Seven Summits Part 9

The other was climbing through the notorious Khumbu Icefall on the south side of Everest. All the slopes of Everest would require vigilance, of course, since any climbing above 26,000 feet-8,000 meters, the so-called death zone-was hazardous simply because it's so easy to make mistakes when your brain is muddled from lack of oxygen. But that didn't bother Frank nearly as much as this other hazard he would face lower on the mountain, at the very beginning of the climb.

The Khumbu Icefall is a jumble of huge ice blocks, called seracs, which are formed when a glacier pa.s.ses, during its inexorable downward march, over steep underlying bedrock. This causes the ice to split and fracture into these seracs that then sometimes shift or collapse, usually without warning. On the Khumbu Icefall, pressure occasionally builds over a large area, and sections an acre or more in size will slip, sending the seracs pell-mell. Anyone luckless enough to be in the Icefall when that happens will almost certainly be crushed, and Frank knew that of the people who have been killed attempting Everest from the south, most died in the Icefall.

Sometimes Frank wished he shared d.i.c.k's seemingly cavalier att.i.tude about things like the Icefall. d.i.c.k in general seemed to approach uncertainties with a congenital optimism, a belief that when it came to big-ticket items like whether you live or die through the Icefall you were in the hands of your maker anyway, so it made no sense to worry. But that wasn't to say d.i.c.k was predisposed to cast his fate heedlessly to the elements. They both realized the risk in the Icefall was proportionate to the number of times a climber pa.s.sed through it, and before leaving for Everest both of them promised their wives they would make the roundtrip only once.

The job of fixing a route through the maze of ice blocks was left to the other climbers, who didn't mind the arrangement, since neither Frank nor d.i.c.k would be of much use in the Icefall, as they lacked the necessary skills to rig ladders over the myriad creva.s.ses and ropes around the labyrinth of seracs.

The Khumbu Icefall is unique in mountaineering as the only place that requires extensive use of aluminum ladder sections to span the dozens of creva.s.ses. It wouldn't be necessary to rig the ladders if a team only had to go through once (although it would take longer, it would be possible to climb down, over or around the creva.s.ses without ladders), but since the Sherpas had to make so many carries of food, fuel, oxygen, and equipment up and back, the ladders were essential. So along with the basic logistics-ten tons in all-there were added 40 eight-foot ladder sections.

As climbing leader, Phil Ershler had done a yeoman's job overseeing preparations, and after Frank and d.i.c.k returned from Aconcagua, the only tasks remaining were to arrange shipping to Nepal and to see if any sponsors could be found interested in backing the Seven Summits. The Budweiser deal had fizzled when the marketing people pooh-poohed the idea, so Frank sent a query letter to ABC Sports, which he knew was interested in the possibility of covering an Everest climb.

For the previous year, ABC's American Sportsman American Sportsman series, headed by producer John Wilc.o.x, had been working with a high-octane group of American mountaineers who proposed to climb Everest's West Ridge from the Tibet side, and the network had in mind a videotape coverage of the climb that would climax with a live transmission to North America, via microwave and satellite uplink, direct from the summit. Frank knew the expedition planned to be on Everest the same time his party would be (but on the opposite side), and he also knew ABC was having trouble obtaining from the Chinese permission to install an earth station in Tibet for the satellite uplink. Frank didn't want to do anything to jeopardize the other expedition's chances of securing sponsorship from ABC, but when he learned the deal was being dropped by the Chinese, Frank sent a proposal to the ABC producer that they cover the Seven Summits expedition rather than abandon the whole idea. series, headed by producer John Wilc.o.x, had been working with a high-octane group of American mountaineers who proposed to climb Everest's West Ridge from the Tibet side, and the network had in mind a videotape coverage of the climb that would climax with a live transmission to North America, via microwave and satellite uplink, direct from the summit. Frank knew the expedition planned to be on Everest the same time his party would be (but on the opposite side), and he also knew ABC was having trouble obtaining from the Chinese permission to install an earth station in Tibet for the satellite uplink. Frank didn't want to do anything to jeopardize the other expedition's chances of securing sponsorship from ABC, but when he learned the deal was being dropped by the Chinese, Frank sent a proposal to the ABC producer that they cover the Seven Summits expedition rather than abandon the whole idea.

ABC already had a considerable investment in research and planning and rather than dump the money they accepted Frank's proposal. In exchange for rights to videotape the climb, ABC would partially underwrite the expedition. ABC explained that because time was now short they would not be able to install the several microwave relays necessary to get one hundred percent live coverage from the top of Everest to the satellite earth station they would install in Katmandu, so instead they proposed to have one of the team carry to the summit a small video camera and a two-pound microwave transmitter, and beam a signal to a receiving dish twenty miles away where it would be recorded, helicoptered to Katmandu, then beamed to New York. Not quite live, but as a live signal would arrive in New York at about 2:00 in the morning anyway, a few hours delay would probably increase the ratings.

Frank and d.i.c.k were delighted, and the other climbers approved although some voiced concern it might be a burdensome intrusion to have the extra television people. ABC a.s.sured them that they would send only experienced climbers. For the last six years I had worked on several mountain climbing shows for ABC, and I had been discussing for some time the possibility of working on the Everest show. When the coverage moved to Frank and d.i.c.k's expedition, I was offered the position of field producer and also on-air commentator, filing reports and on-location interviews. With the addition of two cameramen, David Breashears and Peter Pilafian, the crew was complete, and as there were only three of us and we were all experienced climbers whom many of the climbing team already knew, there was agreement among the expedition members to accept the TV sponsorship.

ABC next designed a production strategy. Steve Marts would still film the climb for Frank and d.i.c.k's Seven Summits doc.u.mentary, but would also help when he could with the ABC coverage. Breashears, as high alt.i.tude cameraman, would go in with the team to tape the trek to base camp, rigging of the Icefall, and perhaps push to camp 2. Pilafian and I would go in later, when the bulk of the coverage would commence. In addition to us, there would be many more personnel both at the receiving station twenty miles from Everest and at the satellite uplink in Katmandu, including a team of Panasonic engineers, who were supplying camera and video recording equipment. Executive producer John Wilc.o.x would shuttle between the receiving dish field location and the Katmandu nerve center. ABC's sport commentator Bob Beattie would be in Katmandu filing overview commentary, and in my final meeting with ABC I was instructed to end my reports with the line: "And now back to Bob Beattie in Katmandu ..."

The day before departure Frank packed his gear himself, a new level of competence that greatly impressed Luanne. But Luanne wasn't the only one who noticed a change in Frank. At the Seattle airport, where Frank met with the rest of the team, Jim Wickwire had come to send them off, and noting that Frank was wearing cord pants and Nikes instead of Ralph Lauren slacks and Gucci shoes said, "Wells, you're even starting to look look like a climber." like a climber."

d.i.c.k was the only one missing (he would fly over a few days late because of last-minute business with s...o...b..rd), so Frank handled the necessary ch.o.r.es in Katmandu, the bulk of which involved working with Gerhard Lenser, who was already there, to secure the final permits from the Nepalese for the ABC shoot.

As the team approached Katmandu they could see out the starboard side of the plane the great rampart of the Himalaya rising suddenly like a stupendous dam holding the Tibetan Plateau from spilling across the Gangetic Plain. To the east was what looked at first glance to be a great billowing c.u.mulonimbus but closer scrutiny revealed to be the ridges and ice walls of the singular Kanchenjunga Ma.s.sif, the third highest peak in the world. Moving their eyes back along the crest of the range they could see nestled among other high peaks a dark pyramidal summit that was the only one with a long snowplume banner tailing from its peak: only Everest punctured the jetstream.

Frank was about to land in a Marco Polo city plucked from the thirteenth century and set into the twentieth, a place with a thin skin of modernity over a body of timeless Hindu and Buddhist ritual. Katmandu had cars, but if your car happened to hit any of the hundreds of sacred cows that wandered the streets you were certain to go to jail (and the only way out was to prove to the court that the cow had intended to commit suicide). It was a city with an airport serviced by the latest jet aircraft, but they were planes that each year in a solemn ceremony were smeared with the blood of a goat or chicken sacrificed for the well-being of the plane and those who rode in it. It was a city where on Friday you could pick up a phone at your room in the Sheraton and get a satellite connection to New York, then on Sat.u.r.day catch a taxi to the river to watch the weekly animal sacrifices at the Hindu temple. It was also a city, as Frank was about to learn, with a bureaucracy as byzantine as its medieval character.

Lenser had been in Katmandu for about a week and as far as Frank could determine, if he had accomplished anything it was to reverse whatever progress Frank felt he and d.i.c.k had made from the States toward expediting the expedition's pa.s.sage through officialdom and onto the mountain. Frank once again felt his patience wear thin, but he knew the best policy was to restrain himself and wait for d.i.c.k.

When d.i.c.k arrived, Frank brought him up to date. "Gerhard says things are complicated because we need permits from all these different ministries for the satellite broadcast. We had things going pretty well until a couple of days ago when one of our guys was down at the airport trying to spring some gear out of customs and to speed things along signed some form with Gerhard's name, knowing Gerhard would approve it anyway. But when Gerhard found out he flipped, and then went around and told all the Nepalese what happened. So now the Nepalese are going crazy."

"That's because they think we're not taking them seriously," d.i.c.k said. "It's a matter of pride."

"They're already confused," Frank continued, "about us being the German Everest Expedition, aka the Seven Summits, with one German leader and twelve Americans who now want to import a twenty-thousand pound earth station to stick on top of the Sheraton. Worse, someone told ABC the way to do it is through diplomatic channels so they had the State Department contact the Nepalese foreign ministry and now the mountaineering ministry is up in arms because they think we're trying to go around them, and so Gerhard is saying ten times a day, 'See, you need me to take care of all this, to get your permit.' "

"Well that explains it then."

"Explains what?" Frank asked.

"It's a question of money. Gerhard probably wants it for his German Himalayan foundation."

"Oh, I don't think so. It's a question of Germanic pride and his perception that we're treading on his authority."

"You watch. It'll come down to money, and I'd guess the amount will be about ten grand. And believe me it'll be worth it just to get his cooperation and keep this show moving."

The next day Lenser told d.i.c.k and Frank he needed to talk with them. He began an involved explanation about the steps yet necessary to gain the permit, and after about five minutes d.i.c.k interrupted and said, "Gerhard, how much money do you need to do all this?"

Frank leaned back in his chair. If money is what Lenser wanted, Frank was afraid it might be more than d.i.c.k's estimate. But Lenser wouldn't come out and say it directly; he went into a long rationale about how d.i.c.k and Frank could charge ABC about $10,000 for use of their Sherpas to help film the climb, Sherpas they had already hired anyway.

"So what are you saying?" d.i.c.k asked.

Lenser said that if they paid him $10,000, money they could recoup from ABC, that would cover his services. d.i.c.k glanced at Frank, then turned back to Lenser and told him that seemed a lot of money just to get the filming permit. Frank tried to hide his smile as Lenser was forced into another convoluted justification for the charge. Finally d.i.c.k figured they'd never get Lenser on their side without the payment and agreed to the figure. Lenser said it would take a few more days to get the permit, and that one of them would have to stay behind the extra time. d.i.c.k and Frank flipped a coin, and Frank won. He would get to leave in the morning, with Ershler, Nielson, and Neptune (the others had already flown out and started the ten-day walk to base camp).

Frank was pleasantly surprised that all it took was money to resolve the imbroglio with the Nepalese and Lenser. Frank and d.i.c.k had no intention of charging ABC to recoup the money, as Lenser had suggested, but it was worth every penny. At least now they had Lenser working with instead of against them, and there was still the understanding that even though Lenser was coming to base camp he would probably go no higher than that, and also be no more than a t.i.tular leader of the expedition.

Frank had hated to leave his partner in Katmandu, but the flip was fair and square. He first flew in a Twin Otter shuttle to a 9,000- foot dirt airstrip at Lukla, 120 miles east of Katmandu. From there he began the two-day walk to Namche Bazar, the princ.i.p.al Sherpa village on the way to base camp. It was a pleasant interlude. The trail was lined with Himalayan blue pine and deodar cedar, and with no automobile roads in the Khumbu, the stones on the trail were polished smooth by the pa.s.sage of generations.

On the second day they finally crested a hilltop and could see the 100-odd two-story stone houses, arranged like concentric horseshoes on stair-stepped levels of a natural amphitheater, that formed Namche Bazar. Located above the confluence of the two major rivers in the region, at a junction of the trails that follow these drainages, Namche Bazar for over a hundred years had been the trading hub of the mountain Sherpas.

The trail to base camp is traveled by some 5,000 trekkers a year, and with so much traffic the route is divided into standard stages so that it usually takes just over a week to walk from Namche at 11,000 feet to base camp at 17,700 feet including a couple of layover days here and there to acclimatize. The next stage was a five-hour walk to the storybook Tengboche Monastery situated on a steep-sided ridge of land with a commanding view of many magnificent peaks, including the sword-summitted Ama Dablam, and further upvalley, Everest. Here Frank and some of the team members received a blessing for the expedition from the monastery's reincarnate lama.

Traditionally the monastery was supported by donations of labor and food from the Sherpas, but since the advent of trekking and mountaineering most local people were too busy to work at the monastery. It seemed only fair, then, that a princ.i.p.al source of funds was donations from various expeditions that received blessings, a consecration very important to the Sherpas working on the climb. Frank watched bemused as the lama carefully scribed a receipt for the donation, then stamped it.

Here we are nearly to the base of Everest, Frank thought, and even the lamas know about the IRS.

The following morning Frank and the others were on the trail, making good time. After three days they reached the lower Khumbu Glacier, which led to base camp. At the head of the glacial valley Frank could see a 20,000-foot pa.s.s called the Lho La, and through the pa.s.s the tip of a peak that somehow looked familiar. He couldn't figure it out until he realized the peak was in Tibet, and that it was Changtse, the north satellite of Everest, a mountain he had camped under for two months the previous year. Until then, that other side of Everest-perhaps because the approach through Lhasa contrasted so with this southern route-had seemed a world removed.

While the glimpse of Changtse gave evidence of their proximity to last year's efforts, the first glimpse of base camp underscored the difference of climbing on this side of the mountain. In place of last year's spartan huddle of small mountaineering tents, the Sherpas had erected a tent city with a kitchen, an equipment warehouse, and separate dining areas for the Sherpas and the sahibs. As he entered camp a Sherpa boy greeted him with a metal platter holding a cup of steaming liquid. "Welcome to base camp, sahib. Would you like tea?"

Frank knew immediately that not only would he like tea, but he was going to like climbing Everest from this side in the company of these Sherpas.

#8220;Tea, coffee, or cocoa, sahib?" Again, it was the same Sherpa cookboy, now poking his head in the tent. Frank glanced at his watch: 7:00. A.M. A.M. He had a slight headache from the alt.i.tude, but otherwise had pa.s.sed a pleasant enough first night in base camp, and having cocoa served in bed (or more accurately, in sleeping bag) was a good way to start the first full day. Frank wrapped his fingers around the warm cup and considered the day ahead. There wouldn't be a lot for him to do, not today, or for the next week or two, since it was the Sherpas' task to complete the erecting of the remaining base camp tents, and the unloading of the yaks still arriving with food and equipment. Meanwhile, they had received notice it would be another two days before the lead Sherpa, the sirdar, arrived, along with the government liaison officer (or L.O., as he was called) who would stay at base camp the length of the expedition. As they legally couldn't start to climb above base camp until the L.O. was in camp, for the next two days even the lead climbers had little to do but help the Sherpas. No one was especially antsy though, since each day in camp their bodies gained valuable acclimatization to the high alt.i.tude. He had a slight headache from the alt.i.tude, but otherwise had pa.s.sed a pleasant enough first night in base camp, and having cocoa served in bed (or more accurately, in sleeping bag) was a good way to start the first full day. Frank wrapped his fingers around the warm cup and considered the day ahead. There wouldn't be a lot for him to do, not today, or for the next week or two, since it was the Sherpas' task to complete the erecting of the remaining base camp tents, and the unloading of the yaks still arriving with food and equipment. Meanwhile, they had received notice it would be another two days before the lead Sherpa, the sirdar, arrived, along with the government liaison officer (or L.O., as he was called) who would stay at base camp the length of the expedition. As they legally couldn't start to climb above base camp until the L.O. was in camp, for the next two days even the lead climbers had little to do but help the Sherpas. No one was especially antsy though, since each day in camp their bodies gained valuable acclimatization to the high alt.i.tude.

It was now April 2, early enough that they should have sufficient time to keep to the climbing schedule dictated by pre-monsoon weather patterns. They guessed it would take them a week or so to get through the Icefall, then another few weeks to get up to camps 2 and 3, and finally to the South Col, from where they would be positioned for the first summit attempts. Unless there was unusually bad weather they should be able to make those first attempts in early May, well before the clockwork monsoon that arrives sometime during early June.

The L.O., Mr. Ale, arrived and introduced himself. He was a small, thin man in his late twenties who worked as personal secretary to the Minister of State. Being L.O. was a temporary appointment, a kind of vacation away from the desk. The lead Sherpa, Sonam Girme, also arrived, and he said that while the Sherpas would be happy to a.s.sist carrying ladders and rope for the lead climbers they would not sleep anywhere above base camp until after the puja, a Buddhist ceremony to propitiate the G.o.ddess of Everest, and to make the snows of Ch.o.m.olungma-Mother G.o.ddess of the World, as the Sherpas call Everest-safe for climbers. Sonam said they would wait to have this ceremony until everyone was in camp, including d.i.c.k. This would be no disruption to the schedule, as the Sherpas would not be required to sleep above base camp anyway until after camp I was well established, and that was at least a week away.

Before entering the Icefall the climbers studied through binoculars the maze of seracs to see if they could spot what might be the best route. Everyone was confident the route through the Icefall would "go" without any unusual difficulties-everyone except Jim States. For two weeks States had suffered forebodings of an accident, a tragedy someplace on the climb, most likely in the Icefall. The first premonition had been on the hike to base camp, when he had a powerful feeling someone was going to get hurt. From past experiences, States had learned to heed his premonitions. Once on Rainier he had been climbing a ridge running between ice and rock walls when he had a notion some disaster was pending. He talked his companions into a quick retreat, and they had only reached the ab.u.t.ting glacier when an avalanche broke above and in seconds buried the area where only minutes before they had been climbing.

"You get clues in the mountains," he told everyone. "I'm not sure how, but you do. It's kind of like how animals sense earthquakes. And I know it might sound strange, but I've really learned to pay attention to these feelings, and the premonitions I've been having the last week are so strong I'm thinking of leaving the expedition and going home."

"Maybe you should just take a couple of days off," Gerry Roach suggested. The others seconded Roach's advice, adding that they needed States' contribution to the climb but understood his feelings. Although at base camp he continued to wake each morning with the same vague foreboding, States decided for the time being to stay.

The next day climbing leader Phil Ershler gathered the team. "I've made a plan for the initial exploration of the Icefall," he said. "We'll divide into two teams and alternate so one group rests while the other climbs. Tomorrow Gerry Roach, Peter Jamieson, and Larry Nielson will make the first foray."

This would be the second time that Roach had explored a route through the Icefall; he had been a lead climber on that 1976 Everest Expedition, the same one Dan Emmett and I had been on. On that trip Roach had made it clear that more than anything in his life he wanted to climb Everest, but he awoke the day before his final departure from camp 2 complaining of stomach cramps, and switched places with one of the second summit team climbers to give himself an extra two days to improve. I had been a member of that second team, and when it was our turn for the attempt, Roach said his health was perfect. He was confident we could reach the top. As we gained the South Col, we met the first summit team on their way down. Two of them had summited, including the climber with whom Roach had traded places, but they told us there had been a mixup and no full bottles of oxygen remained in the upper camps. Furthermore, a wind storm was building, and I was having trouble breathing. We decided to retreat to camp 2, wait for the weather to clear, then go back up with another team of Sherpas carrying more oxygen. Back at camp, though, we learned the Sherpas were unwilling to go back up. So even though he was feeling strong there was nothing he could do to organize another attempt, and the expedition was concluded.

Now, seven years later, Roach was back, once again questing after that elusive square yard of real estate that forms the high throne of the planet, once again scouting the route through the Icefall. With the others, he left base camp in the black hours of predawn planning to finish work early and get back to camp before the sun warmed the ice, increasing the risk of avalanche. As first light illuminated the icy corridors they made rapid progress through the lower section of the Icefall, and by mid-morning they were perhaps a fourth of the way toward camp 1. Roach knew from past experience that this first section was easy and the real difficulties would start higher. But he was concerned they might be heading for trouble, since earlier that morning Larry Nielson had split with a few of the Sherpas and was now exploring an area Roach felt was dangerously close to the left margin of the Icefall, where avalanches frequently thunder off a bordering hanging glacier.

Later that day, when they had all returned to base camp, he spoke his mind: "It's a suicide route. Look what happened last year to Pat Morrow and the Canadians. They had their route over there and lost one climber and two Sherpas when an avalanche hit them."

"We're a hundred yards out of any avalanche zone," Nielson countered, "and in a place where there's a lot less risk from having a serac fall over and squash you."

As climbing leader, the ball was now in Phil Ershler's court, and consulting the Sherpas-many of whom had been on four or five Everest climbs-he learned the route normally did stay closer to center. Ershler decided that was the wiser strategy, and next morning, with Gary Neptune and Jim States, he got a predawn start, following the wand markers and fixed ropes to Roach's previous high point. There his group encountered a chaos of ice blocks, and one glance was sufficient to realize it would take at least two days to get through the maze; once past it, though, it appeared the route was less jumbled. They christened the section the Interconnect.

The following day Roach and Nielson were back, joined by Ershler and Peter Jamieson. Once again they split, Nielson and Ershler working straight up the Interconnect while Roach and Jamieson consolidated the route lower down, exploring an alternate one more toward the middle. Thinking he had found the best way Nielson came down to find Roach working on his alternate.

"It's much faster straight up," Nielson yelled from the top of a nearby ice block.

"And much more dangerous," Roach countered.

Nielson was fuming, as was Roach. Back at camp Ershler called a meeting. "Clearly we have some differences here so let's discuss the options."

Nielson stood and said, "There're four options, as I see it. One, we start listening to the climbing leader. Two, Gerry leaves this expedition. Three, I leave this expedition. Four, we go outside right now, Gerry, and I beat the s.h.i.t out of you."

"Wrong," Roach fired back, jumping to his feet. "You forgot Five: we go outside and I beat the s.h.i.t out of you." you."

"Hold on," Ershler said, now on his feet too. "As long as I'm climbing leader of this expedition n.o.body's going to beat the s.h.i.t out of anybody."

When he had the pair calmed Ershler said they would return in the morning and have a look at both ways, then judge the best choice. Meanwhile there was enough work to do consolidating the distance they had already explored so that instead of alternating teams anyone who felt up to it should work each day, taking a rest day only when he felt he really needed one.

The next morning most of the lead climbers were in the Icefall rigging ladders and fixing ropes. Much of this work in the Icefall was mechanical, bolting ladder sections together, lowering them over creva.s.ses, hammering in aluminum picket anchors, turning ice screws into the serac walls, and attaching long handlines of polypropylene rope. States was working to span a badly broken section in the Interconnect when Jamieson arrived to help.

"I'm going up that block to see how many more ladder sections we need," States said.

"Why don't you tie in first."

Jamieson belayed the rope while States balanced across the blocks. Getting to a block the size of a station wagon, States spanned his leg to reach it, and the second he transferred his weight the whole ma.s.s shifted. In a split second the block dropped quickly in a grinding roar, sending States falling into a maelstrom of car-sized ice blocks breaking about him. There was no sky, only the blue white shine of crunching ice blocks, and the noise. He held his breath, and waited for the crunch, for the awful sound of bones breaking. A big block pressed his right side, and he gritted his teeth, waiting for that final crunching shift.

Then it stopped. His right side was buried, pinning his arm and leg. The ice was pressing under his chin, forcing his head back. Was he hurt? He couldn't tell. Then in a grip of panic, he feared the blocks would shift again and complete the job of crushing him. With his free arm he started grabbing any loose hunks of snow and wedging them under the large block that pinned his right side, to keep it from shifting further. He was working furiously when he saw Steve Marts, who had been nearby filming, down in the hole muscling snow blocks.

"Hold on, Jim. We'll get you out."

Even with the smaller blocks moved the big one still pinned States, so Marts-disregarding his own safety-started hacking at it with his ice axe. In a few minutes States was out, and miraculously, other than a few bruises, he seemed uninjured. He was shaken, though, and told the others he was heading back to camp. As he left he pa.s.sed one of the Sherpas, a young kid who looked under twenty, standing over the hole created by the shifting block, chanting a mantra and tossing sacred rice blessed by a lama.

The Sherpa kid's composure helped settle States's nerves, and on the way down States, knowing the physical work would bring his pulse closer to normal, forced himself to stop and adjust ropes and arrange ladders. Back at camp he decided to take up his teammates' earlier suggestion to take a couple of days off. While he recuperated he found, to his own surprise, that despite his earlier premonitions he now felt better about the expedition, and concluded that whatever had prompted his dark forebodings was now behind him, and that the rest of the climb would go safely.

While States rested, the others pushed the route higher, estimating they would reach the top of the Icefall in two or three days. Meanwhile Roach and Nielson waved a white flag and agreed to a truce, at least while the expedition lasted.

The days now became routine. The climbers would get to bed early so they could rise at three in the morning to breakfast and get away by four. The weather clouded in the afternoons and occasionally snowed lightly, but it cleared at night so that when the climbers left in the predawn the stars were brilliant through the vacuum-black sky, and the train of headlamps as they climbed above base camp made an eerie procession between the dim ice towers. The Sherpas, each freighting an eight-foot ladder section, would bring up the rear, chanting their Buddhist mantras and adding a kind of background hymn to the silent tension that came from knowing at any moment the ice blocks could explode in convulsing upheaval.

This ever-present threat of death in the Icefall made it like a frozen outdoor cathedral of some brimstone religion, a place that when witnessed at first dawn to the choral chanting of Sherpas had an unmatched siren call of beauty mixed with danger. It was a place that set a cutting edge to your senses so that at day's end, after you were returned to the safe harbor of base camp, you were left with a vague yearning, a kind of strange addiction cousin to whatever it is that lures men and women to take physical risk of their lives.

While the lead climbers worked on the Icefall, Frank had kept busy. One day he had hiked across the glacier to Kala Patar, a hilltop vantage with a commanding view of Everest. Then another day States had coached him up the side of a serac near base camp, to improve his ice axe and crampon technique. He kept busy reading, and was entertained by the a.s.sortment of trekkers who each day wandered into base camp. There was Bill Grant, the Scotsman who was on his fifth expedition looking for the yeti, the abominable snowman, and then the two Americans who rode in claiming the first bicycle ascent to the base of Everest. Another day an American visited camp who said he was a writer, working on a biography of Ingrid Bergman.

The writer triggered memories in Frank of the movie business he had given up to go climbing. For the first time since starting the Seven Summits he felt melancholic. Would he come to regret his decision, he wondered.

Later that afternoon he was rescued from his melancholy when he heard at the edge of camp that familiar Tarzan call, and stepping out of the dining tent he saw d.i.c.k approaching, wearing jogging shorts over long john underwear, a s...o...b..rd visor hat, and a wide Texas grin.

"We secured all the loose ends in Katmandu," d.i.c.k said as he bear-hugged Frank. "We got the ABC permit, Gerhard is in a good mood, and I'm ready to climb this mother."

The full team was now in base camp and Sonam, the lead Sherpa, said next morning they would have the puja ceremony at the foot of the base camp altar, a stone pedestal the Sherpas had built on the highest point in camp and from which they had strung long lines of colored prayer flags. Here they kept a few boughs of juniper smoldering and whenever they left camp to go into the Icefall they paused to breathe the smoke. Like the chanting of mantras, this was thought to cleanse the soul of wrongdoing, or as one Sherpa put it, "to make sure you have good luck in the Icefall."

After breakfast the Sherpas gathered around the altar while one of them, chanting from a prayer book, reached in a sack and tossed handfuls of sacred rice in the air. After performing other ceremonious acts, they made an offering to the G.o.ddess of Everest of several gla.s.ses of chang, the local rice beer, a bottle of Remy Martin, and another of Johnnie Walker Red. When the ceremony was finished the Sherpas pa.s.sed around the bottles, and when the liquor was polished off they proclaimed that the expedition could get fully underway.

Two days later the lead climbers established camp 1, at the top of the Icefall. It had taken nine days and while some sections were undeniably dangerous, especially the Interconnect, there was general agreement the route was a good one and the Sherpas could now begin carrying through it the hundreds of loads of food and equipment needed to provision the upper mountain. Gerry Roach and Peter Jamieson left to occupy camp 1 and begin the push into the Western Cwm (p.r.o.nounced "Coom"), an enormous ice valley formed in part by the huge southwest face of Everest.

It was now April 19, and team leader Phil Ershler estimated they could be in position to make the first summit bid by the end of the month. It was time to think about selecting summit teams.

Ershler had been scrutinizing everyone's performance, earmarking those who had been working the hardest and therefore most deserved a position on the first summit team. He had also been wrestling with what to do about the Sherpas. He had listened carefully to Gerry Roach tell about the 1976 expedition when the Sherpas had refused to carry more oxygen to the high camps after the first summit attempt; Roach felt the problem stemmed from the Sherpas' feeling of being nothing more than hired hands. Sonam had also warned Ershler that if the Sherpas felt they were only beasts of burden, with no real hand in the climbing, they might quit early. It seemed critical to Ershler to devise a plan which included the Sherpas. And besides, all self-interest aside, he was fond of these warm-hearted, good-natured mountain people and felt they deserved a chance for success on this peak as much as the sahibs who had hired them.

He also had to consider Frank and d.i.c.k. Ershler recalled that when they had that New Year's team meeting in s...o...b..rd, Frank had said at the time he and d.i.c.k wanted to be equals with other team members, and "all we expect is an equal chance at the summit." The team agreed without a single dissent. Now Ershler had to weigh how those terms might translate to a summit strategy. (Frank later told d.i.c.k that as soon as that meeting was over he regretted not being more specific in defining what an equal chance should be.) Ershler's view-shared by the other lead climbers-was that while Frank and d.i.c.k had paid for the expedition (other than personal airfare, which each member had covered for himself), they, the lead climbers, had contributed their share organizing the food and equipment, and more importantly had risked their lives to build the route through the Icefall. Given that no one had actually been hired to be Frank and d.i.c.k's guides, and as Frank had said, everyone was equal with an equal chance, Ershler felt he was on solid ground choosing from among the lead climbers the first summit teams. He called a meeting to announce his choices.

"I think the first team should be made up of those who have worked hardest getting through the Icefall," he said. "And I think those three guys are Gerry Roach, Peter Jamieson, and Larry Nielson. In addition, I think there should be one Sherpa on the first team, and I will get together with Sonam later to determine who that will be. Then the second team will be Gary Neptune, Jim States, myself, and another Sherpa. The third team will then be d.i.c.k Ba.s.s, Frank Wells, and Ed Hixson (the team doctor).

For a moment everyone was quiet, then Frank raised his hand.

"I respect the tough position you're in, Phil, and of course I respect your decision. But I have two comments. First, I think you should include yourself in the first team. You've earned it if anyone has. My second point: I don't think it's fair to exclude yourself from the first team, and either d.i.c.k or me from the second team, so a Sherpa can get a first shot. I realize your concern for the Sherpas, and for demonstrating to them how much we all appreciate their wonderful and valuable contribution here, but I can't help but weigh against that the work and expense d.i.c.k and I have put into making this thing possible, and I think one of us at least has earned a place on that second team."

"I'd like to comment on that too," d.i.c.k said. "I agree with my partner here that we've earned a spot on that second team, but I'd like to add further I'm perfectly happy on a third team because I feel confident I'm going to make it no matter where I fall in line. So I'd be happy to give that second-team spot to Frank here, although I sure wish we could climb the mother together so we could get that movie footage of us up there on the roof of the world arm-in-arm, in pure jubilation."

"G.o.dd.a.m.nit d.i.c.k, if you weren't so unselfish sometimes you'd be easier to deal with," Frank said. "You should really be on that second team because you've got a much better shot at it than me. But my whole reason for wanting to be on that second team is that if I don't make it the first time I can come down and try again, and if that doesn't work, try a third time."

"Frank, there's no way you'll have it in you after one attempt to go back up and make another," Ershler argued.

"While you guys have been up in the Icefall," Frank countered, "I've been down here reading this mountaineering history of Everest, and in it there are plenty of examples of guys who have had a second shot and made it."

"But Frank, those are world-cla.s.s climbers," Ershler said. "I was with you last year for three months on the other side of this mountain, and I hate to be blunt, but you ain't world-cla.s.s."

"I know I'm not world-cla.s.s, but I nevertheless feel I've earned a right to a second-team position."

Ershler then turned to Gary Neptune and said, "Gary, you're most likely to be the leader of the second team. What do you think?"

Neptune had been quiet, as was his style. He was a person who preferred to listen and not make waves. Two years before he had been on Ama Dablam, the sword-shaped summit near Everest, and after the first team made the summit, he didn't argue for another bid after the others wanted to go home. He simply climbed the peak solo.

Now he was uncomfortably on the spot. He was hesitant to state his true feelings-he didn't want to hurt or embarra.s.s Frank-but he saw no way out. He hadn't forgotten his experience with Frank two months before on Aconcagua, when he had watched terrified as Frank awkwardly made the traverse of that steep snow slope leading to the Ca.n.a.leta. d.i.c.k had been okay-Neptune hadn't minded going to the top of Aconcagua with him, and he wouldn't hesitate to do the same on Everest-but Frank was another matter.

"I don't know, Frank," Neptune said. "You weren't too strong on Aconcagua. You might be more acclimatized if you waited until the third attempt."

"That doesn't make sense. There's plenty of time to acclimatize."

"Well, I'm just not sure how you'll do."

"Gary, are you saying you wouldn't want to have me on your team?"

"Well, if you put it that way," Neptune said in a self-effacing tone, "I guess the answer is yes. I wouldn't be comfortable climbing with you.

Frank knew there was nothing more to say, and the meeting adjourned.

Frank held no grudge against Neptune, and decided if he couldn't get on the second team he would just live with his third-team position and do all he could to increase his chances of success there. He felt there were two ways to do that. One, to get as much oxygen as possible higher on the mountain. If any single thing would make it easier for him to climb Everest he felt it was that. Second, he began to lobby with Ershler for the establishment of an additional camp above the South Col-a camp 5 at around 27,500 feet-so he would have less distance to climb on his summit day. It was similar to his request on Aconcagua, when he had asked me the day before our summit climb to go with him and overnight at that higher camp that was closer to the top.

Ershler had his hands full figuring which loads needed to go through the Icefall first, what climbers should be positioned where in order to always have a fresh pair in the lead, and how the Sherpas would best fit into the climbing strategy. He listened politely to Frank's requests, but his patience was wearing thin. Although he didn't tell Frank, he felt it was a waste of time making decisions about how much oxygen should go to the South Col, or when to put in a camp 5, because he doubted Frank would ever get high enough on the mountain to make use of those supplies, anyway. In fact, he wasn't even sure Frank would be able to get through the Icefall in one day, and if he couldn't do that, he couldn't get to camp 1.

That gave Ershler an idea. Next day he would insist Frank and d.i.c.k go with him through the Icefall; that way, when Frank saw for himself he couldn't make it, maybe he would stay off Ershler's back.

"You two have been sitting idle in base camp here too long," Ershler said to Frank and d.i.c.k. "What do you say in the morning you go with me through the Icefall. Get some exercise."

Despite their promise to their families to go through the Icefall only once, Frank and d.i.c.k felt it would be important for them to go along with Ershler. The next morning leaving camp Frank and d.i.c.k paused at the Sherpa altar to breathe juniper smoke. It wasn't that Frank and d.i.c.k had developed a belief in Buddhism, but rather they and everyone else on the team observed these rituals out of a combination of courtesy for the Sherpas and a sense that, as Frank put it, "It can't hurt."