Climbing China

By Dave Johnson of the Montana Standard - 10/04/2006

Dave Johnson is shown, above, at the high point of his climb of Mustagh Ata. Here he is just below the icefall at about 18,100 feet. At this point Johnson and his climbing partner Dave Susanj decided to abort their attempt to climb the mountain in Western China. Photo courtesy of Dave Johnson and Dave Susanj

Editor’s note: Dave Johnson, 51, an English teacher at Butte High School, and Dave Susanj, 43, a health and physical education teacher at East Middle School, traveled to western China this past summer to climb Mustagh Ata, a glaciated mountain that measures 24,752 feet. Below is the account of the final day of their climb.

Mustagh Ata, China Camp 1 (17,500 feet) Thursday, July 27 It’s over. Today was our final day of climbing. Because of Dave’s increasing pulmonary problems, we have decided to abort the climb.

High altitude pulmonary edema is a congestion of the lungs that is caused by quick ascents to high altitude. Dave may have been suffering from the beginning stages of this dreaded mountain illness.

HAPE is an illness without eyes. It attacks any type of climber regardless of their conditioning level. To be fair to my climbing partner, I could have just as easily been the one grabbing my chest in pain.

I’m stowing Ryan Mickelson’s down parka that he lent me into its stuff sack. Our climb is over, and I think packing this jacket is the perfect metaphor. I’m packing up a key piece of gear at the same time that Dave and I have shelved our dream of climbing a 7,000-meter mountain.

I’ll have the jacket cleaned, and then I’ll drive to Ryan’s apartment near Reserve Street in Missoula.

I’ll say something like, “Thanks, Ryan. Thanks for lending me your jacket. It worked great. We didn’t make it to the top, though.” I’m disappointed, but we made the smart decision.

We started our sixth day of climbing fully expecting to get to Camp 2 at 20,000 feet. But at 18,100 feet and at the brink of crossing the icefall, we turned back.

Dave had been nursing a stomach ailment, a nagging cough and general achiness for the past week. Finally at a level part of the glacier, he said he just couldn’t take it anymore.

“I can’t go any farther,” Dave Susanj said with a pained look on his face.

I felt all he needed was to be pushed a little.

Dave would later say, “In my condition, I didn’t want to get to Camps 2 and 3 and then not be able to get ourselves and our gear down.” He was breathing very hard, and just taking off his pack caused his chest to heave. He was not himself.

Dave Susanj is an excellent climber and teaches rock climbing and backcountry skiing through Montana Tech. He is a certified downhill ski instructor and is trained in mountain rescue techniques. Needless to say, I have always felt confident when climbing with Dave.

On previous climbs, it was Susanj who would prod me on to finish a climb.

I remember last year on Mount Hood in Oregon when clouds suddenly moved in and closed off an easy final pitch to the summit, Dave said to me, “We’ve been in much worse situations than this. We should try it. Come on.” Initially, I wanted to quit. But after some thinking, I changed my mind and ended up summiting Mount Hood in spite of my comment that he sounded more like a used-car salesman than a mountaineer.

So here on Mustagh Ata when Dave said that he couldn’t go any farther, I finally listened. I sat silent for several minutes contemplating how to answer Dave’s “I can’t go on.” We decided to take our gear back down to Camp 1 though I still wasn’t convinced yet that it was the right thing to do. I still thought we could rest and then make another serious attempt for Camp 2 on Friday.

To get to Camp 1 we had to descend a fairly steep 750-foot snow slope to our tent. Dave would ski, and I would snowshoe.

I took part of his load that included our climbing rope.

I stayed above and watched Dave take his first two turns.

And then it happened.

What I saw was not the normal graceful ski descent of my climbing partner of 12 years. What I saw instead was grace under pressure. What I saw was ugly.

After just two turns, Dave stopped, dropped to his knees and leaned into the slope.

I shuffled quickly down on my snowshoes.

“I couldn’t catch my breath. I almost thought I was having a heart attack,” Dave said between gasps.

He wasn’t fooling. He was dead serious.

He finally stood up and breathed three huge breaths.

It took Dave at least 20 more minutes to descend the slope to our camp. He stopped and talked to Scott Woolums on the way down. Even with Woolums’ encouragement, Dave came back to Camp 1 convinced that he couldn’t make it any farther.

And so was I.

We had made the right decision to stop our climb.

Camp 1 (17,500 feet) Friday, July 28.

We packed up most of our gear and descended to Base Camp this morning.

Before we left Camp 1, Scott Woolums and George Barsisas who were camped 50 feet above us, came down to say goodbye.

“Team Montana,” yelled Woolums when he was within earshot of our tent.

Woolums sat down next to Dave on a small flat spot above our tent.

“Good luck on your descent,” added Woolums with an air of true sincerity.

There wasn’t any sarcasm in his voice. He didn’t say, “I knew you couldn’t make it.” In fact, I sensed a bit of respect in his voice when he came to visit us on this final morning.

Barsisas, Woolums’ paying client, sat down next to Woolums and asked, “I was wondering if I could borrow your Ti-blocs to help me cross the icefall?” Had it been a week before, we would have seriously hesitated. But not now.

Dave was reaching into his pack before the question was out of George’s mouth.

“Yeah, sure,” Dave Susanj smiled.

He carefully handed Barsisas the two pieces of climbing gear.

“Thanks for the timely use of your gear,” replied Barsisas. He tended to sound like a retired professor at times.

“No problem,” we both said.

See CLIMBING, Page C2 So the guy I wanted to hate, Scott Woolums, turns out to be a friend.

And the mountain we wanted to climb has eluded us.

Conclusions Dave Susanj left for Beijing a few days later as I stayed alone in Kashgar for two more days.

I walked the dirty city streets looking one last time at the markets and vendors that congregated near the mosque.

I wrote in my journal hoping to put a tidy ending to our trek.

What I concluded was that our trip to China was as much about culture as it was about climbing.

We experienced firsthand a country that is entirely different from ours yet entirely similar.

The Chinese food, pollution and behaviors were at times difficult for Dave and I to stomach.

But, some of the people we met will remain etched in our memories forever.

We will never forget Mao Lu, the assistant cook at Base Camp.

The night before we left for Camp 1, he woke up Dave at about 11 p.m.

“Dave Johnson, Mr. Johnson,” whispered Mao Lu.

“He’s asleep,” said Dave Susanj. “What d’ya want?” “I’ll leave some greens for him beside your tent,” replied Mao Lu.

“Ok,” said Dave, a bit confused.

Mao Lu wanted me to have the spinach greens because he knew I wasn’t eating a lot of meat.

In the morning when Dave told me about our late-night visitor, I knew that Mao Lu had had to sneak the greens from under the head cook’s watchful eye in order to get them to me. I was grateful for his concern.

Dave Susanj was equally impressed by Mao Lu’s kindness.

On our final night at base camp and after deciding to abort the climb, Dave had Mao Lu close his eyes and open his hands. Dave placed in the outstretched hand of Mao Lu the treasured possession of all Montanans — a Leatherman.

“I want you to have this because of how much you have helped us,” smiled Dave.

Mao Lu, who had always admired the tool, looked with amazement at the priceless gift.

Had Mao Lu been American, he might have hugged Dave, but Chinese culture often prevents these outward signs of emotion.

With a tear in his eye, Mao Lu only said, “Thank you,” dropped his head in respect, and simply stood straight in front of Dave.