Quest for Adventure

by Chris Bonington

  I myself have always wondered at the thinking behind John Hunt’s decision to allow Bourdillon and Evans to make their attempt from the South Col which meant, in effect, that there would be only one strong attempt on the summit itself. Had Bourdillon and Evans been granted that top camp, in all probability they would have been the first men on top of Everest. It is easy, however, to be wise after the event. Hunt was probably the only member of the team fully aware of just how thin was the ferrying capability of his Sherpas, particularly once they were above the South Col. Had Hillary and Tenzing failed in their summit bid, and the British team not climbed Everest in 1953, then no doubt the post-mortems would have been long and furious – but no one is too interested in a post-mortem after success.

  Whatever reservations some members of the team might have had, they all settled into their roles and worked themselves to the limit in the next three weeks. But things began going wrong almost from the start. It needs ruthless determination to keep the momentum of a climb under way. At altitude time seems to be slowed up by the very lethargy of the climber himself and the chores that have to be done. Struggling with a recalcitrant Primus, washing up dirty dishes in cold snow water and fighting with frozen crampon straps can eat into a day and somehow dominate it so that the real aim of the climber, in this case to reach the South Col, becomes obscured. This is what happened now.

  At Camp 6 on the night of 15 May, Lowe took a sleeping tablet for the first time. It had a disastrous effect. The next morning he just couldn’t wake up. Noyce pleaded with him, cursed him, pummelled him, but it was not until 10.30 that Lowe staggered out of the tent and they were able to start up the tracks he had made the previous day. They didn’t get far; he was falling asleep while he walked; they had no choice but to return, a precious day wasted. On 17 May, fully recovered and now well rested, Lowe went like a rocket and at last they established their seventh camp, about halfway up the Lhotse Face at a height of 7,315 metres. They still had 670 metres to go to the South Col. Noyce now dropped back, for he was going to be responsible for supervising the first big carry up to the South Col. Mike Ward went up to join Lowe that day, but he had a struggle just reaching the camp. Next day an icy wind blasted across the slope; Ward felt the cold bite through him. He went more and more slowly before being forced to turn back after less than a hundred metres’ progress. They stayed in the tent on the 19th and barely reached their previous high point on the 20th. The forward drive of the expedition seemed to have come to a grinding halt.

  Hunt now made a bold decision, pressured no doubt by desperation. Even though they were still far short of the South Col, he resolved to send Wilfrid Noyce up to Camp 7 with the Sherpa carrying party to try to push the route out and make the carry at the same time. In Hillary’s view, Wilf Noyce was the best and most determined mountaineer of all the British contingent. A school master and a poet, he had a diffident manner, but once on the mountain he was a very different person, with a single-minded drive and the immense determination of a man who had been one of Britain’s most outstanding young rock climbers before the war.

  Hunt, still desperately worried, uncharacteristically snapped at Lowe when he came back down after his marathon ten days out in front on the Lhotse Face. In Mike Ward’s words ‘he was excessively rude’ – an outburst caused by strain and very quickly rectified. Hunt now realised, though, that he had to reinforce the push for the South Col, but who could he send without weakening his summit assault? That night he resolved to send two more climbers up to Camp 7 the following day.

  On the morning of the 21st things looked bad at the top camp. The Sherpas with Noyce had eaten something that disagreed with them and were all sick. There seemed little chance of getting up to the South Col, particularly on a route that was still unclimbed. Noyce, therefore, decided to set out with Anullu, a powerfully built young Sherpa who chain-smoked and enjoyed his chang, the local beer, brewed from fermented rice, maize or barley.

  Back at Advanced Base, Hunt watched the slow progress of the two tiny dots and decided that Hillary and Tenzing would have to go up to the front and lend a hand. Hillary had come to the same conclusion already. Tenzing, more than anyone, would be able to encourage the Sherpas and Hillary had a huge and vested interest in getting the camp on the South Col established. In addition, he was confident that he had the fitness to make this lightning push up to the Col, come back down, rest a day or so, and then make his summit bid. So Hillary and Tenzing set out from Advanced Base that afternoon and surged straight through to Camp 7.

  Meanwhile, Wilf Noyce and Anullu had passed the high point reached by Lowe and Ward and were now working their way across the steep snow slope that swept down in a single span to the floor of the Western Cwm 900 metres below. They reached a crevasse that stretched its barrier right across the slope, and cast in either direction to find a snow bridge; but there was none:

  ‘I looked at Anullu, and Anullu, behind his mask, looked back at me. He was pointing. Where he pointed, the crevasse, some eight feet wide had narrowed to perhaps three. The cause of narrowing was the two lips, which had pushed forward as if to kiss over the bottle green depths below. The lips were composed, apparently, of unsupported snow, and seemed to suspend themselves above this “pleasure-dome of ice” into whose cool chasms, widening to utter blackness, it would at other times have been a delight to peer. I walked right once more, then left. Nothing. I signed to Anullu that he should drive his axe well in and be ready for me. Then I advanced to the first unsupported ledge. I stood upon this first ledge and prodded. Anullu would have held me, had one ledge given way, but he could not have pulled me up. As the walls of the crevasse were undercut to widen the gap, I would have been held dangling and could not have helped myself out. It would be silly to face such a problem in the Alps without a party of three. But I cannot remember more than a passing qualm. Altitude, even through oxygen, dulled fears as well as hopes. One thing at a time. Everest must be climbed. Therefore this step must be passed. I prodded my ice axe across at the other ledge, hut I could not quite reach deep enough to tell. I took the quick stride and jump, trying not to look down, plunged the axe hard in and gasped. The lip was firm. This time the Lhotse Face really was climbed.’

  Slowly, they plodded on towards the wide gully that led to the crest of the Geneva Spur, which in turn would lead them easily to the South Col:

  ‘Strange, how breathless I could feel, even on four litres a minute. Anticipation was breathless too as the crest drew near, backed by the shadow of Everest’s last pyramid, now a floating right-handed curve from which snow mist blew. I was leading again, and hacked the last steps on to the crest. Still no view, and no easy traverse; we must go on up to the widening top, first boulders, up which we stumbled easily, then more snow, the broad forehead of the Geneva Spur, and then suddenly nothing was immediately above us any more. We were on a summit, overlooked in this whole scene only by Lhotse and Everest. And this was the scene long dreamed, long hoped.

  ‘To the right and above, the crenellations of Lhotse cut a blue sky fringed with snow cloudlets. To the left, snow mist still held Everest mysteriously. But the eye wandered hungry and fascinated over the plateau between; a space of boulders and bare ice perhaps 400 yards square, absurdly solid and comfortable at first glance in contrast with the sweeping ridges around, or the blank mist that masked the Tibetan hills beyond. But across it a noisy little wind moaned its warning that the South Col, goal of so many days’ ambition, was not comfortable at all. And in among the glinting ice and dirty grey boulders there lay some yellow tatters – all that remained of the Swiss expeditions of last year.’

  Wilf Noyce had achieved his own personal summit; he knew that for him the expedition was probably over. He had fulfilled his role in John Hunt’s master plan, had established one vital stepping stone for others to achieve the final goal, but that goal was denied him, as it is to the vast majority of members of a large expedition. Some are better than others at suppressing ambition and envy; in his book, S
outh Col, Wilf Noyce only allowed: ‘Yet when I looked up and saw John’s trio setting out for the Face, a demon of suppressed envy pricked me, now that my job was done.’

  On 22 May, Ed Hillary and Tenzing helped cajole and encourage Charles Wylie’s carrying party to the South Col; Charles Evans and Tom Bourdillon, with John Hunt in support, were on their way up to the Lhotse Face to put in the first tentative assault or reconnaissance of the South Summit, though I am quite sure that as Bourdillon and Evans plodded up the long slopes, enclosed in the claustrophobic embrace of their chosen oxygen sets, they were dreaming and hoping for the summit. In theory, the closed-circuit system should give them the speed and the endurance to get them to the top, but what if it failed or ran out near the summit? They had talked endlessly about this eventuality. The sudden withdrawal of a flow of almost pure oxygen could have disastrous effects. Would it be like running out of oxygen in a high-flying aircraft? Could they adjust to the complete loss of oxygen in time to get back down the mountain? There was no way of knowing for certain.

  Until now, Wilf Noyce, George Lowe and all the others had been pursuing a series of limited adventures, limited not so much by their own strength, determination and acceptance of risk, as by the roles imposed upon them by the leader of the expedition. Bourdillon, however, had been given the opportunity of seeking out adventure in its fullest sense, for not only had he an outside chance of getting to the top, but also he was putting on trial his own oxygen system.

  It is often argued that the use of artificial aids reduces the level of adventure; it certainly does with the indiscriminate use of expansion bolts, drilled and hammered into a rock wall to aid an ascent, for this dramatically reduces the level of uncertainty experienced by the climbers. In this respect, perhaps, had the closed-circuit oxygen system been perfect in every respect, lightweight and reliable, reducing Everest’s summit to the height of Snowdon or Scafell, the feeling of adventure would have been lessened, though no doubt the satisfaction to Bourdillon the scientist would have been enormous. As it was, the system was by no means perfect. With fully charged bottles and spare soda lime canisters (which absorbed the carbon dioxide), it weighed about twenty-three kilograms; it was temperamental in the extreme and uncomfortable to use. Charles Evans went along with Bourdillon out of friendship, coupled with his own scientific interest in the outcome of the experiment. It was a loyalty and enthusiasm that was to be severely tried.

  Initially, their route went up a snow gully on the side of the ridge. They reached the crest, at a height of around 8,290 metres, just after nine o’clock, having taken only an hour and a half to climb 400 metres. At that rate they had a good chance of not only reaching the South Summit, but getting to the top; but the going now became much more difficult. Fresh snow covered the rocks of the ridge; the clouds rolled in and soon it began to snow; their pace slowed and it took two hours to cover the next 245 metres. They had now reached the high point achieved by Lambert and Tenzing the previous year and were confronted by a difficult decision. The soda lime canisters had a life of around three and a half hours; they were slightly awkward to change and there was always a risk of valves freezing up immediately after the change. On the other hand, they could probably get another half hour or so out of the canisters that were in place – something that could make a big difference later on. They had a muffled conversation through the masks clamped around their faces. They decided to make the change.

  Once again, they set out, now on new ground. The cloud swirled around them, the angle steepened and the snow was unstable, a fragile crust overlying loose deep snow beneath. There was a serious risk of avalanche. Even more serious, Evans’ set now developed a fault which caused laboured, rapid breathing. Slowly, they forced their way upwards and, at last, reached the crest of the South Summit. The cloud was milling around them, clinging to the eastern side of the ridge like a great banner, but the crest of the ridge was clear.

  Now higher than any man had ever been before, for the first time they were able to examine the final ridge to the summit of Everest. It did not look encouraging. Looking at it head-on made it appear much steeper and more difficult than it actually was; it also looked very much longer, a phenomenon noticed by Doug Scott when he arrived just below the South Summit in 1975. It was one o’clock in the afternoon; they had already been going for five and a half hours; they were tired and were now well into their second canister. To go on or not? The summit was within their grasp; they could almost certainly reach it, but could they get back: They would undoubtedly run out of oxygen, might well be benighted. Bourdillon was prepared to risk all; he had that kind of temperament, had made a whole series of very bold and committing climbs in the Alps. Evans, however, whom John Hunt had put in charge of the pair and who was that little bit older, resolved that the risk was too great. They had a furious argument, muted no doubt by their oxygen masks, but Evans stuck to his point and Bourdillon, reluctantly, agreed to retreat. They only just got back, falling in their exhaustion on several occasions and tumbling, almost out of control, down the final gully leading back to the South Col, only saved by Bourdillon taking braking action with the pick of his axe. Had they pushed on to the summit, it seems most unlikely that they would have managed to get back alive.

  Back on the South Col, there had been a moment when the onlookers, who now included Hillary and Tenzing, thought that Bourdillon and Evans were going to be successful. It was something that Hillary and Tenzing must have watched with mixed emotions. Whatever he felt, Hillary was able to muster a show of Anglo-Saxon team spirit. Tenzing, however, was both visibly and vocally agitated as he saw his chances of being the first man on top of the world starting to vanish.

  Bourdillon and Evans, lying exhausted in their tents, had done a magnificent job; had they started from a higher camp they would almost certainly have reached the summit of Everest. As it was, they had opened the way for Hillary and Tenzing, though the story they brought back, understandably, was not encouraging.

  John Hunt, who was also exhausted after his carry, felt a deep sense of satisfaction. His oxygen set had given trouble and, as a result, he had received a flow rate of only two litres per minute – half of what he really needed to make up for the weight of the oxygen cylinders and then to give him real help. Even so, he had struggled on to a height of around 8,336 metres before dumping his load. For the leader of an expedition it is very important psychologically to make this carry to the top camp; in doing so he can feel that everything possible has been done to make the ascent viable and in some measure, I suspect, have a stronger sense of vicarious involvement in the final summit bid. The expedition as a whole becomes an extension of the leader’s personality and ego. Because of this, it is not a huge sacrifice to forego the summit bid, for the success of the expedition overall is very much his handiwork, bringing a satisfaction that is as much intellectual as purely egotistical. On the other hand, the other expedition members inevitably experience frustration on many occasions because they are being held back, given humdrum tasks or denied the chance of going to the summit. On a large expedition, some can lose the sense of personal adventure they would have experienced on a smaller venture.

  Not so the irrepressible George Lowe who, as Hunt returned to the Western Cwm, had bobbed back up to the South Col, after the very minimum of rest from his herculean efforts on the Lhotse Face. He had no thought and little chance of making a summit bid himself; he just wanted to get as high up the mountain as he could, and was all too happy to do this in a support role.

  After a day of storm the 28th dawned fine, though bitterly cold at –25 °C, and still very windy; but they had no choice, they had to start the final push for the summit. Of their two Sherpas only Ang Nyma, another hard-drinking, chain-smoking young man, was fit, so Gregory, Lowe and Ang Nyma had to take on heavy loads, but the heaviest of all were those carried by Hillary and Tenzing, who each took around twenty-three kilograms. They reached the place where John Hunt and Da Namgyl had dumped their loads, but decided th
at this was too low and therefore picked up everything, sharing it out among themselves. Hillary was carrying the heaviest load – more than twenty-seven kilograms.

  Slowly, they clambered on up the ridge to a height of around 8,494 metres, before finally stopping. Hillary and Tenzing started digging out a platform for their tent, while the others dropped back down towards the South Col. Both Hillary and Tenzing were in superb condition, finding they could work at the platform and put up the tent without using oxygen. That evening they dined well off endless cups of hot, sweet lemon water, soup and coffee, which washed down sardines on biscuits, a tin of apricots, biscuits and jam.

  They woke at 4 a.m. on the morning of 29 May. It was a brilliant, clear dawn and, even more important, the wind had almost vanished. Tenzing was able to point out the Thyangboche Monastery, 5,180 metres lower and twenty kilometres away. It took them two and a half hours to get ready for their bid for the summit, melting snow for a drink, struggling with frozen boots and fiddling with the oxygen sets.

  At 6.30 they set out. In the event, they got little benefit from the previous party’s tracks. They did not like the look of the route taken and therefore waded up through steep, insubstantial snow that felt as it if could slip away with them any minute. It was only nine in the morning when they reached the South Summit, and the view was magnificent. Makalu in the foreground, Kangchenjunga behind, were almost dwarfed from their airy viewpoint; little puffballs of cloud clung to the valleys, but above them the sky was that intense blue of high altitude, while to the east it was traced with no more than light streamers of high cloud. Hillary looked with some foreboding at the final ridge, about which Evans and Bourdillon had made such a gloomy forecast.

  ‘At first glance it was an exceedingly impressive and indeed frightening sight. In the narrow crest of this ridge, the basic rock of the mountain had a thin capping of snow and ice - ice that reached out over the East Face in enormous cornices, overhanging and treacherous, and only waiting for the careless foot of the mountaineer to break off and crash 10,000 feet to the Kangshung Glacier. And from the cornices the snow dropped steeply to the left to merge with the enormous rock bluffs which towered 8,000 feet above the Western Cwm. It was impressive all right! But as I looked my fears started to lift a little. Surely I could see a route there? For this snow slope on the left, although very steep and exposed, was practically continuous for the first half of the ridge, although in places the great cornices reached hungrily across. If we could make a route along that snow slope, we could go quite a distance at least.’