Honouring High Places
Page 14
Sadly, our well-respected Mr. Gopal died in a motorcycle accident in his fifties. His son certainly fills a gap there and helps the memory of our beloved joker live on.
Mount Everest Route Map, Japan Women’s Everest Expedition, 1975
COURTESY OF TABEI KIKAKU/ LADIES CLIMBING CLUB
CHAPTER 4
Mount Everest
Sometimes, larger-than-life decisions are made in the strangest places. For me, Mount Everest was decided upon in a last-minute conversation with Miyazaki before catching the midnight train to Kawagoe. We had stayed late in the city to finish work on our Annapurna book. “Next one is Everest,” she said, suddenly. I had to agree, as I had been considering the same objective since our trip to Nepal. My only stipulation was that she be the team leader. Happy that Miyazaki and I were in accord about a future expedition, I rode the train home that night curiously excited.
November 1970
A group from the Ladies Climbing Club were ready to consider which of the 8000-metre peaks should be our next goal. I had Everest in mind, largely due to having met Captain Kohli on my team’s return trip from Annapurna III. Kohli was the expedition leader of India’s successful ascents of Annapurna III and Everest. He welcomed us into his New Delhi home to show us a movie about his 1965 Everest expedition. Once I saw the route up to the summit from the South Col in the film, I felt for the first time that the mountain was climbable by women. In that moment, I was determined that Everest would be next. I kept the thought to myself until Miyazaki voiced her opinion that night at the train station.
I had to tread with care. Many of the Ladies Climbing Club members may have wanted to climb Everest, but I felt it prudent to discuss and compare it with other potential 8000-metre peaks to decide what was best for everyone. I wanted our goal to be one that our team chose to climb, not one that was dictated by me. Also, the club itself was on the verge of collapse and we needed it to regain strength before moving forward.
We had established the Ladies Climbing Club in 1969 as part of the requirement to climb in the Himalayas, when Annapurna III was first on our list. Strain on the club began before we even left for that expedition. Once on the mountain, certain decision making about the summit assault left some members of the team angry and upset. Disappointment ran deep as women had left their jobs and families for what they thought to be a sure thing: reaching the top of Annapurna III. The aftermath, in combination with the fact that most club members were in their twenties and thirties, caused the club to dissolve. Some members disbanded to return to jobs and earn a living, some for marriage and to have children. By the time we were seriously discussing the next 8000-metre peak, there were five of us left, and not all five were enthused about another large-scale expedition. If Everest was on the table, we had our work cut out for us.
First, money was an issue. “No more Himalayas,” declared Yamazaki, tired of asking for expedition donations for something as basic as candles. As we compared the scale of Everest with Annapurna in actual size and monetary commitment, she simply said, “I’m out.” We were sad to see her go, but we managed to re-establish a positive outlook and conclude that each member would bring to the next meeting her idea of the most suitable 8000-metre peak to climb.
I knew there existed a general difference between the power output of men and women. I learned this earlier when I climbed with the Ryoho Climbing Club. It was obvious that my speed in walking, running or hiking could not compare to a man’s, and I had also observed a difference in strength between mine and a man’s when hammering in pitons or executing explosive moves in technical climbing. It made sense to me that men and women competed separately in the Olympics, but in the mountaineering environment there is no separation. Mother Nature, for example, shows no mercy in the way of, “Oh, it’s a women’s party for Everest this year, all right, I will ease the degree of wind for them.” We had to achieve our goals under the same conditions as men. In the early days of my mountaineering, it was considered impossible for women climbers to succeed at 8000 metres, where available oxygen is two-thirds less than normal, and speed and muscle power are in constant demand. While I found that way of thinking absurd, my drive was not to prove it wrong so much as it was to climb in a new place and experience the beauty and challenge of big mountains. Everest fit my ideals.
We met again to finally decide upon an appropriate all-women’s climb. The peaks presented were Annapurna I (8091 metres), Manaslu (8156 metres) and Everest (8848 metres). Of course, Everest stood out for its status as the highest mountain in the world and a once-in-a-lifetime pursuit. It was also foremost in our minds since the Japanese Alpine Club’s successful Everest expedition in 1970, the same year we summitted Annapurna III.
I originally became a member of the Japanese Alpine Club to facilitate my first trip to the Himalayas. It was in planning this second expedition that my true appreciation for the club developed. I cherished the stories and reports (especially those from the club’s 1970 Everest expedition), books and Himalayan experiences that members were willing to share, and I would have been lost without them. It seemed all factors began to line up: Miyazaki’s and my wish to climb Everest, the specific climbing route seen on film at Kohli’s home, and the extent of mountain information available to us. The decision was unanimous – next would be Everest. Instead of a collection of random female climbers, the team would be one cohesive group that accepted Miyazaki as leader and me as assistant leader. I felt confident that with this format, we would succeed.
Masanobu was in support of Everest, but he suggested an additional step to the plan – for me to consider having a baby first. He disliked the idea of being without his own family while waiting alone for me to return from such a significant trip. Although I shared his desire to have a child, I was unsure that I could have a baby at the snap of my fingers. But I did. In March 1971, a few months after we had submitted our application to the Nepali government for the Japanese Women’s Everest Expedition, I became pregnant. Not until fourteen weeks later did I realize it, though, when I was climbing one day and noticed that I felt heavier than usual.
Everest has long been highly sought after by climbers from all over the world. Although numbers on the mountain have increased since the 1970s, limits to how many expeditions can be there at once have always been in place. When we applied for our permit, permission for 1972 and 1973 expeditions had already been issued, and seven countries were in competition for 1974. The Nepali government offered us permission for 1974, but for another peak. We declined and decided to wait for Everest.
Meanwhile, we had a mountaineering team to build. Our approach was simple: visit climbing clubs with female members and ask them if they were interested in going to the Himalayas with us. On weekends, we extended our search to Ueno and Shinjuku train stations, both in downtown Tokyo, where people were lined up in droves, heading to various climbing and hiking areas across Japan. We chatted up the women climbers and spoke to them about Everest. A common response was: “Wow! Himalayas! I would love to go, even just to see Everest.” Then, “But … I don’t have that much skill, or time, or money…,” and so on. I found it difficult to hear people crush their dreams with the word “but.” My experience on Annapurna was that strong will, determination and the ability to problem solve in dire situations played a more critical role than physical ability when climbing in the Himalayas. We could help train a person to be a better climber, but we were unable to generate her willpower. An adamant desire to be part of Women on Everest was a critical factor in candidates being chosen for our team.
From a weather perspective, opportunities to climb the high mountains in Nepal are limited. Most expeditions base their timing on one of two eight-week periods in the year, April to May in the pre-monsoon spring, and October to November in the post-monsoon fall. Other than that, the months are dominated by monsoon season when jet streams of 100 to 150 kilometres per hour often rage at the top of Everest, offering no chance at all for a human to stand on its summit. But in M
ay and October the wind is tamed to some degree, and the climbers ascend.
Records from previous trips showed that May 5 to 15 had consistently been the golden opportunity for crystal-clear days, so we made a longterm plan for a summit assault based on that time frame for 1975. We printed a specific calendar that addressed the four years leading up to that date and began to fill in the blanks. Members of the Ladies Climbing Club were divided into six groups, with each group responsible for researching climbing parties from one of six countries that had previously climbed Everest (1953, United Kingdom; 1956, Switzerland; 1960, China; 1963, United States; 1965 India; 1970, Japan). We needed facts: camp locations, climbing techniques and equipment used, number of team members, knowledge about the Sherpa people and where to hire them, and information on the roles and actions of each individual climber. Six months later, we were ready to present these details at subsequent club meetings.
In August 1972, we received official authorization from the Nepali government to climb Mount Everest. The news headline, “Permission Given for Japanese Women’s Everest,” spread and became the incentive we needed to attract more interest from other female climbers. The ten members we had stalled at prior to the go-ahead from authorities increased to as many as eighteen serious contenders. In the end, we were a team of fourteen women, plus a doctor, a number that was established far closer to the trip than in the early stages of planning.
With Everest 1975 tangible, we shifted gears and ramped up our focus on how to tackle the mountain. Attention to this complicated matter consumed us for most of the following year. In my combined role as expedition assistant leader and climbing leader, I had to determine the overall number of climbers needed for a team to reach the summit. That number would, in turn, help us establish the amount of resources, like food and equipment, required for the entire trip. I decided on fifteen members, including our expedition leader and a team of three for the final summit assault. From this, we created a blueprint of necessities for the last camp below the summit (Camp 6, at 8500 metres), in terms of supplementary oxygen, food, team and individual equipment, and number of Sherpas and porters. We traced and expanded these particulars every step of the way back down to Base Camp in order to precisely calculate the overall required amounts for every stage of the climb. The excessive number of meetings this entailed exhausted us.
Part of my personal long-term Everest plan came to fruition on February 18, 1972, when I gave birth to my daughter, Noriko. Although my intention was to continue to work, I left my editing position of ten years at the Physical Society of Japan due to new family logistics and commute times. We lived in a small home in Kawagoe, about an hour from Tokyo. Childcare was unavailable in our rural area, so I decided to stay home full time with my daughter. I supposed I had already learned what I could from a decade of employment and that it was unlikely I would progress much from that job anyway. I was concerned about our financial state as our income had been cut in half with me at home. This sparked the idea of instructing koto, which I still cherished. In my youth, I had to choose between the worlds of traditional Japanese art, forcing me to concentrate only on music, or mountain climbing. When Noriko was born, I decided to embrace both the harp and climbing as my pastimes. Optimistically, I let that new stage of my life unfold on its own in terms of music and climbing. Six months into motherhood, when permission for Everest 1975 was granted, I was confident that I would be ready for the expedition, and that my daughter (at three) would be fine, too.
JAPANESE WOMEN’S EVEREST EXPEDITION 1975 TEAM MEMBERS
Hisano, Eiko, 42 Leader
Tabei, Junko, 35 Assistant Leader and Climbing Leader
Manita, Michiko, 33 Management/Oxygen
Nasu, Fumie, 33 Public Relations / Equipment (Group)
Watanabe, Yuriko, 32 Public Relations / Treasurer
Naganuma, Masako, 27 Packaging and Transportation / Equipment (Radio)
Taneya, Yumi, 26 Equipment (Climbing Gear)
Kitamura, Setsuko, 26 Public Relations
Fujiwara, Sumiko, 26 Packaging and Transportation
Shioura, Reiko, 29 Equipment (Personal)
Arayama, Fumiko, 25 Equipment (Group)
Naka, Sachiko, 27 Equipment (Climbing Gear)
Mihara, Yoko, 34 Food Planning
Hirashima, Teruyo, 27 Food Planning
Sakaguchi, Dr. Masako, 29 Medical Doctor
Chaos
A thriving baby, a roster of teammates, approval to climb Everest – my road to the world’s highest peak was concrete. Similarly, Miyazaki’s life had evolved to new levels. She married in 1972, her surname changing to Hisano, and moved away to Nara, 600 kilometres from Tokyo. Although I was concerned about the distance between us and the effect that would have on planning the expedition, her marriage became an inspiration among the single women of our club. If a thirty-nine-year-old mountain woman could find a husband, there was hope for them all. As for the distance, I figured the Shinkansen (bullet train) would help, as would the telephone, which had only just become prevalent with the general public. In addition, I foolishly thought, there was the abundance of free time I would have with my unemployment and being at home full time.
Unbeknownst to me, the crazy days had barely begun. I had to ask for club meetings to be held in the evenings and only when my husband was not working overtime, which was rare. Having finished bathing Noriko, preparing supper and readying the house for bedtime, I would rush out the door when I heard Masanobu’s car pull up, hand him our daughter, tighten the grip on my bag of Everest documents tucked under my arm, and run to the train station for the hour-long commute to Tokyo.
As assistant leader, I was to attend all expedition meetings, including those about food preparation and equipment. I needed my husband’s help to attend each meeting, and thankfully he was behind me every step of the way. He hated when I made the excuse of having a child at home or a family to care for in order to cut short or miss a meeting. He insisted that everybody should commit equally, regardless of their situation. Repeatedly, he sent me off with assurance: “Trust me, Noriko is fine. She adapts when you aren’t with her.” It was hard to let go of my role as mother after spending most days with my daughter. Sometimes it was hard to imagine her being fine without me. Yet, when I returned home, often on the last train of the night, and quietly opened the door, entering on tiptoe so as not to wake my sound-sensitive child, Noriko was peacefully asleep.
The tidiness of the house was another matter. I realized it was difficult for Masanobu to take care of such a young baby after his own full day of work. To ease his load, I prepared as much as possible for the evening routine before I left. But there were nights when I arrived home to the mess of dirty dishes, leftover food and used diapers dispersed all over the place, and my appreciation for his support would suddenly turn to anger. “What’s this?” I would shout in my head, “Don’t you have hands and feet?” I could feel the sweep of a mother’s worry crush the last few thoughts I was still processing from the meeting about sponsorship or team members or supplies. Although I would never forfeit Everest, I felt pulled in the two directions of mountains and motherhood.
However, with time, I accepted that there was more to parenthood than tidying up. While a clean room might have been my priority, it was less so for my husband. I had to learn that even though I had diligently worked to make the evening run smoothly for my family in my absence, there was no ill intention on Masanobu’s behalf in leaving a mess. He was tired, and he fell asleep with Noriko. No harm done. Slowly, I began to recognize that Masanobu’s strength was his open mind and big heart. Still, on occasion, I had to acknowledge the feelings of frustration that managed to sneak in between us like the wind. To his credit, he continued to try, and as the demand for expedition meetings increased, and hence, my departures at night, so did Masanobu’s attention to chores. Dishes were washed and rice was ready in the cooker for me to switch on for a late dinner. I welcomed this change in him and continued to appreciate his efforts in
support of Everest, and I vowed to do my best with running the house whenever I was home.
As our partnership strengthened, Masanobu also become bolder in investments. With a real-estate plan in mind, he asked that I temporarily sign over to him my severance pay from work. I had originally intended for this source of income to be a part of my Everest fund, but I agreed based on his words, “You will go to Everest no matter what.” He then secured a bank loan and bought a strip of land near the Minami Ski Hill in Niigata in the northwest part of the main island of Japan. Much later, we would sell that land to purchase a lodge in Numajiri, near the Bandai mountains. At the time of the expedition, though, he confidently followed through with his investment idea, despite our employment revenue having been reduced when Noriko was born, and the expense of train travel to meetings and phone bills to cover my high volume of communication. Our pile of debt grew as my preparation for Everest progressed – I literally had two mountains to climb.
I was not the only one who struggled with the overwhelming demands of life that revolved around Everest. When Hisano (nee Miyazaki) visited Tokyo, which she did for important expedition meetings, I received a few phone calls from her husband in the middle of the night, and he was as frantic as I felt. The same chaos that had seeped into my home was shared with everyone on the team. The number of phone calls I had to manage, for example, was too much. I would begin laundry first thing in the morning and barely finish hanging it to dry by late afternoon due to incessant phone conversations. In the evening, the situation would escalate: the food I cooked prior to leaving for a meeting would often burn because I was stuck on the phone; in turn, this would create an added mess to clean up, with Masanobu caught in the middle. Even my mother, who had come to visit from my distant hometown of Miharu, left sooner than planned in order to find solace from the onslaught of calls. Eventually, the phone found its place at the back entrance of the house with cushions to cover its unnerving ring so as to not wake up Noriko. In the chilly winter nights when I was engaged in a long conversation, Masanobu would come to me and place a blanket or down jacket over my shoulders as I dissected the world of big-mountain climbing from a chair. After a year of this, when Noriko was two and half, she said, “Mom, isn’t Everest hard work?”