A "junkyard" in the sky.

One of the most amusing things about internet searches is the manner in which they turn up results that promise more than they can deliver. I recently began researching efforts to remove garbage from Everest. Many fine articles came up when I searched Garbage Removal from Everest, but I also came up with various companies that had simply hijacked the noun from my search. "Dexknows Everest Garbage disposal," and "Everestwaste removal companies are ready to come to your rescue. Southwest Junkremoval.com" were among the more notables. Right.  Herein lies the problem; there are no waste disposal companies on Everest. 

National Geographic featured an article in 1963 written by Dr. Larry Bishop, where  he said parts of Everest had become "the highest junkyard on the face of the Earth." This was only 10 years after the mountain was first conquered by Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay. Since that time Everest has been summited by 3,800 people, attempted by many more, and become the final resting place for dozens. One can only imagine what Dr. Bishop might say today. 

I have climbed Alaska's Denali, a mountain that sees a very similar number of climbers each year as Everest, and found it to be remarkably clean. So why are conditions so different on Everest?  

Part of the explanation is surely owed to changing attitudes. Long before the weeping Indian commercials that brought social consciousness to the matter of littering in the United States, climbers were plying their passion on Everest. Their numbers were few and the landscape vast, so they probably gave little thought to what they left behind.  The garbage pile started. It is probably not a stretch to suggest each of us is more likely to litter when we see garbage around us. Thus, garbage begets garbage. With increasing numbers of climbers and support personnel the garbage grew faster still. This condition saw it's worst moment in the early 1990's when the total garbage on Everest was estimated at a horrific 50 tons.  

Altitude also plays a part. In short, when one is trying to stay alive little thought is given to environmental stewardship. As well, those who do not survive the climb likewise fail to gather their belongings from high camp. Where the garbage at base camp tends to be on the order of rubbish, up high it takes the form of spent oxygen canisters, tents, sleeping bags, and, well, bodies. Removing garbage from high camps is extremely difficult and dangerous. Try this; pinch your nose shut and breath through a coffee straw. That is about how much air you would have at high camp on Everest. Now, try picking a few things up. Do you feel a little light-headed? You will be moving slowly as you gather refuse at the South Col. Imagine the sub-zero temperatures and hands that are too numb to work properly.  You are in the Death Zone, an altitude at which the human body begins to shut down. You might be dying quickly. You might be dying slowly. But by definition you are dying. Would you risk your life to carry a torn tent down the mountain? 

In the case of body removal it comes down to manpower. First Responder literature estimates a team of 26 is needed to carry an adult out of the wilderness at sea level. Would it take three or four times that number at 26,000ft? Now you are up to 100 climbers to remove a single body and, statistically speaking, two of them will die in the process. 

Lastly, for most of the history of Everest climbing there has been no attempt on the part of the Nepalese or Tibetan governments to manage or regulate refuse on the mountain. Contrast this to Denali, where National Park Rangers visit campsites to insure strict compliance with the requirements for packing out trash and managing human waste. Climbing permits are revoked from those teams which fail. Climb over.

I have heard the cry that the Everest should be closed to protect it. This is an understandable and well intended reaction. After all, Everest is not just A mountain. It is THE mountain, the high summit of our planet and deserving of special treatment. Everest is also a sacred place among to the Nepali people, a church they have allowed us to enter, and in which we have left our trash. 

But closing Everest would be a blunt tool. It would not require us to change, and the adventurers of the world would simply move on to the next place. This would also fail to clean up Everest, and today's climbers are probably the best resource for doing so. Money enters into the question. A vibrant economy of tea houses, Inns, and eateries have sprung up to serve the thousands of trekkers and climbers who approach Everest on foot. These and the various support services to base camp are businesses which have opened an improved way of life to the people of this region, including education and modern health care.  

There is cause for optimism. In 1992 the Nepali government put various regulations in place requiring climbing teams to carry all of their waste back out of the Khumbu Valley, where it can be disposed of properly. Failure to do so results in some hefty fines. Glass bottles were banned. A financial reward was put in place for each spent oxygen canister a Sherpa brings off the mountain. "There's much more garbage (these days)," says Ang Dorjee, Chairman of the Sagmarmantha Pollution Control Committee, "but it's being much better managed." The major guiding companies have also gotten onboard, organizing focused efforts to remove legacy waste from the mountain as they clear out at season's end. As well, a number of privately and publicly funded "Environmental Expeditions" have removed many tons of garbage from Everest. One of the most notable of these was Nepal's Save Mt Everest campaign, a project sponsored by the Nepali Tourism Board in the spring of 2011. Twenty nine Sherpas removed 8 tons of garbage over a two month period. Progress is being made, yet some 20 tons of garbage remains. Half of that is at high camp. So the rest of the cleanup will be considerably more difficult. But the climbers of today are committed to the environment, having come of age in the era of Leave No Trace impact. They respect the mountains they climb and want nothing more than to see them pristine. There is awareness of the problem, the will to address it, and the kind of personal stake that can move a mountain of garbage one piece at a time. 

Equipment - Summit Day

If you were going to remodel a kitchen, you would probably begin by constructing an image of the finished product then work backward from there.  I take the same approach to equipment choices for Everest. In this case the finished product is me standing at the summit. Let us linger over that image for a moment  I look a bit a tired, but my hair has a clean part on the left.  Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries" is playing.  A flock of specially trained high-altitude doves is released and they flutter up about me. Yes. This is good. Very very good.

I am wearing a down suit, a one piece garment constructed by Marmot. You cannot do better than down when it comes to lite-weight combined with maximum heat retention.  I have never warn a down suit on a climb, but there have been times I wished I had. So this is a new piece of gear purchased specifically for Everest. It was available in just two color choices, both of which strike a contrast to the snow sufficient to suggest This man is lost.  I bought the suit online, with no love from Groupon, for the sum of $1,200.

My feet are swaddled in La Sportiva Olympus Mons climbing boots. These state of the art boots were designed specifically for 8,000 Meter Peaks.  They are lite, warm, and sturdy. The built in over-boot, reaching almost to my knees, provides further warmth while acting as a gator to keep loose snow out. The Olympus Mons are tall and stackish in the fashion popularized by '70's rock band KISS.  Gene Simmons would approve.  I purchased my boots from Backcountry Essentials for $1,000.

The cumulative effect of my cold-weather climbs thus far has resulted in a condition that renders my feet prone to cold. In the past I have just spirited on. Not so with Everest. For this climb I have purchased the Hotronics Foot Warmers, an after market adaptation originally designed for ski boots.  Electric heating elements installed beneath the insole are powered by a lithium battery pack attached to the outside of the boot. These units are capable of generating 120 Fahrenheit for up to 9 hours, effectively eliminating the risk of frostbite to the feet. At $250 for the kit, one purchases protection at the remarkable price of just $25 a toe. Sold!

My hands are protected by a pair of the fab new lobster mittens.  These gloves offer much improved dexterity over conventional mittens, crucial to the manipulation of one's mechanical ascender. Yet the bunching of fingers provides shared warmth and circulation. Odds are good I will also have chemical hand warmers inside these mittens. It will be difficult to not recollect my bachelor party of many years back, wherein I extracted a live lobster from a tank and fended off a bouncer exclaiming "I've got a lobster and I'm not afraid to use it!" $150.

I will be wearing a climbing harness with various metal apparatus jangling from it. I already own the jangling items, but will need to purchase the harness as I somehow left mine in New Guinea this summer. My old harness will be of no use, in the conventional sense,  to the native peoples who now possess it. They do not climb the steep rock face that draws Climbers to Carstensz Pyramid. But ever resourceful, one can rest assured it is being used by them for something. I imagine a pig is being restrained by it now. Climbing harness $110.

In this summit photo I have briefly pulled down my oxygen mask. I will be wearing a Topout mask and delivery system. Topout has a working reservoir bag that allows a climber to inhale a higher concentration of oxygen for every breath, even at the same flow rate as other masks. This enables a climber to travel faster, and for longer periods.  The mask and oxygen tank strapped to my back are provided by International Mountain Guides under the basic program fee I have paid. But I have chosen to purchase an additional tank of oxygen for summit day, delivered by Sherpa to the south summit. This will enable me to flow O2 at 4 liters per minute, as opposed to the more typical 3 liters. The benefits accrued include warmer body temperature, faster movement (through areas of risk),  and the greatly reduced risk of running out of oxygen should a bottleneck of climbers form.  Extra bottle of O2 delivered to the south summit of Everest $5,000.

My head gear on summit day will feature a neoprene balaclava, warn with good result in Antarctica,  and a pair of mirrored goggles. Delirious climbers often forget to remove these items for their summit photo, resulting in an anonymous image that for all purposes could represent Woody Allen's moment on top of the world.  I plan to clear my goggles and balaclava from my face if I am successful in reaching the top of Everest. If I am not, I plan to lay claim to the photo of someone who did summit but forgot to remove their head gear.

Training.

For a short while in my youth I was an Olympic hopeful. I was in the fourth grade and planned to bring home the gold in axe throwing. This realization came to me immediately after throwing an axe at a stump and having it stick. Never mind the fact this was not an Olympic event. If curling could be in the Olympics then so too could axe throwing, and by the time I reached my prime it probably would be. I committed myself to this course and began a strict training regimen consisting of much axe throwing and the consumption of saltine crackers smeared with Miracle Whip. As the day wore on I found the axe would stick in the stump less frequently. Then I started missing the stump altogether. I had peaked too early. Deciding my best axe throwing years were behind me, I retired from the sport before it in fact had come into existence and spent the remaining days of summer trying to imagine a means by which I could represent my country by eating crackers adorned with various condiments. 

Training for Everest includes no Miracle Whip, and very little axe throwing. Yet the lesson learned in the course of my dashed Olympic dream remains relevant; Pace yourself and do not peak too early. Even for a climber who is in good condition, preparing for Everest will take many months. During this time he will likely injure himself training and have to rehab while pressing on. The key is to avoid joint problems and muscle tears. These can be deal killers. Building gradually with one's training is the best way to stay right with this. I aim to peak about a month before any climb. 

It is generally agreed among mountain climbers that the best means for preparing to climb a mountain is to climb a mountain. I have found this to be true for many of the peaks I have pursued. Packing weight up steep trails near my home quite adequately built the requisite muscle sets. But the unique demands of some mountains argue for something more. Everest is one such mountain. 

Strength and endurance are minimum bids when attempting any major peak. Much of my 5 day-a-week training is focused on these.  But Everest asks for two additional attributes I have identified in combing over many accounts of successful and failed attempts. 

The first of these is efficiency. This is true of any high altitude climb, but even more so with Everest where extensive time is spent in very thin air. Simply put, when little oxygen is available one must make premium use of it. Poor technique, wasted movement, or a busy mind all squander oxygen. As the Sade lyric goes "he moves through space with minimum waste, maximum joy." So practicing efficiency begets efficiency on the hill. 

The Khumbu Icefall

 The second critical attribute is flexible core strength. This is primarily owing to the Khumbu Ice Fall, a four kilometer long valley of tumbling ice blocks the size of houses. Regarded by many climbers to be the most difficult part of getting up Everest, the Khumbu icefall can take 10-12 hours to navigate.  It's labyrinth of crevasses and ice walls lead 2,000 feet up the valley to camp one. Getting through the Khumbu involves ice climbing, suspension ladders and scrambling; not a good match for the typical weight-forward troglodyte body type. So I have enlisted the help of professional Trainer Mike Locke at the Bellingham Athletic Club.  Mike has worked for many years training college, professional and Olympic athletes, as well as First Responders. He trained me for my Denali climb in 2007. 

Mike has constructed three distinctly different workouts for Monday, Wednesday and Friday of each week. Each take me through a battery of 6 timed stations designed to build flexible core strength. There is a 30 second rest after the sixth station, then I start over again. I do six full rotations, then 30 minutes of timed rowing sprints. All of this is preceded by tissue mobilization techniques designed to gather maximum benefit from the stations. There is no conventional weight lifting in these workouts. Instead the exercises harness my own body mass. Using kettle bells, hanging rings, risers and medicine balls I exert in as many different directions as ice moves in the Khumbu. 

It should go without saying I will also pack weight up steep trails and enlist the other preparations that have proven effective to me. Somewhere along the way I will probably even pick up some Saltines. 

A 29,029 foot tall decision.

Ty and I displaying our Denali climbing permit, Talkeetna, AK. 

"I wouldn't even invite you if I didn't think you could do it," I said to Ty during a phone call a few months ago. I was making a joke, of course.  Ty is a proven and accomplished climber who does not require encouragement from anyone. But recalling how these words from him had set me out on climbing the seven summits I could not pass up the opportunity to hand them back as I made the case for joining me on Everest. "That's the big enchilada, Mr. Mauro. You've certainly got my attention. Boy. Two months away, $50,000, and the best shape of your life" Ty said.  "That's pretty much what this hill asks for," I agreed.  "Boy." "Yeah, I know," I said, "but I can't see climbing this thing without you. Just think about it." It seemed unlikely. 

There was no question in my mind of Ty's physical ability. He and I have climbed to 22,811 feet on Aconcagua without supplemental oxygen. I do not recall ever seeing him even look tired. But very few employers can or will allow a two month absence. It had been something of a wrestling match getting UBS to consent in my own case. Then there was the matter of money. Lots of money. I knew Ty already had most of the gear for Everest, but logistics, permitting, air fares, food, Guides and Sherpas would quickly hit the $50,000 number he referred to.  I made the invitation as though we were going dutch to a baseball game, but this was the sort of sum that sets a family back for years. 

I checked back with Ty a few weeks later. The practical considerations of time and money had taken roost, but the dream had awakened and would not be quieted. "I'd love to say SURE and we can both get all worked up, but I just don't see how I can pull it off," he lamented. "Your sister supports me doing the climb, but I don't know," he added. I encouraged Ty to consider seeking sponsorship to defray the financial burden. With his many contacts around Anchorage he could surely sell some advertising space on his climbing suit.  But I could tell he felt uncomfortable imagining himself in the role of selling. 

Ty decided to first approach his employer. These days Ty manages  PR for the Arctic Slope Regional Corporation, a multi billion dollar tribal consortium funded largely through oil revenues. He was fairly sure they would decline his request for a two month absence. This would end the whole idea of Everest and he could just go back to his happy life. But they embraced Ty's dream with enthusiasm, also recognizing the marvelous exposure they might gain along the way. 

By now the payment was due to maintain a spot on the expedition with International Mountain Guides (IMG), the company I had already signed up with. That meant Ty would need $20,000 immediately or risk the team filling up. Once that deposit was in he would have a few months to raise the remainder of funds. Ty made a handful of contacts with potential sponsors to test the waters.  The response was quite positive. 

"I ask myself," Ty started during a call a few weeks ago,"if I am ever going to climb Everest. And if so I can't get much better circumstances than to climb it with you." Ty and I are a solid climbing team. We are typically the fastest climbers on whatever hill we find ourselves. This matters when passing through high risk areas, the likes of which we would spend much time in on Everest, especially the Khumba Ice Fall where most fatalities occur.  As well, we are good friends and get along nicely even when sharing a tent for weeks on end  ...though he sometimes make a wheezing noise when he sleeps and I want to smother him with a filthy sweatshirt.

Still Ty was not ready to commit. He said he needed to look into a couple things first. I took this to mean the family finances. Several days passed and no word came from Ty. The last time I spoke with IMG there were only 4 spots remaining for their 2013 Everest Expedition. By now they might be taken. I started preparing myself for the notion I might be climbing Everest without Ty. 

But we spoke several more times in the days that followed. Each time Ty sounded closer to declaring himself in, however he fell short of saying it outright. As I sat down to write this entry I tried to recall the exact words Ty used to finally commit to going.  It was then that I realized he had not actually done so. So I called Ty at his home in Anchorage. "I think it was that conversation where I said let's make this thing happen," Ty recalled. "So I can tell my Readers you are definitely going?" "Tell away," he consented. 

This is how it starts.

Ty Hardt with his Emmy.

Before Everest, before Carstensz Pyramid and Vinson Massiff, before Aconcagua, before Elbrus and Kilimanjaro there was Denali (Mt McKinley). For a variety of reasons I have not been able to write about Denali, the climb that set my life on this course toward Everest. But so much of that experience is intertwined in what comes next that it seems important to tell part of the story now, a story that begins in the guest room at my sister Michelle’s home. 

It was October 2nd of 2006. I was sitting on the edge of the bed looking at the dozens of dolls arranged on shelves around what had transformed into another playroom for my niece. They were all staring at me. Some dolls were dressed for the Ball while others doned traditional garments as though on their way to hand out informative leaflets at an interpretive center. A few were headed to the beach. One would be working in the flower garden. But they had all stopped in their tracks as the news spread among them.  My marriage of 18 years was over. None spoke. They did not need to. Their sad judging expressions said what they were thinking. “I don’t need your X#@&ing pity,” I yelled at the dolls.

A long cardboard tube lay at my feet. It had arrived, addressed to me, at my sister’s home earlier that day. I had been living there for the two weeks since my wife and I had separated. It was my 44th birthday.  

Several years earlier the husband of my sister Noelle had made an attempt on Denali. Though it was ultimately unsuccessful, the documentary he and his team filmed won Ty an Emmy. As evening news anchor for the ABC affiliate in Anchorage, Ty reported regularly on the topic of Denali and found himself tempted to make a second try a few years later. This time he left the cameras at home. Just a two-man self-guided team, Ty Hardt and John Harris summitted Denali in fair conditions in June of that year. 

The story might have ended there, but the advent of High Definition video changed everything. Television and Cable were going HD, yet virtually nothing had been filmed in High Definition. Ty got the idea to climb Denali once again, this time filming the expedition in HD. He could sell the footage or make a followup documentary with what he brought back. Ty started building his team, first pulling in three Firemen from Kenai. John, Mark, and Sam (all 6ft 4) would be the workhorses, there climbing ability only surpassed by their extraordinary strength. He brought a few other friends into the team, but also wanted a few non-climbers onboard. These, he reasoned, would add a valuable human interest aspect to the storyline, seeing everything through fresh eyes. 

“I wouldn’t even invite you if I didn’t think you could do it,” Ty said as we spoke on the phone during spring of 2006. I told Ty I was honored to be asked, but had only climbed one mountain, 10,400 foot Mt Baker about an hour from my home. This could in no way compare to 20,230 foot Denali. I did not consider myself a Mountain Climber, and certainly not of the caliber to climb the high summit of North America. "Besides," I added, "my wife would never agree to it." “It’s a year away. Just think about it,” Ty urged. Though I never considered the notion seriously, I found myself fantasizing about it from time to time and liked the way it made me feel. So it was probably a mistake to mention it to my wife. Our relationship was already at an all time low. She made it clear she would not support my going on such an outing and she doubted I could do it anyway.  It is tempting to villainize her in this respect, but truly I responded by doing something much worse -- I agreed. We could have been talking about something more plausible and I would have still agreed. It was not reality that had fallen casualty, but belief itself. Divorce is just the final destination in a long road trip of unbelieving. One of the last weigh stations is the point where you stop believing in yourself. A few months later I packed a bag and moved in with my sister. 

I picked up the cardboard tube and examined the shipping label. It was from Anchorage Alaska.  I removed one end of the tube and poured out its contents. Two climbing poles fell to the floor with a birthday card from Noelle and Ty. “Happy Birthday, Super Climber,” Ty had written inside the card. The message was clear; you don’t have your wife holding you back now so how about it? In that moment I decided to climb Denali. There was no reasonable basis for thinking I could make it to the summit, but my life was at such a low place that it seemed doubtful failing would bother me much. More importantly, if I could make it to the top of Denali, I thought, I might come to believe in myself the way Ty believed in me. As mountain climbing goes, it was both the best and worst of reasons. 

The Call

I have been asked many times if I will climb Everest. This is a perfectly reasonable inquiry as it is one of the Seven Summits, a list from which all my climbs have been drawn. Most typically I have said I did not know.  This must have seemed like a silly response. It might be just as acceptable to say I am not as to say I am going to climb Everest, but how could I not know? 

Though I was climbing mountains listed among the Seven Summits I was never committed to  climbing all Seven.  Instead, I waited for each mountain to call to me and occupy a place in my quiet thoughts.  I would leave it there for a time. If it lingered I would accept its invitation and begin preparations. This is how they came to me; Denali, Kilimanjaro, Elbrus, Aconcagua, Vinson Massif, Carstensz Pyramid. There was no way of knowing which call would come next or if any call would come at all. I found this approach satisfying as it allowed me to fully appreciate and experience each mountain for what it had to offer, as opposed to checking off another name on a list. For me, the last five years have been more a spiritual journey than an exercise in goal setting. 

"I believe you will definitely climb Everest and you will summit," my brother in-law, Ty, said to me while we were still working our way up Aconcagua. I liked hearing it, but the notion rang hollow to me. I had not heard the call for Everest and would not go unless I did. At one point I re-read Into thin air and decided I would not climb Everest. I suspect this book has a similar effect on most readers.  But this notion too rang hollow for the same reason; the decision, principally, was not mine. I had accepted that my life was on a very specific path, and though I did not know where it was taking me I would remain committed to that path. 

I spent most of July this year in Papua New Guinea, climbing Carstensz Pyramid. It was daunting and dangerous, tiresome and muddy. Very muddy. Incredibly hot and humid. Did I mention the mud? Yet so many gifts came to me in the course of that experience. One of them was Everest. 

Normally I will wait at least a month after a climb before even thinking about mountains. This gives me a chance to savor the recent experience and restore balance to my everyday life. But this time it did not happen that way. I was still on Carstensz, rappelling down the steep rock face. We had summitted an hour earlier. I stopped on a rock ledge to rig the next rope in my figure eight descender.  It was raining, and my leather gloves were soaked, my fingers numb. Suddenly it just came into my mind like the solution to a math problem I had been struggling with; Everest.  It was not so much the word or the image that came with it as the energy.  There was a warmth to it. Though the only things I knew about Everest scared the heck out of me, yet the notion suddenly and inexplicably seemed doable. 

I kept my own counsel on this matter through the remainder of the expedition, unsure if I had mistaken the euphoria of a successful climb with an invitation to the next. But again and again it was there. It smiled confidently at me.  It was the call I had always wondered about, and it could not be more clear. Lin seemed to pick up on it soon after our rendezvous in Bali. "So I know you don't decide on the next climb until a month or so has gone by, but you must have some idea about Everest," she asked as we lay in the sun. "I would like to climb Everest this coming season," I said. We were both quiet for a moment. Lin said that of course she had thought this decision might come but hoped it would be a couple years away. She said my going to Everest scared her but she supported it and she believed in me. 


Yet, this is not how my story starts.