Peak by Roland Smith Page B
Authors: Roland Smith
Tags: Fiction, General, Coming of Age, Bildungsromans, Action & Adventure, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Survival, Survival skills, Young Adult Fiction, Sports & Recreation, Parents, Boys & Men, Miscellaneous, Mountaineering, Survival After Airplane Accidents; Shipwrecks; Etc, Everest; Mount (China and Nepal)
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backpack. I took a deep swig and handed it back, wondering why he had a backpack.
"Are you going up to ABC with us?"
"Yes," he answered. "And I would like to leave before the herders. I don't like stepping in yak dung."
"Me either," I said, although I had never seen yak dung. The porters kept yaks corralled at the far end of camp. I hadn't been over there yet, but you could sure smell the shaggy bovines when the wind blew from that direction.
I wondered why Zopa hadn't mentioned Sun-jo going up to ABC with us the night before, but I was too tired, hungry, and worried about the climb to ask Sun-jo about it right then. "Guess we'd better try to wake up Holly."
"She and Zopa have already left," Sun-jo said.
I looked at my watch in a panic, but it was only nine o'clock. "When did they leave?"
"Two hours ago."
"Why didn't Zopa wake me up?" I asked (although I was glad for the extra sleep).
"Miss Holly is a slow climber. We will overtake them."
I grabbed my gear and checked it one last time, then we went over to the mess tent to get something to eat. The only person inside was the cook. I was disappointed Josh wasn't there to see me off, but considering what he had been through the past few days, I couldn't blame him for sleeping in.
Halfway through my breakfast, JR, Will, and Jack dragged in, blurry-eyed and irritable, but after half an hour of coffee and carbs they began to perk up.
"Let's get this over with," Will said, smearing glacial cream on his face to prevent it from burning.
***
AT FIRST IT APPEARED that Holly was a faster climber than Sun-jo thought, but her speed was explained a few hours later when we finally caught up to her near a stream of glacial meltwater: Zopa had been carrying both his and Holly's heavy backpack as they made their way up the steep glacier.
Even without the backpack she was having a hard time catching her breath. She tried to smile when she saw us but couldn't quite manage it. Zopa looked a little haggard, too, which wasn't too surprising considering he was carrying as much weight as a yak.
Speaking of which, the yak herd had been gaining on us all day long and were now less than a hundred yards behind. Each yak carried over a hundred pounds of supplies and their own fodder—there was nothing else for them to eat this high.
With a grim expression Zopa looked at the long line of animals. I guess he didn't want to trudge through their dung anymore than we did.
"Those cows are going to ruin our shots," JR said.
"They're not cows, they're yaks," I said. "And how are they going to ruin your shots?"
"We're filming you, not a bunch of herders and their yaks."
I thought that at 19,000 feet all my hot buttons were out of reach, but JR had just managed to punch one of them dead center. I hated television documentaries where they filmed the intrepid scientist, climber, or explorer in the middle of some dreadfully hostile environment all alone. Oh yeah? Then who's operating the camera as they battle the elements all alone?
Back at Base Camp I had overheard climbers complaining about the "filthy" porters and herders and their "stinking" yaks. When something was missing from one of the camps, the porters and herders were always the first suspects.
Sure, I didn't want to step in yak dung, but it was pretty humbling to hear those same herders and porters in their cheap boots, ratty clothes, and heavy packs coming up behind us with the strength and breath to whistle, chant, and sing as they hauled our gear up the mountain. None of us were whistling or singing and we were carrying a tenth of what they had on their backs.
"Without those herders, yaks, and porters we wouldn't be here," I said to JR. "Leaving them out of the film is like leaving Everest out of the film. They're more important to a climber getting to the summit than the climber."
I didn't have enough breath for any more, but I think I made my point because Zopa laughed, long and hard (which is hard to do at that altitude). And
"Are you going up to ABC with us?"
"Yes," he answered. "And I would like to leave before the herders. I don't like stepping in yak dung."
"Me either," I said, although I had never seen yak dung. The porters kept yaks corralled at the far end of camp. I hadn't been over there yet, but you could sure smell the shaggy bovines when the wind blew from that direction.
I wondered why Zopa hadn't mentioned Sun-jo going up to ABC with us the night before, but I was too tired, hungry, and worried about the climb to ask Sun-jo about it right then. "Guess we'd better try to wake up Holly."
"She and Zopa have already left," Sun-jo said.
I looked at my watch in a panic, but it was only nine o'clock. "When did they leave?"
"Two hours ago."
"Why didn't Zopa wake me up?" I asked (although I was glad for the extra sleep).
"Miss Holly is a slow climber. We will overtake them."
I grabbed my gear and checked it one last time, then we went over to the mess tent to get something to eat. The only person inside was the cook. I was disappointed Josh wasn't there to see me off, but considering what he had been through the past few days, I couldn't blame him for sleeping in.
Halfway through my breakfast, JR, Will, and Jack dragged in, blurry-eyed and irritable, but after half an hour of coffee and carbs they began to perk up.
"Let's get this over with," Will said, smearing glacial cream on his face to prevent it from burning.
***
AT FIRST IT APPEARED that Holly was a faster climber than Sun-jo thought, but her speed was explained a few hours later when we finally caught up to her near a stream of glacial meltwater: Zopa had been carrying both his and Holly's heavy backpack as they made their way up the steep glacier.
Even without the backpack she was having a hard time catching her breath. She tried to smile when she saw us but couldn't quite manage it. Zopa looked a little haggard, too, which wasn't too surprising considering he was carrying as much weight as a yak.
Speaking of which, the yak herd had been gaining on us all day long and were now less than a hundred yards behind. Each yak carried over a hundred pounds of supplies and their own fodder—there was nothing else for them to eat this high.
With a grim expression Zopa looked at the long line of animals. I guess he didn't want to trudge through their dung anymore than we did.
"Those cows are going to ruin our shots," JR said.
"They're not cows, they're yaks," I said. "And how are they going to ruin your shots?"
"We're filming you, not a bunch of herders and their yaks."
I thought that at 19,000 feet all my hot buttons were out of reach, but JR had just managed to punch one of them dead center. I hated television documentaries where they filmed the intrepid scientist, climber, or explorer in the middle of some dreadfully hostile environment all alone. Oh yeah? Then who's operating the camera as they battle the elements all alone?
Back at Base Camp I had overheard climbers complaining about the "filthy" porters and herders and their "stinking" yaks. When something was missing from one of the camps, the porters and herders were always the first suspects.
Sure, I didn't want to step in yak dung, but it was pretty humbling to hear those same herders and porters in their cheap boots, ratty clothes, and heavy packs coming up behind us with the strength and breath to whistle, chant, and sing as they hauled our gear up the mountain. None of us were whistling or singing and we were carrying a tenth of what they had on their backs.
"Without those herders, yaks, and porters we wouldn't be here," I said to JR. "Leaving them out of the film is like leaving Everest out of the film. They're more important to a climber getting to the summit than the climber."
I didn't have enough breath for any more, but I think I made my point because Zopa laughed, long and hard (which is hard to do at that altitude). And
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