Saari

Erickson

Hans Saari
It is seven right now, and we are leaving to ski a 22,500ft peak in six hours. It should be a wild ride — details later. ICF, the myth: ICF stands for International Cluster F***, an expedition which combines different nationalities and goals, and is generally bogged down with every kind of problem. I had heard of these. Rumors of huge bilingual squabbles and epic expeditions filled my brain, until yesterday, when it became a reality.

An ICF showed up. There was a bit of mocking. Alex stood in the middle of camp, after his third latte, speaking in accent, "This man in the Gamow bag is very strong. He is a great climber."

And Conrad adds in jest, "We are very strong expedition; we will reach the summit."

As with most humor, there is a seed of truth. ICF, the truth: We can hear the bickering from our Base Camp. It turns out only five of the nine members have made it to camp. The leader of the expedition sprints out of camp with a Gamow bag in hand to rescue someone down lower. There are four different nationalities and multiple objectives, including a Slovenian, Istok, who plans on skiing the Yugoslavian Route. The accuracy of my preconceived impressions is uncanny. Not to say that all generalizations are accurate — that all multi-national expeditions are hopeless — but this one seems to fit the mold.

Today, a Russian named Andrew stopped by to mingle. He was friendly and spoke openly about his accomplishments. Last spring he even summited Everest. After a bit of chatting, I began to sense that his approach to climbing mountains was a bit different than my own. 'I went on an expedition and we were very strong. Many died, but the expedition was a success.'

Not only did this ring true of what Alex and Conrad had been joking about, but I found it troubling. While I cannot define what brings me to the mountains, I know that sacrificing lives is not on the agenda, and certainly not a part of a successful expedition. Not to say that Andrew's approach is wrong, it is just a bit startling for me to listen to him proclaim success in the face of death.

Chess fever is rampant at Base Camp. You may think that we sit around talking about climbing and skiing all the time, but that is not the case (there is a bit of chat about snow and all). The dinner bell has rung and Andrew, the Russian, has unleashed an all-out pawn attack and brought his queen to the middle of the board.

Kristoffer Erickson
Today has become my second official rest day of the expedition and the tasks of the day have been localized to personal hygiene. If the clothes that you've been wearing for the last week can stand freely on their own, it's time for a drenching in the stream and a little scrub with the suds. Those in the group not into hair-farming are left with the dreaded task of keeping the face in a smooth fashion. The "lawn mower," your standard electric AAA-powered shaver — complete with mirror — will usually get the job done.

For those with odor cured only through the needed full-body dousing, Base Camp is equipped with a portable shower room — a little bigger than the stall at your local Y, but with a much better view. With two or three gallons of hot water and a cup from the kitchen table, your BC shower is complete. By far, the best service Shish's south side can offer. I only hope that Advanced Base Camp has the same amenities.

The view only gets better.

— Hans Saari and Kristoffer Erickson, MountainZone.com Correspondents

EXPEDITION DISPATCHES