American K2 2009 Expedition: Everest Summiter George Dijmarescu The Summit push part three

Summit Push. Part One: The light of my headlamp is facilitating my upward progress, I just left C4 alone, Dave is due to start any moment. I am taking it easy hoping he will catch up soon, the path is straight up and I am about to make the first turn. The Kazach climbers Max and Vasili have started ahead with Sergi, the Russian veteran who is on his 4th K2 summit attempt, one more light is visible about 100 m (yards) ahead of me. The almost full moon is shining on the icy slopes of K2, stars are in the zillions. The windless night gives me a sense of luck, I'm feeling lucky.

Then, it's dark.

Sudden darkness is something unwelcome, but at 8000 m, is very dramatic. The hard snow under my boots gives way, I am falling like an eternity, then stop. The light of my headlamp and the moon and stars are all gone, I try to move but can't. Panic and an adrenaline rush reach my inner core. I manage to rip the Oxygen mask off my face. My body is jammed into a crevasse, the backpack is keeping me hanging. My right leg is jammed against one of the walls, the left is hanging with nothing under it. My right elbow is slightly above my head, I am still holding Lakpa's ice axe in my right hand. My breathing has gotten fast and heavy, I could feel my heart beating faster. I am scared I will fall even deeper.

I've fallen in the crevasse before but never over my head, now I don't even know how deep I am.

I try to jam my left knee on the wall but without success, the crack is too narrow. I pulled on the ice axe but the soft snow above offered no support, in fact the shaft of the axe came at my head. I reached my arm over the shaft and have it under my armpit. I rest for unknown number of seconds, then I pulled on the ice axe. The lights came on. I could see the myriad of stars. What a wonderful view.

Now that I know I am not so deep, I could relax for a while. Having my right leg jammed against the wall was crucial, I pushed on it along with my right arm and came to see even the Moon. My head now is just above the rim of the crevasse. The tightness of the crevasse is keeping me from breathing normally. I try one more time to get out but fell in above my head again. Once again the Moon is gone. My head is tilted back and I am once again staring at the stars. Will I fall even more? My physical energy is draining fast. Still holding the ice axe, I pulled once again. Success. Once again my head is above.

I could see a climber about 60 yards ahead, resting.

"Heyyyyy!!" I yelled, "here!"

His headlamp turns down toward me, he could definitely hear me.

"I need help, I am in the crevasse".

The light moves again. It seems the climber is turning down but then stops, it seems, and starts to climb again. I turn my head down looking to see if my partner, Dave, was coming. I could see his head lamp still near the tent. Dave was too far away to hear me and a good 15 minutes from my cage.

Okay, George, if you want out of this ice cage, you will have to do it yourself.

The snow and ice that fell on the back of my neck was melting and I started to feel cold.

I thought I'd rest for a minute and then try to put all my energy into a bold all-out move to get out, just like a rock climber puts all his energy into a bold move in order to overcome a difficult obstacle.

I wished I had the second ice axe handy but it was strapped on my backpack.

Leg muscles are very powerful and in mountaineering we use them more than any other muscles. Still with the right crampon jammed against the wall, I pushed as hard as I could ever push; it worked. Perhaps filled with adrenaline but gripped by fear and panic, I wasn't very effective in getting full power behind my leg. With my left hand freed and my chest above the crevasse I could at least breathe normally. I swung my ice axe and tried to use it as the tool it's made for, an anchor, but the soft snow offered no purpose. I tried again in a different place, again and again with the same result. No ice, no hard snow and you are out of luck. I grabbed the middle of the axe shaft and slammed it through the soft snow. The shaft went deep into the snow, I pulled back and, success, the technique worked. With only my hips inside the crevasse, I started to feel life again.

I decided not to stand up, I was afraid the snow would collapse, so I kept my entire belly on the snow and crawled and crawled in a swimming motion for about 2 meters (yards). When I thought it was safe I stood up, still breathing very hard.

I look back to see what the fuck was that.

And there it was, my guardian angel.

The luck was in the shape of the crevasse, it was not vertical but at an 80-degree angle; looking down on it reminded me of a sherpa saying:

"You fall down on it, you will go all the way to America."

Well, that would have been great for me, getting home so fast.

I can't imagine the death climbers die when they fall in the crevasse. I would prefer an avalanche instead.

I regained my climbing composure quickly and as I kept on climbing I remember the acclimatization trips and in particular the trips to ABC. Dave would always come behind me and I always found the soft bridges in the glacier that would sink me to my hips and fill my boots with icy water. In one instance I almost fell under the ice of an icy pool of water, and that was scary. The weight of my body seems always to be too much for the bridges, and Dave had many laughs at my misfortune. What is it this year that I found all the holes that existed on K2?

This year is my second attempt on K2.

Last year's tragedy of 11 deaths largely overshadowed the success of its multiple summits, and I was glad I was not on the summit push with them. This year is different, with fewer climbers and lots more snow.

The rock fall last year was something I would remember for the rest of my days. This time, no rock falling at all.