Author: Tom

Greetings from base camp as we continue to wait for the optimal weather window to try for the summit. We are getting close. This post is a grab bag of various topics.

WAITING AT BASE CAMP FOR THE WEATHER WINDOW

As described in my last post, we are following a “go late” strategy, meaning we must not only wait for a weather window, but also – if possible- have the patience to sit tight and let other teams go for the summit ahead of us, hoping for an even later window more to ourselves.

As expected, it looks like the next good window will be roughy May 19-22. As it takes around six days for an acclimatized team to get from base camp to the summit, this means that a number of teams pulled out of base camp this weekend to head up the mountain and get in position for their summit bids. It is really hard to sit here and watch them go, particularly as there aren’t too many climbing days left in the season, but that is what the “go late” strategy is all about.

We are hoping/betting that, after the majority of teams who are left on the mountain take their summit shots around May 19-22, another window will open up before the end of the month. Most years it does. If it does again this year, we may end up realizing our dream scenario of having the upper mountain largely to ourselves. That is what we are waiting and hoping for.

It is hard to be patient in this situation, but base camp is a pleasant place to wait. During the day, when the sun is out, it is positively warm. Evening temperatures drop down to the low teens, but our sleeping bags are warm and our acclimatized bodies sleep soundly at 17,500 feet.

Here is a photo of our team during one of my favorite times of the day: sipping coffee outside the dining tent before breakfast, relishing the early morning sun on our faces and the mountain views. Ben and Lakpa are in the background.

Today, in the interest of staying physically sharp, we went on a hike across the Khumbu glacier to the other side of the valley. It was gorgeous, and going on a relaxed hike as opposed to gasping for air higher on the mountain made it particularly easy to look around and savor being in such beautiful surroundings.

Years ago, the original Everest expeditions had their Camp 1 location further up on this side of the valley, and we had fun playing “amateur archeologist”; looking for artifacts from the original expeditions that the glacier had carried down the valley. We were like little kids on a treasure hunt, and were delighted when we found several tent pegs, a bit of climbing rope, and a couple of sardine cans. Chase also found a circa 2010 Srixon golf ball, for which we have no historical explanation. Here is a photo of our ace archeological team in action:

In the coming days, we will stay committed to a mix of waiting patiently and going on hikes to stay sharp. If I had to guess, I’ll bet we head back up the mountain within the next three to four days, eyeing a summit attempt around May 25-27. It all depends on the weather, which we fervently hope breaks favorably for us. Stay tuned.

THE COVID SITUATION

Nepal continues to experience a really nasty Covid surge, connected to a horrible surge in neighboring India. With very low vaccination rates and limited healthcare infrastructure, I really feel for the country, especially the densely populated areas such as Kathmandu and its outlying villages.

Meanwhile, despite what the press would have you believe, the Covid situation at base camp and on the mountain feels very manageable. Not without challenges, but manageable. The reality is that each expedition has its own base camp area, entirely removed from the others. Once on the mountain, people move very independently, outdoors in the extreme, with various forms of climbing- related masks on their faces. The risk of Covid passing between members of different expeditions is effectively zero.

So the issue comes down to how well each individual expedition manages its Covid risk, (and how lucky/unlucky they are). In our small team of five climbers and two lead guides, with the best base camp manager in the business, (Lakpa Rita), things are very tightly managed. Effectively all of us western climbers are vaccinated, the climbing Sherpas are strongly encouraged to social distance and are tested frequently, and we operate as a totally independent pod, never mingling with other teams. We feel totally safe.

Some other teams have not been so fortunate, especially larger teams, with some of their climbing Sherpas and members testing positive and being evacuated/removed from base camp.

Some of you may also have seen some Everest-related announcements from the Chinese government. A week ago, they announced that they would install a barrier to prevent Nepal-side climbers from crossing to the China side of the roughly 20’ x 20’ shared summit and spreading Covid. Everything about this announcement was absurd, starting with the idea that such a barrier could be erected or enforced on a tiny mountain summit at 29,000 feet, and ending with the idea that small numbers of climbers wearing oxygen masks represent a health risk to each other. Then, several days ago, in an equally absurd announcement, China cancelled the one, (Chinese), expedition they were allowing on the north side of the mountain this year, citing the same concern for Covid exposure on the summit. Clearly, China is attempting to use Everest to promote a broader narrative of “Covid responsibility” to the world community. I wish they would resort to more fact-based methods.

To return to more practical Covid matters, and to summarize : I worry greatly about Covid’s impact on the broader Nepalese population, but worry very little about its impact on our team’s ability to climb the mountain safely. I do worry about its impact on our ability to get home after we get down, as all domestic and international flights in Nepal currently are shut down. But we will deal with that when we get there. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

ANSWERS TO SOME QUESTIONS YOU HAVE ASKED:

I apologize for not addressing many of the great questions some of you have asked, but here are answers to a few:

Trash on the mountain:

I honestly see very little trash or other degradation, with the overwhelming impression being a pristine, beautiful mountain environment. Base camp in particular has surprised me with how orderly and clean it is. Higher on the mountain, the biggest annoyance so far is occasional throat lozenge wrappers that Sherpa teams drop on the route. It is true that, in some places on on the upper mountain, human waste, after being carefully bagged, is thrown into deep crevasses, but this is a practice observed on a number of the world’s tallest mountains. It is also true that, when I am at Camp 4 at 26,300 feet, I expect I will see discarded oxygen bottles, frozen human feces, and more than one frozen dead body, but this doesn’t surprise me given the extreme nature of that environment and how challenging it is to function up there.

In summary, while the environmental challenges the press writes about are real and to be taken seriously, I am experiencing a very different – and much more positive – situation than the “Everest has been irrevocably trashed” narrative. This mountain feels to me like a wild, beautiful, awe inspiring environment, where nature rules.

Temperatures and wind speeds:

In the upper camps, temperatures drop well below zero at night. When (if) the sun hits, things warm up rapidly. On our climb from Camp 4 to the summit, we are expecting nighttime temperatures around -30 F, and daytime temperatures still well below zero.

Wind speeds when the jet stream is on the summit can range from 40 mph to 100 mph. When the jet is off the summit, climbers are hoping for winds below 30 mph. An ideal summit day might be 10 mph.

ICEFALL PICTURES FOR THE FUN OF IT

As discussed previously, every trip through the icefall is simultaneously nerve wracking and beautiful. It is a constantly shifting maze of huge ice blocks, ridges, ravines, and deep crevasses. In a number of places, ladders are stretched across crevasses and the trick is to walk across them without your crampons getting caught in a rung, and also without looking down into the crevasse and thinking too much.

Here is a photo Ben took of me on our descent through the icefall on our second rotation; traversing an ice bridge:

And here is another one of me crossing a ladder:

As mentioned previously, we will pass though the icefall a total of six times on this climb, (three up, three down). Four of those passages are already behind us. For me, regardless of what does or doesn’t happen on summit day, the climb won’t be over until I emerge out of the bottom of the icefall that sixth time.

WHAT I WILL CARRY TO THE SUMMIT

Here is a photo of what I will carry in the top of my backpack on our final climb , and what I hope to unfurl on the summit:

“Moor and Mountain” is the name of the camping and climbing equipment store my father owned when I was growing up; where I sat on the floor as a young child reading books about the epic climbing expeditions of the 1960’s and 70’s. The store closed almost 20 years ago, but a number of you have been there and remember it.

In 1992, when I climbed the West Rib of Denali with friends Matt, Colin, and Bob, Moor and Mountain was our go-to equipment supplier, and we carried a Moor and Mountain flag to the summit as thanks. Over the past several years, I have carried the flag to the summits of Ranier, Vinson in Antarctica, and Aconcagua.

The flag represents a number of things to me: the store’s enduring gift of a love of the outdoors, it’s role in inculcating the romance of mountaineering, and – in a different vein- the grace and nobility with which my father managed the enterprise through its various ups and downs over the years. Given how strongly our family was intertwined with Moor and Mountain, the flag also symbolizes my gratitude for the family that raised me, and my love for my father, mother, sister Cathy, and sister Hilary. Every time I have unfurled it on a mountain summit, I have gotten surprisingly emotional.

The photograph is of Jill, John, Holly, and Will, (and me), on Jill’s and my 25th wedding anniversary. It needs no explanation. These four individuals are the core of my universe. They make my every step on this planet meaningful, and they are with me every step of the way on this climb. I would like so much to carry their images to the top of the world.

Note: the photograph was expertly attached to the flag in my tent today, through deft wielding of a Swiss Army knife and dental floss.

THE IMMEDIATE FUTURE

We will keep our eyes on the weather forecast, stay patient, and hopefully head up the mountain within three or four days. I’ll post one more time before we leave, with final details.

Yesterday morning, we woke up at Camp 2 at 2:00am, tried to stay warm while eating a quick breakfast, then headed back down the mountain to complete our second rotation. As we headed down through the Western Cym to Camp 1, where we stopped for a quick break, the first rays of light hit the surrounding peaks. It was gorgeous. Then we had a smooth trip down through the icefall, encountering few other climbers, and arrived at base camp around 9:00am.

In this post: 1) more details on the second rotation, 2) some macro thoughts on the interplay between weather and “crowds” on Everest, and 3) how we will now approach our summit bid.

DETAILS ON OUR SECOND ROTATION

We pulled out of base camp six days ago at 2:00am and headed up the mountain, (as mentioned previously, in order to minimize avalanche danger we time our passages through the icefall to avoid direct sunlight.) It was a beautiful night and neat to be in the middle of the icefall as first light broke. Our team of five, led by Ben and Jangbu, moved smoothly and confidently.

Having already been through the icefall a couple of times made us quicker in the tricky technical sections, and the fact that we are better acclimatized let us move at a faster pace. We also didn’t experience major bottlenecks in the tight sections as we did in our first rotation. We arrived at Camp 1 around 8:00am, just as direct sunlight started hitting the tents and warming things up.

I can’t resist sharing one vignette. About half way through the icefall we caught up to the team comprised of the Prince of Bahrain and members of his Royal Guard, about 18 in total. They have garnered a lot of press with their high level “diplomacy”, which allowed them to climb another major Himalayan peak, Manaslu, this past fall when most people were having trouble getting climbing permits. Their various dealings also secured them preferred access to an Everest summit bid ahead of most all the other teams currently on the mountain.

As we caught up to Team Bahrain, we could see that they were moving slowly. They also weren’t that strong in the technical sections, and showed no inclination to move aside and let us pass. Passing people almost anywhere on the mountain is tough, as you have to exert a bunch of extra energy and execute some delicate moves to get around them on the fixed ropes. Ben maintained a steady pace and, one by one, our group passed the Bahrain climbers until we were ahead of all of them. They eventually pulled into Camp 1 an hour and a half after we did.

I am shamelessly beating my/our chest. But it speaks to the strength of team relative to many others currently on the mountain, and our ability to move quickly and nimbly. If the Prince and his Royal Guard team can summit, (which they just did yesterday, as we were descending to base camp), then we should be able to as well if we get the right conditions and luck on our side.

Anyway, we spent the night at Camp 1, then moved the next day up the Western Cym to Camp 2, as we did on our first rotation. It really is beautiful up there, although- despite all the pictures making the Cym look level – it is a decidedly uphill haul. Here is a photo of us taking a break in the middle of the Cym. Camp 2 is up at the end of the valley. The Lhotse face is the big wall of snow middle right, and the summit ridge of Everest is rising up to the left.

After two nights at Camp 2, we took on our major objective of the rotation: climbing half way up the Lhotse face to “touch” Camp 3 at 23,500 feet. This was a challenge and thrill on multiple dimensions. First, that altitude is higher than anyone on our team had climbed before, so we were setting new personal milestones, (note: we are still climbing without oxygen). Second, the Lhotse face is legendary; a 4,000 foot wall of 45 degree snow and ice, with ice bulges of 60-70 degrees. You clip into a fixed line with your ascender, (basically a claw device you slide up the rope, that won’t let you slide backwards), and you grind away one breathless step at a time.

Here is a photo I took looking straight up as I followed Ben up the face:

And here is another photo of Thomas and Josh emerging over the top of an ice bulge, just below Camp 3. If you zoom in you can see the tents of Camp 2 down in the dark rocky moraine on the right side of the Cym. Camp 1 is located way down at the bottom of the Cym, just before the icefall drops steeply out of sight down to the Khumbu valley floor.

As I did on the whole second rotation, I felt strong. Definitely working hard and gasping for air in the tough sections, but feeling less maxed out than I did on the first rotation. A lot of this is due to being better acclimatized,(the rotation process is working!), and also perhaps to having put my stomach bug behind me. Overall, the whole rotation was more pleasant and satisfying, and more akin to what I have enjoyed on other mountains. That said, the “pain to immediate pleasure” ratio on Everest remains uniquely skewed.

We sat up at Camp 3 for a while enjoying the views, then rapelled back down the Lhotse face, over the bergschrund, and walked the rest of the way back to Camp 2. After a short night there, we were up at 2am, as previously described, to return here to basecamp.

Here is a photo of Chase in the icefall on our descent, rappelling down into one of the “ice ravines” while two ascending climbers navigate some ladders in parallel. This was one of the few places we encountered other climbers during our return to basecamp.

So we are safely back at basecamp, having completed two of our three rotations, and four of the six trips we will ultimately make through the icefall. We now have our sights set on the summit, and it all comes down to the weather.

OF WEATHER AND CROWDS

A lot has been written about crowds on Everest. A photo taken in 2019, which went viral, of a long line of climbers on the summit ridge, has further convinced much of the world that “traffic jams” are commonplace. The reality is a bit more nuanced, and an understanding of the macro weather patterns on the mountain may be helpful.

The summit of Everest, at a bit over 29,000 feet, sticks up into the jet stream. For much of the year, the jet blows directly across it and winds of 100mph and above make the summit unapproachable. Then, every year in May, like clockwork, the approaching Indian monsoon nudges the jet stream off of Everest’s summit and the winds drop. This is why May is when the vast majority of Everest summit attempts occur.

Actually, the jet “wobbles” off and on the summit during the month of May. The days it is off are “summit days”; when climbing to the summit of the mountain can be attempted. These are referred to as “weather windows”. In an average season, there are roughly eight such days. In some years there are more: as many as twelve. In other years, there are way less. In the years that there are way less, all the climbers on the mountain are forced to try for the summit on the same few available days.

This is what happened in 2019; a year in which there were two summit days early in the month, then a very tight window of only three more summit days later in the month. The vast majority of climbers on the mountain all attempted the summit in the same compressed three day window. Sitting at home watching the weather forecasts, you could see what was about to happen. It was like a train wreck in slow motion.

Even so, 2019 wasn’t nearly as bad as the viral photo suggests. That photo was taken on the first of the three days, when the most climbers went for the summit, and also at the peak time: the couple of hours out of the entire day when the summit ridge was most jammed. I know climbers personally who summited on all three of the days in the 2019 weather window. Their experience, while not ideal, was largely nothing like the photo suggests.

That said, getting caught in a climber traffic jam high on Everest remains a real concern, especially as the summit ridge is a knife edge with extremely limited room to pass. While the number of climbers on Everest remains less than half the number who attempt Denali every year, and a minute fraction of those who climb mountains like Mont Blanc, the numbers have been growing notably. More alarmingly, many of the newer additions are weaker climbers, accompanied by weaker guides, who lack the awareness and ability to turn their clients around when called for.

Alarmed by what happened in 2019, I spoke with multiple people who were on the mountain that year, and extensively researched ways I could potentially avoid getting caught in such a situation. I concluded several things. First, your biggest friend is catching a good weather year; with an average or greater than average number of potential summit days. That alone goes a long ways toward reducing the risk.

Beyond catching a good weather year, there are a couple of other potential strategies for reducing crowd risk. One is to “go early “: arrive as early as possible on the mountain, start your rotations ahead of the bulk of climbers, potentially compress the number of rotations and sacrifice some acclimatization, and go for the summit on the first available summit days before most other teams are ready. A second strategy is to “go late”: patiently wait while other teams attempt the summit, and hope that you catch a weather window late in the month when most people are down off the mountain. This strategy doesn’t always work, as some years the late weather window fails to materialize, but in some years it works very well.

Our Expedition Leader, Ben Jones, is a committed believer in the “go late” strategy. This was a major component of my decision to climb with him. As mentioned, in some years it doesn’t work, but in many years it has worked very well. In 2018, for example, Ben and his team summited Everest on a late May day with only one other small team on the upper mountain. They had the entire summit ridge and summit to themselves. This would be my dream scenario.

OUR SUMMIT BID

We are now fully acclimatized. After a couple of days of rest, we will be ready to head for the summit as soon as an attractive weather window presents itself. From the moment we leave base camp and start heading up, it should take us around five days to reach the summit.

It is too early to tell what kind of weather year this is. An initial two day weather window just occurred, while we were completing our second rotation, and a number of teams just summited. The weather forecast calls for the jet stream to move back onto the summit starting today, creating heavy winds through at least May 18 and more likely May 20. While forecasts can change, it is likely that no one will summit until then. The big question is what happens after May 20. Will we get a compressed weather window with only one or two summit days, or – hopefully – a wider weather window and multiple potential summit days?

In any case, the monsoon will arrive as usual right at the end of May, bringing heavy snow to the mountain and abruptly shutting down the climbing season. Whatever happens has to happen by the end of the month. It is clear that, the moment a weather window opens, a rush of teams will leave base camp heading for the summit. Our “be patient/go late” strategy will dictate that, if possible, we calmly sit back and watch them go, targeting a later summit window if the forecast suggests that one may exist. We are prepared to wait if necessary right up to the last possible day to summit, which would be one of the last days of May or even June 1. Hopefully we get to try for the summit earlier than that, perhaps something in the May 22 – May 26 timeframe. We will soon see. At this point, it is all up to the weather gods.

In some ways, the next week or so may be the most mentally challenging period of the expedition. We have done all our prep and are ready to go. We know we are stronger than a number of teams that have already summited. Now we have to wait, be patient, and hope that the weather gods are on our side.

A final vignette, (again, I can’t resist). As I sat in our dining tent today writing this, a series of helicopters flew sorties up above the icefall, disappeared from sight, and then eventually returned to base camp. At first we didn’t know what was happening, then we learned. Apparently the Bahrain Prince and his Royal Guard team, having summited yesterday and returned to Camp 2, decided that they weren’t up for descending from there under their own power. So they summoned – and paid for – helicopters, typically reserved for rescues or drops of crucial supplies, and took the quick way down. Until very recently, any helicopter landing above the icefall was viewed as heroic and highly risky. It remains very challenging, but the performance of the choppers and skills of the pilots have evolved dramatically. Still, this was highly unusual.

With apologies for closing on a snarky note, if you find yourself in Bahrain in the coming days and encounter any victory parades, know that at least one humble Everest 2021 climber views the summit being celebrated as having a major asterisk next to it.

On a more uplifting topic, heartfelt thanks for your continued encouragement and support. I know I am repeating myself, but it really, really makes a difference. I am eternally grateful, to each and every one of you.

Ever upward!

After three days of R&R at basecamp, we leave early tomorrow morning on our second rotation. We will climb through the icefall to Camp 1, spent the night, climb through the Western Cym to Camp 2, spend a night and day, then climb up the Lhotse face to Camp 3. We will “touch” Camp 3, (ie not spend the night), return back down the Lhotse face to Camp 2, spend the night there, then return to base camp the following day.

If all stays on schedule, we will be back in base camp on May 11. The next time we head up the mountain, we will be heading for the summit.

The past three days have been restorative. It is remarkable how thick the air can feel at 17,500 feet. Our appetites are back, and we savor moments of pure relaxation, like sipping a cup of coffee in the warm dining tent, or lying in our personal tents reading a book or listening to music. As an added bonus, the three day snow storm that was initially forecast morphed into three days of snow showers, clouds, and occasional breaks of sun.

During these days, I have been thinking a lot about the concept of intermediate goals. Jessie Diggins, one of the top cross country ski racers in the world, has described how she is able to maintain her brutally demanding pace up the long, steep uphills of the World Cup circuit. She picks out an intermediate target, like a tree or a trail sign ahead, and knows she can maintain her pace at least to that point. Then, when she gets there, she picks a new target and re-focuses her energy on maintaining her pace to there. And so on.

This concept is hugely relevant on Everest, where a big part of the battle is maintaining energy and focus over a multi-month period. As an example, virtually all of my attention right now is channeled on simply completing the second rotation.

The highest elevation I have ever been at is the summit of Aconcagua at 22,800 feet. Camp 3 on Everest is at 23,500 feet, and to get there I will have to ascend over 1,000 feet of steep climbing up the Lhotse face. I am thinking of the next five days as a “climb within a climb”, a mini expedition to 23,500 feet and back. That’s all that matters at the moment. When I get back to base camp, I will re-set and start focusing on the summit. Not surprisingly, when we discussed the upcoming rotation over dinner last night, all five team members were thinking about it in virtually identical terms.

Speaking of our team, a neat thing has happened over the past several days. An already strong team is getting stronger. Part of this is the five of us assessing our recently re-set team configuration and liking what we have. With no offense to Mark and Bob, experienced climbers who we all like and respect, our remaining group is more similar in strength and very well suited to move up the mountain together as a tight unit.

Ben and Jangbu confirm this, and Ben in particular is sparing with direct praise and is brutally honest, sometimes to the point of individual discomfort. Both say that we five are an extremely strong climbing team. To that, I would add – as I have noted previously- that in Ben, Jangbu, and Lakpa Rita, we are led by as strong a guide/leadership team as exists on the mountain.

Another powerful team dynamic is also at play. Having been together for over a month, and having just completed the first rotation, people are letting down some of their “invisible shields”. We are opening up about things we have been quietly anxious about, and realizing that we no longer need to prove our individual strength to each other. Also, we are increasingly defining collective rather than individual success as our overarching goal, something easier said than done in this environment.

Commercial Everest expeditions are full of exceptionally goal oriented individuals with alpha profiles, who frequently haven’t even met each other before showing up in Kathmandu. There are lots of reasons why these expeditions can have strained team dynamics, sometimes to the point of completely lacking a team ethos. Our team is moving in the opposite direction, which is wonderful. It is also a source of real strength.

In addition to being a great mountaineering guide, Ben is also a gifted photographer. Yesterday, he took advantage of the cloudy conditions and created an ad hoc photo studio in our dining tent. I thought you might like to see the individual team member photos he took. (NOTE: for those of you who haven’t committed every word of my writing to memory, you will find in my April 23 post, “Into the icefall “, a short description of each team member: https://tdfrenchgapyear.com/into-the-icefall/ )

OUR TEAM

Ben Jones (Expedition Leader and Guide):

Jangbu Sherpa (Guide):

Lakpa Rita Sherpa ( Expedition Sirdar):

Josh:

Tony:

Chase:

Thomas:

Yours Truly:

ONWARD AND UPWARD

Tomorrow in the early morning hours, we will switch on our headlamps and head back into the icefall. I will check in upon our return to basecamp, around May 11.

Namaste to all!

A lot has happened since we headed into the icefall nine days ago to start our first rotation.

The day before we headed up the mountain, we got two pieces of bad news. First, one of our climbing Sherpas had Covid symptoms and was evacuated to Kathmandu, where he tested positive. Meanwhile, up on the mountain at the base of the Lhotse face, part of the climbing route over the so-called “bergschrund”, where the glacier meets the steep mountain face, collapsed on two of our Sherpas who were carrying loads to Camp 3. Both were evacuated by helicopter to base camp, where one was diagnosed with injuries severe enough that he won’t be able to climb for the remainder of the season.

Fortunately, all of the individuals involved are recovering well. One of the Sherpas involved in the bergschrund accident is already back climbing, and the Sherpa with Covid may be able to return to the expedition at base camp after recovering fully and testing negative.

The broader concern is whether Covid spreads in our Sherpa ranks. Contrary to recent media coverage, base camp does not feel like a super spreader event. Each expedition inhabits its own separate camp, and the expeditions – especially this year- are operating very independently. Within our expedition, effectively all the “members” are vaccinated. While the Sherpas are not, they are largely maintaining social distance and are tested regularly. But our base camp is close quarters, and the Covid risk was very much on our minds as we headed up on our rotation.

So, at 4:00am nine days ago, we pulled on our packs and climbing harnesses, switched on our headlamps, and headed into the icefall. It is quite a sight to see a string of headlamps heading off into the darkness, picking their way around the big blocks of ice on the glacier at the icefall entrance.

Twenty minutes into it, as we approached the place where the serious climbing begins, Mark fell while climbing down the backside of a seemingly innocuous ice block. He was in pain and unable to stand on his ankle. Jangbu marshaled some help getting him back to base camp while the rest of us clipped into the fixed lines and continued climbing. By the time we arrived at Camp 1 that afternoon, Mark had been diagnosed with a broken ankle, helicoptered to Kathmandu, and was arranging his flight back to the U.S.

The icefall route this year is different than usual, with the upper part of it swerving more to the middle of the glacier. The good news: this takes it further away from the western shoulder, where many of the serious avalanches come from. The bad news: in order to accomplish this, the route climbs down into and then back out of numerous large crevasses and “ice valleys”. This is technically tricky at times, and some of the climbing back out is steep and physically very demanding. On the further bad news front, these spots create bottlenecks where, if multiple climbers are navigating their way up or down, you have to wait your turn.

We had carefully timed our passage through the icefall to avoid potential delays, but ended up experiencing them anyway. Here is a photo of our team waiting for a group of climbers ahead of us to move up and out of one of the “ice valleys”:

We hit several of these bottlenecks. In total, they turned what would have been a six or seven hour climb into a nine hour climb. Frustrating to all of us, including our guides, who have never experienced these kinds of delays before. We are determined to figure out a way to not experience them again.

NOTE: While it is tempting to view this as another piece in the “crowds on Everest”  narrative, crowds really weren’t the driver here. Far more the unique nature of this season’s icefall route. I promise to share my views on crowds in a future post: what is real, what is press hype, what is unique about this season, what I think the real risks are, and how we hope to address to them.

On a happier note, once we got above the icefall everything cleared out. While we didn’t have the mountain to ourselves, it kind of felt that way. Here is a photo of our tents at Camp 1, early the morning after our arrival, with the sun hitting the summit of Pumori across the valley.

Camp 1 sits at 19,500 feet and we spent three nights there acclimatizing. The first two days, we climbed half way up to Camp 2 and back. Lots of crevasses to climb around, several deep ice ravines to climb into and out of, and gorgeous views of the Western Cym in both directions. Looking up the valley, we could see the location of Camp 2, the steep Lhotse face that we will eventually climb to camps 3 and 4, and the summit ridge of Everest rising up to the left. As mentioned previously, I have spent my life picturing what it would be like to walk up the Western Cym. Like so many aspects of this climb, it was a thrill to be actually doing it.

What surprised me about the climb through both the icefall and the Western Cym was how physically demanding it all was. The altitude really knocks it out of you, and the physical exertion required is very high. I realize in retrospect that I was expecting, at least on the lower part of Everest, something more like other mountains I have climbed. On those, I put it in low gear, kept on chugging, and felt pretty darn good much of the time, except for summit days and various tough segments. On this my first Everest rotation, I was pushing myself to the max far more than expected. While I was holding my own in the context of our group, and our group was generally moving faster than others we encountered, the “pain to pleasure” ratio was far higher than expected. Put simply, it was really hard work most of the time. None of this changes my satisfaction in being here, but it brings some humility in having underestimated this mountain, at least it’s lower flanks.

One thing that played out as expected was dealing with the cold. Mount Vinson in Antarctica was particularly good preparation in this regard. By day when the sun is out, it is relatively warm and pleasant. At mid day, with the sun beating down on an amphitheater of snow and ice, it can be positively hot at times. But the minute the sun goes behind the peaks, the temperature starts dropping. Nighttime temperatures at camps 1 and 2 were well below zero F. Your best friend is your down suit, which you climb into the minute the sun disappears. Here is a photo of me at Camp 1 doing exactly that.

The mask on my face, by the way, is to keep the cold, dry air from worsening the “Khumbu cough” that we all have inevitably developed. We wear variants of the mask, or “buffs” pulled up over our mouths and noses, pretty much constantly. When you crawl into your sleeping bag at night, the sound of constant coughing among the tents sounds a bit like a sick ward.

After three days at Camp 1, we moved up the Western Cym to Camp 2 at 21,300 feet, where we also spent three nights. Most people are pretty miserable up there initially, experiencing altitude- related symptoms such as headaches, nausea, loss of appetite, and difficulty sleeping. On this dimension, things continue to go unbelievably well for me. I felt generally good and slept like a baby. (My time will surely come higher up.)

On the less unbelievably good front, gastrointestinal issues are common among Everest climbers, and I suffered from a mean stomach bug during much of the rotation. Picture lying in your sleeping bag and tent in the middle of the night at 21,000 feet, the temperature -15 F outside, trying to convince yourself you can hold off on the churning in your bowels until morning, then realizing you can’t. Fast eject out of your bag, pull on warm clothes and boots, (panting heavily due to the altitude), unzip the tent, and sprint for the nearest level spot where you can crouch out of the wind. Your target is a grey plastic “wag bag” placed in the snow. Return to tent, then repeat the entire process two hours later. No fun. (Update: now back at base camp, I have nuked my system with antibiotics and the situation should be under control in time for our second rotation.)

Our last full day at Camp 2, we climbed up to the base of the Lhotse face, at 22,200 feet. It was spectacular, and we had a clear view of the route we will soon climb up to Camp 3 and beyond. Here is a photo from that day. The big crevasse cutting across the bottom of the face is the bergschrund where the accident with our two Sherpas occurred. If you zoom way in, you should be able to see the route and some climbers heading up toward Camp 3 on the right side of the face:

Bob had been moving very slowly over the past few days and was having significant trouble with the altitude. He, along with the Sherpa Ang Nuru who had been climbing with him, turned around before reaching the Lhotse face and headed back to Camp 2. Bob had pretty much decided to abandon the climb, and planned to descend to base camp with us and then head home.

The next morning, we got up at 2:00am and headed back down the Western Cym, past Camp 1 to the top of the icefall, and down through the icefall to base camp. There were very few climbers and no bottlenecks in the icefall and we made very good time. Bob, along with Ang Nuru, followed about an hour behind. Jangbu was roughly half way between us and them.

When we were less than an hour from base camp, Ben’s radio crackled. It was Jangbu, reporting trouble above him in the icefall. A section of the route that traversed a large ice ridge had collapsed exactly as Bob and Ang Nuru were walking across it. They both fell over twenty feet and were pinned under ice that fell on top of them. Fortunately, and somewhat miraculously, neither was seriously injured. Jangbu got to the scene, rappelled down, and started working to free them. Some Sherpas from another team jumped in to help, and they were able to move the two to a small flat area, where a helicopter was, amazingly, able to touch down and pick them up. While all this was going on, Ben was climbing back up the icefall to help, and the remaining five of us were sitting on a flat spot in the middle of the lower icefall, watching the helicopter circle and hoping for the best.

Amazingly close call. It could have been a lot worse. Bob and Ang Nuru were helicoptered to Kathmandu, checked out, and found to be generally ok. Bob, hopefully, caught a flight home last night, (more on that in a minute), and Ang Nuru – whose injuries were somewhat more serious than Bob’s- will recover in Kathmandu for a few days.

The rest of us continued down the last section of the icefall, unclipped from the fixed lines, and walked back across the glacier to base camp. Lakpa Rita was waiting to welcome us. I asked him: “how are you doing Lakpa?”. “Tough season so far”, he replied.

Three accidents involving two climbers and three Sherpas, all in the space of nine days, is highly unusual. Add to that the challenge of managing growing Covid counts at base camp and you have a tough start to the season indeed. Meanwhile, the macro context adds further complexity. Nepal is experiencing a Covid surge, driven by a major surge in neighboring India. In response, Nepal reinstated a city-wide lockdown in Kathmandu, and imposed a halt on all domestic and international flights starting at 6:00pm last night. (We are really hoping Bob made it out before then). While none of this impacts us at the moment, it raises the question of what situation we will be dealing with in a few weeks after we, (hopefully), summit and return from the mountain. We will deal with that when we get there.

So now we are five climbers: Josh, Chase, Tony, Thomas, and yours truly. While we miss Mark and Bob, this situation doesn’t surprise me. It was apparent from the start that the two of them, despite their experience and determination, were going to struggle higher on the mountain. The five of us who remain are well matched, climb well together, and all have legitimate shots at the summit. Thomas and I are clearly the “tenured” members of the group but, if any 61 years olds can do it, I think it is the two of us. At dinner last night, the group jokingly proposed that we co- author a book: “Old Men Climb Big Mountain “.

Despite all the various uncertainties, our spirits remain high. It is great to be back at base camp to rest up and recharge for a few days. Our second rotation plan is to leave around May 7, climb back up to Camps 1 and 2, (spending less time at each than the first rotation), then climb to Camp 3 at 23,500 feet, then descend back to base camp. Then we start looking for a weather window to go for the summit.

That said, the current weather forecast calls for three days of heavy snow starting in a few hours. That may delay our departure a bit. It also almost certainly will shut down the tenuous internet here at base camp, so I am going to rush and try to post this right now while I (hopefully) can.

Continued thanks for all of your support and encouragement. It means more than you can know, really helps, and is appreciated deeply!

We head up the mountain on our first rotation in the next day or two. Given the sporadic nature of internet here at base camp, I am going to post this right now while I appear to have a window.

As described previously, this rotation will involve climbing through the Khumbu icefall to Camp 1 at 19,500 feet, spending three nights there to acclimatize, climbing further up Everest’s so-called “Western Cym” to Camp 2 at 21,000 feet, spending two or three nights there to further acclimatize, then descending back down to base camp.

Of all of this, getting safely through the icefall is most prominent on our minds. A maze of frequently shifting ice blocks and crevasses, subject to constant avalanche threat from above, it is one of the most dangerous parts of an Everest climb. It is also one where climbers have little personal control over the risks they face. Other than having the technical skills and physical ability to move quickly, it either is your day or it isn’t. We expect our climb through the icefall to take around six hours, (substantially faster when we descend a week later). On subsequent rotations we should be able to shave our ascent time to closer to four hours, as we will be better used to the altitude and more familiar with the route.

On the positive side, the odds are in our favor. The reason we are starting at 3:00am is so we can get through most of the icefall before the sun’s rays increase the likelihood of an avalanche or a mammoth ice block, (called “serac”), toppling over on us. Also on the positive side, many experienced mountaineers view the icefall as one of the most uniquely beautiful places they have ever climbed through. It is other-worldly, with an ever changing constellation of ice towers, deep crevasses, and myriad shades of blue ice.

Two days ago, we climbed about a quarter of the way through the icefall and back to get ourselves “dialed in”. Here is a photo from that outing:

And here is another:

Things will get more dramatic higher up.

While I don’t like the risk of climbing through the icefall, I have come to terms with it. It is the only way to gain access to the upper reaches of the Everest, (from the Nepal side), and generations of climbers have faced this same decision. It is one of those risk/reward trade-offs we all make in our lives, in various forms. Our team will navigate the icefall six times on our climb; three times ascending and three times descending. Each time I am through I will breathe a sigh of relief. The last time I am through, on my way down after having hopefully summited Everest, I will breathe a sigh of extreme relief, deep satisfaction, and gratitude for safe passage.

Once above the icefall, we will be in a vast glacial canyon called the Western Cym, with Everest and its neighboring peak Lhotse towering above us. While the route through the Cym from Camp 1 to Camp 2 is demanding, and will involve some dramatic crevasse crossings, the risk factor is far lower than the icefall. I have spent my entire life visualizing the Western Cym and look forward to experiencing it in person. We will likely be feeling miserable due to the altitude, but I’ll still be glad to be there.

OUR TEAM

I owe you some detail on our team. We are seven climbers (aka “members”), two lead guides, and an expedition “Sirdar” who oversees a crew of fourteen climbing sherpas and eight additional staff.

Before describing the individual team members, I need to note that the climbing Sherpas do the real work of the expedition. They arrive weeks in advance to carve base camp out of the glacier, and – most importantly- make numerous trips through the icefall and above to set up and provision our high camps. They are all extremely strong climbers, with numerous Everest summits among them. A handful of the strongest will climb with us the night/day that we attempt the summit.

As mentioned in a previous post, our team is strong relative to many on the mountain. All seven members have climbed multiple high peaks and prepared relentlessly for years, As you would expect, there are additional common denominators. Everyone is driven, everyone has subjugated their personal and family lives to the goal of climbing Everest, everyone is in strong physical condition, and everyone is used to pushing their bodies to the limit while enduring extreme physical hardship. Meanwhile, our lead guides, Sirdar, and climbing Sherpas are among the best in the business.

Some quick profiles, (note: exact ages are informed guesses):

JOSH: Josh is a former Army Ranger who founded a successful media company focused on college football websites. In his early forties, he has a wife and two young children at home in Indiana. He is in exceptional physical condition, naturally athletic, has strong climbing skills, and is supremely motivated. I can’t picture a wall of any sort that Josh would be unable to get over or through.

TONY: Tony, in his late thirties, runs a solar company in Ohio. He says he got fired from his first eight jobs so figured he’d better start a company of his own. Several years ago, in his first foray into mountaineering, Tony signed himself up for a program that involved thirty days of extreme outdoor leadership training in the mountains of Argentina, followed by a climb of Aconcagua. Tony told his group that he would summit Everest someday and everyone laughed. If he is successful on this climb, he intends to call every member of that group and tell them that he did it.

Tony’s wife Raissa trekked with us to base camp. Her initial intent was to climb with us on our first rotation up to Camp 2. A former nationally ranked swimmer in Brazil, she trained hard for this over the past year, including a 5 day mountaineering course on Mt Baker in the Cascades tailored to help her get ready for the icefall. After arriving at base camp, going on some acclimatization hikes, and doing some training in the lower icefall, she decided to take a pass on the first rotation. Raissa headed home yesterday and we all gave her huge hugs as she left base camp. She added a lot to our group, (including keeping Tony more or less in line 😊), and we will miss her.

CHASE: Chase is 18 years old and has spent the past couple of years climbing big peaks all over the world, (with some of the best guides in the world). His initial hurdle was that all the guiding companies told him he was too young to go, but he managed to get past that and is now on a roll. In recent examples, in the middle of Covid when most mountains were shut down, he managed to climb Mt Kenya in Africa and Ama Dablam, a 23,000 peak here in the Nepal. The thing that blows my mind is that, right after Everest, he plans to climb Makalu (near Everest, another of the highest peaks in the world), and then, right after that, K2 in Pakistan, (the second highest peak in the world, more difficult and dangerous than Everest). Chase is a very skilled climber and handles himself well in a group of people much older than him. After the next set of climbs, he hopes to follow his father and sister in attending West Point, and to build a career around flying helicopters.

MARK: I alluded to Mark in a previous post. In addition to climbing six of the “Seven Summits” (ie: the highest mountain on every continent), he has also skied the last latitudinal degree to both the North and South Poles. In his mid fifties, Mark lives in Seattle. He was the Chief Technology Officer for a software company that was recently acquired by a private equity firm. When they tried to convince him to stay on, he explained that he couldn’t because he has more mountains to climb. Mark was on Everest three years ago but had to descend relatively early in the climb, from just above the icefall, due to some altitude-induced intestinal complications. He is eager for another shot.

BOB: Bob is, (ahem), my age. He is a surgeon in Arizona, has climbed six of the Seven Summits, and is determined to make Everest the seventh. Bob is nothing if not determined. He casually mentioned to me that it took him four tries on Aconcagua, but he kept going back until he succeeded. Similarly, this is his third attempt on Everest. Two years ago, he got to Camp 2 before injuring his shoulder in a fall and having to descend. He also mentioned that this time he has arranged for a personal Sherpa to climb with him on the upper mountain starting at Camp 2. I’m not sure exactly what that entails, but I look forward to finding out.

THOMAS: Thomas is, (ahem, ahem), also my age. He founded a hedge fund focused on arbitraging closed end bond fund yields. During our trek to base camp, he explained exactly what this means, and I had it clear in my head for a few fleeting days. The fund did well, and Thomas recently converted it to a family office to lighten regulatory compliance burdens. He also converted his role to Chairman, so he could spend more time climbing mountains and traveling the world.

When you ask Thomas about mountains, he leads with describing long hikes in the high peaks of the Adirondacks, or the Presidential Traverse in the White Mountains, or a medium sized mountain in West Africa that he found a guide to take him up. Only when you ask additional questions does it emerge that he – like most of our group – has also climbed six of the Seven Summits. The driving force for Thomas appears to be appreciation of mountains of any size, and for all aspects of climbing them. He is superbly fit, very organized about how he approaches climbing, and has been right up with the front of our group on all the acclimatization hikes and climbs.

BEN JONES, (Lead Guide and Expedition Leader): Ben, from Jackson, Wyoming, is a mountain guide straight out of Hollywood central casting. As one of the top guides at Alpine Ascents, he guides on peaks all over the world. This is his 10th season on Everest. Son Will and I climbed with Ben in Antarctica two years ago, so I was already familiar with his deep technical competence, disciplined approach to leading a group, and direct, “suffer no fools” style. One of the things that attracted me to this Everest expedition is Ben’s strategy of being in no rush, letting other groups push to get up the mountain first, and patiently waiting for the optimal window to go for the summit. We are in very good hands with Ben.

JANGBU SHERPA, (Lead Guide): Jangbu grew up in Nepal, worked as a trekking leader, then became one of the early few Sherpas to become an internationally certified climbing guide. In 2011 he summited Everest largely by himself: arranging his own gear, carrying all his loads personally from camp to camp, and climbing alone. He has since summited Everest as a guide multiple times and leads climbs all over the world for Alpine Ascents. While his home is now Seattle, he returns to Nepal every year to climb Everest and other peaks. Jangbu has a warm, outgoing personality and is a natural people person. Everywhere we go on Everest, Sherpa guides cry out greetings and want to stop and chat with him. Everyone knows him. I feel like we are on Everest with one of the mountain’s favorite sons. Because we are.

LAKPA RITA SHERPA, (Expedition Sirdar): There are few people who can eclipse Jangbu’s profile on Everest, but one of them is Lakpa Rita. Lakpa is a Nepal climbing legend. He grew up in the Khumbu village of Thame, walking three hours round trip every day to attend the nearest school, and went on to become one one of Nepal’s most famous Sherpa guides and mountaineers. Lakpa has summited Everest 17 times. When some of our team members went into a climbing store in Kathmandu to pick up last minute gear, they encountered a wall of “Lakpa Rita signature outerwear “ with Lakpa’s name and photo on all the clothing tags.

When the avalanche in 2014 killed 14 Sherpa in the icefall, Lakpa was among the first people on the scene to attempt a rescue. Many of the dead bodies he dug out of the ice were from his home village of Thame. After that, Lakpa promised his wife that he would never enter the icefall again. He has since focused his Everest efforts on playing the role of Expedition Sirdar, overseeing all logistical aspects from base camp. He continues to guide other peaks internationally for Alpine Ascents.

I met Lakpa Rita two years ago at Vinson base camp in Antarctica. Will and I had just been dropped by a Twin Otter airplane and were struggling to set up our tent in the extreme cold. Out of nowhere, someone not from our group came over and quietly asked if we needed help. Nanoseconds later, our tent was up. Lakpa Rita then politely wished us good luck on the mountain and walked off into the minus 40 degree evening. I turned to Will and said: “we have just been in the presence of a mountaineering god”. Because we had.

So now I am on Everest with Lakpa Rita. It is hard to put into words the respect I feel for the competence, humbleness, good nature, and quiet dignity that this man exudes on a daily basis.

Here is a photo of Lakpa and me taken a couple of days ago outside our dining tent. I have my mountaineering boots on because we were about to head off on a dry run climb into the icefall.

OFF WE GO

And now the real climbing starts. After we turn on our headlamps and head into the icefall, it will be six or seven days before we return to base camp. We will be leaving internet access behind, so I will next post when we get back. I should have plenty to describe.

I am feeling fully prepared and ready. My body continues to be handling the altitude well, and I have been performing well on the acclimatization hikes and climbs. It is hard work, but that is the name of the game. A few of my technical climbing skills, while objectively as strong or stronger than most of the guided climbers on the mountain, are not yet at the level I personally want. But I am closing in on it, and I will get there.

There have been several Covid cases in base camp, with the climbers being evacuated to Kathmandu. At the moment, this feels like a manageable situation, particularly as the climbing teams operate very independently from each other. That said, things can evolve in unexpected ways. Fingers crossed on that front.

Everest Base Camp is a mini tent city of approximately 700 people, (around 300 climbers, 400 support), built on the Khumbu glacier at the base of the (in)famous Khumbu icefall. The tents are strung out along the glacier, with each expedition having its own specific area. It takes almost an hour to walk from the first cluster of tents at the bottom of camp to the last cluster of tents at the top. Our cluster is close to the top. Here is a photo taken from a ridge above base camp. If you look closely, you can see all the tents strung out along the glacier.

The physical location is spectacular: at the end of a deep valley surrounded by towering peaks; Pumori on one side, Everest, Lhotse, and Nuptse on the other. You can’t see the upper part of Everest from basecamp, as it is hidden behind the so-called Western Shoulder, but if you hike up a ways behind camp the full mountain appears. What you absolutely can see from basecamp is the lower half of the Khumbu icefall; a jagged mass of ice blocks and crevasses, caused by the glacier being forced steeply downward between the lower flanks of Everest and Nuptse.

If you are a climber, or someone who likes reading about Everest, the Khumbu icefall has mythic stature. All climbers must pass through it on their way to the upper reaches of the mountain. There are a number of risks associated with this, which I will elaborate on in subsequent posts. The icefall is also an intensely powerful and beautiful sight. I wake up every day, look up at it, and can’t believe I am here.

Here is a photo of the lower icefall, with the Western Shoulder rising above it on the left. My tent is in the foreground.

As you can see, the tents are set up on rocky rubble which is the top layer of the glacier. Under the rubble is solid ice, and you hear occasional creaks and groans as the glacier shifts. Over the course of our two month climbing season, tents will need to be relocated occasionally as the glacier continues to move.

The other thing you hear frequently at base camp is avalanches. Some are relatively small and far away, and some are large and relatively close. When you hear a big one, you stop what you are doing and look up. The sight is simultaneously awe inspiring and unnerving. In 2014, an avalanche off the Western Shoulder tragically killed 14 Sherpas in the icefall. In 2015, an avalanche off the side of Pumori, caused by a major earthquake, wiped out a portion of base camp, killing 18 people. These risks are never far from your mind, especially as you lie in your sleeping bag at night and hear avalanches thundering down the surrounding peaks.

We have been here for over a week, getting our bodies used to the altitude before we ascend higher on the mountain. Part of this involves acclimatization hikes up the flanks of mountains behind camp. We have also been going into the initial portion of the icefall to practice the technical skills we will need above basecamp. These include ice climbing, pulling ourselves up vertical ropes using a handheld device called a jumar, rapelling, and crossing crevasses on horizontal ladders with our crampons and packs on.

Each day in base camp has a familiar rhythm. You wake up in your tent, reluctant to leave your sleeping bag’s warmth given that outside temperatures are in the low teens. Things warm up as the sun makes it above the surrounding peaks. It is pleasant sitting outside in the sun, and really pleasant to lie in your tent mid day when the sun is hitting it. But when the clouds roll in, as they usually do in the afternoon, temperatures drop quickly and it is time to pull on your down parka, down pants, and warm boots. Meals are served in our comfortable dining tent. The food, prepared by our Nepali expedition cook, is amazingly good, especially for 17,500 feet.

One of my favorite moments each day is when I leave the dining tent after dinner to head back to my tent. I climb up on some rocks, brush my teeth, and look around. On a clear night, the stars are incredible, and I can see white peaks outlined against the night sky. Some nights, I see a trail of headlamps picking their way through the icefall: teams of Sherpas climbing through the night to move loads to higher camps. Then I head to my tent and zip myself into my sleeping bag, making sure that at least one water bottle is zipped in with me so it doesn’t freeze overnight.

While everyone is eager to begin moving up the mountain, we know the importance of putting in time at basecamp. Above all, climbing Everest is about methodically preparing one’s body to survive and perform at progressively extreme altitudes. It is also about maintaining patience and inner calm over an extended period of time. It typically takes six to seven weeks between the time an expedition arrives at base camp and the time people are able to attempt the summit.

In climbing the mountain, we will follow the approach used by virtually all expeditions; ascending in stages called “rotations “. Here is a map of our route, showing the location of base camp and the four additional camps we will make higher on the mountain.

On our first rotation, which will start in around five days, we will climb up though the icefall to Camp 1, spend a couple of nights there acclimating, climb to Camp 2, spend a couple of night there, then descend back down through the icefall to base camp for some welcome thicker air and rest. On our second rotation, we will climb back up to Camps 1 and 2, then to Camp 3, before again returning all the way down to base camp. We will rest and wait at base camp until a weather window emerges that offers an opportunity to approach the summit. When we get that window, which will likely happen around the third or fourth week of May, we will climb back through the icefall and spend nights at Camps 2, 3, and 4, before launching a final climb to the summit. More on all of this later, but this gives you a rough idea of the plan.

Some notes on the above route photo: 1) It may be a helpful reference in the coming weeks as I describe our experiences at various stages on the mountain, 2) Many thanks to Alan Annette for letting me use it. In addition to having summited Everest and numerous other peaks, Alan is the preeminent chronicler of Everest climbing seasons. For those of you who over the coming weeks want to do a major deep dive on the Everest action, go to Alan’s website and click on “Everest 2021”, 3) Alan’s route photo appears to have been be taken from Camp 1 on Pumori , the destination of several of our acclimatization hikes. These are the views we have been looking at as we get our bodies ready to move up the mountain.

I am feeling good about things so far. Many people upon arriving at base camp experience altitude-related symptoms such as headache, loss of appetite, nausea, and difficulty sleeping. While this has been true for some of our team members, I have pretty much avoided it. My time will certainly come as we get higher on the mountain, but for now I am pleased.

At the same time, this is already a very different experience than our trek from Lukla to here. On our acclimatization hikes, while I am holding my own, every step is an effort. I am pushing my physical limits, and the experience is just plain hard work rather than something I am enjoying. During our technical skills sessions in the icefall, while I am doing fine, I am not yet executing certain basic moves as smoothly as I would like. While I have plenty of time to get in the groove, I wonder what things will be like when I am at higher altitude, in freezing cold conditions, when it really matters.

This is all an inherent part of climbing big mountains, especially mountains like Everest. I knew what I was getting into, and just hope that things continue to break my way as we get higher on the mountain.

As mentioned, we leave on our first rotation in five days. We then lose the luxury of internet access, so my posts will have to wait until I get back down to base camp. I will try to post once more in the next few days before we head into the icefall for real.

Ever upward!

Over the past five days we completed our trek to base camp. Leaving the village of Namche Bazaar at 11,300 feet, we climbed progressively higher to 17,500 feet, pacing ourselves carefully to allow our bodies to adjust to the increasing altitude. This is a critical component of preparing for an Everest climb, as the elevation at base camp is higher than all of the summits in the Alps and most of the summits in North America.

The initial days of the second half of the trek looked a lot like the first; passing through pine and rhododendron forests, villages perched among terraced hillsides, and river crossings with colorful prayer flags streaming off suspension bridges. The character then changed as we climbed above tree line onto vast, open glacial moraines surrounded by towering peaks. The landscape at that elevation doesn’t support year round agriculture, so the “villages” are extensions of seasonal stone yak grazing compounds. The only real commerce is rudimentary lodges catering to trekking and mountaineering.

The Khumbu remains relatively empty of foreigners. Where typically this time of year the trails would be full of trekking groups, we encountered almost none. Consequently, the vast majority of the so-called “tea houses”, (lodges), remain closed. One or two in each village are open to climbing teams, who are here in reduced but still meaningful numbers.

Happily, the winds shifted and cleared out the wildfire haze we experienced earlier in the trek, providing us stunning views of the surrounding summits. The typical pattern was crystal clear mornings and then clouds drifting up the valleys in the afternoon. Most mornings, I sat outside bundled up in my down jacket and pants, a cup of coffee in hand, feeling the sun’s warmth as I gazed up at impossibly white peaks against impossibly blue skies. Moments to cherish if you are a mountain lover.

As I walked up the trail, I thought often of being here with Jill in 1990. Some parts of the trail I remembered exactly, other parts I had completely forgotten. I also recalled sitting at home in Dover several years ago when daughter Holly was trekking this route, savoring the occasional photos she posted and trying to imagine where she was on a given day. As I walked along, Holly’s and my steps were separated by just a few years, and I enjoyed wondering how it all looked to her.

Here is a photo of our team hiking up a ridge on one of those clear mornings. Everest base camp is located at the end the valley, behind the person with the yellow pack. You can’t see Everest itself, as it is hidden by the ridge on the right.

And here is a photo taken a day’s walk below base camp, looking back down the valley as the afternoon clouds moved in. The stone cairns are memorials to lost climbers.

A couple of days earlier, before we broke tree line, we passed through the village of Pangboche. Pangboche monastery is the oldest monastery in the Khumbu. The current structure is over 300 years old, and the original structure centuries older. Here is a photo of two of our team members outside of it:

We were fortune to be able to arrange a blessing from the Lama, which turned out to be far more powerful than I expected.

We took off our shoes, left our cameras behind, and climbed up a worn wooden staircase to a prayer room on the upper floor of the monastery. Colorful images of deities surrounded us, the walls were lined with old cloth prayer books, and incense burned in a small pot. We sat cross legged on carpets while the lama chanted prayers and beat steadily on several drums. After the drumming stopped, we bowed before the lama and presented our kata scarves, (the ones we received from the mother and son in Namche), to be blessed. The lama then also placed a protection cord around our neck.

No matter what you believe, it is powerful to sit in the same smokey room where people have sat for centuries, on the same ancient carpets, hearing prayers chanted out of the same prayer books, receiving the same blessings that people in that mountain village have received for generations.

Some notes:

– There is a specific way to fold your kata scarf in order to receive the blessing. I kept dropping a fold. No one would have noticed, but our climbing guide Jangbu wouldn’t let me go up to the second floor until I got it right.

– The drill is to place a small monetary offering inside one of the top folds. When the lama takes your scarf to bless it, he casually shakes the rupee notes out of the fold without missing a beat in his chanting. Instead of feeling commercial, this felt as appropriate as any offering in a church at home.

– Above his robes, the lama wore a down mountaineering jacket. During the ceremony, he flicked holy water onto statues of various gods from a plastic Sprite bottle. At the end of the blessing, the lama concluded with two words in English: “Good Luck!”

– Our guides explained that our kata scarves, now blessed by a lama, have acquired a new level of power and importance. We need to be extra careful where we place them in our packs; e.g. not near dirty clothing.

– As we returned to the first floor after the ceremony, Jangbu entered the main hall, knelt before a golden statue of the deity, and prostrated himself multiple times – forehead to the floor. As context: Jangbu grew up in Nepal but now lives in Seattle. He is a top mountaineer who travels the world guiding. Most mornings on our trek, WiFi signal permitting, he started the day connecting by video with his four month old daughter back in Seattle.

So I arrive at base camp well prepared spiritually. Not leaving my neck until I descend safely from the mountain are three things: the yellow protection cord blessed by the monks of Sharminub monastery in Kathmandu, the red protection cord blessed by the lama of Pangboche, and my wedding ring, hung on a small piece of line. (Fingers swell significantly at high altitude. By the time a ring starts cutting off your circulation it is too late to take it off, so you need to do so in advance.) My ring will accompany me to the summit, mountain gods willing.

I actually felt well prepared spiritually, on my own terms, before arriving in Nepal, but all forms of help are welcome.

We pulled into base camp yesterday afternoon, completing the first chapter of our expedition. The trek was all that I hoped for and more. Now the focus shifts dramatically, as we settle into our home for the next seven week and turn our attention to what brought us here: climbing to the top of the world.

Base camp is an amazing place. It deserves its own detailed description, which I promise to provide in the days ahead. We are all thrilled to be here.

Namaste!

Our team is currently almost half way through our nine day trek from Lukla to base camp. I am loving every minute of it.

In contrast to Kathmandu, where the city has changed dramatically in the thirty years since I was last there, the Solu-Khumbu region feels largely the same. The river valleys and surrounding peaks are as gorgeous, the Sherpa people as polite and friendly, and the experience of walking through mountain villages accessible only on foot is as enchanting.

The lower portion of the trek follows rushing mountain rivers, crosses deep gorges on suspension bridges, and climbs ridges through pine and rhododendron forests. As you walk along the trail, you encounter porters and yak-like animals called zokyos carrying loads between villages, small children in uniforms cheerily walking long distances to school, and people everywhere exchanging the ubiquitous greeting “Namaste”. As you climb higher, the terrain opens up and the highest peaks in the world surround you.

The Buddhist religion is an inherent part of the fabric. You constantly pass prayer wheels, mani stones carved with prayer symbols, graceful stupas, and colorful prayer flags streaming in the breeze. The custom is to pass to the left of the mani stones, and everyone follows it. Multiple times, I have watched our Sherpa guides go out of their way to do so, and similarly to give the prayer wheels a clockwise spin in order to send the prayers to the gods.

Here is a photo from our first day on the trail. If you zoom in, you can see a large mani stone below the stupa up on the hill.

It is kind of hard to believe that all of this still exists, but it does. The trailside lodges have proliferated and grown more comfortable, wireless internet is available in many spots, and the villages have expanded in size. But the core character and spirit remain.

The Solu-Khumbu is just starting to open again to outsiders and there are vastly fewer visitors here than normal. Trails that normally would be filled with trekkers are almost empty, and most of the shops and lodges remain closed. In a region that depends on trekking and mountaineering for its livelihood, people thank us with clear emotion for returning. It is an interesting time to be here, and perhaps is giving me an artificial sense of how little things have changed over the years. Unique times or not, much of the beauty and magic of the Khumbu endure.

Yesterday we got our first view of Everest, towering above its neighbors with its signature plume of snow being blasted off the summit by the jet stream. I took in that view with Jill in 1990 and felt the same sense of reverence and awe.  This time, I felt something else as well. I looked up at that summit ridge, so high and distant and in some ways terrifying, and said to myself “I am going there”. I stood gazing up at it for a long while, internalizing the sight and the feeling.

Approach treks are a great way to get to know one’s fellow climbers. There are long hours walking side by side, or sitting together at rest stops and meals. Our team consists of seven summit climbers and one woman – wife of one of the seven- who plans to climb a third of the way up the mountain to Camp 2 before heading home.

It is a good group. In contrast to some of the people showing up on Everest these days, our team members all have multiple years of big mountain experience. As examples, everyone has summited Denali and Aconcagua, most have climbed Vinson in Antarctica, several have climbed other major Himalayan peaks, and two have already taken a shot at Everest. One has also skied the last degree of latitude to the south and north poles.

More important in many ways than the climbing resumes are the core personal traits. Here again, my early sense is that we are in good shape. Not surprisingly, people who pursue this sort of thing have a lot in common. While we inevitably have a range of personalities on the team, and I can already sense that my values align better with some than others, I don’t see any major warning flags. Having now spent over a week together, I think this group is going to get along well. And that matters.

I will try in a future post to give you more of a sense of each of the individuals, and also to describe our overall climbing approach and philosophy relative to other teams. There are some notable differences.

Today, we walked from Namche to the village of Deboche. The family that runs the lodge we stayed at in Namche has hosted our guides and their teams for many Everest climbing seasons. Before we hit the trail, the mother and son offered us a blessing for safe climbing. The first part involved dipping your ring finger in a brass pot of special water and flicking the drops over your left shoulder in the direction of a mountain god who lives above the village. The second part involved them putting kata scarves around our necks. As we left the lodge, I heard the mother say to our Expedition Leader Ben Jones: “Safe climbing this year on the mountain. I will pray for you every day”. Here is a photo from the blessing. The amazingly cool mother is on the right. The son is in the middle, putting a kata on our expedition cook Gopal. One of our lead guides, Jangbu Sherpa, is on the left.

On a less heart-warming note, today the high peaks were hidden in a smokey haze that has drifted up from the plains. The smoke is from wildfires caused by an abnormally warm and dry winter, and is part of what has been causing the exceptionally poor air quality in Kathmandu. I thought I had left all that behind, but it turns out I haven’t. Our guides have never experienced this kind of smoke in the mountains before. While the Khumbu may feel timeless, the global climate clearly is not. Hopefully the wind direction will shift soon and we will return to the clear mountain air and exhilarating views that we cherish.

We have five days left to base camp. As we continue to gain elevation, we will leave the forest and major villages behind and start traversing wide open glacial moraine.

Lots to love. I am guessing my next post will come after we arrive at base camp.

Continued thanks for your interest and support!

I arrived in Kathmandu three days ago. It is a different place than when I was first here in 1982; much more of an “Asian city” than the “medieval valley town” it felt like then. But it remains fascinating and unique, and it is exhilarating to be back. Here is the sign that greeted me as I pulled into the hotel courtyard:

What I notice most is the frenetic traffic, crowds, and poor air quality; all born out of decades of population influx and economic growth. In 1982, Kathmandu was a relaxing place to be. We rode bikes everywhere, carried kayaks through the streets to catch buses to various rivers, and sat outdoors for hours reading books and writing letters. There is no way I would do any of that today. Crossing streets is more nerve wracking than what crossing crevasses in the Khumbu Icefall will be, (I am serious). The day I arrived, the schools had just been closed for four days due to unusually dangerous levels of air pollution. While the official air quality has since improved from “very unhealthy “ to just “unhealthy”, it gives me new reasons to be grateful for my stash of KN- 95 masks.

That all said, I have enjoyed these days in Kathmandu. The Nepali people remain invariably gracious and friendly. We are staying at the Yak and Yeti hotel, which is somewhat of institution. It is built around an old palace and has peaceful gardens in the back. I am shaking off jet lag and sleeping progressively better every night. Each morning at 6:30 sharp, I am woken up by the smell of delicious coffee brewing in the hotel restaurant. A great way to start the day. In the evening, I have enjoyed sipping a local beer in the hotel restaurant:

Over the last few days, our team of seven climbers has assembled, met with our guides, gone through exhaustive gear checks, obtained our climbing permit at the ministry, and attended to last minute details. The day we arrived, the Nepalese authorities changed the week long quarantine requirement so that we can now leave Kathmandu as soon as we clear a second Covid test. We have done that, and will fly to the village of Lukla tomorrow morning to begin our trek to basecamp.

The early Everest expeditions started their walk to base camp from Kathmandu itself. It took them several weeks to get to where they could even see the mountain. These days, a road can get you about a fifth of the way there. Most climbers and trekkers, however, fly into a small airstrip in Lukla. Construction of this airstrip was spearheaded by Sir Edmund Hillary in the 1960’s as a way to bring medical and commercial progress to the region. With steep canyon walls, a short runway carved out of the hillside, and variable mountain weather, landing there is legendary for its white knuckle moments. If you want to see more, just Google “landing in Lukla”.

The trek to Everest base camp is a classic. I am guessing many of you have either done it yourselves or know people who have. It goes through the heart of the Solu-Khumbu region, home to the Sherpa people, climbing up and down ridgelines while passing though mountain villages accessible only on foot. The higher you get, the more you are surrounded by breathtakingly beautiful mountain peaks. Jill and I did it in 1990, and I am really looking forward to doing it again.

In many ways, an Everest expedition is two distinct experiences: the trek to base camp, and then the actual climbing. With the trek rising from 8,500 feet to an elevation of 17,500 feet, it is important to break it into stages and take rest days along the way to ease into the altitude. We will do this over nine days. After reaching base camp , the tone will shift and the real climbing will begin, with our team spending six or more weeks working our way up the actual mountain. Plenty of time ahead to explain and describe all of that.

For now, I am focused on getting ready for the trek while enjoying hanging out at the Yak and Yeti. Yesterday, I had an experience that set our expedition off on a great foot. A friend who has close ties to a Buddhist monastery in Kathmandu had kindly arranged for the monks there to bless our expedition. Then the quarantine rules changed, shortening our time in Kathmandu and making it impossible for us to take advantage of this wonderful opportunity. I needed to get in touch with the monastery.

I have never spoken with an actual lama before, let alone calling one on a cell phone, but that is what I did. I got through after a couple of tries and Lama Lobsang answered. I explained our situation, apologized for the change in our schedule, and thanked him profusely. His gentleness and kindness was striking, even over the phone.

Toward the end of the day, the hotel desk called to tell me a package had arrived. When I picked it up, I found protection cords for each of our expedition members, blessed by the lama, with a handwritten note conveying the best wishes of Trinlay Tulku Ringpoche and the monks of the Sharminub monastery. Here is a photo of the cords:

So we are blessed, on so many dimensions, and head off to the Solo-Khumbu tomorrow. There are no roads up there, but a number of the villages have rudimentary WiFi. I should be able to post at least once from the trek.

Continued thanks for following along, and Namaste!

It is finally happening and I am on my way to Nepal. Jill dropped me at Logan airport last night and I flew 12 hours to Doha, where I am currently ensconced in an elegant transfer lounge awaiting my flight to Kathmandu. A neat feeling of transition: three years of hard training and preparation behind me, the entire Everest expedition ahead of me, and a chance to reflect on what brought me here.

The final weeks passed in a blur. Despite carefully allowing for all that needed to get done before heading off for two months, the amount of details still surprised me. And I kept training hard right up to the end.

A week ago today, I did a final hike in the White Mountains with Will. It was something we have both long wanted to do: a traverse of the Presidential Range in winter conditions. Among dedicated hikers and mountaineers, the traverse is well known and respected. It covers 19 miles, 14 of them above treeline, crosses 7 of the highest summits in the Northeast, and climbs almost 9,000 vertical feet. Many people do it over two or three days. Some try to do it one day. And some try to do it in one day in winter, which is what we did.

We started hiking at 4:00am. By sunrise, we were on the summit of Mount Madison. The sky was totally clear and the winds were minimal. It just doesn’t get any better up there. We spent the day high on ridge lines and summits, with jaw dropping views in all directions, and finished around 6:00pm. It was wonderful to descend the final ridge, emerge from the woods, and find Jill waiting for us at the trailhead with the car. She had been tracking our progress on our satellite beacon.

In many ways, this day was all that I cherish in the mountains: exhilarating beauty, physical challenge, spiritual connection with nature, and the reward of shared experience.

Here is a photo of Will about a quarter of the way into it.

All the Everest prep I have been doing would have been worth it if the only thing it did was get me in shape for last Monday.

So, why Everest?

George Mallory provided the definitive answer in 1923, in three words. I started dreaming of it over 50 years ago. My father owned an outdoor sports store, staffed with avid climbers and full of mountaineering books. I spent long hours sitting on the store floor, reading accounts of the great climbing expeditions of the 1960’s and 1970’s.

On the wall in my bedroom growing up was a poster. I wrote about it last spring when my original Everest climb was cancelled. Those of you who read about it then should feel free to skip ahead several paragraphs. For those of you who didn’t, here is a photo of the poster again. Its title was “Everest: The West Ridge”.

The small figures at the bottom of the photo are Tom Hornbein and Willi Unsoeld, two American climbers who made history in 1963 with their epic first ascent of the west ridge. That is the ridge towering above them: 9,000 vertical feet of technically challenging terrain, at extreme altitude, that no one had ever set foot on. Hornbein and Unsoeld ascended the ridge, traversed the summit, miraculously survived a night bivouacked high on the mountain, and descended the southeast ridge safely the following morning, (ultimately with a few less toes).

As striking to me as the photo was the quote at the bottom of the poster, a paraphrase of Goethe attributed to Scottish mountaineer W.H. Murray :

“WHATEVER YOU CAN DO, OR DREAM YOU CAN, BEGIN IT. BOLDNESS HAS GENIUS, POWER, AND MAGIC IN IT”

The combination of that photo and quote stuck with me; one of those childhood impressions that shape how you approach the adult world. It still does.

Willi Unsoeld, one of the climbers in the photo, found in climbing an intense blend of physical and spiritual satisfaction. A couple of great biographies have been written about him. He was also a friend of my father’s. The first time I went climbing, in the early 1970’s at Den Rock in Andover MA, Willi was at the top of the rope.

And here is another poster that lodged in my consciousness. It was on the dorm room wall of several friends back in college. I loved both the photograph and also what the title connoted: “top of the world”!

In our first year of marriage in 1990, Jill and I spent several weeks trekking in the Everest region. I climbed alone up to the location where the poster photo was taken, as I’ll bet a number of people reading this blog have also done. My walk back down the valley to rejoin Jill was one of the most intensely memorable hikes of my life: walking alone through clear January air, surrounded by all that beauty.

When we got back to Kathmandu, Jill bought me a copy of the very same “top of the world” poster as a present, and it has been on the wall of our master bathroom ever since. On a daily basis for the last thirty years, I have looked at it and wondered “am I ever going to climb to to the top of the world, or am I going to spend my whole life just wondering what it would have been like?” By the way, Everest base camp is located on the far left side of the photo. I will be walking back up that valley in a couple of weeks.

How my thinking on Everest has evolved

Sitting on the floor of my Dad’s shop reading climbing books as a ten year old, the Willi Unsoelds of the world were super heroes, and the only people who set foot on Everest and the other Himalayan giants were the climbing elite. Regular people lacked both the climbing pedigree and political connections to get on expeditions, and climbing permits were rare and coveted items. Physical features on Everest like the Khumbu Icefall, Lhotse Face, Geneva Spur, The Balcony, and Hilary Step were like features on the moon; something you could read about and picture in your mind, but that you would never actually set foot on.

In the late 1980’s, in a trend well covered by Jon Krakauer in “Into Thin Air”, the advent of commercial guiding began opening up the Himalayan peaks to regular people. Shortly after climbing Denali with three close friends in 1992, I remember realizing that “wow, there actually are Everest expeditions out there that I could get on!” I was very close to going on one of those expeditions in 1995, (the year before the “Into Thin Air” events), until another close friend explained how stupid it was for someone at my life stage, with two young children at the time, to take that kind of risk. He was right, and I backed out.

I got busy with a business career and being a father, and climbing faded into the background. I climbed a few things, but Everest wasn’t on my radar screen, especially with the mountain attracting more and more people as the commercial climbing industry continued to grow. My mindset evolved to: “Everest was a dream in its time, but it has gotten to a place that the experience wouldn’t be what I have long been picturing. And, while I am at peace with a lot of the risks one takes on the mountain, I REALLY don’t want to die stuck in a bottleneck of climbers at the Hilary Step. If I want to climb a big Himalayan peak, there are plenty of other candidates.”

This was my mindset right up to a few years ago, when I started to do more climbing again. I talked with lots of guides who know Everest intimately, and they uniformly said the same thing: Everest remains magical, and the image created in the press of overcrowding and overuse – while having a basis in reality – is a long ways from the full picture. For many of the climbers and guides I spoke with, Everest remains their favorite overall climbing experience.

So my thinking about Everest evolved yet again, to something like: “It isn’t the experience that Willi Unsoeld had, but it still is Everest. Screw all the negative press, and the fact that elements of it have changed with time. There is still something magical about following in the footsteps of all those expeditions I read about in my youth , and something magical in pursuing long held dreams.”

That is some of what has gotten to me to this point. I am mindful of the realities of the modern Everest, both negative and positive, and am simultaneously thrilled and grateful to be doing this. The whole thing strikes deep emotional chords.

My flight to Kathmandu boards shortly. Here I come!