leaned over and kissed her. She smiled, then winced.
“That’s enough for today,” he insisted. “Let’s go fix that hand.”
Walking to the car, she said, “I’m ready for more.”
“More? How about we talk about more after dinner once you’re in a cast?” He knew she was ready for the big ones. “Those eight-thousand-meter peaks are no joke. You’re gonna need both hands for those.”
“I can be ready,” Chris said. “By summer. Broad Peak. Scott Fischer will be there and it’s our time, too.”
“Scott’s been climbing for ten years. He’s done K2 and Lhotse. He could probably do Broad Peak in his sleep,” Keith said.
“I’m not going without you,” Chris pressed. “Are you in or out?”
“After today, I owe you one. I’m in. Broad Peak, it is.”
CHAPTER 4
AN INDUSTRY BOOMS
OF ALL THE CITIES IN the country to establish a foothold in the climbing industry, Seattle in the 1980s and 1990s loomed large. Located on the Puget Sound in the Pacific Northwest, Seattle offered proximity to the Cascade Range and the Olympic Mountains, providing a wealth of opportunity for climbing at every ability. Longtime residents included iconic climber Fred Beckey and the Whittaker brothers, Jim and Lou, who’d learned the art of outdoor adventuring in the local mountains. They had put their skills to test on peaks all over the world, including Everest, which Jim had summited as the first American in 1963.
Successful, growing businesses such as Microsoft and Starbucks drew employees who wanted to spend their weekends and days off skiing and climbing in the nearby peaks and ski areas. Local outdoor retail companies Eddie Bauer and REI fed the appetite for cutting-edge gear, while recreation experts of all stripes established guide services that provided full-service expeditions for those interested in adventures. In 1987, Vertical World opened, billing itself as the nation’s first climbing gym. By the time Chris’s hunger for climbing began, Seattle had expanded its pitch to those across the country seeking the same rush.
Gambling that he could make a go of it in the adventure travel business, Scott Fischer and his partners had opened the doors of Mountain Madness in 1984. He and his wife, Jeannie, had moved to Seattle thanks to her job as a pilot for Alaska Airlines, which afforded Scott the chance to climb mountains and launch the business. Seduced by climbing from a youth filled with National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) courses, Scott began by guiding friends. Mainly, he crafted the company to take clients to the peaks he loved. Scott made no secret of the fact that the business was born out of his desire to link his sport and his income.
Scott’s strength and skill at scaling mountains were formidable. He loved telling stories in which he was the punch line, blurring the divide between novice climber and master. Treating everyone, from Sherpas and high-altitude porters to clients, as equals became a hallmark of his expeditions, along with honoring the environment, which Scott believed was as important as treasuring its beauty.
Among Scott’s earliest supporters was Geri Lesko, who had come to the sport of mountaineering in her late forties. Geri had gained an appreciation for the outdoors from summers at a family camp in Yosemite. Mountaineering became a natural passion, and she pursued fourteen-thousand-foot peaks in California and Colorado. In 1990, she found herself in Washington attempting to summit Mount Rainier, where she met noted Seattle climber Ed Viesturs. She was introduced to Scott in 1995.
“The first time I met him,” Geri recalled, “he extended his hand to escort me from the cab. I’d arrived to view a pre-expedition slide show in Seattle for a trip I was taking with him to Pakistan. I looked up and said, ‘Scott, you are just as gorgeous as everyone says you are, but are you any good?’ He laughed and said, ‘You’ll see.’” Fifteen years older than Scott, Geri became a confidante and trusted adviser, lending her ear as he worked to establish himself as a leader in international guided expeditions.
Sponsorships were necessary to turn a profit on big climbs, and Scott’s bold personality and attractiveness made perfect marketing material. In addition to being the face of the company, he needed to prove his worth to draw clients. Mount Everest became priority number one. Without an Everest summit on his résumé, clients would turn to other companies before his. The competition grew increasingly fierce as guide companies perfected their business models. Though the demand in the industry proved real, it came with growing pains. Scott practiced alpine-style climbing. This method focused on highly trained climbers who packed light. Efficiency and speed were carefully balanced with safety. Alpine-style climbers rarely turned to supplemental oxygen, medication, or high-altitude workers to aid their climbs.
Though alpine style was a respected method, the reality for guided adventures was expedition-style climbing, which required monumental planning. A push to the summit was no longer two individuals and all they could carry. Expedition-style climbing enlisted high-altitude workers who spent time fixing ropes on trails in advance of clients. Supplies were shuttled up mountainsides with tents pitched to shelter clients at higher camps. Supplemental oxygen (known as “Os”) and drugs to counteract the side effects of increased altitude were widely embraced. Such climbs came with a price, upward of $60,000 at that time for an expedition that lasted many weeks and without a guaranteed summit.
The race to meet the demand for adventure companies exposed a divide between those who’d been raised on alpine-style climbing and those who were seeking expedition-style adventures. Guiding companies were launched by those with climbing experience, talent, and raw energy. These were necessary assets, but the business knowledge was sometimes missing. Clients were looking for the full package: companies that could provide the training, handle the logistics, and get them up the mountain. Furnishing perks while providing a focus on proper training and safety set in motion an incongruity that persists today.
The year 1990 marked a milestone for Scott and subsequently for Mountain Madness. Lhotse, a next-door neighbor to Everest and the world’s fourth highest mountain, remained unclimbed by Americans. With little fanfare, Scott and his climbing partner, Wally Berg, climbed to 27,940 feet until there was no longer mountain to climb.
Next up was K2, second to Everest in height, but a brutal and more technically challenging mountain. Nestled in the Karakoram Range, K2 is one of the range’s few peaks over 8,000 meters, each marked by glaciers and steep, dark slopes that exemplify the Turkish translation for Karakoram—black stone. Partnering with Ed Viesturs, Scott’s trip up the mountain in 1992 started and ended with drama. An early fall from a loose ice block dislocated his shoulder, stranding him at base camp for two weeks until it healed enough to try again. A subsequent attempt yielded a close call with an avalanche and the rescue of Chantal Mauduit from a high camp. After the rescue, Scott and Ed reached the summit of K2, but during a harrowing descent they were called to a second rescue, this time of New Zealand climber Gary Ball, who was suffering from high-altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE). K2 had lived up to the hype, a reminder that it could be very dangerous to heed the alluring call of its summit.
Everest remained. The world’s tallest mountain had yet to find a place on Scott’s résumé. He’d attempted it before, in 1987 and 1989, without a summit. Several years later, in 1994, on an expedition billed as the Sagarmatha Environmental Expedition, Scott’s ascent to the top was as easy as the other attempts had been difficult. On the climb, he reaffirmed his commitment to the environment, as expedition members and high-altitude workers carried trash off the mountain, long plagued with the remnants of previous climbs.
The market for those seeking to summit 8,000-meter peaks was
