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Outside Magazine, January 2007

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Exposure Special
The No Fall Zone (cont.)


	Kit and Rob on the summit (Jimmy Chin)

THE WIND CAME BACK UP in the night, and at six in the morning on the 19th of October, it was tough to be enthusiastic about anything. But Kit woke up eager to ski and radioed over to the tent I was sharing with Jimmy to see how quickly he could be ready. Their goal for the day: to ski nearly 5,000 feet down the 50–degree Lhotse Face. It didn't seem to bother them that the face was a bulletproof sheet of unforgiving white and blue ice—any vaguely pleasant soft snow had been sandblasted off by wind and avalanches—and that there would be no way to retreat once they'd made their commitment to it. One blown edge, one missed pole plant, and they'd tumble thousands of feet to their deaths.



	Hahn at Camp II (Jimmy Chin)

At 27,940 feet, Lhotse is the world's fourth–highest mountain (one climbs a big chunk of it to get up Everest), and the face is a sick and mean aspect of it. Fifty degrees is about 15 degrees steeper than what can normally be found on double–black–diamond ski runs in North America. Foreboding and sculpted clouds capped both Everest and Lhotse, but Rob, Kit, and Jimmy suited up, donned oxygen setups, and stepped directly from the tents into their skis. We shook hands and hugged, and they schussed away.

There would be no way to retreat once they'd made their commitment to the Lhotse Face. One blown edge, one missed pole plant, and they'd tumble thousands of feet to their deaths.

I began my tedious descent, sans oxygen, along the ropes and tried to keep an eye on my friends. They quickly were several thousand feet below and to one side of me. From time to time I'd stop to breathe and turn my head to count the three dots on skis. At one point, my eyes played tricks on me and I thought I saw one of the dots disappear. My heart rate accelerated instantly to unworkable levels and I had to pause, taking another wrap of the rope around my arm in order to make sure all was still OK.



	Ang Pemba's mess tent at CII (Jimmy Chin)

I've always believed that one should approach climbing objectives with the utmost humility, and I've grown to fear people who have no fear. My time with Jimmy, Rob, and Kit had convinced me that they had rational and legitimate fears, but they were smart about not indulging them. And they were equal to the challenges they faced. They were also skiing as a team, making decisions for a group and not just an individual. Those kinds of decisions, I came to see, are made more carefully, especially when you're friends, especially when you're married. The trust between them was essential. An hour and a half after leaving the col, I could see them moving across the final obstacle at the base of the face: the bergschrund, or last crevasse. Then I could see them hugging.

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