Seven Summits Part 15

In fifteen minutes he reached the Col. He looked at his watch: four hours and fifteen minutes from camp 3. He thought, Maybe I really do have a chance of making the top.

The thought thrilled him, put him in a buoyant mood. Just to see what would happen, he adjusted his regulator to its highest setting -eight liters a minute-and took a walk around the flat Col. For a few minutes he didn't notice anything until he realized he was speeding effortlessly from one side of the saddle to the other. Just like taking a walk around the block in Beverly Hills, he thought.

But at the same time what an antipodal contrast to Beverly Hills. And how delightfully improbable, Frank thought, that a movie executive in his fifties who only two years before had hardly done anything beyond fantasizing about mountain climbing was now by himself waltzing around at the 8,000-meter mark of Mount Everest.

Frank was ecstatic: reaching the South Col had been a goal in itself, a dream and fantasy that only a few months before had seemed as elusive as the summit.

Even if I don't get any higher, he told himself, this feels pretty good.

With a light gait he walked back to the tents, and took his pack off. Even without the oxygen he was surprised how strong he felt. The Sherpas still hadn't arrived, so he crawled into the tent feeling so good he thought he might even try, to figure out how to start one of the stoves and make himself some hot chocolate. Then he decided that might be going too far; he would wait for the Sherpas.

They arrived about ten minutes later. With the stoves going, and a hot brew in him, he lay back to relax. A moment later the first breath of wind caused the tent to give a slight flutter. Then it was quiet, but soon the fabric walls again ruffled, only this time they didn't stop. Ten minutes later there was a solid fifteen-mile-an-hour breeze, and by nightfall it had increased to what Frank guessed was hurricane force.

"Are the tents holding up?" Ershler asked over the radio.

"So far," Frank yelled, raising his voice above the staccato snapping of the tent fabric.

"What's it like outside?" Ershler asked. Frank could tell Ershler was quizzing him to determine just how strong the wind was.

"I can't stand up. Have to crawl to get to the next tent."

"What do the Sherpas think?"

"That we can't go anywhere. Have to stay here."

The next day conditions were even worse. The tents still held, but it was clear to Ershler and everyone else there could be no summit bid until the wind abated. Frank spent the time in his sleeping bag, happy he had decided on the extra weight of the paperback King Rat. King Rat. He was also, in a way, happy to have an excuse to postpone the summit attempt. While half of him still daydreamed about reaching the top now that he was this close, the other half realized this last section would nevertheless be the most physically demanding undertaking of his life. It was a funny thing that he couldn't seem to overcome, this sort of dual pull between giving it his all versus giving in, and he realized he would actually be relieved to have an excuse to go down, as long as it was for some reason beyond his control, as long as he could tell himself later he really had stuck with it as long as possible. He was also, in a way, happy to have an excuse to postpone the summit attempt. While half of him still daydreamed about reaching the top now that he was this close, the other half realized this last section would nevertheless be the most physically demanding undertaking of his life. It was a funny thing that he couldn't seem to overcome, this sort of dual pull between giving it his all versus giving in, and he realized he would actually be relieved to have an excuse to go down, as long as it was for some reason beyond his control, as long as he could tell himself later he really had stuck with it as long as possible.

While Frank was pinned at the South Col, Ed Hixson spent one day in camp 2, sleeping on oxygen, and then descended on his own power to base camp. He appeared to be getting better although he complained of being oppressively tired. The next day he slept, getting up only to walk to the mess tent for meals. He was having trouble keeping his balance but attributed it to fatigue and thought another night's sleep would help. When he awoke, though, and sat up in his sleeping bag, he was so dizzy it made him nauseous. He couldn't hold food or water, and by noon was too weak to crawl. He could still think clearly enough to deduce that his stroke was moving into his cerebellum, affecting his motor control. He knew the only antidote was to get immediately to lower alt.i.tude.

But how? He couldn't walk. If he had himself tied to the back of a yak the jostling might make things worse. There was no one in camp with the strength to carry a litter that far. The only solution might be the Nepal air force, which had a helicopter capable of landing at 18,000 feet. A few minutes later when Gerhard Lenser came to Hixson's tent to check on him, Hixson was so weak all he could muster was a few words in a strained voice: "Radio Katmandu for helicopter. Must get out or I won't make it."

Luanne Wells and Marian Ba.s.s had come to Katmandu the week before expecting to join their husbands as they came off the mountain and together take a few extra days on the way home and enjoy themselves in Hong Kong. Now they learned that d.i.c.k had made one attempt and was planning another, and that Frank had been pinned by high winds for three days at 26,200 feet waiting his chance. Worse, they heard that nearly all the other team members (everyone except Ershler and Neptune) had quit the mountain and were heading down.

Nielson and Jamieson had been the first out. After the ABC honchos had received the microwaved videotape of Nielson making the summit, they fed it via the Katmandu earth station to New York, where it was on Good Morning America Good Morning America about four hours after the group left the summit. Then the network editors began working furiously to edit the show and have the one-hour special ready for broadcast in less than a week, even while the subsequent teams were on the mountain making their attempts. Meanwhile, though, since the first summit team had returned to base camp the ABC producer John Wilc.o.x had the idea to send a helicopter to base camp to fetch Nielson and bring him to Katmandu where Bob Beattie would then interview him live. about four hours after the group left the summit. Then the network editors began working furiously to edit the show and have the one-hour special ready for broadcast in less than a week, even while the subsequent teams were on the mountain making their attempts. Meanwhile, though, since the first summit team had returned to base camp the ABC producer John Wilc.o.x had the idea to send a helicopter to base camp to fetch Nielson and bring him to Katmandu where Bob Beattie would then interview him live.

The chopper had room for one extra person and since Jamieson had minor frostbite he got the nod to join Nielson. With those two gone, Roach decided he was going to leave, and after the second summit team got off the mountain States decided he too would go home.

To Luanne and Marian it looked like rats jumping a sinking ship. Without the full team it seemed to them the expedition should be called off and that Frank and d.i.c.k should come down. Even the ABC crew was packing up. The a.s.sociate producer who had each day monitored the radio for calls from base camp, Mary Jo Kinser, had taken a day off to go sightseeing, but had told Luanne and Marian they were welcome to come to the Sheraton where all the television gear was housed and monitor the radio at call times in case there was any news. She showed Luanne how to work the radio.

It was Sat.u.r.day morning when Luanne and Marian got the key from the desk and went up to the now deserted ABC room to see if anything was coming in on the 9:00 A.M. A.M. call. They heard the radio crackling as they worked the door to get it open and ran to the transmitter. It was the pidgin voice of the Nepalese who monitored the radio link at the Everest View Hotel. call. They heard the radio crackling as they worked the door to get it open and ran to the transmitter. It was the pidgin voice of the Nepalese who monitored the radio link at the Everest View Hotel.

"h.e.l.lo Katmandu, this is Everest View. Does anyone monitor? Repeat, does anyone monitor? This is an emergency."

"Oh, my G.o.d," Luanne said, unable to speak what she feared.

"h.e.l.lo. This is Katmandu. What is wrong?"

"We have a report from base camp that Dr. Ed Hixson is gravely ill. He must have a helicopter to evacuate him immediately or he will die."

"Yes, yes. We understand. We will get a helicopter as soon as possible."

The radio operator at Everest View said he would stand by.

Luanne looked at Marian. "Where are we going to get a helicopter?" she said.

"Look here at this piece of paper," Marian said, indicating a list of numbers next to the radio. One said "helicopter pilot." They went down to the lobby and phoned the number. It was a colonel in the Nepal air force who was their chief chopper pilot.

"Yes, we can fly. But first you must pay."

"What do you mean?"

"We only fly if the helicopter time is paid in advance. The round trip to base camp costs nineteen hundred dollars U.S."

"We'll be right over and write you a check."

"I am sorry. It must be cash."

The clerk at the hotel lobby wouldn't cash a personal check, and as it was Sat.u.r.day the banks were closed. Then they saw Mary Jo, the ABC person, coming in from her sightseeing trip. She was also the production purser, and quickly cashed Luanne's check.

With the cash in hand Luanne, Marian, and Mary Jo caught a cab and raced to the airport, where the colonel took the money but told them he couldn't fly as it was Sat.u.r.day and the co-pilot was away from his house and couldn't be found.

"Our Panasonic camera engineer was a chopper pilot in Vietnam," Mary Jo said. "Let's get him."

They located the engineer, Alan Wechsler, and after quizzing him the colonel agreed to go. "Except that the weather is bad at base camp. I can't go until things improve."

The Everest View Hotel radio operator relayed a report from base camp that the area was partially covered by broken clouds. Conditions were improving, but Hixson was rapidly worsening and might die before the day was out. In Katmandu the women waited nervously by the radio. The next report said the bad weather was holding. An hour pa.s.sed, then two. Finally the report said there was a temporary hole in the clouds at base camp; they immediately called the colonel at the airport.

"Okay, we'll try it," the colonel said.

They flew the chopper through the building clouds, poking from one hole to the next. They followed the Khumbu Glacier, and the colonel kept an alert hand on the stick as he felt the lifting power of the rotors wane-the thin air at 18,000 feet is considered about the limit for a helicopter of this type to land and take off.

When they reached base camp the colonel cautiously eased one skid onto a rock, balancing the ship while Wechsler delicately eased off and ran over to help Hixson. Lenser came up and threw Hixson's pack in the chopper, but the pilot angrily motioned him to throw it back off-he wanted minimum weight for takeoff, and that meant only Hixson.

Unable to walk on his own, Hixson was muscled by Wechsler into the chopper, and the colonel carefully lifted the skid off the rock. The helicopter was on the edge of its ability. When he had a few feet clearance he eased the ship forward, and was safely airborne.

Two hours later Hixson was in the Katmandu hospital. Luanne and Marian decided it made sense to wait and visit him in the morning after he had rested. Exhausted themselves, they went to the Sheraton bar to have a drink, worried sick about their husbands.

The next morning she and Marian went to the hospital to find Hixson. They walked the labyrinthine hallways on floors that were by western standards filthy. Finally they found his room. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Excuse me. Are you Dr. Hixson?"

They watched in horror as he tried to sit up. He was paralyzed on one side, so half of him hung limply as the other half struggled to overcome the deadweight. He looked at them, then slowly raised his hand and covered one eye; he was seeing double and that was the only way he could focus.

With slurred speech he said, "Am I glad to see you guys." Then he collapsed back in bed.

Luanne stared at him, thanking G.o.d he was at least alive, but at the same time wondering that if in seeing Hixson in this condition she was also seeing her husband a week from now. That is, if she ever saw her husband alive again.

The day that Luanne and Marian visited Hixson in the hospital was the fourth day for Frank at the South Col. His situation was tenuous. One of his Sherpas was sick, and he had to promise the other a 1,000-rupee-per-day bonus (about $100 U.S.) to keep him from turning back down. There was only one day of food remaining, and as little oxygen for sleeping. Even if the Sherpas had been more enthusiastic, even if there had been more supplies, Frank knew that each hour he spent languishing at 26,200 feet his body, from breathing the thin air, was growing gradually weaker. He knew his time had run out.

"I'm coming down," he told Ershler over the radio.

"That's the most sensible thing I've heard out of you all trip," Ershler said. "But keep an eye out for Ba.s.s. You'll pa.s.s him coming down-he's on the way back up for another go with Yogendra."

At camp 2 d.i.c.k had offered a 1,000-rupee bonus to any Sherpas willing to accompany him and Yogendra on another summit bid. Two had accepted, and with this new team d.i.c.k left for the South Col, and pa.s.sed Frank on the ropes just above camp 3.

"G.o.dd.a.m.nit, d.i.c.k, why don't you have any oxygen on," Frank scolded, raising his voice above the wind.

"I didn't use any the first time to camp four. Besides there's only a few bottles left and I want to conserve them."

"Don't you realize by now you need every advantage you can get?"

"But I don't need any oxygen just to get to the Col. It's only 26,200 feet."

Frank shook his head, wondering where d.i.c.k managed to find his unlimited optimism and stamina.

They carefully pa.s.sed on the fixed rope, encouraging each other with a shoulder slap. As d.i.c.k neared the Col the wind increased, and in the stronger gusts he had to lean to stay upright, then move quickly to catch his balance when the gust eased. He started to get cold. When they had left camp 3 that morning conditions were milder, and now he found himself underdressed. But it was blowing so hard he didn't dare take off his outer parka to put on an extra inner layer. It was also snowing, and driven by wind, rime built on his parka and pants. Although protected by gloves inside mittens, his fingers, always squeezing the jumar clamp, were going numb, and now he felt the cold down his back and in his legs and feet.

Last time up the Lhotse Face it had taken him thirty minutes to climb the final section into the South Col; now, slowed by wind and fresh snow, it took him an hour and a half. Arriving in camp, he unzipped the tent, plunged in and lay there for ten minutes before getting enough willpower to unpack and sort his gear. Yogendra arrived and looked equally haggard. Once in their bags they had to fight the temptation to eat only a few snacks and go to sleep. It was of tantamount importance in order to prevent dehydration to start the stove and melt snow for drinks.

Through the night the wind blew, making the tent walls snap like a loose jib sail in a strong headwind. In the morning there was no letup. This was now the fifth day of the wind storm, and d.i.c.k wondered if it would ever stop.

"It'd be impossible to make an attempt in this wind," d.i.c.k told Frank over the radio.

"In a way I'm glad to hear you say that," Frank said. "At least I know I wasn't being a wimp turning back."

"You did the right thing, but I'm not sure I did."

d.i.c.k was getting depressed. Normally he could successfully counter depression by daydreaming, but now his thoughts kept returning to their diminishing oxygen supply, to how little time they had to wait out the bad weather.

He thought, I've done everything I'm supposed to do, yet here I am with my chances dropping by the hour. I should have gone alone the last time when I was so close.

His spirits sank lower, and to make matters worse he now had to go to the bathroom. If it had only been a matter of peeing, it would have been easy: he had a plastic bottle he used for that, emptying it from the tent door at arm's length. This was another matter. He crawled out. Spindrift scudded over the hard snow, and he shielded his face against its stinging bite. There was a small rock not far from the tent; it wouldn't really offer any protection from the wind, but somehow it made him feel better to be next to it. The wind was too strong to stand up, so he crawled toward the rock. There he squatted, dropped his pants, pulled down his long johns, and immediately felt the sting of windblown ice.

He thought, What indignity will I have to endure next?

In a second he found out: without the usual warning symptoms, he had diarrhea, and before he could control himself he had made a mess on both pant legs.

"This has to be the nadir of my existence," d.i.c.k mumbled aloud.

He had to take off his heavy mittens and gloves to handle his toilet paper, and his fingers immediately started freezing. But his privates were freezing too, so abandoning concern about his hands, he finished wiping, pulled his underwear and pants up, and started the demoralizing job of cleaning off his pants and boot covers. No sooner did he swipe at the mess with his toilet paper than it flaked off, frozen, and blew away in the wind. A few brushing pa.s.ses and his clothing was as clean as if it had just returned from the dry cleaners.

Now that's what I call cold! he thought, as he laughingly jammed his hands into his mittens as quickly as he could, not messing with the gloves first since his fingers felt like they had knives being stuck up them and were very near to becoming numb and frostbitten.

"Hallelujah," d.i.c.k said, as he crawled on his knees back to the tent, still laughing at the thought of being miraculously saved from such an ignominious situation. It was just what he needed: some humor, albeit bizarre, to lift his spirits.

Back in the tent, he found Yogendra sitting cross-legged, rocking back and forth, mumbling incoherently some chant.

"You okay, Yogendra?"

"It will not quit blowing. We will have to go down tomorrow."

"I know," d.i.c.k said, admitting what he had tried not to think about. "I'm thinking the same." He felt the depression start to creep back.

"But I tell you," Yogendra said as he stopped rocking, "in Katmandu I will get the Inspector General of Police to help us get a permit or on some other expedition. You, me, and Frank too. We will come back and climb Everest together."

"You've got to be kidding. You can do that?"

"We'll make a joint American-Nepalese police expedition."

"When could we do it?"

"Next year hopefully."

"Yogendra, I feel like Lazarus rising from the dead."

They spent the rest of the afternoon enthusiastically discussing logistics, equipment, personnel. d.i.c.k thought how he and Frank had missed their chance to do the Seven Summits in one year, but that was a small matter as long as they finally did them.

When they awoke next morning the tent walls were still snapping, and they were nearly out of oxygen, so after breakfast they dressed as warmly as they could and descended to camp 2. There d.i.c.k explained his plan to come back next year, but Frank wanted to make sure they had definitely used up all the options available to them while they were there, that there was no chance they couldn't make one more attempt.

"Let's put it this way," Ershler said. "All the lead climbers save for me and Neptune have left the mountain, so if anything goes wrong up there, n.o.body is here with the strength to help. Then there's only one oxygen bottle left at camp four and none left here at two. Even if there were, the Sherpas say they've had it. Also, it's May twenty-fourth, and the monsoon will arrive any day. Finally, the Icefall is shifting, the ladders and ropes are snapping each day, and soon our retreat out of here will be cut off."

"If the truth be known," Frank said, "I guess I'm not too sad to hear that. We've been here nearly three months, and I'm getting burned out. I just need an excuse at this point, somebody to tell me it's impossible to go on."

"Well, it's impossible," Ershler declared, with a glint in his eye, knowing he'd finally checkmated Frank.

That evening they radioed base camp that the expedition was over. The next day they dismantled camp 2, and loaded the Sherpas with tents, stoves, and pots and pans until they looked like Asian counterparts of dustbowl refugees. When the last man was through the Icefall everyone sighed with relief. It had been a very successful expedition. No one killed (Hixson was recovering satisfactorily in Katmandu), eight to the summit, the first American to climb Everest without supplemental oxygen, the first microwave transmission from the top.

Frank and d.i.c.k didn't miss a beat getting on with their plans for the rest of the Seven Summits. As they hiked out they reviewed logistics for McKinley with Ershler, whom by now they had retained as guide and leader of that expedition. And they made plans for their return to Everest.

"I'm going to talk to Luanne about it as soon as we get out," Frank said. "d.i.c.k, I bet we can pull it off the next try. I found out one thing on this climb that I never really believed. And that is, with a break in the weather, I really have a chance of making it to the top."

10.

McKINLEY: TWO DOWN I really think d.i.c.k and I might have a chance this next time. Especially d.i.c.k. If you could just see how strong he is up there, darling. All we need is a shot at it. Yogendra's not positive he can arrange permission for this coming spring, but he thinks he can get it for the fall of eighty-four. What do you think?" really think d.i.c.k and I might have a chance this next time. Especially d.i.c.k. If you could just see how strong he is up there, darling. All we need is a shot at it. Yogendra's not positive he can arrange permission for this coming spring, but he thinks he can get it for the fall of eighty-four. What do you think?"

Luanne didn't answer immediately, but stared out the plane's window. They were en route from Hong Kong on a flight back to Los Angeles.

After a moment she said, "Frank, when you started this mountain climbing business you said it would be two years and no more. You promised."

"I know, darling, but this is Everest."

Luanne again turned to the window and didn't answer. Her lips were firmly closed, face resolute. While Frank could see it was obvious she wasn't overly enthusiastic about the idea, he didn't fully realize just how opposed she was.