9:29 a.m. on April 1, 2011 (EDT)
denis daly said:
@ Bill S and Ed I would like to know more about Mountaneers final push to summits.Sorry but everything I have read only talks about the oxygen and mental fight one has.I really want to know on the Final summit assault do they eat and what? ...
I think I got carried away here...
The climbs I’ve been on we opted for diets above 17K to consist almost entirely of simple carbohydrates. It is kind of hard to eat higher up, as you lose your appetite for some reason. Higher still, digestion ceases altogether, making eating a dubious proposition IMO. I have climbed to a little over 22K feet, so I cannot relate what those who scale 8K meter peaks experience. While that seems a relative small height gain, those final 4 6 thousand feet are orders of magnitude more difficult.
The mental challenge for me in pushing on at high elevation is similar to attempting to drive after being without sleep for four days. It is a Herculean effort to focus. You get in some pretty weird mindscapes; for example you can be so mentally fatigued you catch yourself lapsing back and forth between reality and a sub reality/almost dream state. You sense danger but are not afraid. For example imagine stepping up a 30° slope of ice with lots of hazard below. You intellectually acknowledge how dangerous this is, especially given your clumsy state, shortness of breath, and general feeling of weakness. But this realization is dulled, and lacks the visceral fear component, because quite frankly you are stupefied from exertion and lack of oxygen. The impression is similar to pinching a numbed limb – you sense it at some level, but there is no pain or inclination to react. When you slip, the event seems to happen in a flash, yet your reaction feels like it takes a lifetime to engage. The first time it happens your attempted recovery almost always fails, because you underestimate how much relative effort you need to put into your self arrest. The subsequent slips have you more aware of summoning the necessary power, but only after a delay, since your mental processes are flowing slow as molasses.
The physical challenges of pushing on at high elevations can be compared to trying to get your car to pass another on the interstate, while towing a large boat over a high mountain pass. You floor it, but your engine is gutless. Your legs feel like you have been dragging your two three year old nieces around all day perched atop your boots, while your arms feel like you have done a thousand push ups. If you have been spending time clawing up ice pitches on the front points of your crampons, your legs can get especially fatigued, and they start convulsing in a motion similar to a sewing machine. This is very dangerous; it can result in breaking free from the ice and falling, but the fear, as mentioned above is an intellectual thought, and lacks the adrenaline rush of strength one could normally expect at lower inclines. At rest you attempt sleep, but your heart and breathing are so rapid they keep you awake. Just as well, if that isn’t disrupting your sleep, the repeated leg and stomach cramps will. A couple of times altitude sickness forced me to descend – not worth pushing against that issue.
In general you are in a malaise, and nothing works well if it works at all. Tangled ropes become frustrating conundrums; you foul the threads of the fuel receptacle of your stove while attempting to attach the fuel tank; you do things robotically, which sometimes leads to serious errors like absentmindedly unclipping from the rope; but most perplexing is your better sense of judgment get left thousands of feet below. You start doing (or at least pondering) short cuts to proper alpine technique: forsaking setting proper belays (too much effort); allowing slack rope between climbers (unfocused); attempting to continue up a dangerous line, when clear minded prudence dictates down climbing to another alternative route (STUPID-LAZY); ignoring your better judgment and sixth sense that a slope “feels” ready to avalanche; cooking in tents; not maintaining hydration; and letting the wind blow away vital equipment are just a few samples of stupid lapses in judgment. This malaise imposes on your physical being too: You catch yourself stepping on the rope (cutting it with your crampons) tripping because you did not pick up you foot, almost falling because you failed to effectively set your tools, and getting knocked over by the wind because you were too slow and uncoordinated.
The final steps to the summit always seems like they are more than you can bear. You step once, take ten breaths, then step again… Even when the slope levels out, it feels like it requires a team of wild horses to drag you the final hundred yards. False summits are especially cruel; I have seen men cry with frustration when they realize their envisioned destination was only a hump hiding still higher ground beyond. When you reach the top most will say they feel little sense of joy, more often they experience only relief there is no more up. I don’t think I suffer this problem as severely as others, I love the top. But then again getting to the top has always been secondary to me, so perhaps I am not as disappointed as others when summiting fails to evoke some great sense of elation and accomplishment.
Perhaps the most poignant experience is not successful attainment of the summit; it is the realization you must turn back, failing to get to the top. This is too much for some people to bear, and no doubt is the underlying cause to many a fatality, as they continue up often knowing they are playing the long odds. For me the climb – being there with the mountain - is the goal, so I am not as smitten by summit fever as other climbers. In fact my record attempting climbs to peaks higher than 18K feet has only a 25% success rate. It never was THAT important to me, but then none of these climbs were new routes or other firsts. I have always considered myself a tourist – one with skills, big lungs, and a lust for adrenaline, but I was never a conqueror, and any competitive inclination was pitted again my own spirit and will.
The cold deserves its own section here. I actually hate feeling cold! If you knew me you’d wonder how I cope with it at all on a climb. The only way I can cope with it is to imagine it is a lusty suitor trying to get in my pants. At some level I like the attention, but know it is up to no good, and fiercely fend off all of its advances. Remove a glove, and a minute later you hand is thoroughly numbed, taking thirty minutes to come back to life. Two minutes in the open, and your skin gets frost nipped, burning when it comes back to life. You cover every exposed surface. Some contemporary climbers wear a full face mask with a snorkel that draws preheated air from their insulating layers. I wear ski goggles with alpaca scarves covering my nose and mouth. Most relieve themselves inside their shelters, but I prefer doing so outside; taking a dump and cleaning up in under thirty seconds is one of my finer alpine skills...
The most frustrating element of extreme climbing is when compassion and civil behavior breaks down. You start off aspiring to build the bonds of brotherhoods that can only be forged in the crucible of privation, but often end up near the end of the trip with an almost homicidal contempt for everyone you are trekking with. Thus while these journeys can create life long bonds they also can destroy friendships. Many write off these social breakdowns to terminal irritation, the result of spending too much time spooning with stinky men while being subjected to their idiosyncratic behaviors in cramped cold quarters, and enduring all manner of prolonged discomfort and stress. I think there is another underlying cause. I think one’s creature-self has a primitive realization that all of this is not good for you, and after days it reaches a breaking point, and like a trapped rat who becomes willing to chew off its limb to save its life, you too crack and your psyche de-evolves to this creature that starts gnawing on everything in sight, perceiving your fellow climbers as part of what traps you on the mountain. For me one of the ultimate challenges of mountaineering is keeping the mountain from coming between me and my companions. Keeping detente up high is akin to attempting to tango with a surly bear on thin ice. You are constantly trying to please your partner, while watching for the slightest gesture telegraphing irritation, meanwhile trying not to let your own opinions and idiosyncrasies become fodder for animosity.
Far and away one of the most sobering experiences one can have is encountering corpses along the route. Sometimes it is too dangerous to attempt recovering climbing casualties, so the deceased is left en situ. Your first encounter with one of these corpses sets your mind racing in a thousand directions, most of which you really don’t care to dwell on. I don’t think I have adjusted to this as well as others; I am always disturbed whenever I pass these poor souls. I would describe more on this topic, except I am becoming physically ill from the recollections, and am sure no one really wants me to continue in this vein anyway. I will only add the strongest lingering feeling is how tragic and wasteful it is to be marooned forever in these forsaken reaches.
The most eerie experience I ever had mountaineering was a time when we were forced on a Peruvian trip to travel in really bad weather. Storms had trapped us in snow caves for ten days at about 16K, exhausting our food. Two of our party of six were beginning to get frost bite on their feet. All were weak and cold, but hydrated. It was retreat or risk freezing. More food was available at a camp 4K lower; we merely had to down climb. That task took twenty hours, partially because of the route conditions, partly because of the wind and cold, but mainly because we were straining at the margins of our physical limits. Each of us lost hope at one time or another. Most of the time someone else would admonish and cajole the lost soul to continue. I remember one of my moments of despair. I felt like it was too difficult to continue, not worth continuing, such was the feeling of suffering at the time. It would not be difficult to just sit there and let life drain away. Definitely a lapse into a dark corner of one’s psyche when your own life seems to lack value sufficient to keep mushing on. The strangest part of this experience was when I realized I was balancing on a spiritual/mental fulcrum, that I held my own life in the balance, and that my decision alone could tip the balance either way. It is a haunting feeling being in that moment. Fortunately I snapped out of it with a shudder; only weeks later did the terror of that moment really sink in, and drove me into a depression that lasted months, so traumatized I was from that experience. We all made it back down; three suffered frost bite injuries, and were subsequently evacuated, while the other three assisted rescue efforts to get other parties off the mountain.
I have shared some of the impression what is like for me to venture high, and test my mettle. Unfortunately I feel I lack the articulation to fully express what it is like, to be up there. Each climb has it own insights, and each climber experiences the journey in their own unique way. Most feel spiritually transformed. Somehow the utter feeling of insignificance I feel on a big brooding mountain makes me feel more connected to this universe, something I definitely need, in order to cope with the tribulations we suffer as creatures cursed with self awareness.
Ed