and rescue gear in case we either got ourselves in trouble or came upon someone else inclined that way.
We could see about a dozen headlights some distance ahead of us, but we reeled those in before too long and passed a team of Sherpas that were carrying heavier loads than ours. We didn't talk as we climbed by headlight and moonlight ... I doubt I'd have been capable of talking and there wasn't any need for talk. It was a time for thinking and doing. I thought a bit about how I'd met Ed Viesturs in the summer of 1985 on Mount Rainier. He would have been starting his third year of guiding then, and I was a wide-eyed and fairly naive aspiring climber. I took a five-day climbing seminar with Rainier Mountaineering, Inc. and Ed was the junior guide on the trip. He must have done something bad, because when it came time for choosing rope teams for the summit bid at week's end, Ed got me. I was strong enough, having just spent a first winter working in the ski industry - and before that I'd swum competitively at college ("competitively" being used loosely here), but I didn't know anything about big mountains or how to tap into the strength I had for them. That climb was memorable. We were well up the Ingraham Glacier and taking a break when another guide with a different team busted a big crevasse bridge and took a huge fall. That guide was Eric Simonson, who is camped just a hundred meters away from me right now and who turned out to be a great friend and mentor. I didn't know Eric then though, and so when Ed tried to get his rope team moving in a hurry in order to go up and help with the crevasse extrication, I believe I protested -pointing to the unfinished peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my hand. (I'm sure I didn't protest vocally since, although Ed wasn't famous back then, he was still formidable.) Long story short, Eric lived, I didn't get to eat my sandwich and we didn't make the summit. I was hooked. I became a guide with RMI the very next summer.
Ed and I, although we worked together for some years at Rainier, didn't do a whole lot of climbing together. Partly because before too long, his expedition career took off in a big way; mine took off a little later and in different ways. We come at things differently. Ed relies on hard-won fitness, VO2 Max, pre-trip training, and a legendary ability to calculate and get shrewd in the big hills. I bring mountains down to my decidedly less athletic level through repetition, constant practice, pigheaded determination and never-ending fear of failure. Sometimes the results of the two methods can be similar.
Like today in the Icefall. I thought we made a pretty good team, and I took a lot of pride in that when we rolled into the Camp 1 area three hours after we'd begun. I never imagined, 24 years ago, that Ed and I would be bouncing over ladders and scrambling up icewalls together on Mount Everest all these years later. It was a blast. And it was cold up there at 19,867 ft. before sunrise at Camp 1. We cached our gear and began to beat feet down. It can be tricky to keep up the concentration required so as to not misstep, catch a crampon or poke through a crevasse bridge on a fast descent of the Icefall, but it can be equally dangerous to go slow in a place where big things tend to fall down around you if you linger. We did have to do some lingering though. Ed and I encountered about a hundred of our best friends ... Sherpas from various teams who were either carrying loads or guiding climbers. We'd look nervously at the big ice towers tilting above us, but we'd stop to exchange pleasantries anyway, remembering which trips we'd done together and promising to catch up over tea in some safer place.
Ed and I were kicking off crampons at around 9 a.m. in bright sunshine down at basecamp. We both expressed relief at having satisfied some of our curiosity about the glacier's surprises and our own fitness to tackle it again. We'd come down in time to see the rest of our team suiting up for ice climbing practice and rope technique review taught by Seth Waterfall, Peter Whittaker and Jake Norton on the glacier close to camp. I passed the rest of the day with adrenaline in my veins and a smile on my face. The plan is for a few others to check out the Icefall tomorrow.
April 13, 2009
Posted by: Seth Waterfall
Categories: Expedition Dispatches Everest
Elevation: 5,343 meters
Greetings from Everest Basecamp! I still have to pinch myself to make sure I'm really here. To come here and climb has been a longtime dream for me, but it's only been the last four or five years that I thought it would be possible. I never really imagined I'd be doing so as a part of this amazing team.
For me personally, this couldn't be a better opportunity. I get to pester Ed Viesturs with pretty much any question I want about climbing in the Himalaya, and learn how to guide these peaks from Dave Hahn. I can't really see me ever having access to this kind of brain trust again in my guiding career. To add that in with climbing in gear that we have all helped develop from the ground up makes this truly a once-in-a-lifetime trip.
It was just over a year ago that I was doing a normal guiding rotation at RMI. For me, that has meant starting in May on Rainier, then heading to Alaska to work on Denali then back to Rainier until August, then I head over to Africa to guide on Kilimanjaro. When my boss Peter Whittaker invited me to be a part of this team, I had no idea what it would lead to, yet here I am at Everest Base Camp getting ready to head into the Western Cwm.
This is our third day in base camp and I'm still trying to judge the scale of the mountains here. I'm used to the feeling of getting my bearings in an unfamiliar mountain range. It's one of the best parts of climbing somewhere new. With no trees or buildings or anything familiar to give you reference, you can get vertigo trying to approximate distances or elevations. Typically, the novice will underestimate distances drastically. I've spent enough time in the mountains though to have a healthy respect for this trickery.
The difference here is that there is no grander scale. When I first saw Everest from Namche Bazaar, I couldn't believe how big it was or how far away we still were. Now that we're closer and the satellite peaks of the Everest massif block the summit from view, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't even more intimidated.
But if there's one thing I've learned over the years from all of my mentors and climbing partners, it's how to tackle big objectives. In a sense, this one is no different... wait, what am I saying?! It is different. It's the biggest mountain in the world. Step by step, that's how we'll do it. With a healthy respect for the mountain.
In a few days, we'll head into the icefall for our first real physical test of the trip. I'm really psyched to put the boots on and get the crampons and ice axe out. My job on this trip is really just getting started. I can't wait to get going.
April 13, 2009
Posted by: Dave Hahn
Categories: Expedition Dispatches Everest
Elevation: 5,343 meters
We looked like a totally different crew at breakfast this morning. Part of that was because it was still slightly dark when we had breakfast today... we were up early for Icefall training. But when the light happened to hit a face here and there, it showed freshly shaved mugs and clean, fluffy hair. We neatened up yesterday afternoon, testing the shower.
When I first began coming to Everest, in 1991, we wouldn't have dreamed of such an extravagance. Or perhaps back then, we simply thought seventy days of grubbiness was required to properly test a summit wannabe. We all wanted to be Everest "hardmen" in the classic mold. Or maybe with some classic mold. Nowadays, of course, it is clear that we can't possibly measure up to the legends of the Everest game by accumulating filth. Cleanliness is in. And besides, it just doesn't seem all that difficult anymore to set aside one propane tank for an on-demand heater connected to a barrel full of water attached to a tiny electric pump, which all results in a hot stream of water coming out of a showerhead near the top of a tent built for such a purpose.
Our clean team walked out of camp this morning at 6 AM. Ten minutes later, we'd stepped into crampons and were trudging up and over ice rolls and ridges, bound for the start of the climbing route. Our Sherpa team had beaten us to it, having rolled out of camp at 4:30 AM. Seven of them fired up the newly established Icefall route to establish our Camp I at around 19,900 ft. Two more, Tschering and Mingma, went to CI but then continued on all the way up the Western Cwm, claiming some prime real estate up there at 21,300 ft for our Advanced Basecamp (aka ABC, aka CII, aka "Tschering and Mingma kicked butt"). The rest of us contented ourselves with a good stretch of the legs, climbing 90 minutes out of camp to reach the first ladders and fixed ropes, which we practiced on for a bit before returning. It was a good reminder for all that we are new to these altitudes and that it is cold out on the glacier before the sun hits. But nearly everybody came down jazzed and excited to get after the rest of the Khumbu Icefall in the coming days. The Icefall is an intimidating place, but it is also quite beautiful in the early morning light.
Resting up this afternoon, we watched as a number of teams pulled into basecamp. Within a few days, the gang will all be here, but for today we were happy to see the Alpine Ascents team pull in with a bunch of guides we've all worked alongside of for years. IMG got here before us, and they are just a stone's throw away with a bunch more of our friends. Russell Brice came through camp yesterday and reported that his big HimEx team is doing well in their slightly separate basecamp twenty minutes down the trail. There have been a few sightings of the Benegas brothers, Willie and Damian and it will be fun to connect up with them again for some milk tea. Henry Todd is rumored to be on the approach. The season is on and all the usual suspects are gathering.
The clouds blew in the right direction today. In fact, everything lined up just right in most ways today. It was an auspicious day... so judged by our Sherpa team after a careful reading of the Tibetan calendar. Auspicious enough that our Puja ceremony was held today. Doubly Auspicious because it was Easter Sunday. Thrice Auspicious because it was the nicest day we've had in a week.
Peter Whittaker revealed that he'd stayed up last night with a few of the Sherpa team in the kitchen to decorate Easter eggs. Not so surprisingly, the Sherpas had not gone through that particular ritual before and Peter said they fully got into the task, coloring boiled eggs and attaching bright stickers. They were excited at the convergence of Easter, the planned Puja and a Sunday to boot. Peter kept all of this to himself and arose at 5 AM to hop down the bunny trail to his partners' tents and quietly salt the area with Easter eggs. He said he was surprised to run into another rabbit out there secretly doing the same thing. Linden Mallory had his own egg planting plans for the morning and was busily hiding colored plastic eggs with prizes within.
After breakfast and before the Puja began, the team (those who had not been bunnies) chased around searching for eggs. Jeff Martin and Linden made things interesting by mentioning that two of the eggs held special prizes. Ed Viesturs quickly tracked down the one that granted its discoverer the free drink of his choice from Gorak Shep. It took Seth Waterfall a bit longer to hone in on the bright blue egg that held the $20 cash prize.
And then it was Puja time. The Puja is a ceremony quite important to our Sherpa team, and thus to us as well. In it, we ask the blessing of the mountain gods before setting foot on this sacred -and dangerous- mountain. A lama came up from Pangboche in order to read the correct prayers and chants. Our Sherpa team had worked throughout the morning to prepare a stone chorten as a sort of alter for the ceremony. Incense and juniper were lit as a way of sending fragrant smoke upward in offering. Partway through the three hour observance, a prayer mast was erected and flags unfurled in all directions. Our First Ascent team sat drinking tea and taking pictures of the colorful scene... but also contemplating the seriousness of an undertaking that requires so much blessing. The latter stages of the Puja involve a good deal of celebrating and toasting and tossing of rice. Finally, everybody grabs a big handful of Tsampa (barley flour) and tosses half of it in the air while saving half to smear on the faces of ones climbing partners. As you'd expect, this gets out of hand... and into hair, cameras, eyes, ears and everything as one and all laugh, shake hands and fist bump.
Our Sherpa team then invited us to join them in linking arms for a last half hour of carefree dancing and singing. We sang along and nobody seemed to mind that we didn't know either the words or the dance steps.
The word is that the last 200 meters or so of the route to Camp I are giving the Icefall Doctors a special challenge. We are hoping each day now to hear that they've forged some sort of passage. Tomorrow we resume our training at the foot of the Icefall. We'll be rested, blessed and ready.
The clouds were blowing the wrong way today. From East to West is somewhat uncommon during the normal pre-monsoon climbing season. But oh well, it was an enjoyable day in any case. The morning chill didn't last long at all, it was nearly t-shirt weather by the time we'd finished breakfast and the several inches of snow which had fallen in recent days began to melt fast.
Tents are going up all around us now as more and more teams show up on the scene. Our nearest neighbors are Korean and Danish. The Koreans have a neat tradition of conducting group calisthenics each morning just before the sun hits the camp. Today I felt quite lazy and antisocial, sipping my morning coffee and listening to the BBC in a big down coat while watching the Koreans bond and stretch. Our First Ascent team did a little bonding and stretching today as well, but at a much more civilized hour. At ten in the morning we all marched for 10 minutes over to a little obstacle course of ladders and ice towers for some practice at rigging up and staying safe. We've got our sights set on the Khumbu Icefall now as the next big goal - the Icefall Doctors are close to having the route complete as far as Camp I and it won't be long before we are moving along and up through their maze of ladders and ropes. But we'll ease into that. The route through the Khumbu is unlike any other climbing route in the world. Great technical climbers and glacier travel experts from elsewhere will not have seen anything like this before. And such is the case within our team. Practice in walking ladders with crampons and protecting ourselves by properly clipping into fixed ropes is a good thing. When one gets to a real passage through the Icefall, one must be fast and efficient at all of this, so today we repeatedly crossed a ladder just a few feet off the ground. And then we tilted it up and crossed at forty-five degrees. Finally we tried a little vertical stretch with the ladder, all the time enabling to protect ourselves against a fall (or a collapse of the ladder) by smartly attaching ourselves to safety lines. As expected, it was a blast to finally be walking on snow with an axe in hand. Everybody seemed a little excited to kick crampon points into ice or to pull on a rope or two. It felt like climbing.
After lunch, Erica and I suited up again for an afternoon glacier tour. Just for an hour, since we didn't want to overdo the exercise at this still new altitude, we tramped around on the glacier away from tents and people (and well below the icefall). We stomped up and down little walls and explored corridors within the folds of the glacier. I took Erica to a few of the places I'd marked in my GPS over the years where I'd found oddball souvenirs like busted wooden ice-axes and oxygen bottles marking the basecamps used for the original attempts on this side of Mount Everest. I was startled by the changes in the glacial surface over the course of just one year. My first trip to this side of the mountain was in the year 2000 and over the past nine years I'd gotten familiar with a number of landmarks... boulders, ice ridges and towers that stayed more or less the same, streams of water on and within the ice that tended to form up each season and follow roughly the same course, that sort of thing. But this time, Erica saw me shaking my head a lot and turning my GPS this way and that (which doesn't actually help much with a GPS, by the way) because everything seemed radically different. Large, flat, frozen ponds sit where ice ridges had thrust up sixty and seventy feet previously. New stream courses seem to be everywhere and the formerly orderly flank of the medial moraine we all camped on for years is unrecognizable. I can only assume that a massive volume of ice has disappeared from the glacier due to melt in the past year.
Erica and I came back into camp. She headed for the afternoon round of "Dirty Clubs" a mysterious card game that Gerry Moffatt inflicted on the team during the trek. No money changes hands, but the daily losers have to perform all manner of humiliating public stunts. I made the rounds, admiring the organizational work that basecamp managers Jeff Martin and Linden Mallory have been accomplishing while we played on the glacier. The Eddie Bauer, First Ascent/Rainier Mountaineering Inc. Basecamp is shaping up. The word is that the hot shower may be operational by tomorrow.
Now there is still enough time for a quick nap before dinner... except the light is just getting good and small avalanches keep crashing down off of the West Shoulder, Lho La and Nuptse, forcing me to keep scrambling out of my tent to watch. So much to do...
April 10, 2009
Posted by: Dave Hahn
Categories: Expedition Dispatches Everest
Elevation: 5,343 meters
We survived the first night without a roof over our heads. Quite comfortably, by all accounts. There were no dogs barking in the night, no heavy boots clunking down wooden hallways to latrines, none of the endless coughing fits coming through the thin walls of trekking houses. Instead, we had easy breezes, the quiet rustle of comfy down sleeping bags and moonlight coming through our tent ceilings. Oh yeah, and occasionally the violent thunder of avalanches... but that didn't truly bother us. We know we've picked a safe place for basecamp far enough from the vertical walls of this enclosed valley.
The day has been spent sorting gear, talking over plans, napping, reading, eating and getting to know our Sherpa teammates. We've got great strength and experience in our Sherpa team, and we'll depend mightily on them during this trip. I'm not aware of any team attempting the mountain this season that won't be reliant on Sherpa help. Some may claim to be going with minimal support, but they will still be heavily dependent on the Sherpas who fix the route through the Khumbu Icefall, to say nothing of the route above. This is not to say that, of the many talented non-Nepalese climbers assembled here at the foot of the hill, none would be capable of climbing the mountain without Sherpa aid, but the simple fact is that such climbs are not attempted in this day and age on this route on this mountain.
There is often confusion among those not versed in Himalayan climbing as to who Sherpas are and what their various jobs may be. I'm often unnerved back home to hear people say, while hiking or working hard, that they'd sure like to have a Sherpa along to carry their pack or to do their digging. Such comments are usually made in jest and are probably for my benefit when folks know that I have spent time in Nepal and Tibet. Nevertheless, they tend to sell the real Sherpa people short.
Referring to someone as "Sherpa" is to say that they are from a tribe of mountain people in a specific region of Nepal. It is not a job designation. It doesn't simply mean "porter" and it definitely doesn't mean "servant." Early on, when the pioneering Himalayan expeditions were discovering the amazing work ethic common to the Sherpa culture, these men were trained as high-altitude load carriers. But almost from the start, there were plenty of individuals -notably Tenzing Norgay who excelled at the art of climbing, who eagerly grasped its strategies, and who exhibited just as much ambition to reach summits as any Westerner.
By this 2009 Everest season, one cannot correctly make more than a few broad generalizations about who the Sherpas are on this mountain. Many may still be farmers the rest of the year... many may still fulfill the simple yet essential role of high-altitude porter... but then there will also be a fair number of excellent mountain climbers with superior strength and skill on rock and ice who are being counted on to guide individuals and lead expeditions. Some will struggle with English, but will then surprise the heck out of you when they turn out to speak French, Korean and Japanese just fine. Some will never have been out of these valleys, but increasingly others will turn out to have traveled the world; to be putting their kids through college in Canada, India or the U.S., to be web-savvy, literate and politically astute.
Away from the Himalaya, the assertion is often made (by people who, I feel sure, mean to honor this group of climbers) that Sherpas are universally strong and across-the-board gifted with a physiology that makes high-altitude climbing a snap. True, many Sherpas have less trouble acclimatizing than those who visit these mountains from elsewhere, but it probably does Sherpas more honor to recognize their limitations than any perceived inherent advantages. They don't live on Mount Everest. The highest commonly inhabited villages are usually only around 12,000 ft to 14,000 ft in elevation. They don't have three lungs and two hearts... or any other crazy adaptation that makes climbing easy. The really humbling thing for me is to realize that my Sherpa partners are working just as hard as I am when we are clawing our way up some slope in difficult conditions with heavy packs. That climbing is difficult for them -not easy- and that they go out to do it anyway, day after day without whining, indeed while smiling and laughing. It isn't just what we see on the mountain either. For a bunch of days we walked through rough farmland where every single rock was neatly in place, where fields were endlessly being tended to, where houses were simple but always in good repair. The work ethic was obvious, uncommon and admirable.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not implying that the First Ascent team will be on holiday here. When the Sherpas we're partnering with cook and carry water and hack out tent platforms from the Lhotse Face and fix rope and get hard work done in dangerous conditions, sometimes we'll be right alongside them. And sometimes they'll be doing it while we rest or get other jobs done. And obviously the Sherpas won't be doing it for free. Money is a huge motivator in this part of the world, and expedition work turns out to produce some of the best opportunities in all of Nepal. But money doesn't adequately explain the smiles and the warmth and the friendship that our Sherpa partners will share with us on this trip. We'll try to be worthy of that friendship.
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