A dream realised
- Richard Plater
- Oct 30, 2016
- 4 min read
Date: 17th October 2016
So here we were at around 2am on a bitterly cold October morning, up on the glacier, head-torches on, hats, inner-gloves, outer-gloves, down jackets, plastic boots, ice axes, the whole shebang. Whoah!, I thought. This is it. This is proper mountaineering. This is proper altitude. This is going to be a proper test!
I was nervous to say the least. There was a lot riding on the day. A lot of effort had gone into getting this far and success was by no means assured. There were three of us on the starting line, myself, Nige, and Dan. Over the past two and a bit weeks we'd all had good days and bad days. Overall, I think we all felt that our acclimatisation had gone well. The problem was that since then a number of spanners had found their way into the works. Chest infections and runny tummies had taken their toll.
In our eve of battle pow-wow we'd discussed how important it was for us that we should all make the summit. We'd also agreed, however, that if any of us really couldn't continue the others should feel comfortable to continue.
I had mostly escaped any local health problems, but my history of heart issues over the longer term meant a nagging anxiety was hard to escape. In the past two weeks I'd been to a new altitude record for me at least half a dozen times. I'd pushed the boundaries into new and uncharted territories. Was I asking too much to push things one more time? Would I be able to make a sensible decision if things started to go awry?
While in one sense this was new territory, in another it was absolutely familiar ground. That incremental push beyond previous achievements. Take that extra step, stay calm, relax, feel, assess, are we doing alright? If yes, then go again. That mantra had brought me through a long and slow recovery from illness almost 20 years ago, and in past weeks it'd taken me to Kala Patthar and stunning Everest views and over the Amphu Labsta pass. Now, if I had anything to do with it, it was now going to take me to the 6460m central summit of Mera Peak.
We'd decided to make the attempt in one push all the way from base camp at about 5300m. On balance we'd thought that a night of poor sleep at the higher camp was too high a price to pay for the potential benefit of a shorter summit day. It was perhaps a bit of a gamble as we now faced an early and bitterly cold start and well over 1100m of ascent. A solid Scottish Munro, just transposed up by the odd 5000m!
As we began, my immediate concern was to run through a mental audit checking that I'd not left behind any vital bits of kit. It would be a major bummer to be thwarted on those grounds and the early start had meant packing with a somewhat fuzzy head.
The sky was clear and the moon was up, lighting the path ahead. A line of flag sticks indicated the designated route and underfoot conditions were solid on the path. Straying even a few feet away on either side, however, saw you sinking up to the knees. Thankfully, our assistant climbing guide Pasang kept us on track as we snaked our way up the easy angles slopes avoiding a number of large crevasses.
The cold began to seep into my fingers and several times we stopped to try to shake some warmth back into our hands. Progress seemed reasonably comfortable at first and it didn't seem too long before a glimmer of light began to appear in the eastern skies. At last, the promise of some sun and warmth.
As we approached 6000m Dan began to slow. His chest infection had not cleared and I can only imagine the inner battle he'd been fighting to even get this far. It was only on reflection, some time later, that I realised how immersed I'd become in my own personal battle. But so it was, and as a result Dan's declaration that he intended to turn back took me totally by surprise. We questioned Dan as best we could to make sure this was the right decision for him, but he seemed resolved and at peace with his chosen course.
The party spilt. Dan descending with Pasang, while Nige and I turned upwards with our lead climbing guide Ang Phurba Sherpa. Now the glow in the eastern skies began to grow into the nascent light of a new dawn. We turned to face the view to the south where the main Himalayan chain spanned the full sweep of the horizon. Cho Oyu in the west, then the Everest Group, then Makalu, and finally Kangchenjunga far off to the east. Five of the world's six highest summits were within our gaze.
Then the first rays of morning light were streaming across the sky and hitting the distant east facing slopes of Everest. What a moment that was. What a view. What a joy it was to be there to witness it.
With the sun came some welcome warmth and as we turned our attention back to the task in hand it seemed to boost our energies for a while. After a steeper section, where we'd roped up, the gradient had now eased again. But the altitude was beginning to tell, beginning to tug at our lungs, beginning to sap the energy from our legs.
Once again I fell back on my old counting steps routine. Sets of 20, rest, breath. Then it became sets of 18, and later still sets of 15. What we needed now, more than anything else, was a view of the summit. For a while it had been hidden behind a low subsidiary ridge to our right. Just in the nick of time our path began to curve round to the right, out-flanking the subsidiary ridge, and flattening out. There before us, within reach, sat the final squat summit pyramid.
Phurba rigged us up for the final 40m of fixed rope ascent. We had a brief rest while another party that had set off from the high camp descended from the summit. And that was it, a moment I'd been thinking about for almost 2 years had arrived. With one final lung busting effort I stepped onto the summit.
With thanks to fellow climbers Dan and Nige, and our ever patient guides Ang Phurba Sherpa and Pasang.
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