Blind Descent Page 3
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And then one morning I sat up in bed, my heart pounding. The countdown was over. I would be leaving for Nepal in three days.
Everything had been checked off the to-do list—all except one thing.
I’d finished hiding two months’ worth of gifts, notes, and surprises throughout the house to keep my family’s spirits up and to help them feel connected to me. It was tough trying to find 60 different places to put each thing, so I put together a spreadsheet to track the locations, the gifts, and the clues. I then had my good friend Joe text a clue to JoAnna each day so she and the kids could have a daily scavenger hunt. Two of the gifts were prearranged trips—one to San Diego and one to Las Vegas. Not only would this give them something to take their minds off my absence, but it would also give them a break from the constant spring rain that hits western Washington every year. The kids’ other gifts included things I knew they loved—coloring books, toys, and special notes.
There, I thought, when I’d finished hiding the final gift. That should last them until I come home.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard that haunting question that I usually succeeded in silencing: What if I don’t come home?
I felt confident I’d done everything I could possibly do to prepare. I was in excellent shape, and I’d mapped out everything for the next two months. But I also knew the reality: people do die on Everest. Things could happen that were out of my control—like severe weather, unexpected mountain conditions, or my body’s response to performing at altitude.
I shuddered to think about the events of 1996. I was in the Navy at the time and hadn’t started climbing yet, but the news still rocked me, as it did the entire nation. With 15 total deaths, it was Everest’s deadliest year on record. During a summit attempt on May 10, eight people were caught in a blizzard and perished. While Everest isn’t the most technical mountain to climb, there are many reasons it has earned its reputation for being the most dangerous. First of all, there are the geological hazards. Not long after base camp, you have to climb the Khumbu Icefall—basically a river of ice—multiple times. Along the route, you face the threat of avalanches, massive walls of glacial ice, and huge blocks of ice called seracs, which can be the size of buildings. Seracs are constantly moving, and they may topple with little warning.
Then you have to climb Lhotse Face—no easy task, since it’s a straight-up ice climb for a few miles. Once you’ve made it up Lhotse Face, you enter the death zone (26,000 feet)—the altitude at which your body starts slowly deteriorating. Once you get above the South Col, or high camp, you face a fierce mix of rock, snow, ice, wind, and miles of exposed faces. Between the lack of oxygen and the high altitude, Everest boasts an element of danger that can be found on few other peaks in the world.
Another reason for the increased risk on Everest is that in recent years it has become easier for people who aren’t fully qualified to attempt the climb, putting not only themselves but others at risk as well. As one of the poorest countries in the world, Nepal relies on the money brought into the country from travel and climbing tourism, which constitutes 8 percent of the gross national income. Some suggest that the requirements are too lax, allowing unqualified climbers to attempt major peaks.
But whatever the risk factors—some of which were under my control and others that weren’t—I couldn’t deny that a number of people had died in the very spot where I would be heading.
With that reality in mind, I did the one final thing I needed to do to prepare. I waited for my family to leave the house and then sat down at my desk.
If something went wrong on the mountain and I needed to say some final words to my family, I would have to plan for that possibility too. And since I probably wouldn’t be able to say good-bye from the top of Everest, I’d have to say good-bye with the help of a video.
As soon as I clicked Record, I started bawling my eyes out. I tried to tell JoAnna and Emily and Jordan how much I loved them and my hopes for their future, but I’m pretty sure no coherent words came out the first time.
I tried again, attempting to keep my composure, but something about saying those words out loud and imagining my family hearing them undid me every time.
In the end, I just had to accept the tears.
“I love each of you so much,” I choked out. “I’m so proud of you—all of you. Emily, I’m so sorry I won’t be there to walk you down the aisle at your wedding. Jordan, I know you will grow up to be a good man, and I am proud that you’ll carry on our family name. I think you know this, but I want to say it out loud: JoAnna, Emily, Jordan, you are my world.”
I saved the video file and hid it on JoAnna’s MacBook. Then I sent the hidden location along with an explanation to Joe, who was already handling the scavenger hunt clues.
I prayed that JoAnna would never see it.
CHAPTER 2
THE LONG ROAD TO NEPAL
Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.
PSALM 46:10
SAYING GOOD-BYE to my family when I left for Everest was the hardest thing I’d ever done. I wasn’t going on a day trip or a weeklong expedition this time; I’d be gone for two full months. Not only that, but I was taking a leap of faith that I’d be able to scale the highest peak in the world.
We kept things pretty low key and didn’t have a big celebration before I left. I preferred to fly under the radar since I was pretty much in my own zoned-out world and other people aren’t quite sure how to act in a situation like that. Maybe it’s a little like when a soldier leaves for combat in a risky part of the world. What do you say to someone who may not come back? You can act like everything is normal, but it ends up being awkward no matter how hard you try. I figured it would be better to have a party afterward, celebrating a successful return, rather than having a bunch of hype prior to leaving.
My flight was scheduled for 1 a.m. on March 31. There’s only a small window of time for Everest expeditions to begin since the climbing season only spans from April to early June each year. The summit stands at a 29,035-foot jet stream, which means it creates its own weather patterns. The monsoon season that occurs in late spring ushers in strong winds and a warmer air mass, making that two-and-a-half-month window the only relatively safe, predictable time to climb. And even within that time frame, there are only a couple of days that are suitable for summit attempts.
The day before my flight, JoAnna, Emily, Jordan, and I spent the day together at the Seattle Pacific Science Center, where they had a Star Wars display. The kids enjoyed checking out a replica Death Star and seeing the R2-D2 and Princess Leia characters walking around. Under other circumstances, I would have been pretty excited to see Boba Fett (the bounty hunter with cool weapons), but it was hard for JoAnna and me to take in the experience with the looming reminder of what lay ahead in the next 24 hours.
When we got home, we went through our normal nighttime routine, except that this time I put Emily and Jordan to bed without JoAnna.
After I tucked Emily in, I sat at the edge of her bed. She looked up at me with the shaky smile she gets when she’s sad or upset.
I hugged her tight. “It’s okay to be sad,” I said.
At that, her tears started flowing. I didn’t have any words for her, so I just sat there and held her for about 15 minutes. I tried not to let her see my face, because I had started crying too. And once I started, it was hard to stop. Before long, I was crying so hard I could barely breathe. What am I thinking? I asked myself. In that moment, I was inches away from backing out of the trip, if it would mean easing my little girl’s hurt. But I wanted to be the kind of dad who followed through, the kind of man who did the things he’d prepared to do.
Finally I whispered a prayer for both of us and then said, “I love you so much, honey. Daddy will be home soon.”
I walked out of her room, closed the door, and leaned against the wall. I could hear her crying through the closed door, a
nd that’s when I really lost it. I buried my head in my hands and sobbed.
After a few minutes I gained my composure and went in to say good-bye to Jordan.
I talked through my schedule with him again, reminding him what I’d be doing while I was gone.
“Don’t worry, Jordy,” I told him. “The time will go fast, and when I get home, I want you to tell me all the fun things you did while I was gone.”
Jordan was acting so brave that it broke my heart. I hugged him tight and told him it was okay to cry if he wanted to. In an instant, his tough-guy facade broke. He held on to me, and as he buried his little head into my chest, I could feel the tears soaking through my shirt. When Jordan looked at me, he saw for the first time that Daddy cries too. We prayed together, and then I told him, “I love you more than you’ll ever know. Now be brave—I have to go.” I slowly closed his door.
Then I collapsed on the top of the stairs and silently bawled my eyes out. As difficult as those moments were, though, I was glad to make that emotional connection with my kids rather than having them hold everything in, only for it to come out later in some other form.
I knew it was time to move forward and get on with my expedition. Whatever physical pain lay ahead for me at Everest, I doubted it would hurt as much as this.
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A friend came over to stay at the house with the kids while JoAnna and I drove the 40 minutes to Sea-Tac Airport. We were pretty quiet on the drive. What can you say in a moment like that? We’d been married for 10 years, and JoAnna really is my best friend. We didn’t have to say anything to know what the other person was thinking.
My mind meandered back to the longest time we’d been apart. It was 1997, and we were dating at the time. I was on a six-month Navy deployment in the Western Pacific on the USS Constellation. But this trip was different—this would be my first extended trip as a husband and a father.
JoAnna knew what it was like to face tragedy and to stay strong in the face of loss. Her hero—her dad—was taken from her when she was only 20 years old. She was attending San Diego State University’s psychology undergrad program when her father received a terrifying diagnosis: stage 4 glioblastoma. In nonmedical terms, that translated to a brain tumor. A malignant one. He passed away only a couple of months later.
This devastating loss created in JoAnna a fear of being abandoned or left behind by those she loved. She knew she couldn’t go on living ruled by anxiety, so she set her mind on releasing her fears to God. Through the grief and sadness of this journey, she learned to lean on God in deeper ways than ever before. I knew she’d be strong through our temporary separation, but I still hated to say good-bye.
Thankfully, we lived in an era when technology made it possible to communicate with each other from the other side of the world. When Edmund Hillary summited Everest in 1953, the most he could have hoped for in terms of communicating with people back home was the postal service. But even at that, he probably would have made it home himself before his letter made it from Nepal to New Zealand.
We arrived at the airport early so I could pick up my satellite phone—my means of communication with my family for the next couple of months. There had been an issue with the delivery, so the company had shipped the phone directly to the airport. I arrived at the specified delivery terminal, waiting as airport personnel searched the arrival packages. Almost an hour passed, but there was still no phone. I asked the workers to go back and check in various locations. They came back empty handed.
I looked at my watch. Every detail of my agenda was planned out, and if I missed my flight, everything would be set back. I had no choice—I had to board the plane without a phone. I would try to get a phone in Nepal, but I wasn’t sure how reliable the 3G network would be there. This was the first trip away that I wouldn’t have continual contact with my family, and it was the longest trip of all.
JoAnna parked our SUV curbside at the departure terminal sidewalk. She wrapped me in her arms, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to walk away from her and go through the airport doors.
Finally I said, “I’ve got to go, honey.”
“I know.” She swallowed hard, and I could tell she was trying to be strong for me. “I love you. And Brian? Please be careful.” The tears were streaming down her face by that point.
I gave her one final kiss and tried not to look back, dragging my two 50-pound expedition bags to the EVA Air counter. I glanced out the window and saw that JoAnna was still parked along the curb. Our eyes locked for a moment, and then I saw that the line was moving, so I knelt down to grab my bags and drag them forward. When I looked up again, I saw JoAnna running through the airport toward me. Ignoring all federal aviation rules, I left my luggage unattended and ran toward her, catching her in a dramatic embrace. It was better than a scene from a movie.
“Please hurry back,” JoAnna said.
“I will,” I choked out. “I promise.”
I finally got checked in and made my way through security. At my gate, I met up with my friend Chris, who would be hiking to Everest base camp with me. At six feet tall, Chris is my height but with a larger build. He’s one of the most positive people I know—the kind of guy you can grab coffee with and know for certain you’ll have a good conversation, no matter the topic. I’d met Chris through work, and he’d gotten interested in the trek after hearing about my plan to climb Everest. He also had a personal connection with the trip since he’d lost a relative to AIDS in the 1980s and he knew I was partnering with the AIDS Research Alliance. Chris’s plan was to participate in the two-week base camp trek, where he’d hike from Lukla to base camp, which is a 38-mile trip with more than 10,000 feet of elevation gain. It was nice to have the company as I traveled around the world.
After a quick layover in Taipei, we flew to Bangkok, spent more than an hour in customs, and then met up with Bill, who would be leading Chris and his group to Everest base camp and then climbing Everest independently with me. Bill had years of climbing experience as a guide on smaller peaks. He’d grown up in New York, where he used to climb in the White Mountains, and then the lure of the Cascades brought him to his current home in Washington. He told us that his goal was to climb Everest before he turned 40, which was just around the corner, and that his side goal was to lose some of his potbelly on the climb.
The three of us walked around Bangkok that evening, eating Thai food at a local mall and then hailing a tuk-tuk (an open-air three-wheeled cab) to get some supplies. That evening we went to bed early to combat the jet lag, but by 1 a.m. I was wide awake due to the time difference. Jet lag is a bit like acclimatizing to altitude: you can’t force your body to recover quickly from either.
I used the time while I was awake to write my first blog entry of the trip. Climbing magazine had come up with the idea to follow my climb through occasional posts. I knew it might be hard to give updates depending on how reliable our connections were, but I was excited to have a way to document my journey for family, friends, and fans—a one-stop place for everyone to track my progress.
April 1, 2011
My Everest expedition has begun, and I survived saying good-bye to my family. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but we got through it. Earlier this evening I talked to JoAnna and Jordan on a Skype call from my hotel in Bangkok. It truly makes a difference to have real-time video interaction and be able to see the faces of the people I love.
It’s hard to believe, but I leave for Nepal in a few hours. I’m ready—or at least as ready as I’ll ever be.[4]
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Although I was feeling healthy and mentally prepared for what lay ahead, there’s always room for doubt. When I prepare for a major climb, it feels a little like getting ready for a final exam. You’re confident you know the information, but you never quite feel 100 percent sure when you sit down to take the test.
I’d been training for this climb for years. I knew the route, I had the plan mapped out, and I was in the best shape of my life, yet the question
lurked in my mind: Am I really ready? When you’re up against a feat like climbing the highest peak in the world, I suppose it’s healthy to have a little humility and doubt.
For our final leg of our travels, we took a Thai Airways plane to Kathmandu, Nepal. As we began our descent, I saw the Himalayan range come into view. The moment Everest became visible, everyone got out of their seats to catch a glimpse, and although people were speaking many different languages, the sentiment was the same: awe. It was mind boggling to think we were cruising at the same elevation as the summit, getting an eye-level view of the highest mountain in the world.
It was the first time I’d seen the peak with my own eyes, and the reality of what I was about to do set in. Even from an airplane, the mountain was an intimidating pyramid. It stood calm and unchanging, apparently beckoning anyone who had the courage to attempt to scale it. I was instantly humbled by its magnitude. Will I really be able to stand on top in a month and a half?
The plane circled the hills surrounding Kathmandu, which were dotted with shacks and rice paddy fields. After banking around several times, we landed in the Tribhuvan International Airport and stepped off the airplane into the hot, smoggy air. The interior of the airport looked like a high school gym. Luggage was piled in haphazard stacks, and customs officers were assisting people with no discernible sense of order. Chris, Bill, and I got our passports and visas stamped, and then we went to find our driver, who was scheduled to meet us at the airport. Along the way, we were inundated by locals who were offering their services to drive us or carry our luggage. Finally we met our Nepalese contact, Sagar, and carried our gear to his van.
Sagar drove the small van through Kathmandu, Nepal’s capital city. The houses were stucco shacks stacked practically on top of one another, and the smell of exhaust was overwhelming. The streets and sidewalks were sprawling with stray cattle, chickens, and skeletal dogs. As we drove, I was overcome by the poverty some of the people lived in, with adults and children begging in the street. I couldn’t help but think of my own children. What if they’d been born here, instead of in the security they enjoyed back home?