At Base Camp, we took part in the traditional Pujah ceremony with our Sherpas, which for me will always be an essential part of any Everest expedition and which gives me an added inner strength. The essential key to success when climbing on a mountain like Everest is to stay both mentally strong and bodily healthy, and in my view the spiritual dimension always goes hand in hand with the physical. When you climb in any developing country such as Tibet there is an ever-present range of illnesses, such as respiratory infections or stomach upsets, that can totally sideline your plans, but I felt as a team we’d had a good acclimatization trek which greatly reduced the chances of altitude sickness, and when we arrived in Base Camp at over 17,000 feet everyone felt well. We then took day trips, 1,000 to 2,000 feet higher each time, and returned to Base Camp. Over the course of the next two weeks we started moving the 18 miles up to Advanced Base Camp, at almost 21,000 feet and as far as the yaks could carry our equipment, where we spent three days and did some ladder work on the ice. From there the process was repeated, climbing up to our camp one on the North Col in increasingly lengthened stages, then always back down to Advanced Base Camp.
Early on during our planning it was decided that Al Hinkes would lead Malcolm and Richard Walker only as far as the North Col at 23,000 feet. The Walkers did incredibly well for people with so little experience, and once they had achieved this goal the three of them decided it was right to stick with their initial decision to turn back and head for home. I actually think that Richard was the fittest person in our entire party and I’m certain he would have made it all the way to the top. I even sat down with him and made a serious attempt at convincing him to stick around and have a go. The deciding factor against that in his case was probably his wife’s announcement, the night before he flew out to Nepal, that she was expecting another baby, their second child. For him, in his circumstances at that time, it was the right decision and everyone ultimately has to make that for themselves.
It was around this time that we heard some American climbers had put up ‘Free Tibet’ flags near Rongbuk Monastery, so the Chinese immediately stopped anyone from travelling to and from Base Camp. The Walkers managed to get out just in the nick of time before this happened, but the artist Alan Cotton who I had invited along as the expedition painter was stopped and sent back to the Chinese border. I was extremely disappointed about this, but as I was up on the mountain there was absolutely nothing I could do, other than pass on the message that I hoped I would return with him again one day, which happily I have since done on a brief non-summit attempt trip.
At the North Col the whole team shared our big Marmot tent and everyone was doing well it seemed. It is amazing, though, how swiftly a situation can change on Everest depending on the weather, health and fitness. Amusingly, Dr Rodway had brought along a supply of Viagra with him, which mountaineers quite often now take at very great heights. He told us, ‘Some people at altitude simply run out of juice: they have no energy and Viagra can help dilate blood vessels in the lungs, improve blood flow and expose the body to more oxygen.’ I won’t share with you who agreed to take the Viagra but, suffice to say, we all needed a bit of an energy boost. I didn’t myself, however, since when George explained the other side effects (some of them obvious I suppose, like having to force down a raging erection when you are trying to climb, others less so such as an increased risk of heart attack and stroke), I decided on balance to do without.
Having pushed further up, we then returned back down to the North Col and the Advanced Base Camp for a rest. At Advanced Base Camp we waited patiently for the weather men to give us the go ahead to start the climb to the summit proper. This time was interspersed with celebrating the marriage of William and Catherine with good old Sherpa tea. The weather slot came, we all said our goodbyes and steadily trudged off towards the North Col again. We set up camp two, situated in a precarious position high on a steep ridge. Our three tents were roped together into the rock face and the noise of the wind was truly deafening. My biggest fear was that if one person rolled over in the night they could take all the rest of us with them.
En route to camp three Charlie, Rikki and George all suffered from various illnesses forcing them to descend. Charlie had heatstroke (yes, that can happen too on a mountain!), exhaustion and a bad stomach which left him bent double in agony. He was gutted, but there was absolutely no alternative. George felt unwell with bronchitis and a bad cough. Rikki also suffered from bronchitis and had altitude sickness. It was very sad to see them go but it was the only sensible thing to do. I was responsible for getting them down alive and wasn’t prepared to take any unnecessary risks. But even if the final say would have been mine, in my experience people always know when they have pushed themselves as far as they can and should go no further, you never have to tell them, so in each case it was their own decision. This left just four of us, along with our loyal Sherpas.
We continued up to camp three where we set up our tents at 3.00 p.m., as the sun goes down there at about 6.00 p.m. I sipped on a small cup of tea and had some noodles. It’s very difficult to eat at such a time, as you almost invariably tend to lose your appetite at such altitude and with the inevitable nerves you feel, but more importantly I had started to realize a very serious mistake I had made in our planning, as we didn’t really have anything like enough liquid with us to prevent dehydration. We were going to keep going however. At 8.00 p.m. that night we started getting ready for the final summit push. With our head torches radiating before us and oxygen masks on our faces we set off at about 9.00 p.m. We were lucky that there was barely any wind and in the distance I could just make out a line of lights. There was a full moon shining down on us highlighting the contours of the mountain.
We made our way up the North Ridge, which has spectacular drops on either side. Our journey to the First Step was very slow. There was a man from another party who couldn’t use crampons properly, which held everyone up. Duffy clipped himself off the rope and trudged slowly past him. I then asked the man if he’d mind and I did the same. On the ridge we saw two dead bodies, always a sobering sight. Duffy powered ahead up the mountain with Justin and Rod, whilst I was at the back with Ngatemba going at our own slower pace. I actually thought I felt better than I’d done on my first summit attempt, maybe partly because psychologically in a sense this time around I didn’t give a monkeys as I’d already reached the summit before, but also because I was obviously now climbing on a far greater flow of oxygen than I had done back then.
We slowly arrived at the infamous Second Step, vertical with a 4,000 foot fall straight down the North Face. This may sound terrifying, and I suppose it is, but in truth you don’t actually notice the drop because you are so focused on just putting one foot laboriously in front of the other. The notorious aluminum ladder was bolted here in 1975 and looks like it could easily have been bought from B & Q. The ladder transforms this part of the climb from a desperately scary challenge into something that is achievable for most serious climbers. At the ladder I took a little time to look around me to the left.
People will probably always wonder if Mallory and Irvine reached the summit, but most likely we will never know for certain. It has been proven that the Second Step is possible without the ladder fixed there now, but could they have overcome that obstacle? They were going strong, young and fit, certainly determined, and Noel Odell honestly believed he saw them from the North Col, through the clouds and pushing on above the second step. Beyond there it is really just a plod with no further serious problems for experienced climbers. I personally think they could have done it. Mallory had said that he would leave a photo of his wife he had brought with him on the summit, but that was not on his body when it was finally found in 1999, and nor was his camera. We know how stupendously forgetful he could be, and perhaps he lost or left behind either or both, as almost incredibly he did his torch in their final bivouac. Maybe only if we found that pocket camera, as people are trying to do, and any picture they might have taken at the sum
mit could be developed, as we are assured it still possibly could be, will we ever know for sure. As I approached the ladder myself I thought that it was certainly conceivable they could have achieved this feat.
When we reached the Third Step there were three more dead bodies. I blanched at the sight of two booted feet sticking out of a snow-filled crack. People often ask me, perhaps more frequently than about anything else, how I feel when walking past dead bodies on Everest, and each one reminds me of the grim dangers of the mountain. At that height and altitude it’s impossible to carry the bodies down without risking your own life. Since the first recorded deaths on Everest in 1922, about 260 people have now died on the mountain and about 150 bodies still remain there in a shockingly preserved state. From time to time the Chinese push some of the bodies over the precipice. My personal feeling is simply that each body is someone’s relative. I’m sure their loved ones take solace from the thought that they died in a beautiful place doing what they desired most. Yes, I keep telling myself that.
Rod had known one of the English climbers who’d died there the year before and was pretty certain his was one of the bodies, so he left a letter from the man’s relatives with the corpse. Whenever I came to a body I always stopped and bowed my head for a minute out of respect, and not just to get my breath back. This time, as leader of the expedition, I was acutely conscious that the safety of my team was my absolute priority. If I had noticed anyone struggling I wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment in helping them and if necessary turning back myself to do so, and I dearly hope I’d do just the same to assist someone I didn’t know. I don’t frankly know how anyone could come across a stricken climber and just walk past. I’m ‘old school’, and in such a situation I’d call up all my Sherpas, offer them my oxygen, and do all I could to try and help them down. I for one would never be able to live with myself otherwise. Each of us needs to try and remember ‘there, but for the grace of God, go I.’ Even if we all should know the dangers and accept the risks, accidents can happen to anyone and you always hope one of your mates would help you down.
The debate surrounding the ethics of climbing has raged for many years, and probably always will, with the Alpine Club even attempting to codify it through their ‘Spirit of Mountaineering’ initiative. As their former president Doug Scott argued, there can be no ‘morality-free zone’ in climbing. Inevitably the issues may seem more complex on the highest and most remote mountains, particularly on Everest where there are so many part-time climbers who have saved for years to be there. It can be easy to lose patience with or lack sympathy for those apparently too inexperienced or ill-equipped to be there, perhaps putting other people at risk. None of this should make any difference, but there are too many well-documented cases of climbers walking past others struggling or dying, caught up in their own ‘summit fever’ and tunnel vision fixation to reach the top. It can be all too possible to tell yourself I’ll try and offer assistance on the way down, when it might be far too late. Climbing Everest has become a form of extreme tourism for people with a lot of money and sometimes rather less care for human life.
At 5.00 a.m. the first small glimmers of sunrise appeared and, despite the exhaustion, I felt my spirits lift as the sun slowly rose above the horizon. At this point, the climb got steep again and I had to call on all my reserves of energy. There was one remaining shelf to ascend, which is just rock without snow. It is hard enough technically and I felt drained with each step. After a right turn I saw the summit ahead of me, a sight which took my breath away even more than last time, if that is possible. My next view was of Duffy, Justin and Rod coming down, having successfully reached the top. I felt great relief and excitement for them and then slowly trudged on up with Ngatemba. I had one more hour of gasping on a steep slope ahead of me before I could hope to be there myself.
On that perfect day we were by no means the only party on the mountain, and just before the top I held back to allow a couple of climbers already there time to enjoy their moment of silent privacy. After a while though, since they showed no inclination to get a move on and offer us our own turn, I thought ‘bugger that’ and climbed the last few steps. Reaching the summit of Everest for the second time at about 8.00 a.m. on 21 May 2011, I felt utterly elated. It was a crisp, still morning and the sun was shining. Ngatemba and I took our photograph together as we clung on to each other, and I thanked him for helping me reach the top again. I even managed to take off my oxygen mask for the photograph this time, something I hadn’t felt able to do back in 1993. Ha! Standing there holding the Explorers’ Club flag, the wrong way around as I was later embarrassed to see in the pictures when I got home, I felt the whole gamut of emotions: relief, happiness, exhaustion. I gazed around at the vast expanse of sky and mountaintops. The top of the world!
That feeling of elation on reaching the top didn’t last long. I knew I was dangerously dehydrated, as I’d had nothing to drink since that small cup of tea nearly twenty-four hours earlier. As we turned to descend I gasped for water, yet we had absolutely nothing to drink. My legs felt heavy, I struggled to breathe and it was now bitterly cold. The surge of adrenaline you feel on reaching the summit had already worn off. Heading back down, oxygen mask firmly in place, I had to face looking over the 4,000 foot vertical cliff at the second step. I knew that most accidents and deaths occur on the way down the mountain. I had told the team to be even more careful on the descent and now I heard my own words ringing in my ears.
After a painfully slow trek we reached camp three, where we discovered that the Sherpas had taken down our tents. Duffy, Justin and Rod had already descended, but I was certain that without any liquid it would be dangerous for me to keep going. I spotted a tent owned by Seven Summits, so I asked someone if I could take shelter in there. I crawled inside and sat there in a passive state, almost semi-comatose. There were no thermarests and I had no sleeping bag with me, I was exhausted, desperately thirsty and entirely fit for nothing. I tried to massage my foot as I had a little frostbite on one of my toes. The wind was back with a vengeance and I knew that a major storm must be on its way. I had never experienced such strong winds on Everest and I began to wonder whether this time I might have pushed myself too far. I was stuck at 27,000 feet in the ‘Death Zone’, which refers to altitudes above a certain point where there is insufficient oxygen to sustain human life for any length of time, even without the rigours of climbing. This height is tagged at 8,000 metres or 26,000 feet. At this level the body deteriorates fast, leading to loss of awareness and, ultimately, death.
I slipped in and out of sleep and consciousness, shivering in the freezing –40°C temperature. In the middle of this dreamlike state a man with a beard opened the zip and asked if he could come inside. ‘You can come in so long as you keep the fire going,’ I said. ‘Of course, I can help keep the fire going’, he replied with a French accent. He seemed to talk a lot whilst all I wanted to do was sleep, but I knew I must stay awake and keep moving my fingers and toes. My body was weak and fast deteriorating. The Frenchman had a Thuraya satellite phone, and I know I vividly remember that the blue screensaver light kept coming on. The fire wasn’t very good, so I said to my new companion, who I called Mr Thuraya: ‘If you don’t put wood on that fire you will have to leave.’ Shortly afterwards the fire went out and I said to Mr Thuraya, ‘I’m afraid you are going to have to leave the tent.’ He didn’t make any fuss, simply nodded and walked out. I assumed he’d gone to one of the other tents nearby.
In the morning I found I was still alive, and began making ready to leave at first light. I felt horribly guilty that I had kicked someone out in the middle of the night into the freezing cold, so I went from tent to tent in search of Mr Thuraya to offer my apologies. I tried in three tents but could not find him anywhere. Ngatemba had slept in a tent nearby. When I mentioned my French visitor to him he smiled and shook his head, looking at me as if I was mad. There had been no one else in the tent, he told me, and no Frenchman nearby. I was too exhausted to understand th
en that I had just suffered from a classic case of ‘The Third Man’ syndrome in the ‘Death Zone’. The mountain had come very close to claiming me. It was time to descend into the unknown, hoping to escape beyond that.
When I reached the North Col I finally got something to drink, brought up by the Sherpas, and guzzled down as much as I could giving strength to my parched body. Realizing everyone was there in one piece I felt a huge sense of pride that I had managed to bring everyone up and down safely; we’d got four group members and seven Sherpas onto the summit, a fantastic achievement. When we finally reached the bottom of the North Col we arrived at a place called Crampon Point, where you take your crampons off. Charlie turned up with juice and chocolate, gave me a great big hug, then took my rucksack and helped Ngatemba and me back down. This was the most considerate and gentlemanly act, and my god I needed it!
On finally reaching Base Camp I explained the incident with Mr Thuraya to Dr George Rodway, who said I’d clearly been hallucinating. People under immense stress often experience ‘The Third Man’ syndrome, he told me. I was deeply embarrassed but now accepted that this was what must have happened. There had been no Mr Thuraya in my tent, just as there had been no fire and certainly no wood to put on it high up on Everest. Despite all the restaurant grade food still available all I wanted to eat was egg and chips, which the Sherpas made for us. A glass of beer sealed the celebration. More soberingly I also learned at Base Camp that, at the same time as we’d been on the mountain, an Irishman struggling to descend became a fifth body on the ridge. We had met him a couple of times. The press reported that he’d died alone without anyone to help him down, which is incredibly sad. This was yet another reminder, if one was needed, of how close to death I had come.
My most emotional experience of the expedition came when I returned to the Rombuk Monastery, which is the highest in the world. I had been there on 11 September 2001, when I was planning to fly a balloon over Everest. However, this expedition ended abruptly when those two planes flew into the Twin Towers. All air space over Everest was closed immediately and the expedition cancelled. Returning to the monastery in 2011 brought back memories of unfinished business, as well as deep sadness over so many deaths. That remains the only expedition on which I’ve failed where I haven’t attempted to repeat it. Normally I am determined to go back and try once more, but I made a decision never again to attempt that flight over Everest, as the omens were so bad and there was so much death and sorrow.
No Such Thing as Failure Page 6