looked like a steep snow climb at first, reminiscent of a giant steep but easy Scottish gully, such as Number 2 Gully on Ben Nevis. However, higher up it became a lot steeper, icier and rockier before it joined the summit ridge that Jurek and Artur would be climbing. The rest of the team were climbing together up the original route first climbed in 1964. Shisha Pangma was the last 8000er to be climbed, mainly because it was in Tibet and until the 1980s western climbers had been refused access.
By the end of August, using our experience of many other climbs up to 6500m, Steve and I had acclimatised to nearly 6800m when we narrowly missed being engulfed in the avalanche. But 8000m was a new concept. We could hardly have started our summit attempt in a more naïve fashion, planning our Alpine-style ascent without fixed ropes or a tent. I can barely believe we got away with only taking Gore-Tex bivi bags for the final push. We were incredibly lucky and this was the last time I went so high without taking some kind of bivouac shelter.
As so often happens in the Himalaya, the weather broke and we were holed up at Base Camp for over a week in cold, murky conditions with fresh snowfall most days. I didn’t get bored or even frustrated, as there was plenty of vodka and general craic to be had with the expedition team. By mid-September the weather started to clear and, seizing the opportunity, we left Base Camp. Our overloaded, heavy rucksacks, with equipment strapped to the sides, weighed more than 20kg making it an arduous slog up to the bottom of our chosen line, the unclimbed couloir cutting right to left up the north face. Eventually we pitched a tiny bivouac tent in the flattish glacier valley at around 6900m below the north face.
The next day we left the tent behind, intending to collect it on our descent, and started climbing the steepening snow and ice slope in the couloir.
At first, on the easier-angled lower section of the gully, we took turns to break trail. Sometimes the thin frozen crust would collapse and we would sink knee deep into the snow, which was very debilitating.
Upward progress was slow with our heavy rucksacks and as the angle of the slope got steeper, we roped up. The couloir, or gully as it would be called in Scotland, was about grade 3 with steeper sections of hard ice. Technically we were in our comfort zone, but approaching 8000m with our hefty rucksacks we had to dig deep into our reserves of stamina.
The weather remained clear and settled and we climbed until late afternoon before stopping at 7850m to hack out two eyrie-like narrow ledges in the 50° snow and ice slope. These uncomfortable perches were all we had to lie on for the night. We had sleeping bags to snuggle into, but covered only by a thin bivi-bag we were still cold when the temperature dropped to -25°C overnight. I was in charge of trying to melt snow for water, balancing the gas burner and half litre pan on the snow slope. This essential but laborious task was made more difficult by copious waves of spindrift, which would periodically roar down from the summit ridge and engulf us. Spindrift is very fine-grained snow like freezing sand, which penetrates every conceivable orifice. I could not keep the stove going in the cascading spindrift and we had to survive the night on minimal fluids. Several times during the night Steve mentioned that his feet were cold. I massaged and wriggled my toes most of the night. It was more a torture session than rest and recuperation as we suffered and shivered through the freezing bleak night.
Enjoying milky tea with Tibetan yak herders, at Base Camp. In the background are Artur Hajzer and Lech Korniszewski.
Artur Hajzer and Jerzy Kukuczka at Camp 1. Note the debris from a large slab avalanche. This is where, early in the expedition, our two small tents, with us inside them, were nearly wiped out.
As soon as it was light we packed our rucksacks, anxious to leave our tiny, joyless ledges, but we were determined to summit. The final section of the couloir was steep and rocky in places before we broke out onto the ridge at about 8000m. There we found tracks in the snow left by Jurek and Artur who had climbed their new route to the top the previous day. Seeing the footprints in the snow allowed us to be less anxious, as we now had a trail to follow, however the climbing still needed concentration and we could not relax. It was no bimble. We were on a narrow, airy ridge and on both sides there was a thousand metre drop – no place to become complacent.
Steve mentioned his cold feet again, but wanted to push on. I continued scrunching and wriggling my toes at every gruelling step. We toiled up a steep knife-edged snow arête to the Central summit, from where a long and beautiful snow ridge stretched for over a kilometre to the main summit. It was getting late in the day. We were tired, bordering on exhaustion after climbing difficult technical terrain since dawn, but somehow we knew that we had enough in reserve to reach the summit. We pushed on, following Jurek and Artur’s tracks in the snow. It was nice to think that Jurek had climbed his final 8000m peak.
Working our way along this ridge, all above 8000m, we knew that we would have to retrace our steps in order to descend; yet it never crossed our minds to cut down early and forgo the summit. We had to reach the highest point of Shisha Pangma. It is what mountaineers do.
When I reached the top I remember sitting down in the soft snow as Steve came up. The evening light was turning the snow a shade of orange, and one side of the ridge was already in shade. After a few photos Steve set off down and I soon caught him up. As we dropped down off the ridge, descending onto the open face of the original 1964 route, the light was fading and we had to struggle down in the dark with dim head torches whose batteries were fading fast. This was in the days before modern lithium batteries and LED head torches. Later that night we found our bivi-tent and I managed to melt some snow for water. It had been a debilitating 48-hour push. Steve removed his boots to find that his feet were swollen and dark purple. I recognised it as deep frostbite, but tried not to alarm him. There was no point in warming his feet at this altitude, which would cause extreme pain and make it even more difficult for him to climb down. Nevertheless, I knew that he had to get down quickly, as this was serious frostbite, needing intensive medical attention.
At 6800m, carrying a huge rucksack that weighs over 20kg. I am moving up to the final bivouac, ready for an Alpine-style first ascent of the Central Couloir on the North Face. The line of the route is visible behind. My head is covered to prevent sunburn.
With some effort we made it to Base Camp 20 hours later, where the experienced Polish doctor Lech Korniszewski expertly tended to Steve’s now blackened toes and purple feet. Steve was a big strong 6'5" ex-US Army Master Sergeant but he cried in pain unashamedly as his feet were re-warmed. There was no helicopter to get Steve back to Kathmandu, he had to suffer the ordeal of being carried part of the way, and at times hobble agonisingly on his heels. Once back in the US he had several toes amputated from each foot.
My feet and toes were unscathed. Perhaps I had put more effort into rubbing my feet on the comfortless bivouac ledge, when we had slept out in the open at nearly 8000m. My motto is that no mountain is worth a life, coming back is a success, and the summit is only a bonus. Neither is any mountain worth a digit and I still have all my fingers and toes. Maybe Steve was just unlucky; he did have size 14 feet.
Steve was one of the finest people I have been on a mountain with. He was gallant, selfless and good humoured, all qualities that are essential when you feel exhausted and need to find the inner strength to carry on. Seven years later Steve was courageously helping an injured climber down K2 when a rope snapped and he fell to his death. He was an unsung hero and always ready to help others. Tragically it cost him his life.
Steve Untch awaits a brew in a precarious bivouac on a tiny ledge, scraped and dug into the snow slope above 7800m. I was using the stove to melt snow for drinks. A night in the open at such an altitude is a harrowing experience, and this is probably where Steve started to get frostbite. Later, back in the US, his toes were amputated.
The expedition to Shisha Pangma was a great success. Most of the team climbed the original 1964 route to