with a younger Salt Lake man who had summited Cho Oyu without supplemental oxygen, I wanted to “climb pure” like him. Because I seemed to have solved my altitude problems in the Andes, I expected no problems climbing almost 6,000 vertical feet higher to the summit of Cho Oyu. I trained hard. By the departure date in late August, I felt ready and confident.
My Cho Oyu experience could fill another book. However, this book is about Everest, so it includes only the highlights of lessons learned on other mountains. Climbing in the Andes made me confident, even cocky. Cho Oyu cut me down to size. At Advanced Base Camp at 18,300 feet elevation, I slept poorly and felt lousy much of the time. Eating higher on the mountain was nearly impossible, a problem I had not experienced previously. I went from being the strongest climber on some of my South American climbs to the weakest of our team to summit Cho Oyu. When I staggered the last few steps to the top, I was so happy I wanted to jump over the moon, but all I could do was kneel in the snow and gasp for air. My usual triumphant summit howl, “aaahhhooo… (cough, hack, cough, cough),” sounded like a dying animal. I stared dully at the summit of Everest, another 2,100 vertical feet higher and about 13 miles east as the crow flies. My team mates chattered excitedly about trying Everest next. That day I could not imagine climbing a single foot higher.
Cho Oyu is a popular practice peak for climbers who want to try Everest. After I returned home, friends asked me whether I wanted to climb Everest. I said no and meant it. Each step to the summit of Cho Oyu had been a sheer act of will.
I could think of many reasons not to climb Everest besides my own physical limitations. I had read that Everest attracted too many people with big egos, too much money, and not enough high altitude mountaineering experience. It also attracted people trying to climb “on the cheap.” With few resources they had little chance of summiting and were at high risk of getting into serious trouble and putting others at increased risk. Accounts of the deaths and injuries in Jon Krakauer’s “Into Thin Air” terrified me. Everest seemed too crowded, too risky, too expensive, and beyond my abilities. I was so happy to have summited Cho Oyu. I considered it to be my “swan song” for climbing big mountains. I sold my new down suit and down sleeping bag, rated to minus 40 degrees, on eBay, figuring I would not need them again.
The following year, I learned that Ana Boscarioli, my tent mate on Cho Oyu, summited Everest, becoming the first Brazilian woman to do so. Thoughts about big crowds, high price tags, death, and injury evaporated. If she can do it, maybe I can too, chirped my inner optimist. Then my voice of reason argued, Ana is 20 years younger than you. On most days above 20,000 feet elevation she was stronger than you. Get real.
Even with these doubts, I could not stop thinking about Everest. Some experts claim the body remembers altitude. Perhaps if I climbed high again, my body would adapt better. Maybe I could find foods I could eat and keep down. Maybe I could find ways to sleep better. If I could solve these problems, I would have a reasonable chance on Everest.
The Right Stuff
The idea of climbing Aconcagua intrigued me. At 22,840 feet elevation, it is the highest peak in the Western Hemisphere. It could be a good test to see whether my body could adapt better to high altitude after summiting Cho Oyu. Aconcagua in Argentina was closer and cheaper than trying another big peak in the Himalayas.
Though I summited Aconcagua in January, 2007, my body did not remember attitude. Above 19,000 feet elevation, I had not able been able to sleep or eat better than on Cho Oyu. I was slower than my younger male guides and team members. I was happy about summiting, but with no solutions to my problems with eating, sleeping, and shortness of breath at high altitude, my Everest prospects did not look promising.
A few months after Aconcagua, I learned that Chuck McGibbon, another of the four of us who summited Cho Oyu together, had climbed to the South Summit of Everest. There, Chuck had turned back due to exhaustion. The South Summit is about 300 vertical feet below and about a quarter mile from the actual summit. Turning back “so close” to the summit may puzzle people who have not been there. However, the last stretch, known as the Knife Edge, is a narrow jagged ridge of rock, ice, and snow above 28,500 feet elevation. Drop offs plunge down both sides for thousands of feet. One misstep could have deadly consequences. The Knife Edge includes the famous Hillary Step, considered to be the most difficult part of the climb. When climbers get to the South Summit, they have been climbing for many hours, often in subzero temperatures, eating and drinking little. For a cold exhausted climber standing on the South Summit, the true summit might as well be on the moon.
Chuck was an amazing guy -- a retired calculus professor, Sudoku practitioner, and rock climber. Though he was a couple of years older than me, he was stronger than me on Cho Oyu. If he did not summit Everest, what chance would I have? Yet for some crazy reason, Chuck’s climb to the South Summit made me want to try. I wanted to make it three out of the four of us who summited Cho Oyu together to try Everest. Chuck came so close. Maybe I could learn from his experience.
I hesitated to contact Chuck. I could only imagine how disappointed he must have been to have climbed so high without summiting. However, after a few weeks, I could not resist. He did not answer my email. I was disappointed but not surprised. Then months later I received a reply from him. He had been abroad and had not accessed his usual email account for awhile.
Chuck’s advice was concise. “Don’t skimp on your boots, down clothing, or sleeping bag.” Chuck had trouble keeping warm high on Everest. “Don’t get sick.” Chuck had come down with a nasty GI bug just before his final climb, which weakened him. “Don’t give the guides any reason to turn you back before the summit.” This last suggestion puzzled me. I could not imagine Chuck giving anyone any reason to turn him back, because he had been so strong on Cho Oyu.
I considered Chuck’s advice carefully. If I decided to try Everest, I would make sure I had the best boots, down parka, and down sleeping bag. I could take precautions to lower the risk of getting sick. I interpreted Chuck’s last piece of advice to mean I should get in the best shape of my life.
Climbing Everest is a huge commitment. The time needed to acclimatize and climb the mountain takes about two months. Also, climbers are more likely to reach the summit and return safely, if they have learned the required mountaineering skills and gained high altitude experience, physical fitness, and mental toughness before attempting Everest.
As numerous books and documentaries have made clear, climbing Everest is dangerous. I asked myself again and again, can I accept the risk of permanent injury or even dying on the mountain? Can I face the displeasure of a worried sister and concerned friends? Can I take two months of unpaid leave from work and still keep my job? Can I get strong enough to climb over 2,000 feet higher than the summit of Cho Oyu? If I tried and failed to summit Everest, could I live with that? Did I have the “right stuff?”
I was not sure.
I spent several months reading books and watching documentaries on Everest, trying to assess whether I had what it takes. The Discovery Channel’s “Everest: Beyond the Limit, Season 1” was especially helpful. It highlighted hazards from traffic jams that expose even well-prepared climbers to additional hours of extreme cold and low oxygen, putting them at increased risk for injury or death. It described the difficulties of rescue high on the mountain, especially of climbers who can not move on their own. Capable rescuers are not often available at the right time and the right place above 26,000 feet elevation.
The documentary’s treatment of “summit fever” made an especially strong impression on me. To summit, climbers need a fierce determination to push through fatigue and cold for many hours. However, such determination can drive people to complete exhaustion, and then they collapse and die. I have that kind determination. I have pushed myself through pain and hypothermia to complete other ambitious climbs, marathons, a 76-mile rugged wilderness hike in 26 hours, and a 200-mile bike ride in one day. If I injured myself or died on Everest, I could “live” with that. However, I did not feel right about putting others at unnecessary risk, especially Sherpas.
Climbing Sherpas are rock stars, admired in their own culture as well as ours. They climb above Base Camp, establish higher camps, carry loads of supplies, and accompany client climbers and guides to the summit. Like us, they