by Mark Horrell
Day 21 – Escape to the hills
Wednesday, 23 April 2014 – Everest Base Camp, Nepal
There is nothing new to report this morning. For the first time in nearly a week we have an opportunity to escape the politics and enjoy the mountains. This is what we came for, after all.
After breakfast I set off for Pumori Camp 1 with Edita and Kevin. It’s a little cloudy to begin with, and I don’t know whether we will get the fantastic views of Everest and Lhotse that the viewpoint is known for. But we’re keen to get out for some exercise, and we agree to climb as high as we can.
I lead the way, plodding like a tortoise, but we are all much better acclimatised now. We advance up the moraine ridge above Base Camp much more quickly than last time. It helps that we know the way, and can keep to the trail. The sun warms us through the clouds, and it’s pleasant going.
As we approach Pumori Base Camp, where we turned around last time, I hear Edita speak behind me.
‘I am so happy to be walking again.’
I know what she means. So many of the bad things in life have been disturbing our thoughts over the last week that we had almost forgotten where we are. As we trudge up the trail, among an amphitheatre of breathtaking peaks, all these things seem like they exist in another world. Life is nothing but simplicity again.
Mark during a happier moment on the walk up to Pumori Camp 1
We reach Pumori Camp 1 at 10.30, after an hour and a half of walking. An angry lenticular cloud hangs over the tops of Everest and Lhotse, but we can see enough of the Lhotse Face for me to trace our route until it disappears into grey.
There is a tall cairn here, and a ledge big enough for one or two tents. Someone has built a dry-stone wall to provide shelter from the wind. We are in the sun, and it’s warm enough for us to remain here some time.
We can see right over the Lho La to the north side of Everest. Edita and I are able to point out Camp 3 on the North Face and two of the ‘steps’ to Kevin, though we’re not sure which is which.
Edita discovers she can get 3G up here, and we take a selfie of the three of us with her phone. She posts it on Facebook there and then.
The clouds drift away to the north after we’ve been resting for half an hour. The full panorama is revealed, much to our delight, with the summits of both Everest and Lhotse visible at last. It’s an unexpected gift, and by the time we have descended back to Base Camp we are feeling blessed to be here for the first time in nearly a week.
This feeling is reinforced over lunch when Robert receives a text message from Phil’s wife Trish. She tells him to give her a call when he has a minute. He phones her immediately and puts her on speakerphone so that everyone around the dinner table can hear. Phil’s voice comes on the line, and he describes the outcome of his meeting with the Ministry of Tourism.
He is upbeat, and tells us the Ministry have agreed to meet the majority of the Sherpa demands. They also reinforced the message that the season cannot be abandoned. They said that ringleaders like Jagged Globe’s Pasang Tenzing would have their licences to work in tourism revoked.
‘The Prime Minister wanted to talk to Russell and myself tomorrow,’ he says casually, ‘but we have to get back to Base Camp. A delegation from the Ministry is flying in to speak to the Sherpas.’
He sounds like a relieved man. It was an expensive trip for him, but we’re pleased that it seems to have been worthwhile. He can’t hear us, but we sit around the table applauding.
‘Did I hear that right? Did he say he had to cancel a meeting with the Prime Minister?’ Peter says after Robert has ended the call.
I have a hunch that part was bullshit, but the mood is good, so I don’t say anything.
Call it a see-saw or a roller coaster, but the day isn’t finished yet. There are a few more twists.
A New Zealand friend of Caroline’s called Mark, who is climbing with IMG, comes over with another dispiriting piece of news. He tells her they have pulled the plug on their expedition. The reason given is that they can no longer guarantee the safety of their Sherpas.
‘They think the Icefall is now too dangerous?’
‘No,’ he replies. ‘They can’t protect them from threats from other Sherpas.’
These threats are like a spider’s web of intrigue. I’m yet to speak to anyone who has been threatened directly, but this doesn’t make the threats themselves any less real. Is the mere existence of a few rumours enough to frighten people? So it seems, unless of course there is real substance behind them. It feels like I’m in some Monty Python sketch. Against these things the dangers of the Khumbu Icefall are starting to look like a more predictable risk.
Robert calls Phil immediately, and now Phil becomes utterly downcast.
‘If IMG leave then we’re all fucked.’
IMG have a huge complement of fifty or sixty experienced climbing Sherpas. If they leave then it’s a major blow for all the teams who want to remain. We need Sherpa manpower to fix the route to the summit.
I get the impression that he feels let down by IMG after going to the trouble of pleading with the Ministry on behalf of all operators. He feels they could have waited twenty-four hours to hear the outcome of their visit to Base Camp, and its consequences, before quitting.
Later in the afternoon I see an angry Dorje stomping around camp with a furrowed frown.
‘Are you OK, Dorje?’ I ask.
‘Tim Rippel come over to our camp, to Sherpa tent, and tell us “we are leaving”. So I say to him “If you want to go, then go, but don’t come over here and tell my Sherpa!”’
Tim Rippel is the owner of Peak Freaks, a small Canadian outfit. Their departure would hardly be significant to anyone else on the mountain, but every domino that falls runs the risk of toppling another one. Dorje has been working tirelessly to keep our team loyal, and he doesn’t want any of those dominoes toppling near us. It’s been easier for him here in the quiet end of camp. He’s furious that Tim Rippel came all the way over here to announce his decision.
It’s against Phil’s rules to invite people from other teams into our dining tent. He believes that bugs get transmitted that way, and illnesses can be avoided if we keep ourselves in quarantine. He’s not here, though, and we are all eager for news from the IMG camp. We agree to Caroline’s suggestion to invite her friend Mark for a glass of wine.
He provides new information about the avalanche. I thought we were the only western witnesses to the tragedy, but this isn’t true. Mark tells us that IMG’s clients had also gone for a foray into the Icefall that morning. Unlike us, they left during darkness and were actually up there when it happened.
‘We saw the avalanche come down, and it was total panic. Everybody started running down and coming down ladders. Then one of our guides, Austin, said it was OK and it was going to miss us. But still it was so big we were dusted by the snow. We were at the Football Field at the time and came down straight away. Austin went on up and said it was about another fifteen minutes before he reached the debris.’
‘Only fifteen minutes?’ I say in disbelief. ‘That means you were fifteen minutes away from death!’
He gives a wry smile. ‘Yeah, I guess so.’
This is significant. It means westerners shared the risk with Sherpas that day. There could so easily have been western casualties as well. Would this have made any difference to the politics which has seeped through camp like a disease? Perhaps, but we will never know.
I head for my sleeping bag at 8.30. For about half an hour I lie awake, listening to what seems to be aggressive chanting not far away. Is it another intimidating Sherpa rally taking place in the IMG camp? Is this the final straw, and where is the army to protect those who want to keep working? With the question unanswered I fall asleep.
Day 22 – Summit meeting
Thursday, 24 April 2014 – Everest Base Camp, Nepal
I wake up long before breakfast and lie there pondering the events of the last day. Things have changed from hour to hour over the last week. This is
normal for a mountaineering expedition, especially in the Himalayas, where the weather is fickle as a politician at election time. We get good weather forecasts on Everest these days, and they allow a fair degree of planning. But now it feels like the mood in camp is dictated by rumour – something much less predictable, and totally uncontrollable.
I have an acute feeling in the pit of my stomach that events are on a downward trajectory from which there is no return. My thoughts move from the machinations of militant Sherpas to the weakness of Nepal’s government. The rally I believed I heard last night has reminded me how slow they are to act. Everest is the jewel in their tourist crown. Shouldn’t they be more decisive than this?
A liaison officer said the demands would be met two days ago – or so we were told. There were also rumours about punishment for strikers. Yet still there has been no announcement, and the protests gather strength.
Often we hear about Sherpas threatening to break the legs of other Sherpas. If these rumours are true then the Sherpas who want to keep working need urgent protection. Where is it? Nowhere to be seen. If there is an army presence here in Base Camp, as the government said there would be, then it must be somewhere in the clouds. Cloud cuckoo land, most likely.
I’m worried about Phil’s meeting with the Ministry of Tourism. Were all the assurances he received nothing more than hot air?
I sit down to breakfast and learn that the rally I thought I heard last night was just the IMG team having a party. They are leaving, and wanted to enjoy their final evening here. That clears up one thing, at least. Is this how rumours start? I’m relieved to hear it, but it’s one meaningless crumb of comfort.
Phil arrives on an eight o’clock helicopter just as we’re starting breakfast. He cuts a forlorn figure as he walks alone from the helipad. A handful of us stand to welcome him. Edita gives him a hug and I pat him on the back. I feel very sorry for him. He is a good man doing his best, but everything seems to be unravelling.
More helicopters chug by overhead. We hurry over to the SPCC tent to be there when the delegation from the Ministry arrives. The grandstand mound is already full when I get there. I perch on a rock with Phil, Margaret and Caroline, affording us a good view of an area where chairs have been placed for the delegation to speak.
I ask Phil to point out Pasang Tenzing the troublemaker. I’ve heard so much about him from so many people, but I still don’t know what he looks like. The man in the purple beanie looked to be the main ringleader at the puja.
It doesn’t take Phil long to spot him. In fact, he could hardly have been more conspicuous. He sports a camouflage baseball cap with the logo ‘L.A.’ on it, and the truculent grin of a man puffed up with self-importance. He looks young, and reminds me of a Nepali Justin Bieber. I keep my eye on him throughout the events that follow, and measure the tide by his reaction.
The delegation arrives at 9.15 and promptly disappears into the SPCC tent. Pasang Tenzing slips in behind them. Most of them have flown here straight from Kathmandu, to an altitude which is dangerous for unacclimatised people. Oxygen sets are available should anyone need them. We know that there isn’t much time before it’s unsafe for them to remain here.
We are therefore puzzled when trays of Tibetan bread, tea and omelettes are taken into the tent. On this important occasion, when people’s livelihoods are at stake, there is not a moment to lose for an agreement to be reached. But it seems that the first priority of the delegation from the Ministry is to take breakfast. We’re at 5,300m. Couldn’t they have eaten before they left Kathmandu?
After half an hour they emerge and take up their positions on the seats outside. Everyone crowds round to take photographs. I notice Pasang Tenzing take up a position crouched behind the Minister himself.
An earnest-looking man in a black jacket gets up to make a speech.5 He looks honest and projects his voice so that everyone can hear what he is saying. Understanding him is another matter. He speaks in Nepali, and I have no idea what he is saying. After ten minutes he finishes, receiving polite applause from half the audience. Pasang remains crouching, unmoved. If the other half of the audience are expecting someone to translate it for us, we are disappointed.
Instead, a second man in an orange down jacket and topi hat gets up to speak. Again, he speaks only in Nepali.6 Where the first speaker was sober, this man is impassioned, and angry about something. I see Pasang Tenzing stand up behind the Minister and gesticulate wildly to others in the crowd. Is this man in the jacket an official from the Ministry telling the agitators to go back to work? Whatever he is saying, Pasang isn’t at all happy about it.
We never find out, because this speech isn’t translated either.
A third man gets up and delivers a less impassioned speech.7 He receives polite applause, but it doesn’t matter what he says, because everyone is about to have their thunder stolen.
The man in the purple beanie gets up and addresses the delegation.8 Pasang appears to be cheerleading for him, spurring on the audience with frantic gestures. Sometimes the man in the purple hat elicits whoops of delight from some of the Sherpas in the grandstand. I have no idea what is being said, but I don’t like it.
Ang Tshering Sherpa addresses the masses at the Base Camp summit meeting
Just like the puja, it feels to me like this event has been taken over by the militants. This is not a meeting to reach an agreement and find a way forward, but another political rally. The protesters are in control and the delegation from the Ministry is doing nothing to stop them. Half the audience are westerners. We are the people who have paid tens of thousands to be here, and given these people work. Between us we put millions of dollars into the economy of Nepal.
If we had a voice, then we could contribute to this meeting. We support many of their demands. We want our millions of dollars to go to the victims’ families, and we want better insurance in future years. There is a way forward if we all keep climbing.
But it’s not only that we don’t have a voice. We don’t even have a pair of ears, because nobody has bothered to translate for us. It’s as though we don’t matter to them.
I no longer have the will to stand on a rock and listen to myself being shafted in Nepali. At 10.30, as I did at the puja, I step down from my perch and trudge back to camp, utterly dejected.
I lie in my tent and ponder. After half an hour I hear a rumble, followed by a loud cheer. When the others return to camp they tell me what happened. Everyone had moved over to the helipad to see the delegation off. As they were waiting, another chunk of ice broke off from exactly the same serac on the West Shoulder. The avalanche wasn’t as big this time, but still it billowed across the Icefall in much the same way. It was late in the morning to be climbing through the ice, but had anyone been there it would have been serious.
In the old days this incident would have been laden with symbolism. It would be seen as a clear message from the mountain gods to keep away. They’re not happy, and we shouldn’t go into the Icefall.
But a loud cheer is very different from the awed silence you would expect from a deeply superstitious people reacting to a sign from the gods. These Sherpas are young and cynical. They don’t believe in mountain gods any more than we do.
We all know what the avalanche means this time. It’s all over. The protesters have won the battle. It’s time for us to go home.
Is the Khumbu Icefall more dangerous this year? This is my first time here, so I don’t know, but those seracs on the West Shoulder must have been there for many years. They will always have posed a risk. There are many ways it could be made safer, though. Firstly, the route could go more up the middle of the Icefall instead of passing underneath the Shoulder. Secondly, our Sherpas were complaining about the state of the ladders before the accident happened. It was a faulty ladder that led to so many Sherpas queuing in the worst possible place when the avalanche struck. Thirdly, fewer people in the Icefall at any one time would reduce the risk by allowing everyone to move more quickly. Finally, there are p
robably inexperienced Sherpas up there as well as inexperienced clients. Some of the Sherpas could do with better training, and some of the clients could do with better vetting. Put all these factors together and it’s clear that the south side of Everest would definitely benefit from some much-needed regulation.
We sit crestfallen in the dining tent over tea. We feel like we’ve received a royal shafting, and there’s little chance of any recompense. Phil reminds us that sixteen people died up there. It’s their families we should be remembering. He is right, of course. I wish I could; it’s what those men deserve. Edita lost her friend Dorje Khatri. Many of our Sherpas were close to the victims. How can we forget? In the last week my memory of that incident, the shocking sight of bodies airlifted by helicopter, has been swallowed up in a tidal wave of politics.
Phil has more reason than anyone to be bitter. He goes into the Sherpa tent to find out what was said at the gathering this morning, taking along the document that the officials from the Ministry gave him after their meeting. They told him this document was the copy of an agreement to meet the Sherpa demands. It was written in Nepali and he took their word for it. Our Sherpas tell him that it’s not an agreement at all, but just a copy of the original Sherpa demands – the same ones that Trish pasted into an email days ago.
The officials from the Ministry said the demands would be met. They said an agreement would be given to the Sherpas. The Icefall Doctors would forge a new route through the Icefall, and strikers would be banned from working in future years. None of these things happened.
Today’s event seems to have been a photocall for vain politicians and militant agitators. Perhaps things were discussed in the SPCC tent while they were eating omelettes and garlic soup, but it hardly seems likely, and any common ground was destroyed straight away. From what we saw there was no concerted effort to reach an agreement and find a way forward, no shred of an attempt to find a route out of a difficult situation to the satisfaction of everyone.