In giving an answer to this question, the term "impressions" covers a very broad area. I will only give a brief answer, because to answer this question in full would require many pages, probably a small book. I have partly answered this question earlier in giving factual detail about each of the Seven Summits. However, "impressions" covers more than this, and although I am not a strongly introspective person by nature, there is an emotional aspect to this question as well.
I climb because I enjoy doing it. Although I do climb partly because of
the challenge of getting to the summit (and back down again), I actually enjoy the whole day-to-day experience and not just summit day. I enjoy it because I enjoy mixing with others in the group and meeting the local people (Sherpas or whoever else is involved with the expedition). I also do it because of the travel experience, and because of the great panoramas one usually gets to see on such expeditions. I climb because I like doing it. I do not climb because other people want me to, nor do I climb to prove anything to others, and I do not climb out of some sense of bravado. I think that if one climbed for anyone else, or any combination of these last three reasons, that one would not enjoy it--and one would not be likely to survive
for very long.
The above paragraph is a common denominator for every one of the Seven Summits. However, the more difficult the climb, the greater the sense of achievement.
However, there were some additional impressions that were relevant to specific mountains.
My expedition to Vinson Massif was a tiny three-person group. After we had flown to Vinson base camp and the plane had flown away, the northern part of the Ellsworth Mountains towered above us to the east, and the plateau we were on stretched away to infinity in the west. I got a real sense of insignificance when surrounded by such expanse. On the flight in to Vinson base camp, while looking at the Antarctic panorama below me, I really wondered how early explorers like Amundsen, Scott, and Shackleton could have spent months traveling over such bleak and hostile terrain, going into the unknown with their primitive equipment and no communication with the civilized world. My admiration for these early explorers went up enormously. There was a sense of unreality when I got to the summit , that I was actually standing on the highest point of the frozen continent. Only two years earlier I would not only have considered it impossible that I would ever reach this place, I would have considered it inconceivable as well.
The true realization of what I had done did not sink in until two days later. This was true on all of the Seven Summits--it always sunk in after I had reached base camp. The sole exception to this was Kosciuszko. It sunk in that I had reached the summit of Australia immediately, and there was no great sense of achievement after the ascent, and perhaps logically so; after all, I had already [conquered] several much more difficult summits, including Mount Everest and Mount McKinley, prior to summiting the low-altitude non-technical Kosciuszko. The climb had been done because I believed it to be the Seventh Summit.
On reaching the summit of Mount Everest, I did not have a sense of
exhilaration--until I reached base camp. This was partly due to extreme fatigue and
hypoxia, and partly because things like that do take a while to sink in. My first feeling on reaching the summit was one of relief.
On Mount McKinkey, I did a traverse of the mountain ascending via the West
Buttress and descending via the Harper and Muldrow Glaciers. I certainly
think that the Muldrow Glacier route offers the better panoramas. It would
certainly be a more difficult route to ascend the mountain than the West
Buttress route. The steep Karstens ridge which rises from the top of the
Muldrow Glacier to the base of the Harper Glacier would be the toughest part
of that climb.
Kilimanjaro is unique among the Seven Summmits in that it is the only one of the Seven Summits that is an isolated mountain and not in a mountain range. I marveled at our porters, who could walk over the rugged trails while balancing heavy loads on their heads. Being only three degrees south of the equator, on Kilimanjaro one climbs through all the different vegetation zones--ranging from equatorial to Arctic. Many species of flora are unique to the equatorial high-altitude mountains of East Africa.
Carstenz is unique among the Seven Summits in that it is a rock climb. In 1992 our expedition spent seven days trekking to the base of the mountain. We had the assistance of approximately 30 porters of the Dani tribe. They are probably related to the Australian Aborigines. Many of them were naked, apart from the penis gourds that most of them wore. Some had western clothing as a result of missionary influence, which was already beginning to change the way of existence of these primitive people. When I stepped off the plane and landed at Ilaga in the central highlands for the start of the trek, I got a sense of culture shock, despite having read about it in Patrick Morrow's book Beyond Everest. It was like stepping back four thousand years in time. It is now fifteen years since I summited Carstenz. Progress is inevitable, and with increasing influence from modernized man, the way of life of the primitive people of the central highlands of Irian Jaya may well be very different to what it was when I visited the area. How different I do not know because I have never returned to the area.
On Carstenz I had the exhilaration of leading one of the ropes. I enjoy leading, and as number one on the rope on a rock climb, one has a much greater responsibility than the number two climber. A fall while leading can often be fatal. When number two falls he will usually not fall more than a couple of feet.
Aconcagua and Elbrus were the only two Summits that I failed to summit on
my first attempt. I reached each of these Summits on the second attempt. I felt a temporary sense of disappointment for a day concerning each mountain after not summiting on the first attempt, but luckily I am a person who enjoys the day-to-day experiences of each expedition and not just the summit experience, and overall they were enjoyable trips. There are many climbers who climb only for the summit victory, and for these people failure to summit hits them much harder.
I did not have the Seven Summits goal in mind when I made my failed attempt on Aconcagua in 1989, and I did not at that stage have any intentions of returning to the mountain.
After failing Elbrus, I was six Summits down and only one to go, and I was
determined to come back and summit on the next attempt. If I had failed the
second time I would have made a third attempt.
I felt both joy and relief on finally summiting each of these peaks. On Elbrus, which was my final Summit of the seven, I got a great sense of achievement and also of relief when it was finally over--after having become a member of the Seven Summits club.
I am lucky that I never did suffer from post-summit depression after a
major climb. Some climbers do.
There was always a brief sense of anticlimax at the end of an expedition,
just after I had said goodbye to my friends and I was on my own again.
To quote T.S. Eliot: "This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but with a whimper."
