DISPATCHES

Mazur

We were looking around for another spot and saw a place across the steep bowl face which was protected by a large rock escarpment coming off the summit. It was about a half-hour from us, and we could see there was a flat spot over there under that leaning wall. We thought perhaps we could set up our tents in there.

However, I gazed around at the weather and realized it was clearing, although there were some massive thunderheads gathering (or leaving) over on the eastern horizon. But, directly overhead, there was a big, blue hole showing and an icy blue smoke blowing off the summit. Before we piled into the tent the night of the 15th, I remember looking around at the sky, and the mountain, and thinking that our chances were not bad as long as these clouds did not roll in on us.

And if they did, we were camped on another very steep avalanche slope, and we would probably be wiped from it, like bugs from a windscreen.

The 15th had been an especially difficult day, as we had gotten started late again after thinking we would go at night. We then watched the storm roll over us. We woke up and scrambled up into the middle of the face and found the snow incredibly deep, and basically we got stuck where we were.

I remember feeling a bit nervous about our situation as we cooked dinner and was reminded, once again, that we only had one tank of gas, and that we were really living on the edge here on the East Face of Mustagh Ata. If it snowed, we would either be blown off the face, run out of gas, or both, but we would certainly become a piece of the history of Mustagh Ata.

The next morning, July 16th, I awoke early and immediately knew something was very wrong with me. My tongue felt thick in my mouth and the right side of my body seemed to not be cooperating. I thought I had had a stroke but went back to sleep anyway— stroke, or not, I did need to get my sleep.

By 7am, I was fully awake, and my tent partners were just coming to grips with my new disability. I think the morning's opening sentence was something like: "My... fin-gers...they...aren't...mov-ing...(gulp)...in the right... places..."

Needless to say, when your tent mate greets you with something like: "I...can't...feel...the... right...(ahhhggh)... side...of my...BODY!" at your high camp of 7456 meters, you are not going to feel all that inspired with confidence for the day's climbing.

I was not able to speak, but I was acutely able to observe the incredulous reactions of my climbing partners. Their reactions alternated between jaw-dropping consternation and the urge to get on with the day's routine of having breakfast, filling water bottles, etc.

I was considered to be handicapped, so certain "luxury" items were confiscated from me. Immediately my water bottle and snack food were confiscated and never returned. On the other hand, I was given lots of immediate water to drink, although no breakfast was served to me. To the others' credit, we were under the gun of having only one cylinder of gas left, so there was the constant pressure of not having enough gas, or of running out of gas mid-meal, so I can understand the difficulties we faced. We really had to go over the top of the mountain or face even more hardship. They were obviously worried about me, the weather (it was currently blowing), and the lack of cooking gas.

Finally, things were ready to go, and we packed up the camp and our rucksacks. I still carried the solar panel, but Jon now took the computer and the sat phone. My pack was lighter by eight kilos. We roped together and climbed up to the vertical base of the wall. Walter led to that point then exchanged with Jon. I was coasting in the back, following in their footsteps. It was snowing, but then the sky broke open, and the sun began to shine through the blue.

Jon completed an amazing lead on the 15-meter, final summit wall. The climbing was thin and mixed, with downsloping rock, fairly firm, coated with a bit of verglas and some bulky snow at the top. It was not that solid. He wasn't able to get any protection in until after he crawled out on the summit and put in an ice screw and 50% of a picket.

He lowered down an anchored rope, and Walter followed on his jumar. They were at the top, and I was feeling better, waiting at the bottom of the climb and now able to speak again and able to yell up to them.

They wanted me to climb, but I wanted to stay at the bottom and help haul bags (all the rucksacks were still at the bottom of the wall). I was trying to convince them to pull up all the rope except for the last 20 meters, then I planned to tie off the packs one at a time to that, and they could haul them individually to the top.

I was readying some slings and getting myself and the bags situated. I had untied my own bag and was putting it on. I untied Jon's bag and was preparing to tie it to the rope when the rope started to move up. The bag began to slide down— I grabbed for it and held fast.

It had more momentum than I expected, and it began to pull me down the slope. The next thing I knew I was somersaulting through the air, wearing my own rucksack and hanging on to the back straps of Jon's pack. I was tumbling through the air and the snow. I remember hurtling over ground we had covered earlier, then coming to rest, just as suddenly, in a flat, snowy spot of the face near where we had camped.

Upon landing, I remember actually feeling pretty well. Obviously, a good shake-up had been what I needed. My crampon was caught in my backpack strap, so I took it off. I stood up and looked around and saw some dark items on the snow. By then, Jon had descended to where I was, and I apologized to him for my fall.

I took a quick walk around and picked up his water bottle, Walter's mitten and my cap that had come off. Then the two of us slowly made our way up to the wall again. Upon arrival, I climbed first while Jon stayed at the bottom. I wore my rucksack. The climbing was quite challenging, but I dry-tooled, using my ice axe against the rock, and, surprisingly, it held well.

When I reached the top, Walter greeted me. We shook hands and conversed about my fall. The weather was sunny and very windy, nearly the same as when Thijs and Walter Frehner and I had summitted on June 27th, only today was July 16th. It was quite cold, and Walter and I struggled to raise his rucksack and Jon's pack. Moving this baggage reminded us of how thin the air really was and how heavy the bags were.

Finally, we got everything on top, thanks to Walter's jumar and the one ice screw. The half-pounded-in stake did not really do too much, and in fact, it pulled out right away. Jon eventually reached the top again, sans baggage, tired and triumphant.

All three of us shouldered our packs and wandered the five meters over to the summit for a photo (my batteries finally died, right then, of course, but Jon and Walter were able to get photos). We shook hands and embraced; it was a feeling of elation, and relief, and surprise, and even shock, to be up here, when it seemed the odds had been so stacked against us. I had been working to achieve this goal for five years, since 1995. Now, it was finally achieved, to my disbelief, across so much time and so many challenges.

Then, it was time to head down the mountain. We had no snowshoes. I was tired and seemed to weigh more than the others, so if they sank into their ankles, I went to my knee, and if they went to their knees, I went to my crotch, and so on. Have you ever experienced anything like that?

Well, we walked down for three or four hours and I know it was frustrating for the others because I was slower, with the sinking problem. Eventually, towards dusk, we saw a tiny gray tent on the horizon and walked toward it.

Upon arrival, we shouted, and no one responded, so we went into the tent. It had two mats and a thin sleeping bag inside. We all crawled in there and fired up our last half cylinder of gas in a kind of victory celebration. We had a tiny envelope of potato powder left, and some chicken cubes, and a wee bit of Tang, and we dined on these as if they were the finest awards dinner.

We all felt keenly how close our brush with fate had been, and how lucky we were to be here now, in such relatively good health. We all had a good laugh about my "stroke" just under the summit, and my fall, and I silently wondered if this would be the last of it.

The following day, July 17th, after a surprisingly cramped night in this one-and-a-half person tent, we continued our stumble down. To my consternation, the snow became deeper and softer, and I was plunging in to my knee or crotch at nearly every step now. My climbing partners were also becoming more frustrated with me, as they became ever more eager to reach Base Camp and more excited to be off the mountain, or at least finished with this deep snow section.

Eventually, it became rather difficult for me, as I would plunge to my hips in the snow, then, while trying to extricate myself, the rope tension would increase mightily, until I was pulled forward, perhaps onto my face. If you have ever done roped glacier travel, then you will know the joys of being roped together with climbers of various speeds.

Along the way down the mountain, we passed various tents and camps, and I remember counting at least nine different tents. We shouted as we passed each but never bothered to look inside. This would have taken extra time and kind of violates the mountain climber's caveat of never touching another climber's stuff on the mountain. Obviously, we had violated this when we slept in the tent the night before, but we had been careful to leave everything just as we found it.

But, I do recall that the upper mountain was strangely quiet, like a ghost town, with all of these tents, but no climbers and no tracks, only windblown snow and cold, flapping nylon.

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