Hell Is Above Us: The Epic Race to the Top of Fumu, the World's Tallest Mountain by Jonathan Bloom (bookreader TXT) 📗

Demanding tribute,

Gilford Taylor

Hoyt had been unaware up to this point that an ethnographer could be a racist. He had to follow up this letter with an immediate apology to the Dalai Lama. Hoyt claimed Taylor was “possessed by a succubus” when he wrote the missive. The High Llama, in his infinite wisdom and tolerance, welcomed the Americans graciously.

Now, three months later, they looked up at the East Rongbuk Glacier and the mountain beyond. Unbeknownst to them, Junk was making his Tibetan approach. Also hidden from Hoyt’s view was another nemesis – one he did not yet know he had. Fumu.

It had taken almost two months for the British Expedition to arrive in Calcutta. On the ocean voyage, Junk had made quick friends with everyone except Tersely. Instead, he made every effort to publicly question Tersely’s plans for climbing Everest. Junk never explicitly challenged the man, but he asked pointed questions and treated the answers like they were spoken by a child.

“How many men do you plan to use for the final push at the top?” would be a likely question.

“Four” was a likely response.

“Sounds like someone is not considering any backup if an initial summit attempt fails, but okay.”

All of this was part of Junk’s strategy. Humiliate Tersely in front of everyone and then take his authority. It seemed to be working. By the time they made Calcutta, Tersely jokes were shooting back and forth between expedition members, usually alluding to his botched embezzlement scheme. “I think Tersely has stolen my pocket watch! Why? Because it’s right here in my pocket! The genius of it all!” Sometimes they took aim at the shortcomings Junk had created about Tersely out of thin air. “Tersely wants to use four pack mules for the summit attempt instead of people. But then he thought the better of it, realizing in his infinite wisdom they could not plant the Union Jack.”

Things turned awkward when Tersely simply left. No one knew that the man they were taunting was a youngest sibling in the Tersely clan. He had never been taken seriously by his family, ever. But after the failed embezzlement scheme and now the mockery of his mountaineering leadership skills, he had had enough; Junk was awoken long after he had gone to bed by noises in the next room. In the hallway, he saw Tersely in a fit of tears walking out of their hotel and into the Calcutta night. He would not be seen again until 1975, when some extended family members happened across him, now a moslem sheepherder near Tehran.

A solemn and ashamed team now turned to Junk, who gladly took the helm. The next day, they met their Sherpa guides, including sardar Ang Kikuli, and headed up from Calcutta to Darjeeling by train. “Change in plans” Junk announced to his team. He then convinced them, one by one, that they should not proceed up to Tibet like previous British expeditions, but instead trek into Nepal, only a few miles away. They would then hike across the Lesser Himalaya to Everest. He explained that going through Nepal offered a more direct route and, unlike England and the United States, other nations’ border restrictions were merely suggestions. Easily convinced, the team hiked northwest into Nepal and straight for Everest.

They luckily experienced no run-ins at the border. The subsequent trek through the kingdom was relatively uneventful. As the Himalaya began to appear, Junk caught his first glimpse of Fumu.

“We are crossing Nepal with amazing speed. The locals have been swell and the men are growing more and more excited with each day. What’s fueling that excitement is the nature of the horizon ahead of us. Only a few days ago, the reddish-purple sunset ended at a rugged line demarcating the Earth below. Now, with each passing sunset, the line takes on more character. The ruggedness gets more rugged. The sun hits the horizon earlier. Now we can clearly see the outline of Abel ahead, and behind it, the smoky one they call Fumu. Even though our elevation is still relatively low, I swear I can smell snow in the air. It’s a beautiful thing when the horizon stops being a metaphor. I can literally see my future there. I only wish Dolores and my dear chum McGee were here to enjoy it.”

We can assume that this was a woman he was dating briefly at the time. No other record could be found about her.

When Junk and the team reached the Himalaya, their pace slowed. Oxygen had gone from a given to a luxury. They were making every effort to save their energy for Everest. No one wanted to struggle against the waning air supply until it was necessary. The team also slowed because of the majesty of the landscape. The air was still warm and fragrant here. They travelled through lush, narrow valleys full of birch, juniper, and rhododendron, broken up by clear blue rivers of icy run-off. On both sides of them, the valleys gave way to walls of rock, leading up to mountains of other-worldly proportions. Occasionally they would cross a monk or a farmer making their way to villages laying at lower climes.

Two days away from Base Camp, the team stopped in their tracks. A valley they had been hiking through opened up to a rocky field gently rising in front of them. Straight ahead, Junk saw the peak of Everest. But that was not what stopped them. To their right, due east, rose a mountain of such height, they could swear they had gone off course and were actually passing Everest. Some of the Europeans on the expedition began to press the porters, asking how they had botched things up so badly as to miss their destination. Junk shushed them. He knew the shape of Everest and whatever this mighty Goliath happened to be, it was not their