Ascent to Sisters

From the valley, where we had our base camp that season, there was also access to two stunning peaks called Sisters, or Witches, even Bitches in the mountaineering circles, because they were notorious for the high statistics of unsuccessful attempts, incidents and even casualties. Our team did not plan to tackle them – not this season at least.

But for the first three weeks we made several so successful – smoothly performed that is – ascends, that we felt the level of challenge could be raised substantially. So, when our “team brains” – a red-bearded climber nicknamed Rust – mentioned Sisters, everybody listened.

Rust got his reputation for an uncanny ability to find the solution in any complicated situation, but he tended to be sloppy at times, so his opinion had to be weighed carefully. That’s what we did and, after several hours of thorough discussion, decided that we can give one Sister a shot, although the lingering concern remained that we could ruin the rest of the season if something goes wrong.
We went on the route in three groups – all the team. But, when the summit was already in two hours from us, the weather deteriorated so much that we were happy to get away with only a few bruises and minor frost bites after ten hours of brutal fighting the elements on the exposed slippery slopes, called Skirt.

The next season we spent in the neighboring valley, but before going home, decided to give another go on Sisters. This time though, one group was assigned to stay at the top of Skirt and provide assistance in case one of the other two groups would need a support.

Again, the summit was already within our reach, when a rescue alert came on the radio. Another team got in trouble on the other Sister. So, we had to descend to the saddle, cross over to another summit and help the guys on the way down.

They were beaten badly, but we had mixed feelings towards them. They were definitely not well prepared and should not try that route in the first place. And now, because of their foolishness, we did not have time for another attempt.

The next year we were already so hooked on Sisters that planed all the summer around them. At the best time of the season, when our physical condition was at its peak, we made two technically similar ascends on other summits and felt we have all that was needed to make Sister’s route a definite success. To improve the chances, we also decided that this time only one group would to go to the summit first. Another group will go up only if everything works well with the first one.

I was included in that first group of four climbers. We worked in two pairs and made a very good progress by reaching halfway ahead of the schedule. Then our strongest climber Beast slipped and fell. It took us awhile to pull him back. He injured his foot and shoulder and could not continue the ascend but did not require to be carried down. His movements were limited though, and he needed some assistance, so his partner volunteered to escort him, while the reserved group moved up to meet them.

Now we were behind the schedule and two of us pushed up hard.

We were already on the direct path to the summit, when to our utmost astonishment we bumped into two boys – the locals from the nearest village, it turned out – sitting on the narrow ledge. They were going to the summit too, but one of them was not doing well. We gave them tea and an energy bar. The boy seemed recovered a bit, and, stimulated by our enthusiastic advice, they were ready to start descending. I looked at my partner:

“Should we continue?”

He nodded. We picked up our backpacks and started moving along the ledge away from the boys.

I have just got into the rhythm, when my partner stopped and looked back.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I am not sure,” he answered.

“What do you mean?”

“The guys,” he nodded in the direction of the two boys, still sitting there, “they might need help on the way down.”

I looked at the boys.

“They will be fine,” I said. “They are locals. They have their own relationships with the mountains.”

“I am not sure.”

“Come on!”

He did not answer.

“We can pick them up on the way down,” I offered.

“They might try to go up too,” he said after a pause, “but would look for a different route, to keep away from us. And I am not sure how many good routes one can find here. Maybe this is the only one.”

“So, you are going to babysit them?”

He did not answer.

“Did anybody babysit us, when we climbed those overhangs bare feet at their age?”

“I wish somebody did,” he said. “That was stupid of us.”

“Man!”

I could not find what to say. But I knew him well enough to see that I would waste my breath trying to convince him to change his decision. So, we stood in silence for some time, until I got used to the idea of turning back.

The boys were still sitting there. We helped them to get up and started moving down together. The boys – a proud mountaineering breed – refused to be hooked on the rope at first. But my partner talked to them patiently with a lot of empathy, and soon four of us were working like a team.

Sure, it was very instructive for the boys – all these gears and the climbing technique. They did not have a chance to use such modern equipment before.

….

Many years later, after a slide presentation we did about our record breaking ascend to a very challenging peak, a man from the audience approached me. He shook my hand:

“You probably don’t remember me.”

“Sorry,” I confessed.

“I was one of the boys you helped on Sisters.”

“Ah!” I actually recalled the incident very vaguely. Ya-ahh, those two boys! I remembered now. They ruined our so well–prepared attempt on Sisters. Well, it was not their fault. It was my partner’s attitude. That’s how he got his new nickname – Babysitter. “How are you doing?”

“Thank you,” the man said and jammed my palm again. He was strong.

“For what?”

“Not sure how to say,” he paused, looking for the right words. “That event… Your attitude… It changed my view on life. It used to be flat. All people were either like us… the village people or like they… everybody else. That our meeting opened for me a door into a different world. The people outside were all the same, no difference between them, just different from us. But you were not like others. I started reading more, studied better at school, went to a college and now building bridges and tunnels in the mountains. I would not leave the village, if not that encounter with you two. Where is your friend?”

“He was killed by the avalanche several years ago.”

“I am very sorry to hear that.”

We paused in silence.

“And your friend?” I asked. “What is he doing now?”

“He teaches mathematics in the university. Has two kids, boys. Last summer we went up to Sisters together. We showed them the place. Can we take a picture? I think it will be very interesting for them to see it.”

We took a picture together.

“Have you eventually bagged Sisters?” He asked.

“No, that was our last attempt. We have gotten quite superstitious and decided not to tempt our luck anymore.”

….

It was so long ago.