The top of the bottom.

December 10, 2010.  For each day on a major expedition there will be one Climber who is off. He is disorganized and cannot find his rythym. Slow to ready himself, this person usually holds up the Team, bringing about unwelcome delay and loss of body heat as team members, stripped down to working layers, stand idle in the chill breeze. I was that person on summit day. A piece of equipment that had worked fine in the past would refuse to engage in it´s appointed task. A critical item set out the night before would be lost beneath the impossible tangle of gear Mitchell, Guy, and myself had forced into a two man tent. Doug helped, but a prideful sense of self sufficience left me feeling worse still. Though I delayed our summit bid by 20 minutes, there was not a single comment or sideways glance offered by the Team.

Getting underway, I set about coaching myself for the seven hour climb ahead. ¨Simple thoughts,¨ I said. I evaluated the efficiency of my stride. It was even and clean. The crampons bit into the hard snow with reassuring purchase. Probably a symptom of lingering frustration, I was setting my climbing poles much harder than necessary. I eased back a bit. My legs felt solid, my toes uncharacteristicly warm. As the rising sun would be shining on my left side for most of the ascent, I had worn a much heavier glove on my right hand than on my left. As well, I had activated a chemical hand warmer inside that glove. In Antarctica, whatever the sun does not touch is frozen or on it´s way to frozen in very short order. A woman on the earlier Adventure Consultants trip this season was frost bitten on one hand by not taking such considerations into proper account. I needed a soundtrack. It would have to be a mental soundtrack as listening to an I-pod while traveling in a roped team is at best poor form. I decided on the Charlie Brown Christmas album, leading off with Linus and Lucy.  There is a ridiculous dance the animated characters do to the sound of this song, and Lin and I cannot hear it without likewise replicating them. I found myself smiling broadly.

We cruised up a meandering route of moderate incline for the first hour out of high camp. Cresting a ridge, the landscape opened up to a vast glacial field of perhaps six kilometers across. The tracks of earlier teams navigated the various crevasses in broad lazy arches. The day´s real climbing awaited on us on the other side of the field. A more inclined pitch up to a saddle was followed by a very steep icy slope gaining most of the last 1,000 feet of elevation to the call. We had enjoyed ideal weather the whole day. Clear sunny skies and very little wind blessed us with conditions few Climbers dare to wish for.  Yet Doug had fretted the serious deterioration of these elements forecast the day before, and, as we took the call, it seemed those concerns were well founded. The temperature had dropped to -35 celcius and a fierce wind shredded the high flank of Vinson from the opposite side. We had to shout at close range to hear one another as we added balaclavas, heavy mits, and massive down parkas. The final pitch looked down on us. It was an extremely steep and narrow reach of ice-covered rock perhaps one hundred feet tall. I am often asked if I feel any fear in the course of my climbs. I do. And in this particular moment I felt a gut full of it.

Doug led Mitchell and I up the pitch. We were followed by the rope team of Phil, Steve, and Guy. We clawed with ice axes and crampons that too often were cheated by hard stone.  I kept telling myself ¨Don´t blow it. Stay focused here. Make every step count.¨  There was too much slack in the rope as I closed in on Mitchell, delayed for some reason just over the break. I tried shouting to him to belay me up, but the wind easily consumed my muffled squak. I held my position on the rock face waiting, but a growing sense of vulnerabilty got the best of me. I looked back at Phil, waiting to advance his team from the same narrow ledge, and we just shook our heads at each other. I pushed the slack to one side and mounted the pitch.

 I caught up with Mitchell just over the crest. He was trying to understand Doug´s instructions for using the boulders as running protection. Though the wind had let up momentarily, it was still impossible to comprehend one another through the obstructions of ear and mouth presented by our garments. We eventually sorted things out enough to continue along the ridge. Just fifty yards separated us from Vinson´s summit. But this distance was a narrow catwalk of icy rocks that fell off to oblivion on one side. We were careful and methodic. There was anchored protection available in a few places. We used it. A group of unroped German climbers overtook us about half way through. ¨This guy is coming past,¨ Phil shouted over my shoulder as we edged along a ledge 18 inches wide. The German Climber said ¨Excuse me,¨ in broken english, then swung around me on the outside, stepping on our rope with his steel crampons as he did. ¨What an A** H***,¨ I shouted as he shuffled away. I should note that the climbing ability of Germans is respected much more than the manners they tend to display in the course of climbing.

We continued on. I refocused on my foot placement, also watching Mitchell ahead of me. If he should stumble I would have a quick decision to make. The rope advanced, then halted again. I looked ahead to see Doug at the Summit removing his pack. He then took hold of our rope and began belaying Mitchell and I in. Doug then instructed Mitchell to back out onto the dramatic summit ledge while he parced out line. Mitchell returned after Doug had taken a photo. I stuck out my hand to him and said ¨let me be the first to congratulate you on standing atop all seven summits!¨ Mitchell smiled through the icecicles hanging from his grey mustache, then stepped aside. I edged cautiously out onto the same summit ledge and posed for my summit photo, removing my heavy mit just long enough to make the sign language symbol for love.

As each Climber completed his photo we gathered at a wider area off to one side. A Team photo was taken. Doug advised that I not make any satellite phone calls as we would need to descend immediately. As I turned away from Doug, Phil gathered me up in a huge congratulatory hug. Overwhelmed with emotion, I began sobbing. ¨I know,¨ Phil comforted, ¨I know.¨