When Failure Actually Wasn't

Trying to ski down G2 in Pakistan in 2008. fro, 24.000 feet. Usually skiing is easy for me; at this point I could barely stand up, my fingers and toes were involuntarily cramping. I was miserable. Photo: Kris Erickson

Recently someone asked me about a time when I learned something big from skiing, and immediately I recalled a trip to Pakistan in 2008, when we tried to climb and ski a mountain called Gasherbrum II. I was certainly the youngest member on the team of 6, and the least experienced in a big mountain setting.

I did a bit to prepare, learning rope systems and glacier travel basics, but mostly that concept (crevasse rescue?) was too scary to think about deeper, and so I proceeded to focus on physical training instead. I wanted to be sure I wouldn’t get left behind, and since I was going with my then-boyfriend and some more experienced friends, they assured me the rope stuff would happen when it needed to. No biggie, they said, we’ll figure it out as we go.

I had never traveled outside of North America or Europe at that point in my life, and I made the mistake of brushing my teeth with the water in the hotel before we had even left the last town. Two days into our seven day trek to base camp, up the Baltoro glacier, I became severely ill, dashing to the makeshift bathroom—a tent set up over a hole in the rocks—at all hours of the night and day. It was coming out both ends, with zero regard to convenience or convention. I have never been so sick. I managed to make it to base camp, somehow, severely weak and depleted. I took some nuclear-strength antibiotics that someone had, and gradually the out-both-ends purging stopped, but I was not at full strength by the time we had a weather window to start going up the mountain. I missed the establishment of camp 1. I managed to join as we went to camp 2, but I was behind—scared, weak, and skittish. My physical state was not contributing well to my mental state—I think had I been feeling fit and strong, I could have soldiered through the physical challenges better, but as it was, I was not confident in either my physical strength or my mountain skills at this point, and I was not a great contributing member to the team.

There were some mistakes made, some group dynamic issues. Three members of the team had kids, and they were deeply motivated to get done with the task as soon as possible. By their accounts, this mountain was “the easiest” of the 8000 meter peaks, and should just be a walk up. They went in thinking, let’s bang this thing out. But no 8000 meter peak is really easy, and there are a lot of factors to contend with. There was an ice fall right out of camp that required navigation in the wee hours of the morning, 1am, so as not to worry as much about weather-induced ice collapsing. There were crevasses. There was weather. And there was the fact that there had been a miscommunication between team members—two people had each thought the other was in charge of food, and as a result we ended up with nothing but Clif Bars and dehydrated meals for up on the mountain. No cheese, no salami, no chocolate, no noodles, no butter, no trail mix or candy—none of the typical calorie-dense foods that are actually palatable at altitude. (Altitude typically diminishes appetite right when ironically you need more calories to perform, therefore certain foods are more desirable and effective at altitude).

In camp, our Pakistani chef was doing his best to make chapatis, soups, and teas that were delicious, but those didn’t travel well.

Gasherbrum II as seen from Camp 1. Photo: Kip Garre

We made an ill-timed summit bid on a sketchy weather window given to us via sat phone from a weather expert in Wyoming. They said we had a quick window. The team wanted to mobilize THAT SECOND, like not even go to sleep that night. Pack up and start. This was fine, except that we were humans. Two of us stayed an extra night at camp 1 while the others wanted to rest at camp 2. By the time we were all together and ready to go, everyone was exhausted. We made it to camp 3 and then got stuck in our tents at 24,000 feet for three days in a snowstorm, not hungry, not sleeping, and irritable from altitude and general ansty-pants-ness.

When we did finally make a half-hearted summit attempt, it dumped snow on us for an hour. We turned tail, tried to rest for a few hours, before conceding that we were now totally out of gas. We packed up and headed down the mountain. To add insult, it turned out to be a brilliant, bluebird day on which several teams passed up on their way up to successful summit bids, while we were making our descent, tail between our legs.

I can look back and say that yes, had I been a stronger team member, we might have had a better chance for success. But ultimately, I don’t think having a stronger team would have meant any more success. I think we simply picked the wrong weather window out of impatience.

Base Camp at 17,000 feet on the Baltoro Glacier.

The way down off the mountain was the most demanding thing I’ve ever done. At one point I sat down in the snow, finally realizing how all of those characters in mountaineering books and movies I’d consumed could get to that point where they just sat down and implored their partners to “just leave me.” I didn’t think I could go one single step further. Even downhill. My partner, Kip, implored me to get up. He gave me energy chews and told me there were avalanches happening all around us, it was midday and the mountains were heating up. We had to get out of there.

I shed some tears, what felt like the last remaining moisture in my dehydrated, cramping body, and finally stood up and began walking down hill. One step down. Deep breath. Another step, whoops, caught my crampon on my pants since I wasn’t careful, and tripped and ended up facedown, turtled with my leg contorted behind me. I slowly rolled over, heaved myself up, and kept going. We made it to camp one and I collapsed from relief and a feeling of relative safety; I would make it out of here after all.

Looking back, I can see that at that moment, when I was at my physical lowest, I thought I had nothing left. But the right team member, a small snack and a sip of water, and I was able to push on, beyond what I ever thought I could do. It showed me that I had more than I thought, even after days of not sleeping and barely eating, all while physically exerting myself. in terms of a ski mountaineering trip, we failed. But in terms of making it off the mountain healthy and safe, and learning what I was made of, and how I could learn from my mistakes going forward, that trip was one of the most successful I’ve ever had.

Pee bottles are a necessity when stuck in a tent at 24,000 feet! Photo: Kip Garre