Morbid Fact Du Jour for April 3, 2015

Today’s Abandoned Yet Truly Morbid Fact!

Mark Whetu is a skilled high-altitude cinematographer and one of the most seasoned veterans on Everest’s north side, though his tenure there was marred by an infamous climb back in the spring of 1994. At the time, Whetu had been working as a guide and cameraman for Mike Rheinberger, a fifty-three-year-old electrical engineer from Australia who was making his seventh attempt on Everest. Few climbers had been thwarted as many times as Rheinberger, and during the ’94 trip he plodded his way up to the ridge, though it took him until sunset to reach the summit. Whetu had shadowed him the entire way, despite their impending bivouac, which ended up taking place above the Second Step, at a lethal 28,000 feet. The next day, Rheinberger collapsed trying to move farther down the ridge. Whetu tried to get him going until late that afternoon, but he eventually had to abandon the client or risk a second night out. Afterward, Whetu lost all his toes to frostbite. Rheinberger died on the ridge.

Culled from: Dark Summit: The True Story of Everest’s Most Controversial Season

First Person Account

While searching for photos of Rheinberger, I found an article by Dan Holle that had more fascinating details about the climb:

I awoke on the morning of May 25 at Camp 6, at around 27,500 feet. I had come so far, climbed so high… surely the last 1500 feet to the top of the world could be no worse than the distance I had already climbed. I slept better than I expected (sleeping is often impossible at altitude). I was calm, looking forward a bit starry-eyed to the summit of Everest, now so near.

But one member of the summit team had suffered a minor stroke. Another had an upper respiratory disorder, destined to get worse. We needed to break the team into those who would ascend, and those who would retreat. Alex, in conversation with Eric at Base Camp, felt I should descend with him, along with the other two. Alex was right, although I didn’t believe him at the time.

When I got the word I was going down, I hit the roof. (It was, after all, a small tent.) I had worked three months to get to this place, the weather seemed good, I felt strong. (I didn’t know about the other two going down yet…) I wasn’t going to budge without having somebody look me in the eye and convince me that my descent was absolutely necessary.

The person who got that job was Mike Rheinberger. I’d spent a lot of time with Mike in the months leading up to this point. Outside of climbing, we had a number of things in common. But for a person as well rounded as Mike, everyone could say that.

Mike said very little. He struggled a bit for words… said that he knew the route well, and even with his experience, the route ahead was at the “very limit of (his) ability”… shuffling a bit, he said he was more prepared, that his equipment was better than mine, that he was prepared to bivouac… conditions were not good, that the other two needed my support. Minutes later, I was on the way down the mountain.

Mike (from Australia), Mark (from New Zealand) and Dave (from Alaska) proceeded up the mountain the following morning. Rising around midnight to begin the arduous process of preparing for the ascent, eating, and melting enough snow to provide several litre’s water apiece, they were underway by 4AM.

Dave, who had been my tentmate at Camp 6, had a timetable in mind. If he did not reach certain points by certain times, he would turn back. He did not trust his judgement with the summit so close. Decide ahead of time; stick to it. I’d had a similar discussion with Mike the day before. We talked of the “Everest Effect”, causing people to stretch their better judgement just because… well, Because it’s there! Remember Norman?

Dave turned around partway up the ridge. It was a good thing; he was wasted, and had a tough descent. But as he descended, he passed Mike and Mark, still ascending, even more slowly.

You could hardly ask for a more experienced team. Mark, a New Zealand/Maori, seemed to carry with him aura of boundless competence, confidence, and good humour; you could not help but feel it anytime Mark was around. Among his many mountaineering accomplishments, he’d climbed Everest once before from the North, in 1991. Mike, a quiet and perceptive Australian, had been on seven Everest expeditions, on both the Tibet side and the Nepal side… and had been thwarted each time.

Mike, it seemed, had decided that this was it. Several times, Mark implored Mike to turn back. Mike was moving slowly, but he was only moving upward.

Dave’s deadline for the summit, if I remember right, was noon. Norman got there at 3PM, and died during descent. Mike and Mark got there at 7PM, just as the sun was going down.

Mark remembers it as being a most remarkable event… the clouds below, the colour of sunset… the spectacle of Mike finally reaching the summit, after so many years, so many attempts, so many hardships and so many disappointments… Mike fell to the ground and kissed the summit of Everest.

The glory was short-lived. They set about digging in for the highest bivouac in the history of Man, 20 metres below the summit of Everest. Various body parts froze. Oxygen ran out. Water and food were gone.

On May 27, they made their way down the hill. Mike developed pain in the upper legs, probably blood clots. If they broke up and reached the heart, it would be instantly fatal. Moving was the worst thing he could do. It was also the only thing he could do to survive.

Mike became delirious. Mark’s feet and parts of his hands froze. There is a snowfield where we could see them quite clearly from Camp III, where I was at that point. We cheered as they crossed it, suddenly surging forward; and our spirits surged with them.

But Mike’s eyes developed retinal hemorrages. He was blind, dehydrated, delirious, exhausted, the highest person in the world and a long way from home. The day wore on. They were hardly moving.

The next summit team, ascending from Camp 6, became a rescue mission. Several people saw that their long journey, and their months of effort, were not destined to culminate in the summit of Everest; instead, they’d culminate in the placing of an oxygen bottle which, with luck, Mike and Mark might reach…

As the sun set on the 27th, Mike and Mark were between the 1st and 2nd Steps. Mark descended to get a bottle of oxygen stashed at the top of the 1st Step. When he got there, there was a long radio conversation in an attempt to get Mark to descend alone. I don’t want to talk about this a whole lot. It was pretty apparent that the best result one could hope for would be to get Mark back alive. At one point, Eric said on the radio, “Mark, I don’t want to be the one to tell your wife…” About this time, Mike Perry, Mark’s longtime friend and fellow New Zealander, arrived in Base Camp. He got on the radio, and with admirable (decisive?) firmness, said… “Mark… come down… NOW…”

In the end, Mark was coaxed further down the hill. Jason, from the next team, met him below the 1st step. Without Mike, the two climbers descended from the 1st Step to the relative comforts of Camp 6. Goodbye Mike.

The next morning, Mike was spotted some 500 feet below the route. I will guess that happened soon after Mark left for the oxygen… before any of the above conversations. There is no question in my mind that Mark’s descent was the right thing for him to do. There is also no question in my mind that Mark will relive that evening, in his mind, many, many times, wondering…