Region Khumbu, Baruntse (7129 m)

• Name of the route: Havenly Trap
• Ascent west wall
• Lenth of ascent: 1800 m, elevation 1300 m
• Duration of ascent 5 days + 5 days descent
• Alpine style
• Climbing partner: Radoslav Groh
• May 2021

Heavenly Trap 
A special time. Another autumn, another winter, a gradually coming spring. Other problems in society, new topics, including concerns that have been kept idle until now, emerge like worms from holes, all at once. Especially the future suddenly seems slightly drunk and blurred in the image, without clear contours. Briefly described, a year I didn’t expect, which has swept many plans away, revealed weaknesses in certainty and increased demands for improvisation and action. I want to forward, I'm not complaining about it at all. Because for my nature a certain amount of social chaos is a breeding ground where I thrive.
During that time I got the opportunity to spend many months in the famous rocky areas of Italy and Spain, where crowds of people usually circulate. All of the sudden there was peace, sometimes interrupted only by a playful wind that was stroking against the rocks. In addition, my little girlie was driven out of school, and her online attendance could be faked from anywhere, from any hole with an internet connection. In other words, we were not tied to home and thus could zigzag our way on the viral map of Europe at our pleasure. As a result, the family was still together and we all enjoyed it with all the trimmings. Something that won't be so readily offered in the future. Simply an exceptional time that was caused by circumstances. The only thing that didn’t flourish were my expeditions to the big mountains. And there I began to feel great uneasiness. Fortunately, with the coming spring, not only did the snow begin to melt on the slopes of the Himalayas, but also all the bans and regulations for visiting Nepal began to dissolve. At the moment when a narrow gap in the gate to Nepal opened, I was able to slip through into the land. The only thing was to get acquainted promptly with the official obstructions and agree to the uncertain airticket lottery, in which the flight cancellations significantly exceeded the chances of departure. One thing is for sure, I do not suffer from the fear of uncertainty, and if there is a chance to make a valid attempt, I go for it.
In the end, I was greeted by the familiar sweetish stench, so typical of the Nepalese metropolis of Kathmandu. Just the pulsation and swarming of the city disappeared completely, closed into the houses together with the covid restrictions. However, we were given no rest. What’s more, we had to step on the gas, so I quickly sent Ráďa (Radek Groh), my climbing partner and other friends who were going on a trek with us, to Lukla in advance. Then I had to undergo a martyrdom in Kathmandu when having a date with someone at the Ministry of Tourism, where they condescendingly gave me a permit for the hill, for which I paid thousands of dollars to the establishment. As soon as this happened, the door closed behind me and the whole Nepal plunged into a hard lockdown. I was leaving Kathmandu on the brink of legality, and with slight financial incentives in certain places. I rushed to meet my friends in the mountains. I knew that I would be free there, holding destiny in my own hands again.
The whole group of friends and porters were still waiting for me in Lukla. Paradoxically, even here, at the gate to paradise, I was not able to get rid of the feeling that the pen pusher could reach up here and thwart our departure to the mountains using some dark magic. After the plane landed on the runway and I drank up two beers at the Paradise Hotel, I started chasing everyone “like a bloated goat“, further into the heart of the Himalayas. Concerns of the viral darkness were in place: they were spreading in the form of bans faster than the Nothing in the Neverending Story. So, quickly up and away…
The next day we meet the whole group of Honza Trávníček coming from the opposite direction, including the mountain conquerors Háček or the Hook (Zdeněk Hák) and Banán or the Banana (Jaroslav Bánský), who are carrying the first ascent scalp from Kangchung Shar. They are on their way back to Mordor while we are ascending to the mountain spikes that are tearing the clouds to pieces. We are exchanging smiles and impressions and we find it necessary to celebrate both their successful ascent and our meeting. We sit in a cosy lodge, where Didi, as the local household chief, starts moving on. In a few moments, we succesfully manage to relieve her of some beer supplies and thus force the poor lady to go begging for another allotment to the cottages in the neighbourhood. Fortunately, the duty of each of us is to move a step further that day, otherwise we would get drunk as a skunk, so we have to say goodbye. One half of the staggering figures continue in the direction of Lukla, and we climb the slope over the suspension bridges to Namche Bazaar. We spend the following days with friends on a trek, which is also a good acclimatization for me and Ráďa. The mountain trail leads us through several five-thousand-meter-high saddles around Gokyo and then over the highest pass of Amphulabcha to the Hunku Valley. The whole crossing right through the heart of the Himalayas took us great fifteen days. We didn't have very good weather, yet every day a miracle appeared before our eyes. After sliding down from the last saddle, at almost six thousand, we reached the Baruntse base camp. Under the mountain giants there was absolute tranquility and desertedness. Simply, there was no living soul far and wide, only the silence, occasionally cut through by the cracking sound of glaciers, rumble of a rolling moraine scree or a falling avalanche.
We had our goal before our very eyes every day, whether I just half opened the tent in the morning, went to the lake to brush my teeth, or watched the disappearing sun indulging in its own fiery pink bath on the west face in the early evening. The unique, sculptural Baruntse, filled the entire horizon leaving no doubt as to who was the master here.
I had been recalling the relentless look of this giantess for a few years. “She“ has a steep face, roughcast with a bit of snow and ice, which arouses fear. An amazing spectacle, forcing you to lower your eyes and, on the other hand, stirring up an irresistible desire not to take your eyes off “her“. A mixture of monstrosity, astonishment, beauty and admiration. From the very first encounter, when my eyes had been touching up the curves of the naughty Baruntse bit by bit, I had been looking for “her“ weaker points, and at the same time I had got a clear idea of ​​a new route stuck in my head. Right after that I had banished this wild vision as it was so infectious that it could have affected and paralyzed the whole nervous system. Oh yeah, some ideas must take their time so that your awareness and courage could grow up. But the epicentre of the infection had got stuck deep inside my brain threads, waiting for its chance. I had not revived the idea until 2019, when my steps had led me to “her“ again and Baruntse, in “her“ full beauty, had honoured me with a mischievous Mona Lisa’s smile. I had fallen into my own trap and realized that this seductive look would keep pursuing me in my dreams. The only damn glance had predetermined the direction of the future expedition and the direction of my steps. However, at that time there had been also another hillock on the list, a bit further in the same valley where Zdenda Háček (the Hook) and I had gone to climb a new route: the NW face of Chamlang.
It had taken two more years before I managed to place Baruntse into my climbing itinerary. The dream began to come true on May 13, 2021 when we reached the Baruntse base camp. Here, we drop our backpacks off the bruised shoulders on the ground that makes me think of a sandy beach. Amazing and romantic place on the shores of a frozen mountain lake from where we are looking up to the giantess who is only laughing at our smallness. Upon arrival, we are already well acclimatized and can be just waiting for „the gear to fit together“ and open a four-day window of good weather.When the period comes, the mechanism would be launched automatically and we would set off to the west face. But the days were still not coming, even though it wasn't too bad as the weather allowed us at least to roam the surrounding hills and thus shorten our time.

21th of May
A message arrived on the satellite phone, which immediately increased the bloodstream pressure. Our moment, for which we have overcome such a distance, is coming now. We pack the gear, food for six days and immediately set off for the glacier. Our first bivouac is just below the start, hidden under an overhanging serac. The serac should provide us with protection against any “helloes“ that might be swooping down upon us from the higher places. At the same time, it must be admitted that the icecap is just a frozen river that flows constantly, yet at snail’s pace. God forbid that the chilled stiffness starts moving at the moment we are under it. There would be nothing left of us but a greasy spot.

22th of May
We start cutting the first meters off the two-kilometer-thick face and from the very first moments are facing an unpleasant and heavy climb. There is hard ice in the lower parts which often changes to mixed sections. The ice axes and tips of the crampons are creaking as if someone was nailscraping a chalkboard. The ice axes, even at the strongest swing, wouldn’t penetrate any deeper and they are only ripping the thousand-year-old mountain coat into a million of tiny pieces that are falling directly onto Radek's head. No wonder, as the west face has undergone a major change in the last drought years, when lots of snow and ice have melted off the cliffs. Only the hardest shell has remained, withstanding the significant temperature fluctuations. Under the current conditions prevailing in the western face is an ascent similar to the one of the Russian expedition in 1995, whose leader was Sergei Efimov and which led through the pillar of the western face, or significantly to the right of our direction, unrepeatable. Hopefully, the situation will change and a period richer in precipitation will come. I don’t know when such a time approaches, but if you had any doubts you can ask the“yelling Greta“ who will gloomily present you with the catastrophic scenarios of our blue planet future. Fortunately, the viral inquisitors have pushed this subject to the sidelines. I am just wondering when “the card of eco-fascism“ will be pulled out of the hat againJ Perhaps a longer period is getting near when the Himalayas will turn into overheated rock-gardens and the mountain lakes into an amusement park with tobogans. The most likely thing is that it will get bloody cold again when the nature decides so. Then the hills will be covered in frost again, just as it has happened several times in the history of the Earth. No one will be asking us humans, let alone Thurnberg…
We continue to ascend, but the difficult terrain doesn’t allow us to accelerate. On the contrary, our already pathetic progression slows down with the increasing number of difficult sections.The chill attacks the body with the below-zero temperature, yet the power of sunrays can loosen a stone here and there. Rock bullets carrying death begin to rattle around us. After ten hours spending on the tips of crampons and hammering with ice axes, which have been bouncing off the glass-hard ice, there is no other choice but to dig a small platform into a ridge of solid frozen snow, reminiscent of an organ whistle. Ahead of us is a bivouac, all night sitting and hanging on a rope. We are sitting in a tent with no poles, hung just on the canopy. From a distance, it probably looks like a garbage bag with two puppets on a string. Very desperate place where hardly two buttocks can fit, with legs hanging over the abyss. Besides, the place is a hundred meters lower than we originally planned to climb. A hitch in our progression as well as in mental condition right at the beginning. "Ráďa, we need to catch up tomorrow," I say rather to myself. The tangled bundle crouching next to me releases the calming words: " Don’t worry, Mára, we will make it."

23th of May
The weather is good. We climb to the ice sheet which leads us diagonally to the left over the snow organ, to the rock sections. All day we are threshing ice axes in hard ice and climbing from one groove to another that are separated by ribs of unpacked soft snow. The climbing is monotonously tiring and dangerous. My calves are burning due to fatigue and my hands are losing swing with each new blow. I feel like they are wabbling as if they belonged to someone else. This daily section costs us a lot of energy again, but fortunately we catch up with the previous loss. In the late afternoon, while the red setting sun is licking the west mountain face, we finish with a pleasant surprise, a small space for the tent. It is a snow rib formed by wind and frost. It resembles a swallow's nest stuck to a wall. After a small adjustment, we have quite an acceptable bivouac, where we can stretch ourselves out and compensate for the previous sleep deficit. I realize that Ráďa and I exchanged hardly any words. There was no time to even drink or eat a bit. We are hungry and excruaciatingly thirsty. The place where we will sleep today is favorable and in less than an hour we water our parched throaths with tea.

24th of May
In the morning we climb into the most difficult passage of the ascent. Above our heads we have a 250meter barrier of broken rock. It takes us a while before we decide where our steps will lead. The progression slows down completely to a snail’s pace and the weather is getting worse.
„Ráďa, the section above me can't be belayed, it's a layered rock with an unfavorable gradient that will be breaking off like gingerbread. Which is crystal clear. I am saying that because I’m going to drive one more ice screw in the ice over there so that there is something between us to secure us and then I’m going for the Russian roulette". "Ok, I am watching out, and you try to send an additional friend or piton into that mess, Mára". "Yeah, and rock will be falling down, so shield yourself. I just hope I won't fall along with it. I really wouldn't like that." In the end, already during a heavy snowfall and with all our might, we climb through another seventy meters up under the ridge. The climbing is difficult, damn annoying, which could be used as an excuse, but eventually we are cut off by the weather. The snow rivers like white snakes crawling through the mountain face are spewing a flurry of tiny frozen snowflakes at us. Here again we must, despite our plan, find a place to spend the night. Our tent should have been sitting on the ridge by now. What the hell this is. Darn it. Fortunately, we find a rocky promontory jutting out over the valley and exactly matching the size of our tent. We build an airy bivouac on a patch that does not have an additional centimeter on any side and all around there is just an abyss leading to the hell. The eagle's nest has one beneficial effect: a narrow throat that connects us to the face, so the torrents of snow are flowing just past us. We feel safe, although the basis of the feeling is somewhat vague. In the tent, we pull out our sleeping bags, which, due to the previous nights, have absorbed moisture and turned into hard-frozen stones. Even so, it is better to lie down inside them and become damp. I quickly pull out my satellite phone to find a message from Alena (our friend, the meteorologist) who is my guardian angel and sends us the weather reports.
"Damn, the weather hasn’t been supposed to change today, it shouldn’t have been getting worse until tomorrow afternoon." I repeatedly read the message that confirms my words and quickly type my answer with new weather information with a frozen finger on a small keyboard. My message travels over ether to Alena immediately.
After all, nature can come up with its own strategies regardless of mathematical models and years of weather research. This empirical experience always reminds me that nothing is so solid, clear or unchanging. It is also true that we cannot consider all the variables in advance in order to prepare for them. In such a case, we wouldn’t be able to make a step forward. In the mountains you need to learn to accept changes and react to them. It is true that I am half a day slower than planned, but the dramatic deterioration in weather has accelerated by a day and a half. This brings us closer, by leaps and bounds, to the trouble of the following days…
The idea of the morning that has yet to come unfolds in my head. It won’t be better…But if we keep hanging under the top edge, we are vulnerable. We can't go down and the only way is up. We must hope that the weather will allow us to climb those few tens of meters tomorrow and then we will descend to safety down the ridge. An idea that will not have come true... But I am getting ahead of myself.
Suddenly, an SMS on the satellite phone beeps.
I read a new message from Alena: "Tomorrow the weather will be the same as today and it will be getting worse significantly in the evening. From Wednesday, i.e. the day after tomorrow, onwards, ‘a real saigon‘ will break up."
"Which means, Radek, that we need to be super fast, make it to the edge and immediately rush over the top down with all our might. If the Wednesday’s bad weather catches us at the top, we have a big problem."
"Tomorrow, we'll shoot at lightning speed, and I don't want to be here for another minute, Mára."
We fall asleep in a fighting mood.

25th of May
In the morning it is cloudy and the visibility is poor, but there is no other choice but to climb the ridge. Easy to say, but the falling snow and the wind combined with the last mixed sections will take up all day again. On one length, Radárek climbs up to me and mutters: "Shit, I wish it’s all over".
I try not to worsen the situation and calmly, without any signs of tension circulating in my bloodstream, answer: "It will be fine, just fine".
I didn't know I was kidding myself. We reach the top around 16:00, completely frozen and covered with hoarfrost. We can't see a step ahead due to heavy fog. All that remains is to set up a tent knowing that the Wednesday’s hurricane and snowfall will not avoid us. As a faint consolation, I keep repeating to myself that the terrifying face is at least already behind us. With the darkness comes a strong wind, pouring snow on the thin walls of our dwelling with the brutality of fired shots. Every moment it seems that the tent would not withstand the onslaught as its fluttering canvas resembles the agony convulsions just before death. Before dawn the tent doesn't move anymore. The wind continues to rage, but the whole tent is completely buried in snow and turned into an ice igloo. The space inside has shrunk to a minimum, where we are crammed without any possibility to move. Even the air is stuffy and heavy. But either of us is still not willing to go outside to that hell. There is nothing left but to do it, otherwise the place will change into our own grave. Let’s get to it…

26th of May
In the morning, we move the whole tent a few meters further from the new pile of snow; the operation is performed all blindly. One can’t see the tip of the nose, not even the edge of the ridge, behind which a gap opens, leading down to the glacier. All around, only white darkness preventing us from any further attempt to descend. Even those few minutes outside the tent seem like eternity. The cold enhanced by the wind soon penetrates our wet-clad bodies. Then it takes hours in the sleeping bag for the body shivering to subside and the feeling of warmth to appear. Later, we lie next to each other all day without saying any words, with heavy thoughts wandering in our heads, that we better keep each for himself. At the same time, we know very well that this is no good. In the next three days no change for better is on the horizon. On the contrary, it will get harder on Friday. Premonition of 72 hours lying in the wet sleeping bags without being able to make a single step arises in our minds. Not to mention that we are lost on a ridge which is seven thousand high and in places as sharp as a knife, with slopes falling deeper than a kilometer to each side. At night the wind comes again, then it changes into a hurricane and completely covers our tent with more new snow. Afterwards, nothing has changed until the morning cockcrow.

27-28th of May
Another day spent lying in the sleeping bags. It is not until the seventh morning since the moment we left the glacier when the luck seems to smile at us again. Around 10 a.m. the wind begins to calm down. Even the thick fog seems to be dissolving. We hastily pack the tent with an expectation to descend at least a little lower. The sunlight shines through a low wall of clouds and creates a diffuse light effect which awakens a feeling of total drunkenness. When you look ahead there’s nothing to lean your eyes on and you are even not able to discern the angle of your steps. The surroundings light up and you just blunder around in the shimmering white.
"Ráďa, we can't go on, I don't see anything."
"But we must try to keep on going, or we'll kick the bucket here, Mára."
"I know it's hard to accept, but there's nothing we can do, we have to wait. Because you don't even know if you're not going to fall into the valley with the next step."
"Let’s give it one more try," Radek's voice insists.
"Shit, we don't even know if we're descending along a ridge or just a lateral rib.“
Our heated discussion continued for a while, soaked in tension. In the end, common sense prevailed. A few tens of meters lower, we pitch the tent anew and crawl into that scary tomb again. This time for two days and two nights.
The weather is still devilish, and even the ordinary basic tasks, such as boiling water or going to urinate, are difficult for us and require lots of effort. During that time, we have to free the tent from the grip of the snow again. It has turned into a daily routine. We are waiting and praying.There is nothing more you can do. Meanwhile, the wet things are hard-frozen and we are getting bit by frost. Moreover, the food supplies have disappeared. We have the last portion and only for one of us, and that’s it. There is still some fuel in the canister stove to melt the snow into water, but the tea and soluble tablets are over.

29th of May
The weather has calmed down slightly and we can take advantage of the wind mitigation and at least some visibility. Finally, we can climb down the sharp ridge that falls steeply into the valley. Everywhere are drifts of fresh snow which create funny curled-up noses on the edge of cornices. Even in steep sections we are sinking into deep and unstable snow. We manage to climb down a thousand meters and fight for some more before the big light bulb above our heads turns off. In the evening it is clear that we won’t make it to the moraine today and thus the ninth bivouac on the timeline is ahead of us. The eyes of both of us are full of despair. Fate drives us to another unwanted, already hated bivouac. However, emotions need to be pushed back and replaced by pragmatic steps. We trample down the deep snow and set up a tent again. We get into the tent and take our sleeping bags out of the backpacks. They are as wet as if they have been just pulled out of a barrel of water.
"We‘ll get into trouble, Ráďa, because if we haven’t got frostbites so far, now we are hopeful candidates…"
"Then let’s slip just under one sleeping bag together and warm ourselves, tangled in each other. "
"I’m not sure if it’ll be any better, but it’s certainly worth a try. By the way, I am going to call Govinda via satellite if he’d send us a helimonster on the descent tomorrow. I don’t believe it much, but we’ll try to make a valid attempt."
"Sure, just give it a try," replies Ráďa, "It would help us to moon and back, because the slope to the glacier is just one big avalanche trap. "Hmmm, we’ll see."
I dial the satellite and in hoarse voice explain my vision to Govinda in Kathmandu. He is glad to hear us, at least his reactions show that he has breathed a sigh of relief: we are alive. We get to know that the propeller monster really arrives in the morning and that they wanted to send it anyway, because there is nothing left in the base camp and the porters cannot reach us due to snowstorms.The only thing hanging in the air is whether it works out fine. We’ll see. Let us hope that the next hours will be the last before our suffering ends.

30th of May
It's a beautiful morning promising a nice day. We immediately take advantage of the offered opportunities and fine-tune the coordinates with the helicopter pilot via the satellite phone. There is no desire to prolong our suffering and to struggle with avalanches. In addition, the last night took another toll: I feel like my feet are frozen and two of my fingers are tingling like hell.
"How is it going with you, Ráďa?"
"I don't know yet," but for God’s sake, I wish the helimonster would pick us up, I don't want to go any further."
Fortunately, our call was heard out and at 7 a.m. the propellers freed us from the icy hell. We are rising along the western mountain face which has been our home for ten days. I am watching the places that are deeply imprinted in my memory and at the same time I'm glad that I am moving away every second. I am alive and finally I can afford to ease up my emotions. I feel the joy of an accomplished dream, wave of fatigue, onset of pain throbbing in my frostbitten fingers. The machine is floating like a dragonfly in the mid-air right in the heart of the Himalayas, past Amadablam, Lhotse, Everest, Pumori, Kusum Kanguru and other beautiful peaks all over the horizon. Suddenly, I see those thirty five days that we have gone through here. The pilot moves over them in 30 minutes and we are already landing in Lukla, where the whole run had begun. Just before landing, I turn to Ráďa, trying to shout over the booming noise of the rotor…
"Thanks, Radek, you were great again."
The End. 

We called our route to the W face of Baruntse 7,129m "Heavenly trap ". The classification of the climb is ABO+(M6+/VI+/80°). Climbed ascent 1,800m (1,300m elevation gain). The route was climbed together with Radoslav Groh in the time from 21 May 2021 to 30 May 2021. We have agreed that we want to dedicate this route to our two friends "Petr Machold and Kuba Vaněk" who got lost in this mountain face eight years ago and nobody has seen them ever since.