On the eighth our nine-member team ascended to 7,300 meters. The next day as we prepared to leave Camp III for the South Col, I noticed that Scott appeared tired. His social responsibility may have been one reason for that. Scott had a great ability to communicate with people and comfort them when problems arose. Throughout the expedition he was available for conversation and support. He gave away a lot of energy this way. From my years as a coach, I knew the value and psychological weight of that responsibility. Scott carried a heavy burden with the clients. The power of his character and reputation had inspired people to join the expedition, and most of our group were only satisfied when they had his attention.
Before we left Camp III on the ninth, an arch of wind-driven snow bowed over the mountain above eight thousand meters. In my experience, hellish wind can be a more difficult obstacle than bad weather on Everest: even under a clear sky it can render climbing impossible. Looking up, I doubted we were choosing the right moment to ascend. I expressed my reservations to Scott and Rob Hall. Rob had a different opinion: the sky was clear, he wanted to get his clients into position for the summit assault, then wait for good conditions. He pointed out there was always some wind up higher, which was true. In many cases I did not have the power to influence Scott’s decisions. I was respected as a high-altitude climber, but Rob Hall had much more experience successfully guiding a group of clients on Everest. Naturally, in our circumstances his opinions carried more weight than mine did. On several issues Scott had deferred to Rob’s advice. That morning, Scott told me we were going to follow Rob’s advice regarding the timing of our summit bid. Climbing up, I met Ed Viesturs and David Breashears descending. Ed confirmed the wind was strong at the Col; he, too, felt the conditions were not stable enough to climb higher. On previously successful commercial ascents of Everest, Ed had been Rob’s principal guide and consultant. In 1996, Rob made decisions without the benefit of Ed’s sound advice.
Knowing it was important for the team to move directly into the shelter of tents when they arrived, I went up ahead of our team to help the Sherpas set up camp. By 5 P.M. we had four tents ready (two for guides and clients and two for our Sherpas); as a precaution against wind damage, one tent was held in reserve. Klev Schoening and Martin Adams arrived. A cloud blew up on the pass and abruptly the wind increased, scattering fine snow. Clearly the weather at that moment precluded thoughts of a summit assault. Conditions were about two times better than those we would face twenty-four hours later. Waiting for the other members of our team to arrive, I discussed the situation with Rob Hall. The roar of the wind was so loud we were forced to communicate with our heads close together, voices shouting.
“What are we going to do?” I asked.
To this he threw up his hands, saying, “If the weather improves, we go tonight; if it does not improve by midnight, we wait twenty-four hours. If it’s blowing like this tomorrow night, we go down.”
About that time Scott arrived with Sandy Pittman; I passed on Rob Hall’s plan and reported on who was where in our tents. Immediately upon joining Martin Adams, Lene Gammelgaard, and Klev Schoening in one of the vibrating shelters, I retreated into the warmth of my sleeping bag and fell asleep, certain that we would not be going anywhere that night. That pessimistic prediction was in error.
About 10 P.M. the noise of the Sherpas preparing food and tea in the neighboring tent woke me. Half-asleep, I sensed that something had changed. The walls were no longer buffeted. The Sherpas used normal tones of voice, not shouting over the howling wind. I remember being impressed and somewhat amazed with Rob Hall’s foresight. There was no question: ahead of us was the summit assault.
For some reason, I had no desire to begin that undertaking. Missing was my usual presummit high, when every muscle and nerve is ready for work, ready to face the hard, wearisome struggle. My internal voice was quiet. I wondered how to interpret that. Was it poor samochuvstvie, illness, or lack of preparation? I recalled similar internal states on other occasions: times in bad weather when I had had no desire or motivation to venture out, moments when my intuition about some change in conditions had stopped me. But the weather had improved: at that moment it was astonishingly clear, the night sky sparkled, there was no wind. In my search for the cause of my mood, the weather was not a factor that I considered; I knew that, according to Scott’s directive, we were going up. Analyzing my physical preparation in light of my general feelings of ambivalence, I wondered if I was getting sick. In the moments before we left camp, the doubts I entertained made me put a mask, regulator, and oxygen bottle in my pack so that I could make my final decision about using it after we had crossed the section of easy climbing up to 8,500 meters. At that point, if I felt fatigued or was unable to work at the rate required to keep up with the team, I wanted to have the oxygen available to use.
Scott and Lopsang were responsible for our supply of canisters as well as assigning our Sherpas’ duties. Scott distributed two bottles to each client. In the three bottles allotted for them, each person had an eighteen-hour supply if oxygen was used at a normal flow rate. I was under the impression that all seven of our Sherpas would be working with us, carrying the extra bottles we needed to resupply the team late in the climb. Usually one Sherpa carries the reserve canister for another person. Looking around, it crossed my mind that we did not have enough manpower. Groggy from the short night of sleep, I did not pursue that train of thought.
The severe night air was so cold that it was impossible for me to work without mittens as I filled my thermos with hot tea. Tea was all that I found available for my breakfast. We left camp on schedule about midnight. Rob Hall’s team had left camp ahead of us. According to plan, Lopsang and the Sherpas were to go first to fix ropes, while Neal and I would stay in the middle of the main group, monitoring progress. Scott left camp last; this is the normal position for an expedition leader as it enables him to follow the progress of the whole team spread out on the route ahead of him. At daybreak we overtook the Adventure Consultants team. They were resting on a point of the East Ridge at about 8,500 meters, enjoying the perfectly windless morning. Above us was the steepest section of the route. My understanding was that during our rest the Sherpas would go ahead and fix rope on that section so the guides could stay with the team. Up to that point Ang Dorje had been doing the hard work, breaking trail through the new-fallen snow. Lopsang, our sirdar, was slow, not feeling well; he was unable to work in the lead. The other Sherpas were not experienced at technical work and were obviously tired, loaded down with the oxygen. After six hours of climbing, my body felt fine, my pace was stable, and it had been easy for me to keep up with our clients who were using oxygen. Ascending the last vertical meters was not going to be a problem for me. Neal Beidleman reported that he was feeling quite strong using the oxygen, and I indicated that I would not need the canister I was carrying. Perhaps Neal believed that I was too weak to carry that bottle; actually, when I gave the canister to him, I simply thought that he would use it.
He and Ang Dorje started ahead of Rob Hall’s team, pulling old ropes from the snow as they went and securing new line in some places. I noticed that the situation on that part of the route had changed since I’d climbed it with Kevin Cooney. Technically it is easy, just steep: in ’91 we climbed with ski poles. By 1996 the remains of many old fixed ropes were on the slope. I stayed with our clients; all were moving well without any obvious problems. Between ten and eleven o’clock we reached the South Summit and stopped to rest. From that point, the summit is about one and one-half hours away. Had Scott caught up with us there, he might have turned some of our clients back. But that was not a decision either Neal or I was authorized to make. Most of our group had paid big money for the opportunity they had earned, and Scott Fischer was the only one with the authority to turn a climber around so close to the goal. My role was to help our team succeed. I was there to work, to carry out Scott’s orders.
After forty minutes of waiting, I understood that no one intended to extend th
e route. Ang Dorje was tired; it seemed most reasonable that I take the initiative to fix the line up the Hillary Step so we could keep moving. After consulting with Neal, I got ready to go. He took a rope from one of the Sherpas and belayed me across the ridge before the Step. Crossing, I pulled old ropes up from the snow. I expected that those who came behind me with more rope would correctly secure that section of ridge with a continuous line. It did not take me long to fix the rocky step. Andy Harris, one of Rob Hall’s guides, and one of his strongest clients, Jon Krakauer from Seattle, came up right behind me. It was too crowded for all of us to stand in that one place. I moved off ahead, breaking trail in the snow on the steep section of ridge above, thinking it would be faster and easier for those who followed to fix the rope they carried working from an established track in the snow. That is how I became the first person on the route to the summit. I arrived there at 1:07 P.M. A strong, stable wind was blowing, which is the usual phenomenon on Everest. The sky predicted no storm or cataclysm. Ten minutes after I reached the summit, Andy Harris and Jon Krakauer arrived. They took pictures and quickly started down. Neal and our client Martin Adams came up shortly behind them. I focused on how they were doing: neither had problems. Klev Schoening joined us ten minutes later. I told Martin to pick up some rocks from the summit for souvenirs, which he did and then headed down. I checked my watch and saw I had been on top for almost an hour.
I could not see climbers over the crest; I thought our clients must be having problems with the Hillary Step. I decided to go down to that level to see what was happening. Five minutes down from the summit, I met Rob Hall with one of his clients. With his face covered by an oxygen mask, at first I thought he was Scott. I asked him how he was doing. He answered that everything was all right. He thanked me for fixing rope on the Hillary Step. I asked if he needed help. He replied that everything was going well, that his client was only fifteen minutes from the summit.
In a dense group of climbers coming up after Rob, I distinguished the members of my expedition and focused my attention on them. Though there should have been some space between each climber, they were bunched with members of the other teams in a tight group; four of our Sherpas were with four clients. I wondered why they lagged so far behind the first summiters. Worried because we had been climbing thirteen to fourteen hours, I started to have concerns about our oxygen supply. It would take Tim, Sandy, Charlotte, and Lene about thirty minutes to reach the summit at their pace. I understood that there might not be enough oxygen for their descent. Neal Beidleman was waiting to receive them at the summit.
Where was Scott? I had not seen him during the whole assault. Down the ridge, I recognized him talking with Martin Adams at the top of the Hillary Step. He was wearing an oxygen mask; that fact alone did not lead me to assume that he was having health problems or that he was weak. I thought the choice to use oxygen was most reasonable. Scott had worked hard throughout the expedition, and for various reasons he had not been able to gain the level of acclimatization that I had. I went down to him, stopped, and asked how he was feeling. He said he was tired, that coming up had been difficult, though from that encounter and our conversation, I was in no way alerted that his condition was a problem or that it might lead to the tragedy that followed.
At that moment, we had five clients on the summit; counting Scott, there were two guides and five Sherpas to attend them during the descent. Martin was headed down. Two of the group on the summit had not been above the level of Camp II prior to the assault, so their level of acclimatization was a question in my mind. My intuition was telling me the most logical action for all of us was to turn and go down. I knew that when our people ran out of oxygen during their descent, they would experience a sudden drop in strength and ability. Physically assisting anyone at such high elevation is hard if not impossible; the best help in those circumstances is to provide a resupply of oxygen. Talking to Scott, I expressed my desire to descend, to reach the Col quickly so I would be available to bring oxygen and hot drinks up from the assault camp to anyone who was exhausted. I knew that I was strong enough to do that. Scott listened to me; he said descending was the right thing for me to do. He told me to go down.
Consulting with Scott about this plan, I did not think I was choosing the easiest option for myself. It would have been much easier for me to stay with the group, slowly continuing the descent. It is impossible to get lost on the route from the South Summit down to 8,200 meters. The camp on the Col is visible all the way down a trail that descends on the ridge. With ropes fixed along the steep section to speed the descent and ensure safety, the rest of the relief was relatively easy. At 8,200 meters the terrain becomes more flat; there were no fixed ropes on that section, and in poor visibility, it is possible to lose one’s way. But at that moment I had no reason to think visibility would disappear. The weather was not a source of concern; it appeared normal for Everest. Afternoon clouds were blown up the mountain by the normal shift in wind, but below the clouds the route was visible. Looking back, I can say the clouds boded nothing good and I should have been more mindful that just as the weather had suddenly improved the night before, it was possible for it to get dramatically worse.
After we’d decided that I was to go down to be available for resupply or help, Scott went up. Physically I was past my dead point in energy and I felt much better than I had in the morning. Working on second wind, I caught up with Martin and urged him on. I was not concerned about his climbing ability as he was moving well, wisely hurrying because he was using his last bottle of oxygen. I knew he would come down behind me.
I attempted to get ahead of the climbers who would naturally descend at a slower rate behind me. To free the rope for them and to avoid the possibility of being hit by falling rocks they might kick off the slope, I had to be ahead. It is not safe for two or three people to descend using the same rope. At about 8,500 meters I encountered a man who asked if I had seen Rob Hall; he said he was waiting for him. I spoke to the man briefly telling him what I knew.1 I kept going. Having committed to a course of action, I worked like a programmed machine.
In a little more than two hours I reached 8,200 meters; visibility dramatically improved. Actually I thought the weather was getting better. Usually the afternoon clouds blown up the mountain are cleared off the slopes by the late-afternoon winds. I could see our tents. Carefully negotiating the difficult ice slope, I hurried to camp. Arriving between five and five-thirty, I was surprised to meet Pemba, one of our Sherpas. Unbeknownst to me, he had stayed in camp. I was tired and rested for thirty minutes, trying to collect my strength for the work ahead. I rested watching the descent route for climbers, hoping to see them, and hoping I would not have to go out again. About six o’clock with no one in view, I asked Pemba to find me three canisters of oxygen. Soon after I started from camp across the Col, the wind abruptly increased and visibility decreased because of blowing snow. Putting on a mask and turning on the oxygen to accelerate my ascent, I rushed to reach the beginning of the ropes at 8,200 meters. Rapidly the blizzard became worse. Stopping at 8,150 meters, I found the relief above was completely obscured. I looked back; I could see light flashing from our camp, signals for the descending climbers. Moving in a systematic way, I went up into the whiteout trying to locate the end of the fixed rope. Fogging up with my breath, the oxygen mask impeded my visibility, so I turned off the flow and removed the mask. As I could not see, speed had ceased to be meaningful, and I thought I should save the oxygen for the clients. Despite repeated trips into the storm, I was unable to locate the ropes. At that point the light from my headlamp penetrated the falling darkness only a few feet around me. Carefully I descended the steep ice to the level of the Col. Unsure, lost, I wandered about half an hour before regaining my orientation only when I was able to see the flashes of light from camp.
Clearly the situation was out of my hands: that stark realization provoked a great wave of fatigue. Forced to accept that the most reasonable course of action was to get back to the te
nts and stand by prepared to help, I knew too well that our clients were in a critical situation. Returning to camp, I noticed that my feet were freezing. To restore the circulation I took off my crampons and boots and moved into the tent to warm them. At that moment Martin Adams arrived. His face was covered with ice and snow. I helped him into the tent, took off his crampons, put him in his sleeping bag and connected him to a bottle of oxygen. Pemba brought tea; he said that he had seen lights close to the tents and that our group should arrive soon. I went out preparing to help them; I thought it was likely that some would have frostbite. Repeatedly for the next two hours as I could stand it, I moved out of the tent into the wind to flash my headlamp and search, thinking that some people were trapped close by.
About 1 A.M. Pemba started shouting. All that time he had maintained the vigil. Snow-covered figures were coming, their masks covered with ice. It was difficult to recognize anyone. Lene arrived first. I took off her crampons and pushed her into the tent with Martin, then I helped Klev, who came in with Neal. After talking with Lene I understood some people were in a bad situation, cut off by the storm across the Col toward the Chinese side. Three of our team were huddled together without strength to move. Two climbers from Rob Hall’s expedition had come down with them. Emotional and scared, Lene urged me to hurry. She said Sandy Pittman was frozen and was probably dying. I could not get specific directions out of anyone. After hooking Klev and Lene to oxygen, I went to Neal, thinking that he would have clearer information, but he was frozen and incapable of explaining anything.
Above the Clouds Page 18