Otto

Without a pack it was pretty straightforward dry-tooling on one side and hollow, soft snow on the other. Putting in protection was useless for the rock was seamless and I dropped half our pitons trying. I thought to myself, "Don't fall," and quickly climbed through the short, hard section. This thought was an affirmation, not a hope. Falling was not an option. I pulled onto the sunny, wind-howling summit ridge from the quiet shadows of the East Face. Walter then jugged the rope and joined me to help haul the three bags up.

Our mistake was here. We quickly realized that Dan could not figure out how to tie the bags onto the rope for hauling. I started yelling instructions to Dan, to simply have him ascend the rope first and forget the bags. We could go down and retrieve the bags once Dan was safely with us up top.

Peering down over the edge I saw Dan swing my backpack around. The momentum threw him off balance, backward. For whatever reason, Dan and my backpack were not clipped into the piton, or he had unclipped his protection in anticipation of jumaring the line.

The next split second was like being in a car crash and knowing that your whole life will change forever. Down Dan went, falling headfirst down the almost vertical slope, tumbling and somersaulting, clutching those two packs. My only thought was a screaming, "Stop, stop, stop..."

And then, he stopped. Dan had come to rest at about the same altitude that we started at that morning. I hastily rappelled a full rope length and downclimbed further to Dan. To my amazement he was not hurt, had secured the bags and was wandering around the slope picking up the few items that were wrenched off the bags by the fall. We drank some water, ate a couple of Power Bars, "relaxed" for a few minutes and then headed up again. This time I put Dan in front and followed up at the rear.

Finally, we and our backpacks made it over Otto's Wall. The summit was only a couple minutes' walk away. For the first time during the climb, I felt great fatigue in my legs. Down was where the heart wanted to go. The East Ridge, in my mind, was conquered. We had done it. The true summit, only a couple of meters higher than where we were standing, was a formality. But, in good spirits, we topped out and snapped victory pictures. The digital camera, however, was frozen and out of battery power.

The descent started as a trudge and never let up. Hard crusted snow with a soft underlayer was another of Mustagh Ata's little surprises. The climb was far from over. As we headed away from the summit my only thought was to get as low as possible, for Dan's sake and because we were already behind schedule.

We walked until dusk to a small two-person tent which I thought was at 22,400 feet (6,800 meters), but was actually at around 23,800 feet (7,200 meters). As no one was in this tent and it would have taken a long time to erect our frozen tent, we piled in.

The scene was slightly peculiar — garbage all around the tent, door half open. I had a sense that this tent was half abandoned. I shoveled the wind-drifted snow off the tent's sides and roof. In the tent we sat crammed together and melted snow. We had less than a half canister of gas so were unable to make any of the "real" food we had left which consisted of three meals of noodles. (These usually take 40 minutes to cook).

That night was the coziest I have ever had. Three grown men sleeping in a tent that is normally tight for two. Walter lay on his back in the middle. Dan and I slept on our sides, chests butted up against Walter's shoulders, legs wrapped around his. Walter said he tried to move once in the middle of the night but was so tightly hugged by Dan and I that he just continued to play sardine till the morning. We lay two thin sleeping bags over ourselves.

That night I had chills off and on and hoped for the sun to rise. The only reason none of us got frostbite, I am sure, is that we kept each other warm by being so squished together. Finally, it did get light out and we untwined ourselves. Our remaining fuel was enough to make almost three quarts of water, less than a quart per person. This is not nearly enough liquid at that altitude and we all started the morning thirsty. We finished off our snack food for breakfast -- three candy bars. Today, we had to make it down to Base Camp.

Only one person could put on his boots and gaiters at a time and then had to exit the tent. We left the tent in slightly better condition than how we had found it. We later learned that this tent was in fact abandoned. It belonged to the Slovenian team that was climbing the normal route and had arrived at the normal route Base Camp the same day we left it for the new route.

Two Slovenian climbers spent four days in this tent before finally summiting just days before we came along. One had frozen his leg and was unable to descend. He must have tried anyway but collapsed on the vast slopes of Mustagh Ata's upper mountain, unable to make it to a lower camp, and was covered by blowing snow. We were unaware of any of these events, and only learned of this tragic story in its entirety after arriving in Base Camp. Our success was paralleled by another's misfortune. Such is often the case in mountaineering.

We continued the trudge down Mustagh Ata's long, gentle slope and envied the thought of having skis. Three weeks before we skied down this part of the mountain in 1/10th the time it was taking us to walk down. As we continued, Dan become obviously more and more cognitive and stronger. As we meandered into Camp 1, with its 20-odd tents, my mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Two French climbers were especially friendly and good-hearted and made us several thermoses of tea. Never has a drink been so reviving.

We made Base Camp around dinnertime. As we consumed real food, my body reminded me how clearly lacking of energy it was. Every muscle was fatigued and did not want to move. I had deprived my muscles of sufficient calories for too many days. Also, with the great amount of oxygen at Base Camp and no more physical and mental challenges to surmount, I suddenly became sleepy.

Our support team, consisting of Lakpa, Yang Liqun, and Anne, was waiting for us at Karakuli Lake, 20 kilometers away. We had to make the lake that night, for they were surely worrying and would either leave the next morning, thinking that we would never show, or mount a major rescue operation. After a short dinner, we were on our way.

After hours of more walking with donkeys carrying the gear, then a motorcycle wreck that amazingly left Walter unscathed and finally a quick jeep ride, we arrived at Karakuli Lake at 3:30am the next morning. Our party was waiting for us, prepared to start a search that morning. We made it just in time, only two days late.

Thank you team, we climbed well together, had good synthesis and rhythm. Congratulations Dan! Five years of preparation and anticipation finally accumulated in success. We must find time for a small celebration sometime in the future.

— Jon Otto, MountainZone.com Correspondent

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