The Day I Died Minya Konka Base Camp, October 13, 1980 I need to get this down in my journal while it's still fresh. It must have been 9:30 by the time we got out of Camp 1 yesterday, but we all agreed that there should still be enough time to climb the 1,500 vertical feet to the next campsite, cache our loads, and get back before dark. I drew the first lead, postholing up the slope above camp. Then Kim took over, then Yvon. At noon we stopped next to a crevasse for lunch. Yvon bit off a piece of cheese, then turned to Jonathan. "Whenever you're on a glaciated section," he said, "always stop at the edge of a crevasse when you take a break. That way you'll know you haven't stopped on top of a hidden one. Same for setting up camps." "Thanks," Jonathan replied. Even though Jonathan been on Everest with me four years before, he had never done much lead climbing and had asked us earlier to give him pointers whenever we thought of anything, and Yvon is always obliging to anyone who wants to learn. We finished lunch and continued. Soon our options narrowed to a steep section of chest-deep snow, so we had no choice but to tackle it. I led and Kim followed. To get footing I had to pack the snow first by pressing my torso into the slope, then my knee and finally my boot. No matter how careful I was, I still knocked snow down on Kim. "Sonofabitch, I'm getting buried." "Sorry, I can't help it." "I wasn't cursing you. Just the snow down my collar." I returned Kim's smile and kept climbing. In another 100 feet the snow firmed. In a clearing between clouds we could see above an area of large seracs where the shifting glacier had cleaved into blocks. I stopped and studied our options. "Two ways. Up the middle through the seracs, or off to the right." "Looks a little better to the right," Yvon called. While Kim moved up to take the lead, Jonathan stepped aside and took several photographs. I paid out rope, then followed Kim as he angled up the side of a serac that then turned into a long, steep slope. The heavy packs and thin air made the effort debilitating, but we maintained a steady pace. I tried not to look up but instead to focus on the steps in front of me, hoping I might achieve a kind of self-hypnosis. "Heartbreak Hill," Yvon called out. The rope on my waist went taut. I looked up, and Kim had stopped to wait patiently while I caught up. It was all I could do to match his speed, and he was the one punching the steps. I was tempted to unrope and go my own pace, but there were still crevasses in the area. We had roped up earlier in the morning when we crossed the first crevasses above Camp 1. That was before we got into the soft snow, but footing had still been difficult, with about four inches of new snow over the older surface. Several times my boot skidded on the interior layer, leaving a streak in the new snow. In the back of my mind I knew this meant avalanche potential. I wondered what Kim and Yvon thought, but if they were concerned they would have said something. Still, I noticed that whoever was leading stayed on the edges of the crevassed, and close to the sides of the seracs, avoiding the wider slopes. Kim kept leading until the slope eased, and I took over kicking steps for a long time. I was hypnotized: one foot up, breathe a few times, then move the next foot. I remember Jonathan yelling up, "Rick, you need relief?" Ahead I could see a flat spot on the edge of a crevasse, so I made that my goal. "Thirty more yards." When I reached the spot I plopped down, leaned back against my pack, closed my eyes, and breathed heavily. The altitude was now over 20,000 feet, and I wasn't yet acclimatized. In a few moments Kim and Yvon arrived. "Good effort," Yvon said. Jonathan arrived. "Way to punch steps." Kim kept going, without pause, lifting his legs and pushing steps into the smooth, soft snow. When the rope caught up, I had no choice but to peel off my shoulder straps so I could stand, then saddle my heavy pack and follow. Ahead, in a glimpse between clouds, we sighted the top of the ridge only 100 yards further. The wind strengthened to 30 miles per hour, and the clouds now raced over the snow and obscured our vision. Through another fleeting hole in the clouds, I could see above the best route was more to the side. "Traverse left... to the crest... out of the wind." In a few minutes we were on a flat bench sheltered in the lee of the ridge. We unshouldered our packs. "Good place for the tents." "Welcome to Camp Two." We sat on our packs and had a second lunch, finishing our Fig Newtons and the last of our lemonade. Through brief windows in the occluding clouds we could see the ridge descending to a col and rising again to two higher summits. "Must be Redomain and Dedomain," Yvon said. We'd learned the names of these two peaks from reading an account of the 1932 expedition. The clouds opened further, and beyond we could see the yellow-green plateau, and once more I paused to consider our good fortune. The Chinese had just opened their borders to foreign mountaineers, we were the first Westerners allowed into eastern Tibet since the 1932 expedition, 50 years earlier. "Wuuwee," Jonathan exclaimed. It was his favorite expression, and even though he said it calmly--almost to himself--I knew it revealed his excitement. We turned and looked toward the summit ridge, now obscured in clouds. We had an idea what it looked like, though, from studying the 1932 photographs. "Two more camps and we can make the summit," I said. "Ten days, if we have luck with the weather," Yvon added. We rested a few more minutes, then picked up our empty packs and headed down to Camp 1.***** We made good time, slowing to test bridges over crevasses, or, as Kim preferred, broad-jumping them. In only a few minutes we were back at Heartbreak Hill. We down-climbed, belaying each other with our ice axes as anchors. When the angle eased, we decided to glissade. We slid down on our butts, laughing and yelling, the rope going taut, pulling one, then the other. I felt like a kid in a giant sandbox of snow. It seemed like only seconds and we were at the bottom and on our feet and continuing down in big jumping steps. It went that way for another half hour. We were moving fast, and our spirits were high. We arrived at the hill above Camp 1. We could see our three yellow tents, and on the trail through the snow leading into camp, three figures. That would be Edgar, Peter, and Jack, moving up to camp. Harry was probably already there, in one of the tents. Everything was on schedule and according to plan. We decided to make another glissade. Yvon went first, then me, then Jonathan, then Kim. I heard Kim give a whoop, and I answered with a yahoo, and I remember thinking those guys coming up will get a kick out of watching us slide down. Then it happened.***** I was in Yvon's track, and I quickly gained speed. Snow built up around me and flew in my eyes. It was hard to see where I was going, but then I didn't need to see since Yvon was first and all I had to do was follow his track. I remember my thoughts. This is great, we'll be down in a few seconds. The rope is tugging on my waist, though. Yvon must be going awfully fast, But wait, he's first so he can't be going faster because he's making the track. That's funny. All this snow building up around me. There's too much snow. Something's wrong. We've got to be careful. Too much snow, and we'll load the slope. We have to stop glissading. Now, right now, stop! Stop! Oh my God, it's too late. It was as if the snow had started to boil. No way to get out now. It will stop, just below the tents, has to. No, we're gaining speed. No, no. There's someone beside me. Jonathan? Kim? Can't tell. Someone yelling, "Oh Christ, here we go!" Who was it? Kim? Jonathan? No, Kim. Start thinking. Think fast. We can't get out, but we might stop. If we stop, I might be buried. Smothered. Remember what they say, If you're in an avalanche, start swimming to stay on top. So try to backstroke. You're still on top, stay there. Backstroke, hard. It'll stop. Oh no, losing control. Can't, have to stay on top. No, I'm flipping. I made a complete cartwheel, snow, sky, snow blurring across my vision. Everything spinning. Tumble up, down, up. Then in. Oh my God. I'm buried. Under the snow. Eyes open. White, everything still moving, moving fast. Curl up tight, like you're supposed to in a plane crash. Trap air in front, have an air pocket when it stops. That way I'll last long enough for those guys to dig me out. Those guys in camp, they're watching. They'll know where we are and be right here. They'll dig. Air pocket, curl up. I'll make it. Past my arms, ice pulsing around me like it's breathing. Must still be going fast. Can't breathe. I need air. Spots in front of me, black and white. Am I still alive? I must be. Then suddenly my face surfaced. I sucked air as fast as I could, then backstroked until my chest, then my knees, pulled out. Around me the snow was heaving and pulsing, as if it were alive and taking huge, deep breaths. To the side an outcrop sped by in a blur. Then in front, past my feet, I saw the slope steepen, then disappear over an edge. Then I remember how suddenly everything slowed. I must have breathed deeply, and exhaled deeply, because I paused, and in that brief second I managed to calm my thoughts. I looked ahead and to the side as the whole slope if snow we were riding, the tons and tons of snow, pitched into space, and I recall very clearly my thought: Died October 13, 1980. Thirty-one years old. Buried in Tibet. ***** Inside the snow again, curled up in the airplane-crash position. Something hits hard. Ice blocks punching my back, then my arm. Hard on my arm. Am I dead? My arm hurts, pain, Am I being broken? I see myself as they dig me out, all rag doll. It's okay. Listen, mom, dad, brother, everybody--I know you love me and I love you, but listen, it's okay, this isn't that bad. Hit again. Still alive? Dead yet? Pain. I feel pain. Must be alive because I feel pain. I'm still buried. Open my eyes. Snow. Ice blocks in front of my face, moving in and out, shifting ice blue, shifting and moving. Any moment now, any second and that's it, one final blow. Surface.... I'm on top. Breathe. I can breathe. Suck in the air as fast as I can. Can I survive this? Maybe, so breathe fast. If I go under again I'll need air. Pull my arm out. Good, now the other arm. Legs out. Pull... legs are out. Ice moving all around me, pulsing, breathing ice. Noise, the noise of the ice. To the side, rock cliffs whirring past, Must be in the gully, going down the rock face. Think fast. On top, made it this far. I can make it. Maybe. Have to fight. Swim. Breathe fast, stay on top. Backstroke. There's Yvon in front of me, right in front. His head is up too. Stay on top, backstroke. Wait, it's slowing. The avalanche, it's stopping. It's stopped. Get out. Can't move, the rope is tight on my waist, can't get out. Knife? My pack? Where is it? Oh my god, the snow, it's moving again. It's going to start again. No. Get out, quick, out, out. God no, here we go again. There's the lower cliff. We're sliding toward it. God, I remember it's a big cliff. We can't survive. Sliding slowly, toward the cliff. Pull, pull as hard as you can. This rope, can't get loose from it! Cliff getting closer, no, no! Wait...wait... it's slowing again. Slowing, slowing, slowing, it's going to stop, going to stop. It's stopped. Now get out, fast. Out of the rope. There, I can slip it off. Slide the loop down my legs, over my boots. Okay, now go to the side, crawl if you have to, careful so the snow doesn't start sliding again. Probably have fractures, so go slow but quick. Slow and quick, like this. To the side, crawl, yes, keep going. To that rock. The rock is safe, off the snow. There, I made it. I'm safe. Okay, breathe, breathe again, again, Alive. God, I'm alive... alive... alive.... ***** I sat panting, unable to do anything until I caught my breath and the dizziness went away, anything except to repeat to myself that I was alive. I had to be injured, but where? I felt my legs, moving them carefully. Then my arms, my ribs, my back. Bruises, probably bad ones, but apparently no broken bones. What about the others? I saw Yvon below me at an angle, 30 feet away. He was buried to his waist, but he was working slowly to free himself. There was blood running down his face. I looked up the narrow slope where we had stopped and saw Kim. He was staring back at me. Our eyes held, and his were otherworldly, like blue diamonds, open in the way of an animal that knows it is about to be killed. There was blood on his face and trickling from his mouth, staining his teeth. Then he screamed. An animal scream that made me look away. Jonathan was closest, only a few feet from me, at the edge of the ice. He was head down, and the rope around his waist stretched tightly to where it disappeared into the ice, now set hard as concrete. He was trying to say something but I couldn't tell what it was. I didn't move, but continued to lie on the rock thinking that somehow we were all alive and we were all going to get out of this. When my breathing slowed, I realized I needed to think of what to do next. We were alive, but the others seemed hurt. I wasn't hurt, and I needed to help them. Who first?Yvon was still buried to the waist and now he was leaning back on the snow as if he had given up trying to get out. Blood was running out of the corner of his mouth. He still had his glacier glasses on. How could that be? "Yvon, are you OK?" "Where are we?" Kim screamed again. He was on one knee, trying in a frenzy to stand up. Maybe he thought the ice was going to move again? "I can't breathe," he yelled. There was panic in his voice. "Get the rope off!" He started pulling the rope where it disappeared into the ice. He pulled like a madman, screaming as he yanked on the rope. "I can't breathe." Help Kim first, I thought. I stood and walked toward Kim, looking down at Jonathan. He was moaning. "Jonathan, are you okay?" He mumbled but I couldn't understand him. Then I thought, No, help Jonathan first: his head is downhill and he doesn't seem to be able to move.I bent down and looked in his eyes and said, "Jonathan, we're all alive. We all made it. Everything is going to be okay." He didn't answer, but our eyes held. "Don't worry," I said. I had to get him upright, but had to be careful in case his back was broken. He was heavy, but lifting slowly with my arms under his head and back, I straightened him out. "Okay, buddy, that should be better." He still didn't answer, but our eyes held again. Then Kim screamed, "I can't breathe. The rope. Get the rope off!" I looked at Jonathan and said, "Hang on, I've got to help Kim. He can't breathe. I'll be right back. Everything's okay." When I reached Kim I told him stop pulling against the rope. "Can't breathe. My back. I'm hurt. Can't breathe!" "Relax. Take the strain off the rope, so I can untie it." Kim collapsed on his knees. I coaxed him to move a few inches, to relieve tension on the rope. But the knot was too tight to untie. Should I keep working on it, I thought, or help the others? I looked down. Yvon had nearly dug himself out, but then he leaned back again on the snow. He seemed dazed. "Yvon, are you hurt?" He looked up. "What happened?" "Are you okay?" "Where are we?" I turned back to Kim and managed to untie the knot. "Okay," I told him, "now I've got to help the others." I stepped down the avalanche debris to Yvon. "Are you hurt?" I asked. "I don't think so. What happened?" "We were in avalanche. Stay right here. I've got to help Jonathan." When I got to Jonathan, I bent down to ask him how he was doing, and my stomach tightened. His eyes had rolled back in his head. No, I told myself, it can't end this way. We're all going to come out of this okay. I knelt close to his mouth. He wasn't breathing. I put my hand on his neck. His pulse was quick and strong. Have to get him breathing, I said to myself, fast. I held his head in my lap and placed my finger on his tongue and breathed into his mouth, once, twice, three times. Nothing. Again, once, twice. Nothing. Then I saw his chest rise and fall. He started to breathe again. He's going to make it! Things will turn out okay. We're all going to get out of this alive. Then the breathing stopped. I breathed into his mouth, once, twice, and again he started breathing on his own. But there was a sound inside his chest. No, no, this isn't going to happen. We've all got to come out of this okay. We're all still alive. He breathed three times and stopped, and I breathed again into his mouth. He breathed, stopped, I breathed into him, he started. His pulse was still strong. I had to keep him going until the others arrived. The others. Where were they? Edgar, Peter, Jack? They saw us go down, so surely they were right behind, coming down to help. They should have been here by now. Or maybe the avalanche was so wide they'd been swept away, too. They could be buried in the snow. I stood up and looked around. Yvon was now on his feet, staring at me. Kim was crawling off the ice, still crying in pain. Our red rope wove in and out of the jumbled blocks of ice like a string of intestine from a gutted animal. But no sign of anything else. If the others were in here, I thought, they're all buried. No, that couldn't be because the debris isn't that thick. So they must be coming down. I turned back to Jonathan. He had stopped breathing, and once more I started mouth-to-mouth. His chest would rise, fall. I would breathe in his mouth and his chest would rise, hold, fall, not move, then rise again on its own, fall, rise, fall... stop. I watched, waited, then put my mouth again to his mouth. I felt his neck and his heart was still beating. Yvon had walked over and was standing a few feet away. He was unmoving, like a scarecrow. There was blood on his face. "Are you sure you're not hurt?" "What happened?" "We were in a big avalanche. We just fell fifteen hundred, maybe two thousand feet. I don't know, a long ways. We're alive. But Jonathan is hurt bad." "What mountain is this?" "Yvon, go help Kim." Yvon looked toward Kim, who was now off the ice, lying on his side, doubled up and moaning. "What mountain did you say this was?" Yvon then started toward the place where he was buried. I was afraid he would walk off the cliff that was only yards away. "Yvon, don't walk around. Come over here. Help Kim." He turned and started back toward me, in a daze. I needed more help. Where were the others? "Help!" I shouted. "Down here. Help!" There was no reply, and I called again. Yvon was again standing near me. "Where are we?" "Minya Konka, Yvon." "Where?" "Minya Konka, in Tibet. China." "What are we doing in China?" I turned back to Jonathan. Each time I breathed into him, there was that sound in his chest. I waited. His head rested on my knee. I moved my fingers through his hair and watched his face. His lips had lost color. Then of a sudden, his face paled, as though some part of his being evaporated, and he looked different. I held him in my lap and continued to run my fingers through his hair. I bent and kissed him on his forehead and set his head down and folded his arms on his stomach so he looked comfortable. Yvon stood watching. He didn't say anything, and I didn't think he understood. "Yvon, Jonathan just died." Excerpted from Life Lived Wild: Adventures at the Edge of the Map by Rick Ridgeway All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
