Recently in Preparing for Everest Category

So the trip is still a go. I made it clear to Willie, our trip leader, that I’m all in favor of going for it. As long as we are safe, it’s fine by me. He feels the same way.

The other piece of good news is that we — may — look to climbing on Nuptse in order to acclimatize if the Nepalese don’t start coming around. Willie told me that the International Climbing Community (or whatever. I’ll just affectionately call them the ICC for this blog and create a new acronym because if there’s one thing the world needs, it’s another acronym) is in heated discussions with the Nepalese government, going as far as to threaten a trip to World Court. Hey, I’m all about that class action suit. It’s not like they didn’t wait until the 11th hour to send out their decree — and what a doozy it is, by the way. No one beyond Base Camp until after 10 May? That’s just flat out ridiculous. So there’s some optimism that the Nepalese sanctions might be relaxed in order to make this an easier pill to swallow. But hey, how flat-out awesome would it be if we were able to hit Nuptse in addition to Everest? Schwing schwing! I’m actually pretty jazzed about that option.

Lastly, Willie mentioned that if for some reason this doesn’t go the way we expect, long shots don’t pan out and the trip is canceled, we’ll be worked into a later date climb where it wouldn’t be all lost. So now I can breathe again about that, because thinking about waving bye-bye to all that moola was a pretty scary thing.

So he did mention that I’ll have to do a good job in hiding my laptop though, because he thinks that there’s some restriction on sending dispatches back. So I’ll have to be creative about it to say the least — just prepare for some blackouts if for some reason there is a decree and we have to abide by it.

Interesting news came out today dealing with the North Route, which reaches the summit of Everest from a base camp on the Tibet side of the mountain. The Chinese have decided to effectively close off their side of Everest this spring to any climb teams other than the Olympic Torch team.

Their reasoning for this? Free Tibet protesters, who they fear will be out in force to protest the Chinese presence at base camp and all the way up the slopes to the absolute summit. They are so concerned about protesters apparently, that they sent an impassioned plea to the Nepalis to do the exact same thing that they are doing. Apparently, the Chinese also received snow in the Himalaya this winter, which has caused great concern in Beijing. It’s all a matter of safety, you see.

Sure.

Forgive me for being a cynic, but I don’t buy one microsecond of that BS. Let’s see. Hmm…. oh, that’s right, the torch. How great would it be if you were a Chinese national, to see a mob of Chinese mountaineers on top of Everest, torch waving with the Olympic flame proudly shooting forth. No one else in sight, just the Chinese, on top of Everest broadcast for the world to witness. No Dutch, Americans, Brits, or Japanese in the background, stealing their moment. They own half the mountain, so who is going to stop them from shutting down their half? It’s all about the photo op, right? And better yet, if they can pressure the Nepalis into going along for the ride all the better.

And the whole protester deal. If (knock on wood) I do make the summit, I’m going to have about one ounce of energy that I’d consider dedicating to a protest. After I yawned a few times, sucked down five more inhales of oxygen and sat like an exhausted statue for 10 minutes — maybe then, if I was lucky I’d gin up enough energy for a muted, breathless “Free Tibet” before going right back to the oxygen as the world closes in around me.

For quite some time it has been clear that this would be a unique season for the North Side thanks to the way the Chinese view the Olympic Torch Relay. Last season, several articles were dedicated to the Chinese government and conduct of the Chinese team who did a dry run to see what they needed to do in order to make the actual torch relay happen. A whole bunch of teams were essentially bumped from camps and trails all the way up the mountain. In order to make way for the team the Chinese team would essentially walk into camp and say “all this area is now our camp site.” Teams that were already there were bumped, and teams that rolled in afterwards were given the “Sorry Charlie” speech. Don’t like the raw deal? Take it up with Beijing. Larger teams like HimEx were okay thanks to a larger and regular presence as well as experience in dealing with some of the team veterans. But smaller and newer teams found it difficult to stake a claim. And that was just for a dry run.

Fortunately — for now — the Chinese peer pressure tactic hasn’t rubbed off on the Nepalese, who actually need the climbing permit money and view it as a credible source of income. The word I heard (which you should throw as much credibility behind as if I were giving you explicit instructions as how to build a time machine) is that the Nepalese will as a courtesy allow a Chinese window up top, but draw the line there and won’t forego the entire season. Good news for us, not so good news for the 300-odd people who are now suffering heart attacks because their trip was just canceled on the north side.
*archive posting- we'll catch up to Doug in Nepal soon

Packing packing packing packing. It looks like a big giant gear bomb went off in my loft. I have small gear, medium gear, large gear. Common gear, specialized gear, unique gear. Some gear I look at and wonder what I’ll ever do with it again after this trip, some gear I’m excited to try out on a more common mountain like Rainier. Quite literally, it comes in all shapes, colors and sizes and a good portion of my floor space is covered with equipment. I guess the closest comparison I can give is to liken the experience to packing for a deployment. I’m about 99% of the way there on shopping though, which is really good because I seriously don’t know how I’m going to fit it into two bags for transport to Nepal as I bounce through a few cities en route.

I’m only allowed two pounds of “specialty foods”— as in a favorite snack, which for me are hands down Sour Patch Kids — more or less Gummy Bears with a tart/sugary coating. They happen to be the best quick energy trail food developed by man. Two pounds? Right. I know that the second I pull my two-pound bag of Sour Patch Kids out there will be 15 cupped hands waving around in front of me. This is if the bag doesn’t vanish before I even get there. Besides, if these bags are being hauled on the backs of burros to Base Camp, I’m not at all feeling guilty about going over my “two-pound weight limit” while I am short all the approved camera equipment on the list. My point & shoot Cybershot is perfect and more than makes up for the six extra pounds of Sour Patch Kids that I have hidden in boots, etc.
*archive posting- we'll catch up to Doug in Nepal soon

*A note from the Co-producer*

As we here at FRONTLINE prepare for the broadcast of Storm Over Everest on May 13th on PBS, we wanted to bring to our viewers a taste of the excitement, anticipation and hard work that goes into an Everest summit attempt.  We found a climber willing to share his experiences with us and with you.  Doug Pierson is a lifelong adventurer, traveler and climber who made a promise to himself while on his second tour of duty in Iraq that he would find a way to attempt Everest if he returned safely from Iraq.   Learn more about what got Doug into climbing and follow along as he updates us from Nepal with cutting-edge equipment.

When I first spoke with Doug about this undertaking in February, the stakes were about the same as every year on Everest: nothing is a given and anything can happen.  Between then and now, however, the Chinese government raised the stakes by closing the north side of the mountain.  The North Route to the summit, which begins at a base camp in Tibet, has been closed because a team of Chinese climbers plans to carry the Olympic torch up to the summit of Everest as part of the 2008 Beijing Olympics. While this was very late and bad news for climbing teams scheduled to climb the north side of the mountain, Doug and other climbers scheduled to climb the South Route from Nepal hoped that this closure would not affect their summit plans.  However, the Chinese pressured the Nepalese government to close their side of the mountain.  For a number of weeks, it was unclear what Nepal would do. 

First it seemed that Nepal would simply limit access to the mountain for a window of time to allow the Chinese team to summit on an empty mountain from Tibet.  Then it seemed that Nepal would follow the Chinese lead and close the mountain until May 10.  Though that may not seem like a big deal, given that a majority of summits traditionally take place between May 10 and May 31, not allowing climbers on the mountain earlier would have denied climbers a chance to properly acclimatize.

Climbing Everest is not a weekend or weeklong endeavor. By the time a summit attempt is made, climbers have been on the mountain for weeks preparing their bodies for the lack of oxygen high on the mountain.   Climbers climb from Base Camp to Camp One, then return to Base.  Then Base Camp to Camp Two and back down.  Then Base Camp to Camp Three and back down before finally climbing to Camp Four on the way to the summit.

Closing the mountain until May 10 would mean that climbers would have to climb on other nearby mountains, such as Nuptse, to acclimatize.  In addition, with no one allowed on the mountain to set up the ladders across crevasses in the Ice Fall and camps higher on the mountain, there would be none of the usual infrastructure necessary for a successful summit attempt.  When Doug left the U.S., the Nepalese government had still not made a clear decision and had not yet issued any permits to the teams scheduled to attempt Everest this year.

After traveling a bit in Asia en route to Nepal, Doug met members of his team in Kathmandu on March 25.  The situation now seems more promising. The Nepalese government has distributed at least a few preliminary permits, which seems to indicate that access to the mountain will only be restricted from May 1 - May 10.  Which doesn't change the fact that when it comes to Everest nothing is a given and anything can happen, but at least now it looks like there's a chance Doug will be able to set foot on Everest.

We hope you will enjoy getting to know Doug and following along on his challenge.  Click here to begin.

Callie Taintor Wiser
Co-producer, Storm Over Everest

The days have been ticking by, the hours and hours in the gym becoming almost routine. Thirty minutes of bike here; thirty minutes of treadmill there. It almost became mundane until yesterday when I looked at a calendar and was shocked into the realization that I have about five weeks until I’m flying east. Five weeks! Yee cats. That gave me a new sense of urgency and immediately went back to the gym.

Interestingly enough (and maybe the reason I took a look at the calendar), yesterday my good friend Pam Vitaz asked me a simple question: “Why do you climb, Doug?” How many climbers have been asked that question? More importantly, how many have had a reasonable answer? Countless explorers and adventurers over the centuries have been compelled to leave the warm bounds of hearth and home to head afield. Why? It’s truly one of those questions that elicit deep thought in some, casual brush-off in others.

Some examples to The Question: George Mallory — “Because it is there.” Sir Edmund Hillary — “Nobody climbs mountains for scientific reasons. Science is used to raise money for the expeditions, but you really climb for the hell of it.” John Muir — “Doubly happy, however, is the man to whom lofty mountain tops are within reach.”

My favorite quote — which is more a Golden Rule of climbing — comes from Ed Viesturs — “It’s a round trip. Getting to the summit is optional, getting down is mandatory.” (until recently I credited this to a guy I climbed McKinley with!)

Spiritually, it makes me feel closer than ever to my grandparents, Sampson (my old Saint Bernard) and God. Hokey, I know. But when you are in an environment where something as simple as a sunrise can make you stop for no reason other than to revel in the majesty of the moment, it is profound. Looking out from thousands of feet above the sleepy day-to-day of cities, highways, town, and the welcoming warmth of our planet — how can you not believe that there is a God? Honestly, it’s just plain that simple.

To me, climbing is more a passion than a challenge. Simply put, I love it. Just you and the mountain, challenging your skills in a place where you have to rely wholly on yourself and in many cases on your teammates. It forms a bond among members rarely seen outside of this environment. It makes you push yourself in ways you didn’t know you were capable of being pushed. You invest more than just time and money — you invest your dedication and spirit in an endeavor not guaranteed. I have always firmly believed that the mountain isn’t going anywhere, and if conditions aren’t right? Turn around. I have done it time and time again, to climb another day, and this mountain will be no different in that respect. But even though being smart about it means you turn around, it doesn’t necessarily mean that you feel good about not making the top. Sometimes you feel sad, sometimes you feel frustrated. But every time — every last time — that I have turned around, I have still felt a sense of reward about being able to make it under my own power and via my own skills to a place where few have tread.

I was introduced to climbing by my godfather, who started taking me to climb rock faces and eventually cliffs when I was about 10 years old. My godfather was the type of teacher who if I got halfway up a cliff and yelled down that I couldn’t go any farther, he’d yell right back, “Okay, but if you aren’t going to keep climbing then we’re going to practice falling.” I would take another look at the rock and keep climbing. I learned a lot from him — both techniques of climbing and love for the feeling of being outdoors with friends. Sometimes we made it up a route, sometimes we didn’t. It didn’t really matter that much. Just being there together was enough.

I got into mountaineering later in life. As an active duty marine stationed in southern California in the early ’90s, I started going to the mountains with my buddies. We’d climb San Jacinto and San Gorgonio at the entrance to the Palm Desert outside Palm Springs. We climbed — or I should probably say hiked — Mount Whitney, which is the highest peak in the lower 48 states. Eventually I found myself really wanting to be out in the mountains challenging myself on higher and more technical climbs.

I had hoped to climb Mount McKinley in 1996, but plans to climb with a friend didn’t pan out that year. I was sent to Iraq for a tour of duty in 2004 and while I was over there, I made a promise to myself that I’d attempt McKinley if I made it back to the states safely. After returning to the states, I was talking to a friend in Seattle, Christine Boskoff, the outgoing, personable and high-octane owner of Mountain Madness climbing guide service. While we were catching up, I expressed frustration at once again seeing another season slide by without the chance to pull together a viable team to go for McKinley, which I still had in my sights. She mentioned that Mountain Madness had scheduled trips, and actually had slots available if I was interested.

It took me a few days to deliberate (a guide service?! Come on) but then recognized the opportunity before me and seized on it. What a great trip. I found myself with a highly professional, extremely strong team that was focused and well prepared. Typical summit assaults of McKinley take up to 21 days round trip. We made the summit in nine days, and were back off the mountain in 11 days with six of the original 10 making the top. I was psyched about how my body performed at altitude.

On my second tour of duty in Iraq, I promised myself an even bigger challenge. I made a promise to myself that if I made it back with all my fingers and toes, I’d figure out a way to test myself on Everest. I’d been interested in Everest since the MacGillivray-Freeman IMAX movie on Everest was released, which represented the first time an IMAX camera had ever been taken to the top to bring stunning images from the top of the world on a beautiful, windless day. While watching that movie, I thought that the traditional route — the South Col Route via Nepal, would be the eventual route that I would most like to take if and when I was ever given an opportunity to climb to 29,035 feet. Of course, living in the ranks of starving college students surviving on ramen noodles, that sort of goal seemed unrealistic. So Everest remained for years just an elusive dream, something that seemed attainable but not with much serious thought or effort attached.

But in October 2000 that all changed. I took a trip from Japan to Kathmandu for a week-long vacation with the girl I was with at the time, and while in Nepal we took a mountain flight where you actually see Mount Everest up close and in person. Slipping skyward from the runway, it only took a few seconds before the plane had gained enough altitude to leave the lowland clouds behind and see giant Himalayan monsters unfold in front of us. As our tiny plane climbed higher and higher, the air thinned considerably and the temperature dropped so that you could see your breath inside the cabin. The tiny windows frosted over and I could feel adrenaline surging through my veins. Climbing and banking right, a line of 8,000 meter mountains line up off the left wing for a plane load of awestruck passengers to peek out at, staring with unblinking dinner plate-sized eyes. One at a time, legendary peaks roll by until there before you is the tallest one of them all. Unquestionably Everest, the pilot offers for people to come up front where a small part of the frosted over cockpit window has been wiped away. Cramped and leaning to stare in wonder, the summit seems literally meters away from the plane and it is incredibly easy to make out fine details of snow, ice and rock contours. After a few lazy turns the plane noses southeast and drops quickly back toward the mists of Kathmandu Valley, where the air is heavy with oxygen and bathed in subtropical warmth. And then it’s over. One and a half hours after having breakfast, you are seated back in the same restaurant having tea, unsure of exactly how you could quite possibly communicate to everyone seated around you about what you just experienced. And seriously, how do you? Especially given all the stories of yesteryear where mammoth expeditions spent months slogging through leech-infested forests with backbreaking loads of climbing equipment — just to reach a point on the mountain where they could position themselves within striking distance? Here we sat, taking 1 1/2 hours to have breakfast, fly to the summit, snap a few pictures, and then make it back to the safe confines of the hotel. Surreal, but definitely tantalizing. In that brief encounter, a serious long-range goal was born.

After returning from my second tour of duty in Iraq, I started the conversation up with my friends at Mountain Madness. I spoke to Chris about her upcoming trip to China. On November 1, 2006, I returned to IBM and was eventually placed on a U.S. Coast Guard job working in Elizabeth City, NC. As I flew back and forth across the country from Seattle to NC, I happened to glance at the front page of USA Today sometime in December and my gaze stopped at a quick one sentence quip at the top: “Hope withers for climbers lost in China”. As soon as I returned home I did an Internet search, and learned that the same day I had traded e-mails with Chris in China was the last day she had been heard from. Over the next few weeks I learned that she and Charlie (her climbing partner) had pushed into unclimbed territory in China and were swept away in an avalanche on unclimbed Genyen Peak. She lived as she passed, in unique settings living her dream with people celebrating her and leaving behind one hell of a legacy.

In the wake of that tragedy, Mark Gunlogson, the president of Mountain Madness and no slouch in his mountaineering experiences himself, continued to talk with me about climbing opportunities as time wore on. Inevitably, Everest came up. We spoke about it and then spoke about it some more. Other climbs and opportunities arose, and when we talked about a USMC climb to Aconcagua, he kindly offered to assist with logistics support for that trip and even offered to assist with Seattle Mountain Rescue however he could. He mentioned that the 2008 Everest climb would include another hard-charging team of strong climbers led by Willie Benegas, an Everest veteran with six summits under his belt and a tremendous amount of experience. The story goes that in 2007, he climbed to the top with his team, safely returning and then turned around with another teammate and made the summit a second time. After working with Mark and ensuring that everything was going to work out timing wise, I committed to joining the Mountain Madness team and take on the Nepal-side South Col Route. I quit my job in December and started to get ready.

So now the difficult part begins. Preparation, training, and coordination. Long hours in the gym, trips to REI and Feathered Friends, and calls dealing with sponsorships. Three months may seem like a long time depending on where you are (3 months in Iraq was not a right around the corner timeline), but in planning and preparing for this event, it will be over in the blink of an eye and then I’ll find myself on a plane crossing the international date line en route to Nepal. I’m extremely pleased with all the support and encouragement I have received from friends and family, and haven’t even bothered to think about know-it-alls who think that the South Col route isn’t that tough, or pish-posh the use of Mountain Madness to get to the top. In response to those people, go slay your own dragons and grow a set so you can speak from experience. As for me, I’m pretty damn psyched to take on my next adventure and am truly amazed at how the stars came into alignment for this, in the manner that they did. To me, this is more about me climbing for those who can’t; seeing things that others may never have the chance to; and in a small manner, this is an adventure for all of us to celebrate and experience together.