Seven Summits

by Dick Bass; Frank Wells; Rick Ridgeway

  “Murphy's Law,” Frank said to Dick over the phone. “Can you believe it? Those C-130 skis are classified strategic weapons by our government. God knows why, but it would take a presidential decree to get a pair for the Chileans. And it took me fifty calls just to find that out.”

  “What now?” Dick asked.

  “I’m checking into the DC-3.”

  “You mean that jalopy built in 1942?”

  “At least it's proven. The owner says he'd be willing to lease it, but only if we get insurance and this pilot named Clay Lacy, an entrepreneurial soldier-of-fortune-of-the-air with a Lear Jet charter service here in Burbank. He showed up a few years back at one of those air shows where they race planes barely off the ground, only he came in his DC-7 and just about beat everyone. Anyway, he likes the idea of going to Antarctica.”

  “How much does the plane owner want for a charter?”

  “It ain't gonna be cheap. Up to a hundred grand.”

  “Holy Jehoshaphat.”

  “But I got a couple of ideas. First, there's always the chance, although it's an outside one, we can make a profit if we follow through on your idea to make a film. A better shot is to try to line up some kind of corporate sponsorship, and on that front I may have a deal going with Budweiser.”

  Frank had contacted Budweiser to see if they might be interested in sponsoring the Seven Summits; Frank offered to take a six pack to the top of each peak, with the idea Bud could work an ad campaign around it. The Bud people were interested.

  “But here's an even better idea,” Frank continued, “that at least would reduce costs. I think Miura has some money from Japanese TV, so let's invite him to join our expedition—especially since he was kind enough to ask us to join his—and split the charter fifty-fifty.”

  “And let's also sell seats to some of those climbers who've been contacting us to take them to Antarctica.” Word was just getting out in climbing circles that Frank and Dick were trying to get to Vinson, and a few climbers, including Reinhold Messner—considered the best in the world—had asked if they could join.

  “I thought of that,” Frank said, “but there's only limited space on the plane because of all the fuel it has to carry, which is the main problem. Somehow we've got to arrange a refueling along the Antarctic Peninsula. But I just had a brainstorm. If the Chileans were willing to charter us their C-130, maybe we could still charter it to parachute a few dozen fuel drums at some prearranged point on the Peninsula.

  “Don't worry,” Frank concluded, “I’m all-out on this one. As we say in the movie business, it's time to start working the phones.”

  It was now September, four months before departure to Antarctica, and although it was a great relief to breathe new life into the plans for that expedition, at almost the same time plans for Everest began to gasp. Call it Murphy's Law, bad karma, or plain bad luck, that universal tendency that turns order to chaos now let loose its furies on the Everest plans. Given Lenser's apparent amiability during his visit, Frank and Dick were now surprised to find him vehemently refusing their every suggestion about organizing the climb, and worse, threatening to pull out of his agreement. It sounded as though Lenser was convinced Frank and Dick were trying to take over the expedition (which in part was true, as they would have most of the members and be supplying most of the equipment, gear, and food).

  In an attempt to pacify Lenser, Frank sent him a cable that opened: “Gerhard Lenser is leader of the 1983 German Everest Expedition in name and in fact.” When that failed, Frank, during an overseas phone conversation with him, lost his patience and yelled, “What do want me to do, Gerhard, click my heels and salute?”

  “I almost said, ‘What do you want me to do, seig heil you?’ “ Frank confessed to Dick. It didn't matter; the message had gotten through, and things went from bad to worse. Dick suggested it might be more politic if he were to deal with Lenser. He felt he had a more conciliatory way of dealing with people because he had learned over the years as an independent entrepreneur that the best way to get people to do what you wanted was to use friendly persuasion. So Dick called Lenser in Germany and after an hour conversation thought he had him pacified.

  But they no more than had Lenser back on board when they received the next blow. Wickwire, sensing a debacle if this combustible combination of people mixed for three months on a high altitude climb, pulled out, and with him went the other climbers he had brought to the project. It was now late November, only three and a half months before the Everest expedition was to depart, and they had purchased no food, no equipment, no oxygen, and only Ershler remained on their team. Both Frank and Dick knew that normally an Everest expedition takes about three years for such preparations, not three months. But they also knew they were used to putting together business deals under the pressure of a ticking clock, and they felt the Everest climb, as well as the Antarctica project, could be handled much the same way.

  So, despite Dick's heavy workload trying to get Snowbird in shape so he could leave for most of the coming year, he spent time keeping Lenser pacified, while Frank worked on locating a new Everest team. Frank also continued single-handedly figuring out how to get the DC-3 to Antarctica, and Dick realized that even if he had more time to spend on the Seven Summits he wouldn't have been able to match Frank's performance with a challenge like Antarctica where Frank's background as a corporate executive was essential. He was indomitable; whenever he encountered a new hurdle, he just found a solution, refusing to accept from anyone an opinion that something was impossible. Like the great turn-of-the-century Antarctic explorer Ernest Shackleton, Frank too felt that “Obstacles are merely things you overcome.”

  But the list of those obstacles seemed only to grow. The last of November Frank called Dick to update him on Antarctica. “The single biggest problem is Clay Lacy. He's nearly impossible to get on the phone. His Lear Jet business has him hopping, he's a United pilot too, and he's got all these movie jobs going. I’m scared to death that at the last minute he'll say he can't go. We did get a fantastic copilot, a Brit named Giles Kershaw. He has more flight time in Antarctica than anyone, nearly 5,000 hours. Flew last year for that British Trans-Globe expedition, the one that went around the world over the poles. Kershaw wasn't easy to get ahold of either. After a dozen phone calls I finally located him in Oman, where he'd been flying supplies for some oil exploration. I’m also working on an inertial navigation system—the plane doesn't have one, and compasses won't work that far south. Then we need maps, and I’m scared Washington will put their foot down if I make a request. The logistics of our refueling are getting detailed—we have to calculate the correct landing zone for our intermediate stop. What's really got me worried is Chile. General Lopatequi, who is handling this, tells me not to worry, but I just don't know how far to trust that. Then there's insurance. The plane's owner won't let it off the ground without one hundred percent coverage. Lloyds is interested, but it's taking time to determine the risk factor, as you can imagine, and they're not confident they can sell it to their underwriters.”

  Organizing Antarctica was becoming a paramilitary operation more like a wartime invasion than a mountaineering expedition, and Frank was now working longer hours on Seven Summits than he had as president of Warner Bros. He didn't mind it, though; it was a challenge and he thrived on hard work. What he found enervating was his emotional stake. He had quit his job, and he had told all his friends and colleagues he was going, and if somehow he failed to put this thing together, it would seem like he had made such a terrible mistake.

  But he knew those were feelings it was best to keep to himself. It was important to show, outwardly, no sign of doubt: Frank knew that when you have a deal to put together that involves simultaneous cooperation from a number of people, the only way to get everyone at once on your bandwagon is to inspire confidence that there is no doubt whatever your deal is going to happen.

  Still, Frank couldn't help on occasion pausing to wonder if at some point a hurdle would appear that he coul
dn't get over, that would prevent him from even getting to Vinson. Each time he found himself brooding like that, however, he tried to put it out of his mind. He would tell himself that so far he had been able to solve each problem that came up, so chances were he could continue to do so.

  And at the moment, not only Antarctica but also Everest was back on track. Lenser seemed, at least for the moment, mollified. He now agreed to let Frank and Dick choose all the team members, and he added that while he still insisted on being the expedition's leader, he would probably remain in base camp the duration of the climb.

  This was all good news to Frank and Dick. Equally encouraging, they had found a new team, all good men by the sound of it. Each was busy with an assigned task—gathering or setting up food, equipment, oxygen, medical supplies, transportation—and it was all going well. They were to meet in a few weeks in Snowbird, to get acquainted and to compare checklists before Frank and Dick left for Antarctica and then Aconcagua.

  Clay Lacy finally returned Frank's call, apologizing for not getting back sooner, but adding that he had been so busy with his other businesses he hadn't had time to do much work on Antarctica, which he was eager to try. Worse, the Chileans were still noncommittal about organizing the fuel drop because of scheduling uncertainties in their own Antarctic program. Frank now realized that time was so short it seemed he had no choice but to postpone the expedition.

  Frank had always held this possibility as his last card, but he hated to play it, since he'd be left with no backup option. Worse, Miura had just held a big press conference in Japan announcing his departure, and Frank would be embarrassed to have to tell him he now had to wait nearly a year, especially since Miura had been so dependable coming through with his half of the financing. Still, there might be no choice.

  So the first climb of the year would be Aconcagua, and Antarctica would be scheduled for the beginning of the next austral summer, in November and early December 1983. At least the plan had the benefit of giving them more time to prepare Everest.

  Fortunately those preparations were on schedule. Frank and Dick rendezvoused in Snowbird with their new Everest team on New Year's Eve, a few days before both of them were to leave for South America. They gathered in Dick's living room, where each man introduced himself and gave a brief summary of his climbing background. Phil Ershler, whom Frank and Dick had asked to be climbing leader of the expedition, mentioned his many years as chief guide on Rainier. Ershler had also arranged to get Larry Nielson on board, and although Nielson was still recovering from the frostbite he had suffered on his solo attempt (he had lost the end of a thumb and part of one toe to amputation), he said he was confident he would be back up to speed when the time came. In addition there was Gary Neptune, owner of a mountaineering shop in Boulder, Colorado; Gerry Roach, veteran of a 1976 Everest attempt; Jim States, who had recently got very high on Makalu, the world's fifth-highest peak; and Peter Jamieson, another Colorado climber. Ed Hixson (from the North Wall team) would again be expedition doctor. And they had decided to make their documentary film, so Steve Marts would be cinematographer (and not just on Everest, but on all seven expeditions). Each man was an experienced Himalayan veteran, and each man was eager. They reported that most of their assigned organizational chores were nearing completion. Soon the only thing remaining would be to climb the mountain.

  Later that night Dick stood in his living room with the lights out so he could see the glow of the full moon illuminating the ski runs across the valley, thinking how those used to be Marty's runs when she was head of the safety patrol. It wasn't going to be the same without her, but Dick knew in his heart she was going to be with him in spirit on the way up every one of those seven peaks.

  Frank walked up and stood next to Dick. “Well, partner,” he said, “the clock just struck twelve.”

  “The first day of what's going to be the best year of our lives.” Dick grinned.

  It was also going to be an exciting year for the Canadian Pat Morrow. Three months before that New Year's—on October 6, 1982—he had reached the summit of Everest. He had scaled the mountain by the so-called normal route on the southeast ridge, the same way Frank and Dick were planning. In a single day he had gone from the 26,200-foot level to the summit and back down to 22,000 feet, and the following day had descended to base camp. There he had collapsed in exhaustion, but after sleep and a good meal he felt much better, and as he started his homeward trek he began to make his plans.

  He had now climbed three of the seven summits, including the highest and hardest. Of the remaining four, three would be easy. He could pick off Kilimanjaro, Elbrus, and Kosciusko anytime in 1983. The only remaining hurdle was to figure how to get to Antarctica. Morrow had not yet heard about Frank and Dick, so his plan at that time was, once he got back home, to contact one of the air services that fly in the high Canadian Arctic and see if they had any idea how to get to the Antarctic. Realizing it was too late to get there in late ‘82 or early ‘83, he hoped to make his attempt the following season.

  It was more or less the same timetable Frank and Dick had in mind.

  6

  ACONCAGUA ‘83: ONE DOWN

  The morning we were to leave for Aconcagua my wife and I arrived according to plan at Frank's Spanish-style home located on a lovely Beverly Hills street lined with tall jacaranda trees.

  “Perfect timing,” Frank said as the housekeeper escorted us into the breakfast room. Frank was seated at a table spread with papers.

  “I need someone to witness the signing of my will,” he explained.

  “I thought updated documents might be a good idea,” Frank's wife Luanne said as she arrived downstairs. Even at such an early hour Luanne looked impeccable. She sat down at the table with a grace that bespoke the days she had worked as a model, before she met Frank. They had been married twenty-seven years.

  Frank, with a Cheshire cat grin, was clearly enjoying the melodramatic timing of his will-signing, but Luanne was sedate and I suspected took the matter seriously. She gave an effort at nonchalance, though, and as Frank and I loaded our gear in the rental van for the drive to the airport she said, “Just like sending the boys off to summer camp.”

  “See you in three weeks,” Frank said, and gave her a kiss.

  Then she started to cry. My wife put an arm around her.

  “Don't worry,” my wife consoled, “Rick says it's just a walk-up.” “Maybe,” Luanne answered, still crying, “but it's a 23,000-foot-high walk-up.”

  This was my first climbing departure since I had been recently married, and not wanting to worry my wife I had told her that Aconcagua was “a piece of cake, just a long hike, really,” leaving out the altitude part. Now, as Frank and I drove out of the driveway, both women had tears running down their cheeks.

  In the Miami airport we hooked up with Dick, cinematographer Steve Marts, Gary Neptune, and new team member, Dan Emmett. He was a forty-four-year-old real estate developer from Los Angeles who every year or so punctuated his work with an expedition either climbing, river running, or ski mountaineering. He was married with three children and a wife seven months pregnant. Both Emmett and I had been members of the 1976 Bicentennial Everest Expedition, and Frank had contacted him while planning the Seven Summits to ask if he had any tips. Emmett had told Frank that on the ‘76 expedition there were two groups on the team who climbed strongly, the guys in their twenties and early thirties, and the Sherpa porters, who were strong at any age. “No fifty-year-old Occidental,” Emmett had added, laughing, “is ever going to climb Everest.”

  Frank took an instant liking both to Emmett's fearless opinionating and his convivial smile, and invited him to join any of the Seven Summits climbs (other than Antarctica, because of limited space on the plane). With his wife so close to delivery, going to Aconcagua had been a tough decision for Emmett, but he decided to come hoping the climb would go quickly, and if it didn't he would simply come home early. Emmett had also accepted Frank's offer to go on Kilimanjaro, Elbrus, and Kosc
iusko.

  The last member of the Aconcagua team, Yvon Chouinard, was tied up in business meetings and had made arrangements to come late, hoping to catch us before we reached base camp. Chouinard was forty-five years old and had two businesses, one manufacturing climbing equipment and the other a line of outdoor clothing called Patagonia. He had annual sales of $30 million. Besides his entrepreneurial successes Chouinard was also a brilliant climber, regarded as a pioneer developer of modern ice climbing techniques, and was arguably the most internationally recognized climber in America. Despite business demands he managed to spend at least six months out of twelve pursuing his favorite sports, which in addition to climbing included kayaking, surfing, telemark skiing, and fly fishing. When Frank extended his invitation to join Aconcagua, Yvon had accepted because it sounded like a fun group of people.

  Both Chouinard and I knew that Aconcagua wouldn't offer any real challenges in the way of technical climbing problems, but we still hoped Frank would choose to try again the Polish Glacier route so that at least we would have a bit of ice climbing and glacier travel to look forward to.

  “You've got that Everest experience behind you now,” I said, “so I bet you could handle it.”

  Frank hedged on deciding, and he queried the others to see how they felt. Emmett was easy and said he was happy with any route. Dick was the same. Neptune said he would go with either route but had a preference for the Polish Glacier. Frank was afraid that without the Polish route Chouinard might not come, and as he was looking forward to having a climber of such stature on the trip, he agreed to try the Polish.