The Everest Politics Show

by Mark Horrell

  As I approach Gorak Shep I meet many of my teammates coming the other way and heading back to Base Camp for lunch. First I see Ian and Kevin, then Jay and Caroline, then finally Robert.

  I reach the small community of teahouses shortly after midday. I stand in the courtyard of each one in turn searching for connectivity, but there is nothing.

  I get increasingly frustrated. I’ve come all this way just to press the send button, and soon I’m going to have to go all the way back again, all for no purpose. Can you imagine walking for an hour just to buy a pint of milk, but the store is closed, so you have to walk all the way back again? You’ve wasted two hours, and now you have nothing to pour on your breakfast cereal.

  It’s hard to feel any sympathy. These are what they call first-world problems. I queue at the salad bar for ten minutes, only to find they have no kumquat slices. I have a splinter on my thumb, and it’s painful to tweet from my phone. My wallet is too small. I can’t believe how hard it is to buy 100% organic wild boar sausage.

  Yesterday sixteen people died in an avalanche. I watched their bodies being carried down to Base Camp. Sixteen families in the Khumbu will be poorer this year. Their children may have to quit school to find work. All of them will be overwhelmed with grief this morning, and here I am worrying about 3G connectivity. Two hours of my time, in this easy-paced expedition life, is nothing at all. I should be happy for the trouble.

  Lots of other trekkers are hanging around fiddling with their phones. Most of them only arrived this morning, and they didn’t see what I saw yesterday. I’m ashamed of myself.

  I’m running out of time if I want to get back to Base Camp in time for a one o’clock lunch. I bomb it back at a pace I would never have believed possible a week ago – a speed otherwise known as ‘Kevin’s Pace’.

  The first part of the trail back to Base Camp weaves up and down on stony ground. Scores of trekkers bar my way. I have no choice but to race past them, boulder-hopping on rocks beside the trail. Often they are so unaware of my presence that their trekking poles flip out in front of me, tripping me up. I sidestep them and skip past, and still they don’t notice me.

  These overtaking manoeuvres are exhausting on the uphill sections. I keep reaching the brow of a rise gasping for breath, but I soldier on at the same pace – a pace that would have been dangerous when we first came to Base Camp. Overexertion like this would have brought on altitude sickness for sure. But now I’m so well acclimatised that I feel like I’m just having a good workout.

  The ridge of moraine approaching Base Camp is easier going. I catch up with Robert just beyond the end of it, and we complete the walk together, arriving for dinner with five minutes to spare.

  The things I do for my dinner. I’m tired and dripping with sweat. They all laugh at my ragged appearance when I enter the dining tent, but I’m pleased I made it.

  I’m frustrated I haven’t been able to send my blog post. I know the media will be having a field day about the avalanche. They will be printing lies and half-truths without trying to understand the many nuances. I wanted to put forward a true picture of what happened before too many inaccuracies get propagated as fact. Once these myths circulate in one publication, they get picked up by another, and before long everyone takes the myths as truth. Once that happens it’s difficult to reel the falsehoods back in again.

  Our lack of internet access means that, happily, we are protected from the media storm that I’m sure has accompanied this tragedy. I’ve seen enough in the past to be able to predict the headlines, though. Rich western tourists send Sherpas to their deaths to satisfy their egos and tick off their bucket list by climbing Everest.

  While there is an element of truth in this it’s only a tiny fraction of the full story. Journalists who write these headlines have not been here and looked up into the Icefall with their boots on, ready to go up. They don’t understand the motivations of mountaineers (both Sherpa and westerner) and the calculated risks we all take to do what we enjoy.

  Nor do they have an appreciation of the historical background that has led to Sherpas becoming the tigers of Himalayan mountaineering. Many Sherpas moved to Darjeeling in the early 20th century to gain work with mountaineering expeditions. They quickly became indispensable, and there have been few Himalayan expeditions since in which they haven’t played an integral part. On Everest a team of Sherpas known as the Icefall Doctors fixes the route through the Khumbu Icefall every year. Sherpas take great pride in fixing the route up the Lhotse Face. Far from being forced to do it by westerners, they will not allow others to trespass on what they see as their territory.

  After this tragedy some teams will remain on the mountain and others will pack up and leave. These decisions will be based on the wishes of the Sherpas, as we all know we cannot climb the mountain without them. Chomolungma belongs to the Sherpas – it’s only right they have an increasing say in what happens here. But the history of Everest has involved Sherpas and westerners working hand in hand, and the future of Everest will be better if this remains the case. This is the way Friday’s sad events should be treated: not by apportioning blame, but by trying our best to share the loss some of us feel more keenly than others.

  It’s atrocious weather in the afternoon, snowing and cold, and all we can do is huddle in our tents. At happy hour I’m quiet for a different reason. Robert plays music on his iPod of an era and style that only Kevin and Louis are familiar with – but boy are they familiar with it. The rest of us listen in silence.

  There are rumours that some of the teams who lost Sherpas will be giving up their expeditions and leaving the mountain. Alpine Ascents, Adventure Consultants and Jagged Globe all lost team members, but nothing is confirmed yet. We learn that the ringleader of the Sherpa protesters is a guide called Pasang Tenzing, Jagged Globe’s sirdar. Some of our Sherpas tell us that IMG’s Sherpas were prominent in the protest yesterday. But with a mob like that, it’s difficult to know who is a troublemaker, and who is just being carried along in the flow.

  Phil looks stressed and downcast, but Dorje is being very supportive. Our own Sherpas are not getting involved, as far as I can tell. Those I spoke to today are all prepared to continue once the trouble has passed. Ian is upbeat at dinner tonight and being his usual positive self, helping to lighten the mood. He is confident that everything will be OK.

  Day 18 – The Sherpa summons

  Sunday, 20 April 2014 – Everest Base Camp, Nepal

  We have another discussion about the Sherpa situation at breakfast. We know we can’t climb the mountain without them, and rumours of a possible strike are growing stronger. Many Sherpas have gone home to be with their families, including those from Russell Brice’s Himex team, who are camping just a short distance away. Although these particular Sherpas intend to return after a few days, there are others who may not.

  Under the circumstances no reputable western operator will force their Sherpas to climb if they don’t want to. But we need enough of them to stay for rope fixing to the summit to be practical. We also need the Icefall Doctors to keep the ever-changing route through the Khumbu Icefall open, a job that now looks more dangerous.

  Ricardo’s enthusiasm is extraordinary, but there are times when it’s a little unrealistic. I took my hat off to him on Friday for volunteering at the medical tent and doing some useful work there. It’s something I would never have thought of doing myself.

  ‘What can we do to help the Sherpas?’ he says at breakfast. ‘I’m happy to do some extra load carrying, or if anything needs to be done on the Lhotse Face I can help fix rope.’

  I tell him what happened last year when western climbers interfered with rope fixing on the Lhotse Face. After Ueli Steck and Simone Moro had their little disagreement with Sherpas high on the mountain, the latter downed tools and returned to Camp 2. Thinking that he was being helpful, Ueli Steck picked up the rope and fixed the next hundred metres of line. This did not go down well. The two Europeans were confronted by an angry Sherpa mob, and th
ey fled down to Base Camp in fear of their lives.

  ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to help the Sherpas fix the ropes, Ricardo,’ I say. ‘Or help with carrying loads. It’s best to wait and see what happens.’

  But I have cause to thank Ricardo. He seems to be the member of the team most adept at seeking out 3G and Wi-Fi (although Edita challenges him in this regard). After breakfast he and I head out to Gorak Shep to have another go at sending my blog post.

  We amble along the moraine, arriving in just over an hour. Expeditions are a chance to escape the stresses and absurdities of modern life, but with the Sherpa politics developing at Base Camp it doesn’t seem that way at the moment. Ricardo doesn’t help by spending much of the walk talking about politics and religion.

  We reach Gorak Shep at 10.30. Ricardo heads straight to a smaller teahouse called the Yeti. It is tucked away behind the others, and I would never have found it on my own. The place is quieter than the more visible teahouses, and the Wi-Fi is pretty quick. We pay 800 rupees for an hour (about $8 US). I send my post, then check messages on various channels, including Hotmail, Gmail, Twitter, Facebook and my WordPress blog. I was expecting to be bombarded with messages of concern, but only four people made any reference to the avalanche. This goes to show that most of my friends have no idea where I am. I expect most of those who do know I’m climbing a mountain called Lhotse don’t know how close to Everest it is. Or they know where I am, but they don’t give a toss. Yes, that’s probably it.

  After an hour of surfing I leave Ricardo where he is and head back to camp. Although I give myself plenty of time to amble back, the trail is clogged up with snail-paced trekkers. I have no option but to race past them at Kevin’s pace again.

  Back at camp the plot thickens. Our Sherpas have been summoned to an emergency meeting with all the other Sherpas at Base Camp. They are going to discuss what to do next in the wake of the avalanche. Expedition leaders and operators are not invited, but his business depends on the outcome, so Phil goes to the meeting and lurks at a discreet distance with his friend Russell Brice.

  All appears peaceful at Base Camp, but beneath the surface things are stirring

  When he returns he describes the atmosphere as intimidating. One Indian climber tried to argue with them and was nearly lynched. Westerners who tried to take photographs were singled out for abuse. Phil says the ringleaders were Pasang Tenzing of Jagged Globe, and another Sherpa he didn’t recognise who was wearing a purple beanie.

  Dorje later confirms that the Sherpa leaders produced a list of demands for the government, including a petition which all Sherpas were asked to sign.

  The demands were:

  More compensation for the families of the victims;2

  Improved insurance for Sherpas working on Everest;

  Helicopter evacuation for insured Sherpas;

  To cancel this year’s Everest season and go home.

  The first three demands are reasonable. Phil tells me the second two had already been met before the expedition, though the Sherpa leaders appeared to be unaware of it.

  It’s the fourth demand that is controversial, and could have strong repercussions. Operators would face big losses, and the sacrifices the rest of us have made to be here – in time, energy, work and family commitments, not to mention huge amounts of money – would all be for very little. It will have an impact on the Sherpa and tourist economy in future years. There were many bad headlines about Sherpa mob rule after last year’s fight at Camp 2. If they go on strike then this reputation will become firmer.

  Our own Sherpas were present at the meeting but did not sign the petition. Even so, Phil is downcast when we meet for happy hour.

  ‘That guy Pasang Tenzing is up to his old tricks again. He’s trying to get all the Sherpas from other teams to go home, just like he did on Manaslu.’

  It’s news to me that Sherpas threatened to strike after the avalanche on Manaslu in 2012. On that occasion eleven people died. Phil says there were protests, and a few teams had to end their expeditions because of it, but there was no blanket strike.

  Kevin, Mel and Edita were all on Manaslu two years ago. Mel even witnessed Pasang Tenzing agitating for Sherpas to leave.

  ‘You remember him, Mel?’ Phil says.

  Mel laughs. He puts his palms together, mimicking Pasang’s style.

  This year the loss of life has been borne by the Sherpa community. But Edita points out that on Manaslu the fatalities were mainly westerners. Only one Sherpa was among the dead, yet still there was a small core of Sherpas agitating for everybody to go home.

  The mood around the table is subdued. Then Jay, who has been silent for most of the session, suddenly pipes up.

  ‘Heck, even if the Sherpas do go home, we’ll be all right. We got Ricardo. He said this morning he was going to fix ropes on the Lhotse Face.’

  We roar with laughter.

  Unwittingly, Ian also helps to lighten the mood this happy hour. He is our industrial-quantity drinker, but he is now on antibiotics for a cough. This means he is unable to drink for a few days. Most evenings he is the person who finishes his red wine first. He takes our order and goes to the kitchen tent to ask Da Pasang for the next round, but not tonight. When Da Pasang brings in a tray with the second batch of drinks, he refuses to believe that no glass is for Ian. He keeps putting a glass in front of him, and Ian keeps waving him away. If I didn’t know Da Pasang better, I would suspect he was making fun of him.

  ‘No, Da Pasang, thank you. It’s OK,’ Ian says with his usual politeness. ‘I don’t want one today.’

  He does want one, but he can’t, and it’s killing him. Meanwhile I am crying with laughter.

  ‘Ian, I promise I didn’t ask Da Pasang to do that,’ I say.

  But I might have done if I’d thought of it.

  Day 19 – Rumours

  Monday, 21 April 2014 – Everest Base Camp, Nepal

  At one point last night I heard angry Sherpa voices debating a few metres away from my tent. Jay heard it too, and this morning we discuss what it means.

  ‘Hopefully it was one of the Sherpa agitators arguing with our guys, rather than our guys arguing among themselves,’ Jay says.

  But Phil is more downcast than ever at breakfast. The stresses of the last few days have taken their toll on him.

  ‘Pasang Tenzing has done what he wanted. IMG’s Sherpas are leaving, and Dorje says some of our Sherpas want to leave now too.’

  Our Sherpas have always greeted me warmly as I’ve walked around camp over the last couple of days. On the surface our relationship has remained the same, and nothing much has changed, but this may be because the Sherpas I know well are the older ones. They have been working for Phil for longer, and are the most loyal. Phil believes most of them still want to stay, but if a critical mass of Sherpas from other teams ends up leaving then things could fall apart quickly. Every departure from another team tests the loyalty of our guys, making Dorje’s job harder.

  Our Sherpas are great; I’ve seen them in action on many previous expeditions. But they can’t fix the Khumbu Icefall, Lhotse Face and summit ridge on their own. It requires 10,000m of rope for a start. We need a few teams to stick around, or it’s going to be impossible to continue.

  ‘This thing’s becoming a shit show,’ Phil says. ‘The dominoes are falling over, and our boys can’t stay if the rest of the Sherpa community leaves. I’ve told Dorje if we quit now that’s the end of Manaslu and Cholatse in the fall, maybe even Everest next year. I’ve got 1,000 kilograms of equipment in the Western Cwm. If we end up having to leave it there then Trish and I may have to file for bankruptcy.’

  It’s been a stressful time for Phil and I’m sure he is under a lot of financial pressure to keep going, but I don’t believe things are quite as bad as he imagines. Sometimes expeditions don’t go to plan. Usually we climb higher than we have here, for sure, and on most mountains it’s the weather that stops us, rather than human frailty. But in both cases the expedition fail
s because of things outside our control. That’s part and parcel of mountaineering.

  Emotions are running high at the moment. The Sherpa agitators don’t seem to be aware that they are shooting themselves in the foot. Whether this year’s Everest season can still be salvaged we don’t know. But it’s just one season, and common sense and the natural order have to prevail in the end.

  We have a pessimistic discussion over breakfast. The situation, as described by Phil, suggests there is little chance of the season continuing. Too many Sherpas will be leaving to make a route up both Everest and Lhotse practical.

  The bigger picture is that there are already a smaller number of tourists in the Khumbu this year. If this season gets cancelled because of a fatal avalanche and a Sherpa strike, then the outlook for next year looks gloomy too. Some of the team members are talking as if it’s the end of mountaineering in Nepal. Things aren’t quite as bleak as that, but it’s possible some operators will pull out for a few years.

  We can foresee this, and so can the older, wiser Sherpas like Dorje, but the youngsters don’t understand. More cynical members of our team say that they are just looking for an excuse to quit work and get paid for it. We are unanimous that our own Sherpas should receive full pay whatever happens. We know that none of this is their fault, and there is no reason they should suffer for it.

  My feeling is that, if the season gets cancelled, then sixteen people will have died in vain. It’s the Sherpa mountaineers who have raised the Sherpa people above the norm and made them great. Since they moved to Darjeeling to work with expeditions, they have worked hand in hand with western mountaineers over the years, sharing the losses and risks to varying degrees. This year the loss was theirs; on Manaslu westerners bore the brunt of the tragedy. We shouldn’t let these changing fortunes drive a wedge between the two communities.