NEWS: 27th Sep 2006
Heading for Camp 2
By Chris Van Tulleken
The only thing less dignified than howling with the pain of blood returning to your frozen fingertips, even as they are placed inside the armpits of a laughing 19yr old Sherpa Pasang, is listening to these howls of pain coming from your twin brother; Pasang's armpit was the end of the journey to Camp One for Xand. This journey had been arduous for everyone but for me the difficulty was eased by encouraging comments from Dr Hugh Montgomery, formerly the world's greatest physiologist, "I've seen better looking prisoners of war". There were those that said that I crawled broken backed and knocked knee?d, hauling on my poles and gasping for breath; but an idiosyncratic walking style coupled with a heavy pack should not be mistaken for weakness of mind or body. While I warmed my fingers, Chris, who is more experienced in polar travel, threw caution and carbon monoxide to the wind and got a good burn up going inside the tent until it was in his words 'tropical' (-2C).
Camp One is at 6.5km altitude and consists of what seems to be hundreds of dome-tents balanced precipitously on bits of ice, as well as the most spectacularly decorated loo on the planet, consisting as it does of an (almost) glistening white trench overlooking a deep turquoise crevasse. Lacking only a newspaper rack this would be the perfect place to relax were it not for the fact that every single one of the aforementioned dome-tents commands a view of the trench. The other problem with using this facility is that one is usually encumbered with a large amount of high altitude clothing; when I commented to Mike Grocott (Our Glorious Leader) that it was difficult going to the toilet in my 8000m boots he looked concerned and suggested I use the trench.
If one chooses to look up, rather than down one can see the up-coming climb. There was a lot of talk at Chinese base camp about how wretchedly high the mountain looked but this was put down, by some, to foreshortening due to reflection from the snow, refraction in the rarefied air, lay lines etc. Those of us that felt it just looked high have been proved right and gazing up across the enormous series of steps up to the two vast seracs that bar the way to Camp Two is a terrifying prospect. Especially when getting across the tent leaves one gasping for breath.
The walk from Camp 1 to Camp 2 is a powerfully empathetic experience for two doctors. Prior to sunrise it is just cold, but once the sun is up the combination of freezing extremities and a boiling core along with blistering skin on all exposed parts replicates what I imagine to be the experience of severe sepsis. The breathlessness is appalling and reminiscent of patients with severe pulmonary disease begging for death in the small hours of the morning. Having surmounted the first of the two seracs, a feat which took over an hour due to volume of traffic, we found ourselves unable to scale another vertical wall of ice so we abseiled to a place we could rest and collect ourselves. After a drink, a chocolate bar and a radio call to our glorious leader declaring ourselves more dead than alive we made the unusual decision to re-scale the serac, by now free of other climbers. On reaching the top, triumphant and for the second time we radioed our glorious leader who, reasoning that this was the last act of two people who were severely hypoxic and that it was late in the day, ordered us back to camp 1.
With just enough protest to preserve some dignity (but not enough to risk a reversal of the decision) we made our way back to camp one and spent a jolly few hours getting cold and hungry idling about with Denny, Sundeep, Carotidsurgeon, Mark, and Stroud.
Hugh takes over the story ?..
?Name confusion is the norm around camp with two Mikes, two Chrises and two twins so it took some time for Chris' failure to recognize Mark to sink in as indicating anything abnormal. His progressive failure to name his sleeping bag, undress himself or indeed do anything at all were gradually recognized by the group as more than just his usual attitude of entitlement. Warming fluids and sugar were replaced by acetazolamide, and finally a Russian fighter pilot's mask complete with high flow oxygen. Any suggestion that all this was simply to enjoy a night of Denny stroking his hand was dispelled when Xand and Sundeep took over these tender ministrations and the M.O. went to bed, and so did Xand and Sundeep, waking only to clamp the oxygen mask back onto his face.?
Chris again?.
I awoke rather surprised by the tale of the night's events as well as by the oxygen mask and IV line in my hand but bravely offered that I would be waited on hand and foot for the morning and then have the others carry all my things down the hill. In truth it is interesting that a lack of insight may typify a diagnosis of acute mountain sickness and personal patient intuition (especially when the patient is a Dr) is no guide to what is going on. It still does not feel to me like I was unwell but without the efforts of Denny, Chris (carotid), Sundeep and Xand, while they themselves were tired cold and hypoxic, I might not be writing this now.
Despite a recent clearing of the weather as the mountain is now loaded with snow but the trip remains an unmitigated success with everyone contributing to great science and immense fun.