The Call of Everest Read online

  The budget for the AMEE expedition was $405,000. This was a huge sum of money for its time and would be equivalent to over three million dollars today. To add perspective, our expedition budget in ’94 was $80,000, and this included a mandatory $50,000 peak fee for the ministry of tourism. But even more impressive than the monies raised were the breadth and volume of support that came from myriad benefactors. It is hard to comprehend in this day and age—when expeditions receive little public attention or support—the wellspring of backing the AMEE received. Private individuals donated personal funds, companies and stores donated tons of equipment, and a host of government organizations backed the endeavor. NASA, the Department of Atomic Research, the Navy, and the Air Force all donated substantial funds to the expedition in return for scientific research. National Geographic was also a major supporter in return for the photographic and film rights to the expedition. So captivated was the nation with the expedition that President Kennedy received the team at the White House and Life magazine ran a cover story featuring the climb.

  The objectives of the AMEE were lofty, to say the least. The primary climbing goal of the expedition was to place a man on the summit via the Southeast Ridge. This was accomplished on May 1, 1963, when Jim Whittaker and Sherpa Nawang Gombu stood on the top of the world. This feat alone marked success for the team, but further goals were in store. The idea of climbing the never-before-attempted West Ridge, traversing the mountain, and descending the Southeast Ridge became the secondary objective. The West Ridge is a route that truly embodies the spirit of mountaineering—it is visionary, technically difficult, and requires a tremendous amount of commitment. In 1963, the mere idea of ascending via the West Ridge was at least 30 years ahead of its time. Willi Unsoeld and Tom Hornbein’s success on the route was to mark America’s greatest Himalayan achievement to date.

  Not only did Hornbein and Unsoeld climb the West Ridge on May 22: They met my father and Lute Jerstad near the summit of the mountain and then began to descend through the night. Nightfall caught them out in the open and they were forced to bivy at over 28,000 feet without stove, tent, or oxygen. The team huddled together exposed on the Southeast Ridge with no other option except to wait for the light of morning. Nobody had spent the night out at this altitude before, and it was uncertain whether survival was even possible. Twice I climbed past the site where the foursome spent the night unprotected below the summit and on both occasions I remember being overwhelmed with the notion that this was the location where my father struggled to stay alive through the night. I often wonder what occupied my father’s thoughts as he waited for the cold and blackness to give way to the morning light.

  LIVING SCIENCE

  The other objective of the AMEE was to perform scientific research while on the mountain. In essence, the AMEE was its own scientific lab. Significant research and experiments were performed in the disciplines of glaciology, solar radiation, physiology, psychology, and sociology. Every member of the team contributed in some form to the research component of the expedition. In 1963 there was not a great deal of data on high-altitude physiology. The AMEE not only provided the perfect lab but all of the specimens to study as well. The results from the AMEE provided concrete documentation of the effects of altitude, particularly above 8,000 meters, and this body of knowledge has served as the foundation for all subsequent altitude research done in the United States.

  The Navy and Air Force were quite interested in the social and psychological aspects of a team subjected to prolonged high stress and extremely cold weather. Their interest was prompted by the U.S. Defense Department’s belief that the country would most likely be involved in a conflict where soldiers would be stationed in very cold, stressful, and remote conditions. Interesting as they were, the results of the research were most likely biased, given the exceptional bravery and strength of character of the expedition members.

  Assembled by expedition leader Norman Dyhrenfurth, the members themselves were the best and most experienced mountaineers in North America in their time. The list of members reads like a who’s who of the ’60s era. Just thumb through any guidebook from almost any climbing destination in the United States and the names Corbet, Pownall, Emerson, Unsoeld, Jerstad, et al. can be found in connection with significant ascents all over North America. Not only were the AMEE members exceptional climbers, they were highly educated and professional. The team had three M.D.’s, five Ph.D.’s, and five M.A./M.S.’s. (Three of the members were working on their Ph.D.’s on the expedition.) These men were from the renaissance mold of climbers; their avocation of climbing was separate from their vocations, which only makes their feats on Everest even more impressive.

  Fifty years ago, this expedition was undertaken with a mixture of excitement, adventure, and optimism. When we look backward we have the benefit of seeing the risk of exploration and the light of its results. The tangible results of the AMEE are quite clear—six members on the summit, a new route on the mountain, and a massive body of scientific research produced. Less tangible is the tremendous influence these climbers and their expedition had on subsequent generations to follow. Virtually every climber who ventured forth into the mountains in the generations following the 1963 climb read either Hornbein’s Everest: The West Ridge or Ullman’s official account of the climb, Americans on Everest, if not both. These books influenced countless climbers on many levels.

  SETTING THE BAR HIGH

  Most important, this team set the benchmark of what was possible for American climbers in the Himalaya. After reading these accounts, one comes away with the belief that anything can be accomplished; and one comes away inspired to accept the mantle of these mountaineers’ legacy and follow in their footsteps. The world of the known expands only when we place our faith and support in those brave enough to take giant steps. We would be nowhere, essentially, without the bravery of our explorers, and that’s why we are celebrating this anniversary. In essence, any American climbing in the Himalaya is climbing in the footsteps of giants. And among these giants are all the members of the 1963 American Mount Everest Expedition.

  A lifetime of climbing and 46 years of age brings greater perspective in the mountains—at least it has for me. No longer armed with the invincibility and strength of youth, my last climb opened my eyes even more to the AMEE’s achievement. A chorten to commemorate my father sits behind Tengboche monastery alongside memorials for his friends and fellow climbers Gil Roberts, Lute Jerstad, and Jake Breitenbach. It’s a powerful sight with a beautiful view up the valley and Everest looming above all else. I visit these chortens whenever I’m in the Khumbu to string up Tibetan prayer flags and to have a drink with “the boys.” Tears are shed, and once again I feel like the kid in his kitchen surrounded by his heroes, listening with amazement and wonder to tales of Everest.

  —BRENT BISHOP Brent Bishop is a climber and environmentalist and son of Barry Bishop, member of the 1963 American Everest expedition. In 1994 Brent Bishop founded the Sagarmatha Environmental Expedition, which has since helped to remove thousands of pounds of trash from Everest.

  THE LEGACY CLIMB TEAM

  Wiry Hilaree O’Neill, redoubtable Dawa Yangzum, and I, aging but unrelenting, arrive at Everest Base Camp on April 10, joining the rest of our team. Like Jim, we’ve all come to the Khumbu to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the first American ascent of Everest. Led by Conrad Anker, renowned alpinist and Everest veteran, the 2012 Everest Educational Expedition is composed of nine climbers, eight high-altitude Sherpas, one high-altitude Sherpani, three communications technicians, and seven Base Camp staff. Our Sherpas—Ankagi, Danuru, Jangbu, Lakpa Bhote, Mingma, Panuru, Sonam Dorje, Tendi, and young Sherpani Dawa Yangzum—are some of the most experienced in the business. Our sirdar (Sherpa leader), Panuru, has summited Everest 9 times; Danuru, by far the strongest member of our team, has summited 13 times.

  The Western climbing team is composed primarily of The North Face professional athletes. Besides Conrad, 49, there is Hilaree O’Neill, 39
, ski mountaineer; Kris Erickson, 38, photographer and ski mountaineer; Cory Richards, 30, mountaineer and photographer; Sam Elias, 29, elite mixed ice climber; and Emily Harrington, 25, a competition sport climber. Rounding out the team are National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) field manager Phil Henderson, 48; Montana State University geologist Dave Lageson, 61; and myself. Combining our experience, we’ve totaled over 200 expeditions, but only Conrad has previously summited Everest.

  Conrad and Cory will attempt the West Ridge, the rest of us the South Col. Not surprisingly, merely climbing the mountain is insufficient for Conrad. Hence, as in the ’63 American expedition, we are also conducting geological and physiological research, as well as creating an elementary school science curriculum.

  The team, almost 30 members in all, comes together for the first time at Base Camp. Spread across the rock-strewn, ever shifting Khumbu Glacier, the 17,600-foot Everest Base Camp is probably the most famous, albeit ephemeral, town of its size in the world. The pre-monsoon population is perhaps 900 temporary inhabitants: some 300 clients and guides, a matching number of Sherpas, and another 300 Base Camp staff and porters, not to mention the constant flow of yak trains, their bells ever tinkling in the frigid air.

  THE 2012 LEGACY Climb team at the beginning of the expedition

  BASE CAMP CITY

  Just like every town, Everest Base Camp has neighborhoods. Our camp lies in the southern burbs, near the huge Himalayan Experience outfitters camp. Himex, as it is commonly called, boasts the highest, tackiest nightclub on Earth—the Tiger Dome—a massive, hard-skeleton geodesic bubble with a 30-foot tiger rug spread over a flexible dance floor, big speakers, fake tiger fur draping lounge chairs, and a free-flowing bar. We will burn a few brain cells in the Tiger Dome—Conrad and Emily swinging like monkeys from the ceiling, Hilaree and friends diving in tandem off the bar into the crowd—before crawling back to our tents in the wee hours.

  On the main street going into town is the International Mountain Guides borough to the left, and Mountain Experience to the right. Farther along is the ever busy helipad, a circular patch of rocks, and the large white tent of Everest ER, the medical center, founded ten years ago by Dr. Luann Freer. Downtown can be found Mountain Guides, the Korean University, Happy Feet, the Indian Military and two dozen other expeditions of unknown provenance. Each hood looks fairly similar, with a long, rectangular mess tent surrounded by 10 or 20 orange or yellow dome tents and a couple vertical blue or green outhouses. Prayer flags flap like community banners from the stone chortens of each neighborhood.

  Despite the bad press over the years, Everest Base Camp is a fairly tidy place. The SPCC—Sagarmatha Pollution Control Committee—is the Base Camp’s city council, and they make the rules. Tent outhouses are fitted with plastic barrels and all human waste is transported down to the village of Gorak Shep. Unlike at higher camps, here at Base Camp every team is required to pack out what they pack in.

  Daily life in BC City is surprisingly civil and leisurely. You can get the Internet, iPhone reception, and the occasional cook whips up a birthday cake. As at summer camp, the staff provides meals so the climbers can rest, recover, listen to music, take pictures, send e-mails, write blogs, prattle on the phone, or just stare, mouths agape, at the avalanches roaring off the surrounding flanks of Pumori and Nuptse. We even have afternoon tea, a classic sahib tradition.

  The majority of the inhabitants here are not hard-core climbers. They’re clients with the dream of climbing Everest. Many of them have been successful in another walk of life—business, medicine, technology—and, knowing full well how long it took them to gain their own skills, are happily paying for the expertise of a guide. It’s easy to mock these aspirants, but there will always be people with the cash to climb Everest, and as Whittaker noted, they could be blowing their bucks on more dubious pursuits. Instead, these neophytes are willing to risk their lives passing through the jaws of Khumbu Icefall, suffer the smashing headaches and projectile vomiting and weeks of intense fatigue, just to stand on top of the world. That doesn’t make them mountaineers, but it does speak to their conviction.

  The first few days at Base Camp are spent acclimating, and many Westerners either get the “Khumbu crud” or spend a lot of energy doing all they can to avoid it. The sometimes squalid teahouses along the week-long hike to Base Camp can be petri dishes for disease, and few escape some form of gastritis. If you don’t get the crud, you’re almost certain to get the “Khumbu cough,” an irritation of the bronchial tubes caused by the extremely dry air. A hacking cough is the ubiquitous symptom, and soon everyone is wearing buffs over their faces like bank robbers.

  FACING THE GLACIER

  The first obstacle on the south side of Everest is the infamous icefall. The Khumbu Glacier, like a gargantuan bulldozer, plows down off the Lhotse Face between Everest and Nuptse, pushing walls of blue ice before it. Dropping over a cliff just above Base Camp, this mile-wide glacier splits apart, shattering into building-size blocks and seracs as tall as church spires.

  Every year the route through the icefall is set by the “ice doctors,” a small hit squad of Sherpas who take mortal risks to navigate the safest passage, putting up ropes in the steep sections and stretching ladders across the abyss-like crevasses. Nothing more than a massive, moving river of ice, the Khumbu Icefall is constantly shifting, groaning, and collapsing, and if you happen to be there at the wrong time, you will be swallowed in a crevasse or crushed by a falling serac. Three Sherpas died in a single accident in the Khumbu several years ago. This spring a line of prayer flags demarcates the beginning and end of the most perilous section.

  According to actuarial research, more deaths on Everest occur coming off the summit than wending through the icefall. Nonetheless, passing through the maw of the Khumbu is a morbid game of Russian roulette, so we try to do it in the dark, before the sun warms the ice and it begins calving. We leave Base Camp at 2 a.m., following the beams of our headlamps on our helmets like miners. On my first trip I’m paired with Danuru. When we reach the first line of prayer flags, the starting gate to the death zone, he allows me to catch my breath, then says, “Now we go!” and takes off running uphill, literally, carrying a 60-pound pack at 18,000 feet, his crampons scraping on the boulders of blue ice.

  What does it feel like to go through the Khumbu Icefall? Imagine walking on railroad tracks through a dark mountain. You know a train comes roaring down the tracks at random times. There is no way for you to get off the tracks if a train comes. Sometimes the tracks go over a rickety bridge, with a bottomless pit below, and you have no idea if the bridge will collapse when you walk out on it. But there’s nothing you can do. So you just keep walking, hoping you’ll be lucky, hoping the train doesn’t come until you’ve passed through the mountain.

  Carrying food and fuel, tents and oxygen bottles, our Sherpas will hike through the Khumbu 30 or 40 times in one season, whereas we Westerners hope to only run the gauntlet perhaps eight times. The days we are resting in Base Camp, the Sherpas are humping loads through the Khumbu for us. It’s a mercenary business that raises real moral questions.

  VOICES

  THE MOUNTAIN AND MORE

  Mount Everest isn’t supposed to be a difficult mountain to climb. “Climbing” is often not even used to describe the act of reaching the summit of the world’s tallest peak. “It’s just walking. It’s not hard”—that was something I’d often heard through the years. Growing up in the climbing community gave me an opinionated perspective toward a place I’d never even visited or bothered to learn about. When non-climbers asked me if I ever dreamed of climbing Everest, I would snidely reply “Um, no. That’s not the kind of climbing I do.”

  Well, I’m now eating my own arrogant words. I went to Everest this year on a trip with The North Face. Conrad Anker asked me to be a part of the team, handed me the opportunity of a lifetime, and I took it. I had little knowledge of the alpine climbing world and zero experience in high-altitude mountaineering. I had a very skewed v
iew of the uniqueness of Everest itself and the intense polarizing effect it has on the community I was a part of.

  THE STRUGGLE

  Everest is a controversial place, full of both real-life danger and ego-crushing criticism. Climbing Everest was the most personal struggle I’ve ever had to undergo during a consecutive period of time. I’ve never been as sick as I was with a respiratory infection when I first arrived at Base Camp. I’ve never fought so much physically to keep pushing, taking steps, and enduring the exhaustion, extreme heat, and bitter cold. I walked by dead bodies, human souls who’d lived just four days prior, and left this world in pursuit of the same goal I was trying to achieve. I was afraid a lot of the time. Never before have I faced a truer reality: that my own life could be taken away from me by circumstances out of my control, together with the unsettling knowledge that it was my choice to be there, but for what? I fought intensely with my own mind on a daily basis to justify this mission to myself despite the danger, death, and even the harsh criticism I was receiving for even setting foot on the mountain in the first place with no previous high-altitude mountain experience.

  There are some very glaring negative environmental and social impacts of climbing Everest, especially considering the commercialization of it all. People who have never even set eyes on the Khumbu Valley know these things. But there are other aspects that are often overlooked or ignored, overshadowed by the negative ones. My own personal journey on Everest was full of negativity and struggle, but also triumph and success; and I arrived home a different person than when I left. I saw another side to the place that so many criticize and condemn, and what I remember most is the beauty and passion that exists there in so many forms.