THE EVEREST EXPRESS EXPEDITIONS, 1988

BARRY BLANCHARD

EVEREST EXPRESS was a two part expedition. First was our attempt on the Rupal face of Nanga Parbat and second was our attempt on Everest. I will begin with Nanga Parbat.

1. NANGA PARBAT, 1988
2. EVEREST. 1988

 

 

NANGA PARBAT, 1988

On 22 May, 1988, the Canadian Rupal Face Expedition left Canada. On 31 May, we arrived in Gilgit, (via Rawalpindi) after 30 hours of hammering over landslides, plowing through rivers and vaulting over road craters. It was a relief to get off the bus and out of the 47°C of Rawalpindi.

From Gilgit we would have a one-day jeep ride to the mountain village of Tarshing. One day of walking with porters would then get us to our base camp at Tap Alpe. This ease of access is one of the reasons that we had chosen Nanga Parbat. Unfortunately we were informed in Gilgit that, because of construction, the jeep track would be closed until 8 June. Infuriated, caustic, and bitter over another one week delay we packed up for a five day trip to one of the high valleys behind Karimabad. We were determined to get higher, up to 3600 m, and start our acclimatization.

Finally on 8 June, four jeeps were loaded and we departed for Tarshing. On 9 June, we walked in without incident. At 3600 m Tap Alpe is the nicest base camp in Pakistan. There are trees, fresh springs and green pastures. Tap Alpe would be our home for the next 50 days.

One of the problems with going to the largest mountain face on the planet is that the Rupal face starts at 4570 m and base camp is quite low. Too low for acclimatization, so for two weeks we spent our time climbing up onto the surrounding ridges. Six of us made ascents of Rupal peak (5180 m) and Marc managed to solo a new route on a 5790 m peak over two days.

Of the surrounding mountains Shigiri Peak caught our eye. It is a steep face with a natural water-ice line. The map fixed it at 5640 m but we could see that it was higher, may be 6100 m.

3.00 a.m. 19 June, 1988: In the cold night air and darkness we prepare to leave our moraine camp above the Shigiri glacier. Kevin, Ward and I set off by head lamp traversing frozen snow slopes and angling towards the face.

We've judged the face to be 1000 m starting at 5180 m and summiting at 6100 m. Our plan is to move fast and climb it in one day making our descent via the west ridge and ice-face. We carry no tent or sleeping bags. We, do, however, have a stove for melting water.

It is still night when we reach the face. We climb the initial snowfields liy head lamp. At the first jce passage the orange — blue glow of the sun taeats the eastern skyline. Perfect timing; we remove our head lamps rind drive our ice tools into the vertical green ice. Ward is out in front, then Kevin. I bring up the rear. We stay close trying not to knock ice on each other.

The Asian sun emerges from the horizon. Burning shafts of orange light surround then engulf us. Radiant heat brings the face to life and pieces of ice and rock thaw, melt out, and fall towards us. I'm grateful for my helmet. Ward stops. Kevin and I join him and we all decide to put on the rope. We're 300 m up the face.

The face is bigger than we had calculated and at 2.30 p.m. we're 1200 m up our wall. The altitude is gnawing at us. We're exhausted. We stop on a small ledge, anchor to the face and start melting snow on our small gas stove.

We are crossing right over large ribs of snow. I can't see Ward because of the rib in front of me. As I climb it I see him. He's riveted onto 70° ground. He casts a calm look my way: 'I'm going to fall''says as matter of fact. 'Okay.' I reply. Fear surges inside me as I drill my body into the snow and greedily take-in the slack rope between us. Just as I get the rope snug and secure around me Ward scratches off. Anxious seconds of doubt — can I bold him ? — and then the tug; not too big; there's a lot of friction between us. Ward'stops 3 m down. Everything is O.K. And my fear gradually sinks away.

Darkness finds us 170 m further up on the face. Head lamp time again. We try to continue but our pace is pathetic. Ward kicks out a ledge four feet by three feet. At midnight, fully clothed, we sit down on our packs. No one sleeps. We shiver and-cuddle for four hours.

Far below we can see Marc's head lamp punctuate the night as he climbs towards the west ridge. He plans to meet us with sleeping bags and food. The meeting may not happen, but it's nice to know that someone loves us.

At 1.00 p.m. the next day we've ascended another 300 m. Kevin leads the last gully of snow and by 2.00 p.m. we're all sitting in the sun on the summit ridge. Ward levers off his boots revealing the most horribly blistered feet that I've ever seen. Second degree burns compounded by the opaque ooze of trench foot.

'I can't climb up anymore. I have to go down.' he states.

We scratch our plan of going to the summit. (Too bad, we were later lo learn that this was an unclimbed 7000er). Instead we descend the south flank of the mountain. We bivouac on the glacier without food or sleeping bags for the second time and the next day we walk 37 km back to base camp. I don't know how Ward endures the pain as he hobbles along on raw flesh.

For the next nine days we recover in base camp and acclimatize on the surrounding ridges.

9 July 1988: At 1.00 p.m. we leave base camp to attempt the Rupal face. This first day is short. We climb 1000 m to 4500 m. The terrain is straight forward (scrambling) and we are, for now, in relatively rich oxygenated air. At dusk we are just finishing dinner and slipping into our tents for the night. Ward is with us. After two and half weeks he can, once again, put on mountain boots.

10 July: An early start by head lamp. The first hour goes on easy rock. At the snow-line we all step into crampons and begin tacking up long 30 degree couliors of solidly frozen snow. As we top out the last snow-coulior the sun rises and reveals the passage head. For hours we traverse 60 degree icefields beneath the Wieland Rocks.

At noon all four of us are standing below a vertical section. We opt to put on the rope and Ward leads out on 90 degree ice, placing ice-screws. We gain the crescent glacier, but at 1.00 p.m. deep snow, altitude and exhaustion grind us to a halt. At 5950 m we dig out two tent platforms on the sheltered balcony of a crevasse. It has been a big day. We've climbed 1520 m of technical ground.

11 July: Marc surges out in front and leads for two hours. The climbing, initially on ice, is demanding. The angle is steep and we are unroped. Our concentration is intense as we strive up on rock and snow. There can be no mistakes here; the only slip is 2700 m to the bottom.

The Welzenbach couloir is threatened by a huge ship's prow of serac-ice. I lead into it on rope, pushing myself to climb as fast as I can. If the serac collapses while we're in here, we won't stand a chance. An hour later I pull over a short vertical section and punch up into the safety of upper coulior. The malicious serac-ice is behind us. We unrope. Kevin takes the lead and trenches up through fields of deep snow. At 6700 m we stop.

12 July: We wake up inside a cloud. Mist surrounds us as we leave our tent platforms. We are all worried about the weather and the possibility of a storm. Rienhold Messner had thought it impossible to retreat from this height on the mountain in a storm. And that was with an established line of camps all linked together with in-situ rope. We have none of that. Is it possible to descend in a storm ? We don't know. We do, however, know that we are within 1200 m of the summit and that we won't turn around until we have to.

An over-hanging passage of ice forces me to remove my pack. We are on rope and I'm in front. The moves up the ice are devastating and take a toll on all of us. At 2.00 p.m. we sag into deep snow. Clouds still engulf the peak and we cook in the full heat of the greenhouse effect. At 7370 m we stop and erect our tents under a triangular wall of ice. The questionable weather bears on all of us. Will it storm ? Will we be able to continue ?

13 July: We start early. The Merkl Icefield goes quickly. 470 m in two hours. At day break Marc leads our rope into the Merkl Gully. A deep valley in the mountain face with 15 m walls and a width of 3 m. We climb ancient grey ice that is brittle and cast metal hard. At 7680 m Kevin leads a 3 m vertical section. We never expected to find climbing of this difficulty so high on the route. It takes our breath away but not with awe, with brutal ruthless hypoxia.

All hell breaks loose. The storm that we've feared attacks with a speed none of us has ever seen before. In one minute it's here. No build up, no gradation, a wave of wind, electricity and snow that is smashing over the mountain so abruptly that it eclipses the sun. For a half hour Kevin and I claw around trying to make a snow-cave. 110 kmph winds descend and rake the face. Lightning and thunder are everywhere. We decide to retreat. One rappel is made and the four of us stand anchored to one ice — screw.

The first avalanche comes down like the fist of God. It hammers into us and everything gets darker. We're all knocked off our feet and four body weights snap tight onto our one ice-screw. The situation is totally out of control. If the ice-screw fails we will all plummet into the arms of the reaper. The snow doesn't stop and the avalanche bludgeons us for a full half hour. It's all we can do to tilt our heads down and make a channel to breathe.

I'm angry. I hate the hopelessness of it. I have absolutely no control. There is nothing that I can do. I'm a powerless small human waiting to drown in a cold, black, big ocean storm. I may never see my wife again. I hate this. I want to kill it. Still it pours down over me. I'm getting hypothermic.

Finally it stops and, frantically, we retreat. It takes six hours to make six rappels. We wait for long minutes as avalanches continue to devastate us. At 11.00 p.m. we rappel out of the Merkl Gully. The storm is still raging and now darkness is added. At 1.00 a.m. we regain our 7000 m camp. One of our tents is lost as we set up camp and Marc and Ward are forced to dig a snow cave. After 22 hours of climbing we all collapse into a comatose sleep. The combat is over; we'll have to see where we are in the morning.

14 July: Descent is the only option. The storm has continued through the night and heavy clouds surround us. A lethal 12 inches of new snow covers the mountain like a crust that's ready to fracture and slide. Each one of us realizes the seriousness of our situation; and then it gets worse.

'Ward, have you got the yellow rope ? '
'No, I haven't seen either of the ropes.'
'Oh, fuck, man. No way. No fucking way!'

We all rip into our packs. The merciless truth chokes us. We've lost our ropes. Kevin and I miscommunicated in the night and the ropes were dropped off the mountain. We're at 7000 m on the Rupal face, we have 3000 m of rappeling to do and we have no ropes.

Helplessly we look up the barrel of the gun. We feel so small. Gradually we pull ourselves together and make a plan. We will descend to where we can cut enough old fixed rope (left by previous expeditions) to tie together and rappel on. There's also a duffle bag anchored to the wall 300 m below. We left it undisturbed on our way up bur now we'll cut into it. Who knows what might be inside.

Ward cuts into a miracle. The duffle contains two new ropes ! 30 rock pitons ! 15 ice — screws ! And food! In short, everything that we need to descend. We laugh and we howl, we scream and we smile. We've just been handed the biggest second chance of our lives.

At 3.00 p.m. in a damp whiteout, we regain our second camp and the next day we trod base camp wet, hungry and happy. We learn that the magic duffle had been left for four Japanese climbers who went for the summit in 1985, but they never came back. We were four climbers coming down and using the bag for exactly what it was meant for. Draw your own conclusions.

The storm lasted for 10 days but cleared on the morning of 25 July. We made our second attempt on the Rupal. We climbed to 7000 m in two and half days and at 5.00 a.m. on 28 July, we stood at the base of the Merkl Gully. The weather looked as if it was going to storm again. We retreated. We had learned our lesson. At 7.00 p.m. that night we were in base camp having descended 4900 m in 13 hours. The insult — kick in the teeth — of it all was that at 3.00 p.m. the weather cleared. But, we knew that for those 10 hours a storm had mauled the summit. We wouldn't have made it. We had made the right decision.

On 29 May, we left Tap Alpe and on 4 August, Kevin, Ward and I stepped off the plane in Calgary. Marc arrived at his home in Chamonix, France, on 5 August; Our attempt on Nanga Parbat was over.

 

 

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EVEREST. 1988

After reorganizing our team, raising fresh money and lots of negotiations with the Chinese Mountaineering Association we were ready for Everest. On 9 September 1988, Marc, myself and five Chinese personnel began the three-day jeep ride into Everest base camp via the Tibetan towns of Xegaze and Xegar. I was grateful for the fact that China' s jeep tracks come second to Pakistan's in terms of excitement and exposure.

On 11 September we established our base camp at 5780 m on the barren plains of the Roiigbuk glacier. For the second time this year. Marc and I waded through the lassitude and exhaustion of acclimatization.

From 16 to 19 September Marc and I reconnoitered the east Rongbuk glacier to the site of ABC at 6400 m.

On 24 September we occupied Cl. The next morning Archie Louis, John Morel, Tom Chrisie, Jim Hayhurst Jr., Jim Law and I started out for a flash one-day round trip to ABC. Altitude stalked our patrol like an enemy sniper, only Tom and I made the last turn to 6400 m. Archie, Tom and I, having pushed through all daylight, returned to Cl by the grey luminescence of a full moon. We collapsed into our sleeping bags ragged but content.

2 October: At 5.00 p.m. Marc and I leave ABC and march towards the NE flank. Our logic is to climb through the night thereby producing heat. We will rest in the warmth of the day and can thus get on with with just one sleeping bag.

We enter the mountain's shadow immediately and the temperature dives. At 7000 m Marc's feet are cold and will not warm up. He realizes that cold feet at 7000 m will be frost-bitten at 8000 m. We descend back to ABC with the resolve to add another layer of insulation to Marc's boots.

3 October: Marc has added an overboot to his boot system and, once again, we leave ABC for the NE flank. We scale through constant spindrift avalanches and cross-cutting winds. At midnight we decide to dig a snow-cave and rehydrate for three hours. I work too hard to excavate a cramped one-man cave. Marc enters and holds the stove in his hands, melting snow, and I continue to dig. I finally enlarge the cave enough so I can get in too. The last hour of hard digging has altered my breathing pattern. I'm hyperventilating. My lungs feel tiny. At 3.00 a.m. we start climbing again. It's obvious that I'm suffering from the altitude. I can't keep up with Marc. My breath is rapid and shallow. I realize that I'm developing pulmonary oedema. We decide to descend and I stumble into ABC by dawn's first light.

An American doctor confirms that I have mild pulmonary oedema. He finds congestion in all quadrants of my lungs and pressure in my pulmonary artery. I descend to base camp to recover for one week.

On 10 October, Marc and I left base camp for our third attempt on Everest.

On 11 October Hank VanWeelden and John Morel made a successful ascent of peak 6827 m which rises 310 m above the Raphu la.

12 October: At. 10.00 p.m. Marc and I leave ABC. We carry a tent, one stove, no ropes, no harnesses and no sleeping bags. The night is calm. For 10 hours, we climb by head lamp. At 8.00 a.m. on the 13th we stop and hack out a tent platform. We're at 7560 m. We lie on our foam pads: insulated with just our high altitude suits, mountain jackets and the tent. For three hours Hank VanWeelden, over the radio, taunts us with his predictions of the sun hitting our tent ' in just another 15 minutes.' The sun never does clear the rock outcrop immediately above us and Marc and I shiver. We continuously melt snow and drink fluids to rehydrate our parched bodies.

At 2.00 p.m. we start climbing. We exit the steep part of the face and continue up large and solid snow-couloirs. At 5.00 p.m. Marc is out distancing me once again. The winds are strong and Marc stops on a snow-ledge above a short rock chimney. I strive to catch up. As I bridge up the rock passage, illusion grabs me and sways my mind. I see gloved hands squeeze rock holds but the hands don't belong to me. It's as if I'm sitting in the front row of a theater watching a pair of hands on screen.

I reach Marc and tell him that something is going wrong in my head. Cerebral oedema ? Marc thinks we should descend immediately. I hesitate. I ask myself how bad this.is ? Can I spend a night here and continue? Am I over-reacting ? As a .test, I shake my head and, for the first time, get a violent flash of pain in both temples. I have to go down. I say to Marc : 'I've got to get out of here, but you don't. You should stay and go for it'. He shakes his head. 'No way. You're my partner and you've got cerebral oedema; there's no fucking way that I'm leaving you alone.' 'I'll be O.K.; I can get down this'' 'No. There's no question. I descend with you.'

I concede and admire Marc. He's just given up a chance at the top of the world for something he sees as more important. This is the true climbing bond; partnership; something that's been sadly falling out of the norm in the selfish generation of Himalayan climbers.

The speed with which we traverse to the north ridge amazes us. In half an hour we cross a virgin 760 m and march onto the north ridge at 7770 m. Marc is in radio contact with Dr. Bob Bohus of the Wyoming Centenial 'Cowboys on Everest' expedition. On Bob's advice I take a major dose of decadron phosphate (a steroid that will help stop fluid leaks in my brain cells). The wind is savage. Gusts of 160 kmph trap Marc and me to the ridge. For 15 minutes we sit rigid with our ice axes and crampons gouged into the slope. Eventually the tornadic winds diminish and Marc and I start trudging down the north ridge.

My condition deteriorates. Exhaustion siezes me. At the North Col, I stumble into the Wyoming team's camp. The Cowboys have four tents established here, at 7000 m. Their objective is the north ridge, but the constant winds have devastated their attempts. I'm weak. I feel as if I've run 100 km up peaks and down through valleys. I'm a climber in trouble and the six Americans do everything they can to help me. I'm given liquids, food, oxygen, and insulation. The Cowboys insist that I take one of their oxygen bottles and that Marc and I use their fixed ropes to descend.

The oxygen is a life saver. I feel stronger and produce heat. Halfway down the head wall I stop and remove several layers of clothing. When I hit the end of the fixed lines I see head lamps bobbing up the glacier far below. An hour later Marc and I fall into the caring hands of our rescue team: Hank and John as well as Americans Jeb and Clint. They lake all our weight and guide us back to ABC.

20 October: At noon I start out for C2. Marc has been vomiting. I spend the night of 21 October by myself. John arrives the next day with news of Marc being sick en route to C2 and retreating to base camp. It looks as though my partner isn't going to be able to make another attempt. I prepare myself for a 10 p.m. start, solo.

At 7 p.m. I hear footsteps outside my tent; John? The door flap zipper rips open and two excited electric blue eyes dive in at me. 'Never quit!' howls Marc. He's come up from base camp in one day and he's ready to climb. My solo attempt is happily scrapped and Marc and I make plans to leave the next day. We decide to try the north ridge. We're too burned out to climb on our new route. We need an easier, more direct, line.

Marc tells me about how he started out one hour after me on the 20th. He stopped for a drink and woke up on the ground with sore knees <ind no water bottle. He had passed out, alone. He ran back to base camp where a trekking doctor diagnosed deficiency of salt and potassium. Marc started taking electrolyte and potassium pills and two days later he made the only one day approach to ABC.

23 October: Marc and I leave ABC at 2.00 p.m. and climb the head wall. We arrive at the North Col at 5 p.m. and pitch our small two-man lent. To save on weight we've brought only one sleeping bag, but it's enough and we both sleep warm.

24 October: The north ridge is not steep. We find ski poles to be our best climbing tools. The winds are moderate and by early afternoon we've plodded to 7770 m. From here we plan to traverse into the great couloir. It's one mile west of us and we can see a bivy site that we hope to gain by 3 p.m.

The traverse is sickening. We trudge on for hours and still don't reach our ledge. It begins to hurt. Will forces each reluctant step and our bodies want nothing but to stop; to quit moving. At 7 p.m. we finally reach our ledge. Our bodies throb and we bitterly, slowly dig out a platform. We're at 8070 m.

The temperature is low. Long ice-crystals reach down from the walls of the tent and our breath turns into clouds. Patiently we work our stove providing the life sustaining fluids we so badly need. At 12.30 a.m. I set my alarm for 2 a.m. and we sleep for an hour and a half. At 2 a.m. we start melting snow and at 5 a.m. we leave the tent and climb towards the summit of Everest.

We're cold. Marc is having problems keeping his feet warm. We stop every 20 steps and swing blood back into freezing toes. There is no air here.Breathing is a herculean effort and I feel the muscles in my neck and shoulders bulge in an effort to inflate my lungs. My balance is off and I lean on two ice axes for stability. I wouldn't do this in the Rockies or Alps; the angle is only 45 degrees.

At 8230 m Marc tells me that he's going back to the tent. His feet are too cold, in danger of frostbite, and he doesn't feel in control. He's leaning heavily on his axes and he's falling asleep for flashing seconds every time we stop or change direction. Marc knows that if he falls here he won't be able to stop. I decide to continue, but know, as I watch him descend from me, that half of my chance goes with him.

It's hard to turn your back on the top of the world. Twice already I've started to retreat only to take 100 steps down, turn around and start climbing for the summit again. It's like I forget how out of control I feel and have to reaffirm it in my mind. Is this really as bad as it feels ? Am I quitting ?

I realize that I can make the summit and that it will take another eight hours. I also realize that I won't make it back. I'm too exhausted. This mountain has taken too much of me. I think of all the climbers who have laid down life on the descent and never got up. To place the summit above all else is nothing more than suicide.

I drive my right tool into the cold white snow, cautiously I step my feet around and descend from Everest.

The Alpine-style attempts on the Rupal face of Nanga Parbat (8125 m) and the NE face of Everest (8848 m) during one, year, 1988.

 

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