The highest mountain in the world is immensely attractive to a lot of people, and so it was for me. When I started to discover the challenges of high-altitude mountaineering at the beginning of the new millennium, I was unable to escape its fascination. During my first Everest attempt, from the north side in Tibet in 2011, I made it to about 100 meters below the summit. But when I stopped feeling my toes, I immediately turned back since I did not want to risk getting frostbite. A year later I reached the summit with my Nepali climbing partner Tenji via the normal route, on the south side, in Nepal. Despite the fact that I had climbed without supplemental oxygen, some people wondered what on earth I was doing on a heavily trodden path on an overcrowded mountain.
The answer was easy: Mount Everest offers a range of attractive routes and possible projects, but before I could even think about doing a technically challenging ascent, I needed to find out what to expect up there and how strong my body would be at an elevation of 8848 meters. The 2012 ascent went smoothly, and I acclimatized very well. This encouraged me to plan a more challenging route for the following season. It did not have to be the Horseshoe—the traverse from Nuptse via Lhotse to Everest that had long been an unsolved climbing challenge. I hatched a more modest plan for spring 2013: an Everest–Lhotse traverse with my British friend Jonathan Griffith, who had lived in Chamonix in the French Alps for many years, and Italian climber Simone Moro, who is best known for his winter ascents of 8000-meter peaks.
Jon and I flew to the Nepalese capital, Kathmandu, at the end of March with Peter Fanconi and his friend Juan. The pair was going to accompany us to Everest Base Camp and then trek back on their own. Simone had already been in Nepal working as a helicopter pilot, and we had made arrangements to meet en route. As is frequently the case, we had to wait at the Kathmandu airport for our flight to Lukla. Small planes usually depart from Kathmandu only in the early morning, and if fog or clouds impair visibility, then all flights are canceled. As soon as the weather is good enough for the planes to fly, mayhem usually breaks out.
In Lukla, at 2860 meters, Twin Otter planes land in quick succession at an airstrip that is just 527 meters long. Immediately after touchdown, which is usually a bit rough, the pilots have to hit the brakes hard to avoid crashing into the wall, which seems to rapidly move closer. At the front of the airstrip, a cliff drops about 600 meters down toward the Dudh Khosi River. Once the airplanes have landed, it’s pandemonium. People want to retrieve their bags as quickly as possible because mix-ups can happen: Porters have been known to walk off with the wrong luggage.
As I had been to Nepal a few times before, I was not really fazed and was looking forward to trekking through the Khumbu. Since my first visit in 2001, I have always enjoyed coming back here. The region has somehow touched my heart. One can wander from lodge to lodge and enjoy the stunning views of snow-covered peaks rising up from the barren valley. The trails are very well maintained since thousands of people visit this beautiful region every year. We had picked a pretty quiet time. The main trekking season is traditionally fall, when thousands of visitors stomp through the valley, but tourism dropped after the devastating earthquake in the spring of 2015.
The first trekking stage took us from Lukla to Namche Bazaar, which, at 3440 meters, is considered the gateway to the real Himalaya. From here the peaks soar high into the sky. Since Base Camp lies 1600 meters higher, to avoid altitude-related headaches we took our time and had a rest day in Pangboche. In the morning we visited the local monastery and joined a Buddhist ceremony. Appeasement of the gods—puja—is an important part of every expedition. Jon wasn’t feeling well after the food he had eaten the previous day, but he was good-humored even though he had spent much of the night on the toilet. This is part of traveling in the Himalaya.
After our visit to the monastery, we continued to Dingboche (4500 meters), where we intended to stay for a couple of nights. Farther up the valley, one trail continues toward Mount Everest and the other one veers off to the Chukung Valley, which is closed in by the 5845-meter Amphu Laptsa Pass leading to the Makalu Valley. Instead of resting I made the most of my day by going for a run up the valley all the way to Chukung, from which I dashed up Chukung Ri, a 5546-meter summit.
After this beautiful start to our expedition, we trekked from Dingboche north to Lobuche, where we met Simone the following day. Now the team was complete, and slowly but surely we trekked to Base Camp, finally reaching it on April 11. Calling it a camp is something of an understatement, as it has become practically a city nestled in the mountains at 5300 meters. Every year various operators set up their tents on the moraine of the glacier, and yaks and porters carry tons of gear up the valley. During the climbing season around 1500 climbers, Sherpas, and expedition staff members call this their temporary home.
I was very excited and found it hard to hold back and not start out toward Everest immediately. I guess this is why I ran up to Camp 1 on the day after our arrival. At an elevation of 6100 meters, Camp 1 lies in the Valley of Silence, a labyrinth of ice towers and deep crevasses just above the Khumbu Icefall. Every year, the Icefall Doctors prepare a suitable way through this crazy maze of crevasses, using ropes and ladders. In order to finance the work of the Icefall Doctors, every expedition pays a fee in addition to that paid for the climbing permit. It is a risky job since the icefall contains many dangers, which have killed not only Sherpas but also western clients. In April 2014 an avalanche killed sixteen Sherpas while they were preparing the icefall for climbers.
I had brought a pair of running shoes with spikes and was excited to be able to run through the prepared icefall. The shoes passed the test, proving much easier to run in than heavy mountaineering boots. The 800 meters up to Camp 1 were pretty effortless for me. After two days at Base Camp, we bid goodbye to Juan and Peter, who were trekking back to Lukla. But for Jon, Simone, and me the expedition was now getting more serious, and we had to start with proper acclimatization. On April 14 we went up to Camp 2 and descended to Base Camp the same day. Two days later Simone and I carried some gear to Camp 2 and stayed up there. The weather was favorable, and we were making good progress. For the time being we were the only Western climbers at Camp 2, where Sherpas were still busy setting up tents for the clients. That evening they invited us for dinner. Of course we had dal bhat, the traditional Nepali dish of rice and lentils, which at an elevation of 6500 meters seems like haute cuisine. Once again I was impressed by the infrastructure that had been carried up to this elevation. To me, the Sherpa mess tent, where we had dinner, was pretty luxurious, but it was nothing compared to the plush mess tents for members of the commercial expeditions.
While the Sherpas continued to pitch tents the next morning, Simone and I went on a reconnaissance mission toward Everest’s West Shoulder to check out the conditions up there. Our plan was to reach the West Shoulder from Camp 2, climb to the summit via the Hornbein Couloir on the north side, descend via the South Col, and continue to Lhotse—a traverse from the highest to the fourth-highest mountain in the world. The previous year, when I was on the south side of Everest, two American teams had attempted the route through the Hornbein Couloir. However, after spending a month fixing ropes, they did not reach even the West Shoulder. I could hardly wait to find out what we could expect.
It was already pretty warm when we headed out, and very soon we encountered rocky terrain. The climbing was not very hard, but the rock was quite loose in places, and we had to be careful. As we were climbing without a rope, we moved quite quickly, and although we had not been at altitude for long, it was surprisingly easy. When we reached 6900 meters Simone had had enough and turned back, but I continued up on my own. I was so excited to find out how steep and difficult it would be higher up and what the conditions would be like. The technical difficulties seemed pretty reasonable to me. A few steep parts turned out to be sheer ice, and while overcoming them was strenuous exercise, the climbing was not too demanding.
After a while I started to feel the effects of altitude. I was no longer making such good progress, afternoon clouds were moving in, and it was getting cold. I checked my altimeter, which indicated 7200 meters, and put on my down mittens. The top of the West Shoulder was not that much farther, and I was keen to reach it. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of the North Face, from which we would climb the Hornbein Couloir on our way to the summit. Engulfed in clouds, I continued. It was still early, and I had plenty of time. Up here the ice was covered in snow, which made climbing a little less strenuous and safer. Finally I stepped out of the gully and was standing atop the West Shoulder.
By now, however, the clouds had reduced visibility to about 10 meters. For a moment I was disappointed that I had been denied the view of the North Face I had so longed to see. I climbed up higher to check out the snow conditions and found the hard snow cover was perfect for kicking steps. Unbelievable! This is just what we would need for the summit push. I was already imagining how we would set out from there, leave our tents, and move toward the summit following the light of our headlamps.
Time to stop dreaming. Hungry, I started my descent, securing the most difficult parts with an old fixed rope that had been left behind by earlier expeditions. This would aid us when we carried up tents and sleeping bags. I reached Camp 2 just as it was getting dark. This time we had to cook our own dinner, and we decided on Swiss rösti—a dish of fried grated potatoes. Shortly after eating I fell asleep, content. After having been at Base Camp for only six days, I had already reached 7500 meters. I had climbed higher in six days than the Americans had done in four weeks the previous year.
After spending two more nights at Camp 2 for acclimatization, Simone and I returned to Base Camp. We were on track: we felt really well, the conditions on the mountain were superb, and we were extremely motivated. All doubts troubling us before the expedition were gone. The many factors we had considered again and again during preparation that might lead to failure had suddenly disappeared. I had already ascended to the West Shoulder, and the route had proved unproblematic. Our team got on very well, and we were all pulling in the same direction. Everything seemed perfect.
Then the weather turned bad, and we decided to stay at Base Camp and rest for a few days. There was nothing to do but wait.
In addition to climbing big mountains, Simone’s passion is flying helicopters. He owns an Écureuil AS350 B3 helicopter, which he keeps in Nepal. AS350 helicopters are so powerful that in 2005 a French pilot, Didier Delsalle, managed to touch the top of Mount Everest with one. Even though the Écureil is very light and made to fly at high altitudes, it had to be upgraded for that particular flight, as helicopters are usually not supposed to go that high. The air resistance is insufficient for the rotors to operate fully. There used to be a lot of Russian MI-8 helicopters in Nepal, but most of them were flown until they crashed. Simone’s helicopter was transported from Italy to Nepal in a cargo plane and is now used almost daily for taking supplies to Everest Base Camp. The regulations of his Italian insurance company allow only European pilots to fly his helicopter, so Simone flies it as often as his time allows. He used to operate his charter service for Fishtail Air, a Nepali company.
As the weather forecast was pretty bad for the next few days, Simone, Jon, and I went to Namche Bazaar in Simone’s helicopter, which was empty after Simone had flown some supplies from Lukla to Base Camp. We certainly would not miss anything on the mountain in this weather, our bodies would have time to recover at the lower altitude, and it would take only a day’s trekking to get back to Base Camp. In Namche Bazaar, which lies at less than 4000 meters, I could sleep well again. The following morning we went for a run and crossed over to the next valley, Thame.
After three days in Namche Bazaar, we had yet another chance to grab a ride in Simone’s helicopter, and so we flew back to Base Camp. The weather had improved enough for us to go on our next acclimatization rotation, which we intended to do on the normal route rather than on our planned ascent route. The sole reason for this was the fact that we wanted to achieve our goal in alpine style and did not want to spoil the novelty of the climb by too many reconnaissance trips. On April 26 Simone, Jon, and I ascended to Camp 2, where we spent a pleasurable evening. Our spirits were high, we were having fun and filled with positive energy. I was convinced that the three of us were acclimatized well enough to spend two nights at Camp 4 on the South Col at 8000 meters. After this acclimatization rotation, we would be ready for the big traverse! I wanted to get acclimatized as quickly as possible in order to use the weather window in May. Since we were climbing without supplemental oxygen, we needed twice as much time to adapt to the altitude. Those who climb Everest with bottled oxygen only need one night at Camp 3 at 7300 meters to be ready for the summit. For climbers with oxygen, the summit of Everest (8848 meters) is effectively reduced to what they would experience at 6500–7000 meters without it. We, on the other hand, needed to spend at least two nights at Camp 3 and at least one night at Camp 4 at 8000 meters to avoid getting altitude illness during the summit attempt. We were pressed for time and wanted to use every possible day on the mountain to acclimatize.
At the crack of dawn the following morning, a group of Sherpas was moving toward the Lhotse Face. They were “fixing” the mountain—affixing ropes that would help the clients of commercial expeditions reach the higher camps more easily and safely. They were also under pressure to finish this work in time. It is a tough job; carrying heavy equipment to 7000 meters and attaching the ropes to the mountain requires a lot of strength. The previous day had been a bit disappointing for the Sherpas. Working with three Western guides, they had encountered a crevasse they couldn’t get around just below Camp 3, necessitating removal of all the gear in order to start from scratch on a different route.
The Sherpas’ rope-fixing and our climbing coincided on the Lhotse Face, which has a gradient of between 30 and 50 degrees. This is not too steep: one can usually walk up it, using axes only where there is bare ice. The previous day we had noticed that there was still a lot of snow on the left side of the face, which would make our ascent pretty easy. It was only 800 meters to Camp 3, where the Russian Alexey Bolotov and Kazakh Denis Urubko had left their tent for us. The pair wanted to open a new route on the Southwest Face of Everest. We shared our base camp and supported each other as much as we could, alternately using the same tent and sharing other equipment on the mountain. The two had descended from Camp 3 the day before. If our physical condition allowed it, we wanted to set up camp on the South Col after having spent two or three nights at Camp 3.
We took our time and waited for the weather to warm before we set out from Camp 2. Just below the Lhotse Face we met an American mountain guide who told us not to use the fixed ropes. I assured him that we would stay away from them and would not disturb the Sherpas doing their work. We all had two ice axes, which meant that we did not rely on the fixed ropes.
After I had climbed over the bergschrund, I immediately traversed 50 meters diagonally to the left. One reason was to keep a safe distance from the ropes and not to get in the way of the Sherpas doing their work. The other reason was not to get hit by falling ice: higher up on the mountain, two Sherpas were hacking out a platform, sending chunks of ice in our direction. I waited for Jon, and then, as Simone was still behind, we used the time to take pictures. It is always good to do this during waiting periods rather than losing too much time taking pictures during climbing. And taking photos with Jon is easy: he is fit, and he is able to move on the mountain independently.
Finally Simone arrived, and we continued. After about an hour we reached the level of the tent, but getting there required traversing to the right and stepping over the fixed ropes. In order to make it easier for everyone, we looked for a section that was snowy rather than icy. A couple of meters above us were two Sherpas, who were attached to an ice screw and belaying the leader of the team, Mingma Tenzing from Phortse in the Everest region. Mingma Tenzing was quite a way above them and climbing up ice.
Jon was the first to traverse to the right underneath the Sherpas’ belay point. He had barely moved when the Sherpas started shouting at him. I reached the same point about a minute after Jon. There was tension in the thin air. Jon continued to the tent, and I saw that Mingma was rappelling straight toward me. I stopped him with one hand, as I was not secured to anything and wanted to avoid tumbling down the mountain. “Why are you touching me?” he shouted. I said that there were 500 meters below us and that I was not attached to a rope. “Why are you here?” he raged. “Because our tent is over there.” I explained to him that we had made an effort to ascend on the left-hand side in the snow to avoid getting in their way. “You do your job, and we do ours. There is enough space for all of us.”
Trying to ease the tension, I offered to help them fix the ropes as soon as I had dumped my gear in our tent. But this seemed to make him even more furious. When Simone came into the vicinity, Mingma started to swing both his ice axes toward him.
“What are you doing?” Simone screamed. Panicking, he lost his temper, and to make matters worse added the Nepali word machikne, which equates to “motherfucker” and is a severe insult to a Nepali.
The situation escalated from there. Simone and Mingma had a heated debate, during which Mingma threatened Simone with his ice axe several times. I was convinced that it would have been better to shut up. But then, I am a person inclined to keep quiet rather than add fuel to the fire. I shrugged my shoulders and wondered why Mingma was so upset. What was his problem? At that moment, I neither knew what machikne meant, nor did I have an inkling where this exchange of harsh words would lead.
I let Simone and Mingma continue their discussion and joined Jon in the tent. A little later we noticed that all the Sherpas had stopped working and were rappelling down to Camp 3. At first I assumed that they had been working hard since early morning and our arrival was a welcome reason for them to call it a day. It was not late, but a fierce wind had been blowing for an hour. However, the fact that the rope-fixing had stopped made me feel uncomfortable. The Sherpas’ hard work had probably taken a toll, and it is known that too much stress leads to overreaction. I was worried that the expedition operators would be furious and blame us for their clients not being able to reach Camp 3 on schedule. As I felt somehow responsible and wanted to improve the situation, I took the remaining 260 meters of rope and fixed the rest of the route to Camp 3. What I had not thought about was the Sherpas’ dignity. I had not considered that I would hurt their pride by taking over their work and doing it so quickly. I was simply not aware that this would mean a severe loss of face for them. My thinking, which in hindsight seems naïve, was that even though Jon, Simone, and I did not need the fixed ropes, we could help the Sherpas and work together with them instead of being at odds.
While I was fixing the last bit of rope on the upper section, Simone was in constant radio contact with Camp 2. I could not hear what they were talking about. In any case, Simone decided that it would be better not to spend the night at Camp 3 but to instead descend to Camp 2 and resolve the situation. I was a bit annoyed, as we had planned to acclimatize for two nights at Camp 3 and then continue up to the South Col and set up our tent there. Now we were going down instead.
We reached Camp 2 just before dark. There, the American mountain guide Melissa Arnot warned us that the Sherpas were infuriated with us for having climbed on the Lhotse Face. Apparently she had been on the radio all afternoon in an effort to calm the situation. We all sat in the relatively big gear tent and discussed the events of the day. Shortly after Melissa went back to her tent, she came running back, shouting that we should try to get away as quickly as possible because the Sherpas had formed a mob.
I expected a heavy discussion. I assumed that we would talk about who was right and who was wrong. I was ready to apologize for having been up there, even though I thought no one had the right to deny others access to the mountain.
Then we stepped out of our tent.
Hooded figures with rocks in their hands were approaching us. Simone and Jon ran away. When the Sherpas marched toward our tent, Marty Schmidt, a New Zealand mountain guide who happened to be there, walked up to one of them and tried to knock the rock out of his hand. They kicked and punched Marty, he was hit by a rock, and someone whacked him in the face. He defended himself and struck back.
Mingma, the leader of the mob, came up to me, and before I was even able to utter a word, he punched my nose. Just like that.
The next thing I knew, a big rock hit my face.
I was dumbfounded and could not quite comprehend what was happening. I crouched down on my knees and put my hands over my head. Otherwise I did not even try to defend myself; if I had done so, they would all have attacked me. Another Sherpa, standing above me, was aiming a brick-sized rock at my head when Melissa got between us. Attacking a woman would have been against the Sherpas’ mores.
I grabbed the opportunity and dashed back into the tent, but I came out again after a big rock was thrown into the tent and missed me by a whisker. When I saw Jon and Simone, who were standing a distance from the tent, I walked up to them and said: “I think the expedition is over.”
At that moment the mob moved toward us again and assaulted Jon. Another Western mountain guide came to our aid and made the Sherpas back off. Jon and Simone made a break for the glacier, but I was stopped. I returned to the tent with Marty, who had a gash on his head.
“Give him to us! We will kill him!” About one hundred belligerent men had gathered in front of the tent, calling for me.
Greg Vernovage, another American mountain guide, and Melissa guarded the tent and tried to keep the Sherpas at bay. A lone Sherpa, Pang Nuru, was standing next to them. He had nothing to do with us but was obviously perturbed by the situation and knew that this was just not right.
I could hear a fierce discussion. The Sherpas ordered me to come out. I would be the first they would beat to death, and when they had finished with me they would go for the other two.
I felt powerless and could not see a way out. How could we possibly turn the situation in our favor? What would happen to us? It was over. I couldn’t do anything. My hands were tied.
I thought about how ridiculous the situation was. How many expeditions had I been on and come back from in one piece? How many critical situations had I survived? And now I was crouching in a tent on Mount Everest, just about to be killed by a mob of Sherpas. This was impossible. The whole situation so absurd that I had no hope. The Sherpas were unpredictable, but I would probably not survive. I started to imagine how my life would end by stoning.
After a while the Sherpas ordered Simone, who had insulted Mingma, to come out. This gave me reason to believe we might have a chance. Simone, who was hiding somewhere on the glacier, returned and was pushed inside the tent. Some time later, Melissa came in and told Simone what the Sherpas demanded: They wanted him to get down on his knees and apologize for the insulting words he had uttered on the Lhotse Face. When Simone stepped out of the tent, the Sherpas went for him immediately. He knelt down and apologized, and the Sherpas kicked him in the face.
In the middle of this commotion, we were suddenly accused of having been on the Lhotse Face without a climbing permit, which was ridiculous. After Base Camp confirmed that we did have a permit, the Sherpas started to withdraw but told Melissa and Greg that if we were not gone within one hour, they would kill us.
When Melissa finally informed us that they had all gone, we hastily packed our gear, wanting to get away as quickly as possible. Since our tent was in the upper section of Camp 2, we left from the back to avoid having to walk past all the other tents. The best way for us to sneak away quietly was through the crevasses, but we were scared that the Sherpas would follow us. I remembered a ladder over a huge crevasse lower down the mountain. My goal was to cross this crevasse and then remove the ladder, which would stop anyone from following us. At that point I would not have put anything past them, but nobody came.
We still did not have a clue what to expect at Camp 1. Maybe the Sherpas had radioed their peers and we would be greeted with the same vengeance we had encountered at Camp 2. We were very apprehensive when we reached the first tents, but the climbers and Sherpas seemed pretty relaxed. They asked us what had happened and shook their heads in disbelief. We were very brief with our answers, eager as we were to continue down. What else would come our way?
As we neared the Khumbu Icefall, it began to get dark. We were worried that the Sherpas had told others at Base Camp to wait for us in the icefall and assault us under cover of night. I could not begin to imagine what it would be like to be attacked while crossing a crevasse on a ladder. Even though an ice axe is usually not needed in the icefall, I was firmly holding mine in my hand, just in case. Fortunately we got safely through the icefall. After we reached our tent at Base Camp we went to sleep wearing our helmets and holding our ice axes.
Jon and Simone remained at Base Camp, but I wanted to get away as quickly as possible. Simone organized his helicopter, which took me to Lukla the following day. I’d had enough. However, two days later Jon and Simone called me back, saying that some sort of “peace talk” had been planned at Base Camp. We all signed a handwritten agreement that stated that we forgave each other and that we would not resort to violence in the future.
In the meantime, Tenji and some other Sherpas had collected our gear from Camp 2, and I was amazed to see that nothing was missing. As one more night at Base Camp was enough for me, I took a helicopter to Lukla and then to Kathmandu the next morning to grab the next possible flight back to Switzerland. I just wanted to go home. I was seriously fed up with Nepal, at least for the time being.
I was on my way back to Switzerland when my friend Alexey Bolotov fell to his death between Base Camp and Camp 1. He was climbing on an alternative route to avoid the Khumbu Icefall when his rope broke as he was rappelling. He was considered one of the best mountaineers in the world and was only fifty years old. I remember patting him on the shoulder, as he seemed pretty upset when I left Base Camp after the Sherpas’ assault. I recall telling him: “You are my role model. If I want to, I have at least another thirteen years of climbing the highest peaks.”
Alexey will always have a special place in my heart. He was my idol. After the attacks he kept on repeating the same words during every meeting. After we had discussed the events for the umpteenth time, he got up and said in his Russian-accented English: “This is bullshit!” Then he stepped out of the tent.
Expeditions frequently do not go as planned. In the run-up to the expedition, I dealt with all eventualities and imagined all the things that could go wrong. What would the conditions on the mountain have to be like in order to complete the traverse from Everest to Lhotse? I had carefully worked out how we would have to acclimatize in order to stay fit and strong above 8000 meters for such a long time. We would have to spend at least two nights at 8000 meters, which would cost us a lot of strength and energy. And before we could be ready for the summit attempt, we would have to recover and descend to the valley at below 4000 meters for five to seven days. On top of that we would have to be extremely careful during our acclimatization rotations. If you get sick once, the expedition is likely to be over for you. A common cold often means the end. When spending so much time above 8000 meters, even the slightest cough can have a detrimental effect on your performance and force you to abandon an expedition.
There were many factors that could affect the success of such an undertaking. But I was convinced that we had prepared for almost everything and that all of us were physically fit enough to take on the challenge. Then our project took an unexpected turn, and it was no longer about mountaineering. All of a sudden we were involved in a clash between cultures, a clash that was about power and money.
Most Western mountaineers go climbing because of their enthusiasm and motivation for the sport. For the Sherpas in the Himalaya, mountaineering is one of the few opportunities to make money and earn a living. Why should Sherpas care about who climbs Everest with or without the use of supplemental oxygen? Their job is to get as many clients to the top of the world as possible. They make their money working for commercial expeditions and get hardly anything from independent mountaineers like me. Yet, after all, it is their summit—their Mount Everest. And the culture and background of the Nepali people is very different from our culture, which inevitably leads to tensions in the long run.
At the same time, the Sherpas are in a tricky situation. They fill the role of mountain guides but have no authority. As opposed to European guides, they are at the end of the decision-making chain. If Matterhorn guides tell their clients that they have to turn back due to lack of experience, they will turn back. On Everest it is otherwise. It often happens that clients do not listen or they disregard the Sherpas’ advice and opinions.
I witnessed this when I climbed Everest in 2012. The Nepali-born Canadian Shriya Shah-Klorfine reached the summit at 2:00 p.m., which was far too late. It had taken her seventeen hours from the South Col to the top, and, even though her Sherpas told her to turn back several times, she continued. She said it had been her dream to reach the top of the world, and she had paid a lot of money for it. And then the inevitable happened: she ran out of oxygen on the descent and took her last breath just below the Hillary Step. The Sherpas continued down without her. It must be frustrating for them to be ignored and not respected most of the time.
In my opinion the brawl at Camp 2 was nothing more than a demonstration of power. The Sherpas are not stupid and know how much money is generated on their mountain. Nepal makes exorbitant amounts of money from climbing permits, but most of it ends up in the deep pockets of the government officials. The big commercial operators live abroad and employ their own mountain guides. The Sherpas have to do the hard work of load carrying, and, as is so often the case elsewhere, those who work most are not necessarily those who earn most. It is obvious that the Sherpas want a bigger piece of the pie.
A similar power struggle happened the following year. After sixteen Sherpas were tragically killed in an avalanche in April 2014, the Sherpa community was split into two groups. One group was willing to continue to work on the mountain, while the other group argued that it would be disrespectful to the dead. But at the end of the day, it was a matter of putting the government under pressure to improve the insurance system for the Sherpa families. Both were valid arguments, but the fact that the second group threatened the first group and denied them access to the mountain was incomprehensible. Due to the ensuing strike, the climbing season ended early that spring.
I guess that when the first rock flew through Camp 2 on that fateful day, it released a lot of tension from people who had felt humiliated for a while. There were various reasons why the three of us fell victim to this situation. We had certainly been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Simone’s angry words on the Lhotse Face sparked the situation, and the fact that I had finished the Sherpas’ rope-fixing did not help either. Even though it was well intended, I now know that it actually exacerbated the situation.
An additional factor is that some people do not like that Jon, Simone, and I move with such speed and persistence on the mountain.
The events on Everest in 2013 triggered a lot of comments, and everyone interpreted the situation differently. The facts got mixed up, and in the end nobody really knew who said what, who touched whom, and who kicked off the falling ice. There was also confusion about an alleged climbing ban on that day. Apparently the commercial operators had agreed not to let anybody but the Sherpas climb on the Lhotse Face that day, but I had not heard anything about this agreement.
However, all these discussions seem irrelevant in the light of what happened at Camp 2 that day. I was shocked by how aggressive and belligerent some of the Sherpas were. Up to that day I could have never imagined that a Sherpa would be so violent. I can deal with arguments, but in this case I had misinterpreted the strong emotions of the Sherpas. I had not considered that things worked differently in Nepal than in Europe, that a different culture would solve conflicts differently, and that other power structures applied. I was not sensitive enough to sufficiently consider all the cultural differences.
I had actually been pretty lucky. The situation could have easily gotten worse. Had Melissa Arnot not inserted herself between the Sherpas and me, I would probably have died. I am very grateful to everyone who helped me in this situation, including Marty Schmidt, who was killed in an avalanche on K2 later that year. Melissa and Marty were among the few people who did not put their heads in the sand, thinking the problem was none of their business.
The immense fear of dying I had on that day changed my perception of Nepal. Rationally, I knew that we had not been the cause but the trigger for the conflict. I knew that nobody wanted to kill me just because I was Ueli Steck, and I also knew pretty soon after I had returned to Switzerland that I would return to Nepal one day. The mountains were a very important part of my life, and I would never give up mountaineering. Nepal is home to the highest mountains in the world. Climbing higher than 8000 meters remained a challenge that fascinated me.
Of course, I was free to choose which mountains I would climb in the future. I did not necessarily have to go back to such a commercialized mountain as Mount Everest has become. Due to the infrastructure and the support of supplemental oxygen, the highest mountain in the world has become one of the easiest 8000-meter peaks. Authorities in Nepal are considering installing a ladder on the Hillary Step, which is the bottleneck on the south side. This would enable more people to reach the summit. The development on Mount Everest cannot be stopped or reversed. It will remain the highest mountain in the world. It will continue to attract many people. Nepal and local operators will continue to use it to make money.
The dark shadow those events had cast on Mount Everest would stay with me for a while. It made me feel sad, though, to have lost the magic of this mountain. I consciously made an effort to recall reaching the summit with Tenji in 2012. It was a warm and calm day. As equal partners—not as “Sherpa” and “client”—we climbed together with other Sherpas, who were fixing the rope to the summit. I wanted to preserve the memory of Tenji and me standing happily on the highest point on Earth, not the image of the violent mob at Camp 2.
However, coming to terms with my emotions was difficult. At the moment when I had realized that the Sherpas wanted to kill me, my whole world had split apart. Even though I had not considered them friends, I had shared a cup of coffee with some of them—and suddenly they had wanted to break my skull with rocks. I was shocked, and it had changed my view of the world.
I had long been prepared for the unexpected to happen on a mountain. I had lost too many friends and colleagues on climbs, and I knew that it could happen to me any time. Even though you never really expect it, it is the reality of alpinism. Sometimes people do not come home. I had always been aware that my life could be over in an instant, that there was no guarantee. I had accepted the risks of mountaineering. What I struggled with was people’s behavior and the aggression I had encountered.
I had generally had a positive attitude and believed in the good in people, but all of a sudden I had lost faith in humanity. I realized that I might have relied on the wrong people, no matter which country they were from. I found it hard to trust those around me, no matter whether they were mountaineering colleagues, business partners, or even friends. I looked at them differently, in a more critical way.
I started to withdraw. I switched off my cell phone, bought a prepaid SIM card, and only shared the number with my family and closest friends. I did not want to be in touch with the rest of the world. Hordes of journalists came to my house trying to get an interview, but I refused. I had given my statement on the events on Everest, and I was not willing to say more. Even Nicole, my wife, found it hard to get through to me. Of course, we talked about what had happened on Everest, but this was only right after I got home and then only briefly. I avoided telling her the details as I did not want her to worry even more the next time I was on an expedition. On top of that I thought it would be pointless trying to describe how I had felt up there. Only someone who had been through that experience could really understand, someone who had faced death. It was not easy for Nicole, who wanted to help and support me, but I needed to find my own way of getting over it.
My cure was climbing. Before my departure for Everest I had already planned another expedition for 2013. After two failed attempts on the South Face of Annapurna I, I finally felt ready to go back there. The expedition would start in September and was a welcome distraction. It became my goal, and I started training like a maniac.
It was still May when Jon Griffith and I hooked up to do one of my favorite training routes, climbing the Mönch in the Swiss Alps all the way from the valley. The route starts in Grindelwald Grund, goes up to the Kleine Scheidegg, and then continues via the Nollen to the summit: 18 kilometers of distance and 3100 meters of elevation gain. I was breaking trail, which was strenuous in the deep snow, but it helped me switch off. I was living for the moment and enjoyed it despite the immense effort. The descent was quick: we took only forty minutes to get from the top to the Jungfraujoch railway station. We stopped there and had a well-deserved cup of coffee at the bar. It felt good to be back on my old stomping grounds.
I did a lot of running over the summer. One of my favorite routes went from the Stechelberg mountain up the Sefinen Valley, then down via the Sefinafurgga and back up to the Blüemlisalp Hut, where I usually treated myself to a cheese sandwich and continued on to the village of Kandersteg. What I really like about trail running is that it simply requires a pair of running shoes and a backpack containing something to drink and eat. My ambitious training plan gave my life some structure again. I looked ahead, and all I could see was Annapurna and the incessant training for it.
Since I had not worn myself out on my spring expedition in Nepal, I did not need a recovery phase and was able to complete some very long and intense training sessions. These gave me the feeling of being my own master again. On Everest things had been out of my control, and I had been at the mercy of others. I had been used to making my own decisions and acting autonomously, when suddenly I was confronted with an enraged mob armed with rocks. There was nothing I could do. I never wanted to feel so powerless again, and in order to forget Everest I threw myself into my training for Annapurna. I did not realize then that I was only pushing away past events and not really dealing with them.