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

After being clearly annoyed by these interlopers, Hoyt was done with the conversation. He fidgeted and looked to the Pass as if in haste. Hoyt simply walked away from the dialogue with Mano. He found his backpack and put it on. Looking back at Mano, he said, “If you’ll excuse us, we have some climbing to do.”

“Why are you climbing the Fumuri La?” asked Mano. I thought you were climbing Fumu.”

Hoyt’s face was red. I could see the infamous temper coming to a boil. The feeling of logic breaking down did not sit well with William. He barked, “What are you talking about? We are climbing Fumu but we have to get to Fumu first. Enough of these antics. The Qila Pass awaits!” I put my pack on my back as Hoyt had done and followed him. Everyone else on the expedition followed suit.

Having not moved from where the conversation had taken place, Mano yelled to our backs, “So tell me, sirs: When you come home at the end of the day, do you climb through a second-story window?”

Hoyt could have ignored this last statement and kept walking. Had he done so, who knows how many lives would have been lost? Who knows if we would have made it to Fumu at all? Fortunately, for whatever reason – perhaps simply God’s gracious intervention – Hoyt did not ignore the question. He turned and looked back at Mano. “Do you mind clarifying what you mean, sir?”

Mano replied. “That wall of solid rock you call a ‘pass’ is no such thing. It is glistening Death. Do not go through the high window. Go through the front door.” And with that he pointed to a spot just to the west of the basin and at just about the height where a man can no longer climb freely and requires equipment. There was an outcropping of three long, narrow boulders. They had likely arrived there during some ancient cataclysm, sharing and losing the same perch somewhere hundreds of feet above. Two had fallen in such a way they made a line, like train cars moving up the fall line of the mountain. The third boulder had fallen atop the others and cracked in the process, resting diagonally off two sides of the other boulders, one to the left and the other to the right.

“What am I looking at?” Hoyt asked in an impatient tone. “Behind the stones.” Mano answered.

Just behind the top of the cracked boulder could be seen – but just barely – a darkness. It was then I understood what I was seeing and I suspect Hoyt understood at the same time. The boulders formed a massive arrow pointing to a cave. I prayed Mano was about tell us what we all hoped.

Indeed, Thornton, Hoyt, and the rest of the expedition were about to catch the luckiest of breaks. Mano informed them that the cave passes through the ridge, providing a passage right through to the base of Fumu. There were actually multiple lava tubes along the ridge, some at higher elevations than others and some further east and west along the ridge. All of them were dead, seeing as volcanic activity this far away from the summit had ceased eons ago. The caves inside connect and diverge haphazardly, creating a formidable catacomb. However, one large, main artery ran a straight line through the ridge, and that was the one they were looking at now.

By the accounts of all fellow climbers that day, Hoyt wore an expression of joy the likes of which no one had ever seen on him before. He actually laughed. Returning to where Mano was, he patted the man on the back, a display of affection Hoyt may have never carried out before.

Thornton was able to extract from Mano that the arrow was put there by his predecessors because “children need help remembering things.” The man-children returned to Fumu constantly and required indicators like the massive arrow to guide them so they would not get lost in the wilderness. The path from the monasteries to the mountain was apparently covered in arrows. The massive boulder arrow at which they were looking was merely one of many.

Mano and the man-children invited Hoyt and his expedition to follow them into the caves, an invitation which Hoyt gladly accepted. Hoyt wrote, “I was sincerely thrilled to go with them. However, my excitement suffered gradual source decay due to the oddness of our temporary guides. Out of the other prams rose men of varying height, girth, and ethnicity, each shedding their blankets and standing naked. They donned their own buntings and prepared for travel. I do not like these ridiculous harlequins. They are naked, silly, and godless. I can only hope they will stumble across Jesus somewhere in their travels. When they do, I hope for their sake they are wearing trousers.”

Led by Mano, the long line of people and equipment began to move toward the cave. All but one pack animal was left behind; a large yak lead by a large negro in a bunting. The animal carried a load on his back too heavy for a man, possibly 120 pounds. What the load was unclear to the mountaineers, Sherpa, and porters, but the man-children clearly felt it was important enough to risk an animal going through the caves.

Progress toward the cave was slow because the man-children wore only rudimentary sandals, completely inappropriate for such terrain. As the amethyst began to steepen and become too uneven, progress slowed further and prams were abandoned. After approximately one half hour of hiking, the line reached the top of the arrow and stood at the mouth of the cave.

“Tunnel One,” as the main entrance is now known is roughly eight feet in diameter and ringed by nothing but granite and ice. Cool air, but not cold, blows out of it at all times.