The Travelling Life of Silvan Colani
Summit Attempt! With three of us sharing a tent it was a comfortably warm night. However, we heard the wind howling very strongly outside. At 6300m, these were close to jet stream gusts, which rattled the tent incessantly. We were up at 6 am, boiling water in our tent vestibule. Going out into this freezing wind was clearly not an option and we delayed our start until 9 am in the hope that the first rays of sunshine would make climbing a realistic proposition. Getting dressed and ready at this altitude and temperature (it was -12 degrees in the tent and possibly - 30 degrees outside) is a major operation, but at 9 am everybody was ready to roll: crampons on, fleece jackets, gore tex, down jacket... the whole lot.
Summit day is the least technical bit of the entire climb, but it is no walk in the hills either. It is a constant grind up very steep snow slopes with no flat spots in sight. It is a physically and mentally draining journey that takes you to the limits in every respect. And it is cold. Although we were basked in sunshine for almost the entire journey, my toes went numb not far after we left camp. I had just read Maurice Herzog's classic "Annapurna", on which epic climb he lost all his toes to frostbite. Since our altitude was not as high and the weather was fine I was not too worried, but I wiggled my tootsies furiously nevertheless.
I struggled with every step, trying to find breath and purpose at the same time. "Why am I doing this?" I kept asking myself repeatedly, without finding an answer. Time slipped away as our train of three Sherpas and seven climbers slowly chugged upwards - when suddenly my own engine ran out of steam. I literally couldn't get any air into my lungs. I felt a horrible feeling of drowning, trying desperately to suck in valuable air. In a panic I ripped open my three jackets and fleece, gasping for air. The train stopped and concerned faces looked my way as I wheezed in the thin air. After some frightful moments normality returned to my lungs. It was a scary incident but funny enough right after it I knew I would make it to the top. I had overcome some invisible obstacle and suddenly my mind was much freer. And indeed, after another endless sequence of snow steps we heard the cries of joy and victory at the front of the train.
We had reached the top of Ama Dablam! It was a flat, roundish platform that offered sufficient space for all ten of us, shuffling around for summit photos and victory poses. What a glorious place with unrivaled views. There was Everest (8848m) just across the valley; Lhotse (8516m), Makalu (8463m) and Manaslu (8163m) looked surprisingly close; Cho Oyu (8201m) and Shisha Pangma (8013m) were visible in the distance among a gazillion of lesser peaks. We could see our entire route, down to the tiny dots that were Base Camp. Our altimeters all indicated different heights, none of which matched the "official" 6828m. Whatever the altitude, it was clearly the top and there was nowhere else to go but down!
The feeling of achievement is incredible at such an altitude, but so is the desire to get home fast and safe. At 2.15 pm we started our descent, which meant mostly abseiling down the fixed ropes, which is a nerve-wrecking activity in itself. To say I descended to Camp 3 in style would be an utter lie. I slid, I stumbled, I staggered… and more often than not had I to be assisted by Lakpa Sherpa whose untiring strength and awareness were invaluable. I clearly remember shouting "I want to go home!" to an easily identifiable yet inaccessibly far Base Camp almost 2 km down the mountain. The notion of going home at this point was about as realistic as "E.T. phone home"! Home for night would only be Camp 3.
It was about 4 pm by the time I rolled back into Camp 3, physically and mentally exhausted, barely able to start the cooker for more snow melting action. By around 4.30 pm our entire team had made it safely back to camp, including Lindsay who had climbed to the summit in semi-healthy condition on a big cocktail of drugs - quite an achievement in itself! By the time we were about to fall asleep, a tingling sensation had also returned to my toes - a clear indication that they were just temporarily numbed by the cold, as opposed to permanent "freeze dried"!!!
Camp 3 was still freezing cold in the morning, but the fact that we were now on the way down - rather than up - made everything feel more bearable. Today's objective would be to return to Camp 1, which would be a hard day's work in itself, descending both towers in the process. Setting off down the very exposed ridge below Camp 3 set the tone for the day. While descending is physically somewhat less demanding, I found it mentally much harder as you concentrate even more on making sure you are properly clipped into the fixed lines, particularly when abseiling steep sections. You also want to make sure you clip into the right ropes and not into some frayed old line, as did an unfortunate German guide who fell to his death on the mountain just a week prior to our arrival - a grim reminder of the risks in the mountains.
We made it safely to Camp 2 at around 1.30 pm where we awaited the arrival of the "Mamas Dablam" - the all-women's team - who were coming up for their own summit attempt. Having exchanged congratulations and best wishes we continued down to Camp 1, which we reached just before sunset for a last night of snow melting.
Keen to get off the mountain and start the party at Base Camp we hurried off the final fixed lines below Camp 1, storming on to Yak Camp where we were met by our Sirdar, Ang Tshering and five of his yaks which would carry down some of our gear. Quick-footed with light packs we sped down further, to be met by Hamish who cam up from Base Camp with cold beers to celebrate our success! What a treat, basking in the warm sunshine at 5000m, drowning our first beer in a month to the tunes of Bob Marley - I'll never forget that moment!
