(Webteam: Dispatch 8 is in 3 parts. Tomorrow we will post Part 3 of 3)

At 2am on July 10th I called home on the sat phone for another weather forecast; it appeared that the high winds would be lower on July 11th, and after a discussion with the guys we decided to wait it out a day at the 7300 meter camp. Bruce seemed OK and slept most of the day, even sharing on the brewing-up duties later that morning despite still feeling bad. But by early evening he began to struggle to stay awake, and every time he fell asleep he would periodically breathe deeply. (This means he would take 4 or 5 snoring, shallow breaths, then, stop breathing altogether for 20-30 seconds.)

By late evening Bruce began to vomit again. I again checked his vitals a few times and used the pulse oximeter I had in my first aid kit to monitor his oxygen saturation (sats). Bruce's first O2 sat measurements were low, and, soon began to drop even more. He then became extremely drowsy and could not stay awake. My own sats were hovering around the high 70's and low 80's - which was actually quite good for me at 7300 meters - at least we had that as a baseline.

Soon Bruce's O2 sats dipped into the high 40's and I began to really worry - and to add insult to injury, the snow and winds outside had picked up significantly.

The question that evening was: should we wait out the storm or begin descent in the night? That morning I had already started Bruce on various high altitude medicines and anti-nausea drugs, but they seemed to have little effect. (Although I knew that the dexamethasone was helping.) Bruce struggled to remain conscious throughout the evening and by the night of the 10th he was drifting in and out of consciousness, barely able to perform even the simplest tasks. His snoring and gasping for breathe was very loud, and the gaps between his periodic breathing grew longer. I stayed awake all night, stirring him every half hour or so, taking his sats and continuing to feed him appropriate medicines. Outside the winds were howling and visibility had dropped to zero. The last O2 sat measurement I took in the night for Bruce was a staggeringly low 37% - meaning he was functioning (somehow) on 37% oxygen. At this point I congratulated him for officially breaking the Guinness World Record for having the lowest oxygen sats and still being alive. He didn't laugh.

At 2am I roused Bruce enough to help him to get dressed - which was a slow and laborious process in the icy, cold tent. Outside Guy and Billy fought extreme cold and wind and packed up camp, but it was too cold and they retreated back to the tents for a few hours. At 7am we finally decided to fight the storm and forced Bruce from the tent. He immediately vomited. Guy put on Bruce's crampons while I got out my GPS - and then noticed that I had insufficient satellite coverage for it to even work. Despite zero visibility and no functioning GPS, we finally wandered off our ledge and into a complete whiteout. We had no choice.

As we walked down the cwm the mist and blowing snow would sometimes lift for a moment. And once I caught a glimpse of the rocks at the base of GIV east face at the edge of the cwm, I then used the compass on my GPS and set a bearing for the rocks. Bruce was doing surprisingly well at this point despite staggering behind on the rope and falling to the snow frequently. Believe me when I say this: Bruce Normand is one strong man!!                                             

After an hour or so - and by the grace of God - I noticed a few meters in front of me a bamboo wand stuck in the snow - the ONLY wand we had placed in the entire cwm. Somehow we were on track. After another rest for Bruce at the wand, I began to see faint footprints in the windblown snow. I followed the footprints and in a few hours we were at the top of the chute and somehow at the edge of the cwm.

Billy descended first over the edge to set up the first of many rappels. We had only lost 300 meters in elevation, but it had a noticeable affect on Bruce - who was still very lethargic and vomiting but managing along. I "fireman belayed" Bruce the first of the rappels, but despite his continued vomiting and swaying he was able to manage each pitch on his own, yet still collapsing at every stance. Soon we had rappelled to the bottom of the chute and to the start of the mixed traverse. The long 50 degree snow and ice traverse down to Camp 2 looked VERY loaded with snow, so we had one option left: descend the extremely dangerous center of the icefall....

(Webteam: Dispatch 8 is in 3 sections. Part 2 will be sent tomorrow 7/16 and Part 3 will be sent 7/17.) 

On Monday July 6th, Guy, Bruce, Billy, and I began the hike up the glacier to Camp 1. I wanted to continue up to our Camp 2 nestled in the icefall, but was out-voted by the others, so instead we brewed up and spent a hot afternoon basking in our tents among the small G2 tent village. In the morning we (again) broke trail to our Bibler tent set up at 6300 meters in the lower GIII-GIV icefall, and prepared for our early morning climb up the face and into the cwm. Despite the earlier weeks snowfall, we decided to tackle the face even though it still looked quite plastered with fresh snows. Weather forecasts indicated that we would likely have to summit in some relatively high winds - perhaps up to 70km/h- but so far the weather forecasts proved to be inaccurate due to very unstable conditions - a risk we'd just have to take. Ueli Steck sent me a sat phone sms in the evening that he might try for the summit on the 9th, but it would take us at least one more day to get into position in the cwm. Our earliest shot would be on the 10th.

In the morning we awoke to cold but clear skies, broke down camp, and once again crossed under the "Keyhole" serac tower above us. At the depot I began to break trail up the lower snow ramps on the GIII face to the bregshrund, and then continued up the 50 degree face unroped. This is how we would mitigate the avalanche danger- by spreading out and climbing unroped. If one of us would get "the chop"- as Billy so eloquently put it - the others would not be dragged down too.

Conditions on the face varied from loose steep snow to bullet-ice to scary avalanche prone windslab. But in a few hours we had traversed up and left to 6700 meters under the lowest of the rock towers.

Here Billy ditched his pack and took the lead across an extremely loose tongue of rock which had the consistency of a stack of dominoes. He managed to cross the loose pitch in great style, hauled his pack across then set up a rope for the rest of us to follow. I crossed the section next then continued on past Billy up an amazing chute squeezed between huge hanging seracs on the left and the rock towers on the right. About 100 meters up the ice and snow chute I found a flat spot on top of one of the teetering ice blocks and waited for the others.

After a short rest I continued to lead up the narrow 50-55 degree chute to another bench at 7000 meters where the final edge of the serac band met the rocky GIII southwest ridge. After the others joined me we climbed across snow slopes a short distance down the other side and into the cwm until we found a serac ice chunk and set up Camp 3 underneath - directly across from the East Face of GIV. It was a spectacular place for a campsite. We were now among perhaps 15 or 20 other people who have ever set foot in the cwm, and from our tents pitched at the entrance it looked spectacular.

On July 9th we woke to light spindrift on the tent walls and began to brew up and pack for the day. Bruce sat up in his sleeping bag, immediately scrambled to open the tent door, then, puked-up the entire contents of his stomach. After a bit more sputtering and spitting out the door he returned back inside and gave me a rather grim stare. Despite his vomiting, I asked if he wanted to continue up, to which he said, "Definitely yes!" We packed up camp under worsening spindrift and began walking up the low-angled cwm on firm snow. After a few hours we rounded a bend and found a serac to camp under at 7300 meters. Finally - after many weeks on the mountain- we had our first glimpse of the north face of GIII and our route.

The slopes up to the 7500 meter ridgeline offered a number of lines, and we unanimously decided on the main chute. We planned to leave at 1am, climbing the face in the dark and reaching the first rock band at 7600 meters on the ridge at dawn- but this plan would never happen...

On June 23rd, Bruce, David and I left for Camp 1 with supplies for a few days work. Bruce and I hoped to climb into the cwm at 7000m and stash a tent, stove, and other gear. We spent the first night at Camp 1, leaving the next morning for the cash at 6400m on the lower south face of GIII near the bergshrund- the same place Billy and Guy reached a few days earlier. Bruce and I broke a new trail all the way up the glacier to the foot of the GIV-GIII icefall, and then up through dangerous avalanche terrain to the depot. This part of the approach continues to be a nightmare slog as daily wind and snow erases our tracks after every trip.

By the time Bruce and I reached the depot, new snow and high winds above were sending down spindrift avalanches everywhere, and the right-hand corner of the icefall where we planned to exit the lower GIII face into the cwm was not visible through the mists. After making a stash of gear we retreated back down the icefall and back across the glacier to Camp 1 - breaking trail again as blowing snow had already covered our morning tracks.

On the 25th we left David at Camp 1 and again started up the glacier under heavy loads. Later that morning- in blowing winds and snow- we located a 30 foot high chunk of ice and set up our tent in a spot balanced between big crevasses and huge chunks of debris from falling serac avalanches above, just below 6400m. It would be a safe spot to camp. (Kinda!) The next morning we climbed directly across the icefall under the main avalanche chutes toward the GIII face. It only takes about 15 minutes to cross this section, but the huge towers of broken ice seracs teetering for hundreds of meters above are more than a little intimidating; having faith in divine timing helps.

At the depot, spindrift rained down on us again, but we started up the face anyway. After ten minutes of climbing I heard a soft rumbling sound far above me and peered up - only to discover a rather large white cloud coming my way and spilling over a serac band about 300 meters above. I turned down to Bruce and half-yelled, "um...Bruce...avalanche". In my mind, I thought of the cartoon figure Wiley-Coyote, when he holds up his flimsy umbrella, looks at the camera and exclaims rather understatedly, "Mother.".

Bruce saw the avalanche fall-line coming to our left, so he said urgently, "Come down and right." Of course, from my vantage point the cloud was heading to our right. Just below us was a large serac band, so I began down and right anyway - in sequence with Bruce, of course - since we were still roped up in order to climb safely over the bergshrund. Meanwhile, the avalanche must have split somewhere just above us. I saw streams of powder spilling over seracs to our right and left. I figure this particular avalanche may not have been large enough to wipe us out completely - but it definitely would have put me in a bad, ice-cream-headache-like mood. We looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and immediately retreated down to the Camp 2 tent.

However, not all was lost in the stormy conditions. Bruce and I amused ourselves for the rest of the afternoon by using our sheltering ice-chunk for a little high-altitude ice climbing "funness."

Later that afternoon, Billy and Guy joined us after their (trailess) slog up from Camp 1. We all spent the night of the 26th camped under the 6400m ice-chunk camp, then retreated back to Camp 1 in the morning due to poor weather forecasts.

David had already caught a ride down with some GII expedition members, so Bruce and I continued to base camp as well. Billy and Guy stayed at Camp 1 to further acclimatize, ascending yesterday up to 6800m on the GII-GIII standard route. They both arrived back in base camp today- a little tired but happy with their acclimatization efforts. We are all now ready for a summit push pending a break in the weather. Forecasts for the next few days look grim, but when we finally get a break we'll all go for it.

The last few days as we rested in base camp we watched long lines of porters filing up the lower moraine, bringing with them loads of gear for the G2 expeditions. There is a rumor about the camp that a total of 13 expeditions will try G2 (and/or GI) this summer, and the base camp spots around us are already dotted with the bright colors of nylon tents. At least 70 people now occupy various spots at base camp - with perhaps 100 more to come, and from the proximity of the tents it would appear that most people are already missing the bustling congestion of the towns and cities they recently left.

Of course, camping is not the only activity on the moraine; as the summer sun warms the rocks and melts the snow, the air is also filling with the faint waftings familiar to 8000 meter base camps: human waste. Our semi-private base camp now shares extremely close proximity to other parties - close enough that my tent is now within earshot of the next camp's "facilities." Due to this fact, I consider myself now shockingly over-informed as to the current state of each of our neighbors' particular gastro-intestinal affairs - some bordering on critical. My once peaceful morning slumbers are now broken by the world's absolute worst sounding alarm clocks. You try waking up to that and not have a crappy day. And as for the neighbors, I may not know each of them by name yet, but I'm sure I could pick them out in a line-up using other distinctive attributes. (Someone pass the Pepto Bismol)

Speaking of which, I might as well use this opportunity to comment on our own particular facilities, especially since this dispatch has already deteriorated to such a level. Our cooks have done a wonderful job erecting our own drop-spot, and despite the obviously disturbing connection between cooks and building toilet facilities, the boys have shown great creativeness with particular attention to design, local, and prevailing wind. Of course, a quick stretch (or calisthenics) is recommended before using our facilities due to slightly non-anatomical positioning - unless of course you're a yoga guru or double jointed. Otherwise all things on that front are just dandy and require no further commentary...er...for now - unless a bad weather spell comes in and I run out of things to write about. Until then...

As for the climbing, a few days ago Bruce and I ferried loads again up to our 6000 meter camp, but spent our nights at 5500 m for David to acclimatize after his recent illness. Meanwhile, Billy and Guy went up to the icefall between G3 and G4 for 2 days to try their hand finding safe passage through - and turned around after making a stash at 6500 meters. They both arrived back in base camp this morning, greeted by stacks of pancakes and fake maple syrup.

Despite information that previous expeditions have passed through the tangle of ice on the far left, we have decided to tackle the right side, which appears more feasible under the current conditions. As we discovered last summer in Shimshal, years of warm temperatures have taken their toll on the condition of the glaciers in Pakistan, and this once benign slope is now quite a jumbled maze of huge ice towers and crevasses, crowned by a 100 meter vertical ice cliff extending the entire breadth of the glacier at the upper lip of the cwm. I guess here we can pause to thank Al Gore for pointing out climate change (formally global warming) - or was he the guy who invented the internet? I guess either way he should get some credit for this part of this dispatch, since both apply.

Early tomorrow morning Bruce, David and I will depart for the 6000m camp again, leaving David to acclimatize in the camp while Bruce and I carry the torch back into the upper icefall. The weather forecasts seem to indicate a good spell, so we plan to establish a tent in the cwm near 7000 meters - a long way from the congestion and waftings of base camp.