A thousand feet. Just over three football fields lined up end to end. But at 28,000 feet above sea level\u2014an altitude climbers call the \u201cdeath zone\u201d\u2014a single step can require an exhausting effort, even when breathing supplemental oxygen, which I was.<\/p>\n
I prayed nothing would go wrong with my equipment on this final, solo push to the summit. Without gas the climb would be almost impossible.<\/p>\n
There are very few places on earth where a man can stand at 28,000 feet. Mount Everest is one. It was where I stood that May night last year under the brilliance of a full moon, in my quest to climb the highest peaks on all seven continents.<\/p>\n
Of course, Everest was the highest mountain of all, and by far the deadliest of the seven summits.<\/p>\n
I checked my watch: 2:30 A.M. It would take all night to reach the top and half of the next morning to get back down. And I\u2019d have to do it alone. Not what I\u2019d planned. And not what I\u2019d promised my wife, JoAnna, back home in Snoqualmie, Washington.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll have a Sherpa guide the whole time,\u201d I\u2019d said.<\/p>\n
Himalayan Sherpas are legendary for their experience and endurance, and I\u2019d engaged a good one for this climb, named Pasang Temba. He\u2019d already summited the mountain three times.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to pray for you anyway,\u201d she said. \u201cConstantly. I won\u2019t stop.\u201d<\/p>\n
Now I needed those prayers more than my wife could possibly know.<\/p>\n
First my climbing partner, Dennis Broadwell, was hit with stomach problems. He was slowly recovering in his tent back at Camp II. Then Pasang got sick.<\/p>\n
I thought long and hard about continuing, especially after I might have damaged my goggles. I\u2019d never intended to climb Mount Everest solo.<\/p>\n
The risks were much more magnified. A lot of factors were in play\u2014the weather, the conditions, how I felt. I decided to go for it.<\/p>\n
Conditions were good\u2014for the next eight or nine hours, anyway. After that you never know. On Everest weather kills more people than anything else. I reminded myself of the reason I\u2019d undertaken this challenge: to raise money for AIDS research.<\/p>\n
I tightened my crampons, checked my radio, double-checked the location of the extra oxygen canister Pasang had stashed for me (I\u2019d need it on the way down), and set off up the ropes to the top of the world.<\/p>\n
As I did, an image of JoAnna flashed through my mind, her eyes closed in prayer. I recalled our last night together before I left for Nepal two months earlier.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m worried about you, Brian,\u201d she said, clutching me tight.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t be,\u201d I said gently, listing the reasons I\u2019d return to her and our two young children safe and sound. \u201cI promise I won\u2019t take any foolish chances. You know me better than that.\u201d<\/p>\n
I rechecked my equipment, then headed off, my focus toward the top, one slow step at a time. Only a thousand vertical feet. So close….<\/p>\n
I felt myself fall into a rhythm, slow and steady. The climbing was hard but not technically difficult. The moon was so huge and close, like a great inflated orb, that the jagged spine of the Himalayas seemed in danger of tearing a hole in it.<\/p>\n
Stars punctuated the sky. What a beautiful night it was! I didn\u2019t want this fear and apprehension to ruin it. The wind was baying softly, not screaming as it so often does this close to the jet stream.<\/p>\n
Wow, I\u2019m the highest person in the world right now, <\/em>I thought. Enjoy this moment.<\/em><\/p>\n Soon I reached the only real technical challenge on the south approach to the summit: the storied Hillary Step, probably the most celebrated pitch in all of mountaineering.<\/p>\n Named after Sir Edmund Hillary, the New Zealand beekeeper who was the first to conquer Everest in 1953, its 40-foot high, near-vertical, ice-encrusted rock face would at sea level be a quick training exercise.<\/p>\n At above 28,000 feet it is a life-or-death obstacle. And I was doing it alone in the dark. Now let\u2019s see what kind of a climber you really are,<\/em> I thought.<\/p>\n I checked my harness and carabiners then started up the step guided by the beam from my headlamp. By the time I reached the top of the cliff I was monitoring my oxygen.<\/p>\n I lay in the snow feeling the frantic pounding of my heart through my layers of clothing. I was sweating furiously though the temperature was well below zero. Human beings don\u2019t belong up here,<\/em> I thought as my respiration and pulse returned to what is considered normal at this height.<\/p>\n I gazed up at the shadowy bulge above. The summit. All that separated me from the final slope was a horribly exposed fin of serrated ice and rock several hundred feet in length with sheer drop-offs on either side.<\/p>\n I clutched the rope and headed across, one foot in front of the other. If I had sat down and straddled the ridge I would have had one leg dangling in Nepal and the other in Tibet, thousands of feet straight down.<\/p>\n Nobody ever finds bodies that fall from here,<\/em> I couldn\u2019t help thinking.<\/p>\n Finally I made the slope and headed for the top. At 6:30 A.M., with a blinding sun spilling across the vast Tibetan plain, I stood on the roof of the world.<\/p>\n I pulled on my sun goggles and radioed down to Camp III. In a voice hoarse with exhaustion and emotion I announced that I\u2019d made it. They roared their congratulations.<\/p>\n \u201cWay to go, Brian!\u201d I heard Dennis croak above the staticky din.<\/p>\n Kaleidoscopic strings of prayer flags left by earlier summiters snapped wildly in the wind. Yanking off my goggles, I extracted my camera from inside my climbing suit and snapped panoramic pictures all the way to China. I was up there for almost an hour.<\/p>\n It was getting late. I had to get off the summit before apoxia and hypothermia set in. Finally I put away my camera and commenced the descent. I glanced below me and saw…nothing. Oh, no…<\/em> I was snow-blind.<\/p>\n And then I realized: When I\u2019d dropped my goggles the day before, the internal lens had cracked. They were almost useless. Without my goggles for protection, I\u2019d exposed my eyes to the blazing sunlight and effectively sunburnt my corneas. It would be 48 hours of agony before I would see normally again.<\/p>\n I thought about that knife-edge ridge and the four-story Hillary Step to be negotiated. A feeling of doom crept over me. Lord, no…<\/em><\/p>\n I grasped for my radio, but there was no way I could call for help. When I had turned it off, my frozen fingers fumbled with the switch, changing the frequency. Without sight, I couldn\u2019t possibly find the right setting.<\/p>\n Don\u2019t panic,<\/em> I thought. If you panic up here, you die for sure.<\/em> I calmed myself, recalling my US Naval Aviation Rescue Swimmer Training.<\/p>\n There, daily I was in an oxygen-less environment, where it felt like I was drowning. I\u2019d made it through that. I can do this now,<\/em> I thought.<\/p>\n Squinting, I could just make out blurs. One step at a time,<\/em> I told myself. I felt for the rope. Got it!<\/em> I clipped in and inched my way along.<\/p>\n Now I had another worry. My oxygen canister only held about six hours of air. At the rate I was moving I\u2019d probably run out before I reached the canister Pasang had stashed. How would I ever find it blind?<\/p>\n I forced myself forward, taking baby steps across the dizzying ridge, stopping every few seconds to check my balance. I arrived at the Hillary Step, 40 feet straight down. I\u2019d have to do it blind.<\/p>\n I rappelled to its base, bouncing off the rock and ice all the way down. I paused to rest and wasn\u2019t sure I\u2019d ever get up again. I\u2019d been 30 hours without sleep.<\/p>\n Concentrate,<\/em> I scolded myself. I took one step, then another\u2014and then felt a sudden snap as my boot slipped. A blurry object bounced down the face of the mountain, one of my crampons.<\/p>\n I took another step. \u201cNo!\u201d I heard myself scream as I went into a free fall. I flew like a shot down 20 feet, till my safety rope drew taut. I took a deep, shuddering breath. The loose crampon had landed 15 feet above me.<\/p>\n I climbed back up to get it. I bent to pick it up. As I put it back on, I heard a deep, ominous sound, like some kind of prehistoric thundering herd, something so powerful it shook the mountain.<\/p>\n Avalanche! It felt like the earth was sliding out from under my feet. I wrapped both arms around the rope and held on for dear life.<\/p>\n The snow came roaring down. Somehow I kept my grip. I held on for a long time even after the tsunami of snow had passed. When I let go, I squinted at my gloves. They\u2019d burned right through. I struggled to my feet and started down.<\/p>\n I checked my oxygen tank, pulling the regulator up to my eyes and angling it into the sun. My air supply was down to almost nothing. Lord, I have to get to that spare tank.<\/em> I picked up my pace. It was getting harder to breathe.<\/p>\n There, down ahead! A cylindrical object glinted in the sun. I practically crawled to it. The oxygen canister! I unscrewed the almost empty one from my breathing apparatus then attached the full canister. I opened the valve. Nothing. No flow at all. Zero.<\/p>\n I tried again. Still nothing. Frantically I reattached the near-empty canister. For some inexplicable reason, I shoved the spare in my pack before moving on even though it made no sense to carry the extra weight.<\/p>\n I tried taking shallow breaths. Anything to preserve precious fuel. I hadn\u2019t gone 100 yards when I felt my lungs collapsing. The tank was empty. I ripped the oxygen mask off my face. I\u2019m suffocating!<\/em><\/p>\n