American K2 2009 Expedition: Everest Summiter George Dijmarescu K2 2009 part 5

In front now was Louis Rouseau, a Montreal climber who topped out Nanga Parbat just weeks before. Louis started to lead the traverse from what I could see was very dangerous ground. He not only had to keep his balance, but place ice screws into the serac and plow the deep snow. He disappeared behind a sharp turn, returning after only fifteen minutes. We all had to wait for him or get a signal from him. Then his tall slender frame of a climber appeared, shaking his head.
"Big snow," I thought he said.
"How big?" Gerfried asked.
Louis pointed, placing his hand barely below his chin.
Frankly I don't think any of us believed him.
Louis stated that he needed more screws and carabiners, and word went out that more work needed to be done. Louis displayed his strength and technical skills, using his ice axes for security, to turn the screws into the ice.
Louis disappeared once more, and soon all of us would follow, advancing 20m (yards) more.
Vasili, also out in front, then took the lead, going ahead for another 20m.
Louis decided to stay behind, I passed him but asked if he wanted to stay in front of me.
"I think I did my share today" he replied.
I thanked him for the hard work he did for all of us and passed him.
"Gerfried, this is not climbing, this is waiting" Louis called out to his partner. Louis was frustrated by our slow rate of progress and since he was the first to see and taste it, he knew we were not going to get very far.
"One more hour," Gerfried yelled back.

Like me, Gerfried was hoping the snow would somehow compact at the top. With only one section that was steep we would have an easy walk to the summit, we had plenty of rope for security, and all we needed was snow not so deep, snow or sugar-like.
Gerlinde tried but after only a few meters and without Oxygen she could do no more. Then Santiago took the lead, he would push as hard as his oxygenless lungs would allow. He would shove his axe forward, trying to move the snow away from his path, only to have new snow come down to his feet from above. The sugar-snow was a serious deterrent to our progress; he would rest, then push, then rest, again and again. Then he, like the other climbers before him, succumbed to the fatigue exacerbated by the thin air.
Louis called Gerfied again about timing--it was not promising. We were all waiting under millions of tons of ice and, I assure you, everyone knew what had happened in last year's tragedy. It was a bad place to hang around, and Louis knew this was not a smart way to climb. "Only thirty minutes," once gain came the answer from Gerfried. Dave Watson was the last climber who took the lead, with his ski on his back. Dave was perhaps the only climber who could not be mistaken. He put up a brave battle with Mother Nature, he knew how close we were from the summit, he knew he could top out and back safely, If we could only overcome this unexpected obstacle. But even Dave, fighting Mother Nature indeed, fighting with K2, realized that, once again, this mountain would prove that it's not enough to be fit and have cooperative weather-- you need luck.

Continuation from previous dispatches

The crevasse fall has sobered me for the climb ahead. I was paying attention more than ever to where I was stepping, looking for any sign of fault lines that may indicate a hidden crevasse that will hurt me, or worse. I passed the climber ahead of me, the climber that seemed to hear me when I was calling for help. I passed him without saying a word; I knew speaking to him would've helped no one at this point. I kept my concentration on the climb ahead and made good progress. Standing still, seemingly for no reason, was Vasili, one of the Kazachs.

"This is not the route," he claimed. I looked around and remembered the photographs Chris had shown me from his attempt the previous year. His partner was photographed standing on a rather flat spot right under the bottleneck. The place we stood, however, was steep and very different. I looked to the right and there, it seemed, was last year's route. I approved of Vasili's discovery; after all, he had been this far before. He had seen the north and the normal route, each side twice, and this trip was his fifth. Vasili was on K2 four times, unsuccessful on all four. What misfortune for a man clearly capable of topping difficult mountains like Mt. K2. Max, his partner, was searching for the way ahead along with the two Nepalese sherpa, Mingma and Pemba. I left Vasili still deep in his own thoughts. No ropes were fixed and a faulty move or a slip would send a climber down to his death. I had to stay focused on every step I made. Sometimes the ground got easier, sometimes steeper. There were times the snow was so soft I'd sink in up to my knees, while at other times my newly sharpened crampons would hardly bite into the frozen surface. Behind me, the shadow of a person was closing in. The climber would make repeated stops, firmly planting the two ice axes for security. As the person got closer, I noticed it was a woman.

Crevase nigtmare

Woman on K2

With only one female on the entire mountain, it had to be Gerlinde.
She used no Oxygen, so her repeated stops made sense to me. It was grueling work at this altitude and in such a dangerous and inhospitable place. She sat down just above her two temporary ice-axe anchors, and realized that in the middle of the night we got somewhat lost. Dave, just below, soon caught up with us. He sat down, leaning on his right side, his skis strapped to his backpack. I was hoping Dave would choose to summit 'only' instead of having to haul an additional 1.5Kg on his pack for the descent. But no, Dave real mission was to ski down K2 and perhaps the summit was a mere bonus. One must understand one's love for skiing and Dave has inside him this passion, burning like an eternal flame.
"How do you feel?" I asked.
"Fucking great, dude, climbing K2 with a full moon!" It was not quite a full moon but big enough to light our path; however, we needed a very clear view of where we were going. Some climbers suggested we wait til daybreak, but we found the fierce cold forced us to keep moving. I could see a faint light on the horizon and judged it would be still at least 30-45 minutes before there would be light sufficient enough to see all the way up to the bottleneck. The serac was silhouetted against the sky but no details were visible. I was climbing alongside other climbers but only when I was close enough could I identify the climber. I had Dave in my vicinity and that was all I cared about. The ground was getting steeper and steeper so I suggested we start fixing the rope. Pemba, carrying 200m (yards) of Korean rope, pulled it out to hand over to Mingma. I cut the wrapping rope and handed one end to Mingma.
From here the rope couldn't be touched by anybody. I belayed Mingma for a good 15 minutes and when the rope was about finished, I gave him a gentle tug. He did not seem to get it that the rope had no more slack and that he had to fix the anchor; instead he kept pulling. I hoped he'd get on the radio to clarify the situation, but Mingma just continued pulling on the rope. I had Pemba radio him several times without any luck, so we started to yell to him. But Mingma, 200 m away, couldn't hear us. Then Dave suggested we let go of the rope, suspecting Mingma was perhaps in a bad spot, with nowhere to put the anchor. It made sense so I let go of the belayed rope. Mingma was pulling it slowly and soon we saw the rope disappear. We had no choice but to keep climbing without the aid of rope. The sky was lighter now, so we could see more details of our route. We climbed for another 50m and found the rope once again--this time the rope was limp.

Mingma Sherpa open the Bottleneck

Mingma found a place to anchor the rope, offering us a secure line for climbing. Not only had he fixed the rope but also opened the trail for us. Dave, for some reason, was getting closer to Mingma; later Dave admitted he hadn't trusted Mingma's ability to properly make the anchor. It is well known that a bad anchor could spell disaster for those who use it, so Dave wanted to make sure this wouldn't be the case. Mingma was encountering deep snow and his progress slowed to a crawl. His strength at this altitude was a bonus for all of us. I was thinking how fast I would be if I were to break trail on my own, just like Mingma. But since I knew there would be lots of disappointed folks down below, I was grateful Mingma was the one who broke trail. He seemed to wander a little of a straight line, so sometimes we had to yell to him which direction to take. The immensity and scale of the mountain makes it all too easy to stray. He would find an outcropping of rock and place the anchor there. Since it required a piton and needed to be properly placed, Dave was just next to him to help place the crucial piton in the proper crack. Then Mingma would continue the trail breaking with a thin lifeline behind him. Then another rock, another anchor, and Dave.

Mingma was approaching the upper part of the bottleneck and instead of going straight up it, he went to the right--hugging the right-hand side of the gully. Although it made no sense for us below, Mingma knew better. We could see him swimming in deep snow, making even less progress. After getting at the top of the bottleneck, he turned left and disappeared from sight. In another ten minutes we got the go-ahead to climb on. I decided to wait and let other climbers go ahead, Dave stayed behind as well. Pemba went first.
Behind me was the "wonder man", Mr. Kim, jumarring on his own, just like he said he would do. He had a custom-made jumar with a custom-made metal device that had velcro strapped to his wrist. The combination of these two devices allowed Mr. Kim to disengage the jumar with a single move--it was all about a screw and a slotted hole, simple and efficient. He stood next to me when I asked him if he was OK, he gave me a positive sign with his distinctively Korean body language. Mr. Kim could not give me a thumbs up or down, he has no fingers. With the two sherpa ahead, crucial to his climb, Mr. Kim was just fine, the weather being better than we all could hope for. All he had to do was change his jumar at the anchor points. The sherpa help also included taking pictures during the climb, since Mr. Kim couldn't even do that. That left me thinking of my brother Claudio's suggestion to have a helmet camera. I had seen a video from such a camera, filming while on a dirt bike, and the quality was quite acceptable. "Mr. Kim, "you need one of these toys."
Sergei and Santiago climbed on as well. As I look down, I notice a climber in a yellow down jacket without any pack, not using oxygen, but too far away for me to be absolutely sure of his identity. As I waited he came close enough for me to make a positive identification. It was Gerfried. Frankly I was surprised to see him this early on. Along with Louis Ruseau and Sepp, Gerfried started from C3 in the middle of the night, now he was getting "in the front lines", saying, "Every climb I ever made, I had to make some sort of breaking trail," but this one was nothing we'd ever imagined before.

Earlier Updates are below

Summit Push. Part One: The light of my headlamp is facilitating my upward progress, I just left C4 alone, Dave is due to start any moment. I am taking it easy hoping he will catch up soon, the path is straight up and I am about to make the first turn. The Kazach climbers Max and Vasili have started ahead with Sergi, the Russian veteran who is on his 4th K2 summit attempt, one more light is visible about 100 m (yards) ahead of me. The almost full moon is shining on the icy slopes of K2, stars are in the zillions. The windless night gives me a sense of luck, I'm feeling lucky.

Then, it's dark.

Sudden darkness is something unwelcome, but at 8000 m, is very dramatic. The hard snow under my boots gives way, I am falling like an eternity, then stop. The light of my headlamp and the moon and stars are all gone, I try to move but can't. Panic and an adrenaline rush reach my inner core. I manage to rip the Oxygen mask off my face. My body is jammed into a crevasse, the backpack is keeping me hanging. My right leg is jammed against one of the walls, the left is hanging with nothing under it. My right elbow is slightly above my head, I am still holding Lakpa's ice axe in my right hand. My breathing has gotten fast and heavy, I could feel my heart beating faster. I am scared I will fall even deeper.

I've fallen in the crevasse before but never over my head, now I don't even know how deep I am.

I try to jam my left knee on the wall but without success, the crack is too narrow. I pulled on the ice axe but the soft snow above offered no support, in fact the shaft of the axe came at my head. I reached my arm over the shaft and have it under my armpit. I rest for unknown number of seconds, then I pulled on the ice axe. The lights came on. I could see the myriad of stars. What a wonderful view.

Now that I know I am not so deep, I could relax for a while. Having my right leg jammed against the wall was crucial, I pushed on it along with my right arm and came to see even the Moon. My head now is just above the rim of the crevasse. The tightness of the crevasse is keeping me from breathing normally. I try one more time to get out but fell in above my head again. Once again the Moon is gone. My head is tilted back and I am once again staring at the stars. Will I fall even more? My physical energy is draining fast. Still holding the ice axe, I pulled once again. Success. Once again my head is above.

I could see a climber about 60 yards ahead, resting.

"Heyyyyy!!" I yelled, "here!"

His headlamp turns down toward me, he could definitely hear me.

"I need help, I am in the crevasse".

The light moves again. It seems the climber is turning down but then stops, it seems, and starts to climb again. I turn my head down looking to see if my partner, Dave, was coming. I could see his head lamp still near the tent. Dave was too far away to hear me and a good 15 minutes from my cage.

Okay, George, if you want out of this ice cage, you will have to do it yourself.

The snow and ice that fell on the back of my neck was melting and I started to feel cold.

I thought I'd rest for a minute and then try to put all my energy into a bold all-out move to get out, just like a rock climber puts all his energy into a bold move in order to overcome a difficult obstacle.

I wished I had the second ice axe handy but it was strapped on my backpack.

Leg muscles are very powerful and in mountaineering we use them more than any other muscles. Still with the right crampon jammed against the wall, I pushed as hard as I could ever push; it worked. Perhaps filled with adrenaline but gripped by fear and panic, I wasn't very effective in getting full power behind my leg. With my left hand freed and my chest above the crevasse I could at least breathe normally. I swung my ice axe and tried to use it as the tool it's made for, an anchor, but the soft snow offered no purpose. I tried again in a different place, again and again with the same result. No ice, no hard snow and you are out of luck. I grabbed the middle of the axe shaft and slammed it through the soft snow. The shaft went deep into the snow, I pulled back and, success, the technique worked. With only my hips inside the crevasse, I started to feel life again.

I decided not to stand up, I was afraid the snow would collapse, so I kept my entire belly on the snow and crawled and crawled in a swimming motion for about 2 meters (yards). When I thought it was safe I stood up, still breathing very hard.

I look back to see what the fuck was that.

And there it was, my guardian angel.

The luck was in the shape of the crevasse, it was not vertical but at an 80-degree angle; looking down on it reminded me of a sherpa saying:

"You fall down on it, you will go all the way to America."

Well, that would have been great for me, getting home so fast.

I can't imagine the death climbers die when they fall in the crevasse. I would prefer an avalanche instead.

I regained my climbing composure quickly and as I kept on climbing I remember the acclimatization trips and in particular the trips to ABC. Dave would always come behind me and I always found the soft bridges in the glacier that would sink me to my hips and fill my boots with icy water. In one instance I almost fell under the ice of an icy pool of water, and that was scary. The weight of my body seems always to be too much for the bridges, and Dave had many laughs at my misfortune. What is it this year that I found all the holes that existed on K2?

This year is my second attempt on K2.

Last year's tragedy of 11 deaths largely overshadowed the success of its multiple summits, and I was glad I was not on the summit push with them. This year is different, with fewer climbers and lots more snow.

The rock fall last year was something I would remember for the rest of my days. This time, no rock falling at all.