Читать книгу Edge of the Map - Johanna Garton - Страница 15

GERI LESKO HELD THE PHONE to her ear as she listened to Scott ramble. It was a few months after he’d returned from Broad Peak. They’d been talking for over an hour, covering the expedition and how he’d handled the climbing team and their colorful personalities. Geri had come to know Scott as more than a climber. His children occupied much of his time when he was in Seattle. He loved being a father; that role added a layer of tenderness to the exterior everyone else knew. At present, though, his voice gushed with excitement about some recent ice climbing and the upcoming expedition he was leading to Everest.

“The ice climbing in Ouray was awesome, but nothing compared to what Everest will be,” he said. “Geri, you really should think about coming.”

“Maybe next time, Scott. You got me to a big peak in Asia once, but this spring I’ll be hiking in Yosemite.” Since meeting Scott, she’d admired his spirit. The business wisdom he lacked seemed overshadowed by pure passion for the outdoors, which was captivating. In return, Geri had become a trusted adviser. Scott respected her opinion and generally wanted her input on many things, personal and professional.

“Suit yourself,” he said. “I’ll check in with the office, so call them if you want the scoop and I’ll send periodic dispatches through Outside Online.” The media outlet was sending him with a talented writer and climber named Jane Courage. “She’s top notch,” said Scott. “She’ll do great. She’s the right one for the job.”

“Sounds like it,” Geri said. “If I don’t talk to you before you leave, be safe. It’s so thrilling, but be careful up there. What day do you plan to summit?”

Scott was always safe. “We’re aiming for May 10, but you know how these things go with the weather . . . Hey, enjoy Yosemite.”

Geri thanked him and replaced the handset on the receiver, making a mental note of May 10.

TENGBOCHE MONASTERY IS AT 12,687 feet in the Khumbu region of northeastern Nepal and is the largest Tibetan Buddhist monastery in the area. Given its location on the path to Everest Base Camp, the surrounding village caters to mountaineers heading off to achieve their dreams. Beginning in April, when the spring climbing season kicks off, the village hosts tent cities and lures climbers into such delights as buying cake from some of the highest bakeries in the world. The views from the village provide stunning moments of realization about the journey ahead as Everest rests behind several other notable peaks, each one a gut check to climbers hoping to summit. Before heading out along the river valley to Everest Base Camp, climbers and high-altitude team members traditionally stop at the monastery, where many hope for an audience with a Tibetan monk to receive blessings on their expedition.

There exists a natural tension between those wishing to scale mountains in this part of the world and those who believe the peaks are sacred and should remain undisturbed. Whether deference is given to those seeking to protect the mountains is often a very personal decision. Some climbers look for signs or meaning in the words of spiritual leaders, while others remain focused on goals unhindered by such influences. Few laws exist to provide guidance for alpinists or spiritual figures—only the laws of the heart.

Jamling Norgay, the son of Tenzing Norgay, the first Sherpa to scale Everest, with Sir Edmund Hillary, once spoke about this balance:

You know we look at the mountains as sacred, and to this day some of the Himalayas remain off limits to us. They are such holy mountains that to climb them would be wrong. For many of us, especially on Everest, mountain-climbing has become our livelihood. But we go to the mountain with respect. We know that Chomolungma [the Tibetan name for Mount Everest, meaning Goddess Mother of the World] lives there, and so prayer and ceremony must precede any attempt to climb the mountain. We place prayer flags wherever we go. The mother goddess of the world lives on Everest, and our prayers are sent to her by the wind horse. The flags blowing in the wind are the sound of our prayers, our communication with the goddess. In prayer, we learn the respect with which we must approach the mountain. The deities can be defiled by people who abuse the mountain, who pollute it with garbage or try to climb it without showing proper respect. Ignorant people sometimes climb mountains. They climb only as an expression of their ego. It is very important that climbers respect the mountain and the people who live here.

Scott’s 1996 Everest expedition team had made the hike to Tengboche, and they settled in for the night.

“The evening was clear, cold and calm,” Jane Courage recalled. “The peaks were exhilarating. A natural, euphoric high.” She prepared to file a report with Outside Online, one of many that would be sent back to the United States over the following months.

As the team organized their gear and swapped stories, Scott spent time alone with the monks at the monastery. Upon his return to their tents, his usual upbeat mood seemed muted. The monks had warned him about the dangers on the mountain and the unfavorable timing of the ascent. Astrologically, the conditions were not good for climbing Everest, they said. Balancing the spirituality of the mountain and the needs of his clients, Scott pressed forward, listening to snow avalanche down distant slopes.

GERI FOLLOWED THE NEWS OF Scott’s expedition, preferring the personal connection with the Mountain Madness office to the option of navigating the world of online news sites. She called on Friday, May 10, when she was on the way to Yosemite with a climbing partner. Lengthy ring tones gave way to the sounds of laughter. The gas station pay phone in her hand suddenly felt weightless. Celebration in the Mountain Madness office was under way.

“It’s Geri. I’m just calling to see what the news is from Scott? I take it by the sounds I’m hearing that it’s good?”

Juggling a plastic cup full of champagne, the office staff member said, “Yes, Geri! A pile of them made it to the top. We’re still waiting to hear about Scott, but it’s thrilling news so far!”

Geri asked for clarification, straining to understand. “I’m not sure I heard you. Did you say that Scott hadn’t made it yet?”

“As far as we know, but . . . it’s Scott. Call back tomorrow and I’m certain I’ll have more good news for you!” Geri hung up the phone, not quite satisfied.

Back in Seattle, all but a couple of the staff members continued to toast the success of the expedition. The two without champagne glasses were the only climbers in the office. “All I recall,” one of them remembered, “was turning to my colleague and saying, ‘I don’t know why everyone’s celebrating right now. They’re not down yet.’ We just knew it was premature.”

The four-hour drive from San Francisco to Tuolumne Meadows in Yosemite took Geri and her friend through the Sierra National Forest. Hiking the next day in 64-degree weather, she envisioned Scott on top of Everest, his mirrored glasses reflecting neighboring mountains. She knew how he longed for this commercial success to make Mountain Madness more solid financially. Returning to their cabin that evening, Geri reached out and pulled a note off the front door. In scrawled handwriting were instructions for her to call Mountain Madness immediately.

She called to learn that Scott was missing. A freak storm had hit the mountain on the descent, and he was feared trapped in the area of the mountain above 8,000 meters known as the “death zone,” where oxygen in the air decreases, becoming a precarious environment not meant for human survival in long stretches. She made a second call a few hours later. Scott was still missing, now presumed dead.

Disbelief gripped Geri’s heart. She and her friend collected their gear and made the drive back to San Francisco to await confirmation. “I was in shock, unable to believe he was gone,” Geri said. “He was supposed to come back. He always came back.”

MONDAY MORNING, MAY 13, 1996. Geri walked slowly around her kitchen. Sleep had eluded her all night. She tried to ring Mountain Madness, but the phone lines had been constantly busy, the media relentless as outlets across the globe sought details on what happened. None of it mattered. Scott was gone.

She noticed a pile of mail lying neatly stacked on a rectangular table in the front foyer. Her husband had brought it in, though it could have been days ago. Mail seemed bothersome to Geri, but this stack drew her attention. A few letters. Several bills. A magazine. Nothing noteworthy, except what lay on top of the pile. A postcard.

Picking it up, she found herself looking at an image of soft snow covering the tops of a mountain she recognized instantly. Unnaturally blue skies framed the edges of the postcard. At the bottom, just one word: Everest. The metered stamp indicated it had been mailed several weeks earlier, no doubt carried out of base camp and sent from Kathmandu long before the ascent. She’d later learn the postcard had actually been mailed by Jane Courage, who’d said goodbye to Scott and left the mountain before he began his final climb.

Turning it over, she saw Scott’s bold handwriting, filling the postcard with just a handful of words. Reading them, her heart swelled with elation, then took a dive not unlike the plunge of a roller coaster on its last loop.

Geri,

You should have been here. It’s a good one!

—Scott

FAMILY AND FRIENDS OF EIGHT climbers received unimaginable news as a result of the storm on Everest in May of 1996. Four others had died on the mountain that year, making it Everest’s deadliest season to date. Stories from survivors packed the pages of books, most notably Into Thin Air, an account by journalist Jon Krakauer, who had been embedded with the New Zealand expedition that was also on the mountain at the time. His retelling of the disaster became a bestseller. The book resonated within the climbing community, most notably in Seattle, where Mountain Madness lay in turmoil, its leader, for the first time, not coming back.

For those seeking controversy, the disaster on Everest and those that followed on other mountain expeditions provided ample material. Each one laid out a new palette of issues to be debated: decisions made based on inaccurate assumptions; minds clouded by hypoxia at altitudes not meant to sustain human life; weather reports gone bad; egos that transcended judgment. The narratives differed, but the end result was often the same.

Chris and Keith received news of Scott’s death at their home in Atlanta. Preparing for her second ascent on an 8,000-meter peak, Chris paused, and she and Keith made plans to fly to Seattle for Scott’s public memorial. As fresh as her climbing career was, she’d already been exposed to its dangers and had lost several friends to the mountains.

Scott’s friends gathered in Seattle from throughout the region and across the globe. A memorial service had melted into a gathering at a local brewpub. Hours later, Geri and three new acquaintances, including Keith and Chris moved on to Ray’s Boathouse. Also at the table was Henry Todd, a popular Everest outfitter from Scotland. Ray’s hummed with the sound of steady conversation. The restaurant was a fixture in Seattle, with sweeping views of Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains beyond. It was several weeks after the disaster on Everest.

The four chatted about Tibet, where Chris, Keith, and Henry intended to travel in a few months before attempting a summit of Cho Oyu. They teased Geri about taking a pass on another 8,000-meter peak. “It’s the easiest eight-thousand-meter peak of the whole lot,” Henry told her. “You can practically walk up it.”

“God, you sound just like Scott,” Geri said. “I was told I needed to do McKinley before I considered anything at that altitude.” The waitress arrived, momentarily stopping conversation.

“I’ll have an Indian Lady Martini,” said Henry.

“What’s that?” asked Chris. Geri, Henry, and Keith smiled. Decades and hundreds of cocktails ahead of Chris, they’d been around the world and back while Chris, just twenty-nine, was eager to learn.

Back to the issue at hand, Keith pumped Henry for details on Cho Oyu. “So what you’re saying is that Chris and I shouldn’t have an issue with the summit?” His voice pulsing with excitement, Keith used his hands and facial expressions liberally to make points.

“God, no,” said Henry. “I think the two of you could walk it in the dark after hearing what you survived on Broad Peak last year.”

Leaning forward on his elbows, Keith tried to drive the conversation, Geri sensed, but Chris’s interest in the topic of their upcoming climb was equally relentless. Listening to every word, Chris said little, but when she did, her words were thoughtful. As the evening progressed, she peppered Henry with questions about the Tibetan culture, the people, and his attitude toward mountaineering. Geri could tell that at forty-seven, Keith had more climbing experience, but Chris’s youth and physicality were a major asset. What she lacked in years, she made up for with enthusiasm and a hunger to grow.

The conversation continued, drinks were served, and a bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin appeared, complete with a likeness of Queen Victoria on the front. Chris looked at the bottle, beaming as she took a sip of her Pabst Blue Ribbon. Keith smiled faintly but seemed intent on returning the conversation to Tibet. Dinner ended, and as the group moved for the door, Henry announced he was entirely without a place to stay for the night.

“Geri, he can stay with you!” Chris said spontaneously. “You said you’ve got a huge hotel room!” She was full of zest.

Geri was beginning to like Chris more and more, despite the unwanted invitation she’d just offered Henry. “He can stay with me,” she said, “but where’s he gonna sleep?”

“I’ll get my sleeping bag!” Chris said, jumping up to head to the car. “We’re going to do some badass rock tomorrow, but I can get it from you before we leave in the morning.” Shrugging, Keith trailed behind her.

“They seem motivated,” said Geri.

Glancing at Chris and Keith as they left, Henry took a sip of his second martini. He’d seen hundreds of mountaineers rise and fall. “Yeah, they seem to have what it takes, but I bet she’s going to outclimb him soon. And it seems like he might have a problem with that.”

WITH THEIR BROAD PEAK EXPERIENCE still fresh, Chris and Keith were back in Asia in September 1996 for a go at Cho Oyu. Located twenty miles northwest of Mount Everest on the Tibet-Nepal border, Cho Oyu rises 8,201 meters. Its name is typically translated to “Goddess of Turquoise” in Tibetan, as it glows in this color when seen from Tibet in the late-day sun. Alternatively, some have translated Cho Oyu as “Bald God” to mirror a Tibetan legend in which a bald god known as Cho Oyu had his back turned to Chomolungma (Mount Everest) because she refused his marriage proposal.

Considered a relatively simple ascent, Cho Oyu often receives attention as one of the first peaks alpinists attempt over 8,000 meters. With very few technical sections, predictable avalanches, and decent weather much of the time, the mountain sees a fair amount of traffic. Because of its location straddling the Tibet-Nepal border, Cho Oyu Advanced Base Camp has occasionally more drama than the usual bouts of high-altitude mountain sickness. The glacial pass of Nangpa La is just beyond base camp, overlapping part of a trade route between Tibet and Nepal’s Khumbu Valley.