“It’s called acclimatization,” Sneezy supplied. “If you could beam somebody from sea level to the summit of Everest, he’d be dead in three minutes. The air there has two-thirds less oxygen. That’s why we have to go up slowly.”
“How slowly?” Tilt asked suspiciously.
“Ten days,” said Cicero. “That’s to Base Camp at seventeen thousand six hundred feet. Acclimatizing on the mountain is a little trickier.”
“Ten days?” Sammi was distraught. “Ten days around here? I mean, it’s okay, but there’s not exactly a ton of excitement.”
Babu brayed a laugh right into her face. “Sure there is,” the stout Sherpa guffawed. “Wait until you see the bathrooms!”
http://www.summathletic.com/everest/trek
Day 3: Trekking north along the Dudh Kosi, or “Milky River,” the four youngest Everesters of all time have traveled for a week, including three rest days to get used to the altitude. Each step takes them farther into the land of the giants.
The names defy pronunciation: Kangtega, Thomserku, Ama Dablam. CLICK HERE to see the climbers hiking before the immense granite wall of Nuptse, a Himalayan Hoover Dam, four miles in the sky. It is from behind these multipeaked ramparts that Everest will finally reveal itself, the titan among titans.
This is the payoff for their arduous journey: multicolored strings of Buddhist prayer flags, carved Mani stones, and the most spectacular peaks on the planet. Nothing could be so exhilarating.
“I’m bored,” Sammi complained. “What say we find a flat log and shoot some of those rapids on the Dudh Kosi?”
Dr. Oberman was horrified. “That’s glacial runoff! If you fall in that frigid water, you’ll be dead faster than the passengers on the Titanic!”
“Well, how about we jog for a while?” she suggested. “Get to Base Camp a couple of days early.”
The doctor shook her head. “We have to take it slow. If we ascend too fast, we’ll risk altitude sickness.”
“If we stay here, we’ll risk lapsing into a coma,” Sammi countered.
The guides struggled to dig up some entertainment. It was a lost cause. Their “hotels” were little more than dormitory-style huts. Shopping was out because there was virtually nothing to buy. They toured villages that could be experienced in thirty seconds. Monasteries took longer, but Perry turned out to be allergic to the incense. It was brutal.
Sammi had always craved adrenaline — even before she was old enough to understand the word. At age four she had leaped a line of wastebaskets while riding a bicycle that still had training wheels. Broken her ankle, too, taking the pain without so much as a single tear.
Along with Caleb, her boyfriend and partner in crime, she had tried it all — extreme rock climbing, extreme skateboarding, extreme ski jumping, and much, much more. But this was the toughest of them all.
Extreme boredom.
* * *
Tilt crouched in the tiny foyer, pounding the keyboard of his laptop computer, which was hooked up to E-mail via SummitQuest’s satellite phone.
E-mail Message
TO:
[email protected] SUBJECT: Arrived in Dingboche
We’ve been running into a lot of climbers from other expeditions on the trek, and everybody says the same thing: Dominic Alexis is too young and too small to take on Everest. Sure, I’m only a year and a half older, but I’m a foot taller and almost double his weight. Ask anybody here — Cap should have his head examined for picking a shrimp like that for the team….
Tilt was under secret contract to provide inside details of the SummitQuest expedition to the National Daily. It was a dangerous arrangement, no doubt about it. If Cicero found out, he’d kick Tilt off the team in a heartbeat. But how else was a guy supposed to pay for his ice ax and crampons and climbing harness? For state-of-the-art Gore-Tex clothing? He couldn’t take on Everest with secondhand junk financed by a paper route. He felt a little guilty about spying on everybody, but he needed the money. Not everybody had a billionaire uncle, after all.
His reports were basically just a lot of gossip. Sammi E-mailed her boyfriend back home every three seconds. Perry was only here because of his uncle. Cicero was a control freak with a short fuse.
But lately Tilt’s attention had settled on one teammate and one only — Dominic.
His thinking was simple. Tilt’s entire future depended on making it to the top of Everest. Only two things could spoil that plan. 1) He might not get there, and 2) Dominic might get there with him.
The problem was that Dominic was younger than Tilt. If the shrimp summited, he, and not Tilt, would become the new Ethan Zaph. The record — and fame and fortune — would go to Dominic.
Of course, there was no way a ninety-pound runt was going to climb the highest peak on the planet. But why take the chance? If the National Daily kept printing articles about how unsafe it was for Dominic to be on the mountain, there could be a public outcry to ground him. Who knows — Dominic’s own parents might even yank him.
Tilt continued to type:
If Dominic gets into trouble up there, it’ll risk all our chances for the summit. And if he gets killed, it’ll be a black eye for the whole country of Nepal, who will look like idiots for letting Cap put a little kid on his climbing permit….
“There you are,” came a voice.
Shocked, Tilt jumped to his feet to find Dominic in the tiny entranceway. “Get out of here, shrimp!”
Dominic peered at the screen. “What are you writing?”
In a single motion, Tilt slammed the laptop shut and swung it like a battle-ax, smacking Dominic in the chin. “None of your business!”
The impact sent Dominic staggering backward. His small knapsack dropped from his shoulder and hit the floor. He stood there, coughing into his fist. The Khumbu cough, Dr. Oberman called it. Caused by the altitude and the thin, dry air. Sneezy and Perry had it, too.
“I was E-mailing my dad,” Tilt lied. The kid was likely to run crying to Cicero. That would mean trouble. “It was private. Sorry.”
“Cap says we’re ready to roll,” Dominic managed between spasms.
“Gotcha.” Tilt stuffed the laptop into his own pack. “You sound lousy, shrimp. It’s hard enough to sleep around here with Sneezy and Perry barking up a storm. Now it’s going to be like feeding time at the dog pound.”
“I’m okay,” said Dominic.
But he did not feel okay. The cough had come with a scatterbrained, spacey feeling. It had taken him fifteen minutes to stuff a couple of T-shirts and a few toiletries into his knapsack. It should have been a thirty-second operation. Yet for some reason, it had seemed as complicated as defusing a bomb.
Tilt tucked the laptop under his arm. “Let’s go.”
His pack forgotten, Dominic followed.
“Hey, stupid — ” The big boy soccer-kicked the knapsack out of the hut, and the two hurried after it.
* * *
The true monsters revealed themselves during the day’s trek. Lhotse was first, the fourth-highest mountain on Earth, towering in mighty profile behind the Nuptse wall. Another quarter mile up the trail, the pinnacle of Everest came into view.
It was a view Dominic had been waiting for his entire life. But now, slogging along in a half-daze, he just couldn’t seem to bring himself to care.
As the trail wound higher, the air was becoming increasingly thin. He found himself gasping for breath on a path he would have had no problem sprinting back home near sea level.
His cough was getting worse. It was no longer the dry hacking of the others. Each bronchitis-like spasm seemed to be coming from deep in his chest.
By noon, they had reached the heap of stones that marked the Khumbu glacier’s terminal moraine.
“Terminal,” Perry repeated aloud. Around here, even the innocent words sounded deadly.
“Moraine means any debris pushed by the glacier,” Cicero explained. “It’s just a whole lot of rocks and dirt, because, at sixteen thousand feet, there are no trees or
anything green. We’re on the moon, guys. Or as close as you can get without a rocket.”
Dominic forged on, choking and wheezing. He found himself looking down in intense concentration as he trudged over the rocks and chunks of glacial ice that littered the snow-packed trail.
In the back of his mind, alarm bells were going off: You’ve made it up every crag and cliff in the East! This shouldn’t be so hard!
Late in the afternoon, the group turned off the trail to the tiny village of Lobuche. Cicero sent Babu to secure the team sleeping accommodations for the next two nights.
“Two more nights?” Sammi was distraught. “But Base Camp is only a few miles away!”
“Last stop,” the expedition leader promised. “A couple of nights above sixteen thousand and you’ll be ready for base.”
“We’re ready now,” Tilt argued. “We’ve been on this dumb trail forever….”
He fell silent, realizing that no one was paying attention. All eyes were on Dominic, who was still trudging along the path. If the boy had any idea that he was alone, he gave no indication.
“Hey, kid!” called Cicero. Louder: “Dominic, come back!”
His youngest climber did not even look up.
Sammi rushed over and got Dominic turned around. He took three steps and collapsed, sinking to a sitting position on the trekking route.
Cicero was there in a heartbeat, posing the questions that decades of Himalayan experience had made automatic: “Feeling dizzy, kid? Can’t get your act together? Do the simplest little things seem like rocket science?”
Dr. Oberman clued in. “You think he’s got HAPE?” she asked in alarm.
“But we’re not even in Base Camp!” Dominic managed to protest.
“Listen to his lungs,” ordered Cicero.
She produced a stethoscope from the medical pack and held the bell to Dominic’s chest. There was a breathless silence.
“What’s HAPE?” Perry whispered to Sneezy.
“High Altitude Pulmonary Edema,” the guide replied grimly. “Altitude sickness.”
The doctor exhaled nervously. “Fluid on the lungs. It’s HAPE, all right.”
It’s like being dead, thought Dominic.
He was lying flat on his back in a Gamow bag at the Himalayan Rescue Association clinic in the village of Pheriche, several miles south and two thousand feet below Lobuche. The vinyl bag billowed around him as Dr. Drake of the clinic pumped air inside — the thing was a cross between a coffin and an inflatable life raft. Through the clear plastic window, he could see Cicero and Dr. Oberman peering in at him in concern. He felt like a lab rat.
No, that was wrong. The indignity of the bag paled before larger, more disturbing truths: I am halfway around the world from my home and family. I have a potentially life-threatening illness….
That was probably a little too dramatic. Most people recovered from HAPE. A few of them even went on to climb the mountain. It was unlikely, but not impossible. He could be one of those.
If Cap and Andrea will even let me try.
The letdown hurt worse than the edema. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his Everest dreams were over.
Was the bag working? He couldn’t tell. The pumped-in air increased atmospheric pressure, which simulated lower altitude. The clinic was at fourteen thousand feet, but the altimeter on his watch read 7,487. He certainly felt clearer-headed. But he was still coughing.
The discomfort and claustrophobia were nothing compared to the agony of not knowing.
Come on, Cap! Don’t send me home.
Finally, he was allowed to crawl out of the bag. He was examined by Dr. Drake and then by Dr. Oberman. Cicero sent him outside to await his fate.
“He’s okay, right?” Dr. Oberman asked the other doctor. “Full recovery?”
“You caught the illness early enough,” Dr. Drake confirmed. “I’d say full recovery, but who knows? I’ve never treated a thirteen-year-old before.”
“You’re kidding,” said Cicero.
“The Sherpa children are born to the altitude, and none of the expeditions ever bring kids along.” He looked at Cicero. “Why did you?”
“That kid is one of the toughest climbers I’ve ever seen,” Cicero said readily.
Dr. Drake was appalled. “He’s a climber? An Everest climber?”
“He looks little — ” Cicero shrugged. “Okay, he is little. But he’s got a mixture of spirit and ability this mountain hasn’t seen in twenty years. In Alaska, I watched him save a teammate on nothing but guts.”
“Physically he’s still a child,” Dr. Drake insisted. “He was taking two steps to everyone else’s one on the trek.”
“My mistake, not his,” Cicero conceded.
“And mine,” Dr. Oberman added.
“He should go home,” Dr. Drake said decisively “No, that’s not strong enough. He never should have been here in the first place.”
On the way out, Dr. Oberman drew a deep breath. “It’s not going to be easy to break the news to Dominic.”
The team leader grabbed her arm. “Don’t say a word,” he ordered. “If he asks, just say you’re treating his HAPE, that’s it. I don’t want him to know he might still climb.”
She gawked at him. “Climb? But Dr. Drake said — ”
“Three times I tried to wash that kid out,” Cicero interrupted. “And three times he proved me wrong. I’m not underestimating him again.”
* * *
Base Camp was the biggest town the SummitQuest team had seen in a week. More than three hundred tents, big and small, dotted the boulder-strewn ice, and at least that many people — foreigners and Sherpas alike — bustled around, talking, laughing, testing equipment, and unloading shipments from an armada of laden yaks lumbering up the glacier.
The altitude was 17,600 feet, higher by half a mile than any peak in the lower forty-eight U.S. states.
Perry couldn’t take his eyes off the beehive of activity. “I think we’re going to need a bigger mountain.”
“Don’t worry,” laughed Sneezy, who was filming the spectacle. “Most of these people are porters and Base Camp staff. We won’t all be on the summit ridge at the same time.”
“Don’t forget cooks,” added Babu, who had already helped himself to a cinnamon bun from the mess.
Under a huge banner strung across a boulder the size of a cement mixer, the Summit camp consisted of an enormous bright orange tent surrounded by four smaller two-person rigs for sleeping. The central structure was called the kitchen, but in reality, it was the living room, dining room, rec room, communications facility, and sleeping quarters for the Sherpas. Cicero had employed eight of them — four climbing Sherpas and four camp staff.
“Now, this is more like it!” exclaimed Tilt, dropping his pack and tossing himself onto an air mattress. After staying in a string of villages in which light and heat came from lamps and stoves fueled by burning dried yak droppings, the Summit encampment had all the comforts of home. Thanks to a solar generator, electricity powered lamps, a stereo, and even a TV and VCR.
By the time Sammi appeared at the flap, he had popped in a tape and was lost in the depths of The Terminator.
“Come on,” she beckoned. “Let’s take a look around.”
“I’m busy.”
Sammi rolled her eyes. “Tilt, you’ve got the greatest adventure on Earth right outside this tent.”
He glared at her. “I’ve been living with the baboons for a week and a half. Go away. I want to watch Arnold Schwarzenegger shoot somebody!”
“Jerk,” she muttered, and disappeared
The staccato chime of a telephone interrupted one of the movie’s better killing sprees. He searched the cavernous tent, his eyes falling on the communications table — really a board propped on rocks.
He picked up the satellite phone. “Hello?”
“Who is this?” Cicero’s voice. “Larry?”
“It’s Tilt.”
“Oh.” The distaste was evident in the team leader??
?s voice. Cicero didn’t much care for Tilt, and the feeling was mutual. “Listen, tell Larry or Babu I’ll be up there late tomorrow. Andrea’s staying with Dominic. They’ll be a few days behind me.”
Tilt froze. “You mean Andrea will.”
“And Dominic. They’re taking it slow to make sure the HAPE doesn’t come back.”
“But — ” Tilt had been privately celebrating Dominic’s departure. “He’s okay?”
“If he isn’t, we’ll just climb without him. You’ve got to be flexible in the Himalayas.” A pause, then, “Tilt, this call costs five bucks a minute. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
“Well — isn’t that kind of — you know — dangerous?”
Laughter brayed over the satellite phone. “Take a look out the tent flap, kid. That’s Everest, not Gymboree.”
“I mean extra dangerous for Dominic,” Tilt stammered, “because he’s so young — ”
There was irritation on the other end of the line. “Just tell Larry and Babu I’m on my way. Think you can handle that?”
Tilt bristled. “Yeah, I’ll tell Sneezy — and Baboon.” He slammed down the phone.
The cold sweat came almost immediately. Why did he do that? He had nothing to gain and everything to lose by getting on Cicero’s nerves. Back in the States, his attitude had almost cost him a spot on the team.
He relaxed a little. The satellite connection was lousy and crackled with static. The team leader probably hadn’t even heard. He had nothing to worry about.
Besides, thought Tilt, I’ve got more important things to do.
Twenty million National Daily readers needed to hear the story of how climbing legend Cap Cicero was recklessly risking the life of a thirteen-year-old.
He pulled out his laptop and booted it up.
Base Camp was a land of logos — Summit, Nike, Coca-Cola, Starbucks. There were national expeditions, too, under bedsheet-sized flags. These ranged from a Japanese team twenty climbers strong to two affable brothers hoping to become the first Guamanians ever to scale the world’s tallest peak.