Showing posts with label into thin air. Show all posts
Showing posts with label into thin air. Show all posts

Sunday, January 06, 2008

Mountain Madness - an accurate description of the Krakauer-Boukreev controversy


This afternoon, in a break from some ongoing research, I took a dive into the Internet to look again at some of the things that have been said about Anatoli. I wandered across your Blog and your description of the Krakauer-Boukreev controversy. It is the clearest exposition of the debate that I have ever seen. Thanks for remembering a consummate climber and one of the finest men whose company I have ever had the opportunity to share. Best wishes for the Holidays and the New Year
- Weston deWalt (author of The Climb, the story of Anatoli Boukreev)

Mountain Madness

12 years after the Mount Everest disaster, few know what really happened. How did 9 climbers, from 4 expeditions die on a single day on Mount Everest? Why were there so many people choking up the only path up the mountain, and were the leaders (Fischer and Hall), pressured by the presence of journalists climbing on their opposing teams? Were they locked in a deadly rivalry, or did they just run out of oxygen and time? Was it the weather or human error?
Story by Nick van der Leek

“A lot of people are up here who shouldn’t be.” – Ed Viesturs, 1996 IMAX Expedition

By the end of May, that most lethal month in the mountain’s history, the toll stood at 12. Ironically the 13th casualty was the mountain’s first victim. The sherpa that fell ill with High Altitude Pulmonary Edema, began coughing blood and sputum on April 22, and lapsed into a 2 month coma. He finally died, becoming the last to die from that season, but only in June.

A media frenzy ensued. Newspapers around the world, including the Sunday Times in South Africa, put the story on their front page. 5 weeks after the fact a 17 000 word article (that proved inaccurate) appeared in Outside magazine, written by a journalist, and client, on the Adventure Consultants Guided Expedition. Then a socialite/journalist** from Mountain Madness wrote a self-aggrandizing article in TIME. Something was wrong. More books appeared, some seeming to be self indulgent and attention seeking.

Finally† in 1997, The Climb was published. It was not embroidered, nor overstated. It did not attempt to lay blame. It soon emerged in bitter clarity, that the nightmare was not the mountain, but leaders and clientele who were very competitive, and had paid a cash price for the opportunity to gain glory, but who were reluctant to pay the price of physical preparedness. The mountain stood unmoved as the various characters wished themselves up the mountain. So it was left to an incredibly strong, unassuming and inarticulate but hard as nails Russian climber, Anatoli Boukreev, to save the weak and irrational. He emerged as a hero that day on the mountain, but not through the words or thanks of the people he saved. Mountaineer and writer Galen Rowell describes Boukreev’s efforts as ‘one of the most amazing rescues in mountaineering history.’ When we go back to the mountain in 1996, we ought to start with the one man who knew best that day and most days, how hard the mountain can be.

I admire the authority of being on one’s knees in front of the event
- Harold Brodkey, “Manipulations”

Circus

In the spring of 1996, the circus that Mount Everest was fast becoming, unraveled. At least 16 expeditions participated, among them the Johannesburg Sunday Times Expedition, the Adventure Consultants Guided Expedition, the MacGillivray Freeman IMAX/IWERKS Expedition and Mountain Madness. Over a hundred people, and a star ‘that didn’t belong’* were running around the colossal flanks of the Mountain. Imagine a hundred astronauts on the moon and you have an idea how festive but bizarre it was at Base Camp.

Mountain Madness Guided Expedition
Scott Fischer – leader/USA
Anatoli Boukreev – head guide/Russia
Neal Beidleman – guide/USA

Lene Gammelgaard – client/Denmark
Sandy Hill Pittman – client/journalist/USA
Charlotte Fox – client/USA
Tim Madsen – client/USA
Martin Adams – client/USA
Pete Schoening – client/USA
Klev Schoening – client/USA
Dr Dale Kruse – client/USA

Dr. Ingrid Hunt – Team Doctor/Base Camp Manager/USA

The Cast and Crew

Boukreev belonged to the Mountain Madness Expedition. He was the head guide, and in his care were 7 American clients, a 34 year old Danish woman, and 11 Sherpas. Lopsang Jangbu was their climbing sirdar from Nepal. He was only 23, and this worried Boukreev.

Gammelgaard, the Danish woman, and Boukreev developed a strong friendship. She had a lot of respect for him because she had heard about Boukreev from Michael Joergensen, and they had other things in common; neither were from the USA or particularly wealthy. Lene Gammelgaard, would try, under his charge to become the first Danish woman1 to make the summit of Everest. Gammelgaard and Sandy Hill Pittman, a multimillionairess and socialite, initially got on well, but soon became competitive and were constantly butting heads. Pittman, as onboard journalist, was not the first choice for the team.

The head of Mountain Madness, Scott Fischer, had first attempted to sign up Jon Krakauer, working for Outside magazine, intending to generate international publicity for his company. At the 11th hour, Outside went to a rival expedition (led by Rob Hall), asking them to beat Fischer’s price, which they did, by a few hundred, maybe a thousand dollars. Fischer was very upset about this, but by signing on Sandy Hill Pittman, and successfully getting her to the summit, he felt he had the means to the same end.

Sandy Hill Pittman, according to one of Fischer’s confidants, turned out to be ‘a big piece of work’. Fischer soon realized that she was very self-important, and failure to get her to the top would cost him dearly, and even if he got her to the top she wouldn’t mention him.
If Pittman was a questionable choice (as client climber), Dale Kruse, the ‘seed client’, who had paid 18 months in advance was even more so. The first to sign on, he couldn’t cope with altitude – something Gammelgaard had experienced firsthand on a 1995 expedition to Broad Peak, with Fischer. She wondered: Why had Fischer signed him on? It is the first client’s money that gets the expedition rolling, and Scott Fischer possibly wanted to have the money and, being a nice guy, wanted to give his friend of 20 years what he wanted.

From the word go, Kruse began to have difficulties on Everest. He became very, very quiet, and distanced himself from the other clients.
Pete Schoening from Washington was 68. If he could make the summit he would be the oldest person ever to do so. (A Japanese woman on Hall’s Adventure Consultant’s team was attempting to be the oldest woman ever to reach the summit). Pete Schoening’s nephew, Klev, was 38, and inexperienced but athletic and strong. The same could be said, more or less, for Tim Madsen from Colorado. Martin Adams (a retired Wall Street investor), and Charlotte Fox had been higher than 8 000m before.
Of the 8 clients on Mountain Madness, only Sandy Hill Pittman paid the full asking price, of $65 000.

Problems with O2

From the beginning, there were problems, but none that seemed anomalous. The porters had doubled their rates since yaks couldn’t get to Everest Base Camp. The yaks were up to their necks in snow, and had to be dug out, and so equipment was delayed. So the crew, 11 Mountain Madness sherpas, came under increasing strain early on in the season.
By late March, Mountain Madness still didn’t have any oxygen. The Poisk oxygen supply cost 33% more than they ought to have cost because a Scotsman, Henry Todd, introduced to Poisk by Boukreev during an earlier expedition, had effectively made a deal with the Russians to corner the market and distribute it. When Boukreev attempted to buy oxygen for Fischer, he was troubled by this additional outlay, and so attempted to make another deal, but with Zvesda, for a heavier product.

When Todd became aware that Boukreev was trying to get a better deal, he threatened to pull the plug. Mountain Madness gave in. They bought 55 Poisk 3 litre bottles, and 54 4 litre cylinders from Zvesda (at about $325/at least R2000 a bottle). Those numbers would become meaningful, adding up to a pile of life and survival for some, but struggle, peril and death for others who would not have enough oxygen on summit day.
Pete Schoening, the oldest man on the team, attempting to be the oldest man to ever climb Everest, started drawing on the oxygen supplies almost immediately. He was unable to sleep without breathing oxygen since his arrival at Base Camp in early April, and this uncommon circumstance continued until May 6, the day they left Base Camp for the summit.
Fischer made some private calls to his publicist, Jane Bromet, and one of the recurring messages was that their money was evaporating with every passing day.

Early Setbacks
Neal Beidleman and Sandy Hill Pittman, since arriving at Base Camp, started suffering from a dry, irritating cough. Beidleman’s was so bad he struggled to sleep at night.
On April 22, just after Mountain Madness’ 3rd (of 4) acclimatizing sorties, 23 year old Lopsang Jangbu’s uncle, Ngawang Topche, suddenly developed High-Altitude Pulmonary Edema (HACE) at Camp II (6500m). He was walking around like a drunk, coughing blood and confused. Fischer, attentive to those around him, had picked up on it and ordered Ngawang down, but for reasons unknown, the Sherpa had continued up and his condition rapidly worsened. Medications are still under debate, but rapid descent – about 600 – 1200 metres – is seen as the most effective measure. It became the task of the clients, Klev Schoening and Tim Madsen, to take care of the Sherpa. When his condition worsened even more, they improvised a makeshift sled and during the night, tried to maneuver him down, through the dangerous Khumbu Icefall.

Boukreev noticed that the Sherpas in Base Camp did not respond to their ailing comrade for several hours. It gave him an indication what he might be able to expect from them in an emergency.

Scott Fischer, weighing the cost and necessity of a helicopter rescue, vacillated; hoping Ngawang would show a sudden improvement.
By April 24 Camp III was still not in place, and the Sherpas were virtually exhausted. While Ngawang fought for his life, the mood on the mountain darkened. The clients were becoming restless and frustrated and some muttered amongst themselves that their guides were not paying attention to details, and were often too busy to offer a helping hand.
Other expeditions noticed that Mountain Madness sent their clients off on sorties, allowing them to move through some difficult situations unattended. And Sherpas began to talk about the disrespect some clients had for the mountain. Sandy Hill Pittman had found a young male climber to share her tent with.

White squalls fell on the mountain. This meant sending a helicopter to pick up Ngawang was out of the question now. Ngawang had to be carried in a basket on the backs of Sherpas down to Pheriche. For over forty hours, amongst blood and vomit, a medical team that included Base camp manager and team doctor Ingrid Hunt tried to keep Ngawang’s lungs working. His heart stopped for ten minutes and they restarted it. His lungs became blocked with fluid and Dr.Hunt sucked it out with a plastic tube. By April 26 the weather had improved and he was airlifted to a hospital in Kathmandu (at a cost of about $10 000). Despite the use of precious oxygen during attempts to revive him, he continued to suffer in hospital, dying in June.

It was April 29 and a deep line began to cut into Scott Fischer’s usually carefree forehead. The Sherpas of Mountain Madness had still not prepared Camp IV, or taken oxygen there.
On April 30, at Base Camp, Boukreev worried about him, their team leader. Boukreev was a strong proponent of self-reliance in the mountains. Now, because he’d needed to hold the hands of the weaker clients, especially Dale Kruse, Scott Fisher’s acclimatization routine had been broken time and time again.

Strategy

Boukreev, at that stage one of the world’s most accomplished mountaineers, was focused and disciplined. He often told his charges, “Save yourself,” because the idea, once arriving at Base Camp, was not only to acclimatize. Since Boukreev spoke only passable English, climbers like Klev Schoening initially misunderstood what he meant. Did “Save yourself,” mean “be careful, don’t get yourself into trouble, and don’t fall down a crevasse”? No. It meant, conserve your energy.

Acclimatizing meant a combination of active rest and gradually climbing to progressively higher altitudes (sometimes well higher than some of the human bodies around him had previously endured). Mountain Madness, throughout April, went on 4 sorties, each going beyond the altitude of the last, and then coming back to Base Camp to rest.
For the summit bid itself, time was all important. 13:00 had been suggested as a good turnaround time, and 14:00 as the absolute deadline. Any longer and climbers would run out of oxygen whilst still high on the mountain.

Boukreev personally did not like to use oxygen, because if the supply suddenly ran out, the brain instantly fogged up and the body struggled to adjust under these conditions of severe hypoxia.
Boukreev believed in preparation, and was meticulous with his own regimen. He held the opinion that while one acclimatized, the body couldn’t rest at Base Camp, because it was too cold, and too high (5300m – just 600m lower than Kilimanjaro), and his recommendation was after the 4th sortie, at the end of April and just days prior to the final push towards the summit, climbers must go down to the forest region, to about 3800m.

Boukreev suggested this on several occasions, and few were receptive to the idea. It meant going a long way down and then having to make up a lot of territory, including vertical height. Boukreev insisted it was a great way to revive the system, and generate muscle tone.

Martin Adams was the only client who went to the effort of walking as far down as Pheriche (4280m) while Boukreev had gone even lower, to the Garden Lodge of Deboche
(3770m). Adams was the first Mountain Madness client to summit on May 10.

Yak Steak

"The reader senses that the presence of an Outside journalist as a client on the most fatal commercial Everest venture was no coincidence." - Galen Rowell
While everyone else had remained at Base Camp, Sandy Hill Pittman had gone down to meet friends, including Martha Stewart. She later reported via satellite phone that she’d eaten yak steak and french fries at her ‘favorite restaurant’, before walking back to Base Camp overnight.

The next morning, May 6, was the day identified for them to begin the final push for the summit. While her team gathered around for breakfast, Pittman logged on and related the finer points of the previous days to an NBC Interactive audience (the archives for the site www.nbc.com/everest have since been removed).
Meanwhile Beidleman’s cough had improved, but Scott had not been feeling too good, and was on antibiotics.
Later, on May 6, after the clients had left, Boukreev had some time to think about what lay in store for them. Shortly after that almost the entire Mountain Madness camp (at Base Camp) was abandoned.

A Beer

“I have to learn to be humble, because I don’t want to die in the mountains.”
– Scott Fischer


May 6. When Boukreev reached Camp II at the end of that day, Fischer had gone back down with Dale Kruse to Base Camp. That evening Scott was having a beer with Dale Kruse and Pete Schoening – both had finally given up on their attempt.
The next day Fischer had to climb from Base Camp to his clients at Camp II, who were resting so that they could get to Camp III. On his way he struggled to pass Scotsman Henry Todd, an older climber from Himalayan Guides. When they spoke to one another, Todd said that Scott Fischer struggled to speak, but coughed and coughed.
Finally Scott confided: “I’m worried about these people. I’m worried about the situation.”
By that evening Fischer had burned up precious reserves to get back up to Camp II.

Ed Viesturs

On May 7th, the IMAX team, encountering high winds, and intending to make their bid on the 9th, a day before the other expeditions (with the intention of getting clean shots and not being slowed down) changed their minds and went down. When they encountered Boukreev and the Mountain Madness group, Ed Viesturs, also a very accomplished climber remembers feeling somewhat embarrassed. They wondered whether they were making the right decision. He said, standing amongst the other climbers in reasonable weather, he felt quite ‘sheepish’ going down. Viesturs also said he remembered a lot of smiling faces heading up the mountain.

May 10, 1996
In the darkness of the mountain, the machine gunfire that had battered their tents suddenly drifted down. It became eerily quiet. This happened at about 10pm, on May 9.
Boukreev woke up in a tent he was sharing with Schoening (who was behaving strangely), Martin Adams and the Danish woman, Lene Gammelgaard. They were at Camp IV, at 7900m. After some tea, the climbers set off, most of them leaving by about midnight. Charlotte Fox, who was celebrating her birthday on May 10, walked up the white veil that swooped under a sky dripping with stars.

All were meant to have 18 hours of oxygen, or 3 canisters each, but each person could only carry one at a time. It had been the Sherpa’s job to stash a supply of 11 oxygen canisters on the South Summit (at 8748m), and fix ropes on the dangerous exposed sections above this level. Boukreev packed oxygen but was unsure whether he would need any (and in fact didn’t use any).

Lopsang fastened a length of rope to Sandy Hill Pittman and headed up with her.

But this year on summit day I am tired and sick because [the day before] I am carrying 80 pounds, maybe 75 pounds, from Camp III to Camp IV, I am carrying Sandy's telephone. I am also very tired because [on summit day] I take up Sandy together on rope above Camp IV. I am too tired, I vomit, so I tell to Ang Dorje [Hall's sirdar], you fix line. He says OK. I tell to Neal [Beidleman], you take ropes from me." - Lopsang (in an interview with Jon Krakauer)

Scott Fischer was very slow to leave Camp IV. He left last just after Gammelgaard.
She turned back to check how he was, but after that, hurried to stick with the group in order to not climb alone on summit day.

Boukreev summitted first at 13:07, followed by Jon Krakauer at 13:12 (from Adventure Consultants, Rob Hall’s team) and Beidleman and Adams 13 minutes later. Klev Schoening arrived at 13:45, and Boukreev took his photograph. After Schoening, the flow stopped. 14:00 came and went, and Boukreev, who by then had been on the summit for almost an hour (and without oxygen) began to feel cold and tired.

Time Out

Of all the coverage, Anatoli Boukreev's book The Climb got the story best. Of course, it was written from the point of view inside his climbing boots, but at least I recognized what he wrote as being the same trip I was on. - Sandy Hill Pittman

A star was spotted in the middle of the day above the south summit. It was not the comet, it had long since disappeared. The Sherpas who saw this much lower down the slopes of Everest, became agitated.

Jon Krakauer (from Adventure Consultants) said that on his way down (and he was at the front, just behind Boukreev) he counted ‘at least 6’ canisters – nowhere near enough for either Expedition.

Gammelgaard, Fox, Madsen and Pittman (with the help of Lopsang) made the summit by or just before 14:30. They had gotten mixed up in another, much slower moving group which included a Taiwanese Expedition and Halls’ Adventure Consultants. They spent 40 minutes celebrating on the summit. Each minute, would cost them dearly.

Lopsang did express mild surprise, however, that he received "no money, no thank you, nothing" from Pittman after the expedition for the help he provided her. - Jon Krakauer

By now, all the Mountain Madness clients who had started had made the summit. Fischer had not sent anyone back (13:00 had been suggested as a good turnaround time, and 14:00 as the absolute deadline, but no plan appeared to be in place) because after Gammelgaard had left him, he’d not had any contact with his clients – they were all above him on the mountain. Also, Fischer and Lopsang were using a pair of old 10 channel radios to communicate.
Fischer arrived on the summit at about 15:45. Dr. Hunt made radio contact. Fischer said, “I am so tired.”

Lopsang who had gotten sick from using oxygen, was there with him, so was Rob Hall, who was impatiently waiting for one more client to summit. Hansen and Hall were on the summit just after 16:00, and not long after that, Hansen collapsed. Hall refused to leave him for several hours, and finally was so weakened that he was unable to move. Andy Harris, a guide with Adventure Consultants, asked Lopsang, who was helping Scott down, to take oxygen to Hall and Hansen for $500. Lopsang said that he had to take care of his group. In the end, Harris went up to help Hall and Hansen himself. Despite these efforts, neither rescuer nor the other two survived.

Meanwhile, Boukreev had hurried down the mountain ahead of everyone else, to prepare tea, to warm himself, and to be ready for the clients reaching Camp IV. Krakauer called this a critical error – having the head guide, and such a strong climber uselessly sitting in a tent at Camp 4, while climbers higher up struggled. Ironically, this is exactly what Krakauer himself did – rushed down the mountain as fast as possible without offering others any assistance, but unlike Boukreev, once he reached his tent he slept for the rest of the night while one climber after another from his team died on the mountain. In all four of Krakauer’s five teammates perished that night, including team leader, Rob Hall.

Drowning

Boukreev arrived at Camp 4 at 17:00. Pemba Sherpa made him some tea. Boukreev thought Pemba had turned around on the way to the summit, but in fact, Pemba had been waiting in Camp IV all day, and had an old black radio with him. Dr Hunt was struggling to make contact with him all day. Boukreev understood that the Mountain Madness clients would run out of oxygen, so he left the camp at 18:30 in deteriorating weather. In his pack were three oxygen canisters, which he’d offer to clients as they needed them.

But freight trains pounded the mountain, and Boukreev couldn’t see anything or anyone in the whiteout. Lopsang and Scott had strong short range yellow radios and the only black radios (as far as Boukreev was aware) and they were still much higher on the mountain, climbing down together. He went back to his tent at 21:00, and waited for news. With no radio, no way of knowing what was happening, he could only gather his strength and make himself ready. The leaders, Hall and Fischer, were weak, still high on the mountain, and in trouble. Leaders and clients, one by one, started to run out of oxygen. Lopsang spent five hours with Fischer, before leaving him to descend on his own and find help.

Then Martin Adams, who had summitted only a few minutes after Boukreev, stumbled into camp, on his own, at about 10:15pm. Boukreev was ‘very glad’ to see him. Adams said he didn’t see anyone.
Meanwhile 8 clients from two expeditions (6 were Mountain Madness clients) and three Sherpas found their way down the mountain, but weren’t able to find Camp IV in the storm, and so huddled together. Their position was 400 metres from Camp IV (15 minutes walk under normal conditions), but just 20 metres from the edge of the deadly Kangshung Face.

Now a number of climbers were in trouble, and there were in fact a number of climbers at Camp IV who had not yet made a summit attempt and were thus well rested. These included Ian Woodall, Cathy ‘O Dowd and Bruce Herrod (from the South African/UK team) and 5 more climbers from Henry Todd’s team.
Boukreev had to locate the huddle of bodies on his own, but could do so only once Neal Beidleman, Mike Groom (from Adventure Consultants)Lene Gammelgaard and Klev Schoening told him, at about 00:45 that people needed his help, and where he would find them.
Acting on their instructions, he went out with no assistance (no other climbers would help). Even the Sherpas who had remained at Camp IV, were all suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning, from cooking with a gas stove inside a sealed tent. Boukreev’s first foray in the storm was unsuccessful – he had climbed upwards along the route, instead of walking along the flatter section of the mountain around Camp IV. Boukreev finally found Pittman with Madsen and Fox, and gave them each some tea. He was only strong enough to bring them in one by one, and he brought the birthday girl, Fox, in first. Next he got Pittman, and Madsen struggled to stay with them, leaving behind a 47 year old Japanese woman (Yasuko Namba) and Beck Weathers. Weathers had become irrational and walked off into the storm.

Finally, by 04:30 all of the Mountain Madness team were safe in their tents on the South Col. All but their leader were safe. The Japanese woman, who had attached herself to the Mountain Madness group now found herself alone, less than 20 minutes walk from shelter, while her teammates were either too frightened or exhausted to save her. When Neal Beidleman from Mountain Madness – who had helped her for much of the way down – heard that she died, he broke into tears. Krakauer writes that he cried for 40 minutes.

Bad Blood

At about 07:00 on May 11, the radio batteries of Hall’s Expedition gave out, and David Breashears, the IMAX leader, called Ian Woodall (from the South African Expedition) who was also on the South Col, and asked him to allow Jon Krakauer to use their powerful radio so Hall’s team could coordinate a rescue. Woodall said no even though he was well aware of the stakes.
At 16:00 that same day Boukreev climbed back up the mountain to Scott, who was at 8 350 meters. Boukreev reached Fischer at 19:00 while a vicious storm blew around him. He found Fischer with his down suit’s zipper open and one hand, without a glove, was frozen solid. His face behind the oxygen mask resembled a bruise. Fischer must have died sometime earlier in the day. Seeing this, Boukreev said he was “very sad”.

Boukreev climbed alone and in the dark, in a storm as severe as the previous night, and intuitively found his way back to his tent in the dark. He found a man2 alone in a tent beside his, from Hall’s expedition, screaming.

On the 25th of May, Bruce Herrod, who was climbing on his own way behind Woodall and O’ Dowd (as part of the Johannesburg Sunday Times Expedition), walked over the bodies of first Fischer and then Hall before reaching the summit of Everest at 17:00 or later. It had taken him all of 17 hours to get there. He too, would never return, and Boukreev would find him still tangled in the ropes at the Hillary Step, the following year.

The Mountain Is Unmoved

"Everest is no smaller than it ever was, but the motives for climbing seem to have steadily diminished." - New York Times
Having climbed Kilimanjaro myself, I know how quickly a strong climber can become miserably sick and dim-witted at high altitude. It is not the place for writers, or even climbers present, or not, to make authoritative claims about what cause men on mountains to do what they do in the face of death, and danger. Worse, is the tendency to worship the God of blame. When exploring the adventures of men who died far from the comforts of home, we do their lives justice by simply acknowledging them, and the astonishing confluence of events that come together in the world’s wildest and highest places. We ought to, at the very least, imagine the vivid and stupendous scenes that swept beyond their gas masks and took them so far into the world.

When Gammelgaard, the stoic Danish woman, first stood upon the Khumbu Glacier, she was overtaken by its magnificent beauty. She stood apart from the others and quietly wept. The mountain stands unmoved as men, the wise and the foolish, the tall and the small, journey through the immense chasms and cathedrals of the great Outside. For some, when facing an objective like Everest for the first time, in the present moment, being there brings about a sinking feeling. For others, like Boukreev, their hearts are made to soar, and indeed, Boukreev liked to sing when he was camping in the mountains.

Avalanche
“There is not enough luck in the world. . . I got somebody’s share.”
– Anatoli Boukreev after cheating death in 1995 on Manaslu


The following year Boukreev guided the first Indonesians up the summit of Everest. They also arrived late, at 15:30.
On his way down the lower slopes (below Base Camp) Boukreev met a Japanese man, Yasuko Namba’s husband. They talked over a pot of tea.
On December 6, 1997 Boukreev was awarded the American Alpine Club’s David A. Sowles Memorial Award for his heroism and courage on Mount Everest in 1996. Boukreev was not in the USA to accept the award; he was in Nepal, attempting to climb Annapurna (8078m), in winter, by a difficult route. During his adventures in the mountains, Boukreev had had some lucky escapes. But this time, he and his climbing friend were struck down by an avalanche on Christmas Day. Only Moro, the Italian who was climbing with them lived to tell the tale.
Boukreev is known to have said: “Do not forget the mountaineers who have not returned from the summits.”


†The Climb was in response to, and challenges and in part refutes, Krakauer’s slickly written Into Thin Air.
*G. Weston DeWalt describes this star, in his book, The Climb, as the comet Hyakutake which he says was “…considered an ominous sign by the Sherpas…”
**Sandy Hill Pittman
Boukreev had earlier guided the first Welshman, the first Dane and the first Brazilian, and after 1996 would guide the first Indonesian to the summit.
Beck Weathers


More:
Why does Jon Krakauer dislike Anatoli Boukreev so much?
Everest Revelation: A Clarification
Pitons are served

Return to Thin Air — Without Jon Krakauer?
Everest debate, Part Two: Weston DeWalt
Sandy Hill, 51
Join The Debate

Saturday, April 09, 2005

Interview with Jon Krakauer


The immediacy of Into Thin Air is such that you feel you are actually with the Mt. Everest expedition as they struggle towards the summit and encounter disaster upon the harrowing descent. Into the Wild, the haunting and tragic story of Chris McCandless' idealistic attempt to live life as a modern day Thoreau, is more than the search to unravel the mystery of his eventual starvation in the Alaskan wilderness. McCandless' story became an obsession for the author and his gripping book causes readers to look inward, to reflect upon our own existence and question the manner in which we lead our lives. Bold Type recently caught up with Krakauer to talk about how he's dealing with incredible success and tragedy.

Bold Type: How did you start writing, what was your formal training?

Jon Krakauer: I never studied writing. but I'd always been a reader and had a secret fantasy about being a writer. Because of my climbing, I went to Alaska for the first time in 1974 to the Arrigetch Peaks in the Brooks Range and made three ascents of unclimbed peaks. The American Alpine Club has a journal, The American Alpine Journal, they publish every year which is a compendium of notable ascents around the world, and they invited me to write an article about these climbs. That was the first article I ever wrote. Three years later I was paid for the first time to write an article when I climbed the Devil's Thumb, and wrote about that for a now-defunct British magazine called Mountain. Then a friend and climbing partner, my writing mentor David Roberts, quit a teaching job at Hampshire College, where I had gone, to become an editor at Horizon. After a year he left Horizon to freelance, and said it's a great racket. He told me how to go about the protocol of writing query letters and convinced me to try freelancing. I dabbled in it for a couple of years and in 1983 quit my carpentry job and went for it and I've been writing ever since.

BT: How did you make the move from nature writing to mainstream magazines?

JK: I knew that you couldn't make a living simply writing about the outdoors, so I made an effort from the beginning of my freelance career to write about other subjects. Since I had been a carpenter, I felt like I could bullshit my way writing about architecture for Architectural Digest. I had been a commercial fisherman, so I had queried Smithsonian about a commercial fishery in Alaska, and they went for it. I queried Rolling Stone early on about firewalking, walking on hot coals, and agreed to write it on spec. I tried writing for local Seattle magazines and found that it was just as difficult to get published locally as it was nationally and the local magazines paid literally ten percent as much, so I said fuck the local stuff. I was setting quotas that I would write ten query letters a week, and I definitely worked hard, but I got lucky. Because I wanted to pay the rent, I didn't have any grandiose ambitions of being an artiste; I wanted to pay the fucking bills, so I worked really hard. I realized that what I wrote for Rolling Stone had to be pretty different from Smithsonian, and I gave them whatever they wanted, I wanted to sell the article. It was useful, as a writer, to try out different voices and it was also smart, as a businessman.

BT: What are some of the other subjects you've written about that have captured your interest?

JK: The problem is that none of them have captured my interest as much as the outdoor pieces. The pieces I've written for Outside magazine are definitely my best work, and they're virtually all about the outdoors. That's why in Eiger Dreams, most of those were originally published in Outside or Smithsonian. It's hard for me to think about pieces that really stuck in my mind that weren't about the outdoors.

BT: How did you find the transition from short pieces for magazines to the extended narratives of a book?

JK: It was extremely satisfying. I really enjoy researching, and for almost every piece, I research enough to write a book. Almost every magazine piece I've ever written, I felt like I haven't done it justice, like it was just a gloss. So to write a book, and to spend a year or two and tell a story right is really satisfying and after doing that it's hard to go back and write magazine articles.

BT: What are you working on now?

JK: I'm six weeks overdue on a piece for National Geographic about going to the heart of Antarctica, to a place called Queen Maud Land, where I climbed with Alex Lowe, who's probably the best climber in the world.

BT: Most people who have read Into Thin Air would be shocked to hear that you've gone climbing again since returning from Everest.

JK: Well, I came back from Everest with serious doubts about the whole business of climbing, but it's real important to me. I'd give up writing before I gave up climbing. I had this invitation to climb with the best, and to go to this amazing place with these beautiful, huge fins of granite sticking out of the ice that had never been climbed before. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I took it. I committed with a little anxiety, and when I went I had greater anxiety, but it ended up being one of the best trips I've ever done. It was uneventful, the climbing was the kind of climbing I know how to do--technical, steep, vertical and overhanging granite. There was nothing higher than 11,000 feet.

BT: Were you fearful of climbing again after Everest?

JK: It wasn't like, 'Am I afraid of this?' It was more like, "Is this right? Is it too selfish?" I won't go back to Everest, I'm afraid of that.

BT: Is there an altitude ceiling you've set for yourself--a height you won't climb above again?

JK: Well, probably 23,000 or 24,000 feet. Below that you can acclimatize so it's really not so dangerous. Above that, everything changes.

BT: What was the reaction by your family and friends to the news that you were going climbing again after Everest?

JK: They understood. But my wife, and she didn't tell me this until I got back, it was harder for her in some ways than it was when I went to Everest. On Everest I could call her on the satellite phone, in Antarctica there's no communications at all for six weeks. And it seemed to be escalating: first Everest, then Antarctica, which in her mind was worse because it was more remote.

BT: How would you explain to a layperson what it is about climbing that is so appealing, that is worth the tremendous risk?

JK: It fascinates me because it matters. Unlike most of life, what you do really matters and you can't afford to fuck up. Your actions have real consequences. You have to pay attention and focus, and that's very satisfying. It forces you to pay great attention and you lose yourself in the task at hand. Without the risk, that wouldn't happen, so the risk is an essential part of climbing, and that's hard for some people to grasp. You can't justify the risk when things go wrong and people die. The greater the risk, the greater the reward in most aspects of life, and in climbing that's certainly true, too. It's very physical, you use your mind and your body. It's like full-body chess, and it gets you to beautiful, beautiful places.

BT: What are some other activities you enjoy and pursue, besides writing and climbing?

JK: I love being outdoors, being in the mountains and the desert, and my wife enjoys that too. That's one of the things that sustain our relationship. I snowboard, I read and I write. I'm not gregarious. I don't really have many friends, because I'm away a lot, and I feel like when I'm home I want to spend time with my wife. I'm just not social to begin with, so I'm entirely happy being alone for long periods of time.

BT: But you're so charming at your slide shows... have you just gotten used to speaking to large groups of people?

JK: I've learned how to speak publicly, but I hate it and it's really hard for me. It's really, really anxiety-inducing and difficult. I would pay a lot of money not to have to do this book tour.

BT: Who are some of the writers you admire most?

JK: There are so many. I've always loved Updike. My favorite Updike novel, not one of his best known, is called A Month of Sundays. I've always liked Joan Didion, E. Annie Proulx, Charles Bowden, David Roberts, Lorrie Moore. I probably read a lot more fiction than non-fiction, I'm not sure why. I just read this pretty cool novel, sort of weird, but it works--The Lives of the Monster Dogs. It sounds so preposterous but it's brilliant.

BT: Did you bring any novels with you to Everest?

JK: I brought Infinite Jest, because I really like David Foster Wallace, but it proved impossible to read at base camp. My brain just wasn't up to it. Runners brought old copies of Time and Newsweek to base camp, but I had no desire to read the news; I was just completely focused on the climb.

BT: How were you able to take such detailed notes and remember so many facts throughout this harrowing experience?

JK: Well, my memory proved unreliable, but as a journalist, I'm disciplined. I take the reporting side of writing more seriously than the writing side. I think it really is a lot of work to get things right, so I trained myself. I filled nine notebooks. I had a big notebook that I wrote in every morning and night in the mess tent, recording what I observed. And I had these little reporter's notebooks I took up the mountain, and every time I stopped to rest or take drink of water, as a matter of discipline I'd take it out of my breast pocket and write. I had one of those space pens that writes well below zero, and they work. I sort of take notes the way photographers take photos. You just sort of scattershot, record everything, because you never know what's going to prove invaluable when you get back down. And I don't worry about how the story's going and try to fit it in, I try to just record it, because if you're prejudiced and you're looking for a certain quote or something, you're going to miss the stuff that's going to prove to be important. The only time I didn't take notes was on summit day. I tried at 27,600 feet when I got to "The Balcony" at 5:30am, but they're basically illegible, and they make no sense because my brain wasn't working. I didn't start taking notes again until 6am on May 11th when Stuart Hutchinson woke me up. So there's a period there, the most important period, where I took no notes. I've reconstructed that from many, many interviews of all of the people who were up there, and as you know, I got stuff wrong. You can't trust your memory, it was a matter of cross-referencing and corroborating. And even now, astute readers will find that the timeline doesn't add up precisely. Everyone who was up there agrees that time is the slipperiest thing.

BT: What was the writing process like when you got back? The thing that strikes me is, of course this is an incredibly powerful story, but it's the immediacy of your writing that I find so incredibly impressive.

JK: I got back and told The New York Times and NPR that I was definitely not going to write a book, no fucking way. I had to write the article for Outside, and then I was going to put Everest out of my mind. So I wrote the article, and after it went to press I learned the huge mistake I made about Andy Harris. And that was the first time I though that maybe I should write the book. The article was 18,000 words, and I still hadn't done the story justice. So writing this book became all I could think about; I was obsessing about it. Even after the article was done, I was calling people and interviewing them. That's how I discovered the Andy Harris mistake--the article was done, but I compulsively called Martin Adams because I hadn't talked to him yet. Once I decided to write it, I decided to write it quickly because I was going to Antarctica in December and I didn't want it hanging over my head. People counseled me not to write it, but in the end I'm glad that I did. I think it does have a certain immediacy and an honesty that it would have lacked had I waited three years. Once I decided to write the book I did some more research and began writing it the second week in September, and from then until December when I left for South Africa to fly to Antarctica, I was writing between 14 and 20 hours a day, every day, seven days a week. It was just a fever.

BT: Did you find the act of writing cathartic?

JK: Well, I think I will eventually. It wasn't at the time, it was just hard and very painful. It's not the way I usually write. I write long hours, but I'm really slow and I suffer writer's block. I work on a single sentence sometimes for two or three days. I didn't have that luxury this time, but that was good. I couldn't fuck around with it too much, it was just 'get it down and get it down fast.' I had 80 or 90 days of writing and there were about 88,000 words in the book, so there was sort of like this quota. I knew I had to do about a thousand words a day, and I was a basket case by the end.

BT: Why do you think this tragedy captured the public imagination the way it did?

JK: Because it's Everest, and there's all this mystique surrounding Everest. The media was drawn to it like flies to shit. And the media was primed because of all of the Web sites and Sandy Pittman, this very colorful figure who had been written about by The Wall Street Journal and others before she even went. So when this happened there was me and Sandy along, both journalists, it was primed for the feeding frenzy. I'm not surprised that it hit big, I'm surprised that the interest seems to be sustained. I worried that people would be sick of this whole thing and wouldn't be interested in the book, but that's not been the case.

BT: What do you think about the way the media covered this story?

JK: Short form media is reductionist by nature. Television especially, but magazines, too, including mine, distilled it down to "Here's the good guys, here's the bad guys." And TV tried to say, "Here's this tragedy that didn't have to happen," and "Who's to blame?" It's so much more complicated than that. Rob Hall, for instance, fucked up big time, and he died, and one of his guides and two of his clients died. But I don't blame Rob, and I sort of understand his mistakes, and a lot of them were rooted in altruistic, generous motives, but the end was tragic.

BT: What do you hope that people come away with after reading this book?

JK: I wanted more than anything else to show the complexities and ambiguities of this tragedy. That's it's not simple, and it's not easy to assign blame, and it's rooted not in greed and the crassness of thrill-seeking or trophy hunting, but it's much deeper and more profound. The motives for people who climb Everest are, in some ways, noble, as misguided as they often are. It's wanting to reach beyond yourself. There's also a lot of hubris there and selfishness. I wanted it to be a very fair, sympathetic, even-handed portrait of the characters involved. I just wanted to tell the story in its full complexity. That's what I'm always trying to do in my writing and that's why I'm always frustrated by magazine articles. There's always a lot of gray area in life, and in most journalism you're forced to boil it down to the black and white and the gray just gets leeched away. In a book you have the luxury of developing characters and showing that people are both good and bad, and they do good things and they fuck up.

BT: What were your thoughts when you heard about the deaths on Everest this year?

JK: I got sick to my stomach, I couldn't believe it was happening all over again. It brought back way too many memories.

BT: Is it a case of people not learning any lessons from last year?

JK: Oh, absolutely. Everest self-selects for very determined people and because it's Everest, people take all kinds of chances they wouldn't take on other mountains. That's why this tragedy will be repeated again and again. It's called "the death zone" for a very good reason, it's just like playing Russian roulette.

BT: What would Chris McCandless have done had he been with you on the Everest expedition?

JK: He would have run so far from Everest. He was an adventurer, but he thought wealth was corrupting and evil, and people spending $65,000 to climb Everest, he would have thought that was obscene. Chris was a guy who didn't appreciate the gray areas and ambiguities and he would have been quick to form strong opinions about us, and he would have castigated all of us. I can just imagine what he would have said (laughs).

BT: You still seem to have this incredibly strong connection to Chris. What is it about his story that keeps you obsessed several years later?

JK: I identify with him a lot, and it's a sad story. I went back to the bus for the third time last September. I've become quite good friends with his family, we have sort of this weird bond. His parents came to the slide show I gave in Baltimore a few days ago, and it was the first time they'd seen many of these slides and it must have been very hard for them. Several people came up to them and told them how much they admired Chris, it was really touching. It's so weird to me that I never knew Chris; I've written this book about him and his parents have thanked me for explaining aspects of him that they never knew, but I never met the guy. At the readings in Atlanta and Nashville, people came up to me who'd gone to college with Chris at Emory and knew him, and it was really eerie.
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