The Final Final - Koskiuszko

My sisters, Paula and Molly, and I recently returned from Australia, where we greeted the New Year in Sydney, hiked to the top of Mount Koskiuszko, the highest mountain in Australia, and snorkeled in the Great Barrier Reef.

The purpose of our trip was for my sisters to join me in reaching the summit of my final of the 8 Seven Summits. But after such a tough year for our family, with dad passing away on February 21st and mom on October 4th, the trip took on more meaning.

A few photos from our trip are in my website.

Here is a link to Thank You Nana, the spectacular video my nephew, Ryan, made.

I think this is a good time to sign off on my blog.

Thanks to all for following my adventures!

Megan

Experience Yosemite Like Never Before

Click on this - LINK TO VIDEO

Watch this short (4 mins tops) spectacular video created by two guys, Sheldon and Colin, who dragged heavy, expensive, rented camera equipment to the top of Half Dome in Yosemite National Park, where they spent an entire evening. Then they made more trips to Yosemite before spending a few months editing this gorgeous video. It is breathtaking and beautiful and brought tears to my eyes.

Since it was loaded yesterday, this video by Project Yosemite has gotten over 100,000 hits. The photographers have since received back the money they paid to rent the camera equipment in return for sponsorship.

Turn up the sound.

If you love Yosemite. If you love the mountains. If you just love beautiful places and spectacular scenery, I guarantee you will enjoy this. And I'm not just saying that because Colin is my talented nephew.

Just click on this link: http://vimeo.com/35396305

Other Links:

Colin Delehanty Photography: http://www.colindelehanty.com/
Colin Delehanty on Vimeo: http://vimeo.com/barple

This masterpiece went viral and has had over 1 million hits. Good job, Colin.

Carstensz Pyramid - My Number 7

For photos, click here.

I recently returned home from climbing my 7th of the Seven Summits - Carstensz Pyramid. This was supposed to be a straightforward rock climb. It ended up being one of the most grueling adventures of my life and I will never ever do it again.

It was also a pretty darn cool experience and one I will never ever forget. Papua is about as primitive as it gets.

First, a little background: New Guinea is the second largest island in the world after Greenland. It is divided into two parts for political reasons. The separate and free state of Papua New Guinea takes the whole eastern part of the island. The Indonesians took control of the western region (called Irian Jaya or Western New Guinea or Papua) over the Dutch in 1962.  There is little or no ethnic or religious affiliation between Irian Jaya and Indonesia, but Indonesia refuses to grant the region independence to its large gold and copper mine, Grasberg.

Below is a map of Indonesia.


Carstensz Pyramid (Puncak Jaya) is the highest mountain, not only of the New Guinea Island, but also of Oceana. It lies in the Snow Mountains of the Indonesian province, Papua.

When Dick Bass became the first to climb the Seven Summits in 1985, he climbed Kosciuszko (7310'/2228m), the highest mountain in Australia. But many view Australia as part of the larger continent of Oceana, or Australasia, which includes Indonesia and the higher-than-Kosciuszko mountain of Carstensz Pyramid (16,023'/4884m). So now, many Seven Summit climbers top them both.

There are two ways to reach Carstensz base camp - via helicopter or via foot. The helicopter option has been "iffy" in recent years, in that sometimes it just doesn't show up. But there's a mob boss named Franky : ) who apparently has an exclusive contract to hire helicopters, which he did for a group with Mountain Trip the week before we arrived. We met him in Nabire as they were flying out.

We chose to hoof it. Now that I am home with a numb foot, sore knee, and body full of scrapes and bruises, I can honestly report that I had no idea what I was getting into. The one-day rock climb to the summit of Carstensz was fun. The 6-day trek to base camp and 4-day trek out was epic.

The "trek" option appealed to me because I am just as interested in experiencing the landscape and culture as I am in climbing the mountain. This part of the world fascinates me and I was curious to see it. But I admit after having done the trek, which winds up and down over difficult terrain through the jungle, I completely understand climbers who opt for the helicopter. In fact, if Franky offered to fly us to and from the mountain at no extra cost, this might have been a tough decision for some of us. I am pretty sure all of us would have preferred to be flown OUT of the mountain.

There are gravel roads from Timika to Grasberg, which is located just a few miles from the mountain. However, using the roads is now strictly prohibited by the mine's operator, Freeport Mining Company. We heard stories of climbers being captured and taken custody for a number of days.

There are also several "operator" options. The tough logistics of this climb require that you use a local operator. I decided to join a group directly with a local Indonesian company, rather than through a western guided expedition that hires a local operator, because the cost, while still high, is substantially cheaper ($9,000 compared with $18,500).

And whenever anything went wrong, I reminded myself that you get what you pay for.

Our expedition included six climbers - Bruce (from Utah and on Everest with me in 2009), George (Virginia), Brett (England), Ricky (Scotland), John (China), and me.

The original plan was to fly to Timika on the southern part of Papua (see lower red circle in map above). From Timika, we would fly to Ilaga, where we would begin our grueling trek through the jungle to base camp. However, there was a strike in Timika, where the workers cut jet fuel supplies.  There was also an upcoming election in Ilaga that caused fighting and killing, resulting in our changing our route to another grueling trek through Sugapa.

To reach the mountain via the Sugapa route, we met in Bali, from where we took a series of flights overnight to Nabire on the western side of Papua (see left red circle on map).

It was in a restaurant in Nabire that we ran into a group of about twelve German climbers with Kari Kobler's expedition who had just returned from the trek. As we walked into the restaurant, we felt the eyes of the entire group of men looking at us, as if to say, "You are going to get crushed."

To my surprise, Gregor, my buddy from Vinson (see post below), was with this group! It was great running into him. He immediately said that the trek was harder than the climb. Then he told me, but really sort of asked me, "You're tough. Aren't you?"

I looked at the guys around me and thought, "Physically? Not really. Mentally? I must be."

From Nabire, we took a 50 minute flight to Sugapa. We were planning on leaving Nabire at 7:00 am but we were told that "someone" was preventing our flight from leaving until we paid more money. This was the first of many similar encounters and one reason why this mountain carries a hefty price tag.

We took off around 10 am and I don't know what, if anything, was decided or paid. In Sugapa, we met Denny, a popular Carstensz guide who was not our guide but there to help us get started. He and our trekking guide, Steve, spent the day selecting porters from Sugapa.

It seemed everyone in town - men, wives, women, kids, grandparents and uncles - showed up for the porter selection. This was the day I discovered that these people enjoy having their photos taken. What a nice change of pace from almost the entire rest of the world. When I raised my lens, people would jump in front of it and ask that I take their picture.


Our trek to base camp began with a motor cycle ride. So in other words, this was the first day of my being scared to death. My motorcycle driver was wearing a full helmet and he didn't have one for his passenger. For about two seconds, I considered asking him if I could wear his.

I saw the guys hold on to the teeny tiny bars on their seats. I have a little experience riding on the back of a motorcycle and what I learned, other than to always wear a helmet, is that you have to wrap your arms tightly around the driver and connect your hands. So that's what I did whenever I felt him step on the gas a little too much. And I occasionally reminded myself that my driver did need to breathe.

Apparently some people in Sugapa were disappointed at not making the "porter cut," so in retaliation, they staged what we frustratingly referred to as a roadblock, otherwise known as extortion.

A group of people would stand in our way, machetes in hand, and tell us we could not pass until we pay 100 rupiah, or a little over $100. Negotiations ensued with a gallery of spectators standing alongside who occasionally joined in the yelling and screaming, which is what it seemed like to us, since we had no idea what anyone was saying.

I have to admit it was pretty entertaining when all of a sudden a woman from the side would start yelling at the men doing the negotiating. Then she'd walk up to them and let them have it.


We passed the time taking photos while negotiations continued. Eventually our trekking guide, Steve, would hand over some money and we would be on our way. I never knew what Steve actually paid and I never asked (it was included in our $9,000 trip price). Due to nine or twelve roadblocks, it took all day for us to complete the three hour trek to Suanggama.

There are over 300 tribes in Papua. Most of the people we saw are from the Dani Tribe. Despite the fact that Danis were not discovered until 1938, they have become one of the best known tribes in New Guinea.

I thought about the early explorers in Nepal and their encounters with the indigenous people there. How did the Sherpas initially react to the strange westerners in their elaborate clothing? With the thousands of trekkers and climbers visiting the Himalaya every year, things are much different in Nepal today than they were then.

Below is a photo of Ricky with some of the porters in Suanggama.

Some of us slept inside our lead porter's (picture at top) hut in Suanggama and others stayed in tents to escape the cockroaches, rats scurrying along the walls (we think - we only saw the pellets and let our imaginations take over), and puppies living beneath the floor boards where we laid down our mats and sleeping bags.

From Suanggama, we began our trek through the rainforest. It was on the first day that I realized I would be the slowest of our group. As I tried to meet (or not be too far behind) the pace of the guys, I ended up pushing a little too hard. That, combined with not drinking enough fluids in the intense heat and humidity, just about did me in. I was dripping with sweat and when I stopped, I felt my heart continue to beat rapidly for longer than usual.

This was my wake-up call to stop, drink some water, wait for my heart rate to settle down, and then continue the trek on my own terms. I knew I could not and should not try to walk as fast as the guys, so my best bet was to move at my own pace and take care of myself so that I could reach camp in a decent mood after all the tents are up. Nobody likes a cranky trekker.

I also had other issues. My hands had deep cuts in them from not wearing gloves with my trekking poles and the back of my knee ached. For the rest of the trip, I had gross looking cuts on my hands, plastered with mud, and every day I limped around camp after the trek and in the morning before the trek. Once I started walking, the pain would eventually go away. I may have looked like a mess but I knew I would be able to make it.


So that was pretty much how the rest of the trek went. We would hit the trail around 8:30 am. If the guys reached camp at 1 pm, I would come stumbling in at 3 pm. The first two days were hot, wet and muddy, and the trail was sometimes difficult to follow as we made our way across slippery logs and rocks and climbed over muddy trees and branches. After that, the heat and humidity subsided a bit while we gained altitude. The terrain was up and down and up and down. Sometimes a simple step would turn into a foot stuck in the mud up to your knees, which is why we wore rain boots.

The problem with reaching camp last was I had more opportunity to get stuck walking in the pouring rain. More importantly, on sunny afternoons, I had less time to wash the mud off my clothes and dry them in the sun. Admittedly, I failed to take good care of my muddy clothes, regardless of how late I arrived at camp. As we continued, my bag grew heavier as I stuffed it with muddy and wet clothes. Not a recommended strategy.

I also got lost a few times and getting lost alone in the Papuan rainforest is not what I would call fun or adventurous. NOW, at home in my office sitting at my computer... it was adventurous. THEN... it was scary.

I just re-read some of the above and I sound pretty pathetic. So I will add that the guys did assure me that they also experienced challenges on this trek. Some of them got painful blisters on their feet and weird bug bites, both of which I managed to avoid.

Throughout the trek we wondered aloud how many days it would take to get to base camp. Our trekking guide had done the Ilaga trek three times but never this Sugapa trek. He told us one thing and another guide, named Brury, from another expedition told us something else. Over time, we trusted what Brury told us - it takes (and it took) six days to reach base camp from Sugapa.


Many of the porters who carried our gear brought along their wives and children. I was told each porter was paid about $100 per day. Their feet had never seen the soles of shoes in their lives. I watched in awe as they effortlessly moved along the trail carrying our bags, as well as their own. I brought some extra food and clothing, as well as a couple of cameras, so I knew my bag was a little heavier than the 17 kilos maximum. After one day of guilt I started giving my extra food to my porter, something I would regret by the time we reached base camp when it was clear I needed the food more than he did.


Each day the porters would cram beneath a huge tarp, build a fire and smoke cigarettes. Not surprisingly, there are no fire code regulations in Papua. One day I stood outside the entrance and coughed uncontrollably from all the smoke.

At camp 2 we made the mistake of setting up our tents next to the porter tarp. That night we listened to them talk until midnight. Then it was just two women who talked until 3 am. I think they were at opposite ends of the shelter because it was pretty high volume and ear plugs were not enough.

I had read that the porters often stage a strike just before moving to base camp. Thankfully our porters did not strike.

Every day I gave my porter some food, partly because I had too much, but also because I wanted to make him happy. One day he kept pointing to my hands and then his hands and then to my hands again. So I gave him a pair of gloves, which seemed to be what he wanted. I later learned I shouldn't give the porters gloves because wearing gloves will weaken their hands and make it harder for them once the gloves have been trashed and burned.

Another day my porter watched me put on sunscreen and gestured that he would like some as well. By then I had pretty much figured things out.


On day 6 of our trek, we reached base camp at about 14,000 feet. Base camp sits next to a beautiful aqua colored pond. There we met our climbing guide, Hatta. He had been at camp for several weeks, guiding other groups up Carstensz. The plan was for us to leave for the summit at 1:30 am. So we prepared our gear, ate dinner, and did our best to sleep (I did not sleep) before leaving camp for the mountain.

When we were all up, ready to go, we noticed our trekking guide, Steve, and our cook, Joko, also suited up for the climb. We were all a little surprised, as Steve moved slowly during the trek. We suspected that he had been sick and didn't want to tell us.

Hatta started walking to the mountain and I knew I would be lagging behind once again. This worried me because as in the trek, I would be alone unless I slowed down enough to climb with Steve and Joko. But Brett kindly offered to go with me. When we reached the mountain, we did lose the trail at one point but we were able to finally catch up to the guys when they reached the fixed line and began to climb up the rock.

That was short-lived, however, and we remained behind the group, with Steve and Joko very far behind us.  To this day we do not know why Steve was so slow, both on the climb and trek, as we had heard he is a very strong climber.  We could only guess that he must have had something wrong but kept it to himself, which was pretty frustrating.

Being one of the Seven Summits, Carstensz is a popular mountain to climb. So there are ropes fixed on most of the route. We clipped into the rope using an ascender. Often it would get stuck and you would have to bend down and pull it up along the rope. But having a fixed line generally keeps climbers moving and alleviates bottlenecks.

From a rock climbing perspective, it is about a 5.6, maybe 5.7 climb to the top. We wore alpine climbing boots and carried or wore gortex. The only time I felt nervous was along the ridge at the top where there are a couple of tricky moves, requiring you to reach or step across wide gaps of open air to move to the next section of rock. There was little about the rope that we were clipped into that made me feel safe. It looked old and frayed.


There is also an 80 foot gap with a cable extended across it called the Tyrolean Traverse. Brett and I watched as George clipped into the cable, hung upside down, head first, and made his way across the traverse as Hatta pulled the rope. Then I went, followed by Brett. I was surprised at how easy the traverse was, especially because as I pulled myself along the line, Hatta also pulled so hard that I sailed across in seconds.

Soon after that, on the morning of November 2, 2011, we reached the summit and took a series of photos. I started down behind the other guys but Brett stayed on top with Hatta, waiting for Steve and Joko. In retrospect, I should have also stayed with them because I ended up losing the guys. Once Brett decided to descend, he went ahead of Steve, Joko and Hatta and met me at the Tyrolean Traverse, where I had been waiting for almost an hour - no way I was going to cross that by myself.


The descent was an uneventful series of rappels that painfully reminded me that my hands were full of cuts and scrapes.

Once we were back at base camp, Brett said Joko and Steve had a series of banners with them on the summit, including one that he pulled out of his backpack that read, "Congratulations Megan... Brett... Ricky... etc. on Carstensz Pyramid..." I guess we were supposed to take a picture with this banner on the summit! We all thought that was funny and ended up posing behind the banner later at the airport.

With the climb finally done and behind us, it was time to begin the grueling trek out of base camp and back to Sugapa. This we would do in four, not six, days. Although we were descending in altitude, it was still a long tough trek out with two very long days in the middle. We would be walking the equivalent distance of four days in just two days during the trek out. My concern was that I would find myself alone at the end of the day, possibly at night, trying to find the trail using my headlamp. So on those two long days, I made sure somebody went with me.

During the trek in, Joko hiked with Steve and they always reached camp hours behind even me. But I knew that Joko was a pretty fast walker, faster than me anyway. So I asked him if he would walk with me. My thinking was that our trekking guide could walk alone. Seemed reasonable to me.

This ended up being a good plan on day 2 of the trek out, when we walked from camp 4 to camp 2 and lost daylight at around 5:30 pm. Walking in the jungle with a headlamp triples the time it would normally take in daylight. Every step becomes a big question mark. Is that solid ground or loose branches covering a big drop? Am I grabbing onto a rock or a leaf? I was very hesitant. Too hesitant. I'd sustained some uncomfortable injuries throughout the trek, but nothing earth shattering. A sprained ankle or twisted knee could substantially slow anyone down. I was paranoid. But we made it into camp around 7 pm. The guys had been there since 4 pm and mentioned how long their day was - 8 hours. I sat there and thought, "11 hours. Yikes."

The next day didn't go quite so well (as if the previous day did?). Joko and I got off to an early start - 7:30 am. You might expect it to be a faster hike out since we were going downhill most of the time. But it was almost harder to descend in the mud and wet rocks than it was to ascend. It ended up being 2pm by the time we reached camp 1 and we still had to go all the way to Suanggama (our Day 1 trek in).

The "trouble" began at around 4 pm. Joko and I descended onto the river and were searching for the trail when suddenly I noticed Joko disappear into the jungle. As I struggled to catch up to him, walking through terrain thick with branches and long stems with thorns that dug into my clothes, I thought, "This can't be right." I called after him as he continued on. Then Joko vanished.

This was not funny (no joko). I was standing in thick brush with no idea where to go. There wasn't a trail or Joko anywhere to be found. I stood there for twenty, maybe thirty, minutes yelling Joko's name. Why wasn’t he answering me? Was he hurt? I contemplated my next move, which would be to walk back down to the river and search for a trail.

Or cry hysterically.

Then Joko reappeared. I was relieved and happy to see him, but I was also mad and I screamed at him, "Do not leave me alone!" He looked at me with wild eyes, pointing to his head, and yelled something I didn't understand. We made our way back to the river where we searched again for the trail. I was tremendously relieved once we found it and got back on track.


About ten minutes later we ran into Steve. He'd passed us when we went on our little excursion. I was happy to see him and hoped he would walk the rest of the way to Suanggama with us. I asked Steve what Joko was trying to tell me when he pointed at his head. Steve talked to Joko and told me that Joko was having hallucinations.

Oh that's all? Joko went loco? How comforting in the middle of the Papuan rainforest.

Poor Joko felt terrible. He kept apologizing to me, blaming himself for what we now knew would happen - we would once again get stuck walking in the dark. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. If I had walked faster, we would have been at camp earlier. I was thankful to have Joko with me. My reaction was to put the past behind us and move on. Really. We had to move.

Joko nervously quickened his pace and had to frequently wait for me. We lost Steve within the first ten minutes. That was disappointing, as I felt much safer with both Steve and Joko, especially after the "loco" incident. It took us four hours to do what probably would have taken an hour and a half in daylight. We finally reached camp around 9 pm with the help of the guys shining their headlamps for us to follow. I was never so happy to see them. Steve arrived at 1 am. 

From Suanggama, it was another night in the porter's hut and trek to Sugapa, including a helmet-free motorcycle ride, which by this time, after all that we'd been through, did not scare me one bit. In fact, I couldn't get on the back of that motorcycle fast enough.

We had all lost weight. The food during the trek severely lacked protein. But we were also burning calories like nobody's business. To this day I still weigh seven pounds less than I did before the trek.

I think it was on day 2 of the trek in when the guys started fantasizing about eating Whoppers. On every mountain climbing trip I have been on, there are multiple discussions about the food we miss most and nine times out of ten, that food is fast and fatty. The first thing we did when we arrived in Bali was go to Burger King. You could have heard a pin drop while we devoured our Whoppers.

After the climb, we reflected back on our trip. Yes, it was grueling and tough but was it really HARDER than Denali or Aconcagua or other mountains (not Everest, that was definitely the toughest for me), especially those that require us to actually CARRY our own gear? We had PORTERS. The altitude was not THAT extreme. This was a remote, primitive, fascinating and beautiful place with all the makings of a true adventure.

Now that it is over and I am safe at home, I couldn't imagine skipping the trek and taking a helicopter to base camp. While scenic and exciting, the helicopter option seems to miss 90% of the experience, good and bad. Despite all my scrapes and bruises, sore knee, swollen feet and ankles, and numb foot (that is still numb today and apparently will take weeks, maybe months, to heal), I am thrilled to have had this amazing experience. The group was fantastic, we were successful, the cost was manageable, and I got to see a little bit of Papua.

What was it about Carstensz that made it so tough but in a different, almost indescribable way?

I think George put it best when he asked, "Of all the mountains you've climbed, which one would you NEVER do again?"

It was unanimous. But it wasn't the mountain. It was the trek. You really REALLY only want to do it once.



This roadblock lasted over an hour and prevented us from leaving Sugapa until the next morning. One of the motorcycle riders turned on some music, which I thought fit the mood. Try to ignore the dirty lens that I forgot to clean.

Click Seven Summits for the latest statistics. For women only stats, click Here and scroll to the bottom - that's where I will be. : )

On Vinson

To see photos, click on this link - Photos.

Antarctica. This was absolutely a trip worth taking. Where else can you be on a land mass twice the size of Australia and a mile deep in ice, with a mountain range on top? The weather could have been better up at high camp when we arrived on Dec 19th and waited a week before it calmed down enough for us to go for the summit on Dec 26th. But other than that, or perhaps because of that, it was a fantastic trip.

Here´s a brief summary.

After arriving in Punta Arenas, the southern-most city in Chile, we checked our gear and found a few items worthy of purchasing. For me, it was bigger and darker goggles that covered half my face (see above photo taken by Mike Horst). At the time, how was I to know my new, rainbow reflective, Darth-Vader-like goggles would only be used for shoveling and not for climbing?

Our trip to the coldest, windiest and driest continent on earth started out with luck on our side. On Dec 16th, as planned, we boarded the great Russian Ilyushin 76 Cargo Jet, full of roughly 80 passengers and gear, and flew five hours to the blue-ice runway at Union Glacier. The Soviet Union developed the jet cargo lifter in the 1960´s for military and civil service. With this magnificent machine came the Russian crew.

A blue-ice runway is a runway with no net annual snow accumulation so that the ice surface is capable of supporting aircraft landings using wheels instead of skis. This makes transferring materials to research stations simpler, since wheeled aircraft can carry much heavier loads than those which are ski-equipped.

Union Glacier, located about 680 miles from the South Pole, recently opened in November, 2010, after over four years of planning and research. More than twenty years ago, Adventure Network International (ANI) made history by establishing a blue-ice runway at Patriot Hills, located roughly 42 miles from Union Glacier. The new runway at Union Glacier has better flight reliability and is used by them to land passenger planes from South America.

As anticipated, Antarctica greeted us with a strong wind, which is why everyone wears down clothing and climbing boots on the plane. The temperatures reach a minimum of between -112 °F and -130 °F (-80 °C and -90 °C ) in the interior in winter and vary between -22 °F and 41 °F (-30 °C and +5 °C ) in summer.

Although windy, the weather was clear and within a few hours after arriving at Union Glacier, we boarded a Twin Otter (jokingly or fondly or seriously referred to as a "Twotter" by our clever co-pilot) for a one hour flight to an area close to base camp and then boarded another plane for a 5 minute flight to Vinson base camp (7000´/2100m). Both of these more wusy planes landed on skis.

The next day, Dec 17th, we packed our gear and moved up to low camp (9100´/2800m). Despite the moderate slopes, it was a tough day because we carried 30 to 35 pound packs and hauled sleds loaded with another 30 to 35 pounds of gear each. The climb up Vinson is often accurately described as similar to the lower part of Denali. We reached camp after about five hours.

We took a rest day on the following day. There are 24 hours of daylight on Antarctica this time of year, so sleep didn´t come easy for me at first. As on Everest, I came prepared with my BFF, Ambien.

We moved up to high camp (12,700´/3900m) on Dec 19th. This climb includes almost 3000 feet of fixed lines up a 45 degree slope while carrying heavy packs. Just as we started to ascend the fixed lines with another group from Mountain Trip, the Russian team, led by Alex Abramov, rushed ahead of us off the fixed line, hooked into the line directly above us, and then promptly stopped to take photos (and likely catch their collective breath). Some climbers may have been irritated but I think most of us were amused.

Michael Horst, our guide, had previously led a group of five clients, including my Everest 2009 teammate, Kyomi Takiguchi. The team also included our Everest 2009 guide, Hiro Kuraoka. They left enough food and fuel at high camp to last Michael, Gregor and me several days, so we were able to do a single move to high camp, rather than make a carry and then a move.

The slope was moderate at the top of the fixed lines but the wind slowly kicked in and it got much colder as we moved closer to camp.

Once we reached high camp, we were thinking this was going to be a short trip and that possibly we could be home for Christmas. From there, we only needed a day to reach the summit and back. But because the altitude in Antarctica is deceiving - 12,700 feet feels more like 14,413 feet - we decided to take a day to acclimatize before heading for the summit. Things were looking up.

Meanwhile, down at base camp, there´s this guy named Joey who broadcasts the weather forecast three times per day - at noon (sometimes), at 7pm, and then again at 9:30pm. The forecast he provides is for the current day and the following two days and it includes temperature and wind speeds at base camp, low camp, high camp, and the summit.

I was beginning to learn what "knots" meant. One knot equals 1.15 miles per hour.

On Dec 20th, our acclimatization day, the weather was breezy, maybe 15 knot winds, and cold, about -24 Celcius. In the Beaufort wind scale, this is described as "moderate breeze raises dust and loose paper; small branches are moved."

Joey´s forecast included deteriorating weather with 30 to 35 knot winds for the following two days at high camp and the summit. In the Beaufort wind scale, this translates to "moderate gale, whole trees in motion; inconvenience in walking against wind."

We knew we had enough good food (salmon, chicken and pasta) for a few days. After that we had enough Top Ramon and chicken bits to last several days. Our bottle of soy sauce, the only reason I can stomach Top Ramon, was nearly empty, so I mentally prepared myself to either eat Top Ramon anyway or take the soy sauce when Michael and Gregor weren't looking.

Most of the teams carried loads to high camp and then descended back to low camp. The photo above is of the Russians beginning their descent. That's Mount Shinn in the background. The three of us, a Japanese climber with two ALE guides, and an elderly astronomer (coincidentally from Palo Alto, close to me) with his ALE Sherpa guide, were the only climbers to remain at high camp.

Despite the deteriorating weather forecast, we still considered ourselves lucky to be able to make it to high camp in one move and be ready for an immediate ascent to the summit once the weather cleared.

Each day we huddled in our kitchen tent and listened to Joey report the forecast, anxiously waiting for news of that second day. The Dec 21st forecast for Dec 23rd called for increasing winds up to 40 knots at high camp. That was a bummer but we held out hope that we could go to the summit before Christmas.

And then on Dec 22nd, the Dec 24th forecast called for increasing winds up to 45 knots. In the Beaufort wind scale, this means "fresh gale breaks twigs off trees; generally impedes progress." It ended up being our windiest and coldest day, reaching -30 Celsius (please don't ask me about the conversion... because I have to look it up). Despite my -20F North Face down sleeping bag with all sorts of ways to close the top around my neck like a choker, I did wake up shivering a few times that week.

Joey??!!! Jo. EEE!!!!

Below is a picture of high camp. The blue and white striped tent is our kitchen tent. I know it looks calm but I do have some very frightening video to post as well. ; )

To make matters worse, the tent Gregor and I put up was nestled in the corner of two snow walls. While there was little snowfall during the storm, the strong winds moved snow into the two pockets of space between the snow walls and our tent. In the morning of Dec 24th, we woke to a nearly collapsing tent. The two of us crawled out, found shovels, and started digging. It was difficult to see anything as our goggles fogged up and the wind seemed to pick up new snow to fill the spaces we just cleared with our shovels. Out of desperation, we did what any good "client" would do. We woke up Michael.

I think the wind actually reached 50 knots because the Beaufort wind scale for this level more accurately reflects what seemed to be happening - "strong gale, slight structural damage occurs; chimney pots and slates removed."

I know you already know this but when you shovel, you are not supposed to hit the sides of the tent with the shovel because this can easily put a hole in the fly of the tent. Worse, it could penetrate the fly and hit the tent itself. So you shovel around the perimeter of the tent and then use your arms and hands to pull the snow off of the tent.

It seemed every time I pitched snow out with my shovel, a fresh batch would promptly blow in and cover my hard work. Needless to say, Gregor made more progress than I did. However, each of us were guilty of putting maybe a tiny dent into the fly of the tent.

Although Dec 24th was the worst day for weather, there was some good news - the forecast for Dec 26th was for 15 knot winds and clear skies. This news also made for a pretty decent Christmas at high camp.

But there was more. Michael thoughtfully gave Gregor and me gifts on Christmas morning. Gregor got gloves. I got (OMG) toilet paper. I'd spent the previous few days asking pretty much everyone at high camp if they had some squares to spare and from what Michael told me, Alex Abramov, leader of the Russian/Ukrainian team, gave him a roll before his team descended back to low camp. It was THE BEST Christmas present evahhhh.

Christmas was another windy day at camp, but slightly less than the day before. We continued to hear the wind throughout the night and if you asked any of us at 3am on Dec 26th whether we would be going for the summit that day, we would have said no. But oddly, the wind died down and we woke to a beautiful, patchy sunny and wind-less day. We left for the summit sometime after 9am that morning.

It is about a 4 mile / 3000 foot gain to reach the summit (16,049´/ 4892m) of Vinson from high camp. It is worth mentioning here that the first ascent of Vinson was performed by a combined group from the American Alpine Club and the National Science Foundation in 1966.

Summit day was spectacular but I have to admit, all that sitting around made me feel a little weak, despite our lengthy acclimatization at high camp. We slowly made progress toward the summit, stopping frequently to take photos and just enjoy the day. The Japanese climber and his two guides veered right and went the faster, more direct, slightly steeper route to the top. We took a longer route that brought us to the beautiful summit ridge, where we walked another 45 minutes to the top. The astronomer and his Sherpa took the same route but finished hours after we did. It didn't matter. They had all day and night. With just eight of us up there, it was awesome to have the mountain to ourselves. We didn't pay much attention to the time but we think we left sometime after 9am and reached the summit around 3pm.

From the summit, we could see neighboring mountains Shinn (15,311') and Gardner (15,049') and a multitude of other unexplored peaks that reached out as far as the eye could see.

After a lengthy stay at top, we headed back to high camp, where the climbers who spent the previous week at low camp were arriving. There was some discussion about possibly descending all the way to low camp, but we decided that would make for an unusually long and tough day. Why ruin it? So we left the next day, Dec 27th.

Descending the fixed lines with a heavy pack really tested my leg strength, which I concluded was not very good. I felt the effect whenever I stood up over the next few days.

When we reached base camp, a man was standing there taking several photos of us. He turned out to be Anatoli, a member of the Russian team who'd hurt himself at the beginning of the climb and had to stay at base camp for the entire two weeks! We started to take photos of him but he stopped us so that he could take his jacket off. Then he took off another layer, and another. Next thing I know all shirts were off on Antarctica. It looks sunny and warm but it is NOT!


Do you believe these guys? We later learned that Anatoli has climbed several mountains and set records for lifting the most weight on the summit. So, for example, on Aconcagua, a porter carried a heavy weight to the summit and when there, Anatoli lifted it above his head. Yes. You read me right.

We celebrated with a bottle of whiskey and the boys smoked cigarillos, which enticed Alex over to our camp, even though he told us he'd quit smoking. Alex and his group, including Lena, the first Ukrainian woman to reach the summit of Vinson, descended all the way down to base camp directly from the summit. They said they were inspired to descend as quickly as possible because they had vodka waiting for them at camp. That was a shocker.

The climbers from Mountain Trip and the other groups arrived at camp the next day. We were told that although Joey reported heavy winds at low camp for the week, the actual camp was wind protected. I was still glad we stayed at high camp and got to enjoy a beautiful and quiet summit day. There's also something about enduring those heavy winds, Top Ramon meals, toiletry bags, and mad shoveling that made reaching the summit even more special.

From Punta Arenas to Union Glacier

Follow Our Climb - Alpine Ascents Cybercast

If you haven´t already checked, Brien Sheedy left a couple of updates on the Alpine Ascents cybercast. Gregor and I were sitting right there with Brien as he wrote some crazy story about how I insisted on going to the bar after a hard day of shopping. I´m not sure where that came from. (ooh, actually I see it hasn´t posted yet).

It´s been an unusually quick couple of days in that we are now waiting to be picked up by ALE and driven to our plane to fly to Union Glacier. Climbers sometimes wait several days before the weather is clear enough for this flight.

Yesterday we had a briefing by ALE and got a look at all the other Vinson climbers and South Pole skiiers. There´s a large group of Koreans who are jet skiing to the Pole. There´s a guy named Richard Park who is attempting to do the Seven Summits and both Poles in Seven months (Peaks and Poles). This is the first climb of his journey. Based on his accent, I think he´s from the UK.

It´s about a five hour flight to Union Glacier. We´re all dressed and ready for extremely cold weather. Gregor and I are hoping our luck with the weather continues but it´s more cautious optimism because we know it can change in the blink of an eye.

Check out the cybercasts from Alpine Ascents from now on and enjoy the adventure.

PS I just did spell check and remembered I am in Chile.

Vinson

Follow Our Climb - Alpine Ascents Cybercast

Antarctica - Weather

Punta Arenas, Chile - Weather

Something I Have No Desire to Do in Antarctica

Tomorrow I am leaving for Antarctica to climb Mount Vinson. This will be my sixth of the 8 Seven Summits. If you're confused by the "8" in 8 Seven Summits, click here for an explanation.

And if you are perplexed by my sudden interest in climbing them, that's understandable because many people know that until recently, it was never a goal of mine. In fact, I always considered it a ridiculously costly pursuit. From a climbing perspective, there are plenty of beautiful and challenging mountains, free of "Seven Summit crowds," that don't carry the exorbitant price tag of a Vinson or an Everest. But after climbing Everest and having just two to go to make seven, I figured what the heck. My interest is in both traveling and climbing and from what I hear, a trip to Antarctica is a trip of a lifetime, so I'm very excited about this climb.

Are you into statistics? The only site I know of that tracks the number of climbers who have climbed the Seven is 7summits.com.

Our operator is Alpine Ascents, the owner of the photo up top and the guide company I joined in 2003 on Aconcagua. Surprisingly, there are just three of us on this adventure - a guide named Michael Horst, a German man named Gregor, and me. I am not tech savvy enough to be able to blog from the area, but if you want to follow our progress, Alpine Ascents does keep a cybercast that will provide updates. To follow, click here, and feel free to post comments on this blog post. It looks like we are Team 3.

I was told that the team just before ours consists of a group of Japanese climbers. So I checked out the names and smiled when I found two that I recognized from Everest 2009 - Hiro Kuraoka, an exceptionally strong and talented guide who takes fabulous photos (see my Everest 2009 photo gallery - all of the good ones are his), and Kiyomi Takiguchi. Kiyomi, Billi Bierling and I were the only women on our team of 28 on Everest.

Itinerary

Mount Vinson (16,067ft/4,897m), located 600 miles from the South Pole and 1,200 miles from the northern tip of the Antarctic Peninsula, is the highest peak on the Antarctic continent. Vinson is part of the Ellsworth Mountains, which rise majestically from the Ronne Ice Shelf.

Below is a map that I pilfered, along with the paragraph above, from the Alpine Ascents website. We're meeting in Punta Arenas on the southern tip of Chile. From there we will wait for good weather before flying south for five hours to the expansive Union Glacier (this camp replaces the Patriot Hills camp). There, we wait again for good weather before making the one hour and 15 minute flight to Vinson Base Camp on the Branscomb Glacier (7,000 feet).

From Vinson Base Camp, we load up our sleds and packs (about 30-35 lbs. for each) and establish two or three camps before making our final summit attempt.

In technical terms, the climb of Vinson is considered moderate, but cold temperatures (minus 20-30 degrees Fahrenheit) and strong winds increase the challenge. Climbers typically wait several days for good weather, which is why we allow three weeks for the 4-day climb. There is usually 24 hours of daylight and less than 18 inches of snow this time of year - summer.

From what I hear, the view from the summit promises to be beautiful, vast, spectacular, expansive, stunning and every word you can think of that means exceptionally awesome... much better than our view from the summit of Everest on May 23, 2009. Well, my rooftop in Suisun Valley has a better view than that.



I'm not thrilled about being gone for the holidays, but this is the climbing season in Antarctica.

So to my family, friends, blog readers, and Corptax colleagues and clients, I wish you a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I hope you enjoy following our adventure. Come back next year for a trip summary and photos!

PS - I realize Santa lives at the North Pole but perhaps he'll guide his sleigh down south. "On Dancer! On Prancer! On Donner! On VINSON!!!!"

Cycling Alaska

I recently heard on the radio that flossing everyday will add five years to your life. I'm perplexed. My dentist tells me it's important... but five years?

Before heading back to work fulltime after being an independent contractor and traveling like crazy for five years (another way to add years to your life, although climbing Everest twice probably wiped that out), I joined a weeklong Backroads bike trip in Alaska. It was a last-minute decision, booked a month before departure. I very very badly rode my bike just once within the last six months to prepare, so there was some saddle soreness happening, but still lots of fun bike riding.

If you are considering cycling in Alaska, I highly recommend it. Despite the 21 mile, 3,250 elevation gain in pouring rain on our first day, it was a beautiful place to ride many miles. We also had quite a group of strong, inspirational 60-somethings that could kick serious u-no-what up those hills.

I pledge to not let another six months go before my next ride. In fact, I've already ridden once since getting back and I'm signed up for the Tour of Napa.

This is more of a photo diary - for photos and details, click here.

Tough Stuff

We all know that mountain climbing is a dangerous endeavor. Just about every mountain guide and avid climber I know has lost a friend on the mountain. Some have lost several friends, as well as family members.

My involvement in this sport is limited to one, maybe two, big trips per year, with the exception of 2005/2006, when I left my job at Clorox and traveled for a year. Since I began pursuing high altitude treks and climbs in 1999, I have never known anyone who has gotten hurt, let alone killed on any mountain... until recently.

In the past few months, three climbers whom I have come across over the years were killed on the mountains. I only knew each of them for a brief time, which is the way it goes on expeditions and climbs far away from home. We spend a good deal of time together in a short period and then go our separate ways, hoping to meet again but knowing we probably won't.

On February 15, 2010, Joe Bohlig, 52, fell from the crater wall on the top of Mount St. Helens. When he and his friend got to the top, Joe stepped back to pose for his 69th summit photo. Suddenly the cornice broke beneath him and he plunged 1,500 feet into the crater.

Joe's accident brings to mind a similar fatal misstep. Babu Chiri Sherpa climbed to the summit of Everest ten times and in 1999 became the first person to spend the night on the summit without using supplemental oxygen. Then on April 29, 2001, while on Camp 2 on Everest, he stepped out, apparently to take a photograph, when the ground beneath him broke and he fell to his death in a crevasse.

Mount St. Helens is not known as a difficult mountain to hike and deaths are rare. Camp 2 on the south side of Everest is so large and expansive that it almost resembles base camp. That these places seem safe makes them much more dangerous. These tragic accidents remind us to be on alert and keep up our guard always.

When I met Joe on Aconcagua in 2006, he talked incessantly about his love of climbing Mount St. Helens. Mountaineering was clearly a sport he enjoyed and Aconcagua was the start of higher and more international climbs for him. On and off the mountain, his eyes literally sparkled and I don't think he ever stopped smiling.

In an Oregon Live article, I read this about Joe:

Bohlig's sister, Catherine Munden of Lewiston, Idaho, said Tuesday evening that her brother, who worked for Weyerhaeuser, "was my best friend."

"He was just a great guy," she said.

She said Bohlig was an avid and experienced mountain climber who had just returned from scaling three mountains in Ecuador earlier this month. He also has climbed Argentina's Cerro Aconcagua, one of the tallest mountains in the Americas, without oxygen.

Bohlig had lost a son, Michael, who was 18 at the time, in an auto accident in Germany 14 years ago, but Munden said her brother "was always very positive. ..." "If he had to go, I mean, he went doing what he loved," she said. "He always knew that was a possibility. I think that we're all just grateful that it happened near home, not somewhere in a foreign country."



Click here to read more about Joe's passion for climbing and the accident that took his life.

On March 30, 2010, Heidi Kloos, 41, was killed close to her home in Colorado when an avalanche struck as she was skiing in to take a look at a new ice climbing route on Mt. Blady. Heidi was one of a handful of American women to become an American Alpine Guide Association (AMGA) certified alpine guide. If you don't know what that is, consider it the Harvard PHD of alpine guiding in the US.

In 2008, Heidi was my ice climbing instructor in Ouray, Colorado, where we spent just two days together. From what I could tell in that short time, she was an incredibly strong woman, in both sport and spirit. When she told me she would only attempt Everest in Nepal, not China, and without supplemental oxygen, I told her I admired her convictions but joked that I apparently didn't have any. She spent the next two days pointing out my convictions.

Heidi climbed for a living and loved it. The understatement of the year is that she was strong. I admired her immensely. She only seemed to care that I learned what I came there to learn and enjoyed doing it. I did.

When I told her I was done climbing and that she should have a turn on the ice, she seemed somewhat surprised but elated. I took photos of her scaling a wall in minutes that would have taken me hours if I had even dared to attempt it. She intentionally chose a circuitous and difficult route to show me techniques.

Then I told her she should find another color for her jacket because black does not photograph well. I got the expected look and chuckle.

What I love about most mountain guides, Heidi especially, is that they climb year round and have been everywhere multiple times, and yet they still are excited for those of us who finally reach the summit of Aconcagua or get a chance on Everest. Even though Heidi's climbing objectives were far more ambitious than mine and she could probably carry me up the Lhotse Face on her back, she still wanted me to reach my goal of climbing Everest with supplemental oxygen on whatever route I tried.

Here are some excerpts from an article in Rock and Ice Magazine:

“She was not so much about summitting,” said close friend Sherri Silvera. “She was completely about being in the mountains. It didn’t matter if you were a great climber; she had just as much fun with anyone who was pushing their physical limits."

Most recently, Kloos had been inspired by her work guiding disabled veterans on the slopes of Denali. The program is run by the Telluride Adaptive Sports Program in conjunction with Mountain Trip, for whom Kloos was a regular guide; she had been looking forward to returning to Denali with TASP this summer.

In addition to her love of mountains, Kloos was known as a strong horsewoman and lover of animals. “There wasn’t an animal that she couldn’t befriend, I think,” said Irene Kloos. “She just loved animals.”

Kloos’ brother Eddie passed away in a kayaking accident in 1996, and her fiancé, climber Dave Bridges, was killed in an avalanche in Tibet with Alex Lowe in 1999. Kloos’ father, longtime ski patroller at Snowmass Mountain, died in January 2010. Kloos leaves behind her mother, Irene Kloos of Arizona; her brother Andy Kloos and his wife, of Colorado Springs; her niece and nephew, Stephanie and Adam; and a cadre of friends, climbing partners, clients and pets.

A memorial scholarship fund is being established through Mountain Trip for the Telluride Adaptive Sports Program. Donations in memory of Heidi Kloos may be made to TASP (contact Mountain Trip, 866-886-8747 or 970-369-1153), as well as to Ouray Mountain Rescue (970-318-8872).

It was shocking and sad to hear that this seemingly invincible woman was struck down so quickly.

Read the whole article about Heidi here.

On April 26, 2010, László Várkonyi, Konyi for short, was climbing with his partner, Dávid Klein, on the north side of Everest. Their goal was to be the first Hungarians to summit Everest without using o's and this was Konyi's eighth trip to Everest. As they were ascending to the North Col during one of their acclimatization and carry climbs, a massive serac burst from above and tumbled on top of them and other climbers, dragging Konyi into a crevasse where his body was never recovered.

We shared Base Camp and Advanced Base Camp services with Konyi and David on the north side of Everest in 2007. Although Konyi and I spoke different languages, I could tell he had a keen sense of humor and was someone I would like to get to know better, if only we could communicate. When I gestured to him that I wanted to take an up-close photo of his eyes, I briefly looked down at my camera and when I looked back up, in an instant, this is what he looked like:

Once I got over the shock of his Greg Raymer glasses that until that moment he'd kept hidden, I implored Konyi to be serious. Well, then he looked like this:


I read the following in an article in Summit Post about Konyi:

He had climbed many 7000-metre and 8000-metre peaks; a humble man, he would gently reject the word “conquered”. He had visited Everest, the tallest peak on Earth, eight times. Now, following his eighth attempt, he remains there forever.

Konyi was the only Hungarian to have climbed to 8750 metres without using supplementary oxygen. He did not want to use the cylinders because he felt it was contrary to his view of what clean climbing should be.

In many ways Konyi was a lucky man, possessing some very rare genetic abilities: most notably he could survive several days in a row at 8600 metres, the so-called death zone. For instance two years ago, when his climbing partner, Dávid Klein turned back, he stayed alone at 8600 metres for two days, as he was certain he had a chance of summiting. He had exceptionally sensitive intuition when it came to judging changes in the weather, snow conditions, and the terrain, and eventually concluded that a safe return could not be guaranteed if he was to reach the peak.

Konyi is survived by his wife and two children. I encourage you to read this article - it also has some fantastic photos of Konyi.

These people were acquaintances of mine, climbers I'd met for a short period and then hadn't seen since. There's no way I could adequately describe who they really were and the effect they had on those close to them. I could only introduce you to them, encourage you to read more about them, and share with you my brief but memorable encounters with them.

Joe, Heidi and Konyi were extraordinary people who shared a passion for adventure that did not go unnoticed even by those of us who only knew them in passing.

My thoughts are with the families and friends of these climbers. I offer my sincere condolences.

Links:

Joe Bohlig - Oregon Live, TDN
Heidi Kloos - Rock and Ice
László Várkonyi (Konyi) - Summit Post

"The Mountain" by Ryan Delehanty

My nephew, Ryan, created this very cool video using some of my photos and one taken by Hiro Kuraoka, who gave us so many great photos from the Everest 2009 expedition. The voice is Sir Edmund Hillary.

Final Everest Post - Thank You!!

I am recovering from jetlag, weight loss, total exhaustion, a cut on my face thanks to my overzealous dog, and Everest euphoria as I write this.

Although I STILL have to hold the right side of my back when I cough, it's nice not to care anymore!

As promised, I am settling back into normal life, except that I'm eating a little more than usual. This past weekend I forced myself to Juan's Place (Mexican food) in Berkeley and Bouchon in Yountville with friends. It was torture. Next week, it's San Francisco for dinner at Parma. Darn.

This month I'm going to Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, for the Ironman Coeur d'Alene. Not to compete - I don't do that. I'll be there supporting my brother, Dan.

Every morning I wake up thinking, "I cannot believe I stood on the summit of Mount Everest." It is a feeling like I've never had before and I hope it never ends.

This has been a long haul. Thanks to everyone who put up with me these past two years - family, friends, accomplices...

Many thanks to my parents, family and friends everywhere, Jim Love, Sally Meakin, Kelly Bobbitt, all those who sent emails and letters, wrote comments on this BLOG, people I know, some I've never met, friends of friends and family... I cannot express how much your support and encouragement has meant to me.

Thanks also to Russell Brice, his wild bunch of Kiwi guides and brave, hard-working Sherpas, and the FFC (you know who you are)! This was truly a Himalayan Experience.

To my 27 teammates (and Ellen) ... I hope we stay in touch always.

Namaste.

Megan

ps... You can never have too many Everest summit photos!

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.