Finding Jim (4 page)

It's now after dinner, the light is fading and I'm huddled under my mound of down, writing. The weather is showing some signs of improvement. In the past couple of hours, the wind screaming across K2's summit has stalled and the skies are trying to change from obscured to clear. We'll be up at 1 a.m. to take a look and make a decision about whether this is an appropriate window for a summit attempt. Dan is anxious to the point of being fidgety, but patience is the name of the game. We'll see how we handle the thin air when the time is right. Not before.

K2 has provided some great personal insights for me. I don't think it is because I'm simply away and have time for thought, though significant time away from the pleasantries of Western Canada is something that allows thought processes to jell. I really feel that K2 itself, the nature of the climbing and the seriousness of the mountain, play a huge part in how my thoughts are going. For the past 17 years, mountains have played an increasing role in my identity and my persona. I think you've clearly seen that in the past year. K2 and this trip and my time with you in the past are changing my perspectives. It's a difficult thing to describe, particularly since it's not clear in my own head, but I sense it is in the process of focusing in my thoughts. I'll keep you posted.

So, my love, it's time I turned in so the 1 a.m. alarm doesn't find me too groggy. If tomorrow is yet another rest day, I'll add to this; if not I'll be off to Camp Two.

Love Always,

Jim

July 2, 1993

Dearest Sue,

Happy Canada Day. I came off the mountain yesterday after a three-day stint into unsettled weather. I wish I could tell you our schedule here for K2, but it all depends on the weather. We've been waiting now since June 21st for our “break” for the summit. Patience is a learned virtue and we are all learning; K2 insists on it. There is some hope for tomorrow. The Swedish team down the glacier gets weather reports from the Swedish Meteorological Service via some elaborate set-up, and they are calling for a shift tonight and a four-day window of weather. We'll see.

My last trip up the mountain revealed some new insights into both myself and the challenges of K2. Dan, Phil and I left at 2 a.m. on the 29th and pushed right through to Camp Two at 6700 metres. We arrived at 3 p.m. after a long and tiring day. The next day we were to go to Camp Three to sleep, but after about 150 metres, I knew I couldn't do it. I turned around, knowing that Dan and Phil could be going to the top. Lots of thoughts ran through my head, but the bottom line was that I wasn't acclimatized and going on would have been dangerous. It was one of those threshold things and now that I've passed it and dealt with it, the decisions in the future should be easier and clearer.

Anyway, I returned to Camp Two by myself and worked there on the camp and spent another, much better night, which will help with acclimatization. Dan and Phil ended up turning around too, because of poor weather. Back in Base Camp, Doctor John has me on a prophylactic course of Diamox now to help with the acclimatization process. Stacy, John, John and Steve have been using it with success. Dan, Phil and I had a different philosophy. But now, for me, philosophy is out the window and “better living through chemistry” is in! I'm the control in the Diamox experiment, so I'll keep you posted after my next shot at Camp Three, and beyond.

We're doing well and have established many safeguards: Gamow bag, fixed lines from BC to Camp Three, the latest high altitude drugs, well stocked camps in terms of food and fuel, three-person teams, etc. All of us are keen on returning home, me most of all. I sometimes wonder if I've got the guts to climb K2. I still don't know how close to the line one has to wander, but I feel I may not have the ability to wander too close. You know me. I'm your basic wimp-chicken. Things will have to be going very well for me to reach the top.

I wonder if you'll recognize me when I get home. I'm certainly not losing any weight, probably gaining with all of these days in Base Camp, and my body is changing from biceps to belly. My climbing goals are shifting a bit, too. 5.12 on rock is the next plan.

It's dinnertime. Who knows, maybe we'll wake up at 1 a.m. and the Swedish report will have been right and the push will be on. The sooner we climb this great mountain and I can fly home to your arms the better. I've been gone six weeks now and we're halfway at worst. I am hopeful for August 1st, but I'll let you know somehow once the dates become more fixed and the summit is a done deal.

Love Always,

Jim X0X0

Back in Vancouver, I checked the mail every day and read Jim's letters over and over, especially before I went to bed. Some nights I went to sleep dreaming of marrying my brave, confident love, and other nights, especially as he neared the summit, I could only think of running away from him as fast as possible.

By July 12, 1993, Jim had been gone for almost two months. Rays of mid-morning summer sun plunged through the windows of my apartment. Humming to myself, I let a cool ocean breeze in through the balcony door. What to do today? A jog along the seawall? A bike ride? I was making the bed when the phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hi, Sue. It's me, Patti.” Her voice trailed off. It was Dan's wife.

“Oh hi, Patti, how are you?” I pinned the phone to my shoulder with my cheek and flicked the sheet.

“Sue, I have bad news. Dan is dead.”

“No!” I shouted and dropped the sheet. What about Jim? Where's Jim? But I was too scared of the answer to ask.

Patti sighed. “Yes, he is.”

“No!” I yelled again and gripped the phone with both hands.

“Jim called last night. The Dutch team let him use their satellite phone. Jim is fine. Dan fell on the way down. They couldn't find his body.” Patti spoke methodically.

I slumped to the bed in relief. Jim was not dead. “Oh, Patti. Is there anything I can do?” The phone shifted in my sweaty palm.

“No, thank you, honey.”

“Is anyone with you?”

“Ryan is here. My brother is coming.” Ryan is her 13-year-old son from her first marriage.

“Oh, Patti, I am so sorry.”

“Yes.”

We said goodbye, and I sat there paralyzed and vibrating internally all at once, still clinging to the phone. The news of Dan's death ricocheted through my body. My arm felt like cement when I lifted the receiver to call my father.

“Hullo?”

“Hi, Dad. It's me, Sue,” I wavered.

“Hi, Sue. What's wrong?”

“Dan is dead. He fell.” I fingered my bottom lip.

“Oh dear, oh, Sue. Is Jim okay?”

“Yes, he's fine.” I got up and paced.

I knew Jim was not fine. He was alive but he had watched his friend fall. I wondered if he would ever be the same again.

“Oh, Sue, you know, I'm not all that surprised.” Dad pressed on in a soft voice. “That's why I hugged Jim when he left. I knew there was a good chance we would not see him again.” His words hit me like a wall of ice-cold water.

“It could have been Jim” is what Dad was saying. It could have been Jim. Later, I read that 33 per cent of the climbers who attempt the summit of
K2
are killed. So of course it could have been Jim, but I was not even aware of that statistic at the time. I shook my head to push the painful truth aside. It could have been Jim.

I walked for hours along Jericho Beach until there was no more sand, and I climbed the steep embankment up to the university library. Inside, I ran my fingers along the book spines and pulled out a volume of poems by Earle Birney. I scanned them, looking for key words: grief, husband, wife, mountains, fall. Back and forth until I decided on a poem from
Last Makings
.

When we must part

sweetheart, think that my death

swings wide your harbour's mouth

to welcome in the young & joyful

the quick eyes ready for the searoads

time is yours for choosing

the love to sail the world with

(and the father to make with you

the unborn waiting to be loved)

if clouds hang heavy now

remember how your gentle sun

wheeled my rough planet round you

believe in my belief

that you were made to shine

with love

and being loved

swim proud dear princess

let no one dim

the brilliance of your mind

let no one bind

the courage of your heart

my small one so tall in patience

i think you will grow wise as Orcas

yet never lose your dolphin curves.

I copied the words on the inside of a card I bought for Patti. On the way home, I picked up a few bags of groceries for her. I couldn't decide if I should get comfort food or healthful food. The bags bulged with potato chips and mixed greens.

When I arrived at Dan and Patti's log home on the banks of Indian Arm, the front door was open a crack. I tapped on the swollen wood and felt the salty residue stick to my knuckles. No answer. I eased the door open and peered inside as if I expected a burglar to appear. Swoosh, swoosh, a tall man strode toward me, hand outstretched. “I'm Patti's brother.”

“Hi, I'm Sue.” I shook his hand.

“Patti and Ryan are in there.” He relieved me of my shopping bags and pointed with his chin.

I tiptoed to the door of Patti's bedroom and heard sniffles. “Come in, Sue.” Patti's voice was high and strained. I stood in the doorway. Ryan, Patti's son, sat on the bed facing her and held her hand. Patti dabbed at her red nose with tissue. “We're coming out now anyway, right, Ryan?” Patti tried to smile and raised herself jerkily from the bed.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Ryan reached forward, ready to steady her.

“I'm fine, honey.” She laid her hand gently on his arm.

I moved forward to hug Patti. “I'm so sorry, Patti.”

In the living room, Patti patted the couch beside her and I sat down.

“This card is for you.” I placed the white envelope in her palm.

“Thank you.” Patti opened the card, and I watched her eyes roam over the words. About halfway down the page, she crumpled at the waist. “Oh, God.” She closed the card, crying, and looked at me, “Thank you. I'll have to finish reading it later.”

She must have come to the part in the poem about having a baby. It was too late to take the poem back. I wanted to take away some of her pain. I didn't want to cause her more. At the same time, I knew that nothing I said or did would bring Dan back. And this poem honoured their dreams together.

“Jim sounded strong when he called. He was crying but his voice was strong,” Patti reassured me.

“If there's anything I can do…” I held her hand.

“My family is here.” The room was so quiet I could hear the ocean lapping outside.

Four days later, Jim's parents picked me up to go to Dan's memorial service. Entering the church was like walking into a forest. Evergreen trees towered and waved through the floor to ceiling windows and skylights. People flowed in like water, some eddying around a collage of photos of Dan. He looked so happy.

Patti took big gulps of air before she stepped up onto the stage-like platform.

“Thank you for coming, everyone. I've brought some vegetables and flowers from our garden because Dan and I really enjoyed the garden. It represents so much life. I am so proud…” Patti lowered her head for a second and then continued, “I am so proud of Dan for being the first Canadian to summit both Everest and
K2
. And I think it is very important for us to acknowledge Jim's achievement of summiting
K2
. He will need our love and support when he gets home.” A lump formed in my throat, and I sat on my hands in the wooden pew.

After the service, I waited in my seat for the crowd to disperse. A friend leaned over to me and whispered, “I wish Jim were here.” I covered my mouth with my hand and sobbed as silently as I could.

On the way home in the car, Jim's mother, Mom Haberl, turned around in her seat to ask me, “What do you think Jim would like best for an airport reception? A lot of people are talking about going down to meet him – Matt, Alastair, Kevin. What do you think?”

“It would be great for Jim to see his closest buddies there. That would be a huge show of support.”

“We'll see.” She faced forward again. I pondered her question, and by the time they dropped me off I wasn't so sure of my answer. I wanted to do what would be best for Jim.

That night, I dreamed that I met Jim at the airport and gave him a hug but he didn't return it. I squeezed harder, but he just gazed off into the distance.

Shortly after I woke up, Jim's younger brother called to say that the family thought it best if I went alone to meet Jim at the airport in Seattle. I was the one he would want to see. Jim would be home in two weeks.

The Sunday morning of Jim's arrival dawned beautiful and sunny and I walked to the beach for a swim. It will relax me, I thought. After a shower, I scrutinized my closet and soon covered the bed in discarded outfits. The clock ticked. My nervousness turned into procrastination, and I left 15 minutes later than planned. “Why do you do that?” I berated myself. I was often late. I drove down to the Canada–US border and clenched my jaw when I saw the lineup of cars and the estimated one-hour wait. I had only allowed 45 minutes for the border. I planned to be holding the eight-foot-long poster I had made that read “Welcome Home! Congratulations!” as Jim arrived. Now, Jim would arrive and I wouldn't be there. The car heated up as I waited, and the skin on my thighs stuck to the seat when I raised my legs to get some relief from the burning, sweaty feeling.

I pulled up to the arrivals area of the airport just in time to see some
K2
shirts and team members loading a car. I ran over. Steve said that Jim went back into the airport one last time to find me because he knew I was coming. I turned to see him striding toward me.