WARNING: The following article contains graphic details of life at high altitude. Reader discretion is advised.  Click on the thumbnail images for a full-sized image.

There was no way we were going to make it to Camp 3 that day. When we came across an abandoned campsite that was relatively flat, we dropped our packs and got out the tent. With it still bundled up we managed to find a corner and peg it down with an ice axe. Even then we didn’t trust the wind not to snatch it away from us. We knelt on our North Face VE24 and threaded the poles through the sleeves as quickly as our awkward, mittened hands would allow. The others had a Bibler Bombshelter and from the cursing and yelling we could hear over the wind they seemed to be having a battle of epic proportions getting the internal poles into the wildly flapping tent.

But don’t get the wrong idea, the weather wasn’t that big a surprise, after all, we were at almost 7000m in the Himalaya and we’re masochistic enough to actually enjoy it!

This was our fifth trip to the Himalaya, and this time we decided to choose an "easier" 8000er, both technically and logistically. The non-climbing, bureaucratic and logistical problems were no longer the interesting challenges they once were! Shishapangma seemed to fit the bill. At 8046m (26,398ft) it is the 13th highest of the 14 peaks over 8000m. The Chinese made the first ascent in 1964, making it the last of the 8000m peaks to be climbed. It wasn't climbed again until 1980, mostly because it’s the only 8000m peak entirely within China, and access was restricted. Shishapangma (also written Shisha Pangma) is the Tibetan name, meaning "crest above the grassy plain". The Sanskrit or Hindustani name is Gosainthan, meaning "place of the saint" or "abode of the god". The Chinese came up with the name Xixabangma, which they say means "bad weather".

We quickly assembled a team of six, the two of us, plus four other friends who had all been on previous 8000m climbs with us. Later, a seventh person joined our group, but planned to climb independently.

[Andrew] Of course, not all of these new thoughts and concerns are pleasant! Some of the first long term symptoms of going to altitude show up in your nose, strangely enough. There seem to be two states your nose can be in - dripping and plugged. I'm not sure which is preferable. When it's dripping it's a nuisance, you can either let it drip, or blow it all the time. Either way, pretty soon the end of your nose is raw and sore. Which of course isn't helped by the high altitude sunlight that does its best to fry all exposed flesh, especially noses. Or you can adopt the native technique of plugging one nostril with a finger, leaning over, and expelling the contents of the other nostril with a sharp blow. Apart from a reluctance to blow my snot out on the ground, I've never been able to master this method. Either nothing emerges, or else I manage to land it on myself. Besides, it seems like a dangerous habit to acquire. I can imagine forgetting where I am and leaning over to blow out a large booger on the boardroom floor. The other problem with a dripping nose comes when you try to sleep. Now it runs down the back of your throat, a sensation not especially conducive to sleep. The alternative, a plugged nose, is not much better. It is less of a nuisance, but it means breathing through your mouth. This isn't an especially good idea in the cold dry high altitude air. First your lips dry out and crack painfully. Next, your throat gets sore, often leading to a cough. There is always the option of excavation, but this is a rather disgusting pastime that seldom does much to unplug your nose. It can, however, yield an amazing crop of yellow, green, and bloody red boogers. This activity is best left for storm days trapped in your tent after you run out of reading material, preferably further into the trip when everyone’s civilized veneer has worn away.

Base camp life at times seems like life might be like in a small village. At home, in "civilization", we lead very "isolated" lives. Here we are all close to each other, both physically and in our routines. We see each other healthy and sick, happy and concerned. We are conscious of everyone living, eating, and crapping around us. Sometimes it feels uncomfortable, and other times, paradoxically, it is quite comforting. Of course, unlike a village, we are all here with a common purpose, which perhaps helps draw us together. Even though, again unlike a village, most of us don't speak the same language. In our little base camp village we are next door to the Hong Kong Chinese. These guys talk non-stop and are very loud. At least not being able to understand what they are saying makes it easier to tune them out. We tend to take turns talking but these guys seem to prefer to talk all at once.

SukBai, our cook, came to the dining tent this morning and sat down to talk as we were relaxing after breakfast. He hasn't said too much to us so far. Maybe it was less intimidating with only the two of us instead of the whole group. His English is not very good so it is hard to communicate. Even when you do manage a "conversation", you're left uncertain whether you actually understood each other. He is from the Sulu. In the spring season he works as a cook on expeditions, and in the fall on treks. He has been to Cho Oyu twice, Shishapangma twice, and Everest twice. In the winter he goes home. We lead such hugely different lives that happen to cross at this strange place. It must be as hard for him to grasp what our lives are like as it is for us to envision what his life is like.

[Andrew] Adrian, the Romanian from Utah who works in Alaska, comes to visit us regularly since we are among the few English speakers around. (You may remember him from Jon Krakauer’s Eiger Dreams – an infamy he still resents.) He is on his own with Asian Trekking’s mixed group. He seems to have adopted the "American" habit of being loud and outspoken. This is his second year on Shishapangma after being weathered off last time. We told him we prefer to move on to new mountains, even if we don’t reached the top. He asks if we are married and compares his "loyalty" to a mountain to his "faithfulness" to his wife. After all, you don't keep moving on to new partners! An amusing analogy, but not necessarily comparable. In other respects his attitude is refreshing. He wants to summit, but if not, that's okay too. You get the sense he'll be back anyway. He enjoys the familiarity. He likes to get to know his mountains. I comment on my constant doublethink. Should we be going up? Should we be going down? Am I more or less fit than the other members? Am I ahead or behind on acclimatization? On doing my share of work? Am I in a good "position" to summitting.  What is today's summit? What is today’s guess of my odds of success? Adrian dismisses all this. Don't think about it he says. Climb when you're healthy and the weather allows. Otherwise rest. It's as simple as that. I guess I'll have to stop thinking so much. I didn't even realize I was doing it! Another habit carried over from "civilization" that's unnecessary, or even negative, up here. In the end, Adrian doesn’t even make a summit bid, in fact, doesn’t even go to Camp 3. He leaves Base Camp without saying goodbye.

[Shelley] I found our first carry to Camp 1 was a really an especially long and tiring day. We got started late due to heavy snow first thing in the morning. The route through the penitentes, leading to the snow slope up to Camp , was a maze of up and down, in and around. With the sun beating down, surrounded by snow and ice on all sides, it was incredibly hot! As we moved up the long and crevassed snow slope to Camp 1 the wind started to pick up. We finally gave in and put on our goretex but didn’t take the time to stop and drink. A big mistake! Four of us quickly set up one tent while trying not to freeze our hands, secured it with some ice screws, threw the gear we’d carried up inside of it and hightailed it down the mountain. Almost 4 hours to get up, ½ hr to get down! Another ½ hr up and down and around through the penitentes and we were on the 5 km hike along the moraine, getting back to base camp just as darkness was setting in. Totally wasted!  I felt pretty good going up but by the time we got back to base camp I was totally wasted. I collapsed outside my tent where I eventually got up the energy to head over to the dining tent. Unfortunately, on the way there I had to pass the kitchen tent and one whiff of food smells made assured me that my gag reflex was still in fine working order. I quickly took a few steps and promptly lost the contents of my stomach. I moved a few more steps and lost some more. My ski pole, still in hand, kept me from toppling over. That was the start of a few days of feeling wretchedly horrible and wondering from which end of my body things were going to start spewing next. I finally figured that a good dose of Cipro (the travel sickness cure-all) might do me some good and sure enough, it did.

Our first night above Base Camp is a pleasant change. We’re only at our cache, halfway to Camp 1, but it’s great to finally be on our own, independent. Countless days and nights living in tents make it seem so comfortable, so "at home". We live in tents at base camp, but it's a larger world with other people and a schedule of meals that destroys any sense of being "out there".

What a wonderful spot to camp. It's not high on the mountain, but the mountain looms above, and the penitentes stand guard silently. The light snow drifts down, making a familiar patter on the tent. The rocks above us gleam wetly from the melting snow. The light is gradually fading into evening and the temperature plummets once the sun goes down behind the ridge. But the stove purrs away, melting snow and warming the tent, although this benefit is limited by having to keep the tent doors open for ventilation. The thin air is bad enough without carbon monoxide poisoning as well! As you cook, it's amusing to read the warnings on the tent - no flames inside. And the warnings on the hanging stove - do not use in enclosed areas such as tents. Right! Where else are you going to use a hanging stove? We continue to perform the regular ritual of melting snow, filling water bottles, and making drinks. You know you have to drink lots, but you also know that if you do, you'll be up umpteen times in the night to empty your bladder. Since this means crawling out of a warm sleeping bag and going out into the wind or snow, it's not our favorite activity. There is an alternative - the infamous "pee bottle". But it's not so easy for women and there are enough stories of spills and pee bottles confused with water bottles to make us leery of the idea. After all, if you move fast you can be back inside your warm sleeping bag before your half-asleep brain even realizes you left it.

[Shelley] The funny thing about altitude is that each time is different. You never know for sure how your body is going to react. The consistent thing is that it’s inconsistent. This trip, as we got higher on the mountain, I initiated each new camp by throwing up. I wasn’t fond of this new tradition. By Camp 3, even my gourmet supper meal, consisting of a cup of hot water, made me quickly reach for a barf bag. It didn’t seem to faze Andrew and Monika, who were eating their soup not less than a foot away from me.

The day stayed mild but the clouds began to close in and snow began to fall, the visibility shrinking. As we approached 8000m, breaking trail through deep snow became increasingly difficult. The top was close - only 150m vertical to go. But we had only averaged 50m an hour so far that day. It was hard to believe we could have been moving that slowly. But it was also hard to imagine going any faster. It was almost 2pm and at the rate we'd been moving we had another 3 hours to go. That would put us on top around 5pm leaving only two hours of daylight to get down. It was a little riskier proposition than we would normally choose, but it seemed do-able. But meanwhile the weather was closing in and we could barely see each other. The snow was starting to accumulate. Fred was trying to persuade us to go just a bit farther, only could someone else please break trail. With a sinking feeling we turned and started the long trip down. Fred and the others followed.

Much to our disgust the weather cleared somewhat by the time we got back to camp. But for some of us, turning back was probably the right decision anyway. Monica was wasted and was really struggling. It wasn't surprising since she'd been nursing two cracked ribs for the last week and it had taken a lot out of her to keep going in spite of the pain. When we got back to camp she sat down in the snow, too tired to move any more. We helped her get her equipment off and settle in to the tent.

The next day we headed down, accumulating larger and larger loads as we picked up each camp on the way down, none of us wanting to have to come back up to collect gear. Unfortunately, one of our tents (and several from other groups) was completely buried at Camp 1 and we were unable to retrieve it. But other than that we removed everything we’d brought up – unlike some of the other groups that seemed to think it was okay to leave their garbage outside their tents for the wind to distribute.

We would like to thank the Canadian Himalayan Foundation for the use of their equipment cache in Kathmandu.