Page 30 - 2020 AMA Winter

MISCARTICLE
at his guide, blaming equipment for his inability to continue. Leaving the two to argue (assuming they would turn around), we headed on. Tragically, the client would later succumb to his exhaustion at the lower camp.
Above the yellow band, Lhotse’s high camp came into view. It almost looked like a camp dug into a super steep black ski run. Set just below the couloir that leads to the fourth highest mountain on Earth, climbers were erecting tents, and all seemed to be well. I dug into my jacket to grab some shot bloks, a gooey snack that I’ve always loved on expedition. As I reached in clumsily, the packet fell out and proceeded to ping at speed off the side of the face, bugger! Righting myself and refocusing on the camp, something seemed amiss. Below the tents there was a figure lying motionless on the line. Approaching slowly, it was soon apparent that the person was upside down, with his midriff exposed. Before noon on second day of the summit push and we had already encountered the second fatality of what would prove to be a very deadly season. Stranded high on the Lhotse face, there was little other climbers could do to repatriate the body, cutting it loose would be a danger to those below.
Regardless of whether I think some of the people lost weren’t experienced enough to be there, death is always a tragedy. The equal beauty and ugliness of moun- taineering is that it is accessible to all, something that can have deadly con- sequences. For me, I felt that the most appropriate thing to do to honour each body was to pause, pray for the person
and pay my respects. What everyone on Everest has in common, is that we have risked it all in the endeavour to climb to the top; everyone is and was a determined, ambitious and adventurous soul.
Leaving Lhotse’s high camp, the wind started to rip across the face. We were hours in and making steady progress, the next section would lead across to and over the Geneva spur. A sharp granite graveyard just below 8000m, the traverse was on steep ground a mile above the Western Cwm, with a stomach-churning drop on the left. Physically I was pretty tired and hadn’t had a sip of water in almost 8 hours. Stopping to rest, I sat with a team-mate, taking in the view and gaining strength from realising how far we’d come. Another two hours and we could have a brew and some more strawberry laces (I’m no nutritionist, but they are pretty epic up high).
The sound of crampons biting on rock was a sure sign that we were nearly at the South Col. Camp four was only a few hundred metres ahead, great timing as the cumulus clouds built with each hour. By the time we trudged into camp the wind was ruthless, ripping through the tents and causing chaos for those trying
to put them up. Borrowing a tent from a friend’s team, we dived in and took a deep breath. Through
the vent we could see figures high above, descending slowly from
the summit
in awful weather. They shouldn’t still be there I thought looking at my watch, they should have turned back way before. Summit fever in full effect.
Like four sardines in a tin, we squeezed into the tiny tent. The plan was to sit around for the afternoon, have a nap and look to leave around 7pm. In good spirits, if not a little beaten up, we took turns to get changed and do our personal packing. I desperately wanted to change my socks, but I had soaked my spares when I put my foot through a glacial runoff stream at camp two. So, the best I could muster was putting each damp sock in my armpits, using the little heat I had to reduce the dampness. To encourage the gear not to freeze we stuffed our sleeping bags with our boots and spare kit.
The hours passed quickly as I lie wide awake. For me, the challenge ahead made me restless and quite nervous. Leaving camp four, you’re already into the so-called death zone, climbing above 8000m. It is a daunting but simple task, keep moving, keep climbing, summit, descend, do not stop moving. Until this point, even with another 8000m summit on Manaslu, I had never really understood
how so many people had lost their lives through exhaustion on Everest. These weren’t just inexperienced mountaineers, famous guides had done so, sitting down and becoming part of the mountain forever. In hindsight, I attribute this to the sheer amount of time it takes to complete the summit push. Operating at the very limit of your body, if
30 / ARMY MOUNTAINEER