Over 4000metres in Bhutan, with views of the stunning spire of Jitchu Drake on the horizon

.

By David Lim, for CFO Magazine, June 2013, and Life Without Limits leadership newsletter

Just recently, I was privileged to visit the mountains of Bhutan. As it would take far too long to walk; and unlike the mystical Guru Rinpoche, who rode a magical flying tigress; I had to fly by DrukAir, the nation’s national carrier.

This trip would be a far cry from my usual mountaineering projects or expeditions, which normally eschew most forms of ‘support’ whilst on a climb. Together with my wife, we had the support of a qualified trekking guide Tshering Penjor, a cook (Sonam), a horseman ( Tshering) and his assistant ( Kinlay). The 10-day trek would summit no mountain (as mountaineering has been banned in Bhutan since the 1992). But the trek, known as the Chomolhari trek, would take a horseshoe-shaped loop; covering 137km, and cross two high passes of nearly 5000-metres in height. Bhutan as long been seen as a bit of an exotic destination, the last Buddhist monarchy in the world.

An introduction of a national assembly by popular vote in 2005 brought a semblance of democracy to the small land-locked nation. But best known to a well-read traveler is that Bhutan has controlled who visits the country, as well as what values it wishes it’s citizens to uphold. Not only is there a whopping USD$250 tariff chargeable per day to ensure it’s policy of “high value, low volume” tourism, there is a huge emphasis on preserving the environment (a compulsory school subject); and a focus on Gross National Happiness as a measurable index to assess the state of the nation’s well-being, rather than Gross National Product.

It’s hard not to compare Bhutan with it’s similarly landlocked, and more famous neighbour Nepal. Both have stunning peaks, the goal of many mountaineers and hill-walkers, and both are challenged to keep a balance between development and preservation. In the space of 20 years from 1990, Nepal lost, through deforestation and poorly controlled forestry management, 25% of its rain forest. Bhutan actually gained 7% through careful forestry policies.

The trek we had planned was hampered by 8 days of bad weather with only 2 really good days. The 2 good days were really magnificent, with views near our 4000-metre campsite of Bhutan’s famous 6000-7000-metre peaks – Chomolhari, Tserimgang and the elegant spire of Jitchu Drake – surely one of the world’s most beautiful peaks; and climbed successfully by my friends Doug Scott and Vic Saunders 1988.

What I learned from Tshering was the practice of ‘detachment’. In Buddhism, there is a belief that much human suffering is caused by desire and attachment to material things. Detachment helps balance the spirit; reducing the ever-present elements of human greed and wants. And yet, if unbalanced, leads to torpor and a lack of motivation to do anything. So in that vein, an almost obsessive fixation on climbing to the summits of these peaks must seem strange, even somewhat repulsive to some people. A few days later, we were on our own; Tshering having had to return to Thimpu to tend to his father who had suffered a stroke. We gamely struggled on, with the other three, none of whom spoke much English. To make matters worse, we experienced driving snow on most days; and narrow trails made muddy and slippery from the rain and snow. One day, the weather and the conditions meant we had to struggle though nightfall to make it to camp. Dark thoughts, and complaints coursed through my thoroughly modern mind. And yet, throughout these challenges, our Bhutanese ‘crew’ managed to remain calm, and stoic. Once again, the mindset that even these hardships will pass; just as any transient happiness will also pass , seems so central to their way of thinking. Each day’s 10-mile hike through difficult terrain was met with equal emotional intensity as was the final stretch to Dodina, and ‘civilisation’.

Just a few days prior to our trek; and not too far away, on Mount Everest in Nepal, an unfortunate incident occurred. Three highly skilled professional climbers, including climbing aces Simone Moro and Ueli Steck were involved in an almost unheard of fight of epic proportions, high on Everest. The complete facts are yet to be known. However, what is known so far is that they were establishing a new route in the Everest-Lhotse area and climbing on the Lhotse Face, a 1000-m high steep, icy face on Mt Everest. The face is located between 6500 and 7500m. Most of the usual Everest climbers do not venture there until an elite team of climbing Sherpa mountaineers, have completed their work in fixing the safety ropes on that section.

Apparently, the three westerners were climbing unroped, and above the Sherpas when some ice was allegedly kicked down, accidentally, hurting one of the Sherpas. Some angry words were exchanged. The sherpas broke off their work, and returned to Advance base Camp at 6500m. When the foreign trio returned to their tents at the same location, they were beset by an angry group of Sherpas, numbering up to 100. Stones were thrown and death threats uttered. Some other climbers intervened. The trio sustained minor injuries and cuts, and retreated to basecamp. Later an ‘armistice’ of sorts was established by senior Nepal liaison officers and the Sherpas, with both parties apologizing to each other and commitments made to work more closely and peacefully henceforth.

I can’t help feeling that somewhere in the past 20 years, some of the magic in Nepal has been lost. Yet something wonderful has been found in the way Bhutan has risen to meet the challenge of modern day ego, greed, and most of all, “attachment” to things of this world. I think the Guru Rinpoche would have approved.

Visit http://www.everestmotivation.com to find out more leadership and team solutions by David Lim

A VIEW TO DIE FOR?

Reprinted with permission by The Sunday Times, Singapore, June 3, 2012
By David Lim

About 300 climbers on Mount Everest forming a long queue as they trek towards their ultimate goal of reaching the summit. Because there are only a few small windows of four to five days during the spring when climbers can reach the top in relatively good weather, the rush of mountaineers in these periods creates huge jams at bottleneck areas along the route, leading to people suffering from frostbite and other cold-related injuries while waiting. — PHOTO COURTESY OF RALF DUJMOVITS

Mount Everest is turning into a circus of danger as hundreds of climbers – including the ill-prepared – join the rush to the summit.

By David Lim
The writer Ernest Hemingway once said that there are only three true sports in the world – the rest being merely games – and listed them as motor racing, bullfighting and mountaineering.

But in the decades since the last of the giant Himalayan peaks fell to the boots of mountaineers, has the sport of mountaineering, at least where Mount Everest is concerned, changed irreversibly, and not necessarily for the better?

Each year, like part of a tick-list for driven people, Everest sees hundreds of climbers swarming its flanks, almost all of them attempting to scale it from either its standard routes from the south in Nepal or the north, from Tibet.

I applaud anyone who wishes to take on the personal challenge of the peak, as it is still not an easy accomplishment.

In its purest form, the sport of mountaineering is about freedom of expression. It’s about self-determination, route finding, working as a team, and challenging yourself in a pristine, harsh and remote arena.

And yet, climbing Everest has lost most of the elements that make mountaineering what it is. For Everest at least, the aim of the game is summitting, and sometimes at all costs.

Ask those climbers this season who were told to turn around but did not, and then died on their descent, largely due to exhaustion and mistakes made in a hypoxic state of lacking oxygen.

Veteran mountain guide Dave Hahn told me more than a decade ago on my second Everest expedition that ‘there is the sport of mountaineering, and then there is this thing called Everesting’. Mr Hahn should know; he’s climbed Everest an amazing 14 times.

In ‘Everesting’, it seems more and more people want to get to the top without investing in a long and often rewarding apprenticeship in mountaineering.

Even as recently as 1998, when I led the first Singapore Mount Everest Expedition , our aim was to climb the mountain with more than minimal experience, clocking up significant time on other mountains prior to tackling the peak.

That year, taking the standard route from Nepal, 45 people summitted. This spring season on Everest, nearly 400 people have done so. In 1998, none in Nepal died. In the season just ended, 10 have died.

It is clear from this, as well as some shocking pictures this year of more than 150 people jammed up in a queue leading to the final summit camp at the 8,000m mark, that the situation on Everest is fast becoming unsustainable.

In mountaineering, there are objective and subjective dangers, the former being risks which are difficult to control, such as encountering a teetering ice tower hanging over the climbing route and not knowing when exactly it might crash down.

But what is killing more people on Everest are the subjective dangers. These are the more controllable risks, such as climbers’ physical conditioning and training, their prior experience and their development of the mountaineer’s ‘inner voice’ that is uncannily correct in helping experienced climbers make the right call in difficult situations.

Here is what is making Everest a real circus of danger: For many of the less experienced climbers who have joined a commercial expedition, most of the key decisions are made by their trip leaders. A huge amount of logistics and decision- making is out of their hands completely.

As such, there is often a lack of mountain ‘awareness’ – knowing what is in place, understanding the limits of their bodies under stress, being able to be resilient when situations change. They also have a shallow experience and skill base on which to rely when things go wrong.

On a perfectly calm day in 1998, I was horrified to see two climbers stall above me. They waited until a third climber – a guide – joined them to demonstrate something as basic as how to thread a rope into a braking device to descend a fixed rope safely. This is akin to teaching a non-driver how the brakes of a car work after you’ve let him loose on the highway.

Worse, many outfits that operate on Everest are under-equipped and when a client gets into trouble, they do not have the resources to mount a coherent rescue.

As the window of summitting in relatively stable weather in the season is usually confined to just a few periods of four to five days at a time, when people decide to make a summit push, everyone else does so too, leading to huge jams at the bottleneck areas where there is a more difficult technical challenge to be negotiated.

I know of people who have had frostbite and other such injuries from cold because they were waiting for an hour at a choke point to get their turn on the summit. It’s a recipe for disaster if bad weather then sweeps in.

A third key factor is cognitive biases at work. Among the most common is ‘sunk cost’ – most wannabe Everest climbers have saved up the US$40,000 to $65,000 (S$52,000 to S$84,000) required to have their once-in-a-lifetime shot at the summit and are loath to turn back even when wisdom dictates that they do so. More experienced climbers are invested in their sport and lives, and often make the better decision.

Another factor which can affect anyone is ‘confirmation bias’. The well-reported 1996 tragedy where eight climbers died in a single incident happened because their expedition leaders looked at the weather reports and chose to interpret the facts to merely confirm what they wanted to do – to reach the summit on a specific date, even though that date was far too close to a likely change in weather for the worse.

For years, there have been calls by some of the most respected climbers in the community to restrict the numbers going up Everest. But in a dollar-poor economy, this is unlikely to happen, at least on the Nepal side.

In addition, who would have the unenviable task of deciding who qualifies to climb and who does not?

The very ethos of the ‘freedom of the hills’ held by most mountaineers would work against any of us wanting to be the competency police on Everest.

But until some systemic changes are made to how people approach their preparation for Everest, who organises the climbs, and who are allowed to climb it, the view from Everest, for at least a few unprepared or unlucky ones, will be a view to die for.

david@everestmotivation.com
The writer is a leadership coach and a veteran of over 60 alpine and expedition ascents.

___________________________________________________________________________
WARNINGS OF OVERCROWDING IN ‘DEATH ZONE’ FAIL TO DETER CLIMBERS

Since the first ascent on May 29, 1953, by Sir Edmund Hillary of New Zealand and Tenzing Norgay of Nepal, about 10,000 people have tried climbing the world’s tallest peak. Almost 4,000 have succeeded in reaching the 8,848m summit.

German statistician Eberhard Jurgalski, who has chronicled Everest activity since 1981, notes that the record number of ascents in one day was 170 on May 23, 2010.

The most treacherous part is above 8,000m, the ‘death zone’. It is almost impossible to survive the biting cold and lack of oxygen for more than 48 hours.

Warnings of potentially lethal overcrowding in the ‘death zone’ this year did not deter climbers. The BBC reported that more than 300 had official permits to go up from the Nepali side, not counting locals assisting the climbers.

Popular Nepali news portal ekantipur.com said more than 350 people reached the summit.

Among those who succeeded was Dr Kumaran Rasappan, 28, the only Singaporean in an expedition of 30 people. He joins other Singaporeans who have and Malaysia-born Mr Edwin Siew did it in 1998, while Ms Jane Lee led the first women’s team from the Republic in 2009.

Since 1953, more than 220 climbers have died at Everest, half of those in the past 20 years. The deadliest season was 1996, when 15 died, eight of them on a single day.

Nepal’s tourism ministry says six climbers died this year, but unofficial sources such as mountaineering websites estimate the number of deaths to be at least 10.