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

JUNK: [Silence. He seems angry] Let’s move on. Why do you believe you have the right to boss these others around if Fumu is the, as you put it, ‘angry parent?’

MANO: “Because the mountain has no voice, silly. I speak her will. Sure, we play and sing, but we are good children. We treat each other with respect, say ‘Please,’ go to bed at eight.”

JUNK: “Do you have any sacred texts?”

MANO: “Reading primers mostly.”

JUNK: “Can you ever please the angry mother?”

MANO: “The angry parent?”

JUNK: “Yes.”

MANO: “Yes.”

JUNK: “How?”

MANO: “Um. Well, we’re not sure. We just have to keep doing the best we can. Be kind. Be honest. Treat others nicely. Don’t wet ourselves. You know. The basics. But we’ll know when he is pleased.”

JUNK: “How?”

MANO: “When she stops bringing forth magma and starts bringing forth milk.”

[Silence for about twenty seconds.]

JUNK: “Do you have children?”

MANO: “Do you?”

JUNK: [Answering, but clearly not liking being asked] “No.”

MANO: “So why are you waltzing all over the planet? Why aren’t you at home making children? As monks of Fumu, we are sworn to celibacy. We are forbidden to have children because the act of having children stops one from being a child. But others should have them. Why else are you on this planet? Sucker?” [Holds out two lollipops]

JUNK: “That’s enough, Bruce.”

According to Oldhusband, Junk got up and walked out without a word. Oldhusband took apart the recording equipment in silence. Mano watched while licking his lolly. Oldhusband quietly thanked Mano for his time and walked out.

Junk and his team left the circle of temples and headed for Everest. With only a few days left to reach the base, everyone was anxious, talkative and ready to begin the ascent. Junk, however, was not. He seemed to the others enraged by the interaction that had taken place at the monastery. We cannot be sure why, but the anger and accompanying silence remained until they reached Base Camp later in the week.

William Hoyt and his team arrived at the northern Base Camp at about the same time Junk was pulling away from the circle of temples. If the ascent was a competition between the two men, Hoyt’s early arrival was perfectly even. The distance between Base Camp and the summit was longer on the north side where Hoyt was climbing, which meant he would get the proper handicap.

The camp lay at the end of the Rongbuk Glacier, just south of the Rongbuk Monastery. The plan was to have all of the Americans – Hoyt, Taylor, Zeigler, Crimmins, Webster, and Fleming – as well as countless Sherpa proceed along the side of the glacier to Camps One, Two, and then Camp Three at the North Col. When the route left the glacier and started to rise dramatically along the Northern Ridge, Hoyt, Taylor, and Zeigler would continue with fifty Sherpa. The rest would remain at Camp Three as back-up. This was a classic example of The Arctic Method, in which the mountain was taken by force. No climber at any altitude would have far to down-climb in order to find safety. Even the highest camp would be decked out with several Sherpa, warm food, and good company. If a summit attempt went awry, the climbers could be sipping scotch and feeling superior within a few hours.

They made excellent progress along the glacier. The weather was fair and the men were in good health. Taylor even summoned the strength to sing along the way. He was a fan of British opera, especially Gilbert and Sullivan. The other climbers were treated to repeated recitals of “The Pirates of Penzance.” It didn’t help that Taylor was slightly inebriated; carrying a flask of Jameson’s everywhere he went. He did not intend to abstain from alcohol until the climbing got truly intense along the Northern Ridge. The musical entertainment did not last long. “I pulled a clump of ice from my crampons and threw it at the soused tenor” Hoyt wrote. “The stinging ice did its work and he became silent.”

At Camp Three, the men who planned to continue struggled with the oxygen supplies. None of them had ever used the new-fangled devices before, and some of the men, especially Zeigler, were somewhat perturbed by the whole idea. It seemed like cheating. Reaching the top of the world, they reasoned, was not a victory if one needed the help of canned air. Crimmins disagreed. If they were so hell-bent on not cheating, then climb to the top shoeless. Weren’t shoes supplemental feet? Leave the jacket behind, for it was merely supplemental skin. Zeigler responded that if Crimmins was to take his argument to its extreme, then they might as well jump from a zeppelin onto the peak. The debate came to an impasse. No one was quite sure what the line was that could not be crossed before one was cheating, except that they all agreed that riding some sort of heated, spike-wheeled contraption to the top would be considered unsportsmanlike. Hoyt just observed from afar. “What the blazes are these men talking about?” he wrote in notes for Wizzy. “They think this is a salon in Vienna. Just put on the oxygen tanks and leave it at that.” Hoyt’s letters to Wizzy would turn out to be the best record of the events to come on their attempt at the summit of Mount Everest.

Aaron Junk’s writings to his girlfriend, on the other hand, were no record at all. They were merely filthy flirtations. “When I return from my attempt at reaching the ‘Third Pole,’ perhaps you can have some fun with the Fourth.” All of the letters had this tone. One has to turn to Twist’s diary to have a good idea of the events that occurred on the south side of the mountain over the next several weeks.

From the rocky, desolate southern Base Camp, Junk’s team ascended and descended between the Khumbu Icefall and Camp One. Junk, Ang Kikuli,