Hell Is Above Us: The Epic Race to the Top of Fumu, the World's Tallest Mountain (49 page)

Chhiri Tendi could tell that whatever fight had existed between Hoyt and Junk had died along with their appetite for the summit. They seemed to be talking more about how to find their way down. Perhaps they assumed the top could not be found in such a hostile place. Hoyt said as much: “Until greater minds conjure up a machine allowing one to see through cloud cover and instantaneously gauge heights above sea level, and until God has deemed Man worthy of admission to his most divine secrets, the top of Fumu will remain a mystery.”

“
No it won’t” Chhiri Tendi replied as if stating a simple matter of fact. “I was there a few minutes ago.”

Junk’s eyes became vast. His mouth opened wide, so wide in fact he looked as if he were preparing to catch an apple with his teeth. No sound came out. His face might have turned red had it not been covered in frostbite. This was followed by a hacking cough that continued for more than a half-minute. Next to him, Hoyt sat upright, his back wooden. His facial expression did not change upon hearing Chhiri Tendi’s statement, but no soft curves remained there. Every contour – every muscle, wrinkle, and bone - became
tighter
, as if the whole composition would at any moment snap, leaving nothing but a surprised skull.

Immediately obvious to Chhiri Tendi was that his life might be in danger. He continued. “By mistake, of course. I reached the summit by mistake. I couldn’t see! I was looking for you two. Then the sky cleared for a moment. Just a second or so, and I could see I was at the highest point.”

Junk erupted. “You became the first man to reach the top of the world…
by mistake
?”

According to Chhiri Tendi’s elaborations during our interview, that is exactly what had happened. He had lost Hoyt and Junk in the cloud, and wandered lonely for hours. He generally walked upward, thinking that even if Hoyt and Junk were fighting, they were likely to try and fight
up
, toward the summit. Chhiri Tendi was searching for so long he even considered setting up his tent, thinking the sun might set at any moment. But he had lost track of time, as was easy to do in such a place. It was earlier in the day than he had presumed, and so the Chaos in the cloud remained eerily lit. His tent could not be set up anyway because the wind was too strong. In lieu of such a tactic, he took out his sleeping bag in order to rest for at least a moment, lying on his back and clinging to his backpack as an anchor and a blanket.

The rock beneath his back felt rough and uncomfortable. So he took off the backpack, permitted himself to float a tad, and kept himself buoyed to the mountain by lashing himself to the pack. Time passed and Chhiri Tendi did nothing but repeatedly give in to slumber and awaken with a start. In his waking thoughts, he despaired. Thinking back to his experience with Hoover’s beheading up here, Chhiri Tendi realized he had once again made the mistake of leaving his family in order to climb Fumu. He would not make the mistake again. Never on an expedition had he considered leaving behind his sahib to save himself, but now he played with the idea. Hoyt and Junk were important, but seeing his wife’s smile again was more important.

As if timed by some universal clock, the eruptions stopped for a brief period of time. The wind cleared out all of the acrid black smoke and left only blowing snow. For that moment, the upper reaches of Fumu were not unlike other eight thousand foot peaks. Indefensibly cold. Intermittently clear and then clouded over. These moments of clarity were not clear in the sense of blue skies and views spanning hundreds of miles from the Terai in the south to the Tibetan Plateau in the north, but clear in the sense that Chhiri Tendi could see around him for hundreds of
feet
before the pale sheet of snow veiled the backdrop.

And that was the moment when Chhiri Tendi saw he was at the top of Fumu. It was obvious. The peak of Fumu was almost ridiculous in its pointy, conical perfection, just as one might expect to see in a child’s hand-drawn rendering of a mountain. Its top was so pointy in fact it had been the thing digging into Chhiri Tendi’s back when he was trying to rest in his sleeping bag. With the sky clear, he saw that every direction was downward for at least a quarter mile. He had literally stumbled across the top of the world. Then an eruption spewed forth lava to the north and clouded up the sky again with smoke, and Fumu’s top returned to its miserable status quo.

Whether Chhiri Tendi should have mentioned this information to Hoyt and Junk is questionable. Despite their claims of moral reprioritization on a cosmic scale, Hoyt and Junk were livid. They looked at Chhiri Tendi with wild, unpredictable eyes. What would they do? No evidence existed that Chhiri Tendi had been to the top, so cold-blooded murder was indeed an option. But perhaps they would spare him if they felt Chhiri Tendi was essential to their return to civilization. Had he not just saved their lives? Was not levity in order? Junk removed all doubt when he transformed into a berserker. He emitted inhuman wails and launched himself at Chhiri Tendi. Perhaps Hoyt held back because he had a little more of a history with the Sherpa. But he watched and likely prayed Junk was successful in whatever designs he had. Chhiri Tendi told me:

“
He lunged at me. I was prepared, I was in better shape than him, and I knew a thing or two about fighting. Who cares if he grew up in an American city? Try lugging paper from one country to another over mountain passes and dealing with armed bandits. Junk couldn’t use his hands because they were frozen, so instead he made the miscalculation of trying to knock me down. But he’s a short shit. Not much reach. When his outstretched hands were close enough and when I felt sure all of his force was moving irrevocably forward, I stuck out my elbow like an arrow aimed at his face and it caught him directly in the nose. He was down without a fight ever beginning. Idiot. And hey, I had no obligation to protect him. He was not my sahib. Had Hoyt come at me, I would have had a more awkward situation. But Junk? Fuck him. I don’t know much about Boston, but if Junk’s performance up there was at all representative of the city, it’s all swagger with nothing to back it up.”

Hoyt and Chhiri Tendi then had a rather awkward staring contest for what must have felt like an eternity. The howling winds and violent volcanic concussions did not move them. Junk lay on the ground, eyes rolling in his head, blood caking on his moustache. Chhiri Tendi felt sad. He had been through much with Hoyt. But Trust was gone. Chhiri Tendi was a dedicated Sherpa guide, but he had Dignity as well. The relationship was over. Chhiri Tendi removed his oxygen tank and mask, threw it at Hoyt’s feet and said through gritted teeth, “The top is right there.” Hoyt looked back to where Chhiri Tendi was pointing. It was only ten yards away. “When you’ve gotten to the top, look for the fat hornito with two vents at its top.” Chhiri Tendi pointed to that as well and Hoyt’s eyes followed. The hornito appeared for a moment and was exactly as Chhiri Tendi described. It then disappeared in the clouds again. “That is the direction down to the Eastern Ridge. Goodbye Mr. Hoyt.” Perhaps Hoyt should have felt regret or shame, but Chhiri Tendi recalls the man’s face remaining grim, angry, confused; not modified at all by the behavior of Junk or any realization that Chhiri Tendi had been a friend and an essential element in Hoyt’s looming success. Chhiri Tendi broke eye contact with his employer and began to walk down the mountain.

“
What if I offer you ten thousand dollars to not say anything,” Hoyt exclaimed. Chhiri Tendi paused, quite nauseated by the suggestion. He turned and spoke “I’m not saying anything about you two white, pompous, swollen testicles, or about this whole trip, unless one of you decides to mention it first.” With that he turned and walked down into the clouds.

Hoyt donned Chhiri Tendi’s oxygen apparatus and began to walk up the mountain. His body probably defied him with each attempt at a step. Even with supplemental oxygen, his mind was probably damaged beyond repair. If time was still a concept of which he could conceive, then he may have noticed the world was growing dark. He had been up here all day, since before the sun rose. If he did not get down very, very soon, his life was as good as forfeited.

According to the account we have of these moments, Junk was down but not out. He grabbed Hoyt by the ankle, trying to pull the man down while pulling himself up. Hoyt responded by taking out the knife he used for cutting rope and slashed at Junk’s glove. With a scream, Junk let go. He did not have a knife on him to even out the debacle. He crawled behind Hoyt, leaving trails of blood from his nose and wrist.

It was no contest. Hoyt was now only about ten very steep feet from Fumu’s sharp pinnacle while Junk crawled turtle-like on the swirls of ash and snow yards below. If Junk was moving forward, the eye could not detect it. He was just moving his limbs in a sad pantomime of crawling.

After several very steep steps that should have had him roped off to another person, Hoyt had closed the distance between himself and the top by more than half. He was ten feet away with only a pyramidal structure of rocks ahead. But he stopped; motionless for several moments, mulling something over (assuming he could “mull over” anything at that point). Junk was on all fours, shaking uncontrollably in his straining to keep his head up. Through blackened goggles, he was returning Hoyt’s gaze. Then, knowing he was vanquished, Junk let his arms and legs give way so that his face slammed straight onto the hard rock and the rest of him was splayed out. Movement ceased.

With or without thought, Hoyt came down from his place of advantage, half-walking and half-falling down to Junk. A hand was extended to the immobile man on the ground. Hoyt was trying to say “get up” to Junk but the wind and the explosions and his useless lips hindered his efforts. With great difficulty, probably more than he could bear, Junk responded by putting out his hand. Hoyt took a length of cotton rope and tied it around his waist and Junk’s. Now Hoyt commenced to drag his enemy to the top.

The ten-yard descent to aid Junk must have been psychologically brutal for Hoyt. Who among us could attain a decade-old dream, reached through incalculable suffering and loss, and then walk away from it uncelebrated in order to help another? And what if by chance that other was someone who you have always despised, whose downfall you would otherwise welcome? Hoyt’s words written in the snow cave a few hours earlier were empty, not to mention prolix. But his actions now suggested a true change in the hydraulics of his heart.

The two moved as one and it was the greatest labor of their life, Hoyt because he was baring most of the burden of forward motion, and Junk because he was frostbitten, bloodied, and now suffering from blinding headaches brought on by the altitude sickness. They would never experience such anguish again. Hoyt gave Junk turns with his oxygen apparatus which was almost spent. Heat and Cold traded off shifts battering our heroes into submission. The mountain seemed to be fighting back with all of its rage at the last moment; inanimate indifference displaced by blistering Wrath. The screeching of the wind and the crack of the eruptions had reached a crescendo. All else was drowned out. The sky was dark now with the exception of lava glow through cloud. The world was noise. All matter of ejecta was flying past them: Cylindrical bombs, cow pie bombs, rotational bombs and core bombs all came close enough to be heard hissing as they passed, and some actually hit them and scorched their clothing. The surface beneath their boots and mitts was comprised exclusively of lapilli, fist-sized lava rocks rendered slick by melted snow. Crampons were useless and handholds were non-existent. To understand the experience better, imagine the days of your childhood at the beach when you attempted to climb a dune that was just a tad too steep for you. Perhaps your friends have done so ahead of you, but you are the runt of the pack and need more time. As you dig your hands and feet into the hot crystals and scurry your limbs faster and faster, you realize it is of no use; the collapse of the sand is faster than your efforts to counter it. You are moving backwards and then you are sliding downward. The frustration you feel. The hopelessness. Now weighted down by Junk, the stones fell away too quickly from Hoyt’s grasp.

Junk made a sad effort to help with legs kicking out behind him, finding purchase in nothing. But what he could not provide physically Junk provided mentally.

“
Hoyt!” he wailed over everything.

“
What?” Hoyt replied.

“
Drop. Junk.”

There was a swollen pause before Hoyt asked, “Are you sure?”

“
Yes.”

With some hesitation, Hoyt removed his knife and began to sever the rope tying him to Junk. Junk grabbed his hand and stopped him from cutting.

“
Whoa whoa whoa. No.” Junk rasped. “The
junk.
” This was accompanied by manic pointing at things adorning Hoyt’s person. By “junk,” Junk had apparently meant to indicate the miscellany that Chhiri Tendi had lashed to them in order to weigh them down to combat weak gravity, including pots, pans, and sleeping bags.

“
Oh! Right!” replied Hoyt.

He cut off the detritus weighing them down. And at some time on September 14
^th
during the early evening hours, William Hoyt and Aaron Junk’s bodies gently rose into the air and up to the summit. Two unpleasant, tattered, ridiculous angels ascending to their private heaven…

What is there to say about the summit? The surviving party never wrote of it. We can assume there was no honey, no gold, and certainly no milk despite Mano the man-child’s deepest wishes. All the more discouraging, the sun had already set. The sky was as black as a widow’s veil so Hoyt and Junk were deprived even the God’s-eye view that usually welcomes the climber. In short, we can be certain
nothing,
not a damned single, solitary, reclusive, unsocial boon awaited them at the top.