THE PROBLEM
I
It is very natural that mountaineers, particularly if they are members
of the Alpine Club, should wish success to the Everest Expedition; for
in a sense it is their own adventure. And yet their sympathies must
often wobble. It is not always an undiluted pleasure to hear of new
ascents in the Alps, or even in Great Britain; for half the charm of
climbing mountains is born in visions preceding this experience—visions
of what is mysterious, remote, inaccessible.
By experience we learn that we may pass to another world and come back;
we rediscover the accessibility of summits appearing impregnable; and so
long as we cannot without a tremor imagine ourselves upon a mountain’s
side, that mountain holds its mystery for us. But when we often hear
about mountaineering expeditions on one or another of the most famous
peaks in the world, are told of conquests among the most remote and
difficult ranges or others continually repeated in well-known centres,
we come to know too well how accessible mountains are to skilful and
even to unskilful climbers. The imagination falters, and it may happen
that we find ourselves one day thinking of the most surprising mountain
of all with no more reverence than the practised golfer has for an
artificial bunker. It was so, I was once informed by a friend, that he
caught himself thinking of the Matterhorn, and he wondered whether he
shouldn’t give up climbing mountains until he had recovered his
reverence for them. A shorter way, I thought, was to wait until the
weather broke and then climb the Matterhorn every day till it should be
calm and fine again, and when he pondered this suggestion he had no need
to test its power, for he very soon began to think again of the
Matterhorn as he ought to think. But from the anguish of discovering his
heresy he cherished a lesson and afterwards would never consent to read
or hear accounts of mountaineering, nor even to speak of his own
exploits. This was a commendable attitude in him; and I can feel no
doubt, thinking of his case, that however valuable a function it may
have been of the Alpine Club in its infancy to propagate not only the
gospel, but the knowledge of mountains, the time has come when it should
be the principal aim of any such body not only to suppress the
propagation of a gospel already too popular, but also to shelter its
members against that superabundance of knowledge which must needs result
from accumulating records. Hereafter, of contemporary exploits the less
we know the better; our heritage of discovery among mountains is rich
enough; too little remains to be discovered. The story of a new ascent
should now be regarded as a corrupting communication calculated to
promote the glory of Man, or perhaps only of individual men, at the
expense of the mountains themselves.
It may well be asked how, holding such opinions, I can set myself to the
task of describing an attempt to reach the highest summit of all. Surely
Chomolungmo should remain inviolate, or if attempted, the deed should
not be named. With this point of view I have every sympathy, and lest it
should be thought that in order to justify myself I must bring in a
different order of reasons from some other plane, and involve myself in
a digression even longer than the present, I will say nothing about
justification for this story beyond remarking that it glorifies Mount
Everest, since this mountain has not yet been climbed. And when I say
that sympathy in a mountaineer may wobble, the mountaineer I more
particularly mean is the present writer. It is true that I did what I
could to reach the summit, but now as I look back and see all those
wonderful preparations, the great array of boxes collected at Phari
Dzong and filling up the courtyard of the bungalow, the train of animals
and coolies carrying our baggage across Tibet, the thirteen selected
Europeans so snugly wrapt in their woollen waistcoats and Jaeger pants,
their armour of windproof materials, their splendid overcoats, the
furred finneskoes or felt-sided boots or fleece-lined moccasins devised
to keep warm their feet, and the sixty strong porters with them
delighting in underwear from England and leathern jerkins and puttees
from Kashmir; and then, unforgettable scene, the scatter of our stores
at the Base Camp, the innumerable neatly-made wooden boxes concealing
the rows and rows of tins—of Harris’s sausages, Hunter’s hams, Heinz’s
spaghetti, herrings soi-disant fresh, sardines, sliced bacon, peas,
beans, and a whole forgotten host besides, sauce-bottles for the Mess
tables, and the rare bottles more precious than these, the gay tins of
sweet biscuits, Ginger Nuts and Rich Mixed, and all the carefully chosen
delicacies; and besides all these for our sustenance or pleasure, the
fuel supply, uncovered in the centre of the camp, green and blue
two-gallon-cans of paraffin and petrol, and an impressive heap of
yak-dung; and the climbing equipment—the gay little tents with crimson
flies or yellow, pitched here only to be seen and admired, the bundles
of soft sleeping-bags, soft as eiderdown quilt can be, the ferocious
crampons and other devices, steel-pointed and terrible, for boots’
armament, the business-like coils of rope, the little army of steel
cylinders containing oxygen under high pressure, and, not least, the
warlike sets of apparatus for using the life-giving gas; and lastly,
when I call to mind the whole begoggled crowd moving with slow
determination over the snow and up the mountain slopes and with such
remarkable persistence bearing up the formidable loads, when after the
lapse of months I envisage the whole prodigious evidences of this vast
intention, how can I help rejoicing in the yet undimmed splendour, the
undiminished glory, the unconquered supremacy of Mount Everest?
[Illustration:
BASE CAMP AND MOUNT EVEREST IN EVENING LIGHT.
]
It is conceivable that this great mountain, though still unsubdued, may
nevertheless have suffered some loss of reputation. It is the business
of a mountain to be ferocious first, charming and smiling afterwards if
it will. But it has been said already of this mountain that the way to
the summit is not very terrible, it will present no technical
difficulties of climbing. Has it not then, after all, a character
unsuitably mild? Is it not a great cow among mountains? It cannot be
denied that the projected route to the summit presents no slopes of
terrible steepness. But we may easily underrate the difficulties even
here. Though some of us have gazed earnestly at the final ridge and
discussed at length the possibility of turning or of climbing direct
certain prominent obstacles, no one has certainly determined that he may
proceed there without being obliged to climb difficult places; and the
snow slope which guards the very citadel will prove, one cannot doubt,
as steep as one would wish to find the final slope of any great
mountain. Again, the way to the North Col, that snow-saddle by which
alone we may gain access to the North Ridge, has not always been simple;
we know little enough still about its changing conditions, but evidently
on too many days the snow will be dangerous there, and perhaps on many
others the presence of bare ice may involve more labour than was
required of us this year. But granted this one breach in the defence of
Mount Everest, shall we only for that think of it as a mild mountain?
How many mountains can be named in the Alps of which so small a part
presents the hope of finding a way to the summit? Nowhere on the whole
immense face of ice and rocks from the North-east ridge to Lhotse and
the South-east ridge is the smallest chance for the mountaineer, and,
leaving out all count of size, Mont Blanc even above the Brenva Glacier
has no face so formidable as this; of the Southern side, which we know
only from a few photographs and sketches, one thing is certain—that
whoever reaches it will find there a terrific precipice of bare rock
probably unequalled for steepness by any great mountain face in the Alps
and immeasurably greater; the single glimpse obtained last year of the
Western glacier and the slopes above it revealed one of the most awful
and utterly forbidding scenes ever observed by men; how much more
encouraging, and yet how utterly hopeless, is the familiar view from the
Rongbuk Valley! Mount Everest, therefore, apart from its pre-eminence in
bulk and height, is great and beautiful, marvellously built, majestic,
terrible, a mountain made for reverence; and beneath its shining sides
one must stand in awe and wonder.
II
When we think of a party of climbers struggling along the final ridge of
Mount Everest, we are perhaps inclined to reject an obvious comparison
of their endeavour with that of athletes in a long distance race. The
climbers are not of course competing to reach the goal one before
another; the aim is for all to reach it. But the climbers’ performance,
like the runners’, will depend on two factors, endurance and pace; and
the two have to be considered together. A climber must not only keep on
moving upwards if he is to succeed, he must move at a certain minimum
pace: a pace that will allow him, having started from a given point, to
reach the top and come down in a given time. Further, at a great height
it is true for the climber even more than for the runner on a track in
England that to acquire pace is the chief difficulty, and still more
true that it is the pace which kills. Consequently it is pace more than
anything else which becomes the test of fitness on Mount Everest.
Every man has his own standard, determined as a result of his
experience. He knows perhaps that in the Alps with favourable conditions
he is capable of ascending 1,500 feet an hour without unduly exerting
himself and without fatigue; if he were to bring into action the whole
of his reserves he might be able to double this figure. He will
assuredly find when he comes up into Tibet and lives at a mean height of
15,000 feet that he is capable of very much less. And then he begins to
call in question his power, to measure himself against his European
standard. Every member of both Everest Expeditions was more or less of a
valetudinarian. He had his eye on his physical fitness. He wondered each
day, Am I getting fitter? Am I as fit as I should expect to be in the
Alps? And the ultimate test was pace uphill.
The simpler phenomena of acclimatisation have frequently been referred
to in connection with Mount Everest. But still it may be asked why
improvement should be expected during a sojourn at 15,000 feet. It is
expected because as a matter of experience it happens: though why the
red corpuscles in the blood whose function is to absorb and give up
oxygen should multiply in the ratio of 8:5, I leave it to physiologists
to explain. Whatever explanation they may give I shall not cease to
regard this amazing change as the best of miracles. And this change in
the hæmoglobin content of the blood evidently proceeds a long way above
15,000 feet. Nevertheless the advantage thereby obtained by no means
altogether compensates at very high altitudes the effects of reduced
atmospheric pressure. It enables a man to live in very thin air (11½
inches barometric pressure, at 27,000 feet), but not to exert himself
with anything like his normal power at sea-level. His pace suffers. If
at 23,000 feet he were able to exercise no less power than at 10,000
feet after a few well-spent days in the Alps, he would probably be able
to ascend the remaining 6,000 feet to the summit in a single day. But if
you cut off the supply of fuel you cannot expect your engine to maintain
its pace of working; the power exercised by the climber in the more
rarefied atmosphere at these high altitudes must be less; a rise of
6,000 feet in a day will be beyond his capacity. Therefore he must have
camps higher on the mountain, and ultimately he must have one so high
that in nine or ten hours even his snail’s pace will bring him to the
summit.
We must remember too that not only will his pace have suffered, his mind
will be in a deplorable state. The experiments conducted in pressure
chambers have a bearing on this point. I treasure the story of Prof.
Haldane who, while in such a chamber, wanted to observe the colour of
his lips and for some minutes gazed into his mirror before discovering
that he held the back towards his face. Mountaineers have often observed
a lack of clarity in their mental state at high altitudes; it is
difficult for the stupid mind to observe how stupid it is, but it is by
no means improbable that the climbers of Mount Everest will try to drink
their food or proceed crabwise, or do some quite ridiculous thing. And
not only is it difficult to think straight in thin air, it is difficult
to retain the desire to do anything at all. Perhaps of all that tells
against him the mere weakness of a man’s will when he is starved of
oxygen is beyond everything likely to prevent his success.
Since the problem of climbing Mount Everest presented itself
physiologically, it was only natural in us on the Expedition continually
to be watching acclimatisation. We watched it in connection with the
whole idea of being trained for the event. Probably each of us had a
different notion as to how he should be trained, and some thought more
about training than others. On this point I must confess a weakness when
I foresee an event in which my physical strength and condition are to
count for so much; I am one of those who think more about training. I
consider how I may add a cubit to my stature and all the time I am half
aware that I might spare myself the trouble of such futile meditations.
Experience seems only to show that, provided I habitually eat well and
sleep well and take a moderate amount of exercise, I can do nothing to
improve my endurance on a mountain. Probably some men may do more to
this end. The week we spent in Darjeeling sufficed for all of us to
brace ourselves after the enervating effects of our journey from
England. Norton, who had come out rather earlier and prepared himself in
the most strenuous fashion for the immense exertions of the Khadir Cup,
was already finely trained—too well, I thought, for so lean a man. He
and Geoffrey Bruce, my companion in the first party, together with
General Bruce, Longstaff, and Noel, elected to walk a great deal in
Sikkim, and so I believe did Somervell, Wakefield, and Morshead in the
second party. The General, very frankly expressing the probable
advantage to his figure of profuse perspiration in those warm valleys,
also walked a great deal. For an exactly contrary reason—I hate the
inconvenience that must arise on the march from wet clothes—I walked
less than any of these; probably Longstaff and I rode more than the rest
up to Phari Dzong. But when I heard how wonderfully fit were the two
most energetic walkers of our party, and learned from Geoffrey Bruce of
Norton’s amazing pace uphill, I could not refrain from testing my own
condition on the first occasion that we approached a comparatively high
altitude: coming up to Gnatong, where the bungalow is situated above
12,000 feet, I walked for all I was worth, and was well satisfied. Next
day I felt far from well with indigestion and headache. General Bruce
and Longstaff were also unwell, and it was a cheerless afternoon and
evening in the two little rooms at Kupup, with hailstorms outside and
too little light within. Norton and Bruce elected to sleep on the
verandah, and these two, with me, if I were fit enough, intended
starting early next morning so as to climb a small mountain, diverging
thus from our path over the Jelep La (14,500 feet) for the sake of the
view. We set off not much later than we had intended; but it was now
Norton’s turn to be unwell, and he was properly mountain-sick 1,000 feet
below the pass. However, we were not inclined to pay much attention to
these little troubles; with a day’s rest at a lower elevation (9,000
feet), and the pleasures of feasting with the Macdonalds in Yatung, we
were quickly restored.
The continuous process of acclimatisation was due to begin at Phari
Dzong. There we should stay three days above 14,000 feet, and after that
our marches would keep us between that level and 17,000 feet, so that a
man would surely find out how he was affected by living at high
altitudes. At Phari the whole party seemed remarkably fit, and any
amount of energy was available for sorting out and checking our vast
mass of stores. But the conditions of travel on these high plains became
evident so soon as we were on the march again. Those who gaily started
to walk, not troubling to provide themselves with a pony, found after a
time that they were glad enough to ride; but then it became so bitterly
cold that riding was more disagreeable than walking, and most of us, as
we pushed along in the teeth of a blizzard, preferred to walk, and were
surprisingly fatigued. Two of the party were ill when we reached camp,
but more perhaps from chill than mountain-sickness. On the following day
a system of sharing ponies to allow alternate walking and riding was
more carefully organised. Even so, most of us must have walked
two-thirds of that long rough march (about 25 miles), and while crossing
the “Concertina pass,” as we called it, a name which explains itself, we
had ample opportunities of testing our powers of walking uphill between
16,000 and 17,000 feet; it was evident that we were already becoming
acclimatised and able to enjoy those mild competitions in which a man
will test his powers against another as they breast a hill together.
This was encouraging enough; but how far we were from “going” as we
would go at 10,000 feet lower could easily be observed from our puffing
and blowing and the very moderate pace achieved by great efforts.
It was a week later before we had another opportunity of testing our
acclimatisation as we came up to the Tinki La, a rise of nearly 3,000
feet up to 17,000 feet. I suppose there may have been some slight
improvement in this week; for my part, I was fairly fit, and after
riding over the comparatively flat approach, walked up about 2,000 feet
without a halt and experienced no sort of fatigue. But the party as a
whole was disappointing, and several members were distinctly affected by
the height. Perhaps this pass was one of those places where some local
circumstance emphasises the altitude, for the ponies stopped and puffed
in a way we had never seen before; but I fancy the reason of their
condition was to be found in the steepness of the ascent.
The day after crossing the Tinki La, we had a short march to Gyangkar
Nangpa, and, coming across the flat basin, had full in view before us
Sangkar Ri, a prominent rock peak, the most northerly of a remarkable
range above the left bank of the Arun River. The desire to vary the
routine of the daily march by climbing a mountain had already stirred a
number of suggestions among us, and now the opportunity seemed to offer
itself; we were further incited by the prospect of a splendid view of
Mount Everest if we could reach this summit, which lay not so very far
out of our way. No doubt unconscious motives, too, promoted our attempt
on Sangkar Ri. The pleasures of mountaineering must always be restricted
for those who grapple with the highest mountains, if not denied _in
toto_; but the ascent of a little rock peak of 20,000 feet might help to
keep alive in us some appreciation of mountaineering as an enjoyable
pursuit. And then we wanted confidence in ourselves. At present we could
only feel how unequal we were to the prodigious task in front of us; so
were we urged to try conclusions with Sangkar Ri, to put ourselves to
the test.
The project demanded a high camp, at 17,000 feet, nearly 4,000 feet
above Gyangkar Nangpa. Seeing that it would clearly be undesirable to
employ more than a very small number of porters to carry up tents and
sleeping-bags for the night, Somervell and I at first made a plan for
ourselves alone; but when it was found that two others wanted to come
with us, this plan was amplified to include them, and it was arranged
that the four of us should sleep at close quarters in a Whymper tent.
The porters who carried for us in the evening would take down their
burdens in the early morning, in time to get them loaded on to the
animals at Gyangkar without delaying the main body. The establishment of
our camp did not proceed without some little difficulty; one of the
porters gave out and had to be relieved of his load, and it was not
until we had contoured a hillside for an hour in the dark that we found
a suitable place. So soon as we had lain down in our tent, a bitter wind
sprang up and blew in at the door; the night was one of the coldest I
remember.
We had ascended not more than 1,000 feet next morning when one of the
party decided that he was too ill to go on; he exhibited the usual
symptoms of mountain-sickness. While the other two suffered the
disappointment of turning back, Somervell and I pushed on towards a snow
col on the North ridge of the mountain. As it was desirable to reach
this point without delay in order to see the view while it was yet
unclouded, and to take photographs, I continued at my own pace, and
eventually found myself looking down on Somervell some distance below me
as he struggled up with frequent halts. I very soon made up my mind that
we should get no higher than this. But after a brief halt and some
refreshment when he had rejoined me, Somervell announced that he was
prepared to go on. We began to make our way along a rock ridge, which
became ever steeper as we mounted. Our progress was slow indeed, and I
kept thinking, as I found myself more and more fatigued, “Surely we must
give up now; a man in his state can’t go on climbing such rocks as
these.” But whenever I asked how he was feeling, he would answer that he
was getting along well enough; and as we gradually won our way up, and I
kept my eye on my watch, I began to see that we had really a chance of
reaching the summit. The rocks were by no means easy, and it is commonly
said that the effort of climbing difficult rocks is just what will prove
most exhausting, if it can be undertaken at all, to men affected by
altitude. The struggle to overcome a steep obstacle must always
interfere with regular breathing. Nevertheless, I am inclined to think
that the advantage in sheer exhilaration of climbing difficult rocks
compensates the greater trouble in breathing, and that so long as I am
still in a state to climb them, I prefer even difficult rocks to snow.
The actual exertion put forth in mounting even the steepest cliff is
often overrated. If there are moments of intense struggle, these are
rare, and though the demand on nervous concentration is great, the
climber proceeds for the most part with balanced movements, requiring,
indeed, the sureness of trained muscles, but no tremendous output of
strength. With such balanced movement the two of us were able to go
slowly upwards, without a rapidly increasing exhaustion, to the foot of
a formidable gendarme. We had hopes in the first instance that he might
be compelled to yield to a frontal attack. But, 30 feet up, we found our
way barred by a slab, which was at once so smooth and so exposed that,
though we felt it might conceivably be climbed, we decided it was not
for us to climb it at the present moment; our allowance of rope was
insufficient for operations which might require an “abseil”[5] on the
descent. We therefore turned to the West side of our ridge. Here, of
course, we were out of the sun, and the rocks were so cold that they
felt sticky to the skin and blistered our finger-tips. However, we
managed to execute a sensational traverse, and afterwards climbed a
steep wall, which brought us out above the slab from which we had turned
back. It was here that we experienced both the difficulty and the danger
of rock-climbing at high altitudes. It was necessary, in a terribly
exposed position, to pull oneself over an edge of rock on to a little
platform. A big effort was required: but the reserve of strength had
been exhausted. Having committed myself to this taxing struggling, the
grim thought arose in my mind that at the critical moment I might be
found wanting and my body refuse to respond when the greatest effort was
required of it. A great effort was required before I arrived panting on
the airy stance.
Footnote 5:
A method of coming down on a double rope.
After these exciting moments, we reached the top of the gendarme without
much trouble. But he had cost us too much time. We had to start from
Gyangkar this same day in pursuit of General Bruce, and ought to cross
the quicksands of the Shiling Plain before dark. We had already
overstepped the time allowed for the ascent according to our intention.
The summit now appeared perhaps 500 feet above us, and the intervening
rocks were evidently going to provide some stiff passages. It was
necessary, therefore, to turn back here and waste no time on the
descent. The descent proved longer than we had expected; we chose a long
traverse over steep snow to avoid the gendarme, and neither of us was in
a condition to cut steps quickly. We observed, in fact, what I had
observed last year with Bullock, that one may go down a considerable
distance at a high altitude, and instead of recovering very quickly, as
may happen in the Alps, one only becomes progressively more fatigued. It
was 4.30 p.m. when we reached Gyankar and found ourselves happily
recovered from our exertions. Sangkar Ri was still unclimbed. But we
looked back on our expedition with some satisfaction. We had been little
short of 20,000 feet when we turned back, and I had been greatly
impressed by Somervell’s endurance. For though very much fatigued before
reaching the col at the foot of our ridge, and further enervated by an
attack of dysentery which had begun on the previous day, his condition
seemed rather to improve than to deteriorate above that point. For my
part, I had come near enough to exhaustion, considering the difficulties
of the climb, and had suffered from a severe headache, but certainly
felt no worse than I expected at this stage of our training.
I entered upon this tale with the object of illustrating the course of
acclimatisation among us; but the return to Gyangkar was not for us the
end of the story. It was now clear that we could not hope to cross the
quicksands before night. However, we might hope to reach the ford by
which we must cross the river Yaru with still enough light to recognise
the spot, and thereafter we could rest in a sheltered place I knew of
until the late rising moon should show us the tracks of the main body.
We set off accordingly in high haste on the ponies we found waiting for
us. Our instruction had been that these animals should be specially
selected for their fleetness of foot—for Tibetan ponies can, some of
them, travel at a fair speed, while others no amount of flogging will
urge beyond 3 miles an hour. The beast I rode very quickly showed that
he was one of these last. I had entrusted my ice-axe to a porter who
accompanied us, and now told him to ride behind me and use it if
necessary. For 5 miles he used it with a dexterity and energy beyond
praise. Then I abandoned the pony, and, walking ahead of the party,
easily outstripped the rest encumbered with this beast. Night fell when
we were still 2 miles short of the ford. But as Somervell and I
approached the spot and wondered exactly where it might be, we perceived
lights a little way ahead on the further bank of the river, presumably
those of a Tibetan camp, and soon a figure appeared on that side. We
were hailed in Tibetan; our sirdar, coming up, spoke Tibetan in reply;
the figure waded across to us; and it was explained to me that this good
Samaritan was prepared to carry me over on his back. I readily agreed to
so generous a proposition. He was not an easy steed, but I was able to
hang on to him for a hundred yards or so until he deposited me on the
other bank, a light enough burden, apparently, to be picked up and set
down like a child. And 400 yards further we reached the lights. It was
no stranger camp; the tents were ours, and the General and the rest were
sitting in the Mess while dinner was keeping hot in the kitchen against
our return.
Ten days later we reached our Base Camp at the foot of the Rongbuk
Glacier (16,800 feet) and contemplated the prospect of rising another
12,000 feet and more to the summit of Mount Everest. At all events the
whole party had reached this point remarkably fit, and no one now showed
signs of distress from staying at this elevation. Remembering how
Bullock and I had felt after our first exertions up here last year, I
hoped to spend a few days at the Base Camp before doing very much, and
as General Bruce’s plans worked out nothing was required of me at
present. But much was asked of the reconnaissance party which started
out on May 4.
It has been recorded in earlier chapters how in three days from the Base
Camp they reached a height of 21,500 feet on the East Rongbuk Glacier.
The cold was great and their hardships were unrelieved by the greater
comfort of established camps enjoyed by those who followed the pioneers.
From their accounts they were evidently affected a good deal by altitude
before turning back with their work accomplished, and in spite of the
cold they experienced the familiar phenomenon of lassitude so painfully
and particularly noticeable on the glaciers when the sun makes itself
felt. But on the whole they had been less affected by the want of air
than was to be expected. They had this advantage—that they proceeded
gradually; the distance to travel was long, but the ascent was never
steep, and they found the upper glacier very lightly covered with snow;
and it is heavy going and a steep ascent that most readily induce the
more distressing symptoms of mountain-sickness. However, from the point
of view of acclimatisation it was highly satisfactory that this party
should have proceeded with so little delay to reach 21,000 feet.
[Illustration:
SERAC, EAST RONGBUK GLACIER.
]
Meanwhile Somervell and I, chafing somewhat at our inactivity and with
the idea that a long day on the mountains would do us good at this
stage, on May 6 climbed a small peak above the left bank of the Rongbuk
Glacier. It was a day of small misfortunes for me. As we were walking on
the stony slopes in the early morning my triconni nails of hard steel
slipped on a granite slab and I contrived to leave there an incredible
amount of skin from the back of my right hand. And higher, as we worked
along a broken ridge, a large boulder poised in unstable equilibrium
slipped as I brushed it with my knee and fell on the big-toe joint so as
to pinion my right foot. It was an awkward moment, for the place was
steep; I just had strength to heave it over and down the mountain-side,
and luckily no bones were broken. But walking was very painful
afterwards, and perhaps this accident had something to do with the
fatigue I felt as we neared the summit. On the lower slopes I had been
going well enough and seemed fitter than Somervell; at 21,000 feet he
was apparently no more fatigued than at 18,000 or 19,000 feet, while I
could scarcely drag one leg after the other. And when we came back to
camp I was surprisingly glad to take a little whisky in my tea.
III
I have said too much already about the early stage of acclimatisation:
my excuse must be that much will depend upon this factor. The issue will
depend no less on organisation and transport; and though this subject is
General Bruce’s province, at all events so far as Camp III, I have a few
words to add to what he has written.
In the calculation of what will be required at various stages in order
to reach the summit of Mount Everest it is necessary to begin at the
highest; and the climber imagines in the first place where he would like
to have his camps. He may imagine that on the final day he might rise
2,000 feet to the summit; if he is to give himself the best chance of
success he will not wish to start much lower than 27,000 feet, and in
any case he cannot camp much higher, for he is very unlikely to find a
place on the ridge above the North-east shoulder (27,400 feet) or on the
steep rocks within 200 feet of it. We may therefore fix 27,000 feet
approximately as the desirable height for the last camp. And we have
another camping ground fixed for us by circumstances, approximately at
23,000 feet, the broad shelf lying in the shelter of the ice-cliffs on
the North Col—there is no convenient place for a comparatively large
camp for a considerable distance either above or below it. But to carry
up a camp 4,000 feet at these altitudes would be to ask altogether too
much of the porters. We must therefore establish an intermediary camp
between these two, say at 25,000 feet if a place can be found.
Now what will be required at these three camps? We must ask first with
what number of climbers the assault is to be made. A party of two
appears insufficient, for if one man should become exhausted the other
will probably want help in bringing him down. This difficulty is met by
having three climbers. But since an exhausted man cannot be left alone,
certainly not without the shelter of a tent, nor should one man go on
alone, a party of three must turn back so soon as one man is unable to
go further. Four men would give a better chance of success in this case,
for then two might go on and still leave one to look after the sick man.
Granted, then, that the best hope is for four men to start from a camp
at 27,000 feet, we have firstly to provide them with tents. Two tents
are better than one, for it may be difficult to find a place for four
men to lie side by side, and the greater weight of two smaller tents
above one larger is inconsiderable; and they must have sleeping-bags,
provisions for two days, fuel, and cooking-pots. All these necessities
have been previously carried up to the camp below at 25,000 feet; but
other things besides are required there. We may assume that this camp is
to be used as a stage on the way up only and not on the way down. Even
so, six porters at least will have to sleep there before carrying up the
highest camp, and their requirements will be the same as we have laid
down for the four climbers; we must add another day’s provisions and
fuel for the climbers themselves.
It will be understood from this method of calculation how we arrive at
the number of loads which must be carried up to any given camp; it is
observable that at each stage downwards the number increases in a
proportion considerably greater than 2:1. Fortunately we are not obliged
to proceed strictly on these lines; to the lower camps we need not carry
up the whole of our stores on one day, and consequently we need not
increase in this alarming ratio the number of our porters. But in any
case when we get down to the North Col we must clearly have a large bulk
of stores; and the fewer porters we employ between one stage and
another, economizing on tents and sleeping-bags, the more time we shall
require.
It was clear from the start that time was likely to be a formidable
enemy. General Bruce’s problem was not only to move our vast quantity of
stores across an almost barren country, but to move them in a given
time. It was fortunate for this reason that the number of porters who
came with us was not increased, for every man must add something to our
burdens. No one who knows that arid country could fail to be surprised
that we reached our Base Camp below the Rongbuk Glacier so early as the
1st of May. But now the number of Nepalese porters—only forty were
available for carrying—was too small for all our needs. If they alone
were to shoulder all our loads when should we reach the North Col? Some
sort of depôt must be established below it at 21,000 feet for the supply
of all higher camps on the mountain before we could proceed; and the
reconnaissance party determined that two staging camps would be required
between the Base Camp and this depôt. The existence and the solution of
so large a problem of transport have so important a bearing on our later
plans that I must refer to it again in this place. General Bruce has
told how he impressed Tibetans into his service, and by using them up to
Camp II was able to liberate our own porters much earlier than might
have been expected for work further on. But the system of employing
Tibetans did not work without a hitch. It was because the first labour
battalion absconded that General Bruce gave orders for only two of us to
go forward and use the first opportunities for pushing on from Camp III.
With the prospect of an early monsoon and a shortage of transport it was
desirable that, so soon as any porters were available for work above
Camp III, this work should be pushed on without delay, and if necessary
an assault should be made with the minimum of stores required by a party
of two climbers. Without a further supply of transport there was no
question of using the oxygen, for we should have more than enough to
carry up without it.
On May 10 Somervell and I started from the Base Camp for Camp I. The way
already customary among the porters led us at first over the flat waste
of stones, intersected occasionally by dry stream-beds, which lies below
the black, humpy snout of the Rongbuk Glacier; we then followed the deep
trough below the glacier’s right (west) bank, an obvious line, but rough
with great boulders. It is not before reaching the head of this trough,
where one must turn up towards the East Rongbuk Glacier, that a problem
arises as to how best to proceed; here we found that an adequate path
had already been stamped on the loose moraine, and after ascending
steeply we contoured the hillside at an easy gradient—a little
forethought and energy had devised so good a way that we could walk
comfortably from one camp to the other in two hours and a half. Moreover
we were highly pleased by Camp I. The draught perpetually blowing down
the main glacier was scarcely noticed in this side-valley; the afternoon
sun was shining to cheer the stony scene, and away to the West some
noble peaks were well placed for our delight. But beyond æsthetic
satisfaction we were soon aware of a civilized habitation. We had been
in camp only a few minutes when a cook brought us tea and sweet biscuits
and demanded to know what we would like for dinner; we ordered a good
dinner and proceeded to examine our apartments. Geoffrey Bruce, we knew,
had been busy here with certain constructional works to obviate the
difficulty of carrying up heavy tents which were required in any case at
the Base Camp. We found a little house reserved for Europeans, one of
four solidly built with stones and roofed, with the outer flies of
Whymper tents. I never measured up this chamber; I suppose the floor
must have been 8 feet × 10 feet and the roof 4 feet high. It is true the
tent-poles bridging across from side to side in support of the roof were
in dangerously unstable equilibrium, and there were windy moments when
valetudinously minded persons might have pronounced it a draughty room.
But we were far from hypercritical on this first night, particularly as
no wind blew, and a wonderful and pleasant change it was, after living
in tents, to sit, eat, and sleep in a house once more.
The greater part of our alpine stores, with which I was especially
concerned, had already reached Camp I, and there I found the various
bundles of tents, ropes, sleeping-bags, crampons, paraffin, petrol,
primus stoves, cooking-sets, etc., which I had carefully labelled for
their respective destinations. The great majority were labelled for
III—no higher destination had yet been assigned, and I speculated, not
altogether optimistically, as to the probable rates of their arrival. As
the general order of transport was interrupted for the present, we had
to decide what we should take on with us both of food and alpine stores.
Somervell, who by now was an expert in the numbers and contents of
food-boxes, vigorously selected all that we preferred, and we went to
bed with very good hopes for the future, at least in one respect. In
consequence of these puzzling problems it took us some little time in
the morning to make up our loads; it was past ten o’clock when we
started on our way to Camp II.
[Illustration:
VIEW FROM ICE CAVERN.
]
I was surprised, after we had proceeded some distance along the stones
on the left bank of the East Rongbuk Glacier, to observe a conspicuous
cairn, evidently intended to mark our way over the glacier itself. But
the glacier in this lower end is so completely covered with stones that
in choosing the easiest way one is only concerned to find the flattest
surfaces, and as we mildly followed where the route had been laid out by
Colonel Strutt and his party we found the glacier far less broken than
was to be expected. Ultimately we walked along a conspicuous medial
moraine, avoiding by that means some complicated ice, and descended it
abruptly, to find ourselves on the flat space where Camp II was
situated.
By this time we had seen a good deal of the East Rongbuk Glacier. As we
came up the moraine near its left bank we looked northwards on a
remarkable scene. From the stony surface of the glacier fantastic
pinnacles arose, a strange, gigantic company, gleaming white as they
stood in some sort of order, divided by the definite lines of the
moraines. Beyond and above them was a vast mountain of reddish rock
known to us only by the triangulated height of its sharp summit, marked
in Wheeler’s map as 23,180. The pinnacles became more thickly crowded
together as we mounted, until, as we followed the bend southwards,
individuals were lost in the crowd and finally the crowd was merged in
the great tumbled sea of the glacier, now no longer dark with stones,
but exhibiting everywhere the bright surfaces of its steep and angry
waves. At Camp II we were surrounded on three sides by this amazing
world of ice. We lay in the shelter of a vertical cliff not less than 60
feet high, sombrely cold in the evening shadow, dazzlingly white in the
morning sun, and perfectly set off by the frozen pool at its foot.
Nothing, of course, was to be seen of Mount Everest; the whole bulk of
the North Peak stood in front of it. But by mounting a few steps up some
stony slopes above us we could see to the south-east, over the surface
of the ice, the slopes coming down from the Lhapka La, from which high
pass we had looked down the East Rongbuk Glacier in September, 1921, and
observed the special whiteness of the broken stream, at our own level
now, and puzzled over its curious course. We had yet another sight to
cheer us as we lay in our tents. On the range between us and the main
Rongbuk Glacier stood, in the one direction of uninterrupted vision, a
peak of slender beauty, and as the moon rose its crests were silver
cords.
Next morning, May 12, according to Colonel Strutt’s directions, we
worked our way along the true left edge of the glacier and the stones of
its left bank. The problem here is to avoid that tumbled sea of ice
where no moraine can be continuously followed. Probably it would be
possible to get through this ice almost anywhere, for it is not an
ice-fall, the gradient is not steep, the pinnacles are not seracs, and
there are few crevasses: but much time and labour would be wasted in
attempting such a course. Further up the surface becomes more even, and
the reconnaissance party had reached this better surface by only a short
and simple crossing of the rougher ice. We easily found the place,
marked by a conspicuous cairn, where they had turned away from the bank.
Their tracks on the glacier, though snow was lying in the hollows, were
not easy to follow, and we quickly lost them; but presently we found
another cairn built upon a single large stone, and here proceeded with
confidence to cross a deep and wide trough of which we had been warned;
and once this obstacle was overcome we knew no difficulty could impede
our progress to Camp III. The laden porters, however, did not get along
very easily. Their nails, for the most part, were worn smooth, and they
found the ice too slippery. As I had never seen in the Alps a
glacier-surface like this one I was greatly surprised by the nature of
the bare ice. In a sense it was often extremely rough, with holes and
minute watercourses having vertical sides 6 inches to 13 inches high;
but the upper surfaces of the little knobs and plateaus intervening were
extraordinarily hard and smooth and the colour was very much bluer than
the usual granular surface of a dry glacier. It was also surprising to
find at most a thin coating of fine snow as high as 20,500 feet; for in
1921 we had found, even before the first heavy snowfall, plenty of snow
on the glaciers above 19,000 feet. For my part, with new nails in my
boots, I was not troubled by the slippery surfaces. But we decided to
supply the porters with crampons, which they subsequently found very
useful on this stage of the journey.
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