I Will Get You to the Top
“What am I doing here?” Was the question I asked myself while I lay in my tent at High Camp on Sajama, the highest peak in Bolivia. The wind was punishing our tent for trespassing on its mountain. I kept thinking it was only a matter of time before we blew right off the tiny ledge we were perched on. I imagined what it would be like, rolling down a mountain inside a tent, in the dark. These disturbing thoughts caused me to reach under my sleeping back to feel the ground beneath our tent. I grabbed on to a tiny golf ball-sized rock through the canvas floor and held on. Not that my grip on this stone would anchor us to the mountain but at least it provided me with some reassurance that we were not moving.
We had been climbing different peaks in the Andes for the last two weeks and now we had reached the pinnacle of our trip, a summit attempt of Sajama at 21,460 ft (6549m). Sajama means “Go Away.” We could obviously see how they came up with the name. We had made it to High Camp around 3:30 that afternoon and after a quick supper had retired to our tents as our summit day would begin around 2a.m. the following morning. The air was thin and sleep was not easy but all of us were ready to attempt this beast of a mountain. Our climbing party was made up of myself, two men, Jim and Jack from Georgia, John, our North American Guide and Osvaldo, our other guide from Bolivia who went by the nickname Osby. Little did we know the challenges the next day would bring and the lessons in leadership, which would last a lifetime.
Charlie, the cook, woke us around 2a.m. and informed us of the bad news. Our stove was not working. This presented two challenges: no breakfast, and - the bigger issue - no water. We needed the stove to melt the snow and ice, which would be our water supply on summit day. This meant we only had whatever water each of us had taken to bed a few hours earlier. As we surveyed our inventory, it turned out that we each would have about a liter and a half for the day. Given the circumstances, John, our lead guide, convened a meeting in one of the tents to see if we still wanted to attempt the summit. As he informed us of our options, we gave him our answer simply by continuing to lace up our mountaineering boots under the aid of our headlamps. None of us wanted to spend another night at High Camp. It was now or never.
After sucking on two frozen orange wedges, I clipped into the rope, which connected all five of us. We left camp at 3:30a.m. under a moon that was two days shy of being full. About 45 minutes up the rocky slope Jack was having trouble. It became clear to John that we would not be able to continue to travel together and so the decision was made to cut the rope so Jack and John could travel at a slower pace while Osby led Jim and I up and on to the glacier. Jack eventually had to turn around and John escorted him back down to Base Camp. Traveling became easier once we reached the glacier because our crampons kept us from the constant backsliding we had experienced on loose rock. As we continued up through a section of fixed ropes I tried not to look down. I was grateful for the darkness because it obscured some of the danger the mountain presented below us as the steep snow slope came to an end at the edge of a vertical drop into the night.
We continued climbing using fixed lines until we finally crested a ridge and were able to have our first break for the day. The sky was beginning to lighten in the east and our spirits were high. We had been going steady for about two and half hours. I actually thought to myself that this was going to be a piece of cake with the harder more technical section now behind us. As the light of morning slowly revealed the route above us, I stood there eyeing the massive unending slope of ice, snow and penitente. Penitente are like stalagmites of snow that form on glaciers at high altitudes. Climbing through them can be a nightmare, as you are forced to weave your way in between pillars of ice while your rope continues to snag on any one of thousands of spikes sticking up from the mountain. We continued up the glacier, Osby in front, Jim in the middle, and I at the back. After hours of climbing and making what seemed to be little headway, my spirit for the first time began to fade. I was becoming incredibly tired and the sun had barely broken the horizon. On one of our many breaks in this section I was able to snap one of the few photos I took that day. As the sun was rising on the other side of the mountain it cast a pyramid shadow into the sky.
I was not the only one struggling; Jim, who was roped uphill from me, was beginning to falter. He made comments that showed he was beginning to doubt whether or not he could make the summit. Hour after hour as we climbed, the mountain seemed to give us so little in return. As if climbing an enormous escalator that was going in the opposite direction, there was so little progress for what seemed like a massive amount of effort. When you see how far you have to go and realize you are taking one step for every two breaths, the mountain begins to wear you down. Doubt begins to grow like an unwanted weed until it’s too large to ignore. It’s too far, we’re traveling too slowly, and I’m too tired.
With only one guide to lead Jim and I to the top, there was tremendous pressure on each of us. If one wanted to quit that would mean the day was over for the other climber as well. This was beginning to play out in Jim’s mind as he ascended. He wanted to quit and go down but doing so would end my climb, something he wasn’t yet prepared to do. This silent peer pressure kept him going. I, on the other hand, began secretly hoping he would quit so we could go down. I felt as if I had no energy left and the lack of breakfast, rationing of our water, and the high altitude was not helping. At least, I reasoned, If Jim quit I would have an “honorable discharge” from the mountain. After all, it wouldn’t be my fault. It’s funny how strange your thoughts become when you’re clinging to the side of a mountain, totally exhausted. I began to figure that all I had to do was outlast Jim. I could tell that he would give up soon and we could go down. Osby would stop us from time to time to ask how we were doing. Jim’s answers made it more and more apparent that we were probably not going to make it. When Osby asked how I was feeling I usually answered that I was fine and could continue to the summit but if we needed to descend I would understand. I have since realized that there is a fine line between optimism and lying and I think I had crossed over. In order to aid Jim in his decision, I began telling him not to feel bad if he needed to turn around. “I’m not summit obsessed,” I told him, as I tried to open the door even wider for him to take the easy way out.
As time went on I began to realize that we would not make the summit and I tried to process this as we continued to climb. I wondered what my friends and family would say, but I was too tired to care. I reasoned we had already climbed three other peaks and three out of four was a pretty good record. I also questioned why we were even going higher, when we would never make it anyways. Every step up was just another step I had to take on the way back down.
After what seemed like hours of futility we finally stopped and had a meeting at 20,000ft. Osby radioed Base Camp to tell them we were making a decision whether to come down or keep going. Osby had already nudged Jim into continuing at least once before. I was secretly disappointed when Jim responded and kept on climbing. But there, high on Sajama, we planted our crampons so as not to slide down the mountain and tried to decide whether or not to abandon the climb. Osby was thinking long and hard about what to do with the two of us. Jim played the ultimate card that I thought was sure to end our climb when he appealed for our safety. Jim said he didn’t think he had the energy to get down even if he did make it to the top. He said to Osby “I think we need to be safe?” Osby agreed and I thought it was time for me to help move the process along so I verbally agreed, “Yeah we don’t want to get you up there and then can’t get you down.” It was a happy moment of agreement. Jim felt bad for me, but I told him not to. Then Osby said, “Let’s at least get to the ridge up there and then we will stop.” We were reluctant. Osby asked us if we had any headaches or dizziness from the altitude. At the time I almost wished I had, but unfortunately we both answered no. I was able to shoot a few seconds of video as we sat there at 20,000ft. Jim is in green and Osby is wearing the black hood. He is thinking long and hard about what to do.
We agreed to go on. I suggested to Jim that we would make the ridge our summit, which seemed to encourage him. Somewhere deep inside me there was a small nag, the tiniest tug trying to dissuade me from our decision to turn around without making the summit. But I was so tired that I drowned it out with excuses such as: we had eaten no breakfast, we had little water, and the altitude made it difficult. Continuing on for another forty minutes we finally reached the ridge, our agreed-upon final destination. We stopped to eat some food and drink from what little water we had left. I was excited we had at least made it above 6000 meters and was content with going back down. I was tired. Jim seemed to perk up as well knowing that we could finally turn around and head down. Then Osby pulled out his radio, signaled Base Camp and said, “We are going for the Summit.”
“What?” Jim responded. “You said we were only coming to this ridge.”
Osby explained that the Summit was only about an hour away. An hour may not seem like much, but up there on that day, an hour was eternity. That did little to motivate us. Jim pushed back and reasserted that he thought it was best to go down. Osby gave up the summit idea and began to push for “just over the next rise.” At this point Jim asked Osby to put in a snow picket and leave him attached to the mountain while Osby and I continued without him. Osby said no and told him that on the mountain we are a family. “We stay together always. We go up together, we go down together, but we never leave anyone alone.” Finally Jim consented and we continued on.
The next section was steep and Jim had only made it about ten steps when he stopped and said, “That’s it, I’m done. I’m calling it. We are going down.” I was sort of relieved and just wanted Osby to tell me our final altitude. I even asked him, but he did not respond as he was marching down the glacier toward Jim. I did not hear all of their conversation but I heard Osby say as he got right in Jim’s face, “You are strong, you can do this.” Osby even gave Jim a hug! This all seems quite normal when your brain is low on oxygen. He told Jim that it’s not far to the next rise, only 30 minutes. Jim responded, “I know what’s going to happen. Once we get there, then you’re going to say ‘It’s only a little further to the next rise.’” This discussion continued until Jim gave in and made Osby promise him that he would get him safely down if we continued on to the summit. Osby would not let these two North Americans who were as hungry and thirsty as he was, quit.
A little farther and the mountain gradually began to level off as we neared the massive volcanic dome near the summit. After a half an hour we ditched our packs by attaching them to the mountain and continued on without them. I began to see that we were actually going to make it to the top and the thought caused a swell of emotion inside me. I began to forget about the fatigue as my adrenaline was once again pumping at the thought of actually making it. Another thirty minutes and we topped out on the roof of Bolivia. For 360 degrees you could see for hundreds of miles across the high plain of the Bolivian desert. Elated Jim and I posed for photos and Osby shot some video of us. In the clip Jim says if it wasn’t for Osby and myself he would never have made it to the top. I had to disagree with him and point out that it was only Osby who was responsible for today’s summit.
By the time we stumbled into Base Camp it was dark. We were exhausted and dehydrated but thrilled about the day’s events. It had been a sixteen-hour summit day! I couldn’t help but think how Osby’s leadership had gotten us to the top. High on the mountain we argued with him to let us descend and yet at the summit we loved him for not letting us quit. Osby believed we had the strength when we didn’t believe it ourselves. He made it harder for us to quit than it was to continue on. It’s not like Osby was filled with motivational quotes that he recited to us on the way to the top or showered us with encouraging slogans as we climbed the glacier. It was a simple determination and conviction he carried that would get us to the summit.
Sometimes as leaders we lose our edge and resort to a leadership style that is void of responsibility. What I mean by that is, we make statements such as, “You have to want it,” and, “I can’t make you change.” While this may be true it also lets us off the hook for the below-average performance of our people. Imagine had Osby said to us at 20,000 feet, “You guys have to want the summit…if you don’t really want it I can’t get you there…we might as well go down.” Had that been his style, we never would have made it to the top. At the end of the day, this Bolivian mountain guide reminded me of what true leadership is all about. It’s getting people to out-perform themselves because deep inside you hold a conviction that they are capable of more than they realize. And while they are struggling in their own belief, you cover for them by not letting them take the easy way out.
Osvaldo and I on the Summit of Sajama (21,463ft/6500m)
