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Makalu, K2,
Kangchenjunga
Summiter Carlos Pauner returns to Everest to attempt without oxygen!

By Jose Manuel Herraiz
It's been a month today since
our arrival to base camp and it is not a day like the rest. Carlos and the
other members of the expedition climb for the fifth time to the high altitude
camps to complete the process of acclimatization. I prepare the camera and
get rid of the useless accessories. I do it with care because it has to pass
Perez's test, our high altitude cameraman, who knows very well the effort
needed to drag unnecessary weight above 7,00 meters. Despite the early our,
seven in the morning, the sun already shines on the glacier and the summits
that surround base camp. Regularly, the deaf rumor of an avalanche makes us
look up and our eyes follow the snow falling, harmless in the distance, until
it stops. I sit on a rock, next to Carlos' tent, and I witness the ritual
once more, while he prepares the material and dresses to march to camp 2. Tafalla
is with me and we both stay quiet, like armor aids in front of the master,
ready to get his boots or to pick up his mittens if he asks for them. Carlos
takes the flag of Aragon, which is has carefully folded, and is ready to take
it up to camp 3 and leave it there until the day of the summit. The red and
yellow bars shine so much under the sun that we can hardly see them. Tafalla
asks Carlos to bring the fabric, bows his head and kisses it. I don't want to
be less and I do the same. We laugh and try to make the moment funny, but
only for our shame and not for anything else, because our patriotic moment
couldn't have been more innocent or spontaneous.
We give a hug and Carlos
leaves smiling to the bottom of the Icefall. His figure goes away with the
tinkling of snap harnesses until he disappears among the dunes of stones of
the glacier. In the years I've been following Carlos Pauner's expeditions, my
confidence in his possibilities at the time of confronting a mountain have
constantly grown. So, when I see him going away on the moraine, I don't have
tragic or pessimistic thoughts. But at the same time I also know, and my time
here has confirmed it, that crossing the line from base camp to the mountain
is something very serious that justify, while someone climbs, to have some
reserves.
The non-climbers stay down
and during the next days the mess tent will look very big and bored. With me
are Joan Carles, a journalist that writes about the Mallorca expedition,
Punchof, an Hindu friend of Jesus Calleja, climber from León, and Tafalla, who
I named before, a singular character: he is not only one of the best rock
singers in Spain, but he is also a showman and impersonator, among other
things, able to take in the same backpack the complete collection of Conan The
Barbarian along with Erich Fromm's pocket edition of "The Art of Loving". By
affinity, because of his being from Zaragoza, we have adopted ourselves
mutually to move together around this wonderful and hostile world, which so
many times makes you have someone closer to give a hand. Pauner has already
nicknamed us as Barbie First-Steps and Swee' Pea, maybe a little jealous of
how we are getting along. Well, it will pass. Here we are, waiting for our
heroes to come back and hoping that the expedition can go on and that it ends
with success. From time to time, we get to the Icefall as if it was a port,
with our faces like those of seamen wives, waiting to see Pauner and company's
sails, announcing that everything has been a success.
There is little left. A
memory for those who follow us and a special one for Charo, my family and
friends from Zaragoza. See you soon!
Translated from Spanish by
Jorge Rivera
Dispatches

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