A day dedicated to rest ...and helicopters.

1/15/10
I was in the steel latrine when I heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter approaching. It was six thirty in the morning and all of base camp was entombed in a frozen snow. Not many people were up. I myself would have preferred to be in my warm sleeping bag, but the liniment oil had let me down. I spent the entire night trading sides. After about twenty minutes the hip I was lying on would wake me with an ache that demanded I shift the burden to the other side. By six a.m. my hips had formed a union and gone on strike. Unable to sleep on my back or stomach, my only alternative was to dress and be upright. Thus my wandering to the latrine.
Shortly after arriving at Plaza de Argentina yesterday, I noticed a Climber vomiting a few camp sites away. I pointed this out to Ty, but as this sort of thing is not uncommon and the man appeared stable, we went about our business. We later heard more about this man from other Climbers. He had retreated to the medical tent and was trying to get a helicopter lift out. But he had supposedly been told one price, then it was subsequently raised to $1,800. While he tried to debate this the weather deteriorated, making a medevac impossible.
I have never experienced altitude sickness on the level this man seemed to be suffering. I would imagine he had a very unpleasant night.
By the time I had my camera in hand the bright yellow helicopter was flaring to land. A few duffels were unloaded, a few loaded, then the sick man was led by the arm to a seat in the helicopter. I was impressed with how coordinated things seemed to be. That helicopter probably was not on the ground five minutes. By the time a collective base camp crawled from their tents there was nothing to see.

I am sitting in the dinning tent waiting for warmth. The skies are clear and sunlight will soon consume the chilly shadow cast over base camp. Then, in a matter of one hour, the temperature outside will rise from 29F to 72F, eventually reaching of high today of approximately 87F.

Now it is the evening and the snow is coming down. This is a tough place to dress for. After breakfast Ty and I reported to the medical tent for the mandatory checkup. It is not entirely accurate to say the examination is mandatory, but if a Climber forgoes the examination and subsequently requires rescue he must pay the full monetary cost of that rescue. As this would likely run into the thousands of dollars no many Climbers dare skip the medical checkup.
I was asked how I am feeling, if I am taking any medicines, and what the highest altitude is I have climbed to. My blood pressure was checked, my breathing listened to with a stethoscope, and a measurement of my blood oxygen saturation level was taken.
The wall I faced during the examination was decorated with photos of frostbitten fingers and toes. The accompanying verbiage was all in Spanish, but the basic message was universal. A very pale German climber was seated on a cot against this same wall. He had an oxygen tube up his nose and coughed with great heaves. Fluid was building in his lungs, a condition known as HAPE, High Altitude Pulmonary Edema. Efforts were underway to get him to lower altitudes.
My friend Brian was a few places ahead of me in line for the examination. He left the tent shaking his head. "They want me to come back again later in the day. They say my blood pressure is too high and my saturation level is too low." I hope Brian´s Guide knows about what happened on Kilimanjaro. I hope Brian has really thought through the implications of climbing a mountain a full 3,000 feet higher, absent the army of Porters that carried all our provisions in Africa. I am concerned but don´t feel it is my place to express that concern. At dinner I asked Brian how that second checkup went. "Not good," he said, waving a foil containing several doses of high blood pressure medicine. The camp Physician wants to see Brian again in the morning. I once climbed with a Guide from a very prominent international expedition company who told me the only Guide they had ever lost was on Aconcagua. The Guide had secummed to HACE, High Altitude Cerebral Edema, after making a carry from Base camp to camp 1. Clearly this is a mountain to take seriously.
We are well rested and excited for the carry tomorrow. Our loads are packed. We feel thoroughly acclimated. I can hear the snow falling on our tent now. All of base camp is silent. We are warm in our down sleeping bags. Now comes the sleep.