Iced!: The 2007 Journal of Nick Fitzmorgan Page 6

  “Hey.” Maura gave me a smile. “It’s okay. It happens to the best of us. I was feeling really out of it myself last night. Most people take at least a few days to go as high as we did. We went way too fast.”

  She paused to let me catch my breath. Then she said, “Just talk to this man. Hear what he has to say.”

  I glanced over at the Sherpa who stood a few feet away. He was watching us with a small smile on his face. He certainly didn’t look like a criminal mastermind.

  “Okay.” I walked over to him. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” he said in perfect English. “My name is Darje Jiban.”

  “You speak English?” I asked him.

  “I wasn’t sure how to react when you arrived,” he explained. “I thought it best if I stalled for time and pretended not to understand English.”

  “Do you know where my dad is?”

  Jiban looked down. “No, I’m sorry. I wish I did.”

  My radar told me he was telling the truth. But I still had a million questions. “How do you know him? What were you doing at our house? Why did you have a replica of a human skull?”

  Maura held up a hand to cut me off. She indicated I should take a seat with her on one of the two benches that leaned against the side of the house. Jiban swung the other bench around and seated himself so we were facing each other.

  “Go ahead, Jiban,” Maura directed. “Tell your story.”

  He nodded and looked at me. “I have been helping your father research a movie script he’s writing. It’s about famous explorers.”

  Just by sitting down, I was starting to feel more in control “How did you meet my dad?”

  “That’s a long story.” He gently smiled. “Let me first tell you about myself. I come from a family of yak farmers. Everyone has always told me that is my job in life. They say I should be happy enough with raising yaks—and not go wandering off to the tops of mountains. But I am the only one in my family who has not climbed Mount Everest. A year ago, on one of his research trips to the area, your father, Henry, heard about my collection.”

  “What collection?”

  “Some people in your country collect baseball cards,” he replied. “Here, I collect artifacts and bits of climbing history. Like the climbing axe used by Sir Edmund Hillary and the empty oxygen tank of the first blind climber. Your dad thought looking at my collection could help him write his script. He came to this farm and sat just where you are now. We talked for hours, and we became friends.”

  I watched his face as he spoke, but still saw no signs of deception. “You took things off the mountain?” I asked.

  Jiban looked horrified. “No, of course not. To me, that would be like robbing someone’s grave. I believe that when people die on the mountain, all their possessions should remain with them. Do you understand?”

  I nodded. It made sense to me. I didn’t like it when boat salvage teams took jewels and other personal belongings off shipwrecks where people had died. It seemed disrespectful. I guess this was kind of the same thing.

  Jiban was saving, “I acquired these items from auctions and private sales.”

  “Why did you collect all that stuff?”

  “I have this dream to climb the mountain goddess, Mount Everest.” His eyes lit up as he spoke.

  I asked, “Then why don’t you?”

  “This.” Jiban pointed down at his right leg.

  “What?” I couldn’t see anything special about it.

  JIBAN’S SPECIAL SHOES

  He explained, “I was born with one of my legs shorter than the other. It’s not a major problem—for a yak farmer. But I let it keep me from climbing. When I told your father about my leg, he put me in touch with Benny Myles. He helped me get a pair of specially designed shoes. And now look!”

  Jiban was up and walking around. Everything looked smooth, and I couldn’t tell that he had ever had a problem.

  “Benny Myles sent me boots especially designed for climbing,” said Jiban.

  “That’s just something Uncle Benny would do,” I told Maura. “My godfather always wants to make sure that everyone’s happy, especially people he works with, like my dad.”

  Jiban sat back down. “On his last visit to this country, your father told me that he was worried about something. He didn’t say what. But he told me that he would call me every evening at nine o’clock my time. If he did not call, he said, that would mean that he was in danger. That meant that I should deliver the skull to you, his son, and repeat the strange phrase—”

  “Wonefas nepo,” I said.

  Jiban nodded. “That’s right. I had no idea what it meant. But I trusted your father.”

  “You flew all the way to Los Angeles to tell me that and throw a skull at me?” I asked.

  Jiban explained, “I was already in the city to deliver items to your father that had once belonged to adventurous climbers. It was research for his movie.”

  “Why didn’t you just mail the stuff?”

  “Your father believed someone was tampering with his mail. He couldn’t prove it, but he did ask me to hand-deliver everything to him personally. I was fine with that—it gave me a chance to meet Benny Myles in person and thank him.”

  “I wasn’t even supposed to be home,” I said. “What would you have done if I wasn’t there to take the skull from you?”

  “I would have waited until you returned,” he answered.

  “But what does this all mean?” I rubbed a hand over my face, suddenly feeling very, very tired.

  “Your father was secretive,” Jiban said. “He did not tell me anything more. He explained what I was to do and said that then I should come back home.”

  “And do what?”

  “Once again, he didn’t say. I am sorry.”

  I believed him. And I felt pretty stupid for acting so dumb earlier. But I didn’t know how to begin apologizing.

  “Now,” Jiban said. “Do not move. I insist that you drink some tea and have something to eat. It will make you feel better.”

  MOUNT EVEREST LOOMING IN THE DISTANCE BEHIND MAURA AND JIBAN

  He went inside for a moment and returned with a huge, steaming cup of tea, with plenty of milk and sugar already added. Maura and Jiban sipped from mugs of “chang,” a thick, rice-based beer that, according to my guidebook, many Sherpas brew in their homes.

  My eyes went to Everest, its peak lost in the clouds. “Do you think he’s up there?” I asked.

  “I heard talk in Namche Bazar that two men have gone up one of the trickier routes of the mountain without a Sherpa,” Jiban said. “One of those men could be your father.”

  “Well then, that just leaves us one choice,” I stated.

  “Oh, no,” Maura said.

  “What is our one choice?” Jiban asked.

  “We have to climb Everest.”

  EVEREST BASE CAMP

  June 7, 2007

  9:20 PM

  Today, I felt like I was back to myself again. After a good night’s sleep, I think I finally kicked the altitude sickness.

  We spent last night in Base Camp. This was the first stop on the climb up Everest. It’s surprising to me that it’s not colder here. In the sun, temperatures were in the high forties.

  Set on a relatively flat piece of land, Base Camp feels festive. Maybe it’s the brightly colored tents that are set up around the huge boulders. Or it could be the prater flags flapping happily in the breeze that added to the high energy These flags were put up by Buddhists in the hope that they would help protect the climbers on their journey.

  Base Camp is more like a little town than a camp. It has its own doctor, a few trading tents where supplies can be bought, and a communications center with a satellite telephone and Internet access.

  Yesterday, we had tried to reach Judge Pinkerton again. I called Dad’s cell phone and even tried sending a note to his e-mail account in case he could somehow check it. I didn’t dare say too much in case his e-mails were being intercepted. But I wanted him to know w
e were close by.

  Last night, we used Maura’s credit card to buy all the climbing gear, tents, oxygen tanks, food, and water that we would need for the climb.

  The sun was setting as we wrapped up our shopping. We were leaving one of the supply tents when we ran into a group of Sherpas. They had just returned from the summit. A few of them recognized Jiban and greeted him with surprise. While I couldn’t understand what they were saying to him, I heard the Nepali word for “yak” and then “farm.”

  Jiban’s face turned red, and it was obvious they were giving him a hard time.

  “I am leading my expedition up Mount Everest tomorrow, and then we’ll see who is laughing,” Jiban said. He was speaking in English for our benefit.

  The other Sherpas just chuckled and shook their heads.

  Jiban looked at Maura and me. “I want to ask these FOOLS if they saw your father on the mountain. I will join you in a moment.”

  Carrying the supplies, Maura and I made our way toward the center of the camp. There must have been thirty or forty climbers and at least twice as many Sherpas. The climbers were bustling about, sharing drinks and toasting each other. Most of them had extremely chapped and raw-looking skin on their faces. While there were quite a few expeditions coming back from the mountain, we were the only one preparing for a climb.

  In the very middle of the camp, a hand-painted sign was stuck in the ground.

  Maura read the sign out loud and then asked me, “Do you know what the words ‘because it’s there’ mean?” It was clear from her tone that she already knew the answer. But I explained anyway.

  “It’s the answer George Mallory gave when a reporter asked him why he wanted to climb Mount Everest. He said, ‘Because it’s there.’ His answer was so simple and straight-forward it became famous around the world.”

  Maura nodded. “But Mallory was an experienced mountaineer, an expert—”

  “And I’m just a fourteen-year-old kid with no real climbing experience,” I interrupted. I could tell that Maura was going to try again to convince me to stay behind, while she and Jiban went up the mountain. “If you have oxygen tanks and a Sherpa who knows what he’s doing, you don’t have to be a world-class climber. You just have to be in really good shape. And thanks to PDA, we both are.”

  “I don’t think you get how dangerous this is,” Maura said. “This isn’t a training mission where an instructor gives you a second chance. If you fail up there …”

  You die. She didn’t say the words but they hung in the air between us.

  “It’s not like we have to make it to the top,” I said. “We just have to catch up with my dad and then, we can come back down.”

  “We’re not even one hundred percent certain he’s up there,” Maura said.

  Jiban joined us. His face was flushed with excitement. “A Sherpa just told me he spotted two people heading up the mountain as he was coming down. He couldn’t tell me much about one of them—even if it was a man or a woman—because the person was too bundled up. But the second person … the second person matched the description of your father.”

  JIBAN MET A SHERPA WHO MIGHT HAVE SEEN DAD!

  “Finally, a real lead!” I cried.

  “He can’t be absolutely sure it was him, but—”

  “Was my dad okay?” I cut in eagerly. “Did he look hurt?”

  Jiban put a hand on my shoulder. “My friend said the man appeared to be in good health. And that they should be at Camp 1 now.”

  I looked at my map quickly. “That means they’re just a day ahead of us. We can catch up to them!”

  Jiban said to Maura, “I think we have to consider alerting the authorities. They can send up experienced climbers.”

  “No,” I said immediately. “If whoever took my dad sees a bunch of police coming, he might panic and do something … bad. But if there’s just the three of us, then we might be able to get close without the kidnapper even noticing. Plus, this could be one of the situations that Judge trained us for.”

  I waited for Maura’s response. She took a second to think things over. “Okay,” she agreed. “Tomorrow we climb to Camp 1.”

  “You want to climb tomorrow?” Jiban asked me. He seemed more than a little worried.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  Jiban looked me in the eye. “Tomorrow is June eighth.”

  “Oh,” I said. Now I understood his anxiety.

  “So?” Maura asked. “What’s so big about June eighth?”

  “On June 8, 1924, George Mallory disappeared on Mount Everest. He was never seen alive again.”

  Jiban looked at both of us. “Well,” he said, “let’s hope we have better luck.”

  IT WAS STILL DARK WHEN WE STARTED OUR CLIMB.

  June 8, 2007

  8:35 PM

  This morning, I started another trek in the middle of the night. But at least this time, I wasn’t alone. At 3:30 AM, Jiban, Maura, and I headed out from Base Camp. It was still pitch-dark outside.

  The first part of our journey took us from Base Camp to Camp 1. We had to climb only 2,000 feet higher to 19,500 feet above sea level. But we would also have to make our way through the most terrifying part of the climb up Mount Everest. Who knew the trickiest part of the climb was at the beginning?

  The Khumbu Icefall sits between the two camps. And it’s one of the most beautiful—and frightening—places on the planet. The Icefall is made up of gigantic chunks of ice, some as large as buildings. These chunks are called “seracs,” and they are constantly shifting. Gravity pulls them downward about four feet a day.

  Hurrying to catch up with my dad and whoever was with him wasn’t the only reason we had to get an early start. The seracs pick up speed in the heat of the sun. Huge, seemingly bottomless gaps can quickly open up between them.

  Because the seracs are constantly shifting, each year Sherpas establish a new route through the Icefall. They use rope and aluminum ladders laid flat to create bridges over gaps that can be hundreds of feet deep.

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, our only light came from the moon, the stars, and the lamps on our helmets.

  The climb was dangerous and hard. But at least it wasn’t so cold!

  When I commented on the warm weather and clear skies, Jiban smiled. “Don’t get used to it, my Friend. This time of year the weather is very unpredictable. A storm can develop in the blink of an eye.”

  TRAGEDY STRIKES TOP OF THE WORLD

  —by Holly Fredericks

  1996 was the deadliest year in climbing history on the slopes of Mount Everest. While 98 people reached the summit, 15 died trying. That means one person died for about every six that made it to the top. On May 10 alone, eight people were killed when they were caught in a violent storm. One of the climbers who survived that day was Jon Krakauer. He later wrote the bestseller Into Thin Air about his experience on the mountain.

  Climbers Universe August 1996

  Jiban was an excellent climber. He showed no signs of being physically challenged, and both Maura and I relied heavily on him to get us through this first part of the climb.

  About halfway to Camp 1, we came upon a bridge that was actually made of seventeen ladders. They had been lashed together with rope and spanned the widest, deepest gap yet.

  I kept count as I crawled over each ladder. The hardest part was when I got to the eighth ladder and realized I was right in the middle of the bridge. I could feel it curving slightly from my weight—and for a second I froze. I managed to pull myself together and inched my way over the rest of the gap.

  After that horrifying experience, Jiban said that we deserved a break. We took a seat on the edge of the seracs. It felt kind of like a giant but very cold couch.

  “So,” Maura said, “now that we’re on the mountain, how will we find your dad and the other climber?

  “Hopefully,” I replied, “we’ll just catch up to them.”

  Jiban gestured up toward the summit of Everest. “This is a big mountain. There are many different route
s to the top.”

  I smiled. “But I know which way they”ll take.”

  “How?” Maura asked.

  “It all goes back to Mallory and his missing camera. If we retrace Mallory’s steps on his last climb. I think we’ll find my dad.”

  Jiban said, “You want to reenact his climb?”

  I nodded.

  “But Mallory died up there,” said Maura.

  “It’s the only chance we have to find my dad.” I got to my feet.

  Jiban told us break time was over, and we started climbing again.

  We made it through the Icefall!

  And we made great time, arriving at Camp 1 by 8:45 A.M. Since it was still so early, we decided to keep hiking to the next stop. I’m now in my sleeping bag in my tent at Camp 2

  There’s no sign of my dad here. In fact, there is no sign of anyone. We are the only climbers who are headed up the mountain. Jiban says this is very strange. The last few years, more and more people have been making the climb up Everest. There can be twenty or thirty people in this camp at one time, especially this time of year. Where is everyone? The weather still looks clear, but Jiban wonders if other climbers have heard something we haven’t—and are staying off the mountain on purpose.

  But who can worry about the weather now? After more than ten hours of climbing, I’m exhausted!

  I was almost too tired to eat but forced myself to stay awake long enough to slurp down the hot beef stew Maura heated on the mini stove. Afterward, I crawled into my tent and am struggling to keep awake long enough to finish this journal ent

  WE HAD TO WEAR OXYGEN MASKS AFTER LEAVING CAMP 2.

  June 9, 2007

  11:45 AM

  This morning as we left Camp 2, we reached 21,000 feet above sea level. Up this high, we would become dizzy and grow easily exhausted in the thin air.