Please visit my Andy on Everest blog.
There will be no more posts to this blog although I will respond to comments or questions if appropriate.
Please visit my Andy on Everest blog.
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Hi everyone,
It's been a while since my last blog as I've been engaged on a little project. So many of you were kind enough to say 'you should write a book' after the amazing Cho Oyu adventure that I took it to heart and have done so. One of my family even suggested a title (thanks Kate!). After several weeks and much proof reading for which I owe Clare a huge debt, here it is. I am very pleased and proud to announce the (self) publication of: "The Turquoise Goddess: not just about the Summit". The book has all of my blog material plus some additional information along the way, and is filled with photos too. At over 120 pages it isn't a massive tome so not too daunting. I have decided to sell it for charity (the Ellen MacArthur Cancer Trust) and if anyone would like a copy in hardback, softcover or PDF these are all available on this link below. The paper copies (which I'm afraid aren't cheap) will each realise £2 for the Ellen MacArthur Cancer Trust while the PDF version (being cheaper) will realise £5. Should anyone wish to buy one please follow this link here: http://blur.by/1iZxOWS So, this really is the last proper blog on this site and the end of this adventure - however a new one is about to start. Posting this blog on the last day of February was important to me as there will be a new blog tomorrow on a different site (I will post a link to it from this site) as 1st March is a big milestone leading up to my next adventure. Once again - thank you all for your wonderful support. See you tomorrow... AndyOnChoOyu Those of you who have followed my blog from the start will know that my expedition was being followed by the boys and girls in Year 4 at St John Rigby school in Bedford as part of their studies. I had hoped that I would be asked to go and speak to them at some stage and I have just had that request. I am so pleased! Year 4 SJR - if you read this, thank you for asking. I shall be delighted! Once we arrived at Advanced Base Camp our Sherpas were keen to hold a puja. A puja is a Buddhist act of reverence to a god or a spirit through invocations, prayers, songs, and rituals. An essential part of puja is making a spiritual connection with the divine. Most often that contact is made through an object: an element of nature, a sculpture, a vessel, a painting, or a print. We were not the only creatures enjoying this ritual. Choughs, the large black birds that were often to be seen around ABC, were tempted by the rice despite our presence and having taken a peck or two would fly of to eat, seemingly to add to the process of transferring earthly gifts to the mountain divinity. The town of Xegar lies 7km from the Friendship Highway (aka Highway 318) and is home to several thousand people now that the Chinese have added extensively to the original town. Confusingly, Xegar is also known as Shelkar, Shelkar Dzong, Shekar Dzong, and New Tingri. Xegar is the name by which the town is known to the Chinese, whereas Shelkar and its variations are used by the Tibetans. Shelkhar (note the addition of a second 'h') means 'white crystal' while a 'dzong' is a type of fortress, and the town is indeed built at the foot of the ruins of an impressive fortress. The town was once the capital of the Tingri region and used to be an important trading post where Sherpas from Nepal exchanged rice, grain and iron for Tibetan wool and salt. Today it remains the administrative centre for Tingri County in the Shigatese Prefecture of Tibet. Tibet is of course more properly known as the Tibet Autonomous Region of China. Probably as result of its administrative function for Tingri County the town is also known as New Tingri, although the real 'Tingri' which was the subject of my previous blog, is several miles away. I didn't mention then, but do so now for the record, that the other Tingri is also known as Dingri or Dhingri, not to mention the representation in Tibeten (དིང་རི) and Chinese (定日). Apparently 'dingri' means 'lawn mountain' in the Chinese Pinyin language, which seems a little odd as Tingri is miles from the nearest mountain; indeed you will have seen from the photographs accompanying the Tingri-oriented blog that the town is pancake-flat. Confused? Yes - I was too. That's why I thought I would explain as concisely as possible what it took me a considerable amount of 'googling' to fathom. I shall for the remainder of this blog refer to the main town as Xegar, and I shan't mention Tingri again. Old Tingri is a small town of around 500 people along the Friendship Highway (the road known to the Chinese less romantically as Route G318) about 190km from the border with Nepal. It is a 'one street town' that appears uneasy with modernisation. The picture above gives an impression of emptiness probably as it was taken at midday when the sun was high in the sky and most people were taking the shade. Though it isn't the most comfortable place to stay some expeditions do so. We didn't stay overnight here but we did stop here to eat both on the outward and return journeys and both times ate at the Ha Hoo Hotel, driving through the entranceway to the rear courtyard. The restaurant appeared very basic yet despite appearances the food was very tasty and there was plenty of it, as usual consisting of unlimited rice with several meat and vegetable dishes served onto a lazy Susan table with tea, coca-cola or water. Apart from the surprisingly good food the restaurant had 2 notable features, one being the solar kettles by the door (see picture) and the other being the toilet round the back featuring modern urinals that were not actually plumbed-in and good old fashioned holes in the ground providing ample food for the pigs in the field behind. After lunch the more intrepid took a stroll along the main street and we were in for a treat of new and old juxtaposed. Everywhere were signs of modernisation alongside traditional practices. This is my favourite: a disused petrol station being used as a makeshift butcher with fresh carcasses hung out to cure. In the slides below you will see other examples: ladies in traditional dress and ladies in jeans; ancient tractors and trucks being patched up next to a row of brand new motorcycles for sale; brand new cars and vans alongside a horse and cart; young people with iPhones alongside cows and dogs drinking from puddles in the street; washing hung out to dry over a tractor and trailer in the forecourt of the hotel. I was enthralled by the dichotomy evident in Old Tingri; indeed from this perspective it was my favourite location. I especially loved the way that we were completely ignored and allowed to watch life go by. When I think back to Nyalam I think concrete. Not that everything was made of concrete, although much was, but more because the town was grey, featureless, and without spirit. We were in Nyalam for one reason only, to acclimatise. There are few places to stopover on the Tibetan Highway. The previous night was spent at the Nepalese border town of Kodari at a height of 2,300m (7,500ft) while our next destination is Baiba (a small town outside Xegar) at 4264m (just under 14,000ft). This is too great a height gain to enable a gradual and sickness/headache-free journey and as there are pretty well no other hotels between Kodari and Baiba/Xegar we found ourselves in Nyalam, which sits at 3,750m (12,300ft). This is not too bad an option as there are small hills around the town which lend themselves to a leg stretch while gaining a few more metres in height and provide grand views of the area, but the town itself would not normally be a tourist destination. Just 35 miles from the border and traditionally known as Tsongdu, this small town was known as 'The Gate of Hell' by traders of old due to the dreadful trail between here and the border. We had driven this in just a couple of hours and had marvelled at the grandeur of the vertiginous wooded gorge; the speed of our journey having been facilitated by a new switchback road despite the frequent piles of rock on the road and the tented camps on the tarmac occupied by road-repair gangs indicating ongoing instability. The large numbers of prayer flags on some of the more precipitous sections and around some of the tighter corners gave cause for comment but nothing could dull our wonder at the spectacle of the gorge. Nothing that is until we saw Nyalam. There is a section of the town dating from earlier times with many traditional houses. Typically Tibetan these stone-built heavily weather-beaten dwellings were easily identified by their decorated window casements. Commonly seen along the Tibetan Highway, and I presume throughout the area and perhaps Tibet as a whole, these all decorated window casements. Having the appearance of 'eyes with heavy make-up' all windows and door casements are lined, mascara-like, in black, wider at the base tapering towards the top with a gaily painted lintel normally of red and blue. Fanciful I know but this decoration on an otherwise featureless and austere facade seemed to bring the houses to life and give them a welcoming demeanour. Not so the modern, Chinese-inpired (and probably Chinese funded), buildings that now make up the majority of the town. Undoubtedly practical and mercifully without the need to dry yak poo on the walls to use as fuel these new buildings exude conformity and dullness which not even the occasional splashes of coloured paint or patterned brickwork can dispel. Along the main street (there is only one) the lower stories are all given over to commerce. There are many shutter-fronted shops and a few workshops, with most shops appearing to stock the same goods. Some have music piped to the street to increase the allure of what lies within (without too much success) and almost all feature large gaudy signs. Occasionally these would be in English, such as 'China Mobile', but mostly of course they are in Chinese, unintelligible to our uneducated Western eyes. The concept of a pavement doesn't seem to have reached Nyalam so pedestrians and traffic share the same space. At least the hooting has stopped. Whereas in Nepal a journey along any road or back-street was accompanied by incessant hooting and uncertainty as to exactly which part of the road was safest for those on foot, Nyalam at least embraced the concept of pedestrians to the outside and vehicles towards the middle of the road. As to which side of the road to drive; that appeared less clear, predominantly due to the number of dogs resting in the hot sunshine, including in the middle of the roads. But then, to be honest, there wasn't that much traffic. Indeed there wasn't much going on at all. The town gave the impression of having been expanded in the Chinese style in anticipation of commerce which had yet to materialise. It was into this relatively uninspiring, if not actually dispiriting, town of grey facades and sidelined tradition that we arrived in the early afternoon and were shown to our hotel; the Nga-Dhon. Its completely washed-out advertising hoarding should have given us a clue as to what awaited. I should explain at this point that while in Tibet (China) we are the 'guests' of the China Tibet Mountaineering Association (CTMA) . On crossing the border into Tibet we were met by Mr Nawen our Chinese CTMA liaison officer. Mr Nawen traveled with us as far as Chinese Base Camp where he awaited our return from the mountain and escorted us back out of Tibet. The CTMA is responsible for all mountaineering in Tibet and is the sole source of services for mountaineering expeditions such as transportation, guides, food and other stores; indeed everything expeditions to Cho Out, Shishapangma, and Everest need in Tibet is supplied through the CTMA. Naturally, this being China (irrespective of how often I refer to it as Tibet) things are not always what they seem, and services rendered are not always what was expected. Take transport for example. we were supposed to have travelled from the border to Nyalam in two 4x4 Jeeps whereas we were in a small minibus and we had to practically beg the driver to stop for occasional pee-breaks let alone the opportunity to enjoy the majesty of the Sun-Kosi gorge other than through a grubby window; presumably as the driver had another job to go to afterwards and was keen to make rapid progress. Anyway - I digress. You get the picture now that our hotel was booked by the CTMA who are keen to maximise profit by not necessarily delivering the service contracted. I do not allege fraud! Rather that in any transaction where the service cannot be absolutely and explicitly specified in advance there is liable to be difference in interpretation, and thus we return to the subject of the Nga-Dhon 'hotel'. Where to start. How about: Ugh! Now, I'm not prissy about hotels and we had our sleeping bags as insurance against lice, bed bugs and other things that go 'munch' in the night but this was towards the lower end of the scale. It went very quiet as we were shown our rooms. I would give a description of the room beyond cramped, thin-walled, multi-bed, musty and utterly without spirit if I could have seen through the murk. Never mind I thought - let's open this curtain and let some light in. Drawing back the curtain revealed not a vista but the bathroom. Holidaycheck.com reports that 'Hotel Nga-Dhon is recommended by 0% of its guests'. Indeed. Once our expedition leader, Tim, saw the state of our rooms there was a discussion with Mr Nawen. While not party to the exchange so unable to recount the details, suffice it to say we moved shortly thereafter to the Snow Land Hotel across the road. It later transpired that the Nga-Dhon has a 'modern' section and a 'traditional' section. Apparently we were supposed to have been in the former, but it was full. Apparently. The Snow Land Hotel was a different proposition entirely. While still 3 to a room (I was to share with Robert and Chris) the Snow Land was bright and airy, had proper matresses and duvet covers, a flat screen TV on the wall, and instead of towelling robes provided silk robes for its guests. Furthermore the shared toilet and shower were only a short step down the hallway (which we found not too long after managing to get out of the room once we realised the handle and locking mechanism was installed upside down) and if you were quick out of the stand-up cubicle door you could avoid having your feet washed by the marginally enthusiastic flush. In the middle bed Robert was slightly disconcerted to see the large ceiling light rose directly above him half-hanging away from the ceiling - however after the Nga-Dhon this was heaven. After all this hotel rates 'average to poor' on Trip Advisor - a significant improvement on the other place. We were alerted fairly quickly to the fact that this was an emergency arrangement and that we would have to move back to the Nga-Dhon tomorrow once the current occupants of the 'modern' wing had moved on. We speculated as to the nature of these 'occupants'. Once settled into the Snow Land we hit the streets in search of water. We were under pain of death from Tim to drink copiously. While falling short of the enthusiasm shown by Father Jack Hackett for 'drink', Tim nonetheless uttered this directive sufficiently often for us to get the message. While acclimatising we needed to drink upwards of 4 litres per day. Needless to say the tapwater was off-limits so we raided the local store for bottled water. It was obvious thereafter who were the mountaineers in town: they were the oddly-dressed bunch permanently clutching 2 litre bottles of spring water and peering curiously at all Chinese signs hoping to find the public loos. Having mooched up and down the main street several times, and walked down by the river (almost completely hidden and inaccessible in amongst some fairly serious concrete engineering works and some new concrete apartment blocks) it was time for dinner. I refer you to the previous section detailing the role of the CTMA. Well, it extends to providing food too and we were booked into the restaurant owned by the CTMA. It masqueraded as the Snow Land Restaurant. Ring any bells? Yep - the same name as the hotel. So the CTMA owns the restaurant and the hotel were staying in, and the one we were put into initially and to which we shall return tomorrow. Hmm! So up the concrete steps we went from street level to pavement level. Then up a none-to-solid-looking wooden stepladder with a dodgy handrail to filthy shop-level, and finally, ducking to avoid strangulation on some hanging power cables, up a wooden staircase to the restaurant. Surprisingly welcoming and friendly, decorated in wood and with myriad adverts and 'business cards' for various past mountaineering expeditions, we were nonetheless a little disconcerted to find the serving staff all wearing face masks. Was it us? Only 2 days out from Kathmandu we didn't think so. Were they embarrassed to be working here and didn't want to be recognised? Either way our take-it-or-leave-it dinner was served onto the lazy Susan tabletop and we tucked in. It was delicious. All concerns about the meaning of the face masks (joking aside - most local people wore a mask due to the extremely dusty atmosphere - and we followed suit with various buffs and scarves) and the likelihood of falling to our deaths on exiting the restaurant in the dark soon disappeared as we tucked in. Unlimited rice and 7 or 8 different meat and vegetable dishes were served together with bottled water, coke, and yak-butter tea. The latter tasted about as good as it sounded but Tim assured us it was great for acclimatisation and was a favourite with our Sherpas. Well, that was good enough for me but it was a taste that took some acquisition. We were to come to like this restaurant, despite (perhaps because of) its oddities and foibles. Just as well really given that every meal was taken there. However there was one meal that drew less-than-rave reviews. Avid readers of my blog may recall the chicken-feet soup incident? Remarkably, even several weeks later this was still being referenced as a low point in Tibetan cuisine. Personally I enjoyed it, but mostly due to the looks on the faces of my co-diners. The flavour wasn't bad but the meat was a little sparse; and I never did find the toenails. The following day saw us heading north out of town on foot, through the traditional area of town, up one of the local hills. Once away from the town the wind blew more strongly and it wasn't long before jackets were buttoned up and hats pulled on. As we reached the summit, adorned with colourful prayer flags of green, red, yellow, blue and white, the views were magnificent both looking across the valley in which Nyalam sits to the grand mountains beyond, and also of Nyalam itself. Concrete-dull it may have been but fascinating all the same. The small traditional area with its prayer wheels and drying yak poo was completely swamped by modern, brash, character-free, blue-roofed, concrete, Chinese boxes. The newest building, just nearing completion, was apparently a college (according to Mr Nawen). I heard mutterings from our Sherpas who knew the place well that it was a Chinese military academy. Well that would at least explain the extensive building elsewhere in town when this certainly did not seem to be justified by the low-level of commerce or enterprise seen by us. Most people seemed to be sitting watching other people sitting and watching the few people and vehicles in the street. Even the dogs seemed bored and the cows that wandered the street were only energised by the occasional treat found in a bin, or by the broomstick wielding street cleaners. We dubbed these the street ninja for that is how they appeared in their black attire with day-glo jackets. After lunch we decamped from the Snow Land Hotel back to the 'modern' wing of the Nga-Dhon. To be fair it wasn't bad. There were large and airy rooms, decorated in traditional style, along one side of a courtyard, with carpets for bedding and orthopaedic mattresses. On closer inspection the mattresses weren't orthopaedic, just thin to the point of non-existence but then at least they wouldn't harbour livestock. The small window at the back of the room was large enough to let a little light in and once the intricacies of the 2" screw holding the window closed had been mastered it opened enough to let in a little fresh air. The courtyard was variously used as a car park, a 5-a-side football pitch, washing and peeing. While the latter wasn't frequent it wasn't unknown, predominantly as the shared stand-up toilet was perhaps the most disgusting ever. The smell would stun a yak at 50 paces. Used only in extremis it was no surprise that while we gagged and put up with it some foreign co-inhabitants of the Nga-Dhon preferred the relative freshness of the drain in the courtyard. Pass the hand-cleanser.... The following morning, having been kept awake most of the night by the chorus of dogs barking incessantly, and this having been added to by the Nyalam community alarm clock sounding at 6 o'clock and again at 7 'o'clock (no- I'm not joking), we headed one final time to the Snow Land Restaurant. After breakfast, efficiently served as ever by the mask-wearing girls, and following their cries of 'Finishy! Finishy!' to indicate that no matter how long we tarried there would be no more yak butter tea, we stumbled down the rickety stairs and into the minibus. Heading out of town we were afforded a view of the town not seen before and in particular the rear of the Nga-Dhon Hotel. It looked every inch a prison - and I suspect that is precisely what it had been. Farewell Nyalam. Mercifully we didn't stop there on the way home. I have had several requests for more photos, so over the next few days I'll publish more, by theme. This set were taken on the journey from Kathmandu to Kodari (the last Nepalese border town with Tibet). I have called the set 'Impressions' because I spoke to none of the people in them. All I have is a series of captured images which give an 'impression' of the lives captured in them. Almost all of these photos were snapped from the window of a minibus so they don't have good composition. However what they lack photographically I think they gain in being un-posed and impromptu 'glimpses' of life. Of course I had the benefit of sound when they were taken which I should share with you. The urban shots were taken amidst a cacophony of road noise; typically vehicle hooters from the weak 'parrrp' of the myriad motorcycles and tuk-tuks weaving and jostling to the smart multi-tone air-horns and bone-shakingly deep horns of the biggest articulated lorries, many of which were beautifully decorated. But they didn't sound angry. These were not 'road-rage' nor akin to typical British 'hooting' which say: 'fool', idiot, 'get out of my way', or worse. Nepalese hooting seemed to be a language of the road, neither angry, nor gratuitous, but advisory. 'I'm here', 'take care I'm passing' and maybe 'whoops - sorry'. There were few traffic lights, instead policemen (and police women) stood at strategic junctions in smart uniforms and facemasks directing traffic, mostly successfully. To me they appeared to be conducting a symphony of hooters rather actually directing traffic. Overly romantic - possibly but that was my impression. Overall this collage of photographs, combined inevitably with my recollections of sounds now shared with you, create an impression of an exciting urban community in a hurry making do and getting by despite a poor economy, low personal incomes, and an atmosphere of fumes and dust, and a roadside community still making the transition from rural to urban. As you know from a previous blog (The Road to Kathmandu) while the former has a wonderful fascination I was particularly moved by the latter who seem to me to be torn between the advantages of communication, supply, transport and retail opportunities which development of the road network brings (and a closer virtual/effective proximity to urban living) and a yearning for an older, more traditional, way of life. Almost everyone seemed to have something to sell, but rarely did I see anyone buying. Of course this may be in my imagination, but from the peoples' expressions and their demeanour I don't think so. Have a look at the photographs and make up your own mind. At 8201m high the Himalayan mountain Cho Oyu is a popular target for those mountaineers wishing to attempt one of the 14 '8000-ers', sometimes as a test before going on to Everest. While any attempts to climb at such heights come with potential dangers those who pursue these expeditions may expect a duty of care from the companies who organise them. According to reports from Cho Oyu, the events of the night 2nd/3rd October suggest that such a duty of care may not be as strongly observed in some quarters as in others.
A group of British mountaineers were in position in Camp 2 (7,200m) during the evening of 2nd October preparing for their summit attempt 2 hours later when they heard disturbing calls for help from other mountaineers already heading from the summit. The British leader, Tom Bowler, immediately informed his group that their summit attempt was off, or at least on hold, as it would be necessary to lend any assistance required to the other team, understood to be Ukrainian, who were clearly in trouble. "We had fresh Sherpas and plenty of oxygen which we would gladly have given them if needed" said Tom Bowler. "Clearly we knew nothing of the the structure of the Ukrainian team, nor exactly what help might be required, and Cho Oyu is no place to start running off on wild goose chases. We could clearly see their lights at Camp 3 so knew that they would be able to see ours and they would send for help in due course. After about an hour, although there remained sporadic calling the problems seemed to have been sorted out at Camp 3 by the Ukrainians and I figured that maybe we wouldn't be asked for help after all." Even though this meant the British summit attempt could proceed the weather was deteriorating and after the team had been readied to leave for 22:30, and kept on tenterhooks until nearly 02:30 the next morning, in the event Bowler and his Sirdar decided the conditions were unsuitable and the summit attempt was declared to be off. Waking the next morning to still inclement weather Bowler was still concerned to see Ukrainian climbers moving very slowly, some stumbling, down from Camp 3 to Camp 2. Not content to wait to be asked, Bowler sent his Sirdar to see the Ukrainian team's Sherpas who were also in Camp 2 to ask how he could help. "To my considerable surprise he returned a few minutes later saying that he was told that basically there were a lot of people who were pretty tired and that there was minor frostbite but apart from that they were OK and didn't need any help. Still we had no idea how many clients there were; nor how many Sherpas there were; to me it appeared that they didn't have a leader at all", recalled Bowler. However, with conditions deteriorating and with his own group as a priority, and having had his offer of assistance rejected, Tom Bowler made preparations to leave Camp 2; doing so at around 11:00 that morning, while at the same time some Ukrainian climbers were arriving from Camp 3 and getting into their tents at Camp 2. Bowler noted that I thought they were really tired, he didn't see that they were particularly 'out of it'. Coming down from 3 to 2 it is very common for people to stop and rest for s long time. So he figured that maybe he had overreacted. Still - better safe than sorry eh? Downwards the British went, following the fixed ropes, unearthing them from the snow when they had been buried, with Tenzing, the Sirdar, at the front and Tom Bowler at the rear. The weather was not especially poor but great care was required as due to the heavy snowfall of the previous night the avalanche threat had increased, and with clouds coming and going the visibility was highly variable. So while from time to time it was possible to see Ukrainians, whether clients or Sherpas it was impossible to tell, moving down also, for the most part the British were in a cocoon of white. However, as the team approached the serac one of the members, Alain Jones, though he saw a shadowy figure about 100m back slide and fall from the route. But there was no shout or call. Alerting Tom Bowler they both watched for a minute or two. "There was absolutely no cry, no shout, no nothing." said Jones. "It was just as if someone had fallen and had taken a long time to pick themselves up." "Sure enough, the figure stood up and started moving towards us again so we had no reason to think there was anything wrong at that time. In fact within 10 minutes he actually caught us, at the top of the serac." added Bowler, "although I was becoming even more concerned at the lack of obvious control and leadership. While experienced mountaineers expect some flexibility, after what I had seen last night I was concerned that clearly very tired people were apparently free-wheeling down Cho Oyu in potentially lethal conditions." Pip Redman, another of the British team recalled what happened next. "We were approached at the top of the serac abseil by a burly Ukrainian. He was having difficulty getting his harness on. Tom offered to help him, and in fact did have to help him get it on and buckle it up for him. We asked how he was and how the team was. He said, in passable English that they had had to leave 2 people up at a higher camp, that they were 'finished' (he made a cutting motion across his throat). He said they set them up in a tent and made them comfortable and that it would have taken 4 or 5 hours to come down from camp 3 and there was just absolutely no way that these 2 individuals (that they had left in the tent) could come down. The Sherpas had left and that as far as he was concerned they were just left up there on their own and that was it." Redman and the others in earshot were stunned. They had just witnessed first hand a 'left-for-dead' situation. Once more Bowler offered assistance and was told it was useless. By this time, due to concerns for his own group, in consultation with Tenzng who was becoming fearful of the avalanche risk, Bowler had ordered his own Sherpas to dismantle Camp 2 and proceed down the mountain at best speed - so the option of having another discussion with the Ukrainian team's sherpas at Camp 2 was not there. Even were this not the case nobody seemed to know where the Ukrainian teams Sherpas were. They too seemed to be descending the mountain. As to the Ukrainian leader, nobody had mentioned him. Who knows where he was. No matter how concerned Bowler was becoming he had no knowledge upon which to act and no leader with whom to liaise. Furthermore he had his own team to guide down the serac abseil and on to the relative safety of Camp 1 and then on to Advanced Base Camp. Due to the condition of the Ukrainian climber he was offered, and took, the next place on the abseil and he soon disappeared without a backward glance and without asking for help, nor suggesting that any might be needed by his co-climbers. Was this a team at all, or a group individuals travelling together? It was looking odd. Soon another Ukrainian appeared in the queue for the abseil. Mandy Novak offered some water which was gratefully received with an offer to buy her a beer in return at basecamp. Hardly the reaction expected from someone whose team-mates had been left to die. Was the first Ukrainian hallucinating? Entirely possible in the circumstances. Tom Bowler recalls that the weather had cleared slightly at the time and looking back up the hill he could see 5 or 6 people moving down. "I thought they were Sherpas, I thought it was the Ukrainian team's Sherpas clearing their camp and bringing it down, which seemed crazy with 2 people dying up there. If some of their Sherpas were coming past us carrying gear then things couldn't be that serious up the hill. Antipathy towards the apparent plight of 2 of their 'team' (and continued absence of any reference to the leader) continued at Camp 1. Novak continues: "I remember being at Camp 1 and some of them came past. They all seemed fine and the guy who I gave the drink to was very thankful and he again said he'd get me a beer at base camp. There wasn't any kind of chat about how epic a time they'd had at the top of the hill, or how glad they were to be off the mountain, or anything like that, it was just 'thanks for that and we'll see you in basecamp'. That's how they treated it. Didn't they know what was going on - or had we been misled?" Rick Westmorland, another of the British climbers, added "It seemed to me as though the climbers descending, and the Sherpas were in 'throttle disconnect' mode. There didn't seem to be any connection or communication between them, or indeed anyone else of the mountain because I spoke to one of the Sherpas who passed me and he just ignored me. So, as far as Camp 1 went, I'm sure there were some conversations there but there was no evidence, at any stage that I was aware of, of anyone asking for help or assistance, or indeed of passing any information that they had had problems or any of the serious consequences that we now appear to be aware of, on the mountain." Novak added: "There was no mention of anyone higher on the mountain. You wouldn't have thought it was a team. The people who were coming down didn't mention anyone that they'd had to leave at the top. It was each man for himself". "It seemed to me to be the case that the team ethos, if indeed there ever was one, didn't seem to exist either between the climbers themselves or indeed the Sherpa contingency", concluded Westmorland. There was further contact between the British and Ukrainian groups below Depot Camp once they'd hit the glacier. There were 2 people (clients?/leaders?) with the Sirdar who seemed to be in very good condition, carrying very small bags, and moving quicker than we were, strolling quite happily to Advance Base Camp. Further evidence there wasn't anything particularly serious going on on the mountain. Add this to the sight of a series of lights on the mountain, seen by Mandy Novak all looking like they were coming down. "There was one just above Camp 1 and one just above the serac. All moving slowly but still moving down. So it seemed like whoever had been left on the mountain was slowly making their way down." says Novak. "That would have been around six-thirty." "Then we got a call for help this morning", said Bowler. "Of course, we responded. We were told that one of their clients had made it down to Camp 1 by himself with assistance, but in the event there was no actual help needed. Other people have said that a leader of some sorts went up to help them in Camp 1 but we have no way to prove that. Then later in the day somebody in a green jacket (male or female unknown) came past our camp. There weren't any Ukrainian leaders or Sherpas with this person; so it was a person in a green jacket who was extremely sick being taken down to Chinese Base Camp without any representation from their Company at all with them which we thought was horrendous. As we had a doctor In our group I again offered assistance only to be told that there was a doctor in the other group already and that nothing more could be done. We heard a rumour that a team of Tibetans had been paid US$3000 to carry this one sick person from Camp 1 down to the roadhead at Chinese Base Camp. But this is just heresay and such a figure seems ridiculous. Mountaineering's a tough business isn't it and not all operators offer the same service. So, was this a case of over-reacton from Bowler? No one 'left-to-die' after all. The claim by the first Ukrainian at the serac a mistake brought on by his fatigue? "Maybe" said Bowler, "except this morning my Sirdar was sitting with Ukrainian's Sirdar who was joking about how some of his clients were going to have to have some of their limbs amputated". Has anyone actually checked a tent or two up at Camp 2? |