Tears in the Wind

by Larry Semento

  Before going to sleep, I looked out of the tent vestibule. It was an unbelievable sight. The sun was still dimly shining low in the sky, and the rock wall of the West Buttress rose sharply to my right. It cast a shadow across the tents in the camp area, while straight ahead I saw the stark face of Mt. Foraker bathed in sunshine. The scene was breathtaking, and once again made me realize that one reason we climb mountains like this is to behold the beauty of these amazing surroundings. It was a stunning but surreal image.

  Nothing is more damning in the mountains than hubris, yet hubris is fundamental to climbing mountains. All serious mountaineers possess big egos. You cannot take on the risks and constant suffering of big mountains without one. We may talk like Buddhists, but don’t be fooled, we’re actually narcissists-driven, single-minded, masochistic narcissists.

  Mark Jenkins – Point of No Return

  May 31-Climbing the Dreaded Wall

  The bustle of human activity woke me. I glanced around in an attempt to orient myself, wondering again, Where am I? Soon, I realized that people were moving about, and I heard Phil calling to awaken us. It was cold and cloudy when I dressed and left the warmth of the tent. As we assembled for breakfast, Phil told us that we would carry supplies up to the High Camp.

  As we packed up our gear, I noticed many of the other groups doing the same. A welcome break in the weather would allow climbers to ascend to the upper camps from which to launch summit attempts. Although I was pleased to be breaking from the lassitude of sitting in a tent, I was also nervous about climbing the Headwall.

  After packing our gear for the trip, Phil painstakingly explained the process for climbing the Headwall. He told us to step carefully and keep focused. When we got up to the fixed ropes, each of us would unhook from the rope connecting us, clip into the fixed rope with the large carabiner hooked to the front of our harnesses, and place a mechanical ascender on the fixed rope. This device slides up the rope, and then grips it tightly so that it doesn’t slide back down. The ascenders will assist us in climbing the wall. At the end of the fixed rope, we will reverse the process and connect back to our regular climbing rope. This procedure had to be done carefully, as an error might prove fatal.

  At this point, we abandoned our sleds. The climbing above this camp is too steep, and the sleds would simply be an aggravation. I looked up and saw a line of climbers ahead of us, some higher up and well along the Headwall. They looked like ants slowly inching upward in a winding line.

  The first part of the climb was not too difficult, and we moved steadily upward and closer to the Headwall. As we did, I became increasingly more uneasy.

  At the Headwall, my anxiety heightened and my heart began pounding wildly. Placing one foot cautiously in front of the other, we inched up the wall. Mike was directly ahead of me, and I wondered why he kept stopping. When I looked up past him, I saw that there was a traffic jam above him, as climbers waited in line for those above them to move. I forced myself to stay focused on the task, carefully stomping each cramponed foot into the wall as we proceeded to work our way upward.

  My breathing was labored, and concentration was difficult at this height. The incline steepened as we ascended. Sections of the Headwall were indeed icy, making footing all the more difficult. I paid particular attention to unclipping myself from one fixed rope and clipping into the next one. Despite my unease, I felt as if I was doing well, and our steady progress upward was encouraging.

  So as to avoid making myself more apprehensive, I made a point of not peeking down. Looking upward, I saw that we were nearing the top of the Headwall. Soon, Phil disappeared over the upper lip, and was peering down, reassuring and encouraging us to the top. Ungracefully, I clambered up and over the edge. As I stood at the top of the ridgeline, I gazed down in amazement, marveling at our accomplishment. The others joined me. With smiles on our faces, we moved away from the Headwall and down the ridgeline and took a much needed break.

  The view from the top of the wall was astounding. Appearing as small dots, colorful tents stood out far below, starkly contrasting against the pure white snow. Just below me, I saw a line of climbers struggling up the Headwall, and I heard those nearest me gasping for air, just as I had done moments before.

  We continued to ascend the ridgeline toward our next intended camp at 17,000 feet. It was a gradual incline and we had to scramble over steep rocks in some sections. It was here that I felt dizzy and disoriented. In a confused state, I misidentified one of the members of our team. I forced myself to take deep and regular breaths, and gradually my head cleared, but the experience was unsettling.

  After plodding up to our intended campsite, an area called the High Camp, we established a cache for our gear. We enjoyed a long break before preparing to return to our camp at 14,200 feet.

  Immediately after leaving the site of our cache, the route proceeds down a gradual flat slope. It ends at a ridge where the mountain drops precipitously to the glacier far below. We approached the ridgeline carefully, veered to the left, and continued downward. Soon we arrived at the top of the Headwall.

  Phil spent some time explaining the proper method to descend the Headwall. Basically, all we had to do was to face forward and walk down, trusting our crampons to secure us to the mountain face. “It is a piece of cake,” Phil assured us. Despite his confidence, I knew that the steep exposure would be nerve-wracking for me.

  Again, I focused on my footing and carefully stomped each boot in to gain a secure hold. One step after another, we proceeded to descend. Our progress down the Headwall was much quicker than the ascent had been, but it was terrifying. Facing downhill on a steep slope and walking down is an unnatural and unnerving act, and a voice inside my head screamed for me to get down on my hands and knees and crawl. Moving slowly and judiciously, we inched down the wall. Eventually, the trail grew less inclined, and we arrived at our site in the Basin Camp without incident. We were all in good spirits, and quite proud that we had performed well today. Confident that we had conquered the dreaded Headwall, I looked forward to moving upward toward the summit.

  I am losing precious days. I am degenerating into a machine for making money. I am learning nothing in this trivial world of men. I must break away and get out into the mountains to learn the news.

  John Muir

  June 1-A Day of Rest

  After a difficult day yesterday, I was exhausted. But sleeping at this altitude was challenging. Once again, my slumber varied from short periods of complete dead sleep to times of restless tumbling and turning. Trying to find a comfortable sleeping position was fruitless.

  I peered out of the tent, and saw that the sky was overcast, and it was windy. The weather did not look good for moving upward. When Phil announced that we would likely sit tight for the day, I wasn’t too disappointed.

  We spent some extra time in the cook tent after breakfast, all of us dreading the retreat back into our tents. I always had mixed feelings about the days that we did not climb, and today was no exception. Although the extra rest and chance to acclimatize to the higher altitude was welcome, the boredom and drudgery of sitting in a tent all day was not. We could get up and leave the tents to eat, go to the bathroom, or shovel snow off the tents, but that required the effort of putting on boots, coats, and outer layers of clothing. I also had mixed emotions about being alone in my tent. Even though I enjoyed periods of solitude and the privacy, I sometimes missed the company of others and the extra heat in the tent produced by another person’s body. In any event, I could talk to the others through the nearby tents, so it really wasn’t that lonely.

  I did not have much to occupy my time in the tent. I had no radio, having left it down below, but I did have a book. Prior to leaving, I bought a fiction novel about the Manhattan Project. I purposely brought a book that I believed would be entertaining without being too serious, and this book fit the bill. It was a murder mystery that took place at Los Alamos during the construction of the first atomic bomb. Although it was fictional, it was in
teresting and I learned about Robert Oppenheimer and other scientists and the events that occurred during that time period. I had purposely read it slowly, since I wanted it to last during these down times, but by now, I had almost finished reading the book. Often climbers will share books. One person will read several pages of a book, rip those pages out, and give them to another person to read. However, we couldn’t do much of that as our group was suffering a book shortage.

  By bringing myself over the edge and back, I discovered a passion to live my days fully, a conviction that will sustain me like sweet water on the periodically barren plain of our short lives.

  Jonathan Waterman

  June 2-Boredom Sets In

  The night had been particularly cold. The morning was little better. Amid the rustling of those waking in tents, Phil stood outside and assessed the weather. It did not look good for climbing. The wind was blowing, the sky was dark gray, and it was lightly snowing. ”Looks like we might have to stay put,” Phil announced. His report was met with a chorus of groans. I knew that the others felt like I did. We had had enough of sitting in tents, and were ready to move on.

  Today was a repeat of yesterday, but worse. Lying in my tent, tired of reading, I again studied the details of the tent walls. I scrutinized the tiny squares of the tent fabric. If I was artistic, I could have painted a picture of the interior of the tent from memory. Thinking grew weary, and always concerned the same subjects: my family and friends, how much I missed home and my office, the weather, and climbing this mountain. While at the beginning of the expedition each day was greeted with enthusiasm and awe, I now felt lethargic, drummed into submission by this accursed mountain. I wanted to either go up or down, but I didn’t want to stay put.

  I shot a photograph of myself, long before “selfies” were the vogue, lying in my sleeping bag. Looking back at it, I recalled how foul my mood was. My unshaven face was puffy from the effects of the altitude; peripheral edema, which causes swelling in the extremities, was the likely culprit. My lips were crusty, cracked and swollen from the cold, dry wind and brutal sun. There was a red blister on the underside of my nose. In sum, I looked terrible.

  In an attempt to feel better, I told myself that this was a vacation, fantasizing that I was in an exotic location, and thinking that most hardworking people would gladly enjoy a day spent eating and lying in bed. When I told my teammates this, they groaned their disapproval. Clearly, they were no better off than I was.

  I worried about the time. This was our thirteenth day on the mountain. Most Denali expeditions take between two to three weeks. We were in good shape except for the weather, but I kept thinking about the other teams that had passed us as they descended, some of them having attempted and failed to wait out the bad weather at the Basin Camp. I did not relish the thought of getting “weathered off” the mountain. All I could do was to lie back and hope for better conditions so that we could move on. I closed my eyes and silently cursed Denali’s vicious weather.

  People ask me, ‘What is the use of climbing Mount Everest?’ and my answer must at once be, ‘It is of no use.’ There is not the slightest prospect of any gain whatsoever. Oh, we may learn a little about the behavior of the human body at high altitudes, and possibly medical men may turn our observation to some account for the purposes of aviation. But otherwise nothing will come of it. We shall not bring back a single bit of gold or silver, not a gem, nor any coal or iron...If you cannot understand that there is something in man which responds to the challenge of this mountain and goes out to meet it, that the struggle is the struggle of life itself upward and forever upward, then you won’t see why we go. What we get from this adventure is just sheer joy. And joy is, after all, the end of life. We do not live to eat and make money. We eat and make money to be able to live. That is what life means and what life is for.

  George Mallory – Climbing Everest

  June 3-To the High Camp

  Phil wasted no time in making the decision: we would ascend to the High Camp today. The sky had cleared, and the prediction called for a few more days of better weather.

  The mood in the camp that morning was vastly improved. We quickly ate, packed our gear, then put into a cache all of the items we would not need on the upper part of the mountain. Phil explained that we were to take only essential gear on our summit attempt, and to leave all luxuries behind. I said goodbye to my book and placed it into the duffel bag with the other items to be left there. We roped up, and once again set off for the Headwall.

  Although I was very nervous during my first ascent of the Headwall, I felt better about it now, and I moved up with greater confidence than I had on my initial ascent. Slowly and steadily, up the wall we climbed, using the same method we had a few days earlier. Our climb was difficult, but uneventful.

  After reaching the top of the Headwall, we took a break. A short distance ahead of us we saw Ed Hommer and his partner seated on some rocks. We cheerfully greeted them as though they were old friends. When we asked where the reporter was, they explained that they had a falling out and had parted company. Ed was not feeling particularly well; he was having some pain in his legs where the prosthetic devices attached. Despite the pain, he and his partner were forging onward. Since the reporter left, I assumed that we wouldn’t see Ed’s expedition televised.

  We carefully worked our way up the steep and narrow ridge that ran along the top of the West Buttress. It was intimidating as the path was narrow with significant exposure on each side. Part of the route required scrambling over icy rocks. I was glad when we successfully navigated this section.

  We reached the High Camp at 17,000 feet, and proceeded to where we had placed our cache a few days earlier. We set up our tents, built snow walls around the perimeter, put up the cook tent, and erected a restroom. We also placed some food and supplies into the cache for later use. There were a few other groups at the High Camp, all of them patiently waiting for a stab at the summit.

  After setting up camp, we walked over to the edge of the flat plateau located behind our tents. The view from there was amazing. Thousands of feet below the precipitous drop off we saw the Basin Camp where we had climbed from earlier in the day. The drastic difference in altitude was remarkable, and I continued to marvel at the vast immensity of Denali. Moments like this, I thought, make climbing meaningful. We snapped some photos, each of us taking a turn posing before this incredible and majestic backdrop.

  At dinner, Phil described our plans for the next day, making certain that we were paying careful attention. We would make an attempt to reach the summit. The weather was good, cold with some wind, and the forecast looked promising for tomorrow. If the weather allowed it, we would go for the top.

  Phil explained that it would be our longest and most grueling day on the mountain. He described the route, the beginning part of which was visible above, and he pointed that out to us.

  We would begin by a traverse of Denali Pass, a fairly steep wall rising from our camp at 17,200 feet to the ridge of Denali Pass at 18,200 feet. Denali Pass is in the shade until the afternoon, and it is extremely cold and windy. It has a notorious past; many of the falls from Denali Pass have resulted in climbers’ deaths and serious injuries, and there are more accidents here than anywhere else on Denali.

  The route follows the ridge from the top of Denali Pass and drops down onto a flat plateau known as the Football Field. After crossing the Football Field, the route reaches the summit ridge. The summit ridge defines classic alpine mountaineering; it is narrow with drastic, steep drop-offs on either side. The ridge rises dramatically several hundred feet to the summit at 20,310 feet.

  Physically, other than a slight headache, I felt good and was encouraged that we were finally at the High Camp. I did, however, sleep very little that night, instead tossing and turning in my sleeping bag, anxiously anticipating an epic day of climbing.

  You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again. So why bother in the first place? Just this: What is above kno
ws what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can at least still know.

  René Daumal – Mount Analogue

  June 4-The Summit!

  The final ridge leading to the summit of Denali is a quarter of a mile long. It narrows in spots to about two feet in width. To the left, there is a 600 foot drop to the plateau below; to the right lies a harrowing two mile plunge to the Ruth Glacier. As I awaken, I visualize crossing that ridge, and hope that we will walk up it to the summit before the day is done.

  I must have dozed off just before our wake up call. Phil urged us out of our warm bedrolls into the icy day. The weather was cloudy and a bit windy. But we were going for the summit.

  My level of excitement increased as the cobwebs of sleep slowly released my mind. Finally, after all of the preparation and planning, the patience, the hard work and effort to reach this spot, we were making our attempt to reach the top of North America.