Descent from the top of The World

I was numb. Numb through the physical effort of the last nine and a half hours climb, and numb emotionally the mental strain of concentration for the last three days had drained me of all thoughts of triumph and celebration. The only feeling I had was pain. Pain in my gloved hands, booted feet, exposed ears, exposed cheeks and any other part of exposed flesh. Flesh laid bare to the forty miles per hour wind that blew wickedly on top of the world was beginning to turn hard. The first signs of frost nip, no wonder, with the wind chill factor the temperature was about –75oC. Already I had no feeling in the fingers of my left hand, the price of removing my big down mittens to handle a frozen camera for the precious summit photo. After fifteen minutes suffering pain, I shouted to Pasang Sherpa we had to go.

Pasang was in worse condition than me, his oxygen mask had frozen earlier on, meaning he was on the summit with no oxygen. He was suffering badly, the cold eating him alive. I pulled him to his feet and urged him to get down fast, “don’t wait for me get just down!” I shouted over the wind. He moved fast and disappeared down the snowy traverse. I got myself together, clipped back onto the fixed line and bound after him, guessing that my oxygen bottle must be getting low by now. As I skirted round rocky outcrops and buttresses, I was upset to see him hanging on the Hillary Step a bundle of fixed lines in his hands, suffering even more, as he let ascending climbers get over the final rocky bivalve hump of the step. I shouted over the wind to him, not to worry about them “get down” I shouted moving my mittened hand repeatedly downward. I could see through their goggles that the ascending climbers’ eyes were filled with summit fever; nothing was going to get in their way. I had to move into a small chimney in the rock to let them go past. I began to get cold through inactivity.

Once again I felt the cold creeping up through my fingers and toes into my hands and feet, slowly and painfully; like bindweed strangling a nettle. I got frustrated and angry each time one these climbers reached me. They struggled to work out which of the many fixed lines to clip their jumar onto. “It’s the orange line, you idiot! – the same as you’ve just climbed the step with” handing them the orange rope now with a solid hand. After maybe forty minutes and ten climbers, Pasang descended and I lost sight of him over the step. I went to get over and was turned back; three more climbers were coming over. I was getting worried my oxygen was getting low, but now was my chance to get over the Hillary Step. I got over the bivalve, turned into the rock and down climbed to a small snowy notch. There, I was surprised and disappointed to find Pasang on his knees huddled over his pack.

The climbing ethic of the expedition was to climb unguided. Each team member carrying their own loads of equipment and gear to each successive camp. These camps established by our sherpa team. Pasang was with me on summit day to carry spare oxygen and keep an experienced eye on me. Though he never climbed with me, always thirty yards or so behind. I urged him to get to his feet saying ‘you can’t stay here’. He came to life and disappeared around a rocky corner and down over towards the South summit. I followed at my own pace, then I realised it was daylight the sun’s rays bright and warming; I had no goggles or glasses on, as I’d climbed through the night. I was worried about the real danger of snow blindness. I stopped and half got into an icy crevasse, there I took my pack off and still with numb hands I fished inside either for my goggles or glasses not caring which was coming out first. I found my goggles, put them on and with pack back on my back got to the small snowy col before the icy steps of the south summit.

Again, I was dismayed to find Pasang knelt down over his pack. He was desperately but with no success trying to break off the ice from the inside of his mask. We changed over my oxygen bottle and he said this bottle had to last, it had to get me down to South Col at 7,955 metres, we were at 8,700 metres. We ascended snow steps up to the South summit and traversed over to descend. On the other side of the summit I got a view of South Col, far, far below. “My God, that’s miles” I thought as I screwed up my eyes to pick out tiny dots of yellow and orange which were tents set amongst the brown rocks so far below. Suddenly I was overwhelmed “I can’t do this”, I thought to myself. Then I remembered to old climbing cliché ‘the summits only halfway’ and that most people die on descent on Everest, many just give up, sit down and die.

Pasang was long gone, a figure getting smaller and smaller but easy to see; a dark shape set against the pristine whiteness of the snow. I got my focus back, and thought about my next move. ‘If I just get to the end of this fixed line (to the ice screw anchoring it to the snow) I’m getting down’. I broke down the decent into small manageable bits – almost like a pitch on a big multi-pitch rock climb. After a long while I was approaching the area known as The Balcony; the top of the snow couloir which led down to South Col. I heard a ‘Hi Lee’ and turned round to see Kenton Cool twenty yards above me, “Did he [Sir Ranulph Fiennes] get up?” I shouted up to him. “No 8,3” he replied meaning of course that he had turned around at 8,300 metres. Kenton and Rob Casserley were Sir Ran’s guides on Everest this year. ‘That’s a real shame, poor bugger’ I shouted back, as I turned and walked down to The Balcony.

At The Balcony, I began to relax a bit. I sat down and began to strip out of my down suit tying the body and arms of it around my waist. Close to me lying on the snow was a large blue bag. Slowly it dawned on me the blue bag contained a body. A climber had died today. This really brought home to me the tightrope I was walking between life and death, here in the ‘death zone’. I later found out it was a Swiss climber who had attempted to climb Everest without oxygen. I decided not to linger and started going down the fixed line leading me into the snow couloir, before long I came across another body. I knew this was Scott Fischer, a guide who had perished in the 1996 disaster. I paid my respects and seeing his body made me more determined to get down to South Col.

The snow coulior just seemed to go on and on. I just wanted it to end, I was so thirsty I hadn’t now drunk any fluids for over fourteen hours. I caught up with Pasang, he had recovered and we chatted briefly and he bounded down the coulior. I carried on a lot slower than him. Then to my left I came across another body. A figure clad in a blue down suit, his chest and head thankfully covered by scree, the rest of him laid bare to the elements. Next to him sat a figure; it was Rob Casserely. I then remembered Rob had mentioned to me some weeks ago about a dead friend of his. He was paying his respects to a good friend. We looked at each other through our goggles. I took his gloved hand and squeezed it, the only action I could think of to show my respect and sympathy. He simply said ‘thanks Lee’ and we descended, leaving his fallen friend to his eternal resting place.

 

Finally I got to the bottom of the coulior, and was pleased to get on the hard packed snow of South Col. Before long the tents of South Col or Camp IV came into view and I thought “I know I’m really close if I can read the brand names on the tents”. In time I could do this, I was ‘home’ relatively safe and in comfort of our two tents. I had summitted in the worst weather conditions the small five day summit window of this year had given. I had climbed unguided, the only member of the seven man team to summit and it had taken my sixteen and a half hours round trip from South Col. I was lucky, my oxygen was down to just 5 psi and all I’d suffered was nerve damage in five fingers and four toes, oh, I’d also left my head torch on the summit! To climb Everest you need to be very, very fit. Mentally strong and focused, have and be familiar with the right gear, and a fair sprinkling of luck.

If any PMC members have aspirations of Everest, I’d be happy to give advice. Contact me through my web site: http://www.leefarmer.co.uk/

Lee Farmer