The Chomolungma Diaries: What a commercial Everest expedition is really like (Footsteps on the Mountain travel diaries)

by Mark Horrell

  Unlike at Base Camp, up here at ABC Phil has managed to get the BGAN connection working on his laptop, and at lunch he shows us the latest weather forecast. The jetstream is returning. Tomorrow is going to be pretty much our last chance to get up to the col for a while, and it may well be very windy up there. There's not much point us hanging around any longer at ABC after we've tagged the col, so the following day we'll head back to the comforts of Base Camp and await a suitable window for a second rotation. I'll be very happy to be down there again, as I've been finding it hard up here at ABC.

  After a brief snooze I spend the afternoon slowly getting my kit together for tomorrow's climb. In our cosy mess tent at dinner time Phil decides to play the clown. He asks whether we want packed lunches for the climb tomorrow, and when I ask whether it's possible to have a chocolate bar in preference to a hard-boiled egg (in my experience a regular but awkward ingredient of expedition packed lunches) he makes some exuberant performance which mimics somebody clipping and unclipping from a fixed rope as they pick away at the shell of their egg, and shouting "egg" at the next person down on the rope when they drop a bit of shell. It's nice to know some people still have bundles of energy at these extreme altitudes. Unfortunately for Phil he seems to be the only person who does, and while I'm sure his performance would have been hilarious at sea level, it meets with blank stares on this occasion, and if we weren't too high up for vegetation to grow, then I imagine tumbleweed would have blown across the tent.

  16. Climbing the North Col Wall

  Thursday 26 April, 2012 - Advanced Base Camp (ABC), Everest, Tibet

  We leave ABC shortly after eight o'clock and begin the slow plod up to Crampon Point. I find myself walking with Mila and Dorje, but I'm very weary as we start, and suffer from cold fingers. What was easy yesterday, wearing my light approach shoes and carrying just my camera, is a struggle this morning wearing my huge La Sportiva Olympus Mons boots for the first time and carrying all my climbing equipment in my pack. I'm not even out of camp when I have to stop and massage my fingers to get them warm. They will probably warm up very slowly as I climb, but I don't want to spend the next hour walking with them painfully cold. Mila waits patiently, but the no-nonsense Dorje is keen to keep moving, so he makes me take my heavy duty down mitts out of my pack and put them on. They are excessively large for this gentle morning walk, but they end up doing the job, and within ten minutes of putting them on my hands are so warm I can feel the sweat dripping from my fingers.

  We reach Crampon Point at 9.30, and it's taken me half an hour longer than yesterday. Ian and Grant are ahead of us, and as we put our crampons and harnesses on Mark, Margaret and Chedar catch up too. I lead slowly onto the ice, with Mila and Dorje behind me. Although I feel like I have very little energy, I know I'll keep pushing forward slowly for as long as I need to. Beyond Crampon Point a broad plateau of ice leads the way up to the North Col Wall, and figures trudge slowly across it ahead of me. The wall is impressive; it looks vertical, and I remember feeling intimidated as I approached it five years ago. I know that it's not so vertical though, and things will be fine as soon as I start climbing it. More of a concern this time is the cold wind that gusts across us and cuts through our bones. Mark overtakes, but then decides to turn around. It's very cold when the wind blasts, and he has the additional concern of his fingers: his Achilles heel. They are more than usually susceptible to frostbite and have prevented him from climbing peaks in the past, most notably on Manaslu last year. We all want to get as high as possible today, but we also want to return unscathed. This first rotation is not the time for doing anything silly, and Mark is making a wise decision by returning to ABC.

  Mila, Dorje and I rest briefly at the foot of the wall, but again Dorje is keen to keep moving. Another group of climbers arrived here at the same time as us, and he wants to start up the ropes ahead of them. It's a good move: once we begin climbing we're quicker than they are, and Margaret and Chedar are only a little slower as they clip in behind us. Ice conditions can change significantly from year to year, and I soon discover the route up the wall is much steeper than it was when I climbed it five years ago. Back then I remember there being two steep sections, at the very bottom and the very top, but in between the fixed ropes zig-zagged at a gentler gradient. This time the bottom section is blue ice; it's rock hard and difficult to get a foothold. I inch up gingerly and find it tiring. Above it the trail zig-zags more gently, but there are also some steep and exposed sections. We make good progress and not everyone is finding it as tiring as I am. The rest of our Sherpa team come skipping down the ropes above us, having carried loads up to the North Col for the second successive day, and they're not the only ones finding it easy.

  "Can you smell burning?" Mila asks me when we stop for a short rest.

  We turn round and see that Dorje has taken the opportunity to light a cigarette. This becomes a problem for him when Mila and I decide to continue. He only has two hands, and he needs to choose between cigarette, jumar and ice axe. He slides the axe into his harness.

  Mila and Dorje traverse a section of the North Col Wall

  Phil is as strong as a Sherpa, and shortly after midday he is the next to come racing down the ropes after tagging the North Col. He tells us we're not far from the top now, but he's concerned about the wind. He says if we get too cold then we should be happy with our day's work and turn back. At the next flattish section Mila decides to do just that, and she and Dorje head back down. I manage to get my hands warmed up a little and am determined to continue, but the next section is very steep and exposed. When I see Margaret and Chedar turn around below me I begin to have second thoughts. While I don't mind walking on my own, for steep technical climbing like this I prefer the reassurance of a companion. While I know Ian and Grant are still above me, there's now no longer anyone behind. Above this steep section I know from studying the face yesterday there's a gentler traverse followed by an even steeper climb up onto the Col. At my current rate of ascent I estimate there's probably still another hour of climbing before I reach it. I look at my altimeter and see that it's reading 6900 metres. I decided to turn around. The climb will have done me some good, and there's no need to turn it into a lonely ordeal.

  I'm a confident enough ascender, but I'm not so fearless going down when I'm staring at the exposed slopes below me. I descend very carefully, and watch Margaret and Chedar become ants in the distance as they climb down much more quickly. I need three abseils to get down the blue ice section at the bottom of the wall. As I'm waiting at the bottom taking a drink, I see Ian come skipping down, confidently arm-wrapping Sherpa-style. These slopes are no problem for him; he's been all the way up to the Col and back down again, and still he's caught me up. What a guy! He's definitely the star performer in our team (I'm not talking Sherpas and Phil, of course).

  The return to ABC is a slow trudge. The winds are howling across the ice plateau, and I feel like I could be towing a sledge across Antarctica. I stumble back into camp at 2.30, satisfied, though a little disappointed I didn't make it to the col. Grant is the only other member of our team to climb all the way up there, and he arrives back in camp at four o'clock. Tomorrow we'll be descending to the comforts of Base Camp, and I spend the remainder of the day forcing down what food I can and snoozing.

  17. The sweetest beer in the world

  Friday 27 April, 2012 - Base Camp, Everest, Tibet

  The plan is to have breakfast at the usual time of eight o'clock, then pack our kit bags in a leisurely fashion and descend to Base Camp. That's the theory, but I know from experience how keen Sherpas usually are to get moving. I decide to begin packing before breakfast, at seven o'clock, and even then I expect at any minute to hear the telltale click-clickof my tent being taken down around me. Most of us have the same thought, and we're nearly all ready to leave straight after breakfast.

  As far as picturesque campsites in the world go, Advanced Base Camp is up there among the very finest, but we're not sorry to be leaving. It's
one of the harshest places to live anywhere in the world. I've been plagued by headaches for days, have picked at my food despite Pemba producing some excellent meals, the smallest of tasks have been exhausting in the thin air, and the crashing of the wind has been a constant companion. I know I'm probably going to have to spend another couple of weeks up here if this mountain is going to be climbed, but at least I'm prepared for it. I'm keeping my fingers crossed my body remains strong enough and the mind isn't too dulled.

  For some reason the girl racer Mila again decides my lumbering pace is just the thing for getting back down to Base Camp, and we leave together at 8.30. Ian and Mark start out just a little ahead of us, but Ian seems to be more tired today, perhaps because of his greater exertions yesterday, and isn't rushing at his usual pace. We catch up with them quite quickly, when Mark's pack appears by the side of the trail with no sign of its owner. Presumably the Sherpas were a bit too eager taking the toilet tent down this morning before Mark had a chance to use it.

  The descent to Base Camp takes five and a half hours and is extremely monotonous. Several sections seem to take for ever, and there are some parts I don't recognise from our ascent. There is less snow for sure. The Changtse Base Camp area was carpeted in white when we came through, and now it's just stones and rubble. Yakshit Camp lives up to its name without the snow. I stop to photograph an area more akin to a farmer's paddock than a glacier camp. Below this the land is dry and dusty, and the dust gets into my lungs. It feels like a cold desert region, and the wind is painful against my cheeks. Only when we reach Japanese Base Camp, with the main Rongbuk valley visible beneath us, do I gain heart. Mark and Ian have been ahead of us for a while, but I put on a burst of speed to catch up with them. It doesn't seem to matter what pace I go for Mila; she is always right behind me. Had she decided to descend with Phil or the Sherpas then I expect she will have been able to keep up.

  The four of us reach Base Camp a little before two o'clock, and Phil is standing outside to welcome us with some tins of Red Bull. While this might work for Mila the tee-totaller, he seems to need some convincing that what the rest of us need most is Tuborg beer. I dump all my kit in the porch of my tent and retire to the dining tent. It's spotlessly clean. The carpet seems to have been vacuumed, and Da Pasang can't have had much to do while we were up at ABC. It feels like a palace after our sufferings above, and for the first hour the sun shines in and it's cosy and warm. As for the Tuborg, I think it's the sweetest beer I've ever tasted, and when I tell the others they all agree.

  Grant and Margaret arrive an hour later in a howling blizzard, but the rest of the day is very pleasant as we relax from our exertions. After a couple of beers Ian vanishes to the kitchen tent and reappears with a tray of wine. He repeats this trick several times, and nobody tries to stop him. In the tent next door we can hear Sherpa music and laughter, and it's clear they're spending their afternoon in the same way as we are. The main disappointment for me is when Da Pasang produces the most beautiful roast chicken for dinner and I discover my appetite still hasn't returned. Mark, as is his habit, has the brilliant idea of introducing some drinking games. By 7.30 it's dark outside, but nobody can be bothered to get up and switch the lights on, so we sit around the table and continue talking in pitch blackness.

  When I retire to my tent I spend several minutes groping through my backpack item by item trying to find my head torch. It's only after I've bashed my head several times on the portable light above my head that Phil has thoughtfully provided all our tents with, that I realise I can light the tent by switching it on.

  18. Everest news

  Saturday 28 April, 2012 - Base Camp, Everest, Tibet

  Throughout the night I listen to the sound of the wind buffeting against my tent. Even though I'm wearing ear plugs it's still extremely loud, and it continues for all of the following day. I can't remember the last time I didn't have to listen to it: probably when I was back in Kathmandu nearly three weeks ago.

  I'm feeling very tired today and can't summon up the energy to do very much. It's nice to have a shower and a shave after several days, and it takes me longer the usual to write my diary. I know I should blog, but my brain isn't really working again yet, and it can wait till tomorrow.

  We spend time today catching up on news from other Everest teams, mainly by reading Alan Arnette's Everest website and Everest1953.co.uk by using a Kindle for internet access. It's not the most reliable means of web browsing, and it often takes several minutes to open a page, but it's the cheapest, and we have all day to wait. We learn that two Sherpas have died, and there have been a couple of major avalanches and an electrical storm, all on the south side of the mountain. By contrast here on the north, all is quiet and everything is going to plan - so far. Alan Arnette has called it the "dark side" of the mountain because of the lack of information he's been able to glean from expedition blogs, but this makes it sounds like there are people wandering around camp dressed as Darth Vader. We also try to get news from the outside world, but this comes from Mark's daily update by satellite phone from his girlfriend Claire, which means it's mostly English Premier League and European Champions League football results. We try to convince Phil there's been a terrorist attack on Woodstock, the small town where he lives in New York State.

  "Yeah, kidnapping Charlie Brown's canary is about as low as you can get."

  "Apparently Snoopy is distraught and has stolen Linus's security blanket."

  But either Phil has never read the Peanuts cartoon or he has other things on his mind today, because he doesn't seem to find us funny.

  Meanwhile Ian's craving for alcohol seems to be reaching breaking point. Phil has imposed a three unit limit during happy hour, which Ian reaches within minutes. He has started racking up a tab, which involves drinking a couple of units more and going into "alcohol debt". It's not clear how this is going to be repaid at the end of the expedition, but his behaviour is keeping us entertained. He sits at the table in excited anticipation, waiting for permission to go to the kitchen and get the next round.

  "So, Ian, are you looking forward to your next drink?" asks Grant at one point, like someone asking a small child whether they're looking forward to a ride on the dodgems. It produces a few hearty chuckles around the table, but luckily Ian doesn't seem to mind us taking the Mickey out of him.

  19. How cold the wind doth blow

  Sunday 29 April , 2012 - Base Camp, Everest, Tibet

  There's an eerie calm when I wake up this morning, and I realise for the first time in heaven knows how long the wind isn't pounding the life out of my tent. It doesn't last long, though. Within an hour of breakfast the maddening sound of the flapping of tent nylon begins again and continues all day. It's noisy and relentless, and I'm finding it increasingly hard to remember the sound of silence.

  I spend an exciting morning washing clothes. We've converted one of the storage tents into a laundry tent, where washing lines are hung and clothes put out to dry. With the wind as it is, hanging the washing line across your own tent in the traditional manner would mean that within minutes clothes would be covered with a fine silver powder and dirtier than when they started, which is fine if you like sequined outfits, but they're not really my style.

  Winds on the summit pyramid

  At lunch we spend some time discussing the latest weather forecast, which suggests there may be a lull in the wind on the 4th, 5th and 6th (which at the present moment seems about as likely as a team of yetis arriving in camp and starting up a barbeque). Phil says that if there's an early summit window (for example, the 10th) then we need to be prepared to stay up at ABC, rest for a few days, then go for it. But from my previous experience of very high altitude, I'm fairly sure that not only will I need a second rotation up to the North Col to further acclimatise, but I will need to be well rested back at Base Camp again before I embark on a summit push. ABC is not a place to rest - unless my appetite improves dramatically on the second rotation then I'm going to continue wasting away up there.
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  It's an afternoon for blogging now that our high altitude brains are slowly beginning to return. Grant writes an epic post which covers the whole of the first rotation in great detail, and the hardships he experienced at every moment (which happily doesn't include talking to his boring old tent mate at Interim Camp). It's a great record of life at high altitude, but will lead anyone reading it to wonder why on earth we bother. Mine is a more concise and frivolous post which mentions the hardships in a few short sentences and probably leaves the impression life up there isn't so bad after all. Both of us provide headlines that emphasise the wind has been the enduring factor in our lives recently. It's so loud and annoying today that Phil decides to begin happy hour fifteen minutes early, at 3.45. Ian leads the charge again, and five hours later he, Mark, Phil and I are still there in the same chairs in the dining tent, having a heated debate about whether China will be the next superpower, snatches of which would probably land some of us in prison if the Communist authorities could hear it. We haven't moved from our chairs, other than to run back to our tents for a few minutes when the sun vanished behind the hills at five o'clock to put on warmer clothes.

  20. Everest blog wars

  Monday 30 April, 2012 - Base Camp, Everest, Tibet

  It's generally agreed that today is the worst the wind has been so far. The sky is clear, and to begin with Chomolungma doesn't even wear her plume of cloud, so dry is the air, but down here it's howling relentlessly as usual. It's unpleasant to go outside, so bitingly cold it is, and for the entire morning I huddle in the comms tent with the rest of the team: Phil, Mark, Ian, Grant, Margaret and Mila. It's warm in there with the sun on it, but still we have to put up with the violent smashing of tent canvas.