Wilson |
Through the Khumbu Icefall
EXPEDITION FEATURE
Chungba, the base camp cook, wakes me at 3am. I stumble over to
the dining tent lit by a single kerosene lamp and meet Eric. Just two of
us are headed into the Icefall en route to Camp I today. Like pilots
during a pre-flight inspection, we check crampons, harness, jumars, and
safety slings as we try to wash the sleep from our eyes with strong cups
of coffee. It is too early to stomach any food.
4am. Time to go. Our race is against the dawn. As the Icefall
heats up with the rising sun, the likelihood of a collapse increases. Our
goal is to try and get through the Icefall before the sun hits the ice
and weakens the bond of one block to another. The Icefall is a frozen
river. Gravity drags the ice downward. The pull is constant. The slow,
steady flow of ice is imperceptible, but not all of the Icefall's
movements are slow, some are sudden. The sudden shifts are the ones to
fear; they are the ones that will kill you.
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Eric Simonson climbs through ice debris
[click to zoom]
(photo: Wilson)
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Before entering the Icefall, Eric and I stop at the Lhapsung, a stone
altar built by the Sherpas as a place of worship. Chungba feeds
kerosene to the burning juniper. His face glows in the darkness,
reflecting the bursting flames. In the Buddhist tradition, he offers a
plate of uncooked rice. Grabbing a fistful, I raise my hand three times
towards the stars and toss the rice onto the Lhapsung [altar]. Chungba looks me
in the eye and wishes me a safe journey. In my haste, I start directly
for the Icefall. Chhongba quickly grabs my elbow and gently steers me in
the right direction, clockwise around the Lhapsung, the proper way to
exit this area of worship.
We both have to laugh knowing that
committing such a serious mistake is not the best way to start a trip
through the Icefall.
Our headlamps piercing the darkness, we follow a series of low angled
snow ramps up into the maze of ice blocks, some the size of box cars. I
watch Eric climbing above. He appears as just a dark shadow weaving in
and out of the ice blocks and around the numerous crevasses.
Crevasses too wide to step across are bridged with aluminum ladders. Oftentimes
two or three ladders are lashed together with rope. These sag and sway
from body weight when crossed. It takes full concentration, confidence,
and strong balance to make the crossing as the crampons scrape across
the rungs of the ladder. Misstep, and it's headfirst into the cold,
dark, seemingly bottomless pits below.
I enter a corridor of ice. The walls tower above. I feel them leaning in
on me. I climb with an awareness of something hanging over my head. The
ice cracks and groans. I walk through boulders of ice, debris of an
earlier collapse just days before. Eric rounds a corner and disappears
into the maze. I feel alone in the night. I wonder if the ice collapses
now, could Eric find me? Would it matter? I know the risks are real. I
know firsthand the terror, the confusion, the panic, and disbelief that
reigns when all hell, in the form of an ice block, breaks loose. I've
had my nostrils packed with snow and my glacier glasses ripped from my
face in the collapse of an icefall. I've had to swim for my life in the
white wave of icefall debris. I've watched helplessly as 11 climbers
vanished in a cloud of white, buried alive, in the collapse of ice. And
I've experienced the futility of the fruitless rescue attempts that
follow. [editor's note: On his first day guiding Mount Rainier, Greg Wilson witnessed the biggest climbing disaster in the mountain's history. Click for that story.]
The climb through the Khumbu Icefall takes three hours. It is a three
hour journey where our lives are seriously in jeopardy. If we can't
accept the reality of the risk — the great risk, and the potential
consequences — then we shouldn't enter the Icefall. If we choose to
ignore the risk, pretend it doesn't exist, we're idiots, and shouldn't
be found in the Icefall either. The only way we can survive multiple
trips through the Icefall is to give it the respect it deserves.
The only line of defense is to move as rapidly as possible, but at
18,000' my lungs ache as they struggle to process the oxygen. My
throat dries out quickly sucking in the bitter cold air, forcing me to
cough, upsetting my body's pace and rhythm. My legs burn as I race the
sun to the top of the Icefall. I want to go faster, knowing that every
minute I spend in the maze of ice increases the odds of being buried in
a collapse. My brain screams at my body to move faster, but I can't. The
altitude severely limits my performance.
Exiting the corridor, Eric comes into view once again. The sun is
lighting up the ridges of Everest and Nuptse high above. Our timing is
perfect. We've won the race. Before the sun strikes we step out of the
icefall and onto the broad, wide open, and gently rolling slopes leading
to Camp I.
— Greg Wilson, Climber
MORE ON THE KHUMBU ICEFALL
COMPLETE INDEX OF DISPATCHES
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