The Travelling Life of Silvan Colani
"The attack on the mountain begins" as they would write in the historic mountaineering books. I'd like to think of it more as a humble pilgrimage up this beautiful mountain. Our initial destination is Yak Camp (5500m) to where we've sent some of our gear by yak, i.e. we travel with relatively light packs. Our cook, Dawa, accompanies us as far as Yak Camp and prepares a "Sherpa Stew" for dinner. This, quite frankly, didn't sit very well with me and I spend a restless night sharing a tent with Lawrence and Hamish. Lawrence, whom we call "Doc" for his profession or "Preacher" for a mistaken identity by one of his patients, is the undisputed record holder of nightly pee activity, getting up repeatedly to fill empty at least four liters into his pee bottle.
This brings me to the interesting topic of my own pee bottle system. When I first read on the expedition equipment list "pee bottle" I went out and bough a 500 ml plastic bottle, naively assuming that this would be plenty of capacity for one night. How wrong I was. A major part of the acclimatization process consists of drinking plenty of fluids - resulting in massive amounts of pee every night. By the time I discovered this important fact it was too late to buy a bigger bottle. I did have a spare drinking bottle, which however was unsuitable as a primary pee bottle (the opening being too small and metallic, thus risking my little friend being frozen to the bottle!!!). I now had to devise a system whereby I would fill the 500 ml plastic bottle (try to turn off the tap at exactly 500 ml!!!) and then transfer the smelly liquids to the 1l metal bottle. A very delicate process indeed - but it worked out all right most of the time.
Back at the sleepless night at Yak Camp, our tent mate Hamish got quite sick, throwing up repeatedly during the night. He decided to stay behind next morning to recuperate.
We're heading for Camp 1 (5840m), which is about a 2-3 hour journey. Our Sherpas have of course already raced ahead and established Camp 1 so we only have to move in. Indeed, our Sherpas, those cheerful and incredibly strong fellows, are constantly running up and down the mountain while we are slowly slugging upwards. Here we see them coming back from having established Camp 2, going all the way back to Base Camp only to return next day with more fuel and provisions for high camps. Simply incredible. We eventually reach Camp 1 shortly after noon, perched up on the ridge of our ascent line. We've got five tents for the nine of us, which means ample space and relative comfort. One of the major - and most boring - tasks at these high camps is melting snow to produce drinking and cooking water. To watch snow melt is about as exciting as to watch paint dry. We had plenty of distractions of course, with a spectacular panoramic setting, which glowed in unbelievable colors at sunset.
I slept fantastically well at Camp 1 and was fit and ready for our first "carry" to Camp 2. A carry would mean bringing some of our stuff up to the higher camp before returning back to Camp 1 for the night. We left at 9 am, starting off at the fixed ropes, which would go all the way to the summit. You are constantly clipped into these lines with two karabiners, attached to your harness for safety while in steeper section you actually climb the ropes themselves. Our guides Luis and Steve were busy fixing some of the missing or dodgy section, as well as improving anchors, which are never permanent in these harsh conditions.
The major obstacle from Camp 1 to 2 is the Yellow Tower, a steep vertical wall on top of which an uncomfortable small campsite is made out. To climb the tower, you "jumar" up the fixed lines, a technique, which sees you hauling your and your pack's weight straight up. It's hard work and the fact that the mountain drops off over 1000 meters below your feet doesn't help matters at all. Luis, myself, Matt and Joe worked our way up the tower but as time was running late, the rest decided to stash their gear below the tower and we all returned to Camp 1 for the night. Joe was pretty worn out from the rigors of the Yellow Tower and we crawled back in our tent just before sunset. Dinner was some dehydrated pre-packaged meal, which for the record I can confirm all taste horribly. I certainly started to miss our cook at Base Camp.
Halloween! Unlike me, my tent mate Joe did not sleep well at all and apparently did not recover at all from the rigors of the past day. By the time I awoke he had made the tough - and for him clearly painful - decision to return to Base Camp and give up on his climb. Admitting to one's limitations is a brave and wise decision, but never easy. Joe was close to tiers as he left Camp1 this morning together with Hamish, whose stomach bugs ruined his own summit chances. We were now down to seven expedition members on the mountain and the atmosphere on this Halloween morning was rather depressed - added by the fact that Luis called for a rest day, which wasn't unilaterally welcomed given the good weather. But Luis' judgments so far had proven spot on and thus there was not much dissent.
Luis, who is just a couple of years older than me and I believe younger than most of our expedition members, was a most impressive expedition leader. From his climbing expertise to his medical knowledge (dishing out an incredible assortment of drugs during the trip) to his organizational and social skills and his Latin charm with the ladies, he was a read confidence-inspiring leader as far as I was concerned. His only weakness was his American upbringing, which came under repeated attacks from the Kiwis, both in verbal and practical ways.
Properly rested, the expedition moved from Camp 1 to Camp 2 (6000m). As we had covered the territory before, the going was relatively smooth. The Yellow tower remained as tough as before, however, particularly with a heavier pack on the back. Camp 2 was an exposed, cramped, foul-smelling space high up on the ridge. Having a poo at that sort of exposure was a major issue, but lets not go there… I spent the night hugging a rock and didn't sleep much at all.
Leaving this horrible Camp 2 seemed like a wonderful proposition, no matter how hard the move to Camp 3 would be. And hard it was! With packs fully loaded we moved on, coming to the second biggest technical obstacle on the entire route before long: the Gray Tower. Like its yellow cousin, the Gray Tower is a vertical section of snow, ice and loose rock, making it an uncomfortable and potentially dangerous place. Steve led the way up and I was second up.
Huffing and puffing our way up the steep slope we suddenly encountered traffic coming down the tower! This was going to be fun! While we were suspended on dodgy anchors in mid-slope, a group of Sherpas and Australian climbers prepared to abseil the tower. Up on top we somehow managed to weave past the descending party, but further down the tower the excitement continued as the descending team dislodged a rock the size of a coffee table, which hurled past our guys waiting at the bottom. Luis was heard curding loudly I several languages!
Once atop the tower, the route followed up a steep ice couloir before topping out on the corniced ridge. The exposure was spectacular, with the mountain dropping off sharply on both sides. A final, all-energy-sappping vertical ice section opened the way to Camp 3 (6300m) into which I virtually crawled. Camp 3 was more comfortable than Camp 2, but we could tell that this was not a place to hang out for too long. We snuggled into our sleeping bags and started to boil water for the big day ahead.
