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| Seven Summits Challenge |
How do I begin to take stock and process something that has consumed my imagination and mindshare for 15 years? (I write....
:))
Everest has been at the back of my mind ever since 2004, flirting with my attention, teasing my confidence. I had no ability nor resources to attempt the mountain until now. On earlier expeditions, I would always meet many others who were climbing non-stop or aiming for one record or another, and I always wondered where they got their time and money from. But no point being envious, slowly and surely I would get there. I was reluctant
(afraid) to say that I wanted to climb Everest, but the thought nagged incessantly until one night in late 2017, I told Melvin that I would complete it and the Seven Summits; a rather bold and tall declaration to make. Where would the funds come from? How would I do that? Can I do that? …. and a deluge of self-doubt.
Fast forward to the past two months of expedition life. I landed in Kathmandu on 1 April 2019 to meet up with my
Climbing the Seven Summits (CTSS) team mates, took about 2 weeks to trek in, scaled Lobuche East peak (6,119m), and arrived at Everest Basecamp (EBC) on 15 April 2019. It was home for the next 1.5months; I did not leave BC for lower villages during rest times. It was such a long expedition and anything could happen in the interim. Joanne, Linda, and Melvin kept reminding me to focus on one rotation at a time and not think too far ahead. (Note: a rotation is an acclimatisation move up to higher camps and returning to BC for a few days’ rest.) So I went through our rotations faithfully, taking great care not to fall sick. I think that was really the tough part – it was too easy to pick up an infection or two, and end the expedition right then. Everyone (at least within my expedition company) comes into Everest well-trained physically. The edge has to be how we take care of ourselves, pace out over 2 months, and stay mentally tough and focused through to the end. The “why” has to be strong enough to pull us through the low ebbs and tough times. I tuned down my emotional lever, dialled up my task mode, and got on with the expedition.
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With Doma Sherpa on
Lobuche East Peak (6,119m) |
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Ladder crossing in Khumbu Icefall during rotation
(Photo by team mate Wayne Morris) |
Summit Push
It was mentally trying waiting at BC for a good weather window. We finished our last rotation and squatted there for about a week, our guides scrutinising every weather report. Finally, the decision was made to move out for our summit bid. I was nervous, yet relieved at being able to be finally going. Based on the weather forecast then, we picked a summit day a day ahead of other teams and moved out before the crowds. The Khumbu icefall was fairly quiet and empty the morning we set off. (Post note: I was surprised to see videos of crowds going through the icefall the next day.) I reminded myself to focus on one campsite at a time; it was a familiar mental discipline, like being in a trail race and targeting checkpoints one by one. Off we went, covering grounds and campsites that I had previously been to. I was without oxygen until the night at Camp 3 (7,000m). It was also the most precarious campsite,
where climbers had literally slid off the mountain while on a bio-call.
After that point, it was unknown territory to me and I did not know what to expect. I sought comfort in my experience on Mt Cho Oyu (8,201m) last year and knowing how my body would work with oxygen at higher altitudes. I could see the Yellow Band (a particular rock feature across high mountain ranges), and the Geneva Spur (a steep rock buttress section) that we had to pass in order to get to Camp 4 (8,000m) on the South Col. We started using oxygen on moving to Camp 4. Ahhh the sweetness of O2. It was very drying for the mouth and throat to inhale through the oxygen mask, but one could feel the difference in effort immediately. It is said that oxygen reduces the altitude effect by about 2,000m!
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| Camp 3 precariously on snow "ledge" |
We reached Camp 4 on the South Col on 20 May 2019 and targeted summiting the
next morning. Alas, the weather forecast suggested high summit winds, which did
not abate through the late afternoon. After much discussions between our guides
and BC, everyone decided to wait out and postpone our summit attempt to the
next evening. Strong winds meant high wind chill factor, and higher frostbite
risks. However, at 8,000m, Camp 4 was not the most hospitable place on earth either,
and there was a constant wind blowing through the South Col. At that death-zone
altitude, the body could not take many nights and still perform thereafter. The
unspoken implication was that if the weather did not improve the next day, we
would descend and end the expedition.
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| Camp 4 at 8,000m featuring a constant wind through the South Col |
It was also then that we realised that several
bottles of oxygen and some tents had gone missing. That greatly impacted our
plan and the next team that was waiting at Camp 2 to come up after us. To the
credit of our company (CTSS and Tag Nepal) and committed Sherpas, they managed
to rake in sufficient stock overnight for our summit attempt. Some of them carried
supplies directly from Camp 2 to Camp 4, and that meant the other team would be
delayed. Given the tent shortage, we were four to a tent; a tight squeeze but really
warm. Everyone slept with oxygen that night, and ironically, some of us had our
best night’s sleep then.
I laid in my sleeping bag, my mind
running wild. The rational side recognising that we were all at the mercy of
the weather, an uncontrollable variable. The emotional side feeling unfair and
helpless that this once a lifetime summit opportunity was in jeopardy even
though I was fit and ready for it. A lot of conflicting senses went through me.
I did not want to move from my sleeping bag, yet I desperately wanted to be on
the move. I wanted to pretend that the situation was a dream, but I really
wanted to fulfil my dream. The anxiety and worry was very real, and I tried hard to calm myself down. I mumbled endless prayers and eventually fell asleep,
clutching my Buddha pendant tightly the entire night.
Summit Day
We spent more agonising hours the next morning as we awaited weather updates from BC. The outlook was supposedly promising, but I have learnt not to take weather forecasts as “confirmed”. There was also the possibility of a sudden change, throwing more spanner in the works. Climbers from other teams were also streaming into Camp 4, with the intent to head up the summit that evening. With all the pent-up nervousness, it was a huge relief to get the green light on the weather and summit bid. I did not want to risk getting stuck in traffic and having to turn around in potential bad weather (if any), or some other delays that prevented a summit. I also did not know how much time I would need. So I decided to start way early ahead of the crowd, and have some time buffer for myself.
A few of us set off around 530pm and headed up the snow slope to the Triangular Face. It was still bright and relatively warm then. There were only a handful of climbers in front of us. I started with a 2L oxygen flow rate, which would gradually be increased to 3L as we neared the summit. We climbed at a comfortable pace, gaining altitude steadily. Before long, we reached The Balcony where we changed to a fresh bottle of oxygen and had a drink and snack. By then, a very long snake of lights had formed behind us, stretching as far down as the eye could see. The next “checkpoint” was the base of the South Summit, where I would have another change of oxygen. There, I could see some lights streaming upwards; it reminded me of night ascents during trail races. My Sherpa, Doma, increased my O2 for that steep slope and off we went, following those lights, crested over the South Summit (~8,750m), over the very exposed Cornice Traverse and eventually up the Hillary Step (rocky face ~8,790m).
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| Start of summit attempt from Camp 4 towards triangle face |
It was a blessing in disguise that I ascended and descended the most treacherous sections in the dark. I could vaguely make out the silhouette of sharp drops on both sides of the knife ridges that I was on. (Ascending) To my left, Nepal, and to my right, Tibet China. I poked at some of the ice-snow next to me and watched them roll into Tibet. Shudders. Since it was dark, I was not exactly sure where the summit was. I saw some lights that had stopped a distance ahead, and I thought they were resting for a drink. It soon turned out to be the Everest summit at 8,848m. I had arrived and was standing on top of the world at 3am, 22 May 2019 (Nepal time)! A couple of my team mates were already there, and we exchanged congratulations. It was not too crowded, but difficult to orientate in the dark. I could make out the Tibetan range on the other side below the summit. A slight wind had picked up, and it was a challenge using fat-fingered gloves to fish out a deeply buried camera and take any decent photos. Likewise, trying to remove either goggles or oxygen mask without dropping anything and not get wind lashed on exposed skin. We clipped ourselves into the few safety ropes and tried to find spots for pictures. It was mostly a quiet affair up there, with summiteers trying to keep ourselves (and phones/ cameras) from rolling off the summit, while posing for some shots. After about 15min on the summit, it got cold and Doma hurried me off.
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| Flying the flag on summit |
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| Prayer flags on summit |
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| With Doma Sherpa on summit |
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| All bundled like marshmallow |
Descent
It was challenging trying to pass the endless line coming up the Hillary Step. Everyone tethered precariously to a single rope, on snow/ rock ledges that had just enough space for one. We slowly clipped our safety (sling) in and out between climbers, one by one, and made our way back on the cornice traverse and to The Balcony. An hour later, the sun peeked above the horizon and lit up the cascading waves of mountains around me. I paused to inhale the amazing sight and looked back at the Summit, the traverse, the ridges. The magnitude of the moment had not sunk in yet, my brain and body were still on survival-mode and full alert – get to C4 safely. Doma and I continued down. Even after the Balcony, we were passing climbers still on their way up. We were amongst the first few to return to South Col that morning, getting in around 830am. I was still on an adrenalin-high and too excited to rest or process the summit bid.
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| Sunrise over the horizon (Photo by Pemba G Sherpa) |
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| Magnificent view on descent |
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| Cascading sea of mountains, breathtaking |
After a few hours of rest and some food, we started to descend to C2 for the night. The expedition was not over yet until we got off the mountain; focus and vigilance was still needed. I think this is where all my ultra-race experiences paid off, a 21h on-the-move day on no sleep and a little food and drink – sounds like a typical 100km race but at high altitude. I got to C2 tired but otherwise ok. The soreness would hit the next day when we had to go back through the Khumbu Icefall and down to BC. Those quads and legs, they felt like post-race morning. After a few days of poor eating (camp food) and high energy burning at high altitude, most of us were in calorie deficits. (Apparently, we burn some 15,000 – 20,000 cal on summit day!) I started the morning in screen saver mode, went into energy saving mode, and by the time I was in the middle of the Icefall, I was quite battery-flat. I plonked myself on the snow, had some snacks, and slowly plodded on. It was my fourth round-trip through the Khumbu Icefall this season, those ladders and routes that kept changing over the past 6 weeks. I took in the surroundings and stood in awe of the glacier for one last time.
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| The ever-changing Khumbu Icefall (view towards basecamp) |
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| Majestic Khumbu Icefall (view from basecamp) |
I returned to BC to news of over-crowding and deaths on the summit. It was sobering to appreciate that so many variables could have gone wrong on the climb. We were so very close to not even getting a summit attempt. So do I regret not getting Instagram-perfect photos? Kinda. Do I want that at the expense of any body parts or life? Not too keen. Counting my blessings and giving thanks for a very safe and successful expedition. From minus-40 to plus-30C, very glad to be home, intact. Grateful.
