I woke up with the condensation from the inside of the tent dripping on my head. Confused, I checked my watch - 6:00am - and tried to get my bearings. I was inside a tent. In spite of what felt like Chinese water torture, I was warm and relatively comfortable even though my thermarest had slid from under me during the night and now formed what looked like a bright yellow version of the Great Wall of China between my still comatose tent mate Chris and myself.
The sun was already bearing down outside. Ah yes, I was, I was at the North Col and had just spent a surprisingly blissful nights sleep at 7000m. A good sign given today we were due to head up to 7500m - a challenge rumoured to be absolutely brutal but a critical stage in the acclimatisation process. I was slightly dreading it and the prospect of leaving the comfort of my sleeping bag did not appeal….
I think that it is fair to say that we were a bit ‘slow off the mark’ in getting going that morning. A critical mistake in our ‘waking up process’ was the fact that the longer we stayed in the comfort of our sleeping bags, the exponentially hotter our tent became - to the point where at 9am it was not dissimilar to a Swedish sauna - just hotter and more difficult to escape from and minus the clean white towels. The combination of the sun and the radiation of the snow brought the temperature up to what felt like 100 degrees. The last thing that we felt like doing was to eat breakfast…. Or move for that matter… and the thought of putting on my down suit and climb up a grueling 500m snow slope was enough to make my stomach turn.
There was little movement from the other tents - Zac did poke his head round to check that we were still alive and to ‘gently remind us’ that we did have a mission to accomplish that day. After another hour of procrastination, a monumental amount of faffing, heavy sighing and whinging (that might have been me...) we were finally ready - down suit with every zip open, big boots, crampons, harness, mitts and a few energy gels. Given how boiling hot I felt it seemed more like we were heading to a Bikram Yoga class than to climb to 7500m on Everest.
As I stumbled out of camp trying to follow in Chris’ footprints, Andrew stuck his head out of his tent and said, “Don’t worry - the first hour or two is the worst…. then it gets better….” Thanks!!!
I wish that I could describe how mentally and physically challenging it is to walk up a ‘snow slope’ equivalent in gradient to a bunny-hill on a ski-resort in a country as flat as Holland. It looks super easy, straight forward, and like a simple 20 minute bimble. After an hour in the blistering heat where each step feels like a 30-minute work out, it’s rather disconcerting to look back at your progress and see that you’ve moved about 15 metres up the hill…. As testament to my stellar progress I decide to reward myself by collapsing in a down-heap, lay in the snow on my back to look at the blue sky, re-apply the sunscreen and take photos of the absolutely spectacular surroundings. When all you do is look down at your feet moving at a snails pace it’s easy to forget to look around and appreciate the absolutely breathtaking scenery.
The whole episode reminded me of the inscription on my journal back in my tent at Base Camp --
“Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the number of moments that take our breath away.”-- Anonymous
I managed to ‘switch off’ and continue with my snails pace. Rather than become frustrated and disillusioned about the 500m of snow-slope laid out like a long white carpet at my feet I decided to try my best and enjoy it. I was on Everest for gods sake! Beautiful views, gorgeous white snow, a gradual slope, and a ‘goal’ to achieve. The strategy worked for about another 2 hours at which point I had moved another 150 metres up the slope. I could see Chris off in the distance and from his slow and steady pace it seemed he was adopting a similar strategy.
Weather on Everest should never be taken for granted as it can change at the drop of a hat. The blue skies and perfect visibility soon disappeared as the cloud came in, to the point where I could only see about 5 feet in front of me. In a way it made the journey easier because it wasn’t hot and it was not as obvious that you were moving at such a painfully slow pace.
I’m not sure if it was boredom or the altitude (or a combination of both) but I began to pretend that I was George Mallory, spurred by an inherent sense of adventure and passion for the mountain, clad in his hob-nail boots back in 1924 moving up the snow slopes of Everest or the first time, unaware of the many challenges and dangers ahead….. Step, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe….. Step, breathe, breathe, breathe….
The wind began to pick up and I began to question how much longer I would continue up the slope before being forced to turn around because of the unsuitable conditions. Chris had indicated that his ‘turn around time’ was 2pm so I was relieved that I only had about 10 minutes of plodding to go.
In spite of the wind and the altitude, I wasn’t cold at all. My down suit provided excellent protection from the cold and I relished my little down bubble. Having said that, when I saw Chris’ snow covered silhouette coming down the slope towards me, I couldn’t help but feel a massive sense of relief because it meant that the turn-around time had finally arrived. I lay down in the snow exhausted and closed my eyes. Chris confirmed that I’d moved 250m up the slope and that it was time to turn back. A Sherpa on his way down also confirmed this, as he said that the winds were picking up and it would be unwise to continue any further…
Needless to say, after stumbling back to my tent and indulging in a gastronomic feast of spaghetti bolognaise while listening to cold wind swirling outside, it wasn’t too hard to fall asleep!!
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