On April 5th, 2004 Chris Warner departed on a four-month journey to the summits of four 8000-meter peaks. There are 14 mountains in the world that rise above the magic 8000-meter (26,240 ft) mark. 10 of the peaks are located in the Himalaya Mountains of Nepal, Tibet and Pakistan and 4 are located in the Karakorum Range of Pakistan and China. To date, just 11 climbers have summited all of these peaks, and only one man, Carlos Carsilio, has climbed 4 of the 8000-meter peaks back to back. 23 of the world's best (and maybe luckiest) climbers have pulled off a "hat trick" (three 8000 meter peaks back to back).

Chris will attempt these peaks either as a member of a small team, or solo. He will not be using oxygen, but will be working with other expeditions to prepare the routes. His goal is to make light and fast ascents of all the peaks, while pacing himself with the larger goal in mind.

The first peak will be Lhotse, 8516 m / 27,939 ft, the fourth highest mountain in the world. Chris will climb via the Lhotse Couloir route, which follows the South Col route on Everest, breaking away from the Everest climbers up on the Lhotse face. The hope is to summit during the first ten days of May. Approximately 150 people have summited Lhotse.

Returning to Kathmandu, Chris will fly to Islamabad and travel overland to the base of Nanga Parbat, the Naked Mountain. As the ninth highest peak in the world, Nanga Parbat, 8125m/ 26,658 ft., is considered one of the most dangerous and best-guarded summits in the world. Chris will be climbing the Kinshoffer Route that ascends the Diamir Face. Chris will be working with a German team to establish the route, but hopes to summit alone in mid June. Approximately 200 people have summited Nanga Parbat.

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Lhotse dispatch 1: Village of Monjo Nepal

April 10, 2004

The journey towards Lhotse is in full swing. Syl Mathis (an old friend and Earth Treks mountaineering guide) and I flew from Kathmandu this morning. In a 14 seat Twin Otter plane, we rose above the Kathmandu valley, cutting through the haze and fog into the brilliant morning sunlight. Stretching east and west was the very spine of the Himalaya. The first of the 8000 meter peaks we passed was Shishapangma, whose South Face I climbed alone in the fall of 2001. The next 8000 meter peak was Cho Oyu, which I climbed with Brad Johnson in the fall of 1999. And then, dominating the horizon was Everest, a mountain I am so glad to have put behind me.

Everest's north face and north ridge swung into view. I could see the first, second and third steps in perfect relief. And there was the top of the world: the summit I tried to reach in 2000, and eventually guided clients to in 2001. I could also see the site of Camp 4 at 27,400ft. where I was struck in the head by an oxygen bottle in 2003. That concussion dashed my hope of guiding more clients to the summit and sent me on a 10 month journey to the offices of 3 different neurologists, 2 chiropractors, an acupuncturist and 2 massage therapists. After MRIs and MRAs and drugs and x rays and spinal manipulations, I've been cleared to play again.

And play I plan to. I have an ambitious plan, a journey to both Nepal and Pakistan, stretching for months, involving all sorts of teams, permits, base camps, climbing partners, solo adventures, long approaches, wild jeep rides, crossing rivers in baskets suspended from cables, hanging with gun toting tribesmen in Pakistan, Sherpas in Nepal, and old friends wherever I bump into them. I won't tell you much about the peaks I plan to climb. You can follow along if you're curious.

But the first peak was the next of the 8000 meter peaks that came into view during our flight. Lhotse (8516m./27,981 ft.), stands just to the side of Everest, connected by ridges that intersect at the South Col. The fourth highest peak in the world, it is both beautiful and inspiring. I remember vividly the view of Lhotse from the summit of Everest. A clean streak of white (the Lhotse Couloir) sliced through the black summit rocks. The second I spied that line, I knew I had to climb it.

Now I am headed there, hoping to climb it alone, sharing the permit of Henry Todd (an old friend from the K2 and Broad Peak expedition of 2002). Thankfully my journey isn't completely alone, as I am being joined on a leisurely, wandering trek that will eventually end at Everest Base Camp (the launching point for all Lhotse west face climbs). Syl, my traveling companion, has never been to Nepal, and it has been so much fun watching his reactions to the sights, sounds and experiences we are having. And now hiking into the Khumbu, the valley system that ends at Everest, we are being treated to spring flowers, with cherry and apple trees in bloom. Giant rhododendrons with their white, pink and fuschia flowers are scattered on the hill sides, adding contrast to the dark green pine trees that blanket the steep river gorge we are hiking in.

On this journey, we are traveling light. It's our porter that is schlepping, while we cruise. We are staying in tea houses since we don't have the infrastructure of an expedition. And we plan to travel in short bursts, maximizing our acclimatization and sight seeing.

I plan to send dispatches back every few days, so no worries, you'll be a partner in this adventure, too.

Namaste,

Chris Warner

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Dispatch 2: Dingboche, Nepal 14,300 ft.

April 15, 2004

The trail from Monjo, through Namche, Tengboche, Deboche and Pangboche climbs (between bone jarring dips) to a split in the Khumbu, a place where the Imja Kola and Khumbu Kola rivers meet. The Khumbu Kola drains Everest, with it's chalky blue water rushing between boulders tumbled into soft shapes by thousands of years of water eroding rock. The Imja Kola drains the North Face of Ama Dablam, the South Face of Lhotse and winds its way through the villages of Chukkung and Dingboche. Although out of the way, we turned right at the fork to explore the Imja Kola.

Yesterday we dropped our packs at the Snow Lion Lodge in Dingboche. This village is occupied only during the trekking season, as it is too cold in winter. I first swung through this town in the winter of 1990. If there were any tea houses they were closed. Two friends and I had just climbed Island Peak and were dreading the long climb back to Ama Dablam base camp.

I raced ahead of my friends, determined to find two porters to help us with our massive packs. Smoke rose from just one building and inside I found a group of guys and one woman, sitting in the smoke of a yak dung fire, coughing and slurping chang. For those of you who have never tasted this wicked drink, your liver thanks you. The initiated know that a cup of chang is bottomless, a sip begets a refill, and all protestations are met with a laugh and a pushing of your hands aside. You drink chang to get drunk.

My friends, seeing the scene unfold, dropped the heaviest gear outside the herder's hut and crept back to base camp. Hours later, I followed two well paid yak herders into the darkest, coldest night, stumbling for hours along narrow trails, finally arriving at Ama Dablam.

Today Dingboche has at least 10 tea houses. The shelves are stocked with canned beer. But I am sure that in the coldest months, a few old yak herders gather around smoldering patties of yak dung, sipping chang.

I have been having the best time trekking to base camp. Syl and I have been lucky to spend most nights with fun loving travelers, listening to their tales. He is teaching me to play chess: education through humiliation.

It seems that each day we run into old friends, usually passing on the trail. Guys I climbed on K2 and Broad Peak were in the Khumbu acclimatizing before choppering into Makalu base camp. Others were leading trekking groups to base camp, in support of Everest expeditions. I heard that Luis Benetiz (ET guide) was in the village of Pheriche, with an Everest expedition he is guiding for a New Zealand outfit. So this morning I slipped from bed at 5 a.m., caught the sunrise on a high ridge, then snuck into his bedroom with a coffee pot and cups: coffee in bed for that lazy 3 times Everest summitteer, returning to make it 4 for 4.

I am attaching a photo of the west face of Ama Dablam,(note:photo didn't make it through email, will try to track it down) which I climbed that winter of 1990. Glen Dunmire and I, naively, pioneered a new route up that face. We thought it would take us one night. We spent 4 on the mountain, running out of fuel and food. The whole route was wildly hard: 60 pitches with rock climbing to 5.7 and near vertical snow and ice. I ended up with frostbite on 9 fingers.

These days, walking by it, I wonder if I still have what it takes to pioneer an extremely technical new route in the Himalaya, in the winter. With my greying hair, shouldn't I leave that to the next generation of punks? Well, I still have some kind of a chip on my shoulder, and hope that this year I can motor in the hills in such a way that my soul is fed. After all I learned a lot on climbs like that, the epic on Shivling, three trips on the North Ridge of Everest, 5 other 8000 meter peak expeditions, and 80 or 90 other international mountaineering trips. I better use up the wisdom earned, before the grey hair falls out and the punks pity me.

P.S. the winds have been howling past the summits of Everest and Lhotse, with nasty clouds mixing with plumes of snow. It is good to be laying low in the valleys.

Chris Warner

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Everest Base Camp, Nepal

April 19, 2004

Our journey has taken us from the village of Dingboche farther up the Imja Kola to the tiny village of Chukkung (15,300 ft). After a night there, Syl, one of our porters and I trekked over the Komja La, an 18,165 ft. pass. It was one of the best days of hiking any of us have ever had. The narrow and faint trail ascended grassy hillsides, past a tumbled apart yak herders' hut and up into a region of lakes connected by frozen waterfalls. On the surrounding hillsides flocks of Tibetan Ptarmigans played a loud game of hide and seek, daring us to look for them by crying out, while hiding amidst clumps of grass, their feathers perfectly camouflaging them. I searched the hillsides but never saw a single bird, even though they called to us for hours.

The higher we climbed, the more spectacular the views. At first, the north face of Ama Dablam silenced us with its sheer beauty. Higher still, we went from quiet and respectful, to overwhelmed. Makalu dominated the center of the skyline. The fifth tallest mountain in the world, it rose like a perfect marble triangle. Eventually we climbed high enough to see its ridges stretch on forever. The south face of Lhotse with Nuptse connected, framed the left skyline. As we climbed, we spied a team of Korean climbers that are working hard to ascend that face, one of, if not, the largest mountain faces in the world. Syl and I could see 7 members of their team. Three of the climbers wiggled back and forth, like fleas, as they jumared their way up a section of fixed rope above camp 2. Baruntse, Cho Polu, Chamlang, Kantega...too many peaks to count filled the horizon.

At one point I climbed high above the trail hoping to film the entire skyline. It was magical, sitting on a rocky summit at 17,500 ft. with so many famous peaks surrounding me.

Climbing slowly, we crested the pass at 18,165 ft., and descended to the village of Lobuche. Syl decided to continue slowly upward, taking a rest day and then an easy day to Gorak Shep. I was too excited to go slowly and so raced along the trail, hiking from Lobuche to Everest base camp in 3:15. I arrived in the morning, April 18th. It is so good to be back at the base of a big mountain, especially one I've never climbed. I immediately slipped into the culture of base camp, swapping slightly twisted tales of love and climbing, spreading gear all over the rocks, plotting a plan of attack, filling the rarefied air with my music, brewing strong cups of coffee and stopping every few seconds to look up and up and up.

The south side of Everest is so different than the north. For one it is a lot warmer. But to tell you the truth, while the north side imposes because of the wind, the height of ABC and the climbing on summit day, the south side seems more mountainous. That may sound funny, but all last night avalanches woke me up. Sure they were far away, but base camp is surrounded by really, really steep peaks. Those avalanches impressed me, errr..scared me a few times last night. And then there is this little inconvenience known as the Khumbu icefall. On the North side, there isn't any reason to be fearful until summit day. The icefall gives the gift of fear every time you try to step foot on the hill.

All of this is so good for my soul. I have this feeling that this climb of Lhotse is going to be rewarding. I am excited to have a new playground to run around in.

So, like a kid in a candy store and feeling really strong, despite just getting to this altitude, I am going to make a carry to camp 1 tomorrow. I need to see what this ice fall is all about. I woke early this morning, excited, and packed for the trip already. I'm ready for a little mountaineering fun.

I'll leave by 4 a.m. and be back for breakfast. Syl should be here by noon and we'll spend a few lazy days in BC before I head back up and he wanders over the Cho La and back to Kathmandu.

Chris

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Fear and Friends

Everest Base Camp

April 22, 2004

The ladders of the Khumbu Icefall are a twisted mess. And the season is young. The other morning, I loaded a pack with about 15 pounds of gear and raced up to Camp 1, climbing amidst a gang of about one hundred Sherpas. This year, according to local lore, the route zigs and zags more than usual.

A good time from BC to C1 is just under 3 hours. On my first lap I clocked a time of 3:20. To say I was motivated by fear is an understatement. In the 20+ years that I have been a mountaineer, I have learned to avoid the rat traps and tilting seracs, the gaping crevasses and the calving slopes, the bottlenecks and the bottomless holes, that make up the Khumbu Icefall. If I didn't see it with my own eyes, I'd never believe that anyone ever ventured into that suicidal mess.

But as the stars twinkled overhead, hundreds of weighted down, cramponed and harnessed climbers said their silent prayers and entered the ice fall. While some strolled along, skipping across ladders and slapped carabiners onto braided rope, I boogied. I went as fast as my scared little legs would wriggle.

It was with great relief that I reached the frozen tents at Camp 1, long before the sun would hit them, thawing out the climbers inside. I wanted to be back down amidst the lucky bums, lazing around BC before the sun climbed too high in the sky, possibly melting the feeble bonds that held the mess together. Barely catching my breath I clipped back into the ropes, sliding down twisted ladders that scared the daylights out of me on the way up. Never stopping to breathe, I leapt crevasses spanned by just one ladder only to hyperventilate as my crampons scratched for purchase on the double and triple spanners.

Descending into the warmth of daylight, I realized that the headlamps I passed on the way up, well, some of them were friends. At least in the dark you can pass without hesitation, but once you recognize people, you have to say hello....and I couldn't let on that I was afraid.

So I stopped for a drink with Henry Todd. Then passing a Chilean group I gave that familiar hello "viva Bernardo OHiggins." They laughed. (Seems every Chileano thinks it is funny to have a South American liberator with such an Irish name.) How many Chileanos do I know: one. I then yell "viva Rodrigo Jordan" and they laugh even louder: "he's right there!"

Now running into friends on a mountain like Everest is critical to your emotional survival. You need to get around, to visit other teams, accidentally stopping in at meal times if their cook is any good. Now the Chileanos have three things going for them: a ten cup espresso maker, a cook with an overstocked cupboard and Annabelle. (I have it on good authority that there are 11 women climbing Everest this year and Annabelle has caused more than a little bit of a stir in BC. "How dare she wear make-up?" sniped two jealous women I dined with at lunch today.) Well, mild mannered and boring as I may be, I managed to get invited to the Chileanos for lunch yesterday, which has made me a lightning rod for jealousy among the men on my team. But since they can't read this until they get home, let me assure you that the "Viva Annabelle!" thing heard around my BC is pure speculation.

And the whole friend thing takes on twists as yogish as the Khumbu ladders. I step into another team's well stocked dining tent yesterday and there is a guy I climbed the south face of Oshapalca in Peru, back on my 23rd birthday. Later that year he wandered into the states, only to be escorted to the airport, cuffed in the back of a police cruiser for stealing a Snicker's Bar in Yosemite Valley (well actually that was just a part of the story, see, cause when the cops brought him to his tent to check his passport an overstuffed ziploc bag was plainly visible.......). He is definitely an upstanding sort and still cranking hard routes at 39. I was psyched to see him.

Just one last story about life in BC. Seems we have an engineer in our group that has developed a superior method of capturing hitherto lost bits of oxygen that seep from the continuous flow systems that Everest climbers have been using for years. His invention is ingenious, involving the face mask of a Tornado jet fighter, a section of snorkel hose, a coke bottle and a condom. Certainly, this device will revolutionize the sport. But when laid out on the table, being prodded by a group of hardened bearded men, it became obvious to me, why my base camp companions will never attract a climbing partner like Annabelle.

Chris Warner

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Avalanches and Satellite Phones

Monday, April 26th, 7:52 am EST via satellite phone:

On the 25th, I got up early in the morning, leaving Everest base camp around 5:30 am and followed the trial up through the Khumbu ice fall. The route has changed considerably in the last couple of days with a number of ice fall collapses higher up. I carried a pretty heavy load, about 20 kilos to camp 1, and there I added another 5 or 6, totaling a little over 50 lbs. The weight of the pack can be debilitating, especially considering the weather conditions. We were walking in a kind of soupy, cloudy mess that kept all of the heat in. Not only was it hot but it was snowing. The snow was basically originating where we were standing so it instantly turned into a really wet, heavy snow.

The ladder bridges (spanning crevasses) from camp 1 to 2 were totally scary. At one point I had to cross a three ladder section (three ladders lashed together) with this massive pack on. I was pretty scared and luckily some Sherpas were with me and they held on to the hand rails, which are these rope that are anchored into the glacier, and if someone pulls tight on them, it giving you a little more sense of assurance. Eventually we made it up to camp 2. The whole time I was climbing up the face of Nuptse it was sending spin drift avalanche down. These sounded like gusts of powerful wind rocketing down the slopes and would land and slowly fade away in a rumble. It was pretty wild.

Then on to camp 2. In the afternoon the clouds sank and all of Lhotse was totally blanketed in white. Right above camp 2 begins the south face of Everest where Chris Bonnington did some amazing ascents back in the day. I woke up this morning and it was absolutely beautiful and I felt that the snow had stopped. Right around noon I came back in to camp 2 and it has been snowing ever since. We have probably gotten about 4 to 5 inches of snow. Add that to the non-stop avalanches on Nuptse and the fact that there are all sorts of pockets of heavy snow. In terms of ascents via the west shoulder of Everest, this makes things look challenging from an avalanche perspective. So I am going to sit up here at camp 2 for a couple of days in hopes that it will change with dawn and things will look a little bit better. We will see, as it is a total waiting game right now. Unless conditions improve dramatically, the only hope for Lhotse climbers is to return to base camp and enjoy the pleasure of great local cooking. Otherwise, if things do get better, I will hang out here and hope that I can tag a summit on this push. All is well.

Chris Warner

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Eyes that Freeze and Who is Igor anyhow?

April 29, 2004:

Does the weather ever cooperate? Of course, if what you are hoping for is bitter cold temps from 6 p.m. until 8:30 a.m., with 6-10 inches of fresh snow falling in the afternoon and playful winds re-depositing that snow from midnight until 4-6 a.m. Obviously, these make for exciting climbing conditions if: you like it when your eyes spontaneously tear and those tears get to freeze your eyelids together; if you like it when your toes (wrapped in the warmest of boots) turn numb with threatening frostbite; if you like when the trail is covered, the ropes are buried and you are the first fool cruising around every day. And most importantly, we love this weather when it calls off your summit bid and re-directs your energy to a certain back alley meeting with a Russian Oligarch named Igor.

But before we get to Igor, let's back track, even just a bit.

On the 25th, I left BC, carrying about 35-40 pounds of gear up through the Khumbu Icefall. At C1 (20,400 ft), I grabbed another 10-15 pounds I had stashed there. Stumbling under a huge pack, I managed to stand and brace myself just in time to see another climber puke all over his boots. Inspired, repulsed, or just plain eager to end my suffering, I headed off to C2, a long, long gentle climb up into the Western Cwm (don't ask me why they let the Scottish spell anything of importance).

Normally, the Western Cwm is a magical place, with the Western Shoulder of Everest and the flank of Nuptse forming a narrow canyon, whose base is made up of the upper Khumbu Glacier, a mantle of ice hundreds of feet thick and sliced by dozens of gaping and thousands of just-big-enough-to-snap-your-leg-off-at-the-knees crevasses. But on that day it was snowing, and the soft snow avalanches that tore from Nuptse kept me too scared to appreciate the beauty of the crevasses. Of course, I did manage to cry a little when I came across a real charming hole, with three ladders tied together, forming a bridge, that I couldn't imagine crossing with such a huge pack on. I was just about to crawl across when three Sherpas appeared: shamed, I shouldered the pack and unsteadily made my way across.

Now that journey to C2 lasted forever, partly because of the big pack, but more because of the oppressive heat that clung inside of the cloud I was traveling in: Get this, it was snowing on my skin, but I was so hot I wore only a t shirt and seemed to choke on the humidity in the air. After 7 hours of struggle and humiliation (I was passed by a film crew), I arrived at C2 (21,400 ft).

  I crawled into a tent and emerged several days later ready to climb to C3 (24,000 ft). C3 is a sad campsite, with all the character of a store bought tree fort: horrible metaphor, so how about: C3 is a sad campsite, with all the character of a bus stop full of commuters run over and churned up by a snow plow. OK that stinks too, in fact it is graphic, in poor taste and only narrowly captures the place, so let me describe it and you can submit all your metaphorical ideas to Bill Gates.

C3 is chopped from the middle of the Lhotse face, a steep, icy, endless, rolling, rapidly slipping, piece of glacial ice impractically slapped on the lower slopes of Lhotse. The only reason why you would place a camp site there is because it doesn't belong there. Imagine hacking, with an ice axe, a platform big enough for a tent, creating a ledge in which the simple task of lacing a crampon or even better peeing, could result in a few thousand feet of tumbling back towards C2. Then to make the place even more unpleasant, layer through the glacier twenty years of tent remains, streaks of yellow and red nylon, frozen into place like the filling of an ice cream cake. Oh and yeah, there are crevasses sneaking between the tents. Might make for a lovely place to freeze to death.

So at 5 a.m. on the 28th, I strapped on my crampons, sauntered across the upper reaches of the Western Cwm and began my climb to C3. Almost immediately I was stuck behind a team of Canadians, a Sherpa, and another Sherpa filming for the Discovery Channel. I don't know about you, but once the video is rolling, I move. Can you imagine watching yourself in slow motion, struggling, on the Discovery Channel? I'd be embarrassed. They let me pass.

I pulled the ropes from the snow, plowing new foot prints where the snow was deep, and scraping with my crampon points where the ice laid in big, bare patches. The sun was hours away and my toes went from cold to numb. I figure the temps were well below 0 F. Upon reaching C3, I spent two hours in one of Henry's tents, warming up my toes. Once warm enough I headed back to C2.

Why did I go to C3, anyway....because I am tourist on Everest's South Col route and it does lead towards the summit of Lhotse. In fact my route and Everest's do not split until midway between C3 and C4. I went up to C3 with two thoughts in mind, spy my route and to see if it is still too cold to make a summit bid.

The winds have been pretty low, and most mornings are beautiful, but the temps are still way too cold to think about a frost bite free summit bid. If I were to grip my ice axes, in the shadowed couloir that leads to Lhotse's summit, I'd certainly lose a few fingers and probably some toes. So, after talking to various Everest gurus, I decided to head back to BC for a few days. On the morning of the 29th, after an afternoon and evening of snow, I packed up and headed down the hill. At 5 a.m. the temps hovered below 0 F and the wind was busy drifting the snow over the trail. With my teary eyes freezing shut, and the trail barely visible, I relied more on my feet for guidance. (where the trail existed, the snow was only knee to calf deep, but step off the trail and it might have been bottomless)

I could see the bamboo wands, used to mark the route, in the distance and after hours of skirting crevasses, and finding a few that were hidden, I caught a glimpse of C1. Even there, not a creature was stirring. I had to break trail to the very edge of the Khumbu Icefall before the first wave of Sherpas popped out of the crevasses and joined me on the trail. They were as shocked to see me as I was happy to see them. "where did I come from? When did I leave? How did I find the trail?"

I arrived back in BC in time for breakfast. Syl Mathis, my trekking companion, was packing up for the trip back to Kathmandu and home. Henry pulled me aside and explained that I could do his team and all mountaineers a huge favor: see there is this guy named Igor, friend of Alexi and confidant of Oleg, who is living in Katmandu with his mail order bride. Seems all the Nepalis are deeply afraid of him. (now throwing an arm around my shoulder) He is harmless, just a little scary looking. Since you are done with your acclimatization, and the rest of us aren't, would you mind visiting Igor and getting this prototype face mask from him, I had requested it during a meeting in St. Petersburg.....

So let the adventures continue.....Igor here I come.

Chris Warner

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Getting Ready for Solo

May 11, 2004

Back in Base Camp

The past two weeks have been a whirlwind, from pulling ropes and freezing toes enroute to Camp 3 to enjoying a bottomless cup of coffee and eating quiche at Mike's Breakfast in sunny Kathmandu.

Having done my acclimatization jaunt up the hill, tagging 24,000 and realizing that a summit bid was at least two weeks away, I radioed Syl and asked him if he'd mind a trekking partner. He was leaving on April 29 to head slowly back to Kathmandu and then home (before flying to Africa to guide a Kilimanjaro trip for Earth Treks). I raced back to base, packed and then caught up with him in the village of Pangboche. Our trek was magical, going by way of Phortse, we paralleled the main trail, but on the rarely traveled western side of the valley. Stopping for a snack, a group of Himalayan Tahr, giant shaggy mountain goats, slowly descended upon us, posing for photos. Later we saw a brilliantly colored Daphne pheasant and a tiny musk deer (full grown it is about the size of large poodle).

We flew from Lukla to Kathmandu on the 3rd. The Nirvana Garden Hotel, where we stay, was overflowing with friends: some coming back from attempts on Ama Dablam, others preparing to bike from Lhasa, Tibet to Kathmandu. A gang gathered for dinner, swapping tales about adventures from New Zealand and Bhutan to Peru and Pakistan. As the night went on, the stories became more colorful, with stories of shooting .44s at imaginary moose in Alaska to leaping crevasses in Antarctica while driving farm tractors. We laughed until our cheeks hurt and tears soaked our collars.

May 4th was an auspicious day. Buddha was celebrating his Birthday, the full moon would rise minutes after sunset, and flying into town was Melinda, the Princess of Iowa. The day proved magical. Syl, PB Thapa, Melinda and I went to the Bhoudanath Stupa, the largest Buddhist monument in Kathmandu. The sun was setting. Thousands of devout Buddhists were circumambulating the stupa. The Prayer Wheels were spinning. Monks were chanting. Hundreds of strings of prayer flags were blowing in the light breeze. The Stupa had been freshly colored, the dome first bathed in white, then gentle sprays of yellow added texture and color and a sense of even greater power to the almost glow in the dark, benevolent eyes of Buddha.

We circled the stupa and climbed up the narrow stairs to ever higher layers. As the moon rose over the outer layer of buildings, whose pagoda roofs created magical silhouettes, the energy level of the crowd rose with it. Below us, surrounding the stupa were hundreds of tables full of butter lamps, each ten times brighter than a candle. Between the lighting, the flags fluttering, the full moon, the chanting monks, and Buddha's eyes seeing all, the moment was absolutely magical.

Satiated, we pulled ourselves away and sought a quiet dinner so we could let the power of the evening melt deeply into us.

On May 6, Syl flew home, while Melinda, PB and I flew to Lukla and began our trek back to base camp. Enjoying every minute of Melinda and PB's company, I still felt a pull back to base camp. That first night we stayed in Monjo. Early the next morning we set off for Namche, which we reached in a rather quick 2 and a half hours. Melinda is strong, a runner, and was having not a sign of trouble with the altitude.

On the 8th, I left them, feeling a strong pull to get to BC. On the climb to Thyangboche I ran into waves of friends, making the climb interminable, but tons of fun. First came Simone Moro (who I climbed on K2 and Broad Peak with in 2002) and his climbing partner Dennis Urbuko. They had just pioneered a new route on Baruntse and were racing to Annapurna. I quizzed them about Nanga Parbat, which Dennis summited in 2003. They warned me that the weather was horrible in the Khumbu and Everest summits seemed weeks away. Higher, I ran into Brian Alder (who I climbed with in Peru in 1987). He, too, warned me about the weather. Now I was conflicted: why sit in BC, when I could be having fun with Melinda and PB. But I trekked on.

In Pangboche I ran into the first of Henry's Sherpas. They were all coming down for a rest: one week at least...with all the team's heading down. Again the delimna. I trekked upwards. In Pheriche I ran into Henry's climbing Sirdar and the BC cook. Once again, the word was bad weather, but I trekked upwards.

On the 9th, I ran into more and more Everest hopefuls heading down. First below Gorak Shep and then within an hour of BC. Still I headed up. On the crest of a moraine, I saw a Sherpa running, without a pack. He looked familiar. Getting closer I recognized him as one of Henry's guys. He was smiling when he realized it was me: "Good Weather. I go get the others." And he was off to collect all the Sherpas and climbers he could find. Then I saw other Sherpas from teams, without packs, running across the moraine towards the villages below.

My timing was perfect. I left BC at the start of the bad weather, in which tents were torn to bits at Camp 3, and returned 11 days later, as the weather was on the verge of improving.

Now it looks like May 14 is my day (it is also the day that Melinda and PB arrive in BC). I am going to head to C2 on the 12th, where I will spend the night. At 8 p.m. on the 13th, I'll set out from C2 (21,400 ft) with a light load, aiming for the summit of Lhotse, 6000 ft. away. I hope to pass by C3 (24,000 ft.) at about 11:30 p.m., by 3 a.m. I should pass the normal site of Lhotse's C4 (26,000 ft), moving into the 1500 ft. Lhotse couloir at about 4 a.m. The couloir should be cold. It is always steep, a two ice tool swinging, front point kicking love fest for a mountaineer. No one has been in the couloir yet this year and I am hoping, wishing, praying, that I get first whack at it. I am so fired up to be soloing up the couloir, through the narrow, arm width-wide sections, racing over the steepest steps, touching rock with crampons as my tools swing into bitter cold, hard as rock alpine ice, with shards of ice exploding like crystals in the pink light of an 8000 meter dawn. As I look over my shoulder, I'll be able to watch climbers heading for the summit of Everest. I'll be all alone, which is just how I want it.

I'll let you know how it goes. If you are within earshot, I am calling into the DC101, Elliot in the Morning Show on the 13th and the 14th for a pre and post climb chat. I'll be calling in from C2. We haven't finalized the time, but hopefully it will be about 7:30ish in the a.m.

Gotta pack,

Chris Warner

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Heading Up Lhotse

Thursday, May 13, 7:59 pm EST (via satellite phone):

  Just a quick phone call to let everyone know that I am going to make a move up to camp 3 early Friday morning. Once at camp 3, I will spend a couple of hours resting and leave around 11 o'clock at night for the summit of Lhotse. I will be leaving my satellite phone at camp 2, so will call in once I return. Hopefully all will go well.

Chris Warner

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Lhotse Summit!

Sunday, May 17, 7:21 pm EST (via satellite phone):

Hey Gang, I will be sending a full dispatch shortly but wanted to call to let you know that I summited Lhotse over the weekend. 14 other climbers summited that day also, making for a new summit record. The bronchitis I have been fighting made for a really long summit day. I am off now to base camp to write you a full account and rest up for my next peak.

Chris Warner

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All About Persevering

Everest Base Camp: May 19, 2004

Where does one begin to tell a tale of being brought to the edge, only to find that it is a mystical, beautiful, and painless place? If I hadn't been there before, I would start at the beginning. But by now, everyone knows the typical chronology of an expedition: the moving from camp to camp, the cold nights, melting of ice into water, the burdensome backpacks, the fixed ropes. So let's begin at the dead body.

He was frozen in place, laying there, being pelted by the constant rock fall that poured from the Lhotse Couloir (a gully, usually filled with snow). Each year he is covered with a new year's snow, then it's slowly, slowly pushed aside by the spring winds. As I climbed up to him, passing directly over his head, the same thoughts that the dead give me came back: do not die here. You will be cold for eternity. This is a place of misery.

I had every reason to heed his warning. Things were not going right. I had left camp 2, a day earlier, suffering from a bad stomach bug, that kept me sitting up all one night. Every time I laid down I puked. When I finally got up to go to the bathroom, well...it was gross. I was really sick, but determined. I ate antibiotics, drank as much water as I could, and headed up to Camp 3. I had modified my plan: instead of climbing from Camp 2 in a direct 6000 foot push, I stopped at Camp 3 for a few hours.

At Camp 3, I shared a tent with John, a big dude from Tasmania. Because of some confusion, I didn't have a sleeping bag, only my down suit for warmth. I thought that he would keep me warm, if I only rolled into him, trying to trap him in the depression in the center of the tent, with me wedged on top of him. But no, he was too proud to cuddle. Men!

At midnight I started to climb, almost immediately feeling too tired. This illness was getting stronger. I climbed up fixed ropes, through the darkest night I've ever seen. Not a sliver of moon, and barely a planetarium's worth of stars.

I crossed the yellow band, barely recognizing the difference between the sandy-colored limestone and the ice of the Lhotse face. I pulled on ropes, crossing the 25,000 foot magic line, heading for 26,000 ft. on terrain I never crossed before. I had no gauge to tell if I was making good progress or not. It was so dark.

But high above, on Everest, I could see the headlamps of friends heading for the summit. There was Clive and Kenton, the Chileans, and who knew else, struggling upwards in that old mythological journey of man's struggle to greatness (or was it they just like the view).

I was hoping to enter the Lhotse Couloirs while it was still dark. But with it being so pitch black, I had to go slowly so I wouldn't get lost. Around dawn I was even with some tents at Camp 4 on Lhotse, roughly 26,000 ft. I crossed over to the ropes that led upwards, by swinging two ice tools and kicking my crampons into the world's most perfect neve. Too soon the real climbing was over and fixed ropes began again.

I was now climbing for about 5 hours and was feeling a significant drain of my energy. Convinced that my right leg had been replaced by the leg of some lazy 40 year old guy, I pushed myself up with my left. I wasn't far below a bigger gang, that was fixing the route and I think were Koreans. As the couloirs steepened, the rocks started to fall. I was hoping to pass the Koreans but I couldn't figure out how to get close enough to pass, while not getting killed by rockfall, so I hung back far enough to judge where the rocks might bounce (then dodged them at the last second). During the course of the day, I took two direct hits on the helmet, and more on the back, the arm and legs. At times I hid behind my pack, or pressed against the wall hiding while the Koreans scrambled above me.

The couloirs went on forever. If you ever think of climbing it, be ready to persevere. No slick technical skill will get you to the top. It can only be climbed by high stepping, stemming between walls, following a million crampon scratches on the rock walls. The snow ended at rock scrambling, started again with patches of ice, and finally seems to end as it widens and the rock fall increases. The summit rock pyramid is falling apart, and when populated by other climbers scrambling on the broken ledges, and swinging on ropes, even more rocks ricocheted down the gully. I hid to the side for about an hour, waiting for almost everyone to be heading down, I scurried up to the top. Just below the summit I placed some prayer flags and a khata, then popped up to the very top, and looked East, where a wall of clouds blocked the views. To the west, Everest, Cho Oyu and Shisha Pangma were a few of the hundred peaks on the horizon. It was beautiful.

I started to descend, hoping to stay up hill of the Korean team, so I couldn't get hit by their rocks. But too soon, I had to start to pass them. The ricocheting rocks crashed into the back of my pack and off the top of my helmet. I raced downward.

Late in the afternoon, I exited the couloirs, and re-met the frozen man. I was pretty tired, actually exhausted. It was weird, since I am usually really strong. Something was wrong. I had felt feverish all day, but when checking if I had any signs of altitude illness I found none. Who knew what was wrong, perhaps I was really sick still.

As the light began to decrease, I unloaded all sorts of stuff from my parka and dumped it into my pack: camera, watch, empty water bladders, etc. Then I carried on. Normally I can run down the fixed ropes. Today I slumped at every anchor. Complete darkness overtook me on the yellow band (a layer of rock, steeply angled) and I slowly lowered myself from anchor to anchor. Problems began, not because I was too cold, but because I was suddenly traveling with friends and they wouldn't pay the "tolls". My patience held, and I kept asking them to hurry up, making cute smirks at the toll collectors, who of course understood that gringos are always screwing up the system.

I moved from the yellow band onto the Lhotse face. But there seemed to be too many toll booths. So I got on the radio to base camp. I had no idea of the time, the blackness convinced me it was after midnight.

"Henry, this is Chris, I think I must be lost, since I am below Namche Bazar (a village two days walk below base camp) and the toll collectors keep asking me for money. Don't you think it shouldn't be so expensive? I think I might be in the wrong place."

Well down in BC, surrounding the table, drinking single malt scotch was Henry Todd, Guy Cotter (the head of Adventure Consultants), Victor Saunders, a few clients and Melinda (my girlfriend). Now Melinda is new to this whole world. Obviously something sounded wrong to Melinda's ears, but the boys knew that they had to play this one cool. Here was Warner, hallucinating at 24,500 ft., at 8 p.m. It was so dark that they couldn't see Everest from base camp. A recipe for disaster?

"Well Chris, I think you're on the right track, as long as you are still clipped in to a rope. You are clipped in aren't you?"

"Of course I am Henry, they won't let me unclip until I pay."

"Well just continue descending the ropes and keep calling in to let us know where you are."

It felt like an hour passed, but they say I called every 15 minutes.

Henry talked me down from the hallucination and into a tent. Back in base camp, they all rested a lot easier, while I tried to make myself warm inside an empty tent, with just my down suit to keep me warm. I shivered all night.

In the morning, not knowing what time it was I spoke to Henry again. His team, including his wife were high on Everest, poised to summit that morning. He was awake, listening to their conversations. Obvious to him I was still in an altered state.

"What time is it?"

"8 o'clock, Chris."

"Great....is that 8 o'clock at night or in the morning."

"Uhhmmm... Chris there should be some Sherpas passing by the tent. Why don't you have them help you down."

"OK Henry, thanks. I'll look out for them."

At 11 a.m. I talked to Henry again.

"Chris where are you?"

"I'm at camp 3"

"I thought you left hours ago."

"Did I?"

Kenton Cool, yes the real name of a guide, was tasked to drag me out of the tent and put me on the ropes. He was real cool about it, despite my being all tough and thinking I didn't need any help. But I stumbled for 15 feet under the strain of my pack and knew I was doomed.

Taking over half my load, he got me on my feet and onto the ropes. It was torturous getting to Camp 2. I finally stumbled in to Camp 2 and crawled into a tent, spending the third night in a row without a sleeping bag.

At dawn I stumbled further down the hill, arriving in base camp at noon. Melinda smothered me in hugs and laid me in the tent. Henry went to fetch Alley, our doctor buddy. She concluded that I was suffering from Bronchitis. She filled my pockets with Antibiotics.

Well, I am getting progressively better, good enough to go to a party at the Chilean camp, and to start packing.

In the pack I wore on Lhotse, I found more than a handful of small stones. Seems as the rocks bounced down the Lhotse Couloirs, splinters of rock ricocheted into my pack. As I sorted through the rocks one stood out. A yellowish rock, with a human hair sticking out of it, caught my eye. Holding it to the light, one thing was obvious: This is a piece of a human skull.

Now, recuperation is in order. I do have to get to Pakistan to check out Nanga Parbat, Gasherbrum 1 and 2. But maybe we'll swing there via Thailand.....this climbing game has its benefits. Now if I can only figure out what to do with this hunk of skull.

The Lhotse Couloir is an alluring line, but dangerous. While the climbing isn't too hard, the constant rock fall and the sheer length spent climbing, above 8000 meters, without supplemental oxygen, makes it a very serious undertaking. I was lucky that on May 15th, the weather was perfect. I clearly pushed myself beyond where I feel comfortable going: my illness weakened me in ways I never expected it to. I always consider myself to be cautious, playing within the bounds of the game (although preferring to skip camps and make my summit days into major endurance events). Things almost got out of control on Lhotse. I don't say that because of the hallucinations, I actually think that those little visitors are great psycholigical aids. Where things almost got out of control all resolve around my illness and progressive weakness. Had a storm system come in, for instance, where would I have found the strength to fight for yet another day? The human spirit drives the machine, but the body still has to stand to fight.

Climbing Lhotse was all about persevering. Where do you find the depth of energy needed to fight for 21 hours, climbing into that oxygen starved environment, dodge rocks, step over the dead and maintain your wits?

Well on Lhotse I knew that I was sick, losing strength, but I never let my self-confidence decrease. I knew that I could keep going and summit Lhotse. I just had to set my mind on persevering against the odds. Putting one foot in front of the other got me to the summit and back down alive.

Chris Warner

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