Allison Stacy
(Bearbeiten)
Biografie:
Erste Amerikanerin mit Peggy Luce am Mount Everest;
Quelle: Archiv Proksch (Österr. Alpenklub)
South Ridge of Ama Dablam
Sue Giller
WHEN WOMEN are on a mountain, it always snows.” This was not the weather forecast we had hoped to hear. With Camp III still not reached, and with the afternoon weather becoming worse and worse with each passing day, we did not want to clear the mountain because of a storm. Still, perhaps Sherpa wisdom did not apply to foreigners. All we could do was hope for the best.
A year earlier I had a phone call from Annie Whitehouse. In 1978 Annie had obtained a permit to climb the south ridge of Ama Dablam in the spring of 1982, but having just enlisted in the Air Force, she felt she could not continue working on the expedition. Would I take over the permit and organize the trip? It took only a brief moment for me to answer “yes.”
Over the ensuing year, events progressed like clockwork. I soon had a climbing team of eight, all competent mountaineers with experience climbing all over the world, plus a great Base Camp manager, Tanyalee Erwin, who had gained experience in the “Nepali way” on a previous expedition to Nepal. Four members I knew from a trip to Dhaulagiri in 1980. Shari Kearney, Lucy Smith, Heidi Lüdi and Susan Havens had experience in working with the Nepali government and a knowledge of the thousands of details of putting together a Himalayan expedition. Also joining us were Anne Macquarie who had just returned from Pakistan, Jini Griffith who had climbed in the Pamirs, and Stacy Allison, the “baby” of the expedition at 24 years, who had just finished an alpine ascent of the Cassin Ridge. All were competent technical climbers, at home on ice and rock.
Working hard over the summer and winter of 1981, we put together the necessary equipment, obtained sponsorship from several companies and sold T-shirts to help raise the needed cash. By early March we were packed and ready. On March 6, we left reality and time-travelled back to the magical kingdom of Nepal. Our great adventure had begun.
We spent a busy week in Kathmandu meeting our Sherpa staff, purchasing last-minute food and equipment, and packing for the trek to Base Camp. Because of problems with Royal Nepal Airlines, we had to trek in for twelve days from Lamusangu rather than fly to Lukla. From the midlands of Nepal, we crossed numerous drainages to reach the Dudh Kosi which we then followed upstream to Namche Bazar. There was not a flat stretch on the entire trek. We were in shape! Upon reaching Namche Bazar, we had walked 150 miles and gained over 40,000 feet and lost 30,000 feet of elevation.
For the four days from Namche to Base Camp below the south ridge of Ama Dablam, we exchanged lowland porters for yaks. The sound of yak bells often helped us to find our way through the afternoon fog to the campsite.
Base Camp at 16,100 feet was reached on April 3. Used by the local Sherpas as a summer yak-pasturing camp, our next month’s home came complete with several ready-made buildings, requiring only a tarp for the roof, and a sandy beach beside a small pond for sunbathing. Excited to begin the climb, we spent hours the first day gazing up at the mountain which towered above us, begging to be climbed.
We began work immediately. The route to Camp I at 18,700 feet was marked on April 4 by Lucy and Stacy. Past expeditions had scattered so many cairns around the boulders that we often got confused as to which way to go. How strange to need trail signs pointing the proper way on a Himalayan mountain open to climbing for only three years!
Camp I was in the middle of a steep talus field at the beginning of the technical climbing. We found already built tent platforms, which made for level if lumpy sleeping. This camp was protected from most of the winds but was often in the fog and snow during the afternoon snow showers. The goraks were in attendance daily and I sometimes felt they were watching over these strangers who periodically came to feed them exotic tidbits.
We spent several days carrying supplies to stock Camp I before Jini, Lucy and Anne moved up to occupy the camp and work on the route to Camp II. It took them three days to fix the ridge, using about 2000 feet of line. Each evening the progress report via radio brought excited comment on the pleasures of the climbing. Following a narrow ridge of excellent granite, the route snaked around the gendarmes, sometimes on the left side of the ridge, sometimes on the right and occasionally along the top. There was never a dull moment with tremendous exposure and spectacular views of the mountains around us.
We placed Camp II above the Yellow Tower, a 100-foot 5.8 vertical headwall. My favorite camp, this was a split-level series of small ledges with tent platforms already made, as was a trash heap from previous expeditions. Set right on the ridge top, this site offered a magnificent panorama, with the summit temptingly close above us. We found several unopened cans, some without labels, left by an earlier Spanish expedition. We would often treat ourselves to a “surprise” with dinner by opening an unknown can. We dined on Spanish fish, beans, baby eels, and in celebration of the summit, we scored a can of escargot in tomato sauce. These treats helped a little to alleviate our disappointment at the quantities of trash around the tent sites.
On April 11, Susan, Shari and Stacy moved up to occupy Camp II. Daily afternoon snow showers began, causing problems on the rock traverses and hampering the leading. Although we had planned to spend two or three days to reach Camp III, the altitude slowed us down. After an initial rock section of 5.8 difficulty (the First Step), most of the climbing was on ice (40°-70°) or snow. We found water-ice on the slabs above the First Step, along with so many old fixed lines that they created a hazard, entangling our crampons. We removed over two packs full of line to clear the way. We then traversed under the Second Step and gained the Mushroom Ridge which connects the top of the Second Step with the upper snowfields. A short ice pitch out of a crevasse gained Camp III at 20,800 feet.
On April 18, Susan, Shari, Lucy and Stacy left Camp II to establish Camp III. It took them two days to reach the camp as they were fixing most of the Mushroom Ridge as they went. Camp III was on top of a hanging glacier, below the summit snowfields. Situated on a large flat shoulder of snow, it was easily the most comfortable tenting of all the camps, but quite cold and windy.
It was while the team was working its way along the Mushroom Ridge that I received the Sherpa-style weather forecast. With success so close, I felt increasingly anxious that the weather would finally turn truly bad and I would have to call everyone down to sit out a storm, or worse yet, that we would be pinned down and use up our dwindling supplies. So, praying that the weather would hold for a few more days, we carried on.
After a rest day at Camp III on the 19th, with more afternoon snow, the first team left for the summit at six A.M. on the 20th. It was a crystal clear day with a steady wind from the north. The rest of us in support at Camp II watched the climbers as they worked their way up the snowfields. Small black ants on an immense sugar lump, they moved agonizingly slowly. They reached the summit at 3:30 P.M. and disappeared from our view onto the broad top. At four o’clock they reappeared and began rappelling the route, soon to disappear again into an afternoon storm. I retired to my tent, the radio left on for their call when they reached camp. As the snow pelted the tent, I alternated between elation at their success and anxiety. Eight P.M.—no call. Nine P.M.—no call. At 9:20 finally, Shari came on: they were safely down! Such a relief! Now, if only the weather would hold two more days and give the rest of us a chance at the summit!
The next day Anne, Jini, Heidi and I moved up to Camp III while the others went down to Camp II for a deserved rest. We had a completely clear day and our hopes rose. On April 22, we left camp at five A.M. Knowing how long it had taken the first team, we left as early as possible to use all available light. We slowly worked our way up the snowfields climbing on good consolidated snow of moderate steepness, gratefully using any steps left by the first team. Although we consciously tried to hurry, often climbing simultaneously, time seemed to ebb away. We were all dismayed to see our clear morning dissolve into fog at ten o’clock. So much for a view! As we finally reached the summit at 1:30, it immediately began to snow heavily. But we didn’t care, elated at our success. After a few minutes on the summit we descended, reaching camp at seven o’clock.
We spent the next five days clearing the mountain. As though to show us how benevolent it had been, the weather socked in on the 23rd and 24th, snowing and blowing heavily. We were happy to have the fixed lines to help us down to the lower camps. Because of the snow, we were unable to clear our lines above the First Step, but below that we removed all our ropes and many others left by earlier trips. By April 27, everyone and everything was down to Base Camp.
Ama Dablam has been called “the most beautiful mountain in the world”, and to the Sherpas, it is itself a god. Viewed from Pangboche, its ridges sweep gracefully upwards, drawing the eye to its symmetrical pinnacle of a summit. A mountaineer’s mountain, it inspires a desire to climb it in all who see it. We were grateful for the opportunity to dance attendance upon its majestic flanks and briefly to share the view from its summit with the mountain gods. A nearly perfect climb on the nearly perfect mountain.
Summary of Statistics:
Area: Khumbu Himal, Nepal.
Ascent: Ama Dablam, 6856 meters, 22,495 feet, via South Ridge, April 20, 1982 (Havens, Kearney, Smith, Allison); April 22, 1982 (Giller, Macquarie, Griffith, Lüdi).
Quelle: American Alpine Journal 1983, Vol. 25, Seite 30
Thoughts About Everest
Stacy Allison and Geoffrey Tabin
MY FIRST EXPOSURE to the great Himalayan peaks was on the 1982 American Women’s Himalayan Expedition to Ama Dablam’s Southwest Ridge. As I stood atop Ama Dablam, I had my first glimpse of Everest. I was awed by its enormousness looming another 6500 feet above me. It inspired me, for a brief moment, to fantasize standing on its summit. But immediately, I realized that was for the “Big Boys” and the task at hand was getting myself off Ama Dablam.
Three years later, I’d almost forgotten my fantasy until I discovered that a good friend, whom I hadn’t seen or talked to for five years, had a permit for the direct North Face. I called Scott Fischer right away, awkwardly apologizing for not keeping in touch; at the same time I asked to be considered for his 1987 Everest trip. I was invited a month later.
The budget for this expedition was a staggering $250,000. We decided to use the possibility of the First American Woman Summiting as our major angle for fund-raising. At the time, I didn’t think much about it. If it helped raise money, that was fine by me. I knew that as soon as we left the United States, gender would be inconsequential. I will admit that the idea of being the first was rather intriguing. Having spent so much time and energy in fund-raising with this thought, the possibility became a big part of my mind-set and an association with my person.
Our 1987 expedition was unsuccessful. On my summit attempt, the jet stream lowered, bringing winds in excess of 100 mph. Scott Fischer, Q Belk, Wes Krause and I were pinned in a snow cave at 23,500 feet for five days and at 25,500 feet for three. A week earlier, we had been to 26,400 feet without oxygen, a personal record for all of us.
I had unfinished business with this mountain. I knew I had the mental and physical capabilities to reach the summit. I wanted another chance. I also believe in fate. Before I returned from my travels in Asia after the climb, Scott Fischer had sent a letter and résumé, unknown to me, to the Northwest American Everest Expedition in hopes that I would get another shot.
During the two years of preparation for the 1987 climb, much of my identity was tied to the possibility of becoming the first American woman to reach the summit of Mount Everest. When I did not get there, I had to reassess my reasons for climbing in order to deal with the disappointment I felt. I’d failed on other climbs; yet this felt so different, greater. What set this failure apart from the others? I had a pretty good idea what it was. I had not been climbing for myself or the love of climbing—I was consumed with the thought of being first, of the notoriety, the acceptance, the glory, the fame and fortune. I had to laugh at myself. I’d been so susceptible to the “summit of hype.” I had been diverted far off-track from the real enjoyment and meaning of what climbing is to me. I became clear. I climb for the challenge of testing my physical and psychological limits, of discovering new creative and resourceful ways of overcoming technical or psychological barriers. I climb to learn and master the skills involved, the pure concentration and control, the comradery of my partners. And, of course, the best playground in the world is the out-of-doors.
I also clarified the risks I was willing to take to achieve my goal. I have many interests and other goals in my life, and a high quality of that life is very important to me. As a good friend said to me before I left, “You cannot kayak or play the piano without fingers. You cannot have the full enjoyment of walking barefoot on mossy rocks without toes.” Ahhh… to enjoy many aspects of life!
With all this in mind, I was clear as to where I was coming from and where I was going when I was invited to become part of the 1988 expedition. I knew my objective, I knew what it would take to achieve it, and I knew why I wanted it. There was no “hidden” agenda this time. I am a climber—I just happen to be a woman—and my goal was the summit of Mount Everest.
As I reflect on the summit, I think briefly about the irony of my focus and failure in 1987, and now, how apropos my focus and success seem in 1988.
There seems to be a need in human nature to bring things to conclusion. There was a definite need to make final this episode of climbing that began seven years earlier for American women. With this conclusion and resolve, we can move forward. Now that Everest has been climbed by two American women, it should eliminate much of the competition and pressure from women, freeing them to climb Everest or other Himalayan peaks as a form of self-expression. This will make climbing on Everest safer, as the focus and reason will have to change. Women will be able to climb side by side with their partners on an equal basis with no special preference. They will no longer have to prove themselves to anyone but themselves.
I am amazed these days how climbers criticize directly or often indirectly their colleagues. If you are not out in front pushing the leading edge of difficult and often dangerous routes, or if you are not willing to risk it all, your climbing is questioned, even invalidated. I find it unfortunate that egos are so fragile, and that climbing has evolved into such a competitive state, that we judge, rather than encourage and allow our fellow climbers the freedom to grow and express themselves in their own way.
Life hasn’t changed much for me down here. I contemplate that brief moment in history when I stood on top of Mount Everest only to descend from another ethereal summit of my life.
***
A very brief word on the expedition and a note on human values. Our group established Base Camp on August 22. Working along with a large Korean expedition, we prepared and fixed the route through the Khumbu Icefall and to Camp II for ourselves and other expeditions. We placed Camps I, II, III and IV at 19,700, 21,300, 23,600 and 26,200 feet on September 5,12, 25 and 29. Three days after Pasang Gyalzen and I climbed to the summit on September 29, Peggy Luce, Geoff Tabin, Dawa Tsering, Nima Tashi, Phu Dorje and the leader of the Koreans, Nam Sun-Woo, reached the top.
It should be emphasized that our members, Steve Ruoss and John Petroske, gave up a summit attempt to aid in the rescue of the Spanish team. On October 14, Sergi Martínez fell altitude-sick on the South Summit. His Spanish companions gave him all their remaining oxygen and with their Sherpa companions went to the summit. On their return, they found him in a very critical condition, blind and in and out of consciousness. They rigged a kind of rope basket and dragged him to the South Col, where they asked for and got permission to use oxygen we had stored there. The next morning they began to drag him lower. Meanwhile, Ruoss and Petroske were climbing toward the South Col on a summit attempt. When they met, Ruoss, a physician, examined Martínez and felt he had little chance for survival. Nevertheless, the pair immediately helped in the rescue, as did the members of all teams. Martínez was brought down to Camp II. An experimental pressure bag was used with considerable success. Ruoss and Petroske nursed him for 48 sleepless hours. Finally, 20 climbers from all teams carried him down to Base Camp for a helicopter rescue. The respect of our two members for human lives is one we can all learn from.
Stacy Allison
SEVERAL RECENT ARTICLES have questioned why Americans are not pushing the limits in the Himalaya. Ed Webster and Carlos Buhler’s ascents of Everest and Kangchenjunga this year, just to mention two of the very fine climbs made by Americans over the past decade, prove this contention is wrong. But the question of just how far the limits should be pushed remains unanswered.
Talk to Buhler about how strung out he was on the world’s third-highest peak, or shake hands with Webster and feel what he lost in Tibet last spring. When Eric Escoffier raced up K2 a few years ago, he was called a hero, despite the fact that his partner died on the descent. When Peter Božik climbed the Magic Line on K2, it was hailed as a great breakthrough, even though one of his partners died. Will anyone call Josef Just’s ascent of Everest, on which he died, a victory?
Every climber should feel free to decide how close to the edge he wants to push. For me, no mountain is worth a life, no route a finger or toe. Perhaps our expedition this year was out of touch with the trend towards light and fast ascents in the Himalaya: we used oxygen and climbed an easier route. But we also succeeded and brought everyone home in excellent health. On my own summit day, my teammates and Sherpa friends helped enormously, which only increased my pleasure in the experience. Going up the “standard” route was steep, exciting and fun, and it was a great personal adventure for me. And isn’t that at the core of why we all climb?
Considering the carnage this fall on Everest and on K2 two years ago, perhaps we should think again about what is important in mountaineering. The death rate among the best climbers attempting state-of-the-art ascents above 8000 meters has reached an unacceptable level. Another major problem is that with multiple permits being given out for the same routes, numerous teams now swarm over the world’s biggest peaks. This increases the danger and diminishes the experience for everyone and will certainly lead to more political and safety problems in the future. Unfortunately, the issue of granting permits is out of control.
But we do have control over how we choose to climb. Despite the numbers of people, the firsts and the records, my vote for the top billing in this year’s circus goes to Johnny Petroske and Steve Ruoss, who gave up their summit attempt to save the life of a fellow climber. That is what being a real mountaineer is all about.
Geoffrey Tabin
This is part of an article which we have been given permission to reprint. It appeared on page 51 of Climbing of February 1989.
Summary of Statistics:
Area: Mahalangur Himal, Nepal.
Ascents: Mount Everest, 8488 meters, 29,028 feet, via the South-Col route, Summit reached on September 29, 1988 (Allison, Pasang Gyalzen); on October 2, 1988 (Luce, Tabin, Dawa Tsering, Nima Tashi, Phu Dorje).
Personnel: James Frush, leader; Donald Goodman, deputy leader; Stacy Allison, Diana Dailey, Peggy Luce, Stephen Ruoss, M.D., Geoffrey Tabin, M.D., Jean Ellis, David Hambly, John Petroske, Charles Schertz; Robert Singer and Lawrence MacBean, Base-Camp managers.
Quelle: American Alpine Journal 1989, Vol. 31, Seite 18
Thoughts About Everest
Stacy Allison and Geoffrey Tabin
MY FIRST EXPOSURE to the great Himalayan peaks was on the 1982 American Women’s Himalayan Expedition to Ama Dablam’s Southwest Ridge. As I stood atop Ama Dablam, I had my first glimpse of Everest. I was awed by its enormousness looming another 6500 feet above me. It inspired me, for a brief moment, to fantasize standing on its summit. But immediately, I realized that was for the “Big Boys” and the task at hand was getting myself off Ama Dablam.
Three years later, I’d almost forgotten my fantasy until I discovered that a good friend, whom I hadn’t seen or talked to for five years, had a permit for the direct North Face. I called Scott Fischer right away, awkwardly apologizing for not keeping in touch; at the same time I asked to be considered for his 1987 Everest trip. I was invited a month later.
The budget for this expedition was a staggering $250,000. We decided to use the possibility of the First American Woman Summiting as our major angle for fund-raising. At the time, I didn’t think much about it. If it helped raise money, that was fine by me. I knew that as soon as we left the United States, gender would be inconsequential. I will admit that the idea of being the first was rather intriguing. Having spent so much time and energy in fund-raising with this thought, the possibility became a big part of my mind-set and an association with my person.
Our 1987 expedition was unsuccessful. On my summit attempt, the jet stream lowered, bringing winds in excess of 100 mph. Scott Fischer, Q Belk, Wes Krause and I were pinned in a snow cave at 23,500 feet for five days and at 25,500 feet for three. A week earlier, we had been to 26,400 feet without oxygen, a personal record for all of us.
I had unfinished business with this mountain. I knew I had the mental and physical capabilities to reach the summit. I wanted another chance. I also believe in fate. Before I returned from my travels in Asia after the climb, Scott Fischer had sent a letter and résumé, unknown to me, to the Northwest American Everest Expedition in hopes that I would get another shot.
During the two years of preparation for the 1987 climb, much of my identity was tied to the possibility of becoming the first American woman to reach the summit of Mount Everest. When I did not get there, I had to reassess my reasons for climbing in order to deal with the disappointment I felt. I’d failed on other climbs; yet this felt so different, greater. What set this failure apart from the others? I had a pretty good idea what it was. I had not been climbing for myself or the love of climbing—I was consumed with the thought of being first, of the notoriety, the acceptance, the glory, the fame and fortune. I had to laugh at myself. I’d been so susceptible to the “summit of hype.” I had been diverted far off-track from the real enjoyment and meaning of what climbing is to me. I became clear. I climb for the challenge of testing my physical and psychological limits, of discovering new creative and resourceful ways of overcoming technical or psychological barriers. I climb to learn and master the skills involved, the pure concentration and control, the comradery of my partners. And, of course, the best playground in the world is the out-of-doors.
I also clarified the risks I was willing to take to achieve my goal. I have many interests and other goals in my life, and a high quality of that life is very important to me. As a good friend said to me before I left, “You cannot kayak or play the piano without fingers. You cannot have the full enjoyment of walking barefoot on mossy rocks without toes.” Ahhh… to enjoy many aspects of life!
With all this in mind, I was clear as to where I was coming from and where I was going when I was invited to become part of the 1988 expedition. I knew my objective, I knew what it would take to achieve it, and I knew why I wanted it. There was no “hidden” agenda this time. I am a climber—I just happen to be a woman—and my goal was the summit of Mount Everest.
As I reflect on the summit, I think briefly about the irony of my focus and failure in 1987, and now, how apropos my focus and success seem in 1988.
There seems to be a need in human nature to bring things to conclusion. There was a definite need to make final this episode of climbing that began seven years earlier for American women. With this conclusion and resolve, we can move forward. Now that Everest has been climbed by two American women, it should eliminate much of the competition and pressure from women, freeing them to climb Everest or other Himalayan peaks as a form of self-expression. This will make climbing on Everest safer, as the focus and reason will have to change. Women will be able to climb side by side with their partners on an equal basis with no special preference. They will no longer have to prove themselves to anyone but themselves.
I am amazed these days how climbers criticize directly or often indirectly their colleagues. If you are not out in front pushing the leading edge of difficult and often dangerous routes, or if you are not willing to risk it all, your climbing is questioned, even invalidated. I find it unfortunate that egos are so fragile, and that climbing has evolved into such a competitive state, that we judge, rather than encourage and allow our fellow climbers the freedom to grow and express themselves in their own way.
Life hasn’t changed much for me down here. I contemplate that brief moment in history when I stood on top of Mount Everest only to descend from another ethereal summit of my life.
***
A very brief word on the expedition and a note on human values. Our group established Base Camp on August 22. Working along with a large Korean expedition, we prepared and fixed the route through the Khumbu Icefall and to Camp II for ourselves and other expeditions. We placed Camps I, II, III and IV at 19,700, 21,300, 23,600 and 26,200 feet on September 5,12, 25 and 29. Three days after Pasang Gyalzen and I climbed to the summit on September 29, Peggy Luce, Geoff Tabin, Dawa Tsering, Nima Tashi, Phu Dorje and the leader of the Koreans, Nam Sun-Woo, reached the top.
It should be emphasized that our members, Steve Ruoss and John Petroske, gave up a summit attempt to aid in the rescue of the Spanish team. On October 14, Sergi Martínez fell altitude-sick on the South Summit. His Spanish companions gave him all their remaining oxygen and with their Sherpa companions went to the summit. On their return, they found him in a very critical condition, blind and in and out of consciousness. They rigged a kind of rope basket and dragged him to the South Col, where they asked for and got permission to use oxygen we had stored there. The next morning they began to drag him lower. Meanwhile, Ruoss and Petroske were climbing toward the South Col on a summit attempt. When they met, Ruoss, a physician, examined Martínez and felt he had little chance for survival. Nevertheless, the pair immediately helped in the rescue, as did the members of all teams. Martínez was brought down to Camp II. An experimental pressure bag was used with considerable success. Ruoss and Petroske nursed him for 48 sleepless hours. Finally, 20 climbers from all teams carried him down to Base Camp for a helicopter rescue. The respect of our two members for human lives is one we can all learn from.
Stacy Allison
SEVERAL RECENT ARTICLES have questioned why Americans are not pushing the limits in the Himalaya. Ed Webster and Carlos Buhler’s ascents of Everest and Kangchenjunga this year, just to mention two of the very fine climbs made by Americans over the past decade, prove this contention is wrong. But the question of just how far the limits should be pushed remains unanswered.
Talk to Buhler about how strung out he was on the world’s third-highest peak, or shake hands with Webster and feel what he lost in Tibet last spring. When Eric Escoffier raced up K2 a few years ago, he was called a hero, despite the fact that his partner died on the descent. When Peter Božik climbed the Magic Line on K2, it was hailed as a great breakthrough, even though one of his partners died. Will anyone call Josef Just’s ascent of Everest, on which he died, a victory?
Every climber should feel free to decide how close to the edge he wants to push. For me, no mountain is worth a life, no route a finger or toe. Perhaps our expedition this year was out of touch with the trend towards light and fast ascents in the Himalaya: we used oxygen and climbed an easier route. But we also succeeded and brought everyone home in excellent health. On my own summit day, my teammates and Sherpa friends helped enormously, which only increased my pleasure in the experience. Going up the “standard” route was steep, exciting and fun, and it was a great personal adventure for me. And isn’t that at the core of why we all climb?
Considering the carnage this fall on Everest and on K2 two years ago, perhaps we should think again about what is important in mountaineering. The death rate among the best climbers attempting state-of-the-art ascents above 8000 meters has reached an unacceptable level. Another major problem is that with multiple permits being given out for the same routes, numerous teams now swarm over the world’s biggest peaks. This increases the danger and diminishes the experience for everyone and will certainly lead to more political and safety problems in the future. Unfortunately, the issue of granting permits is out of control.
But we do have control over how we choose to climb. Despite the numbers of people, the firsts and the records, my vote for the top billing in this year’s circus goes to Johnny Petroske and Steve Ruoss, who gave up their summit attempt to save the life of a fellow climber. That is what being a real mountaineer is all about.
Geoffrey Tabin
This is part of an article which we have been given permission to reprint. It appeared on page 51 of Climbing of February 1989.
Summary of Statistics:
Area: Mahalangur Himal, Nepal.
Ascents: Mount Everest, 8488 meters, 29,028 feet, via the South-Col route, Summit reached on September 29, 1988 (Allison, Pasang Gyalzen); on October 2, 1988 (Luce, Tabin, Dawa Tsering, Nima Tashi, Phu Dorje).
Personnel: James Frush, leader; Donald Goodman, deputy leader; Stacy Allison, Diana Dailey, Peggy Luce, Stephen Ruoss, M.D., Geoffrey Tabin, M.D., Jean Ellis, David Hambly, John Petroske, Charles Schertz; Robert Singer and Lawrence MacBean, Base-Camp managers.