The Summit Push

As I start to write this post, I am at Kathmandu Airport waiting for my flight. It seems most of the trekkers and climbers have already gone home because the airport is empty. I know this is WAY anti-climactic but the following is a brief summary of our summit push for anyone still reading. (I like that I said "brief" - that was when I started this post at the airport. It's not so brief anymore because I've been adding to it through August.)

Oh and I want to add one note! I realize there was a long time between posts on May 10 and May 25. When it was decided that we would have two summit teams, one leaving on May 17 and the other on May 19, we were asked to keep this information quiet. I did send an email to my family but unfortunately this blog had to remain out of the loop (sorry!).

To Camp 2
As I mentioned, we had two summit teams, each including 11 members, plus our Sherpas and guides.

On May 17, the first team left Base Camp (17,000') for their summit push. The second team (me!) left on May 19. Our prior climb included a night at Camp 1, but now that we were more acclimatized, we planned to climb directly to Camp 2.

Team 1 had left at 2am on the 17th. Because many of their members got stuck in the sun and did not reach Camp 2 until 1pm, we left at midnight. These dreadful early morning starts are never fun but climbing through the Icefall at night is safer than during the heat of the day, when the ice melts and moves. Climbing through the Western Cwm, the "bowl shaped valley" starting at the top of the Icefall and terminating at the Lhotse Face, is miserable in the sun.

Low in confidence after relentless and painful muscle tears in my chest and back, I positioned myself in the back of the line. As we left camp, Russ pat me on the shoulder and said, "You're strong," words he knew I probably wouldn't mind hearing.

Thankfully, for me anyway, this trip through the Icefall was a huge improvement. I was back on the drugs (Voveran, strong anti-inflammatory medication and my new BFF) and felt no pain as we wound through the Icefall maze. Once above the Icefall, which took about six hours after walking to the regular Base Camp and then getting lost trying to find the new route through the Icefall, we took our time. Our objective was not to set speed records, but to get through the Icefall quickly and safely and to Camp 2 before the sun became unbearable. The group trickled into Camp 2 (21,000') between 9:00am and 11:00am. I was there at 9:30am. It was a huge relief for me to have what I consider a normal day.

Well, that didn't last long..

The Lhotse Face
We rested a day at Camp 2 before heading up to Camp 3. This climb up the Lhotse Face would become, for me, the hardest ascent of the entire summit push. It was May 21, the day our first team was going for the summit. We left at 5am from Camp 2. The climb to Camp 3 includes a two hour (or faster) walk to the bottom of fixed ropes, followed by a steep climb up the Lhotse Face to Camp 3.

At the bottom of the fixed ropes, I got my first clue that this was probably not going to be a stellar day. My friend and would-be tent mate, Jim, mentioned that he was dizzy. He and others had been having stomach problems the past couple of days. I looked over and saw him on his hands and knees and within seconds he was flat on his back. Several of us rushed to help him and I spent most of the next hour massaging him before our Sherpas arrived with oxygen and brought him back down to Camp 2.

Just around the time Jim collapsed, a female climber approached - she also happened to be a nurse - just his luck! With our guides and a nurse there, and the Sherpas coming, he was in good hands.

The climber/nurse turned out to be Gerlinde Kaltenbrunner, one of four climbers in contention to be the first woman to reach the summit of all the 8000 meter peaks. You would never have known she was on her way down from the summit of Lhotse, which she climbed without oxygen. She looked like she was enjoying a gentle stroll on the mountain.

While I was relieved that Jim would be okay, it saddened me that he would not have a chance to go for the summit. Jim is a strong climber with a heart the size of Manhattan. We had become good friends, so it was bittersweet continuing to the summit without him. I hope he returns to Everest someday and reaches the top, but I know how difficult it is to find the time and finances for this endeavor.

We started up the fixed lines to begin the toughest part of our ascent to Camp 3.

My heart sunk once again when I saw Thomas, originally on Team 1, descending after trying to climb to Camp 3 for the third time of the summit push. He had a stomach bug or something that would cause him to vomit after a certain amount of exertion on the ropes. I knew his summit bid was over when I saw him shaking his head as he told me he couldn't continue. Thomas was strong throughout the expedition. It just shows how quickly and unexpectedly your summit dream can end on Everest.

After spending over an hour with Jim, we got a late start up the Lhotse Face. The climb up the fixed ropes to Camp 3 was grueling because we were all wearing down suits and it became EXTREMELY HOT. I was the last to head up and the last to reach camp, totally exhausted. Before leaving for Nepal, this was one of my concerns. My down suit does not have side zips, so cooling off on the hot Lhotse Face would be difficult. In fact, it was the most worn out I have ever been EVER!!! The heat, combined with the altitude, really affected me.

The only way I could get my legs moving was to count breaths between steps - step, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... step, 1, 2... My body wanted to stay put but my mind knew I had to get going. I had no choice. It was excruciating. When three RMI climbers, not wearing down suits, caught up to me and offered to help, I was so absorbed in my exhausted and over-heated self that to this day I feel bad for not being more friendly. Smiling, saying thanks and introducing myself would just use up valuable energy. I wanted to be mean and grumpy. Turned out they were guides and probably understood what I was going through more than I did.

Of the 218 deaths on Everest as of the end of 2008, 64 are attributable to falls. The Lhotse Face, where the climbing is steep and exposed, and where many climbers will ascend to their highest point without using supplemental oxygen, is where many of the falls occur. When your body is exhausted beyond belief and your mind feels like it's floating in space, it doesn't take much to inadvertently clip out of the line without first making sure your safety is secure. I tried to keep this thought in my head as I clipped out at every anchor.

I barely made it to the lower Camp 3, where all the other lucky teams were camped, when Woody, one of the guides, sat with me for an hour so I could rest and refuel before making the last bit of ascent to our Himex Camp 3, which took another hour at least. Some of my teammates were not far ahead, as it was a hot, tough day for many of us. Woody's patience and calm demeanor were about the best medicine up there and I am extremely grateful to him.

It was late, maybe 3pm, when I reached Camp 3 (24,000') with my down suit jacket draped over my harness, which was probably down to my knees because of all the weight I'd lost. I was wearing just a thin light green layer on top and no bra because of the tightness in my chest. The first time I climbed to Camp 3 it took just over 7 hours, which at the time I thought was slow compared with some of my teammates. This abysmal day, entered into my personal history books as the WORST DAY EVAHHH, was over. Finally.

To the South Col
But the body's ability to recover is amazing. Also, it helped that we started breathing supplemental oxygen here. By the next morning, my energy returned and we were all ready to ascend to Camp 4. This climb was more of a traverse, as we made our way up to the strip of limestone called the Yellow Band and then headed over the Geneva Spur.

Throughout both days we would run into the smiling faces of Team 1 members as they descended back to Camp 2 after their successful summit climb.

The climb to the South Col is awkward because it traverses the mountain to the left, so the terrain is slanted with the uphill side on the right. During much of the climb, my right foot was totally numb. This has happened to me before and there's not a lot I could do about it. It's actually poor circulation starting at my hip. I know from previous experience that it eventually goes away without any lasting effects, so I just trudged along uncomfortably. After less than six uneventful hours, we reached Camp 4 at the South Col (26,300'). What a dreary place! It was windy and cold and not a place I want to stay for very long.

Once you reach Camp 4, it's time to prepare for the final push to the summit by resting, drinking, eating and more resting. I shared a tent with one of our guides, Shinji. One thing I noticed about the Japanese climbers is they eat very well up there. Hiro brought us some hot Japanese sticky rice and Shinji added canned teriyaki chicken. They even had miso soup. Shinji and Hiro very kindly shared it with me and I decided to leave my boring granola bars and cheese sticks tucked away in my bag.

Woody stopped by to give us the plan. Alpine Ascents, RMI and other teams of climbers were up there. We planned to leave at 1am and let them go ahead of us. Teams are leaving earlier and earlier for the summit, so much so that the Singaporean Women's Team apparently left so early they were on the summit in the dark. What a waste.

To the Summit

At 11:30pm or so, we started preparing to leave.... and I was a basket case. For some reason, probably the fact that we were 26,000 feet high, I could not get my act together.

One of the Tigress cameramen peaked into our tent at about 12:30 and I frantically asked him not to film because I was so frazzled. As I struggled to pull on my harness, feeling the lens on me only made it worse. Clearly, I should have put on my harness and boots much earlier because the ability to do the simplest things is exponentially more difficulty in altitude. He very nicely found someone else to film.

I started talking to myself.

"Should I use the extender cord (for my battery operated foot warmers) or just hook the batteries on the back of my boots like I did in '07?"

"HOOK 'EM ON THE BACK, DUMMY, YOU HAVE NO TIME!!!"

At 12:45am, distracted because I discovered the two oxygen bottles provided to me for the summit climb were both empty, I was still fiddling with my harness. Phurba replaced my oxygen bottles in lightening speed, because he's Phurba, but I was lagging behind as I crawled out of our tent, put both bottles in my pack and strapped on my crampons, or croutons, as my sister calls them.

This was not how I envisioned summit day. I wanted a do-over.

I heard Woody on the radio telling Russ that Paul and I were just leaving camp. But I wasn't quite moving yet. Lakpa Nuru, my Sherpa, stood there patiently. At around 1:30am, I stood up and saw him point the way, "Go."

Panic.

As I started walking, I felt rushed, excited, nervous, and pissed at myself for being late! I thought of Tim Medvetz in 2006, leaving camp late and getting stuck behind a long line of climbers at the Second Step. He ended up turning around very close to the summit. Russ told him if he'd left on time he probably would have made it to the top.

The thought of squandering a summit because of something so stupid as leaving late, horrified me. This was my second attempt on Everest. I waited two years to return because of last year's cancellation. Sending my money to Himex eighteen months ago just about sent me into cardiac arrest. I could not believe I was shelling out that much cash, enough to buy a new BMW or build a few schools in Nepal, to climb a mountain. I was buying an opportunity to reach the summit, but it was up to me to make it happen. How completely awful to waste my money and time and dream because of a stupid error, especially after making it this far!

One of the biggest challenges on Everest is simply staying healthy. Many of us arrive on the mountain with "pre-existing conditions" - knee, leg, ankle, shoulder, eye injuries. We come prepared to deal with these issues. We get cortisone shots before we leave, bring whatever meds, wraps, etc... we think we need and hope it is enough. We also prepare for altitude, viruses, etc... But on Everest, anything can happen. It is the unexpected that makes this mountain tough.

Two months is a long time to live in such a harsh environment and many climbers leave the mountain before the summit push because of illnesses or injuries they can't control. This creates a considerable amount of tension for some climbers. ME. The fear (4-letter word of life) of losing control of my health, whether it kept me up at night or drove me forward, affected me throughout the entire expedition and I wish I would have handled it better. But an aborted summit due to an illness or injury is much easier to stomach than a stupid mistake.

So it was with a mixture of anxiety and determination that I continued. There's a long, flat but rocky area you have to walk through to get to the bottom of the ropes at the Col. I could see lights going uphill ahead. That could be intimidating but I knew to ignore it.

Guided by my headlamp, I walked in the direction Lakpa Nuru told me to go and thankfully, it was not long before I reached the fixed lines and caught up to a long line of climbers. They were stopping frequently. In fact, once I caught up, I got annoyed when we weren't moving. We all had our oxygen flow up to the 4-liter per minute max so I felt like a stuck Energizer Bunny having to wait at all.

Eventually we reached the reason for all the stops when we came across a climber. He was sitting down, clipped into the rope, and had an icicle running down from his nose. I asked him how he was doing and he blurted, "I'm waiting."

I later discovered he was Mike Farris. He'd climbed to the summit without support the previous day and was out all night after having trouble with his oxygen and somehow taking a wrong turn. Honestly, I'm not sure how anyone takes a wrong turn when there are fixed lines all the way to the summit, but anything can happen in altitude. Maybe he got lost at the Balcony where there's a break in the line. Don't know.

Farris received assistance from one or some of our guides, who called Phurba, who found him and brought him oxygen, helped him down and looked after him at the South Col. Farris was lucky. Had he attempted the summit on May 23rd, instead of on May 22nd, I'm not sure that anyone would have been there to help him the following day because of the deteriorating weather. Even with the assistance of our guides and Phurba, he suffered severe frostbite and hypothermia.

We continued up the steep slope until we reached what is called the Balcony (27,500'). Once at the Balcony, we changed oxygen, turned our oxygen flow down to 2-liters per minute, had a quick squirt of water and gel, and moved on.

Russ said to BE at the Balcony within four hours, six at the absolute latest: "If you aren't there in six hours, you have no business climbing Mount Everest." I wanted to be in business.

We were LEAVING the Balcony before four hours, so time was going fine. I was really worried about this with all the stopping, so it was a huge relief to make the first landmark in good time.

Russ gave us times so we could gauge how we are doing with oxygen. We each have a total of five oxygen bottles, three for summit day, and if you can't get to where you need to be within these times, then you are under risk of running out of oxygen, something I did not want to happen...again! Given the oxygen flows we were planning on using, the max he gave us to reach the summit was twelve hours. I had until 1:30pm.

From the Balcony, we moved up toward the South Summit.

Just above, and for some time below me, I recognized Mark Whetu, one of the Tigress cameramen, with a couple of Himex Sherpas, and I knew Purdue Paul was close by because I saw him at the Balcony. Other than that, I had no idea who was immediately above Mark but I hoped it was our Himex teammates.

Once I got over my late panicky start, my biggest concern became the weather. As night turned to daylight, I could see the clouds building around me. On the plus side, I couldn't see just how far we had to go (FAR!) and how steep, scary and heavily exposed the terrain was. But I couldn't help but wonder if Russ was going to turn us around. As fast as that thought would enter my mind, I would kick it out and focus on climbing. No way I was turning around unless the Big Boss said so and I hadn't heard anything yet.

I became increasingly agitated with my oxygen mask. When I looked downward or turned and took a breath, it would sometimes plug up and instead of oxygen I would get a big dose of nothing. Gasping for air, I would pull the mask away and take a deep breath.

We reached the South Summit (28,700'), where we switched oxygen again and called Russ to tell him, even though he already knew exactly where we were. Lakpa Nuru and several other Sherpas were wearing cameras for Tigress, the company filming for Discovery Channel. Russ was camped on Pumori, following our progress through the video.

The South Summit is a small dome of snow and ice where climbers can see the final slopes to the summit. Unfortunately, we couldn't see much.

As we continued our ascent over the knife-edge ridge of the Cornice Traverse, where climbers could normally see the 10,000 foot drop down the Kangshung Face on the right and the 8,000 foot drop down the Southwest face on the left, I would occasionally get a glimpse of where we were headed but for the most part, we were thick in the clouds. There appeared to be a long line-up of climbers but we kept moving. As long as we were moving, I was happy. The pace seemed fine to me.

I heard Russ on the radio asking, "Could someone tell me where Meeegan and Lakpa Nuru are? I can't see them." When I left camp I had two microphones clipped to my jacket - one for Tigress and one for the radio. I eventually buried them both in my pocket after finding them dangling from my jacket a few hundred times. So I grabbed Lakpa Nuru's microphone and told Russ where we were. Then Lakpa Nuru fixed his camera, which was iced over. It seemed everything was iced over, including my goggles, which made it very difficult to see, even after wiping them off.

The weather grew darker and more ominous. I thought about the book, Into Thin Air, and wondered if these were the types of conditions they were experiencing in 1996. Here I was with a large commercial expedition climbing in what looked like a storm. Could this be a mistake?

Once again, I knocked those thoughts out of my head and reminded myself that Into Thin Air was one man's account of an event that happened thirteen years ago. In it, Jon Krakauer describes the events that led to the deaths of eight climbers, including three seasoned mountain guides. Basic safety measures were compromised by lead guides from competing guiding companies in an effort to help their clients reach the summit. It was a tragedy from which we can all learn.


Even with elaborate base camps like ours and the Sherpas carrying enormous loads, setting up camps and fixing ropes for climbers, it takes a considerable amount of climbing, strength and endurance, as well as the ability to withstand extreme altitude, to even make it to summit day on Everest.

If something goes wrong, and something often goes wrong on big mountains, the guides and Sherpas are equipped to provide assistance if it is possible. Often, they are helping climbers outside the team who get themselves into trouble.

Much has changed since 1996. Weather forecasting has improved. Lessons have been learned. For starters, many of us use radios and the ropes are fixed before most climbers ascend.

Russ is in constant radio contact with his guides, clients and Sherpas and can see us through video. He knew, through talking with his guides and watching the weather, that despite the clouds, it was not very cold and frostbite was unlikely. Had I been climbing in the same conditions with our small team in 2007, I would have turned around.

We made it to the famous Hillary Step (28,750' or 28,900? I've noted various heights!), named after Sir Edmund Hillary, who, with Tenzing Norgay, became the first to reach the summit of Mount Everest in 1953.

Unlike in 1953, when two courageous explorers ventured into the unknown, Sherpas today fix ropes all the way to the summit to accommodate the hundreds of climbers who now occupy Mount Everest's slopes every year. With properly fixed ropes, climbers ascend and descend at a much faster rate, so there are fewer bottlenecks and many more climbers can safely reach the top (and the bottom). Fixing ropes is common on many of the popular mountains and routes and is especially helpful on the more exposed, steep and rocky sections, where the pace slows, like on the Hillary Step. Climbers wanting to avoid crowds and fixed lines must climb the less popular and/or more difficult mountains and routes.

This year, the Sherpas, including Phurba and I believe, Dorji, finished fixing the ropes on May 5th. David Tait, who climbed with the Sherpas to the summit on that day, wrote a detailed description in his Blog of the incredibly thorough and professional job the Sherpas do fixing the ropes. The Sherpas carry multiple loads of gear up the mountain, set up camps, fix ropes, climb to the summit with climbers, and then carry loads down when the expedition is over. And they do all this with smiles on their faces. Sometimes I just want to slap them.

On May 10, 1996, climbers reached the Hillary Step to discover that no fixed lines had been placed. They waited an hour while the guides installed ropes. These types of delays, while not significant, contributed to the nightmare that unfolded.

At the time we climbed the forty foot Hillary Step, I didn't know it was the Hillary Step. It just seemed like the terrain got rockier and steeper for a bit. My mind was so focused on climbing that I didn't think about where we were.

Somewhere along the way, either just before or after the Hillary Step (my memory is a bit hazy), Lakpa Nuru practically threw me over a huge, slick boulder. As soon as we got up to the boulder, before I could yell "big rock," I felt a hand on my behind hoisting me up. It caught me off guard and I started to laugh. I was ridiculously clumsy and still laughing by my third attempt when I finally managed to swing my leg around the top.

It is at the top of the Hillary Step where climbers say you can smell the summit (if you know where you are - I obviously didn't smell anything).

"Summit!!"
Just over eight hours of climbing in increasing clouds and low visibility, Lakpa Nuru shouted, "Summit!!"

OMG. He was so excited! I turned around and asked, "Really?" I didn't expect it so soon. Our pace seemed slow. And I certainly didn't think I'd have that much energy so close to the summit. He yelled it again - he knows, he's been there four times before. I looked at my watch. It said 9:30am.

All I could see was a mound of snow with a bunch of down suits on top about seventy feet from me. No view. How sad. But at the time, I DIDN'T CARE!

Although this was not exactly the summit I always dreamed of, my adrenalin was pumping as Lakpa Nuru and I clipped out of the rope and walked around three climbers to join our Himex team at top (29,035').

I could not believe this was it. Two years of thinking about this climb, practically living my life around this climb.... and there I was! It was magical. I couldn't see a thing, other than my teammates' smiling faces or eyes or whatever I could see beneath the oxygen masks, goggles and balaclavas, as we congratulated each other. It was so weird and.... at the risk of sounding really really sappy... so wonderful.

We took photos - some of Lakpa Nuru and me, some of just him, several of just me. I was thrilled to be there with the people I'd spent the past two months getting to know. I looked at the Himex website that shows our summit times. Although I left last and late, it turned out I was right in line with the team. Alec, Hiro and Dorji left first, I assume at 1am, and kept their oxygen flows at 4-liters per minute, allowing them to move faster and pass another team to arrive at the summit more than two hours before I did. Take, Antoine and their Sherpas were about an hour behind Alec. The rest of our team arrived one behind the other on the summit, with nobody taking more than nine hours to reach the top.

We climbed together but because visibility was poor and we were bundled in big suits, oxygen masks and gear, I wasn't sure at the time who I was following. Because of my injuries, I climbed alone or with the small group of Japanese climbers for much of this expedition. I think because of this, it was very exciting for me to find us all on the summit together. It's hard to describe how good that felt and I'm getting a little teary eyed writing about it.

Once again, I called Russ to tell him what he already knew. I think I jokingly said something like, "Lakpa Nuru tells me we are on the summit," alluding to the fact that we could not see a thing and I basically had to take his word for it.

But I actually wondered why I wasn't more emotional. I was happy and relieved for sure, but there were no tears or breakdowns, just, "Okay, I'm here, 'bout time."

It's true that Everest, as well as mountain climbing in general, is both a mental and physical challenge. Most of us affected by the mental aspects of the climb understand that our fears and concerns are affecting us. It must be frustrating for those in charge to see their climbers get sick and lose confidence.

My mental state during the expedition, while strong in determination, was clearly weak in confidence and I knew it. Every time I recovered from one ailment, it seemed another would strike. I had seen and heard of several climbers leaving for home and even though I thought I could still make the summit, a part of me was concerned that I had become too weak. Although I knew from experience that my body performed pretty well in altitude, it didn't seem to matter. Never had I been so sick and injured during an expedition. My mind was constantly questioning my body. And this was Mount Everest. Totally mental.

After my struggles during the expedition, I expected that reaching the summit would be so dramatic that I would have an emotional outburst as the stress from the climb released from my body and mind. Instead, I think the stress is slowly being released over time because my mind is still processing the reality that I actually did this. I also know that while on the summit my mind was still focused on the task at hand. We had to descend. Back to that.

The Descent
Our stay at the top was short, maybe fifteen minutes. I wasn't interested in admiring the whiteout. Just below the summit, a Sherpa bent down and picked up a handful of rocks. I was elated because if he hadn't done that, I would have forgotten to grab some for myself. Lakpa Nuru and I both threw several small rocks into our pockets before continuing.

The descent back to the South Col went well, with just one short bottleneck at the Hillary Step. I struggled with my goggles and eventually went without. The sun was hiding, the wind was dying down and it stopped snowing as we got lower. Several of us met at the Balcony for a rest before making the final descent down to the Col.

During that stretch, the pace slowed considerably when we got behind two women. I learned from one of the women that her teammate, who appeared to be having a tough time as she was being assisted by a guide, was 60-years old and had finally reached the summit on this, her fourth attempt.

I mentioned that our team also had a 61 year-old woman, Kiyomi Takiguchi, reach the summit that day.

Lakpa Nuru wanted to pass them but I was content following along at a slow pace. I'm not sure why. It was like I wanted to savor the moment and enjoy the descent, rather than rush down. It's also dangerous to pass and I didn't want to deal with it. But after several of our team members went by, I finally agreed to go ahead and we carefully passed. That was definitely the right move because a slow descent is not necessarily a safe descent, especially when you're relying on supplemental oxygen.

Given the small number of American women on a summit climb of Everest on any given day, it wasn't too difficult to determine that the women were Kay LeClair (who is 60) and Lori Schneider (who is now the first person with Multiple Sclerosis to summit Everest). Very cool.

They were being passed by Megan Delehanty (who has acid reflux).

Lakpa Nuru never left my side until I was safely at my tent, despite my telling him to go ahead. When we arrived at camp, Phurba, as usual, was there to help. As I started to remove my harness, he was quickly unstrapping my crampons. When I crawled into the tent, I could tell something was wrong when I found Shinji lying down on his bag, not moving at all. He told me his eyes were bothering him. There wasn't much I could do, other than break out some snacks, boil water and get us hydrated, after I took a little rest of course.

For me, it was a rare opportunity to help someone other than myself and that felt pretty good. Especially with Shinji, who helped me numerous times, not just on the mountain, but with lending an ear and calming my nerves.

My experience with guides over the past ten years is that they are all technically competent. I realize I may have been lucky with that and I haven't been in too many situations where a guide's assistance was needed, which is good. What makes one guide stand out from another is his/her personality - professional, fun, friendly, easy going - and ability to actually "guide," rather than race to the top. And a guide who spends time getting to know the climbers while not climbing is much easier to approach when climbing.

Shinji is an exceptional guide. I felt bad for him because this was the first time I'd seen him in any kind of discomfort throughout the expedition. I also felt bad because now we would have to eat the food I brought, which was not nearly as good as his.

We stayed at the Col for the night, then descended to Camp 2 the next day. Shinji's condition improved over night but it was still bothering him. This descent down the Lhotse Face was much easier than my first descent. I felt stronger and more energetic, probably because I was coming down from THE SUMMIT!!! ... and I was still wearing my oxygen mask.

Back to Base Camp
From Camp 2, we started our descent to Base Camp at 4am, earlier than usual due to the weather forecast - a storm was approaching. I felt fine during the beginning of the descent but I could tell we were all getting increasingly sluggish as we got closer to Base Camp. Like a robot, I thoughtlessly followed Chris Macklin's footsteps, clipping in, clipping out...

It was actually very cool, as in groovy, in the Icefall. We were surrounded by clouds. The only sounds were of our croutons digging into the crunchy snow and ice. This heavenly peace was only occasionally interrupted by an outburst from Robby.

"Is that Base Camp!!? Wow!! It's deserted!!"

He was referring to the regular Base Camp, not ours, and he was right, it did look deserted because many climbers had left the mountain by then.

Everyone was cheering and banging pots and pans as we walked into Club Himex on a wet and snowy morning. Now my eyes were teary. What a reception! What an incredible team!

The first person I embraced was Russ, who was standing to the side, red-eyed and smiling and relieved to see us back safely. John Black welcomed me with a big bear hug. More hugs from everyone, including Jim and Thomas, who I was especially happy to see in good spirits. Haydn handed me a Sprite, which I drank furiously. These people had become like family to me. It was amazing how 28 climbers from all over the world could get along so well, but we did.

You frequently hear of climbers from other teams leaving Base Camp after their summit success but before all of their team members have descended safely. Not so with Himex. The cheering didn't stop until every Sherpa was back at camp. (The Sherpas would be going up again to finish cleaning up our camps - they are amazing!).

The following day, while our camp was being buried in several feet of snow, we celebrated in the White Pod. The champagne started pouring at 1pm and for some (ahem... Chris Dovell), it didn't stop pouring until the wee hours in the morning.

The next day, May 27, we carefully trekked over very slippery terrain to Pangboche, then to Namche Bazaar and Lukla. That was epic, but I'm running out of time.

Kathmandu
My plan was to stay in Nepal until my scheduled flight date of June 7. I wanted to spend time with my co-climbers, look up some of my Sherpa friends from 2007 - Phanden, Lopsang, Lhakpa Gelu, Apa, Lama Jangbu and Geljen - and just enjoy Nepal without the pressure of an upcoming climb. Plus, I was too wound up, nervous, sick and tired!... throughout the entire expedition to just enjoy being there, so I hoped to see our guides and Russ when they returned to Kathmandu after taking down camp. I even asked Billi if there were any good parties.

But the night before we flew to Kathmandu from Lukla, many of us got sick, either from food poisoning or a stomach bug, and more would get sick over the next few days. I didn't have the energy or the appetite to join two planned dinners. As the days went on and I sat on my hotel room bed, too fatigued to do anything, I decided it was time to go home. It was disappointing and as I write this, I want to go back to Kathmandu.

In Summary
The 61 days that I spent on this expedition were the toughest days of my life, physically and mentally.

Most painful - April 18 and 30; Saddest - April 19, May 7, 16, and 21; Toughest - May 21 (world record); Happiest - May 23.

If it were easy, it wouldn't be nearly as rewarding. This was an experience of a lifetime.

I've gotten a zillion comments from friends and family that my face is unusually red and puffy. My response: "Yes, it is. Thanks for not saying it looks normal." The cold dry air sometimes causes my face to turn red and the altitude sometimes causes my eyes to swell. It was like that for the next few days. I only had one thing on my mind - no matter how goofy I look, remove the goggles and oxygen mask so everyone, including me, could see how happy I am.
Russ sent me this certificate. I didn't know there was a certificate involved.