On Sunday, February 15th, our huddle in Camp 2 awoke to the wind still battering the tent. Sometime during the night Artur had received a SMS (or phone call, I can't remember) with a weather update stating some possibility of lower summit winds on Tuesday the 17th. As we were already in the thick of things, I also decided that we might as well try, day-by-day from this point, to see if the winds would in fact decrease a little - that a decent window might somehow appear.
Artura left the tent first, followed by Robert perhaps 45 minutes later. Ali, who spent the night alone in the Vaude tent was next to leave, followed by myself about an hour later. Qadrat would wait in Camp 2 for Amin, who was in "superhero mode" somewhere above Camp 1, on his way up from Base Camp.
The winds were noticeably lower than two days prior, and the intermittent sunshine provided some welcome warmth, despite the cold bitter squall. Above the rock pinnacles at apox. 6500 meters, I caught up behind Ali, Artur, and Robert, and the four of us would continue in queue behind Robert up to the final pitch below Camp 3. Here the winds increased significant; the temperature noticeably dropped, and visibility began to diminish under blowing snow and clouds. By the time we reached the final rope, I could see Amin and Qadrat below us, gaining ground - but the weather was seriously deteriorating.
I watched Ali top out over the final ridge, followed by Robert, Artur and I. As I crested the Camp 3 ridge, I was greeted by even higher winds and blowing snow. "It's going to be a little tough to set up the tent in this," I thought to myself. But we managed - barely. In the waning light, the tent was finally pitched, but one third of it hung rather precariously over the void. Once inside, I began to warm my frozen feet over the stove - until the radio call came in from the Pakistani tent, informing us that Qadrat had suffered some frostbite while they were setting up their tent. I put my boots on and climbed out of the crammed tent, then down the rock slabs in the dark to the other tent. After a brief conversation and inspecting Qadrat's fingers, I returned to our tent to get the emergency oxygen bottle we had stashed in Camp 3 a few weeks prior, and filled a bag of snow for the Pakistanis to melt for drinks. (Oxygen therapy immediately after frostbite limits some tissue damage.)
Back in our tent, the night was cramped, cold, and windy, but despite my weird body position and face full of frozen nylon, I slept pretty well - perhaps too well. Maybe it's because Amin had brought us a bag of pre-cooked chicken from base camp, which we boiled and ate for supper, drinking the pot -glop for a nice soup. Rarely does one get to eat so well, so high in elevation.
I awoke around 8am to the tent being absolutely battered by gusts of wind. "If this gets any stronger, we're gonna get blown off the mountain," I thought, and immediately put my boots on and started packing my things. Artur made a quick brew, but just as we were getting ready to exit the tent, the inevitable occurred. I just happened to be filming at the time:
(You were supposed to view a video here, but Don is having problems sending it through his Thuraya Satellite phone. Hopefully we will see it soon!!!)
After we got the tent semi-under-control from the inside, I quickly jumped outside to hold on from there. Shortly after, Robert and Artur exited, and we began a desperate attempt to dismantle the tent. Halfway through, it was obvious that the high winds would not allow us to organize things and properly stash any of our gear. Every 30-40 seconds we each had to stop and take breaks to warm our hands, pulling our fingers inside our mitts. We finally flipped the tent over and wrapped the entire thing into a sorta nylon burrito, tied with rope as tight as we could get it. After it was secure (mostly), we threw the depot gear bag on top and clipped it to the rope. It was at this time that I realized my climbing harness was still inside the burrito. Somehow, it did not get thrown out with my pack. It was far too cold and things were getting desperate, making the option of untying the whole ordeal and searching for it out of the question. Instead, I unclipped a short piece of webbing from my pack and clipped it around my waist with a carabineer borrowed from Artur. I would have to do the "hand-wrap-rappel" decent all the way to the glacier. I put on my pack, climbed to the edge of the ridge, wrapped my right hand around the 4mm rope, and stepped over the ridge. I didn't say a prayer first. I said a prayer the whole way down.
[video:3279188 100x100] There's no way around it. There's no other way to say it. To avoid the idea that elements on Broad Peak can outmatch any human is simple arrogance (or denial), so I won't hesitate to admit our (at least momentary) defeat. High winds - at times easily more than 100km/h - and temperatures below minus -35C, added to this, endless sheets of continuous, monotonous, bulletproof ice, were the tools of our challenger, and the challenger outmatched us - the final blow being the collapse of our tent (see video in the next dispatch, coming soon) at Camp 3 (aprox. 7000 meters), an elevation at which this mountain seems intent to impede our progress.
But this is 8000 meter winter expedition climbing. What else could we expect? In my opinion, this last foray up the mountain was not a carefully designed trip around a clear weather window, but rather an open attempt to face the worst the mountain could throw, hoping it would be kind and give us reprieve. My initial suggestion was that we not do this in the first place, and now it is my firm conviction that we not try this again. I feel like a child, warned not to touch the oven, left with a little sting to remind us why: The mountain let me off easy, with some minor "frostnip" on my nose and cheek, in addition to an increasing numbness already resident on all my fingertips and toes. Qadrat didn't fare so well, with frostbite to 5 fingers, one in particular is a little serious - but, none is serious enough that he will lose anything, so he is fortunate as well. Robert suffered a small patch of a frostnip on his cheek. The rest managed to escape with little more than a bitter scolding.
The ascent to Camp 2 - on Friday the 13th, mind you- should have been the first indicator. Winds at the elevation of "Summer" Camp 2 forced Qadrat, Ali, Amin, and I to fall prostrate every few minutes, hugging every available rock to avoid flight. I was only able to film twice: once behind a rock for a few seconds until my hands froze, and once for a few seconds during the full force of the winds at "Summer" Camp 2, aprox. 6200 meters. In the latter clip, you'll notice the white frozen patch on my nose. Our goggles were completely iced over at this point, and useless.
High winds to Camp 2 from Calpinist.com on Vimeo.
When the four of us finally reached "winter" Camp 2 at around 3:30pm, the full force of the gale was upon us. To our dismay, both tents had been demolished by the winds, and we had no place to take cover. In the force of the wind it was hard to breathe, and communication was possible only by shouting in each other's ear. It took over 2 hours of creative engineering, various rigging, and forced ingenuity to make one of the two tents inhabitable, using spare parts from the unsalvageable tent, and taking adequate breaks to pull our hands inside our mitts to save our fingers. At around 6:15pm, the four of us finally poured into the tent and tried to warm and encourage each other, laughing and shaking our heads at just how bad the conditions outside were.
Just before 7pm Artur arrived, followed shortly by Robert. The six of us were now crammed in a tent made for three people - so, pretty tight quarters, but the close body contact gave some residual warmth. I had the Jetboil fired and soon began serving up tea, while a few of the others melted ice for soup and drinks. The night would prove to be a rather uncomfortable one, to say the least. Once in position, each member was completely unable to move for the night, imprisoned by a pretzel of knees, elbows and frozen nylon - a sadistic form of the game Twister, played inside a meat locker, inside a wind tunnel, in the middle of O'Hare airport runway, in record setting winter. Robert and I shared the right hand side of the tent, the snow crystals blasting through the door zipper, turning the left side of my down suit into a frozen, powdered donut. To say the least, the night sucked for everyone. The only consolation is that Taqi's knee was bothering him a little and he turned to go down below Camp 1, thereby reducing the number of sardines by one.
On Saturday, Feb 14th, the winds abated a little, at first, then started again in the afternoon. Although slightly lower winds than the previous day, climbing to Camp 3 in these conditions was certainly less than advisable, so we sat tight. Sometime during the morning, a conversation took place which resulted in Ali and Artur setting up a small (emphasis on small) Vaude tent to give us some space to breathe, but this only reduced our number by one. Meanwhile, Amin began an impressive display of super-strength: he would descend to base camp and return to Camp 3 with another tent the following day - a vertical gain of over 2000 meters.
Next Dispatch- Camp 3, High Winds, and the Gear Burrito that Ate My Harness.
I would like to personally send my congratulations to both Simone and Denis for their incredible accomplishment of summiting Makalu in winter. All of us here at base camp were cheering you guys along, and celebrated with shouts and applauses when we received the news. Finally, the last 8000 meter peak of Nepal has been climbed in winter. We are proud of you both!!
The team toasts Simone and Denis photo Don Bowie
In two days we will again attempt to push camp 3 higher, and if the weather forecast holds for a few days, maybe we will try for the summit. Perhaps some of the good fortune from Makalu will shine on us.
"...They charged straight at the foot of the hill and then found themselves running up it almost as water from a broken wave runs up a rock out at the point of some bay. Though the slope was nearly as steep as the roof of a house and the grass as smooth as a bowling green, no one slipped. Only when they had reached the very top did they slow up; that was because they found themselves facing great golden gates. And for a moment none of them was bold enough to try if the gates would open.. They all felt just as they had about the fruit - 'Dare we? Is it right? Can it be meant for us?'..."
"I specifically wanted to call to extend my best wishes to Simone (Moro, Italian) and Denis (Urubko, Kazakhstan) (who are at this time making their summit push on Makalu in the Himalayas). We wanted you both to know that all of our team here on Broad Peak have been following you and are cheering you on, rooting for a successful summit and safe return to base camp."
From Don's Support Team: "Simone & Denis, we wanted you to know that we have also been following you and are praying for your successful summit and safe journey back to base camp.
