“I understand you weren’t here this morning, anyway.”
“I was up the Icefall, but I was back at 11 o’clock. I saw your guides then, and they didn’t say anything about a meeting. What did you decide? I’m part of this expedition; I think I’ve got a right to know.”
“It’s not safe. The Icefall isn’t safe, so the Icefall doctors have decided to close the mountain,” said the expedition leader.
“No,” I retorted. “That isn’t true, that isn’t true. I have just been to speak to the Icefall doctors – I spoke to Ank!”
As I said this, the expedition leader jumped out of his chair. I thought he was going to come and clock me one. He was clearly hopping mad. I think the idea that one of his expedition team members could have the audacity to go to speak to the Icefall doctors directly without his permission was, to him, unthinkable. And then to speak back to him and question his decision…that was unheard of. But we were an expedition team – we all had a right to say what we thought about the future of the expedition and to have input into the final decision.
The members of the team were all highly successful people, a heart surgeon, an actuary, another doctor, a fighter pilot, an entrepreneur, etc. We were being treated like kids. There was no real leadership from the top; it was more of a dictatorship. It showed an overall lack of management, and, consequently, there was dissent in the ranks. It was a horrible discordant environment to be in.
In reality, it was all about money. I was aware that the expedition leader had already paid out $100,000 for the two kilometres of rope that are required from Camp 2 to the summit. Normally, the bigger expeditions all chip in together for the rope before the season starts. These expeditions are not known for their financial management, and I heard that our expedition hadn’t billed the others before the season started.
Of course, the other expeditions had now left, so they were hardly likely to turn around and pay for the rope. Our expedition leader was in line to make a big loss on the rope if he used it. That’s what it all came down to, at the end of the day; it all came down to money. He wasn’t willing to make a loss, so instead, we, the expedition members, had to.
“I have been told that the Icefall isn’t safe,” he shouted bullishly. I could see the effort that it was taking him to restrain himself.
“That’s not true,” I said, unflinchingly. “I’ve been up this morning, I can show you the pictures. There are three good ladders – we can do it. I chatted to Ank, the manager of the Icefall doctors, and he said that if we could find 16 willing Sherpas, then he’d open the Icefall. After six weeks here, in these freezing conditions, I think it’s only fair that we’re allowed to have a crack at it.”
The expedition leader looked at me. I could see he was furious that I was daring to challenge his authority. I suspect nobody had ever really done that to him before. But I also knew I had presented new information – and that there was now a real opportunity to continue.
The rest of the tent was silent – you could hear a pin drop.
The expedition leader changed tactic.
“It isn’t safe above the Icefall. What about Camp 1 to 2? Camp 2 to 3? They aren’t safe, either.”
“How do you know that?” I asked. “You haven’t been up there; nobody has been up there. The last time you climbed Everest was 1998. How do you know what’s up there? You don’t; that’s a ridiculous comment.”
“It won’t be safe up there – the earthquake will have done some damage.”
“It’s Everest! It’s never going to be safe; if it was safe then none of us would be here!”
He seemed to realise I wasn’t going to be a pushover.
“OK,” he said. “It’s very dangerous, and we are not sure we can make it. Does anyone else still want to go up?” I had to admire him for opening up the debate.
There was a deadly silence for a few seconds. The group was afraid to challenge him.
“Louise does,” I said, hoping to get the debate going.
“Yes, I do,” she said. “I did not succeed last year, I just want a chance at the summit.”
“Paul?”
“I’ll be guided by our leader.”
John also left judgment to the expedition leader, but the two Japanese, Hachiro and Taka, as well as Donat and Iwan, all still wanted to go.
Bearing in mind that this was a controversial situation, I thought we had a good result. Out of the nine remaining members of our expedition, none of them had said that they definitely did not want to go. Everyone was willing to give it a shot…if the expedition leader was willing.
“It’s my decision,” he said, playing his trump card, “and my decision is final. It’s too dangerous. We are not going up.”
And that was that.
I knew there was no point arguing further. He’d taken our money with the promise we would attempt to summit Everest, and I understood that sometimes it would be out of his control, but that wasn’t the case here; we had the opportunity and he’d decided against taking it.
The meeting ended, the expedition leader talked to his guides in harsh whispers and then headed out of the white pod in the direction of the Indian Army camp.
I had no doubt that he was off to see Ank, the Icefall doctor, to get the Icefall closed for good.
One of the guides told us to pack our bags, as we’d be leaving in the morning for the three-day trek out.
I felt numb, completely exhausted and drained. It was over. I had given it my all. I had talked and cajoled everybody I could. I don’t think I could have done more. The carpet had been ripped from under my feet, and all hope had gone.
I felt a great wave of exhaustion sweep over me.
Now, suddenly, I wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible. There was no reason to be here any longer; if we weren’t going up Everest, I was going home.
I wanted to see my daughters, and hold them tightly in my arms again. Thoughts of them had filled many of my waking hours at BC and now I would see them again soon. I was very happy about that, at least; it was compensation.
The discontentment was palpable among the expedition team. The guides had all left the tent, and we were left to discuss what had just happened.
“It’s over then,” said Paul.
No one said much. Hachiro was talking to Taka very quickly in Japanese; I think he was explaining what had just happened. Donat and Iwan sat stony-faced at the back of the tent.
Later, we all sat in the mess tent, eating our final evening meal together at BC. The guides had decided to eat in the other mess tent, and we, the remaining nine, were in the second mess tent, which suited us just fine.
We thanked Bill for another great meal, and we raised a glass of lukewarm lemon tea to our failed expedition. I looked from face to face, and could see we were all in a bad place.
I glanced at Louise; her eyes were sunken, dark. She had spent 14 years preparing for Everest, and this was her second failed attempt. She was gutted.
“I was willing to put another $50,000 in if it helped, but I’m not coming back,” she had said to me through tearful eyes earlier. “That’s it; I’m done.”
Her dream had been ripped from her once again, and she had finally given up on it. I really felt for her. My decision to come had been a quick one, but she had spent 14 years preparing.
There was a rustling as the mess tent flap opened up, letting a breath of freezing air whip through the tent. The expedition leader walked in and sat down with us. He sat down right next to me.
I was too tired to talk to him as he tried to rebuild the bridges he had incinerated earlier in the day. I felt I might say something I’d regret if I said anything at all.
We were all done. We had all accepted that we weren’t going to attempt the summit.
Unavoidably, we got into conversation about the Icefall. The expedition leader repeated his
false claim that it was impassable, and that the Icefall doctors had taken the decision to close it.
“That’s not the case!” I said, almost incredulously. “I told you earlier they were willing to keep it open if we found 16 Sherpas!”
“That’s not true,” he replied.
“What do you mean it’s not true? I was there this afternoon, in the Indian Army’s tent, speaking to Ank.”
“No, that’s not true.”
“What do you mean it’s not true? Are you calling me a liar?” I asked.
“Yes,” he shot me a look as cold as the snow. “You’re lying.”
I was gobsmacked. It had descended to this level now. I had no reason to lie – there was absolutely no point in my lying about anything – but now this guy, on top of everything else, on top of taking my money and cancelling the expedition, was calling me a liar.
I bit my lip. I had no more to say.
I turned to my left to talk to Louise.
“I’m so disappointed,” she said.
After dinner, I went straight to bed.
In the morning, I would be going home.
An unexpectedly easy exit
It was a three-day trek down the Khumbu Valley.
As I awoke, the events of the previous night surged through me like a tidal wave of nausea. It was all over – we were going back down.
I sat up in my coffin for the last time. I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, I was going home to my daughters and I couldn’t wait to see them again, I also wouldn’t have to sleep in that bloody coffin at -15 degrees again. On the other hand, all that preparation was for nothing; my dream of climbing Everest was over.
The sunlight penetrated the yellow-orange canvas of the tent. I dressed and crawled out, looking back at the tent. The expedition’s logo was proudly printed on the side.
I grabbed a cup of Her Maj’s finest – it was still the finest, even though we were leaving – and a piece of toast, and headed back to my tent to pack my gear into my two expedition bags. I put my electrical items into my rucksack. Gentle as they are, I didn’t trust a yak with my electrical gear; I was going to carry that in the rucksack on my back, along with some water, my warm jacket and a book.
I tried to avoid looking up the Icefall towards Everest, now that it was all over. I tried to avoid thinking about how I would have felt at the top – it would have been amazing, incredible; it would have been indescribable. In the clear, warm sunlight, it all looked so doable.
Now, with my rucksack on my back, lugging the two kit bags to the mess tent to be loaded onto yaks, all I felt was despondency, disappointment. I felt I’d wasted a whole load of time and money on nothing.
I stood near the white pod, pausing for thought. What would the girls think? Would they understand, or would they be disappointed? Would they be ashamed, having to go into school and tell all their friends that their father had failed to summit Everest?
I wanted to be able to return home and tell them that I’d done this amazing thing. I knew no one would criticise me, because of the earthquake and avalanche, but still…
I was dreading it…but also I couldn’t wait to see them again.
People were milling around, strapping bags to yaks, saying awkward, surreal farewells and heading down the valley.
Once my bags were securely fastened onto one of the gentle, stinking great beasts, I left Base Camp. There was no sentimentality; I just walked off over the ice and rocks in the direction of the valley without looking back. I didn’t think I’d miss it – the frozen, sleepless nights, the coffin tent, the shit-stained, stinking toilets – and I didn’t want to look at Everest any longer. I just left. I wasn’t looking forward to a three-day trek, and all the discussions about “if only”. I just wanted to get home.
As I left BC, I saw a man in a bright orange jacket with a long ponytail dangling down his back. It was the guy from the Indian Army tent from the previous day.
“Hey, Damien?” I said as I approached.
He turned, beamed a wide smile at me.
“Jules!” His Belgian accent made my name sound alien.
He thrust out his hand and shook mine warmly. I fell in line, walking along next to him.
As our expedition leader had decided to call it quits, the Icefall had been closed, and the dreams of the Indian Army and the South Africans were also destroyed. So the Indian Army, and Damien, were trekking out and heading home.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Sorry I couldn’t persuade them.”
For some reason, I felt a burden of guilt, as if my failure to convince our expedition leader had resulted in the closure of the mountain.
“It is not your fault,” Damien replied. “He came back. He was red-faced, furious.”
“Who?”
“Your expedition leader – I don’t know what you said, but you certainly made him mad.”
Damien laughed, a deep, booming laugh.
“He burst into the Indian Army tent,” he continued, “went straight up to Ank and said that he had spent $100,000 on the rope, and that if anyone wanted to climb, they would have to pay for it.”
I was shocked.
“The Indian Army? And those South Africans?” I asked.
“Yep. He said for each it was $8,000 if they wanted to climb.”
Everybody knew the soldiers in the Indian Army couldn’t afford to pay $8,000 each. We were all being held to ransom as a result of poor financial management.
Damien and I laughed about how ridiculous the situation had become, the dissolution of our small society in such a short space of time.
I liked Damien; I liked the guy’s drive and enthusiasm. I liked the fact that he’d stayed behind with the Indian Army, and that he didn’t give in easily.
We chatted for a little while longer, then I bade him farewell, and headed off to try to catch up with my team.
I arrived at Gorak Shep after another 45 minutes of hard trekking, stopping there for a rest and a cup of lemon tea. I needed to send some emails and the telephone mast loomed directly above me, surprisingly unharmed by earthquake or avalanche.
As I entered the cold lodge, I was delighted to spot Paul, John and Louise sitting in the corner, wrapped in their thick coats, clutching cups of steaming tea, I went over and sat down.
The mood was lighter than yesterday, not difficult, and we chatted while we rested and drank tea. I sent some emails home to the girls and to Vicky, telling them I was on my way back, paying the lodge the obligatory $5 for the privilege.
We didn’t know what the situation was further down the valley or in Kathmandu. We had heard that 7,000 people had died. We had also heard there was wide-scale devastation in Kathmandu, with many buildings in ruins. I felt extremely sorry for the Nepalese. They are a very kind and gentle people, and in my short time in Nepal, I had come to love and respect them dearly. And their country was now in ruins. We had also heard that aid from other countries could not get into Nepal.
Against this backdrop, I somehow had to get home. I imagined this would be no small task. We didn’t even know if the airport was still open or whether it would be running commercial flights. Perhaps I would have to cross the border to get a flight. I asked Vicky to book me any available flight at all, even if it was in the wrong direction. I could start working my way home from wherever it landed. The journey ahead might be a long one.
Just as I was finishing sending emails, I caught a glimpse of bright orange in my peripheral vision. I looked up and saw Damien enter the lodge, pull off a beanie and look around.
“Hey, Damien,” I shouted. “Everybody, this is Damien – he was with the Indian Army, wanting to summit as well. These are my expedition mates and good friends: Louise, Paul and John.”
Damien beamed a big smile and sat down at our table. We all had some soup to try to warm up, and chatted some more. There
was a good camaraderie between the five of us.
“Damien,” I said, “You remember my coming to the Indian Army tent yesterday, yes? You remember what Ank said to me about getting some Sherpas?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Ank said if you could find 16 willing Sherpas then he would reopen the Icefall.”
I turned to Louise.
“You see, I wasn’t lying. That is exactly what Ank said.”
She looked at me with warm eyes.
“Jules, I never doubted you for a minute. I know you tried your hardest for all of us.”
There was a lull in the conversation.
“You know folks,” said Damien, breaking the temporary silence, “because I am Belgian, and because there has been an earthquake, this is now classified as a national disaster.”
We waited for him to continue.
“Under our government’s policy, any insurer has to carry out an emergency recovery for me.”
Emergency recovery?
“How does that work?” I asked
“Because it is a national disaster, the Belgian government policy means that the insurance company has to come and get me. They are sending a helicopter for me.”
“Woah, that’s cool, so they’re coming to get you now?”
“Yes,” he grinned. “And, folks, there is a spare place if anyone wants it?”
A spare place.
I was speaking before I even had a chance to fully process what Damien had said.
“Yes, yes, I want it! I’ll come with you, I’ll come with you!”
“OK, cool, man.”
And that was that – I had the spare place. I had, all of a sudden, gone from feeling frustrated and down with a three-day trek ahead of me, to elated that I could get a helicopter out immediately. The desire to get out as fast as possible was overwhelming.
“Are you sure it’s going to work, getting me on the helicopter; are you sure?”
I was concerned – it all seemed too easy; would it be better just to keep on trudging down the valley with the others, rather than taking a risk and ending up stranded?
Aftershock: One Man's Quest and the Quake on Everest Page 20