THE NORTHERN APPROACH--_continued_
The reader will gather from these notes some idea of the whole nature of
our problem and the subjects of our most anxious thoughts. The camp
established on June 25 lasted us until July 8. Meanwhile the idea was
growing, the vision of Everest as a structural whole, and of the
glaciers and lower summits to North and West. This idea resembled the
beginning of an artist's painting, a mere rough design at the start, but
growing by steps of clearer definition in one part and another towards
the precise completion of a whole. For us the mountain parts defined
themselves in the mind as the result of various expeditions. We set out
to gain a point of view with particular questions to be answered;
partial answers and a new point of view stimulated more curiosity, other
questions, and again the necessity to reach a particular place whence we
imagined they might best be answered. And at the same time another aim
had to be kept in mind. The coolies, though mountain-men, were not
mountaineers. They had to be trained in the craft of mountaineering, in
treading safely on snow or ice in dangerous places, in climbing easy
rocks and most particularly in the use of rope and ice-axe--and this not
merely for our foremost needs, but to ensure that, whenever we were able
to launch an assault upon Mount Everest, and all would be put to the
most exhausting test, they should have that reserve strength of a
practised balance and ordered method on which security must ultimately
depend.
On July 1 I set out with five coolies to reach the head of the great cwm
under the North face of Mount Everest. The snow on the upper glacier was
soft and made very heavy going. Bad weather came up and in a race
against the clouds we were beaten and failed to find out what happened
to the glacier at its Western head under the North-west arete. My view
of the col lying between Everest and the North Peak (Changtse)--the
North Col as we now began to call it, or in Tibetan Chang La--was also
unsatisfactory; but I saw enough to make out a broken glacier running up
eastwards towards the gap with steep and uninviting snow slopes under
the pass. I was now sure that before attempting to reach this col from
the Rongbuk Glacier, if ever we determined to reach it, we should have
to reconnoitre the other side and if possible find a more hopeful
alternative; moreover, from a nearer inspection of the slopes below the
North-west arete I was convinced that they could be chosen for an attack
only as a last resort; if anything were to be attempted here, we must
find a better way up from the East.
I had vaguely hoped to bring the party home sufficiently fresh to climb
again on the following day. But the fatigue of going in deep snow for
three hours up the glacier, though we had been no higher than 19,100
feet, had been too great, and again we had noticed only a slight relief
in coming down; it was a tired party that dragged back over the glacier
crossing and into camp at 6.15 p.m., thirteen hours after starting.
July 3 was devoted to an expedition designed chiefly to take coolies on
to steeper ground and at the same time to explore the small glacier
which we had observed above us on the first day to the North-west; by
following up the terrace from our present camp we could now come to the
snout of it in half an hour or less. After working up the glacier we
made for a snow col between two high peaks. On reaching a bergschrund we
found above its upper lip hard ice, which continued no doubt to the
ridge. While Bullock looked after the party below I cut a staircase
slanting up to a small island of rock 100 feet away; from that security
I began to bring the party up. We had now the interesting experience of
seeing our coolies for the first time on real hard ice; it was not a
convincing spectacle, as they made their way up with the ungainly
movements of beginners; and though the last man never left the secure
anchorage of the bergschrund, the proportion of two Sahibs to five
coolies seemed lamentably weak, and when one man slipped from the steep
steps at an awkward corner, though Bullock was able to hold him, it was
clearly time to retire. But the descent was a better performance; the
coolies were apt pupils, and we felt that with practice on the glacier
the best of them should become safe mountaineers. And on this day we had
reached a height of 21,000 feet[8] from our camp at 17,500 feet. I had
the great satisfaction of observing that one could cut steps quite
happily at this altitude. The peak lying to the North of the col, which
had been our objective on this day, attracted our attention by its
position; we thought it should have a commanding view over all this
complicated country, and after a day in camp very pleasantly spent in
receiving a visit from Colonel Howard-Bury and Dr. Heron, set out on
July 5 determined to reach its summit. The start was made at 4.15 a.m.
in the first light, an hour earlier than usual; we proceeded up the
stone shoots immediately above our camp and after a halt for photography
at the glorious moment of sunrise had made 2,500 feet and reached the
high shoulder above us at 7 a.m. This place was connected with our peak
by a snowy col which had now to be reached by a long traverse over a
South-facing slope. Though the angle was not steep very little snow was
lying here, and where the ice was peeping through it was occasionally
necessary to cut steps. I felt it was a satisfactory performance to
reach the col at 9.30 a.m.; the coolies had come well, though one of
them was burdened with the quarter-plate camera; but evidently their
efforts had already tired them. Ahead of us was a long, curving snow
arete, slightly corniced and leading ultimately to a rocky shoulder. We
thought that once this shoulder was gained the summit would be within
our reach. Shortly after we went on two coolies dropped out, and by
11.30 a.m. the rest had given up the struggle. It was fortunate that
they fell out here and not later, for they were able to make their way
down in our tracks and regain the col below in safety. The angle
steepened as we went on very slowly now, but still steadily enough,
until we reached the rocks, a frail slatey structure with short
perpendicular pitches. From the shoulder onwards my memories are dim. I
have the impression of a summit continually receding from the position
imagined by sanguine hopes and of a task growing constantly more severe,
of steeper sides, of steps to be cut, of a dwindling pace, more frequent
little halts standing where we were, and of breathing quicker but no
less deep and always conscious; the respiratory engine had to be kept
running as the indispensable source of energy, and ever as we went on
more work was required of it. At last we found ourselves without an
alternative under an icy wall; but the ice was a delusion; in the soft
flaky substance smothering rocks behind it we had strength left to cut a
way up to the crest again, and after a few more steps were on the summit
itself.
[8] Calculated from the readings of two aneroids, allowing a correction
for the height of the camp as established later by Major Wheeler.
It was now 2.45 p.m. The aneroid used by Bullock, which, after
comparison with one of Howard-Bury's was supposed to read low,
registered 23,050 feet,[9] and we puffed out our chests as we examined
it, computing that we had risen from our camp over 5,500 feet. The views
both earlier in the day and at this moment were of the highest interest.
To the East we had confirmed our impression of the North Peak as having
a high ridge stretching eastwards and forming the side of whatever
valley connected with the Arun River in this direction; the upper parts
of Everest's North face had been clearly visible for a long time, and we
could now be certain that they lay back at no impossibly steep angle,
more particularly above the North col and up to the North-east shoulder.
All we had seen immediately to the West of the mountain had been of the
greatest interest, and had suggested the idea that the crinkled summit
there might be connected not directly with Mount Everest itself, but
only by way of the South peak. And finally we now saw the connections of
all that lay around us with the two great triangulated peaks away to the
West, Gyachung Kang, 25,990 and Cho-Uyo, 26,870 feet. While complaining
of the clouds which had come up as usual during the morning to spoil our
view we were not dissatisfied with the expansion of our knowledge and we
were elated besides to be where we were. But our situation was far from
perfectly secure. The ascent had come very near to exhausting our
strength; for my part I felt distinctly mountain-sick; we might reflect
that we should not be obliged to cut more steps, but we should have to
proceed downwards with perfect accuracy of balance and a long halt was
desirable. However, the clouds were now gathering about us, dark
thunder-clouds come up from the North and threatening; it was clear we
must not wait; after fifteen minutes on the summit we started down at
three o'clock. Fortune favoured us. The wind was no more than a breeze;
a few flakes of snow were unnoticed in our flight; the temperature was
mild; the storm's malice was somehow dissipated with no harm done. We
rejoined the coolies before five o'clock and were back in our camp at
7.15 p.m., happy to have avoided a descent in the dark.
[9] The survey established the height of this peak as 22,520 feet,
and our subsequent experience suggests that aneroid barometers
habitually read too high when approaching the upper limit of
their record.
Our next plan, based on our experience of this long mountain ridge, was
to practise the coolies in the use of crampons on hard snow and ice. But
snow fell heavily on the night of the 6th; we deferred our project. It
was the beginning of worse weather; the monsoon was breaking in earnest.
And though crampons afterwards came up to our camps wherever we went
they were not destined to help us, and in the event were never used.
On July 8 we moved up with a fresh party of seven coolies, taking only
our lightest tents and no more than was necessary for three nights, in
the hope that by two energetic expeditions we should reach the Western
cwm which, we suspected, must exist on the far side of the North-west
arete, and learn enough to found more elaborate plans for exploring this
side of the mountain should they turn out to be necessary. Again we were
fortunate in finding a good camping ground, better even than the first,
for the floor of this shelf was grassy and soft, and as we were looking
South across the West Rongbuk Glacier we had the sun late as well as
early. But we were not completely happy. A Mummery tent may be well
enough in fair weather, though even then its low roof suggests a
recumbent attitude; it makes a poor dining-room, even for two men, and
is a cold shelter from snow. Moreover, the cold and draught discouraged
our Primus stove--but I leave to the imagination of those who have
learned by experience the nausea that comes from the paraffin fumes and
one's dirty hands and all the mess that may be. It was chiefly a
question of incompetence, no doubt, but there was no consolation in
admitting that. In the morning, with the weather still very thick and
the snow lying about us we saw the error of our ways. Is it not a first
principle of mountaineering to be as comfortable as possible as long as
one can? And how long should we require for these operations in such
weather? It was clear that our Second Advanced Camp must be organised on
a more permanent basis. On the 9th therefore I went down to the base and
moved it up on the following day so as to be within reach of our present
position by one long march. The new place greatly pleased me; it was
much more sheltered than the lower site and the tents were pitched on
flat turf where a clear spring flowed out from the hillside and only a
quarter of an hour below the end of the glacier. Meanwhile Bullock
brought up the Whymper tents and more stores from the First Advanced
Camp, which was now established as a half-way house with our big 80-foot
tent standing in solemn grandeur to protect all that remained there. On
July 10 I was back at the Second Advanced Camp and felt satisfied that
the new arrangements, and particularly the presence of our cook, would
give us a fair measure of comfort.
But we were still unable to move next day. The snowfall during the night
was the heaviest we had yet seen and continued into the next day.
Probably the coolies were not sorry for a rest after some hard work; and
we reckoned to make a long expedition so soon as the weather should
clear. Towards evening on the 10th the clouds broke. Away to the
South-west of us and up the glacier was the barrier range on the
frontier of Nepal, terminated by one great mountain, Pumori, over 24,000
feet high. To the West Rongbuk Glacier they present the steepest slopes
on which snow can lie; the crest above these slopes is surprisingly
narrow and the peaks which it joins are fantastically shaped. This group
of mountains, always beautiful and often in the highest degree
impressive, was now to figure for our eyes as the principal in that
oft-repeated drama which seems always to be a first night, fresh and
full of wonder whenever we are present to watch it. The clinging
curtains were rent and swirled aside and closed again, lifted and
lowered and flung wide at last; sunlight broke through with sharp
shadows and clean edges revealed--and we were there to witness the
amazing spectacle. Below the terrible mountains one white smooth island
rose from the quiet sea of ice and was bathed in the calm full light of
the Western sun before the splendour failed.
With hopes inspired by the clearing views of this lovely evening, we
started at 5.30 a.m. on July 12 to follow the glacier round to the South
and perhaps enter the Western cwm. The glacier was a difficult problem.
It looked easy enough to follow up the medial moraine to what we called
the Island, a low mountain pushed out from the frontier ridge into the
great sea of ice. But the way on Southwards from there would have been a
gamble with the chances of success against us. We decided to cross the
glacier directly to the South with a certainty that once we had reached
the moraine on the other side we should have a clear way before us. It
was exhilarating to set out again under a clear sky, and we were
delighted to think that a large part of this task was accomplished when
the sun rose full of warmth and cheerfulness. The far side was cut off
by a stream of white ice, so narrow here that we expected with a little
good fortune to get through it in perhaps half an hour. We entered it by
a frozen stream leading into a bay with high white towers and ridges
above us. A side door led through into a further bay which took us in
the confidence of success almost through the maze. With some vigorous
blows we cut our way up the final wall and then found ourselves on a
crest overlooking the moraine with a sheer ice-precipice of about 100
feet below us.
The only hope was to come down again and work round to the right. Some
exciting climbing and much hard work brought us at length to the foot of
the cliffs and on the right side. The performance had taken us two and a
half hours and it was now nearly ten o'clock. Clouds had already come up
to obscure the mountains, and from the point of view of a prolonged
exploration the day was clearly lost. Our course now was to make the
best of it and yet get back so early to camp that we could set forth
again on the following day. We had the interest, after following the
moraine to the corner where the glacier bends Southwards, of making our
way into the middle of the ice and finding out how unpleasant it can be
to walk on a glacier melted everywhere into little valleys and ridges
and covered with fresh snow. We got back at 3 p.m.
[Illustration: SUMMIT OF MOUNT EVEREST AND NORTH PEAK from the Island,
West Rongbuk Glacier.]
On July 13, determined to make good, we started at 4.15 a.m. With the
knowledge gained on the previous day and the use of 250 feet of spare
rope we were able to find our way through the ice pinnacles and reached
the far moraine in less than an hour and a half; and we had the further
good fortune when we took to the snow to find it now in such good
condition that we were able to walk on the surface without using our
snow-shoes. As we proceeded up the slopes where the snow steepened the
weather began to thicken and we halted at 8 a.m. in a thick mist with a
nasty wind and some snow falling. It was a cold halt. We were already
somewhat disillusioned about our glacier, which seemed to be much more
narrow than was to be expected if it were really a high-road to the
Western cwm, and as we went on with the wind blowing the snow into our
faces so that nothing could be clearly distinguished we had the sense of
a narrowing place and a perception of the even surface being broken up
into large crevasses on one side and the other. At 9.30 we could go no
further. For a few hundred yards we had been traversing a slope which
rose above us on our left, and now coming out on to a little spur we
stood peering down through the mist and knew ourselves to be on the edge
of a considerable precipice. Not a single feature of the landscape
around us was even faintly visible in the cloud. For a time we stayed on
with the dim hope of better things and then reluctantly retired, baffled
and bewildered.
Where had we been? It was impossible to know; but at least it was
certain there was no clear way to the West side of Everest. We could
only suppose that we had reached a col on the frontier of Nepal.
A further disappointment awaited us when we reached camp at 1 p.m. I had
made a simple plan to ensure our supply of gobar[10] and rations from
the base camp. The supplies had not come up and it was not the sort of
weather to be without a fire for cooking.
[10] In the Rongbuk Valley there was no wood and our supply of yak dung
had to come up from Choebuk.
I shall now proceed to quote my diary:--
_July_ 14.--A day of rest, but with no republican demonstrations. Very
late breakfast after some snow in the night. Piquet after tiffin and
again after dinner was very consoling. The little streams we found here
on our arrival are drying up; it seems that not much snow can have
fallen higher.
_July_ 15.--Started 6 a.m. to explore the glacier to West and
North-west. A very interesting view just short of the Island; the South
peak appearing. Fifty minutes there for photos; then hurried on in the
hope of seeing more higher up and at a greater distance. It is really a
dry glacier here but with snow frozen over the surface making many
pitfalls. We had a good many wettings in cold water up to the knees. The
clouds were just coming up as we halted on the medial moraine. I waited
there in hope of better views, while Bullock took on the coolies. They
put on snow-shoes for the first time and seemed to go very well in them.
Ultimately I struggled across the glacier, bearing various burdens, to
meet them as they came down on a parallel moraine. Snow-shoes seemed
useful, but very awkward to leap in. Bullock went a long way up the
glacier, rising very slightly towards the peak Cho-Uyo, 26,870 feet.
Evidently there is a flat pass over into Nepal near this peak, but he
did not quite reach it.
The topographical mystery centres about the West Peak. Is there an arete
connecting this with the great rock peak South of Everest or is it
joined up with the col we reached the day before yesterday? The shape of
the West cwm and the question of its exit will be solved if we can
answer these questions. Bullock and I are agreed that the glacier there
has probably an exit on the Nepal side. It all remains extremely
puzzling. We saw the North col quite clearly to-day, and again the way
up from there does not look difficult.
A finer day and quite useful. Chitayn[11] started out with us and went
back. He appears to be seedy, but has been quite hopeless as Sirdar down
in the base camp and is without authority. It is a great handicap
having no one to look after things down there. Chitayn is returning to
Tingri to-morrow. I hope he will cheer up again.
[11] A useful coolie with experience in the Indian Army. I had used him
as second Sirdar.
_July_ 16.--I made an early start with two coolies at 2.45 a.m. and
followed the medial moraine to the Island. Reached the near summit at
sunrise about 5.30. Difficult to imagine anything more exciting than the
clear view of all peaks. Those near me to the South-west quickly bathed
in sun and those to the South and East showing me their dark faces. To
the left of our col of July 13 a beautiful sharp peak stood in front of
the gap between Everest and the North Peak, Changtse. Over this col I
saw the North-west buttress of Everest hiding the lower half of the West
face which must be a tremendous precipice of rock. The last summit of
the South Peak, Lhotse, was immediately behind the shoulder; to the
right (i.e. West) of it I saw a terrible arete stretching a long
distance before it turned upwards in my direction and towards the West
Peak. This mountain dropped very abruptly to the North, indicating a big
gap on the far side of our col. There was the mysterious cwm lying in
cold shadow long after the sun warmed me! But I now half understand it.
The col under the North-west buttress at the head of the Rongbuk Glacier
is one entrance, and our col of July 13, with how big a drop one knows
not, another.
I stayed till 7 a.m. taking photos, a dozen plates exposed in all. The
sky was heavy and a band of cloud had come across Everest before I left.
Back to breakfast towards 9 a.m. A pleasant morning collecting flowers,
not a great variety but some delicious honey scents and an occasional
cheerful blue poppy.
_July_ 17.--More trouble with our arrangements. The Sirdar has muddled
the rations and the day is wasted. However, the weather is bad, constant
snow showers from 1 to 8 p.m., so that I am somewhat reconciled to this
reverse.
_July_ 18.--Yesterday's plan carried out--to move up a camp with light
tents and make a big push over into the West cwm; eight coolies to
carry the loads. But the loads have been too heavy. What can be cut out
next time? I cannot see many unnecessary articles. Heavy snow showers
fell as we came up and we had rather a cheerless encampment, but with
much heaving of stones made good places for the tents. A glorious night
before we turned in. Dark masses of cloud were gathered round the peak
above us; below, the glacier was clear and many splendid mountains were
half visible. The whole scene was beautifully lit by a bright moon.
_July_ 19.--Started 3 a.m.; still some cloud, particularly to the West.
The moon just showed over the mountains in that direction which cast
their strange black shadows on the snowfield. One amazing black tooth
was standing up against the moonlight. No luck on the glacier and we had
to put on snow-shoes at once. An exciting walk. I so much feared the
cloud would spoil all. It was just light enough to get on without
lanterns after the moon went down. At dawn almost everything was
covered, but not by heavy clouds. Like guilty creatures of darkness
surprised by the light they went scattering away as we came up and the
whole scene opened out. The North ridge of Everest was clear and bright
even before sunrise. We reached the col at 5 a.m., a fantastically
beautiful scene; and we looked across into the West cwm at last,
terribly cold and forbidding under the shadow of Everest. It was nearly
an hour after sunrise before the sun hit the West Peak.
But another disappointment--it is a big drop about 1,500 feet down to
the glacier, and a hopeless precipice. I was hoping to get away to the
left and traverse into the cwm; that too quite hopeless. However, we
have seen this Western glacier and are not sorry we have not to go up
it. It is terribly steep and broken. In any case work on this side could
only be carried out from a base in Nepal, so we have done with the
Western side. It was not a very likely chance that the gap between
Everest and the South Peak could be reached from the West. From what we
have seen now I do not much fancy it would be possible, even could one
get up the glacier.
[Illustration: MOUNT EVEREST FROM THE RONGBUK GLACIER nine miles
north-west.]
We saw a lovely group of mountains away to the South in Nepal. I wonder
what they are and if anything is known about them. It is a big world!
* * * * *
With this expedition on July 19 our reconnaissance of these parts had
ended. We proceeded at once to move down our belongings; on July 20 all
tents and stores were brought down to the base camp and we had said
good-bye to the West Rongbuk Glacier.
So far as we were concerned with finding a way up the mountain, little
enough had been accomplished; and yet our growing view of the mountain
had been steadily leading to one conviction. If ever the mountain were
to be climbed, the way would not lie along the whole length of any one
of its colossal ridges. Progress could only be made along comparatively
easy ground, and anything like a prolonged sharp crest or a series of
towers would inevitably bar the way simply by the time which would be
required to overcome such obstacles. But the North arete coming down to
the gap between Everest and the North Peak, Changtse, is not of this
character. From the horizontal structure of the mountain there is no
excrescence of rock pinnacles in this part and the steep walls of rock
which run across the North face are merged with it before they reach
this part, which is comparatively smooth and continuous, a bluntly
rounded edge. We had still to see other parts of the mountain, but
already it seemed unlikely that we would find more favourable ground
than this. The great question before us now was to be one of access.
Could the North col be reached from the East and how could we attain
this point?
At the very moment when we reached the base camp I received a note from
Colonel Howard-Bury telling us that his departure from Tingri was fixed
for July 23 and that he would be sleeping at Choebuk in the valley below
us two days later on his way to Kharta. It was now an obvious plan to
synchronise our movements with his.
Besides the branch which we had already explored the Rongbuk Glacier has
yet another which joins the main stream from the East about 10 miles
from Everest. It had always excited our curiosity, and I now proposed to
explore it in the initial stages of a journey across the unknown ridges
and valleys which separated us from Kharta. I calculated that we should
want eight days' provisions, and that we should just have time to
organise a camp in advance and start on the 25th with a selected party,
sending down the rest to join Howard-Bury. And it was an integral part
of the scheme that on one of the intervening days I should ascend a spur
to the North of the glacier where we proposed to march in order to
obtain a better idea of this country to the East. But we were now in the
thickest of the monsoon weather; the 21st and 22nd were both wet days
and we woke on the 23rd to find snow all around us nearly a foot deep;
it had come down as low as 16,000 feet. It was hardly the weather to cut
ourselves adrift and wander among the uncharted spurs of Everest, and we
thought of delaying our start. Further it transpired that our
organisation was not running smoothly--it never did run smoothly so long
as we employed, as an indispensable Sirdar, a whey-faced treacherous
knave whose sly and calculated villainy too often, before it was
discovered, deprived our coolies of their food, and whose acquiescence
in his own illimitable incompetence was only less disgusting than his
infamous duplicity. It was the hopeless sense that things were bound to
go wrong if we trusted to this man's services--and we had no one else at
that time through whom it was possible to order supplies from the
natives--that turned the scale and spoilt the plan. Even so, in the
natural course of events, I should have obtained my preliminary view.
But on the night of the 22nd I received from Howard-Bury an extremely
depressing piece of news, that all my photos taken with the
quarter-plate camera had failed--for the good reason that the plates
had been inserted back to front, a result of ignorance and
misunderstanding. It was necessary as far as possible to repair this
hideous error, and the next two days were spent in a photographic
expedition. And so it came about that we saw no more until a much later
date of the East Rongbuk Glacier. Had our plan been carried out even in
the smallest part by a cursory survey of what lay ahead, I should not
now have to tell a story which is lamentably incomplete in one respect.
For the East Rongbuk Glacier is one way, and the obvious way when you
see it, to the North Col. It was discovered by Major Wheeler before ever
we saw it, in the course of his photographic survey; but neither he, nor
Bullock, nor I have ever traversed its whole length.
[Illustration]
We should have attached more importance, no doubt, in the early stages
of reconnaissance, to the East Rongbuk Glacier had we not been deceived
in two ways by appearances. It had been an early impression left in my
mind, at all events, by what we saw from Shiling, that a deep valley
came down to the East as the R.G.S. map suggests, draining into the Arun
and having the North-east arete of Everest as its right bank at the
start. Further, the head of this valley seemed to be, as one would
expect, the gap between Everest and the first peak to the North which
itself has also an Eastern arm to form the left bank of such a valley.
The impression was confirmed not only by an excellent view from a hill
above Ponglet (two days before Tingri and about 35 miles North of
Everest), but by all nearer and more recent views of the mountains East
of the Rongbuk Glacier. The idea that a glacier running parallel to the
Rongbuk started from the slopes of Everest itself and came so far to
turn Westward in the end hardly occurred to us at this time. From
anything we had seen there was no place for such a glacier, and it was
almost unimaginable that the great mountain range running North from the
North Col, Chang La, was in no part a true watershed. We saw the East
Rongbuk Glacier stretching away to the East and perceived also a bay to
the South. But how, if this bay were of any importance, could the
glacier stream be so small? We had found it too large to cross, it is
true, late in the afternoon of our first expedition, but only just too
large; and again it seems now an unbelievable fact that so large an area
of ice should give so small a volume of water. The glacier streams are
remarkably small in all the country we explored, but this one far more
surprisingly small than any other we saw.
[Illustration: SUMMIT OF MOUNT EVEREST AND SOUTH PEAK from the Island,
West Rongbuk Glacier.]
It was some measure of consolation in these circumstances to make use of
a gleam of fine weather. When the bad news arrived on July 22 about the
failure of my photographs we had ceased to hear the raindrops pattering
on the tent, but could feel well enough when we pushed up the roof that
snow was lying on the outer fly. It was a depressing evening. I thought
of the many wonderful occasions when I had caught the mountain as I
thought just at the right moment, its moments of most lovely
splendour--of all those moments that would never return and of the
record of all we had seen which neither ourselves nor perhaps anyone
else would ever see again. I was not a cheerful companion. Moreover,
from the back of my mind I was warned, even in the first despair of
disappointment, that I should have to set out to repair the damage so
far as I was able, and I hated the thought of this expedition. These
were our days of rest after a month's high-living; we were off with one
adventure and on with another; tents, stores, everything had been
brought down to our base and we had said good-bye to the West Rongbuk
Glacier. The clouds were still about us next morning and snow lay on the
ground 9 inches deep. But by midday much of the snow had melted at our
level and the clouds began to clear. At 2 p.m. we started up with the
Mummery tents and stores for one night. I made my way with one coolie to
a spot some little distance above our First Advanced Camp. As we pushed
up the stormy hillside the last clouds gathered about Everest, and
lingering in the deep North cwm were dispersed and the great
white-mantled mountains lay all clear in the light of a glorious
evening. Before we raced down to join Bullock my first dozen plates had
been duly exposed; whatever the balance of hopes and fears for a fine
morning to-morrow something had been done already to make good.
My ultimate destination was the Island which I had found before to
command some of the most splendid and most instructive views. I was
close up under the slopes of this little mountain before sunrise next
morning. It has rarely been my lot to experience in the course of a few
hours so much variety of expectation, of disappointment and of hope
deferred, before the issue is decided. A pall of cloud lying like a
blanket above the glacier was no good omen after the clear weather; as
the sun got up a faint gleam on the ice encouraged me to go on;
presently the grey clouds began to move and spread in all directions
until I was enveloped and saw nothing. Suddenly the frontier crest came
out and its highest peak towering fantastically above me; I turned about
and saw to the West and North-west the wide glacier in the sun--beyond
it Gyachung Kang and Cho-Uyo, 26,870 to 25,990 feet: but Everest
remained hidden, obscured by an impenetrable cloud. I watched the
changing shadows on the white snow and gazed helplessly into the grey
mass continually rolled up from Nepal into the deep hollow beyond the
glacier head. But a breeze came up from the East; the curtain was
quietly withdrawn; Everest and the South Peak stood up against the clear
blue sky. The camera was ready and I was satisfied. A few minutes later
the great cloud rolled back and I saw no more.
Meanwhile Bullock had not been idle. He paid a visit to the North cwm,
more successful than mine in July, for he reached the pass leading over
into Nepal under the North-west arete and had perfectly clear views of
Chang La, of which he brought back some valuable photos. But perhaps an
even greater satisfaction than reckoning the results of what we both
felt was a successful day was ours, when we listened in our tents that
evening at the base camp to the growling of thunder and reflected that
the fair interval already ended had been caught and turned to good
account.
In snow and sleet and wind next morning, July 25, our tents were struck.
We turned our backs on the Rongbuk Glacier and hastened along the path
to Choebuk. The valley was somehow changed as we came down, and more
agreeable to the eye. Presently I discovered the reason. The grass had
grown on the hillside since we went up. We were coming down to summer
green.