Seven Summits Part 26

We had hoped to leave shortly after dinner, but Giles radioed Rothera and they reported the weather conditions seemed to be worsening. "It's a bit risky going there in anything but perfect conditions," Giles explained, "as we'll have no extra fuel to go elsewhere if we can't land."

A few hours later we exited topside to check on the plane and saw the storm had moved in on us. The plane had half-disappeared above the wind-driven spindrift that obscured the ice cap like a streaking ground fog. In the sky the scudding clouds had reduced visibility to a few hundred feet. It was obvious we had no choice but to wait.

And we waited-four days. We marked time watching movies on the base's VCR. And we ate. Each of us had lost ten to twenty pounds on the climb, and we couldn't seem to eat enough. Each meal we swept the buffet table like vacuum cleaners sucking up every crumb. Then in the early morning hours, between cla.s.sics like Bridge on the River Kwai Bridge on the River Kwai and and Deliverance, Deliverance, we raided the refrigerator. Even Frank learned how to heat leftovers in the microwave. we raided the refrigerator. Even Frank learned how to heat leftovers in the microwave.

"Ba.s.s, can you believe this? Me in a kitchen, cooking."

"Cooking! Heck, Pancho, all you're doing is pus.h.i.+ng b.u.t.tons."

The base personnel at Siple had seemed as happy as we were when Rothera radioed improving weather conditions. We spent an hour digging the DC-3's skis from the drifted snow, then took off with the entire base waving us good-bye, like townfolks in some Western.

Much of the route toward Rothera was still clouded, although on occasion we would see through a breach in the cover the edge of a peak or a piece of coastline, and Kershaw would identify the landmarks from memory, saying things like, "There's the Ronne Entrance to the Bach Ice Shelf on the south side of Alexander Island."

Then it clouded in completely.

"Rothera reports building clouds," Kershaw reported. "They say visibility is now too low to land."

"My G.o.d, what are we going to do?" Frank said, voicing for all our immediate reaction.

"Oh, not to worry. I have contingencies for this sort of thing. You know, alternative landing spots."

Arriving over Rothera our fears materialized when all we could see was solid cloud over the landing zone.

"There's another creva.s.se-free area on the other side of the island," Kershaw said. "When it's cloudy here it's almost always clear there. So don't worry, we'll fly over there and land, then when they tell us by radio it's clear, we'll come back."

Kershaw changed course while the rest of us kept vigil out the plane's windows. The clouds remained unbroken.

"How much further to this other place?" Frank yelled forward to Kershaw.

"We're over it."

"But it's socked in!"

"Yes, I can see that."

"Well what are you going to do?"

"Fly around until I find someplace clear."

We knew that was a tall order. We also knew there were jagged peaks on all sides-we could see many of their summits sticking above the clouds. And we knew there was less than an hour's fuel remaining.

"There's one more place I know of not far from here," Kershaw said. "I flew over it several years ago, and filed it away as a possibility for some circ.u.mstance like this."

Kershaw spotted a hole in the clouds and we dipped below the cloud layer, flying about a hundred feet above ice-free water. We skirted a long calving ice cliff edging the sea, then pa.s.sed a spit of land that was home to several hundred penguins that waddled around hurriedly as we buzzed over. The clouds above started to break, and in a moment we were in a small clearing.

"I hope and pray Kershaw's spot is up there where it's clear," Frank said.

A moment later Kershaw turned aft and yelled, "There's the landing. It's good and clear."

"Thank G.o.d," Frank said.

In a few minutes we were safely landed on the creva.s.se-free glacier.

"Now we simply wait for Rothera to open," Kershaw said with British nonchalance.

Six hours later it did. Kershaw fired up the turbos and in a few minutes we were at Rothera and welcomed by the several dozen British and Chileans. It took a few hours to refuel the plane, and when we received a favorable weather report for the Drake Pa.s.sage, we climbed aboard and bid farewell to the frozen continent.

It was a six-hour flight back to Punta Arenas. The rest of the Antarctic Peninsula was clouded, so for the second time we missed the spectacular view of the sharp ice-encrusted mountains that rise from the ocean the length of the peninsula. But it was clear over the Drake, and we were spared the threat of icing that had added such an element of anxiety and excitement on our trip over.

"I guess we've earned an easy one," d.i.c.k said. "I'm looking forward to Punta Arenas and soaking in a big bathtub of hot water."

"Yeah, and I'm anxious to get to a phone," Frank added. "I know Luanne must be worried sick."

In her Sydney hotel room, the phone finally rang.

"We're in Punta Arenas, at the tip of Chile, darling," Frank said, his voice raised to make the long-distance connection. "Tomorrow we catch a flight back to Santiago, and then in the quickest way we can, we're going to Sydney. See you in two days or so."

That night, for the first time in over a year, Luanne went to bed without feeling the emptiness next to her, without considering if possibly that emptiness was something she was going to have to get used to for the rest of her life. It was the first night in over a year she slept all the way through without waking and wondering.

In Santiago, Frank and d.i.c.k hoped to catch a flight to Easter Island and on to Tahiti, where they could connect to Sydney, but the once-a-week Lan Chile flight had just left so their best alternative was to return to Los Angeles, then connect to Sydney. In three days they went from Antarctica to Patagonia to Los Angeles to Australia, and it was a very jet-lagged pair of mountaineers that Luanne picked up at the Sydney airport.

Jet-lagged, perhaps, but phlegmatic, never. Frank was like a little kid telling Luanne his Antarctic adventures.

"... and then we took off from Vinson and got to Siple, and you wouldn't believe how the people there live under the ice. But they did have a ca.s.sette machine for movies, and even better a kitchen stocked with goodies. You would have been proud of me, darling, cooking my own meals. Well, not really cooking them, but they had this microwave thing that was incredible. Just push a b.u.t.ton and presto! Darling, we've got to get one."

"Frank, we've had one for twelve years."

Luanne could hardly believe how haggard Frank looked. His frostbitten nose was now covered with a black scab in places cracked and bleeding. On the one hand she had a hard time looking at him, but on the other had never been so glad to see him.

She had originally planned a big party in Australia. d.i.c.k's earlier idea to end the film with a tuxedo and champagne banquet on top of Kosciusko had evaporated when they failed to get to the summit of Everest (we'll have it at s...o...b..rd instead, d.i.c.k had said, after I make Everest on the next expedition), but Luanne still wanted to celebrate with champagne on top of Kosciusko followed by a gala dinner at a nearby inn. She had bought a case of the best champagne she could find, and made the dinner reservations. The Emmetts had flown down, and Morgan and Jennings were going to come in from Indonesia. With the delay, however, everything was cancelled.

"But we still have the champagne," Luanne said. "And Betty and I are taking a bottle to the top to help you guys celebrate."

They took a ski lift from a parking area near the base of Kosciusko to the beginning of the trail. There were already several dozen tourists in front of them, out for a weekend walk to the top of the mountain.

"Maybe we should hike up off to the side," Marts suggested. "Over by those boulders. We could do some rock scrambling that way. Look a lot better on film."

Frank and d.i.c.k started to argue the merits of Marts' suggestion.

"I think the trail will look just fine," d.i.c.k said in a pleading and frustrated voice. "It'll be terrific humor, the juxtaposition of the incongruous-all these months of misery and privation living and climbing on rock, snow, and ice, and here we end it like a stroll in the park."

"Too boring," Frank said. "Marts is right, we need more action."

"Wells, I swear, you might be a Hollywood hotshot and all that, but you don't have any sensitivity for the nuances of this moviemaking stuff. Now close your eyes and let me tell you what it will look like ..."

Meanwhile Marts had started hiking up his proposed alternate route.

"Marts, get back here," d.i.c.k yelled.

But Marts kept going.

"Guess we have no choice," Frank said with a sly grin.

"See you mountain climbers on top," Luanne said as she started up the tourist trail.

d.i.c.k reluctantly followed Frank, who followed Marts. An hour later Marts stopped to film a scene of Frank and d.i.c.k scrambling up some big boulders. d.i.c.k was in the lead, trying to get up a ten-foot rock, sc.r.a.ping his boot as he searched for a toehold. Frank reached up and gave him a boost.

"d.a.m.nit, Wells, Marts has got the camera going. What are you trying to do, make me look like I can't get up this on my own?"

"I'm just trying to help you."

"Well, I don't need it. Besides, we're supposed to look proficient. I mean, otherwise how are we going to be folk heroes?"

It had started as such a beautiful day they wore only T-s.h.i.+rts, and Frank was in shorts, but now a cold south wind started to fill and d.i.c.k took off his pack and pulled out his parka. Frank stood by with goose b.u.mps growing on his bare arms and legs. He had no pack at all, and of course no extra clothing.

"d.i.c.k, you wouldn't happen to have an extra windbreaker or anything?"

"Wellsie, seven climbs later and you're still not able to take care of yourself. What are you going to do when you don't have me anymore?"

"Fortunately I have another indulging roommate to take over-my wife."

d.i.c.k handed Frank an extra wind suit he had thought might be needed under just such a circ.u.mstance. They continued up the boulder-studded slope. The country was open and barren save for a tough tussock gra.s.s sprouting between boulders. Below them the treeless brown and green Kosciusko Plateau, reminiscent of the Scottish Highlands, spread to the horizon. To their right they could see the wide trail with a long line of tourists on their weekend stroll. Frank and d.i.c.k estimated they had about a half hour to the top.

"d.i.c.k, did you bring any sunscreen?"

Despite the chilly breeze, the sky was still clear and Frank was concerned about sunburn.

"Frank, I just don't understand you. Why can't you remember to bring your own stuff?"

"You let me borrow your toothbrush in Punta Arenas, so what's wrong with letting me borrow your sunscreen on Kosciusko?"

"What's wrong is, one, it's a pain in the rear for me having you think you can borrow all the time, and two, it's making you weak, weak, Frank. The worst thing in the world you can do is weaken your fellow man by waiting on him all the time. You have that bleeding-heart, social-welfare att.i.tude of yours that makes you feel justified in leaning on your fellow man unconscionably-" Frank. The worst thing in the world you can do is weaken your fellow man by waiting on him all the time. You have that bleeding-heart, social-welfare att.i.tude of yours that makes you feel justified in leaning on your fellow man unconscionably-"

"d.i.c.k," Frank interrupted, "let's not get off on that one again. All I want is some sunscreen," Frank said impishly.

"Well, here it is. Anything else?"

"Got any chapstick?"

d.i.c.k sighed as he dug in his pack. Then they were on their way, Frank with a smile, knowing he was going to miss not having his buddy to badger anymore, d.i.c.k shaking his head over Frank's lack of embarra.s.sment, almost glee, in acting so helpless at times. They were now only a few minutes from the top, but as he was about to achieve the final summit of this fantastic year, Frank's emotions were a curious mix of jubilation and melancholy.

"d.i.c.k, let's just sit here for a minute and contemplate it before we walk over there, because there's some part of me that doesn't want to finish," Frank said.

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

"We're never going to repeat this year. There will never be another one like it."

"I guess it is kind of sad," d.i.c.k said. "But you have to admit, Pancho, it's been one unbelievable adventure."

"A lot more than I ever guessed when we started," Frank agreed. "You know, I just had a thought a moment ago, about what we could call our movie. How about The Eighth Summit." The Eighth Summit."

"What's the eighth?"

"What we've learned from the other seven: that there's a wide world out there most people don't even begin to know about. And that thank G.o.d we took the time out of our lives to see it."

"Like Auntie Mame said when talking about how so many people are only marking time and just existing," d.i.c.k said. "'Life's meant to be a banquet, but most poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are starving to death.' "

They looked toward the summit fifty yards away. Luanne was leaning against the small obelisk summit marker in a kind of what's-taking-you-so-long att.i.tude, motioning them to hurry up.

They stood and walked together toward the obelisk.

"As T. S. Eliot said," Frank mused aloud, " 'Not with a bang, but a whimper.' "

They strolled to the top and bear-hugged.

"Six and a half down and none to go."

"Aah-eah-eaahhh!"

Marts had the camera rolling, and with clasped hands they raised their arms while Luanne popped the champagne. Frank took a swig out of the bottle, choked and spit foam.

"Let's try another take of that," Marts suggested.

Frank choked again, this time with foam running from his nose.

"Take three," Marts said.

Now he got a full swig down and handed off to d.i.c.k.

"Frank, we've come a long way in one year," d.i.c.k said. "From Budweiser on top of Aconcagua to champagne on top of Kosciusko."

"I wonder how I would have felt if we had made Everest," Frank said, again melancholy. "If this really were number seven. Maybe in some way we learned more from not making Everest. I don't know, it's going to take awhile to think about."

" 'Men are made strong not by winning easy battles,' " d.i.c.k said, " 'but by losing hard-fought ones.' "

"You're right. But I just can't help wonder for me anyway what's going to happen next. If there will be another adventure. At least you've got Everest."

"Yeah, I'm going home from here by way of Katmandu, to talk with Yogendra and try to get on with the Indian expedition."

"Maybe I'll go in search of the world's seven greatest beaches," Frank said.

"When I get Everest behind me, I'm going to get a big boat and sail the seven seas," d.i.c.k said. "Why heck, Pancho, let's sail sail the Seven Seas in search of the seven beaches." the Seven Seas in search of the seven beaches."

"You're on, partner."

Both men were now a little maudlin, a combination of the wistful melancholy from finalizing their goal and the buzz from drinking champagne at 7,316 feet.

"You're great company," d.i.c.k said with a twinkle. "One in a million."