FEBRUARY 2020 89
mited it in 1956, but its middle peak remained the
highest unclimbed spot on the planet until 2001.
Lhotse holds particular appeal for skiers due to its
unusual architecture. Under the right conditions,
a thin ribbon of snow traces a jagged line off the
peak, curving through a narrow rock chute for
1,500 vertical feet before emptying out onto the
5,000-foot Lhotse Face.
An expedition would require six months of prep
and at least five weeks in Nepal, longer than Nelson
had spent away from the kids in three years. Their
window would be narrow. Only at the end of
September does a brief moment exist—as few as
two days—when the peak can be both snowbound
and skiable. It’s impossible to know for sure. The
line is only visible from near the summit.
Make the top, and you still must deal with the
descent itself. Not only is the couloir 60 degrees
but it’s also self-sloughing, meaning avalanches
roll down constantly. Still, Nelson had dreamed of
it for decades, Morrison since he was a kid. They
persuaded The North Face to pony up funding,
then lined up photographers, sherpas and a heli-
copter pilot. By August, they were ready to launch.
The team included Morrison, Nelson and five
sherpas—Tashi Sherpa, Ila Sherpa, Urken Sherpa,
Fura Sherpa and leader Palden Namgyal Sherpa,
who had climbed Everest nine times—as well as two
photographers, Nick Kalisz and Dutch Simpson,
neither of whom had been above 21,000 feet.
Weather delayed the start. Then their skis were
late arriving. They wasted valuable days waiting.
Now they’d need to move even faster. It would take
30 to 33 days to get to the peak. That put them into
October, when storms roll in. They’d need to shave
days off when they could. Complicating matters,
they were utterly alone on the mountain, meaning
Jim and Hilaree’s team would be breaking through
deep snow and ice the whole way up.
The clock ticked as they headed into the basin at
the bottom of the peaks. At this altitude they could
hear and see the avalanches, seracs breaking, clouds
of snow rolling down the mountain. As they pushed
toward Camp Two, a storm rolled in, the snow thick
as gauze. Already, Palden Namgye Sherpa felt their
pace unrealistic. He and the sherpas turned around
to head back to Camp One to wait out the storm.
But Morrison and Nelson pushed on, deciding
to wait it out with the photographers in a single-
wall, superlight three-person tent. Each avalanche
sounded like a 747 engine. Morrison claimed not
to be worried. The other three weren’t so sure.
“We gotta move,” Nelson finally shouted. “Now!”
Leaving the tent, they roped to one another and
began climbing. An hour in, they realized they’d
gone the wrong direction. Eventually, they madecan do that. That’s not something I’d heard a lot
in my life, going back to when I was a kid.”
Over time a friendship deepened. They became a
couple. In 2017 they headed to the Indian Himala-
yas to attempt the first ski descent of Papsura, the
Peak of Evil. “I’d never gone on a big expedition
with a significant other,” she says. “I was afraid he
may not see the same thing I saw in this mountain.”
Then, when they got high enough to glimpse the
summit, Jim stopped and stared, then began to
cry. Hilaree felt relief. It felt to her like a watershed
moment: “Jim let me have that space where it was
like, ‘This is what I want to do. I’m ready.’ He was
really supportive in me chasing my dream.”
For Morrison, the trip only fueled his desire. He
yearned to go faster. Do more. And he wanted to
do it with Hilaree. But she had her kids and her
life. Jim? All he had was his business, an empty
house and memories. Interactions hadn’t become
much easier. Eventually he just came right out
with it when people asked if he had kids. I used to
but they were killed in a plane crash. That usually
ended the conversation.
The only place the world made sense was the
mountains. So Morrison headed back, as often as
he could. In the spring of 2018 he joined a team
climbing Everest. By that point he’d spent decades
in the backcountry. Still, he’d never experienced
what happened next. As he passed 28,500 feet,
some distance ahead of the group, the world nar-
rowed until all that existed was the rasping of
his breath and the snow beneath his boots. Then,
whether it was hypoxia brought on by the thin
air or a combination of exertion, deprivation and
adrenaline, his reality began to shift. It was as if,
he’d later say, the boundary between the living and
the dead became permeable, if only for a moment.
In time, he and Nelson would give it a name: the
netherworld. For the next 30 minutes—or maybe
it was 20, or maybe only five—he felt their pres-
ence for the first time since the accident: Katie and
Wyatt and Hannah. For years Morrison had longed
for that moment, “searched for some sign in my
house.” He laughed and cried at the same time.
And then, as quickly as the feeling arrived, it
was gone.UPON RETURNING
from Nepal, Morrison needed to head back. Im-
mediately. By now, Nelson was ready. In June 2018
they began talking about Lhotse again. It was not
the obvious choice.
Though the fourth-highest peak in the world,
Lhotse bears little of the cachet of its neighbor,
Everest. Movies are not made about Lhotse. Thrill
seekers do not crowd it. Swiss climbers first sum-C R A S H I N G
DOWN
Morrison’s
idyllic life ended
when Katie and
their two kids
died in the plane
she was piloting.