Mount Everest Summit, To Base Camp

Time to wake up! CLANG, CLANG, LOUD TALK, LOUD TALK. Wtf!? Some jack ass Sherpa from another camp who must have grown up in the Bronx comes blowing into our camp talking as if he's in Yankee Stadium. I try politely at first to ask him to keep it down since I know that at 6am, I'm not the only one sleeping. This rapidly erodes after the 5th time of asking to me yelling at the top of my lungs that if he doesn't f-ing keep it down, I'm coming out of the tent and he won't like where it goes from there. He gets the point, although grudgingly. Hey, all spiritualness of the mountain aside, if you want to talk like you are in NY, you get to hear responses like you are in NY. He scoots off. Super Mila is irritated at his friend and apologizes to me endlessly about how he acted. Some guy from Kathmandu, he explains. You know, Big City, doesn't know better. Kathmandu isn't what I consider Big City, but I feel for him on how his friend acted. Everyone is now up anyway. Cripes sake. Let's make the best of it and get outta here.

We spend ~3 to 4 hours breaking camp. The goal here being to get everything out of Camp II so that no one has to go back up and pick it up as we "clean" the mountain.



This includes cook tents, stoves, food, personal gear, and even... yes, garbage. Despite the mountain of trash that we found initially, and even the second mountain that emerged from the snow as the sun beat down on the camp, we are hauling out our trash. I wish I could say the same for every other team, but we did. I'm conscience clean about how we left Camp II. I won't point any fingers on other teams, but let's just say that over the weeks spent in Camp II purgatory, I saw an awful lot of trash that seemed at first glance to have Hongul printed all over it. There, I won't say any more.

Over time, the camp began to resemble nothing more than a few overloaded packs and a jumble of rocks... we were almost ready. I think my pack weighed somewhere in the neighborhood of 70 lbs and Willie's must have weighed over 100- easily. It was so heavy that we had to pull him up onto his feet.

In order to haul everything from Camp II, we set up a series of Drag Bags- items wrapped up in burlap & canvas that we can pull behind ourselves via ropes. I ask aloud about why things aren't stored in secure boxes & storage containers at Camp II so that next year this system doesn't have to be repeated, but the answer is that the weather can be so severe up here that it just wouldn't work. Ok, well at least I asked.

My Drag Bag is filled with... garbage. Yep, there's that garbage again. 70 lbs of gear on my back and I'm dragging this stupid trash bag through the snow behind me to Camp I. Hey, what can you do? I could be sitting in a cubicle getting old and watching my butt get fat like Bob Combs, right? So, in some respects it could be worse.

I'm confident Willie wants to bring it down, but also equally confident that once it makes it to Camp I and a Sherpa has to haul it down to Base Camp from there that it's going to end up in a bottomless crevasse with a bunch of Korean trash... when he's not looking. Hell, enroute to Base Camp?? I think it crossed my mind at every crevasse ladder. Ugh. But haul on I did, and tried my best to keep up with Willie and Francisco through what turned into a driving snowstorm.


And talk about a challenge. Yee cats. I already hate those aluminum ladders, some of which can be notorious. This trip I have heard story after story about ladders flipping unexpectedly on people, people falling off the side of one, people dangling from safety ropes for two whole hours before someone happened along and found them. Now add to the equation two things- tons of snow falling, making the trail all but obscured except if you stop every two steps to see where the trail leads you as you navigate the crevasse-infested Western Cwm. And a 40 lb trash bag.

So here I am, taking my time on the ladders, one step at a time. Left hand on my trekking pole, right hand holding this stupid trash bag which is still tied to me, AND the ladder guide rope. Ladder is all bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, snow falls off the bottom of my crampons as loose flakes blow by me in the driving storm. I can't believe I did all that for the sanctity and purity of Sagarmartha National Park. Some climber about 100 years from now hopefully will appreciate it.

We pull into Camp I, which is essentially under four feet of drift snow now from when we first arrived. Tents are still there, but it looks like a high Himalayan equivalent of a Wild West Ghost Town. No one is using this camp other than to transit through. We dump our Drag Bags and try to probe for crevasse while regaining the trail out of Camp I, through the Icefall and down to Base Camp.


From Camp I, it was absolutely slow going- ultimately, it had to be. Heavy, driving snow and wind stayed with us for at least 600 vertical feet of our downclimb through the Icefall. Down, down, down we climbed- through the upper Icefall, past Crazy Ladder 4, 3, 2 and then finally 1. Through the Soccer Field, and then the Popcorn Field. We heard two enormous avalanches calve off of LoLa Face, but it was too cloudy and snowy to see anything so we all just flinched and then relaxed when we realized we weren't in jeopardy.


Then we hit the waves at the end of the Icefall, and it was only then that we realized that we were safe- we were almost at Base Camp. Seven hours after leaving Camp II, we staggered in, weak smiles and extremely tired backs. We made it- "home." That night, Francisco and I reminisced about our two months here. Willie came in, exhausted smile and sunburned face to tell us that we are leaving in two days. The boys in the kitchen cooked us a celebration cake, Bridie gave us all hugs in congratulations and we were able to finally release.

Next: Last day at Everest Base Camp http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/05/24-may-last-day-at-base-camp.html
Last: Downclimb to Camp II http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/05/summit-push-22-may-south-col-back-to.html

12 May: Return To Base Camp

"Doug... Doug... Doug..."

Gently, the tent shakes. "humph...” "It's six o' clock. Get up." I had sort of a crappy night sleep for God only knows why, so when I finally started drifting off at around 4am, the Sherpas were just starting to stir. I threw in ear plugs to try and get some sleep, which worked well until Indra started shaking the tent and all the snow crystals clinging to the roof of my tent- thanks to my breath- started falling on my face. "Ok, ok, I’m up." Francisco gave me a funny look when I finally did appear in our cook tent. Today's the day we return to Base Camp, after all. I remember how hot and unwelcoming the last part of our previous Camp II to Base Camp trek had taken, so I wasn't all that jazzed to get going- although the thought of Base Camp luxuries was definitely appealing. Equally appealing was the thought that once we made Base Camp, we were on final for our summit push. So, I wasn't all that grumpy truth be told.

The weather wasn't agreeing with us, though, and around six inches of snow had fallen during the night. Everything was covered and it made events like putting on crampons just a little bit more difficult than normal. Indra prepared breakfast for our shove-off, but my stomach was still churning from last night, so everyone waved off in favor of a pop-tart... which somehow managed to get burned too. Francisco and I managed to eat half of one pop tart and then I dropped one on the rocky tent floor. Man, it's time to get out of here.


As we traversed the Western Cwm, the weather was doing some bizarre and strange things. The snow stopped, then started. The clouds cleared, then rolled back in with whiteout conditions. When it was clear, you could see the tips of Nuptse loaded heavily with new snow- a definite concern given the closeness of the trail to where avalanche would be screaming in unannounced like freight trains. But talk about beautiful. The upper wisps of clouds, everything white or blue. The air frigid cold as we moved lower and lower.


Finally, the clouds socked in, snow picked back up and the trail vanished in a sea of white. Everything was literally a pure shade of white, off-white or grey. So white, that the only way I could find the route in the snow was to take off my sunglasses and squint to see the faint outline of a trail about two or three feet in front of me. While we were ok initially, this became hazardous quickly when traversing the crevasse fields above Camp I. We stepped slowly and searched for a familiar wand or a fixed line in the snow to clip into before the waiting maw of a black bottomed crevasse popped into view with surprising speed. As the trail rounded toward the face of Nuptse, we spread our team of three out in order to maximize interval and minimize risk to any rogue avalanche that could drop out of the clouds with no warning. I went first to find the damn trail, Francisco was in the middle and Willie took up the rear. While this picture shows some of the conditions, it doesn't show the best or worst of them- just one where three climbers have their fun-meter pegged as they try to get back home.


After some time, we reached the top of the Icefall and again noted the dramatic change in trail since last visiting this area. And man, has it changed. One portion of the trail that used to be at most five level steps along the top of an ice block is completely gone now- replaced by a zigzag, up-down path complete with a 50' descent down, across a ladder, three mini ice blocks that hang precariously over another hundred foot drop, then a side scramble up to another ladder. One portion then requires you to scramble up on hands and knees before topping out again, at the same elevation as the start. It makes you truly appreciate those level spots now, openly praying that they don't go anywhere anytime soon. I crawled up to the top, plopped down in the snow and stared at Francisco- maybe 30 horizontal feet across from me. He was about to go through this torture-fest when after catching my breath I went "yayy..." He just shook his head silently and began. I didn't see him again for ten minutes after that and when I did, he went "yayy..." and plopped right down in the snow where I did. I think Willie believes we are both suffering from HACE.

From there, we began our slow and methodical descent to Base Camp. Through the Soccer Field, into the Popcorn and across what I'll affectionately term Crazy Ladder #1. This thing is ridiculous. First of all, it's on an angle, so you slide all over the rungs. It hangs over one of those crevasses that you can't see the bottom of, just black- so you have that going for you. It's been stretched and twisted by the moving icefall so dramatically that its support ropes are as tight as piano wire. Best of all? It's four ladders tied together. Four. So, it bows even when no weight is on it. Put a person on it and it turns into Galloping Gertie, the old Tacoma Narrows Bridge shown in black & white footage swaying and bouncing before finally falling into Puget Sound. I'd try to get some video footage crossing it, if it didn't scare me to death so badly.


Toward the end of the Icefall path, the weather cleared, the temperature rose and it actually became pleasant. Francisco and Willie were about 100 meters behind me as I approached one of the last ladders- and one that historically had given me the most problems. So, I was interested in taking more time than usual as I dropped in behind a line of Alpine Ascents team members who were in the process of crossing one of the two that cross this particular crevasse. As I waited, I heard the familiar chatter of a radio behind me and just assumed it was Willie until I heard not Nepali or English, but something else. Glancing behind, I casually noticed a Swiss guide, complete with IFMGA patch on his sleeve, casually standing behind me- not taking the second open ladder. Whatever, I thought, knowing exactly who it was. Finally, it was my turn and as I was getting ready to cross, the Swiss guide says to me "would you like me to keep the ropes taught for you?" "No thanks," I said and tried to be as polite as I could. Once across the gulf, he crossed, and was gone, just like that.

After a few minutes, Willie came into view and I gave him a wide-eyed look and told him about my experience with the guide who had made himself famous with our team for his bullish tactics and comments just a few weeks earlier. That's when Willie told me all about how after the guide's team lead had heard about his member's behavior, he basically dragged this guy by his ear directly to our Base Camp on one day when we must have been climbing up the hill, but Willie was home. Demanding the guide apologize for his boorish actions, he also offered Willie a team lead opportunity for K2 in 2009... something akin to a Brass Ring for guides.

So here we are now, a few weeks later. The guide is being polite, offering assistance, and being courteous- all things a guide should be, and all things that a climber should be to other climbers. I have to admit. I even found him downright pleasant and appreciated his offer of assistance. And that is in a way, how justice is meted out in the mountains and things come full circle.

After some time, we made the welcoming embrace of Base Camp. G-Man gave us a big wave, the rest of the team came out to welcome us home, and Super Mila learned that in a few days, he'll be going up to Camp II to replace Indra. Despite his best efforts, Indra's going back to his farm down close to Kathmandu and Super Mila will take us across the finish line at Camp II with his good and well-cooked meals. We showered in a snowstorm and talked endlessly at dinner about how we have one last push to the top of the world.

7 May: Down Day At Camp II

Last night was fairly restful, Camp II location considered. I slept the whole night through with the occasional nose blow or pee bottle excursion. When the sun hit the tent, it warmed the inside by 15 degrees instantly. After a hearty breakfast, we were greeted by Danubu and Tendi, making another gear run. They didn't stay long, just smiled their cheerful smiles, had some tea, and headed back down to the warmer, more welcoming climes of Base Camp with Lhakpa in tow. Sherpas prefer Base Camp to Camp II, and will only overnight here during preparation and the actual summit push.

Willie, Francisco and I walked up to the top of Camp II and sat for a bit with some IMG guides that Willie knows, and the topic of conversation turned to the Chinese summit attempt as well as the ever-present Nepal Army detachment, who positioned themselves at the very top of Camp II in order to "monitor" those reckless and scofflaw westerners. Better make sure no one sneaks off and tries to climb the Lhotse Face when no one is watching, right? Even yesterday when we arrived at Camp II, the Nepal Army- likely acting under direction from Kathmandu, who were likely acting under direction from their neighbors to the north- changed the playing field yet again on what we are/ are not allowed to do. Today is yet again another perfect summit day, so hopefully the north side is abuzz in activity as I write this.

After a while, Francisco and I decided to go out and throw a football at 21,000', possibly the highest game of catch in the world at that particular moment. It's pretty neat though- thanks to the rarified air, you can throw that thing for what seems like miles with little effort. We became Hurculean in how far we could throw that ball, but it's short-lived... throw it three or four times and you immediately become winded.

But the ball throw did have one funny side effect. We were throwing the ball right alongside the now-faded and unreadable "Dear Climbers" sign- the same one that warns you from trying to climb apparently also makes the Nepal Army detachment out here think that you might try to climb all the way up with no crampons, light clothes, a Nalgene bottle, and an American football. Three detachment members, complete with a sniper rifle- completely for show, I am confident- popped up and wanted to know what we were doing, and did we see the sign. You mean the sign that says no one past this point? Yep, we sure did. Did you notice that we didn't pass the sign and have one water bottle with no climbing gear? Willie chatted with them- mainly for entertainment and as we walked off I looked back- one had a camera, and was taking pics of another one posing with his rifle and the Lhotse Face in the background. Military members are the same across the world, no matter what country I learned from that encounter.

We wandered back toward our campsite and enroute happened across a Nepali Sherpa gentleman who is attempting to break the World Record for age of a summiter. He is 77 years old and is in fantastic shape for what he is attempting. He's got one fantastic support team to make his goal a reality, but even so he's extremely pleasant and energetic. Francisco and I took a pic with him and told him that we'd see him up top. No idea if he understood us.

We passed the rest of the day eating, drinking and discussing our options. A week is a long time to spend up above 20,000' because the body begins to deteriorate, but we also want to ensure we have as much time at altitude as we can handle. And to be honest with you, the thought of another Bataan Death March like we had yesterday so soon after the first iteration holds as much interest for me as a root canal. Rumor has it that tomorrow the Icefall will be closed for everyone- Westerners, Sherpas, and Yeti. No one gets through. Apparently, there's another rumor that the Chinese are attempting to summit. When this news hit, we all collectively rolled our eyes and even Indra sad something like "yeah, right." We'll see I guess. Here's hoping...

6 May: Base Camp To Camp II

Anyone who thinks that they truly understand what suffering is all about, outside those who have survived Prisoner of War status, and perhaps the ravages of certain forms of cancer- I highly encourage those people to experience all that the push from Base Camp to Camp II has to offer.

Oh. My. God.

You know, I've been through what I consider to be some fairly exhausting and physically challenging events. So far, today ranks up at the top. I didn't just hit the wall; I hit it, the wall laughed at me, fell over on me, and then laughed again. Remember that scene in "300" where Leonidas and the Spartans lured the Immortals into night combat by a wall of Xerxes' dead? There's one poor sap standing out in front of his team and then the Spartans push all those bodies right on top of him? Yeah. That was me today.

It started off uneventfully enough. Lhakpa, Francisco and I headed into the Icefall at 5:15, our goal being Camp II. "This is going to be a big push, you know...” Willie told us the night before. We had heard all the horror stories, but this was our 11th time in the Icefall, so how hard could it really be? The Base Camp->Camp II push is rated as one of the hardest of the effort-driven movements of this climb by Everest vets, especially on the first try, when your body isn't entirely acclimatized for it.

Some of the same familiar sights came into view after the universally hated wave section at the beginning of the Icefall. I swear that some evil guy who sets the route makes this section harder and harder as climbers become acclimatized for camps higher and higher. Ice bloc in one hour, Popcorn Field soon after that. Boy has the Icefall moved in just a few short days. In some areas the trail has shifted dramatically and in others ladders now span massive gaps. There have been several collapses, keeping the Icefall pathway trail a hazardous place to be.

Even today, once past Camp I we learned of yet another collapse that happened in an area we had passed through 20 minutes earlier- the Soccer Field which has collapsed so much this year that the only thing that it looks like you can play there is ping pong. When there is a collapse, the Icefall Doctors scramble into action and Sherpas backlog on either side of the block.

Finally reaching the upper ladders at 3 hours, we also reached the sun. Ahh, nourishing sun. Warm, welcoming. What initially was something we greeted with excitement quickly eroded into frustration as all strength was sapped away. No wind, no clouds. Another perfect summit day for the Chinese. But 10,000' down the Western Cwm, it was baking us. Layer after layer came off, but the damage was done. Our speed slowed to that of turtles as we rounded Camp I and dialed in on Camp II.

Willie, started teasing us about "Base Camp Legs"- a term given to slowness encountered on the trail after several complacent days at Base Camp where you basically have to get the rust back out. Willie, we noticed, didn't have Base Camp Legs of any shape or form. He had slept in, had breakfast and in preparation for a potential shot at the uncontested World Record Base -> Summit Speed Ascent had caught up to us at the top of the Icefall in well under 2 hours. The guy's a machine.

As we plodded along to Camp II, we drank every drop of water we had and essentially made a gut check of it. Camp II is so incredibly deceptive because when you first lay eyes on it, you think "we're there!" Then 45 minutes later, when the camp still seems the same distance away, again you think "we're there!" On this painful iteration it took us closer to 3 hours to make Camp II- extremely frustrating given that just one week earlier it had only taken 1:45. But, that wasn't a Base Camp-> Camp II push, so we understood the difference as we collapsed into crumpled heaps outside our cook tent- completely at Indra's mercy while he knowingly smiled and gave us juice.

The rest of the day was basically a blur, truth be told. Some food, lots of time spent sleeping in tents, some talk about the Chinese and what is taking them so long? Another plane was seen flying around the summit today, but then in the afternoon the Nepal army passed word that the 11th is now on their radar, causing a flurry of discussion about exactly WHAT is going on just across the mountain range behind us. Especially after witnessing today's weather. Some teams are starting to wonder if it's too late, or even worth it at all. But we are staying, no doubt about it. I just wish these guys would get their act together.

1 May: Return To Base Camp

5am wakeup and we were on the trail, heading back down to Base Camp for a few days of rest and relaxation. In many ways, mixed feelings came along with this move. There's nothing more welcoming than Base Camp, G-Man and a great meal by Super Mila after life up in the camps above the Icefall. But when you have spent hours getting to a point where your objective isn't just in sight, it's actually casting a shadow over your tents in the morning, it can be a bit frustrating to turn back, and head down the Western Cwm knowing full well that in just a few days you'll be working your way right back to this spot.


I did some quick calculating last night to see what sort of elevation gains we have made so far in this expedition. Keeping in mind that there are always up's and down's (case in point are those infernal waves at the top of the Icefall where you start at 19,200', drop down 50' to the well of the wave, then scale a 20' ladder followed by a 10' ice scramble that leads to another 20' ladder. At the top of that is a 6' vertical ice wall you have to climb. Net gain: 6'). I recognize some of these altitudes may not jive with textbooks, but I'm just using my rudimentary altimeter and roughing out specifics for ease of mathematics:

Trek in: Lukla (8,700')-> Base Camp (17,500'): 8,800'
6 Apr: Gorak Shep (17,000')-> Kala Pathar (18,400'): 1,400'
9 Apr: Base -> Ice Bloc in Icefall (17,800'): 300'
11 Apr: Base-> Soccer Field (18,500'): 1,000'
13 Apr: Base-> Kala Pathar (18,400'): 900'
16 Apr: Base-> End of Fixed Lines (19,350'): 1,850'
19 Apr: Base-> Camp I (19,600'): 2,100'
20 Apr: Camp I acclimatization hike (19,750'): 150'
21 Apr: Camp I acclimatization hike (20,330'): 730'
22 Apr: Return Base Camp
27 Apr: Base-> Camp I: 2,100'
28 Apr: Camp I-> Camp II (20,600'): 1,000'
29 Apr: Camp II acclimatization hike (21,000'): 400'
30 Apr: Camp II-> Camp I-> Camp II: 1,000'
01 May: Return Base Camp

Total Altitude Gain So Far: 21,730'

There are still two more camps to hit as well as the summit push, so coupled with at least three more forays to build on altitude, I think we are largely 1/3 of the way there.

As we moved down and down, we noticed immediately that the Icefall has been quite active, flowing downhill and shifting the trail that the Icefall Doctors work diligently to maintain. Some ladders were outright missing, some are in jeopardy of snapping, while ropes that were once casually placed for guiding climbers are now so taught that you could play them like a guitar string. From Camp II to Base, it took a little over 3 hours, which we heard is pretty good.


But Base Camp is now a ghost town. Willie asked me if I wanted to accompany him on a walk when we got back, and I agreed despite how badly my dogs were barking from all the downclimbing through the Icefall. Willie is a known entity here, and well respected at that. So walking with him is essentially a stop-and-chat with all the Who's Who of Everest. It's amazing how many people he knows, or who know him and have built reputations out of mountaineering. But today, it went relatively quickly. Because of the shadow of the Olympic Torch summit ban, entire teams have moved down to lower climes- some even as far down as Namche. I don't know... I sort of see this as a professional risk. You get all the way down to Namche Bazaar, and all of a sudden the warm air, green trees and luxury items like bakeries and shoppettes begin their Siren Song. I wouldn't be too surprised if this also thinned the herd and many don't return when it's time.

We did stop by the Icefall Doctors, who Willie knows personally after many years. These highly trained and specialized Sherpas are hand picked to work the thankless job of keeping the Khumbu Icefall trail open for climbers. Without their work, none of us would be able to get through the Icefall in the speed that we do. We had a cup of coffee with them and then were back on our way, walking the empty trails and spotting the occasional climber who had decided to sit it out and keep our fingers crossed that the Chinese summit as soon as possible.

Speaking of which... as we returned to our Base Camp and G-Man immediately bogarted my iPod, we heard a Sherpa speaking excitedly over the radio that the Chinese had just summited. It all made perfect sense. Not a cloud in the sky, no wind and mild temperatures. We had heard that the Chinese had summited yesterday too, but that their torch didn't light when they were up top, requiring a second ascent for their perfect photo op. Rumors, rumors, rumors. We had all seen the plane yesterday, and there was another one today- two, even Francisco said. We all fell for it, and continued to believe that the Chinese summit attempt was all in the past. Until we learned that it wasn't true. Argh! Who is this evil Sherpa!? Doesn't he know that April Fool's Day is in April, not May 1st? Oh well, back to contingency planning.

We passed the day relaxing and then watching a copy of "Superbad" that one of the trekkers who visited our compound yesterday brought along for us. "What's up, gangstassss??"

30 April: Camp II Continued

What a miserable night's sleep. In between the tossing and turning, nose blowing and Chain-Stokes Syndrome causing you to drift in and out of consciousness, I think I got a grand total of 30 minutes of sleep. This includes from bed time at 18:30 to sunrise at 08:10 the next day. And what a perfect way to welcome the sun- the snow show raining down on us inside our tent from an entire night's worth of precipitation buildup and the... wait... what's that noise? It... sounds... like a... jet? Jumping out of bags and racing for tent doors, I accidentally release an unexpected shower of snow when bumping the tent roof. Joe is too tired and intrigued to care much, so I run outside and snap a few pics of a white lear jet circling Everest as it bounces clearly within China and Nepal.


Much speculation abounds as to whether this is it- did the Chinese just summit with their torch? The plane circles around for what must be at least ten passes. No word at breakfast, just mere speculation. It's the first plane we have seen / heard since Lukla, so it's definitely a unique sight to bring in the morning. Later, we learn through the grapevine that the Chinese were actually on top- but the torches that they brought along to light once at the summit wouldn't ignite. So it's back to status quo for us.

A little later, we set off for Camp I on an exercise hike with a mission- we have plenty of gear still staged down at Camp I, so we need to move it up along with basically doing a reverse acclimatization climb. Going down, we were truly moving- 35 minutes tent-to-tent, including crossing some truly hairy ladders. As the glacier moves and reconfigures itself, some of the tiniest cracks are now gargantuan crevasse just days later.

Once at Camp I, we spread out gear and divvied loads: Willie took a frikkin' car battery, Lhakpa took a VE-25 tent, Joe took a solar panel, and I grabbed an antenna. The food, including a good chunk of the remaining MREs, was divided among us and we geared up. One remaining tent- the VE-35 was left at Camp I with some miscellaneous supplies and oxygen bottle in the event a storm rolls in as we are enroute to or from and need a safe harbor. Apparently, one year a Jagged Globe team was stuck above the Icefall for three days before the storm abated and they made safe passage.

Kicking off back to Camp II, the altitude came slowly, but regularly and we made Camp in 1:45, which meant we shaved 15 minutes off our last time, and 1:15 off our original time. It's painful, to be sure. But it does come.


Returning to camp, we also passed several more of the Nepal Army Camp II Detachment. One Lieutenant and Sergeant we happened across were hurting pups, even after summiting Everest in 2003. We small talked with them for quite some time and found them to be quite pleasant. We asked about the plane, and learned that despite the Chinese technical glitch on the torch, they were expected to be summiting in the next couple of days. All of the Army members we came across were very pleasant and extremely professional. We tried to come up with a time when we could meet socially, but the time of day coupled with the Camp II ass-kicking terrain of Camp II (we are 400 vertical feet below their 21,000' location) made that impossible.


So, instead we wished each other well and in passing, the Lieutenant told me that because he has 32 teeth, he can predict fortunes- and our team’s fortune is to summit. First good news in a long time.

We returned to another great dinner in our cook tent and one last chore before bed- to thoroughly tie down our tents- apparently winds at Camp II can approach 100 mph, so we want to make sure that in a few days when we return, we have tents to return to... 100 mph. Yikes.

29 April: Acclimatizing At Camp II

So some funnier things have happened as we have climbed higher and higher into the rarified air. First, I have noticed that I have turned into some form of human snot machine. I'm not alone in churning out ectoplasm at a superhuman rate, it seems like almost everyone's doing it and reaching for the Chinese toilet paper we have here regularly. Last night I went through almost an entire roll of the fragile TP just to pass the night with halfway normal sinus cavities.


Then about three times I wandered out of the safe confines of the tent to pee. With all the cracking and creaking of the super-hard glacial ice here I then became the recipient of some crazy altitude dreams once back safely in my bag. While Francisco dreamt of fixing lines and actually woke Willie for assistance, I dreamt that on my night walk, I saw a Yeti. Yup, that's right. A Yeti.

So, it was quite a night here at 20,600', where resting pulses race at 110bpm. Finally, the sun hit the tent and it was time for breakfast. Tendi and Danubu made it to Camp II in under four hours and joined us in the tent, where Danubu had a consistent cough and Tendi admitted to me that his nose wouldn't stop running either (he did this great enacting where he takes both hands, points them downward, palms facing inboard and goes "nose is running!" while alternately moving one hand after another from his nose to chest). Even though the only time Sherpas stay at Camp II overnight is on a summit push, this is the altitude where they too begin to experience the effects of altitude. Later today, we saw two Sherpas on the side of the trail in need of assistance. Smiling and waving, Tendi and Danubu took off, heading back downhill to the thicker air at Base Camp.

Willie, however, had different plans for us. Moving tents, shifting platforms, changing the cook tent layout, etc. It made for a busy day and he also sent the three of us to the top of Camp II at varying points, which actually proved beneficial. From our spot, it is still a 25 minute climb to the roof of Camp II and a sign placed by the Nepal Army which reads "Notice: Dear Climbers, All of you are not allow to go forward from this point till 10 May, 2008. I thank you for your consideration.

Enroute back, I bumped into a few Nepali Army soldiers and chatted with them for about 15 minutes. Let me tell you how happy they are to be sent to Camp II. All professionals, and all prior summiteers of Everest, they are doing their jobs. They have seven team members that have been assigned to Camp II to enforce the no climbing ban. All seemed friendly enough and while they did have a Soviet-style sniper rifle, I was thrilled to note that not a single one of them possessed a Chafing Gun.

Returning to our tents, we collectively noted that while not as boring as Camp I, there sure isn't much to do here. By bedtime, my heart rate had dropped to 78, which is fantastic given that tomorrow Willie, in an effort to keep us busy, has decided to send us to Camp I and back. We can't go up, so... great. It'll be back up to 110 bpm by lunch.

28 April: Trek To Camp II

I don't know how we did it, but somehow last night we ended up with 12 hours of sleep. Twelve! I personally woke up four or five times to shift, etc. but when I'd look at my watch, it felt great. Reflecting on this with Joe and Francisco later today, the feeling was universal- holy cats, do we have a long time till sunrise.

But eventually, the sun did rise, and we began to assemble our gear for movement up the Western Cwm to Camp II, our home until May 1st. We learned that the trail has moved away from the infernal glacier waves, thankfully enough. Now there's just a long, straight upward line that hugs Nuptse to follow- which may prove tiring, but nowhere near as exhausting as the original path we followed a week ago.

Reliably, Tendi and Danubu showed up first thing in the morning, along with Crazy Camp II Cook (Indra) to help move our camp. The goal is basically to pull out Camp I from this point forward. We'll leave an emergency tent with oxygen and meds incase we get caught halfway between Camp II and Base Camp in a storm, but from now on we will walk right by Camp I enroute to Camp II. By the way, when I say "help move," I really mean move. I took a pic of the team wearing their gear and another one reflecting Tendi's pack next to mine for comparative loads. I don't consider myself a slacker by any means but when you feel completely weak up here in air 48% thinner than at sea level, it's hard to haul anything until you are acclimatized- which these guys absolutely are. I lifted Tendi's pack and had to spend the next three minutes catching my breath while he looked on and laughed.

I know I keep going on and on about Sherpas and their capabilities, but not a day goes by that I'm not thoroughly impressed with what they have genetically become preconditioned to do up here. Take Danubu as case-in-point. This guy gets the call from his cousin (Lama Jambu) to come join our team and in four days is at Everest Base Camp. Two days later, he has made regular appearances at Camp II. Sure, he has seven summits under his belt and his brother holds the world record speed ascent. But I'm pretty sure that over the years Sherpas have naturally selected out things like Edema and have some special switch that clicks on the second they pass 10,000' where they start producing millions of extra red blood cells in some mini red blood cell factory.

So after two hours, the team made its way into Camp II and meandered among its tents. As I wandered along the trail deep in a moraine that makes up the camp boundary, I happened among three amazingly friendly Indian climbers whom we have passed several times over the last few weeks. Without flinching, they smiled and pulled out a thermos and crackers, offering me and Joe a mid-trail snack. One is from Mumbai and two are from North India as we learned. We all chatted for about 10 minutes before parting ways but it was another example of how friendly people can be up here, even at 20,600'.

Indra whipped up a great lunch and dinner for us, making use of a pressure steamer in ways that I didn't even know it could be used. For us, the rest of the day was spent acclimatizing, lazing around, and basic camp improvement projects. For example, Lhakpa and I hung a solar light in the cook/ dinner tent. This somewhat simple task took 30 minutes.

I also ended up listening to song after song which seemed to ironically have tropic or beach themes. Iz, plinking away tranquilly on his ukulele in Hawaii. The Beach Boys. Even songs from "The Beach" soundtrack about an idyllic hideaway in Thailand. All while gazing down the icy and frozen Western Cwm, along with the thousands of feet we have already traveled to make it here to be base of Mt. Everest, its ultimate goal towering 8 1/2 thousand feet above.

27 April: Trek To Camp I

I honestly don't know how G-Man is so cheery at 4am but however he does it, I appreciate it. "Good morning, Dough" (there's no silent "H" here- it’s pronounced just like it's spelled).

5:10am and we were off like a shot- thanks to the mad dash yesterday the base of the Icefall seemed fairly open. I was curious to see how acclimatized and rested we were after several days "off," but what I soon learned is that some things aren't that romantic. Despite hauling ass and pressing as hard as I could, I only shaved 10 minutes off the time it takes to reach the ice block we use as a mile marker of sorts, located close to the base of the Icefall.



Gaining altitude, the increase in speed is there, although nothing dramatic. My understanding of this slow and deliberate process is that with time, repeat trips, and higher forays up the mountain it will come. Indeed, I did pass several teams who stopped, got out of the way, and waved on with a breathless wandering expression on their faces.

Up higher, I had another run-in with a Swiss group. Boy, I tell ya. What's going on with these pushy and cocky Swiss? Ya know, I have plenty of Swiss friends so this isn't an indictment of the Swiss in general. But Swiss climbers here think they own the mountain. This particular group of two were cutting and bumping other climbers, again not practicing safe procedures. Even Sherpas were looking at each other in disbelief as these two stared on haughtily with disdain at anyone who wouldn't make way for them.

Interestingly enough, at almost exactly the same time as I had my run-in with this Swiss group, Willie had yet another altercation with the loose cannon IMFGA Guide from the other day. In a pinnacle of arrogance, he told Willie that unlike him, we (as in, our team) weren't "qualified" to be here, among other things. But of course, he is. Now there's a guide I want to follow. You know, I have spent years getting myself prepared and in what I consider to be decent shape for this climb, and I know my fellow teammates have done the same. What an absolute ass. 38 teams out here, and these guys are doing their absolute best to alienate themselves from the rest, time and again. Well, for one thing they must know something the rest of us don't. But I do know that climbing books are riddled with obituaries of guys like these and can guarantee that if there's a safety line to clip into- I'm clipping.

A little while later, we did manage to get dusted to Camp I by an Italian named Marco who had just arrived at Base Camp yesterday and was enroute to Camp II. Friends and teammates of Roberto and Angelo, the Italians we had lunch with and who are attempting a summit without supplemental oxygen, Marco had only taken 2 1/2 hours to make the high ladders at 19,300'. The sun hit us, and I said "doesn't that feel good, Marco?" "Doug, I am so sorry, but I am too tired to find pleasure in the sun right now." I smiled as he continued on his way, disappearing quickly into the snow waves above the Icefall. I waited for the rest of our team and felt my body core temp jump thanks to intense UV rays, and soon thereafter even my toes came back to life from frozen blocks jammed inside climbing boots.

Five hours and fifteen minutes later, we pulled into Camp I, tent to tent. Not as quick as we had planned, but we still shaved 45 minutes off our previous time. Joe pointed out that we have been through the Icefall to varying distances nine times now.


Jumping into our bags, we all caught some Zs, which felt fantastic. Lhakpa began to root around and stumbled across a bunch of MREs (Meal Ready to Eat) and cooked up some dinner. MRE's. Yep, I can't get away from them- standard field rations for US Marines. Every month for the last several months, and once again here they are- in the Western Cwm, in Nepal. Among the team, they were a huge hit, too. Designed to be extremely high in calories, sodium and fat content, each MRE as a full meal can contain up to 5,000 calories. So I warned the guys about what Marines already know- having an MRE can shock your system and stop you up for a good two days. But given the environment and being easy to prepare, they truly hit the spot.

19-22 April: Foray Into Western Cwm

Here comes G-man with tea at 4am again. He's so damn jolly sometimes and when it's still pitch black out and your tent is sparkly with frost, he's definitely a welcome sight. Shake, shake, shake... "Good morning, Dough!" (they still think my name is spelled with an "H"). I'll just let them think that and say that it's a Silent H. At least it's not like other pronunciations, ranging from Duck to Dog.

We set off through the Icefall by 05:30 and made solid time. Soccer Field in 2:15, top of the ladders an hour after that. Then as we made new altitude and we hit these massive waves at the top of the glacier, our speed ground to a snail's pace. Some Swiss goofballs who pretended not to understand English made things difficult for the entire team; some ladders proved to be natural choke points where the Icefall Doctors need to add in extra lanes for up and down. But by continuing to press, we finally made Camp I after 6 hours. Wahoo!

Francisco and I, working together, waded on past the fixed ropes, and our lungs screaming at 19,600', looked desperately for our tents among dozens. True to team form, we were located at the farthest site, at the end of a painfully steep hill. Francisco and I must have looked at each other several times as we were "in" Camp I, but still had another 20 minutes of snail-paced trudging- and at least one rope and virtually vertical slope to scale before making our camp tents. When we saw Willie and asked him about this, he mentioned the possibility for avalanche in certain parts of the Camp- and how our particular tents were safe based on where he positioned them. Good enough reason for me, truth be told. I'll take the long walk for that insurance.

When we arrived, we found Tendi happily digging, preparing our cook tent. Tendi, of course, had left a few minutes before we had, yet had arrived a mere 2 1/2 hours later- a scorching time that he proudly told us about and made sure we also knew that when he had arrived at Camp I, the sun hadn't even touched camp yet. We were so proud of our time that morning, making the top of the Soccer Field prayer flags when the sun finally hit us, but little did we know that while we had another 3 1/2 hours of climbing in front of us, good 'ol Tendi had already reached his objective. So to keep busy, this superhuman decided "hey, maybe to avoid boredom I'll build a cook tent" and went about it with a massive smile on his face.

Joe and I threw our gear into one tent- a North Face VE-35, and Francisco & Willie took a North Face VE-25. Both four season tents are ruggedized for just about anything a storm high in the Himalaya could throw at them, but Joe and I noted that in addition, ours was firmly roped and staked down to the ground. Winds here, ripping off the Lhotse Face and roaring down the Western Cwm can hit these tents with such force that having the ropes in place definitely made us feel better about keeping in one place and not turning into a sail.

I can't begin to tell you how excited I was to open up my 8000m Down Climbing Suit and -60 Degree Sleeping Bag- both made by Feathered Friends in Seattle. When I pulled them out of their compression bags and Joe did the same, it looked like a down bomb had gone off in our tent. I think that the inside was easily a foot deep in down of different colors, fabrics, and shapes and the two of us were responsible for clearing out an entire duck factory's worth of feathers. Just by opening them, the temperature inside increased a few degrees.

There, in the corner of each tent was a clear reminder of where we were located, so high that evils like cerebral edema and pulmonary edema exist and lurk in the rarified air. Fortunately, nothing dealing with acclimatization has struck our team, but it's always better to be prepared in the event that oxygen is needed.

Over the next two days, we acclimatized to Camp I and made moves toward Camp II, located further up the trail and almost at the base of Mt Everest. The first day, Willie offered for us to "take a 20 minute walk." I don't think any one of us believed that we were going to put on all our gear for 20 minutes, but we played along and headed out. The glacial waves continue for some distance beyond Camp I, across now familiar aluminum ladders and up steep faces. After some time, the glacier flattens out as the trail leads toward Everest, providing stunning views of both our objective and where we still have to go- one foot in front of the other. Hidden crevasse and loose snow bridges riddle the trail. Some are clearly visible; some only rear their ugly head after stepping on them.

We were clearly ahead of the power curve in pushing up to Camp II, and that was plainly evident in our mode of travel- roped up as a rope team on a trail sometimes barely visible. We even pushed ahead of the Icefall Doctors, who we passed as they worked their magic. But as we moved up and up, the risk increased so we were constantly vigilant of every step as we moved. I have to say that in many ways, this was the first time on this trip that I felt like I was climbing- truly climbing- in a close-knit team expeditionary manner. We were only one of a few climbers to make it this high this soon, and it felt great- definitely ahead of the power curve and setting the course for others to navigate by.

I looked down at my altimeter at one point and it read just over 20,053'. Everest summit is 29,035' so we are getting to the point now where we are under 9,000' from the true goal. Ultimately, we made it as high as 20,330', which is higher than Mt. McKinley- the roof of North America. It felt good, despite having no energy and feeling like no matter how hard we breathed in, there just wasn't enough air. The air is too thin it's crazy.

Each night, the sun slowly sets with afterglow on Pumori as we prepare dinner in our cook tent. As we tell stories and joke around, the temperature drops like a rock and a full moon pops up, right over Lhotse and shining down into the Western Cwm. We crawl into our huge bags tightly gripping a hot water bottle designed to heat up the inside of our bags and drift off, having vivid altitude dreams.


On the 22nd, we returned to Base Camp to recover from our trip, and prepare for another trip up into the thin air a few days down the road. It's absolutely amazing... we can breathe better, our oxygen saturation has shot way up, and it's easy to forget that Base Camp is "way down" at 17,500'.