LOBUCHE EAST & IMJA TSE (ISLAND PEAK)
April/May 2005

In a world where the word ‘extreme’ is used to describe, sell & promote just about everything, there are those activities which portray the true essence of the word. Considered to be one of the world’s most dangerous extreme sports, high-altitude mountaineering is one such activity. So, what drives some people to challenge the highest and most formidable mountain range on the planet? That's a question that even the mountaineers themselves often have difficulty answering.

Our team is made up of a group of moderately experienced climbers. Most have done Mera, at least half of us have completed our TMC (technical mountaineering course), one has climbed the infamous Mount Cook, other accomplishments include Aconcagua (highest mountain in the Andes), Mont Blonc, Kilimanjaro and several other mountains around the globe. Our climbing Sherpas are considered to be the best in the business and our team leader has climbed Everest and a multitude of other 6000, 7000 & 8000 metre peaks.

As we descend Cho La Pass the team comes face to face with Lobuche East Peak. A nasty looking mountain that seems to be defiantly challenging us. If this mountain could speak it would no doubt be saying "Bring it on".

One by one the team arrives at Base Camp. Given that this is the height of the climbing season, one could be excused for being a bit puzzled as to why we are the only team here. To us this was no surprise. Lobuche East attracts fewer climbers than many of it's 6000 metre rivals, and for good reason - It is considered by many to be one of the more technically challenging and consequently the more dangerous of Nepal's 'Trekking Peaks'. Unlike Mera Peak, Lobuche East is definitely not suitable for the first-timmer or for those without a genuine passion for mountaineering.

At dinner the moment of truth arrives. Our team leader, Sue Fear is without a doubt one of the toughest people I‘ve met on the mountaineering circuit so far. With a straight talking attitude to match, the verdict is delivered. "In my view, the team as a whole is not ready for this particular mountain. If we climb then we should expect that some of you might die up there. As a team you are out of your league in my opinion." I glance around the mess tent and observe that not a single face has flinched. Like roadside memorials along the Pacific Highway, reminders of Himalayan fatalities have, for all of us, lost their shock value long ago. One thing I like about Sue Fear is that she calls a spade, a spade. She is not a guide who portrays the Himalayas as an adventure wonderland for the sake of the almightly 'tourist dollar'. These mountains have a bad habit of killing people. Sue feels that it's her duty to drive that point home. The next morning four of our twelve member team decide to withdraw from the climb. They had each monitored their own performance to this point and now feel that they are not ready at this stage in the game for Lobuche. They will hold off for the next, less technical mountain that we will attempt in a week of so. Their difficult yet wise decisions are respected by all.

A couple of days later sees the remaining members of the team at High Camp, a rocky, desolate and uninhabitable looking place not far below the snowline. With a 3am start illuminated by nothing more than head torches I begin to experience equipment failure and it quickly begins to look like I will be the fifth member to abort the summit bid. As I fast begin to loose both my patience and my temper the boss calmly reminds me that Lobuche is no place to loose your cool. With the problem solved we head off into the icy darkness.

After a few hours but what seems like an eternity the horizon begins to glow and reveals that we are now well above the height of the clouds. I am pained by the knowledge that I have neither the time nor the specialised equipment to photograph the surreal and dimly lit scene that I am so privileged to be witnessing.

Still below the snowline we encounter a very steep rocky section covered in ice. We are unropped on this section as the fixed ropes are needed for the more dangerous sections ahead. It is impractical to rope an entire mountain. John begins to ascend the steep and icy rock face ahead of me. He begins to slide uncontrollably. As he starts to slide past me I grab his pack and push him into the rock face to stop him from gaining speed. He begins to climb again and the same thing happens. Again I push him into the rock as he slides past. "OK let’s try plan B" thinks John.

Some time has now past and the sun has risen well above the Himalayan giants. It is obvious to the entire team that we have climbed a sizable chunk of this mountain already.

Although we have climbed a fair way up Lobuche it is obvious that some of us are not going to reach the summit ridge. Four of us are fast running out of energy. Statistics show that most high altitude fatalities occur on the descent where climbers have left nothing in reserve to fuel them down the mountain. It is in these situations that most falls happen. Knowing that our decision making skills would at this point be effected by a lack of oxygen to the brain, our esteemed leader proceeds to remind us of the possible outcome of a summit attempt. I have always thought that if I am forced to meet my maker on a mountain that it would probably be on a prestigious 8000 metre peak. I’m buggered if I’m going belly up on a six thousander. The four of us choose to turn around while the others continue on. They reach the ridge but are barred from the actual summit by dangerous sections of unforgiving sheer drops.

Having returned from Lobuche East unscathed confidence is now high for our next challenge, the slightly higher but far less technical Imja Tse. This should be a walk in the park we’re thinking - Yeh, right! Armed with the extra knowledge, confidence and experience that we had gained from the Lobuche challenge there is no doubt in my mind that I am more than capable of reaching the summit of Imja Tse. What I am aware of, but haven’t given a lot of thought to up until now is that this time we are going to challenge the mountain via an Alpine Ascent. An Alpine Ascent is where the team takes on the entire mountain in one hit. In other words we climb from base camp to the summit and back in one day. There are no camps in between. This is the ascent technique of choice in New Zealand’s Southern Alps where altitude is not an issue, but in the Himalayas it’s a whole new ball game. Imja Tse’s base camp is at 5200m. An Alpine Ascent will see us climbing a thousand vertical metres in just a few hours. This type of approach at altitude has the potential to place the human body’s physiology under additional risk of encountering HAPE (High Altitude Pulmonary Edema -This is where the lungs fill up with body fluids and the effected climber literally drowns.), or HACE (High Altitude Cerebral Edema - Where the effected climber’s brain swells inside the scull).

We arrive at Imja Tse base Camp after a 300m ascent from our previous camp. We are there no more than a few hours when the team jointly makes the decision to make a 3am attempt at the summit the next morning, sacrificing critical acclimatisation time. The rushed attempt is deemed necessary as we have been experiencing unusually unpredictable weather for this time of year. We now have a window of clear weather and this may well be the only opportunity that we will get to make a summit bid.

As the team heads out of base camp it is not long before I am feeling the effects of the altitude. No matter how hard I breath I just cant get enough oxygen into my lungs. My pace begins to slow and my confidence begins to dim. At this stage in the climb it looks like I am the only climber having trouble. This is the exact apposite from what I experienced on Mera. It’s several hours before we reach the snowline. There is a final short ridge with sheer drops on either side that needs to be negotiated before the snowline is reached. As I cross it I find that some of the team are already geared up in their climbing clobber and others are well on their way up the glacier. Behind me a sherpa’s two way radio crackles and comes to life. As a Nepalese conversation takes place I patiently await the English translation. "All climbers that turned around are now safely back at Base Camp" was the report. "Back at Base Camp! - Who? - How many?" I don’t know why they turned around but whatever the reason, they were obviously finding the going tougher than I am. This knowledge has given me a sudden shot of confidence. I’m not alone after all.

Once on the glacier the going is slow but fairly easy and certainly not very technical at this point. It gives me a chance to cruise along at my own pace for a short while to try to regain some energy. There are a few small crevasses and the occasional section of blue ice but nothing serious.

The effects of the altitude are getting progressively worse and I’m now feeling quite nauseous. My head is pounding, my strength feels almost non existent and I am having trouble keeping balance. As I near the hundred metre high ice wall I find myself having to stop every few metres to rest on my ice-axe. As I look back I notice that others behind me are doing the same. At least I’m not at the back of the line any more. I look up at the ice wall in front of me and I think to myself, " How the hell am I going to find the strength to climb that". I manage to find the strength by allowing a few of the others to go up first, therefore creating for myself a short but welcome rest. For me climbing the ice wall turns out to be one of the most rewarding moments of the trip. For me it is a special event. In the past I suffered from a paralysing fear of heights that went well beyond what was considered to be normal. If anything is going to bring it back into play, this will. It soon becomes obvious that the old demon is not going to raise it’s ugly head.

I reach the top of the ice wall and proceed to clip into the next fixed rope that leads up along the summit ridge. As a sudden dizzy spell takes hold I lose balance and fall on my side. Altitude sickness or not, instinct kicks in. Without even thinking I slam my ice-axe into the ridge for an immediate self arrest. A roaring bellow comes from the direction of our team leader. "Don’t lose your balance up here for f #cks sake! You won’t get a second chance! "Yeh, no shit" I‘m thinking. "Tell me something I don’t already know".

I begin to make my way along the summit ridge when it finally occurs to me that this altitude sickness of mine has gone far enough. With somewhere between 50-100 metres to go I’ve decided to pull out my camera. I can see some of my team mates summiting ahead of me. Again another dizzy spell comes on and I quickly take the photo. It’s the last frame on the roll. I draw the conclusion that enough is enough. As the camera begins to automatically rewind the film I turn and head down the mountain. I have read about climbers turning around metres from the summit but could never comprehend how you could bring yourself to do it after coming so far. While the distance itself is not far, it would take at least 20 minutes to reach the summit, another 20 minutes or so on the summit, and another 20 minutes to get back to the point where I am now standing. While effected by altitude sickness that’s an hour or so that could be used for getting back down to safety. I am reminded of a comment that was made by Peter Hillary, "The key to staying alive on a mountain is knowing when to turn around". This view is shared by most of the world’s greatest mountaineers. I can only presume that this is one of the reasons why many of them are still around.

For the second time on this expedition I have failed to reach the summit. Life’s hard, so what! You just get back up and give it another go. Of the twelve members of our team that have attempted the climb only three have reached the summit of what should have been a fairly straight forward and attainable peak.

A few days later sees us all at an altitude level where the lungs can breath and the brain is able to think clearly. It’s not long before some of us are thinking about our next hill.

To the high altitude climber there is no greater challenge than taking on an 8000 metre peak and for many it is a life long dream. To go over 8000 metres means going into an altitude range about which books are written and movies are made. It is where mountaineers begin to resemble astronauts in appearance. It is where oxygen is carried in pressurised cylinders and administered through breathing apparatus originally designed for fighter pilots. It is a place where you might want to duck if a passenger jet was to fly over at cruising altitude. It is a world that few people venture into and even fewer return from. It is where the human life span is quite literally measured in hours. It is where timing and judgment are critical and failure is not an option. It is an altitude range referred to within mountaineering circles as ‘The Death Zone’

By the end of our expedition three of us had announced that we are now considering our first 8000 metre peaks. My own peak of choice will be Cho Oyu (8201m) which I plan to attempt in either 2007 or 2008.

By the time my mountaineering days are behind me the sport will probably have absorbed the cash equivalent of your average four bedroom family home, or, put another way for the automotive minded - the build cost of two or three Top 10 Summernats cars. At the end I will have nothing to show for it other than a pile of photographs and the right to brag about having challenged some of the world’s biggest and most dangerous mountains. All of which will mean absolutely nothing to anyone outside of mountaineering apart from a few close friends and family. In fact most rational thinking people would probably ask why would you even bother? To that question I cannot give an answer but for what it’s worth there is an old saying around the mountaineering scene that crops up every now and then. "Some people climb mountains because they’re there and others climb mountains because they’re not all there." Draw your own conclusion.