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Summit Day: [The
following is a more detailed account of Sean's Everest
summit. It is a small taste of what will be coming in
the book Sean will be beginning soon about his dream and
how he realized it.]
I had returned from outside my tent on the South Col
where I had been jump roping to break my old world
record and now lay comatose. At 26,000 feet, even the
minor physical effort of jumping rope requires a
Herculean effort. I could not believe I would soon be
leaving the relative security afforded by the tent's
thin layer of fabric to go out into the howling winds
for another attempt on Everest's summit.
I had arrived at the South Col a day earlier after a
2-day stay at Camp 3. My original plan had been to climb
from Base Camp to Camp 2, climb the next day to Camp 3,
climb the next day to Camp 4 (South Col), and then leave
for the summit that same night. Everest, however, had
different plans. High winds on the summit slowed my
progress up the mountain. You have to limit your time in
the Death Zone above 26,000 feet so that your arrival at
the South Col coincides with an immediate summit
attempt. So I waited at the lower camps. Even so, when I
got here, Everest was slamming the Southeast Ridge with
60 mph winds. Hoping for the best, I headed out last
night on a summit attempt. I had reached half way to the
Balcony before the winds nearly blew me off my feet. I
was forced to turn around. I felt doubtful that I would
have the strength to make it to the top of the world if
the winds continued like this.
I was not resting on supplementary oxygen like the
others at the South Col. I began to feel guilty because
I would need to use it this evening due to the high
winds. My breathing were short and rapid. I had powered
down as many calories as possible in Camp 3 knowing my
appetite would be nil at the South Col.
So, for my second summit attempt, I stepped out of my
tent at 9:00 PM on the night of May 21 - 22. It was
eerily quiet. No wind. I placed my oxygen mask over my
nose and mouth and began breathing in the artificial air
from the bottle within my rucksack. Immediately, my mind
began to clear, my extremities began to come to life,
and I felt my thoughts were being pulled together from
all areas of my brain. I was completely focused on a
single goal: summit Everest.
I started up the mountain to a slow steady rhythm - four
steps, stop, breathe; four steps, stop, breathe. Focus
on the rhythm, focus on steady breathing. Push the
exhaustion, the lack of strength, the pain aside. One
cycle at a time. Four steps, stop, breathe. This
continued for an hour, then two. Whenever I encountered
a rock band and I had to pay attention to each step and
test it before putting any weight down, my breathing
would become erratic and uneven. I would find myself
huffing and puffing like an out-of-shape runner. Calm
down, focus on the rhythm. Four steps, stop, breathe.
I made it to the Balcony before sunrise. The sky was
clear and bright stars were perched high above me. My
headlamp battery had run out about an hour before, but
the light of the half moon and the torches of other
climbers made it possible for me to keep moving.
With the dawn, spectacular views of the surrounding
peaks began appearing. It was a clear and cloudless
morning. But with the dawn, the wind returned. I paused
for my first drink of water. As I removed my mask, the
cold air immediately slapped my face causing me to cover
up so as to preserve the heat within.
Climbing over rock where you're unsure of your footing
is much more tiresome than climbing through snow. Fixed
lines are placed almost to the summit taking away much
of the technical challenge. However, with the high
winds, mixed climbing on rock, snow and ice, plus the
high altitude putting you into anaerobic exercise mode
the whole time, you use up all your physical reserves
long before the summit. By the time I got to the most
difficult portion of the climb, the Hillary Step, I was
stretching the boundaries of my human capabilities. I
pulled myself up the fixed lines, scraping my crampons
on the rock trying to bite on any cracks. The winds had
increased to 40-50 miles per hour, and I was doing my
best to stabilize and not fall off the face. To the left
and right of me were shear vertical drops down thousands
of feet. We were all using jumars to better grip the
ropes. It's basically a handle for grabbing ropes. It
slides easily when you push it up but grabs the rope
when you put any weight on it down. I was holding onto
the rock with one hand and my jumar with the other while
hoping that my crampons spikes would hold my weight on
the little icing nubbins of rock under my feet, all
while my whole body was screaming "enough." At this
point, it's not about how strong you are or how fit you
are. Now, it's all about your strength of will. I pushed
on.
At the top of the Hillary Step I hunched over and
breathed heavily for a few minutes to try to feed my
pounding heart a little oxygen and refocus my strength.
Now it was a ridge walk before the summit would be under
my boots. Looking toward the top, I could see the summit
prayer flags. A few climbers were on the summit, staying
low out of the wind. I pushed on. My boots felt like
lead stones. Making each step I took an extraordinary
effort. It seemed like an eternity.
Finally, the dream stopped being a dream. I could go no
higher because I was there! I was now on top of the
world. Eight years of dreaming and four years of
dedicated training had culminated in this moment.
However, I felt no happiness, no jubilation, no desire
to raise my arms in victory. I had used every ounce of
strength and every emotion I had to reach this point. I
dropped to my knees and tried to relax my erratic
breathing. My heart was pounding like a jackhammer. I
thanked God for giving me the strength to succeed in my
endeavor.
I pulling out my disposable camera and handed it to my
Sherpa, Pasang Temba, to document the moment. I raised
my goggles and stared into the lens of the camera. I was
one tired puppy. A picture with the American flag signed
by supporters came next and one last of me holding Steve
LaMantia's photo, a college classmate of mine who worked
on the 105th floor of the North Tower of the World Trade
Center and was killed on 9/11.
Five minutes in exaltation and I was ready to head down.
I decided to descend without bottled gas, so pulling off
my mask, I started down. More climbers die on the
descent than on the climb up. This had been burned into
me as fact, and since the winds were showing no mercy
and I was inhaling only the thin air, I knew I had to be
extra vigilant.
At the Hillary Step there was a traffic jam of climbers.
I waited almost 40 minutes before being cleared to
descend. It was after I had moved down the Step that I
realized I could not feel my toes. I was so drained of
energy that every rope length of fixed lines required
that I pause for a rest. At every break, I tried
wiggling my toes to keep frostbite at bay. Mentally and
physically, Everest was taking everything I had. The
wind kept up its fury, but now I was too tired to care
or to be scared or to worry for my safety. It would be
very simple for me to lie down in the snow and die. I
was that tired. It seemed like such a pleasant way to
pass. I knew there are more painful ways to meet your
end and falling asleep with numbness overtaking me would
be an easy solution. But then my brain would start
clicking again, telling me to get up and move down the
mountain. Down to air, down to life.
I finally reached the South Col at 7:00 PM on the 22nd
of May, 22 hours after leaving my tent the night before.
I had no feeling in any of my toes or in my fingertips.
I dropped in my tent and could barely muster the
strength to remove my boots. Once inside, I began the
melting process to re-hydrate my exhausted body. I lit
my stove to melt a pot of snow. An hour later, I woke to
the feeling of warmth on my face and condensation on the
walls of my tent. The water was boiling. The hot water
melted some more snow until the pot was full of water. I
drank it dry for the warmth and the moisture. I went
through this routine twice more before I finally
extinguished the stove, collapsed, and slept.
When I rose the next morning, I knew I had to move
further down. My toes and fingertips remained numb. It
was slow going without full use of my hands for the
ropes and without full use of my feet for balance. After
what seemed like days, I stumbled into Camp 2. I climbed
into my sleeping bag and slept. I didn't bother to take
my boot liners off to look at my toes because I was
already sure they would need medical attention.
I made it back to Base Camp on May 24 and went straight
to the camp clinic to evaluate my hands and feet.
Frostbite had set in and affected all of my toes. My
fingertips were white and black as well. I was
exhausted. Finally I was able to stop driving myself and
let someone else take over. Only then did I reflect on
what I had accomplished and the torture I had endured to
make my dream come true. Sean
 Dispatches
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