(MAY–JULY 1993)
At the Seattle Airport, Jim stood amongst his six teammates – Stacy Allison, John Petroske, Steve Steckmeyer, John Haigh, Phil Powers and Dan Culver – and 45 pieces of luggage, labelled with purple and white K2 stickers. I grew anxious. A current travelled up my body and left me frazzled. I pulled my face tight to stop tears from leaking out, moved into Jim’s open arms, kissed his face and pushed a letter into his hand. My voice warbled, “Be careful. I love you. Come home. Have a wonderful time.”
Back in Vancouver, I prepared my students for their exams, moved into my first big purchase – a condominium in Kitsilano – biked and rock climbed with friends, worked on my master’s, went on a horseback riding trip in the Rocky Mountains and planned a ski trip to Chile and Argentina.
I wrote to Jim every week and envisioned my letters’ journey, first by plane to Skardu, then by truck to Askoli and finally by foot up the Baltoro Glacier into Jim’s hands at Base Camp, elevation 5000 metres. I sent them special delivery but was not sure it made a difference.
Jim sent letters every four or five days, and I received all but one. Only half of mine made it to him, and the first one took six weeks. None of our letters arrived in the proper order. What follows are excerpts from Jim’s letters to me.
May 25, 1993
Dear Sue,
Greetings from Pakistan. I’m sitting on my bed in the hotel room in my underwear, sweating. It’s over 40°C outside, and the air conditioning unit is old and can’t cope. It's hot, but otherwise things are going very well. The logistics are rolling along smoothly. Tomorrow we leave for the north: Skardu by 24-hour bus along the famous Karakoram Highway, an old silk-traders’ route. We had planned to fly, but our reservations didn’t make the computer translation from Seattle to Karachi. And flights to Skardu are booked for another 17 days. But though the bus ride will be brutal, it should offer a spectacular view of the countryside and a taste of the local culture.
We spent today changing our 32 kg planeloads into 25 kg porter loads. It looks like we will have 100 porters into Base Camp. It sounds huge to me but Gulam (our cook) said the last Japanese team to K2 had 1300 porters for 25 climbers, and there are only seven of us.
The whole scene here is amazing. Everything is pretty well figured out: porter requirements, helicopter rescue, insurance for porters, cook’s equipment, everything regulated and followed to the letter. It is kind of like organizing by numbers – just look at the list and do the next job.
So we’re on the move again tomorrow and hope to be on the trail, Inshallah (God willing), on May 30th. Our team has been lucky since I joined it last August, and I have a really good feeling. Keep your fingers crossed.
Much Love, Jim X0X
May 28, 1993
Dear Sue,
We’re in Skardu now, our final jumpoff point for K2. In fact, if the weather cooperates, we'll leave tomorrow by jeep for Askoli and begin the approach on Sunday. Very exciting. The pace of the journey so far has been far more hectic than I imagined. It will be fantastic to get on the trail and have long sleeps and steady physical activity.
The bus ride from Islamabad to Skardu was the wildest part of our trip so far. The bus itself, painted and covered in more dingle balls and chimes than all the cars in Surrey, was solid mechanically and came with the world’s most durable driver, which was a good thing. For the most part, the road we travelled, the Karakoram Highway, follows the route the Indus River has carved through the Himalayas since the beginning of time. The valley is thousands of metres deep and the road is literally etched into the side of the canyon. I have been on some wild roads – South America, Africa and even at home in British Columbia – where there were blind corners and long stretches of exposed driving, but nothing like this. The Karakoram Highway is on the verge of dropping into the Indus River. It’s hard to describe, but if anything had gone wrong with the bus – flat tire, brakes, kingpin on the steering column – we would have been toast. I bet we turned more than 5,000 blind corners, horn blasting to warn would-be oncoming traffic. The entire road is single lane.
Yesterday, Dan, Phil and I tried to figure out how many porters we would need, and thus how much food to buy. We have seventy-seven porter loads, about 1900 kg, but then we need porters to carry the food for the seventy-seven porters, and more porters to carry food for the porters who are carrying food. Then, as we eat the food – 104 porters plus our team members will eat almost 91 kg of food per day – the number of porters we need decreases. So … how many kilos of wheat flour do we buy? Try 460 kg! Our next job is to load our 2500 kg of food and gear into jeeps and drive to Askoli. The numbers are quite staggering to me. All to climb a mountain!
Hugs and kisses though the mail can’t match the real thing, but that will come soon.
Love Always, Jim.
May 31, 1993
Dear Sue,
The road from Skardu to Askoli was another scary, eight-hour affair. For the final few hours, from Dasso to Askoli, the road was etched into the sides of a canyon formed by the violent Braldu River. The drivers negotiated switchbacks requiring two or three-point turns in 4WD low overlooking 150 metres of nothing to the water of the Braldu Gorge, and bridges suspended by cables and free to sway under the weight of our loaded jeeps.
Finally we are walking and tonight is the second on our approach march. The area is spectacular. Big peaks and stark beauty and we are still days from the “real” name mountains of the Karakoram. From today’s camp, we can just glimpse the top of Paiyu Peak, the first of the big boys. It is an area of history, fables of mountain travel, summits where heroes are born; and now I’m walking into the heart of it all. Romantic, exciting and just a bit intimidating. I know that once we get going on the mountain, familiar actions and the process of decision-making in a mountain environment will chase any goblins from my head.
It’s now June 1 and we are camped at Paiyu, the final camp before heading onto the Baltoro Glacier, our highway to K2. I just had a wash in the freezing Braldu River, one of those situations that is totally uncomfortable but you know the rewards will be worth it. Rain is pouring on the tent fly and I am thinking of you as I snuggle deeper into my sleeping bag.
It is now June 2. This morning it was hot and sunny and we caught our first glimpse of the Baltoro Glacier. Behind one spectacular summit, the west ridge of K2 was barely discernible, 50 kilometres away. The objective draws nearer. With good weather, Inshallah, we’ll arrive at Base Camp in four days. Then our work will begin in earnest.
Today was Eid al-Adha, the Islamic celebration of Abraham’s faith in God through his willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac. I guess God came to Abraham in a dream. In Christianity, God stops Abraham as his sword is poised for the kill. In Islam, Isaac is turned into a goat. Hence the ceremonial slaughter of goats, or whatever animal the family can afford, on Eid. Our porters sacrificed a Zoa (ox) through a ritual slaughter using slow cuts across the neck artery, so that the meat would bleed without stopping the heart – scenes of Apocalypse Now. It was disgusting but an event that is part of the trip and the porters’ lives.
Photography has been going well, ten rolls so far and we’re just getting into the mountains. I’ll be shooting most of my 50 rolls. The people shots, particularly the porters, have been exciting. Lots of expressions and the long line of porters weaving their way along the trail etched into the steep canyon carved by the Braldu River. Both Dan and I are working at the “job” of photography, and we seem to feed off of each other’s enthusiasm. I think the final product will be a pretty high standard. Ideas grow daily for writing projects.
June 4. At 4300 metres the altitude is starting to take my breath away. We’re just past halfway to the top, and I figure it’s only going to get tougher. I found out today that a German couple is heading down the Baltoro Glacier and they’re willing to carry out our mail. A chance to send my love to you – don’t want to miss that! You are always on my mind. Some of the thoughts look to the future; some stay tuned to the moment.
Two weeks into the trip now and everything has gone according to plan. I wonder if that pattern will continue on the mountain. I am not going to push things, but with some weather breaks and if everyone continues to share such a great attitude and stays healthy – who knows? Dan and I are getting along famously, and the whole team is doing well. Stacy continues to keep a solid grip on most aspects of the trip. How that control will manifest itself on the mountain remains to be seen. I don’t anticipate any problems. Phil has been a fountain of knowledge of Pakistan and the Karakoram; our smooth transition from North America to here is a huge credit to his experience and connections. Doctor John from Calgary is very good; his preparation has been excellent. Steve and John, the Seattle connection, are both team players and round out the K2 unit well. Everyone is healthy and keen – so far!
The Baltoro is spectacular, in a teasing kind of way. We catch glimpses of the great peaks around it, and then clouds veil the summits. It is surely one of the most amazing places on the globe, and the scale is beyond my descriptive abilities and must really be seen to be understood.
Love, Jim X0X0.
June 11, 1993
Dear Sue,
Things are going exceptionally well. Keep your fingers crossed. Today I made my first carry to Camp One, at 6100 metres. K2 Base Camp is at 5000 metres, so the journey to Camp One was a substantial effort. I felt strong and moved surprisingly well for my first crack on the mountain. Dan and Phil went up a few days ago. Dan and I have been split temporarily, but that is not a problem. When the time came for a first carry to Camp One, I decided to give my chest an extra day to clear. The doc, John Haigh, listened to my breathing and sensed tightness in my lungs. I am still convinced it is an allergy, and coming into a clean environment has helped, but the complications of altitude have left me feeling a bit congested. The doc has me using an inhaler, Beclovent, to help with the inflammation. Anyways, to make a long story even longer, my sense is that the chest is clearing up and today’s effort to 6100 metres didn’t make it feel any worse and made the goblins in my head disappear. I feel competent and strong and very much at home, rejuvenated by the technical terrain. The more time I spend with my “hands on” the mountain, the more comfortable it will become. The summit is still very far away, but I feel strongly that I can look after myself. Stronger every day. Stress is one thing I don’t need if I’m going to make a dent on this hill. I feel good!
Tomorrow I rest while Dan and Phil return to Camp One, spend the night and then on the 13th carry on to Camp Two, at 6900 metres! While they’re going to Two, Steve and I will return to Camp One with our sleeping bags, spend the night, and the next day carry on to Two and then return all the way to base. Meanwhile, Stacy, John and John will carry for the first time to One tomorrow, rest on the 13th, and then return to One to sleep on the 14th. That’s the plan, anyway! Got all that?
The route is great. There are plenty of positive aspects, probably the most encouraging being that the terrain from Advanced Base Camp to Camp Three will be mostly fixed with a series of ropes. This means that it will be relatively easy to back off the mountain quickly in the event of bad weather or altitude complications. It took me less than one hour to descend from Camp One to Advanced Base Camp this afternoon – a vertical distance of 760 metres.
June 12. Another glorious day, our fourth in a row. And to top it all off, it’s Dan’s 41st birthday. I got up at 5 a.m. to see Dan, Phil, Stacy, John and John off to Camp Two. Hopefully the weather will hold and Steve and I will get back to Camp One and carry to Two.
Love Always, Jim X0X0
June 16, 1993
Dear Sue,
Just listened to Blue Rodeo’s “Lost Together” and my mind really focused on you. Your memory brings such a warm feeling into my heart. I wonder how you’re doing. I am anxiously awaiting news from you. I know you’re thinking of me. I can sense that, so I don’t need your letters, but I want them. I know you and I talked of my being a different person when I get back. It seemed inevitable, after time spent in such a place, on such a mountain. It still does, though how I’ll be affected is not clear. Whether I’ll want to return to such high and desperate mountains is certainly not a given. I have been exploring the value of this trip in my mind, the nature of the climbing, the people I’m here with and the quality of the experience. The ledger is still being examined. Probably the real outcome won’t be fully analyzed until some time after, maybe years.
On Friday I will have been gone four weeks. I wonder if we dictate our own lives by the way we reach for goals or new directions. I think that in many ways we do, but that reshaping requires courage. I’m searching for some of that courage. It’s not always easy or comfortable, and in many ways ease and comfort are precisely what we are seeking in life.
Dan is doing great. He focuses incredibly well and has his sights set on the top. I think these forced rest days affect him more than me. We’ve talked about patience, and maybe K2 is one of his learning experiences. K2 will require patience: patience to slowly achieve altitude given the nature of the weather and the route conditions. Eventually, however, there will come a time for a bold step toward the summit. Too soon and the margin of safety dwindles; too late and the opportunity is gone for the season. We talk about it a lot.
It’s now a cool June 18th at 7 in the morning. I’m under a mountain of down trying to keep my fingers warm enough to write this. Yesterday Dan and I did a carry to Camp One from Base Camp. It was a physically tough day in marginal weather and the rest of the team decided not to go. With all of the new snow we were trail-breaking, which added 3 hours to our previous times. I feel good this morning, though, so I guess we are getting acclimatized. Dan and I are now at least one carry ahead of the rest of the team. It’s the Dan Culver School of Impatience and Motivation. I’ve been around it before and will be careful, as the stakes get higher, not to be drawn into the whirlwind. We talk about it and recognize our different personality traits. In many ways we complement each other; it’s simply a matter of the correct personality dominating at the right time. Our cook, Gullam, has the best advice: “Going slowly. K2 is not going anywhere, not to China, not to India, you going slowly.” Sound advice.
It’s starting to warm up now and my fingers are able to hold the pen continuously.
K2 Base Camp is becoming a real international show. There is a Dutch team, a Slovenian team, a Swedish team and our team: all this activity, drama, intrigue. The Dutch team brought a satellite communications system. It’s an amazing deal. A small dish, about 120 cm in diameter, automatically tracks a satellite when the system is engaged. We can call home anytime we want to, but it is not private and costs $25 a minute. Dr. John phoned his wife Carol in Calgary today, who wasn’t expecting the call. He said it was tough because he has semi-successfully taken that component of his life (wife and one-year-old son) and placed it in the back of his mind. His call, one minute and 58 seconds, only served to open the emotions. I don’t intend to use the phone unless I summit or if something goes badly wrong with our team.
Love Always, Jim.
June 22, 1993
Dear Sue,
Dan, Phil and I got off the mountain last night after pushing our high point to Camp Three, at 7500 metres. It was a long, hard day and I struggled more than Dan and Phil, but it’s just a matter of acclimatization. It is the most technically serious part of the climb, but with the strong work of the Slovenians and the gaps filled in by our team and now the Dutch down below, there are fixed ropes everywhere and so escape is fast. Yesterday we descended in two hours and 45 minutes. Granted we had good weather, but even in worse weather I know we could descend quickly. From Camp Three to the top of K2 is a walk, except for a few hundred metres on summit day. Our biggest concern, other than lack of oxygen, is finding the route in poor weather. We’ve brought 250 wands to mark the way.
I thought for sure we’d receive mail today as the other Canadian team arrived, but no luck. Tough mail service around here. Though I’d love to hear from you, I know in my heart you’re with me up here. Your warmth gets me through the long nights and your love keeps me focused when the going gets toughest.
Love Always, Jim.
P.S. The porters say the weather on June 21 dictates the type of weather for the summer. This year … hot and sunny, YES!
June 24, 1993
Dearest Sue,
It looks like a mid-winter storm in Whistler out there, the winds howling and the snow continuing to fall. Weather changes are wild and dramatic here. All is well, our team is comfortably secure in Base Camp – warm, well read and certainly well fed!
No big news since my last letter, but this one won’t get away for a few days, so I doubt you’ll see it before the 20th of July. The only real news today was that Stacy picked the first summit team: Phil, Dan and me. This is great news in many ways. First, it’s a strong team – safety in strength and experience. Second, it would be great to summit with these guys; they’re going very well and I have the strongest bonds with them.
There’s plenty of work ahead, lots of unknowns, and these are obstacles we’ll have to deal with once the storm breaks. We have to sleep at Camp Three and then move to establish Camp Four at 7900 metres, sleep there and then hope we’re feeling up to going another 600 metres to the top. We’re a ways from the summit, but there’s a good feeling among us.
Today we established that we’ll carry a Gamow bag to Camp Three, the bag we’re sharing with the Swedish team. It’s a pressure contraption designed to effectively lower the altitude within the bag. It’s an emergency deal. If a climber is feeling the effects of altitude, he or she can crawl inside and the pressure is changed with the use of a pump. This bag can change the altitude at Camp Three from that of 7500 metres to something more like 4000 metres. Apparently the history of these bags is startling, many reversals of cerebral edema and other high altitude illnesses. One more safety feature in our favour.
Now it’s the 25th of June and nothing has changed from yesterday. The snow continues to fall steadily and we have been reduced to reading and eating machines. I suppose there have been a few hours of sleep thrown in as well.
I just finished reading Leaven of Malice by Robertson Davies, the second of his Salterton Trilogy. The books are going fast; my selection will be done soon. Fortunately, there are lots of books about camp that I am anxious to read if the mountain doesn’t want us on its slopes.
It’s a funny thing, but until these past couple of days there has been no opportunity to really relax and let my mind drift. These trips are often ripe with such chances, but this one has been paced very quickly and with so many new experiences invading my brain, and the many chores that consume our days, there has been little chance of a clean slate in my head to allow new or developing thoughts to grow. So, despite my desire to get on with the task at hand, learning to enjoy and grow with this idle time is my new, tough assignment. The Tao of Pooh talks about it, they sang about it in The Life of Brian, and it’s up to me to let life’s flow of energy work for me instead of trying to force it in some direction it doesn’t want to go. Easy to say, tough to live.
June 26th. The weather has shifted and the skies have cleared. Lots of snow from the past few days is sloughing off the steep mountain slopes surrounding us. As the day’s heat builds, we’ll certainly see an increase in avalanche activity from the steep, rocky slopes. Our latest plan is for Phil, Dan and I to leave soon, probably at 2 a.m. tomorrow, and make an attempt on the summit. That would take four days up and two days down, so our weather window needs to be pretty long. We’ll see how it goes. We’ll also have to feel comfortable sleeping at Camp Three and then at Camp Four at 7900 metres. Lots of questions to be answered and the only way is to make the move.
I’m a bit nervous, only about the altitude, and I will be doing a good job of listening to my body up there. The altitude will affect our decision-making abilities, and decision making is crucial at this stage of the climb. It will take an incredible mental and physical push to reach the summit, but we don’t want to step over the line just to summit K2. I feel fit and rested, however, so we’ll go and check it out. There is still lots of time, though it would be fantastic to have it all behind us quickly. We’re all packing and deciding what we can do without, how to lighten our loads without endangering our lives. There is a hesitant buzz of excitement, our first summit bid and everyone is feeling the drama. The four who aren’t on the first summit team – Stacy, John, John and Steve – will be following behind Dan, Phil and I, supporting us from one or two camps below. Here we go.
Well, Sue, my stomach is full of butterflies but they’ll calm down once I’m on the hill. I’ll use you to help me make my decisions; you’re a big part of my future. If we get a big weather window, who knows how it will all work out. I am anxious to hold you and to know your sweet smile again in my life. Take care of yourself, Sue, and I’ll be seeing y’all soon.
Love Always,
Jim X0X0X0X0X0
June 28, 1993
Dearest Sue,
I’m sitting in my tent in Base Camp listening to “Unplugged” by Eric Clapton. Bonnie Raitt will come on soon with “Let’s Give Them Something To Talk About.” It reminds me of Rogers Pass and the way you and I fell in love. My memories of time spent with you carry me these days on K2.
The weather is still not cooperating. We had such an excellent start, but the momentum has died and the energy will have to be rekindled when the time is right. K2 is a waiting game.
It’s now after dinner, the light is fading and I’m huddled under my mound of down, writing. The weather is showing some signs of improvement. In the past couple of hours, the wind screaming across K2’s summit has stalled and the skies are trying to change from obscured to clear. We’ll be up at 1 a.m. to take a look and make a decision about whether this is an appropriate window for a summit attempt. Dan is anxious to the point of being fidgety, but patience is the name of the game. We’ll see how we handle the thin air when the time is right. Not before.
K2 has provided some great personal insights for me. I don’t think it is because I’m simply away and have time for thought, though significant time away from the pleasantries of Western Canada is something that allows thought processes to jell. I really feel that K2 itself, the nature of the climbing and the seriousness of the mountain, play a huge part in how my thoughts are going. For the past 17 years, mountains have played an increasing role in my identity and my persona. I think you’ve clearly seen that in the past year. K2 and this trip and my time with you in the past are changing my perspectives. It’s a difficult thing to describe, particularly since it’s not clear in my own head, but I sense it is in the process of focusing in my thoughts. I’ll keep you posted.
So, my love, it’s time I turned in so the 1 a.m. alarm doesn’t find me too groggy. If tomorrow is yet another rest day, I’ll add to this; if not I’ll be off to Camp Two.
Love Always,
Jim
July 2, 1993
Dearest Sue,
Happy Canada Day. I came off the mountain yesterday after a three-day stint into unsettled weather. I wish I could tell you our schedule here for K2, but it all depends on the weather. We’ve been waiting now since June 21st for our “break” for the summit. Patience is a learned virtue and we are all learning; K2 insists on it. There is some hope for tomorrow. The Swedish team down the glacier gets weather reports from the Swedish Meteorological Service via some elaborate set-up, and they are calling for a shift tonight and a four-day window of weather. We’ll see.
My last trip up the mountain revealed some new insights into both myself and the challenges of K2. Dan, Phil and I left at 2 a.m. on the 29th and pushed right through to Camp Two at 6700 metres. We arrived at 3 p.m. after a long and tiring day. The next day we were to go to Camp Three to sleep, but after about 150 metres, I knew I couldn’t do it. I turned around, knowing that Dan and Phil could be going to the top. Lots of thoughts ran through my head, but the bottom line was that I wasn’t acclimatized and going on would have been dangerous. It was one of those threshold things and now that I’ve passed it and dealt with it, the decisions in the future should be easier and clearer.
Anyway, I returned to Camp Two by myself and worked there on the camp and spent another, much better night, which will help with acclimatization. Dan and Phil ended up turning around too, because of poor weather. Back in Base Camp, Doctor John has me on a prophylactic course of Diamox now to help with the acclimatization process. Stacy, John, John and Steve have been using it with success. Dan, Phil and I had a different philosophy. But now, for me, philosophy is out the window and “better living through chemistry” is in! I’m the control in the Diamox experiment, so I’ll keep you posted after my next shot at Camp Three, and beyond.
We’re doing well and have established many safeguards: Gamow bag, fixed lines from BC to Camp Three, the latest high altitude drugs, well stocked camps in terms of food and fuel, three-person teams, etc. All of us are keen on returning home, me most of all. I sometimes wonder if I’ve got the guts to climb K2. I still don’t know how close to the line one has to wander, but I feel I may not have the ability to wander too close. You know me. I’m your basic wimp-chicken. Things will have to be going very well for me to reach the top.
I wonder if you’ll recognize me when I get home. I’m certainly not losing any weight, probably gaining with all of these days in Base Camp, and my body is changing from biceps to belly. My climbing goals are shifting a bit, too. 5.12 on rock is the next plan.
It’s dinnertime. Who knows, maybe we’ll wake up at 1 a.m. and the Swedish report will have been right and the push will be on. The sooner we climb this great mountain and I can fly home to your arms the better. I’ve been gone six weeks now and we’re halfway at worst. I am hopeful for August 1st, but I’ll let you know somehow once the dates become more fixed and the summit is a done deal.
Love Always,
Jim X0X0
Back in Vancouver, I checked the mail every day and read Jim’s letters over and over, especially before I went to bed. Some nights I went to sleep dreaming of marrying my brave, confident love, and other nights, especially as he neared the summit, I could only think of running away from him as fast as possible.
By July 12, 1993, Jim had been gone for almost two months. Rays of mid-morning summer sun plunged through the windows of my apartment. Humming to myself, I let a cool ocean breeze in through the balcony door. What to do today? A jog along the seawall? A bike ride? I was making the bed when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“Hi, Sue. It’s me, Patti.” Her voice trailed off. It was Dan’s wife.
“Oh hi, Patti, how are you?” I pinned the phone to my shoulder with my cheek and flicked the sheet.
“Sue, I have bad news. Dan is dead.”
“No!” I shouted and dropped the sheet. What about Jim? Where’s Jim? But I was too scared of the answer to ask.
Patti sighed. “Yes, he is.”
“No!” I yelled again and gripped the phone with both hands.
“Jim called last night. The Dutch team let him use their satellite phone. Jim is fine. Dan fell on the way down. They couldn’t find his body.” Patti spoke methodically.
I slumped to the bed in relief. Jim was not dead. “Oh, Patti. Is there anything I can do?” The phone shifted in my sweaty palm.
“No, thank you, honey.”
“Is anyone with you?”
“Ryan is here. My brother is coming.” Ryan is her 13-year-old son from her first marriage.
“Oh, Patti, I am so sorry.”
“Yes.”
We said goodbye, and I sat there paralyzed and vibrating internally all at once, still clinging to the phone. The news of Dan’s death ricocheted through my body. My arm felt like cement when I lifted the receiver to call my father.
“Hullo?”
“Hi, Dad. It’s me, Sue,” I wavered.
“Hi, Sue. What’s wrong?”
“Dan is dead. He fell.” I fingered my bottom lip.
“Oh dear, oh, Sue. Is Jim okay?”
“Yes, he’s fine.” I got up and paced.
I knew Jim was not fine. He was alive but he had watched his friend fall. I wondered if he would ever be the same again.
“Oh, Sue, you know, I’m not all that surprised.” Dad pressed on in a soft voice. “That’s why I hugged Jim when he left. I knew there was a good chance we would not see him again.” His words hit me like a wall of ice-cold water.
“It could have been Jim” is what Dad was saying. It could have been Jim. Later, I read that 33 per cent of the climbers who attempt the summit of K2 are killed. So of course it could have been Jim, but I was not even aware of that statistic at the time. I shook my head to push the painful truth aside. It could have been Jim.
I walked for hours along Jericho Beach until there was no more sand, and I climbed the steep embankment up to the university library. Inside, I ran my fingers along the book spines and pulled out a volume of poems by Earle Birney. I scanned them, looking for key words: grief, husband, wife, mountains, fall. Back and forth until I decided on a poem from Last Makings.
When we must part
sweetheart, think that my death
swings wide your harbour’s mouth
to welcome in the young & joyful
the quick eyes ready for the searoads
time is yours for choosing
the love to sail the world with
(and the father to make with you
the unborn waiting to be loved)
if clouds hang heavy now
remember how your gentle sun
wheeled my rough planet round you
believe in my belief
that you were made to shine
with love
and being loved
swim proud dear princess
let no one dim
the brilliance of your mind
let no one bind
the courage of your heart
my small one so tall in patience
i think you will grow wise as Orcas
yet never lose your dolphin curves.
I copied the words on the inside of a card I bought for Patti. On the way home, I picked up a few bags of groceries for her. I couldn’t decide if I should get comfort food or healthful food. The bags bulged with potato chips and mixed greens.
When I arrived at Dan and Patti’s log home on the banks of Indian Arm, the front door was open a crack. I tapped on the swollen wood and felt the salty residue stick to my knuckles. No answer. I eased the door open and peered inside as if I expected a burglar to appear. Swoosh, swoosh, a tall man strode toward me, hand outstretched. “I’m Patti’s brother.”
“Hi, I’m Sue.” I shook his hand.
“Patti and Ryan are in there.” He relieved me of my shopping bags and pointed with his chin.
I tiptoed to the door of Patti’s bedroom and heard sniffles. “Come in, Sue.” Patti’s voice was high and strained. I stood in the doorway. Ryan, Patti’s son, sat on the bed facing her and held her hand. Patti dabbed at her red nose with tissue. “We’re coming out now anyway, right, Ryan?” Patti tried to smile and raised herself jerkily from the bed.
“Are you okay, Mom?” Ryan reached forward, ready to steady her.
“I’m fine, honey.” She laid her hand gently on his arm.
I moved forward to hug Patti. “I’m so sorry, Patti.”
In the living room, Patti patted the couch beside her and I sat down.
“This card is for you.” I placed the white envelope in her palm.
“Thank you.” Patti opened the card, and I watched her eyes roam over the words. About halfway down the page, she crumpled at the waist. “Oh, God.” She closed the card, crying, and looked at me, “Thank you. I’ll have to finish reading it later.”
She must have come to the part in the poem about having a baby. It was too late to take the poem back. I wanted to take away some of her pain. I didn’t want to cause her more. At the same time, I knew that nothing I said or did would bring Dan back. And this poem honoured their dreams together.
“Jim sounded strong when he called. He was crying but his voice was strong,” Patti reassured me.
“If there’s anything I can do…” I held her hand.
“My family is here.” The room was so quiet I could hear the ocean lapping outside.
Four days later, Jim’s parents picked me up to go to Dan’s memorial service. Entering the church was like walking into a forest. Evergreen trees towered and waved through the floor to ceiling windows and skylights. People flowed in like water, some eddying around a collage of photos of Dan. He looked so happy.
Patti took big gulps of air before she stepped up onto the stage-like platform.
“Thank you for coming, everyone. I’ve brought some vegetables and flowers from our garden because Dan and I really enjoyed the garden. It represents so much life. I am so proud…” Patti lowered her head for a second and then continued, “I am so proud of Dan for being the first Canadian to summit both Everest and K2. And I think it is very important for us to acknowledge Jim’s achievement of summiting K2. He will need our love and support when he gets home.” A lump formed in my throat, and I sat on my hands in the wooden pew.
After the service, I waited in my seat for the crowd to disperse. A friend leaned over to me and whispered, “I wish Jim were here.” I covered my mouth with my hand and sobbed as silently as I could.
On the way home in the car, Jim’s mother, Mom Haberl, turned around in her seat to ask me, “What do you think Jim would like best for an airport reception? A lot of people are talking about going down to meet him – Matt, Alastair, Kevin. What do you think?”
“It would be great for Jim to see his closest buddies there. That would be a huge show of support.”
“We’ll see.” She faced forward again. I pondered her question, and by the time they dropped me off I wasn’t so sure of my answer. I wanted to do what would be best for Jim.
That night, I dreamed that I met Jim at the airport and gave him a hug but he didn’t return it. I squeezed harder, but he just gazed off into the distance.
Shortly after I woke up, Jim’s younger brother called to say that the family thought it best if I went alone to meet Jim at the airport in Seattle. I was the one he would want to see. Jim would be home in two weeks.
The Sunday morning of Jim’s arrival dawned beautiful and sunny and I walked to the beach for a swim. It will relax me, I thought. After a shower, I scrutinized my closet and soon covered the bed in discarded outfits. The clock ticked. My nervousness turned into procrastination, and I left 15 minutes later than planned. “Why do you do that?” I berated myself. I was often late. I drove down to the Canada–US border and clenched my jaw when I saw the lineup of cars and the estimated one-hour wait. I had only allowed 45 minutes for the border. I planned to be holding the eight-foot-long poster I had made that read “Welcome Home! Congratulations!” as Jim arrived. Now, Jim would arrive and I wouldn’t be there. The car heated up as I waited, and the skin on my thighs stuck to the seat when I raised my legs to get some relief from the burning, sweaty feeling.
I pulled up to the arrivals area of the airport just in time to see some K2 shirts and team members loading a car. I ran over. Steve said that Jim went back into the airport one last time to find me because he knew I was coming. I turned to see him striding toward me.
“Hey, there you are!” He beamed.
I ran to him, squeezed him and kissed his smooth cheeks, his lips, and we laughed. I felt his flesh and knew without a doubt that he was alive.
“God, it’s good to see you,” I gasped while I buried my nose and mouth in the warm earthy smell of his neck.
“You too. You look great.” Jim grinned as he scanned my tanned shoulders.
My cheeks ached from smiling.
“Where’s all your stuff?” I asked without letting go of his hand.
Together we hefted two square burlap packages containing handmade carpets into the trunk. Beside them we crammed his climbing pack and duffle bags. At every opportunity, I ran my hand down his arm, rested my fingers on his shoulder or grazed the back of his neck. Each touch set off another adrenaline high. He was alive.
As we drove to one of the climbers’ houses in Seattle to go over the details of Dan’s accident, I focused on directions. I chatted with the energy of a small bird and laughed at nothing. As we pulled into the driveway, Jim’s facial muscles tightened to pull in a breath. I followed his gaze to the front door where Dan’s father slumped, eyebrows raised in Jim’s direction. I squeezed Jim’s leg, leaned over and kissed his cheek.
“Dan’s family is keen to talk to the team alone so we thought it would be best if all of the other partners and spouses went for a walk together. Okay?” Jim glanced at me and looked back at Dan’s father.
“That’s fine. I love you,” I said quietly.
“I love you, too.” Jim ambled away from me. He was swallowed by the arms, voices and gut-wrenching sobs of those who desperately needed to hear his story. The juxtaposition of the two groups struck me. We were ecstatic to have our loved ones home, while Dan’s family and friends were torn apart.
An hour later our group returned from our stroll, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. I squinted into the sun to see Jim smiling down at me from the balcony. I covered my mouth and stopped laughing, but when we got close enough he said, “It’s nice … to hear the laughter.” I breathed a sigh of relief.
Driving home to Vancouver, Jim rested his hand in mine as he always did in the car, but it felt lighter, as if the slightest movement would jar its hold. Our words skipped around as if they were not certain whether or not they wanted to be heard. I alternated my gaze between the road and Jim and was grateful not to have to keep eye contact.
“Jim … I,” and my gaze flipped back to the road, “want to be there for you, but I’m not really sure what to do.” This was unfamiliar territory for me. Generally Jim took care of me and requested very little attention in return. In fact, he was uncomfortable as the one in need. He didn’t like to feel indebted.
“This is great, Sue, you don’t have to do anything,” he reassured me.
“But I mean if you want to talk about it, I’m happy to…” I trailed off.
“It’s just great to be home,” he said and kissed my neck. It was going to be okay. We were going to be okay. For the rest of the trip we exchanged stories, news and plans for the future. Where did he want to stay in Vancouver? He had no fixed address. He could stay with his parents. I offered for him to come and stay with me. He agreed immediately, but there were butterflies in my stomach telling me that he was uncertain. Usually he was so thoughtful, deliberate and confident about his decisions. Now I second-guessed him silently.
At my condominium, Jim fielded phone calls from newspaper and television reporters. Everyone wanted to hear the story of how Dan died. Soon the living room was full of portable studio lighting, huge camera lenses and microphones. Jim was emotional as he described how he and Dan walked arm in arm to the summit of K2. In short childlike sentences, he described how Dan fell. The headlines didn’t hold much back:
K2 Scaled, Draws Blood
K2 Climbed, Claims Yet Another Life
Climber Recalls Deadly K2 Day: Jim Haberl Watched Dan Culver “Roll By”
Climber Who Died After Besting K2 Eulogized As “Bright Shining Blade”
A Life Lived To the Outer Limit
K2 Assault: His Ambition Was To Preserve the Wilderness
Dan Culver Had Died Doing What He Wanted To Do
When all of the cameras were gone, Jim sat motionless on the couch. He would tell his story many more times.