Seven Summits Part 6

He thought, It's a one-bouncer if I slip.

That was an estimate of how many times he might bounce before hitting bottom. A slight exaggeration, perhaps, but a good reminder that without a rope any fall was fatal.

He sat on a small ledge to think it out. Was it worth the risk? He looked at his fingers: they were already frozen. Continuing would result in almost certain amputation. And if he did manage to get to the summit, would he be able to get back down?

Still, he was now at about 27,500 feet, and he might never again get the chance. This was the summit of his dreams, the peak he wanted more than any.

He sat for thirty minutes weighing both sides.

Finally he decided this was not to be the day he climbed Everest. He stood up, and started down.

During the summit bid Frank and d.i.c.k continued to carry loads to the intermediate camps. Frank was now fully recovered from his sickness, and knowing he had no chance of reaching even high camp, he set himself a new goal. He would be content if he could get as high as camp 4.

Lou Whittaker had promised Frank he would take him up, but now Frank sensed Whittaker wasn't interested in going back up the mountain, so Frank enlisted world-cla.s.s mountaineer, and chief guide on Rainier, Phil Ershler.

"I would suggest one thing, though," Ershler told Frank, "and that's not to worry about carrying a load to camp 4, but go light."

To Frank, accustomed as he was by now to heavy packs, the near-empty pack felt weightless and he made good time up the fixed ropes.

This was not only the steepest slope Frank had ever been on but the biggest. The wall fell away below him 4,000 feet to the glacier; by now Frank had been on enough lesser slopes that the exposure didn't bother him, and, in fact, he found the bird's-eye view exhilarating. He managed to keep up with Ershler too, who was pleasantly surprised and told Frank he was climbing strongly, adding to Frank's growing confidence.

From camp 3 they reached the edge of camp 4 by noon, two tents perched on small platforms cut into the steep snow face. Wickwire was in camp and greeted them. Ershler unclipped from the fixed rope, and with a sigh of relief pulled off his pack and sat down. Frank made the last few moves up the rope and onto the platform, then following Ershler's lead unclipped his jumar.

Frank was lackadaisical taking his pack off. Wickwire had noticed that Frank sometimes had a tendency to get a little sloppy once he thought he was out of danger, or past the point that demanded vigilance. Wickwire was just about to say something when suddenly Frank started slipping toward the edge.

"Frank ...!"

Wickwire judged in a flash he was too far to make a lunge to catch Frank. His breath held in his throat as he watched, and his mind quickly played the scenario, so much like what had happened to Marty: the uncontrolled slide, the lightning-fast acceleration, then over the edge, into the abyss, still gaining speed, tumbling, tumbling ...

Just as suddenly as it had started Frank crabbed his hands into the snow and his crampons bit the surface. He stopped.

For a moment no one said anything. Then Wickwire, trying to find his voice, said, "Don't ever, ever unclip from that rope until you know without any doubt you have both feet planted firmly on the surface."

Frank said he understood but Wickwire wasn't sure he fully realized how close he had come. After they had rested, Ershler scrutinized Frank as he connected his descending ring to the fixed rope and began the rappel back to camp 3.

As he slid down the rope Frank was no longer thinking of his near mishap. Now his feet were moving effortlessly one before the other as he hopped down the slope. He gazed across the valley, past the glacier to distant peaks, feeling as though he were flying. It was another mark of his inexperience that he wasn't in any way shaken, that even in the wake of Marty's death he hadn't registered the fine line you balance on while climbing, the ease with which the guard that keeps that balance can let down, and the speed in which you can be one moment at complete ease enjoying the view and the next saying to yourself, just as you gather speed, "No, no, this isn't really happening to me, is it?"

If Frank hadn't realized how close he had come to crossing over that fine line himself, soon he was reminded how real the danger was when more bad news arrived, this time from a different direction.

Chris Bonington, the English climber whose small expedition had been working valiantly to establish a new route on the neighboring northeast ridge of Everest, unexpectedly showed up in camp with one of his team members. It took only a glance at his face to know something was wrong.

"Pete and Joe," Bonington said, referring to Peter Boardman and Joe Tasker, two members of his team who were Himalayan veterans and considered among the best high alt.i.tude mountaineers anywhere. They were also two of his closest friends.

"We last saw them through our scope at about 27,000 feet," Bonington explained, "climbing behind a pinnacle. It was close to nightfall, and next morning there was no sign of them. We've been looking for several days now. I was hoping they somehow might have come down this way. But then that wasn't a very real hope, was it?"

Tears then came to Bonington's eyes. Combined with Marty's death, it was for Frank and d.i.c.k a very sobering introduction to Himalayan climbing. But if they had now seen in a tragically intimate way just how dangerous this game of high alt.i.tude climbing really was, they also witnessed how tenacious its players were. Nielson's failure notwithstanding, Wickwire and two more lead climbers headed back up for another summit attempt. But this time they only got to 24,500 feet when a heavy storm turned them back. It appeared the monsoon had arrived, and everyone agreed that in the face of it there was no real hope of reaching the summit. Whittaker announced the expedition was over.

Before leaving base camp at the foot of the Rongbuk Glacier the team erected a stone cairn in memory of Marty, and gathering around it they paid their last respects.

d.i.c.k wanted to say a eulogy that was distilled and concise, like a poem.

And that gave him an idea. He recalled that last stanza of Lasca, the one Marty had asked him to repeat. If he could just subst.i.tute a few words, he prayed he could find a way to convey his own emotions. When it came his turn, he spoke briefly of Marty's meaning to s...o...b..rd, and then finished with "And I wonder why I do not careFor the summits that are like the summits that were.Does half my climbing heart lie forever afarBy Everest's North Face, below the Great Couloir."

As d.i.c.k finished, residual clouds from the latest storm cleared from the summit of Everest, while here and there shafts of sunlight through the scattering clouds spotlighted the glacier and the huge fluted snow faces.

It was a place of incomparable beauty, but at the moment Frank and d.i.c.k had to question whether it was a place they ever wanted to return to.

d.i.c.k had just said that the summits that are (ahead) would never quite be like the summits that were (behind). Should he and Frank, then, continue to pursue their Seven Summits dream? Or was it hopelessly, foolishly, quixotic?

Following Marty's accident, they both had agreed not to make a decision until they had returned home. But already, despite the melancholy cast by Marty's death, both of them were toting up a positive and negative balance for the expedition's ledger.

For Frank, he would always remember the previous day when he walked by himself from advanced base camp down to base camp, along the eastern margin of the glacier. His only company was the ice towers standing on the glacier like a legion of silent sentinels; the only sound the occasional rattle of a falling rock loosened by the otherwise imperceptible downward creep of the glacial ice. His senses were honed by the weeks of living on the razor's edge. He felt his muscles work without complaining, and he was proud of his lean body, hardened and conditioned more than at any time in his adult life.

It was a day that was reason enough for wanting to come back.

But what about the danger? If it could happen to Marty, it could certainly happen to either of them. They told themselves that Marty's accident had been a human error and that proper vigilance on their part would prevent such a thing happening again. Even acknowledging that mistakes do happen, even acknowledging there was always the risk it could happen to them-as it almost had to Frank only a few days before-it was a risk they still felt was sufficiently remote that it weighed lightly against both the adventure of the life they had led these last three months, and the thought that perhaps, if they tried again, they might just have a chance at reaching the top. Especially if they could get on an expedition going up the easier South Col route.

They had told each other they would wait until they got home, but before reaching Peking they began to talk it over.

"I know that Marty would have wanted us to have a go at it," d.i.c.k pointed out. "After all, that's part of the mountaineer's credo, to carry on even in the wake of a tragedy. Look at how her fellow guides kept going on this trip, even after the accident. And I know that part of the reason was they knew Marty would've wanted it that way."

"I'm all for following through," Frank said. "My only concern is Luanne. In view of the accident, she's going to have a hard time accepting the idea."

"I guess that's one of the advantages of remarrying when you're fifty," d.i.c.k said. "My wife Marian knew what she was getting into -at least I think she did."

Actually Marian was no more excited or accepting about mountain climbing than Luanne was. Both women were terrified by the danger and risk, and Marian had decided the best way to cope with it was to distance herself from it. She preferred, then, to stay home and receive news as it came; the less she knew about the expeditions, the less she had to worry about.

Luanne, however, had decided to meet the group in Peking, and Frank knew she would be there when they arrived. So he decided the best strategy was probably to be up-front about his intentions and tell her right off the bat he wanted to go back.

"Darling," he said when he met her, "it was the saddest thing to lose Marty, more than I can tell you. But it was also the greatest adventure you could imagine, and I know you're not going to like this, and it's hard for you to understand, but we've got to go back, d.i.c.k and I, next year."

Luanne was cool to the idea. But she sensed the depth of Frank's commitment to his dream, and knew that she couldn't say no.

As Frank and d.i.c.k returned home, then, they still hadn't made a final pact between them to carry on with their plan, but they both knew in their hearts they were going to do it.

It took only a week after returning from Everest before they had decided to follow through with the Seven Summits. They would divide duties. Frank would organize Kilimanjaro, Antarctica, and Russia; d.i.c.k would tackle McKinley, Everest, and Aconcagua. Kosciusko would only require buying airline tickets to Australia.

A few weeks later, though, in July 1982, d.i.c.k, in one of his almost daily phone calls to Frank, told him he was having problems.

"Frank, my business manager's telling me if I take off in 'eighty-three to do all these climbs, s...o...b..rd will fold. Can't we put it off until 'eighty-four?"

"I quit my job to do this," Frank said. "I can't wait around another year."

"Well, I'll try. But no promises, and I doubt I'll have a lot of time to help organize things."

"d.i.c.k, don't worry about it. I've expected for some time this would come up."

Even while they were dividing the duties, Frank knew in the back of his mind this would happen, and he had prepared himself to take on the whole job, or at least the lion's share of it. He had long since realized that to know d.i.c.k Ba.s.s was either to love him or to be frustrated as h.e.l.l with him. d.i.c.k was perpetually overcommitted, "Just heading down life's highway pell-mell," as he cheerfully admitted, "juggling like crazy and winging things right and left."

It wasn't going to be easy for Frank to take on that much work, as he still had some responsibilities with Warner Bros. as a part-time consultant on special a.s.signments. But he felt he could do it, and he felt as long as he was going to do it, it wasn't unfair asking d.i.c.k to bend a little and do all the climbs in '83. Besides, he knew d.i.c.k still liked the idea of doing them all within a calendar year. As d.i.c.k had said, "It'll make a neat, packaged chapter in our lives." And as Frank had added, "Plus prevent it from dragging on, so I can get on to other things, like trying to find a job."

With that question settled, then, Frank laid out the itinerary: "We'll start January 1, 1983, with Vinson Ma.s.sif in Antarctica. Then as part of the same trip we'll knock off Aconcagua on the way home. Then six weeks later, on to Everest from the Nepal side, with the German group. Then home for two or three weeks, and off to McKinley, followed by a quick flight to Africa a month later to get up Kilimanjaro, and from there a shuttle to Russia to knock off Elbrus. Back home again for a few weeks, then we'll wrap the year with the banquet on top of Kosciusko."

"Aah-eah-eaahhh," d.i.c.k yelled over the phone. Whatever hesitation he had felt a moment before about doing the climbs in '83 was lost to the excitement following Frank's itinerary.

Frank knew the hard nut to crack would be Antarctica. Everest would be a lot of work, certainly, but their chances looked good of hooking up with the German group that held the permit for the spring '83 climbing season. And with the permit, the rest would be a perfunctory organization of the team, food, equipment, oxygen, transport, and porters. Certainly the difficulty of climbing on Everest above 26,000 feet would still be the same, but so many groups had now gone up the South Col route season after season that the organization of the expedition would be almost a kind of climb-by-the-numbers procedure.

Antarctica, however, was another matter. The climb itself shouldn't be difficult-the mountain had been scaled twice, and both teams had reported no unusual technical difficulties-but getting there would be a real challenge. There had never been a privately organized and financed expedition to the interior of Antarctica. Since he had a contact at the National Science Foundation, the agency that oversees U.S. operations in the Antarctic, Frank had his fingers crossed that they would provide transport. And although Frank wasn't certain they would need it, Chris Bonington was at the moment approaching the British Antarctic Survey for possible support, namely refueling at their Rothera Base on Adelaide Island.

Bonington had traveled out from Everest the same time as the North Wall team, and Frank and d.i.c.k asked him if he would be interested in joining their Antarctica expedition. Bonington had not given an immediate answer, so Frank and d.i.c.k had been pleased, even surprised, to receive a short time after they got home a letter from Bonington saying he would be thrilled to be counted in. Frank and d.i.c.k had thought that after Bonington's own grim experiences on his Everest attempt his enthusiasm to pursue another climbing expedition might have waned, at least for a while. But they learned that was not Bonington's style. He stayed at it even though, probably more than any climber, he had suffered tragedy after tragedy as his closest climbing companions died. It was a long list: in 1972, on his climb of Annapurna, a close friend killed under a collapsing ice block; in 1975, on his first ascent of Everest's enormous southwest face, a close companion lost on a summit bid; in 1978, on an attempt on K2, another dear friend killed in an avalanche; and now again on Everest, two more close friends.

But Bonington seemed eager for Antarctica, and his inclusion on the team was an important step toward Frank and d.i.c.k's strategy to get on each climb the most capable mountaineers they could find. It was a plan they felt would increase not only their chances of getting to the summits but also their chances of getting back down alive. So in addition to Bonington they started calling other climbers to fill spots on all the expeditions.

Gerhard Lenser, leader of the German Everest expedition, indicated he would be willing to allow Frank and d.i.c.k to bring two or three other Americans, so they asked Wickwire and Ershler if they would like to go. Like Bonington, Wickwire had also experienced firsthand a number of deaths in the mountains-Marty had been the fourth-but like most who are drawn to high alt.i.tude mountaineering, he had long before made his personal pact with the odds. Frank and d.i.c.k knew he was hungry for Everest's summit, and they were pleased he accepted, although he voiced some apprehension about going with a group of Germans who none of them knew. Ershler too yearned for the summit, and he accepted as well.

About this time I got a call from Frank inviting me to join any of the Seven Summits expeditions, and I accepted both Aconcagua and Antarctica. My friend Yvon Chouinard also expressed interest in Aconcagua, and Frank was thrilled to have him along.

Finding people to join the expeditions, then, was easy (at least at first); harder, much harder, was figuring how to get to Vinson Ma.s.sif. Frank contacted his connection at the National Science Foundation only to learn the agency had a blanket policy of refusing to a.s.sist or support in any way private expeditions to the Antarctic; Frank's contact said their reason was that if anything went wrong with a private group, the NSF would have to disrupt their scientific programs, at great cost of time and money, as well as risk to life, to rescue them. The contact further told Frank it would be useless to plead for an exception; the policy was unbending.

Frank found this curious since he knew that the climbers, all private individuals, who had made the first ascent of Vinson and several other peaks in the area in 1966 had been fully supported by the NSF and the U.S. navy. They had been flown to the mountain in Navy C-130s, provided with skidoos, fuel, radios, and other gear, then picked up and flown back to McMurdo when they were finished climbing. Wanting to know more about it, Frank called Nick Clinch, the San Francis...o...b..y Area lawyer who had led that expedition.

"First," Nick explained, "it was the NSF who contacted us. Apparently they had been hounded by so many climbers wanting to get to Vinson that they decided it would be easiest just to sponsor someone to do the first ascent so everyone would get off their back. They contacted the American Alpine Club, who contacted me, and I contacted several of my friends, and we had the time of our lives."

Frank then queried other people who, since Nick's expedition, had sought NSF a.s.sistance for private ventures; he learned that not only in each case had they been refused support, but the NSF had actively tried to sabotage the plans of at least one expedition. Frank therefore decided to avoid the NSF at all costs. But how, then, to get to Vinson? Frank still had another card: that privately owned DC-3 retrofitted with new turboprop engines, including a third one in the nose, and ski-equipped, that flew support each summer for U.S. bases in the high Arctic. Frank knew the plane was, theoretically, capable of making it to Vinson if it could be refueled somewhere along the route. The other consideration, however, was that the plane had been built in 1942. Still, if there was no alternative ...

But an alternative did develop, beginning with a tip to Frank that another party led by j.a.panese adventure-skier Yuichiro Miura, known best from his movie The Man Who Skied Down Everest, The Man Who Skied Down Everest, was trying to get to Vinson. Apparently Miura had a long-term project to ski down the flanks of the highest peak on each continent, and he had worked a deal with the Chileans to charter one of their C-130s to Vinson. Frank called d.i.c.k to ask if he knew anything about Miura. was trying to get to Vinson. Apparently Miura had a long-term project to ski down the flanks of the highest peak on each continent, and he had worked a deal with the Chileans to charter one of their C-130s to Vinson. Frank called d.i.c.k to ask if he knew anything about Miura.

"Heck, yes. He's a longtime skier at the Bird. Let's call him right now."

Over the phone Miura told them the only hitch in his plan was that the Chileans' C-130 didn't have skis, and he didn't have any way to obtain them. But Miura had an idea. If Frank and d.i.c.k could find the skis, perhaps they could join expeditions and together travel to Vinson.

"I'm telling you, Frank," d.i.c.k said, "That's how things work. Right when you can't figure how to solve a problem, a solution will come out of the blue." Frank was relieved. The Everest trip looked on track, too, for the German leader seemed receptive to the idea of a joint expedition.

Fifty-five-year old German mountaineer Gerhard Lenser had received from the Nepal government the permit to attempt Everest in the premonsoon spring season of 1983. Making the application was easy: he had paid the $1,500 "peak fee," and had the German Alpine Club verify he was of sound mind and body. More difficult had been finding the money to fund the climb, as a normal Everest expedition costs between $150,000 and $250,000.

So Lenser was warm to Frank and d.i.c.k's proposal to pick up a share of the costs in exchange for making it a joint expedition. He seemed pleased when Frank and d.i.c.k added Wickwire and Ershler, and when Wickwire added two of his friends. This then had been the core of the 1983 German-American Everest expedition when, in August, Lenser arrived at s...o...b..rd to meet the team, and also to travel with d.i.c.k to Wyoming for an ascent of the Grand Teton.

Lenser was about five foot seven and lean, almost skinny in his torso, but with superstout legs. His light, gray-streaked hair was carefully trimmed. He wore metal-rimmed gla.s.ses that, with his habit of b.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt collar and wearing over that a plain but neat V-neck sweater, gave him a studious appearance. He spoke slow but carefully enunciated English and his manner was generally serious and cautious, but when he smiled or laughed, he showed great warmth and sense of humor.

Frank and d.i.c.k had a.s.sumed-correctly, as it turned out-that Lenser was uneasy having added to his expedition several foreigners about whom he knew little or nothing, and so they were careful to show him, as d.i.c.k called it, "some good old American hospitality." They preceded the climb of the Grand with a western barbecue at an outdoor chuckwagon on the edge of the National Park, and made the two-day climb up the regular Exum route with the company of a guide. Although hard to read through his sober countenance, d.i.c.k thought Lenser was enjoying himself, and when they reached the summit d.i.c.k was pleased when Lenser gave him a hug. Things looked good for Everest, too.

"Murphy's Law," Frank said to d.i.c.k over the phone. "Can you believe it? Those C-130 skis are cla.s.sified strategic weapons by our government. G.o.d knows why, but it would take a presidential decree to get a pair for the Chileans. And it took me fifty calls just to find that out."

"What now?" d.i.c.k asked.

"I'm checking into the DC-3."

"You mean that jalopy built in 1942?"

"At least it's proven. The owner says he'd be willing to lease it, but only if we get insurance and this pilot named Clay Lacy, an entrepreneurial soldier-of-fortune-of-the-air with a Lear Jet charter service here in Burbank. He showed up a few years back at one of those air shows where they race planes barely off the ground, only he came in his DC-7 and just about beat everyone. Anyway, he likes the idea of going to Antarctica."

"How much does the plane owner want for a charter?"

"It ain't gonna be cheap. Up to a hundred grand."

"Holy Jehoshaphat."

"But I got a couple of ideas. First, there's always the chance, although it's an outside one, we can make a profit if we follow through on your idea to make a film. A better shot is to try to line up some kind of corporate sponsors.h.i.+p, and on that front I may have a deal going with Budweiser."

Frank had contacted Budweiser to see if they might be interested in sponsoring the Seven Summits; Frank offered to take a six pack to the top of each peak, with the idea Bud could work an ad campaign around it. The Bud people were interested.

"But here's an even better idea," Frank continued, "that at least would reduce costs. I think Miura has some money from j.a.panese TV, so let's invite him to join our expedition-especially since he was kind enough to ask us to join his-and split the charter fifty-fifty."

"And let's also sell seats to some of those climbers who've been contacting us to take them to Antarctica." Word was just getting out in climbing circles that Frank and d.i.c.k were trying to get to Vinson, and a few climbers, including Reinhold Messner-considered the best in the world-had asked if they could join.

"I thought of that," Frank said, "but there's only limited s.p.a.ce on the plane because of all the fuel it has to carry, which is the main problem. Somehow we've got to arrange a refueling along the Antarctic Peninsula. But I just had a brainstorm. If the Chileans were willing to charter us their C-130, maybe we could still charter it to parachute a few dozen fuel drums at some prearranged point on the Peninsula.

"Don't worry," Frank concluded, "I'm all-out on this one. As we say in the movie business, it's time to start working the phones."

It was now September, four months before departure to Antarctica, and although it was a great relief to breathe new life into the plans for that expedition, at almost the same time plans for Everest began to gasp. Call it Murphy's Law, bad karma, or plain bad luck, that universal tendency that turns order to chaos now let loose its furies on the Everest plans. Given Lenser's apparent amiability during his visit, Frank and d.i.c.k were now surprised to find him vehemently refusing their every suggestion about organizing the climb, and worse, threatening to pull out of his agreement. It sounded as though Lenser was convinced Frank and d.i.c.k were trying to take over the expedition (which in part was true, as they would have most of the members and be supplying most of the equipment, gear, and food).

In an attempt to pacify Lenser, Frank sent him a cable that opened: "Gerhard Lenser is leader of the 1983 German Everest Expedition in name and in fact." When that failed, Frank, during an overseas phone conversation with him, lost his patience and yelled, "What do want me to do, Gerhard, click my heels and salute?"

"I almost said, 'What do you want me to do, seig heil you?' " Frank confessed to d.i.c.k. It didn't matter; the message had gotten through, and things went from bad to worse. d.i.c.k suggested it might be more politic if he were to deal with Lenser. He felt he had a more conciliatory way of dealing with people because he had learned over the years as an independent entrepreneur that the best way to get people to do what you wanted was to use friendly persuasion. So d.i.c.k called Lenser in Germany and after an hour conversation thought he had him pacified.

But they no more than had Lenser back on board when they received the next blow. Wickwire, sensing a debacle if this combustible combination of people mixed for three months on a high alt.i.tude climb, pulled out, and with him went the other climbers he had brought to the project. It was now late November, only three and a half months before the Everest expedition was to depart, and they had purchased no food, no equipment, no oxygen, and only Ershler remained on their team. Both Frank and d.i.c.k knew that normally an Everest expedition takes about three years for such preparations, not three months. But they also knew they were used to putting together business deals under the pressure of a ticking clock, and they felt the Everest climb, as well as the Antarctica project, could be handled much the same way.

So, despite d.i.c.k's heavy workload trying to get s...o...b..rd in shape so he could leave for most of the coming year, he spent time keeping Lenser pacified, while Frank worked on locating a new Everest team. Frank also continued single-handedly figuring out how to get the DC-3 to Antarctica, and d.i.c.k realized that even if he had more time to spend on the Seven Summits he wouldn't have been able to match Frank's performance with a challenge like Antarctica where Frank's background as a corporate executive was essential. He was indomitable; whenever he encountered a new hurdle, he just found a solution, refusing to accept from anyone an opinion that something was impossible. Like the great turn-of-the-century Antarctic explorer Ernest Shackleton, Frank too felt that "Obstacles are merely things you overcome."

But the list of those obstacles seemed only to grow. The last of November Frank called d.i.c.k to update him on Antarctica. "The single biggest problem is Clay Lacy. He's nearly impossible to get on the phone. His Lear Jet business has him hopping, he's a United pilot too, and he's got all these movie jobs going. I'm scared to death that at the last minute he'll say he can't go. We did get a fantastic copilot, a Brit named Giles Kershaw. He has more flight time in Antarctica than anyone, nearly 5,000 hours. Flew last year for that British Trans-Globe expedition, the one that went around the world over the poles. Kershaw wasn't easy to get ahold of either. After a dozen phone calls I finally located him in Oman, where he'd been flying supplies for some oil exploration. I'm also working on an inertial navigation system-the plane doesn't have one, and compa.s.ses won't work that far south. Then we need maps, and I'm scared Was.h.i.+ngton will put their foot down if I make a request. The logistics of our refueling are getting detailed-we have to calculate the correct landing zone for our intermediate stop. What's really got me worried is Chile. General Lopatequi, who is handling this, tells me not to worry, but I just don't know how far to trust that. Then there's insurance. The plane's owner won't let it off the ground without one hundred percent coverage. Lloyds is interested, but it's taking time to determine the risk factor, as you can imagine, and they're not confident they can sell it to their underwriters."

Organizing Antarctica was becoming a paramilitary operation more like a wartime invasion than a mountaineering expedition, and Frank was now working longer hours on Seven Summits than he had as president of Warner Bros. He didn't mind it, though; it was a challenge and he thrived on hard work. What he found enervating was his emotional stake. He had quit his job, and he had told all his friends and colleagues he was going, and if somehow he failed to put this thing together, it would seem like he had made such a terrible mistake.

But he knew those were feelings it was best to keep to himself. It was important to show, outwardly, no sign of doubt: Frank knew that when you have a deal to put together that involves simultaneous cooperation from a number of people, the only way to get everyone at once on your bandwagon is to inspire confidence that there is no doubt whatever your deal is going to happen.

Still, Frank couldn't help on occasion pausing to wonder if at some point a hurdle would appear that he couldn't get over, that would prevent him from even getting to Vinson. Each time he found himself brooding like that, however, he tried to put it out of his mind. He would tell himself that so far he had been able to solve each problem that came up, so chances were he could continue to do so.

And at the moment, not only Antarctica but also Everest was back on track. Lenser seemed, at least for the moment, mollified. He now agreed to let Frank and d.i.c.k choose all the team members, and he added that while he still insisted on being the expedition's leader, he would probably remain in base camp the duration of the climb.

This was all good news to Frank and d.i.c.k. Equally encouraging, they had found a new team, all good men by the sound of it. Each was busy with an a.s.signed task-gathering or setting up food, equipment, oxygen, medical supplies, transportation-and it was all going well. They were to meet in a few weeks in s...o...b..rd, to get acquainted and to compare checklists before Frank and d.i.c.k left for Antarctica and then Aconcagua.

Clay Lacy finally returned Frank's call, apologizing for not getting back sooner, but adding that he had been so busy with his other businesses he hadn't had time to do much work on Antarctica, which he was eager to try. Worse, the Chileans were still noncommittal about organizing the fuel drop because of scheduling uncertainties in their own Antarctic program. Frank now realized that time was so short it seemed he had no choice but to postpone the expedition.

Frank had always held this possibility as his last card, but he hated to play it, since he'd be left with no backup option. Worse, Miura had just held a big press conference in j.a.pan announcing his departure, and Frank would be embarra.s.sed to have to tell him he now had to wait nearly a year, especially since Miura had been so dependable coming through with his half of the financing. Still, there might be no choice.

So the first climb of the year would be Aconcagua, and Antarctica would be scheduled for the beginning of the next austral summer, in November and early December 1983. At least the plan had the benefit of giving them more time to prepare Everest.

Fortunately those those preparations were on schedule. Frank and d.i.c.k rendezvoused in s...o...b..rd with their new Everest team on New Year's Eve, a few days before both of them were to leave for South America. They gathered in d.i.c.k's living room, where each man introduced himself and gave a brief summary of his climbing background. Phil Ershler, whom Frank and d.i.c.k had asked to be climbing leader of the expedition, mentioned his many years as chief guide on Rainier. Ershler had also arranged to get Larry Nielson on board, and although Nielson was still recovering from the frostbite he had suffered on his solo attempt (he had lost the end of a thumb and part of one toe to amputation), he said he was confident he would be back up to speed when the time came. In addition there was Gary Neptune, owner of a mountaineering shop in Boulder, Colorado; Gerry Roach, veteran of a 1976 Everest attempt; Jim States, who had recently got very high on Makalu, the world's fifth-highest peak; and Peter Jamieson, another Colorado climber. Ed Hixson (from the North Wall team) would again be expedition doctor. And they had decided to make their doc.u.mentary film, so Steve Marts would be cinematographer (and not just on Everest, but on all seven expeditions). Each man was an experienced Himalayan veteran, and each man was eager. They reported that most of their a.s.signed organizational ch.o.r.es were nearing completion. Soon the only thing remaining would be to climb the mountain. preparations were on schedule. Frank and d.i.c.k rendezvoused in s...o...b..rd with their new Everest team on New Year's Eve, a few days before both of them were to leave for South America. They gathered in d.i.c.k's living room, where each man introduced himself and gave a brief summary of his climbing background. Phil Ershler, whom Frank and d.i.c.k had asked to be climbing leader of the expedition, mentioned his many years as chief guide on Rainier. Ershler had also arranged to get Larry Nielson on board, and although Nielson was still recovering from the frostbite he had suffered on his solo attempt (he had lost the end of a thumb and part of one toe to amputation), he said he was confident he would be back up to speed when the time came. In addition there was Gary Neptune, owner of a mountaineering shop in Boulder, Colorado; Gerry Roach, veteran of a 1976 Everest attempt; Jim States, who had recently got very high on Makalu, the world's fifth-highest peak; and Peter Jamieson, another Colorado climber. Ed Hixson (from the North Wall team) would again be expedition doctor. And they had decided to make their doc.u.mentary film, so Steve Marts would be cinematographer (and not just on Everest, but on all seven expeditions). Each man was an experienced Himalayan veteran, and each man was eager. They reported that most of their a.s.signed organizational ch.o.r.es were nearing completion. Soon the only thing remaining would be to climb the mountain.