The way began about three and a half hours ago, or at least that is where it began this evening. The steps, decisions, and desire to be here actually began much earlier. Five days earlier it began at base camp: all rested, acclimatized, and ready to try for the summit. Two months earlier from home: two duffels of essential gear ready to go, body trained, and soul excited. Two years earlier on Shishapangma: the body can deal with life at 8000 meters; the lessons of the mountains, weather, and partners sink in. Five years earlier in Nepal for the first time: the first view of Everest from the top of Mera Peak--clear, majestic, alluring. Around thirty years earlier: remembering my dad sailing across the ocean to Hawaii . . . adventure is in my blood.
From the Balcony we continue on up. We follow footsteps and a few headlamps. We passed most of the headlamps early on, but keep around four ahead of us. It is steep. It is windy. It is dark, but looking up the stars are bright. Sometime during the night the orange moon rises near Makalu and the way is a little more clear. Occasionally the lights ahead of us stop for a few minutes for a break, and I wonder at first why they don't wait until the route takes a way that is less steep for their break, someplace where if you put a pack down it wouldn't fly down the slope. Then I realize that there are very very few of those places around. And sometimes you just really need to pause for a minute or take a drink. PhuNuru and I stop maybe four times during the climb up for a quick drink or to take in some calories. The Gu's in the pocket of my down suit were very thick—almost frozen, but not quite.
I check my altimeter and watch often: we are making good time. Early during the climb we average 500 ft vertical an hour. I like using oxygen. There is a downside though--what if we make the summit before sunrise? The wind keeps us moving for heat; the fact that we are on Everest keeps us moving for safety.
The route is fun. It keeps going and going. You don't even think about the fact that it is 1 am in the morning. A steep snow slope will turn and offer some rock steps to climb during this low snow year. You reach an anchor: unclip the biner, clip above, re-attach your ascender above the anchor. Step, breath, step, breath, and repeat until the next anchor. Then you reach a section of new rope that is all twisted up with the old rope: time for the biner only.
At some point you look up and the headlamps that were above you are no where to be seen: the South Summit! You've reached ~28,700 feet and are getting quite close. The route drops down a little, you take a quick break, and then head off to cross the ridge to reach the base of the Hillary Step. The winds here pick up a bit. Keeping warm involves the usual bit of feet stomping, hand curling, down hood holding, and strategically placing a few hand warmers. Nicely enough I am able to climb using ice climbing gloves, which gives me dexterity that is hard to come by if you are wearing mittens. The Hillary Step itself is almost all rock, and much easier to ascend than descend. One new orange rope lays unfettered for your biner; below there is a Technicolor set of ropes from last year and the year before and before and before and . . . Those are also used to help you get up and down 'safely.' Once above the Step, the way is the most gentle of all. Step by step, the way is complete!
Sunrise at the top of the world is hard to describe. Beautiful, of course. Not to be missed (well, if you are a mountaineer). The warmth brought by the sun and the safety of so much light invades you. The happiness of accomplishment, and the support and confidence to make it safely back down to the Col, to base camp, . . . to home, to life, to loved ones, this comes with the sun, the dawning of the great eastern light. [For a taste of this feeling, see the first picture 0SummitSunrise]
It is 4:45 am and you are on your way down from the top of the world. The way down is more scary than the way up, and you need the sun. Arm and hand rappels, angel rappels, the occasional munter hitch rappel, and many many carefully placed steps get you down. Below the Balcony you see a few bodies, reminding you of the seriousness of the mountain. The mango juice boxes that PhuNuru brought along as a treat are frozen, so you wait for arrival at the Col for more hydration. The next day you make your way down and around the Geneva Spur, across the Yellow Band, and down the entire Lhotse face to Camp 2. The final day of climbing sees you safely down through the Icefall for the last time. It is now time to try to take in more of what the past few months have been about. And time for some fresh veggies.
-Val
PICTURE SUMMARY:
0SummitSunrise: Sunrise on May 24, just below the summit. You can see climbers along the route and the South Summit from above. We actually summited before sunrise, but it was too cold and very windy to wait for the sun to rise up there; it rose after 5-10 minutes of heading down.
1TeamBeginSummitBid: PhuNuru, Val, Monty, and Passang as we began our summit bid at the bottom of the Icefall.
2CwmFromLhotseFace: Looking down at the Western Cwm from high on the Lhotse Face. Camp 2 is in the Cwm on the right.
3EverestSpurBand: From left to right, a view of Everest, the Geneva Spur, and the Yellow Band from the Lhotse Face. The climb from the Col climbs the right hand ridge, and the Balcony is the slightly flat part of the ridge just below where the cloud ends.
4UpLohsteFace: Looking up at Tim and Lhotse from the Lhotse Face.
5Val_YellowBand: The crux of crossing the Yellow Band. I am in the red, climbing with oxygen above Camp 3.
6Val_waytoC4: Above the Yellow Band the route is less steep, but got quite hot (I had to take my down suit top off).
[see the previous post for a picture of the route from the Col]
7PhuNuruPhortse: On the trek out, I went via Phortse, the village where PhuNuru and many of our climbing Sherpas live. It was a great village, and it was also sooo nice to see green again!
