elite climbing is an effort involving speed, efficiency, and safe practices. When all three of these systems fail at the same time, extreme danger surfaces. Putting yourself in the same situation over and over again and walking away can feel like a gift of survival, when really the odds are no different than they are at a Las Vegas blackjack table. Or as one Seattle mountain guide explained: “It’s like an all-you-can-eat buffet for some of these climbers. Those first four plates taste delicious, but it’s that last piece of bacon that might send them over the top.”
Chris had been climbing a few years with some success, and she found the exhilaration of the sport addictive. In Appleton, she frequented a new climbing gym whenever she was home visiting her parents. The locals, unaccustomed to a climber of her caliber, gave her a wide berth. “When she came in, it was pretty much all business. She was totally on a mission,” remembered Paul Kuenn, who owned Vertical Stronghold, the Midwest’s first climbing gym north of Chicago. “People would generally let her do her thing, but they’d definitely stare. Every now and then I’d overhear someone saying, ‘Man alive, that woman has been on the wall for over two hours and she hasn’t put her feet down.’ She crossed from one end to the other.”
Kuenn had arranged the holds so Chris could travel 170 feet sideways by going around the bouldering area, changing directions, and coming back without stopping to break. “This is Wisconsin, so there weren’t exactly tons of people who knew who she was as her ascents became bolder,” he said. “But eventually she was in all the climbing magazines. It’s funny, she really didn’t care about any of that. She wasn’t into celebrity. She’d come to the gym and bring her mom to watch. The two of them together—decent, humble Midwesterners.”
CHRIS AND KEITH CONTINUED TO scrape together vacation time, finding long weekends to flee Atlanta for greater challenges throughout 1994 and 1995. On one such getaway, New Hampshire was the destination. Relative to the mountains of the Greater Himalayas or the Andes, Mount Washington in the White Mountains of New England pales at 6,289 feet. Yet its proximity to the intersection of several storm tracks makes it one of the deadliest mountains in the United States. Catching storms from every direction, the mountain faces brutal gusts that can come out of nowhere. Small outbuildings at the peak are chained to prevent destruction. In 1934, a wind speed of 231 miles an hour was clocked at the mountain’s observatory, a Northern Hemisphere record that still stands.
Wind buffeted Chris and Keith as they began their attempt on Mount Washington’s northern face. “Ready, Chris?” Keith called. He stood a distance from her, on a wall of steep ice.
Unanchored but roped to Keith, Chris looked down, double-checking the toe straps on her crampons. “Yeah, one sec. I wanna make sure I’ve got these tightened.” A blast of air trapped her words, carrying them away before reaching Keith. Leaning over, she caught a glimpse of the rope, furiously uncoiling. Reacting immediately, Chris jumped hard on her ice axes with her body to arrest Keith’s slide. He had been caught by the gust, knocked off balance, and was plunging down the ice in a near free fall. Digging into the ice with her crampons and tools, Chris stopped his fall, hoping the axes would hold.
A sharp pain rocketed through her hand, radiating up her arm. Sensing that the axes were holding firm, she peered down and saw her husband’s face—a look of horror as he lay flat against ice. His fall had been stopped. Silently, Keith made his way back to her, relying on his crampons and pulling only gently on the rope as he heard his wife’s cries and saw it wrapped around her hand.
“Keith, are you okay?”
“I’m okay. Don’t move. I’m coming to you. Don’t move your hand.”
Her left hand gripped the ice axe, her right hand was limp against the handle of her second axe, bones crushed underneath skin. “I think I broke my hand, Keith. Dammit.”
“You broke your hand but you saved your husband,” he said. “You saved my life, you ridiculous woman!”
The chill of the snow was no match for adrenaline. Chris and Keith held each other, breathing heavily. Her hand was battered, but her confidence high. She’d weathered her first big test. Keith leaned over and kissed her. She smiled, then winced.
“That’s enough for today,” he insisted. “Let’s go fix that hand.”
Walking to the car, she said, “I’m ready for more.”
“More? How about we talk about more after dinner once you’re in a cast?” He knew she was ready for the big ones. “Those eight-thousand-meter peaks are no joke. You’re gonna need both hands for those.”
“I can be ready,” Chris said. “By summer. Broad Peak. Scott Fischer will be there and it’s our time, too.”
“Scott’s been climbing for ten years. He’s done K2 and Lhotse. He could probably do Broad Peak in his sleep,” Keith said.
“I’m not going without you,” Chris pressed. “Are you in or out?”
“After today, I owe you one. I’m in. Broad Peak, it is.”
CHAPTER 4
AN INDUSTRY BOOMS
OF ALL THE CITIES IN the country to establish a foothold in the climbing industry, Seattle in the 1980s and 1990s loomed large. Located on the Puget Sound in the Pacific Northwest, Seattle offered proximity to the Cascade Range and the Olympic Mountains, providing a wealth of opportunity for climbing at every ability. Longtime residents included iconic climber Fred Beckey and the Whittaker brothers, Jim and Lou, who’d learned the art of outdoor adventuring in the local mountains. They had put their skills to test on peaks all over the world, including Everest, which Jim had summited as the first American in 1963.
Successful, growing businesses such as Microsoft and Starbucks drew employees who wanted to spend their weekends and days off skiing and climbing in the nearby peaks and ski areas. Local outdoor retail companies Eddie Bauer and REI fed the appetite for cutting-edge gear, while recreation experts of all stripes established guide services that provided full-service expeditions for those interested in adventures. In 1987, Vertical World opened, billing itself as the nation’s first climbing gym. By the time Chris’s hunger for climbing began, Seattle had expanded its pitch to those across the country seeking the same rush.
Gambling that he could make a go of it in the adventure travel business, Scott Fischer and his partners had opened the doors of Mountain Madness in 1984. He and his wife, Jeannie, had moved to Seattle thanks to her job as a pilot for Alaska Airlines, which afforded Scott the chance to climb mountains and launch the business. Seduced by climbing from a youth filled with National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) courses, Scott began by guiding friends. Mainly, he crafted the company to take clients to the peaks he loved. Scott made no secret of the fact that the business was born out of his desire to link his sport and his income.
Scott’s strength and skill at scaling mountains were formidable. He loved telling stories in which he was the punch line, blurring the divide between novice climber and master. Treating everyone, from Sherpas and high-altitude porters to clients, as equals became a hallmark of his expeditions, along with honoring the environment, which Scott believed was as important as treasuring its beauty.
Among Scott’s earliest supporters was Geri Lesko, who had come to the sport of mountaineering in her late forties. Geri had gained an appreciation for the outdoors from summers at a family camp in Yosemite. Mountaineering became a natural passion, and she pursued fourteen-thousand-foot peaks in California and Colorado. In 1990, she found herself in Washington attempting to summit Mount Rainier, where she met noted Seattle climber Ed Viesturs. She was introduced to Scott in 1995.
“The first time I met him,” Geri recalled, “he extended his hand to escort me from the cab. I’d arrived to view a pre-expedition slide show in Seattle for a trip I was taking with him to Pakistan. I looked up and said, ‘Scott, you are just as gorgeous as everyone says you are, but are you any good?’ He laughed and said, ‘You’ll see.’” Fifteen years older than Scott, Geri became a confidante and trusted adviser, lending