A Desperate Prayer Answered at the Top of the World

By Brian Dickinson, Snoqualmie, Washington

As appeared in

A thousand feet. Just over three football fields lined up end to end. But at 28,000 feet above sea level—an altitude climbers call the “death zone”—a single step can require an exhausting effort, even when breathing supplemental oxygen, which I was.

I prayed nothing would go wrong with my equipment on this final, solo push to the summit. Without gas the climb would be almost impossible.

There are very few places on earth where a man can stand at 28,000 feet. Mount Everest is one. It was where I stood that May night last year under the brilliance of a full moon, in my quest to climb the highest peaks on all seven continents.

Of course, Everest was the highest mountain of all, and by far the deadliest of the seven summits.

I checked my watch: 2:30 A.M. It would take all night to reach the top and half of the next morning to get back down. And I’d have to do it alone. Not what I’d planned. And not what I’d promised my wife, JoAnna, back home in Snoqualmie, Washington.

“I’ll have a Sherpa guide the whole time,” I’d said.

Himalayan Sherpas are legendary for their experience and endurance, and I’d engaged a good one for this climb, named Pasang Temba. He’d already summited the mountain three times.

“I’m going to pray for you anyway,” she said. “Constantly. I won’t stop.”

Now I needed those prayers more than my wife could possibly know.

First my climbing partner, Dennis Broadwell, was hit with stomach problems. He was slowly recovering in his tent back at Camp II. Then Pasang got sick.

I thought long and hard about continuing, especially after I might have damaged my goggles. I’d never intended to climb Mount Everest solo.

The risks were much more magnified. A lot of factors were in play—the weather, the conditions, how I felt. I decided to go for it.

Conditions were good—for the next eight or nine hours, anyway. After that you never know. On Everest weather kills more people than anything else. I reminded myself of the reason I’d undertaken this challenge: to raise money for AIDS research.

I tightened my crampons, checked my radio, double-checked the location of the extra oxygen canister Pasang had stashed for me (I’d need it on the way down), and set off up the ropes to the top of the world.

As I did, an image of JoAnna flashed through my mind, her eyes closed in prayer. I recalled our last night together before I left for Nepal two months earlier.

“I’m worried about you, Brian,” she said, clutching me tight.

“Don’t be,” I said gently, listing the reasons I’d return to her and our two young children safe and sound. “I promise I won’t take any foolish chances. You know me better than that.”

I rechecked my equipment, then headed off, my focus toward the top, one slow step at a time. Only a thousand vertical feet. So close....

I felt myself fall into a rhythm, slow and steady. The climbing was hard but not technically difficult. The moon was so huge and close, like a great inflated orb, that the jagged spine of the Himalayas seemed in danger of tearing a hole in it.

Stars punctuated the sky. What a beautiful night it was! I didn’t want this fear and apprehension to ruin it. The wind was baying softly, not screaming as it so often does this close to the jet stream.

Wow, I’m the highest person in the world right now, I thought. Enjoy this moment.

Soon I reached the only real technical challenge on the south approach to the summit: the storied Hillary Step, probably the most celebrated pitch in all of mountaineering.