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AccomplishmentsAt the age of 15, in 1953, I first heard of Norgay Tenzing and Sir Edmund Hillary’s climb to the top of Mount Everest. Their success rested dormant in the back of my mind for many years until one day in the late 1980’s a facilitator at a self-development workshop said, “Write down three things that you’d like to do and will likely never do in this life time.” Without thinking I wrote, “Climb the Matterhorn, see Everest Base Camp and climb Kilimanjaro. “ I was not a climber and can only think that my subconscious mind triggered these latent desires, but somehow, that was the start of my many adventures. In 1991 my adventure-seeking son, Paul, went trekking in the Everest Base Camp area in the Nepal Himalaya. Here was the spark that ignited the almost forgotten goals so glibly written three years earlier. One year later we spent three glorious weeks back packing in Nepal, trekking long days, climbing high passes and assisting in the evacuation of a fellow trekker who had contracted altitude sickness. On the return flight we flew past Mount Everest. I could not stop myself from snapping photo after photo and wiping unexplained tears from my eyes. Months later I realized that the trip had changed me. Every time I looked at my photos or talked about the trip an inner glow permeated my being; I had fallen in love with the mountains and the spirituality that accompanies such endeavors. I wanted to climb higher and more remotely…but didn’t have climbing and glacier travel experience?” The answer: go on a guided climb and learn the ropes. I decided that if I was going guided, I should learn in a serious and ‘worthwhile’ climbing environment - Mount McKinley. My application was rejected with the comment, “You don’t have enough experience to be on this mountain. Go and learn on Mount Rainier.” Later I learned the other comments raised by that application: “What is this old person, with no previous climbing experience, thinking?” Mount Rainier was my training ground for glacier travel, crevasse rescue and high altitude survival. Weather prevented a summit attempt until the last day of our five-day sojourn. Most of the climbers were content to reach the crater rim, but I wanted to reach the highest point on the other side, about 600 yards away. The guides urged speed, since the decent included breaking camp and returning to base in the same day. Speed at 14,490 feet, through a snow filled crater and after a climb that started at 3 AM is taxing, to say the least. Once I reached the top I descended with childlike glee, running down the snowfields. The next day my lips were twice their normal size. Altitude and the snowscape had caused severe sunburn to unprotected lips. The guides had cautioned us about sunscreen, yet had said nothing about lip protection. Five days later the swelling and the pain began to subside. My reapplication to join a late April climb was accepted and gleefully I flew to Alaska. While setting up base camp on the Kahiltna Glacier at 7,000 feet, we heard the thunderous roar of an avalanche careening down nearby Mount Foraker - a scary introduction to the high country! On the steep, icy slope leading to the West Buttress I found both my crampons suddenly on the sides of my boots, rather than the sole where they are supposed to provide security and traction. I had not strapped them on tightly enough. One of the toughest physical tasks I have ever accomplished was to fix the problem. On 55-degree icy slope it is not possible to sit down, or remove a 45-pound backpack, or chop a sitting ledge for comfort. Finally everything was in place and we could climb again. At 7:30 p.m. on Day 20 we reached the summit ridge: 20 minutes and only 200 vertical feet from the top of North America. But it was not to be. Gusty winds and cold temperatures took the wind-chill factor to below minus 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Even worse, clouds rolled in. The summit, barely visible upon our arrival, vanished and with it any hope of a final summit push. Getting trapped at that altitude in whiteout conditions is a prescription for disaster. Yes, this aborted attempt was disappointing, yet the magnificence of the mountain made it no big deal. It simply meant returning on a future date to enjoy the mountain all over again. 2000 - Mount McKinley (Denali) Centennial year; what better time to fulfill a dream! We reached high camp on Day 13, strong, enthusiastic and ready for a summit push the next day. Alas, the weather gods had different plans. A storm moved in and trapped us at 17,400 feet for the next nine days. A slight weather-window appeared on day six, but at 19,000 feet the cold temperatures were exacerbated by very high winds and threatening cloud. One of our team members was struggling with the effects of altitude and frostbite on his face. Continuing on was not in the cards. Food and fuel were low and our return flights from Anchorage would not wait for us. We needed a slight break in the weather to start our decent. The lower part of the mountain below the storm mass was relatively quiet. At 11:30 a.m., our break came and we scuttled down the West Buttress. We arrived at the upper end of the Kahiltna Glacier at 9 p.m., facing a critical decision. In mid-June the glacier could only be traveled safely during the cooler nighttime hours. Should we continue down? Or spend the day there and descend the next night? We decided to continue, not knowing that fog would hamper us and we would need to repeat the exact same decision an hour later. Navigating across a crevasse-filled glacier at night, in foggy conditions is not the safest thing to do! We pushed on and finally arrived at our destination at 6 the next morning, tired yet exhilarated. Two climbing buddies and I decided to attempt the Polish Glacier route on Aconcagua. On Jan. 1 we started our three-day trek to Plaza Argentina, base camp for that part of the mountain. The hike was beautiful and uneventful, except that one of our team decided to pack it in on Day Two. We were disappointed because for safety reasons the Polish should not be tackled with only two roped climbers. We continued anyway. On Day 12 we set up high camp at 19,400 feet in 50 mile per hour winds; a rather daunting task. Next morning the weather conditions precluded any chance for a summit attempt. On Day 14 we set off for the top, but again our efforts failed. During the first two hours of the climb, in very cold conditions, my partner experienced difficulties with very cold feet and problems with his crampons. Day 15 dawned with relatively high winds. We checked conditions hourly and finally set off at 7a.m.; at 2:30 in the afternoon we were still an hour from the summit. Conditions were hazy with the odd snow flurry. We considered turning back, but pushed on despite the weather, reaching the top about an hour later. A few moments of rest, a few photographs and then back down, hoping to make camp around 7 or 7:30 p.m. About 1,000 feet below the summit we were caught in driving snow. We had been climbing in the upper layers of a cloud system which had deposited 15 to 18 inches of snow on the slopes below us, obliterating all signs of the trail we had followed on up. None of the landmarks looked the same in the snow. Darkness was rapidly descending and the fresh snow suggested avalanche danger, easily triggered by our passing. We had to find safer slopes - not easy in blizzard conditions. Fortunately my partner had taken GPS readings on the way up. Parched and exhausted we stumbled into high camp at 10:30 p.m. The next day there were further adventures. On our way down from base camp we had to cross a raging mountain stream. The new snow, plus the sunny conditions that followed the storm had caused it to swell dramatically. For 30 minutes we searched for a safe place to ford. Finally, I said to my partner, “I can jump this if you will throw me my back-pack.” He refused, believing it was too dangerous. We continued searching, but kept returning to the same spot. There was a one-foot drop to a rock that was about 3 feet above the current. This could be used to gain momentum. On the other side, another rock showed two promising footholds and a chance for secure hand placement. A slip would be fatal, yet what was the alternative? It was already late in the day and we had at least another five miles to cover to reach shelter. With my pack on I launched myself across the gap and breathed a sigh of relief when my feet and hands locked securely into the safety zones. During the next few hours, trudging over unending skree slopes, my dream of climbing the seven summits slowly took shape. Years before I thought, “Wouldn’t it be neat to celebrate the morning of my 65 birthday on the summit of Kilimanjaro, watching the sun rise over the land of my birth.” This dream became reality on the morning of July 16, 2002. We had climbed through incredibly beautiful climatic zones, from rain forest, to temperate, to semi arid, to dessert and finally alpine. Mount Kilimanjaro is one of the most beautiful volcanic peaks in the world; it juts out of the Tanzanian landscape like a commanding fortress. Summit “morning” started at midnight in dark, cold conditions. Ideally one would have timed the climb for a moonlit night, yet the stars were not in alignment with my time frame. To my surprise I met the famous Swedish mountaineer, the late Goran Kropp and Marnie McBean (World and Olympic gold medal winner for women’s rowing) at the top. What a wonderful birthday gift, and what a thrill. My climbing quest, the seven highest points on the seven continents, has come with some unexpected bonuses. How can one go to Russia without spending time in St. Petersburg? This incredible city was celebrating its 300 centennial and is as spectacular as the posters that brag about it. Every mountain is unique and weather is always an issue. Summit morning started at 1 a.m., yet the predicted storm had already started dumping snow, making climbing unwise. At 3 a.m., the storm had abated sufficiently to allow an attempt. It was still snowing and fog was creating strange images and visions. A European team, who had set out at the same time as us, turned back. The next few hours we climbed in a daze. Vertigo made uphill seem like downhill, yet we knew that the topography was leading us ever higher. Finally, at about a thousand feet below the summit, we broke through the cloud layer and emerged into the most beautiful sunlight, a cloudless blue-black sky above. At 11a.m., we stood on the highest point in Europe. The descent was rapid and the beauty of the Caucasus Mountains, obscured by mist and darkness on the way up, made any climbing hardships a distant memory. The greatest unknown when flying into the Antarctic is weather. We were lucky, our flight was only delayed by 12 hours; between four and 17 days is not unexpected. We departed from Punta Arenas, Chile, at 11 p.m., and as we made our way south, starting at about 2 a.m., we flew into the most enchanting, colorful dawn. The yellows, pinks, oranges and blues were magically reflected on the white Antarctic desolation below. At 5 a.m., we landed at Patriot Hills, a seasonal base, in brilliant sunshine. For the next fortnight we were plunged into 24-hour daylight; although expected, still a unique experience. From Patriot Hills we flew to the Vinson base camp and began acclimatization drills. On Christmas day we were climbing the steep headwall to high camp. Although well below freezing the relentless sun and climbing exertion made us very hot. I couldn’t help thinking, “What the heck am I doing here when I could be celebrating in comfort with my family.” Next morning, in windy cold conditions (-45 degrees F) we pushed for the summit. The higher we climbed the calmer and warmer it got. On top we took photos and lounged for an hour in glorious, windless conditions, without gloves and heavy protective wear. However, the weather did not co-operate for the flight from base camp back to Patriot Hills. At midnight on New Years Eve the sun was bright and about 20 degrees. As recreation we started a chin-up competition. One by one the contestants retired. The greatest challenge came from a 34-year-old mountain guide. We had each done the required 15. On the final pull-off neither he nor I could complete the 13th chin-up; a fitting conclusion to the night’s festivities. Allthough the highest point on the Australian continent, Mt. Kosciuszko, can hardly be called ‘a mountain worth climbing’, it is one of the Seven Summits. At only 2228 m. (7310’), a ski tow to do most of the work and a metal mesh walkway virtually all the way to the top, it is no surprise that I met families with babes in arm strolling down from the summit. December 29th started out early. I had to do some shopping to construct my summit flag, pick up the rental car and drive from Canberra to Threadbo and the Snowy Mountain range. It was late when I arrived; I had to rush because I wanted to depart for New Zealand and Mt. Cook as soon as possible. The day was pleasantly warm, the sun was shining and people of all ages were coming toward me as I left for the top. The park warden said the distance from the top of the gondola to the summit was 7 KM and the round trip would take about 3 hours. I didn’t have three hours and raced for the top. A few photographs, a salute to the southern sunset, a run down and a speedy drive back to Canberra concluded the day. Next day I caught a flight to New Zealand. Except for seeing some beautiful countryside and using some wet hikes to stay in shape, the trip was a blow-out. I was stuck at the base of Mt. Cook for nine (9) days in blustery, stormy weather. I caught a glimpse of the beautiful peak only once on our bus ride to the mountain. “Nothing moved on the mountain this season”, I later heard. Pity, after coming such a long way! This was the year I had scheduled to climb Mt. Everest, however my fiancée required surgery in April and the Big E. had to wait. Instead, I had unfinished business in Alaska…the summit of Denali had eluded me twice before and, if the weather Gods so decide, I still only have a 50:50 chance to reach the top. I was thinking, “I know the terrain and this will be old hat”, quickly realizing that anyone who thinks of Denali as a walk in the park is definitely an arm-chair mountaineer. Ski Hill is steep, the Kahiltna Glacier extremely hot under a blazing sun, the air drier than in the Sahara Desert and the packs and sleds heavy. Brian sets a blistering pace and twice I have to request a ‘1 minute breather.’ Later, Amos thanks me for doing so since he too was struggling with the pace. Five days after our start we set up camp at the head of the Kahiltna Glacier. Motorcycle Hill, Squirrel Hill, the Polo Field and the climb to Windy Corner were all very hard work with our packs and sleds in tow…and as always, a reason to dig down deep. Windy Corner was covered in rock-hard blue ice and had to be traversed carefully, yet rapidly. Rock fall had already taken some lives in this area, and we too were greeted by a massive chunk tumbling past, just clipping Vince’s packed sled. Disappointment at the 14,000’ camp. The weather had turned against us and instead of acclimatizing and resting for two (2) days we were stuck here for five (5). Will this mountain ever allow me to reach its top? Finally a break and we do our first haul up to the West Buttress. What an awesome ridge, the Kahiltna and Peters Glacier thousands of feet below, that leads us past Washburn’s thumb to High Camp (Camp 6). Here we are to spend an acclimatization and rest day. However, that was not to be. The weather was turning and it was now or never. When we reached The Horn, our turn-around spot 10 years earlier, the summit ridge lay before us in its majestic beauty with a clear blue sky above, I could not prevent the tears flooding my glazier glasses. What a sight. Before long, we were celebrating on the roof of North America. What a feeling of accomplishment and joy. Next day we left high camp in the early afternoon in very windy conditions….had we done our rest day the summit attempt would again have been impossible. At 6 am the next morning, exhausted and 12 straight hours after leaving High Camp, we were back at the ‘Kahiltna International,’ awaiting for the plane to pick us up. My trusted climbing boots had finally decided enough is enough; giving me four huge, painful blisters where, after any years of use the inner-boots had now worn through. Such is life! After years of dreaming about climbing this mountain, and never really believing it would happen, we are on our way into the Solo Khumbu (the Mt. Everest region). On April 2, 2007, we fly to Sengboche (approx. 12,500 feet/4000 meters) on an old Russian helicopter. Ten (10) days later we are at Base Camp; the body needs time to adapt to the rarified air at 5350 meters (17,500 feet). Chemical changes take time; more red blood cells must be built. We stay at Base Camp a few days to continue the acclimatization process, to train and become acquainted with the perilous Khumbu Ice Fall. Finally, on April 19 we set off for Camp 1 at 5945 Meters (19,500 feet). Prior to coming to Everest I had over trained, had trouble acclimatizing at Base Camp and was now struggled up between towering, treacherous ice chunks. Many of the chunks exceed the size of a three and four story apartment building, and all leaning downhill as the glacier crumbles and tumbles down the steep slope on its way to the sea. It is a brutally tough day. Next day we move up through the Western Cwm in ambient temperatures of over 100 degrees Fahrenheit to Camp 2 (6400 meter/21,000’). Two (2) nights and one day here, then we head back to Base Camp. A few days later we move all the way from Base Camp to Camp 2, a 12¾ hour long day. Another acclimatization day and then up the steep Lotse Face to Camp 3, just over 7000 meters (23,000 feet). After a tough night, our bodies crying out at the oxygen deprived air, we move back down to Camp 2, Base Camp and all the way to the 3660 meter (12,000 foot) elevation. Three days of rest, eating and hydrating like crazy are followed by a two (2) day push back up to Base Camp. Now the agonizing wait for the right weather conditions begins. Will we get a suitable summit window? Will I have to come back to the Khumbu once again to realize my Seven Summits dream? And, the expense!? Departure day finally arrives. Base Camp to Camp 2, one day here, then on to Camp 3 and our first whiff of bottled oxygen. Next day we climb over the famous Yellow Band and the Geneva Spur to the historic South Col, Camp 4 (7900 meters/26,000’). Now a rest day, or at least an attempt at resting, for the summit departure is set at 9:30pm tonight. The stars are out, a sliver of a moon hangs in the western sky as we make our way out of the shelter of the tents and into the cold night. I don’t focus on the cold, my mind and emotions are strictly linked the beautiful night scene and the task ahead. Up, up we go, past The Balcony, the Triangle and the steep slopes leading to the south summit. What a night and what a view as the sun cracks the eastern horizon around 5 am.
At 8 minutes past eight on the morning on May 22, 2007 (10:23pm Eastern Daylight Time, on May 21st), 50 days after moving into the Solo Khumbu, I stand on the highest point on earth. I celebrate with a few photographs and flying a kite1 high into the clear blue sky crowning this momentous Himalayan day. Thirty two minutes later, after my trusted guide and team sidhar, Lakpa Rita Sherpa, repeatedly yells to put my oxygen mask back on, to pack up and start the descent, I wave goodbye to this sacred place – the peak of Chumalungma (translation: The Mother Goddess of the Earth). 1 Destined to become world renown as The Peace Kite |
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