Quest for Adventure

by Chris Bonington

  Shipton was cruelly hurt by this rejection. It is one thing to be allowed to stand down from an expedition, quite another to be manoeuvred into an impossible position. It triggered off a series of personal crises that had a traumatic effect over the next five years and it was only in 1957, through an invitation by a group of university students to lead their expedition to the Karakoram, that he returned to the mountains. In his fifties he then had a renaissance, which he described as the happiest years of his life, exploring the wild, unmapped glaciers and mountains of Patagonia in the southern tip of South America. This was the style of mountaineering in which he excelled and in which he could find complete commitment and happiness.

  In the meantime, John Hunt had been given the opportunity of his life. Shipton and Hunt, who were so very different in personality, had very similar backgrounds. Both were born in India – Shipton in Ceylon in 1907, the son of a tea planter, Hunt in Simla in 1910, the son of a regular army officer. Both lost their fathers at around the age of four, both were sent to prep schools in England, but here the similarity ended. Shipton was a slow learner, perhaps suffered from dyslexia, for he was a very late reader. As a result, he failed the common entrance examination to public school, and after a sketchy schooling took up tea planting in Kenya; for him this led naturally to a life of individual adventure.

  The young Hunt, on the other hand, was brought up from a very early age to the idea of a life of serious and dedicated public service. He went to Marlborough, then followed family tradition by going to Sandhurst, where he distinguished himself, becoming a senior under-officer and winning both the Sword of Honour and the Gold Medal for Top Academic Attainment. He was commissioned into the fashionable Rifle Brigade and posted to India. But here he ceased to be the stereotyped young subaltern; he was not happy in the claustrophobic pre-war army officer’s life of polo, cocktail parties and mess gossip. He preferred playing football with his soldiers, and already had a sense of social responsibility combined with a strong Christian belief that made him much more progressive in his political and social attitudes than the average army officer. Tiring of the fairly aimless routine of garrison life, he applied for a temporary transfer to the Indian Police to work in intelligence and counter-terrorism. Already he was addicted to mountaineering, having had several Alpine sessions before going out to India. With the Himalaya on his doorstep, he took every opportunity to escape to the mountains with adventurous ski tours in Kashmir and more ambitious climbs on Saltoro Kangri and in the Kangchenjunga region. Hunt was considered for the 1936 Everest expedition but, ironically, failed the medical test because of a slight flutter in his heartbeat. He saw active service during the war, commanding a battalion in Italy, where he was awarded the Distinguished Service Order, and then getting command of a brigade in Greece at the end of the war. He went to Staff College and served on Field Marshal Montgomery’s staff at the end of the 1940s, at Fontainebleau, getting to know French climbers and being invited to join the Groupe de Haute Montagne. He married Joy, who was a Wimbledon tennis player, in 1935. Theirs was a very close relationship and between an exacting career and raising a family, they did much of their mountain adventuring together.

  Hunt certainly looked the part of the professional soldier, but he was no martinet. He plunged into the job of organising the expedition, but in doing so fully involved everyone around him, overcoming any initial resentment. One commentator, Ingrid Cranfield, summed up what has become a popular interpretation of Hunt’s approach, writing: ‘To Hunt an “assault” merely meant a concerted, military-style operation; whereas to Shipton “assault” sounded more like a criminal offence.’ In fact, this was hardly fair, for Hunt’s approach to climbing was essentially romantic, with an almost spiritual undertone. Wilfrid Noyce remembered Hunt commenting how mountains made him want to pray. Hunt undoubtedly saw Everest as a romantic, perhaps even spiritual, challenge, but used his military training to approach a task that needed careful planning. He could see that the basic principles of ensuring success on a mountain are very similar to those of success in war, and one finds oneself using similar terminology.

  Dr Griffith Pugh, the physiologist who had accompanied the Cho Oyu expedition, played a very important part in the preparations. The way the human body adapted to altitude was still a mystery and it was largely Griff Pugh’s work that determined the need for acclimatisation to altitude and, perhaps even more important, the need to drink a lot to avoid dehydration. The diet of the expedition was carefully worked out and the equipment, with specially designed high-altitude boots, tentage and clothing, was better than anything that had been used before.

  There were plenty of strong incentives demanding success; the fact that the French had permission for 1954, the Swiss for 1955, so that if the British failed this time they were most unlikely to have another chance; the fact that it was the year of the Queen’s Coronation; the amount of money and effort involved; the controversy over the change in leadership; but, most important of all, Hunt – and for that matter most of his team – wanted success for its own sake. If you set out on a climb, there is a tremendous drive to succeed in what you are attempting. On Everest, certainly in 1953 when six serious attempts had failed (five on the north side and one on the south), the chances of success seemed slim, however large and well equipped the expedition might be.

  Hunt settled on a slightly larger team than perhaps Shipton would have taken, making it up to a total of twelve climbers, plus thirty-six high-altitude porters. Evans, Bourdillon, Gregory, Hillary and Lowe, had been in the Cho Oyu party, Michael Ward, had been on the 1951 Reconnaissance as a doctor, and George Band, Wilfrid Noyce, Charles Wylie and Mike Westmacott were newcomers. Even the Cho Oyu men were thin on real high-altitude experience; Charles Evans had reached 7,300 metres on Annapurna IV in 1950, while Hillary and Lowe had collected a fine crop of peaks around 6,400 metres and had been to about 6,850 metres on both Mukut Parbat and Cho Oyu, but they had not climbed any really high mountains. In this respect John Hunt was the most experienced, for he had been to 7470 metres on Saltoro Kangri and had made a bold solo ascent of the South-West Summit of Nepal Peak (7,107 metres) in East Nepal. It was Tenzing Norkay, however, who had more high-altitude experience and knew Everest better than any of the other members of the party and, because of this, he was made a full team member as well as being sirdar of the porters.

  The British part of the expedition came from traditional Oxbridge or military backgrounds, the only exception being Alf Gregory, a northerner who ran a travel agency in Blackpool. The selection, however, was a natural one, for the climbing explosion that hit Britain in the early 1950s, spearheaded by the tough Mancunians of the Rock and Ice Climbing Club, had only just got under way. In completing the selection of the team, Hunt had looked for compatibility as much as a record for hard climbing. This certainly worked out, for the team functioned well together under Hunt’s firm, but tactful direction.

  Preparations were complicated by the fact that the Swiss were having their second try for the mountain that autumn, which meant that Hunt and his team could not let go at full bore until the end of November, when the Swiss finally admitted defeat. The British had just three months to put the expedition together; much of the equipment had to be specially designed and manufactured and, although some work had already been started, they had not been able to place any firm orders until they knew the outcome of the Swiss attempt. It is unlikely that they would have been able to raise the financial support for a second ascent of the mountain.

  All the gear and food was ready to leave by sea on 12 February 1953. The team reached Thyangboche, the Buddhist monastery a few kilometres south of the Everest massif, on 27 March. This was early in the season, but Hunt was determined to allow an acclimatisation period before the start of the serious climbing. This was a concept fashionable in pre-war expeditions and in those of the early 1950s, though later expeditions tended to concentrate all their efforts on the climb itself, acclimatising by working on the lower slopes of
the mountain.

  The story of the Everest expedition, like that of all siege-type expeditions, is a complex yet stereotyped one, of establishment of camps and different parties moving up and down the mountain, as the route is slowly pushed towards the summit. The first barrier is the now famous Khumbu Icefall; the route then relents through the Western Cwm; it is a long walk, skirting crevasses which tend to force the climber into the sides, and the consequent threat of avalanche from the steep, crenellated walls of Nuptse. At the head of the Cwm is the Lhotse Glacier, a giant series of steps, steep ice walls alternating with broad platforms, leading up towards the summit rocks of Lhotse. From near the top of the glacier, a long traverse across snow slopes leads to the South Col of Everest, the springboard for a summit bid up the South-East Ridge, soaring for 860 metres past the South Summit, which, deceptively, looks like the top from the South Col, and then beyond it to the summit itself.

  Throughout, John Hunt pressed himself to the limit, determined to be seen to be working as hard, if not harder, than anyone else on the expedition, either in carrying a load while escorting porters, making a reconnaissance in the Western Cwm or on the Lhotse Face, as well as coping with the detailed planning and day-to-day administration needed for the expedition. On several occasions he pushed himself too hard, as he struggled, grey-faced, to complete the day’s task. There was a strong competitive element in his make-up, noticed by Hillary on the approach march and recorded in his autobiography:

  ‘I learned to respect John even if I found it difficult to understand him. He drove himself with incredible determination and I always felt he was out to prove himself the physical equal of any member – even though most of us were a good deal younger than himself. I can remember on the third day’s march pounding up the long steep hill from Dologhat and catching up with John and the way he shot ahead, absolutely determined not to be passed – the sort of challenge I could not then resist. I surged past with a burst of speed and was astonished to see John’s face, white and drawn, as he threw every bit of strength into the effort. There was an impression of desperation because he wasn’t quite fast enough. What was he trying to prove, I wondered? He was the leader and cracked the whip - surely that was enough? I now know that sometimes it isn’t enough - that we can be reluctant to accept that our physical powers have their limits or are declining, even though our best executive years may still be ahead of us.’

  Mike Ward had an uncomfortable feeling in his presence, noting, ‘My first impression of John was of some disturbing quality that I sensed but could not define. Later, I understood this to be the intense emotional background to his character, by no means obvious, and yet an undercurrent came through.’ George Lowe commented, ‘He greeted me most warmly and said how much he was depending on me – his assault on personal susceptibilities was impossible to resist.’

  This was an experience that everyone I have talked to remembered. At the same time, however, both through his own personality and also from his position as leader, he kept a certain distance from his fellow members and had an air of authority, very similar to that Thor Heyerdahl inspired in his crew on Kon-Tiki. Even when members of the team disagreed with him they always ended up complying with his wishes.

  From the very start Hunt had thought Hillary and Tenzing potentially his strongest pair, though they had never met before the expedition and climbed together for the first time in the lower part of the Western Cwm. Hillary was immediately impressed by Tenzing’s energy, competence, enthusiasm and, above all, his determination. He wrote later:

  ‘If you accept the modern philosophy that there must be a ruthless and selfish motivation to succeed in sport, then it could be justly claimed that Tenzing and I were the closest approximation we had on our expedition to the climbing prima donnas of today. We wanted for the expedition to succeed – and nobody worked any harder to ensure that it did – but in both our minds success was always equated with us being somewhere around the summit when it happened.’

  Another strong pairing was that of Charles Evans and Tom Bourdillon. Although Bourdillon was younger than Evans, and had climbed at a much higher standard in the Alps, they had much in common. Both had a scientific background and Evans, though initially sceptical, became deeply involved in Bourdillon’s brainchild, the closed-circuit oxygen system, which his father had specially developed for the 1953 expedition in the hope of avoiding the wastage of the conventional open-circuit set. In theory it should have been the best system, but in practice it proved to be less reliable than the open-circuit system and the other members of the team were not impressed. Privately, Hunt felt the same way, but gave his support to the closed-circuit trials all the same. Bourdillon and Evans had been the two members of the team closest to Eric Shipton, Bourdillon having actually resigned from the expedition, and only brought back in after a great deal of persuasion. Hunt had been very touched on the walk in, when Bourdillon had told him how happy the expedition seemed to be. He wanted to keep it that way.

  Hillary, down to earth and practical, preferred the look of the open-circuit oxygen system and felt that too much time was being expended in trying to prove the closed-circuit equipment. At 6.30 a.m. on 2 May, Hillary and Tenzing set out from Base Camp, using the open-circuit set, carrying a load that totalled eighteen kilograms. They reached Camp 4, the Advanced Base in the Western Cwm, 1,525 metres of climbing with about six kilometres in lateral distance, breaking trail most of the way through soft snow. It was as much an affirmation of their fitness and suitability for the summit as a vindication of the open-circuit system. Hunt was already thinking of them as his main summit hope, and this confirmed his choice.

  By modern standards, Hunt’s approach to the assault was slow if methodical, not so much a blitzkrieg as a steady siege. But there was a great deal more that was unknown in 1953 than there is today. Only one mountain of over 8,000 metres had been climbed and Hunt had no desire to repeat the desperate, ill-supported summit bid, followed by the near-disastrous retreat from Annapurna experienced by Herzog’s expedition, nor the failure, through an inadequate oxygen system and cumulative exhaustion, of the Swiss. It was believed climbers deteriorated physically, even while resting, at heights of over 6,400 metres, and it was not known how long anyone could survive and function effectively above this height. Hunt, therefore, was determined to nurse his team, particularly the climbers he was considering for the summit.

  It was on 7 May, with most of the team down at Base Camp, that he laid before them his final plan of assault. He felt that he had only the resources, both in materials and manpower, to mount one strong attempt on the summit. If this failed they would all have to come back down, rest and think again. But his thinking for the summit bid was consistent with his policy up to that point; it was one of reconnaissance, build-up of supplies and then the thrust forward. To do this, he first had to reach the South Col and he gave this job to George Lowe who, with Hillary, probably had the greatest all-round snow and ice experience of the expedition. With him were to be George Band and Mike Westmacott, two of the young newcomers to the Himalaya, and a group of Sherpas. Once the route was made to the South Col, Hunt planned a big carry to the Col, supervised by Noyce and Wylie, after which Charles Evans and Tom Bourdillon would move into position and make a bid for the South Summit, using the closed-circuit sets. Since, in theory, these sets were more effective and had greater endurance than open-circuit sets, they should be able at least to reach the South Summit from the South Col, a height of around 780 metres, and it was just conceivable that they could reach the top. In this way Hunt could satisfy the two exponents of the closed-circuit system as well as making what he felt was a vital reconnaissance, opening the way for the main summit bid. In this respect one must remember just how huge a barrier that last 250 metres on Everest appeared to be in 1953. Just one day behind them would be Hillary and Tenzing, with a strong support party consisting of Hunt, Gregory and two Sherpas. They would establish a camp as high as possible above the South Col on the South-Eas
t Ridge, and then Hillary and Tenzing, using open-circuit sets, would make their bid for the summit – hoping to benefit from the first party’s tracks and with that indefinable barrier of the unknown pushed still higher up the mountain.

  Subsequently Hunt modified his plan so that he, with two Sherpas, would move up with Evans and Bourdillon to give them direct support just in case anything went wrong and, at the same time, to make a dump for the high camp. Hunt hoped to stay up on the South Col throughout the period of the summit attempts, since this was obviously the place of decision and the only place from which he could effectively influence events.

  It must have been a tense moment for the entire team when they assembled for the meeting that was to give them their roles in the final phase of the expedition. Up to this point, Hunt had used a low-key approach to leadership, consulting with people as far as possible, often sowing the germ of an idea in others’ heads so that they could almost believe that it was their own; but now he had to lay down a series of roles for the team, knowing all too well that some of its members would be bitterly disappointed.

  Ward came out very strongly against Hunt’s plan on two counts. He could not understand the logic of making an initial bid from the South Col, when only a slightly greater porter effort would be needed to establish a high camp for Evans and Bourdillon’s attempt which, of course, could also be used by Hillary and Tenzing. He also challenged Hunt’s plan to take charge of the carry to the top camp himself on the grounds that he was not physically fit for it – a heavy charge, coming from the expedition medical officer. But John Hunt weathered both attacks, which were delivered with great vehemence, and stuck to his guns.