by Andrew Greig
In any case, there is no doubt that we have to evacuate the hill – if it continues to snow the avalanche risk will be extreme (it may already be so), and we’ll have the utmost difficulty getting off the hill. If this is the monsoon, we won’t be coming back, so we gather together everyone’s personal gear before heading down the ropes. We end up with three very heavy sacks; I go first, breaking trail through the deep snow and excavating the ropes, whilst Chris follows, manhandling the third sack.
Above C1 a slab avalanche of about 40 feet width breaks off beneath my feet, and the same thing happens on the traverse across the snow bowl just below C1. These avalanches are not of the full depth of new snow, and I’m terrified that something might release from above the traverse – a distinct possibility since it is now all undercut. If this happens it would be pretty nasty to be stuck on the ropes, though of course in a big slide the snow stake anchors would probably fail …
Sandy Enter Allen Fyffe, ‘Eh Sandy, you’d better come and listen to what Tony has to say – he’s just come down from ABC. Mal’s decided to pack it in.’ So I dragged myself ever so quickly out of my tent and rushed with a limp over to the Mess Tent.
‘OΚ, Tony, tell me a story,’ in my confused head, ‘Hi, they tell me Mal’s decided to quit. Excuse me I’m totally confused – what the fuck is going on?’
‘Well’, says Tony, ‘all I know is that Mal came and woke me up this morning and told me to say we’re clearing the hill and we want the yaks as soon as possible.’
Looking around, Kurt and Julie, Danny, Allen. Thoughts at slow speed …
‘It’s crazy’, I said, ‘a few days bad weather and we give up. It’s not the monsoon, so why?’
‘Well, there’s three feet of snow at ABC.’
‘Aye, well …’
Privately, neither Allen nor Sandy could believe in three foot of snow in 24 hours. It seemed a wild exaggeration (as indeed it was, eight inches was more like reality), an exaggeration indicative of the state of mind at ABC.
Allen Kurt and Julie are upset, Sandy confused, and I personally feel it is a bit premature. This bad weather is coming from the wrong way to be the monsoon. If we go home the Expedition will have achieved a great big zero!
Bob It’s very strenuous work ploughing through the deep snow, and we take a breather on top of the ice-bulge. I’m worried about the prospect of avalanche on the big open slopes below, but when I’m a few feet down the ice-bulge I realize that the slope has already avalanched in a big way. About halfway down our ropes leave the safe avalanche-scoured zone and head into deep fragile snow, so I elect to leave the ropes and head straight down the edge of the avalanche scar …
At the bottom we totter out of range of further snow-slides and wait for the arrival of Urs, Jon and Andy, who help us with the loads. Now the nervous tension is off the trudge across the Raphu La seems even worse than usual, but like all unpleasant things it does eventually end.
Rick Flatten Camp 3 tents, load-up with personal gear and carry on down. Break in the weather briefly as we reach 7090. I collected a few fragments of rock for folks back home (left Tasker medallion clipped into channel-peg at top of 2nd Buttress). Clag descends again as we pass CB’s. Fall on the fixed ropes several times in unstable snow. Finally reach Raphu La. Nick is pretty tired. Andy G., and Sarah then Andy N. as well meet us. So this is the end of the ‘great game’.
‘You know,’ said Rick as the five of us waded through snow across the Raphu La for the last time, ‘I’ve never failed before on a Himalayan peak. It might do me good.’ And as the last of us steps wearily into the Mess Tent, Jon quips, ‘I counted them all out, and I counted them all back in again.’
But Sandy cannot bring himself to accept it. The atmosphere at BC is one of bafflement and frustration: Allen knows this is not the monsoon and he’s got at least one more time to 8,000 metres left in him; Liz is trying to adjust from arguing that doubt or pessimism is a form of expedition heresy, to endorsing Mal’s decision as the only possible one. Sandy struggles with conflicting impulses and finally comes up with a scheme that will give us another chance.
Sandy We all here think it is crazy to give in. But as Deputy Leader it is my job to carry out commands from Mal. Best thing to do (as I want to give Mal a chance to change his mind) is the jeep shall leave BC (to arrange yaks, flights, etc.) on 23rd May at 1.0 pm. If a message does not arrive from ABC by then the jeep goes out with Luo, ordering yaks for 26th May as per primary plan. This means Kurt and Julie can go to ABC tomorrow and talk with Mal. I cannot go to ABC, calf muscle still sore and I cannot tell which tablets to take because of Swiss names. All I need is a handful of anti-inflammatory pills.
To me it seemed an impulsively made decision … a strange one. I understand (I hope) that the lads at 7,000 – 8,000 metres, in snowcaves with three feet of new snow falling probably thought, oh no, the monsoon is here, let’s f– off. I would probably have done the same. But my reasons for thinking my own thoughts are (a) It’s not the monsoon, this comes from S.E. (Bay of Bengal direction) (b) Yes, bad weather, but we’ve had bad weather. We’re on Everest … (c) Yes sure, it’s windy in afternoons, often stormy so why not climb in the morning … (d) It’s Everest, it’s hard, we’ve got to push like on no other hill (e) some oxygen and fixed rope is at foot of 1st Pinn. Therefore if we get a spell of a few days’ good weather, what’s stopping us going up, using O2 and fix Pinns 1 and 2. OK, no summit, but at least we may find out about Pete and Joe. Snow caves have food, two guys could do it. I would be willing to be one of those guys.
So that’s my reasons, so why not wait the week, only seven days just in case we get good weather, usually before the monsoon we get a settled period of weather. It won’t cost us anything more, well … a life, maybe two. Sometimes my head agrees with Mal … But me I feel disappointed, almost cheated.
2.0 am. I need sleep, it won’t come. I want to give this hill another go. The monsoon is not here, Mal I think you’ve been hasty. How I wish we had radio contact. We need to talk.
The snow finally stopped during the night. Next morning the sky was still blue-black over the North Col, but the air was crisper. ABC was camouflaged in snow. We couldn’t break camp, nor the yaks get up here, till the snow melted, so I decided to go down. ABC was a depressing place to be now that the call-off drama was over. I packed up my gear, told Mal and set off.
Difficult going for the first two hours, over snow-obscured moraine. Pick my way carefully; I haven’t slipped or fallen yet on this trip and won’t start now. Look back at the Ridge before turning the corner: the sky has cleared, not a breath of wind. But the Ridge is absolutely white, it would take two or three days without further snow for it to stabilize … Just the same, where is this monsoon?
If you’ve got to fail somewhere – oops, mustn’t use that word – this is the place to do it, on this pure, leaping, ball-breaking line. Eight climbers to near-as-damnit 8,000 metres – before we came out here there were only a handful of living, active British mountaineers who had been to that altitude without O2. That in itself is a major achievement, and yet after all that work and height gain we were nowhere on the Ridge. Maybe halfway along it. Yet so near, only two strong climbers and three clear days away from doing the Pinnacles.
Don’t look back, don’t think about it. Try not to look forward either, too many problems and question marks at home. Just enjoy this last trek.
I was brewing at the halfway tent when Danny shouted. He was on the way to ABC with a note to Mal from Sandy, asking him to change his mind about not extending. Sandy and Allen and Kurt all say this is not the monsoon – and sitting with Danny in the warm sun amid rapidly melting snow, it certainly doesn’t feel like it. Sandy’s asked Mal to reconsider his decision in the light of this: he’s also pointed out that Allen and himself are still keen to go on, that it costs us nothing to extend, and perhaps Mal’s decision is influenced by his own fatigue.
My heart starts beating fast, perhaps we’re not finished yet. After a
moment’s hesitation, I decide to add my ha’penceworth to the scales, as an objective observer, a between-two-camps Himalayan bumbly, and scribble a short private note to Mal. I said that when I’d left them, Sandy and Allen did indeed seem well, that I personally hoped he would extend and so give us a chance of going back on the hill. I felt so caught up with our Expedition that I can’t let go even this faint chance of influencing the outcome; I wrote the note to indicate Sandy wasn’t alone in his opinion, added a defensive ‘but that’s just this novice’s belief.’
So Danny’s now hot-footing it on to ABC, an ungainly Hermes with two notes in his pocket. As I drag on a cigarette and write this beside the glittering ice-fins, it’s a beautiful day, mocking us.
Further down, I meet Kurt and Julie on their way up. They too affirm what is now obvious, that this is not the monsoon. They’re clearly worried about their film, with their trips to the Lho La and the Karma valley, they’ve missed nearly all of the action on the hill.
Down at BC at 6.30 pm, very tired. Everyone wants to know the latest news. I try to give as neutral a perspective as possible. Allen and Sandy are clearly restless and frustrated, and this sudden clearing of the weather had done nothing to help. Liz is silent. Tony volunteers to go back up and help carry a load for anyone making a Pinnacle attempt. Sandy’s limping badly, but swears it’ll clear up with anti-inflammatory tablets.
‘I hate leaving things half-done,’ he says. ‘When you cook bread you don’t turn off the oven halfway through. When I’m with a girl …’ Sandy grins. ‘There are things a fellow needs to complete.’
Bob The prevailing attitude is that the Expedition is over, and most of us are too knackered to seriously question this. If I think things out carefully, I think my attitude is as follows:
i) It will be at least five days before it is safe to go back on the hill
ii) This takes us to the deadline beyond which we’d have to organize an extension of the Expedition
iii) We are still low on the mountain, most people are burned out, and the weather is uncertain
iv) Conclude we should go out on the date planned. The Expedition is finished.
Sandy limps around our camp late at night, singing snatches of songs to try to calm himself, looking up at the fixed, indifferent stars.
Sandy MaPs said STOP. And left me a frustrated man. Knowing full well that I can go high but can’t prove it to myself … and that leads me to think, do I want to prove it to other people? And then my head tells me – an asshole egotist … and I feel insignificant in this world of tall hills.
I could go up to ABC. But all I’d do is argue, lose friends… What good is that? And I’m feeling very ALONE anyway these days. Isolated because I’ve isolated myself, because I know that within me there is this desire to get me high on this mountain and I don’t want to dilute this drive with little worries of scandal-talk.
… Vibes inside me, telling me to be careful and look out. Will the correct truth be told by anyone? What tales will we all relate? And I wonder as I ask that – am I being defensive? And my answer is Yes! And I’m concerned about my Ego, and I keep telling myself and my girlfriend that is not what I think I’m doing here. But right now I’m beginning to think that is in actual fact why we climb, and that leads to ‘Well, Sandy, it is time you got out of this way of life?’ That’s what I’m asking myself so often on this trip.
At 25 years old, I decided to take on this difficult road in life; I wonder if I’ve seen enough of it now?
23rd May. I wake from a sound and pill-less sleep, stick my head round the tent – not a cloud in the sky, no spindrift on Everest. That 36-hour snowfall was not the monsoon and the hill has made fools of us. We’ve till 1.0 pm today to change our minds, to extend our time here and go back on the hill if the weather stays fine.
One by one we get up, check out the morning and go to the Mess Tent. Kurt and Julie will be up at ABC by now, having gone up to reinforce Sandy’s message and if necessary carry on filming by themselves or with the Basques. They do not regard themselves as bound by Mal’s decision, and have already decided to stay on an extra week. They have to finish their film, and are in no hurry to go home. But will Mal change his mind?
We sit outside in the sunlight and sing ‘Good Day, Sunshine’, ‘You Are My Sunshine’, ‘Sunshine Superman’. Laughter is our only protection against this emptiness.
Noon comes, and still no sign of the longed-for messenger coming round the corner of the glacier snout. Sandy is still limping back and forth between his tent and the Mess. Allen’s wondering whether to pack his gear and head up to ABC, just in case. He knows it’ll be another couple of years till he can take enough time off to come back to the Himalayas. Other than doing a lot of hard work and proving to himself he can carry above 7,500 metres, this trip has been a ‘big fat zero’ for him. He stays put, waiting for word from ABC.
1.0 pm. We sense the inevitable. Luo offers to hold back the jeep another 30 minutes. They tick away. Nothing moves on the hill or on the moraine, no clouds in the sky. Only the ice-lake silently and invisibly evaporating. The hens wander as half-heartedly as ourselves, picking at specks.
1.30.1.40…
‘Well, that’s it,’ Sandy says flatly. Luo climbs into the jeep, the driver guns the engine and they bounce off down the valley to arrange our return.
We don’t say much, but go our own separate ways. We need to be alone to adjust. ‘There goes my chance of being a 8,000 metre hero,’ Allen murmurs drily. Liz announces she’s going down to the nunnery. ‘It’s not as bad as that, Liz!’ someone jokes. She gives a wan, strained smile and walks away.
That evening the team returned to BC in dribs and drabs. First Nick and Chris, who was now limping badly after tripping over the extra sack at the end of his last descent. Sandy came with them, having wandered up half-heartedly towards ABC in the afternoon. He’d had a chance to ask the two of them all about Mal’s decision, and at least for the time being felt reconciled with it.
They say that Mal’s struggling a long way behind. Concerned, Liz sets out to meet him. When she finally does, she’s shocked at how tired he looks, how skeletal. She offers to carry his sack, and to her astonishment he accepts the offer. He seems unable to lift his feet properly, keeps stumbling over small rocks.
I watch them walk over the flat moraine towards Base in the brief dusk, hand in hand.
Beer and whisky, songs and laughter in our Mess Tent that night. We did after all have something to celebrate: survival and companionship. With the strain off, we discovered ourselves as a team and as friends. Sandy’s last, late entry spoke for everybody: ‘We’re all happy, all safe … Who gives a shit for the rest? … Oh well, I do … Let’s hope for better weather next time!’
Bob Barton returned to Base the following evening to say that Rick had announced his intention to go back on the hill; Jon would be staying at ABC as his ‘catcher’ in case he got in trouble.
Thunderstruck silence. ‘But what’s he going back up for?’
Bob shrugged. ‘He didn’t really say. I don’t think he’s decided. When I left he was intending to go to C2 with Kurt and Julie to help them finish the film. After that …’
Mal looked grim. It was hard to see what good could come of this. Rick had broken ranks and gone out on his own. If he was seriously intending to solo high on Everest – just how high did he hope to go? – he was taking the biggest risk in the Expedition so far. If anything went wrong up there, he was in desperate trouble. Just when we were feeling thankful that everyone was safe. And as one or two of the team mentioned obliquely, if by some miracle Rick got somewhere and made new ground on say the 1st Pinnacle, it would only underline that we had abandoned the Expedition prematurely, that the hill was already fit for climbing again, and that we should have extended our time.
It took all of Allen Fyffe’s self-control to keep his thoughts to himself. Had he known earlier, he could have been up there with Rick.
‘This hill has made us look
pretty foolish,’ said Andy Nisbet, looking up from his bridge hand. ‘Perhaps we are.’
RICK’S STORY
22nd May. The day dawns fine, the heavy snowfall of the previous day did not herald the early arrival of the monsoon as Mal had feared. The mountain is brilliant white, all the rock sections are completely plastered with fresh snow.
Tony had descended yesterday with a message for the yak drivers to arrive as originally planned on 28 May at ABC. That rules out another major push on the mountain, there is no time. We are all feeling weary and must prepare to descend to BC tomorrow.
I know that if I go down I won’t come back up, and the prospect of sitting at BC for ten days is appalling. The warm sun starts to clear the snow from the moraines around the tents as gear is sorted and packed.
In the evening Kurt, Julie and Danny arrive, bearing scribbled notes from Andy G. and Sandy, which re-open the debate about clearing the hill. Andy is openly questioning, while Sandy just says that he is not happy but accepts that we are in a better position to judge. We are all a bit defensive about the decision, resenting this second-guessing from BC, especially as it is too late.
My own feelings are mixed. Nick and I did not consider sitting it out at C4, perhaps we should have done. The unstable fresh snow would certainly have dictated at least one perhaps two days inactivity before attempting the 1st Pinnacle. We had food for the first two days and I would then have spent four nights at over 8,000 metres before starting on the difficult climbing. Not a recipe for success. If Mal erred, it was in making the irrevocable decision to call the yaks up before Bob, Chris, Nick and I had got off the mountain. If I had known that I might have been strongly tempted to sit out another night just to keep the Expedition alive. Tant pis.