We savored the moment, taking the customary photographs. I’m not sure what I expected to feel as one by one our team gathered on to the summit and clipped into a small safety line. And I could see the tiny village of Dingboche, which we had left only a few days earlier. From it’s narrow confines we were surrounded by the towering faces of other mountains, including Lohtse, which forms Everest’s back-side climbing approach. Clipped on to a ridge rope I steadily made my way up to the top - a hunk of ice that looked to me like the conning tower on a submarine. Magically the warmth returned just as the other party made room for me to move forward. My Sherpa Lama, an Everest veteran, banged my hands with his since I had complained that my fingers were burning cold as I waited. It was so narrow that I had to wait for the other parties to clear it before I could advance. Article content This was one of the most difficult physical and emotional challenges that many of us had been through - save for the soldiers’ combat experience This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below.
After what was almost 90 minutes, I reached the summit ridge, a knife’s edge, maybe two feet wide as it threads its way up to the postage-sized summit. And despite the sun on our backs the wind chill made it feel at least 20 degrees Celsius below zero. It was likely the altitude but every kick step into the ice required at least three breaths.
I had not expected this section to be so challenging. The only way up is with crampons, fixed ropes and something called an ascender - a handy piece of kit that is essentially a handle that goes up the line, not down. Basically a wall of ice that appears vertical once you’re on it. The last remaining challenge is a 300-metre head wall. Many are exhausted - but we can now see the summit. I can sense the tension and excitement in the team. Roped together and clipped into safety lines, we navigate it carefully. The glacier is steep and marked with crevasses.
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