“Climbing is like walking on stairs. I never expect to slip and fall. Do you?” This was Ueli Steck’s response to my asking him how he could not be scared when scaling such gigantic, steep faces without a rope. From that moment I understood where Ueli was coming from.
I first met Ueli in 2005. I was assisting Miss Elizabeth Hawley, the renowned Himalayan archivist, when he returned from his attempt of the Khumbu Express—he had succeeded on the North Face of Cholatse and the east face of Tawoche but failed to reach the summit of Ama Dablam. Back then he was still coming to Nepal as a carpenter, the profession he made a living with, and not many people knew of him. However, it was already clear that this young man was driven. Like other climbers I interviewed for Miss Hawley’s Himalayan Database, he wanted to climb difficult routes or big faces, but his goal wasn’t simply to be the best or gain the international recognition that followed. Instead he yearned to explore mountains and push the physical boundaries of possibility.
Over the years I got to know Ueli well, since meeting with Miss Hawley or me was always part of his itinerary when in Nepal. Ueli was never in Kathmandu for long, with just time enough to sort out his gear and climbing permits and have a pizza at Thamel’s Fire & Ice, his favorite restaurant. I remember when he came back from Everest with Tenji Sherpa, his friend and regular companion. The pair stood on the summit at 1:30 p.m. on May 18, 2012, and Ueli and I had coffee together at his hotel the following morning, just before he caught a plane back to Switzerland. He was fast at whatever he did.
Ueli was always helpful and made time to talk with me, be it for the Himalayan Database or for my job as a journalist. I was still working for a Swiss news portal, and Ueli’s achievements were always a worthy story. I remember well the dispute with the Sherpas on Everest in 2013. I was at Base Camp myself that year, since I was attempting Nuptse. After the “brawl” hit the news, I received that dreaded phone call from my editor, asking me whether I would be willing to interview Ueli. I did not want to bother Ueli with this; by now he was more than just a subject for a good story, he had become a friend. But still, I was and am a journalist at heart, and so I went to see him. At first he declined, but in the evening he came over to our camp and said that he trusted me and was willing to talk to me. I really appreciated it, and the interview crystallized how shaken and traumatized he was by the whole event.
In 2014 I shared a base camp with Ueli and his wife, Nicole, when Ueli was on the ill-fated summit push with the Double 8 expedition on Shishapangma in which an avalanche killed two people. I could hear the trembling in his voice when he radioed down to base camp, and I could feel his absolute desperation and frustration that he was unable to do anything to save the lives of his friends.
Whenever we met we would talk about a possible English version of one of his books, which he really wanted to have. When I visited Ueli and Nicole in Ringgenberg in January 2017, Ueli excitedly told me that finally his latest book would be published in English. I felt very honored when he said that I would be the right person to do the translation. We contacted Mountaineers Books, and they agreed. I started working on Ueli Steck: My Life in Climbing in March that year.
On April 30 I was translating away in a friend’s garden in Dushanbe, Tajikistan, where I had a work assignment after having spent the pre-monsoon climbing season in Kathmandu. I was fully immersed in Ueli’s ascents and emotions when I received a message from Monica Piris, a good friend and doctor working on the north side of Everest, telling me about Ueli’s fatal fall. Sitting there with Ueli’s words in my hands, I felt dizzy and lost.
From that instant the meaning of Ueli’s book and my role in translating it changed. Initially I felt unable to continue. The book somehow seemed irrelevant. What was the point of it now that Ueli would no longer be able to hold it in his hands? How could I carry on without being able to ask him questions? Would the publishers want me to rush the book to get it out? It turned out that the editors of Mountaineers Books were very understanding, telling me that if I needed more time I should take it. I appreciated their concern, but after a few days of my own grieving it became clear to me just how important it was to fulfill Ueli’s wish to tell his story in English and, in doing so, to share it with many more people. Although the meaning of the story had changed and the work of translation had become more emotional, I reconciled with what Ueli would have wished, and I continued.
As the translator I did my best to retain Ueli’s voice and emotions. During the last month of translating, his words kept reverberating in my head: “I never expect to slip and fall. Do you?” Unfortunately, on April 30, 2017, the stairs became fatal for him.
I would like to thank my friends Suzy Conway and Viv Neville for proofreading and improving my English in places; and I thank my friends and family for bearing with me over the last three months and understanding that I was completely captivated by this work. I would also like to thank Mountaineers Books for giving me the chance to tell Ueli’s story to an English-speaking audience. It is the story of an amazing climber and humble person who lived his dream and showed us that sometimes it is good to step out of our comfort zone. Thanks, Ueli, for being such an inspiration. You are missed.
Billi Bierling
Dushanbe, June 2017