sickness. A disproportionate number of Sherpas have died on Everest. If Sherpas had other career options that paid as well, many would not climb. Some say they climb so their sons do not have to. Some Sherpanis (women Sherpas) do not want to marry climbing Sherpas, because they do not want to become widows.
To lessen the chance that I might put others at risk, I made an appointment for a thorough medical exam. If the exam uncovered something that could “blow up” and become a problem on the mountain, I would not try Everest. During my annual check up, I asked my internist to perform an EKG. Based on some minor abnormalities in my scan, she ordered a stress test. The results confirmed the abnormalities and led to a consultation with a cardiologist. The cardiologist wanted my heart arteries imaged. Yikes! I seemed to have fallen into a black hole of medical referrals! I could hear the dollars evaporating from my bank account like snow sizzling on a hot wood stove. However, I dutifully bicycled seven miles to the hospital one crisp October dawn to have my arteries imaged.
At the hospital two friendly young male technicians started an IV, ran baseline tests, and injected contrast material. They also wanted to inject a medication to slow my heart rate to less than 60 beats per minute for clear images. I was pretty fit, so I suggested the medication might not be necessary. They were willing to try without the medication. Once I was inside the massive imaging machine, their smiling faces came into view around its metal flanks. “Want to know what your heart rate is now?” one asked. “Sure,” I shrugged. “38 beats per minute.” His grin widened. He added, “Your arteries are clear.” I was relieved and a little scared. Now I had no medical reason not to try Everest.
Climbing Everest with a respected mountaineering guide company, like Adventure Consultants, is a huge financial commitment. The most highly regarded companies hire the most experienced guides and Sherpas. They pay thousands of dollars for state-of-the-air weather forecast data for the Himalayas. They supply team members with abundant food, fuel, supplemental oxygen, and other supplies. All these resources do not come cheap. And climbing permits for Everest are expensive. As with Cho Oyu, I wanted to optimize my chances for a safe climb to the summit and a safe return. I wanted to go with the best.
I asked myself, can I afford all this? Some Everest climbers mortgage their houses or take out loans. Others seek sponsors. I did not want to borrow against my home or take out a loan. I was not comfortable seeking sponsors. Who would sponsor me anyway? I was not a world-class mountaineer. I was an unknown amateur, an unimpressive looking gray-haired woman in her sixties. Besides, climbing Everest was my dream, my adventure. I did not feel comfortable asking other people to pay for it.
While I was not rich, I have been employed fulltime most of my adult life and have had a solid middle-class income. I have lived below my means and was debt free. During my 20s and 30s I saved. In my 40s I bought mutual funds to build a financial nest egg. When my aunt and mother died, I invested money they left me. I could sell some of my investments to pay for an Everest climb. Doing so would postpone retirement, but I liked my work and was not ready to retire anyway.
I had to face the fact that I could die during this climb. That was unpleasant and depressing. It would have been easier to just avoid thinking about it. Instead, I faced it head on. I updated my will and created a trust. Then, if the unthinkable happened, my sister would have an easier time with the inheritance process. Paradoxically, facing my own mortality reduced some of my anxiety about it.
Climbing Everest would require 10 weeks. I needed approval for an unpaid leave from my job. I dropped hints during informal gatherings, such as hikes with friends from work on Saturdays. My new boss, Keely Cofrin Allen, and the Executive Director of the Utah Department of Health, David Sundwall, seemed receptive, even enthusiastic. I made a formal request. Permission was granted. I had cleared another hurdle!
The Crampon-eating Crevasse
At age 61, I was a capable, though anxious, intermediate rock climber and ice climber. I had developed strategies for dealing with my fear of heights, but it was still a serious demon. I had summited a dozen peaks over 17,000 feet elevation, plus three peaks over 20,000 feet elevation. Yet I was not sure I had all the skills needed to climb Everest. I emailed Adventure Consultants and asked what I could do to further prepare myself. They suggested I take their Everest Preparation Course in New Zealand. As much as I would have liked to visit New Zealand, I could not take that much time off from work. The only company Adventure Consultants trusted to prepare me for Everest, other than themselves, was American Alpine Institute, my old friends with whom I had enjoyed several climbs in the Andes.
I arranged for training in the Mt. Baker icefall in the Cascades in July 2007. It rained the whole time Alasdair Turner, an American Alpine Institute guide, and I practiced in the icefall, a crazy maze of giant blocks of ice, crevasses (cracks in the ice), and seracs (ice towers). While trying to climb the wet rain-polished ice, I took several hard falls. Three years previously I had broken four ribs while backcountry skiing, then a year later I broke an ankle while running. Discouragement and negative self talk threatened to overwhelm me. You’re too old to be falling like this. You could break something – again. This is too difficult and too risky. I was tempted to quit. However, I am not a quitter. Each time I fell, I scrambled back onto my feet and tried again, trying to act more confident and enthusiastic than I felt. When I climbed to Alasdair’s satisfaction, we moved on to something more difficult.
On our last morning Alasdair and I went for one more climb, an informal final exam. As the sun rose in the sky between rain showers, we climbed high into the icefall, moving well. My confidence soared. I was getting the hang of this. Near the top of the icefall, Alasdair told me to traverse up and around the corner of a steeply angled giant block of ice. I got both crampons into the smooth ice and raised my ice axe like a hammer to drive its pick into the face around the corner.
Suddenly my feet popped loose. I fell backwards and whacked the base of my skull just below my climbing helmet on a shelf of ice behind me. Pain exploded inside my head. I saw stars. As I bounced hard and continued to fall, I watched helplessly as my right crampon broke and slipped down a crevasse faster than a greased snake. I crashed onto my lower back and slid toward the crevasse that just ate my crampon. Alasdair’s belay (use of friction on a climbing rope connecting him to me) jerked me to a stop. I leaned forward and peered between my bent knees into the crevasse’s dark depths. I could not see the bottom. My heart ricocheted against my ribs like a panicked animal trying to escape from a cage. My inner whiner wailed, now what? How am I going to get out of this mess with only one crampon?
I took several deep breaths. Break the problem into smaller steps, I coached myself. First I needed to stand up. Pain shot through my head and back, as I sat up and tried to get my weight over my lone crampon. The wet smooth ice was very slick, so standing took several tries. Finally I rose unsteadily like a newborn foal on wobbly legs.
My crampon-less boot slipped out from under me every time I tried to take a step. I used my ice axe to chop steps, tiny ledges actually, to anchor the edge of my boot’s sole. I thought of the early mountaineers who did this routinely and gained a deeper respect for what they accomplished before modern mountaineering boots and crampons. Slowly Alasdair and I picked our way through a maze of weirdly angled ice blocks and crevasses. Alasdair led, placing ice screws and clipping the rope between us as protection in case we fell. I followed, removing ice screws and slings as I climbed past them.
Finally, we reached lower-angle ice peppered with embedded gravel, which provided some traction for my crampon-less boot. My shoulders, tense with anxiety, relaxed a little. Even with the bruises and heart-pounding fright from the crampon-eating crevasse episode, I felt good about the icefall training. I had overcome self-doubt and improved my ice climbing skills. I had gotten into a desperate situation, calmed myself, and gotten out of it safely. I was ready for the next step.
Twenty Neat Stitches
My mountaineering skills and experience at altitude seemed adequate for a reasonable chance on Everest. However, the shortness of breath I had experienced high on Cho Oyu and Aconcagua was still a concern. I emailed Adventure Consultants and expressed my interest in their Everest expedition. I asked whether I could pay for additional supplemental oxygen and begin using it at 23,000 feet elevation. The answer