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Sunrise Reflected in the Snow.
Dendi had estimated 3 hours to high camp, but the snow is heavy and the mountain is steep and by 6 am he realizes that we won’t make it up safely or fast enough with all of our equipment unless he ties a fixed rope. I am the first to ascend via the rope. It hangs at a 45 degree angle, flush with the mountain—this is the first time I have ever climbed with a rope outside of training—I grab it and suddenly it dawns on me that I am putting all of my trust in a rope, the person who tied the knot, and the metal clips that will soon help me pull myself up. I know that as soon as I grab onto the rope and lift my feet off of the ground my entire life will depend on these three things. If any of them fail, I will fall to my death onto the rocks below me. I lift my feet off of the ground and pull myself forward. Everything holds. We begin climbing with ropes at 6:15 am and do not arrive at high camp until 8:30am. We are now running more than 2 hours behind.
A Snow Covered Valley.
10:00am: Pisang is largely hidden from view by the hill on which high camp lies. But as soon as we clear the hill we get a full view of Pisang and as soon as I see her my jaw drops and I hear myself saying “Holy Mother of God” aloud and I know then that Stok Kangri was a cake walk, and that what I am about to climb is a whole different animal.
My first "real" view of Pisang Peak.
Pisang is steep. From where we are standing to her crest, there is a rocky ridge. On either side of the ridge the mountain drops steeply. To the left side is a big blue glacier, rocky ledges, and a steep snowy slope with fresh avalanches running down its side. To the right of the ridge is another steep snowy slope with more avalanches. My fears of an avalanche taking us down are immediately quelled since I can see that there is no way to climb Pisang other than straight up her rocky ridge where it is physically impossible to be killed by a falling avalanche. The risk of falling into an avalanche, however, is quite high. At 10:45 am Dorgee and I arrive at a portion of the ridge that is so narrow, that the snow on the ridge forms a perfect inverted V shape. Dendi and Pasang are ahead of us setting up the fixed ropes and have already crossed the treacherous path to the left of the ridge. Dorgee stands on the edge of the ledge staring at the ridge. “Are you scared?” I ask him. “A little, he replies.” I am considering turning back. The wind is blowing strong and one big gust could blow us off the ridge in either direction. “Get down on your hands and knees,” I tell him. I am pretending not to be scared, but inside I am thinking that this is crazy, even for me. Dorgee gets down on his hands and knees and crawls. After mentally calculating the effect of the winds, I decide to straddle the mountain with one leg hanging off of one end and the other hanging off of the other and I slide myself forward over the ridge until I safely reach the other side. We have to cross three more treacherous ridges like this one and each time I think that this is crazy, even for me and that we should have a man rope or a fixed rope or something to act as protection in case one of us falls. I keep wondering if Dendi Sherpa is too self confident, cutting corners, or if I am just a wuss.
Musk Deer Tracks.
11:30am: After successfully crossing what must have been the most dangerous part of the mountain I run into Pasang at the end of the next fixed rope. He is sitting there waiting for us and when we arrive he says “Dendi says you go up rope, you take pictures, then we go back down. It is 11:30 and mountain closing.” “What!?! I exclaim. I tell Pasang I’ll discuss it with Dendi who instead of tying the next fixed rope is sitting in Rodin’s “The Thinker” pose staring at us and waiting for us to give up from exhaustion. I force myself up the mountain as quickly as possible and ask Dendi why we aren’t continuing after just having done all of that work. He tells me we won’t make the summit until 5:30pm and he doesn’t want to die coming back at night. He is exhausted, frustrated and irritable. I tell him I don’t want to die either, and ask if it is safe to give ourselves until 3pm with the strict policy that wherever we are at 3pm, that is where we stop and turn back. The discussion takes a half an hour but Dendi agrees that this is a good plan. We lose another 30 minutes while Pasang and Dendi set up the next fixed rope.
My feet hanging off the edge of the mountain.
3:00pm: 6,000 meters (19,686 feet). We have been climbing for 11 hours and 45 minutes. There is little snow on this part of Pisang—for the past three hours we have been climbing over huge slabs of stone, pulling ourselves with jumars from fixed rope to fixed rope. We are about 300 feet from the summit but given our level of exhaustion it will take at least one hour to summit and it is now too dangerous. I am frustrated, because this is Dendi’s error--I know that had we spent the night at high camp we would have made it. But now the clouds are rolling in, the winds are getting stronger and my arms can pull no more. I can’t stop thinking of the book “Into Thin Air”--Jon Krakauer’s account of climbing Everest--and how a missed turn-around time had deadly consequences. I understand the power of the mountain and I know we must turn around. I pull myself to the end of the last fixed rope. I’m done, I say to Dendi. This is my summit. As soon as we stop and my adrenaline rush fades, I notice that I have a massive headache and I am feeling a little dizzy. My lungs feel as if someone is pressing down on them, I’m coughing and having a hard time breathing.
The Path We Took
(climbing over the ridges avoids the avalanches)
The Last 300 ft to the Summit.
We gave it a good go!
The descent: 30 minutes later we begin our descent to base camp. As soon as I stand up, I realize that something is terribly wrong. I’m having a hard time balancing, my head is pounding and I am incredibly dizzy. I feel like I’m going to pass out. Dendi ties me to the belay device and I start belaying myself down slowly. My brain feels like it is working in slow motion and I no longer recognize my surroundings. I look around me and everything seems foreign, “Wow, that looks hard, I climbed that?” I keep asking myself. My feet feel clumsy and I keep falling on my knees. The sharp shale rips through my trousers and my knees start bleeding. I have to stop every five minutes to catch my breath. We are moving more slowly than on the ascent and I know this is not good. We have to make it past the dangerous part, because I know won’t make it down in the dark. I am cursing the Sherpa’s for not setting up camp at high camp.
At some point I stop belaying myself and I put my head on the ground. I am coughing up yellow stuff and there is a little bit of blood and it freaks me out. I keep thinking about the part of the mountain that I had to straddle to get across—there is no way I’m going to make it without falling to my death. “Dendi, I don’t think I can make it.” I call out to him. “Doesn’t your cell phone work? Can’t you get me off this mountain?” I don’t know why I am asking, because I already know they don’t have a satellite phone. “What’s the point of helicopter evacuation insurance if you have no way of calling a helicopter,” I ask him. I can’t believe they don’t have a satellite phone. Dendi picks me up off the ground and tells me we are going to tandem belay, he straps me onto his harness with carabeeners. My feet are like jello and I keep tripping and stepping on his feet. Somehow, I don’t know how, we make it across the treacherous passes and down the mountain.
18 ½ hours later, at 8:45pm we are back at Base Camp.
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