Traveling pair: ‘Together on Top of the World’

Outwardly, Phil and Susan had little in common. Phil was a professional mountain guide while Susan was a corporate executive who, at the age of thirty-six, hadn’t hiked so much as a hill. But drawn together by their zest for challenge, Susan and Phil found a way to spend quality time together, which soon turned into an adventurous, historic and life altering goal. They set their sights on climbing the Seven Summits, but  their special union was soon  tested in unexpected ways, including colon cancer and  prostate cancer.

"Together on Top of the World: The Remarkable Story of the First Couple to Climb the Fabled Seven Summits" is the story of Phil and Susan's inspiring partnership.

Here’s an excerpt:

Dreams Break on Everest
At 26,000 feet, the wind howls like a freight train. I lay in the pitch black, willing the tent to hold its ground, trying not to think about the fact that by 10:00 tomorrow morning either we’d be standing on top of Everest, thumbing our noses at everything that had conspired against us, or we’d be back here in this frozen, wind-beaten sardine can of a tent listening to five years’ worth of hope and effort whip away. Which way? The wind taunted me with the question.

Earlier in the evening we’d learned that a climber from another team had not returned from the summit. Inside my sleeping bag, my hands and feet had gone numb; my desire to complete the climb had flickered. But Phil had talked me through it. “What’s changed?” he asked. “We knew yesterday that people die up here. Is the mountain less safe today? Are we less capable?” I rallied. I felt eager. I couldn’t wait for the alarm to go off at 9:00 p.m. so we could head up to the summit. The image I’d carried for so long—the two of us, arm in arm on top of the world—came back stronger, clearer than ever. But now, staring into the dark, feeling the cold penetrate the nylon walls, that clarity once again receded.

I heard the beep of Phil’s alarm, then the whoosh of gas as he lit the tiny stove. A professional mountain climber, Phil is conditioned to get up in seconds. It would be a matter of minutes before he prodded me to do the same. But I had no desire to get out of my bag. With two layers under my down suit, a hat on my head, gloves on my hands, and two pairs of socks on my feet, I was actually warm, and the churning that had roiled my stomach for much of the last two months had vehemently returned. We had already delayed our summit attempt by a day because of the weather. Shouldn’t we wait one more day? But that was impossible. It was May 21, the end of the season. After tomorrow, Sherpas would start dismantling the ropes that fix the route to the summit, and below us the already shifting Icefall would become impassable. Phil crawled out of the tent and a jet of cold air came through the tiny opening. Between the wind gusts I heard him talking with another climber and then, above their voices, a different sound, hypnotic and haunting. It took a moment to realize what it was: Ang Passang, leader of our climbing Sherpas, chanting. Ang Passang was praying for our safety! It must be even worse than I thought! Stop! Relax, Sue, a calmer voice told me. Ang Passang is a devout Buddhist. He probably prays every morning. You just heard him today because he’s right outside your tent. I closed my eyes and let his voice wash over me, and for one brief moment I was able to drift—fearless—in his steady, musical prayer. Then reluctantly I pulled my boot liners out of my sleeping bag where I kept them so they wouldn’t freeze.

The world above 8,000 meters—26,000 feet—is no place for the human body. Even if you wear an oxygen mask your brain gets too little oxygen, so your thinking is slow, your movements are labored, your circulation is impaired. The simplest tasks—just zipping your jacket or lacing your boot liner—take twice as long as normal. It was ninety minutes before I’d managed all the zippers and Velcro, forced down a little coffee and a cookie, and jammed my warm feet into my outer boots, which were cold as ice. When I emerged from the tent it was into a swirl of stinging snow. All around, under the muted glow of headlamps, our three climbing partners and five Sherpas were hunched against the wind, strapping on harnesses and crampons and checking each other’s equipment. I did the same and then, one by one, we fell into line and began the slow march toward the rope that would guide us to the summit.

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