Leif Whittaker - My Old Man and the Mountain

MY OLD MAN

AND

THE MOUNTAIN

A MEMOIR

MY OLD MAN

AND

THE MOUNTAIN

LEIF WHITTAKER

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Copyright 2016 by Leif Whittaker

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form, or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America

Distributed in the United Kingdom by Cordee, www.cordee.co.uk

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Copy editor: Kirsten Colton

Design and layout: Heidi Smets Graphic Design

Cover illustration: Jen Grable

All photos Whittaker Family unless credited otherwise

Front section, page i: Joss and Leif Whittaker; Dianne Roberts, Leif, Joss, and Jim Whittaker; Jim, Leif, and Dianne; Leif, Joss, and Jim; Joss, Jim, and Leif. Page ii: Ama Dablam; Lama Geshe; Dave Hahn, Lam Babu, and Buddhist Lama; Kaji, Lam Babu, Yubaraj, Chhering; David Morton and Melissa Arnot. Page iii: Climbing team at Base Camp; Melissa and Kent Harvey; Hillary Step; Base Camp; South Col. Back section, page i: Melissa and Kent at South Col; Dave; Dave at Geneva Spur; Melissa; Porters near Lobuche; Camp 3. Page ii: Lhotse; Leif and Jim; Jake Norton and Dave at Everest Base Camp; Leif; Namche Bazaar. Page iii: Leif, Dave, Melissa, Kurt, Kaji, Pasang (back row); Jim Whittaker on summit of Everest, May 1, 1963; Leif Whittaker on summit of Everest, May 26, 2012. Page 13: Leif at Base Camp in 2003 (Dianne Roberts); page 46: Leif slacklining on the Washington coast (Freya Fennwood); page 65: Buddhist stupa on the trail to Everest Base Camp; Nuptse, Everest, and Lhotse in the background (Leif Whittaker); page 153: Kent Harvey crosses a ladder in the Khumbu Icefall while Dave Hahn watches (Leif Whittaker).

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Printed on recycled paper

ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68051-068-3

ISBN (ebook): 978-1-68051-070-6

For Dad, Mom, and Joss

All descriptions, events, and dialogue described herein are based on my personal memories, journals, and discussions with other participants. Any errors or misinterpretations are mine alone. In a few instances names have been changed to protect privacy. I have also taken certain liberties with chronology and structure by drawing from my two expeditions to the summit of Mount Everest in 2010 and 2012. In combining details from these two expeditions into a single, more cohesive narrative, I hope the reader will gain a more authentic perspective on the Everest experience and how these events have shaped my life.

The descriptions of the 1963 American Mount Everest Expedition are based in part on the many stories I heard while growing up; on review of family photo archives; and on my readings of Americans on Everest by James Ramsey Ullman, Everest: The West Ridge by Tom Hornbein, and A Life on the Edge by Jim Whittaker. Please see the resources in the back of this book for additional references.

MAY 26, 2012

Three more steps and another loud breath, and finally I crest the South Summit and I look past Dave, across a dip in the snowy ridgeline, and feel my heart swan dive out of my chest and plummet down the Kangshung Face eight thousand feet into Tibet. Theres a queue of about a hundred climbers coming down as were trying to go up. I dont see any way to get over, around, or past them without taking the same ride as my heart. All I can think about is the disappointment in Dads eyes when he hears we bailed three hundred feet from the summit and says, What a shame. Im sure you wouldve made it if it werent for the damn crowds. Ive been training for years and Ive done everything right and Im so close, but its like the mountain wont let me climb it. Dave sighs into the clunky valve of his oxygen mask and says, Just like usual on Everest. Hurry up and wait.

But waiting can kill you at 28,700 feet. The rhythmstep, breathe, step, breatheis what keeps you alert and alive. The moment you stop moving is the moment you start to die. Ive seen what happens. I saw it a few hours ago when we shuffled past the corpses of people who died just a week ago. Your body closes in on itself, cutting off extremities in an effort to sustain the vital core, and before you know it youre unable to walk or even lift your arms. Your oxygen-starved mind plays tricks on your body. The pain in your lungs and toes disappears and the cold no longer feels so cold. You lose consciousness not long after that and drift off into a dreamless slumber from which you never wake. I think about all the frozen corpses Ive seen, their leathery skin bleached white as fresh snow and their limbs contorted unnaturally. How long can we wait?

Dave trudges into the dip in the ridgeline, clips his tether to a ten-foot ribbon of fixed rope, and waves for me to join him. Theres a rocky cleft here and I guess hes thinking itll protect us from the wind. I plant my crampons on a convex patch of snow and crouch, wrapping my arms around my knees. Maybe Ill stay warmer if I squeeze myself into a ball. Melissa, Kent, Chhering, Kaji, and Pasang clip in next to us. Kent twists the regulator on my oxygen bottle, reducing the flow, and I return the favor because we have to ration our breaths. Then I curl my hands into fists inside my gloves and settle in to watch the crowd pass.

Where the hell did all these people come from? Weve been climbing through empty wilderness for the past six hours, but now the mountain looks like a Best Buy on Black Friday when the credit-card reader at the checkout suddenly craps out. The crowd is backed up at the Hillary Step, a forty-foot tower of gray stone jutting from the ridgeline into the cobalt sky. Its a notorious bottleneck with a sheer drop on both sides. From where Im crouched I count fifty-seven people. Three more come into view on the corniced skyline. I keep adding.