Honouring High Places

by Junko Tabei

  6-person tent: Watanabe, Mihara, Nasu, Manita and Tabei

  In an unusual turn of events, as many as seven climbers stayed at Camp 2 the night of May 3. I slept next to Watanabe, who was camped right at the tent entranceway, and beside Mihara, who lay in the middle of five climbers. Three of us were headfirst towards the icefall side of the camp, while Manita and Nasu slept with their heads pointed at the Lhotse Face. An earlier mistake in ferrying loads meant we were short one sleeping bag. Together, Watanabe and I stuffed ourselves into a single bag – room for legs only – with down jackets zipped around us for upper-body warmth. We settled in for sleep, unaware that plans were about to change again.

  CHAPTER 7

  Finalists

  May 4, 12:30 a.m. (recap)

  First, silence. Then a whole-body vibration, a deafening noise and – WHAM – impact. Avalanche! Before I knew it, I was tumbling fast. Then, stillness, and an unrelenting pressure that pinned me down so I could hardly breathe. I felt suffocated. I desperately sought escape as I reached for my knife.

  “Everybody OK?” I yelled at the top of my voice, startled by its loudness. There was no response. I realized that someone was on top of me. It was Miharu, her hair smothering my face.

  The night of disbelief unfolded from there, an entire camp wiped out by tons of snow and ice. The saving grace, summarized best by one of the Sherpas, was that “Nobody is die.”

  Nearly a week had passed since the avalanche, and timing to reach the summit had become imperative. We had to get a move on. From a recovery point of view, we were steady enough. It was the other calculations that were the threat: the amount of available food and bottled oxygen dictated that not many of us could stay at high elevations for much longer; and the weather forecast reported that India’s monsoon would begin around May 20. Supplies were not the only thing being depleted. The human body is driven to deterioration and exhaustion purely by existing at 6400 metres – slowly, we were wasting away. In all of this, each of us felt the urgency of the final assault on Everest. Whom that would involve was yet to be determined.

  May 10

  An evening meeting was held to announce the finalists for the summit team. Hisano, with the weight of the world on her shoulders, led the discussion in a slightly tense voice. She admitted to how upset she had been when first informed of the avalanche, and then how her hopes for continuing the expedition plummeted when she saw in person the scale of the disaster. As team members began to recover, and word from the doctor assured her that the injured Sherpa would be fine, the summit assault returned into view. Hisano was convinced a miracle had kept the team alive, and she felt ready to shift that positivity towards the goal and joy of climbing again. “Having considered Tabei’s unwavering request to continue,” she said, “the team is being given one last chance to succeed.”

  It was with a deep respect for each team member that Hisano presented her conclusion. Watanabe and I would make the final push to the summit of Everest with Ang Tsering. We would have added support from the Sherpas since, unfortunately, there were not enough resources to fuel the remainder of the team to the South Col.

  When a summit team is chosen, it is vital for everyone to remain united in their support, but often it can be the cause for an expedition party to disband. Thinking back to Annapurna III and the upsetting arguments that ensued when the summit team was selected had me in mixed emotions on Everest. I cautiously waited for the group’s reaction, but no sooner had I comprehended the announcement myself than a barrage of hands appeared for a heartfelt congratulatory shake. As I vigorously accepted each one, my broken glasses slid farther down my nose. They had been snapped in half by the avalanche and were now held together by tape; an inconvenience, but not enough to hamper the moment. I would summit Everest, and our team was unified in the effort.

  I was surprised to feel unburdened by Hisano’s decision. I thought that if I heard my name as part of the summit team then responsibility and obligation would descend on me like a heavy blanket. Instead, I was wrapped in a certain kind of relief emitted from the rest of the team. We had already spent more than fifty days at more than 5000 metres; living in such a stark environment had begun to wear on us – we had been pushed to the far edge of tiredness. The unspoken thought that we shared was that if someone, anyone, could reach the summit, then please let them so we can go home. It was nice to feel the genuine support from everyone.

  That night, as a fresh start was needed, we scrubbed each other’s backs with 5-centimetre-square cotton sheets soaked in rubbing alcohol. It had been more than two months since any of us had soaked in a hot bath and the itchiness of dry, sweat-smeared skin was a serious annoyance, even taking into account our noble pursuits. The mere luxury of feeling clean had us revelling in our Japanese ways. Watanabe spoke of bathing in onsen water, and how beautiful the early summer greens would be in Japan. Hiking in Kamikochi was on her list of things to do when she returned home. A flurry of responses followed: “We must eat sushi first, and eel and ramen served with traditional thin noodles, and gyoza, chawan-mushi, hiya-yakko, hatsu-katsuo and sashimi.” As we cleansed our tired selves, the conversation lingered on food, from barbequed sanma with shredded daikon to cream puffs and chocolate parfait. It was as though the topic itself would fuel us. Hirashima, in charge of food for the expedition, added: “Tabei-san, we’ve packed a can of the best tasty ham for your last camp before the summit attack – eat it up. No leftovers allowed.” I was grateful for her dedication and thoughtfulness, and it highlighted the group spirit. Our enthusiasm had gained momentum based on the shared feeling that the climb would soon be over. Freshly washed, our bodies felt rejuvenated as well.

  May 11

  We woke to a sunny, cloudless day, perfect for the team to jump into action and ferry loads to Camp 3. Kitamura, who at first declared that Base Camp was more than enough for her, had eventually become the manager at Camp 1, and then she progressed to ferrying loads between Camp 1 and Camp 2 based on her quick adaption to altitude. We pushed her farther and were happy to see her climb as far as Camp 3, almost 7000 metres in elevation. Hisano did the same. While the expedition leader usually oversees the team from Base Camp, Hisano’s choice to climb to Camp 3 meant that everyone, except for Dr. Sakaguchi, made it to that high of an elevation. This alone emphasized the unique strength and adaptability of our team, which to us was an accomplishment in itself.

  We were never considered a group of elite mountaineers in the Japanese climbing community. We were a team of women who shared the dream of climbing Mount Everest; a team that readied itself for such an opportunity despite the obstacles met along the way. The success of all climbers reaching Camp 3 was enough to keep me up that night with pride and excitement.

  The low-angled glacial slope between Camp 2 and Camp 3 dramatically changed at the looming buttress of the Lhotse Face where the steep, polished ice seemed an endless obstruction. We had already succeeded on one of the three notable, difficult sections on Everest, the Khumbu Icefall. Next was the Lhotse Face, which would lead to the South Col at almost 8000 metres, and then the knife-point ridge that connects the 8700-metre South Peak to the true summit. The intimidating features ahead made it feel like the mountain could still refuse us the summit, yet my attitude remained steadfast: Go for it!

  May 12

  We woke to a cloudy early morning, knowing there would be snow later in the day. With two preparation days already complete on the Lhotse Face, and fixed lines established above Camp 3, we were ready to resume the route. Watanabe and I tied into a shared rope and climbed toward the Lhotse Face once more. We left the camaraderie of Camp 3 for the earnestness of the summit, the entire team waving goodbye behind us.

  The steepness of terrain was intense right from the start. Step after step, we kicked the two front points of our crampons into the glacial ice, like metal teeth biting their way up the frozen slope. With mitted hands, we clipped the slings from our harnesses to the fixed rope, each of us relying on a single carabiner that
was the only attachment point between us and the mountainside. We were immediately aware of the 20-kilogram packs on our backs, each one containing a 7-kilogram bottle of oxygen. This was of little concern on an earlier scouting mission, but now the weight was a noticeable addition. Climbing with no jumars and the added strain of altitude had us breathing hard within minutes. Our pace slowed – step, stop, deeply inhale, repeat. The sheer angle of the route made it impossible to plant a foot flat on the ground; my weight was fully supported by the forefront of my crampons. My calves screamed in pain, and my knees and thighs were as heavy as lead. Hardly any distance had passed between us and Camp 3, yet my body already felt consumed by the demand of the route. The summit was approximately 1850 vertical metres away.

  The glittering glacial ice continued to stretch endlessly in front of me. As hoped, by the time I reached the rope ladder that the Sherpas had fixed on a steeper section of the face, I had settled into my usual climbing style. The remnants of aches and pains from the avalanche had dispersed, and I felt strong again, until I stepped onto the ladder. The rope structure stretched like a rubber band as I placed my entire weight on each flexible rung. Patience and accuracy were required with every foot placement as I positioned the space between the points of my crampons onto the narrow horizontal strands, twenty-eight steps in total. My balance was repeatedly tested, and fatigue set in. Slowly, Watanabe and I staggered upwards.

  The weight of the packs and the lack of supplemental oxygen also began to take their toll. The sun had started to slip behind Everest’s neighbouring peaks, the temperature dropped and our hands turned numb. We were still on the ladder. Camp 4 stood directly above the pitch we were on, taunting us to climb faster.

  I was almost at the point of collapse when the Sherpas came into view, busy expanding Camp 4. The site was no bigger than the footprint of a tent, a no-frills flat spot cut into the steepness of the slope. A few steps higher up, a similar platform had been built. Watanabe and I shared a tent with the two cameramen, Ajisaka and Nakamura, on the lower level while the Sherpas were stationed above. There was a toilet a few metres away at the end of a narrow path, and we had to remain on belay to use it. In such close quarters, there was no room for modesty.

  By the time we greeted each other with Japanese pleasantries, evening was on the cusp. Our hellos were interrupted by Ang Tsering’s urgent voice: “Memsahib, memsahib! Tabei-san, I have to talk to you.” He guided me to the second tent. Three Sherpas lay flat out in their sleeping bags, looking grave. My initial thought was if the Sherpas were suffering at 7600 metres, how did we stand a chance? “We have to get them down due to altitude sickness,” Ang Tsering said. The severity of the situation hit fast with his next words: “That means we cannot shuttle enough loads for three people to make the summit assault.”

  The sound of falling snow on the tent grew louder as I tried to digest our options. Conditions had turned to whiteout and daylight was fading; there was zero visibility for the Sherpas’ proposed descent. They would have to wait until morning. Their departure would mean that 90 kilograms of supplies could not be shuttled farther up the mountain in our effort to reach the summit. The weather was worsening with the monsoon pushing ever closer to the region, and I felt a sense of now or never if we were to succeed on Everest.

  I tried to calculate what we could accomplish with three fewer Sherpas. Could the rest of us ferry enough resources to establish Camp 5 and 6, and support one cameraman at Camp 6 while three of us continued to the summit? No. It was impossible.

  Ang Tsering suggested we reduce the number of climbers required to reach Camp 6. Although I had not thought of that, it made sense, and I radioed Hisano to explain the scenario. After some consideration, she responded. No matter how many times she reviewed the numbers, the result was negative – we lacked the support for three of us to reach the summit. “You’ll have to decide,” Hisano said, “Tabei-san and Watanabesan, who is going up.”

  Instinctively, I felt that since I was assistant team leader, my job was to provide backup to Watanabe. I would support her to the South Col, and then she would make the push for the summit. I had learned my lesson on Annapurna III that when a person is in a leadership role, she is better off not to choose the summit for herself in a case like this. “Let Watanabe-san climb,” I said.

  Watanabe grabbed the radio transmitter from my hand. “No. Tabei-san should continue climbing. I’ll go down with the sick Sherpas.”

  Hisano was silent.

  “Watanabe is in good condition today. I can support her to the South Col,” I said.

  “Leader Tabei-san has better experience at high altitudes. I’m totally inexperienced from this altitude on. Reaching the summit is much more certain with Tabei-san climbing higher.”

  Hisano was indecisive. “Give me more time. I’ll call you back tomorrow morning,” she said and turned off the radio. For a moment, it felt like time stood still, but the camera kept rolling as Nakamura shot footage of our expressions during the radio call, finishing with our looks of uncertainty.

  The evening storm picked up speed. The intensity of the falling snow erased any hint of our surroundings; we could have been anywhere. Tied to the fixed rope, Watanabe and I made our way to the toilet, the sky pure in its darkness with only icy flakes whirling in the beams of our headlamps to provide perspective.

  I peeked inside the Sherpas’ tent on my way back. It was obvious how sick the three of them were, pale-faced and complaining of severe headaches. Morning could not come soon enough. I reported to Ang Tsering about the radio call with Hisano. His response was adamant: “The camera guys should go down.” An obvious answer from a climbing perspective, but not an easy decision given that media sponsorship funded the expedition.

  Tucked away in our tent, and seeking a distraction from the heavy mood of the camp, Watanabe and I sat wrapped in our sleeping bags to begin the ritual of wiping off the thick layer of sunblock from our faces. We focused on remaining calm, clearing our minds as we cleansed our skin. Late at night, with heads side by side, we each fell asleep inhaling one litre of oxygen per hour from a shared bottle through a two-pronged nasal tube. I tried to relax to the hiss of the oxygen flow and the gentle sliding of snow from the tent roof. No thinking, no emotion, only sleep was needed.

  May 13

  The radio call from Hisano finally crackled in the morning air. Her voice was low and obviously strained. No doubt she had not slept much the night before. “After considering all potential scenarios, I’ve decided to have Tabei-san continue the climb. Watanabe-san, nothing could be harder for you than this, but please come down with the sick Sherpas.” Hisano was choked up after the announcement and unable to speak. She had such respect for every climber on the team that to pull one of us from the impending summit, to disappoint us, weighed heavily on her. Sadly, some members of the team misinterpreted Hisano’s intentions with this decision, and after the expedition unkind accusations were made against her.

  But, with no hesitation, my partner replied to our leader, “This is Watanabe. I got it. I’ll go down to Camp 2 with the sick Sherpas.” She was resolute and clear-minded as she turned to me “Yes, this is the right thing to do. We’re better off with Tabei-san climbing. Ganbatte! Show your good fight on it.”

  The dice were thrown, the curtain was up, and the game was on.

  May 14

  Snow fell through the night and at 7 a.m. it was still falling. As I stirred from the tent, visibility remained poor. Regardless of weather, the three Sherpas were ready to descend. They refused my offer of hot tea, claiming it was a waste to consume goods that they had worked so hard to carry this far. Two more Sherpas, who had always been in great shape on the expedition, were also suffering from severe headaches. We had no choice but to bid them farewell as they also left with Watanabe.

  Before she stepped away, I shook hands with Watanabe. “Take heart,” she said. “But don’t take it too hard.” She pulled out an omamori, a good luck charm, from her pocket and with a bright
smile placed it in my hand. I could barely express my thanks as I hid the treasure deep in my jacket. The warmth of her gesture seeped into my heart like healing water. From that day onward, Watanabe’s smile remained ingrained in my mind.

  For efficiency and safety, the order in which our friends would down climb the Lhotse Face had been decided before they left. Watanabe clipped her carabiner into the fixed rope and began her descent. She looked back at us only once and waved her hand, and then continued to lead the Sherpas on their way. Her silhouette quickly disappeared into the heavy falling snow, and I was the lone climber of the Japanese women’s team en route to the summit.

  The poor weather had Ang Tsering and I declare a day off. I radioed Hisano with an update of the team on its way to Camp 2 and us remaining at Camp 4 for another night. Concern flowed both ways across the transmission, me asking Hisano to take care of Watanabe and the Sherpas, and her assuring me they would be welcomed with a full heart and that I was to also take care. Her reassurance enabled me to focus on the task ahead.

  Limitations of living at 7600 metres in elevation kicked in. Ang Tsering gave up trying to ignite a temperamental kerosene stove to boil water for soup. Logistics dictated that we only use kerosene stoves at Camp 4, reserving the butane gas for higher up. An unlit stove meant we were forced to eat lunch from the stash of already prepared food, diminishing supplies we would rather not touch. For every action there was a reaction that further hampered specified plans.

  Returning to the tent with food in hand, I found Ajisaka hugging a plastic bag full of snow stuffed between his jacket and sweater. “What are you doing? You’ll get hypothermia!” I said.

  “I’m making water by melting snow this way,” he said. I was impressed by his effort to help us, and my disposition softened. I recalled how upset I was with the journalists after the avalanche at Camp 2. They obviously never meant any harm.

  The unfortunate part about forgoing soup for lunch to save butane gas was that our thirst became insufferable. As we waited for the weather to clear and the day to pass, our discomfort became excruciating, but with the weather delay, we had to save our fuel.