Читать книгу No Magic Helicopter - Carol PhD Masheter - Страница 6

The idea of climbing Aconcagua intrigued me. At 22,840 feet elevation, it is the highest peak in the Western Hemisphere. It could be a good test to see whether my body could adapt better to high altitude after summiting Cho Oyu. Aconcagua in Argentina was closer and cheaper than trying another big peak in the Himalayas.

Though I summited Aconcagua in January, 2007, my body did not remember attitude. Above 19,000 feet elevation, I had not able been able to sleep or eat better than on Cho Oyu. I was slower than my younger male guides and team members. I was happy about summiting, but with no solutions to my problems with eating, sleeping, and shortness of breath at high altitude, my Everest prospects did not look promising.

A few months after Aconcagua, I learned that Chuck McGibbon, another of the four of us who summited Cho Oyu together, had climbed to the South Summit of Everest. There, Chuck had turned back due to exhaustion. The South Summit is about 300 vertical feet below and about a quarter mile from the actual summit. Turning back “so close” to the summit may puzzle people who have not been there. However, the last stretch, known as the Knife Edge, is a narrow jagged ridge of rock, ice, and snow above 28,500 feet elevation. Drop offs plunge down both sides for thousands of feet. One misstep could have deadly consequences. The Knife Edge includes the famous Hillary Step, considered to be the most difficult part of the climb. When climbers get to the South Summit, they have been climbing for many hours, often in subzero temperatures, eating and drinking little. For a cold exhausted climber standing on the South Summit, the true summit might as well be on the moon.

Chuck was an amazing guy -- a retired calculus professor, Sudoku practitioner, and rock climber. Though he was a couple of years older than me, he was stronger than me on Cho Oyu. If he did not summit Everest, what chance would I have? Yet for some crazy reason, Chuck’s climb to the South Summit made me want to try. I wanted to make it three out of the four of us who summited Cho Oyu together to try Everest. Chuck came so close. Maybe I could learn from his experience.

I hesitated to contact Chuck. I could only imagine how disappointed he must have been to have climbed so high without summiting. However, after a few weeks, I could not resist. He did not answer my email. I was disappointed but not surprised. Then months later I received a reply from him. He had been abroad and had not accessed his usual email account for awhile.

Chuck’s advice was concise. “Don’t skimp on your boots, down clothing, or sleeping bag.” Chuck had trouble keeping warm high on Everest. “Don’t get sick.” Chuck had come down with a nasty GI bug just before his final climb, which weakened him. “Don’t give the guides any reason to turn you back before the summit.” This last suggestion puzzled me. I could not imagine Chuck giving anyone any reason to turn him back, because he had been so strong on Cho Oyu.

I considered Chuck’s advice carefully. If I decided to try Everest, I would make sure I had the best boots, down parka, and down sleeping bag. I could take precautions to lower the risk of getting sick. I interpreted Chuck’s last piece of advice to mean I should get in the best shape of my life.

Climbing Everest is a huge commitment. The time needed to acclimatize and climb the mountain takes about two months. Also, climbers are more likely to reach the summit and return safely, if they have learned the required mountaineering skills and gained high altitude experience, physical fitness, and mental toughness before attempting Everest.

As numerous books and documentaries have made clear, climbing Everest is dangerous. I asked myself again and again, can I accept the risk of permanent injury or even dying on the mountain? Can I face the displeasure of a worried sister and concerned friends? Can I take two months of unpaid leave from work and still keep my job? Can I get strong enough to climb over 2,000 feet higher than the summit of Cho Oyu? If I tried and failed to summit Everest, could I live with that? Did I have the “right stuff?”

I was not sure.

I spent several months reading books and watching documentaries on Everest, trying to assess whether I had what it takes. The Discovery Channel’s “Everest: Beyond the Limit, Season 1” was especially helpful. It highlighted hazards from traffic jams that expose even well-prepared climbers to additional hours of extreme cold and low oxygen, putting them at increased risk for injury or death. It described the difficulties of rescue high on the mountain, especially of climbers who can not move on their own. Capable rescuers are not often available at the right time and the right place above 26,000 feet elevation.

The documentary’s treatment of “summit fever” made an especially strong impression on me. To summit, climbers need a fierce determination to push through fatigue and cold for many hours. However, such determination can drive people to complete exhaustion, and then they collapse and die. I have that kind determination. I have pushed myself through pain and hypothermia to complete other ambitious climbs, marathons, a 76-mile rugged wilderness hike in 26 hours, and a 200-mile bike ride in one day. If I injured myself or died on Everest, I could “live” with that. However, I did not feel right about putting others at unnecessary risk, especially Sherpas.

Climbing Sherpas are rock stars, admired in their own culture as well as ours. They climb above Base Camp, establish higher camps, carry loads of supplies, and accompany client climbers and guides to the summit. Like us, they can become seriously ill from altitude sickness. A disproportionate number of Sherpas have died on Everest. If Sherpas had other career options that paid as well, many would not climb. Some say they climb so their sons do not have to. Some Sherpanis (women Sherpas) do not want to marry climbing Sherpas, because they do not want to become widows.

To lessen the chance that I might put others at risk, I made an appointment for a thorough medical exam. If the exam uncovered something that could “blow up” and become a problem on the mountain, I would not try Everest. During my annual check up, I asked my internist to perform an EKG. Based on some minor abnormalities in my scan, she ordered a stress test. The results confirmed the abnormalities and led to a consultation with a cardiologist. The cardiologist wanted my heart arteries imaged. Yikes! I seemed to have fallen into a black hole of medical referrals! I could hear the dollars evaporating from my bank account like snow sizzling on a hot wood stove. However, I dutifully bicycled seven miles to the hospital one crisp October dawn to have my arteries imaged.

At the hospital two friendly young male technicians started an IV, ran baseline tests, and injected contrast material. They also wanted to inject a medication to slow my heart rate to less than 60 beats per minute for clear images. I was pretty fit, so I suggested the medication might not be necessary. They were willing to try without the medication. Once I was inside the massive imaging machine, their smiling faces came into view around its metal flanks. “Want to know what your heart rate is now?” one asked. “Sure,” I shrugged. “38 beats per minute.” His grin widened. He added, “Your arteries are clear.” I was relieved and a little scared. Now I had no medical reason not to try Everest.

Climbing Everest with a respected mountaineering guide company, like Adventure Consultants, is a huge financial commitment. The most highly regarded companies hire the most experienced guides and Sherpas. They pay thousands of dollars for state-of-the-air weather forecast data for the Himalayas. They supply team members with abundant food, fuel, supplemental oxygen, and other supplies. All these resources do not come cheap. And climbing permits for Everest are expensive. As with Cho Oyu, I wanted to optimize my chances for a safe climb to the summit and a safe return. I wanted to go with the best.

I asked myself, can I afford all this? Some Everest climbers mortgage their houses or take out loans. Others seek sponsors. I did not want to borrow against my home or take out a loan. I was not comfortable seeking sponsors. Who would sponsor me anyway? I was not a world-class mountaineer. I was an unknown amateur, an unimpressive looking gray-haired woman in her sixties. Besides, climbing Everest was my dream, my adventure. I did not feel comfortable asking other people to pay for it.

While I was not rich, I have been employed fulltime most of my adult life and have had a solid middle-class income. I have lived below my means and was debt free. During my 20s and 30s I saved. In my 40s I bought mutual funds to build a financial nest egg. When my aunt and mother died, I invested money they left me. I could sell some of my investments to pay for an Everest climb. Doing so would postpone retirement, but I liked my work and was not ready to retire anyway.

I had to face the fact that I could die during this climb. That was unpleasant and depressing. It would have been easier to just avoid thinking about it. Instead, I faced it head on. I updated my will and created a trust. Then, if the unthinkable happened, my sister would have an easier time with the inheritance process. Paradoxically, facing my own mortality reduced some of my anxiety about it.

Climbing Everest would require 10 weeks. I needed approval for an unpaid leave from my job. I dropped hints during informal gatherings, such as hikes with friends from work on Saturdays. My new boss, Keely Cofrin Allen, and the Executive Director of the Utah Department of Health, David Sundwall, seemed receptive, even enthusiastic. I made a formal request. Permission was granted. I had cleared another hurdle!