Over the last few weeks I've endured some of the most challenging moments of my life. My repeated attempts to sufficiently articulate myself in words have mostly ended with the delete key, typing the opening lines of this dispatch over and over- but I've finally managed to get out a few thoughts...

 

First, I am deeply saddened by Inaki's death on Annapurna. Inaki's accomplishments in the high mountains of the world were beyond impressive, and he leaves very large footprints to fill for those chasing the highest summits. He will be missed by many. My thoughts these days are with the friends and family he left behind, and my prayers are that they would be comforted in this difficult time.

 

I also frequently think of Nancy, Inaki's girlfriend, who stayed throughout the entire ordeal at base camp, often coordinating rescue efforts herself, and then having to endure departing the mountain without Inaki by her side. The courage and strength she showed throughout those impossibly challenging days was extraordinary.

 

My heart also goes out to Horia, my former partner on the expedition, who stayed with Inaki until the very last moment possible. Endangering his own life, he had to be convinced to come down, unwilling to leave until help had arrived. Such loyalty is uncommon these days.

 

Ueli and Simon, the two Swiss climbers who immediately went up to help, had no knowledge of the route or way through the glaciers and left their camp in the darkness of night- with no high altitude equipment (theirs was stashed on another route)- to bring medicine to Inaki in Camp 4. Ueli's display of strength and courage, climbing alone in extremely poor and dangerous conditions was, plainly stated, beyond heroic.

 

Dennis Urubko and I started climbing from near Machppucharre Base Camp to Camp 2 immediately after the helicopter dropped us there mid morning of the 23rd. Two different helicopters had tried in vain to place us as higher on the mountain, but thick cloud cover repelled earlier efforts. We would have to start the climb from even lower than base camp. Climbing through new snow and poor visibility, we reached Camp 2 after a 7 hour slog. Alexei Bolotov met us in the tent, surprising Dennis and I with his intention of ascending back up to the ridge with us. After 1 or 2 hours of sleep, the three of us began climbing the wall. Early that morning we met Simon and Horia descending near the bottom of the steeper slopes. Ueli had convinced him to leave and was now making his way along the ridge toward Inaki. Horia was weak from his extended stay at altitude, but had improved with the thicker air at 6200 meters. (and a dose of dexamethasone, which Ueli had administered up on the ridge).

 

The snow was soft and deep. Simon and Horia's down-tracks had all but disappeared under the fresh snow of spindrift avalanches. One avalanche in particular split in 3, with the major portions sliding behind, between, and in front of Dennis and I, who were about 10 meters apart when it hit. When the snow cloud cleared, Dennis turned and looked down at me, asking me if I was alive. My simple response was "Yup", and we continued up the wall, saying nothing more about the event. Despite the soft conditions, we climbed as fast as we could, reaching Camp 3 a few hours later and taking a short break to re-hydrate and rest for half an hour. But just before we began up the steep slopes above the tent, Ueli's voice came franticly over the radio, announcing Inaki had stopped breathing.  Standing on the narrow ledge at 7000 meters, we both cried...

 

Since the helicopter flew us out of base camp on the 25th, I've spent my days soaking in the relative comforts of Pokhara, the small city nestled in the jungle foothills below the Annapurna Sanctuary. Monsoon has almost arrived, and as the afternoon thunderstorms wash away the debris in the streets, so the rain also seems to have some therapeutic affect on my heart, which has been so saddened these last few weeks- first, with Inaki's death, then my grandmother who, unbeknownst to me at the time, had passed only a few hours later. Then, when I opened my emails back in Pokhara, I learned of the death of my friend Gianni Goltz on Everest.

 

Enduring such adversity and challenges while being so far removed from my friends and family during this time has been extremely difficult, yet, I feel your strength even now. Your prayers, encouraging emails, and messages have been my strength through such adversity, and at some point I hope to thank every one of you for you support. It continues to be made clear to me that my strengths come from the cords of many.

 

In a few days I depart for my next expedition, which I intend to announce upon arrival in country. More to follow soon...

I've just returned from our high point on the South Face, a small ledge where we are camped at just under 6900 meters. My recent illness left me completely out of sync with my partners, Inaki and Horia, so I've spent the last 6 days working with the Russians, pushing the route up the wall.
 
On the 26th, Alexei Bolotov and I finally pulled over the lip of a narrow, steep, ice chute and onto a lower angled snow ramp. At the top of the ramp was a small ice cliff, perhaps 3 or 4 meters high, and beneath it lay what we were looking for; the first horizontal piece of terrain in nearly 700 meters. It would take a lot of work to transform this pile of spindrift into a spot big enough for two tents, but it would do. We spent a few moments drinking tea and taking in the view before we began shaving off the top of the drift with a single shovel and our boots. Soon after we started the work we were joined on the ledge by Sergey, Dima, and Sasha, the three other Russian climbers.  As we continued our efforts shoveling off the platforms, the sun broke in and out of the rising cloud layers. My overtaxed brain tried to keep up with the rapid temperature fluctuations as they alternated somewhere between flash-frozen and twice-baked. My internal thermostat was seriously tweaking.
 

 
All morning long, Alexei and I had simulclimbed the mid section of the wall in a rather specialized technique saved for the high mountains; one climber ascends while trailing a rope with the end tied to the anchor, while the excess rope loops down from the climber's harness, hanging below the anchor point. The slack is slowly taken in as the roped climber gains elevation, while his partner climbs ropeless, often breaking trail above. When the end of the rope is reached, a new anchor is set and the whole process is repeated, the pair typically exchanging roles. It's not exactly the safest climbing method, especially with the cheap Korean plastic rope, but it is fast, and speed on this type of terrain equals safety- so the two balance each other out. (sorta)
 
My recent climbing partner, Alexei, is seemingly carved out of wood. If he suffers from anything it is never apparent, often spurning adverse conditions with a smug kind of confrontation, as if to say, "Hmpf. Is that all you've got?". At 44 years old, he is medium height, but his build and stature suggest a strength not-so hidden. His climbing resume' is beyond impressive: The North Face of Jannu, Lotse Middle, Makula West Face Direct, the West Face of K2, etc. Here is a man who knows the hardest hardships of the highest environs. I could learn from this man.
 
After a few days of sharing both rope and tent with Alexei, I discover that one of his favorite sayings is, "Not necessary", spoken in that perfect Ivan Drago, Russian-English lilt. The quip is loosely applied to all sorts of things I personally deem rather necessary, like say, drinking water, for example. Out our 6900 meter high camp the other day we awoke to a freezing morning, and a thick layer of frost coated the inner walls of the tent. Any movement inside was tenuous, where even a sneeze produced significant snow accumulation over everything under the frozen nylon. To get things going I produced a warm canister of gas which I had (not-so) lovingly nurtured in my sleeping bag all night. (warm gas works far better than cold) Before I could grab the stove, Alexei had already attached a cold can of gas, and was now attempting to light the stove with a cheap lighter. After 12 or 15 tries, the tent now reeking with the rotten-egg stench of propane, he frustratingly uttered some expletive and tossed the entire contraption in the corner of the tent, releasing another internal snow-squall.
I shiraded, in Russian, that we try using the warm can, to which Alexei replied, "Not necessary".
"Breakfast, you mean?", I questioned.
"Ya. Ve go down. Breakfast in base camp".
I smiled, and offered him some luke warm tea I had left in my nalgene bottle from the night before. In typical gracious style, he took one small sip, handed the bottle back to me, and said, "Enough. Thank you."
So, after rappelling the face, traversing the ice fall, downclimbing the rock island, glissading the snow slopes, negotiating the grass traverse, and decending the dirt couloir, we finally had our breakfast...seven hours later, in base camp.
 
One thing the Russians do find necessary, is to eat well- when they do eat. Even near 7000 meters, it is not uncommon for meals to consist of generous portions of sausage, cheese, tea, bread, dried fruits, honey, large amounts of chocolate, and my personal favorite- smoked chicken breast. During one of our first meals, Sasha produced an entire 4x4 inch box of sugar cubes, used to sweeten almost everything including the hot chocolate. When that box ran out the following day, he produced another box twice as big.  Dinners are shared communally, in one tent, whenever possible. All that is required is a spoon, your own cup, and some good stories to share. I have enjoyed the Russians' company and partnership on the mountain during this last push, and in our shared efforts find that we have become good friends.
 
Now back in base camp, we await good weather forecast to attempt the summit push. Inaki, Horia, and I are back in sync, acclimatized and prepared for the summit push. The winds have dropped but the humidity has arrived, and even now the sanctuary walls roar with thunder outside my tent. But, as soon as there is a window...

On April 21, Inaki, Horai, and I left early in the morning to head for the "wall" on Annapurna 1. Our goal was to acclimatize ourselves in preparation for the next step in our bid for the summit. About an hour out,  I started to feel very sick. We all have taken our turns struggling with some kind of illness or another, it's just the way of life when you climb ...so I guess it was my turn, now. I wanted to continue on, but Inaki and Horia said if I didn't turn around and go back to base camp, they would turn around and that would make me go back since I can't climb the ice fields alone. I did not want them to be held up in their climb, so I turned around. I had a good day and nights rest and while I didn't feel exactly top notch, I headed out the next morning to climb to camp 1 with the Russians. Camp 1 is about 5000 metres. Dan Bass, our camera man, also is coming with them carrying some heavy packs. They will all be suffering because it is really hot here. We will have to decide whether Dan will climb to camp 2 with me tomorrow or go back down. So, here I am in sunny, hot, camp 1, waiting for the Russians and Dan to arrive and enjoying the view and the sun.

Right now, I can see Inaki and Horia climbing on Tomaz Humar's route. They are more than 1400 metres above me, abut 6400 metres, on the wall. I wish I were with them!!

There is a bit of a problem for me in moving forward tomorrow if Dan decides not to go with me. The Russians have been fixing ropes on the Polish route. Inaki, Horia, and I do not want to climb the Polish route. The problem is that I can't go through the glacier by myself. And, if Dan doesn't want to go, I will have to wait for the Russians and go their route. Worst case scenario is that, tomorrow, I will go with them to camp 2 and not meet up with Inaki and Horia. Camp 2 is about 6000 metres. I will stay there for 2-3 days and climb up further and maybe help the Russians fix ropes, so that I can acclimatize at a higher altitude, then we will all come back down to base camp.

Our plan right now is to stay in base camp for 4-5 days and then wait for a weather window. When that happens we will make our bid for the summit. We do not plan to fix ropes on our way up to the summit. Since we have already established camp 1 and 2, we will stop at both for a rest along the way.We will carry camp 3 with us and set it up alpine style when we necessary. The path that we are climbing looks steep, but once you get on it it really is not that steep. It is only about a 45 or 50 degree angle. So all seems to be going well!!!

Inaki, Horia, and I are still having "fun" and we seem to really enjoy one another's company. Good companionship and light-heartedness really makes the climb so much more enjoyable and relaxing and it especially helps when the three of you end up in a tent together.

I will try to send another dispatch when I get back to base camp. I am still having problems with my Thuraya satellite phone....so I hope that will happen. Thank you for all your support and emails...your encouragement is much appreciated.
Don.