As we entered the mess tent, Louise and John waved and beckoned us over. The guides looked up from their end of the table with raised eyebrows.
We squeezed ourselves into small spaces at the table.
“So?” said Louise.
Iwan tore into his breakfast of eggs and beans.
“We made it to the fourth ladder,” I said. “We ran out of time.”
“The ladders are intact?” asked a disbelieving John.
The bustle and murmur of conversation around the table had ceased. All eyes were on us. The guides looked on, untrusting.
“Three,” said Iwan through a mouthful of egg.
“The other, the fourth one, has collapsed.”
I saw one of the guides smirking.
“But it’s passable,” I added quickly. “Someone has already done it.”
“Who?”
“I have no idea. We followed footprints up the Icefall; they continued on the other side of the crevasse where the ladder had collapsed.”
The silence was oppressive. They waited for me to continue.
“It’s passable; we can get through the Khumbu Icefall.”
An eruption of chatter – questions flew at me from all sides.
“Was it easy?”
“What condition was the Icefall in?”
“Do you think we should go?”
One of the guides stood up.
“This is ridiculous,” he said. Silence quickly fell. “Delusional. If it’s even true that these two went up the Icefall, there are no guarantees that it is safe for all of us to go traipsing up.”
“This is Everest; there are never guarantees that it’s safe,” I responded.
The guide looked at me as if I’d just blasphemed. He seemed shocked that somebody should question his authority.
“Look,” I continued. “We’ve got the resources, we’ve got the means and we’ve got the will and desire to keep going. We’ve spent weeks acclimatising and we’re just sitting around at Base Camp; we’ve all paid to do the one thing we’re not even trying to do; reach that summit.” I pointed towards Everest.
There was a murmur of agreement.
“The resources?” the guide said. “What resources? Most of the Sherpas have gone, the country’s in ruins – the ice doctors are on their way to close the Icefall.”
“We can persuade them not to, if they know we want to go up. If we want to keep the Icefall open, I am sure we can keep it open. There are enough Sherpas still here, looking for work. We can get them together as a team.”
There were quite a lot of Sherpas that came up to EBC, not with any particular expedition, but looking for work. If they didn’t find it, they were in for a very miserable winter; a lot of them relied on the income from Everest to survive. And I had heard that some Sherpas, having checked that their families down the valley were safe, had even already returned to EBC.
I could see that I was striking a chord with the team. The idea of giving up, going back to our daily lives and not even attempting the summit would be something that would play on our consciences for the rest of our lives. There would forever be a part of us that would be thinking of Everest.
None of us wanted to endure the six-week acclimatisation, wracking coughs and headaches again – the long, cold trek up the valley, sleeping in draughty coffin tents in the freezing nights. And some could not afford to come again; this was their only chance. We were here, we were all in good physical condition; we were ready for it.
“The team all want to climb,” I said.
“It’s not up to you,” the guide retorted. He’d already mentally checked out of EBC.
There it was, the simple truth – it wasn’t up to us. There was no democracy at Everest Base Camp. But I felt we should all have a say.
We had all taken two months away from our families and our loved ones, and we really didn’t want to have to come back again. The Icefall was passable and I felt it would be the wrong decision to give up now. I decided it was time for a pause and a careful think.
I left the mess tent, my breakfast barely touched.
Louise followed.
“Jules,” she shouted after me as I trekked away across the snow-covered landscape.
I stopped and waited for her to catch up.
“Is that it?”
“Until I get on a helicopter and leave Base Camp, I won’t believe that that’s it, but it’s time to reflect and gauge the mood of the rest of the team.”
“Good – I want to keep going, too.”
That filled me full of hope – Louise wanted to keep going. I thought that, if I could muster enough support within our team and across EBC from the remnants of other expeditions, maybe we could persuade the Icefall doctors to keep the mountain open and repair the fallen ladders.
It was exhausting work, trucking across Base Camp, talking to people and canvassing opinion. I mean, it was difficult enough due to the terrain, but the thin air meant that I was panting all the time. On a scrap of paper, I jotted down the details of people willing to crack on and attempt the summit.
I was feeling good physically. No Buddha’s Revenge, my feet were in good nick. I felt ready to give the mountain a crack. I’d lost a lot of weight – my trousers were loose – but I didn’t realise that at the time. Your body starts eating itself at altitude; the calorific content required to keep warm and functional is enormous.
In the days following the disaster, I had been speaking to one of the other camp leaders. He was more open to the idea of summiting, so I headed off to find him. I jumped straight into the conversation.
“Would you still consider going up?” I asked bluntly.
He looked up at me, taking me in, considering me.
“If people still have the will to; sure,” he replied.
“People do still have the will.”
He indicated an empty chair next to him; I sat down.
“Look, the simple fact is if we’ve got the supplies. We just need the people and the guides. If you bring all that together, you’ve got an expedition. If you can get me a list of people willing to go, as well as a sufficient number of Sherpas – who are willing to go – then I would consider it.”
I had the beginnings of a list, screwed up in my pocket. I started to feel hopeful, confident again.
“How many Sherpas do we need?”
“It depends on how many climbers you’ve got.”
He looked up at Everest, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“You’ve not got long, either,” he said calmly. “Get me the list in 24 hours and I might be able to get an expedition together. I emphasise ‘might’ – some things I can’t control.”
I thanked him, shook his hand and stood up.
“Come and find me tomorrow,” he said. “Let me know how you’ve done.”
I nodded and walked off.
“Oh,” he shouted after me, “I would suggest trying at the Indian Army’s camp. Rumour is they’re still keen. That’s also where you’ll find the ice doctors.”
He waved at me casually, before returning to scratching his beard.
I began my journey back to our camp, adding names to my list as I went. When I arrived, I saw Iwan chatting to Petar, the Polish father. I headed straight over.
They were speaking quickly. Although I couldn’t understand what they were saying, it sounded serious.
“Everything ok?”
Petar looked at me, through panicky, tear-washed eyes.
“His son,” Iwan said. “His footprints.”
His footprints?
I thought back to the Icefall, to the mystery footprints through the perilous route. His son?
“It was him?”
Iwan nodded.
“Went to get equipment from Cump 1.”
“On his own?
”
Iwan handed me a note, written in Polish. The script was shaky, rushed.
“What does it say?”
“’Father – I go to get equipment from Camp 1. I am sorry. I love you’ – found it this morning, inside son’s tent.”
Petar began speaking again, his voice filled with concern. Iwan attempted to calm him.
“He is worried,” said Iwan simply. “Vants to go up now.”
“Now? That’s crazy. We can go in the morning.”
“Ve?” said Iwan, smiling slightly.
“Of course, ‘we’”.
“I was hoping you say dis”.
Iwan told Petar that it would be impossible to go now – far too dangerous. He assured him that we would go in the morning, the three of us. We would climb up to Camp 1, or somewhere where we could contact the son.
We assured him Andrzej would be fine. He was an experienced climber; we had seen his footprints continuing beyond the last crevasse. We could help him bring some of the gear down.
We arranged to meet the following morning at the foot of the Icefall at 5am, earlier than we had that day, in order to give us more time to reach the top.
I thought about how I would feel, helplessly sitting by while one of my daughters was in a dangerous situation. I would want everybody to help. I felt very sorry for the dad – it was now my turn to help him.
I forgot all about the list.
The Icefall revisited; the expedition in peril
My watch alarm buzzed into life at 4am. It was freezing cold, with icicles on the inside of my tent, and pitch black. I was very tired. I tentatively pushed a hand out of my downing sleeping bag. Boy, it was cold! I rummaged in the side pocket for my head torch. Oh, jeepers, what had I agreed to do?
After our conversation with Petar the previous evening, Iwan had gone to see Donald to tell him what he planned to do. But Donald had had a change of heart. He had been warned by his sponsors that it would not look good for him to go ahead with the climb, so he could no longer support Iwan’s going up the Icefall. Apparently, there was a big argument, and Iwan had been forced to drop the idea.
So Iwan wouldn’t be coming this morning. It was now up to me alone to help Petar, with whom I couldn’t even communicate, to find his son. If it had been one of my daughters, I would have been desperate for somebody to help me. That’s the way I rationalised it, although I knew it was insanely dangerous.
After I found out that Iwan couldn’t come, I had sought out Petar to assure him I would still help him. One of the guides had interrupted us.
“We need you to sign this,” he had said.
“What is it?”
“A disclaimer form.”
“Disclaimer for what?”
“If you’re really going up the Icefall again, we need you to sign this. We can’t be held responsible if you go and hurt yourself.”
I laughed. This is what it had come to! They wanted to make sure they were under no obligation to come and rescue me if I got injured.
The whole expedition team seemed to be crumbling under the stress.
I took the form, glanced over it.
“We can still summit,” I said, as I signed it. “We haven’t all given up yet.”
It was pretty clear that the guides had checked out – they spent their time at Base Camp smoking dope, drinking and discussing their plans for Thailand. One of them had already booked his flights.
“Sure,” the guide replied with a smirk, taking the signed form from me and walking off.
I had my doubts as to whether we would ever go up. I really did have my doubts by that stage – everything seemed to be against it.
In the gloomy darkness of the early morning, I dressed myself and crawled out of the tent.
I headed over to the mess tent and peered inside – no familiar, smiley face of Iwan this time. It was a very quiet, very eerie stillness. Nothing was moving – not even the ghosts of the dead climbers. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I shoved Weetabix down, filled my water bottle and left camp to meet Petar at the SPCC tent.
My head torch created eerie, haunting shadows as I walked, and I found myself thinking about all the people who had died here – not just this year, but throughout history…
It was pitch black, nothing was moving. There were no birds this high up. No creatures could live up here. There was just silence – a silence quite unlike anything I’d ever experienced before, an oppressive, constricting, haunting silence.
I wondered how many lives Everest has taken; how many orphans, widows she had created. I felt as if the spirits of all those lost souls whirled and drifted around me, delicately held aloft by the freezing wind.
I heard a trickling sound, the sound of running water – the stream in the glacier. I was planning on following the thin, meandering stream to the foot of the Icefall again.
It took around 30 minutes to make it to the foot of the Icefall. The gloom was beginning to lift as the valley became lighter. This wasn’t the sun; the light came up first, several hours before the warm sunlight follows.
I saw the blue canvas of the SPCC tent, but no sign of any human life.
“Hello?” I shouted.
Perhaps he’d gone? Perhaps he didn’t have confidence in me and he’d gone ahead. Maybe he couldn’t wait any longer to see if his son was alive.
“Hello? Hello?” My voice echoed off into the eerie silence of the huge seracs around me.
I shouted for around five minutes or so. Was the Pole actually coming ?
“Hello!” shot a voice through the darkness, at last.
I saw a figure around 40 metres away, approaching me. He was a small, wiry man, but with many years’ climbing experience.
As he approached, I could hear the ice crunching under his crampons.
“I late, I late,” he said, shaking his head.
“No worries,” I replied. “Let’s go.”
He nodded enthusiastically. I led the way.
We didn’t rope ourselves together this time; we just clipped in our jumars and climbed. We followed the same route I had taken with Iwan the day before.
I was very impressed by Petar. His pace was so steady, so constant; a beautiful pace. He was 66, but he moved up that mountain like a much younger man. And then there was me, five steps, then on my hands and knees gasping for oxygen! Still, I felt proud that I was able to try to help him, to offer support as we made our way up the Icefall.
We reached the first ladder, still intact, and crossed. The same with the second. We came to the third…
Petar looked at me. His expression was easy enough to read: will that hold?
I nodded, clipped onto the dangling rope and proceeded to cross the very bouncy trio of ladders. It was daunting, but I just got on with it. He followed, and we headed upwards.
Then there was the boulder and the ledge with its 30m drop to negotiate. We climbed along the ledge around the side of the bolder, ice axes in hand hacking away at the ice as we went.
Eventually, we arrived at the fourth ladder, just short of the ‘football pitch’. We were now not far from Camp 1. This was where the last ladder point had collapsed.
We walked to the edge and looked down at the twisted aluminium, many metres below.
The safety rope was still in place, hanging across the crevasse, but with no knowledge of the anchor at the other side it was not safe to use.
There was no way we could cross the crevasse unless we climbed all the way down and then ice-climbed out with twin ice axes. But we didn’t have twin axes; we only had one ice axe each.
My companion’s son had climbed down – on his own – and then climbed back up the other side to continue onwards. I had profound admiration for him; the nerve that he had to go and do that by himself. I mean it was stupid, yeah, but this man had balls… I mean,
titanium balls, and huge ones at that. You had to admire the guy. It was incredible.
Without twin axes we could not climb down the crevasse and back out. We tried for a while to find a route around the crevasse, using our ropes to try to get across, but it was impossible. We were running out of time, the sun was beginning to rise.
In the end, we used one of the ice doctors’ clips to anchor me, and I belayed Petar down the crevasse, to see if he could find a route up the other side without twin axes, but he couldn’t, so I helped him climb back to me.
I could see the look of dejection on his face.
We were now very close to Camp 1, so there was a chance he might be able to make contact with his son on their two-way radios.
He turned it on and tried… All we could hear was a faint crackle. He tried again… crackle, crackle… He kept going.
A faint voice came through – the voice of Andrzej.
Petar’s face lit up, and he shouted into the radio. This was the first sign that he had had in 36 hours that his son was still alive. The relief in his voice was clearly audible. They chatted for about 30 seconds – a difficult, stilted, conversation, due to the terrible reception.
“Do you want a helicopter rescue for your son?” I asked.
He wanted to call the camp, to speak to Donat or Iwan. He tried on his radio – with no luck.
Our choices were limited. Either we carry on to Camp 1 and stay there, or head back down again… I was risking my life here now – really risking my life. The sun was rising and the ice was beginning to melt. Climbing into that crevasse without twin ice axes was a fool’s errand…
I thought about Steph and Lizzie… We were beyond the boundaries of sensible stuff now. I was endangering myself for somebody else’s child. And although I was very glad to help, I did not want to deprive my children of their father.
I had my radio, but it was not the same as the Polish radios, so it was no use for contacting Andrzej, but I was able to contact Base Camp. One of the guides answered.
“Look, maybe he needs a helicopter rescue for his son.”
The guide was less than helpful.
“There’s not much we can do.”
Aftershock: One Man's Quest and the Quake on Everest Page 18