Menlungtse Expedition 1999

Menlungtse is a mountain of great stature and reputation that stands sternly in a remote pocket of Southern Tibet, and is in a category with the world's most difficult peaks. There are only so many mountains in the world like Menlungtse...Changabang, Gauri Shankar, Jannu... These are rarely climbed and very difficult to climb mountains, mountains which have retained their mystique in an era where we seem to know everything about everything...

By the autumn of 1999, Menlungtse had received only one ascent to its main summit, despite several attempts by very strong teams, including two Bonington led expeditions. The mountain had been explored on its West and South-East Faces, but the North Face still remained a mystery. I was invited on an expedition that hoped to climb this magnificent mountain by a new route on the North Side, of which no photographs were available. This was to be a true adventure. Unfortunately this more than optimistic idea was promptly crushed by the significant danger the north side presented.

On first sight the North Face appeared out of the question - it was absolutely festooned with seracs (high cliffs of unstable glacier ice). Carlos Buhler convinced me to give the face a chance, and that with some study and time, we would spy a route on the wall. With team arguments and the danger of the route weighing on Martin Zabaleta, he decided to leave the expedition. This was a great blow to me, as I respected his judgment and experience greatly. Frankly, I felt I would need his moral support in order to survive the trip. However I decided to stay as I had so much invested in the expedition. This was a dream mountain for me - exactly the type of expedition, route and mountain I felt I wanted to be climbing on. The attempts Mark Price, Carlos and I made on this face were amongst the most frightening days of my life. There was significant death potential and the tension was severe while we climbed. In a way, I'm amazed we ever went up there. One afternoon, alone, while climbing out from the clutches of the glacier below the 7500' north wall, I could hear faint singing, magic and haunting, when a large avalanche broke behind and to my left, booming and reverberating with a force that caused me to start running for my life! Fortunately the avalanche was far enough away that I was only caught in its exit blast of windblown snow-cloud, but my lungs and internal organs felt as though they were going to melt from the exertion. The singing lured me back up the slope away from the mountain, and to safety. The voice belonged to Kinsum our Tibetan camp helper, who had been patiently watching us and waiting for us to return. She quietly walked back to camp with me, as though nothing had happened. These were powerful experiences. Ones I'll never forget and ones that don't even seem real anymore.

During our approach to the mountain we had been among the privileged few to witness the destroyed Chuwar monastery, and the meditation and death caves of Milarepa, Tibet's most famous Yogi and mystic. The moment of entering the destroyed inner chamber was for me one of the most intense I've had. It was after the first day of the trek to base camp that we came to the abandoned Chuwar monastery. I was chomping at the bit to get over to the monastery grounds and see what was inside. The grass outside of the walls of the great hall was clipped short by grazing yaks, but inside the walls, things looked to be quite a mess. I entered through a doorway, scrambling under old smashed doors and picked my way through the overgrown mess of fallen beams and shoulder high nettles in front of the remaining structure of the monastery. Peeking into the chamber, between the huge ornate doors that were now off their hinges, silence all around, I gasped at what I saw - it was a scene of tragedy - of destruction of art, of culture and a people. I won't ever forget that place: I still think of it often.

The Tibetan people, wild and intimidating at first, became our friends. We were able to spend a total of approximately ten days in the remote and quiet village of Tsambuje. This was a magic time, despite the failure of the climbing, which came close to strangling me for months afterward.