[Click on the pictures to see larger versions with captions.]
Many teams, ours included, have descended the 14 miles of glacier back to base camp for a week of rest before the summit bids begin. The air is thicker here and the body can rejuvenate at 17,000 feet, whereas it gradually wastes away at ABC at 21,000 feet.
I've learned of another pair of successful summit climbs that occurred on May 2, when two Sherpas (names as yet unknown to me) with a large Indian expedition reached the top. The Sherpas left a statue of Buddha on the summit in honor of the Buddha's birthday.
When I was coming down the ropes from the North Col on May 4, I encountered a surprising sight: a man nearly naked at 22,000 feet, clad only in shorts, soaking up the morning sun. Introducing himself as Wim, a Dutchman, he explained that he planned to make the world's first ascent of Everest in shorts. He was serious. He had it all planned out. He'd only climb in the best weather, he said; he'd wear full Everest clothing when sitting in camps, and a Sherpa would accompany him carrying his warm clothing, which he'd put on if cold weather blew in on the way to the summit. "Of course, I'll wear my warm clothes if the storm comes in — I'm not crazy," he said.
"What gave you the idea to try this?" I asked.
He explained that he'd been forced to trek through deep snow on a previous trip. He'd worn shorts throughout what was apparently a tough time and it opened his mind to greater possibilities for shorts-wearing feats.
Maybe this is a valid first, something that ought to be in the Guinness Book of Records. Maybe it's better placed in the Darwin Awards category. I'll leave it up to you. But this much is for sure: The legs represent a large percentage of body surface area, and in the biting, dry cold of 26,000 feet the slightest breeze can sap the body of warmth, even on a sunny day.
Now, as I sit relaxing at base camp ensconced in the Tiger Room (Russell insists "the Pleasure Dome" is a misnomer) I can look up the valley at Everest. It's clear and apparently windless up there. "It's a summit day, where is everyone?" Russell asks rhetorically.
Well, everyone is recuperating. Some teams have even driven down to Shigatse, at about 15,000 feet, for R&R. Already I can notice the benefits of being lower. It's warmer, the air is thicker, I sleep better, food tastes better and so does beer.
While we rest at base camp, Sherpas from many teams, ours included, are still on the mountain positioning camps and gear for the summit attempts. I know I've said this before, but not much would get done up there without the indefatigable Sherpas. Phurba and his crew will join us at base camp soon.
It's also time to give kudos to the hardworking kitchen guys. Sure, they cook great meals, but there's a massive amount of behind-the-scenes work that goes on in the kitchen that barely gets noticed.
Take our water supply at ABC, for instance. At 21,000 feet, there isn't much flowing water — it's nearly always frozen. It's also polluted from the hundreds of people camped up there and the endless supply trains of yaks that lumber up and down the glacier. So, every drop of water must come from the glacial ice beside ABC.
The gathering of ice takes place about 16 times a day. A kitchen staff member, like Norbu Wong Chu, a Tibetan teenager, walks to the twisted ice formations on the East Rongbuk Glacier and hacks at the ice with a pickax.
After a strenuous swinging session, Norbu fills a sack with the ice chips, slings it with a tumpline and totes it back to camp, the 80-pound weight hanging from his forehead — the traditional load-carrying mode in these parts.
Once in the kitchen, guys like Sakure from Nepal and Zangbu, a Tibetan, start the melting process on two propane burners. Ice chunks are rendered into water in one pot, then ladled into another and brought to a boil. The melting never stops because every drop of water for drinking, cooking and washing comes from the glacier. It's hard work and these guys do it every day. Behind every cup of tea on Everest, there's the swing of a pickax.
Signing off,
Greg Child
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