The Summit Below the Summit
We left Base Camp at two in the morning.
At that hour, the Khumbu Icefall looked less like part of the earth than something the moon had abandoned.
Towering blocks of ice rose on either side of us, blue-white beneath our headlamps. Crevasses opened without warning, their depths swallowed by darkness. Aluminium ladders lay across them, fastened together with rope and faith.
Pemba, our lead climbing guide, moved at the front.
“Slow,” he reminded us. “Same pace. No rushing.”
The line of climbers followed him into the ice.
I clipped my ascender onto the fixed rope and placed one cramponed boot in front of the other.
Breathe.
Step.
Slide the ascender.
Breathe again.
Sonic climbed behind me.
For once, he was quiet.
The first ladder crossing silenced even
