When I was 16, at my father’s urging, I began reading exploration and mountaineering books. He was right – I was enthralled. All those daring tales of science and exploration. I was especially awestruck by the books detailing incredible climbs to great heights on remote peaks around the world. The most intriguing to me were the highest 14 peaks, the ones that reached 8,000 meters, or about 26,000 feet. I began to wonder what climbing to such great heights would be like, how one got to go on such an adventure, and, dare I say it, if even I might be able to go someday. A dream was born.
Thirty years later, my dream came true. Just two days ago I stepped onto the summit of Cho Oyu, the sixth highest peak in the world at 26,906 feet (8201m).
On September 23rd here in Tibet, my teammates, our Sherpas and Tibetan climbers all began our preparations at about 4 pm. We lay in our down suits and sleeping bags at 24,900 feet sipping oxygen through masks at a low 1 liter per minute as we made final preparations and rechecked our gear. We knew every ounce would feel like a boulder weighing us down on this our final summit push, so we stripped down to the minimum of gear. Then we tried to sleep. I laid there for hours listening to the mechanical inhales and exhales of air moving through our masks. My tentmate, Mike, sounded like he was sleeping. I listened to his air flow. Inhale. Exhale. It sounded like I was tenting with Darth Vader.
When all that was finished, and sleep still escaped me, I focused on getting my mind into the right framework. I recalled all the reassuring things that friends and family had told me. I repeated inspirational quotes sent to me by friends and strangers alike. I remembered all the critical climbing safety lessons that my partners had taught me over the years. And I matched each section of the challenging climb ahead with experience I had gained on lesser peaks all over the world. Inhale. Exhale.
We had to awaken at 10:00 pm to force some food and water down our constricted throats. Great – I might only get two hours sleep now before my one shot to climb to 8,000 meters. Relax. You’re ready. Focus on the sound of the breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Sleep finally came.
After about 1.5 hours of sleep, I awoke with a startle and tore the mask off my face. Momentarily confused about where I was, the awkward confinement of the down suit, and the thinness of the air soon reminded me – I was at 24,900 and the summit push was upon us. Time to go.
We loaded our packs and slipped on our harnesses while snow slowly melted into water on our sputtering stove. When the water reached a weak boil, we cooked one packet of ramen noodles to split, but neither Mike nor I could eat our half.
At 11:30 PM, we struggled out of the tents, paired up with our designated Sherpa or Tibetan climber who would watch over us in this alien environment, and we headed up into the darkness. Our goal was to summit about 5:30 am, and see the sunrise over Mt. Everest.
We began climbing the steep snow to the famous Himalayan rock layer known as the Yellow Band. Previous experience with climbing rock in crampons helped power me through this section, and we continued upwards. My headlamp lit up a swath about 30 feet wide in front of me. The stars never seemed brighter than they did there at 25,000 feet. I kept checking my watch and altimeter. We were moving surprisingly quick. The sky was clear above us, but far below, in western Nepal we could see lightening flashing inside some clouds far below us.
Experience dictated that we stop for food and water, lest our energy crash. But it was so cold, that getting open the insulated water bottles was a struggle, and all the food was frozen solid. Looked like we were going to be doing this climb on internal reserves. The altitude and the hours rolled by. 25,500 feet. 26,000 feet. Less than a thousand feet to go.
Like my Dad had taught me as a kid, I kept watching the stars and constellations to confirm our navigational direction. We had spent several hours going southeast directly at Orion. At first he was partially hidden behind the summit. But as he had risen higher, so had we. His full friendly outline hung directly in front of us, and now we began swinging more eastward, towards the big mountain face that drops into Nepal. 26,500.
The terrain was flattening. We were on the final march across the summit plateau. Mt. Everest was dead ahead 20 miles away. I could see a black spot where its bulk blocked the stars, but I could not see the mountain itself. To the left of Everest, over a low spot on the horizon, down below us, I saw…stars. We were so high, and the horizon so low and far away, that I could see a few twinkling white stars BELOW us. It was a rare and magical sight.
A biting wind picked up around 3:30 am which now made making stopping almost impossible. Looked like we would arrive at the top long before sunrise. With this vicious wind cutting through our clothes, there was no way we would be able to stand around for even twenty minutes, let alone the two full hours until sunrise.
The slope flattened more – years of climbing told me we were almost there. Altimeter reads 26,900. Switching my headlamp to spotlight mode, I see a small bump ahead with a sacred Kata, a silk scarf, and bits of food left as an offering. The summit.
Within the next minute, my thirty-year dream of reaching the summit of an 8,000 meter peak would come true. I felt tears forming in my eyes, and it wasn’t due to the wind.
I took the last few strides, and hugged my Tibetan companion, named “K2″. Surrounded by darkness, there was little to see, so I looked up to the stars instead. Spectacular.
One by one, my teammates arrived over the next few minutes. Hugs and photos sought to keep us there while a screaming wind fought to drive us away. By 4:17 am, numb hands and toes forced the decision, and we started down.
Thirty years may seem like a long time to work to make a dream come true. Fifteen minutes of wind-swept darkness may seem like a short time to experience your dream unfolding. It was totally worth it.
Whatever dream you select, pick a big one. Whatever time-frame you might plan on, know that sometimes it can take thirty years..or more. And my friends, please, please keep trying and keep believing. Because dreams can come true.
Jim
