Honouring High Places

by Junko Tabei

  Meanwhile, we were threatened by building-sized chunks of ice that could collapse, triggering a domino effect and crushing everything in the immediate area, including us. Enough accidents had happened to previous parties that we wished to minimize the number of times we had to pass through the icefall. Ironically, however, the Khumbu Icefall’s elevation fell within the precise zone that was critical for our acclimation at high altitudes. We were required to repeatedly go in and out of this zone to ensure our body’s physical adaptation and thereby reduce struggle higher on the mountain. It was a stressful predicament to send members back and forth into the dangerous icefall, but it was necessary to acclimatize and to continue building the route. I cringed every time part of the team was headed there.

  All precautions were made to reduce the risk of ice collapse. To avoid warmer temperatures, the party in charge of building the route on a given day woke at 2 a.m. and departed camp within the hour. We had a system. A party consisted of two climbers and six or seven Sherpas. Two parties a day would work at higher elevations, constructing the route from Base Camp to Camp 1. Ideally, each climber would only work that stretch once in the rotation, but by way of numbers and the effects of altitude sickness, the stronger climbers ended up working there more often. Slowly, they began to tire and needed a day off. In an effort to ease the load for my teammates, I assigned myself the higher-elevation work seven times. Later, I learned that my efforts were considered by some as a scheme to better acclimatize myself for a selfish chance at the summit. I wish I had that calculating of a mind for my first-ever attempt on Everest.

  The Sherpas managed the crossings differently than the climbers. In the chest pockets of their parkas, they always carried the rice that had been given to them at a prayer ceremony in the Tengboche Monastery. At the dangerous sections, they threw the rice high up into the air while chanting the now-familiar words “Om mani padme hum.” Many of their colleagues had lost their lives in the Khumbu Icefall. In 1970 alone, six Sherpas were killed there on Yuichiro Miura’s ski expedition. The icefall was a daunting place for everyone.

  Beyond the Khumbu Icefall, the Western Cwm Glacier expanded indefinitely, like an ocean, and there on its horizon stood Everest’s Southwest Face, radiating an enormous sense of power. The Lhotse Face loomed in the distance like a colossal headwall, and to the southeast was a panoramic view of the knifepoint ridge between Lhotse and Nuptse. Runnels laden with snow fell from the ridgetops, beautiful pleats of symmetry in the landscape. The sheer beauty of our surroundings had us instinctively saying a unified “wow.” Our joy was well-earned; we had safely navigated the Khumbu Icefall, and there was Everest. Our plan would progress like clockwork.

  April 3

  Nasu, Watanabe and four Sherpas established Camp 1 higher up on the glacier. It took us fourteen days to reach that site from when construction of the route began from Base Camp. We had another 2800 metres to climb to reach the summit, determining Camps 2, 3 and 4 on the way. Camps 5 and 6 would be reserved for the summit-assault teams and their required support. At maximum, each person was able to carry 15 to 20 kilograms as we climbed. To bring the necessary two tons of provisions to Camp 2 required mindboggling calculations that seemed to push the summit farther away. Everything came down to numbers.

  The route from Camp 1 to Camp 2 was a gradual uphill on the easier topography of the Western Cwm Glacier. The terrain was less technical, the crevasses easier to skirt, and the climbers more adapted to the elevation. Camp 2, also called Advanced Base Camp, was to be the main base for the climbers, so its location needed to be precise. We were aiming for a small glacial mound that sat between the West Ridge of Everest and the Lhotse–Nuptse ridge; it was a spot considered safe from avalanches due its geographical location, and most expedition parties chose to stay there.

  As I arrived at Camp 2, one of the several Sherpas I was with said, “Last year the Spanish party camped here,” as he dropped his pack. “Let’s make our camp here, too.” Slightly taken aback by the cardboard and other remnants left behind by previous parties, and unsure what other garbage would be exposed when the snow began to thaw, I suggested we pitch the tents a bit farther uphill from the initial recommendation. We trudged another 15 metres to select a site, unaware of the future impact of that decision.

  April 8

  Camp 2 was established, and the focus shifted to Sherpas and climbers ferrying loads nonstop up from Camp 1 while simultaneously fixing the route to Camp 3. It was an enduring game of leap frog, and the gruelling efforts began to take their toll. Manita announced on the radio that the trip to Camp 2 in one day then onto Camp 3 the next was too much. She was concerned about lack of acclimatization. “I may die going up another 500 metres in that short of a time period,” she said. “The Sherpas are tired, too. Camp 3 is not going to be set up exactly as you had planned.”

  I waited for the Lhakpa Tenzing’s version of the story at the end of the day and was able to respond to Manita with confidence. “The Sherpas are not tired yet. We couldn’t reach Camp 3 yesterday because the climbers were tired. We’ll ferry up only those things necessary to establish Camp 3 tomorrow,” I said.

  The inevitable friction between me and some of my teammates was on the rise. I was aware of our limited time on the mountain and the waning strength of the climbers, so my attitude was for us to quickly move forth and establish camps as fast as we could. I was disheartened to hear comments that suggested a possible us- (or me-) versus-them relationship. I thought we were comrades who shared the same goal. I persevered through those heated moments, and sure enough, the young climbers (those below thirty) began to feel the positive effects of acclimatization.

  April 13

  Camp 3 was established by Manita, Naganuma and four Sherpas.

  Meanwhile, Kitamura, the super-model of the team and the person we (wrongly) judged to be most unlikely a mountaineer, was naturally drawn to the role of manager for Camp 1. I recalled her comments at her first official interview with the team a couple of years earlier. “I would be totally happy to stay at Base Camp,” she had said. I was amazed to see how far she had climbed. She embraced all aspects of camp management and was in great shape and well-acclimatized.

  At high altitude on a sunny day, the blue sky took on a blackish sheen speckled with white dots – which, at first, we failed to recognize as stars. The reflection of the sunlight on the snow surface was extremely intense, much like walking on a heated fry pan. When conditions changed, we would experience the exact opposite: a blizzard of snow that had us braced against tent poles from the inside to keep our shelters upright.

  Sunburn was a constant problem. The sunscreen lotion we had was insufficient, and we all developed blistered burns. Even our mouths burned, from having them wide open to laboriously breathe as we climbed. It was painful to eat with such swollen, damaged lips. Left to our own devices, we invented sun-protection masks from medical gauze that covered the lower face and allowed us to breathe. It was totally effective, but when several of us gathered as a group with our masks on, we looked more suited to have guns in our hands than ice axes.

  Various other side effects from altitude kicked in as well. Some climbers lost their appetite and their faces began to show their newly acquired slimness, whereas others, like me, maintained our exact weight for the entire trip. Several women’s menstrual cycles shifted – some did not menstruate at all, others had to endure two weeks of menstruation, and others still struggled with such pain that they could barely move – all symptoms that subsided once off the mountain but experiences we had to manage on Everest nonetheless.

  A women-only expedition certainly made the discussion of such issues easy and supportive, but we still had differences to sort through. In the small space of a tent, for instance, it quickly became obvious who was organized at sorting their personal gear and who was not. Kitamura, Shioura and Fujiwara were the queens of searching for lost things – one sock at the entranceway and another under a sleeping pad – and so it went, continuous mom
ents of lost and found for every one of their outings. It was impossible to help them keep track.

  The picky eaters were another matter altogether. If a person disliked a certain dish, say, stinky cheese, then she applied her dislike to the other people who ate it. Slowly, food choices began to determine who hung out with whom, and a comical social structure developed.

  Thus, life at altitude and in close quarters took shape. Privacy was non-existent; alone time came when, heads down, we ferried loads from camp to camp, one step after the other, slowly making our way up the mountain. The only other precious private time a person had was in the toilet, and for me, particularly on a clear night with a sky full of twinkling stars, that was my chance to really absorb where I was, on Everest. Stars danced like diamonds in the beam of my headlamp as I walked along the midnight pathway to and fro, and I often wondered how my family was doing in Japan under the same lively sky.

  We secured the route between Camp 3 and Camp 4, running 700 metres of static climbing rope through carabiners that were clipped to pitons hammered into the icy slopes. It was tough work as the air thinned, carrying heavy loads and pounding metal into frozen fixtures. By then, we were reduced to four climbers (Watanabe, Nasu, Manita and me) who could perform at the higher elevation of 7600 metres at Camp 4. Our climbing ability at altitude was peaking at the critical time of the expedition, and for that I was grateful. Disappointingly, though, I heard rumours that the journalists were betting on us like horses, stating the odds of who would make it to the summit or not. I was sorry to have let such talk reach the climbers who were on the battlefront, striving hard day after day to fix the route and ferry loads in impossible conditions. Our efforts were no joking matter.

  We were constantly reminded of the limited budget we had for our expedition. We lacked appropriate equipment for every aspect of the route, especially the number of ice screws and snow anchors we had brought. In normal mountaineering practice, climbers would anchor themselves to the slope with an ice screw for every 20 to 30 metres of displayed rope, 40 metres at the most. With minimal gear, we self-anchored every 80 metres. In terms of safety, that was a ridiculous length of runout rope; a fall would be injurious, to say the least. On top of that, we could only afford two jumars, and we had offered these to the Sherpas because they carried heavier loads. Meanwhile, we climbed with a carabiner on our harnesses, through which we ran the fixed rope, and the grip of our fist was the only stopping mechanism in the system. This was totally dangerous, and I still advise people: “Never do that, please!”

  The process of kicking the toe of the crampon into the frozen uphill slope, one foot at a time, while attempting to grab the rope with a free hand, was monotonous, made worse by the rope’s extensive stretch that threw us off kilter with every reach. Focused balance was required to maintain unity with the heavy loads on our backs. Had we the pleasure of using jumars, our method of ascent would have been entirely different. We could have rested hands and feet while relying solely on the bite of the jumar into the rope to hold us stationary. Instead, we had no respite. Our calves burned and our hands gave way to the bitter cold and intense work of hanging on for dear life. We maintained this painful effort from 7100 metres to the South Col at 8000 metres. At times, I questioned why I was there. I had visions of my family and friends tucked into a kotatsu, warming their toes, and I longed for the taste of the mandarin oranges they would likely be sharing over relaxed conversation. Clearly, I was in another world. I missed my home.

  On the steepest terrain, we fixed the route with rope ladders. One person climbed ahead using two ice axes and without the weight of a pack, fixing anchor points to the slope as they progressed upward. The rope was tied at the climber’s waist on the harness, then threaded through each anchor point for security; the next climber below was tied into the bottom end of the rope, which was pulled taut once the lead climber was at the top of a pitch. This allowed climbers to be on a safe belay as they moved upwards. Ladders and other equipment were continually brought higher and fixed to the route. On some days, we could only progress 300 metres while working at +7000 metres in elevation – even standing still at that altitude was cause for exhaustion. After a full day of fixing the route, we were simply too tired to move an inch, greatly in need of a rest.

  We were at the crux of the climb in terms of maintaining good health. One after the other, teammates began to succumb to altitude; first, Naka, our star youngster, and then Naganuma, who suffered from a relapse of severe pain from a long-ago broken leg. But we endured, and on April 27, ten days into our struggle with the Lhotse Face, Watanabe and I finally arrived at Camp 4.

  It took us almost nine hours to achieve the 700-metre elevation gain from Camp 3 to Camp 4. We climbed without oxygen, which we saved for sleeping, and our packs were notably heavy. The result was two self-induced oxygen-deprived hypothermic climbers who were almost driven insane from nearly frozen hands and feet. The severity of that day, both in terms of cold temperatures and hardship, remained imprinted in my mind’s eye for decades to come.

  We cut a small flat surface into the steep and hard ice slope with barely enough room to pitch four small tents, one for four Sherpas, one for Watanabe and me, and the other two for the journalists and their Sherpas. Chopping into the frozen mountainside while on belay seemed to take forever. The winds picked up to double that of the lower elevations, and the simple job of going to the toilet became a scary adventure.

  “Pugyo,” I said (Nepali for “enough”) to Hisano on the radio that night. “There is no other day that I desperately wished we had brought more jumars as badly as today. I’m exhausted enough to almost declare that I quit mountaineering. Let’s have the next Ladies Climbing Club expedition at a beach, not in the mountains.”

  “I second that!” Kitamura said from Camp 1. “Hawaii would be great. We’ll take lots of jumars then! In the meantime, best wishes for the Kawagoe Housewives Association.” Watanabe and I laughed – there we were, two married women from Kawagoe, both of us mothers, on Everest. We felt rejuvenated once again.

  I felt pleased when I looked down the sheer ice slope that draped from our tent entranceway to the distant bean-sized silhouettes of the Sherpas who continued to ferry loads on the Western Cwm Glacier. “How fantastic that we have come this long way,” I thought. Right in front of me was Pumori, the Himalayan pleats of Everest’s West Ridge, and Nuptse – all of them bathed in an incredible evening light that made a person’s dignity shine bright. It was a picture beyond words.

  Watanabe and I had climbed to nearly 7800 metres, and we were close to the Yellow Band. The Geneva Spur would be next, and then the South Col. The Yellow Band is the signature stripe of limestone rock, formed millions of years ago when Mount Everest was below sea level, that cuts across the upper third of the mountain’s face. It is a hazardous feature that threatens the climber, whose crampons are likely to skid out on the steep rocky surface. Numerous old ropes lay hung from worn anchors, left by previous parties and tempting us to use them. The amount of energy required to fix our own ropes was excruciating, but the thought of clipping into partially eroded lines that had been long exposed to Everest’s harsh climate made us think twice. We added to the milieu of tat and fixed our own ropes on the limestone band.

  Watanabe and I had taken turns with Nasu and Manita, each pair ferrying loads from one high camp to another and flip-flopping who stayed where. After Watanabe and I had spent three nights at Camp 4, Nasu and Manita were on their way to join us there. On the morning of the day they arrived, the Sherpas had fixed ropes to Camp 5 (7986 metres) at the South Col, a worthy accomplishment. It was regrettable that Nasu and Manita missed the chance to reach that higher elevation with the Sherpas. In the name of success, though, the route had been built, enabling our climb to progress to its final stage.

  I also regretted that only the older team members (Nasu, Manita, Watanabe and I) had reached as high as Camp 4. I really wanted the younger stars – Shioura, Naka, Taneya and Arayama – to surpass
the Lhotse Face. But once again, I had to accept certain disappointments, as did others, as part of the greater team effort. It was difficult because I wanted everyone to experience Everest as they had dreamed it.

  Then logistics changed. On May 2 Arayama relayed a tense message from Camp 3. “Naka fell ill while climbing the lower part of Lhotse Face. We should take her down as soon as possible.” On Everest, the time frame of “as soon as possible” means hours later. Not until the next day could we implement a team to accompany Naka down to Camp 2. Watanabe, Mihara, Shioura, Taneya and I shuttled loads from Camp 2 to Camp 3. Shioura and Taneya were to stay at Camp 3 and then progress to Camp 4 on May 4. Watanabe, Mihara and I would descend with Naka. Instead, on our way up, we crossed paths with Naka below Camp 3, escorted by Arayama and Sherpas. It was obvious she was suffering from altitude sickness – unable to put on crampons by herself, for example – but she remained able to walk. After a quick assessment of the situation, I decided that Naka should stay at Camp 2 for the night then continue down to Base Camp the following day. The plan for May 4 read like a hit list as I dictated it over the radio for the rest of the team. This was how I kept logistics direct and organized.

  May 4

  Naka, Tabei: descend to Base Camp

  Shioura, Taneya: Camp 3 to Camp 4

  Watanabe, Mihara, Nasu, Manita: Camp 2 to Camp 3

  (ferrying up two oxygen bottles each)

  Arayama: stay at Camp 2

  (take care of Naka for night of May 3)

  Tents—rooming

  4-person tent: Naka, Arayama