K2_ Life and Death on the World's Most Dangerous Mountain - Ed Viesturs [55]
Throughout this surge, in fact, three Sherpa—Pasang Kikuli, Phinsoo, and Tse Tendrup—played a crucial role, as they carried the bulk of the loads and did most of the work building up tent platforms by stacking loose rocks on sloping ledges.
On July 5, the team established Camp III at 20,700 feet. Camp IV was pitched only 800 feet higher on July 13. For the first time, hope outweighed discouragement in the climbers’ hearts.
On my own expeditions, I’ve always found that it’s during the storm days, when you lie around inside your tent and try to kill time, that the tensions among team members tend to escalate. Confined in a small space, elbow to elbow with another guy, you can find that even a good buddy gets on your nerves, let alone a teammate you’ve already found to be slightly irritating. But when you’re climbing hard, those tensions dissolve and you get along better with your partners.
From July 2 on, the 1938 team was pushing hard, with important deeds accomplished every day. And with this activity, morale soared. About one happy camp reunion, House writes, “A hot grog was served up and somewhere an excellent fig pudding was found. Later two chess games started and before we knew it Bates launched into a series of his favorite Alaskan sourdough ballads, startling even the Sherpas, who peered from their tents in awe.”
Yet the climbing inevitably produced moments of high tension and even of anger. Since Five Miles High adheres scrupulously to the prohibition against airing dirty laundry, those conflicts are only hinted at, in passages whose tone turns semicomic. You have to read between the lines, for instance, to decipher the real antagonism between House and Petzoldt on one dicey traverse. In House’s telling,
I remember in one place trying to enlarge some ice steps with my load on my back and a single finger linked through the head of a piton for balance. Petzoldt, who by now had completely recovered his strength and spirits, unfortunately chose this moment to deliver an enlightening and thoroughly sound discourse on step-cutting, with particular respect to how I might improve my technique. He admitted later that this was a poorly timed joke, for he had not realized I was hanging on by my eyelashes.
On July 12, an incident occurred that, thanks in large part to misunderstandings, could easily have killed one or more of the climbers. Camp III had been pitched in a very dangerous place, directly beneath a steep slope that was littered with loose rocks. That day, Bates, House, and Phinsoo had no sooner arrived at Camp III than Houston, Petzoldt, Pasang Kikuli, and Tse Tendrup started to carry loads above. As they departed, they promised that “they would be as careful as possible with the loose rock.”
The trio who had just arrived at Camp III set to work improving the tent platforms. Suddenly, from 500 feet above, the first rock fell.
It came right among us, puncturing the tent we had just erected. From then on, at frequent intervals, rocks dropped. Sometimes they fell far to one side; sometimes they flew overhead with a high-pitched hum; sometimes they crashed right into camp, bursting like shrapnel as they hit the slope. There was no escape.
The three men in the line of fire were terrified—and furious. They screamed at their comrades above. But, as House explains, “A high wind was blowing so the climbers could not hear our shouts and thought the rocks were bouncing harmlessly out to the sides.” By the time the four men in the lead had almost returned to camp, their three teammates were “wild,” unable to suppress “bitter remarks.” As they arrived, Houston, Petzoldt, and the two Sherpa found “their cheery greeting followed by a dead silence. One look at the holes in all three of the tents was enough to tell them what