At last, Cathy O’Dowd’s incredible story of the troubled expedition to Mount Everest, as told to David Beresford
I USED to hate physical activities: school sports, organised games, teams, winning and losing and competition. But I love climbing. It is personal. The challenge is what you make of it. The complete physical and mental commitment is strangely relaxing. You are so committed you can’t really worry about other things.
The idea of climbing Everest came to me on November 19 last year, at about 9am. I was writing my master’s thesis for the Rhodes University Journalism Department and living in a little flat in Grahamstown. I bought the Sunday Times to read over breakfast. There was an announcement of the planned expedition on the front page. It said they were looking for a woman to join the team.
Until the 1990s we weren’t allowed to climb in the high Himalayas because of apartheid. The leader of the expedition, Ian Woodall, now wanted to plant the new South African flag on top of the world. Nelson Mandela had agreed to be patron.
I have been rock climbing for 10 years. I’m no great shakes, but I am not a novice either. I’ve climbed all over Southern Africa and Europe as well as in the Peruvian Andes and Central Africa. But I had never thought of Everest. It was too big and too expensive and I didn’t think I was in the league that gets invited on a sponsored expedition. But I immediately starting phoning around.
I was one of about 200 women from all over the country who wrote in. Six were invited to go to East Africa for selection, climbing Meru and Kilimanjaro, two of the highest mountains in Africa. Woodall chose Deshun Deysel, a young teacher from Ennerdale, a coloured township near Johannesburg, and myself.
I met the rest of the team for the first time in Johannesburg: Andy de Klerk, Bruce Herrod, Andy Hackland and Ed February. We had a hectic last week trying to get everything finished. Woodall was frantically busy. I think it was hard on the other team members because it was too late for them to get involved. There was already a certain amount of strain on the team, personality clashes – all these male egos crashing into one another.
Before I left I sat down with my boyfriend and my parents and talked about the risks. I wrote up a will and we discussed what I wanted done with my body and so on. It is risky, but not suicidal. Everest has seen about 140 deaths. About 670 people have climbed it, but of course thousands have tried.
We flew into Katmandu, Nepal, and started the walk to the mountain. It took about 10 days. It was a funny period, a time of sounding each other out, trying to get a feel for the people on this team. The guys did not seem too keen on myself or Deysel.
The walk was beautiful. Lush valleys with fast-flowing rivers down at the bottom and these settlements teetering on the side of slopes with little terraced fields. And then you start getting glimpses of the high Himalayas; a tiny white peak in the background. Then they get bigger. Each day you build the sense of expectation. You start to see Everest and the other peaks and that is amazing. Huge walls of snow and rock all the way into the sky. And then you are totally encircled by these mountains.
I was not there when the team split. I had bronchitis and Herrod had a touch of flu. The others had gone ahead, leaving us resting at Periche.
The split erupted over the behaviour of the team doctor, Charlotte Noble. She had already been disciplined twice for disappearing on the trial, endangering herself and her patients. Only a few days before the split, all the team members had agreed to tell Noble that her behaviour was unacceptable. This time she had illegally issued a course of drugs to a sherpani (female sherpa) suffering from kerosene burns. Foreigners are not allowed to simply give a course of drugs to Nepalese. You have to give them one pill at a time.
Nobody knew the sherpani had got these drugs. Then a friend of the sherpani went down with altitude sickness. The Nepalese tend to be very stoic about health. Late that afternoon, Herrod found her in a bad way. He broke out a gamma bag – like a body bag. You put the patient in, zip it and pump it up with oxygen. That’s the only way to cure altitude sickness. They put the girl in and started questioning her friend as to what actually happened. The girl with the kerosene burns said: “Oh she was feeling sick so I gave her these pills that I had.” So they now had her in the gamma bag, all blown up, and couldn’t search her without taking her off the oxygen which was keeping her alive. They didn’t know whether it was altitude sickness or a drug overdose or allergic shock. The doctor was saying she was very, very ill and could die.
Herrod sent a message up the trail to Woodall who came back. They managed to stabilise her, get her out of the bag and search her and found the drugs that she hadn’t taken. But Woodall went back up the trail and fired Noble and no doubt was very rude to her. The others seized on this as an excuse to resign. In fact they seemed to have hoped to force Woodall to hand over the leadership of the expedition to them.
The three who had resigned came storming down the trail, accusing Woodall of being autocratic and dangerous. Although both Deysel and I were put under pressure to join them in leaving, we saw no reason to. I had no objections with the way Woodall led and had never seen him make a stupid or dangerous decision. Those who were resigning had given me no reason to trust them so I remained true to my commitment to try to climb Everest.
It was on this section of the climb that we ran into trouble with the Sunday Times, who were one of the expedition’s 32 sponsors. The editor, Ken Owen, was retiring and coming to Everest as his swansong, planning to make it as far as Base Camp. Woodall and Owen met up two days from base camp and had their huge fight. In some ways I think Woodall and Owen are a little bit alike – hard-headed and blunt.
The next morning they tried to patch it up, but Owen stormed off back down the trail. He wrote a huge article for his half-million readers, denouncing us. How do ordinary mortals compete? You don’t. All we could do was try and climb Everest.
We got to Camp Two. Apart from preparing the camp, you have to acclimatise. You can’t just start at the bottom and climb to the top because you would fall over and die. You take your body and push it up to a certain level and you will inevitably feel sick, then come down. Your body starts producing more red blood cells so the oxygen can be carried more efficiently. So then you go back up to where you first felt sick and go up a little higher each day. We were ready, acclimatised, in the first week of May and prepared for the summit.
Everest is so high that it sticks into the jet streams – winds howling about the world. But in May the jet streams lift and you normally get a window of two to three weeks when the winds are gone and Everest is climbable. On about May 8 the winds were lifting and the two-week window seemed to have started. The Danish team had a connection with a big weather satellite system and they were predicting four days of completely calm, still weather. We moved up with three other teams to Camp Four.
I came in half an hour ahead of Woodall and Herrod. They got caught in a storm. By the time they got into the camp they were really cold. I felt fine, but we decided to wait 24 hours to give Woodall and Herrod a chance to get their strength back. If Herrod and Woodall had felt stronger we probably would have tried for the summit. But we waited.
At midnight, when you would normally leave from the top camp, the winds had died completely. The other three teams left then for the summit. But the following afternoon the storms came in and didn’t lift for three days. We were trapped in howling, 160km/h winds with visibility down to one metre. It was bitterly cold. The other teams were trapped on the ridge above us.
On our side of the mountain five died. After four days we made it back to base camp. The teams who had lost climbers and those with bad injuries, like the Taiwanese, packed up. Then some of the other teams decided that they had also had enough and left. We did a lot of sitting and watching people head down the trial. You knew they were going to hot baths and warm beds and families; it was quite tempting to chuck it all in. But it wasn’t really. I had shown myself that I could get to Camp 4 and I had yet to be stopped by my own limitations. I still didn’t think I could do Everest, but I knew I could go further. I wanted another try.
We got together after a couple of days at Base Camp and I remember Woodall saying: “Shall we talk it through?” Herrod and I looked at each other and Bruce said: “I think we’ve decided already.” So we started off again and went all the way up to Camp Two and watched the wind howl!
It was very disconcerting. The two-week window we were expecting just never happened. It’s been said we had some of the worst weather that’s been seen on Everest in 10 years. All we could do was watch the wind. By then we were also getting an idea of the negative press coverage back home and it was very demoralising.
We were sitting up there feeling a bit depressed when we got a telephone call. It was about lunchtime at Camp Two. Camped next to us was a team from the United States who were making an IMAX movie. They were led by a very flamboyant adventurer-come-film director called David. He was obviously an important person and, although he talked to the other US and British teams, he had never said as much as a “hello” to the South Africans. He had a satellite phone and would walk back and forth outside his tent doing business on it. At one point he was negotiating with Colombia Pictures. We used to watch him – it was something to do.
On this particular day he was pacing as usual and suddenly broke off to come came over to us. “Nelson Mandela’s on the phone for you.”
At first we thought he was joking. But it was Mandela. I still don’t know why he called at that moment, but it made such a difference! He said he was proud of us going up the second time and wished us well. It was a huge boost to our morale.
Then Deysel decided she had had enough and was going back down. We moved up to Camp Three; that long slog again, up the Lhotse face, thinking at every step: “That’s the last time I take that particular step.” We did it this time, or we never did it. We made it to Camp Three and spent the night there. In the morning the wind was howling again. Back we went to Camp Two.
The wind died again. We were getting some reasonable weather reports, so back we went, now really cursing every step. It had to be the last attempt: it was only a week short of the monsoon. We were picking up reports on Nepalese radio, on the progress of the monsoon and we knew it would be with us in a week. This time there was no question; it was the last chance.
Finally the weather broke and we got a window. At about lunch time on May 24 we reached Camp Four. It looked good. We called South Africa to say we were going to go. And then we tried to get ready – selecting clothing we were going to wear, sorting camera equipment, tying flags to ice-axes and trying to eat and drink as much as we could. It’s incredible how long it takes you, in those conditions, to do simple things like getting dressed, packing a rucksack. And we tried to sleep. Of course you don’t sleep. I just lay there, my mind going round and round in circles and my stomach all knotted up with excitement, fear and impatience. Waiting for midnight.
You leave at midnight, because it’s too far to get there and back in daylight. If you’re going to climb in the dark, you might as well start off in the dark. We left at about 12.20am; Herrod, Woodall and myself and three of the sherpas, moving up the face of Everest by the light of our head-torches. Most of the time you could only see the yellow bubble from the torch in front of you. But there were electrical storms on the horizon. It would be completely dark and then suddenly a sheet of lightning flashed across the sky and we could see the mountains silhouetted in black. Then it would all vanish in pitch dark. It was weird, but very beautiful.
It was treacherous, climbing; quite steep, with a mixture of loose snow and loose rock – rubble almost – underfoot. It was surprisingly warm, warmer than when we were on Kilimanjaro, and we were sweating in our suits. We were wearing full down suits, like enormous sleeping bags with arms and legs. Michelin Man.
We climbed the slope in the dark and reached the junction with the ridge as the sun came up. It was amazing; the sun rising over the Tibetan Plateau. Everything turns pink. It was the first time we could see where we were – mountains and valleys in every direction. The sun cast a shadow from Everest – a perfectly triangular shadow running all the way to the horizon, which is a hell of a long way.
We could see the south summit, but we still could not see the true summit, so we could not see how much further we had to go. I was taking it one hour at a time, seeing how high I could get, with the south summit being the cherry on the cake. I still didn’t expect to get to the top.
Woodall was ahead, disappearing over the south summit with Pemba Sherpa. We didn’t climb with sherpas holding our hands. Our sherpas were on the mountain to help us carry loads up to Camp Four. But after that they were climbers, like us, and they weren’t expected to be glued to us. I had in fact out-climbed the next two sherpas by about an hour by then. Herrod was just behind them.
I got to the top of the south summit and for the first time saw the ridge. It was spectacular; a winding, knife-edge with a drop of 2 500m on the Nepalese side and 3000m on the Tibetan side, on to the glacier. It is like walking a plank, a normal 60cm-wide plank. Put a plank on the floor and you are not going to fall off it. But a plank with an 3 000m drop on either side of it ! It’s no more difficult, but it is scary. The ridge was not terribly difficult technically, but it was nerve-racking.
Another problem with the ridge is cornices; the wind blows the snow up on one side and actually makes a wave, hanging over the edge. You can’t see where the wave starts and the mountain stops. If you misjudge it the wave will break under your weight and you will fall with it. It’s a balancing act.
The ridge has a lot of false summits, ups and downs, so I couldn’t see Woodall and Pemba even though they were just in front of me. I could see the Hilary Step, which is the one rock problem on the ridge. And I thought: “I can make it!” That was one of the great moments, standing on that ridge and realising that this was what lay between me and the summit and I was capable of doing it. I was still not certain that I was going to get there, but I was capable and I was going to try.
I’d read about the false summits and knew they were coming. So as each one loomed up I thought: “No, no, don’t expect anything, just keep going.” I’d get to the top of it and sure enough there would be another one ahead. Get to the top of that and there’d be another one … And then, finally, I came over yet another one and …
You’re in this funny world; it’s almost like climbing in a monochrome picture, white snow, blue sky and black rock. That is it. Nothing else whatsoever. I came over this last false summit and there was a burst of colour. It was the prayer flags the sherpas leave on the summit -incredibly vivid blues and yellows and reds and greens. Woodall and Pemba were sitting there, just under the flags. I still wasn’t quite sure if it was the summit or not and then Pemba turned round and saw me and he just had this huge grin on his face …
He began waving his arms at me. Then I knew I’d climbed Everest. I was about 10m from it. And that was another amazing moment; almost more so than standing on the summit itself. I knew that I was going to do it.
I joined them. Woodall had been talking on the radio and he gave it to me. They had my mother in the studio in Johannesburg. She wanted to know what it looked like. I did a terrible job describing it because it was so difficult. You are standing on this point, higher than anything on earth, with this 360- degree panorama of mountains everywhere. You can see right over the Himalayas into the back end of India. You can see right across the Tibetan Plateau. You are so high you can see the earth beginning to curve. It was so difficult to try and put it into words.
We took the summit pictures. And finally Woodall and I planted the South African flag. After two months of howling wind, the flag just flopped. The weather was so great, it was absolutely still; if you look at the pictures you can see we actually had to hold the flag up.
We spent about quarter of an hour on the top – all that work, for 15 minutes! Woodall and Pemba were keen to start moving down. I was terribly conscious of the fact that it isn’t like a marathon, when you cross the finishing line it isn’t over. Every step you took on the way up you have to take again, going down.
So we got moving. Just before we reached the south summit we passed the other two sherpas on their way up and talked to them briefly. As leader of the expedition Woodall could have ordered the sherpas to turn round and go down. You pay the sherpas a bonus in dollars for each camp they reach and a fairly hefty one for the summit and there are plenty of teams that will take their sherpas as far as the south summit and leave them there, because they don’t have to pay as much. But when Woodall employed our guides he guaranteed they would have a chance to go to the summit. Even if all the members – the Westerners – gave up, got sick, went home, they could go. And that’s what they were doing.
We came over the top of the south summit and found Herrod, still on his way up. I came down and sort of balanced on this ridge and got this huge, precarious hug from him.
We sat down together in the snow, took off the oxygen masks and had a long talk. He said that he’d been going slowly, that he was feeling strong. He was very pleased that we’d made it because it meant that the expedition as a whole was now a success. He wanted to know what he could expect. As an experienced mountaineer, it surely never crossed his mind that we might try and turn him round. It was a successful expedition and now he wanted a personal success. And quite frankly it didn’t cross my mind to turn him around either. It was the middle of the day. He had seven to eight hours of light left, good weather, plenty of oxygen – we had some oxygen to spare which we stashed for him. He had a radio. He said he would take it one hour at a time and see how far he could get -and that’s how we left it.
We wished him luck and he went up and we went down and … we never saw him again.
When he got to the south summit he radioed base camp and said that the ridge looked do- able. When he got to the summit he radioed us – we were back at Camp Four by then. He spoke to Woodall, to base camp, to his girlfriend in London. He spoke to Woodall again and they had a long conversation, Woodall telling him to be careful moving across the ridge and describing where we had stashed the oxygen.
We have tape recordings of his voice. It wasn’t the voice of a tired, frightened climber who’s desperate to be someplace else. He was just very chuffed that he’d done it.
We sat waiting for him at Camp Four with the radio on. We were terribly tired and eventually fell asleep. When I woke up the next morning at about 5am, and he hadn’t radioed, I realised we had lost him.
We are pretty sure he fell off the very narrow section of the ridge. It was hell coming down. Stupid little things; you try to tread in the footprints left by other climbers so you are always looking down. But every time you look down, you get hot air coming from the top of your oxygen mask and your sun-glasses fog up; you have to wear glasses because of the danger of sun blindness. So you’re trying to clear your glasses with your gloves and the gloves have got ice on them … It’s an ongoing nightmare and it would be so easy to slip.
The US team had abandoned a number of half- empty oxygen bottles. I scavenged all I could find. One person could wait twice as long as two. The sherpas had all made it safely and had already headed back down. I followed, leaving Woodall who waited until he ran out of oxygen.
We got back to base camp and there was this awful mix of emotions. People didn’t know what to do … to say “well done”, or “bad luck”.
But I loved it. Of course it was great reaching the summit. But it was just being on the mountain that I enjoyed. Watching the wind brewing, the companionship … I have all sorts of memories about Herrod.
Many people don’t understand how that kind of team works. Because you don’t walk together all the time they think we’re all in it for ourselves, we’re selfish. It’s not like that at all.
The team isn’t about being physically next to the others. It’s about having them kick you out of bed in the morning when you really don’t want to get up. It was about having a cup of tea and an arm round my shoulders when I was feeling totally depressed. It’s about having them there at the end of the day, just being able to share the experience.
And it is a spiritual experience in a funny sort of way. It is about trying. And I’m proud of having tried so hard in the face of all sorts of shit.
And it’s so beautiful. So magnificent. The mountain …