Although I went to "bed" about 7PM, I do not get much sleep. I suppose I'm excited at the prospect of the climb. I still don't have a good feel for it, although the practice that Lal and I did yesterday goes a long way to increasing my confidence in the technical aspects of the climb.
I'm also keenly aware that I am full of gas (I assume because of the altitude and not because I'm full of hot air). As each gas bubble escapes from captivity, it reverberates in the tent and I'm sure everyone in basecamp is thinking, "Sure glad that chap is downwind of me!" I'm also conscious of my loud breathing and hacking cough, worried this may keep others awake. At 11:45 the whole basecamp comes alive and any noise I make is drowned out by the sound of large kerosene burners heating water for the other climbing parties. If you've never heard one of these babies, you can simulate the noise by going to your nearest large airport. Every 747 has two large kerosene burners under each wing that make about the same noise as these stoves.
I start getting dressed at 12:45AM and head to the cook tent shortly after 1AM for hot milk and granola, my Breakfast of Champions on summit day.
Lal, the cook's "Porter", and I set off up the mountain at 1:30AM. Lal, in his wisdom, has Porter carry my pack up to the snow line. I don't realize how helpful this is until later in the day. Basecamp is quiet when we leave, the other party leaving 30 minutes before us. Lal sets a pace that has me wheezing like a steam engine. My altimeter watch shows we are averaging more than 1000 ft/hour, which at this altitude is pretty good.
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| Island Peak "Trek" |
The first 1000 feet is up a well worn trail over steep rocky dirt with little vegatation. The next 1000 feet is steeper, climbing up rock, and in several places we go "off piste". There are some sections which are quite exposed and my anal sphincter tightens noticeably. Occasionally I feel Porter's hand from behind, making sure I move in the correct direction (ie, not down). The stars put on an incredible display until the moon gets into the act at 2:30AM by providing an eerie glow over the terrain. This is beautiful when I catch glimpses of the snow-covered mountain top above.
We hit snow around 4:30AM and take thirty minutes switching to gear up. I've been wearing running shoes, much more comfortable than plastic mountaineering boots and better for clambering over the rocky sections to this point. The harness goes on quickly but getting the jumar, cows tail, and other accessories attached properly to the harness takes some time.
Lal and I are connected with a fifteen meter rope. This is in case one of us (most likely me) falls into a crevice, the other person can arrest the fall and attempt a rescue. It forces us to have some separation, you don't want to be too close together since if the snow gives way into a hidden crevice, you would both fall if too close together. Fifteen meters is a bit short but any crevices on this mountain are likely to be relatively narrow so the odds of both of us falling together are remote.
We set off at 5AM, with me carrying my pack and about 1000 feet to the summit. We thread our way between a couple yawning crevices. There is an obvious trail where others have gone (though we are the first party on the snow this morning). The path gradually ascends at ten to twenty degrees of slope over snowfields, cresting onto a large plateau that is about one square kilometer in size. Getting closer to the summit ridge, the terrain changes from snow to a matrix of ice columns, two feet high and about the same spacing. Walking through these is akward and slow going.
The summit ridge itself is about 300 feet high and is a series of ice ridges spaced three to five feet apart vertically and with an overall slope of 65 to 75 degrees (ie, steep!). Clambering up these ice ridges is more like caving than climbing, requiring more tenacity than technique.
There is a fixed rope in place running all the way up, with anchors every fifty to one hundred feet. You attach your ascender to the fixed rope, having a short line attaching the ascender to your harness. You climb as you would without a fixed rope, but should you fall, the locking cam in the ascender grips the fixed line and you are held by your harness and prevented from falling. This provides a secure safety, while letting climbers experience the climb without aid, and once the fixed rope is installed, there is basically no setup or extra time involved as there would be setting up new anchors and belay stations. This is the only way so many "climbers" are able to summit Everest, and is commonly done on guided climbs in Nepal.
Aside from the fact that I'm moving pretty slowly at this point, I have no issues with this part of the climb. When I crest the summit ridge, my thoughts in order are, "Wow, that's a long fucking way down the other side" (it's about eighty degree sloped hard packed snow and at least a 1000 foot drop), followed by, "What an awesome view of the mountains", then I glance to my right, where the summit is located about 300 feet away, with only a knife-edge ridge between, rising at thirty to forty degrees.
A similar set of thoughts runs through my head, "Why the heck am I here?", "I'm gonna traverse that!@!!", "Oh, there's a fixed rope running here too, this could be pretty cool."
Let me tell you folks, I do climb the ridge and it is waaaaayyyyyy cool. It has to rank as my most exciting climbing experience to date (yes, even more exciting than the eight foot section on Mt. Hood, although that section was unroped). As my friend James Ridge would say, lots of "fun points" were burned in the twenty minutes it took to climb/traverse the 300 feet to the summit. WAY COOL!
Lal and I have our lunch at the summit (6,189 meters) and take a few pictures. Oddly, I don't pull out my tripod and long lens. Those of you who know me well would regard this as some sort of warning sign. Indeed, when I get back to camp all I want to do is lie down, and I start hearing wheezing in my breath, my cough has progressed from a dry hack to being productive. I realize with a start that these are all the signs of pulmonary edema that were discussed at the Periche high altitude clinic last week. I tell Lal who agrees that we should beat a hasty retreat down the mountain.
I quickly pack my gear and though I normally carry my pack with about 30 pounds (camera, tripod, flash, lens, water, etc), I don't even carry my camera. This tells you how concerned I am. With any of the high altitude ailments, it is always best to have someone accompany you, and Lal walks the trail with me. Having Lal with me is very reassuring.
We make it to Dingboche by 4PM and after sorting our lodgings, I tell Lal that I am heading over the hill to Periche to the clinic (30 minute walk). He accompanies me there and even though its after the official closing time, there is a doctor currently with a patient.
The doctor is explaining to a female patient, "Look, you are vomiting so you can't take any medicine orally. You need to take one of these suppositories every 4 hours."
"Doc, what's a suppository?" she asks. You could not have scripted a funnier conversation, and it provides a bit of levity to someone thinking he has a serious ailment.
Tim, a young physician from Oklahoma (his altitude training before coming to Nepal was climbing oil dericks) asks me a bunch of questions, listens to my breathing and checks my hemoglobin with the oximeter. He tells me that all the symptoms I describe are characteristic of HAPE (High Altitude Pulmonary Edema), but the wheezing I hear is not caused by this. He thinks it may be just the bad cough I am experiencing. He recommends that I take some diamox as a precaution, gives me an inhaler and says to lay off the high altitude trekking for a few days.
It is amazing how much better I feel after a learned person gives me a (relatively) clean bill of health. It's like a large weight removed from my chest.
It is my last day with Lal and the cook staff. It has been a great experience together and they are eager to send me on my way fully fueled for whatever other adventures I might pursue. To that end, when I get back to my room, tea and popcorn are delivered almost immediately. This is followed shortly by some delicious tomato soup. I have all of 30 minutes to digest this "snack", (you must realize that I often have a bowl of soup for dinner and that's it) before they call me to a formal dinner.
Lal and I sit together and are served by the cook's helper. Dishes of potatoes, vegetables, rice and chicken are presented and my plate is loaded despite my protests. I'm not feeling great to begin with, they've already fed me, I just can't eat all of this. The cook staff have gone back to their tent to prepare something else. I turn to Lal, "They will be hurt if I don't eat everything on my plate, won't they?"
"Yes they will." He understands my predicament, senses that I'm really not keen on the vegetables, scrapes them onto his plate and leaves me with a manageable amount. Face is saved by all.
The cook, his helper and Porter all come back bearing a cake with the words, "Happy Trekking", on it. It is a touching moment. One of the other trekkers staying at the lodge takes a picture of Lal and I holding the cake. What a great "Last Supper" to have with my trekking team.
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