Although tired from the effort needed to reach this point, we were enthusiastic as we set off for the Basin Camp, which was only about 700 feet above. The route continued to moderately rise, but it seemed as if the camp would never come into sight. In climbing, as in other facets of life, the closer one gets to the goal, the more slowly it seems to approach. Finally, I spotted tents in the distance. I was exhausted, and it felt like my load had doubled in weight, but I was happy to realize that we had arrived.
Phil led us through the middle of the camp, which consisted of approximately 25 tents of various colors spread out across the flat plateau. The route was rutted by tracks crisscrossing through the snow, which added to the difficulty of dragging the sleds behind us. As if we were aliens entering a strange land, we passed through this multi-colored tent city. The occupants stood outside, studying us with detached interest.
We decided to stay at the far edge of the encampment, nearer to the Headwall of the West Buttress. Since it was late in the day and we had much to do, Phil prompted us to unpack our tents and get camp set up. I was distracted by my surroundings, and kept looking around in amazement. Spread out before me were the camps of climbers from all around the world. All of the tents were surrounded by blocks of snow formed into walls. Each had a cache situated nearby. Colorful clothing was hung along the tents and snow walls. Climbers milled about in various stages of activity.
Many of them had their attention focused on a spot high above us. We looked up and saw what had captured their attention. Up above and far to the right of the Headwall, two small, dark dots were barely visible against the stark white background of the mountainside. We learned that two climbers had attempted to descend from the High Camp, located just out of sight over the crest of the high ridge. They were climbing down a narrow gap called “Rescue Gully,” which ran down the precipitous face of the snow and ice wall. It is a steep and dangerous shortcut from the High Camp at 17,000 feet to the Basin Camp where we were. Apparently, one of the climbers had fallen into a crevasse coming down Rescue Gully, and the other had slowly worked his way down to pull the fallen climber out. He must have been successful, because there were two of them next to the crevasse, which appeared as a small, dark, narrow gap across the face of the cliff. Throughout the day, they entertained the spectators below, who were enthralled and quite delighted to follow the climbers’ slow and deliberate progress down the steep wall. From that distance, they appeared as if they were two black ants engaged in a slow motion dance.
Beyond the tents and sitting alone in a vast open area in the middle of the Basin Camp was the latrine--a wooden seat with bamboo markers around it. There were several people in line, politely standing a few feet from the structure while it was being used by a climber. There was absolutely no privacy, but what a view. From the seat on the “throne,” one could look out at Mt. Foraker rising majestically in the foreground, with the vast and beautiful Alaskan mountain range spread out behind. Not being one to pass up a restroom when I see one, I jumped in line. It was a bit bizarre, going to the bathroom while others stood behind me, but they were politely looking off at the beautiful scenery rather than watching my cold bare butt.
To the left of and a distance away from the latrine were two large tents, one red and one yellow. One tent houses a medical station, and the other is the home of the Denali National Park mountain rangers.
Headquartered in Talkeetna, the mountain rangers patrol Denali, Mt. Hunter, and the other mountains located in the area of Denali National Park. A ranger will be stationed at the Denali Base Camp, and another at the Basin Camp, each for about a thirty-day stint. Assisted by roughly six volunteers, including doctors and experienced mountaineers, the rangers will patrol the mountain, educating and assisting climbers, cleaning up trash, and maintaining the latrine. Perhaps they are best known for their search and rescue operations. The rangers and volunteers are hardy individuals who provide an invaluable service for climbers. There is a great deal of competition to become a Denali ranger or volunteer. These are coveted positions, and the rangers work hard in harsh and dangerous conditions. They deserve every bit of the honor and respect that they receive.
The other tent houses the medical station for the rangers. There, they can provide emergency medical attention for injured or ill climbers. I understood that having medical facilities and rangers on the mountain was a double-edged sword. On one hand, it was great to have needed assistance for missing or injured climbers. On the other hand, however, many inexperienced or careless climbers found their way onto the flanks of Denali, and there are too many stories of those climbers being rescued by rangers or receiving medical attention for issues caused by their own negligence. Thus, some have complained that these facilities have reduced climbers’ self-reliance and sufficiency.
We spent the remainder of the day setting up our tents, building snow walls around them, and cooking our dinner. I felt the influence of the increased altitude, and had greater difficulty breathing than I had so far. It was an effort to take in enough oxygen, and I often felt like I was sucking air through a straw.
Mike attempted many times over the past several days to contact his class by the satellite phone, without success. The phone could not transmit signals from most of the areas on the mountain. Unbeknownst to us, the students were worried since they hadn’t heard from Mike since May 25, so they put out a call for information on their website.
Phil explained that we would spend the day here tomorrow, except for a trip back to our cache at 13,500 feet to retrieve some of the gear we had left behind yesterday. If the weather permitted, perhaps we would carry some gear up to the High Camp at 17,000 feet.
That meant climbing the Headwall. I had heard much about the Headwall. When I had spoken with others who had climbed the wall, their eyes widened as they sought vainly to express the awe the Headwall inspired. And now, here I was.
To say that the Headwall looked intimidating is an understatement. Most climbers in camp were, like me, silently staring up at it as if entranced by some mysterious monolith.
The steepest climbing of the entire route lies above the Basin Camp. From the Basin Camp at 14,200 feet, the route ascends to a height of 16,200 feet at the top of the West Buttress ridge. The Headwall leads to the top of the ridge. It is an 800 foot, 40-55 degree, snow and ice wall. The steeper sections of it are secured by ropes permanently fixed into the mountainside. Since it is too steep to carry sleds up the Headwall, and too difficult to bring very heavy loads, we would have to make at least two trips up and down, one to carry and leave gear at the High Camp, and the other when we went up for our summit attempt. Before we arrived, I had agonized over my ability to handle this steep and exposed climbing. Now as I stood behind my tent and looked up at the wall, I had a knot in my stomach.
As I sat in my tent, I wondered whether I had made a mistake in coming here, that maybe I was in over my head. As much as I did not want to let myself down, I did not want to disappoint Phil and the members of my group. On top of the physical difficulty of surviving in this cold and altitude, I let my anxieties get the best of me.
I climbed into my sleeping bag early, and tried to distract myself by reading the suspense novel that I had brought along, but I could not stop myself from unzipping the door of my tent and peering out into the luminescent Alaskan night, again wondering why I was here.
When you ride your bike, you’re working your legs, but your mind is on a treadmill. When you play chess, your mind is clicking along, but your body is stagnating. Climbing brings it together in a beautiful, magical way. The adrenaline is flowing, and it’s flowing all the time.
Pat Ament
May 30-Acclimatizing at the Edge of the World
It has become typical on this expedition to pass between periods of very deep sleep, to intervals of sleeplessness. It is during those wakeful times that I was most aware of the cold. Even in the relative warmth of the tent, it was frigid. I slept wearing a wool cap, with long johns, fleece pants and jacket, wool socks, and
felt booties. My sleeping bag has a hood that covers my head. Any part of my body that is snuggled in the confines of my bag is warm. My face, when it pops out of the hood, is freezing. I spend my waking time thinking of sleep, and my sleeping time dreaming vivid dreams.
The first thoughts of the day (after Where the hell am I?) always concerned the weather. Unfortunately, it looked bad outside this morning. It was overcast and snowing. Considering the weather, it is doubtful that we would be moving higher up today. In any event, this was a planned rest day, so we would not be going anywhere.
These rest days are scheduled to assist in our acclimatization, and without spending some time resting at high altitudes, a trip such as this is virtually impossible. Altitude has a profound effect on the human body, which performs best at sea level, which is where I live. Although many people believe that the amount of oxygen decreases as one goes up, the concentration of oxygen is constant at all altitudes up to a certain limit. However, atmospheric pressure decreases exponentially with altitude; since the gravitational pull between the earth and air molecules is greater closer to the earth, it drags the molecules closer together and increases the pressure between them, and the air molecules closer to earth also have to support the weight of those located higher above them, causing compression. Simply put, the atmosphere at higher altitudes is less dense. The atmospheric pressure at 16,000 feet is about half that at sea level, while the pressure at 29,029 feet, the height of the summit of Mt. Everest, the highest point on earth, it is about one-third the pressure at sea level. If one continued to go higher, he or she would reach a point where the altitude produces an atmospheric pressure so low that water boils at the normal temperature of the human body. This is known as the Armstrong limit, and it lies about 62,000 to 63,500 feet up. At the Armstrong limit, exposed bodily fluids, like saliva, tears and the liquids in the lungs, begin to boil and humans cannot survive without a pressurized suit. Luckily, we would not go that high.
At sea level, the atmospheric pressure causes oxygen to easily pass through the membranes of the lungs into the blood. The lower atmospheric pressure encountered in high altitude mountaineering inhibits the body’s ability to process oxygen into the vascular system. The result is hypoxia, or oxygen deprivation. Hypoxia makes bad things happen. Altitude sickness, which usually occurs above 8,000 feet, produces minor symptoms including a lack of appetite, fatigue, vomiting, headache, dizziness, distorted vision, difficulty with memorizing and thinking, and irritability.
More serious cases of altitude sickness result in pneumonia-like symptoms, including edema, the accumulation of excess fluid in the body. High Altitude Cerebral Edema, or HACE, is a result of excess fluid in the brain. High Altitude Pulmonary Edema, or HAPE, is caused by excess fluid in the lungs. These aliments cause an increased risk of heart failure because of the stress placed on the lungs, heart, and arteries. Both cerebral edema and pulmonary edema are extremely serious and are often fatal.
Another high altitude ailment is called Cheyne-Stokes, or periodic breathing, a condition which occurs when a climber’s respiration slows down as one is sleeping. I worried about this during the expedition, because I would sometime suddenly awaken at night, gasping for breath. Instead of battling for more oxygen while sleeping, the body does the opposite and respiration slows. A climber can suffer periods of apnea, when breathing stops, that can last for up to thirty seconds. The climber awakens, panting for air, with a feeling that he or she is suffocating.
Mountaineers will typically use supplemental oxygen on the upper part of high mountains like Everest and K2. The benefits of improved breathing and enhanced performance offset the disadvantage of carrying the increased load of oxygen tanks and apparatus. The question of whether climbers need oxygen to summit Mt. Everest has been hotly debated among mountaineers and medical physiologists. However, Reinhold Messner and Peter Habeler put an end to that debate in 1978 when they summited Everest without the benefit of supplemental oxygen. Since then, many have climbed these high mountains without the use of supplemental oxygen. Climbers on Denali, like us, do not use supplemental oxygen because the altitude is not as severe, and the time spent at higher altitudes is not as great.
I have experienced some of the minor symptoms of altitude sickness on each expedition I have been on, but have never been debilitated by them. For example, once on my climb in Mexico, as we sat at camp about 11,000 feet up, I suddenly developed an upset stomach and vomited without warning. I felt better immediately afterward.
The best way to guard against these maladies is to acclimatize. Acclimatization is a process in which the body adjusts to the changes taking place as higher altitudes are encountered. More red blood cells and capillaries are produced to carry more oxygen, and the lungs expand in size. Acclimatization is accomplished by a slow ascent of the mountain, and spending time at rest at increasingly higher altitudes helps the process. We followed the old climbing adage: “Climb high, sleep low.” However, if any of the serious symptoms of altitude sickness arise, a rapid descent is the best medicine.
So we would spend the day resting here at the Basin Camp to acclimatize. With little to do this morning, I spent some time sightseeing. I was still amazed by the Basin Camp. Climbers were assembled in their respective campsites, in groups of three to four tents. Most of them were engaged in activities, preparing food or checking gear, as each climber stole glances at the sky. Their thoughts were focused on the weather; will it clear in sufficient time to allow a summit attempt? I remembered how many times I have heard of climbers getting stuck here, their dreams of conquering Denali dashed by bad weather. I knew that we had difficulty moving through snowstorms and wind below, and shuttered to think what that would be like up on the steeper sections of our climb.
After a leisurely breakfast, we cleaned our dishes and pots and pans. Phil poured a bit of hot water into each of them, and we used our plastic spoons to remove the larger chunks of debris, finishing the job by using gloved fingers to wipe them clean. Whatever mess was left on our gloves would soon freeze and chip off. Actually, we were living in a relatively clean and vermin-free environment; this place was even too desolate for germs to survive.
I felt the effects of the increased altitude. I was rather disoriented and felt stupid. I understood that this was normal, and did my best to concentrate, particularly when performing tasks.
We learned that the two climbers we had witnessed yesterday in Rescue Gully had made it down safely. We were happy to hear that news.
Later, we decided to walk over to the Edge of the World, which was not too far from our campsite. There, we scrambled up to the top of a large granite boulder which jutted out at the edge, and gazed out at the amazing landscape before us. The flat area of the 14,000-foot camp drops off steeply here, and it is at least a 3,000 foot drop to the glacier far below. I started feeling nervous and the exposure was very intimidating. Although I have no distinct fear of heights while standing on terra-firma, I often feel uneasy in a tall building or structure, particularly at the exposed edge. Although not on a structure, I felt anxious and uncomfortable here, so I eased my way back from the rim a bit. However, the view was overwhelming. Everything is white, with jagged peaks of various heights rising into the sky. It is both scary and beautiful. The Edge of the World definitely lived up to its billing.
While we were housekeeping back at camp, Chris returned. It was a pleasant surprise to spot his smiling face approach our camp, as he was not expected back for another day or so. Apparently, he had made extremely good time in his trip down to the Base Camp and back. He reported that Dennis had made it down and, although Dennis had great pain in his ankles as he descended, he made it without incident. Chris seemed very glad to have rejoined us, but he also appeared awfully tired. I admired his physical stamina, and realized that if it had been up to me to make that trip down and back, I wouldn’t have been able to do it.
Phil decided that we should go down to the spot where we had last cached some food and gear, and bring it up
here. I did not feel like moving. To some extent, I was experiencing the debilitating effects of the altitude; my head ached and I was somewhat dizzy. On top of that, I was just plain tired, and did not feel like hauling equipment back up the long hill leading into the Basin Camp. But I was quite sure that the rest of the group would not look kindly on me sitting this one out. So we assembled, roped up, and worked our way downhill to the spot at 13,500 feet where our cache was. Everyone else in the group seemed in good spirits and the conversation was lively.
When we arrived at the cache, we dug through the snow to locate our gear. It was hard to believe so much snow had accumulated in such a short time. We loaded the supplies into our packs and sleds, and then roped up for the trip back to camp. For me, it was a long and difficult uphill haul, and I wondered whether I would have the strength to go on. But I kept plugging along, one step at a time.
Back at the 14,000 foot camp, we unpacked and met in the cook tent for some hot drinks and soup. It never tasted better. The sky was clearing up, and we were anticipating moving up the mountain tomorrow.
While in the cook tent, we celebrated Chris’s 21st birthday. Meegan had bought a small cake when we stopped at the grocery store, and she had carried it all the way up here in her pack. It was a real surprise for Chris as we all gathered around and sang “Happy Birthday.” Several climbers from the surrounding tents came over to offer their congratulations and to share in the celebration. It was a good time.
We decided to turn in early that evening, knowing that we had a long and exhausting climb ahead of us tomorrow. Before hitting the sack, I took the snow shovel and secured the wall surrounding our tents. Inside the tent, I struggled to pull off my frozen boots. They did an incredibly good job of keeping my feet warm and dry, but they are difficult to take off or put on. I left my boots inside the tent vestibule, and retreated into the tent. My thick wool socks and polyester liner socks were damp with perspiration. I changed them, and also removed my wind and water resistant jacket and pants. Underneath those I wore a fleece jacket and pants and my long johns, and I left those on to sleep in. Although my long johns were also damp with perspiration, the heat from my body inside the sleeping bag would dry them out. At this point in the expedition, I had had on the same clothes for ten days. The odor was unpleasant, to say the least. I decided that it was too much trouble to try to change long johns, and the only item of clothing that I changed each day was my socks.
Tears in the Wind Page 9