Hell Is Above Us: The Epic Race to the Top of Fumu, the World's Tallest Mountain by Jonathan Bloom (freenovel24 .TXT) 📕

others would wait for the Sherpa to drop one end of the rope down and then they would tie it to a short rope on the top of the Elevator. The short rope was permanently tied to the Elevator through eyeholes in its top two corners, like a giant carrying handle. Then the porters, cooks, and equipment would be brought up, followed finally by the Americans. This process would be repeated eight times to make it to the top of the pass.

Pasang Dolma and his Sherpa team climbed the ever steepening “Fumuri La” with admirable aplomb. They did not even try to hammer pitons into the amethyst. It would have been pointless and they knew it. They simply roped off in groups of four and climbed. Whatever payment they were receiving from the Sahibs, it was not enough.

The Sherpa reached the top of the first of eight pitches without a casualty. Morrow recalled the wild applause from below as the last Sherpa made it up. It set off an avalanche about one hundred yards to the west of them that came barreling down the mountain, entirely wiping out the Base Camp below. “We could just make out porters racing from the tents and escaping with their lives” Morrow wrote. Surplus tents, food, fuel, and climbing equipment were now buried and would have to be recovered at a later date. Junk held back a howl of anger for fear of setting off another avalanche. He quietly ordered several of the porters who had climbed up with them to climb back down and invite those below to come and join them. Waiting for the camp-less porters to catch up slowed progress dramatically and risked putting them on the last pitch after sunset. Setting up advanced Base Camp on the bottom of the other side would no longer be an option. They would have to set up camp at the top of Qila. Junk made a rule as they waited for the porters to catch up: There would be no more clapping on the journey for any reason.

When the porters had caught up, the long rope was dropped down by the Sherpa and tied to the short rope attached to the top corners of the Elevator. As if the poor man were an experimental rat, one unfortunate porter from Calcutta was told by a lead porter to get on the elevator first. The man reluctantly stood on the small board that acted as a platform and tied himself to the larger board at his back. Several pieces of cooking equipment and containers of pemmican were loaded on as well. Other people then gently brought the larger board to rest against the uneven surface of the pass. This put the passenger at a roughly forty-five degree angle, lying with his back on the board and the board on the mountain. They were ready to go. Junk signaled to the Sherpa above to begin pulling on the rope. The Elevator began to rise in an awkward, wild fashion. It rose up the face but it also jerked violently in every direction. The man on the elevator seemed petrified. Despite his fear, within a minute, he and the equipment were with the Sherpa on the ledge above. The people below refrained from applause, but instead chose to pat one another on the back. This set off another avalanche, this time to the east. Quite redundantly, it too hit the former location of Base Camp. Digging out supplies would now take twice as long. Junk made a new rule. There would be no joy on the journey for any reason.

Moving people and equipment up the pass went much quicker now. Two by two and pitch by pitch, cooks, porters, equipment, and Americans were pulled up. Between each pitch, the Sherpa would climb to the next pitch without any security but each other. The weather grew consistently colder despite the southern exposure. The air also grew a little thinner. Pasang Dolma bravely took the lead each time followed closely by the four high altitude Sherpa, and they in turn were followed by the remaining twenty-five Sherpa.

The only gumming up of the works came from McGee, who was terrified of heights. He asked to be strapped into the elevator facing the board so he would not have to look out on the shrinking Base Camp and expanding vista. Junk would give him a solid pat on the back before each pitch, and then signal the Sherpa to start hauling up the big Boston tough.

When they arrived at the final pitch before the top, the Sherpa were exhausted. They had gotten everyone within close range of the top of the pass well before sunset, but their bodies were paying the price. Many of the Sherpa complained of headaches, muscle spasms, and blurry vision. These were no doubt the effects of altitude sickness. Those symptoms would recede once they climbed down to the valley between Qila and Fumu, but for now it was compromising their ability to get up the last pitch. The slow pace at which they had climbed before now decreased even further to that of a migrating sponge. Movement was almost invisible to the eye of a bystander. The slow pace was now a risk as much as an asset, keeping the Sherpa on the ever-steepening face much longer. Legs began to shake uncontrollably. Grunts of exhaustion were heard. One Sherpa slipped immediately. He fell only about six feet, before his rope team had begun to climb behind him, but it was enough to make everyone gasp, setting off yet another distant avalanche.

This last pitch was nasty. It rose at approximately seventy degrees along a sliver on the far eastern side, while the rest of the surface surpassed ninety degrees and became an overhang. The Sherpa were required to limit their search for handholds to a narrow chute to the right of the overhang. They moved almost undetectably in single file, nearing a safety that seemed worlds away.