by Mark Horrell
It’s Sherpa mountaineers who have made the Khumbu region prosperous in comparison to the rest of Nepal. Many Sherpas own teahouses and trekking agencies now, and they can afford to send their children to good schools. They gain qualifications. Some become teachers, and there are even some doctors. This trajectory is continuing, and those who died in the Icefall on Friday are part of that tradition. That’s not to say we shouldn’t do more to prevent these disasters – they have also become a part of Sherpa history. But we need to draw positives from tragedy, for each one can be a lesson too, and have a silver lining. It would be sad if the great tradition of Sherpa mountaineers takes a setback because of the actions of a few. It would compound the tragedy if the Sherpa community loses much of the goodwill that has built up over the years.
We are gloomy over breakfast, but better news emerges as the morning goes on. Before breakfast IMG’s climbing sirdar told Phil that their Sherpas wanted to leave. Later in the morning Robert goes over to speak to IMG’s expedition leader Greg Vernovage. There he meets Ang Jangbu Sherpa, a wealthy Nepali who owns a company called Beyul Adventure. They are the local agency that IMG subcontract their expeditions to.
‘Your sirdar told our leader your Sherpas are leaving,’ Robert tells him.
Ang Jangbu turns and pats his chest.
‘I’m the sirdar!’ he says.
IMG are key to whether the season continues. They are a huge team, with around fifty Sherpas. If they stay, then the rope fixing will happen, and everybody’s expedition can continue.
Expedition base camps are hives of rumour and gossip. Very little information can be relied upon. Another rumour reaches us that Alpine Ascents have ‘definitely’ confirmed they are leaving. They lost seven Sherpas in the avalanche, so it would be no surprise if it were true, and no one would begrudge them this decision. It would be difficult to continue after such a loss of personnel. More importantly, in these circumstances it would be the right thing to do.
We believe this news is more reliable, because we receive it directly from its source. Two Alpine Ascents clients come over to ask if they can join our team. None of us knows who they are, and Phil is sympathetic, but he feels duty bound to turn down their request. He has hired resources for seven Everest climbers and five Lhotse climbers. With two more members these resources would be stretched.
Other good news arrives with a message from Phil’s wife Trish. She tells him that Nepal’s Ministry of Tourism has said it will accept most of the demands in the petition. The only item likely to be rejected is the one calling for expeditions to be cancelled – of course this would be unacceptable to them. If they cancel the season before anyone has climbed out of Base Camp, the local climbing agencies might sue them, demanding the return of permit fees, Icefall Doctor fees, and liaison officer salaries. Expeditions must pay the government these expenses. Permit fees alone earn the government over $2 million a year. Very little of this windfall filters down the chain, and this is one of the things fuelling discontent. The Ministry of Tourism has a reputation for incompetence, but even they must realise such a thing would be harmful for tourism.
Our evening ends on a bizarre, worrying note that might have put Sherpa politics into perspective.
Mel doesn’t arrive for dinner, and nobody knows where he is. At first no one is concerned. We know he has Chinese friends in other teams. As an artist and photographer, he has often stayed out after dark to film the lights of Base Camp penetrating through tent fabric. But by the time we finish dinner and head off to bed, he still hasn’t returned. Some of the team become a little worried about him, and this worries the rest of us too.
Robert and Peter say they saw him leave camp with his pack at two o’clock. A couple of our Sherpas then say they spotted a lone figure above the second ladder of the Icefall at 2.30.
‘No, he wouldn’t go into the Icefall alone!’ Edita says. ‘When we started walking through the Icefall after the avalanche, Mel wouldn’t cross the first ladder. He is too cautious.’
Besides, he would need to be a superman to reach the second ladder of the Icefall from camp in only half an hour.
‘If he’s gone into the Icefall on his own then he’s clearly deranged. In which case we’ve got sod all chance of finding him,’ I say, making my own diplomatic contribution.
It didn’t come out quite the way I’d intended. I meant to suggest that I was quite sure Mel wouldn’t be stupid enough to go there on his own. The figure must have been someone else. The darkness of evening in Everest Base Camp isn’t the time for sarcasm, though, and other team members are still imagining the worst.
But Robert and a handful of Sherpas bring the evening to a happy conclusion when they walk out of camp in the direction of Gorak Shep. They’ve not gone far when they notice someone a few metres off the trail making signals with the light of their mobile phone. It’s Mel. He had underestimated the amount of time it would take to get to Kala Pattar and back, and lost his way navigating the trail in the dark without a head torch.
With our mini drama over, we go to sleep and prepare ourselves for a fresh batch of Sherpa politics tomorrow.
Day 20 – Rally
Tuesday, 22 April 2014 – Everest Base Camp, Nepal
There is no fresh news to report over breakfast for a change, but a puja will take place at ten o’clock this morning. The mountain gods are angry, and we need to appease them again. It’s also an opportunity to remember those who died in the avalanche on Friday.
Phil keeps encouraging me to wander across camp and talk to our friends at Jagged Globe. I’ve climbed with both of their leaders, and as we left Lobuche I chatted to some of their clients. There are plenty of rumours flying around camp, many concerning their sirdar, Pasang Tenzing. Phil is interested in news from their side and hopes it will clarify matters. I’m not so sure.
He is a bit more upbeat this morning about the season continuing as planned. He believes if Sherpa agitators like Pasang Tenzing are removed from camp then the atmosphere will be different. Perhaps so, but if he’s harbouring any ideas that I might wander over there and talk them into sending him home then he’s being a little far-fetched. He might as well ask me to fix the rest of the route through the Icefall while I’m up there.
The puja takes place outside the tent of the Sagarmatha Pollution Control Committee (SPCC). This is the organisation that employs the Icefall Doctors to maintain the route up to the Western Cwm. As their name implies, the SPCC’s main priority is to look after the environment in the Khumbu region, but a few years ago they were looking for a way to get more funding. The Everest season brings millions of dollars into the Khumbu region every year. For two months hundreds of cooks, porters, climbing Sherpas and teahouse owners earn a good seasonal income. The SPCC wanted a piece of the action, and they came up with the idea of employing a team of climbing Sherpas to maintain the route through the Icefall.
This role is now official. As part of the expedition paperwork, every team pays a fee for the Icefall Doctors, currently set at around $600 per climber. Four hundred climbing permits are issued in an average Everest season, which means the Icefall Doctor licence earns the SPCC a quarter of a million dollars every spring.
The environment in the Khumbu region is a worthy cause, but not everybody is happy with the arrangement. Many teams believe their own Sherpas would do a better job of fixing the route. And most of the $600 Icefall Doctor fee doesn’t actually go towards maintaining the route through the Icefall. Instead the SPCC puts it into their pot for other projects.
We leave shortly after 9.30. The SPCC tent is just above the main trail through camp. When we get there we find that, for some unexplained reason, the puja is taking place indoors. A raised area of moraine just above the entrance to the tent provides a natural grandstand. Dozens of people crowd onto it, but most of those mingling around are unable to see anything.
One of the first people we bump into when we arrive is Chris, Jagged Globe’s assistant leader. Ian attempted Manaslu with him i
n 2008. I met him back in 2005 when he was my leader on Aconcagua, the highest mountain in South America.
One of Jagged Globe’s Sherpas was killed in Friday’s avalanche. Chris is honest about the difficulties they find themselves facing, perhaps more than he would be with his clients. I don’t know whether this is because he trusts us to keep it to ourselves or because we have news we can give him in return. Not wishing to tiptoe around the issues, I ask him a direct question about Pasang Tenzing. He is of course aware of Pasang’s role as one of the ringleaders. He believes other members of their Sherpa team may be involved as well. It’s difficult for him, because he wants to continue with their expedition too; and Jagged Globe are as reliant on their Sherpas as we are, so they can’t just get rid of their sirdar. It would almost certainly cause a mutiny, and that would mean the end for them.
I’ve travelled with Jagged Globe on many occasions, and I’m sorry to see the support of their local Nepali agency unravelling in this way. They don’t deserve this. I wonder how much they knew of Pasang Tenzing’s past history as a troublemaker. When you’re taking $50,000 or more from each of your clients, you don’t want one of your staff sabotaging the expedition. If they knew about it, I would have expected them to act sooner. They have trusted and supported him over a number of years, and there was a time when he was a loyal member of their team.
I don’t see much of the puja as I stand behind a crowd of people listening to the chanting. After about an hour I have a coughing fit and retreat down the hill to an area of rocks where there is fresher air. It’s much more peaceful sitting there on my own. I’m in a better position to observe the proceedings and contemplate what all of it means.
As I’m staring into space I notice a Sherpa in a colourful buff making his way towards me. When he is still a few metres away I recognise him as Dawa, a qualified mountain guide I have travelled with on two previous expeditions.
When I climbed Mera and Island Peak with Dawa a few years ago he carried a copy of Nepal’s draft constitution for bedtime reading. He is working for a Malaysian team this year. As a Sherpa with an interest in politics I wonder if he is involved in any of the intrigue this year, but as I talk to him it becomes clear that he is staying out of it. Like the vast majority of Sherpas, he just wants to get on with the climb.3
We move forward again for the final part of the ceremony. Once again I can’t see much, and I listen to the chanting in silence. When it finishes a voice begins speaking in Nepali, then another in English. The names of a few western expedition leaders are mentioned but I can hear nothing else of what is being said.
I move downhill and stand on a large rock that gives me a better view, though I still can’t hear clearly. I realise that a few Sherpas are making demands again. The main speaker is the man in the purple beanie whom Phil told us about a couple of days ago.4
The great and the good of western operators are invited to come forward and speak. Russell Brice, David Breashears and Dave Hahn all take their turn, but none of them are great orators – or at least not in this context. Most of them just mutter a few platitudes in English and pay their respects to those who have died. Under the circumstances it’s the only thing they can do.
I feel sick. The puja is being used by a few militant Sherpas to stage another rally and make demands. This is not the forum to reach an agreement and resolve differences. A puja is supposed to be a religious ceremony to ask the mountain gods to grant safe passage. This one was also meant to be a memorial service for those who died, but now it’s been hijacked.
At 12.15 I walk away and return to camp, totally downhearted.
With Pumori as a backdrop, a puja becomes a rally
Over lunch we discuss this reversal of fortunes. Most of us couldn’t hear what was being said, but those who were a little closer confirmed my suspicions. The militant Sherpas, who want to cancel the season and go home, dominated the meeting. This created the misleading impression that the prevailing mood in camp is for giving up rather than fighting on. I wonder what has happened to the older, wiser heads like Dorje and Tarke – strong characters who command respect. There are plenty like them around camp, but they were taking a back seat at the ceremony. All the Sherpas involved in the action were young.
Meanwhile Phil has decided to take matters into his own hands. With time running out, he and Russell Brice have arranged to take a helicopter to Kathmandu later today. Their aim is to meet with officials from the Ministry of Tourism. They hope to convince them to meet the Sherpas’ more reasonable demands in return for persuading them to stay.
They also have a specific grievance to make against the ringleaders of the protests. They believe these people are bringing the industry, and Sherpas, into disrepute. This harms the livelihoods of western operators, and it also harms the hundreds of Nepali staff they employ.
The chopper will cost them $6,000. They hope to convince some of the owners of other mountaineering operators to join them and contribute to the cost. The owners of most of the big operators – IMG, Alpine Ascents, Adventure Consultants, Jagged Globe and RMI – are here in Nepal.
We’re dispersing after lunch when Phil summons us back to the dining tent. He is very insistent, and we are sure it can only be bad news. What can he have heard so suddenly?
This impression is reinforced when he appears with Dorje. As he makes his announcement, our sirdar stands shoulder to shoulder in solidarity.
‘Guys, while I’m away, please stay down at this end of camp and don’t wander up to the other end. Russell Brice’s clients have been physically threatened by Sherpas, and they’ve been given seven days to get out of Base Camp. It may be nothing, but we’ve requested the army to get up here and provide protection for ourselves, Himex and Asian Trekking. We’re the three teams down here who want to stay, and the only ones whose Sherpas didn’t sign the petition.’
This is becoming surreal. Have we stumbled into a war zone, or are we just climbing a mountain as we thought?
We gaze at each other across the table in numbed shock, unable to believe the direction this expedition is taking. What on earth did Russell Brice’s clients say to provoke this? Or was it something Russell said during the meeting that caused the militant Sherpas to threaten his clients? Like the other western leaders, he expressed sympathy for the victims. But he was the only one to talk about the commercial implications of abandoning the mountain.
Russell had spoken the simple truth, but was it seen as a threat? If so, then threatening his clients is a cowardly reaction. What have they done to bring about this situation? Unlike us they don’t have their own Sherpas to protect them. Russell allowed his Sherpas to return to Khumjung to see their families after the avalanche.
But before we’ve had time to absorb this bombshell, Phil drops another one. It’s just as momentous, and could be more significant.
‘It’s not all bad news. Russell’s liaison offer has told him that the government is going to announce that all the Sherpa demands will be met. But anyone who goes on strike will be banned from working on the top ten peaks in Nepal for life.’
Blimey. Two contrasting pieces of news if ever there were.
The first bit of news caught the government with their pants down. Earlier this year they announced they would be stationing police and army at Base Camp. It was a reaction to last year’s Sherpa fight, and aimed at preventing precisely the sort of violent threats Phil just told us about. The announcement received a lot of coverage in the western media.
Unfortunately, like nearly everything the Ministry of Tourism announces, it didn’t happen. There are no police or army stationed at Base Camp, and if they bring any up now they will not be acclimatised. They will only be coming up here to make themselves sick.
Phil’s second bombshell needs to be taken with a few spoonfuls of salt. It could be true – perhaps Russell Brice’s liaison officer did say all that, but that doesn’t mean it will happen. Past history shows that Nepal’s government is quite incapable of acting decisively
.
Phil leaves on his chopper later in the afternoon, and before he goes he puts Robert in charge of happy hour. We hope this is because Robert is the best leader among us, rather than because he’s a teetotaller.
Several of Phil’s rules are immediately broken. Robert goes into the Sherpa dining tent to give them his iPad to watch a movie. This is definitely a good violation of the rules. Then Robert allows people to use their phones at the dinner table. This is a bad violation, and we have to tell Edita off for trying to watch a movie of her own during happy hour. Next, Ian is permitted by Robert to order a fifth glass of wine after dinner is over. This, of course, should never have counted as a violation in the first place.
But the strangest turn of events is when the meal transitions into Ricardo’s karaoke night. Robert selects some retro tunes on his iPod and Ricardo sings along. It’s novel enough to start with. Ricardo has an amazing voice. His performance is all the more commendable because we are at 5,270m and he’s gasping for breath between lines.
But I start to lose interest some time after his rendition of The Beatles’ While My Guitar Gently Weeps. He asks for requests, but my teammates seem to have decided it’s only worth his while singing ballads. I disappear to my tent to fetch my water bottle. When I return to fill it from the flasks, he’s singing Elton John’s Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word.
It’s been a sad day, and he has a great voice, but really – do we deserve this?
After the umpteenth minor chord I lose my mind and burst into hysterical laughter.
‘I can fetch a bucket if anyone wants to throw up?’ I say in a loud voice.
There are some shocked faces around the table. But, true professional that he is, Ricardo keeps performing despite the heckling. I pat him on the shoulder and leave the tent, still laughing like a maniac.