Four Down, Three to Go!

November 10, 2007 by Lei.

Friday morning, we moved from Zebra Wall (3600m) to base camp (4000m), an easy two hour hike. To my surprise, 4000m here doesn’t feel bad at all, though by any standard, gaining 4000m elevation within a day is a very rapid ascent. So today, we skipped acclimatization, and headed for the summit at 4:30am.

Climbing

Carstensz is a big rocky mountain for which the summit can only be gained by “climbing” instead of “hiking” like many other big mountains. The climb is a mix of rock scrambling, and in some sections, up to 5.8 climbing. Since most vertical sections of the 800m climb already had fixed lines left by previous teams, we all moved un-roped, which made it very acrophobia-unfriendly when we moved along the sharp edge on the summit ridge.

Summit Ridge

Though 5.5-5.6 climb sounded trivial, it is quite strenuous when you have to climb 800m of that at 4800m elevation without much rest (there’s no belay break because of the fixed lines). So we used ascenders to aid through many sections to save strength. There were a few big gaps that I couldn’t jump over with my short legs, so I had to really make a 5.7 or 5.8 move to climb up, and those few moves would cost me 20 seconds of puff, puffing catching my breath.

Tyrolean Traverse on Summit Ridge

The most interesting and strenuous part of the climb is Tyrolean Traverse. Before this trip, I didn’t even know this word not to say the skill. Basically, in order to cross the largest gap on summit ridge, you have to climb a horizontal line of about 20m by hanging under the rope and pull yourself through. Hanging yourself in the air at 4800m itself is scary enough, not to say the upside-down positioning make it hard to breath at an already hard-to-breath altitude.

Lei on Summit

We summited about 10am, a pretty good speed. Then it started snowing and raining when we started descending. 800m drop requires endless rappel. The rain, the long stretch, the sharp rock, the complex route structure, the varying direction, all make repel in this situation a very, very, serious business. A split seconds relaxation could result in an accident. This is the first time I fully appreciated every little tip I gathered while I was learning the business – the comfort of harness, the helmet, the prussic, the extension of repel setup, and of course, keep yourself disciplined when you repeat the process so many times at a time that you are already tired and you are eager to escape to the safe ground.

Rappel

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Smuggling through the mine

November 8, 2007 by Lei.

We flew into Timika yesterday afternoon, and the town looked pretty calm, no trace of the riots. Upon arrival, we got the confirmation that we were going to cross the mine in the evening. However, it became a “no go” after four hours of waiting. The explanation was “the car broke down”. But I suspect the real reason was to wait for another team (Alpine Ascents) to combine two trips in one to further increase the profit margin for the local cartel operator.

Again, the plan is to go in the evening. Why evening and waste a whole day in town? I began to suspect that the rumored story I read before would happen on this trip. Steven, the local guide, simply advised “stay away from the window”. I later confirmed that our approach is only “semi legal”.

Originally, after paying a hefty fee to gain permits from the Indonesia Tourist Office, the Indonesia Army, and the Indonesia Papua Police, we were assured a “fully legal” approach to cross the mine. Due to the recent riot in Timika, Freeport Mine revoked their consent for fear of being held responsible if the climbers got into trouble with aboriginals in the area. After negotiation, Papua police promised to take responsibility in escorting us while crossing the mine. Why would they want to take such a responsibility? Actually the hefty fee for “permits” is largely a cash transaction, so the real big money is only to be earned if we can cross. Based on the stories I read before, I wonedered if there were ever a “fully legal” approach to cross the mine.

View of Freeport Mine from top of Carstensz

Around 7pm, when it’s already completely dark, cars taking two teams of climbers including us arrived at the police station. We were immediately boarded on to an old bus that obviously was used to transfer mine workers. Then some armed police or army people joined us, and ordered each of us to sit at a certain position, basically, one person in each row of seats. Later I understood that it was to make it convenient for us to duck down. We were also ordered to put on a baseball cap and a jacket despite 90F hot and humid temperature, because that’s how the mine workers would dress to go to work. They also pulled several long metal boards to block the lower half of the side window.

For two hours, the bus roared through rain and dark country roads that climbed up towards the center of Freeport Mine. Every once in a while, maybe six or seven times, whenever we passed a check point, one police would yell at us to duck down. I wished I could sneak a few pictures, but seeing how freaked out some team members were, I didn’t want them to think I was trying to murder the team.

Two hours later, we changed into two vans that seemed to belong to the security office of Freeport Mine, and everyone put on a worker’s vest and helmet. For the next hour, we crossed the heart of Freeport Mine, passing by many giant trucks, whose tires were taller than our van; crossing through lands full of modern industrial frameworks and pipelines. I’m actually very impressed with how modern and how orderly the mine field was. Though we saw very few people moving around, all the working equipment looked well maintained, and all kinds of trucks moved around diligently with a seemly clear purpose. Near the top of the mine, there’s also a large residence area that looked like a fair sized modern town. Its modernly structured apartment buildings were a sharp contrast to the simple or shabby local residence I saw in Timika or Jakarta.

During a big portion of this last hour, we were driving with a dim head light in an endless narrow tunnel. The tunnel construction was quite rough that I couldn’t stop imagining what would happen if the tunnel collapsed. When we were at the exit of the tunnel or certain turning points, the driver would turn off the headlights, and drove to a hidden corner or spot, then came out again with headlights on to disguise the actual direction we came from.

It was already 10ish when we were dropped off at Zebra Wall, the end of the smuggling journey. However, the car behind us was no where to be seen. Were they caught? Were they lost? It turned out that their car broke down at a traffic light and had to wait for our car’s return to “rescue” them. A traffic light was a funny spot to have a “semi legal” car break down. They have to keep ducked down for a long time until no cars/people around, and then ran to hide behind a wall!

From Zebra Wall towards the Mine

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Sh*t Magnet

November 6, 2007 by Lei.

Yesterday afternoon, after sitting in traffic breathing the suffocating air for hours, I confidently stood in front of the reception desk at the airport transit hotel again. It’s a different receptionist this time, he looked up and down the reservation table, and shook his head, “No, I can’t find your reservation.” “That’s not possible. I was here yesterday, and you told me that I have a reservation for tonight”. He searched more carefully again, “Ah, found it. It’s canceled!” But this time, he was able to reach my local agent on phone.

The agent thought I was to arrive on Monday, so canceled my reservation after he couldn’t find me at the airport in the afternoon. Then he said, “Anyway, there’s some changes. We are not flying tomorrow, thus we will stay in downtown tonight. Dave (the guide) will explain everything when he arrives tonight”. That doesn’t sound good.

It’s almost 11pm when the guide Dave and two other climbers from the UK arrived at the hotel. While I was on my flight to Indonesia, a riot erupted in Timika of Indonesia Papua due to conflicts between local tribes and the police. Quoting from one news report, “normally such fights stop when the death toll on both sides become equal or one tribe pays a hefty fee”

So here I am stuck in Jakarta for an extra day. A couple of other teams who were one or two days ahead of us are still stuck in Timika.

Today’s latest update seems not bad. The local police, who we paid a hefty fee to in order to obtain permits, guaranteed full responsibility for our safety. So we are flying to Timika early tomorrow morning, and then we plan to head into the jungle directly.

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The Indonesian Way

November 5, 2007 by Lei.

Shortly before 5am, I woke up to the prayer chanting in the neighborhood.

I finally studied the city map to orient myself, and called a taxi to visit the famous Plaza Indonesia, an upscale mall in the heart of downtown. The flawless design and luxurious decoration, the shining display of jewelry and brand name merchants would qualify this mall as a high end mall in the US as well. Well, my main purpose was to come to have lunch at Sari Ratu, an Indonesian restaurant recommended by my colleague Petty.

Plaza Indonesia, a modern shopping mall in Jakarta downtown

The moment I sat down, several waiters came up and dumped nearly 20 plates of various dishes on my table, including a large bowl of rice that was enough for 10 people, then left me with just one smiling waiter, who was holding out a menu to me. “These are all for me?” I can’t believe it! He nodded with a smile. “You are not joking with me?” He sincerely replied “No”. I took a quick glance at the menu, then pushed back to him, “Then I don’t need to order anything. This is too much for me already!” He still insisted on handing me the menu and pointed at the prices on the menu. I finally figured out that he does not understand English that well, so I resorted to guessing plus gesture language to communicate.

It turns out that they serve lunch in the opposite way Chinese dim sum is served. Instead of you picking what you want from a cart, you choose what you don’t want on the table and tell them to take it away. Out of my habitual curiosity, I picked dishes that I never had, including a plate of brain! “What animal’s brain?” I asked. “Ah, yes, animal.” He was happy to catch the key word. “Is it pig? Sheep? Cow?” He shook his head and tried hard to think, then finally found the right word, “Yes, Beef!” “Ah, cow! Mad Cow?” I jokingly asked him. Again, he happily nodded his head. Even though I knew he probably didn’t get what I was joking about, it felt kind of scary to me, especially since I just read “Deadly Feast” a few weeks ago. I took a bite from each of the two pieces of brain in the plate, and calculated my chance of catching Mad Cow disease. The thoughts made me less excited about the dish.

Once the city wakes up, its traffic seems to be in rush-hour mode until late night. When I hired a taxi to go back airport in the mid afternoon, the highway was jammed all the way from the city to airport. So my taxi driver took some local roads to bypass. Now I finally see why Indonesians have so many motorbikes. A two lane two way local road is often monopolized by the vehicles from the dominating direction. In this case, there are three or four outbound vehicles on this little two lane local road so that only motorbikes can pass from the opposite direction. Occasionally a car that tried to come from the other direction would cause deadlock for a while. But drivers are really skillful too. They often quickly jump onto the side walk of the opposite direction to make room for the opposite traffic, then continue back in the wrong lane.

Jakarta Traffic

Traffic also causes bad air. Like many cities in China, Jakarta is a very populated city with a large urban/suburban area, but the public transportation appears to be very limited or not efficient. In this big city, nothing is really close to other things. Thus, the motorbike is as popular as the bicycle is in China, and many people cover their face with a bandana while riding; so do traffic police and workers at toll booths.

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The First Day in Indonesia

November 4, 2007 by Lei.

After numerous stops (Boston –JFK-Anchorage-Taipei-Jakarta), almost two days since I left Boston, I finally arrived in Indonesia. There are many things I need to adjust to, such as the hot and humid air, switch of time zone, and the numerous 0s I have to count for money (1 USD = 9000 Rp).

After lengthy waiting for landing visa and luggage, I walked out of customs one hour after our landing, but nowhere was I able to find the local agent I expected to meet. Luckily, it turned out that our assumed reservation is at the airport hotel, which is just above the terminal. But the bad news is, there’s no reservation for me here tonight! I guess my local agent must have been suffering from jet lag.

So I decided to venture into the downtown area to enjoy my only day in the city. I got a cheap hotel called Sparks in a low-end section near the old city. It turned out to be very nice inside, and they are very thoughtful – not only do they welcome guests with tasty drinks in the lobby, they also supply ample condoms of various flavors and lubricants in each room!

Thoughtful Supplies in my Hotel Room

Jakarta is a big city. The urban sprawl is comparable to the major cities in the world, and the modern part is just like any metropolitan cities in the western world. Though drivers do cut through the traffic at will like they do in China, they do respect police a lot! For example, the taxi driver dare not stop to pick up clients in departure zone at airport, so I ended up jumping into a moving taxi when no policeman was in sight.

Poor and Rich of Jakarta, view from Hotel Sparks

My hotel is located on a busy local road, like the one that crosses an old farmer’s market, such as Xin Jiang Village, in Beijing 10 years ago or even worse. The surrounding area looks like residence for a poor labor class, which is in sharp contrast to the modern high rises in the back drop when looking out from my hotel window. Despite my initial nervousness about safety concerns in Indonesia, I ventured out for dinner after 6pm, and it was already dark outside. To be safe, I didn’t even carry my camera.

I actually felt quite comfortable and soon relaxed while I carefully picked my steps over dirty puddles, holes, and bumps, to navigate through food/merchant stands, random round-ups of stuff or properties on side walk, and intimidating traffic that was not afraid to cut by within just an inch of pedestrians. Each side of the street is lined with all kinds of not-so-tidy shops and street venders, and numerous motorbikes cut between the traffic to make the two-lane street wide enough for 10 motor mobiles. My biggest challenge was crossing the street, which takes a lot of courage, patience, and luck among this no-rule no-light river of traffic.

Three-Wheeled Taksi in Jakarta

What impressed me most in this area is the creativeness and pervasiveness of the “taksi” system here. At a hotel or airport, you can see the standard taxis like those in any other city; then there are numerous three-wheeled little motor carriage that can stuff in 4 or more people in a space as big as one square meter; yet, there still are numerous motorbikes providing individual “taksi” services. When I was in Russia, I was afraid to look at men on the street because I was afraid of arousing troubles with those ubiquitous drunk guys; Here, I also had to avoid looking at men on the street, because almost every brief glance at them would get an offer for “taksi”!

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Going for No. 4, Carstensz!

November 2, 2007 by Lei.

It was a quick decision to take on a trip today to climb Carstensz Pyramid (4884m / 16,023ft), the highest peak of Oceania (Austral-Asian continent).

Carstensz Pyramid is on the island of New Guinea, the world’s third largest island, in the province of Papua (formerly Irian Jaya), a remote corner of Indonesia. Though it’s not so high compared to other mountains, it involves fifth class rock climbing on beautiful limestone structures with some sections up to 5.8 in difficulty, and it takes 16 rappels to get off the summit ridge. This makes it the most technical peak among the seven summits, and this peak is what motivated me to start rock climbing three years ago.

Gaining access to Carstensz Pyramid is also very challenging, complicated by it’s proximity to the Freeport Mine, the world’s largest open pit gold mine. From 2002 through 2005, the peak was off limits to climbers because of conflicts between local authorities. Starting in 2005, climbers finally could obtain legal permits to fly in via helicopter after paying a sky-high fee. Even so, the local authorities still sometimes obstruct the operation of helicopters, thus some climbing groups have dressed up like dirty mine worker to cross the mine field in the night in a vehicle without headlights.

The climbing part aside, gaining access itself is a gamble, which is what stressed me most for this trip. We originally planned to fly in via helicopter, but less than two weeks before the trip, we were told that the helicopter operation was halted indefinitely because locals are having issues with the landing and refueling of helicopters. The good news is, we were granted legal permit to cross Freeport Mine in a “legal” vehicle provided by them. Just as it is in China, rules are made by humans here and can be changed by humans at any time. You never know what will happen on this cartel controlled land.

The island of New Guinea itself is one of the most exotic and fascinating places left to travel in the world. A few weeks ago, I read a book called “Deadly Feast”, which talks about the origin of diseases such as Mad Cow that have spread through cannibalism. Cannibalism sounded like an ancient practice, but it actually was still in practice just a decade ago on this island! But don’t worry, they have stopped such practices today, and are now known for their colorful aboriginal culture. Our schedule on this trip is very tight, though I hope to have a chance to visit the Dani tribe, where the men still wear the traditional penis gourd and little else.

Dani Porters

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Denali Trip Report

July 20, 2007 by Lei.

Having attempted Aconcagua twice and been turned back both times due to weather, I had the feeling that Denali would not be a simple smooth summit. It turned out that we were dealt one obstacle after another in this expedition. I was holding my breath waiting for the next monster all the way, until the moment I finally stood on the summit.

The season started with unusually bad weather. There were very few summit windows during the month of May, and the expeditions before mine lived through 19 straight days of storm. Moving up to or surviving at high camp under these conditions was already an achievement. This revived my memory of my second trip to Aconcagua, when El Niño dramatically changed the weather pattern in the region making summit windows so rare and brief that we couldn’t even make an attempt. Reading the blog from those earlier expeditions, my heart felt their pain, and I was praying for better weather for them and for myself everyday.

Waiting Game

My expedition started with 3 days of agonizing waiting at Talkeetna airport. The only approach to Denali’s base camp is via air. Talkeetna, a small town to the south of the Denali National Park, serves as the airbase. We were scheduled to fly into base camp on June 11^th and start the long hike the next day. However, layers of thick clouds covered the entire sky when we arrived at Talkeetna. Even though we could sometimes see patches of blue sky from the airport, the base camp on the glacier was still shrouded in fog, and the small plane requires visual contact to land and take off there. Because the cloud pattern can change in a short time when the wind picks up, the landing window can suddenly open and then close in a few minutes, we had to stand by at airport. Several times, we loaded our gear onto the airplane and were ready to take off, then were dealt the disappointing news, No Flight. Having stared at the cloudy sky for three days, my team finally all flew in on the morning of June 14^th.

Landing at Base Camp

It was an exciting moment when I took my first steps towards Camp 1 in beautiful weather. The sky was so blue, the world of snow and ice was so pure, and every turn on the trail revealed another breathtaking view of the beautiful glacier. The movement of the clouds constantly changed the lights and shadows on the mountains. Every time I looked up, I found the scenery prettier than before and couldn’t help taking another picture. Even my heavily loaded red sled looked so cute despite being so naughty – it kept on pulling me from behind or from the side when I was going up the hill, and then it couldn’t help trying to run over me on the downhill. My heart was flying with the blue sky and white snow, and I hoped that our trip would be a blessed one.

Moving from Camp 1 to Camp 2

The trip from Base Camp (7,000 ft) to Camp 1 (7,800 ft) is a long but gentle slope around Kahiltna Pass. Since the elevation gain is very small, we made it a single carry trip, i.e. we carried the full load to Camp 1 in one trip. Then the slope started to get steeper and steeper on the way to Camp 2 (11,000 ft) and Camp 3 (14,200 ft), at which point the 3,000 ft elevation gain is significant enough to warrant a double carry strategy. On the first day, we carried up the first half and buried it in the snow, then went back down to sleep at the lower camp; then we moved up to the higher camp up with the rest of the load on the second day. This strategy follows the “climb high, sleep low” principle to allow better acclimatization to the high altitude.

Moving Up

While we enjoyed great weather during the first week of our hike, we were faced with a serious health concern. One of our team members, Stefan, had been sick with a cold since before we arrived on the glacier. The hard work of glacier travel was not helping him at all. By the time we arrived at Camp 2 (11,000 ft), he developed fever, diarrhea, and vomiting. Though he finally started to recover after extended rest days at Camp 2 and Camp 3 (14,200 ft), half of the team caught the cold before we were to move on to High Camp (17,200 ft). I had a short skirt with a light cold for three days and was lucky to be spared any serious symptoms except for a coughing. Denali is rated as one of the most difficult of the seven summits, and I knew I am probably just barely strong enough to do it under perfect conditions. Needless to say, catching a cold at high altitude is a serious weakening factor. I was quite upset and worried about how I would perform on the summit day.

Our original plan allowed at least 7 days waiting at High Camp in case the weather was bad. However, with the delay of our flight and the extended rest days at Camp 2 and Camp 3 due to health concerns and weather, by the time we finally got the opportunity to move up to High Camp, it was already June 26, and we only had 3 days left before we had to descend.

Moving towards High Camp

The climb to High Camp was an exciting one, but also the most difficult of the whole trip. The trail starts on a steep slope that leads to the head wall, where there are fixed ropes put up by rangers to protect climbers from falling. As an ice climber, I found it very fun to climb up the fixed line, one hand holding on to the ice axe, the other hand sliding the ascender along the rope. Once we topped out of the fixed line at 16,100 ft, we got on a sharp rocky ridge that rose 1000ft to the plateau where High Camp is situated. Here we picked up the cache we brought up on the previous day and carried the full load for the rest of trip. Though it’s only another couple hours’ walk from here to High Camp, the heavy load on a steep and narrow ridge made this section the hardest part of the whole trip and the second most dangerous section after the summit trip. We had to carefully place our crampons on sometimes thinly covered rock. A misstep or a sudden gale could send you down the cliff. A day earlier when we carried our cache up the fixed line, an Alpine Ascents group was pinned down on this ridge on their descent from High Camp because of dangerous wind, and was forced into bivying in the middle of the ridge under Washburn Thumbs (a famous landmark of protruding rock). This section would only take half an hour on a normal descent.

It took us nearly 9 hours before we finally hauled the load into High Camp. We were all very exhausted, but there was no time to rest yet. It was getting late, the wind was picking up, and the temperature was dropping fast. We still had to work hard to dig up the tent site and set up the tents within a surrounding snow wall that would shield us from high wind. On Denali, we did a lot of shovel work, but luckily, we were often able to reuse the snow walls built by previous expeditions. By the time we could take a break for dinner, it was already 10pm, and we were still melting snow for drinking water until midnight. It was a big relief that we were finally positioned in High Camp. Now we just needed to be blessed with a summit window.

First Attempt

On June 28^th, after taking a well deserved rest day, we woke up at 6:30am to a blue sky, though it was a bit breezy. While we were melting snow and eating instant cereal, I could see two rope teams, one rope of 3 and one rope of 4, slowly moving up the mountain. Lead guide Dave popped into our tent: “It’s a marginal day. Hard to say. We will give it a try, but don’t be disappointed if we have to turn around.”

That was enough to cheer me up. I learned the lesson from my second Aconcagua trip that when we have only two days left for the trip, we could not afford to let a marginal day go without trying. On the mountain, I am a solider at heart, and I would rather fight than surrender without trying. I learned that weather on high mountains never follows the forecast. Never trust that the next day will be a better day, no matter how certain the forecast sounds. On Aconcagua, when we were told that the next day would be a better summit day, it turned out to be so stormy that it was barely safe enough for descending. Because the weather on the mountain changes fast, you have to have faith and be willing to change plans when the conditions change.

Autobahn

At 9am, we cheerfully set off in three ropes moving up the Autobahn. The Autobahn is a long rising traverse which leads from high camp to Denali Pass at just over 18,000 ft. The name refers with dark humor to a German team that slipped while descending the traverse. To prevent such mishaps, we used a technique called running belay, where we clip our ropes into snow pickets every 10-20 yards.

Though it was already midmorning, the sun was still behind the mountain and the whole Autobahn section was in freezing cold shade. Sun makes a big difference on a glacier. You can tell instantly, even with your eyes closed, when the sun moves in and out of clouds, because the difference in temperature is as dramatic as winter and summer in Boston. One of the hardest things on a glacier was to dress correctly. In fact, it was simply impossible. At one instant, you felt the wind chill in your bone and put on layers; the next instant, you felt like you might die from heat stroke. As we moved higher, we could also feel stronger and stronger winds carrying down snow from the ridge above the traverse and sweeping by us, often instantly covering our footprints.

Two and a half hours later, we arrived at Denali Pass, the end of the traverse, and found a sunny and calm corner to sit down. Dave pointed to the thick lenticular cloud above the next slope, the only thing we could see along the route, “That’s where you should see the summit on a good day. Probably it’s in a 50-60 mph wind right now.” As if to confirm his prediction, four Austrian skiers descended from the slopes at this moment and cited high wind as their reason for retreating.

With our expectations confirmed, we went back down to camp and rested for the remainder of the day while watching plumes of snow blowing off the upper plateau of the mountain. What appeared to be a possible summit day had deteriorated into a windy gale.

We hoped the next day would be a new and better day.

June 29^th, an exciting day.

June 29^th was the last day we could stay at high camp. We would wake up, and then either go for the summit or descend for home. I still vividly remembered every hour of the last morning at high camp on Aconcagua months before. It was also the second and the last possible summit day for us. We woke up 4:30am and got ready for summit bid, but the wind was still blowing outside the tent and we had to wait and watch the weather development. As hours passed by, the weather deteriorated, and we had to pack up in a hurry to descend before being caught in the coming storm.

I was excited and nervous during the night, and kept wondering what my fate might be the next morning. That was the only night that I had trouble falling asleep.

We woke up to a clear sky and some breeze, much the same as the day before. Another marginal day. Though it was not the miraculously nice day that I had dreamed of, I was not too disappointed – at least it meant we could give it another try. As expected, Dave announced, “Let’s give it another try. Same drill as yesterday.”

At 9am, we set off again. Several other teams were also busy preparing to go, but we were the first. Shortly into the hike, I started to feel the toll of the first attempt the day before – my legs didn’t feel as fresh as they did yesterday. I calmed myself by comparing the summit push to a marathon – it’s ok, the first 10 miles are only a warm up. Because there was quite a bit of fresh snow on the slope, mostly blown down by wind, our footprints from the day before were all well covered, and we had to break the trail again. I was right behind the lead guide Dave, who often needed to stop to dig into the snow to place new pickets for running belay, so I took each opportunity to rest to keep myself as fresh as I could.

Having gotten to know the way on the Autobahn the day before, I felt more relaxed the second time. The wind was actually weaker than the day before, and my hope for a nice summit day was getting higher as we got higher. Soon, we were on the last steep section, and I knew that we would ease into Denali Pass in another half hour. Suddenly, I was hauled to a hard stop by the rope jerking from behind me. I yelled back to Tom, who was 15 yards behind me, “What?”

“Stefan is tired.” I looked back. Stefan, another 15 yards behind Tom, was lying on his backpack by the trail. I was not very surprised as he had been sick since the beginning and often needed extra breaks. But it seemed that minutes passed by, and he was still in the same position. Zach, one of our assistant guides leading the rope behind us, was now at Stefan’s side. I heard voices over Dave’s radio, and saw a water bottle rolling down the slope from where Stefan was resting. “Stefan passed out!” Dave immediately started to walk back towards Stefan while he continued talking into the radio, now with the rangers.

Stefan woke up shortly, and then started to vomit. But he had also lost his vision and coordination, additional symptoms of cerebral edema, so Zach gave him an emergency injection of Dexamethasone. Stefan was stabilized, but the guides still had to decide the best way to evacuate him.

At that moment, the whole slope came to a halt. There were many teams behind us, an RMI team of 10+, a Japanese team of 8, and some others, and they now all patiently stopped in place. RMI guide Peter Johnson, who was leading behind us, also came up to help. Safety was the first thing on a guide’s mind, and the priority was to safely evacuate Stefan. To prevent other mishaps at this stressful moment, Dave decided to have the whole team go back to camp while the guides evacuated Stefan.

While we were on our way down, a few rope teams of rangers, one of them carrying a stretcher, came up the slope. But when we looked back, Stefan was already standing and walking down on his own with strong steps. This became the mystery of the epic. The paramedics later believed he did not have cerebral edema, and he was able to descend on his own power all the way to Base Camp.

Back at camp, relieved that Stefan was now safe, we couldn’t accept the idea of giving up the summit attempt so easily though we were already tired. Looking up the summit range, the wind was dying down, and the day was turning into a perfect summit day. Even some teams that were not planning to summit that day were packing up for their attempt.

A Well Earned Summit

At 2:30pm, after a couple hours’ rest, we set off again. It was an unusually late departure, but this is Alaska in mid summer with 24 hours of daylight. Although we were all tired after the morning’s drill, we were all in high spirits.

I always believe the Chinese saying “you zhi zhe shi jing cheng”, meaning, if you set your heart and work hard for it, you will succeed. I had worked so hard during the whole trip, hauling the 80-100 lb load from 7,000 ft all the way to 17,200 ft and digging the camp at end of each exhausting hike. I was feeling so strong all the way that I was very confident that I could make the summit giving me the opportunity. Despite one setback after another on summit attempts, I still kept my faith and knew that I would never give up unless the situation became unsafe. In my heart, I truly believed that I deserved this summit. With this belief, I started the first 10 miles of the marathon again.

Since it was mid afternoon, it was really warm on the Autobahn, and the wind was mild. However, when we got close to Denali Pass, the wind picked up again. Oh, no! I yelled in my heart. Sometimes, when you want something so much, there would be one obstacle after another trying to keep you away, as if your goal was guarded by a monster. Though I believed that I deserved this summit, I knew there would be many tests ahead.

We ran into several climbers who were descending saying that it was so cold up there that they had to turn around. Wind at Denali Pass was so relentless that it was hard to stop for a break there. I feared the same verdict as the first attempt, but I had some hope this time since we didn’t see other teams turning back yet. Dave had the same thoughts, “We can’t stop here. But I don’t see snow blowing up higher. If we go up for another 50-60 feet, we may find a less windy spot to rest.”

Surprisingly, as we pushed higher, the wind actually started to calm down. We briefly rested at a calm spot under the little hill where a group of Japanese climbers were repairing the weather station, then continued to push through a series of rolling hills. I was getting more tired, and people who were now returning from the summit told us that it was still 5 hours away, which sounded arduously long. I remembered when I was on Elbrus, how any word of encouragement from my teammates or guide gave me so much strength and rejuvenated me when I was tired. But here, there was no one next to me because we were traveling on a rope with 10-20 yards between us. I was the only one there to encourage myself. I tried to ignore the “5 hours” remark. Other teams had rested the whole day when we made our first attempt, and we were now on our third attempt in two days. So I knew we would probably need more than 5 hours. I actually didn’t care how many hours lay ahead. I had never even bothered to check the time since we left camp, and I was prepared to go on forever. The only time I cared about was the time when I would reach the summit.

Everyone was getting tired, and we began moving more and more slowly. Worried, I asked Dave at the break, “Are we going too slow?” Dave looked at me with a fatherly kind smile, “No, keep this pace, you will be standing on the summit in 3 hours.” That was the best news I had heard the whole day!

It was around 9pm when we arrived at the football field, a wide plane below the summit ridge. We were the only team still heading up. All other teams were on their way down with bright smiles. The summit ridge looked so beautiful in the blue sky. A clear zigzag trail in the middle of the steep slope led up to the ridge. Far away and below us, more clouds started to gather and rise, a normal pattern when night falls here. I was hoping the clouds would not move too fast and shroud the summit. We were now so close, but I did not dare relax. Weather changes fast on the mountain. If the wind would pick up to a dangerous level, no matter how close we were to the summit, we would have to turn around. A few days ago, the same Alpine Ascents team turned around when they were just 100 feet of the summit because of a wind change.

As if to confirm my worst fear, as we were zigzagging up the slope, a light dusting of wind-blown snow started to fall on us, and a lenticular cloud quietly moved toward us like a monster coming to prey on us. Now we were racing against time. When we reached the summit ridge, Dave looked up at the clouds, “It will be here in an hour.” We all knew what lenticular clouds would bring. It seemed that one factor after another pushed me to prove to myself that I really deserved this summit.

I knew the primary concern of any guide was safety. What was on Dave’s mind at this moment? I nervously tested him, “So you still think we will make it?” He smiled again, “You don’t trust me? Yes, we will make it!” I cheered with a little relief, though I knew we still might have to turn around at any moment if conditions deteriorated enough. There would be no real relief for me until we were standing on the summit.

The trail towards the summit is a knife-sharp, snow-capped, rolling ridge. At several spots, a trip could result in a fatal fall. Again, we used a running belay to protect the rope team. One rise in the ridge after another, and finally, Dave stopped. There was something like a shovel handle sticking out of the snow bump next to him. That must be it! My heart almost jumped out. I had been holding my breath until this moment. I couldn’t believe I really made it after so many obstacles. I thought I would be so excited that I would cry and jump. But instead, I was quite calm when I finally stood on the summit. I had finally broken the curse of Aconcagua. Third time’s a charm!

Midnight Summit

After all the photos were taken, someone suddenly remembered to ask, “Oh, what time is it?” It was just after midnight. The official date was June 30^th.

A Stormy Descent

We were not alone on the summit. The storm arrived within minutes after we got there. We still had a clear sky and a view to faraway mountains when we were at the football field, but our summit views revealed only thick clouds behind us. We stopped on the summit for only a few minutes, then hastily left the summit ridge as wind and blowing snow started to take over the mountain.

When we got back to the football field, my water bottle was already well frozen, and it became too cold to take a break. So we pushed through blowing snow without much eating or drinking throughout the night. I knew that most mountaineering accidents happened during the descent, and we were now exhausted and in the middle of a storm. I kept myself on high alert and carefully placed each step.

The whiteout made descending on Autobahn especially dangerous. The Autobahn is a traverse on a steep slope, where the trail is often just wide enough for one foot. A misstep could send you sliding down all the way to a crevasse if you are not caught by your rope team or through self arrest. However, the whiteout created a false sense of safety because we could not see the down-slope side at all. Combined with exhaustion, you could easily believe the illusion that the trail was wider than what you saw, and step into the white space next to the trail into thin air. One of our teammates fell numerous times on the Autobahn but was held up by the rope team each time.

Descend in Storm

By the time we returned to camp, it was already 6 or 7am. My stomach was in pain from hunger, and my throat was on fire. Having gone through all the difficult sections on the descent, the last few steps up the gentle hill into the tent site actually felt like the hardest! It took me several breaks to finish the final couple hundred yards. Though everyone was dreaming of a hot soup from the sky, no one was patient enough to wait for the slow snow-melting process; we all went into our sleeping bags after a few sips of ice water.

Long March Home

We were on a glacier, so getting back to High Camp was still far from a safe return. In fact, we had heard a lot of stories about crevasses in the lower glacier. It was even more dangerous now as the summer sun weakened or melted away the snow bridges covering the crevasses. So I knew there was no time to relax yet.

After a couple hours rest, we descended the same day (June 30^th) to 14,2000ft. The next day, we got up 6:30am, and started down to Base Camp.

On our return, the glacier between 8,000 ft and Base Camp looked totally different. When we came in nearly three weeks ago, most crevasses were well covered by snow bridges. The glacier looked like a beautiful wonderland of snow, and our trail was mostly a straight cut-through in the direction we were heading. Now, the glacier looked like a post-war scene – numerous lines of crevasses partitioned the glacier into an ugly mosaic, and the trail became a zigzag. When we passed by where our Camp 1 had been at 7,800 ft, I couldn’t even orient myself enough to guess where the tent site had been, and I knew it was probably now surrounded by crevasses. The whole campground looked like a ghost city. There was only one group there now, and I couldn’t stop wondering if they were sleeping on a crevasse.

Snow bridges that were not yet broken were even more dangerous, because that was where people could actually fall in. A dent in the snow often indicated a weakening snow bridge, so we would then look to the left and right to see if this was on the line of a crevasse. Sometimes the crevasse could extend a few hundred yards. Walking through the lower glacier at this time of the season was like walking through a field of landmines, full of exciting moments. Besides carefully stepping over the crevasses ourselves, we also needed to guide our sleds across crevasses. We could not let down our guard for a moment until we made it to the base camp shortly before midnight.

The final relief came when our plane took off from Base Camp the next morning before the clouds closed the airport.

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Summit! A hard earned one.

July 3, 2007 by Lei.

I’m at Denver airport on my way back. We did make the summit on the second attempt on June 30th after helping the member that collapsed back to camp. So many things happened on this trip that I was practically holding my breath until I stood on the summit at midnight that day, and I couldn’t relax until I finally got off the glacier.

After a midnight summit that coincided with the arrival of another storm, we made a slow and long descent through white-out conditions and didn’t reach the camp until 6-7am the next morning. Then after a couple hours rest, we descended with full loads to the camp at 14,000ft, our whole bodies still exhausted.

On Sunday, we woke up at 6:30am, then walked over numerous nerve-racking crevasses to finally arrive at base camp at midnight.

Detailed report will come soon! So glad to be back to the world of restaurants and flushing toilets.

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Wednesday Evening

June 13, 2007 by Lei.

Same drill in the morning. Stick at airport waiting for the landing window. 11:30, Dave came to announce: we need 3 people be ready to go! So Ian (bristish climber), Christian (german) and I, plus guide Zach got ready to go. we load stuff on to the airplane, changed into climbing boots, and stand by the airplane.
12:30, pilot came, but instead, started to unload our stuff from the airplane. So we took off boots, and went off to lunch. We put in order, but before the meal even arrived, Zach (assistant guide) showed up: we need 2 people to go! 4 others already there, just need 2 to go. So we all hurried the waitress to pack up our lunch and run back (Zach actually came with shuttle van to pick us up even it’s just 10 minutes walk from airport). When we got to the airport, we learned that the place already left with 3 climbers. So we now got more time to enjoy the last lunch. While I’m typing this email, I heard that plane already landed in basecamp and is on the way back (2:15pm). So highly likely, we will be all at base camp today (otherwise, the other 3 climbers would stuck there because the guides are here), though unlikely to move up the hill as I had hopefully wished.

A funny story heard from Jeff: once at the base camp airport, there are a lot of fresh snow that plane can’t land. So the base camp manager announced: who wants to go home? put on your snow shoes and run on the runway! So all climbers packed in lines to run to pack down the run way. Another time, the plane can’t land because of clouds. The plane made several dancing in the clouds to disturb the dynamics of cloud, finally break up an opening to land.

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Wednesday morning, we are still waiting.

June 13, 2007 by Lei.

There was one brief window this morning at 6am, but pilot said it was too brief that it would have been closed when we arrive there even if we tried to fly. So the waiting game again. The pilot said that normally June is flyable every day, the weather pattern is abnormal this year. Al Gore should have done somethings much earlier!:)

the condition on upper mountain is getting warm and calm these days. I read that a few teams are going for summit today, though 50 climbers from earlier expeditions are waiting at base camp to get get out as anxious as we are to get in.

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