Anatomy of an Everest Summit Bid: Unforeseen Incidents, Varying Weather and Judgment Calls

Anatomy of an Everest Summit Bid: Unforeseen Incidents, Varying Weather and Judgment Calls

Editor's Note: Dave Hahn, MountainZone.com columnist and sponsored athlete, was the lead guide for the American Women's 2002 Everest Expedition this season on the world's highest peak. In his latest column for MountainZone.com, Hahn gives MountainZone.com readers a peek at the complicated decision-making process that is an Everest summit bid.

"That is rather unimpressive, don't you think?" The question was to me, on the cushy seat in the lobby of the Hotel Tibet in Kathmandu. But I wasn't expecting it and had to scramble a little to catch up with the idea."Excuse me?"

And so Elizabeth Hawley repeated herself and put it in context for me. She pointed out that we had
plenty of people listed on our Everest permit and that we didn't have many at all on the latest list of those who had been to the top. I could only nod my head in awe of her legendary forthrightness and I meekly volunteered, "Well, we tried pretty hard." But trying hard doesn't get one on Liz Hawley's good list. She, as most of those who follow Himalayan climbing are well aware, is the one who tracks down and interviews every expedition that goes through Kathmandu. She keeps meticulous records, stretching back through the decades as to who climbed what, when and whether they died in the process. And even, "were they living with their girlfriend?" I'm convinced now that my good friend Liz has no space for "tried hard" in her records. Which is ok by me, but still I hadn't been expecting the "unimpressive" verdict.

I was already impressed with my team when we got ready to leave the South Col at 10 in the evening on May 17. Clunking around in big expedition boots at 26,000 feet in the cold, cold night, I was genuinely pleased with the way things were going. The mountain had been climbed for the first ascent of the season the day before, the route was in, the ropes were fixed, the trail was broken, and broken in a big way, since 56 people had made the top. Some had been from our larger expedition, Eric Simonson's IMG trip, of which we were a subgroup.

Logistically, with those folks trying for the top, we couldn't be occupying the same tents at the same time, so the first opening for our bid was going to be on the night of the 17th. And that was fine with me. I hadn't wanted to be in a gathering of 56 people working up and down the Hillary Step. And my judgment was that our guided team needed a few advantages on summit day, not the more difficult opportunity that comes with leading the charge.

 

The weather forecast was for continued good stuff with, as best as anyone could tell, a storm coming in on the 19th. That would work well for us. As I pulled tight the straps of my crampons and stood back up to get a little oxygen in my brain, I looked around at my team, blinding a few sleepy climbers with my headlight. I gulped hot chocolate, flicked off my light and looked up at the dark summits of Everest and Lhotse and the 2 billion stars stretching between them across the South Col. It was a beautiful night, calm and clear, and everybody had their spikes on and appeared ready to ramble, right on time.

It was to be a team of five "middle-aged women" as one newspaper report had tagged it, shocking my clients a little in the process. They hadn't previously viewed themselves that way, but then I doubt that the papers had referred to Ed Hillary or Jim Whittaker or Chris Bonnington or any number of other noted Everest enthusiasts as "middle-aged" or "elderly" when they'd gone for the top at similar ages.

"She hadn't used supplemental oxygen previously and was shocked by the claustrophobic mask..."

I got a kick out of the label and reminded my climbers of it often, ignoring the fact that I was 40 years into my own childhood. I was the lead guide for the group, and I'd brought in a couple of spring chickens to help in the effort. Ben Marshall and Lisa Rust had been with me through plenty of storms and sunny days and cold nights on other mountains on other continents but this was their first work on Everest. They'd been up to the task in every way during the six weeks leading to the summit bid. And that was reflected well by the presence at the Col of four of our five climbers.

Midge Cross had needed to turn back the day before at 24,000 feet. It was her first time to big altitude. She hadn't used supplemental oxygen previously and was shocked by the claustrophobic mask and the way her glasses kept fogging up. The steep ice of the Lhotse Face is a rough place to learn. She'd made a difficult, but sound decision to descend.

The four other climbers had chosen to go on and had climbed well and strong into the South Col, earning a shot at the summit that night. Alison Levine, Lynn Prebble, Kim Clark, and Jody Thompson might have been a little nervous that night, but they were ready to go. At least, I hoped they were a little nervous. I had no interest in guiding people toward the top of Everest who were calm and detached and confident and clueless. I, myself, was properly jittery before the big event, and wondering just what the mountain and the day had in store for us. "Middle-aged" makes the grand assumption that one will live as many years after an Everest summit day as before, but I'd seen far too many people end their years on such days. I couldn't be blasè about the dangers; I wanted every advantage for my climbers. Our Sherpa team gave us just that.

We had one Sherpa "allocated" for each climber that night. There were seven of us, four climbers and three guides, plus Jake Norton, who was going to be trying to take pictures of it all, and so there were eight Sherpas.

"Sixteen people out in the dark, one behind the other, breathing cold and steady oxygen through masks, crunching into the ice with heavy steps and sharp crampons..."

A few hours earlier the Sherpas, under Panuru's capable leadership, had divied up the climbers and had eagerly set about helping their individual assignments. I laughed as I realized that their plan had Danuru watching out for me, but I certainly didn't argue with it. Danuru is one of the strongest humans on earth, just 23 and already a three-time Everest summitter. His third time had come just a day before and now he was raring to go for it again.

I pondered for a moment whether Panuru figured that I needed the most help, but I like Danuru and I was all for teaming up with the big, good-natured, slightly shy farm boy from Phortse. At 10pm, the Sherpas had already worked like crazy helping to get the climbers and themselves ready.

I had spoken to Lisa and Ben and had pointed out that I wanted them taking full advantage of the Sherpa assistance. As experienced and capable climbing guides, neither of them had ever dreamt that somebody would be helping them to put their pack full of oxygen on over a big and bulky down suit. Lisa and Ben were normally the helpers, not the "helpees," but I wanted them to use all available help. I reasoned that every ounce of energy they, and I, could save would be an extra ounce we could devote to guiding, to keeping track of the bigger picture and to making the right decisions at the right times. I was convinced that would give us the best chance for a safe and successful day.

We got walking out over the big broad saddle that forms the South Col. Sixteen people out in the dark, one behind the other, breathing cold and steady oxygen through masks, crunching into the ice with heavy steps and sharp crampons. Jake was a little ahead with Karma Rita and that was fine with me. He liked to be ahead to have the opportunity to set up camera shots, but that wasn't going to make any difference for the next six hours of pitch darkness. He simply liked to be free, unencumbered and in the lead. I, for one, didn't mind having a "scout" out there that I could trust to let me know if we were going to have trouble with the route or the ropes.

"Contrary to popular belief, sucking bottled oxygen at 26,000 feet doesn't bring your neurons anywhere close to the sea level. So the thoughts take a little more effort..."

I didn't really expect either. Even so, almost immediately, I was uncomfortable at the head of my group of 14. Something just didn't feel right. It is difficult to communicate well with others when fully rigged for high-altitude climbing. For starters, the neurons supposedly at work up in one's own brain don't get along as well as they might down on the beach. Contrary to popular belief, sucking bottled oxygen at 26,000 feet doesn't bring your neurons anywhere close to the sea level. So the thoughts take a little more effort to form up and it is physical work to devote air and lung power toward expressing them verbally. Speaking into a rubber oxygen mask does very little to enhance delivery. Loudly repeating whatever it is you have to say might get through to the person standing two feet from you, that is if the wind isn't blowing and their hat or down hood allows a bit of sound into their ears which they register as important over the noise of their own breathing.

Alternatively, if they are farther away from you, you can say it through your mask into the mike of your radio. Then a bunch of folks will stop what they were doing and dig out their own radios wondering what it was you just said, who you said it to, and in what language it was meant to be.

In daylight you might raise your arms or give a thumbs-up to enhance this radio traffic, pointing here or there if it helps, but in the dark, if you looked back at 14 climbers in all their gear and tried to figure out what was going on, you might be uncomfortable like I was.

I stepped out from in front of the column before we got to the steep Triangle Face and Danuru looked at me. I explained that I wanted him to stay out in front and to go SLOWLY. Which is actually to suggest that I wanted him going the normal pace for a climber above 26,000 feet setting off on a big day — a snail's pace compared to the rate he himself would normally choose.

"They know that climbing up in the dark with daylight coming on is good, but that climbing down with night coming on is bad..."

The Sherpas believe very strongly in getting these days done and over with. Not that they don't like going for the summit. They do, ours had volunteered for the day, they were not ordered to go up, but they like to stay businesslike on such days. They know they don't have unlimited oxygen. They know that storms come in and bad things happen the longer one stays up high. They know that climbing up in the dark with daylight coming on is good, but that climbing down with night coming on is bad and that those who spend nights out end up dead or living with difficult injuries. And they are absolutely correct in all of this.

Everest summit days are best accomplished without delay. On the other hand, there is no use in our attempting to guide people up there if we just burn them out in the first 30 minutes by going too fast. Guiding does mean that greater risk is accepted in being out longer on a summit day, but that greater risk may be offset by sticking together and watching out for one another.

I wanted to lead from behind that night. I reasoned that if anybody wasn't
fit for going on, for whatever reason, then I should be the one to tell
them. After all, I was the one who'd been to the top three times and the
one who had turned back just short of it three other times. I knew what lay
ahead and I knew how much energy a climber needed to make it through an
entire day.

Ben was back there pulling sweep initially, but I took off my
mask and explained that I wanted him in front, keeping Danuru at the pace
our team needed. I didn't actually say much. We'd been working together
for long enough that I had a lot of confidence in Ben's abilities by this
day. I didn't need to tell him to take breaks when he reached safe places
with the team. I didn't need to tell him to keep those breaks short and
useful. I didn't need to tell him to keep in touch with me on the radio
should we get split up. And I didn't need to explain to him that I was
taking the rear so as to guide better and not because I was feeling old and
in the way.

-->
In fact, my intention was to use Ben or Lisa for any turn-around from
up high and I was thinking that I would go to the top with the
group, regardless of whether I was at the front or the back of the
column.

My first task at the back was to figure out why Alison was lagging behind.
My assumption was that she had reached her limits and that I should have her
go back to high camp before too long. Alison was a less experienced climber
than some of the others and we had worked continually through the trip to
coach her on more efficient methods of moving. She would beat herself up
physically before perhaps getting into a decent rhythm and conserving energy
to finish the day.

Walking just ahead of her in the dark and looking back
to check on her, I knew she needed to have her technique dialed from the
start, or else. I stopped to face her and we both squinted in the glare of
clashing headlights. While I checked that her oxygen was flowing at the
proper rate, she said that she was feeling too hot, so I reached out in the
cold night and pulled off her hat and found another perfectly good hat
underneath it. I pulled that one off. There was one more, a really fine,
well-designed hat. I pulled it off to reveal simply the hood that is part
of the oxygen rig. Plenty for the conditions we were in with uphill walking
and a full down suit to keep warm. I shoved all the hats in a pocket of the
pack and we were off. Immediately she was doing just fine.

 

Within 15 or 20 minutes we had rejoined the back of the team and
the whole mob started up the ropes of the Triangular Face. That hill is
steep and straightforward and we had it in excellent condition. There was
some new snow blown into the tracks from the climbers of two days back (it
was now getting to be the 18th of May, being past midnight), but Jake and
Karma Rita were breaking trail, making it a little easier on Danuru, Ben and
the gang. Climbing up this 35-degree face with its bands of rock
calling for an awkward step every now and then was technically easy with
fixed rope to rely on. It was physically demanding due to about a hundred
reasons, chief among them being that it goes on forever with little relief
and it doesn't top out until 27,500 feet.

 

					"I got together with Panuru to make sure he was checking on some of the slower Sherpas. I wasn't convinced they should all continue..."

 

The Balcony is a wonderful place to get to. It's a place with amazing views
where the Triangular Face gives way to the Southeast Ridge proper. One can
see the great sweep of the Kangshung Face dropping away steeply on the other
side of the ridge, one can see Kangchenjunga, the world's third highest
mountain, off in the distance, and Makalu, the fifth, and Lhotse, the fourth,
up close. And one can see the last 1500 hundred feet of Everest right
smack within one's reach. The view from the Balcony can be extremely
impressive.

But we couldn't see any of that stuff since we were right on schedule and it
was 2am and dark as could be. What I saw when I pulled into the Balcony
was a better sight anyway. I saw a team of climbers busily knocking back
water and choking down food and changing oxygen bottles and taking care of
business. Ben and I just barely touched base and he (with Jake still out
ahead) set off with the first of the team again. I worked hard for a few
minutes helping people with this and that bulky piece of gear or that frozen
device or that burned out headlight. I got together with Panuru to make
sure he was checking on some of the slower Sherpas. I wasn't convinced they
should all continue. Each had been carrying two oxygen bottles to this point
in order to leave one at the Balcony for safety on the descent. Two can be
a big load (30 pounds) and I thought some of the guys were wasted from
it.

Panuru spoke with them and assured me that they'd be fine now with
lighter packs. And then everybody was walking out toward the steep slopes
below the South Summit and I was alone at the Balcony, changing my regulator
to a new bottle. And sure enough one of the rubber seals in the rig didn't
like the cold and the new bottle was leaking. So I did it all again and it
still leaked. One more time. No luck and with each try my hands were
getting colder and the team I was supposed to be leading was getting a
little farther away.

 

					"I jumped up and down on the Balcony and swung my legs around and swung my arms to drive blood into my cold fingers and I laughed at myself out there alone on Everest...."

 

Such mechanical glitches are common and easily dealt with if one is in a
warm room. I dug around in my pack for the spare regulator, and then after
crossing my cold fingers, I tried it on to find that it worked perfectly.
So I would get to have oxygen again, which warmed my heart.. literally. But
in all of this process, my legs had been at an uncomfortable angle and my
feet had fallen asleep, painfully so. I jumped up and down on the Balcony
and swung my legs around and swung my arms to drive blood into my cold
fingers and I laughed at myself out there alone on Everest. I felt
ridiculous in my little predicament and wondered if anybody on my team even
realized that I was back doing my odd Balcony dance. The climb was on
autopilot, cruise control. I reminded myself that there were plenty of
experienced hands at the helm and that they didn't need me micromanaging.
Even so, I had no interest in being left behind. I got my act back
together, threw on my pack and chased my climb toward the South Summit.

They were easy to catch at the base of the big, steep snow and rock slopes.
I was back in the parade and able to see as the first light was bathing
everything in a soft glow. All of the great mountains were just where they
were supposed to be, but as I could see more and more, I kept looking at
less and less. I was focused on the bank of clouds out to the west: a high
and solid bank, at least as high as Everest. I'd look every few minutes in
order to see if that cloud bank was moving and if it was, to see which way it
might be moving. But all of this was not easily apparent, and the rest of
the sky was absolutely huge and clear and beautiful.

 

					"I tried not to get antsy and nervous over the delays and I tried to limit myself to one look over at that cloudbank per minute..."

The route up to the
South Summit is quite steep, maybe 50 degrees, and there are rock bands
that require full dependence on the thin and rapidly fraying fixed ropes.
Our gang of climbers was coping with it just fine, but it is time consuming
to be upward bound on such terrain with 16 climbers. It isn't like all
can pull on the same rope at the same time and believe that the anchors
(pitons driven partway into crumbly rock) will hold.

We were doing the best
we could and so I tried not to get antsy and nervous over the delays and I
tried to limit myself to one look over at that cloudbank per minute. I was
right with Alison and was pleased to see that she was climbing smoothly and
efficiently. Two of the Sherpas were behind us when we began to crest the
worst of the steep bit. We reached what was almost a flat space, about two
or three feet of flat snow up against a rock wall, but with awesome drop-away views on three sides.

That was the spot where nature inconveniently
called on Alison, and we helped her get her pack off so she could attend to
business. The Sherpas asked if they could go on to rejoin the main group,
working up the last hundred feet to the South Summit and I gave my okay. So
far, we were doing fine. We got Alison's pack back on her and began the
last steep bit, but now she was climbing terribly.

 

					" I turned her oxygen up to five liters per minute. Two or three is a normal climbing flow-rate, but more is better when you have to get something done..."

I looked at my watch. It was still before 6am and that was good. I looked
at the cloudbank and it was nearer and that was bad. I looked at Ben, up
ahead and getting close to the South Summit and that was both good and bad.
I wanted our team up there, but I wanted us up there together and now Alison
and I were getting behind...and things were getting worse. She was having
great difficulty now with this last steep part and I was working my tail off
to keep her moving and safely clipped in. Just 40 feet higher, I could
see a flat, which was the start of the easy ramps leading to the South
Summit. I wanted to get Alison on that flat so that we could figure out
what was going wrong. I assumed that she had gotten cold during the
bathroom break and that her energy stores were down. I wanted to get the
pack off in that safe place, get food and water into her and see if we
couldn't pull it all together again and climb on. I turned her oxygen up to
five liters per minute. Two or three is a normal climbing flow-rate, but
more is better when you have to get something done and we had to get to that
flat spot. Our system has a valve to open the tank and then just above it
on the regulator, a flow-rate control which it is traditional to have
somebody else adjust since one can neither see nor reach one's own control
without taking off the pack.

The increased flow seemed to have no effect on Alison who was now
complaining of exhaustion and dizziness. She couldn't make it up to the
flat and so we took her pack off right there on the slope and I set about
getting her some food and water. She was clutching the oxygen mask to her
face and gasping for air. I did my furtive glances at the clouds and the
team now actually on the South Summit and I started to feel a little too
alone at 28,650 feet above sea level. I got on the radio and let Ben and
Eric down at Base Camp know that we were having problems.

I dug out an
Almond Joy and to keep her hands warm and in their gloves, I unwrapped the
candy bar and stuck it in her mouth for her. She gamely tried chewing the
tasty morsel, but it seemed to stay inconveniently right there in the front
of her mouth. Inconvenient since I also wanted her to drink water, talk to
me and breathe oxygen. After a minute or two, I removed the Almond Joy so
we could get on with other solutions. I explained over the radio that
Alison was not responding as well as I had hoped to food and water. Later
news reports that seemed to circle the globe with speed directly
proportional to their inaccuracy had me guiding a client at the South Summit
of Everest who had become "unresponsive."

 

					"Unresponsive climbers so high on Everest stay that way until gravity intervenes, sometimes years later..."

Unresponsive climbers so high on
Everest stay that way until gravity intervenes, sometimes years later. I
definitely did not have an unresponsive climber. I had one who, without
explanation, was feeling poorly and who, unbeknownst to me, did not like
coconut. There is a difference.

Even so, I had real problems on my hands. It wasn't terribly cold anymore,
just moderately cold. The sun was up, I was getting separated from my team
and Alison was probably going to have to descend the mountain and miss out
on the summit. But first I had to solve the riddle and get her strong
again. She was getting worried, obviously, and had actually said a time or
two, "I don't think I can go on" which for Alison is pretty darn serious.
She isn't good at quitting things.

About then it seemed like a lot started
happening all at once. I asked Ben to send one of the Sherpas back to help
me. I reminded him to be careful setting off the South Summit for the true
summit, cautioning him that it would still take the big group two full hours
to get along the ridge and up the Hillary Step to the top. "Be sure that
everyone is good to go and keep an eye to your back." Ben was also
watching the weather, we had been talking about it now and openly wondering
if it would hold.

It dawned on me that I personally wasn't going to get to the top. I would
need to stay with Alison and safeguard her descent. It dawned on me that I
was going to have to depend completely on Ben's judgment if the team was
going to proceed. I could no longer see them as they were now on the other
side of the South Summit from me. It dawned on me that the weather was now
showing the first signs of what it had in store for us. I saw streamers of
cloud form up below us instantly and race through the South Col. I saw a
cap form on both Lhotse and Makalu in a few seconds time. And I reported
all of this to Ben as I tried to figure out Alison's trouble.

By then we
were both on our knees on the snow slope and she was leaning on her pack and
holding the mask ever closer to her face. Just then, Lisa came on the radio
to say that something was wrong with her vision and that she was turning
back. Vision troubles up that high can be spooky. They can be a sign of
something awful, brain injury, impending blindness, all sorts of awful. And
it came at a very inopportune time since I now had to contemplate the idea
that Ben was going on as the sole guide with three clients to the most
challenging part of the entire route. I asked him again just how strong
everybody was and I left it in his hands. I needed to concentrate on
Alison.

					"Dex can buy valuable time when HACE strikes and a person's brain swells inside their skull, but I didn't think Alison had cerebral edema. The trouble was, I didn't know what she did have..."

She looked at me and asked for Decadron. That is when I accused her of
going Hollywood on me. Call me insensitive, but I still got something of a
laugh out of her even as she threatened to pass out. It has been my
experience that those truly in need of Dexamethasone, Decadron, Dex,
whatever you want to call it, can't seem to ask for it by name. High
Altitude Cerebral Edema (HACE) can be tough for its victim to understand, much like
getting hit in the head with a tire iron can be difficult to comprehend.
Dex can buy valuable time when HACE strikes and a person's brain swells
inside their skull, but I didn't think Alison had cerebral edema. The
trouble was, I didn't know what she did have. She looked at me again and
now said that she didn't think she'd be able to get down! I told her quite
firmly then that she was going to get down and I wasn't lying. I knew I
could get her down. I was positive of it, since the snow slope we were on
was nothing BUT down and Gore-Tex is famous for its sliding characteristics.

I just didn't know what her health was going to be like when we got down or
whether there would be any feathers left in her down suit by then. It could
be a rough trip if she couldn't walk. By then one of the Sherpas had come
back to us, Lisa and another of the Sherpas were almost back to us and Ben
had decided to turn back with Kim, Lynn and Jody.

They had been halfway across the ridge to the Hillary Step when Ben
recognized that his climbers were getting tired and close to their limits.
None of this would have been a problem that a little rest and food and water
wouldn't have solved, but with our sure conviction now that the weather was
going to go bad he had to make the difficult call to end the summit bid.

Jake and Karma Rita were then above the Hillary Step and Jake asked me if he
could go on for the top. Jake is an extremely capable mountain guide when
he isn't taking pictures and Alison was still mysteriously deteriorating and
weakening. I needed Jake because it seemed like things were going to get
worse before they got better. I called on him to come down and he did.

This
was his third Everest expedition. On the two previous trips, he had turned
at 28,000 feet. This time he was at 28,850 feet and there isn't much more
mountain than that, just 200 more feet. It wasn't really fair, but
I didn't really care. My problems were getting acute.

I'd gone ahead and
given Alison Decadron after seeking the advice of Lee Meyers, our trusty doc
down in Base Camp. I was ready to try anything and I was no longer looking
for laughs in the process. I pulled her O² bottle from her pack and checked
the gauge, still near 2000psi, which was just fine. I'd turned her
flow-rate up to six liters per minute and that is just where that particular
dial still resided, so that was fine. I put my hand on the valve that opens
and closes the bottle and I turned and to my astonishment found that the
bottle had been shut.

She'd been clutching that mask to her face,
effectively sealing herself off from the oxygen in the atmosphere and she
hadn't realized that nothing was flowing through her mask. It must have
gotten jostled shut during that last potty stop. Within seconds of me
opening the valve, she was wide awake and telling me that she felt better.
Little wonder, as it would be like coming up from the bottom of the swimming
pool after half an hour.

I was a bit shocked right then, to say the least. Immediately happy to have
Alison healthy again and the riddle solved though ready to bite my ice axe
in half with frustration that: a.) The bottle had been off and that she and
I had not known it; and, b.) That I had made a series of decisions based on
that which had led to 16 climbers turning around just short of Everest's summit.

I got on the radio to tell Jake, who had come down the Hillary Step, to
consider going back up. He did. I gave Ben the option to rethink his
decision in light of Alison's miraculous recovery and to his credit, Ben did
not. He had turned because the team was weakening in the face of
threatening weather at extreme altitude and none of that situation had
changed. Ben is a smart guy and standing there below the South Summit, I was
pretty damn impressed. I'll admit though that I was still tempted to bite
through my axe.

I was looking around and the cloud caps had gone away from
Lhotse and Makalu... sure, the big bank out to the west had moved in closer,
but perhaps it was going to be an okay day. I envied Jake and Karma Rita
then, two strong climbers could take full advantage of such an opportunity
and race a storm. Fourteen climbers in a guided effort simply could not. We
started down.

					"...within 15 minutes we found ourselves enveloped in clouds and snow, fighting an ever-stronger wind as we descended the Triangular Face. It was a whiteout..."

We reached the Balcony at eight in the morning, just as Jake reached the
summit. Looking around and wondering where the storm had gone, I felt like
apologizing to my team as we basked in the sunshine and listened to Jake on
the radio, whooping it up. I thought a speech was in order and so I
explained the decision-making process that had led Ben and Lisa and I to
call off the climb. I wasn't sure anybody was listening, but I also wasn't
sure if everybody understood why they didn't get to summit Everest after
months of trying. I didn't want misunderstandings.

As I finished preaching,
I looked up to see clouds forming and jetting across the summit ridge. Jake
had seen them too and he and Karma Rita were already sprinting down the
mountain. We did the same and within 15 minutes we found ourselves
enveloped in clouds and snow, fighting an ever-stronger wind as we
descended the Triangular Face. It was a whiteout that held us in all the
way back to high camp and then throughout the day, but all my climbers
proved equal to the storm. They kept it together. They clipped efficiently
and safely past the anchors. The Sherpas cheerfully resisted the urge to
just boogie down and leave us out in the snow. Lisa worked well with her
vision trouble (which turned out to be just a temporary condition caused by
freezing wind on her cornea). Ben and I kept the group together and within
sight of one another. Jake and Karma Rita caught up to us as we entered our
wind-whipped high camp and 16 people came out of an Everest summit bid
okay.

But it was statistically unimpressive, as Liz Hawley had pointed out. Not
nearly as noteworthy as 16 people either going to the top or dying or
both. And back at the Hotel Tibet I could tell that Liz Hawley didn't
really buy my whiteout story, but it did happen. The storm would have
clobbered us on the summit had we continued. I do like Liz, but
man-oh-man, is she tough to impress.