Excerpted from Winter 8000 by Bernadette McDonald
Thanks to the late-arriving permit, the last of the Polish team’s baggage
arrived in Kathmandu on 20 December 1979 and it wasn’t until 4 January that base camp was fully constructed on the south side of the mountain. Yet within ten productive days, the first three camps were in place and Andrzej [Zawada] began to wonder why no one had tried this before.
The news from Camp 3, however, wasn’t good. Above the tents reared the Lhotse wall, one continuous sheet of hard ice. They had hoped for snow, into which they could easily kick steps, but the winter winds had stripped the face down to its icy core, presenting the Poles with much more difficult climbing. When the frigid temperatures and screaming winds of January bit hard, their spirits fell. The team retreated to base camp, where the anemometer often registered 130 kilometres per hour and the temperatures fell to -40° Celsius at night. They began to understand why they were completely alone on the mountain.
To compensate for the harsh conditions, Andrzej surprised the tired
mountaineers with a plastic bathtub from Warsaw. The plastic soon cracked
in the cold, but Andrzej replaced it with a giant aluminium basin he had
purchased in Kathmandu. A fire burned constantly in the kitchen tent, providing piping hot water for the tub, into which the alpinists lowered their weary bodies, wallowing in its warmth.
Another feature at base camp, though less popular than the tub, were two
20-metre aluminium radio aerials, the handiwork of Bogdan Jankowski,
a climber from Wrocław. Bogdan was responsible for not just the aerials but
three long-distance transmitters, eight radio telephones, tape recorders used to record communication between camps, a gas-driven high-voltage
generator and batteries. Bogdan sent out daily bulletins to Poland so the
public could monitor their progress on the mountain. Return messages
reminded the mountaineers of home. Hanna Wiktorowska, secretary of
the PZA back in Warsaw, was charged with communicating the crucially important newsflashes from the families to the team: “Zosia has got one
tooth up, one tooth down … Are you remembering to wear warm socks?”
For weeks, shrieking winds battered the climbers, eroding their strength
and their will. From Camp 3 to the saddle of the South Col was a distance of
only 850 metres, but in these conditions, those 850 metres took nearly a
month to surmount. By this time, many on the team were too exhausted to
continue. Others were injured. Krzysztof Żurek was knocked over by the
wind and tumbled twenty metres before the nearest piton stopped his fall.
He managed to reach Camp 3, but then slipped into a crevasse – twice – on
his way to base camp. Both Zyga Heinrich and Alek Lwow were suffering
from frostbite in their hands. The climbers’ throats were inflamed from the
cold, dry air and their camps were routinely destroyed by hurricane-force
winds. The busiest person on the expedition was the doctor at base camp.
By 10 February only a few were still strong enough to function well in the
otherworldly conditions: Walenty Fiut, the unstoppable Zyga Heinrich,
and the two youngsters on the team, Krzysztof Wielicki and Leszek Cichy.
Andrzej moved them about like chess pieces, looking for the magical combination that would take them to the South Col. “I was convinced it was
only a psychological barrier preventing us from reaching it,” he said.
Leszek, Walenty, Krzysztof and Jan Holnicki set out from Camp 3 on
11 February. Each one climbed alone, at his own pace, immersed in his
thoughts. They reached the Yellow Band, continued towards the Geneva
Spur, and began a long, exposed, slanting traverse. Partway across, Jan
turned back, but the others reached the South Col at 4 p.m. A breakthrough.
Leszek quickly returned to Camp 3 in the face of the screaming winds
battering the col. Walenty and Krzysztof battled with their four-season
tent but were unable to erect it in the wind, so they settled for a small,
inadequate bivouac tent. They survived the night, but spent the entire
time propping up the tent pole. The thermometer inside the tent showed
Base camp was worried. They talked on the radio throughout the night
with Walenty and Krzysztof, encouraging them, calming them. There was
radio chatter from other camps as well, including one rather badly received
message from Leszek, who was resting in relative comfort at Camp 3. When
he suggested Walenty and Krzysztof should continue since they were so
near the top, his comment was greeted with howls of protest from the rest of the team. The next morning, the lead climbers fled, Krzysztof to Camp 2,
complaining of frostbite in his feet, and Walenty all the way to base camp.
Andrzej sensed this was a critical moment: there was a perceptible shift
in mood. “How powerless is any leader at moments like these?” he asked. “If I wanted to save the expedition, there was only one thing to do, and that was to attempt the climb myself.” Andrzej had not yet been as high as Camp 3, and now he was proposing to climb the mountain. A preposterous idea, but within two days he and Ryszard Szafirski were on the South Col.
Andrzej knew he was unlikely to go any higher since he wasn’t sufficiently
acclimatised, but he had made a staggering effort in order to salvage team
morale. It worked. Almost immediately there was a renewed energy. Oxygen
bottles were soon cached at 8,100 metres for the summit team; Krzysztof
and Leszek were at Camp 3; and Zyga and Pasang Norbu Sherpa were at
Camp 4 on the South Col, feeling strong and ready to try for the summit.
As it was 14 February, they now faced a bureaucratic problem that seemed insurmountable. Their permit was about to expire and orders from
Kathmandu were clear: no more moving up the mountain after 15 February.
After that, the only allowable activity on the mountain would be to clear their camps and descend. Since Andrzej doubted they could climb it by that
date, he dispatched a porter to relay a request to the ministry of tourism for
an extension. The porter had his own ideas about a permit extension: he was fed up with the expedition and wanted to go home. So, he cunningly
requested only two more days. Two more days, and the suffering would
finally be over. Two days was all they got.
Climbing without supplemental oxygen, Zyga and Pasang began their
summit bid on 15 February. The winds had stopped, but it was snowing
steadily. Zyga was known for his careful attitude towards risk, and it soon
became clear from radio transmissions with Andrzej that the accumulating
snow was making him nervous. They reached 8,350 metres before turning
around and descending: a bitter decision, but a new winter altitude record.
There were now only two alpinists high on the mountain: Leszek and
Krzysztof. With just two days remaining on their extended permit, the
pressure was enormous as they left their tent at Camp 3 on the morning of
16 February, bound for the South Col.
[Also Read Lionel Terray: The North Face of the Eiger]
That night, the temperature plummeted to -42° Celsius and the wind
continued to roar. “We were in a trance,” Krzysztof recalled of the following
morning, the last day of the permit. “When we left towards the summit …
we already had blinders on. Only the summit mattered … when you feel the
nearness of the summit, you feel that it’s within your reach. And it’s easy to
lose your sensitivity. You stop being able to measure your strength versus
your ambition. And when you pass a certain boundary, then only luck is
left.” They understood there was no choice: Poland was Poland, and Everest
was Everest. They had to climb it.
They lightened their loads as much as possible by taking just one bottle of
oxygen each. Krzysztof could no longer feel his feet but he kept plodding on,
drawing on his reserves. Moving without a rope, they took turns breaking
trail through the snow. The two rarely spoke. There was no need. As they
climbed higher, the jet stream hit them, knocking them off balance. Krzysztof recalled that the Hillary Step, the crux on the upper part of the climb, was surprisingly easy, being completely drifted in with snow. He clipped into fixed lines left by previous expeditions and soon after saw Leszek raising his arms: he was on the summit. Krzysztof joined him and recalled vaguely that they hugged.
The rest of the team was waiting. “The tension was unbearable,” Andrzej their anxious concern. “Hope and despair followed one another at each
passing moment. As the hours passed and there was still no word over the
radio telephone, our anxiety was overwhelming.”
At 2.25 p.m. Leszek’s voice boomed over the radio: “Do you copy? Do you
“Negative, say again. Say again.”
“Guess where we are!”
“Where are you? Over.”
“At the summit. At the summit.”
As base camp erupted into screams of joy, Andrzej raised his hands to
silence the commotion. He needed to be certain they were on the true
summit. His voice crackled over the radio: “Hey you, can you see the
triangle?” The Tibetan and Chinese climbers who’d summited in 1975 had
left a metal tripod to mark the summit. Leszek assured him they were
standing beside the tripod, and he promised to leave a maximum-minimum
thermometer, a small cross and a rosary to prove they had been there, and to record some data about winter temperatures on the summit of Everest. The following spring’s Polish team planned to retrieve the items, but a Basque team beat them to it. Unfortunately, the Basque climbers didn’t realise what the thermometer had recorded, so they shook it and lost the minimum temperature measurement.
Andrzej radioed Hanna at the PZA, where she had been anxiously waiting
for hours. “Today on 17 February at 2.30 p.m. the Polish flag appeared on thehighest point in the world. Thereby the Polish team set a record in winter climbing. Best regards from all the participants. Zawada. Over.” Both Leszek and Krzysztof later admitted if the goal hadn’t been Everest in winter, they would have given up weeks earlier. But the objective, and Andrzej’s leadership, had inspired them to their highest level of performance.
Excerpted with permission from Winter 8000: Climbing the World’s Highest Mountains in the Coldest Season, by Bernadette McDonald (Vertebrate Publishing, 2020).
Published in the U.S. by Mountaineers Books.
Winter 8000 is available now!
Bernadette McDonald is the author of eleven books on mountaineering and mountain culture, including Art of Freedom (2017), Freedom Climbers (2011) and Alpine Warriors (2015) and Winter 8000 (2020). McDonald has won numerous awards, including her second Boardman Tasker Prize and the Banff Award for Mountain Literature for Art of Freedom in 2017. She won her first Boardman Tasker Prize and the Banff Mountain Book Festival Grand Prize for Freedom Climbers in 2011. She has also won Italy’s ITAS Prize for mountain writing (2010) and is a three-time winner of India’s Kekoo Naoroji Award for Mountain Literature. In 2012 the American Alpine Club awarded her their highest literary honour for excellence in mountain literature. She was the founding Vice President of Mountain Culture at the Banff Centre and director of the Banff Mountain Festivals for twenty years.