Freedom Climbers (Legends and Lore) Read online

  PRAISE FOR FREEDOM CLIMBERS

  “ This is an incredible book that celebrates climbing’s highest ideals.”

  —Gripped

  “Bernadette McDonald fleshes out the indomitable characters who forged Poland’s Golden Age of Himalayan climbing....This is a beautiful and important book.”

  —Rock and Ice

  “This important volume documents a defining chapter of Himalayan climbing history.”

  —Reinhold Messner,

  author of The Naked Mountain

  “[Bernadette McDonald] has produced one of the most captivating books on the subject of mountaineering to have appeared in recent years: a vigorous, vivid, and deeply sensitive portrait of a time as remarkable for the characters that defined it as for what they achieved in the mountains.”

  —Climb magazine

  “Freedom Climbers is a very enlightening and captivating look at the Polish climbing superstars.”

  —Ed Viesturs, author of No Shortcuts to the Top:

  Climbing the World’s 14 Highest Peaks

  “Freedom Climbers is the ambitious and sweeping history of post-WWII Polish Himalayan alpinism....McDonald subtly and effectively layers the themes of suffering, faith, pride and ingenuity that have defined the Polish nation and its people for hundreds of years....Ultimately as we witness the lightning that was the golden age of Polish Himalayan alpinism, we see a little bit of ourselves, our own motivations, and the freedom we all seek in the mountains.”

  —Jon Popowich, Canadian Journalist

  “Page-turning and heart-wrenching tales from the golden age of Polish mountaineering in the Himalayas.”

  —Pat Morrow, author of Beyond Everest

  “McDonald deserves special praise for bringing to light the stories of these remarkable men and women, and doing so in a manner that does honour to their memory.”

  —Wade Davis, author of Into the Silence:

  The Great War, Mallory, and the Conquest of Everest

  “McDonald climbs right up into the ranks of the best mountain chroniclers ...a story finally told, and told very, very well.”

  —Geoff Powter, author of Strange and Dangerous Dreams

  “McDonald writes of ...a whole generation of Polish mountaineers ...with historical insight and personal sympathy, and her book is the richer for both qualities.”

  —Appalachian Mountain Club

  Freedom Climbers was awarded the prestigious Boardman Tasker Prize for Mountain Literature 2011 and the Grand Prize at the 2011 Banff Mountain Book Festival.

  FREEDOM CLIMBERS

  THE GOLDEN AGE OF POLISH CLIMBING

  BERNADETTE MCDONALD

  LEGENDS AND LORE SERIES

  THE MOUNTAINEERS BOOKS

  is the nonprofit publishing arm of The Mountaineers, an organization founded in 1906 and dedicated to the exploration, preservation, and enjoyment of outdoor and wilderness areas.

  1001 SW Klickitat Way, Suite 201, Seattle, WA 98134

  © 2013 by Bernadette McDonald

  All rights reserved

  Originally published in Canada in 2011 by Rocky Mountain Books

  First US edition, 2013

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Distributed in the United Kingdom by Cordee, www.cordee.co.uk

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Book design: The Mountaineers Books

  Cover Design: Emily Ford

  Layout: Peggy Egerdahl

  Cover photograph: Bogdan Jankowski

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  McDonald, Bernadette, 1951-

  Freedom climbers / by Bernadette McDonald

  p. cm.

  Originally published : Victoria, BC : Rocky Mountain Books, c2011.

  Includes bibliographical references and index.

  ISBN 978-1-59485-756-0 (pbk)—ISBN 978-1-59485-757-7 (ebook) 1. Mountaineers—Poland—Biography. 2. Mountaineering—Himalaya Mountains—History—20th century. I. Title.

  GV199.9.M32 2013

  796.52209438—dc23

  2012039196

  Printed on recycled paper

  ISBN (paperback): 978-1-59485-756-0

  ISBN (ebook): 978-1-59485-757-7

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  1. CRUTCHES TO CRAMPONS

  2. CLIMBING POLITICS

  3. CLIMBERS WITHOUT BORDERS

  4. THE KNUCKLE

  5. HAT TRICK ON EVEREST

  6. SOLIDARITY TO MARTIAL LAW

  7. TOGETHER OR ALONE

  8. THE THIRD MAN

  9. THE ART OF SUFFERING

  10. MOUNTAIN OF MISERY

  11. FORGED IN STEEL

  12. HIMALAYAN ROSARY

  13. FALLEN GIANT

  14. CARAVAN OF DREAMS

  15. LAST CLIMB

  16. THE LONELIEST CROWN

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Appendix: Chronology of Major Polish Himalayan Climbs

  Notes

  Select Bibliography and Sources

  Index

  PROLOGUE

  I have always said that Poles are gifted,

  Perhaps too gifted. But gifted for what?

  —GÜNTER GRASS

  SHE WAS STANDING AT THE bar with a beer in her hand. What struck me immediately was her warmth. Surrounded by adoring fans, she was telling a story—about climbing, I assumed. She punctuated her tale with weather-beaten hands, but the real telling was in her face. Deep-set espresso eyes encircled by the sorts of lines that come from laughter and high-altitude winds. A broad expanse of forehead obscured by an unruly mop of wavy chestnut hair. And a smile so wide it completely melted that strong, Polish jaw.

  As I approached the bar, she glanced over. “Hi. Come on. Have a beer. I’m Wanda.”

  Of course, I knew that. Meeting Wanda Rutkiewicz was one of the reasons I had travelled halfway around the world to this mountain film festival on the French Riviera. Antibes is a lovely spot, but not in December.

  We skipped that evening’s film program. Instead, we stood at the theatre lobby bar, talking, laughing, sharing stories of mutual acquaintances. She spoke of Jerzy Kukuczka, Poland’s leading alpinist, who had died two years before on the South Face of Lhotse. This gentle giant of a man had been one of Wanda’s dearest friends. I had met him a couple of times, once in Kathmandu on his return from the first winter ascent of Kangchenjunga, and again in northern Italy, where we had enjoyed a three-hour lunch together. We talked about others: Kurtyka, Diemberger, Curran. Lots of stories. Lots of laughs. Lots of beer.

  As I stood next to Wanda, I was amazed at how slight she was. It was hard to imagine her shouldering a heavy pack up a mountain. She was slender, almost delicate. Except for that jaw. And of course her hands, which were muscular and rough.

  I was surprised too at how she was dressed. I expected a strong style statement from this Polish star: retro, dirtbag, elegant, I wasn’t sure what, but something. Instead, she was wearing the most ordinary mismatched array of fleece and cotton. Of course, she was just back from an expedition to Dhaulagiri and had hardly found time to catch her breath, let alone dress for a party.

  As the evening unfolded I revealed my ulterior motive, which was to persuade her to give the opening lecture at the next Banff Mountain Film Festival. That was part of my job as director. She enthusiastically agreed. Then we glanced over at Marion Feik, her somewhat protective manager, hovering nearby. The three of us talked and agreed that Wanda could make the trip to Canada in November 1992.

  A couple of hours later, as
the audience streamed out of the theatre, we were still standing at the bar. We refilled our drinks and drifted over to some tattered leather armchairs in the now empty lobby.

  “So, Bernadette, I want to tell you about my plan,” said Wanda. “I call it the Caravan of Dreams.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “I intend to become the first woman to climb all 14 of the 8000-metre peaks. You know I have done eight. I want to do the rest ...”

  “Well if anyone can do it, you can.”

  “...in 18 months.”

  “What? Are you serious? Really serious? I don’t think it’s possible.”

  “Yes, yes, it is possible, because that way I keep the acclimatization, don’t you see? It is better to go quickly from one to another.”

  I put down my glass and leaned forward. “Wanda, seriously, you can’t do this—it’s a dangerous plan. Have you actually talked to anyone about this? Other climbers? What do they say?”

  I protested as best I could. I was sure her plan was unreasonable, even though I had never climbed an 8000-metre peak. Nobody had done anything like this before. Climbers took years to collect the 8000ers, and only Reinhold Messner and Jerzy Kukuczka had summited all 14. Why was she in such a rush, I asked? What about the fatigue factor?

  Marion cast me a pitying look. She had heard these objections before. Many times. I could tell from her glance that she agreed with me. But it wasn’t Marion who was driving the agenda. It was Wanda’s plan, and Wanda was in a hurry.

  “I’m almost 50,” she said, brushing her hair off her face. “I’m slowing down. I don’t acclimatize as quickly as I used to. So I have to be strategic and group them together. I can do it, I know. I just need luck with the weather.”

  I stopped protesting. Clearly, there was no point in arguing with Wanda.

  We agreed to stay in touch over the next months, between her expeditions. She would keep me updated, and I would start the publicity machine to promote her Canadian appearance.

  Wanda sent me an aerogram letter from Kathmandu the following spring, 1992, just before heading off to climb Kangchenjunga. This would be her ninth 8000er. She sounded confident, determined, and eager to be done with it. I wished her luck.

  Wanda never returned.

  Two years later I was in Katowice, the industrial heartland of Poland, where I was helping organize a film festival. It was wildly successful, with hundreds of enthusiastic people milling about, watching films and reconnecting with their friends. The atmosphere in the auditorium was electric, despite the gloomy Polish winter. The scale of the climbing community in this cold industrial wasteland astonished me; the climbers seemed hardened, rough around the edges, intense. I was intrigued.

  At the end of the festival a group of climbers invited me to the local clubhouse of the Polish Alpine Association. Another dank, dingy building, windows smudged with residue from the nearby smokestacks, but inside there was warmth, light, plenty of vodka, and an energy level that rivalled a rock concert.

  Many of the surviving great Polish Himalayan climbers were there: Zawada, Wielicki, Hajzer, Lwow, Majer, Pawlowski, and more. I knew their histories and I had the impression that these alpinists were special, even visionary. I could see it in their eyes. They were fearless about tackling new routes in the great ranges and seemed impervious to the suffering implicit in going after (and often succeeding on) unforgiving winter ascents of the highest mountains on Earth.

  But there was also a palpable sadness in the room. I couldn’t ignore the repeated references to those who had sacrificed their lives for the mountains they had loved. Jerzy Kukuczka was one. Wanda was another. I expressed my admiration for both of them, and my luck at having known them, albeit briefly. There were smiling nods but troubling stories, particularly about Wanda. “You were charmed by her,” one of them said. “She had another side. Very hard. Calculating. She could be tough, like a bull.”

  I protested. Of course she needed to be tough in order to survive her lifestyle. “Yes, that’s true,” another climber admitted, as he pulled at his impressive mustache. “But she tried too hard. Always fighting. Difficult. Competing. We loved her, but she didn’t seem to know that. She thought she was alone. She pushed us away. But we loved Wanda.”

  “What about Kukuczka?” I asked. “Was he a fighter too?”

  “No, no, Jerzy had no time to fight. He was too busy climbing. He got distracted for awhile—the race—you know, with Reinhold Messner. They both wanted to be the first to climb all 14 of the 8000ers. But he came back...once he was done with that. He came back to the real climbing—the big faces.”

  “But that’s what killed him,” I countered.

  “Yes, that’s true. But he was a real climber—Poland’s best.”

  They talked of the changing times, of the crazy yet good old days of Communism, when the central government understood and supported the needs of climbers—at least the very best ones. They spoke with pride of the entrepreneurial skills they had honed in order to support their Himalayan habit. Climbers had risked their lives not only in the mountains but in their jobs as well, cleaning and painting industrial chimneys and scaling the slippery, unstable smokestacks that punctuated the Katowice skyline. This was dangerous work, not only because they risked falling but also because of the toxic environment. They whispered veiled hints about smuggling—how lucrative it had been. But times had changed, and now they felt cast aside from the crumbling heap of the Polish free-market economy.

  It was 3 a.m. when we finally left the clubhouse. As we made our way through the damp, unlit streets, the warmth of the party stayed with me, despite the bone-chilling darkness.

  Back in Canada, I often reflected upon that night in Katowice. I treasured the stories of great climbs completed, plans for the future, and dear friends lost. I puzzled over the conflicting opinions about Wanda and the others. Some of these climbing heroes seemed more complicated than I had imagined them to be. Particularly with Wanda, it was hard to reconcile the warmth that I had experienced with the ambiguous portrait that had emerged. Over time, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had attended a wake—a nostalgic, bittersweet celebration of something unique: the Golden Age of Polish Himalayan climbing, an era that had passed.

  I pondered the grimness of Poland’s recent history. Sixty years dominated by hideous violence and oppression, massive upheaval, and miraculous rebirth. The ability of this tight-knit climbing community to co-exist with such a desperate political reality, and produce the very best Himalayan alpinists in the world, was puzzling. Did the hard times forge their ambitions, or only toughen them, train them in stoicism?

  And now, life in Poland was once again undergoing massive change, seemingly in a positive direction. I wondered how Polish climbers would respond. Would an easier life consolidate their strength in the mountains, or simply distract them?

  These questions continued to intrigue me long after that night in Katowice. Eventually I decided to dig deeper—into the history of Poland leading up to its dominance of Himalayan climbing, and into the human contradictions of the great climbers of this era. Who was the real Wanda? Could she help lead me into the hearts and minds of this incredible group of people who, although they were shaped by their country, could not be contained by it?

  This is the story of their amazing journey as they climbed their way to freedom.

  1

  CRUTCHES TO CRAMPONS

  May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.

  —EDWARD ABBEY, BENEDICTO

  THE TRAIL WAS ROUGH. Boulders of all sizes tottered underfoot and treacherous ice patches lurked under a thin layer of unstable sand. The ground trembled from the roar of the murky Braldu River, far below. A gaunt, hollow-cheeked woman hobbled along, pain clouding her dark eyes. She stopped and leaned against a crumbling rock wall. Reaching into her pocket, she found two painkillers and tossed them into her parched mouth.

/>   It was 1982. Wanda Rutkiewicz was the most famous female Himalayan climber in the world. Her specialty was all-women teams. This was to be her summer: she had assembled a group of 12 women, all top climbers, many of them former climbing partners, for an ascent of K2, the second-highest mountain in the world. There was only one problem—Wanda was on crutches. She had shattered her femur in the Russian Caucasus Mountains a year earlier and there had been complications.

  Most people would have abandoned the idea of hobbling in to K2 on crutches, but Wanda, like so many Polish alpinists, had been forged to an unimaginable level of toughness and determination. K2 was Wanda’s dream, and she wanted to see it through, at least as far as base camp.

  Grim-faced and intent, she limped along the 150-kilometre approach march, trying to keep up with the others. Her crutches teetered on the overhanging cliffsides as she balanced on the pencil-thin trail. Hour after hour. Day after day. The villagers were dumbstruck when they saw her—this exceptionally beautiful and rather small woman—forging ahead on crutches through the Braldu Valley. The local porters, who knew her from previous expeditions, were so in awe of her bravery that they began to inscribe messages on the rocks: “Long live Wanda. Viva Wanda.”

  After several days she reached the Baltoro Glacier, where the trail worsened. Pebbles and boulders gave way to large talus. As each pair of crutches disintegrated from the punishing route, she would haul out a fresh set. Her hands hung with shreds of blistered skin, and her armpits were rubbed raw.

  Wanda was still a few hours from base camp when exhaustion overwhelmed her. Unaware of the magnificent granite walls around her, she slumped down on a rock, massaged her throbbing leg, and silently began to weep. This was how her fellow Polish climbers, Jerzy Kukuczka and Voytek Kurtyka, found her as they made their way to K2 base camp. The indestructible, bearish Kukuczka, known by all as “Jurek,” couldn’t help himself: he scooped her up and began to carry her. Voytek, slender and wiry, took her crutches. Alternating loads, the two carried Wanda the remaining distance.