September 10, 2007: Everest, South Africa

Located on a small game park, the ridges that comprise the Everest climbing area (not "the" famed Everest) rise up abruptly from the flat surrounding farmland in a row of mesa-like formations. Various species of antelope roamed around, flicking their tails in a futile attempt to ward off flies, while the occasional lone wildebeest shuffled by on its way to the nearest watering hole. The rains had not come yet and a single spark could have sent the entire area up in flames.


In fact, that almost happened. One night a large fire raged off in the distance and we thought that we might have to leave the area. If, that is, the truck would have been around. Henry, our driver, had taken the truck off for a few days so he could visit family, as well as make some repairs to the truck, and we had no way to quickly vacate the area other than on foot (the camping area was essentially deserted and reception was closed). Unfortunately, a human is not going to be able to outrun a grass fire fueled by a steady wind. So we did the only logical thing we could in that situation -- drink some beer, then go to bed hoping for the best. As luck would have it, the fire did die out -- basically across the road from reception -- and we escaped yet another possible disasterous end to the trip, allowing us to get in some more climbing.

George, in particular, had unfinished business at Everest. He had been part of the first Hot Rock expedition back in 1999, and a few weeks into that trip they, too, went to Everest. He subsequently had an accident on a feature called the Eagle's Head

The Eagle's Head:
which resulted in a torn hamstring and a medevac out. Torn, actually, does not quite accurately describe what happened. It was more like his hamstring was ripped off from where it attaches in the, ahem, gluteus maximus area. Doctors did not reattach it. Instead, it reattached itself about halfway down the back of his thigh. George now has a big lump there, but it does not prevent him from doing any activity and it looks really cool (I'm a sucker for interesting injuries). In fact, he is in better shape than most people half his age and powers up mountain approaches with less effort than a mountain goat. When we go running, he can almost outdistance me on the hills, which is quite impressive given that I spent the summer running up mountains back home in Kodiak. Basically, he's a 60-year old athletic mutant and an inspiration for people like me that would like to maintain fitness for a lifetime.

Anyway, he really wanted to complete the same route and asked me if I would climb it with him.

Walking to Eagle's Head: How could I say no? I felt a bit of pressure because he wanted me to lead the hardest pitch and I had not tried to lead anything that difficult before, but I decided to give it a go. It turned out to be a great climb and, although I did not lead the crux pitch cleanly, we made it up to the top without injury and George was able to put a personal demon to rest.

George coiling rope at the top of Eagle's Head:
The climbing was so good and the campsite had such a nice vibe that we voted to stay an extra day.

Sam gritting his way up a route:

Charles on the Ostrich Egg:

Charles reaching for a hold on an overhanging arete:

Unfortunately, that meant we would be out of food so we called Henry and asked him to bring food with him when he arrived. Seemed like a good plan, but we started drinking beer on empty stomachs and when Henry didn't arrive we were forced to come up with some way of passing the time. Being as we had the luxury of electricity at the campsite, Steve said he wanted a haircut with a set of clippers he had bought earlier in the trip. We were trying to talk him into shaving lines or shapes into his head and he finally agreed on the condition that someone else did it. I, of course, volunteered (you can see where this is going...). Six inebriated men, a few dares, and a set of electric clippers makes for some rather interesting haircuts.

Steve is first up and gets the double landing strip:

Me doing my best Last of the Mohicans yell trying to do my motley mohawk justice:

George having way too much fun as he works on Charles' forelock look:

George saved his finest work for last and transforms Pete into Friar Tuck:

Happy Campers from L to R: Pete, Steve, Dave, Sam, me, Charles:

Although Pete and Steve ultimately cut the remainder of their hair off before we left the next morning, Charles and I sported our new looks to our following destination: The Drakensbergs.