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Summits, Friendships and Decisions

You cannot be a good mountaineer, however great your ability, unless you are a cheerful and have the spirit of comradeship. Friends are as important as achievements. —Tenzing

In August 1994 I fell into a glacier crevasse. It was a terrifying experience that taught me a few things; the most obvious thing was of course that you should rope up on a glacier. But then there were two more subtle things; one was not to think that you are an invincible climber just because you have pulled off a few difficult climbs recently. The other thing was how important the friendship you develop with your fellow climber is.

"We were enjoying almost tropical temperatures, something quite unusual at two degrees north of the Arctic Circle..."

Prior to my visit in the bowels of the glacier, I had for almost 20 years had increasingly more challenging experiences in my outdoor pursuits. From mountain and hill walking with a bit of peak-bagging, to moderately difficult mountaineering trips around the world. Rock climbing had been added on as a parallel activity. It was not until I moved to Kenya in 1990 that I started pushing my mountaineering into slightly more demanding trips to Mount Kenya, with routes like Ice Window, South West Ridge of Batian, Diamond Couloir and East Gate of Nelion. I was probably the first Swede to do all these routes and I started feeling as if I was a good all-round climber, mastering both rock and ice and having no problems with long routes at, for European standards, high altitude. I had, in early 1994, even soloed Point John Couloir and the Normal Route of Nelion in one day - linking up an easy ice climb with an easy rock climb with the swiftness solo climbing brings.

Most of these experiences had been achieved with no major incidents and I had been on my own or together with equally strong partners, enjoying both good friendship and many summits in that mountain environment I love so much.

So when I came to Sweden in August 1994, I was equipped with a fairly confident ego and a big portion of belief in my own climbing abilities. On top of that I was going back to my own "home mountains", where I almost 20 years earlier had started my "alpine career". So I felt that nothing could go wrong. My good friend and climbing partner in many adventures, Lars, and I had planned to do a few of the classic routes on and around the highest peak of Sweden.

The weather had been fantastic in the whole of Europe for some time and when we walked in to our base camp, we were enjoying almost tropical temperatures, something quite unusual at two degrees north of the Arctic Circle. After establishing our camp at the foot of Kebnekaise - the highest peak in Sweden (2,117 metres) - we quickly had a look at our first objective, the Silhouette Route on Tolpagorni. It looked nice and dry and, the day after, Lars and I enjoyed 12 pitches of warm and sunny climbing up a beautiful peak. The climbing, which was never harder than Hard Severe, was on rock that was everything from solid to crumbly and loose. Another perfect day in the mountains!

"We realised that the warm weather had had a devastating impact on the snow cover of the glacier and it was melting rapidly and the snow was very wet and mushy..."

The next day we intended to do the Southeast Ridge of Kebnekaise's North Summit; a classic mixed route on a beautiful rock and snow ridge. We set off in our usual lung and heart breaking pace and passed hordes of tourists being guided up the highest summit. Up on the glacier leading up to our climb, we realised that the warm weather had had a devastating impact on the snow cover of the glacier and it was melting rapidly and the snow was very wet and mushy. We walked unroped on the edge of the glacier, close to the moraine, as you usually do on Swedish glaciers.

About 10 minutes before reaching the start of the climb, the lights went out. I did not know what was happening until I realised I was lying at the bottom of a 8-metre deep crevasse. I had been properly bruised in the fall and I was happy that I had not broken anything. I quickly checked out my surroundings and the possibilities of getting out. It looked positive and Lars was already getting a rope ready to assist me. In the meantime I put on my crampons and harness. I managed to climb out myself, with the rope just as security, and it was a wonderful feeling to pop my head through the little hole I had made when I had fallen in. I crawled out and staggered up to Lars and got the warmest and longest hug I have ever had with another man. Lars led me to some nearby rocks and he took care of me with dry clothes and some things to eat and drink. By now the shock had caught up with me and I was shaking from cold and "what ifs". I had some bad bruises in my face and my right arm hurt. It was however not so bad that we could not do the climb the day after. It turned out to be a beautiful and easy climb, with a fantastic finish along the knife edge snow ridge between the North and Main Summits.

Another almost perfect trip to the mountains, but with many question marks and thoughts mixed with the good memories. This trip showed how quickly a perfect day can turn into a disaster if you do not follow all the rules of the game. Even if you do, you can still be hit by serious incidents. We all have the dangers of mountaineering in our minds, but how seriously do we actually take them? And how well prepared are we for accidents and serious weather situations? Finally, this trip showed me how important good and stable climbing partners are, who, when a situation turns serious, remain calm.

Mount Kenya, September 1995
In September 1995, Jess and I went up on Mount Kenya with the grand plan to do the Grand Traverse of Batian and Nelion, starting with Point Pigott. We set off in the early morning from Teleki Valley Rescue Hut and before 9 a.m. we had started climbing the North-West Face of Point Pigott. The climbing was not great and the whole mountain had a slight snow cover, which made the whole thing a bit wet and slippery. On top of that, the clouds started moving in around 11 a.m. We reached the summit ridge just after mid-day and expected to reach the summit shortly after. The climbing along the ridge turned out to be quite serious, traversing the knife edge rock ridge, which was quite loose in places. We could only get glimpses of the summits through the clouds and the climbing started getting on my nerves. Jess also expressed his doubts over this kind of climbing.

"A pitch later we managed to look down into Shipton's Notch, the steep col between Point Pigott and Batian, and then our frayed nerves said no..."

When we finally reached the summit it was already late afternoon. A pitch later we managed to look down into Shipton's Notch, the steep col between Point Pigott and Batian, and then our frayed nerves said no. We were already tired and seeing Shipton's Notch our spirits sank very low; a long abseil onto another knife edge, some more climbing into the Notch and then the West Ridge of Batian on the other side was quite snow covered. We looked at each other and agreed that we should give up this project.

Unfortunately the only way down was to go back the way we had come. Since we were standing on a good ledge, we decided that it should become our bivvy. We spent the night there and had a good night's sleep and the day after we climbed down the same way, despite our dislike of the route, but considering our situation it was the safest way down.

I was a bit disappointed afterwards, but on the other hand it felt good to have made the important decision of turning back. If you do not feel confident on a route you are climbing, you should not feel bad about turning back. But it takes time and courage to realise that. Maybe the questions I had put to myself after last year's trip to Sweden had had some impact on my thinking in the mountains. And furthermore, Jess and I shared the whole experience in total understanding of each other. It can be a good and educative experience to fail on a climb!

Aconcagua, December 1995
In December 1995 Nicolas and I set out to climb the highest mountain in South America by the Polish Glacier, a moderate ice climb on its East Face. The three day walk-in was pure pleasure and to spend a few days in base camp was a very nice experience and we made many new acquaintances.

After a few resting days we moved up to Camp 1 at almost 5,000 metres. We climbed a fantastic ice fall across the valley on our first day there. Even though we had only intended it to be a warm up, it turned out to be a bit of an epic. We spent 12 hours climbing and did not return to our tent until after dark. Nicolas had already before this climb started developing a cough and after this adventure it certainly did not get better. The day after, which was our resting day, he had a serious cough with blood in the sputum and this could indicate high altitude related complications. After some difficult decision making, he decided to go down. Since there was an easier alternative to gain access to the Normal Route, we decided that I should continue.

"When I shouted to them, I could see a surprised face popping out of the tent, wondering who was out in such weather..."

The day after we said good luck to each other and I started the fairly boring walk uphill. I was walking together with an Irish climber and we were making good progress. After some time it started snowing and soon the ground was white and it started snowing even more, accompanied by strong winds. After 3-4 hours we reached the next camp at 6,000 metres. The Americans, who had offered me a space in their tent, were nowhere to be seen, but I was told by some other climbers that they had moved on to the next camp, about an hour away. The Irish guy dumped his pack and hurried down and I was suddenly alone. I continued on my own and the weather had by now turned quite nasty and visibility was sometimes down to a few metres. I trusted my ability to find my way and every time the clouds parted I took a new bearing. Finally, I got over to the area where they were supposed to be and it was not easy to spot the lightly coloured tent in the snow storm. I found it in the end and when I shouted to them, I could see a surprised face popping out of the tent, wondering who was out in such weather. After a second of doubt I was let into the warmth of the tent and immediately handed a cup of tea. Talk about hospitality. We all squeezed in and had a good evening. It was Christmas Eve and I had some extra goodies to share with my hosts. Outside the wind howled and it continued snowing. My first white Christmas in many years.

The next day the alarm went off early and after breakfast we stumbled out in the cold darkness; it was 5 a.m. and minus 15 degrees centigrade. We started walking, looking for the trail of the normal route and we found it quickly. When the horizon started to lighten up the views were stunning. Scott (the guide) had to take care of his client Kayal, so I started walking on my own again. The altitude really started affecting me and my pace was slowing down to a snail's pace. The last two hours were very strenuous and the terrain was fairly steep and covered with a new layer of snow. Six hours after leaving the tent I was on the summit of the highest peak in South America. It was a fantastic feeling and I enjoyed the fairly warm weather and the views for over an hour.

Finally, I pulled myself away from the summit and the views and started on the descent. I met Scott and Kayal just below the summit, but I continued down to the tent on my own. When I reached the tent I was totally wasted and decided to stay there another night.

The day after, I rejoined Nicolas, who was now better and five days later we were celebrating New Year's Eve in Valparaiso on the Chilean Pacific coast. It had been a fantastic trip, where reaching the summit of a high mountain had been good, but even better were all the people we met. Altogether a great experience!

Ama Dablam, April and May 1996
To go to the Himalaya is of course every climber's dream and it was with great excitement that I landed in Kathmandu. It was actually my first trip to the Indian subcontinent. I was to meet some Swedish friends there and our aim was the beautiful peak of Ama Dablam, in the Khumbu region, close to Everest. We had been thinking about this trip for a few years and finally it was to start.

After a few days of sight-seeing, organising and bureaucracy in Kathmandu, we flew to Lukla, an airstrip on the trail to Everest. Two days of easy walking took us to Namche Bazaar, the capital of the Sherpa people. Just a 20 minute walk away from Namche we got our first glimpses of Everest and Ama Dablam. For me this was a fantastic experience - to see Namche, Everest and all the other peaks, after having read about them for over 20 years. After two days of walking and a few resting days, we moved into base-camp at the foot of Ama Dablam. As we did not have too much time for the climb, we immediately started carrying loads up to our first camp. Since it is a popular mountain, we hoped that our route, the South Ridge, would be equipped with fixed ropes. So we mainly needed to bring food and climbing equipment with us.

"Our tent had been ripped open by choughs, very clever mountain birds..."

After five days we had acclimatised properly and placed food up to 6,000 metres. We were ready to go! Jonas, one of the three climbers, decided to stay behind since he had developed sinusitis and he could not cope with the altitude. This left only Sten and myself to go on. After a few hours we came to our first camp, where we had stayed earlier. Our tent had been ripped open by choughs, very clever mountain birds. They had also eaten some of our food. Cursing them, we packed our things and moved 300 metres higher to another camp, where we had fantastic views in the evening. We were totally surrounded by sharp and snowy peaks and we silently took in all the beauty. The day after, the real climbing started along a kilometre-long knife edge rock ridge. The climbing was exciting and sometimes quite exposed. The hardest pitch was 30 metres of HVS up to the Red Tower, our next camp at almost 6,000 metres. Even here the choughs had eaten some of our food, luckily we had enough. We came to the camp fairly early and we spent the afternoon taking in the amazing views, which, among many peaks, included Cho Oyo, the world's sixth highest mountain. Everest was hidden from our view by Ama Dablam itself.

The day after, we started climbing on what was supposed to be the hardest climbing of the whole route and it quickly turned out to be true. We worked well together and climbed mainly along old fixed ropes. It was however still up to grade HS on sometimes dubious rock, in plastic boots and with fairly large packs on our backs. We both complained to each other about the seriousness of the climbing, but we both continued. After some time we had to put on our crampons and climb steep snow and ice, finally to reach the (in-)famous Mushroom Ridge by midday. I felt great and I continued with no problems up the intricate ice and rock of the ridge. Sten had climbed strongly in the morning, but suddenly he was slowing down and I waited for him. After quite some time, he came up to me and he looked pale and tired. He told me that he did not want to continue, since he was totally wasted. I got extremely disappointed and told him that the next camp was only 30 minutes away (in my speed). But he said he could not even go on for such a short distance. When we looked around, we realised that the weather had changed and big dark clouds were building up over the valley. This made us decide to turn back, despite only being 600 metres below the summit. With a heavy heart did I accept the facts and we started climbing down. We got back to the Red Tower just as light was failing, both of us totally exhausted. The next day, the weather was perfect and I was totally depressed; I could have been on the summit now!! But I had to bring back yesterday's situation and feel what I had felt then. Then I realised that we had decided to go down and that was the decision we had made at that moment. Now we packed our things and started climbing down the ridge. Our packs were now quite heavy and they became heavier as we picked up things along the way at our different camps (except what the choughs had eaten). When we started on our last two-hour stretch down to base camp, we were carrying around 40 kgs each.

The weather showed the same pattern as yesterday and after a fantastic morning, heavy clouds started building up. At 5 p.m., as we reached base camp, the weather broke with thunder and snow. Everybody was waiting for us and they greeted us back with food and drinks. Suddenly the summit was not so important any longer. Instead we enjoyed being together with our friends and we listened to the storm outside. I was happy I was not on the Red Tower at that moment.

We later learned that 10 people had been killed on Everest on that evening, since they had not turned around early enough. The summit had attracted them too much and they had died in the same storm on the way down.

Again it taught me that the summit is secondary to anything while in the mountains. The first thing you have to look at is your partner, yourself and the conditions. On Ama Dablam, Sten's fatigue and changing weather pattern gave us the answer.

I hope I can carry these and other experiences with me on future trips to the mountains. As the British climber Roger Baxter-Jones put it so simply: 1) come back alive; 2) come back as friends; 3) get to the top - in that order.

-- By Ulf Carlsson, Mountain Zone Pubster

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