Seven Summits Part 1

Seven Summits.

The Quest to Reach the Highest Point on Every Continent.

by Steve Bell & d.i.c.k Ba.s.s.

A PERSONAL NOTE.

Rick Ridgeway, to whom alone credit is due for the ma.s.sive undertaking encompa.s.sed in these covers, has done so thorough a job of capturing our motives and feelings about the Seven Summits that even to try to elaborate would be without purpose. Instead, we simply say-he got it right-just the way it was-just the way we felt- and why we did it. We thank him deeply, for he alone ultimately wrote this book.

The dedicatory page speaks for itself. To that page we add just these few further expressions of deepest grat.i.tude.

To Nansey Neiman of Warner Books, who with unfailing energy saw through to completion the editing and publis.h.i.+ng of this book. To Steve Marts who was always there-ahead of us with all of his camera equipment on every climb in '83-all the way to the top; tireless; climber as well as photographer (and without whom FGW would never have made it to the top of Elbrus). He is so totally unique that it would take half another book to convey his qualities and contributions to this odyssey.

And, of course, to Giles. This book does does do him justice and he deserves it all-together with our undying appreciation. We thank him and all the climbers, especially the indomitable Phil Ershler, as well as the many others whom you will meet in these pages. do him justice and he deserves it all-together with our undying appreciation. We thank him and all the climbers, especially the indomitable Phil Ershler, as well as the many others whom you will meet in these pages.

FGWRDBs...o...b..rd, UtahJanuary, 1986

INTRODUCTION.

Their goal was to climb the highest mountain on each of the seven continents. It was an imposing list: Aconcagua in South America, Everest in Asia, McKinley in North America, Kilimanjaro in Africa, Elbrus in Europe, Vinson in Antarctica, Kosciusko in Australia.

Everest would be the most difficult because of the extreme alt.i.tude, over 29,000 feet. Vinson would be the greatest logistical challenge because of its location deep in the interior of frozen Antarctica. But the other peaks were not to be discounted-McKinley, for example, at over 20,000 feet and close to the Arctic Circle, has some of the most severe weather on earth.

No one had ever scaled all seven summits. To do so would be an accomplishment coveted by the world's best mountaineers.

Thus it was even more improbable that Frank Wells and d.i.c.k Ba.s.s proposed to try it, both of them having so little climbing experience they could hardly be ranked amateur much less world-cla.s.s. And if that wasn't enough, Frank was a few months from his fiftieth birthday, and d.i.c.k had already reached fifty-one.

What made them think they had a chance? Part of it was naivete-they knew so little about high alt.i.tude mountaineering they didn't realize just how preposterous their proposal was. But part also was their strong conviction that with enough hard work and perseverance they could accomplish anything they set their minds to. It was a conviction that for both of them had led to successful business careers; Frank was the president of Warner Brothers Studios, d.i.c.k an entrepreneur with an oil business in Texas, a ski resort in Utah, and coal interests in Alaska. They figured that if it worked in business, why not in mountain climbing.

So with the att.i.tude that anything is possible, the two set out to accomplish the impossible.

But why? Why risk their lives on the frozen, barren slopes of the world's most remote mountains? Especially when both could justifiably take pride and pleasure in their success in the business world?

When they first started their adventure, Frank and d.i.c.k weren't that sure themselves. By the time they had finished their Seven Summit odyssey, however, they had no doubt. They were so charged from their experiences they were eager to share them with anyone willing to listen.

d.i.c.k told his friends how in his business it often took years before he could enjoy the successful completion of a project. "Look at my s...o...b..rd Ski Resort. I've been in it fourteen years, and I've got at least that many more before I see it reach its manifest destiny. And when you're involved in long-term projects, sometimes you feel you're on a treadmill in a dark tunnel and you don't know when you're ever going to break out into the sunlight.

"With mountain climbing, I've discovered a tangible, short-term goal. It's me and the mountain, and that's it. There are no bankers or regulatory officials telling me what I can and can't do. It's just me and my own two feet, my own physical strength and my own mental resolve.

"At the same time it's only rewarding if the mountain is a real one. Podunk hills don't count. I'm trying to make up for the frustration I face in the lowlands, and to do that I've got to have a challenge, something to gut up for, something that forces me to strain. There has to be a spirit of adventure to it, too, and an element of uncertainty and risk. Then when I persevere and prevail, when I overcome and make it, I come back down to the lowlands, back to the bankers and the regulatory officials, and by golly I'm recharged and ready to take them all on."

Frank, too, told friends and acquaintances about the unexpected lessons, the surprises.

"It all started as a challenge," he said. "And probably a good bit of macho as well. But it became much, much more. It became travel, adventure, true camaraderie. It was all about going high, as high as you can get. When I spent three nights on the South Col of Everest, at 26,200 feet, I was probably the highest human on the face of the earth those particular days. But it was also the sheer fun, and it was especially the magic moments, the surprises that came over the next rise.

"It was the first time I saw Everest after dreaming about it for thirty years, when in a truck out of Lhasa we came over a pa.s.s and there it was, higher than anything around, with that great and ever-present cloud plume streaking off the summit.

"It was beating our way in a storm up to 16,000 feet on McKinley and getting to the top of the ridge to suddenly break into the clear and see what looked like all of Alaska spreading below us.

"It was being ushered into the presence of the High Lama of Tengboche Monastery in Nepal, and having our expedition blessed, and receiving a blessing for ourselves.

"And of course it was the summits. It was standing on top of Aconcagua, the first time I had finally made the summit of any of our peaks, hugging Ba.s.s. It was marching in lockstep with Ba.s.s to the summit of Elbrus-having not made it the year before-reciting in unison one of d.i.c.k's favorite poems, Kipling's 'Gunga Din.'

"And perhaps most of all, it was on Kilimanjaro, where my dream to someday climb the Seven Summits had started nearly thirty years before. It was a night at our last high camp huddled around the fire with twenty near-naked African porters when Ba.s.s decided to recite another one of his favorite poems.

"'Have you heard "The Rolling Stone" by Robert Service?'

"'No,' we told him, 'somehow that one's gotten by.'

"So he recited it: "'To scorn all strife, and to view all lifeWith the curious eyes of a child;From the plangent sea to the prairie,From the slum to the heart of the Wild.From the red-rimmed star to the speck of sand,From the vast to the greatly small;For I know that the whole for the good is planned,And I want to see it all.'

"And I guess that's the answer. We wanted to see it all, and we knew no better way than from the tops of the tallest mountains on each of the seven continents."

1.

THE DREAM.

It was a sunny July morning in 1981, and d.i.c.k Ba.s.s had no inkling whatever that before the day was over he would receive a phone call that would send him on the beginning of an incredible series of adventures to the most remote corners of every continent on earth.

He arrived in his downtown Dallas office expecting the same frustrations he had suffered all month. Herbert Hunt, one of his two partners in an Alaska coal lease, had been so busy with other far-flung business involvements he hadn't had time to close the sale of the lease to a mining company; d.i.c.k needed no one to remind him that if the contract wasn't signed by September 1 he would have no way of coming up with the $4 million needed to meet the loan payment on his s...o...b..rd Ski Resort in Utah. The thought of losing his life's overriding purpose and pa.s.sion left him with a numbing sense of desperation. He loved s...o...b..rd. There was nothing that made him happier than seeing people swoos.h.i.+ng down the finest powder skiing in the world. And nothing equalled the satisfaction of knowing he had created the place from scratch.

It would be a few more years, though, until s...o...b..rd was through its initial growth so it could carry itself. Meanwhile it was sapping every penny d.i.c.k could sc.r.a.pe up from his oil and ranching interests in his home state of Texas. If he didn't come up with the $4 million it wouldn't be just s...o...b..rd down the tubes, but all of his other a.s.sets as well.

Oh well, d.i.c.k thought to himself, as Moliere said, "Men spend most of their lives worrying about things that never happen."

Amazing, though, is that all the stress had little effect on d.i.c.k's health. Perhaps it was because of his congenital optimism, which gave him an ability to smile in the face of adversity and always believe that with hard work and a lot of faith things would work out. Then, too, he had a physique made for his high-stakes entrepreneurial life. At five foot ten, with a medium build, he had very low blood pressure and a resting pulse of only forty-one, "except that it goes up to forty-eight when I start talking, which is most of the time. That's why they call me 'Large-Mouth Ba.s.s.'" And at age fifty-one, even without disciplined exercise-nothing more than an occasional ten minutes of stretching in the morning-he seemed always to be in good shape. He had shown that a little over a month before when he climbed to the summit of Mount McKinley-at 20,320 feet the highest point on the North American continent-without any prior conditioning ting demands of nature at its most powerful."

d.i.c.k had not always been an avid mountain climber. In tact, McKinley was only the third peak he had ever scaled, the other two being a hike to the top of Fuji when he was an ensign in the navy, and two overnight guided ascents of the Matterhorn, the last one with his two sons and twin daughters. But those earlier ascents had whetted an interest, and d.i.c.k was quick to take advantage of an opportunity to climb McKinley when it presented itself.

The opportunity came about one evening when he was regaling some of the s...o...b..rd employees with stories about his second climb of the Matterhorn with his kids. The climb was actually part of a larger five-month around-the-world adventure that had included things like swimming two and half miles across the h.e.l.lespont and jogging for thirty-one miles over the original route of Phidippides when he carried the Marathon victory message to the Athenians. As always, d.i.c.k was loquacious, gesturing with his hands and arms as he carried on about his adventures and his climb. About twenty minutes into the story one of the employees said, "d.i.c.k, did you know Marty here is the only female guide on Rainier and McKinley?"

d.i.c.k glanced over to Marty Hoey, sitting by herself with what looked like a scowl painted on her face. d.i.c.k didn't know much about Marty other than that she was head of the safety patrol during the ski season.

"Gosh, Marty, I didn't know you were a climber, much less a guide on McKinley," d.i.c.k said.

Marty replied only with a curt nod, and d.i.c.k added, "I'd love to climb McKinley some time. Would you be my guide?"

d.i.c.k really knew little about McKinley other than that it was in Alaska and the highest peak in North America. He wasn't fully aware that because it is 20,320 feet high, and only a little more than a hundred miles from the Arctic Circle, it has some of the most savage weather in the world, making it a very serious mountaineering undertaking by any route. So d.i.c.k was a little surprised by Marty's reply.

"Ba.s.s," she said icily, "your hot air won't get you up that mountain."

Thrown off-balance, d.i.c.k couldn't fathom why someone who worked for him, whom he had never really known before, would be so impertinent. Turning back to the others, he wound up his story in five minutes instead of the usual hour, then excused himself as politely as he could. Later, he talked to Bob Bonar, Marty's boss on the ski patrol, to find out why she had made such a remark.

Bonar laughed and said, "Marty just categorized you as a braggadocio city slicker, even if you are her employer. She's a mountaineering, outdoor type who mistrusts city people who talk a lot- especially ones with money."

"Well, she's thrown down the gauntlet. Makes me really want to climb McKinley, just to have her eat crow."

d.i.c.k paused, then added, "Didn't you climb McKinley a couple of years ago?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Well why don't you take me up?"

"The only reason I climbed it was because I was going with Marty at the time. She took me up. I'm really no guide. But find someone who is, and I'd be glad to go back with you."

"How are things with you and Marty now?"

"That's all over, but we're good friends."

"Then what do you say if you and I go, and also I'd like to bring my four kids, and you see if you can get that arrogant female to be our guide. Then I can watch her eat crow in person."

It took several attempts before Marty finally agreed to talk to d.i.c.k. When she did, she said she would only consider taking him if he were to enter into a serious training regimen.

"And your kids should come only if they want," she added. "Not because you force them to."

The more hardboiled this five foot six, dark-haired twenty-nine-year-old with striking features and very strong legs became, the more d.i.c.k resolved to prove her wrong in her judgments about him.

"Okay," she finally said, "we'll go. But you had better start getting in shape. That place is really high and cold. We each have to carry a full share of the load. And I don't think you can make it. When you get as far as I feel you should go, that'll be it. You'll just have to camp and wait while the rest of us go on to the top. And there will be no appeal."

If this young lady was antic.i.p.ating giving her boss his comeuppance, d.i.c.k was totally determined to never give her any justification to "camp" him on the mountain. d.i.c.k knew he always did his best when he had a challenge right in front of him to focus on, and Marty's contempt would be just the carrot. He felt he could do anything she could; what he didn't realize, though, was that he was taking on superwoman.

He found out quickly at the beginning of the very first day of the climb that all his low alt.i.tude confidence was based on extreme naivete. They had flown in a ski-equipped Cessna 185 to the 7,000-foot elevation on McKinley's Kahiltna Glacier. Besides Marty, Bob Bonar, and three other s...o...b..rders, d.i.c.k's two sons, Dan and Jim, and twin daughters, Bonnie and Barbara-all in their early to mid-twenties-joined the team, each thinking it would be a great chance to follow up their around-the-world odyssey of two years before with another great adventure.

They unloaded their equipment, stuffed their backpacks and sleds, then fastened the bindings on their alpine touring skis to begin the long, slow trek up the gradually inclined glacier. The first ten feet and d.i.c.k couldn't believe it. His pack had to weigh about seventy pounds and his sled a good thirty-five. He felt his leg muscles strain and his stomach muscles tighten. How was he ever going to make it nine miles to where the glacier steepened, then the 9,000 vertical feet further up the steep slopes and ridges to the summit? He made another fifty feet and felt his heart pounding and his breathing quicken.

Good Lord, he thought, what have I gotten myself into?

Another fifty feet and he felt his pulse pounding in his temples. The Arctic sun reflected off the snow, and the heat took him by surprise. The salt from his sweat, mixed with sunscreen, burned his eyes. He wondered if he could even make it through the first day.

Then an unexpected thing happened. Fifty more feet and he found a way to think of something besides the agony. d.i.c.k was very fond of poetry-part of the enormous weight in his pack was three hardback volumes-and now he found distraction, even inspiration, with one of his favorites, Kipling's "If." He recited from memory each stanza as he continued to place one foot in front of the other: If ... step ... step ... you ... you ...step ... can ... can ...step ...

If you can dream-and not make dreams your masterIf you can think-and not make thoughts your aim;If you can meet with Triumph and DisasterAnd treat those two imposters just the same ...

d.i.c.k was in a near trance reciting the poem over and over, and he was startled from his reverie when Marty announced arrival at the day's campsite. He felt an immense relief sweep over him, a deep physical fatigue, but now it was a good feeling. The first day was behind him, he had purged his mind of all defeatist thought, and he now felt he might have a chance of making the rest of the distance.

As he found out, though, that distance was a long one. For two more days he carried the heavy pack and pulled the awkward sled like a workhorse towing a ca.n.a.l barge. Then the climb up the ridge started and, though they left behind their sleds, they now began the arduous task of humping heavy pack loads-carrying supplies to a higher campsite one day, going back down to the last camp and sleeping, then next day moving the camp up to the new site. Marty was relentless, pus.h.i.+ng for one hour, two hours, three hours without rest. But each day d.i.c.k found he could recite his poems and find a rhythm. Each day he found himself feeling a little stronger, despite the increasing alt.i.tude. Thirteen days later he still had the rhythm as he made the last step to the 20,320-foot summit. It was 4:00 P.M P.M., the temperature was 37 below zero, and d.i.c.k stood gazing across hundreds of square miles of glaciers and ice-encrusted peaks, every single one below him. In addition to Marty and the other s...o...b..rders, his two sons also reached the top, and his daughters came very close. Waving his ice axe, d.i.c.k let out with what became his trademark Ba.s.s Tarzan call: Aah-eah-eaahhh, aah-eah-eaahhh!

On the way down he realized he had gotten more from the climb than he had ever antic.i.p.ated. Beyond the satisfaction of proving to himself-and to Marty-he could handle the physical and mental strain, and beyond the joy of standing on top and seeing the world fall away from his feet in all directions, he found the climb had been a perfect antidote to his frenzied, high-pressured business life. It occurred to him he ought to start planning other climbs every once in a while in order to keep his head screwed on right.

He was in sight of the tents at the 17,200-foot camp when the idea hit him. He had just finished reaching the summit of the highest peak on the North American continent. What if he made it a goal to try to climb the highest peak on every continent? He had no idea whether anyone had ever done it, but that didn't matter. It would keep him busy for a number of years. Every time he felt the pressure of business closing in, the grind of the daily round wearing him down, he could get away by checking another climb off the list.

d.i.c.k reached the tents around 10:00 P.M P.M. on the first rope team. It was still light at that lat.i.tude, and he put on his down jacket and pants-it was now 45 below zero-and started melting snow for anyone wanting a hot drink or instant soup, but his mates had already collapsed in their sleeping bags. He was so pumped up from his triumphant success-despite all the cynics and naysayers-that he couldn't think of getting horizontal yet, especially not until Marty had arrived and he could have the moment he had been waiting months for.

About forty-five minutes later Marty came trudging in at the lead of her rope team. Everyone immediately dove for their bags except Marty, who put on her down clothing and started coiling the rope. d.i.c.k waited for what seemed an aeon or two for her to say something. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer.

"Hoey, you told me I couldn't make it, didn't you?"

Marty glanced up from coiling the rope, waddled in all her bulky clothing like a penguin over to d.i.c.k and gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Ba.s.s, I don't believe you. You're an animal," she said, giving him her ultimate mountaineering compliment.

d.i.c.k swelled up as if someone had just stuck a helium nozzle in his down jacket.

"Marty, I not only made it, I felt like gangbusters all the way up and down."

"Yeah, I saw it. But I don't understand it."

"Well, I'll tell you why. It's because it was only me and the mountain and the weather. You don't have any idea, Marty, what I've got to go through down there in the lowlands. I've got knots on my head and bruises on my s.h.i.+ns from dealing with bankers and radical environmentalists. Don't get me wrong, I truly love my fellow man in general, but some of them can be like hairs.h.i.+rts that scratch like crazy. Up here I was free for once from all the human barriers. Also, this climb gave me a definite goal in a short timeframe. We don't get report cards out of school, Marty, and after being in the long black tunnel of s...o...b..rd without a glimmer of light at the end of it, I finally found something really big to give me a tangible sense of accomplishment-now! I'm telling you, this climb has given me a newfound sense of self-respect and self-confidence. And by golly, I feel ready to go back and face the world." I'm telling you, this climb has given me a newfound sense of self-respect and self-confidence. And by golly, I feel ready to go back and face the world."

Marty answered with a wan look and a feeble grunt.

"And one more thing which you'll probably scoff at just like you did my McKinley idea. I had a great idea coming off the summit, just a little while ago."

"What's that?"

"It hit me that since I've just climbed McKinley, the highest point in North America, I'm going to try to climb the highest mountain on each of the other six continents."

Marty paused. She was obviously exhausted, but mustering all the strength she could, said, "That's a fantastic idea. In fact, I'd like to go too."

"Well, I'll tell you what, you clean up your act and start treating me decently, and I'll take you with me."

Once back in Dallas, though, the demands of business pressed so tightly d.i.c.k had no time to think about future climbs. Each day the clock on the s...o...b..rd loan ticked louder, and d.i.c.k knew his only hope was making a deal on his coal lease in Alaska. As June pa.s.sed, then most of July, and the deal still didn't close, and the September I deadline on the loan got closer each day, d.i.c.k put any thoughts of mountain climbing onto the back burner.

Until that sunny day in late July when be went to his office expecting the same ha.s.sles, and instead, out of the blue, got an unbelievable phone call.

"Someone named Jack Wheeler on line two," d.i.c.k's secretary said.

"Jack who?"

"Jack Wheeler. Says he's the professional adventurer you met a few months ago at a party here in Dallas."

"Oh, yeah. Okay, but I can only give him a few minutes."