Part 8: Everest Base Camp Chilling and Khumbu Icefall Introduction
The next day, we had our ladder practice. Outside of our mess tent, the guides set up single and then double ladders (by roping together two) to imitate the ladder crossings we’d start doing over crevasses in the gnarly Khumbu Icefall within a few days. The crux was learning how to walk over them while wearing our cumbersome crampons (ladders weren’t really built for these knife-like boot attachments) while continuing to ascend, traverse or belay. We had to find the sweet spot between crampon spikes that would optimally hold our weight on the ladder rungs. What started with very ungraceful tip-toeing turned gradually less awkward after a few rounds of practice. It certainly wasn’t going to win me any awards, but it would do for the Icefall.
At lunch, we were treated to Taco Tuesday with a Nepalese twist! I can’t stop gushing about how inventive and thoughtful the cooking team is here. I so appreciate how they want to make us feel welcomed and at home for every meal.
Between mouthfuls of tacos, the team began to discuss our possible future sherpa pairings for the summit rotations and attempt. The assignments are an extremely delicate issue because even though there are twenty or so incredibly deserving sherpas (all with multiple Everest summits under their belts), only a handful will get the choice position of personal sherpa, while the rest will be consigned to carrying equipment between camps. Personal sherpas receive upwards of $1000 in tips alone for an expedition, which can really go a long way in the impoverished Nepalese economy. Apparently many factors go into the decision like experience, personalities, and even family ties. So I don’t envy whoever has to make the personal sherpa pairings.
Kieran proudly chimed in that he just wanted a sherpa with the same “no bullshit” attitude that he has, someone who’s “just here to climb.”
“Oh and I’m just here for bullshit.” I couldn’t help thinking. I can barely keep my eyes from rolling at some of the holier-than-thou things he says.
Now that we’ve made the long trek and are solidly based in EBC, we’ve had a lot of downtime before our summit rotations, when we’ll be moving up the mountain.
I spend a lot of that time relaxing in my tent, which is bitterly cold at night, but can get suffocatingly hot and drowse-inducing when the sun comes out with a vengeance during the day. Relaxing in your -40 degree sleeping bag will often lead to waking up in sweat-covered delirium after an unintentional nap. It took me a few days to figure it out, but I managed to get in the habit of fastening open the windows during the day, and turning the tent into a sailboat of sorts, taking advantage of the gusts that already flap my walls, in order to cool down the stifling tent.
There have been so many helicopters around here lately! Hiring a helicopter has gotten cheaper over the years, so there are more helicopter deliveries and more climbers are using them to fly in and out of EBC. But the downside is that they’re so damn loud for us civilians and they produce their own windstorms which can be distressing if you’re caught outside. One particularly traumatic event: I was trying to subtly wash out my pee bottle outside of my tent. Suddenly, a helicopter happened to hover down onto the closest helipad about 200 feet away, and the helicopter-produced wind (I learned this is called helicopter rotor downwash) whipped the bottle right out of my hands and across the camp while the cook Katchi Sherpa looked on and laughed at the ridiculous scene of me cursing and scrambling after it.
I’ve also been sleeping more than I ever have in my life. When I return to my tent after dinner around 7, I’ll try to read my kindle or catch up with loved ones but my hands will get so cold (it gets to around 10 degrees F at night) that I’ll tuck them into my sleeping bag to warm them for a bit and then just end up falling asleep. And then bam, eleven hours have passed.
I’m trying to stay loose and centered by doing yoga everyday, but I still feel sluggish at this elevation and often get migraines. And I get out of breath so easily, that even walking up to the outhouse has become a workout. I try to drink water quickly so I’m not gasping for breath when I’m done. At 17,700 feet, there is about half the oxygen in the air available as there is at sea level, which explains the constant struggles.
Another struggle is wrestling with the horrendous Wi-Fi service here. FaceTimes are particular frustrating as I’ve gotten used to talking to the “triangle of death” error screen just as often as my boyfriend David during our calls. Yes, I know people are here to climb and EBC isn’t exactly a metropolis, but it’s still frustrating.
On Wednesday night, we packed up a couple days worth of freeze-dried meals and snacks of our choosing as well as much of our high-altitude gear, for the sherpas to lug up to Camp 1 over the next few days.
It’s always a little disconcerting stuffing my down suit back into its stuff sack; I can’t help looking over my shoulder as if I’m trying to hide a body.
At dinner, Max asked Jonathan, the doctor whether he should be concerned about a tickle that’s developed in his throat.
Jonathan replies deadpan, sick of always being queried for free medical advice: It means you’re gonna die in a few days.
After dinner, I learned that my Sherpas are Gyaljen (pronounced Gyalzen) and Sonam, nine and ten time Everest summitters, respectively. Phunuru proudly introduced Gyaljen to me: “He has worked with many female climbers in the past. You’re in good hands!”
The next day was our Khumbu Icefall dry run. We woke up at 1:30 AM, tried to hold down some breakfast at that ungodly hour, and then departed camp at 3 AM in the pitch black. Alpine starts are the norm (and absolutely required) on the mountain since moving during the warmer day greatly increases the chances of avalanches, serac fall and other disasters caused by melting snow and ice.
It was about a 40 minute hop through the rocks and past hundreds of tents in Base Camp until we hit snow, fastened on our crampons and then entered the Icefall.
Thank god it was pitch dark, or I’d be even more terrified. The weak spotlight of our headlamps merely hinted at the tall and forbidding seracs that surrounded us. I decided not to stretch my neck to capture the entirety of these creepy towers. As we climbed through, I occasionally heard the ice melting and crackling below and next to me, which almost sounds like being on a boat that’s scraping against a rock. I’d stop in terror, my whole body would suddenly be covered in sweat and I’d look over at Gyaljen, and he’d laugh and reassure me.
The climb to Camp 1 through the Khumbu Icefall is apparently the most technical and dangerous part of the Everest climb, with ladders, many vertical parts to ascend up and belay down, and occasionally, falling seracs and avalanches to avoid. When we got to our first truly vertical part, a guy from another team in front of me began brazenly and very clumsily trying to scale the wall, and went helter-skelter with his crampons kicking and hurtling wildly through the air. I shrieked a little and jumped back as his crampons swiped dangerously close to my face.
When we finally reached the turnaround point (I couldn’t believe after two hours, we had only reached the halfway point on the Icefall. We still had another two hours to go to Camp 1!), we sat down for our first real break (the sherpas discouraged taking breaks during most of the icefall for good reason) for some water and a snack.
My hands went numb, and I finally cracked and turned into a total baby in front of Gyaljen. He calmed me down and squeezed each of my fingers until the feeling returned and we headed back to camp.
I was comatose for the rest of the day, lying in bed and thinking about the danger and excitement and utter beauty that I’d witnessed, and napped.
I also learned that David is rush ordering me another nose shield to help combat my constant nose struggles! Thanks Babe!
A casual, but ominous conversation topic that evening: a potentially heavy snow storm the following day?
