On April 21, Inaki, Horai, and I left early in the morning to head for the "wall" on Annapurna 1. Our goal was to acclimatize ourselves in preparation for the next step in our bid for the summit. About an hour out,  I started to feel very sick. We all have taken our turns struggling with some kind of illness or another, it's just the way of life when you climb ...so I guess it was my turn, now. I wanted to continue on, but Inaki and Horia said if I didn't turn around and go back to base camp, they would turn around and that would make me go back since I can't climb the ice fields alone. I did not want them to be held up in their climb, so I turned around. I had a good day and nights rest and while I didn't feel exactly top notch, I headed out the next morning to climb to camp 1 with the Russians. Camp 1 is about 5000 metres. Dan Bass, our camera man, also is coming with them carrying some heavy packs. They will all be suffering because it is really hot here. We will have to decide whether Dan will climb to camp 2 with me tomorrow or go back down. So, here I am in sunny, hot, camp 1, waiting for the Russians and Dan to arrive and enjoying the view and the sun.

Right now, I can see Inaki and Horia climbing on Tomaz Humar's route. They are more than 1400 metres above me, abut 6400 metres, on the wall. I wish I were with them!!

There is a bit of a problem for me in moving forward tomorrow if Dan decides not to go with me. The Russians have been fixing ropes on the Polish route. Inaki, Horia, and I do not want to climb the Polish route. The problem is that I can't go through the glacier by myself. And, if Dan doesn't want to go, I will have to wait for the Russians and go their route. Worst case scenario is that, tomorrow, I will go with them to camp 2 and not meet up with Inaki and Horia. Camp 2 is about 6000 metres. I will stay there for 2-3 days and climb up further and maybe help the Russians fix ropes, so that I can acclimatize at a higher altitude, then we will all come back down to base camp.

Our plan right now is to stay in base camp for 4-5 days and then wait for a weather window. When that happens we will make our bid for the summit. We do not plan to fix ropes on our way up to the summit. Since we have already established camp 1 and 2, we will stop at both for a rest along the way.We will carry camp 3 with us and set it up alpine style when we necessary. The path that we are climbing looks steep, but once you get on it it really is not that steep. It is only about a 45 or 50 degree angle. So all seems to be going well!!!

Inaki, Horia, and I are still having "fun" and we seem to really enjoy one another's company. Good companionship and light-heartedness really makes the climb so much more enjoyable and relaxing and it especially helps when the three of you end up in a tent together.

I will try to send another dispatch when I get back to base camp. I am still having problems with my Thuraya satellite phone....so I hope that will happen. Thank you for all your support and emails...your encouragement is much appreciated.
Don.

The weather over the last few weeks has been atrocious. Day after day we are greeted in base camp by the rising sun, but by mid morning watch the mists rise from the valley below, bending around the base of Machhapuchhre, the great Fishtail Mountain. By mid day, thunder ehchoes over the high passes, and the snow begins to fall. If it were not for the ridiculously sublime view framed by breaks in the clouds, the storms would be nothing but dreary.

 

Across the glacier, the tilted, overgrown football field we call the "Mixed Salad Traverse" has been piling up with snow, frequently cleaning itself with avalanches. To cross it safely, we need at least few days of sunshine. Every morning the melting snow loosens the dirt walls guarding both sides of the glacier, and huge stones careen down in massive, roaring earth slides. There is only one safe gully exiting the far side of the glacial floor, and this needs to be ascended before the melting snow starts to loosen the walls into a veritable gauntlet of falling stones.



After enduring three straight weeks of inclement weather a break from base camp was due, and I could find none better than to descend to the warmer air of Chomrong Village. My visit happened to coincide with the historic elections in Nepal, and it was fantastic to see the villagers enthusiastically line up to cast their votes for the first time in years. Experiencing firsthand a moment so significant is something I shall never forget, and there remains something about those few days in Chomrong which shall never leave me.

Feeling empowered and refreshed, I made the usual 2-day trek back to base camp in a mere 5 hours, and the following day climbed alone up to Camp 1 for a day of solace. The following day Inaki and Horia joined me, and we moved camp another 100 meters higher toward the wall. The next day we retraced their steps to the previous high point to further explore the upper glacier directly under the left side of the wall- at least until I decided to find a huge, hidden crevasse, a la Bruce Normand style. Well prepared, my partners quickly tensioned the rope and I clumsily crawled out of the gaping maw, rather wide-eyed, so I am told. A few weeks ago a visiting trekker from Canada asked me "How do you guys dangle up there?" My smartass reply was, "I never dangle." I guess I lied. Apparently I do dangle, but certainly not by choice- and hopefully not again soon. After the extrication, I peered into the Don-hole and saw nothing but blackness. I hate crevasses. We all have things we hate. Inaki hates lightning. I hate crevasses. Horia hates communists. (hey, he's Romanian)

After dead-ending on the left side of the glacier, we turned our attention towards the huge 400 meter high rock island in the center of the glacier. The "easiest" way up it appeared to be a series of narrow, near-vertical couloirs on the right side of the massif, which Inaki disposed of quickly while I belayed him on the Korean fixed rope- sans protection, of course. Inaki's brilliant lead up thinly iced slabs led us to a long, sloping ridge, angling upward and left. Exchanging leads, Inaki and I broke a trail through another 200 meters of steep, rotten, snow (and worsening weather) to 5800 meters, where we stashed our gear and turned down toward Camp 1 in low visibility.

Next- Camp Two and Mustard the Wonder Mutt…

Three weeks after departing the states I finally send my first update; Thuraya (my satellite phone and internet provider) and I are still at odds working out the connection glitches for internet access. I can make calls but cannot access the internet or emails on my computer. Thuraya's customer service dept maintains that I need to download new firmware updates from their website to solve the connection issue. Raise your hand if you see a problem here…
Ergo, my first dispatch comes courtesy my Romanian climbing partner Horia Colibasanu and his trusty satellite connection. I fear all my future dispatches shall follow suit, or at least until I exhaust his generosity.

My travels to Nepal were long but smooth. Before flying to Delhi, I had a long layover in Chicago where my cousin selflessly shuttled me around the city for nearly all of my 8 hour stay, picking up last minute camera gear, catching up on family news, and stuffing myself with the last American meal I'll enjoy for nearly 8 months. Thanks Chrissy…

After a short stay in Delhi I finally arrived in Nepal, greeted by a generous wafting of thick Kathmandu air - a humid soup of exhaust, dust, and the faint odor of something-somewhere rotting. My initial feeling upon arrival was of a weird sort of comfort, perhaps due to a deep-seated familiarity originating from my communal rugby-house days in Des Moines, Iowa; where upon arriving home, one was greeted to a humid soup of sweat, dust, and the faint odor of something-somewhere rotting. Ask my brother…

Negotiating traffic from the backseat of our trekking company's van, I found myself smiling, happy to be back in the systematic chaos of Kathmandu traffic. Don't try to drive here. Westerners are born without that part of the brain required to decode the traffic rules and protocols. Somehow it all works, but I have no idea how. Consider that pedestrians, livestock, mopeds, motorbikes, rickshaws, open sewers, ditches, buses, school children, trucks, taxis, tractors, horse carts, and cars smoothly negotiate the narrow streets with narry an accident, no apparent hierarchy, through a perpetual rush hour, and without the aid of traffic lights, signs, or (visible) street paint.

Dan Baas (film guy) and Dan Stensland (photographer) arrived a few days later, and after procuring some rope, permits, and last minute supplies, we packed into a small van and were on our way, winding through the canyons and terraced fields toward the Pokara and the Himalayas. Denny and Lauralee, my friends/landlords from Bishop, CA had also joined us, and on March 12th the 5 of us finally began the long trek into base camp.

We've now been at base camp for two weeks. Dan Stensland, Denny, and Laura Lee have since left for other treks and eventually home. During the first week, I climbed alone up the glacier to near the bottom of the south face, establishing and sleeping at a depot camp near 5000m. I remembered the way from 2006 when I attempted the peak with the Polish/Slovak team. This time, the grass traverse below Tharpu Chuli was exceptionally icy and dangerous, requiring the use of crampons on the steep, frozen turf. This section of the approach seems absurdly out of place. I've never worn crampons on frozen grass before, but the conditions and slope angle demand it. As I cross, I tell myself to be extremely vigilant, as it would be more embarrassing than tragic to come to grief on this tilted, overgrown, football field- before even reaching the f ace.

On the 24th my climbing partners Inaki Ochoa (Spain) and Horia Colibasanu (Romania) arrived, excited, fit, and ready to work. Since then we have visited the depot camp twice, dropping loads of gear and supplies, laughing and joking our way across the ridiculous grass traverse, which has now been officially dubbed, "The Mixed Salad Traverse". Tomorrow we plan to move up to the depot camp to work the latter half of the approach through the icefall, and to find the way to the base of the wall.

Our spirits are high and we laugh often - almost continuously. The route up the face below Roc Noir looks in fine condition, with a thick layer of fluted snow and little obvious ice. The daily clouds rise in the sanctuary, but we get morning glimpses of the face, and dream of the adventures ahead.

A special thanks to all who have encouraged, supported, prayed for, assisted, and helped me prepare for this endeavor, especially during the chaotic months before my departure. I think of you often, knowing that without your support I could not aspire to such lofty goals as climbing Annapurna. All of you continue to share in my dreams...I thank you.

More to follow.