Pobeda: Elusive and Unrepentant, Part 2
Day 1After breakfast, we took a slow and steady several hours to inspect each other’s gear, count GU packets, and weigh the pros and cons of couscous. After a few hours, in hot sunshine, we shouldered our monster packs and headed up the moraine. Soon, we traversed onto the ice of the Zvezdochka (Starry) Glacier. While beautiful, it was bright, hot, slushy and a maze of seracs and narrow river slots. Icy blue pools fed spectacular waterfalls. As we neared Camp 1, snow bridges became slushier and sketchier and we roped up. Just as we started to wonder where the Dutch tents would be, Bob led over a small rise and whooped out in joy…two beautiful tents were pitched in a broad, safe site just shy of camp one proper. We divvied up tasks and got to work re-anchoring tents and sorting gear. I fetched water from a nearby crevasse pond…we would use every trick in the book to save fuel.Day 2We wanted to get up through the serac band before sunrise, but when our alarm went of at 4 it was snowing and nasty out. We gladly took the extra hour or so of sleep before we brewed up, got dressed and marched up the glacier. Soon we could see an Iranian group working through the difficult sections above, and it was quite obvious why this portion of the route to Dikiy Pass was feared: a narrow and rotten gully was our only access to vertical/overhanging seracs fixed with lines. We romped up the gully as fast as we could, but the heat of the day was already softening things up and making the going tough. At the base of the seracs proper, Bob encountered a tricky overhang which took a few creative ideas and a ton of swearing to overcome. I ended up opting for my hands and knees on a dicey narrow ledge that we’d fixed with an additional ice screw. Just above, I popped through a snow bridge (protected by fixed line of course, but annoying nonetheless). The temperature was absurd. I’d say it felt like the upper 80s to 90s. All this with a monster pack and the inability to swap out 8000m boots for flip flops. After a mid day snack, I took the lead of the rope team as we entered the broad and gentle valley to Dikiy Pass. As we rounded a corner that gave our first views of camp 2 above, I saw a few climbers above moving slowly. Soon we reached two Iranians who were dealing with exhaustion. We didn’t feel much better and continued the last few meters to camp. A lone Russian wearing ski goggles and suffering from extraordinary sunburn plodded down at a snails pace. I stopped to say hi and learned that one climber had died on the summit ridge. No more details were exchanged as he continued to lumber down towards the glacier below. That evening, as we watched from our spectacular site we watched in awe as the entire Russian and Ukrainian contingents descended. They looked like hell. No fewer than twenty men, some collapsing every few meters slowly made their way down the ridge. It was an exodus. Soon, we were quite alone. The mountain felt different.Day 3We awoke to good conditions. The route to camp 3 looked beautiful and exciting, but once we wove out of camp 2 and got onto the lower buttress, things became challenging in hurry. The snow was deep and soft, and the hordes of climbers who had descended the previous day had turned the bootrack into sloppy ruts. The going got rougher when the wind and snow began to pick up. I donned my outerwear and our team regrouped to rope up at a small crevasse. Just a few meters later, things really deteriorated. In horizontal snow, we yelled over the wind for a bit before deciding to chop a platform and make camp. With the three of us working together, we stomped and shoveled a generous site, set up the tent and jumped in.___________________________________________________________________________I felt a punch to my chest and lurched upright in the darkness. Bob was trying to wake me but I was already beyond alert. The roar of the wind started so suddenly, Bob had thought an avalanche was barreling down on us and was bracing for impact. So much for the weather. We spent the next five or so hours til dawn getting hammered by wind and spindrift out of the west so violent that it filled our vestibule with snow and was starting to crush us. Periodically I sat up to punch the consolidating snow to clear some space for sleeping. By the time the morning came, we knew we were pinned down for the day. Bob, always a team player, got out and started shoveling first. Our tent had been buried to the brim on the uphill side and our guy lines were coated in rime ice. We learned that those above us at 6400m had an ordeal in the night but were okay.Day 4Later in the morning, things cleared in a most spectacular fashion. Below, a sea of snowcapped peaks stretched in all directions. The magic of the Central Tien Shan was alive. All of our stuff luckily got dry and we spent the day resting and discussing the weather. What would we do? Later in the afternoon the winds picked up. Soon, we heard shouting voices and exited to see two figures in the whiteout probing for crevasses below. We briefly chatted with the two Russians as they came by, asking about the whereabouts of camp 3 as they slowly postholed higher. Later that evening, we met Juho as he rapidly descended to camp 2, his summit bid over.Day 5After a string of increasingly alarming weather forecasts for the coming days, we decided to pack up and descend to camp 2. At least camp 2 was in a safe (we weren’t so convinced that our spot on the buttress was out of avalanche danger) and comfortable location. After a short descent to camp 2, we again were able to stretch out, dry our clothing and sleeping bags and enjoy the mountain a bit. But the forecast continued to deteriorate. Now, winds were expected to be 90 mph for a couple days, and the pattern after the major wind storm seemed unsettled, with a substantial snowfall forecasted afterwards. Did we have enough food to sit out the weather and still make a summit attempt? Even in the best of circumstances, we’d have no margin for extra days as our reserves of food and fuel would be depleted by a 4-5 day wait. After much deliberation, we settled on returning to base camp in the morning. And that’s when the fun began. I tore into scrambled eggs, sliced cheese, blueberry granola and pasta. No sense lugging extra weight back down the mountain. Plus, in the previous couple days we’d been purposefully starving ourselves to keep as much extra food as possible. In the evening, a huge serac ripped off the summit ridge and produced undoubtedly the largest avalanche I’ve witnessed. Though we were miles away and several thousand feet higher than where it landed, the powder blast steadily marched up valley and swept over us and into the Dikiy Glacier valley. We were now quite alone on the mountain, as only the Russian pair were above us. I rested well knowing our mission was clearer though we still needed to return through some tricky terrain to base camp.Day 6We woke up to another spectacular day. With our systems and teamwork now dialed, we packed up and roped up for the glacier below. The route was spectacular in early morning light and the firm snow made for enjoyable cramponing. Soon we reached the top of the fixed lines as a few climbers ascended on their own summit bids. The glorious weather and the presence of others pushing higher made us openly question our decision. We remarked that while we certainly didn’t want anyone to get into trouble, we almost wanted the weather to get nasty to justify our bailing in such perfect conditions. By noon I reached the comfort of base camp, now more of a deserted tent city. Relaxed and happy, my journey into the unknown was over.AftermathAs predicted, the storm rolled through. Winds first started to roll over the ridge, then things got nasty in base camp. People were holding the dining tent down for dear life. Some tents were blown away in base camp. Reports from the Russian duo, now in a snow hole at 6900 were of 135 kph winds and being pinned down.Pobeda: Route overview and considerations above our high point Camp 3 (5800m)Simple, but somewhat avalanche-prone slopes from Dikiy Pass. There was a huge snow cave there, which could be used to escape extreme weather. But in the Russian/Ukrainian exodus following their assault, this had essentially been turned into a field hospital. We let our minds run wild as there were reports of trash, blood, vomit and discarded dexamethasone needles.Camp 4 (6400m) Looked like fun and moderate climbing up the first rock band and in and out of couloirs to this airy perch. You know you’re getting close when you see the dead guy from last year. While somewhat sheltered, there’s space for just three tents. No snow cave option. Iranians were stuck here for six days. A tent collapsed here during our eventful night at 5600m.Camp 5 (6700 or 6900m)Sounded like there were snow cave options in either of these locations. West Pobeda (6900m) would be the only option for a one-day summit push that skipped the 7100m obelisk camp. Despite the simple climbing above 6400m, they both sounded like death traps. Go up there, get in a snow hole, and pray that the weather lets you get down.Summit Ridge This thing simply gets hammered with insane winds, usually out of the west. Every. Day. During my several week stay here, I observed just two days that would have been good to be up there. Let’s say an average day is 40-50 mile per hour winds (gusts can knock you over!). At 23,000 ft, air temperature in the vicinity of 0 °F. During the bad times the ridge is obscured by a giant cloud and snow plume. Winds were as high as 90 miles per hour (72 is a hurricane). On several occasions, we observed wind driven over a kilometer off the summit into western China.
Return of the Snow Leopard: The Film
Here's the short movie I filmed and edited as it happened. Enjoy!HariReturn of the Snow Leopard from Hari Mix on Vimeo.
Lhotse: Full photos and video
Hey everyone,Thanks for following along this spring! I've finally had a chance to get through all of my images. Here's a look back at the best of Nepal:Best of Lhotse [embed width="420" height="315"]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3sFlAaw5EA[/embed]
Everest’s neighbor: A case for Lhotse
Choosing the right objective is always a huge part of climbing. The bigger the peak, the bigger those considerations. Just on a practical level, if you’re going to commit a lot of effort and a couple months towards something, you should be happy about the idea. I’m climbing what many people would call an unusual mountain this spring—there’s not a lot of attention for Everest’s slightly shorter neighbor, so I’d like to let you in on what gets me excited about Lhotse.A crash course on the world’s highest mountainsThere are fourteen 8000m (26,200ish ft) peaks in the world. Obviously, just as with Colorado’s 14ers, it’s an arbitrary cutoff. Here’s the way the elevation and difficulty breakdown of the normal (commercialized in some cases) 8000er routes looks to me:
…..big gap of nearly 1000 ft from Everest to K2…..
…..big gap of nearly 1000 ft…..Cho Oyu through Shishapangma 8000ers #6-14 are between 8200m and 8000m and vary greatly in their difficulty, remoteness, and danger.I’m pointing this out because these really is an enormous physiological difference between 8000 and 8500m. When you add in the architectural differences of these peaks, this becomes even more obvious. For example, on Everest, you need to camp at nearly 8000m on the south side and most people “camp” at 8300m, higher than the world’s 6th highest mountain, on the north side.I’m interested in exploring a type of direct interaction with the mountains. Extremely high altitude certainly isn’t my only focus, far from it, but it is pretty wild up there. Just overcoming the apathy, staying calm, plugging away and just taking care of yourself (for potentially 7-8 weeks!) sounds like it could be up my alley. So this will be my first try.Why Lhotse? Well, first off, I wouldn’t be on this trip without the Extreme Environments - Everyday Decisions research project and some huge supporters, so thanks! I’m still just a grad student, and this is the first time I’ve taken a couple months of unpaid leave to make something happen. I definitely wouldn’t be on a peak this expensive with such a quality operation without a tremendous amount of help. If you want to see some of the organizations that have helped made this possible, check out the Partners page.So, in choosing a first 8000m peak, there are some patterns that you can see. A few 8000ers have been somewhat designated as good choices…Cho Oyu, the world’s 6th highest peak being a great example. Cho Oyu has become somewhat of a primer for Everest, and a lot of commercial clients are now getting guided up Cho in the fall before an Everest summit bid the next spring. Manaslu and Shishapangma have also seen a lot of commercial attention. All of these peaks are in that 8000-8200m bracket of elevation, and something like Cho Oyu is a very straightforward technical climb. As I’ve had a “good” time on some of my previous 7000m peaks and I’m going with a great deal of commercial support, I’m feeling confident enough to try a peak that’s a bit higher. This wouldn’t matter if I were using oxygen, but we’ll get to that. I also am really drawn to slightly steeper peaks for aesthetics and enjoyment of the movement. Even though I have fairly limited technical ability, I still want this to be more than a pure snow slog.Ok, the world’s five highest peaks:Everest…In a category of its own in a lot of ways. Without oxygen though, it’s a completely different beast, even compared to Lhotse. Honestly, climbing both Lhotse and Everest was on the table (at least in my head), but after talking with my expedition leader, Lhotse became the clear choice.K2 and Kangchenjunga…Not in play for first 8000m peaks for me. We all make our own rules in climbing, but those weren’t even a consideration. This was just an honest personal assessment about my experience and willingness to take risk. I realized that I don’t even know enough to break down how I would climb those two, even though its probably possible. The more important question is if it’s right, and I know it’s not. Both are too big, too hard, too remote and have a bunch of objective dangers that I don’t know enough about at this point.Lhotse…This was the obvious decision given that our project is to study commercial operations on Everest. This allows me to be in the same base camp, climb almost the entire normal route on Everest before deviating off to Lhotse on summit day. Also, given my limited resources, Everest would have been a huge financial commitment, and I just want to go climbing for two months.Makalu…Ok, I really really would have liked to try Makalu. If I enjoy myself this spring and have a good team I’d stay open the idea. Compared with Lhotse though, it would definitely be more remote and more difficult, so I’m probably doing this in a more controlled way as it is.Commercial MountaineeringI’m probably not going to do a bunch more commercial trips…certainly not big, pricey, full-service guided trips. If I do, I’ll probably take some degree of commercial logistical and base camp support like I did last summer in the Pamir, but choose to climb with peers. I think commercial mountaineering serves some great purposes for me though. I was told by a friend not to increase more than one variable at a time in climbing. I’m trying my best to stick to that, and the bottom line is that doing Lhotse with this degree of support in place makes it a much safer and more controlled experiment. I have a lot to learn, and it'll be great to be mentored for a while.Usually, I find that the more that my partners and I handle as teammates and peers, the more rewarding the experience. In this case, I guess I have enough respect for true modern alpinism that I’m dipping my toe in the waters before jumping in. When I do what I consider real alpinism, it’s usually on peaks that are much more firmly within what I see as my capabilities. I’ve only teased it in the big mountains. If it turns out I like it, hey, I’m young and the mountains will still be there.OxygenSo, I’m adding just one variable back in. Look, it’s 2013…there’s 3G cell service up there! I’m not forgoing amazing boots, refusing to get any route information, or plugging my ears when someone is reading off the latest custom weather forecast off the internet. And we will have oxygen available…I’ll be climbing with a sherpa on oxygen, who will have an extra for me in the event that I need it. I’m not saying going without, umm, air is a good idea, but we're definitely making compromises.
Not using oxygen is an enormous difference though. Check out the graph above from Tom Hornbein, an American Everest legend. Even if these numbers aren’t exactly right, it should give us some idea. These days, it’s pretty common for people to sleep on 0.5L/min starting over 7000m and on summit day, 2L/min is a common flow rate. Some climbers will even pay for extra bottles and use 4L/min. If these curves are in the ballpark, it basically could turn the summit of Everest into a 7000m peak, perhaps lower. So for me, even though using oxygen certainly would not be easy or a guaranteed summit, I'd like the opportunity to try something I genuinely don’t know if I can do.I’m not sure I have a very crystallized opinion of oxygen use in general, and it’d be pretty pointless for me to mouth off about it since I haven’t yet been on a peak high enough to warrant its use. With regards to my own personal use of supplementary oxygen, I feel that as long as the defining attribute of the route on Lhotse is that it’s very high, I should experience the mountain for what it is. That’s my feeling with all of my other climbs, from gazing up at Longs Peak as a child and wondering just how high it was and what it was like up there to now. I don’t want to sanitize the experience. I want direct interaction with the mountains, the naked vulnerable feeling of being out there more than I want to summit.A devil’s advocate argument typically follows. Something along the lines of, “Well, you’re wearing down, isn’t that an artificial advantage? Why not go with the clothes Mallory wore? Why not climb the Kangshung Face of Everest naked?” Well, I guess because I’m not arguing anything. One of the things I like most about the mountains is the sense of true freedom, and that all possibilities are open. There are of course, certain limitations. We must not harm the environment and our wild places. We must be fair to local peoples. But those answers are beyond the scope of this discussion. Be a good person. Do what you want to do. This is me.
Getting dressed for an 8000er
[embed width="420" height="315"]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2F2WeQZ1Nng[/embed]
Assembling the Pieces
I haven't written anything in a while and it's hard to say quite why. The simple answer is that I've been busy. This quarter was spent working on a chapter of my dissertation and teaching a sophomore seminar on climate change. While writing and revising a discussion section on stable isotope records of Neogene climate and temperature change in western North America from the clay mineral smectite was as tedious as writing this sentence, the payoff for the upfront struggle was huge. I'm finishing revisions on the final required chapter of my thesis and looking forward to maintaining the momentum I have with my PhD even during the expedition. In addition to work, I moved out of my apartment before I ship off to Kathmandu (tomorrow!!), to mention nothing of expedition prep...countless meetings to coordinate with our research team on data collection protocols; a constant barrage of phone, email, and skype conversations sourcing equipment, working out expedition logistics and finances...even a five-day trip to Salt Lake City for the Outdoor Retailer show, the catch-all meeting of the outdoor industry. In short, it's been hard to even conceive of writing about mountains because I've been working so hard to pull this off, the last thing I want to do when I come home is write about climbing. Yes, just as with high altitude climbing itself, there's a lot of effort for that distant glimpse of the great unknown: Maybe, just maybe, it'll all work out and I'll briefly visit the summit of Lhotse. Regardless, I'm in for a quality adventure, an amazing cultural experience and an unforgettable season.OK, enough with the editorial...the past few months have filled me enthusiasm and strength for what's to come this spring, and it's time to fill you in on what I've been up to with this little side project. Winter rock and alpine explorationIt hasn't all been office work, schmoozing and dreaming...I've been out to climb a fair amount. Mostly small trips out rock climbing in the area, but I've made a few forays into the alpine as well. Hmm, let's see...Just after the New Year, I spent a few days up in the eastern Sierra climbing with my good friend Brad. In a little under a year, Brad has become a wonderful friend and trusted partner. Just as with a romantic relationship, it's really hard to find the right fit, and things just clicked between us. We have similar style, objectives, and get along well together, not to mention that Brad has a bit more skill and experience than I do on technical rock and ice.
On our first day, we went ice climbing up in Lee Vining Canyon, home of California's best ice. Shortly after leaving home, I realized I'd forgotten the camera (sorry!). I tried leading the first pitch of the day, which ended up being pretty hard with brittle vertical ice "dinner-plating" pretty badly. Later, we moved to an easier wall which Brad led beautifully and I had a fun time following. We then headed up on a challenging but spectacular approach into the high alpine above Bishop. We tracked up gorgeous drainages above Lake Sabrina hoping to attempt the North Face of Mount Darwin the next day. That night, my sleeping pad had developed a nuisance of a leak the night before which required me to reinflate the pad hourly to keep me insulated from the snow. After ascending a beautiful snow couloir the next morning, we soon realized that we were one drainage north of our intended summit and opted to take in the views on the Sierra crest just south of Lamarck Col and hike out. We had a hell of a bushwhack on the way out, that's all I'll say. Climbers define this as "Type II fun," a euphemism for "pleasant only in retrospect." And really, that's all I was after in preparation for this expedition..some character-building willows buried under a few feet of powder just waiting to rip a snowshoe off.
I also got out to Pinnacles National Monument with my good friend Mike to try a cool adventurous traverse of the largest feature in the park, Machete Ridge. This wild traverse on so-so rock was a great way to spend a beautiful day. I think it also has the distinction of being the only route that I've done that's a net drop in elevation--the route traverses the skyline from right to left. And certainly the crux was the mungy, poison-oak-covered descent. Good times!
Big Will
The biggest climbing project of the winter was a route Brad and I had been eyeing for a while...the Northeast Ridge of Mount Williamson, California's 2nd highest peak. I've managed to climb 14 of California's 15 14,000 ft peaks, all either in winter, solo, quickly, or via a challenging route. Williamson, however, has thwarted my advances a grand total of five times, mostly due to lack of motivation. It's just a beast. Brad and I planned on 3 days to climb out of Owens Valley and up the several miles of technical, serrated ridge to the summit. Our first day was an absolute monster. Even after stripping down the weight to what we thought were the bare essentials (Brad brought only a 32 degree bag and slept on the rope for extra insulation, I jettisoned the extra fuel and only took thin jackets), our packs were still unbearably heavy. Our ascent began by meandering through sage brush in the Owens Valley, then ascended several thousand feet of loose sand, decomposing granite and soft snow (more type II fun).
We ended up having a somewhat difficult night, as we were unable to find much of a ledge, I was feeling the altitude, and Brad was cold in his thin summer sleeping bag. The next morning, we brewed up and immediately started up the knife edge ridgeline above. This portion of the ridge was made of excellent granite and was a joy to climb. After a few technical sections, the route gave way to an easy portion of talus, then required us to climb up and over or around several prominent towers.
After nearly completing the middle portion of the ridge, we were finally staring at the huge talus slope leading to Williamson's East Horn, a 14,000ft subpeak. Beyond that, we knew we'd reach a point of no return. Feeling a bit committed as we were running low on fuel and motivation, we sat in the sun and deliberated. Both of us have "gone big" before, and both of us have bailed. As we were sitting around in the sun just feeling it out, it was clear that neither of us was going to make an impassioned plea to continue. Soon thereafter, Brad scouted and rigged a rappel to get us off the snowy ridge into a snow couloir which we glissaded and downclimbed to Bair's Creek.
Trial RunLastly, I'd been planning a run up Green Butte Ridge on Mount Shasta as the perfect trial run for myself physically and mentally. I also needed to test my updated layering system and footwear system in an alpine environment to see how things worked together. With an excellent weather and avalanche forecast this past weekend, I drove up to Bunny Flat, shocked by the lack of snow for this time of year. I settled into my sleeping bag for the evening with winds gusting to the extent that they rocked the car. By the time my 3AM alarm went off, I knew there was no point in attempting the summit--winds this high at the trailhead would mean that conditions would be unreal on the ridges. In the morning, as I was suiting up, a ranger came by and told me the winds registered 92mph at a nearby station, so I'm sure they'd be well over 100 on the ridges. I opted for a nice snowshoe up to treeline, and had a nice time testing out my footwear system and some of the other new clothing and tech items I'll use up on Lhotse.
Big Up: Announcing the Everest-Lhotse Research Expedition
"I am nothing more than a single narrow gasping lung, floating over the mists and summits" -Reinhold Messner on the first ascent of Everest without supplemental oxygen
When did it all start? Thinking back, it's hard to pinpoint a specific moment. I've definitely had defining moments hiking in the Canadian Rockies and certainly on Colorado's Longs Peak, but I sense the idea had a more subtle beginning. As early as age five, the cover of our family's copy of the world almanac started to develop a visible crease. I would repeatedly flip to the same page and scan the list of the world's highest mountains, memorizing and typing spreadsheets of the 14 peaks that reach over 8000m. I drew maps of Asia, annotated with locations of great peaks in Nepal, Pakistan and Sichuan.So when I sat down with a group of researchers with a group of researchers interested in conducting a study on decision making on 8000m peaks this spring, I didn't exactly need to do any background research. When the conversation turned to the subject of me getting support to climb and collect vital data, I had to ask repeatedly ask the obvious, "You want me to go climbing?!?"I always told myself that if I was offered the chance to climb a really big peak, I'd take it. Well, it wasn't so simple. First, I had to clear some initial hurdles: "You need to think about your priorities." My advisor wasn't trying to limit me, but rather to make sure I'd considered that there's an opportunity cost in every decision we make. Then came the talk with my parents, who have had to bear the unfair emotional burden of my climbing. I get to experience all the adventure, challenge, and connection with the natural world, all while leaving cryptic messages about stomach illness and whiteouts in my wake. After my accident last summer, I considered dropping big expeditions altogether for my family's sake.Then things turned to the reality of the trip and the complicated set of office tasks it takes to pull off a major expedition. This fall, I've taken on this side project...a part time job of sorts. I've been working tirelessly writing grants, discussing details with expedition organizers, equipment manufacturers and the like, all for a shot at a big peak. I ended up convincing the research team that climbing the West Face of Lhotse, the world's 4th highest mountain, without supplemental oxygen was the objective that spoke to me most while meeting team needs. The style and objectives of this expedition align with my interests in a way that I can put my full effort into making sure that we succeed on a number of levels. Lots more on that later. So...what are we actually doing?Extreme Environments, Everyday DecisionsThis expedition will produce the most comprehensive study of what it takes to climb the world’s highest peaks and the organizational framework necessary to return from them safely. Our research is led by Associate Professor Markus Hällgren, whose Extreme Environments – Everyday Decisions (www.tripleED.com) group examines how organizations operate in settings where the wrong decision endangers lives (he's also working on emergency rooms). The increasingly commercialized nature of high altitude mountaineering provides an excellent laboratory to examine the challenges of upholding safety in the face of changing conditions. Previous studies of decision-making at high altitudes have focused almost exclusively on disasters, while everyday organizational behavior has been largely ignored. We feel that this research will be of great value, not only to the mountaineering community but to the greater pubic, as many parallels exist between expeditions and team projects of all kinds.So I'll be part of a team of researchers documenting the entire course of an Everest expedition, starting with the preparation we've begun months ago until well after we head home in June. Several researchers will trek to base camp and conduct ethnographic interviews of climbers, expedition leaders, Sherpas and doctors. In addition, we will collect other qualitative data such as photos, video of team meetings, recording radio communications, etc. I'll be in charge of data collection on the upper mountain. While I'll be personally attempting Lhotse, I will be interviewing Everest climbers on the upper mountain, recording climbing and impromptu decisions with a helmet camera, taking field notes and research photos from some of the highest altitudes on the planet. I will also continue my work with Adventurers and Scientists for Conservation, and I'll include several climate change research projects to the expedition as well. If you want to see more about this, my work with ASC last summer was recently profiled by Outside.Stay tuned for lots more on this spring!Hari
Late-season Sierra rock
I've taken a few weekend trips to the Sierra before winter truly sets in. First up was Lover's Leap in the Tahoe area with Mike. We've done a fair amount together, and he's really come along as a trad follower and now climbs way harder than I do.
On Saturday, we went up a bunch of Lover's Leap moderate classics on the Hogsback and East Wall. I think Pop Bottle takes the cake as the most fun we had. On Sunday, we did a fair amount of anchor practice before Mike took the sharp end for the first time on Deception. This was also a blast and Mike did a fantastic job on his first trad lead.
Last weekend, I headed up to Yosemite to take new climbers McKee and Nick on an adventure. We met up with Zach and Emily to toprope on Glacier Point Apron and then climb the Grack.
On Sunday, we awoke and left the Valley early in the morning and started up the icy trail towards Cathedral Peak in Tuolumne. By mid-morning it was warm, but the substantial amount of snow and the expansive views gave the high country a winter feel.
We roped up covering snow and slabs to the knife-edge ridge between Cathedral and Eichorn Pinnacle. Zach made a nice lead around the corner while I finished the spectacular short route. A wild rappel brought us all back together. We descended during a spectacular sunset and we reached the cars as darkness set in. Thanks everyone for the mountain fun!
Environmental and Geological Field Studies in the Rockies!
Complete photos here:SoCo 2012 Following the intense summer trip, I was happy to get back outside for one of my favorite trips. Every September, I help teach a field course for sophomores. My advisor, Page Chamberlain, has been leading these trips for 25 years.
Still culture-shocked and with a lot to chew on after my Mongolia and Pamir expedition, I drove out with several other teaching assistants from California to Salt Lake where our trip begins.
The trip goes by in thirds. During the first week, we hiked in to a base camp in the Wind River Range and taught orienteering, geologic mapping, early earth history and the carbon cycle.
During the second portion of the trip, we camped in Grand Teton National Park, and studied stream chemistry, plate tectonics and the evolution of western North America. We spent a few days doing roadside geology in Yellowstone.
I also managed to squeeze in a couple fun, easy climbs in the Tetons during our short break in Jackson. First, I headed with Dan, who'd climbed the Grand Teton last year with me, and Jake up Cube Point above Jenny Lake.
The next day, Annalisa and I got an early start to climb Teewinot Mountain. In the crisp darkness, we hiked between herds of bugling elk, before alpenglow lit up the world around us. As we ascended, we left the awful smoke from the many nearby fires. A few hours of climbing and scrambling on steep but clean rock brought us to Teewinot's summit...such a small perch beneath the Grand Teton and Mount Owen that only one of us could stand on top at once.
The last part of the trip has historically gone to the rough miner town of Cooke City, MT, just outside of Yellowstone, but this year we tried something new. The group went to the Sage Creek Basin in southwestern Montana to see the type of research we do. We ended up going to several areas we've studied in the past, and students helped collect samples that will contribute to our ongoing efforts to better constrain the history of climate and topography in North America.
And as always, we brought instruments and played some good music. It was so wonderful to get some time to camp in a less stressful setting than this summer with a great group of TAs and students. Thanks guys!
Summer 2012 Wrapup and Photos
I made it back to the US without much of a hitch, but almost immediately went right back out into the field. So at last, here are full photo galleries and trip reports from Mongolia, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. I'll start with photos and narratives from the Gobi and the Altai:Very Best of Mongolia After paleoclimate research in Mongolia, I headed to the Snow Leopard Peaks of the Pamir. First up was Lenin Peak in southern Kyrgyzstan.Complete photos from Kyrgyzstan:Very Best of Kyrgyzstan For narratives of my experience there, see:BishkekInnocence Lost on LeninFrom Lenin, I crossed over Karamyk Pass into Tajikistan.Complete Photos:Very Best of Tajikistan And trip reports:TajikistanMoskvin Glacier and AcclimatizationKorzhenevskaya in a Day SoloPik Kommunizma: Too Heavy
Dushanbe
Thankfully, the weather cooperated and we were able to get the helicopter back to Jergatol on the 18th. We then made the day's drive to Dushanbe. The heat and humidity were welcome for everyone's frostnipped digits. Cuts can finally heal after weeks of stagnation up high. I'm thoroughly ready to head home. Dushanbe is beautiful, if not oppressively hot, but things here are as dysfunctional as ever and everyone is trying to rip us off. Nonetheless, there's a wonderful group of climbers from all over the world down here and we're all enjoying some relaxation together before our flight tomorrow.
____________________________________________________________________Thanks to everyone who followed this summer's trip. A few specific thank yous:Mike Mellenthin for so much help with the websiteDragos, Gregg and everyone at ASC:
The American Alpine Club for support:
Pik Kommunizma: Too Heavy
I set off Tuesday morning for Somoni, formerly Peak Communism, the highest in the former Soviet Union. After breakfast, my friend Laurent from Luxembourg and I hiked a couple miles along the Walter glacier to advanced base camp. The way, much better worn than when I climbed Vorobiova a few weeks back, is still tricky…mostly rubble-hopping. Laurent then accompanied me part of the way across the glacier towards the infamous “Ramp,” a hanging glacier threatened by seracs above. We parted ways and I quickly put my crampons on and raced across to the base of a rotten rock buttress marking the bottom of the Borodkin spur.
I climbed steadily through the rotten rock, which at times became steep and fun scrambling. By early afternoon, I’d reached camp two, at 17,400 ft. From here, the route followed steady snow up a meandering ridge to 20,500 ft. Unfortunately, tracks from the large previous group were obscured, and fixed ropes were mostly buried. I plodded up variable snow, sometimes providing purchase, sometimes leaving me to plunge through. Though I was feeling relatively good, I knew the snow conditions weren’t going to allow me to reach the plateau at the top of the buttress, so I started hurrying to the 5800m (19,000 ft) camp before darkness fell. I made it to camp and quickly stomped out a tent platform before getting started melting snow and drying my boots.
The next day was surprisingly warm. By the time I finished packing up and boiling water, I was in just my base layer. Progress began impossibly slowly. I traversed to the right of some seracs, and had an incredibly frustrating time climbing a steeper section of absolutely bottomless snow. A few meters above, I reached the endless gentle slopes leading to the plateau. Unfortunately, the snow conditions were even worse. I took out the GPS and realized that I’d spent over two hours covering just 100m. After a few breaks, and some futile traverses across the broad rib looking for better snow, I decided to descend. I only had two more full days before I needed to be back in base camp, and the task ahead simply wasn’t a one-man job. I was just below 6000m. The route above meant crossing the almost certainly untracked and soft plateau, then the brutal slopes of Peak Dushanbe and the final stretch to the summit 1500m above. A huge team of over 10 had been thrashing up the mountain for nearly a week before me still without success. With little fanfare, I started back down the Borodkin.
_________________________________________________________________________BOOM! My head jerked to the right, expecting to see one of the huge seracs avalanching over the ramp. It really sounded like an explosion, but I knew better. Instantly, my other senses confirmed the obvious: several tons of ice and I were in free fall. The fall seemed to last forever. Every few meters, we would hit something, then continue collapsing. With each bump, I reassessed and changed strategy, somehow managing to stay mostly upright as I plunged deeper and deeper into darkness. Near the end of the ride, things took a big turn for the worse. Microwave-sized blocks of ice closed in on me, crushing first my legs and back, and then, my head. As we fell together, I fought, punching upwards with all my might. After an eternity, the motion stopped, and the ice closed in.
I opened my eyes and was able to make out my right arm buried in the ice. I thrashed and yelled, clearing ice blocks away from my head. Remarkably, I wasn’t in any pain, though at this point, I wasn’t sure how much the adrenaline was masking. I worked more methodically to unbury my torso and legs. Only then could I grasp the scene. Above were two enormous patches of sky surrounded by overhanging ice. Quickly, senses returned. Still covered in wet snow, I began to shiver, and desperately scrambled to get the down mittens on. I picked up my glacier glasses, knocked free during the fall, and dug out a trekking pole from underneath a block of ice. I climbed the blocky ramp to the nearest ice hole, but turned back after seeing the fairly technical exit I slowly and cautiously traversed back into the depths of the crevasse, aware that things could still give out at any time. A simple ice ramp led out, and I quickly frontpointed up into the sunshine.
A few meters from the edge, I took my pack off and assessed the scene. I’d been unbelievably lucky. An enormous gash swept across the face. Another giant hole opened up to the left of a pathetic remnant snow bridge. My tracks led sickeningly into the void. In all, I’d survived a sixty to seventy foot fall, unroped, solo and helmetless without a scratch. Managing to unbury myself and climb out only adds to the miraculous nature of the accident.
I swiftly descended more awful snow to the top of the rock buttress. There, I was able to raise base camp on the radio for the 1PM emergency check-in. I let them know of the situation and that I was descending. I’m not sure Igor grasped the severity of what happened: “OK, understand.” I descended the rock section methodically, and took a quick break at the top of the dreadful ramp. The thought of crossing it alone in the heat of the day was sickening. Rockfall near the start was almost constant. The snow bridges were rotten and awful. I traversed avalanche debris ever closer to the base of the wall to avoid the worst of the crevasses. I ran across the ramp in 18 minutes, and didn’t really feel at rest until I’d reached ABC on the other side of the Walter.
I briskly boulder-hopped back to base camp in an uneventful hour. At camp, I dropped my pack and met Alex, my French friend who’d seen the whole thing. Several climbers in base camp had been monitoring my progress, and they saw the plume of snow and crevasse open. As I gazed back up the Borodkin, my new gash smirked back as if to say, “It should have been.”
I’ve been climbing quite a while and I’ve never had an accident. Or should I say I’ve had one. Just to set a few things into place: I was climbing unroped on a section where this was common practice. Being alone didn’t make me fall into the crevasse but it certainly did have implications. The helmet was in my pack because I’d bypassed the areas threatened by rock and icefall.I think this may have been the hottest day of the season. The same heat that made the snow conditions terrible for my ascent likely contributed to the unusual breaking of such an enormous snow bridge. In all, I sense that the Pamir may be more dangerous than normal this year. There was a tremendous amount of snow last winter, and it continues to snow quite a bit this summer.I consider myself fairly safety conscious, and I’ve never taken a fall on snow or a lead fall on rock. The mountains involve many calculated risks, but I’ve never been so caught by surprise. It’s quite premature for me to discuss risk in mountaineering, but I’ll put a few thoughts down. I love the mountains. I’m not willing to die for a summit, but also unwilling to insulate myself from adventure, uncertainty and physical challenge. Mountains provide a particularly potent dose of reality from time to time, but those dangerous moments are always there even if we’re frequently kept in the dark about them. Walking back from lunch in Ann Arbor in April, a gust of wind knocked over a street light that shattered in my path. Urban life often conceals the true precariousness of life. No one says mountaineering isn’t dangerous. I’m very much aware that I may have a love for something that doesn’t love me back. Perhaps soloing 7000m peaks is a particularly committing and reckless way to explore, and it’s not something I necessarily intended to continue. I feel like I’m risking getting a bit defensive, and things are so fresh in my mind I don’t know if it’s worth it to say more. For the time being, I’m just going to enjoy what I have here, work a bit on my manuscript, and wait for the helicopter in a few days. My Pamir trip is over. It was a wild and wonderful ride.Take care,Hari
Korzhenevskaya. 23,311 ft. 23 hours. Solo-ish.
At last, I’m climbing the world's greatest mountains in my own style. I'd been meticulously planning on a dayclimb of Korzhenevskaya for over a year (mostly in secret from those who care about me most). I've assembled all the pieces necessary to have a great time in the mountains and leave the heavy pack behind. My acclimatization trip last week was also to scout and prep the route for yesterday’s big day. After waiting out a week of snow, and with all the pieces in place, I pounced. Things went quite well, although there were some significant changes to my plan.I pitched a tent on the other side of the Moskvin Glacier from base camp. I didn’t want to waste a bunch of time wandering the convoluted, crevassed rubble pile in the middle of the night. The gravel and sand over the ice has quite a knack for making even the most graceful climbers look like complete novices. One section on my acclimatization climb was shin deep and had the consistency of wet concrete. Furthermore, I’d stashed my boots and crampons up at camp one, so I’d be starting the climb in an old, beat-up pair of 5 oz road racing flats (Stanford team issued Katana Racers for those of you in the know).
The night before there was quite a bit of drama around the kitchen. The food here has been pretty rough…most in base camp have been sick and some people have been nothing but sick. I’ve even been hassled for days about asking for clean drinking water (it usually has a strong taste of soot as it’s boiled with wood). Anyhow, I learned that some others had complained much more seriously, and mentioned things on behalf of the few of us vegetarians, as our food is usually cooked with meat. This ended with me passive-aggressively being served a plate of plain burnt rice nearly an hour late. So much for crossing the glacier in daylight. I made quick work of the section to my tent and actually had quite little trouble routefinding. My shoes got a little wet, but I had three other pairs of socks for the summit day.
11:45 PM. The alarm went off viciously early. I only had about two hours of sleep, but sprung into action, quickly polishing off a gel and a handful of pretzels for breakfast and throwing the last few items into my pack. The route to camp one at 5100m (16,800 ft) is kind’ve a mess of use trails, moraine and talus. I’d really worked on memorizing the route, but I only had eyes on the trail once before. My visualization of unique rocks from multiple sides paid off, and I quickly made it to the 15,400 ft saddle without missing any of the critical ledge traverses. The route from there traverses more ledges and narrow dirt paths before dropping down to a few streams at the toe of a huge glacier. I kept my distance from the glacier, which constantly avalanches rock, and headed up the use trail on its left without event. I was practically running, reaching camp one in about an hour. There, I quickly found my gear cache, put on fresh socks and my climbing boots while eating and drinking a bit more. I carried my crampons a few hundred meters before strapping them on and setting off up the rotten couloir up to the 5300m camp. I was pleasantly surprised that the recent snowfall had made the route quite a bit more straightforward, and I crunched up the perfect early morning neve. Above 5300m, I opted to try a more direct route than I’d tried before, going to 5600m and then climbing directly up the face to 6100m. Unfortunately, upon reaching the 5600m camp, I missed the track to the base of the route, and was sent wandering across the face to the 5800m (19,000 ft) camp. Even more unfortunate was that no one had traversed back across the face to 6100m (20,200 ft), leaving me the unpleasant task of plunging through waist-deep snow alone in the dark. I eventually made it to the track at the base of Korzhenevskaya’s rock wall, and climbed steadily up to the 20,200 ft camp marking the base of the summit ridge.
I made great time and hit the camp just at the very welcome sunrise. I removed my boots to massage my frozen toes and put on fresh socks. Things started to get bogged down when I looked for my gear cache, which I’d left well-secured a week earlier. After an hour of shoveling and probing with my axe, I’m fairly sure that a lot of my essential climbing equipment has been stolen. We’ll see what happens in the coming days, but I really would have liked my food, stove (for water) and down jacket. Quite a bit else is missing too, most of which I can borrow if I try Communism. Anyhow, this left me with about a liter and a half of water and some crackers. I turned my attention to the cliff above camp, climbing the mixed rock and snow (without my harness and gear…stolen) with relative ease. Quite quickly, I reached the 6400m (21,000 ft) high camp that nearly everyone uses for their summit bid. There, I met some members of the Russian 7 Summits Club team, and said hi to a friend, their guide Dimitri. We ended up sticking relatively close for the first few hundred meters, and I briefly roped up with Dimitri so we could check a route around a crevasse. For this reason, I hesitate to call my climb a solo. Even though I traveled independently throughout and was alone below 21,000 ft, there were certainly others along the route.
The summit ridge of Korzhenevskaya is quite beautiful. The surroundings are absolutely breathtaking, and the ridge winds up over several prominent snow towers before reaching the rocky summit. I could see a large group ahead making painstakingly slow progress on the first tower, my summit hopes plummeted. I simply didn’t have the time or energy to contribute much to this painstaking work. I couldn’t risk a night out, especially without the gear from my high cache. I took what I figured was a reasonable, if not selfish, action: I laid down and rested. Towards the end of the summit day, I managed to close the gap again in an attempt to help break trail, but by that point, the conditions had improved and the large group, including friends Boris, Laurent (Lux), Achim (Ger), Olga (Rus) topped out just before me.
Approaching the summit of 7000m peaks, in my limited experience, really highlights the differences of these extreme altitudes. Operating up to 6000m (20,000 ft) can be difficult, but is quite manageable when acclimatized. I felt fantastic and was really cruising up to 20,000 on Korzhenevskaya. But up over 21-22,000 ft, it’s just so easy to get out of control with your breathing. Effort skyrockets. Putting together a series of steps is quite an ordeal. And it’s amazing, upon descent, energy and normality return as quickly as they left. I’ve quite a few done huge days like this in the Sierra, but this was my first time climbing over 9000 ft of vertical at such high elevations. I found the return of energy as the day went on quite unusual, but I simply had more oxygen available. I made it down to 6100m in a couple hours, where I met my French and French Canadian friends who forced delicious tea, fruit and cheesy mashed potatoes on me. Perfect dinner timing! This time, I found the way down to 5600m without too much trouble, and descended the fixed lines down the steep ice face with a few arm wraps as darkness fell. I slogged out to the 5300 and eventually the 5100m camp, where I reached my lower gear cache and had a handful of snacks and the last of my water before heading down.
By this point, sleep deprivation was starting to set in. The funny flickers of light that are the onset of hallucinations started becoming more and more vivid. At one point, I mistook a small rock for a critter. Spotting the cairns marking the faint trail became more and more difficult. I promptly lost the trail and found myself descending awful loose rock over ice into oblivion. I find these situations extremely challenging, and I've had a few of these experiences during 22-26ish hour climbs in the Sierra. They’re not good because you just want to sleep and you can still get hurt. My sense of balance was downright poor. After quite a while, I reached the toe of the glacier…ok, simple trail back to the pass and down the other side to the tent. I must have overshot the crossing, but I wisened up to the fact that I was simply descending a steepening drainage late in the night with a weakening headlamp battery and less than half a moon to help out. I stopped by the creek, drank some unfiltered water, had a snack and contemplated my options. I seriously considered bivying even though my tent was only an hour’s walk away if I could just find the trail. After some slow, pathetic reasoning, I realized that if I ascended the drainage, I’d certainly arrive at the glacier. “Because that’s the way it works,” I slurred out loud. I re-ascended a very painful few hundred meters before spotting the trail. After the cliffs on the other side of the pass, I lost the trail again, but this time, the navigation was much easier and I just beelined it for the last creek crossing. I imagined that the reflective tape of my tent was another climber’s headlamp and promptly passed out inside.
This morning I hastily packed and made the quick glacier crossing back to base camp in time for breakfast. Camp is basically deserted, with a huge team of 15 or so on Peak Communism and nearly everyone else on Korzhenevskaya. I’ll rest for a bit and contemplate my options. I’m healthy, and a little sleepy, but not really sore or tired after my climb…just the way it should be.
Alps Page Published
My first trip outside North America was to teach an earth science course in Europe. Afterwards, I made sure to visit the Tour de France and visit Chamonix, the home of alpinism, and Zermatt for an attempt on the Matterhorn. Full trip report here.
Shasta Trip Report Posted
One of my best days ever in the mountains was a winter solo of Shasta's Casaval Ridge. Full trip report and pictures here.
Moskvin Glacier and Acclimatization
Hey everyone,We actually get some shaky internet and occasional Russian coverage of the Olympics here in base camp. It's a funny mixture of luxury and chaos. Most of the camp has had a pretty nasty stomach illness go around from bad food at base camp. Hopefully my bout a few days ago will be the last.A few days back, I went up Korzhenevskaya to scout the lower part of the route and acclimatize. On the first day, I climbed to about 16,800 over awful loose rock, moraine and glacier to camp one. The next day, went up rotten ice and deep, wet snow to a camp at around 19,000 ft. Yesterday, I climbed to the corner at the base of the summit ridge at 20,200 ft and descended to base camp, caching some gear along the way. I'm pleased that after my time on Lenin, things here appear to be going more smoothly with regards to the altitude, and I should be ready to go higher after resting a bit.Take care,Hari
Tajikistan
Innocence Lost on Lenin
Note: The past week has mostly been a hypoxic haze, but I’m eager to write before the violence of this experience gets whitewashed and fades into the ether. I just reread Mark Twlight’s Kiss or Kill before the trip, so my attempt at dark and blunt language and certainly the musical quotes are an ode to his writing.I’m still relatively new to the high altitude game, and even a brief glance at mountaineering literature will reveal that it’s a cruel one. Starting off with expeditions to Nepal and the Tien Shan, I felt obligated to follow the established system to avoid becoming a statistic. This summer, I was ready for autonomy, and to establish my own rules of engagement. In poetic fashion, I was swiftly put in my place by the one true rule of the alpine: the mountain decides.BackstoryI showed up to Lenin more or less emotionless. I was happy to get started this summer, but I was never that excited about Lenin. It’s something of an awful thing to say, but I never really cared that much about what happened here. Overrun with hundreds tourists and climbers aiming for the world’s “easiest 7000m peak,” it’s a somewhat chaotic and commercial scene. I’d managed to snag a spot on Lenin in order to make the dates for my whole summer work…our fieldwork wrapped up in Mongolia a few weeks earlier than I’d originally planned, and the first chopper to Korzhenevskaya and Communism would be a while later. I conveniently decided, “why not climb all three of the Pamir’s seven thousanders?” and this summer’s expedition was born.Round OneBoris and I spent the day flying from Bishkek to Osh, then bouncing in an unbearably hot bus for the eight-ish hour ride to base camp. I was definitely happy to get to Achik Tash, mainly because the cool fresh air felt familiar and signified the start to the summer’s climbs. Base camp is pretty posh, with electricity and hot showers every now and then. The next morning, we saddled enormous packs and hit the trail towards camp 1.My original plans were to spend three or four days shuttling loads and acclimatizing to camp 1, essentially an advanced base camp on the Lenin Glacier. Boris came in with nine days of prior acclimatization near Bishkek, so he was ready to charge up the mountain. “Ok, a little compromise never hurt anyone,” I thought. During my past few big international trips, I’ve been working on a particular style of “Asian apathy” wherein I essentially drop my objectives down a notch and just say screw it when things don’t work out for a few days. This is pretty essential in Nepal and Mongolia, where sticking to an American sense of purpose is useless.The hike up to camp 1 was challenging, perhaps ten miles, up and over the high “Traveller’s Pass”, then skirting steep slopes and moraines along the Lenin Glacier to the 14,500 ft camp. Soon after Traveller’s Pass, we were hit with our first storm of the trip, which would become a regular occurrence. This is early season in the Pamir, which is to say, unpredictable and unforgiving. After battling through freezing rain and snow, the sun came out again, but my back was giving out. Right from the start, I’d bitten off too big a slice of pain cake, and was going to pay the price. Just minutes from the camp, as I shouldered my pack for the last time, the major muscles of my back seized. Upon arriving breathless in camp, I was too exasperated to do much more than lie horizontally and put hot water bottles on my back.Boris, still in the driver’s seat, had booked us a 3:30 AM breakfast before an excessively early carry to camp 2. I’ll take slightly softer snow for a full night’s sleep thank you very much. It felt like the summit bid already! The night before, I knew there was no way my back would give me another hard day’s work. Still, we awoke and dressed, ate the damn breakfast, then went back to sleep after I nixed our plans. Later that morning, we took a gentle walk up a 15,500 ft hill near camp, and I was pleased to feel my back returning to normal. The next morning, we had another predawn breakfast, and started up the glacier shortly before sunrise. A relatively long, nearly two-mile approach to the bottom of the route started things off. Our first trip up the glacier was a bit of a challenge, with relatively big packs, essentially no acclimatization for me, and by the time we reached the upper portions, brutal heat in the so-called “Frying Pan.” In a cruel aspect of mountaineering, these cold places also reflect tremendous amounts of bright sun, sapping your energy and fluids in a heartbeat.Upon reaching the 17,500 ft camp 2, I soon realized that I’d have my work cut out for me to stay healthy this high only 3.5 days into the trip. I tried to hydrate and eat the best I could, but soon, the vaguely familiar light altitude headache crept in. I rested, then made myself a tasty meal of palak paneer and bread. That night, I battled headache and light dizziness before nausea finally got the best of me at five the next morning. “Ok, maybe it is reasonable that we don’t go upstairs today,” Boris said after I’d hardly finished vomiting. No kidding. I wanted out, and I knew that the off switch to altitude hell was just a few hours down the glacier. We discussed, off and on, our plans until nearly two PM. I even climbed up the headwall to about 18,000 ft to get the blood circulating a bit more. At this point, I was getting a little pissed. “You should do what you want to do but I’m going down.” I quickly packed my things and raced down to camp 1 in a little under two hours.I needed to head down to get a few more things for the summit push anyhow, so the next day, I rolled down to base camp, feeling energetic, free and finally unencumbered by plans. No more bending to the will of others. All wounds from here would be self-inflicted.BlitzkriegAfter a glorious night at base camp, I realized I was actually enormously pleased with the first part of the trip. Sure, I’d suffered at camp 2, but my body was following all the rules and I’d managed to gain some pretty nice acclimatization in a short period of time. I still had about a week and a half to put a summit attempt together. In base camp, I met Ismail and Rufat, two strong and experienced climbers from Azerbaijan who were heading up to the summit. We decided to head up together, with me planning on going to at least camp 3 for acclimatization, and perhaps the summit. I was now feeling really strong on the lower mountain, and even up to camp 2, I was beginning to hit my stride. That evening, after dinner, a Russian guide named Slava and I ran down the glacier to help an exhausted Dutch climber lying in the snow. After helping him to camp, I started to feel my own discomfort creep in. I probably overate with Rufat and Ismail, and vomited my meal and fluids that evening. The night was hell. I writhed in discomfort. Insult to injury was that I shared a tent with Frank, the Dutch climber, and people would repeatedly come by to check on him, exhausted but content as could be in his sleeping bag, while I suffered. In the early morning, I vomited more, losing the last of my fluids. I slept in, and by the time I was ready to boil water in the morning, it was already beginning to swelter. I made a small amount of water, and hardly able to eat or drink, I shouldered my relatively heavy pack and headed towards camp three in the heat of the day. By the time I reached the top of the headwall, I was completely dehydrated and exhausted. Heat instantly changed to whiteout, and I dragged ass the last few hours to camp three in a storm.That evening, I had a gel and a few swigs of water for dinner before passing out in an altitude-induced haze. Heavy snows came and went during the evening, and at one point, I remember thanking Slava immensely for un-burying my tent from the increasing load of snow. During a break in the storm, I vomited my pathetic dinner and handful of worthless Russian drugs. No point in self-pity...this was all my own doing.At four, I awoke to clear and calm skies. My flawed logic was that it would ultimately be easier to “knock the bastard off” as Hillary would say, than to regroup and try again later. Acclimatization vs. weather, the classic alpine tradeoff. Lately, I’ve sprung at these opportunities with success, plus, I’ve always been confident in my ability to put in an epic climbing day with inadequate preparation.Summit day started wonderfully. Though dehydrated, I moved at a steady and gentle pace, opting to ease into the difficult day. Half a dozen of us wandered up the broad lower portions of the summit ridge. Sunrise warmed us but I was already becoming concerned about my fluids. I put in my headphones to stay conscious and to somehow remain connected to humanity.“I’m makin’ short term goals when the weather folds”A bank of clouds lapped up against Lenin’s flanks thousands of feet below. Only a few peaks in the Tajik Pamir poked out like islands. The world that we call home was impossibly far below and out of sight. Life above 6000m consists mainly of the swish of nylon and gasping for air. Music faded in and out of my narrow consciousness.“I gotta get away from this day to day runnin’ around, everybody knows this is nowhere”We finally crested the first buttress and got a clear view ahead. A broad rocky ridge led to a steep constriction in the distance. I could tell the summit day would be just as long as advertised. I stopped for a brief break and chat with Ismail and two Polish climbers.“Murder was the case that they gave me. Dear God, I wonder can you save me?”I felt bad for mooching a swig of Ismail’s sports drink at the last stop, but I was already down to little over half a liter and I started the day by vomiting bile. My O2 saturation the night before was in the 50s, well into ICU territory. This was the closest I’d ever cut it physiologically.“Gotta find a new world where the people understand, how to treat one another throughout the land, everybody pack up and go with me”Alongside came a Russian skier. Out ahead, breaking trail we could see Slava gaining distance despite the skis and shovel on his pack. Slava is truly a character. He wore a t-shirt, flip flops and shorts in camp 2, and this winter went 59 days with just water just to see what would happen. I envied his acclimatization.“We don’t never get a piece of the pie, work 50 years, retire then die, stay po.’ Rich folks is the criminal”Black nationalist hip hop pounded, but the music was now as distant as the world below. We approached the Knife, the technical crux of the climb. It started gentle enough, but soon the world dropped away for thousands of feet on both sides. One Polish man was feeling strong, and went ahead leaving Ismail and I to suffer alone up the slope. I kicked and thrashed up the knee to thigh deep snow, bypassing the pathetic and poorly placed fixed rope ostensibly protecting the final pitch. With snow this soft, it wasn’t necessary anyhow.“We’ve been through some things together, with trunks of memories still to come. We found things to do in stormy weather, long may you run”My toes had been freezing since the start, despite a new technique I was sure would be better than last year’s freeze fest on Khan Tengri. I slowly and deliberately removed each inner boot, then ripped off the pathetic chemical warmers and took off my liner sock to make some wiggle room. I rubbed my toes before reversing the process. Any action too fast was quickly disciplined by a fit of panting in the thin air.“Well I stand up next to a mountain, and I chop it down with the edge of my hand”By now, Ismail and the Polish duo were long ahead, leaving me to struggle alone. I opted for a shortcut around a rock buttress, for which I was rewarded with unbearably deep snow. It was here that I noticed that my left crampon was detached, but frozen stiff. At least I’m past the crux, I thought. I marched on, my left foot hobbled. And besides, I was nearing the summit or so I thought.“Only fox that I love is a red one, only black man that Fox love is in jail or a dead one”I crested the next buttress in deteriorating weather. The wind picked up and visibility dropped. Snow began to sting the back of my neck. I gained on Ismail and the Polish across a vast white plateau. It was impossible to judge distance and pace in the vast white plain of ever softening snow.“But something is happening here and you don’t know what it is, do you Mr. Jones?”The three in front of me ground to a halt. Snow conditions were now desperate and we knew that climbing independently was out of the question. The stronger Pole laid down the law, “Twenty steps, then switch,” he shouted. I stepped as gingerly as I could into the lead, but with each pace I plunged inevitably to my knee or worse. It was a flat out race effort, and even there, I couldn’t manage more than a few steps at a time without doubling over. After our turn breaking trail, we each collapsed to the side of the track, the other three continuing on. This lasted hours.“It’s better to burn out than to fade away, my my hey hey”At last, in a clearing of the storm, I saw a figure standing on a distant point. Slava must be on the summit. With renewed energy, the others picked up the pace leaving me in the dust. I knew my dehydration and exhaustion afforded me no opportunity to increase the pace. Ismail yelled at me a couple times to pick it up, but I was no match for the new tempo. I was past pulling my weight. Reclassified as a straggler.I didn’t even get my hopes up the last few meters below the summit. Only when I saw the cross did I know that my trial was somewhat complete. Too tired for a hero shot, I knelt on the summit, the hardest of my life. I smiled at the dark thought that Lenin must do this to a lot of people, taking vengeance on its title as “easiest 7000er.” Like many other popular and commercial mountains, it makes up for the lack of technical difficulty with a convoluted and impossibly long normal route. I’ll take the “technicality” of Khan any day.“I’m just a Virginia boy, she dug the boys from Kentucky and Tennessee”Twenty-three thousand four hundred and six feet. I took the last sip of my water and put it in my pack. At least I have no need for breaks now. I collected a rock sample for Adventurers and Scientists for Conservation. I hope this works for Dragos. I’ve sampled in 110 degree Utah heat, running with a heavy pack for miles across the desert. In terms of hardest science I’ve ever done, it’s not even close. I plunge stepped down the deep snow back to the plateau. Already I was descending too fast, and had to stop and take breaks just to slow down my breathing. Too soon, we reached the first of several uphill sections on the descent. This ridge must have been designed by an evil genius. The climb simply wouldn’t give up. My left crampon finally completely detatched. Still frozen, I had Ismail strap it to my pack. I would downclimb the Knife with one crampon and no axe.“I’m from where they overthrow democratic leaders, not for the people but for the Wall Street Journal readers”We met Dasha, a ridiculously fit guide who participates in 6-day trail races. She was in good spirits, and I shamelessly asked for water. She had none, so I stuffed some snow in my mouth, just to tease myself with the moisture. The Pole wanted to break, but I pressed on, no need to stop and get more tired. We’d now been on the move for over twelve hours. As we neared the end of the final plateau before descending the buttress to camp, the weather whirled in.“I’ve been down on the endless highway, I passed on the solid line. Now at last I’m home to you, I feel like makin’ up for lost time”I caught up to a Kyrgyz guide and his client. Still nearly at 22,000 feet, our visibility dropped to nothing. I screamed over the wind, “You know how to get down?” My GPS tucked into my pants pocket, he pulled out his, and started walking a line and deliberately plunging through the ever deepening snow. Our tracks from the ascent were long gone. I could feel my nose freezing and pulled my balaclava tight across my face and tightened my hood. Unfortunately, we were moving too fast for the client, and I had no choice but to press on as the guide stopped. I led the Pole into the maelstrom. We reached a cairn marking the top of the buttress and stepped onto the ever-steepening face. We were now only 700m from camp, but the mountain would not let up.Judging slope, stability and scale were simply impossible. The sky blended into the slope. Rocks I thought were hundreds of meters in the distance proved to be just a few steps away. I repeatedly triggered small wind slab avalanches that rolled down into Tajikistan. The Pole screamed over the wind that he was worried about descending past camp. Hell, I was too, but the GPS was all we had. One hundred fifty meters to go. The Pole yelled and gestured to the right. I traversed across a fifty-degree face to an arête, then continued my descent. In the distance below, roundish rocks appeared. I looked for ages but couldn’t tell if they were tents. Finally, just feet from camp, I realized I’d made it. I yelled for Andrei and Graham, the Kyrgyz guide and his client.Camp three was a ghost town. But soon enough, I heard a zipper and Andrei appeared, holding a juice bottle for me. I took a few swigs, shoveled out my buried tent, and dove into my sleeping bag. At least there was no need to cook dinner with my stomach problem. That night, I inevitably vomited more bile and bloody mucus. Without a drop of water, I settled back into my altitude-induced slumber and waited for morning.You’re not done ‘til you’re downI awoke to sunshine and boiled a cup of water and set about packing my things. I knew there was no point in a leisurely morning, I wouldn’t be able to eat anyway. A half hour struggle with my frozen boots left me exasperated and in a familiar panting fit. I ascended Razdelnaya with a heavy pack, reminiscent of my brutal slog up Chapaev after last year’s Khan Tengri climb. The snow was just as soft as ever. An overly cheerful Brit was intent on congratulating me and chatting all about the route. Dude, all I want is water and to get the hell out of here.I plunged down the Razdelnaya headwall and made it back to camp 2 in remarkable time. There, I met a still cheerful Dasha, whose client this time hooked me up with some tea and chocolate. I felt bad about mooching, but I knew I was running on fumes and needed to make it to camp one before will power ran out. I stashed my stove in a tent for Boris and gathered the last of my things including books and rock samples. WHY?!?In the heat of the day, I plunged across the Frying Pan, thankfully for the last time, and met Boris setting off for his summit bid. We had a really nice chat and I continued down towards the glacier. I hopped the crevasses, wary for melting snow bridges this late in the day. At last, I reached the flat portion of the glacier, but the heat was unprecedented. It was by far the warmest day of the season so far. I dunked my hat in glacial meltwater, but could hardly cool off in the stagnant air. After over an hour of walking and resting every few paces across the interminable glacier and moraine, I caught sight of our camp. Just then a wave of nausea crossed me and I dry heaved. So much for a hero’s return. But before long, I marched into camp, dropped my pack and was cheerfully greeted enthusiastically with, “Felicitaciones” and “Que tal?” from my Spanish friends, the ordeal finally behind me.AfterwordUpon return to base camp the next day, I learned I’d lost nearly twenty pounds during my ten day trial on the mountain. In base camp, the staff baked a lovely cake and had a little ceremony for Rufat, Ismail and I, who were the second party to summit this season and the first from our organization. It’s been a little strange to get such praise after the summit. The same happened last year on Khan. Everyone swarms you and wants route information, emails and photos. The increased attention from the Iranians is most intense. Personally, I feel like I’m moving past the materialistic consumption of summits, and I’m experiencing mostly relief after my so-called success on Lenin. I’ve spent the past few days in base camp resting, eating, repairing gear, washing clothes, hanging out with new British, Spanish, Azerbaijani, Iranian and Russian friends, and trying to work on a manuscript for my PhD. The stomach issue cleared up as soon as I descended, and I’m finally feeling fully recovered.It’s extremely beautiful here, sitting in a meadow of alpine wildflowers. Through all of the discomfort of last week, I was always still blown away by the natural beauty, and that aspect of this adventure has been amazing since the trip began in Mongolia. I ended up collecting nine samples from a range of elevations for Dragos Zaharescu at the University of Arizona and Biosphere 2 through Adventurers and Scientists for Conservation. I hope these will contribute to our understanding of microbial life at extreme elevations and their role in shaping the high altitude landscape.I’m planning on going for a run or climb before I leave for Tajikistan on the 26th. We’ll drive to Djirgital, then take Tajikistan’s only helicopter to base camp on the 27th. I have no word yet on Boris’ summit attempt, but he’s due back in base camp later today or tomorrow, so we’ll catch up soon. Just in the past day or two did I get some renewed excitement about my upcoming alpine adventures. I still have some tricks up my sleeve.Stay tuned,Hari
Himalaya Trip Report Added
My first expedition climb was a trip to Nepal in 2010. The climbing itself ended up being a pretty small portion of the three week trip, but my first trip to Asia was filled with adventure from start to finish. Some highlights from one of the world's magical places are here.
Yosemite Speed Published
My first attempt at self expression in the mountains was a four day solo trip to Yosemite squeezed between the end of my college freshman track season and my first geologic mapping trip. Firmly rooted in the dirtbag climber ethic, it was fueled by muffins from leftover meal points and youthful optimism. Although it was filled with miscalcuations, it all worked out in the end. In a three day time period, I ended up going on four hikes/runs, including speed records on Yosemite Falls and Half Dome. The full trip report is here.