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The Everest Decade: 1996
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Ed Viesturs on 1996: Turn Around, Guys!
America's preeminent high-altitude mountaineer dissects the decisions made during 1996—the deadliest season in Everest's history.
Adapted from No Shortcuts to the Top, by Ed Viesturs with David Roberts; to be published in October 2006 by Broadway Books, a division of Random House, Inc.
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THE AFTERMATH: Abandoned and wind-shredded tents litter Camp III. The storm that hit Everest on May 10, 1996, generated estimated wind speeds of 70 miles an hour (113 kilometers an hour) and a -96-degrees Fahrenheit (-71-degrees Celsius) windchill factor on the summit. |
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On May 8, as we roused ourselves at Camp III, it just didn't feel right to me. I discussed it with David and assistant filmmaker Robert Schauer (himself a great climber). All three of us were of the same mind. The conditions were OK, but not great. If we were going not only to make the summit but also to get good footage with an unwieldy IMAX camera, we needed the best possible weather we could get. We'd have only one shot. David and I agreed: We had plenty of gear and food cached back at Camp II. There were still at least two weeks, maybe three, before the monsoon would roll in. We'd be idiots to force it and go now, in unsettled weather. The decision was unanimous. We'd go back down to Camp II and wait there.
So on May 8, instead of pushing up to the South Col, we descended the fixed ropes. Before long we ran into Rob's and Scott's teams heading up. Both trip leaders asked me, "What are you guys doing?" I answered, "Going down. It just doesn't feel right." Of course, their surprised reactions made us start to question ourselves. Were we missing our one good shot for the top? Yet I'd seen summit fever before. If eight climbers head up, they pull ten more with them. The mood is "So-and-so's going today? Well, we should be going too." But on Everest you've got to make your own decisions.
There on the Lhotse Face, as we crossed paths on the fixed ropes, I shook hands with Rob and Scott, gave them each a big hug, and said something like "Have a great trip. Be safe." After hugging me back, Rob said, "I'll see you on the bottom, mate." I answered, "I'll buy you a beer when we both get down."
The next morning, May 10, we knew that Rob's and Scott's teams would have set out from the South Col around midnight to go to the summit. That day dawned perfect, so there was no reason for them not to go. We had a telescope in camp with us to monitor the climbers' progress. Though we weren't in direct radio contact with the teams up high, we could talk to my wife, Paula, who was serving as our Base Camp manager, and get their reports secondhand.
Around 2 p.m. (the standard turnaround time on summit day on Everest)—we could make out climbers scattered along the high ridge through the telescope—they appeared just as little specks of red and yellow, lined up, waiting their turns to climb the Hillary Step. It was alarming how much of the time those specks were standing still, not moving. The traffic jam had indeed started to work its mischief.
A few folks had reached the summit by then, but the vast majority was still heading up. Staring through the telescope, I muttered aloud, as if those anonymous specks could hear me, "Guys, you left at midnight. It's two o'clock! It's going to be three or four before you get to the summit." Then, as I watched the all but immobile procession, my mood darkened. "Dudes, what are you doing? Wake up! Guys, turn around, turn around," I urged.
Then the big storm rolled in. The summit disappeared, the clouds lowered, swallowing up more and more of the upper mountain until finally our visibility was cut off even below the South Col. All the while, things were falling apart up high. Radio batteries started to die. There was little word as to just what was going on. At Camp II we just sat in our tents, waiting and waiting, all of us growing more somber by the minute. It wasn't until 10 p.m. that we got any news. Paula radioed up to us and said, "Only half the people who left the South Col this morning have made it back." We cursed out loud. I tried to imagine the nightmare that must be unfolding up there. It's windy, it's dark, it's freezing cold, and we knew that everybody must be out of bottled oxygen by now.
At Camp II, Rob's team had set up a command station with a radio in a tent. Veikka Gustafsson, the Finnish climber who'd been my partner on Makalu the year before, was camped near us. Now he moved into Rob's tent, to sleep beside his radio. We lay in our own tents, with our little handheld radios on, waiting for further news, but none of us slept a wink that night.
We got up and made coffee around three or four in the morning, still hoping for the best. And then, around 5 a.m., we heard the first transmission from up high. It was from Rob. By now we'd all crowded into the radio tent with Veikka, so we could hear the play-by-play. And what Rob said was both deeply troubling and utterly puzzling. In a tired, weak voice, he said, "I'm all f---ed up. I'm on the South Summit. I sat out all night. Doug is gone. "
Continue Part I: 1996: Turn Around, Guys!: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 Next >>
Part II: 2006: The Mad Season >>
Everest Map: The 2006 Cast of Characters >>
Everest Main Page >>
Photograph by Robert Shauer
More on Ed Viesturs:
Podcast interview with Ed Viesturs: Download it now >>
Best of Adventure 2006: Ed Viesturs was named the magazine's first Adventurer of the Year >>
There+Back: Ed Viesturs became the first American to climb all the world's 8,000-meter (26,248-foot) peaks when he summited Annapurna >>
Q+A: 8,000-Meter Man: Contributing Editor Michael Shnayerson profiles Ed Viesturs >>
Adventure's September 2006 issue features 31 amazing adventure towns; chaos at the top of Mount Everest; an inside look at surfing California's Lost Coast; 11 fall weekend getaways near you; the best high-tech footwear, world class adventure travel; hiking the Alps, and more!
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