Free Iced!: The 2007 Journal of Nick Fitzmorgan by Bill Doyle Page A

anyone. We are the only climbers who are headed up the mountain.
     Jiban says this is very strange. The last few years, more and more people have been making the climb up Everest. There can
     be twenty or thirty people in this camp at one time, especially this time of year. Where is everyone? The weather still looks
     clear, but Jiban wonders if other climbers have heard something we haven’t—and are staying off the mountain on purpose.
    But who can worry about the weather now? After more than ten hours of climbing, I’m exhausted!
    I was almost too tired to eat but forced myself to stay awake long enough to slurp down the hot beef stew Maura heated on
     the mini stove. Afterward, I crawled into my tent and am struggling to keep awake long enough to finish this journal ent

    WE HAD TO WEAR OXYGEN MASKS AFTER LEAVING CAMP 2.

June 9, 2007
11:45 AM
    This morning as we left Camp 2, we reached 21,000 feet above sea level. Up this high, we would become dizzy and grow easily exhausted in the thin air.
    Jiban said, “I want you both to put on your oxen masks and keep them on from now on. I would not want to have our first climp
     up Chomolungma be our last.”
    You didn’t need to tell me twice. I now knew how weird I could get without oxygen. I put on my mask.
    Chomolungma is the Sherpa name for Mount Everest. It means “goddess mother of the world.”
    Our next destination, Camp 3, is the most dangerous of all the camps. It’s halfway up the Lohtse Face, a steep 3,700–foothigh
     wall of glacial ice. You have to pitch your tents on narrow icy ledges that are totally unprotected from the wind. If a storm
     were to pop up, we’d have nowhere to go and would have to hunker down with nothing but hope to shield us.
    Jiban was looking up at the sky. “I don’t like the looks of those clouds,” he said, pointing to a dark dusting of clouds off
     in the distance.
    “But We have to go on,” I urged. “We’re so close now.”
    Jiban continued to examine the sky for a moment. Then he looked at me. Something in my face seemed to make him change his
     mind. “Okay,” he said. “We can keep climbing. But we must tie ourselves to one another. If a storm does develop, I don’t want
     any of us to get lost.”
    Jiban pulled out a long coil of rope and three clips. We each attached one end of a clip to our waist and the other to the
     rope. With about 20 feet of rope between each person, Jiban was in the front, then me, and finally, Maura.
    “We’re gambling a lot on your hunch, Nick,” Maura commented as we started to climb again.
    “Are you beginning to doubt me?” I asked.
    “No,” she said with a smile. “I’m just making an observation.”
    We were climbing for about twenty minutes, making pretty good progress, when the strangest thing happened.
    Maura’s satellite phone started to ring. Even 40 feet away, Jiban heard it. We both gathered around Maura.

    MAURA’S PHONE RANG!
    She quickly removed her gloves and oxygen mask. She pulled the phone from her backpack. We were on the side of the world’s
     highest mountain, and Maura was taking a phone call. Bizarre!
    “Yes?” she said as she answered the phone. After a moment, her green eyes flashed with excitement. “Hello, Judge Pinkerton.”
     Judge! I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Maura spoke into the phone. “Yes, ma’am, well, it’s a long story. Yes, he’s right
     here, let me put him on.”
    I pushed up my oxygen mask as I took the phone from Maura.
    “Judge?” I said.
    “Nick! Are you okay?” The connection was almost completely filled with static, but her voice was the best thing I’d heard
     in days.
    “Yes, we’re one. I—”
    Our voices were overlapping from the bad connection. Judge spoke quickly as if she knew we might be cut off at any second.
     “I finished my investigation and got your messages about your father still being missing. We’ve been able to triangulate your
     location by zeroing in on Maura’s satellite phone. I