By the time we had set up tents and enjoyed a meal together it was 11.30 pm and the sun was about to disappear behind the mountains. It was a comfortable minus 15 degrees but when the shadow of Vinson descended on us we were in a deep freeze again. I crawled into bed stiff, sore and happy with my fitness. If I wasn’t fit and able to do this stuff comfortably I would miss out on so much of the beauty around me. I could see at times when other climbers were head down, panting and struggling to move with efficiency, that it became a totally different expedition for them. It becomes one of physical struggle and mental endurance, an internal battle instead of wonder and enjoyment in the beautiful Antarctic. In all likelihood none of us would ever get to see this place again and we needed to be so grateful we even had the chance to be there in the first place. I was proud of the hard training I had put in back in Thailand and in Sydney and I made a conscious decision while lying there in my bag to always be at the top of my physical game so I could enjoy every little bit of this incredible world.
The sun returned and hit my tent at 11 am. I had enjoyed another perfect sleep and the altitude wasn’t affecting me to any great extent. I had a small headache when I woke up but that was due to dehydration rather than altitude and a few big gulps from my water bottle would remedy it. The frost on the inside of my tent began to melt and drip on top of me so it was time to get myself dressed and crawl outside. The temp at night was minus 25 degrees but as the sun warmed the tent it was a comfortable zero, which made getting ready much easier. Today we planned to do an acclimatisation load-carry halfway up a section of the climb called the Headwall. It was a steep ice incline that our high camp would be nestled on top of. The ice slope was fitted with fixed lines earlier in the season, similar to the fixed lines on the steep sections of Denali and Carstensz. This would give us an added degree of safety if we happened to fall while climbing the wall. We enjoyed a brunch together and everyone was all smiles and feeling strong. Vitidnan was making his documentary again and he asked me, ‘Can you film me climbing the Headwall brother?’ I said, ‘Absolutely mate, happy to help out.’ We came up with a game plan to capture the best angles and as we began our climb that morning I was carrying a few extra kilograms of camera equipment, and it dawned on me that I had become a mule.
We were carrying packs only, which meant that the gear from our sleds that was comfortable to haul was now crushing down on our shoulders. It made it much tougher going and by the time we had made it to the bottom of the fixed lines I was panting and sweating. I was trying not to sweat too much due to the possible hypothermia when I cooled down, so I took off another layer of clothing before clipping into the fixed line and starting up the Headwall. It was slow progress upwards taking three steps up then taking three deep breaths to recover. The higher I climbed I remembered to take the time to look around, as the new elevation had opened up a staggering view below me. I kicked myself a small ledge in the snow, pulled out the camera equipment and took some footage of Vitidnan ascending the wall, with an epic view of the glacier and surrounding mountains below him. My voice came out clear on the video as I whispered to myself ‘Bloody amazing’. I thought I was a real Steven Spielberg until my fingers began to go numb and I started to shiver. I placed the cameras away, put my gloves back on and started up again, moving a little faster to try and get warm.
When we were 300 metres higher than our low camp and almost to the top of the Headwall, we stopped at a big, naturally forming rock ledge for a drink and some lunch. We cached our equipment in a small snow ditch and buried it. We would retrieve it again when we made the final push to high camp in the coming days. Once everyone was rested we clipped back into the fixed lines, except this time we were facing downhill and rappelled down feeling lighter and moving a lot faster. The trick to fast rappelling was to always watch your feet and never get out of control. I was almost running down the face making sure my crampons were clear of my pants and being placed down correctly. Growing up in North Queensland and spending weekends running down dry mountain river beds, hopping from rock to rock with ever increasing speed, had prepared me for climbing like this. I was in my element and was back at the bottom within thirty minutes, a section that had taken hours to climb safely was super fun to come barrelling down. My heart was pounding as I unclipped and sat down in the snow to wait for the others.
The weather was forecast to be windy the following day but as we crawled out of our tents with the warming sun the next morning it was looking fine. Mark made the call for us to push up to high camp that day if we were feeling up to it. He was trying to avoid getting caught at low camp in bad conditions and wanted to secure our camp up high, to be ready for an attempt on the summit. We all agreed to push on so after brunch we were loaded up again to make our way back up the Headwall. We moved quietly and confidently together to the base of the wall and up to our rest ledge from the day before. My legs were fatigued but moving well and we loaded the extra kilograms of supplies from the cache into our packs and moved off again into new territory. The climbing was incredible and every time I glanced around I had to pinch myself to believe that I was actually in Antarctica and not simply dreaming. The bad weather that was forecast had not eventuated and we had clear skies and perfect conditions as we made it to the top.
We rested for a short time before shouldering our loads again and pushing across an easy traverse to our location for high camp at 3750 metres. We had gained almost 1000 vertical metres in six hours of climbing, a great performance from the team. We were all very tired by the time we had erected tents, built snow wall protection around them and enjoyed a meal together. I crawled into my sleeping bag at 1 am with the sun still smiling at me outside. We would no longer be thrown into the shadow of Vinson, we were now sitting high on her shoulder and if all went to plan would be sitting high atop her head very soon. The temperature dropped to minus 25 degrees Celsius throughout the night but I slept like a baby, wrapped up tight in my down sleeping-bag cocoon. I poked my head out of my tent the next day to see the summit of Vinson covered in mist and what Mark described over breakfast as ‘lenticular clouds’.
The conditions were not ideal for a summit attempt but Mark was confident in our ability and strength as a team to get the job done. After a quick breakfast we prepared our gear and were formed up ready to go for the summit. We had to climb over 1100 vertical metres to the summit from high camp and I was feeling confident and ready to attack. My pack was almost empty apart from some water and snacks, which gave me a big confidence boost considering we had full loads the day before and ascended 1000 metres in half a day. We moved off as a team across a steadily sloping snowfield, slowly getting into the mountaineering rhythm. A summit day is not a sprint, it’s a slow walk that would get much slower the closer we get to our goal. Ninety minutes after leaving high camp the clouds and mist had lifted and the top of Vinson could be seen.
‘She is going to let us climb today,’ I thought to myself as I stared upwards at her beauty. But that confidence was crushed only an hour later as an unseen blizzard descended on us and within ten minutes I went from picturing myself on top to being caught in white-out conditions and an ever increasing wind. Mark made the tough call to turn us around and descend back to the safety of camp. It was the right call to make but it didn’t make it any less devastating to my morale. As the storm chased us down the mountain I was reliving my Mount Elbrus expedition all over again and I quietly hoped that history would not repeat itself. I crashed through my tent door and quickly zipped it up to escape the wind, snow and chilling cold. We had been defeated, but unlike Elbrus, we had a few days to wait out the weather and try again. I lay down and anxiously waited for the drop in the weather. Mark yelled out from his tent across the howling wind, ‘If it’s clear tomorrow we will go again team so rest up.’ I drank some water, ate my snacks and fought off the negativity that was trying to burrow into my mental state. It was a tough fight.
I woke up the next morning to no wind and clearing conditions. I had actual
ly enjoyed a great sleep after I finally drifted off and felt fully recharged from the previous day’s retreat. The team came together for a hot brew and a meal where Mark put it out there: ‘The weather looks decent guys, who’s keen to go again?’ I prompted the team with an ‘absolutely’ and it was a unanimous verdict from everyone that we should get going. Geared up and roped together we stepped off again towards the summit at 11 am. The weather continued to clear for the first hour before it changed its mind and started to snow, enveloping us in white-out conditions again. There was no wind so Mark decided we should carry on, much to my relief, and for three hours we climbed in white-out conditions. Climbing with nothing but pure white in all directions including underfoot was an intense scenario. It is so easy to get disorientated and a few times while we continued on I actually thought we were heading down instead of up.
The conditions didn’t change much for the following four hours, the team only stopping twice for water but continuing on after only short periods to avoid getting too cold. It was a fine line between sweating and fogging my goggles to getting hypothermia as we rested. The team receded into their own minds and we all climbed onwards towards the summit ridge. I wanted the conditions to remain the same and deteriorate no further – if we had to turn around again this far into our second attempt, a third shot at the top was going to be a big ask. We made it to the summit ridge six and a half hours after setting off. Just as we made it to the ridge the white-out began to lift but in its place came a wind of 25–30 knots. This dropped the temp dramatically and extra care had to be taken to have no skin exposed to the elements. A lost glove or exposed cheek while ascending the summit ridge would almost certainly guarantee frostbite.
I had climbed well all day and I must have been looking in decent shape because Mark nominated me to lead the team along the ridge to the top. I looked up and across to the exposed rock standing high on the summit. The wind was gusting, causing the snow that had accumulated on my face to get blown away down the mountain. Mark asked me, ‘Luke, are you good to lead?’ Without hesitation I said, ‘Of course mate. Let’s do it!’ He pulled me to the side and said, ‘Don’t muck around on the summit, we need to get down soon.’ I knew what he was saying; we still had a long way to go to get back to camp, the winds were increasing and the team was tired. We wouldn’t be wasting time up top – it was only halfway.
I tied into the front of the rope and once everyone was tied in behind me we moved off. Mark stayed at the back to help out one of the team who was moving steadily and I kept my eyes on my feet and the rope. There was no fixed protection on the ridge so as we shuffled along I made sure to throw the rope over rocky outcrops that could arrest a fall if one of us made a mistake. We were traversing a 45-degree slope in strong winds and freezing temperatures so we were literally on the edge. It was minus 40 degrees Celsius before the wind chill, and my camera had stopped working hours earlier due to the cold so there was no need to stop and pose for pictures. The ridge came to an end and I shuffled the last few steps onto a small build-up of exposed snow at its zenith where I stopped and lifted my ice axe in the air. I was standing on top of Vinson Massif, the highest point in Antarctica at 4892 metres, my fist clenched tight around the axe held high above my head in celebration and salute. The icy landscape stretched to the far horizon in all directions, the wind was howling and the temperature was plummeting. I had never felt more exposed or more alive. Before the tears could form in my eyes a gust of wind almost knocked me off my feet and brought me menacingly back to reality.
I turned after mere seconds on the summit and started to make my way back along the ridge as the next in line shuffled up to the top. We all had our special moment standing proud on the summit before we made our way back down safely to the start of the ridge and the sloping snowfield leading us home. We dropped below the wind as we headed down over the ridge, getting some relief from the bone-chilling cold. We stopped for rest and gave each other big hugs in celebration, all knowing that the hard work and suffering so far was worth those few seconds at the top. I gave Vitidnan a big hug saying, ‘Well done my brother.’ He hugged me back, not letting go for a few seconds, before breaking away and saying, ‘Now let’s get down safely bro.’
Over the following hours, slowly but surely, we descended back the way we had climbed. My body was tired and exhaustion had started to kick in after the adrenaline of the summit had worn off. I had consumed all of my water and my tongue was screaming for moisture, I’d throw a handful of snow into my mouth to soothe the dryness and take my mind off the aching pain in my feet and legs. Twelve hours after departing for the top the team staggered back into high camp and I sat down onto the snow next to my tent. I was totally spent. I could feel the blisters on my toes and heel throbbing inside my boots but I had a mission-accomplished smile on my face. I crawled into my sleeping bag that night after copious amounts of fluid and a hot meal, free of doubt and without a care in the world. I had achieved another goal and another summit on my journey for the seven and I slept like the dead.
Enjoying a long sleep-in the next day we departed high camp at 1 pm to go back down the fixed lines and across the snowfield to what was our low camp. My legs were stiff and sore and everyone was hurting in some way but the entire team was in a festive mood and moved confidently together down the mountain. At low camp we broke out the cooking stove and had a fry-up of eggs, mushrooms, onion and cheese that Mark had been saving for the return journey. It tasted incredible, and after we had all enjoyed our fill, we loaded our sleds, tied into the rope and began the haul down to base camp. As base camp came into view I made out the Twin Otter plane parked in the snow and ready for our arrival. The weather was perfect and the flight had been arranged by Mark before we departed low camp. As we marched along Mark turned to me and said, ‘The weather conditions are great. With any luck we will be back in Punta Arenas tomorrow night.’
The Twin Otter’s skis lifted from the snow effortlessly and below us the ice, crevasses and hardships fell away. It had taken years of training, months of organising and weeks of climbing to make it to Antarctica and summit Vinson Massif and now we were on our way home. I kept my face glued to the window of the Otter the entire flight. What I was seeing was a rare privilege only a tiny percentage of the population got to see and I was truly grateful. I was staring out at the ice that was dotted with jagged unclimbed peaks when Vitidnan, after sensing my remoteness, patted me on the shoulder and said, ‘Well done mate, you did it.’ I gave him a nod before returning my face to the view and whispering back, ‘Thanks mate.’
I looked down at an enormous gaping crevasse and remembered the early polar pioneers. Some of them had been taken whole into these ice tombs and even today they could still be held firm in her frozen embrace. I hadn’t been tested like those men had been and I envied them. It was in that moment that I made the decision to return one day. I had unfinished business, and looking down I noticed another crack in the ice in the shape of a smile. I took this as a sign that Antarctica was not done with me yet either; I would be back.
CHAPTER 12
MOUNT KILIMANJARO, TANZANIA
…
I arrived in Tanzania to the famous Swahili song ‘Jambo Bwana’ by Them Mushrooms playing on the radio with the taxi driver singing along jovially at the top of his lungs. Translated it means, ‘Hi, hi sir. How are you? Very fine.’ Accompanied by an African rhythm and a bouncy beat, these simple words were hard to ignore. The entire nation had adopted this melody as their own and before long I would be humming along with them. I had flown into Moshi, a district of Tanzania, ready to climb the tallest peak in Africa, Mount Kilimanjaro. On this expedition two friends had joined me, John’s brother George and Rob the owner of Rev X, as well as my very own dad, Clive. I was so excited to have Dad with me as it was our first adventure together since I was a boy. He had shown me how to fish and hunt, now I was proud to show him the way of the mountains.
I was just a boy when my grandfather gave me one of my firs
t books, When the Lion Feeds, by Wilbur Smith, a story of hunting safaris and adventures into the untamed bush of Africa before World War I. This one story followed by many more ignited a yearning to see it all for myself. In my early twenties I was fortunate enough to travel from Nairobi in Kenya all the way to Cape Town in South Africa. Although that journey had taken almost three months to complete, it only gave me a taste of the continent and I was left wanting more. So here I was, returning to the blood-red landscape of East Africa to attempt the summit of its highest mountain, a mountain which has a unique silhouette known around the world, and one of the most summited peaks on the planet. Kilimanjaro or ‘Kili’ as it is known in the climbing community is a dormant volcano rising 5895 metres above sea level and is visited by an estimated 25,000 people every single year.
Even with the easy accessibility of Kili and its well-versed climbing guides and porters, summit success is only 66 per cent. Many inexperienced climbers, believing Kili to be an easy trek, succumb to the extreme cold or altitude sickness on summit day and are forced to retreat. No mountain should ever be underestimated and time should always be taken to acclimatise correctly and have spare days in case you need multiple attempts to summit – I learnt this fact the hard way on Elbrus. We were lucky on the flight into Moshi as we had a close-up view of the summit with clear skies. We flew directly over the top of the snow-capped peak, with shimmering glaciers looking out of place in the surrounding black lava rocks. The glaciers have been melting exponentially each year and rough estimates forecast the extinction of the northern glaciers by 2030.
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