|
Déjà Vu on Khan Tengri
Dedicated to Jose Antonio Delgado (1965-2006)
My most recent mountain trips have been to a mountain that dominates
the border between Kazakhstan and Kyrgystan named Khan Tengri. In
2004 I was looking to climb a high Himalayan mountain, but it needed
to be a mountain I could get to inexpensively and one I could do
alone if necessary. I was in need of an adventure. I needed the
larger than life feelings and sensations that only come with climbing
a big mountain. I knew of a mountain called Khan Tengri - difficult
to be sure, but one that was relatively accessible and would likely
have other climbers on it. Through the magic of the internet I put
the trip together very quickly and was off…
In early July of 2004 I found myself in Almaty, Kazakhstan, about
to board a van headed for Karkara, the staging point for the helicopter
flight to Khan Tengri base camp. In the lobby of the hotel was Jose
Delgado, a Venezuelan climber who, I would find out later, had climbed
four 8000m peaks, including Everest. Jose's train of thought had
been identical to mine before leaving home - he would go to Khan
Tengri alone in the hopes of finding a partner once there. Well,
here we were, day one of the trip, and we had found each other and
were sharing a ride to the mountain together. After a brief discussion
we agreed we'd try climbing together. Almost immediately I felt
like we were a team. I felt incredibly comfortable with Jose. The
expedition had begun with an amazing sense of destiny.
We spent several days waiting in the rain at Karkara for good flying
weather. Once in base camp Jose and I began our process of acclimatization
and met the other teams already in camp. Our paths crossed with
several people who we would become incredibly close to in the days
to come: the Chilean couple, Rodrigo and Patti; the Norwegians Stein
and Astrid; the Japanese foursome and the Polish Gregorz and Janeusz.
All were like-minded people from around the world who had assembled
on a cold and remote glacier in an obscure corner of Central Asia
- what a wonderful place to be! The Kazakh staff that ran the base
camp assigned us seats in the dinning tent and Jose and I usually
sat with Gregorz and Janeusz. Evenings can be long in mountain base
camps, but at Khan Tengri there always seemed to be someone interesting
to talk to.
Jose and I started out on our first trip up the mountain. We spent
four nights out and established camp 2. The lower part of the route
was avalanche prone and stressful to be on. For 800 metres below
camp 2, the route was steep and strenuous, often with great exposure
below. We returned to base camp to rest up for the summit attempt.
After two very relaxing days, Gregorz and Janeusz decided to go
for their route, the north face. Jose and I were taking one more
rest day before starting up. We spent the day with them, helping
to pack, check gear and of course eat and drink - fuelling up for
what we all knew would be a major outing ahead.
That night I slept poorly. In my light sleep I knew they had left
for the mountain, and I felt uneasy. The sound of snow sliding off
of our tent woke me often. As dawn came I looked outside. Everything
was white. The usual weather pattern was a clear morning followed
by an afternoon that almost always saw a buildup of cloud. But that
morning began in the mist. Later, the clouds lifted slightly. On
the lower part of the North Face I could see two tiny dots I knew
were Gregorz and Janeusz. With a telephoto lens I was able to photograph
them. I had to admire their gumption for starting the route in such
poor conditions. There was little doubt that the route would become
incredibly dangerous if much more snow fell. But I realized also
that their tactic was a sound gamble - begin the climb in poor weather
and climb into the good weather that was bound to follow. It made
a lot of sense…
The clearing was brief. By the early afternoon the mountain had
disappeared into the murk. Avalanches were heard frequently coming
from the wall. I could only cringe sitting in base camp. No one
needed to say a word: we knew the guys were in trouble and there
was nothing any of us could do. It was also clear that Jose and
I didn't need to worry about starting on our route for a few days
at minimum.
That evening, in the dinning tent, in our snowy base camp, we drank
and talked and listened to music. Avalanches could be heard in the
distance. Strong sensations coursed through me as I imagined the
terrifying situation the guys were no doubt dealing with. I deeply
appreciated the feeling of being alive. Somehow, I knew that someone
was no longer with us.
In the morning I stood in base camp looking out across the glacier.
A lone figure stumbled from under the north wall of Khan Tengri.
I alerted Jose and we went out to meet whomever it was. It was a
surreal feeling to wonder who we would meet. Who would still be
alive?
I saw Janeusz stagger toward us. That was it then, Gregorz was
dead I thought to myself. To confirm, I asked him, "where is
Greg?"
"Greg is dead."
Janeusz threw his ice axe to the ground in disgust. We were silent.
Later in base camp Janeusz called Greg's father. The pain was incredible.
So much hurt had been produced within the blink of an eye. I thought
to my pregnant wife and at that point wanted to be home more than
anything.
Janeusz moved into our tent. Gradually through the day he explained
to us what had happened up on the mountain. They had climbed into
the snowstorm and very quickly were being pummeled by avalanches.
They spent the night out huddled under some small overhangs that
offered less than complete shelter from the increasingly frequent
and powerful avalanches. Greg argued for retreat. The following
morning they began their frightening descent. The face was steep
enough to require them to rappel. At one anchor, Greg made his rappel
first. Janeusz could hear him call "off rappel" far below
and clipped into the ropes and made his way down. As he came to
the end of the ropes, Janeusz began to wonder where Greg could be.
There was no sign of him. Perhaps he was hiding under an overhang
or was around a corner of rock a few feet away, but there was no
Greg. He noticed some fresh rock scarring on the face. It seemed
the anchor Greg was attached to had failed, and he had almost certainly
fallen to his death. Janeusz was faced with a nightmarish situation.
Not only had he just lost his close friend, but he was now faced
with losing his own life too. Greg had the rack of hardware with
him. Without that gear constructing anchors would prove an extreme
challenge, requiring ingenuity. It took Janeusz an entire day to
come down by himself with the very little gear he had left with
him. He could not find Greg's body at the base of the mountain.
Now he asked if we could please help him find Greg.
The poor weather continued for days. Eventually Greg was found
under the wall by two Kazakhs. We dragged his body away from the
face and wrapped him in the tent he had packed only days earlier.
We left him under a pile of rocks to protect him from the ravens
and went back to camp.
Jose and I were unsure of what to do next. The sight of Greg's
frozen body, his face gray and sullen, the sound of Janeusz's sobbing
while he spoke to Greg's father and the thought that this could
be any of us, would not leave my mind. I tried to be rational. We
would not be climbing the route Greg had been on. I would be incredibly
careful, I assured myself. I had come such a long way, and knew
my opportunities to climb mountains like Khan Tengri were few and
far between. We decided that despite what had happened we should
still give the mountain a try.
Leaving was extremely difficult. The lower sections of the mountain
now seemed even more dangerous. On the glacier below I could see
the track in the snow where Greg's body had been dragged down. I
imagined his face. I hurried through the route, passing camp1 and
arrived at camp 2 in record time. The next morning Jose and I continued
toward camp 3. The route steepened further and the weather took
a turn for the worse once again. I was beginning to feel cursed.
We climbed to over 20,000 feet in a complete whiteout that turned
to snowstorm. We could not find camp 3 and decided to pitch our
tent where we stood. The following morning dawned clear. We decided
to continue to camp 3, despite really wanting to go home. The route
on Khan Tengri requires passing over a sub-peak and then making
a descent to camp 3. The crevasse-ridden slopes were heavily laden
with snow and the narrow and steep traverse into camp 3 was gripping.
We made camp and tried to sleep, with the full intention of making
a summit attempt the following day. Through the night an intense
windstorm made it impossible for us to sleep. Snow blasted through
tiny openings in the tent and eventually we were covered in snow
inside the tent. I was exasperated. I felt that no matter how hard
I tried to succeed on this mountain, it was saying, sorry, no!
With little discussion Jose and I began our retreat. I felt heavy,
a failure, but really could not face being in danger for another
minute. We went home.
In the months that followed I thought of the things that had happened
on Khan Tengri everyday. I knew I would have to go back and finish
the climb. Jose and I had gone through a lot and I could only imagine
finishing the climb with him. I casually mentioned our return in
an email and he clearly wanted the same. By December we had agreed
to return. Now I just had to break the news to my wife and clear
out the schedule for July…
Returning to Khan Tengri was a wonderful experience. We had made
friends in Kazakhstan and they welcomed us back like family. The
return trip ran as smoothly as could be imagined. Jose and I never
spoke about the previous summer. There was an understanding that
we would put that behind us until our job was finished. I approached
my return to Khan Tengri in a business like manner. The gods were
with us also. We never once waited for poor weather - nature cooperated
with us in a way I have never seen before in the mountains. Arriving
in base camp many feelings came back, but I was stronger than before,
and focused on staying upbeat and positive.
We put in our time acclimatizing and before we knew it the moment
of truth had arrived: we were gearing up for summit day in camp
3. An American team staggered back at about 6 in the morning, frostbitten
and exhausted, just as we were about to leave. Jose and I helped
them take their crampons off and got them into their tent. I was
being tested one more time before heading to the top. I knew it
would be difficult. I could see it would be difficult. The time
for questioning was over though. Jose and I said "let's go"
and left all our doubts behind.
Summit day was one of those days where I knew I would succeed.
I didn't really doubt it the entire day. The route is steep and
exposed, strenuous and often frightening. I carefully picked my
way through each section, eyeing the route ahead. Jose and I summited
in the late afternoon, hugged and photographed each other, and turned
around to begin the long trip home and into the future. I had overcome
some massive mental barriers in arriving there. The climb of Khan
Tengri was, in the end, one of the most powerful experiences of
my life.
***
July, 2006
As I revisit this piece of writing, I do so with an incredible
sorrow. Jose, my great friend and partner of those two expeditions
to Khan Tengri, died in mid-July on Nanga Parbat in Pakistan. The
thought of what Jose went through during his final days has been
on my mind continually. It's left me feeling blank, nothing, incredibly
depressed. I can't believe he's gone. To say the very least, the
cost of this sport is extraordinarily high. Is it worth it? I can't
really say. My life is too entangled in it all to ever know at this
point. What would my life have been like without climbing? Happier?
More fulfilling? I actually doubt that, but again, I'll never know.
Jose and I did discuss this very issue. I know he felt it was worth
it…but right now I'm not sure. Goodbye Jose, I'll miss you.
|
