A lot has happened since my last post. Most significantly, everyone tried to reach the summit on August 4th. On August 1st everyone in our group left for Camp 2 on the Cesen while many teams left for Camp 2 on the Abruzzi. I decided not to try for the summit. This trip came up rather last minute for me and with filming as my primary goal, I was satisfied having gone to 7,100 meters (23,430 feet). So Chris Szymiec and I stayed down in base camp where we coordinated communications among all the members on the hill. On August 2nd the team went to Camp 3 and on the 3rd they attempted to move to Camp 4 at 7,950 meters (26,083 feet). With little rope fixed between Camps 3 and 4, everyone had to carry big loads, a difficult task at that height. Each member had to carry their personal gear, tents, stoves and importantly, oxygen. These huge loads meant that most people turned around. Only Fabrizio and two team members made it to Camp 4. Early on the morning of August 4th Fabrizio and Gerlinde went for the summit, while the two team members who made it to Camp 4 decided to stay put. Members from the Abruzzi teams joined them and everyone made their way into the bottleneck around 8,200 meters (26,903 feet), a narrow snow slope below a massive serac. I don't know much else at the moment because I ended up leaving basecamp the morning of the 4th. But I do know that no one made the summit that day.
Dealing with HAPE
On the morning of the 4th a Pakistani staff member from another expedition came into our camp and told us that someone was sick. A cook, Ali, had walked into their basecamp the day before and during the night he'd had trouble breathing.
As Chris and I prepared to go check him out we saw two people half carrying, half dragging him down the glacier to us. He was literally blue. He was breathing desperately, with loud wheezing. With a pulse oximeter we determined that his blood oxygen saturation was only 46% (normal saturation is around 95%) with a resting pulse of 140. It was classic High Altitude Pulmonary Edema.
For those unfamiliar with it, HAPE is one of those nasty things that can happen to people at high altitude. As the amount of oxygen in the lungs decreases the body constricts pulmonary arteries which in turn increases pulmonary arterial pressure. In susceptible individuals, or those that have traveled to high altitude too quickly, this increase in arterial pressure can lead to the leaking of fluid from blood vessels into the interstitial spaces around the lung and eventually, into the lungs themselves. Patients suffering from HAPE are literally drowning in their own fluids.
Lucky for Ali, we had what we needed to treat him. Left alone, he would have died within about 24 hours. But we were able to put him on oxygen, give him some drugs and put him inside our Gamow bag, a portable hyperbaric chamber that allowed us to effectively lower his elevation several thousand feet. In the long term, descent to a lower altitude is the only thing that will save a patient with HAPE. But a Gamow bag can mimic this for short periods of time. When Ali arrived at our camp he could not stand, was barely conscious and looked terrible. After one hour in the Gamow bag and on oxygen he was able to walk with the assistance of two people.
We kept the oxygen mask on him and began walking him down the glacier towards Concordia, about 400 meters (1,312 feet) lower. I quickly packed a bag and one of our team memebrs, Matt Gardiner decided to come with me. It was the two of us and about six Pakistani staff from different groups. It was really great to see them pulling together to help one of their brothers. Ali stumbled down the glacier while two guys held him up from either side. They all took turns doing this or holding the bottle of oxygen that was keeping him going. As a group we had two more bottles of oxygen, a stretcher and the Gamow bag with us. I also carried my stethoscope, blood pressure cuff and a selection of drugs in case things got worse.
In Concordia I tried taking him off oxygen to see if the reduction in altitude was helping. His oxygen saturation plummeted and it was clear we had not descended far enough. So we kept going and twelve hours after we left, we had gone down a total of about 600 meters (1,969 feet). This made the difference. Ali was able to sleep without oxygen that night. The next day we kept him on oxygen most of the day (mostly because he was exhausted) and walked another twelve hours. This made a huge difference and suddenly he was like another person, smiling and thanking us for saving his life. On the third day we walked the remaining distance to Askole. 100 kilometers (62 miles) in three days in what is now the middle of Summer. It was pretty miserable at times.
On the fourth day we took a Jeep from Askole back to Skardu where I sit now awaiting the arrival of everyone from basecamp. Ali has thanked us profusely, we've been thanked on behalf of his wife and children, the head of his agency came and thanked us and most importantly, Allah has been thanked. Ali bought us both hats as presents.
Production Almost Over
I ran out of battery power on the way down with Ali, but all in all I think I've gotten most of the shots I've wanted. Now that I'm back in a city I can properly charge things and will be concentrating on picking up some last interviews and b-roll here in Skardu. In a few days we'll be back in Islamabad where I have some more b-roll to shoot. After that I'm done really. I'll be back in the United States on the 17th and look forward to the editing process.
Showing posts with label camp. Show all posts
Showing posts with label camp. Show all posts
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
A Call from Dave at Camp 3
Dave Ohlson yesterday had the opportunity to use the Field Touring Alpine satellite telephone and made a voice blog for them, from way up at camp 3 on the Cesen Route.
Take a listen here: http://www.fieldtouring.com/?p=1345
If you're curious, Camp 3 on the Cesen Route is at about 7,000 meters (22,966 feet) -- at least, I think it is. I don't read Russian and a Russian site was all I could find with an actual height for camp 3.
Take a listen here: http://www.fieldtouring.com/?p=1345
If you're curious, Camp 3 on the Cesen Route is at about 7,000 meters (22,966 feet) -- at least, I think it is. I don't read Russian and a Russian site was all I could find with an actual height for camp 3.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Living on the Glacier
Our base camp is situated on the Godwin-Austen Glacier. Looking at a picture of base camp (I'd post one, but satellite phones are pretty expensive) it would appear we're on solid ground, but this is not the case. Our camp is located on a debris covered portion of the glacier. As they flow through a valley glaciers pick up a lot of rocky debris that falls from the mountains above. On the lower stretches of large glaciers, below the nieve line (the point above which more snow accumulates than melts in a year), the surface is covered in this debris. Small quantities of dust or debris can hasten the melting of a glacier due to the absorption of solar radiation, but as the layer thickens, it actually starts to insulate the glacier. It also makes for a bizarre landscape.
Our camp is on rubble not far below the nieve line; the ground is covered in rocks the size of pebbles up to tent-sized boulders. The debris is not very thick and when the sun shines you can hear the glacier melting, a sort of crackling sound all around you. In the few weeks we've been here there have been large changes in the topography around us. My tent, for instance, is now situated on a platform as the ice under the debris has melted all around it. Many large boulders sit on top of platforms of ice as a similar process melts the surrounding ice. Off to either side of our camp are rivers flowing down the surface of the glacier, their beds made of pure ice.
Above our camp, on the way to the base of our route (45 minutes away), the debris ends, but the landscape remains bizarre with towers of ice called nieve penitentes all around. There are also large pools of water out there, a bit frightening when the visibility is poor and they're covered in fresh snow. The second time I walked out to the base of the route I had a funny surprise. I was within site of the rocky ledge where we stash gear and begin the climb. I wasn't watching my feet and as I half-stumbled down an incline below some seracs I saw that where my foot was about to land looked like a frozen over puddle. I crashed through the ice and although the puddle was only a few feet wide I plunged past my waist into the water. This is a common hazard here. Thin crevasses open and fill with water. Small on the surface, they can be very deep. I crawled out and took off most of my clothes, wringing them out and putting them back on. Luckily we weren't heading up the route that day.
Another strange facet of living here are the sounds. Laying in your tent at night you can hear the glacier underneath you. Loud pops and cracks, amplified by the fact you're laying on the ground. Sometimes it seems like the ice might crack open underneath you. But that's slower process. When we arrived there were no crevasses to speak of. A few very small ones were around, just big enough to break an ankle. In fact, many climbers have ended their trips due to tripping in one of these small cracks. Now, many weeks later there are considerably more and larger cracks appearing. Some of them get filled with rocks as they open, but others fill with water and one is now a couple feet wide and drops down about twenty feet. Walking around after dark without a headlamp is not advisable.
The K2 Diet Plan
Expeditions are a great way to lose weight. We eat very well here; big portions and rich food prepared by our cook Didar, who used to work at the Islamabad Marriott. But despite this fact and the fact that we've spent most of our time here sitting out bad weather in basecamp I've still had to tie string around my waist to keep my pants from falling off. Living at 5200 meters burns calories. Unfortunately a lot of these calories are taken from your muscles: Burning muscle tissue is more efficient than burning fat. So with the altitude and the cold distressing your body, it responds by withering away your muscle mass. After several years of these trips, I'm starting to have two classes of pants, pre- and post-expedition. The positive spin of this: Even though I'm losing muscle mass, my lower weight makes me a better rock climber when I return home.
Our camp is on rubble not far below the nieve line; the ground is covered in rocks the size of pebbles up to tent-sized boulders. The debris is not very thick and when the sun shines you can hear the glacier melting, a sort of crackling sound all around you. In the few weeks we've been here there have been large changes in the topography around us. My tent, for instance, is now situated on a platform as the ice under the debris has melted all around it. Many large boulders sit on top of platforms of ice as a similar process melts the surrounding ice. Off to either side of our camp are rivers flowing down the surface of the glacier, their beds made of pure ice.
Above our camp, on the way to the base of our route (45 minutes away), the debris ends, but the landscape remains bizarre with towers of ice called nieve penitentes all around. There are also large pools of water out there, a bit frightening when the visibility is poor and they're covered in fresh snow. The second time I walked out to the base of the route I had a funny surprise. I was within site of the rocky ledge where we stash gear and begin the climb. I wasn't watching my feet and as I half-stumbled down an incline below some seracs I saw that where my foot was about to land looked like a frozen over puddle. I crashed through the ice and although the puddle was only a few feet wide I plunged past my waist into the water. This is a common hazard here. Thin crevasses open and fill with water. Small on the surface, they can be very deep. I crawled out and took off most of my clothes, wringing them out and putting them back on. Luckily we weren't heading up the route that day.
Another strange facet of living here are the sounds. Laying in your tent at night you can hear the glacier underneath you. Loud pops and cracks, amplified by the fact you're laying on the ground. Sometimes it seems like the ice might crack open underneath you. But that's slower process. When we arrived there were no crevasses to speak of. A few very small ones were around, just big enough to break an ankle. In fact, many climbers have ended their trips due to tripping in one of these small cracks. Now, many weeks later there are considerably more and larger cracks appearing. Some of them get filled with rocks as they open, but others fill with water and one is now a couple feet wide and drops down about twenty feet. Walking around after dark without a headlamp is not advisable.
The K2 Diet Plan
Expeditions are a great way to lose weight. We eat very well here; big portions and rich food prepared by our cook Didar, who used to work at the Islamabad Marriott. But despite this fact and the fact that we've spent most of our time here sitting out bad weather in basecamp I've still had to tie string around my waist to keep my pants from falling off. Living at 5200 meters burns calories. Unfortunately a lot of these calories are taken from your muscles: Burning muscle tissue is more efficient than burning fat. So with the altitude and the cold distressing your body, it responds by withering away your muscle mass. After several years of these trips, I'm starting to have two classes of pants, pre- and post-expedition. The positive spin of this: Even though I'm losing muscle mass, my lower weight makes me a better rock climber when I return home.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Bad Weather at K2 Base Camp
The third of July. Sitting in base camp while it snows and blows outside. We've been here eleven days and have only gotten one good day of climbing in. Made a carry to base camp and, in the interest of the expedition, I left my camera behind and carried more rope instead. We had hoped to finish fixing line to camp 2 today and tomorrow, but bad weather has moved in early.
This morning I awoke to the sound of snow on my tent. Knowing that meant we wouldn't climb, I stayed in my sleeping bag until breakfast at 8:00 AM. In the morning it was frigid and windy and I wore several pair of long johns, boots, a down parka, balaclava and hat. By noon the temperature inside our tent was up to 95°F (35°C) as the sun tried poking out. Now it's snowing again and quite cold. It's a bit annoying, constantly having to put layers on and take them off off as the temperature fluctuates wildly.
We have ten climbers here, each with their own tent. Then there's our dining tent, with a long table and chairs, and our kitchen tent where three guys work most of the day to keep everyone fed. We also have a nice dome tent, a Marmot Lair, which is about seven feet high in the middle and a nice, warm place to hang out during these snowy days. It's where I'm tapping out this message now.
That's it for now. We're probably snowed in for another couple of days, so shooting lots of tent interiors and snowdrifts.
This morning I awoke to the sound of snow on my tent. Knowing that meant we wouldn't climb, I stayed in my sleeping bag until breakfast at 8:00 AM. In the morning it was frigid and windy and I wore several pair of long johns, boots, a down parka, balaclava and hat. By noon the temperature inside our tent was up to 95°F (35°C) as the sun tried poking out. Now it's snowing again and quite cold. It's a bit annoying, constantly having to put layers on and take them off off as the temperature fluctuates wildly.
We have ten climbers here, each with their own tent. Then there's our dining tent, with a long table and chairs, and our kitchen tent where three guys work most of the day to keep everyone fed. We also have a nice dome tent, a Marmot Lair, which is about seven feet high in the middle and a nice, warm place to hang out during these snowy days. It's where I'm tapping out this message now.
That's it for now. We're probably snowed in for another couple of days, so shooting lots of tent interiors and snowdrifts.
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