by Junko Tabei
May 5
Another day of fixing the route, this time with Hirakawa, Pasang (again) and me on the rope. We had to brush away the 20 centimetres of snow that had fallen overnight before we could chip at the ice wall. We were showered with blue and white shards of ice as our work began. Each strike I made had me wish for more physical power; my lean arm drove a pick only so far into the ice. I needed brute strength, which was difficult to muster from my 5-foot frame.
Chips of ice continued to fly by us, as did small black rocks that rattled past. We were nowhere close to adding 100 metres to the route that day; it took us two hours to fix a 40-metre section, and each step we advanced was buried by slough avalanches. Our slow progress felt like torment. Thankfully, in the midst of it, Pasang caught up to me from the end of the line and kindly took over the lead.
By afternoon, the wind had gained in force and was gusting from below. With the added blowing snow, visibility was down to zero. My whole body was cold, a torturous state to be in, and my gloves were frozen solid, as though I had pulled them from a freezer. The highest we were able to climb in that weather was to 6300 metres, but I lacked the will to double-check the elevation on my altimeter. Hunger had peaked, too – I had not eaten since breakfast. By the time we rappelled to the bottom of the ice wall, on our way back to camp, my arms were tired and useless, and holding my ice axe took all my might.
It was a relief to arrive back at Camp 4, and our return was noted with a pack of kibi-dango, a sweet snack sent from Yamazaki with a message that said, “Take heart, ladies – high up there – for it’s Children’s Day.” We broke into smiles in honour of this national Japanese holiday, an age-old celebration that recognizes and respects the younger generation every May 5.
Of all things, the very next day when I was meant to continue my fight with the blue ice wall, I developed a hemorrhoid from the extensive strain on my body. Doctor’s orders had me tent-ridden, a point that I could not argue but irritated me to no end as I lay there, useless, dabbed with healing medication.
May 7
To save the two-hour approach from Camp 4 to the bottom of the menacing ice wall, a limiting start to a day’s work, we established a secondary camp below the bergschrund and carried half our food and supplies to it.
A father and a son who visited us from Chomrong had a dead deer they had hunted on the way. Mr. Gopal had been suffering with a bad throat and he didn’t come out a step from his tent today; however, it wasn’t the case that he was uninterested in the fresh and tender venison that even a king of Nepal hardly had the chance to eat. So, for two hours he negotiated a price for the deer, sticking his head out a tiny bit from the tent, and finally succeeded in buying it for 12 rupees.
I hope he is re-energized by this, at least to some degree, since our Mr. Gopal-the-Joker has been less and less talkative these days; I guess life here for so long isn’t in his favour. He had begun showing his wish to go down to Chomrong. “You want to go there, right?” I asked him.
“No delicious meals here, nor pretty women,” he said. I see. Well, recently he had become quite depressed and self-confined in his tent most of the day, just like a frightened baby turtle.
– Yamazaki’s diary, Base Camp
May 11
Manita had sufficiently healed, thanks to the extended care of Dr. O-no, and was able to climb to Camp 3. It was determined that Girmi’s shoulder was not broken but badly contused, and it healed well with the use of ice packs, of which there was no shortage on the mountain. But the conflict between Pasang and Girmi continued. Their relationship was not openly nasty, yet Girmi’s frustration with Pasang was felt in every word he spoke, especially since he had returned to Camp 4 and was giving orders to the Sherpas.
We were approaching mid-May, and my thoughts were concentrated on completing the ice wall. I felt nothing upon hearing about the successes of other parties; we had our own battle to wage. No sooner had I calculated the number of days still required to finish the job than Mr. Gopal informed us of the nearing monsoon. Pasang suggested that the Sherpas take over cutting the steps in the ice, thus speeding up the approach to the previous day’s high point by not having to climb at our slower pace. Miyazaki and I considered the reality of the situation and gratefully accepted his offer. We had no other choice.
The entire route from Camp 4 at 6100 metres to the col at 6800 metres was fixed with 1000 metres of rope by May 14, two full weeks after we started up the ice wall.
Our attention was ready to shift to the summit assault team. The contest among members was on.
A Women’s Battle
May 16
Everyone, except for Dr. O-no and Yamazaki at Base Camp, gathered in the Camp 4 mess tent. It was after 6 p.m. and supper was over. Miyazaki’s words caught our nervous attention.
“Meeting starts now,” she said. “Since the route to the col is fixed, I will announce the plans for the summit. With only a few days left to avoid the monsoon, I need climbers with great strength and speed. With that perspective, I chose the first assault members as Tabei, Hirakawa, Pasang and Girmi. The second is Sato, myself and Kitar. I’m not in favour of sending any more assault teams than these two parties – for now. My reason for this choice is that Hirano-san is too slow to keep up with everybody else, with her laboured breathing, so I don’t think it’s a good idea to dare let her go higher up. So far, Urushibara-san has suffered with altitude sickness every time we move up higher, which leads me to assume she’ll most likely get sick at the 6800-metre col. Manita-san still has sore ribs from the accident and is showing some symptoms of altitude sickness, and so she isn’t suitable to climb the long ice wall. Tabei and Hirakawa have been strong and in good shape from the start, which everybody here recognizes. And Sato and I have no reason to be denied further climbing at this moment.”
So began the dispute.
Manita: “Then this is the conclusion, not a meeting?”
Miyazaki: “Please say your opinion, still, if you have one.”
Manita: “No sense if you’ve already decided.”
Miyazaki: “I would still like to hear it.”
Hirano: “Is our party really as cruel as this? I haven’t come all the way up here only to ferry loads, having paid 1,000,000 yen! I would rather go down from here immediately then!”
Miyazaki: “It’s a common way to ferry loads in Himalayan expeditions. Did you think you could come to the Himalayas on your own?”
Hirano: “I shouldn’t have stayed on this team in the first place. I should have quit when the others did.” Then, turning to me, “Am I really that slow?”
“To be honest, I don’t think you’re that fast,” I said, knowing my answer would further aggravate the situation.
Hirano: “I feel like a fool; I’ve never been so insulted before. Why can a person with a hemorrhoid go and somebody without one is held back? Himalayan climbing is supposed to take time for acclimatization with no need for speed, right? I shouldn’t have come.”
Miyazaki: “Urushibara-san, do you regret having come here?” Urushibara: “No, I don’t, because I was dying just to get to the Himalayas; however, now that I’m here, I’ll miss going up higher. Though the final decision is what I had presumed, I would be happier if I could continue higher with my camera. I admit I get affected by altitude more than is desirable. But I thought I’d be all right if I took more time, if that was possible. I sorely regret missing my chance at the summit, but at the same time, I appreciate that I’m here now as a replacement member, after all. The conclusion of the party is the one I have to follow.”
Hirakawa: “I’ll take the summit as a serious responsibility, though I feel a bit nervous.”
Sato: “Although I have been selected to be second, I know that attempt might still not happen due to poor weather.”
Manita (resigned): “It’s OK for me as I have my rib issue from the accident.”
“I feel enormous responsibility,” I concluded.
The weight of everyone’s emotion
s bore down on me.
Silence. Then the falling snow, as it rustled down the side of the tent, became disproportionally loud. In the mixed soundtrack of weather and the settling of disagreement, Miyazaki continued. She directed each climber as to how they would best help prepare for the two summit assaults in the coming days. Miyazaki would climb to the final camp (Camp 5) with the first summit team; Sato would follow the day afterwards with a few Sherpas; and Urushibara and Hirano would climb to the Advanced Camp 4 (at the base of the ice wall) to film and photograph the ascents. Manita would stay at Camp 4 as the team correspondent. That was the plan. “Good night, then,” said Miyazaki as she turned and left the tent, the matter closed to further discussion. A dire atmosphere filled the space where she had stood.
No sooner had I also left the meeting, on my way to sleep in the leaders’ quarters, than angry yelling arose from the mess tent. “I’ll tell everyone about this once I get back to Tokyo!” someone said, a statement supported by the back and forth of hushed voices that lingered long into the cold night air. I felt upset, too, and it took all my will to restrain myself from kicking something in annoyance. My mind reeled with frustration: “Was it really supposed to end up like this? Do it all on your own if you insist that much on not working as a team! You’re missing the point of a group expedition.” The emotions I had withheld in the meeting came to a boil as I walked to my tent. I was rapidly losing interest in reaching the summit myself, and was ready to tell people to do whatever they pleased.
Then I stopped myself. I was a candidate for the summit of Annapurna III based on my mountaineering skill and strength, and I was suddenly feeling more sure of myself, given the situation unfolding with the team. I even felt prepared to see how far I could push myself without using supplemental oxygen. What was the point of the night’s meeting anyway? It seemed that Miyazaki and I were the ones who were fooled, given all that we, leader and assistant leader, had considered when making those critical decisions. Forget what others had in mind. “Know thyself,” I thought, and clenched my teeth in sheer determination to continue.
Before slipping into my tent and warm sleeping bag, I stared straight ahead at Machapuchare, and facing the frigid beauty of the Himalayas, my angry heart began to soften.
Four hours prior to that group meeting, Miyazaki had consulted me in regard to possible summit teams. Her thoughts were conflicted. “A part of me resists considering Sato for a summit assault,” she began, “seeing as how she’s been complaining a lot since Calcutta. But it becomes too much of an emotional conclusion if I give in to that. This should never be decided by emotion. And I understand very well about Hirano’s deep passion to grab the summit; however, it’s impossible for now. Let’s imagine Sato and Hirano as the second assault pair; they may not be able to make it to the top in a day with Hirano’s pace, to which we also must add the fact that the route from the col to the summit is yet unknown to us. The math would dictate that Sato, who has potential, goes down without reaching the summit. Not good. So, I decided Sato and I for the second pair. This, I can explain, with a clear conscience, to everybody involved back in Japan. What do you think? Am I wrong? I hope not. All right?” Miyazaki repeated herself many times over in trying to come to terms with a final decision. I knew her ideas were well thought out.
I was about to ask why not send Hirano in a third assault, but I could tell this was an unlikely option when I looked into Miyazaki’s grave eyes. Her initial plan was the appropriate one. In realizing this, I saw for the first time the absolute calmness and fairness that Miyazaki bestowed, despite the extremely difficult situation she was in as leader. I was immediately determined to do my best at whatever was asked of me for the success of the expedition. The more I knew of Miyazaki’s agonizing decision making, the more upset I became with the fallout of the meeting. In truth, what other choice did she have? I had to admit, I could never be leader.
By that point in the expedition, fourteen months had passed since our joint commitment to the solitary goal of “doing anything” in the Himalayas. Countless tribulations had occurred since then, but there we were, on the eve of our ascent of Annapurna III. The time from when we made that commitment to this night felt simultaneously long and short. Now, everyone was left to embrace her own emotions that sprang from Miyazaki’s plans for the summit. Pasang and Ang Mingma’s tent remained lit up, too. Sleep was a distant hope.
Now we heard the announcement. Anyway, I had never believed in “All of us for the Summit,” which a few of the teammates advocated. But, though I admit the leader’s choice a very reasonable one objectively, considering the condition of each of us and the weather, somehow, I still felt “That was it?” She asked us our opinions, probably trying to break off the distaste in the air. I almost felt like remarking, “Could you care a bit more for the members who are to stay at Camp 4?” Anyway, I was mad at her for asking for our say. What was the use of asking for it when things were already decided? I trusted her to act in everyone’s best interest, not in the interest of a chosen few, and wasn’t the conviction of the final decision to come from the leader? Asking our opinion after that just sounded unprepared.
– Manita’s diary
I felt bad being picked for the first assault group since I knew and saw my senior Hirano-san’s dying passion for the summit. On the other hand, it’s not an option to let her try as the first attacker because she’s not in good shape at all. So, I had no other choice than to say yes to my leader. Of course, Hiranosan objected against the decision; it must be very hard for anybody not to be able to climb higher once up here. Having imagined it, I felt like curling up in to a ball and hiding somewhere. Voices of frustration and complaints throughout the night kept me from a good sleep. Come morning, I prepared for departing with my mouth shut. Am I to be the person thrown away by my teammates who are silently saying, “Do whatever you please,” or to be cheered by the fact that I get to complete the task? Or am I the one who is too selfish to empathize with the ones who cannot go for the summit? Knowing well all those interpretations, I could hardly drag my heavy feet from Camp 4.
– Hirakawa’s diary
Success
The shock of the summit announcements was over, yet the next morning dawned as gloomy as the night before. Visibility was poor. In quiet tents, we ate an instant breakfast the Sherpas had prepared for us. Hirano remained laying in her sleeping bag, to which nobody uttered a word. Reservedly, Hirakawa sorted equipment for the initial assault team to leave while Miyazaki and I packed away the leader tent. I was the first to speak. “Itte-kimasu,” I said, offering a Japanese goodbye. “Manita-san, please be the keeper of Camp 4.”
“Yes, I will, but I feel like I’m holding a bomb,” she said, referring to Hirano’s volatility.
“I’m just worried that something life-threatening could happen.” I had visions of Hirano leaving the camp alone. Manita understood my meaning and fell into silence.
The struggle was immediate as we left Camp 4 for the advanced camp at the base of the ice wall – trail breaking through knee-deep snow, our backs burdened with the weight of packs. It was nearly noon when we connected the camps, only to find the tents completely buried in snow. Incessant dust avalanches fell from the wall above, and it was obvious we would not reach the col that day. We would hunker down for the night at the wall’s base instead. Girmi and Pasang made a round trip to Camp 4 to fetch an extra’s day’s food to support our decision.
May 18
Our tents were buried after a nightlong snowfall, and I woke to darkness when there should have been morning light. Disappointing weather again. My agitation was evident in the short breaths I expelled as I prepared to climb. The steps we had cut and the ropes we had fixed the day before were also covered in fresh snow. We had to dig our way up to the start of the route, aiming only for the col. I led the pitch with Hirakawa and Miyazaki tied into the rope behind me. The snow-filled steps up the steep wall were agonizing to navigate. Everything became an annoyance. I could hardly
switch my carabiner from below an anchor point to above it to continue up the fixed line. Frozen knots connected frozen ropes that were barely malleable enough to trust, and once again I felt luck override certainty as we continued. Looking downslope through my stance, I could see Hirakawa’s helmet inching upwards. Intermittently, I hung onto the mountainside while spindrift avalanches showered me from above.
Despite the depressed feeling I began the day with, my mind settled as we climbed. My breath became nourishing, and I felt like I could expand my entire chest full of oxygen. In truth, my breathing was laboured – I often had to rest for a moment, leaning my head on a minuscule shelf of ice while the continual rhythm of my lungs panted for air. I followed the only pattern of movement available to me: step, adjust carabiner, rest, repeat. I could sense – but tried to ignore – the pull of gravity from below.
Seven hours of this repetition delivered us to the col, marked by a surprisingly brown landscape on the far side of the ridge. We made it to our last camp before the summit.
As happy as we were to have surmounted the ice wall, we had other concerns to manage. Miyazaki was in poor shape. As soon as a tent was ready, she lay down without even removing her boots. The wind was merciless and the tents ballooned and swayed like mad, not helping Miyazaki feel any better. It was well past 5 p.m. by the time all the tents were pitched; too late to let the Sherpas return to the lower camp for the following day’s repeat col ascent with Sato. Instead, they would descend early the next morning and then climb back up.