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K2's unclimbed North Ridge
Expedition report -- Friday, November 1
By Piotr Pustelnik The night on August 13 in a claustrophobic little tent in Camp IV passed quietly, almost lazily, on doing routine work. Cooking, drinking, cooking, drinking, short soldier-like dialogues ("Have a candy," "No thanks."). A short, unsuccessful fight with a headlamp borrowed from Krzysztof. The old faithful headlamp with a lithium battery of legendary duration stopped working definitely and irrevocably. Even a homily delivered with the intention to revive it was in vain. We left the tent for good at 2 a.m. After a short talk in a Russian-like dialect with the Russians from the tent next to ours, a jumar rattled on the first fixed rope. If someone watched us standing aside, he would have a good fun. Being the owners of only one functioning headlamp we were moving like a four-legged, two-jumared, and two-iced-axed self-propelled vehicle. In the category "synchronized" marching in deep snow we would surely win the world championship. But joking apart, synchronized or not, we were moving much faster than on August 1, when we gave up the attempt. The reason was that snow was much better and our determination was ultimate (it was the last day of the expedition). Strong wind blew out snow from the upper part of the big couloir. At the sunrise we were in the place from which we retreated on August 10. The blood-red sunrise stopped me for a while. After all, beautiful views are what we climb for, so it was not possible to pass by such a wonder of nature indifferently. In the couloir leading to the left of the field below the peak we found a trench, named after Krzysztof Wielicki, which was then covered with snow. If you allow a slight digression ... The trench was cut by Krzysztof on August 10. He worked on it like an excavator. The two Italians who accompanied him behaved like true gentleman allowing him to lead up to the very top. This was only a quintessence of their consequent attitude during the whole expedition. Every time they were very polite and gave way to their companions to cut through deep snow. Well, but let's put aside the sarcastic remarks. Looking at the trench we felt admiration and respect. I came into it like a knife through butter and was both surprised and awed: Below a thin layer of snow there was solid ice. Ryszard warned me shortly: "Be careful," and we went on. The trench could lead a blind to the field below the peak. Wind started blowing--fortunately, not very strong. I was convinced that the weather would be good and maybe for the first time in my life I would have cloudless sky over my head when standing on the top. I realized suddenly that I was thinking of the ascent as if it had already happened, although there were still five hours to reach the summit. But the fields below the peak seemed to stretch endlessly. Finally, when I was wondering if we did not go round in circles over the range, we came onto a small plateau behind which I saw a steep, not very long slope. It became warm and still. The temp slowed down. I had probably slightly hazy eyes because Ryszard looked at me carefully and proposed to make tea. What he said exactly was: "Shall we drink?" To so formulated an old Polish question no Pole will answer "no." And so, the picnic under the peak became a fact. Boiling water, drinking tea, true relaxing. "Ryszard," I said many times and now I am repeating, "you had a wonderful idea with that tea." I was fully relaxed and we started up like Spitfire fighters. After 40 minutes we saw a colorful triangle (a "tripod" in Polish) in front of us. This is some new way to mark where the geographical peak is. A moment later we fell into each other's arms. The impossible became possible. Two month of work, expectations, doubts and hope, and we simply did it. A short moment of joy. I was walking on the top as big as a basketball court and recalled these who were here the first. Then taking pictures, talking with the base camp. After some time Sergey Pentsov from the other team joined us. He was tired and somehow nostalgically sad. Maybe he was anxious about his friends who were still far from the peak. The photographic madness ended and it was time to say goodbye to the top. Sergey stayed waiting for Carlos and Igor. Strong wind began to blow and clouds appeared over the peak. We were going down quickly. Just to the fixed ropes. And along them straight to the tent. Just to be there before dusk. We did it again. About 7 p.m. we were back in the tent. No trace of the Russians. After dusk a hurricane-force wind started. The anxiety over the Russians reached the zenith. Sergey, tired and cold, came back about 10 at night. Where are the others? Up above us, through sheets of snow blown by the wind, we saw a flickering light. They were coming. Exhaustion made us feel comatose. That is probably why I did not remember the moment Carlos approached the tent of Camp IV. He mumbled only: "Igor stayed and will be bivouacking there" and fell down exhausted. He was sleeping, while on the radio link between our camp and the base it was boiling hot. Restless consultations lasted the whole night. What to do? Here, there were only four extremely tired people who would not have gone far even with oxygen, outside blizzards and shrieking bitter cold wind. Igor's chances, weak anyhow, were decreasing dramatically. Being aware of that we could neither sleep nor be satisfied with our ascent. In the morning, hoping against hope, we were waiting with our eyes stuck to the slope above us. No traces. Finally it was time for us to go down to the base camp. Till the end of my life I will not forget the gaze of Sergey who was descending as the last one. Down there no tents were waiting for us. There was no base camp any longer. Only Krzysztof and the doctor remained. They were waiting till the end. They waited for us to come back to the Russian base safe and sound.
This was the end of our two peak days. The days of toil, satisfaction, fear, and sorrow. They are imprinted in my memory forever. |
Piotr recalls the summit day