Just for the love of it by Cathy O'Dowd

Author:Cathy O'Dowd [O'Dowd, Cathy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Jon Krakauer, Mount Everest, Sherpa, Into Thin Air, Everest, K2, Mountaineering, Adventure, Climbing, Cathy O'Dowd, Kanchenjunga
Publisher: Crux Publishing Ltd
Published: 2013-12-30T00:00:00+00:00

Pemba climbing in the Khumbu icefall.

Ian crossing a crevasse on a ladder.

Bruce climbing in the Khumbu icefall.

Cathy (top) and Ian descending through the Khumbu icefall.

Cathy at 7,000 metres on the Lhotse face.

Cathy (left) and Ian at camp 3, with the south col behind them.

Bruce Herrod: 1959 − 1996

Chapter 9

The white wind

We walked up an eroded hillside, slipping on the moist earth. The road below us cut an ugly swathe through the drab brown mountains. The village of Puenta del Inca sprawled next to it, a scruffy collection of small buildings. It was a far cry from the magnificence of the Himalaya. Then we reached the mouth of a valley and turned into it. The path curved round a small lake, a turquoise jewel reflecting the cotton-wool clouds. A grass-clad corridor led towards an immense squat mountain, a magnificent presence. It brooded upon the earth like a vast cake, brown-sided and with a cover of icing on the top. This was Aconcagua, highest mountain in the Americas, and the start of our 1998 expedition programme.

We were admittedly looking at the edge of the formidable south face, which was not a challenge we were about to tackle. I had heard it described as the equivalent of several Eiger north faces, piled one above the other. We were going to skirt round the side to reach the west slope of the mountain, a far gentler climb.

This expedition was in some ways the equivalent of the Kilimanjaro trip in 1996. We had with us six South Africans, who were on the short-list for selection for the two open places on our Everest expedition. For Ian and me this was part of our build-up to Everest, as it was for Jan Horn, who was finally going to realise his dream. He had filmed the Kilimanjaro trip and the memorial trek in Nepal. Now he would be in charge of filming on Everest. I was the keen young thing who was going to have to get the high-altitude footage, under his direction.

The initial hours of walking were lovely, up the lush valley floor, by the side of the pebble-filled river. Two dogs of medium size and indeterminate breed, one blonde, one brindled, had joined us. They gambolled up the valley, unconcerned by stiff boots, heavy packs or the growing altitude.

Gradually, though, the grassy fields faded into the distance. Mammoth slopes of brown scree rose above us. Tottering pinnacles towered over that, with rock bands contorted into giant curves by ancient geological forces of unbelievable power. The sun was excluded from the valley. The wind began to rise and snow to fall. The air was icy cold, and getting progressively thinner. The first to succumb was Hennie van Heerden, the gentle giant. He was a massive man, a prison warder, friendly, talkative, sometimes too talkative. He had been radiating excitement ever since he had first heard that he had been selected. Now, battling with the altitude, he collapsed at camp, a fascinating shade of green. We bundled

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