Dave Mellor, in front of Ama Dablam| (click to enlarge) |
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Dave Mellor, in front of Ama Dablam |
Things got a bit screwed up as far as timing was concerned. I walked up to Base Camp the morning after leaving you guys and met three of the members on their way down after successfully summitting. The big surprise was that instead of fifteen days, I only had five days left and the mountain was plastered with fresh snow.
The weather really didn't cooperate. My second day was spent breaking tracks up to Camp One, and no Sherpas this time. Everything I needed, with the exception of the tent, had to be carried, which was a real fun time; 14,500 ft. to 19,800 ft. in one long, knackering day. I spent the night up there and never heard the snow falling (I guess you never do!), which buried the tent and didn't stop until almost noon the following day.
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Dave Mellor, between Camps 2 and 3 |
I was hyped, psyched, and raring to go the next morning, so I took off early by myself, which meant that I was breaking fresh tracks again, digging out the fixed ropes, and trying to do a "Messner". I did surprisingly well, and stayed well ahead of the pack, dancing along the ridge, up and over the Yellow Tower. I managed to get up the hardest bit of the mountain, the "Black Tower", before running into a bunch of Austrians, led by Peter Habler (!!!) who were bailing out. By this time (11:30 a.m.), the clouds were massing in the valleys, Everest and the other biggies were fading away in a lead-gray mist, and what looked to be a 100 km/hr wind was blasting a long snow plume from the summit. Still, I felt great, nerves were good, and the adrenaline was pumping. I really wanted that summit! The Austrians advised me to "Go down, Englishman", and their Sherpas were muttering about "big snow", so I finally opened my eyes and took stock of the situation. It really didn't look very good, so I stopped to wait for the other two members of our expedition.
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Ama Dablam: The Black Tower |
It was a real drag. I still felt really good and was having no problem with the altitude (21,000 ft.). A gut-wrencher of a decision, but the right one under the circumstances.
The expedition ended at this point. Our sleeping bags had been shuttled back down to Base Camp when we arrived at Camp One, together with most of the fuel, so we didn't have much choice but to follow them.
It was a bloody long day! I finally limped into Base Camp at 10:00 that night after an up and downer of around 8000 ft.
Naturally, the next day dawned crisp and clear. I could have done it! I guess that it just wasn't in the cards for this year. However, it'll still be there in '98, so I'm thinking of heading over in September and trying to struggle up Cho Oyu as a masochistic training peak, and then moving over to Ama Dablam with plenty of time in hand.
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