This rotation was a true slog, a march under the harshest elements to a point on the horizon perpetually being pulled away from us. On the trek to Camp 2, we baked in the unforgiving oven of the Western Cwm, taking what is normally a 2.5 hour hike and doubling it to 5. On the climb to Camp 3, we drowned in the depleted air, taking one molasses step for every 6 breathes. Every time the pace got pushed, even if only slightly, even if only for a moment, my heart would race ahead, and the urge to dry heave all the sugary carbs I’d loaded earlier in the day would become all but overwhelming.
The evenings, though sedentary, offered little in the way of reprieve; I slept, but never for more than a few hours, and most of my time horizontal was spent either re-living the vertical burdens from earlier in the day or coughing away the limited oxygen molecules my body was trying to inhale. Even the descent to base camp felt harder than it normally would have, given that by the time we reached it we’d been moving for 24 of the last 36 hours.
Yet despite all this time in the pain cave, there were still some positive takeaways:
I broke my old altitude record, and did so knowing I could have climbed higher, and more so knowing I’ll never have to—at least not without supplemental oxygen;
I learned, once again, that all the hours spent climbing in Boulder and canyoneering in Utah were not for naught, that the technical proficiency that’s been handed to me by my Colorado friends over the years is a priceless asset on the Lhotse Face and the Khumbu Ice Fall.
I earned, finally, the last green light from both our guides and our base camp doctor to make a summit push in the next week or so.
I’m sure I’ll have more to say about all this once my head’s hit the pillow a few more times, but for now it’s time to get horizontal and dream about anything but mountains.
I'm glad to hear there is some payoff from all the years of suffering we've done together