Page 28 - 2020 AMA Winter

MISCARTICLE
us, through the maze of ice. It is terrain unlike any other, a tumbling glacier forced through a narrow valley, creaking and constantly moving. Each time I was inside the Icefall, I felt completely vulnerable, there are no escape routes or safe ground. There is only one thing for it, move as fast as you can and try not to stop underneath any overhanging ice.
About four hours in, trudging upwards with my Budho, old boy Sherpa, JS, we reached the double ladder. Screwed to a fifteen-metre ice step, the route was fixed with two aluminium ladders, accessed by a traverse under an even larger face of ice. Step, step, crunch, crunch and we were just underneath when a huge crack came from the wall, immediately followed by a block tumbling off, smashing onto the route a few metres behind us. Yelling at one another we ran forward to the base of the ladders, grabbing on and climbing whilst panting, swearing and nervously laughing. Sat at the top, JS smoked whilst I sat in silence, pondering as to what the hell I was doing here; it wouldn’t be the last time I would think that.
As the Icefall becomes a gentle glacier once more, the terrain opens up into another valley, the aptly named Western Cwm. The Welsh name granted by the legendary George Mallory when he saw it as part of a 1921 British Reconnaissance Expedition. Almost entirely covered by glaciated terrain, the route to camp one and two winds around and across gigantic cracks and crevasses. Using ladders to cross open crevasses is a sensible solution, albeit one that sometimes requires a deep breath before doing so. Disappearing into the depths of the glacier, some of them are hundreds of metres deep. Very aware of heights and having previously seen people lost into crevasses, I always found it par- ticularly unnerving.
Cresting onto the shallow terrain of the Western Cwm you are able to relax and start to understand the significance of where you are. The Icefall capacitates you and so it is an opportunity to stare at the surrounding peaks within the horseshoe, Lhotse, Nuptse and of course Everest’s west ridge. It is a place like no other, steeper, taller and more extreme.
Past base camp, the Nepali route has four main mountain camps. Perched in
safe(ish) locations, they offer protection from avalanches and the weather. Once acclimatised, most competent teams will aim to climb from base camp to camp two on day one and two to three on day two. Thereafter, it is a bit more of a slog, climbing from camp three to camp four by early afternoon on day three. At that stage, you have a few hours to turn around your gear and start again for an overnight ascent to the summit. Day four sees you arrive at the top and descend as far as you can to base camp. 100 hours of pure graft.
Eight hours into day one, we approached camp two, nestled against the granite of Everest’s west ridge. The sun was already high in the sky beating down upon us, I was glad of the heat though, it had been a cold ascent through the Icefall. Waiting for me at camp two was a bag of goodies I had left on one of our acclimatisation rotations, sweets, chocolate and coffee. After an epic day, it was awesome to get in the sleeping bag time machine. We would rest nearly a full day here before ascending the Lhotse Face into camp three. Thereafter it would be unchartered territory for us.
It was now late in the season, low on the glacier our camp two was turning into a fairly unsavoury environment. Warm temperatures had caused glacial runoff to swamp the far end of our camp with another team’s toilet waste. Unavoidable, but not what you need. Camp two was historically a dumping ground for expeditions, who would throw disposable items in crevasses at the end of their expeditions (something that happened all over the World). You don’t need to be a geography graduate to work out that as the glacier moves, so will the frozen waste, eventually regurgitating it. Near to our camp this happened, with the addition of an unfortunate frozen climber who had been left some twenty years before. Time to leave camp ‘poo’.
Day two started without a hitch; packing up we were a full team of six climbers. There was a problem brewing though, six weeks living above 5000m on the glacier had given us all the in-famous Khumbu cough. What we didn’t realise at this stage is that for two members, it had already developed into bacterial pneumonia. One of the lads who was
riddled with it only lasted a few hundred metres before stopping. Committed and invested in such an expedition, turning around is incredibly frustrating and painfully emotional. It also takes chinks out of the team’s armour, weakening our overall strength and confidence.
Pushing on we entered the vast open space below the Lhotse face. Gently pitched snow slopes lead a few kilometres to a vast bergschrund at the base. I was slow here, really slow and it concerned me greatly. Although I was largely asymp- tomatic, I knew there was something wrong, the extent of which I didn’t want to know. In hindsight, my ascent over the next 48 hours was the riskiest of my life. We had split as a group, pacing individu- ally, when I noticed another member of the team stop in his tracks. Heartrate through the roof, coughing and spluttering, he was unable to go on and would also need to return to base camp with Pneumonia. For me, this was a devastating blow; a wise, calm and experienced leader it was upsetting to see him stumped with such a debilitating condition. We hugged, shed a tear and without even touching the Lhotse Face, our team was reduced to four. The two members we lost left a gaping void in my morale thereafter. I hope that one day they return and experience the euphoria of the summit.
Climbing almost two thousand metres out of the Western Cwm, the deep ice of the Lhotse face glistened blue in front of us. It is hugely daunting, you can see minute figures of climbers high up, hours ahead. Hauling ourselves and our kit into camp three is a four hour slog up steep mixed terrain and an absolute lung burner. As we ascended, the first summiteers from an early weather window were descending. Still wearing their down suits, they looked similar to soldiers returning from a long fighting patrol, exhausted, shocked and wide eyed on the last dregs of their adrenalin. I tried to take the time to con- gratulate each of them and worked harder to allow them clear passage on the fixed lines.
Everest’s route is managed by a fixing team, Sherpas whose sole purpose is to carry line up the mountain and fix it either to rock or using screws into the ice. It is a sensible system that allows upwards of fifty teams to use the same route. It
28 / ARMY MOUNTAINEER