crammed into our mess tents, we were no longer obliged to congregate only as the A- and B-TEAMS. Life became more social as we stood around chatting or sat in front of our tents, fiddling with gear.
Richard and Christopher spent a lot of time in the film tent. They were busy setting up the solar panels they had brought to power their computer, satellite phone, and weather station. They also used the tent as storage space. Mike was often with them, both to organize the camera equipment and to film Christopher as he attacked the Sherpas with his inflatable kangaroo and crocodile, or as he adjusted the weather station which he had set up just outside the big dome. I spent time there as well, just chatting or helping with the wording of the Web dispatches, which Richard would then upload to Christopherâs website. We had a very stable satellite phone, not only for uploads but for phone calls as well.
It was great to be able to talk to Barbara, Dylan, and Dorje, but it was also difficult. I wanted to hear how they were and what they were doing. I was happy to hear their voices, whatever they had to say. On the other hand, I knew that success on a big mountain depends on commitment and perseverance, and that there are times of great discomfort, danger, and emotional turmoil. Tough times could lead me to question what I was doing hereâand it was only a small step from there to the desire for warmth and comfort and the need to be safely back at home with the family I loved. It was much harder to talk myself through such times of doubt when my loved ones were only a phone call away.
On my first eight major expeditions, spread across fifteen years, we had sketchy radio communications at best; at worst, we had mail-runnersâor nothing. By 1999 things had changed. In March that year I was a cameraman on the Australian-American expedition to Makalu, where we filmed a documentary about Michael Groom, Australiaâs most accomplished high-altitude mountaineer at the time. After Michael and Dave Bridges had summited and were back at Base Camp, they were able to use the expeditionâs satellite phone to ring home with the news. The arrival of such portable technology had dragged me away from the intense isolation that had once been a major characteristic of expeditions. The new generation of climbers is blind to such complete remoteness, as almost every team now has a satellite phone and, often, a live website.
In October 1999 while I sat at my desk in Blackheath writing a newspaper column, I was stunned to receive an e-mail from a friend at Shishapangma Base Camp explaining that a few hours earlier Alex Lowe and my good friend Dave Bridges from our Makalu climb had disappeared beneath a huge avalanche, and that Conrad Anker, who had been with them, was definitely alive. The next day the deaths of Alex and Dave were confirmed on the American Ski Expedition website. It was bewildering to be sharing from the other side of the world the unfolding of the tragedy at the same time as those who were living it at Base Camp. The hope and horror of the avalanche hit me right there at my desk. This time around, on Everest, the members and organizers of our expedition had five different websites among them. I had been dragged into the seemingly innocent world of mountaineering websites.
WHEN VIEWED FROM the Tibetan Base Camp, the initial section of the climbing route is obscured, with only the upper reaches of the North Ridge visible above the foreground mass of Changtseâs peak. The unmistakable asymmetrical triangle of Mount Everest towers behind, with its West Ridge cutting down to the right at an angle of forty-five degrees. The Northeast Ridge drops to the left at a much gentler angle. Access to this ridge is via the North Ridge, a broad snow spur that rises from the North Col. Climbers reach the crest of the Northeast Ridge at 27,900 feet, with only a little more than a thousand feet of height to gain before they can stand
Richard and Christopher spent a lot of time in the film tent. They were busy setting up the solar panels they had brought to power their computer, satellite phone, and weather station. They also used the tent as storage space. Mike was often with them, both to organize the camera equipment and to film Christopher as he attacked the Sherpas with his inflatable kangaroo and crocodile, or as he adjusted the weather station which he had set up just outside the big dome. I spent time there as well, just chatting or helping with the wording of the Web dispatches, which Richard would then upload to Christopherâs website. We had a very stable satellite phone, not only for uploads but for phone calls as well.
It was great to be able to talk to Barbara, Dylan, and Dorje, but it was also difficult. I wanted to hear how they were and what they were doing. I was happy to hear their voices, whatever they had to say. On the other hand, I knew that success on a big mountain depends on commitment and perseverance, and that there are times of great discomfort, danger, and emotional turmoil. Tough times could lead me to question what I was doing hereâand it was only a small step from there to the desire for warmth and comfort and the need to be safely back at home with the family I loved. It was much harder to talk myself through such times of doubt when my loved ones were only a phone call away.
On my first eight major expeditions, spread across fifteen years, we had sketchy radio communications at best; at worst, we had mail-runnersâor nothing. By 1999 things had changed. In March that year I was a cameraman on the Australian-American expedition to Makalu, where we filmed a documentary about Michael Groom, Australiaâs most accomplished high-altitude mountaineer at the time. After Michael and Dave Bridges had summited and were back at Base Camp, they were able to use the expeditionâs satellite phone to ring home with the news. The arrival of such portable technology had dragged me away from the intense isolation that had once been a major characteristic of expeditions. The new generation of climbers is blind to such complete remoteness, as almost every team now has a satellite phone and, often, a live website.
In October 1999 while I sat at my desk in Blackheath writing a newspaper column, I was stunned to receive an e-mail from a friend at Shishapangma Base Camp explaining that a few hours earlier Alex Lowe and my good friend Dave Bridges from our Makalu climb had disappeared beneath a huge avalanche, and that Conrad Anker, who had been with them, was definitely alive. The next day the deaths of Alex and Dave were confirmed on the American Ski Expedition website. It was bewildering to be sharing from the other side of the world the unfolding of the tragedy at the same time as those who were living it at Base Camp. The hope and horror of the avalanche hit me right there at my desk. This time around, on Everest, the members and organizers of our expedition had five different websites among them. I had been dragged into the seemingly innocent world of mountaineering websites.
WHEN VIEWED FROM the Tibetan Base Camp, the initial section of the climbing route is obscured, with only the upper reaches of the North Ridge visible above the foreground mass of Changtseâs peak. The unmistakable asymmetrical triangle of Mount Everest towers behind, with its West Ridge cutting down to the right at an angle of forty-five degrees. The Northeast Ridge drops to the left at a much gentler angle. Access to this ridge is via the North Ridge, a broad snow spur that rises from the North Col. Climbers reach the crest of the Northeast Ridge at 27,900 feet, with only a little more than a thousand feet of height to gain before they can stand
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