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

and the air inside the tents was frigid. Climbing up the second step in such conditions would be risky. The alternative was to descend all the way back down to Camp One on the Rakhiot Glacier where the wind would be less oppressive. They could reach it within a few hours, but they would need to climb down the first step to get there, and that presented its own risks. The climb back up from Camp One would be rather unrewarding and would come with no guarantee conditions would improve. Up, down, or stationary, they were going to be challenged. Cole recommended they climb down to Camp One so McGee could begin his way back down to Base Camp (he probably also felt this would give him an opportunity to looks for his own lost academic reading material). He would not relent in his belief that McGee was more at risk than the others. Junk assured Cole that he was underestimating both the fortitude of the big Irishman and his motivation when fueled by the promise of big money. Cole was definitely not happy with the suggestion but listened to his leader.

Junk decided that if no choice offered a better situation, then continuing their ascent was the best option. “We cand wade for the wedder to me like it was on Chabbaquiddick!” Junk yelled at Cole. “We’re a the tob of the world now! Time for our meddle to me tesded! Who are you again?” (The altitude was clearly taking its toll). Junk also “reasoned” climbing would warm them up more than sitting still or climbing down.

An advance team consisting of Junk, Zeigler, and Pasang Dolma would do the second step and make their way up the remaining lip (Cole would stay behind to aid in the healing of his frostbite). Upon finding a safe location for Camp Three, they would return and get the rest of the team. The hope was that they could be back by one in the afternoon, and they could get the rest of team up before sunset. Should they be slowed down by anything, a Camp Two B could be established immediately above the second step.

Everyone ate their tins of breakfast to the din of wind and eruptions near the summit. They finished their tea and the advance team suited up. Light appeared on the eastern horizon. The second step loomed over them. Ice screws from Hoover’s expedition were nowhere to be seen, probably buried under the excessive ice and snow that covered the step. Junk went first. Whereas they were usually separated by several yards, Junk set the first and second ice screws almost on top of each other. They would take no big risks here. Unlike his usual mode of operation, Junk demanded this step be taken conservatively and by the book.

And so it went. With much difficulty, the three men ascended the step despite high winds, oppressive cold, and scarce oxygen. At the top, they hiked along the razor-thin ridge as it gently began curving to the southwest and up to the Eastern Ridge. If it is possible, the wind became worse. There was nowhere to set up tents if they ran out of strength. Zeigler began complaining after only an hour of hiking. He could not feel his feet and breathing was simply too difficult. Junk was dazed but felt physically fit. He wanted to continue. Pasang Dolma said he was alright and would do whatever Junk asked of him. Junk wrote that night, “We played it saf (sic) and went down. Try tomorow (sic).” Their decision paid off, for as they began to descend, Zeigler caught sight of a small saddle only about one hundred feet above them, right near where the lip met the northeast ridge. Odds were good it would provide enough space for a camp. That would be their destination tomorrow.

With as much care as they could summon, the three men climbed down the lip and made their way down the second step as carefully as they could. Upon reaching Camp Two A, Junk shared the good news with the team that the lip presented no more technical challenges after the step and that a protected location for Camp Three existed in the form of a saddle. But he also decided oxygen would need to be used earlier than they had hoped. He said, “I can’t count to two for Christ’s sake.” The team was relieved to hear this news. Even McGee mumbled “Thank fuck.”

Unless the weather worsened, the entire team would resume the ascent the next morning. Junk wrote, “I’ll sleep well tonight. Optimistic. Even though the rest are sad sacks. River Leaf’s asleep in her own tent. What I’d give to walk over there and offer my warmth. Perhaps another night.”

They slept until first light. The wind had calmed slightly over the evening and still few clouds were evident. Stars still shone in the western sky. This was their chance. Everyone was rested and ready to go. The day off seemed to have restored McGee’s vigor and Cole felt up to the task. The dyspeptic Sherpa moved quickly preparing the packs, grumbling all the while about God-knows-what in their foreign tongue. The only English words Junk could detect were “fools” and “snakes”. Pasang Dolma distributed breakfast containers to the team (The ten remaining low altitude Sherpa would stay at this camp). The team was not short of food which was a blessing. That is the kind of miscalculation that plagues many an expedition and can foil an otherwise perfect assault on a summit.

Cole tried to cover his face as well as possible including his frostbitten nose. However, covering the nose is a problem because the moisture in one’s exhalations collects on the covering material, thereby causing it to freeze. Junk had not planned well for maladies like these. There was no one on the team with medical experience at all. Cole himself was probably the most knowledgeable individual about such things, but was