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

Junk could have spent the night at Base Camp writing like Morrow and Cole, but instead spent it on drink. No one could keep up with him. Everyone else stuck with supper and tobacco. Alcohol and altitude are a lethal pairing and Junk was inebriated moments after opening the flask. McGee shared a few sips to calm his own nerves but was in no state to revel or drown sorrows.

Cole, River Leaf, Zeigler, and Fenimore had retired immediately after supper. Junk, McGee, and Morrow met in Junk’s tent to partake in a game of cards. It must have been a pathetic affair given their exhaustion, but they were desperate for the comforts of home. They played five-card stud, no variations. This would hopefully minimize foolish mistakes.

Morrow wrote: “Junk had always been a bluffer, scaring people out of their ante regardless of what he held in his hand. That night was different. Even intoxicated and out of energy, Junk played a conservative game.” The larger stakes he was playing with Hoyt may have overwhelmed the game in the tent. But what came next provided an even stronger explanation for his behavior.

“I’m broke” Junk mumbled to the others. They must have assumed at first Junk had gambled away the buy-in for the current game, but he went on to explain that he had spent everything he owned on securing passage to Fumu and paying for the Sherpa and porters. There was nothing left to pay for the land journey back to Cooper’s ship and nothing waiting for him personally when he returned to the States. He had spent everything just to get to Fumu and beat Hoyt to the top. What happened after the ascent was of no importance to him. What’s more, he had no more sources of future revenue as he had liquidated all business concerns to fuel this expedition. He would be on his own should he return to the United States, and he would have to start from scratch. He had no family to which he could turn. No woman he was seeing. He had also vowed never to take a red cent from the daft old woman he had married (he had married her revenge, not for money). He was indeed broke.

The news must have surprised the others in the tent. They would have to pay for Junk to get him back to America. And what of McGee, whose financial standing was inextricably linked to Junk’s? McGee must have been livid. Junk was essentially telling him he too was broke. McGee had always left issues of money to Junk. Providing muscle and companionship had been his sole focus. Now McGee was freezing, slowly falling apart on the side of the tallest mountain in the world, making impossible sacrifices for his closest friend, only to find out his closest friend had knowingly bankrupted him for selfish reasons. And how would Junk pay off on the million dollar bet if McGee survived the expedition? According to Morrow’s notes, McGee’s only response – exhausted and devoid of affect - was that he was tired and he was going to his tent to get some sleep.

Being on the north side of the mountain, sunshine did not touch them until late in the morning. It would be plentiful from ten until noon, then it would get lost behind the cloud at Fumu’s summit, and finally it would blaze down on them from one until four as it traveled just above the Western Ridge. But for now, the cold of dawn permeated everything. Ice clung to beards. Their scarce breaths burned and then escaped through bloody, chapped lips as steam. Only one day in, and the team was concerned that Cole was already experiencing frostbite around his right cheek. The telltale blackening was evident, and Cole spoke of pain followed by total numbness. Not much to be done in such a situation other than to ensure Cole covered up the area completely. He pulled his scarves tighter and continued with the others up the Rakhiot Glacier.

They moved quicker this second day. The uncertainties of the route were gone and so they climbed with more confident steps. Ropes for technical climbing waited for them, having been left in place from the previous day. No precipitation had occurred the night before, leaving crucial hand and footholds visible. The experience was still exhausting but perhaps slightly less than it had been twenty-four hours earlier. No one, however, was cocky about their mounting progress; an occasional eruption heard from the summit was all it took to sap their pride.

Junk was climbing near the front, now confident McGee could take care of himself near the rear. He walked alongside Pasang Dolma and Morrow, easily following the tracks they had forged the day before. The previous night of gambling had ended well for Junk despite the difficult confessions. He had won three hundred dollars after a streak of good luck that had included a full house, a straight flush, and four-of-a-kind. Now this morning he decided to raise everyone’s spirits by announcing another game, this one to be played while climbing. It would take very little thought or effort from the team. They would play as they hiked and the winner would collect their money that night at Base Camp. Junk’s hope was that the game would provide a distraction for everyone as they slogged over old territory. Morrow, Fenimore, Cole, and McGee said they were in on the game. River Leaf declined, as she had seen far too many Dakota men torn asunder by “moccasins” and other games of chance.

Junk called it “Icefall Craps.” Each player took a turn being “the roller.” The roller would play traditional pass line craps; he would just replace dice with humans. The roller would start by announcing a bet of a certain amount of money. Then he would approach two climbers, “the dice,” one at a time. The first and second climber would each say