PMI Space Coast Florida Chapter would like to extend a sincere thank you to Mr. Ian Woodall for his inspirational presentation about his experiences in climbing Mount Everest. At the October 2011 Chapter dinner meeting, Mr. Woodall presented The Tao of Everest: The Gentle Art of Personal Inspiration and Practical Leadership.  The following is a synopsis of his exeprience.  

The Tao of Everest

Greys turned to vivid pinks as the dawn tip-toed its way across the Tibetan plateau, silhouetting us against the pale sky as we edged our way at 26 000ft along the north east ridge of Mount Everest. Suddenly Cathy started waving and pointing at a shape lying down to our left. And even in the early morning gloom I could see that it was the shape of a body. A body dressed in purple and black.

 A body. But who could it be? Bodies on Everest are pretty well documented but there had been no mention of this one. Then a violent shiver rippled up by back. But not from being in the presence of a life passed on, but from the remorseless, unrelenting cold. Just these few moments stationary reflection had caused my body temperature to drop alarmingly. Can’t stay here. Must keep climbing. Then the body moved.

Sometimes in life we’re travelling on a set, well-ordered path, all contingencies allowed for, all eventualities planned for, when suddenly, without warning and without reason, everything goes pear-shaped. There we were, just 800ft below the summit, but when the body moved everything changed for us.

Cathy and I shuffled across to where the body lay and knelt down, one on either side. And as I brushed away the long, dark hair covering his face I saw a sight that I still see every day and will never forget. Because it wasn’t a he. It was a she.

I gazed in shock and horror into the tender face of our American friend Francys Arsentiev. But what was she doing here? And where was her Russian husband Serguei? But I couldn’t see any sign of him, and there aren’t too many places to hide at the top of the north face. So I realized that at some point in their climb he must have fallen the thousands of feet down to the glacier below.

Frankie was dying before our eyes. We had to get her down. And the only way that was going to happen was for me to carry her down. I had no idea how far I could carry her, probably not that far, but until I tried I would never know. And anyway, perhaps we’d get lucky and meet some of the other teams coming up and we could share the work. But right now I just had to concentrate on getting Frankie up onto my back and start moving down.

So with Cathy cradling Frankie’s’ head in her arms, I moved behind Frankie, slid my arms under her shoulders and grabbed two handfuls of down jacket. Then, with a final gasp, I threw all my strength and energy into getting Frankie up off the ground.

And up she came. But only about eighteen inches. Nowhere near the height I needed to leverage her up onto my back. For a few endless seconds I hoped beyond hope that somehow I could muster the strength for a second effort. It was -30°C outside but inside my down jacket the perspiration was just pouring off. Then my arms started to shake, and I knew I didn’t have long, so I shouted at Frankie, I pleaded with her.

‘Frankie now you have to fight. If you want to live, you must fight.’

I just wanted to galvanize a reaction, any reaction. Perhaps she could take just a little of her own weight. But I may as well have been shouting at the wind – there was no reaction. Then finally, all my strength and energy deserted me, and as I lay Frankie back down as gently as my trembling arms would allow, I collapsed next to her, dangerously exhausted.

Now tears of frustration mixed with the perspiration because, this isn’t supposed to happen. I so badly wanted to help our friend. But in her moment of need, it was simple, I wasn’t big enough and I wasn’t strong enough. And there was nothing I could do about it. There was just me. And in Frankie’s moment of need it wasn’t enough. And it was a shattering realization.

So one by one we turned our backs on our hopes and dreams of climbingMount Everest from the north side. And one by one we turned our backs on Frankie. And with our heads spinning and tears streaming down our face we stumbled our way back down the mountain.

Years passed. Each spring I looked for news of Frankie. Surely someone would move her away from the prying eyes of passing climbers? No news. My fiftieth birthday came and went, my back and knees rapidly following in sympathy. Still no news. Then I realized that sometimes we find ourselves in situations where we may not be the best person for the job – but we may be the only person for the job.

‘I’m not convinced’, said Cathy.

‘Its true’, I replied, waving my latest edition of Cosmopolitan under her nose. ‘It definitely says here that fifty is the new forty. Which means I’m entitled to another mid-life crisis!’‘

‘But seriously though’, said Cathy, ‘why do you want to go back to Everest again at your age?’

I though for a moment.

‘Because she’s there!’

I brushed away the last flakes of snow covering Frankie’s face, as if wiping a frosted window into the past. I could see the events of nine years ago so clearly, but I couldn’t touch. I couldn’t intervene. I couldn’t change anything. So, with the steadily reducing hiss of our oxygen bottles reminding us that time was our enemy, we quickly but tenderly wrapped Frankie in the Stars and Stripes; tucked a Teddy Bear under her arm for company; whispered a personal message from her son Paul; and then, unable to find any rocks under the deep snow to cover her, we eased Frankie to the very end of our abseil lines and slipped her gently over the edge and down the North Face to join her beloved Serguei lying somewhere below.

© Ian Woodall 2011
www.ianwoodall.com
ian@ianwoodall.com