Hell Is Above Us: The Epic Race to the Top of Fumu, the World's Tallest Mountain, Jonathan Bloom [best ebook reader TXT] 📗

left, was the summit, closer than ever now. The sporadic din of distant eruptions was certainly close enough now to bring a rumble to their stomachs. Black ash streaked portions of the snow field upon which they walked as if the mountain had adorned itself in war paint in preparation for battle. Despite these visual distractions, out of the corner of his eye, Chhiri Tendi came across something stuck in the snow near the edge of the Maw. No one in front of him seemed to have noticed.

“At first all I could see was a small black tube jutting out of the ice. It did not look like a chunk of the black ash that occasionally crossed the landscape; it had harder angles than that. Definitely made by men. I walked over to it. I kicked it and it didn’t budge so I took out my axe and broke the ice around it. Now the thing gave way. I picked it up. It was a gun. A God damned gun! The metal was rusted from exposure to constant freezing and melting. But otherwise it looked pretty decent. I checked for bullets and indeed there were five fuckers in there. I decided not to announce my find as the Americans would want to discuss its origin, the reason for its being deposited here, what to do with it and so on. That would slow us down. I planned to tell the others when we got to Camp Two, but then forgot as other events on the way down became more important in my mind.”

There can be little doubt that what Chhiri Tendi had stumbled upon was the pistol of none other than Wolfgang Rauff. The Hoyt team’s location along the Maw corresponds quite closely with the location of the disaster as recalled by Rauff’s Sherpa. But if Rauff fell straight down while holding the gun, how did it wind up along the side of the Maw and not in it? The answer is unclear, except that perhaps the kickback of the gun removed it from Rauff’s hand and placed it on firmed ground behind him. That would also explain why Rauff’s gun shot – the one that brought about his expedition’s demise - did not find its target. Regardless of how it arrived at its current location, it was now the property of Chhiri Tendi, who placed the object in his backpack and did not think about it again for a time.

They approached the base of the Eastern Ridge, the future location of Camp Three, much earlier than expected. It was not even noon. As abhorrent a thought as it was, the team knew acclimatization was necessary. The thought was not only abhorrent due to lost ground, but also because the team would be submitted to more of Chhiri Tendi’s comedy act. “Had enough of Chhiri Tendi’s comments about women’s bosoms” Drake wrote that night. “Now actually squeamish at the thought of bosoms, something I thought impossible. Thanks a lot, Chhiri Tendi.” They dropped much of their equipment that would be required for Camp Three, rested, and then turned to descend back down to Camp Two despite their urge to remain.

They followed the Maw back down, looking out for the other side, for they knew once the other side came into view, it would mean the Maw was narrowing, and that would alert them to the proximity of Camp Two.

Chhiri Tendi finished up his rant with a rather saucy comment about the women from his home town of Thame. An actual laugh was heard that did not come from one of the other Sherpa. But then again, it did not come from the Americans either.

It came from across the Maw.

On the heels of the distant laugh came another voice, shushing the first. “My heart raced” Chhiri Tendi recalls. “It must have been Hoyt and Yuudai making their way around the Maw. No one else on the team had heard it. I yelled out into the grayness which caught the attention of the others. ‘Hoyt’ I cried. ‘Yuudai!’ There was no reply.” Chhiri Tendi told the team he had heard a laugh from the across the way. They thought he was being silly. How often had anyone seen Hoyt or Yuudai laugh, they asked. And how likely was it those two sourpusses would be laughing now given the situation? The team reasoned the more likely explanation was that Chhiri Tendi was desperate for an approving audience and had gone temporarily delusional.

Only slightly more than one hour after leaving Camp Three, Camp Two appeared out of the clouds below them. Everyone was now thankful they had decided to come down. “Exhausted” wrote Wilde that night. “Breathe little esier [sic] here. The air is a lover returned and I am soothed by her gentle kiss.” They ate their meals of either yams or pemmican and turned in early with the hope of awaking before first light and getting more mountain below them. They slept the sleep of the righteous. It would be the last time they acquired such rest on this adventure.

Hoyt and Yuudai had been without food for two days now. They had enough cooker fuel left to heat snow for drinking water, but that was all. Now they climbed at a clip reflecting their deprivations. The aging American, now certain this climb would be his last, had decided dying on a nearly hopeless climb upward would be better than surviving a return to Base Camp. Yuudai, who seemed to place duty over all else, stayed with Hoyt. He did not complain. He did not make recommendations. He remained silent and followed. At moments, one man would fall down with exhaustion and the other would help him to his feet. Hoyt wrote, “Yuudai tripped. Ice crack. Delayed getting up. He’d passed out. I tug the rope to wake him up. He gets up and walks again as if nothing happened.”

It was September the eighth and the day was ending.