“Breakfast will be served at 11 p.m. — by midnight, we begin climbing.”
We had reached base camp at the perfect time. On Everest, you get one weather window a year to attempt the climb. We coincidentally rolled into camp the night that window opened up.
Climbers who had been waiting for weeks, even months, were gearing up to begin the long journey to the highest peak in the world. It was a no-brainer: I pulled my frozen tripod out of the snow, set up my camera, and waited. “I’m not sleeping tonight.”
I listened in anticipation as groups in the distance warmed up for the Khumbu icefall — the most dangerous section of the world’s highest glacier. True to its name, the icefall moves in a constant falling motion, leaving behind massive ice crevasses and ominous rumbles in the dark. Terrifying. I jolted every time I heard the moving ice crack underneath me.
Was this a bad idea? I’d been standing motionless, letting the beyond-freezing air pierce my skin and leave my extremities numb. I was cold, tired, sore, sleepy, and unable to stop thinking about the warm sleeping bag waiting for me inside my tent. “I don’t even know if I’ll be able to get this on camera...”
And then it began.
One by one, tiny specks of light appeared on the icefall. I watched them slowly move up, thinking about how each one represented a profound story: originating from all corners of the planet, after years of preparation, they were emanating from the headlamps of quite possibly the most determined people in the world.
Earlier that evening, I had met climbers fundraising for disability awareness, for victims of war, advocates bridging racial gaps in mountaineering, climate scientists, documentary teams, and those pushing the known limits of the human body. these people weren’t just climbing for themselves.
I stood there all night, absolutely mesmerized, in disbelief of where I was: atop a shifting glacier, standing taller than entire continents, next to a lake of clouds shrouding the valley below us, surrounded by towering peaks glistening next to a rising moon.
Just me, my camera, and the captivating stillness of a night in the Himalayas.
