Climbing High in the Khumbu -
The Ascent of Island Peak

By Ivan Hughes

High Khumbu and Island Peak (Imja Tse), Dec 2000

The walls of the tent were blasted with yet another deafening gust of wind. Its velocity seemed to be increasing, threatening the integrity of our shelter. It had the sound of a freight train, its power pounding relentlessly, stressing the fabric and twisting the poles. I started at a headlamp we had suspended from the ceiling; my sleeping bag was drawn up tight around my face exposing just enough to permit me to breath in gasps of cold, thin air. It had to be minus 25°C outside, colder with the wind. I needed to sleep; tomorrow we were to try for the summit but for now the mountain was in control. Would she hold open a doorway of opportunity for us? Would the conditions improve by morning? I knew no mountain could ever be completely conquered. However, if we were mentally patient and physically prepared perhaps this giant would allow us to tread upon her majestic tiers and gaze upon her sacred heights. Sometime during the night the mountain fell silent, the wind stopped, and I drifted off to sleep.

We were camped just above 17,000 feet on some flat patches of ground in a gully amongst a sea of loose rocks and boulders. During the night the wind had blown silt through even the tiniest pinhole in the tent walls covering everything in a fine layer of grit. Ang Dami, our sirdar, appeared at the doorway with cups of hot grape-flavoured Tang for me and my tent-mate Ken, an American with a thick Virginian accent. I savoured the warmth it poured into my chilled bones and contemplated the previous day's journey up to our present campsite.

The trek up from the village of Chukhung had been long and arduous yet uneventful. Each member of our team plodded along at his or her own pace deep in concentration about the task at hand. The previous three weeks of climbing minor peaks and crossing high glaciated mountain passes had all been preparation and acclimatization for an assault on Island Peak, an impressive rock and ice peak reaching 20,252 feet into the heavens. The trek in wound over endless moraine ridges, around glacial streams, through bolder gardens and finally up paths of loose rock. The trails continually switched back and forth gaining altitude. I stayed with our porters, tough hard-working Sherpas who were assisting in our load carrying between villages and up the trail. We arrived at our campsite in late afternoon; each of the porters dumped their loads and then produced a litre bottle of Chang, Sherpa beer, and began to drink happily. All except Ang Dami who sat watching them as he offered me some of his lunch, a chapatti and jam sandwich. Ang Dami, as sirdar, was in charge of the porters and he tolerated their occasional indulgences because he knew how hard they had to work. He had worked his way up through the porter ranks since he was a child to the position of influence he now held. "Jamie come!" an alarm of sorts, and the Chang was immediately consumed, disposed of, or hidden in the nearby rocks. Jamie, a New Zealander, was the leader of our group and was paying the porters wages, they were to be paid well for their services on two conditions, no gambling and no Chang.

As I sipped on my hot brew Jamie appeared at the tent door, "Ivan, how's your belaying?" He needed help setting up the fixed ropes over some of the more tricky sections of the climb. These would allow the rest of the climbers to quickly ascend the difficult sections with a greater margin of safety and allow us an easy method of descent should the conditions deteriorate or some of us decide to abandon the climb. I gulped back the last of my Tang and quickly began dressing in layers of clothing; wicking layer, insulating layer and windproof layer, all designed to encase the body in its own warmth. Outside the tent I put on my plastic double boots and filled my backpack with the remainder of my gear; crampons, over-boots, ice axe, snow glasses and a water bottle. I also packed an extra hat and gloves as insurance against an act of stupidity high up that could jeopardize my ascent.

Joel, an Englishman born in America, complained about "bloody cold feet" as he prepared more hot drinks and cereal for the team. Joel was assisting Jamie on the trek in but had no real ambitions to climb high on the mountain. He reminded me often that he was a trekker and not a climber. Climbing, Joel believed, was a form of "Recreational Darwinism" requiring a certain type of specialization. His personal specialization was on solid ground and not on snow and ice.

In addition, assisting Jamie was Yangji, a young Sherpa woman who had recently returned from a mountaineering course in Switzerland. Jamie believed that she would be a capable climber, citing her experience on rock but he also harbored doubts about her experience high up in an alpine environment. This would be only her second time on Island Peak, she had made it as far as the summit ridge previously, but had never stood upon the actual summit.

The final two members rounding out of climbing party were a couple from New Zealand, Frank and Rosie. Frank was a medical doctor and a psychiatrist; Rosie was his wife and assistant. Given his professional training, Frank had taken every possible precaution against high altitude sickness (high altitude cerebral or pulmonary edema). They had prepared back at home by sleeping in a depressurized tent that imitated a hypoxic environment. They actually induced Cheyne-Stokes breathing, a condition where during sleep the respiratory system slows and then stops. The subject then wakes up suddenly breathless, starving for oxygen. This is a situation that commonly occurs to people at high altitude and the hypoxic tent is intended to jump-start the acclimatization process. They had also taken large amounts of Diamox, a drug that temporarily negates the effects of altitude. On top of this, they adhered to a local holistic approach maintaining a diet rich in garlic. Like the rest of us, they drank plenty of water and tried to hike slowly following a methodical rate of ascent. Despite of all this, or perhaps because of it, they both were now battling the effects of altitude sickness. Frank could not move from his tent and Rosie would abandon her attempt after the first 150 feet, rattled by a retching cough.

As the warmth of the sunlight began to drip off the sharp rocky ridges still high above us, Jamie, Joel, Yangji, Ken and I, all bundled up in our cold weather gear and carrying full packs, headed up the loose rock of the gully. We were all silent, engrossed in private thought as we climbed through the boulder fields arcing up and traversing to the right. Slowly, we gained precious altitude which made every loose rock a little more difficult to negotiate and each high step up just that much more tiring. The sun still had not reached us and it was still quite cold, but the air was still and clear, the ever-expanding views increasingly awe-inspiring.

The route steepened to Class 4, exposed moves over non-technical rock, and the edges of my plastic boots easily maintained friction up the thin rock ledges. Eventually we surmounted a gendarme, a rocky outcrop or spur, at the edge of a snowfield that was basking in the morning glow of sunlight. We dumped our packs and marveled at the views of giant Himalayan peaks all aglow with a soft orange hue. A thin mist of dawn fog diffused the light painting each more distant alpine ridge with softer, gentler strokes of colour.

I had to remove my overmitts in order to put on technical gear. I fumbled with rapidly numbing fingers, first pulling insulating over-boots over my plastics and then stepping into my harness before finally tying on the straps of my crampons. The bitter cold was painful; I clapped my hands together and jumped around with some crazy Canadian dance moves to keep warm on the thin rock spur, waiting for the others to get ready and the sun to reach us. Joel continued to lament about "bloody cold sodden feet", but managed a wry smile as he checked on everyone and offered words of encouragement. Jamie explained that in order to save time we would not bother to rope up through the next section of the route up. It was an area of towering seracs and gaping crevasses but the snow was firmly frozen and all the hazards were easy to detect. Careful crampon work would be sufficient to quickly negotiate the area.

With ice axes for security, we made our way out over the glacier winding around the larger crevasses and simply stepping over the others. My crampons bit easily into the frozen surface and I confidently strode around the towers of ice and over the undulating mounds of snow.

The route progressed through varied terrain until it reached the toe of a frozen snowfield, we continued up in single file ever gaining altitude, ever growing steadily more exhausted. The work was strenuous, legs became leaden, breaths shorter, rests longer. I bent over my axe and took breath after breath, willing energy into my body before again plodding on. The way continued up towards a towering headwall of broken snow and ice that never seemed to get any closer.

My thoughts wandered back to other climbs I had been challenged on during this trip to Nepal. Gokyo Ri had been tough, though not technical, just a scramble up a steepening pile of rock. However, the climb had come at the end of a long and rewarding day. Ken and I had gone hiking up the valley crossing the endless moraine scree searching for a glacial lake, which we never found. We did reach an impressive viewpoint, one that offered a unique and extraordinary perspective of Mount Everest. The South Col, the enormous North Ridge, and the frightening Southwest Face were all visible. I could think of nowhere else that such an impressive view of the highest mountain on Earth was visible. After shooting off several photographs, we started back down to the village of Gokyo. We reached the village after 5 hours hiking, had a quick snack and started up Gokyo Ri, a 17,519 foot climb. It proved high enough to test the state of my acclimatization progress. It was very tiring and I barely made it to the summit in time to get a glorious view of Mt Everest in the glow of a sunset. It was well worth the effort and made all the more interesting with a descent by moonlight. 

The following day some of the group climbed up the, 17,782 foot, Cho La Pass that took us out of the Gokyo valley and into the Everest area. It was another good acclimatization climb over a glaciated pass. Ken and I entertained the others with our rock climbing techniques on a crack system we found at around 17,000 feet. We descended into the village of Thangnak and the following day hiked on to Gorak Shep. The afternoon was spent hiking through the endless moraine up the glacier towards the site of Everest base camp. The camp was empty when we arrived, the weather is much too severe high up for attempts on the mountain at this time of year. Nevertheless, remnants of camps from years past are quite evident, stone enclosures that served as kitchen areas and a solid foundation of a group dining area. The day was overcast, the light was gray and chilled. The monstrous Khumbu Icefall stood before us, this section of the mountain that claims more lives than any other. It is a giant maze of teetering seracs and yawning crevasses, continually moving as the glacier advances. The camp had a ghost-like quality to it, particularly since we had hiked past numerous memorials to climbers who had paid the ultimate price for their climbing passion. I had heard tales of rotting piles of garbage all over base camp but, to my surprise, I could see no evidence of this. In fact the area seemed fairly clear of any remnants of a previous campaign on the mountain.

Jamie suggested a detour of sorts from our planned itinerary. Instead of hiking back down the trail through the villages and warm lodges and into the next valley, he offered to take us up the Kongma La, an 18,159-foot pass. Just over the pass we could camp by a glacial lake and then try to scale Pokalde, a 19,009-foot rocky peak that rises to the south.

Ken and I were the only ones to accept, the others were each nursing various ailments brought on by altitude. It was another long slog up to the pass but a magical campsite awaited. Nestled in some rock alongside the lake, we were deeply ensconced within our sleeping bags by 6pm. The temperature had dropped dramatically as the sun quickly disappeared over the ridge. All night long, as the lake froze, the ice made otherworldly sounds that I will never forget. The temperature had dipped so rapidly that great sheets of ice grew upon the lake. They flexed and moaned with sounds that could rival any special effects sound.

The next morning Jamie packed up the campsite and began down the trail to the village of Chukhung, which would serve as our staging area for the upcoming climb on Island Peak. Ken and I hiked around the lake, up the scree, and towards the rocky ridge of Pokalde's East Ridge. Throughout the ascent, we were threatened by loose rock, which was made even more difficult given the altitude. Ultimately we were stopped 20m short of our goal by a menacingly exposed wall. We discussed the exposure, the altitude, and the velocity of the wind and numbing cold. We carried no rope or any other form of protection and therefore came to a mutual agreement to abandon the bid almost within reach of the summit. That evening we were reunited with the rest of the group. They were all huddled around a warm dung stove in a lodge in Chukhung. There, we recalled the details of our adventure ever eager to begin the next, the attempt on Island Peak.

By midday we had negotiated the crevasses and seracs, crossed the snowfield and reached a headwall, which was the key to accessing the summit ridge. A massive bergshrund was the first apparent obstacle, it ran across the base of the wall which fell away above us at about 70 degrees. The wall consisted of brittle ice and insubstantial snow. The top of the wall seemed foreshortened but was still over 200 feet above us contrasting against a steel blue sky above.

The bergshrund was cavernous, flutes of ice obscured parts of her yawning depths, yet the echoes of ice shards discharged by Jamie's ice axe placements betrayed her hidden dangers. Jamie led up the pitch, delicately maneuvering over the hazard and trailing a rope below him. He intended to affix this rope higher up as a safety line for us climbers who were to follow.

I was breathing hard trying to recover from my ordeal of working my way up from the snowfield. Ken too was attempting to restore some strength to his weary limbs and lungs. Yangji and Joel were watching Jamie's ascent of the headwall. Suddenly, Joel shouted to me asking if I knew anything about ropes, something was going wrong and they needed some help. Jamie's rope [200m static rope for fixing] had become hopelessly tangled as he continued to climb higher on the wall. I suggested that Joel try to raise Jamie on the radio while Yangji tried to free up some lengths of rope from the other coiled up end of the rope. I continued to try to untangle the bird's nest so Jamie's progress could continue, at least to an area where he could put in some gear. Over the radio, Joel explained to Jamie that I was going to have to cut the rope, and suggested that he might try to make himself secure. Jamie put in an ice screw and clipped in to it. I cut the rope and then tied it in to the other end. I quickly tied a knot, backed it up and put Jamie on a belay. Soon after, Jamie resumed climbing. I could only imagine Jamie's frustration high above us.

I then sat back down in the snow belaying while closely watching the section of the rope with my knot. I was worried that it might get itself caught in one of the anchors Jamie had placed. It cleared both and he finished the pitch, quickly fixing the rope to another anchor at the top of the route.

Unsure about the integrity of the knot I had tied, I volunteered to be the next up the route. I clipped my ascender, which was tethered to my harness, onto the rope. I picked up my ice axe and slowly began negotiating the awkward first steps over the gaping bergshrund. Perhaps it was the concentration on the mechanics of climbing the headwall, or maybe the exhilaration of just being high up, living out a dream, climbing in the Himalaya, but all fatigue seemed to vanish. I was progressing efficiently, fluidly, making economic and succinct moves up the mixture of snow and ice. I reveled within the exertion, truly enjoying the physical act of climbing. My crampons and axe placements bit well, I felt completely in control and secure. I took measured rests and stole occasional views of the ever-expanding ice covered vista. I marveled at the good fortune and hard work that had brought me to be here to Nepal.

I removed a snow-stake, straightening the fixed line, and moved up to inspect my knot in the rope. It appeared to be more than adequate and I quickly moved past it and continued on to the top of the route where a smiling Jamie awaited. I let out a few "Whoops!" of joy and shook Jamie's hand, congratulating him on his impressive lead climb up the pitch.

Ken came up the rope next, followed by Yangji. Upon reaching the top, Ken collapsed onto the snow thoroughly exhausted. The previous days climbing at high altitude had taken their toll on the tenacious American. Despite a debilitating cough that had robbed him of his voice and hunched him over in spasms of pain, he had been determined to continue, determined to reach the summit of Island Peak. Now, curled up against a snow bank, he could go no further. His heart was willing but his body refused. His eyes betrayed a sorrow he was unwilling to admit. Jamie offered the compromise that most groups climbing the peak considered this spot as the summit. A victory could still be gleamed from his achievement and photos were snapped of Ken atop a nearby high point. He then turned and started back down the headwall. Over the radio, Joel was muttering something about cold, sodden feet so he volunteered to head back to camp with Ken when he finished abseiling back down.

Jamie turned to me and explained that the route further up had changed dramatically since the last time he was up this high. An enormous crevasse barred access to the summit ridge and much of the ice beyond it had melted out making the usual route up impassible. To gain the ridge would require some acrobatic moves over the crevasse, then a short traverse and then an abseil into a very exposed section. A steep section would then lead to the final summit ridge. Jamie smiled again saying it might get a little crazy, he then asked a simple question, "What do you want to do?" "I want to go up," was the only possible reply, and we began sorting the ropes.

The rope payed out slowly through my gloved hands, Yangji made certain that it came out cleanly this time. Jamie set to work climbing over the crevassed portion onto the brittle ice wall and then down onto the face. He disappeared from my view but apparently began to excite onlookers from down below. Joel could see his progress from back at our high camp and began shouting encouraging words that I picked up on my radio. Placing ice screws for protection, Jamie worked his way across the highly exposed face and then up to the ridge proper. When he reached safety, I tied the trailing end of his rope to a snow stake, securing the 100m fixed line. I then tied a short leash onto my harness, attached a locking carabiner, and clipped onto the rope. Yangji did the same, following close behind me. With the security of the rope, I stopped over the crevasse and briefly peered into its icy depths. Having been down inside one 3 years ago on Mt Rainier, my mind conjured up the images of steely blue ice. I could almost feel its damp, frozen walls, I imagined the taste of the bitterly cold, still air. My most vivid memory was that of the silence. The depths of a crevasse are an alien world, one of almost deafening silence, perpetual silence, and the silence of death for no-one lasts long in this inhuman environment. I turned my attention away from the crevasse and to the face that was just beyond.

The face was wonderfully exposed, falling away below my feet for a thousand feet. I kicked my crampons in, working my way across the traverse. Again, I became euphoric, nearly overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the Himalayan mountains surrounding me as I climbed in absolutely perfect weather conditions. I made my way up onto the summit ridge and could see that no obstacles stood between the summit and me. I carefully climbed up along the thin, exposed ridge imagining how much more unnerving it would be if the winds were blowing at anywhere near the velocity of the previous night. The walls of Island Peak fell away on both sides, a slip now could easily be fatal. I carefully placed one step in front of the next, mindful to get a secure grip with the tips of my crampons, slowly moving up the ridge. However, falling was not on my mind, it was set on a small mound only a short distance away. I reached it and Jamie handed me a second ice axe and pointed to the true summit about 100 feet further along. Flutes of ice had melted out of the ridge breaking it up and making the final few steps just a little trickier. I stepped into them, alternating axe and crampon placements, the final challenge only served to heighten my enjoyment and sense of fulfillment experienced as I took the final few steps up and onto the summit. Raising both ice axes into the air, I took a final deep breath and let out a 20,000 foot Himalayan cheer! A dream had been lived out, I now stood atop the iced peak of a true Himalayan wonder. I stood upon her majestic tiers and reveled in being allowed to gaze unto her sacred heights.

I cheered again, this time for the journey that had brought me here, for all the punishment my body had endured, and for all the new friendships I had made along the way. The mountain had been kind, permitting our momentary access and we thanked her for her benevolence by placing Buddhist prayer flags upon her summit.

Jamie, Yangji and I took photos of each other, the summit and the surrounding peaks. We congratulated each other and stood a while longer marveling at the views and then, as the sun began to set, began to descend. We climbed down the ridge, down and across the face, back over the crevasse, and then down the headwall. We moved past the bergshrund, onto the snowfield, it was getting dark by the time we had made it back to the rocks, and by the time we were back at camp we were in complete darkness. I arrived totally exhausted, physically and mentally. Joel met us, emerging from his tent with a brew of hot Tang and a hot dinner waiting. We all crowded into his tent, eating, drinking and telling stories long into the night. Eventually, still fully kitted up, I made my way back to my tent.

That night the wind again began to howl, stressing the walls of the tent, as loud as a freight train. Again, it was impossible to sleep and I lay there staring at the headlamp suspended from the ceiling of the tent. But, now there was a smile etched into my face, a smile of peaceful, whole-hearted satisfaction. A smile of Himalayan proportions. I had climbed higher then I had ever been before, in the most beautiful, enchanting mountain range on Earth. I had become richer from the experience and felt an inner peace at the achievement of climbing Island Peak, a 20,000 foot Himalayan jewel.

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