K2: The Savage Mountain | Summit Fever | 1
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It's June 5th, early morning, just before dawn. Pemba Giljay Sherpa unzips his tent and steps into the crisp, clear air of base camp. Pemba is 32 years old with broad shoulders and high cheekbones. He's one of the best mountaineers in the entire world. He was born in Nepal, in the shadow of Mount Everest, a mountain he's climbed seven times. But Everest is nothing like the mountain he's here to climb now, his first attempt at K2.

To experienced mountaineers, the name incites both excitement and fear. One climber wrote: "It makes no attempt to sound human. It has the nakedness of the world before the first man, or of the cindered planet after the last."

K2 is the tallest of the Karakoram range that runs along the China and Pakistan border. It's second only to Mount Everest in height. But unlike Everest, which has flat sections, K2 is almost an entirely vertical climb. From its base, it rises like a giant pyramid 28,000 feet in the air, a few thousand feet under the cruising altitude of commercial planes.

For millions of years, severe storms and high winds have battered its sides, forming deep scars, craggy outcroppings, and deep valleys filled with ice and snow. It is a beautiful mountain. It's a jagged diamond with teeth. But most of all, it demands respect. It is the most dangerous climb in the entire world.

Thousands have reached the peak of Mount Everest, but only 278 have summited K2. For that reason, some climbers call K2 the Savage Mountain. Pemba doesn't agree. To him, the mountain is beautiful. He checks his pack one more time, then makes his way across base camp. The porters and cooks are already preparing breakfast. As Pemba passes the mess tent, he catches a whiff of freshly brewed coffee. Save some tea for me, he calls.

Pemba was the first to arrive at base camp this year, along with his team. They're called the Dutch International Expedition, or NORIT team. There are eight men from four different countries, all experienced climbers, all meticulously prepared for the quest. Pemba waves hello to his teammate, Jer McDonald, who emerges from a tent hung with an Irish flag.

Pemba grins. He met Jer five years ago while on an Everest expedition, and they hit it off right away. Jer is an easygoing Irishman, always ready with a laugh. He has a lifelong fascination with the Sherpas, their spirituality, their humility, and their deep knowledge of mountaineering.

It was Jur who convinced Pemba to join the team for this expedition, not just as a Sherpa, but as a full member. Jur follows behind as Pemba makes his way past the tents towards a small pile of rocks. Pemba is Buddhist. Before he left home, he met with his lama who assured him good things would come this summer. But Pemba needed to perform a prayer ceremony called Pudja on specific dates while on the mountain. Today is the first.

Pemba builds an altar from stones. He gently sets out an offering of food and water and places colorful prayer flags into the cracks between the rocks. They flutter in the breeze. Then he sits on top of the rocks, pulls out his iPod, and presses play. Music and chants fill the air, given to him by the lama himself. Then he settles in to pray.

He believes the mountain is a symbol of the gods. His prayer is both an acknowledgement and a humble request. "We know we are going to disturb your peaceful place, but please protect us. Allow us in." A few others drift over. Drawn in by the sound, the music seems to spring from the rocks themselves. It inspires them to contemplate the magnitude of what they're about to attempt. Any uneasy feelings, they try to push down. They all know the stats.

In the quest for the top of the second tallest mountain, one in four won't make it back down. From Wondery, I'm Mike Corey, and this is Against the Odds. In the summer of 2008, some of the world's best climbers from eight different countries made their way towards the summit of K2, the second highest mountain on Earth. From a distance, the snow-covered rock looks like a child's drawing of a mountain. It's a perfect triangle.

But on the slopes, it's a different story. Sunny mornings suddenly transform into hurricane-force winds. Avalanches drop from overhead without warning. Unexpected blizzards leave climbers disoriented and lost in weather that can drop to 60 below.

For these reasons, K2 has become the holy grail for mountaineers. For some of them, it also becomes a graveyard. During warm weather, the glacier at the bottom of K2 sometimes disgorges the half-digested remains of dead climbers. A ribcage or a skull, as if to warn those attempting to scale it.

But that didn't stop a group of climbers from attempting the feat in the summer of 2008. Through a series of events no one could have foreseen, it will become one of the worst climbing disasters in modern times. It will also lead to extraordinary acts of bravery and an epic triumph of human survival. This is episode one, Summit Fever.

For Wilco van Ruyen, K2 is like the one who got away. He first attempted the summit in the summer of 1995, but on the route up to Camp 4, an unexpected avalanche of rockfall broke his arm. He lost a lot of blood on the climb back down. He made a second attempt in 2006 with Jur McDonald, but the quest for the summit had to be aborted when Jur almost died after a rockfall at the same location.

To prepare, he tackled other tall peaks like Denali and Everest, which he climbed with ease. But it's K2 that's haunted his dreams. Now he's back for his third try, and he's prepared. He's read everything he could find. He's studied the weather patterns, pictured the route, and planned and replanned the supplies they would need. His mantra is, the bigger the dream, the bigger the risks. He's the Nort team leader, and has handpicked each of the members, from Irishman Ger MacDonald to Pemba Gilje Sherpa.

He's perfectly suited for a leadership role. In the first month at base camp, he supervises every part of the preparation. The team must bring up hundreds of feet of rope to three camps at increasingly higher altitudes. Almost two and a half miles of rope in all.

It's an exhausting task, hard on the body. Many members of the team grit their teeth through blinding headaches from altitude sickness. But everything is going according to plan, and in mid-June, other teams begin flooding in. First the French team, then the South Koreans, then the Americans who bring in the only medical doctor.

Wilco is slightly annoyed as more people arrive. Not everyone is prepared. Some have little climbing experience, some don't have the right gear, but he tries to shake it off. With any luck, the NORIT team will make their ascent in early July. They'll be the first ones up, with still plenty of time to get out before the others make their attempts at the summit.

By the end of June, Base Camp is filled with brightly colored tents that spread over the area like starburst candy. A united nations of some 80 climbers from countries all over the world. The teams come from different backgrounds and climbing cultures, and they speak different languages. But over the following weeks, they get to know each other. There is a festive feeling as people sit around a blazing fire enjoying yak meat and sweet tea.

People visit each other's tents to share climbing stories or play music. Some play chess, others write blogs or send emails home. But nighttime in the camp is a lonely place. The sound of voices give way to the mountain's protests. The glacier cracks and groans beneath the climbers' bodies as if turning over in its sleep. The rumble of avalanches echoes sharp as a thunderclap. It's unnerving.

But then the sun rises again, and the sound of someone's harmonica playing a Dylan tune makes it all seem like a dream, and it's back to the business of getting ready for the climb. But as July progresses, the weather continues to thwart the climbers' plans, and the mood turns somber and anxious. Snowstorms roll into the higher altitudes, with more snow predicted. Some climbers have already abandoned their expedition, and others are considering it.

Everyone is restless and impatient. It gives Pemba Sherpa an uneasy feeling. More climbers have died on K2 in August than any other month. Now there are dozens of climbers waiting to summit. The window is closing, and many worry they will never get the chance again. It can lead to summit fever. Pemba's seen it before. Climbers who push aside bad weather or their own limitations and forge on ahead, obsessed by the quest to reach the top.

But for now, they are stuck. The atmosphere in camp grows more tense. Arguments erupt about who will be using ropes laid by others. Accusations are hurled. Bad feelings mount. Pemba just hopes the mountain will let them up soon. And then the cloud lifts. Literally. The weather forecast predicts that the jet stream will shift and usher in four or five days of calm, sunny days at the end of July and first few days of August. Perfect climbing weather.

Pemba walks into the largest tent at the camp. It belongs to a team of Serbian climbers. But tonight, it's the scene for an international summit. He surveys the group. There are reps from almost all of the groups at base camp, from three continents and seven countries.

While the window of opportunity to climb is exciting, it's created a whole new set of problems. Dozens of climbers are waiting for the chance up the mountain. Now everyone wants to go at once in the span of less than a week. This meeting is to decide how to manage so many people on one route to the top. Pemba nods at Wilco. They both know the Dutch Nort team can reach the top of K2 on their own. Wilco doesn't need or want anyone else's help.

But Pemba also knows Wilco is a pragmatic man, and this late in the season, and with so many climbers, there's no way to get up without cooperation. Number one on the agenda is deciding who will break the trail up to the bottleneck and the traverse, the most dangerous parts of the ascent towards the summit. The team leader from South Korea nominates his deputy to lead. Then he asks each of the other teams to nominate their strongest climbers to join him.

From around the table, team leaders volunteer their men, eight total, including Pemba. The trail-breaking party will leave Camp 4 a few hours before the others wake up to get a head start on fixing the lines. Now there's another question: who will supply the rope to fix lines and how much is needed? A debate breaks out. One climber says they'll need 300 meters. Wilco Shakes has said: "We'll need at least 400 meters just for the bottleneck alone and then more for the traverse. We can throw in 400.

The Italian team volunteers 200 more, but no one is sure what the right amount is. One of the Sherpas interjects, "The team should bring 2,000 meters of rope, just in case." The room erupts in laughter. Pemba jots down the equipment each team will supply: rope, anchors, carabiners, and ice screws. What no one talks about is what happens if something goes wrong. What time is too late to try for the summit? Under what conditions should people turn back?

Privately, Wilco's team agrees they need to reach the top by 2:00 PM. Any later and they'll have to make a dangerous descent in the dark. But Pemba knows that no matter how prepared they are, when it comes to K2, the mountain will lay traps for them that they could never anticipate. On July 28th, Base Camp buzzes with activity. Climbers sharpen their ice axes and crampons and pack up their cook stoves. Team leaders meet and agree on radio frequencies for their walkie-talkies.

The Sherpa climbers gather together to pray to the mountain. Pemba Giljay uses a satellite phone to call his wife and daughter, promising them all will be well. "We'll be praying for your safe return," his wife tells him. Jer McDonald shoots off a blog post filled with optimism. "Let luck and good fortune prevail." Fingers crossed. Then he drops a small bottle of holy water into his pack, which his mother had sent him from Ireland.

Pemba pokes in his head. Jerr grins. "It's a fine day for climbing, wouldn't you say?" Pemba nods. "That it is." From base camp, climbers have to make their way up through two camps, each higher than the next. The air harder to breathe. Camp four will be the last stop before attempting the summit, but climbing is tough. On the second day, strong winds force everyone to stop at camp two. It's like the mountain is sensing their approach and blows a frigid wind on their plans.

Wilco is frustrated. He still wants to push through to Camp 3, but the other teams want to lay low for a day. He knows it will drain the team's momentum, but they agreed to cooperate, so here they'll stay. At night, the temperature drops to 10 below while the winds pound on their tents. The next morning, they push on. Wilco's spirits are momentarily revived by how quickly they go. The day is finally calm, but as night falls on Camp 3, it starts all over again.

This time it's worse. A full-on storm with hurricane force winds whipping up the snow. So loud, none of the members of the NORIT team sleep. In the small hours, Wilco figures this is the end of the line. After a sleepless night, everyone's reserves are spent. Wilco hates the thought of failing. Again. But maybe it's best to turn back. He picks up the satellite phone and calls his base back in the Netherlands.

The equipment his team uses at home is some of the most sophisticated on the planet. The man on the other end tells him it's showing clear weather and perfect conditions. Wilco hangs up the phone and looks at his team. "It's a go! Let's head to Camp 4!" It's July 31st, just after 10pm. Camp 4, the night before the summit. Most of the teams have made it up, but they're exhausted and they quickly drop off to sleep. But there will be no sleep for Pemba Sherpa. He has a trail to break.

He yanks on his boots and unzips the tent. He's hit by a rush of cold air. As he makes his way around the smattering of tents, he wonders where the other trail breakers are. They're supposed to lay rope along the bottleneck and traverse before the others are up. Where is the leader from the Korean team? Hey, are you awake? Come on, it's time to go. There's no response. He makes his way through the camp. Wake up, bring the rope, it's time to go. But no one comes out.

Pemba sighs. This is the big day. Has the mountain beaten them already? Pemba hears a few hacking coughs and the familiar zipping up of jackets, but still no one appears. Finally, the appointed Korean leader emerges, but he looks resentful and glum. Soon, the other climbers trickle out. By the time they're all ready, it's after midnight. They've wasted two hours. Pemba looks out to the edge of the camp and sees a figure emerge from the darkness. Hello?

The man looks to be in his early 40s with short black hair and tan skin. "Hello, I'm Alberto Zerain from the Basque Country. Do you need help?" Alberto tells Pemba he's an independent climber without a team. He came up the bottleneck alone ahead of everyone else, but he decided to head back. It was too dark to climb solo. Pemba nods. He's glad for the help.

He looks back at the tents where the rest of the climbers are still sleeping. Hopefully the team will be able to lay rope through the bulk of the route before they wake up. Then he turns back to the mountain and the group heads to the death zone. The death zone is a place where humans aren't meant to survive. At 26,000 feet, the heart beats faster, lungs struggle for oxygen, and the mind starts to cloud.

But Pemba Sherpa climbs without supplemental oxygen. He's been climbing mountains since he was 14 years old. His body is more acclimated to the high altitude, but it doesn't make the trek up the mountain easy. In some places the snow is so deep he feels like he's swimming against the tide. He yells across the slopes. When we get to the bottleneck, make sure you hammer in the ice screws firmly and keep them well spaced out. We can't afford to waste rope.

At around 1:30 a.m., Pemba sees one of the porters in the back place the first anchor and secure it to a coil of rope. Pemba and Alberto trade confused glances. No one discussed whether this is the best spot to start laying the rope. They haven't even reached the incline of the bottleneck, the steep narrow tunnel that leads up the mountain. But the climbers won't need the rope here. The terrain is still relatively flat. They need to save the rope for the bottleneck further up. But the porter keeps going.

"You're setting too much rope on the lower slopes! You have to set the ice crews higher up!" The man stares at him, blankly. Pemba's heart sinks. He realizes the porter doesn't understand. He looks at the crew and realizes most of them don't speak English. He gestures with his hands. "No! Not there! Set them higher up! Higher up!" Pemba and Alberto push on. When they reach the bottleneck, they get to work laying rope for the climbers to hold onto for safety.

It's dawn by the time the two of them hammer in the final anchor at the upper mouth. Alberto gives a nod. "I'd like to go ahead, but do you need extra rope? I have an extra 100 feet or so in my bag." "No, they're bringing extra up. You go on. And good luck." Alberto grips his ice axe in his hands and continues to climb.

Pemba looks down at the other trail breakers. "Who has rope? We need more rope!" He's greeted with silence. Then he hears a lone voice. "There's no more! It's all gone!" Pemba realizes the team has laid all the rope lower down on the mountain, and they are now short for where it really counts: the traverse, the last tough stretch up to the summit.

Someone will need to send up the rope from the bottom. It will cause even more of a delay, which means there's a good chance they won't reach the summit by sundown, and no one wants to descend in the dark. When the sun drops, it will be colder and much harder to navigate. People get lost. They make wrong turns. "Hurry! Bring rope from the lower trails!" As the sun starts to rise, he peers down the base of the bottleneck. Groups of climbers are already starting to arrive. There's nothing more he can do.

It's 9:00 a.m. Cecilia Skoug grabs the bright red rope line in front of her, lifts her right foot, and takes a step upward. She's strong and fit, but her thigh muscles burn after climbing almost non-stop for more than three days. Cecilia is 34 years old with cornflower blue eyes and a mane of curly blonde hair tucked into her climbing helmet.

At home in Norway, she's known as the Polar Princess. She has stood on both poles and conquered the highest mountains on all seven continents. K2 is her last big goal. Up ahead is one of the toughest challenges of the climb, a deadly corridor of ice and rock that's known as the bottleneck. It's shaped like a long, narrow tube, tilted at a dizzying angle. Cecilia calls it a little monster. The climbers will have to pull themselves up through it.

Waiting beyond the bottleneck is the Traverse, a steep ascent along the edge of the mountain beneath a towering ice wall. She stops on a small rock ledge for a break. It's only mid-morning, but the sun and exertion makes her feel overheated. She takes off her climbing jacket and smiles down at her husband, scrambling up the rope behind her.

Shouldn't all the rope be laid by now? I'm sure they're close. They sent up more rope from below. Rolf's shoulder-length red hair and beard make him look a bit like a Viking. He's a top mountaineer and explorer, just like her. They met in 2003 on a climbing expedition in Russia. Four years later, Rolf proposed in Antarctica. They've been married less than a year. This is their idea of a honeymoon.

It's not their first time on K2 though. In 2005, they spent three months on the mountain but never reached the top. They didn't mind. Both of them live for adventure. Cecilia is just happy to be back. She loves the rawness of the place. Glaciers and black rock and snow. It makes her feel alive. Cecilia points up at the wall of ice above them. "Look at that!"

The Serac is sweating even more than me. The Serac towers over the bottleneck, a column of glacial ice so huge, climbers alongside it look like ants. The name comes from a white French cheese, and like the cheese, it can crumble easily, sending avalanches of ice and snow down the mountain, particularly when it's sweating like it is today.

One mountaineer dubbed it "the motivator" because you don't want to hang around it for long. Which is all the more reason to get beyond the bottleneck. But there's only one problem. The line of climbers ahead of her isn't moving. Eric Meyer zips up his suit and opens his tent, letting in a cold blast of air. It must be 20 below in Camp 4, he thinks. Meyer is a member of the American team and a doctor by trade.

It's still dark, but he can just make out the frame of his 6'2" teammate, Frederick Strang. "You ready?" "Man, I've been ready for two months." Meyer grins. The weather forecasts sun, a perfect day to climb. The two men make good time given they can't see a thing. The snow is packed hard by the chill of the night. As they make their way up the mountain, they sidestep crevasses. Every once in a while, one calls out to the other. "You good?" "Yeah, I'm good."

After a few hours of climbing, they reach the first ropes. That's odd. From their calculation, the bottleneck is still a few hours up. Why are there ropes down here? As the sun starts to rise, they finally see it. A ravine veering up at an angle of 50 degrees, filled with rock, ice, and snow, leading up to a steep incline called the traverse, the bottleneck. Neither man has been to K2, and they're awestruck by the sight.

Myers squints his eyes. "Are those climbers?" Strang puts a hand over his eyes and peers up. "It's a log jam is what it is. Shouldn't they be up on the traverse? They're not even at the top of the bottleneck." Strang is right. There have to be more than twenty climbers up there. "That means we'll be at the end of the line. We won't get to the summit until early afternoon if we're lucky." Both men know if that happens, in all likelihood, they'll be descending in the dark.

Meyer feels his heart sink. They've spent weeks on the mountain preparing for this moment. Could it really end this fast? They talk it over and weigh the pros and cons, but they both know the prudent thing is to turn back. It might be their dream, but not a dream worth risking their lives over. They turn around and head back to Camp 4. Cecilia shifts her weight from one foot to the other. They're moving so slowly, she's starting to have doubts they'll ever reach the top. She turns to her husband, Rolf.

What do you think? Should we turn back? You're reading my mind. If it continues like this, it's probably best to go back. Cecilia looks at the sky. The sun is almost directly above them. They arrived at the bottom of the bottleneck at about 8 a.m. Because of the rope delay, they've been waiting here for hours. Now it's nearly 11 o'clock. The plan to hit the summit by midday is now gone. She feels the agitation of the climbers around her. People unclipping from the rope.

She moves to the side to allow the most impatient climbers to pass. From the base, trail breakers yell up. "Please, don't rush. Just wait your turn." Cecilia cranes her neck up to see if the line is moving at all. And then she sees movement at the top of the line, near the traverse. One of the climbers looks like he's trying to get down. What the heck is he doing?

She recognizes him from base camp. It's a young Serbian climber named Dren Mandic. She doesn't know him very well. She saw him a few times playing cards with the Pakistani porters or making Serbian plum dumplings. Others have told her he's a gentle soul, a carpenter by trade who loves nature. It looks like he wants to replace his oxygen cylinder and he's trying to make his way back down the line. She tries to lean into the ice so he can get by. He unclips from the rope to step around.

It should be a fairly simple move. He'll reclip on the other side. But suddenly, he loses his hold on the rope and his foot slips. And then, he's sliding down the mountain, taking Cecilia with him. She screams as she feels their bodies accelerate as they slide down to the drop below. And then, the reassuring click of her Jumar pulls tight. She jolts to a stop in her harness. For a split second, Mandic is alone with the steep mountain and the gravity below.

nothing connecting him to the safety of the rope. He reaches out towards Cecilia to try and anchor back to safety. It's too late. He's sliding down the mountain. "Cecilia, are you alright?" Cecilia hears Rolf yelling, but she's frozen in place, watching Mandic's body skid down the mountain like a speeding toboggan. She hears somebody whisper.

After a few hundred meters of freefall, he slows to a stop. And then, miraculously, he stands up again and waves. A murmur of voices course up and down the rope. "He's alive! He's alive!" Cecilia is filled with relief, but suddenly Mandic slips backwards again and cartwheels down the mountain. Then, he's gone.

Pemba Sherpa hears Cecilia's scream and sees Mandic's body fall from above. He watches Mandic's body slide down the mountain and come to a stop about 900 feet below the bottleneck. It's too far away to see if he survived the fall, but to Pemba, it doesn't look good.

He sees Mandic's teammates rappelled down after their friend. Around him, the faces of the other climbers look stunned. A few of them talk to each other about how far Mandic fell and whether he is alive. They reason. It was a terrible accident, but accidents like this happen, and there's nothing they can do now. The Serbs are down there. They'll help him. But Pemba is unsettled. Mandic's fall seems like a moment of karma. Maybe reaching the summit isn't meant to be.

Pemba makes his way down to his friend Jur. "Jur, I don't feel good about this. Maybe we should turn around, head back to base, then just try another day." Jur considers a moment, and then smiles. "The sun is out, the weather is good, everyone is climbing. When will we get a chance like this again?"

Pemba's sense of loyalty to the Norit team kicks in. He can't now just say, "Guys, you keep climbing. I'm going back down." The team is counting on him and his mountaineering expertise to help them get to the top. He makes his decision. He will stay on K2 and follow behind. On the mountain, they need to stay together as a team. Swedish climber Fredrik Strang strides up the mountain from Camp 4, followed by Erik Meyer, the American team doctor.

It's nearly midday, an hour after Mandic's accident. The two men had returned to Camp 4 along with the American team after seeing the queue at the bottleneck. But now a call has come on the radio. The climber has fallen. At 31 years old, Strang is a hugely experienced climber. He has stood on Everest and climbed the seven highest mountains on every continent. But he believes no mountain is worth dying for.

They don't know how long it'll take to find the downed climber, so they're carrying a walkie-talkie along with a medical kit, an oxygen tank, water, and a sleeping bag. Strang is the first to reach a small group huddled below the bottleneck. The team leader is kneeling over the body, giving him mouth-to-mouth. Strang calls out, Is there a pulse? The team leader shakes his head. No, he's gone. Dren Mandic is dead.

He gets up slowly and makes the sign of the cross, then motions to the others to move Mandic's body. What are you doing? We're going to take him down the mountain. Give him a proper burial. Strang shakes his head. One of the golden rules of high-altitude mountaineering is that you never risk losing even more people to the mountain by passing.

by trying to bring down a fallen climber. Even helping an injured climber down is dangerous. Dead bodies must remain where they are. You know the mountaineering code. You have to leave them. But the Serbs are determined. Strang watches as one of the men pulls a Serbian flag out of his backpack. They tie it over Mandic's battered head, and the leader asks Strang if they can use his sleeping bag. Of course, let me help you.

Together, they tie Mandic's ankles and swaddle his corpse in the sleeping bag and crisscross it with ropes. As they finish, another climber appears from the mountain above. His name is Jihan Baig, a Pakistani porter from the French team. Jihan is descending because he's suffering from altitude sickness. Despite his condition, he offers to help. Each of the climbers takes hold of one of the rope ends and they start down the mountain. Jihan is at the back of the group.

Strang can tell he's disoriented and unsteady. The effects of altitude on the brain. Guys, please focus. Stay in line, okay?

Suddenly, the porter loses his footing and crashes forward in the string, and then starts to slide down the mountain still attached to the rope, threatening to drag the others with him. Release the rope! Let go! But the porter is no longer in control and clings on. The other climbers struggle with the sled and dig in their boots, desperately trying to hold on to the sled. Let go! Let go of the rope! Finally, the porter understands. He lets the rope go slack, but it's too late.

He's sliding down the mountain. Doesn't make a sound. Erich Meyer is just reaching the group and leaps out of the way. "No! No! Stop! Stop!" Strang watches as Jihan's body picks up speed. And then, the body disappears over the ridge. Swallowed up by the mountain, Strang drops to his knees. "Enough. One man is dead. This has to stop." The others nod in resignation.

Then the two Serbs kneel down and arrange Mandic's body inside the sleeping bag. They hammer some snow stakes through the fabric under the body's armpits to pit him down. Then they stand up and say a brief prayer. When they're through, the group sets off back to Camp 4, leaving their young compatriot's body on the mountainside like a sacrificial offering.

Rolf Bay is growing increasingly worried about reaching the summit. His oxygen bottle is almost empty, and he's struggling for breath. It's already mid-afternoon. It took much longer to get through the bottleneck than they hoped. After Mandic's fall, he and Cecilia had a brief discussion about what to do, along with their teammate Lars. Cecilia had said, He could be alive, and the Serbs went down to help him. If we go down now, it could create more of a delay for the other climbers. So they continued on.

Now they've reached the top of the traverse, a steep field of ice and snow tilted at an angle of 50 to 70 degrees. Ahead is a vast snow field dotted with crevasses and deep snowdrifts. Overhead is the Serac, as tall as a skyscraper. The summit is still three to four hours away.

Rolf clips onto the rope line and begins to haul himself across, looking up nervously. He knows that a block of ice could break off at any moment. Below him is a yawning drop down into the abyss. He stops for a minute to catch his breath and talk to Irishman Jer MacDonald. The two men got to know each other on an expedition to Antarctica a few years back, and they enjoy each other's company. Rolf, how you doing?

Not a great day for me. I'm not sure if I can go on. Just wait until you see the top. You'll want to go for it. But Rolf isn't so sure. He turns back to his wife. Cecilia, I think I'm done. He can see from her face. She's worried. Are you sure? But she knows the answer. Rolf's adherence to a code of climbing is one of the things Cecilia loves about him. He's not driven by ego to reach the top.

He simply loves the adventure and remote beautiful places. And his first rule of climbing, like hers, is get home. "So then, what do you want to do?" "I'm gonna climb a little higher, then I'll stop. You go on ahead with Lars, I'll meet you here on the way back down. But make sure you get back before nightfall, okay?" Cecilia nods. No one wants to descend the mountain after dark. Rolf reaches into his bag and pulls out a pink wool hat with rabbit ears. A hat Rolf always carries on his polar expeditions.

Lars, can you take this to the top for me? Yeah, you got it, bud. Rolf watches as Cecilia and Lars begin the trudge up towards the summit. Then he digs out a seat in the snow. Below him is the panorama of Pakistan and India. What a beautiful sight. He looks up and sees Cecilia looking down at him from above. He waves. She waves back and yells, I'll leave you my oxygen bottle. We'll see you when we get back down.

Then Cecilia and Lars turn a corner and she's gone.

This is the first episode of our three-part series, K2, The Savage Mountain. And a quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't exactly know what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this event, we highly recommend the book, The Summit, How Triumph Turned to Tragedy on K2's Deadliest Days, by Pat Falvey and Pemba Gilje-Sherpa. And No Way Down, by Graham Bowley.

We also recommend the documentary The Summit, directed by Nick Ryan. I'm your host, Mike Corey. Simon Worrell wrote this episode. Our editor is Maura Walls. Brian White is our associate producer. Our audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez. Vocal edit and sound design is by Joe Richardson. And original music by Francesco Quadrilopolo. Our executive producers are Stephanie Jens and Marshall Louis for Wondery.