by Michael Gill
That afternoon, accompanied by Jim Milledge who for the next fortnight would become his personal physician, Ed walked down to the more benign altitude of Base Camp. He recovered rapidly but there was no question of returning to higher camps. The safe advice was to leave Makalu and take a low-altitude route back to Khumjung accompanied by Jim. It was a sad end to Ed’s involvement with a mountain that had become his personal nemesis and it marked the end of his days as a serious climber.
Mike Ward becomes leader
On Makalu we now had a climbing/scientific group of eight people:
Mike Ward, leader, age 36, London surgeon who had been on Everest in 1953 and reached Camp 7, 24,000ft, which was around his altitude ceiling. He had led the Ama Dablam climb.
The others, in alphabetic order, were:
Mike Gill, age 23, medical student and physiologist, had wintered over and was on Ama Dablam. There was anecdotal evidence that 23 was too young for extreme altitude, and I became so much in agreement that I never again went above 22,000ft.
John Harrison, age 29, New Zealand artist and designer. In 1955 had climbed to 23,000ft on Masherbrum. He was regarded as the best hope for the third assault.
Peter Mulgrew, age 33, chief petty officer in the New Zealand Navy and Ed’s radio operator on the ‘dash to the Pole’. Had less mountaineering experience than the others but made up for it with more determination.
Tom Nevison, age 32, physician with the US Air Force. Had climbed to 24,000ft on Broad Peak in the Karakorum where he had acclimatised well.
Leigh Ortenburger, age 32, American statistician specialising in the propagation of radio waves. Climbed widely in the Andes and Tetons.
Wally Romanes, age 31, New Zealand builder who spent the winter in the Silver Hut and was on Ama Dablam. Christened Wally for Work by John West because of his untiring work throughout the expedition.
John West, age 32, Australian physiologist working in London. A clever scientist who applied his brain to the problems that arose on the mountain. Though without much climbing experience, he acclimatised well and easily coped with the climb to Makalu Col.
You could say we were strong on science and Sherpas but lacking in elite climbers. Nevertheless, on 12 May six of us were in a well-established camp on Makalu Col at 24,400ft in the finest weather we had experienced in a month. We did not know that days like this were rare. ‘Makalu Col is the kingdom of the wind,’ wrote Jean Franco. ‘The few times we stayed there had convinced us that there must be only a very few days in the year when it is possible to stand up on the Col … Usually a perpetual gale rages in this funnel …’15
The first priority was the physiological programme. The bicycle ergometer was assembled and ridden to exhaustion while samples were collected and measurements made. We never knew what the Sherpas said to each other as they watched this strange ritual of climbing onto a stationary bicycle so high on a mountain.
We were now starting to test the theory that the Silver Hut group would be much better acclimatised than the new arrivals. There was no doubt that the long-stayers were happily acclimatised to 19,000ft, and even the climb to the top of Ama Dablam at 22,500ft had not been a problem. But 24,300ft on the Col was altogether different, and the wintering group was having to concede that there was no consistent difference between those who had had the most time at altitude and those who had the least. For all of us sleep was patchy, unrefreshing, and interrupted by periodic (Cheyne-Stokes) breathing – better described as periodic non-breathing. Our appetites were poor. Climbing uphill was accompanied by breathlessness far beyond anything we had experienced before, and it became immeasurably worse as we went higher. It was clear that climbing Makalu without oxygen was not going to be easy.
The first assault: Gill, Romanes and Ortenburger
From Camp 5 on the Col we had a good view of the last 3,500ft, a snow and ice face enclosed between two rock ridges converging on the summit. The centre of the face was a steepish icefall but so slow moving as to carry no risk from falling ice or collapsing seracs. On either side of the central ice were steep snow gullies which did not look too difficult. The last 400ft to the summit was on rock which we knew, from the French account, was not unduly difficult either.
The morning of 13 May was still miraculously fine when the three of us in the first assault team set off. The day began with a wrong move. The French route made a level traverse on an easy snow ledge to the far snow gully running up to the left of the central ice. But when we emerged from our tents to follow the load-carrying Sherpas, they were already far up the right-hand gully. Pemba Tensing, who had been with the French, said he knew the route, and the porters had followed him. They were beyond shouting distance and to get them back would lose us a day. We decided to follow and find a route across the central ice the next day after spending a night at Camp 6 – which was established that afternoon at 25,800ft, the height of Everest’s South Col.
During the night the wind came up, but because it was at our backs we set off across the central ice, Wally and I sharing the lead, cutting steps across a mixture of steep ice and hard snow, or plugging steps in deep, soft snow. It was desperate work, and by the time we had crossed the icefall and reached the left-hand snow gully in the early afternoon we were done for. The wind had risen to gale force, and as we turned into it we were engulfed in driven snow. We decided to make a depot, calling it Camp 6½, and go back to Camp 6. Just short of it, I misplaced a step on an ice bulge, slipped and dragged Wally off. Down we tumbled to find ourselves embedded in a drift of soft snow 50 feet down and with lungs screaming as our bodies fought to replace the oxygen we had expended trying to save our fall. Back at a sombre Camp 6 we passed another endless night.
Next morning the gale was still blowing full force. Even going downhill I was breathless, and on the level traverse to the Col I was taking frequent rests. The wind drove into our faces with such force it was hard to keep a footing. Loose snow had been stripped away, leaving polished ice so hard that our crampons jittered across its surface. Though the powder had gone there was still, in parts, a thin layer of compact snow, and slabs of this, caught by the wind, were being whipped into the air and sent spinning towards Tibet like huge autumn leaves. There was a cry behind us and, turning, we saw Nima Dorje being blown across the ice on his back. The rope tightened, he clawed his way to his knees, to his feet, then continued on unsteadily in the slow motion that is the normal pace at high altitudes. Two of our small Meade tents on the Col, empty at the time, had blown away into Tibet in big gusts.
The big Blanchard tent was surprisingly warm. All the climbers were there now, Peter Mulgrew and Tom Nevison forming the second assault party, and John Harrison and Mike Ward forming the third. Leigh, who had not been on the leading rope and was less exhausted than Wally or I, decided to stay at Camp 5 and join the third assault. As we sprawled among the litter of sleeping bags and down jackets we told them of our two days on the upper slopes of the mountain. The altitude was much tougher than we’d expected. To reach the top, the summit pair had to be spared the punishing task of breaking trail except on the final push to the top. When compared with oxygenless climbs on the north side of Everest ours had not been too bad an effort, but it was below expectations.
The second assault: Mulgrew and Nevison
Over the next two days Wally, Leigh and I retreated to Camp 3 at the wondrously comfortable altitude of 21,000ft, leaving behind us five climbers supported by a dozen Sherpas on the wind-blasted Col. The wind on 16 May had dropped as Mulgrew, Nevison and six Sherpas set off for Camp 6 on the second assault. That was the easy day. There was a well-plugged line of steps, a climb of 1400ft and tents already in place.
The following day was not so good. The wind had returned in force. One could say they were only 2000 feet short of the summit but at 26,000ft they were entering the death zone. All went to plan as the six loaded Sherpas and two climbers crossed the icefall, but at Camp 6½ one of the Sherpas slipped and began sliding down the steep slope. Bela
y techniques were not well taught to Sherpas in those early years. All of them were joined on a single rope, and as the falling Sherpa gathered speed the other five were plucked off one by one. Death seemed certain until suddenly they were arrested by the lip of a bergschrund 500 feet lower down. Ang Temba’s ankle was so badly twisted he could not continue, but they were all still alive. Accompanied by Mingma Tsering, Ang Temba limped back to Camp 6 while the others re-grouped, adding two more loads to their own.
The Sherpas were now apprehensive but with persuasion from Annullu they climbed to where they could pitch Camp 7 at 27,000ft. Mulgrew, Nevison and Annullu would attempt the summit next day.
By morning the wind was again strong from the north-west. Nevison’s diary describes their climb up the snow face to the foot of the rock: ‘Pete was again feeling nauseated and vomited a little but after a while seemed better and we started off. He was moving slowly from the start and seemed to gradually slow down after that until it was clear he couldn’t go on. We were at 27,450 feet.’16 Mulgrew described the sudden onset of severe chest pain consistent with the later diagnosis of pulmonary embolism causing failure of a part of one lung. It marked the end of the struggle upwards and the beginning of an even more desperate five-day struggle down to Camp 5 on the Col.
Usually descent is the easy bit, with gravity doing the work. But the snow was soft and Mulgrew found himself repeatedly collapsing and unable to continue without a long rest. By the end of the day they had got no further than their camp at 27,000ft. Annullu’s morale, so strong up till now, was in sharp decline. He could sense that death was not far off.
Nevison’s diary continues next morning:
Pete was again nauseated and vomited, or coughed up, some brownish material, presumably blood. A few rope lengths down he complained of an excruciating pain in his abdomen … we coaxed and cajoled him, a few steps at a time, with belays from above and below. Sometimes Pete stumbled, sometimes he slid down. After an eternity we reached Camp 6½ where Pete could go no further.17
They had neither tent nor stove, and had no strength to cross the icefall. They would not survive without a tent, so Annullu set off for Camp 6 where to his intense relief he found Ortenburger, Harrison and two strong Sherpas, Pemba Tenzing and Pemba Norbu. Ortenburger and Harrison had arrived at Camp 6 on their way up for the third assault but it was clear from the non-return of the second team that something had gone wrong. Now they loaded the two Pembas with a tent, stove and a bottle of oxygen and sent them off. ‘They saved our lives,’ said Nevison. ‘In our debilitated state we could not have survived a night in the open. We also knew that we couldn’t move next day unless Pete had oxygen.’18 Nevison was in the early stages of pulmonary edema as shown by his frothy, pink sputum. Mulgrew was beginning the first of two appalling nights at Camp 6½.
Harrison and Ortenburger realised that one of them had to cross the icefall from Camp 6 to 6½ to rescue Mulgrew while the other went down to the Col to organise a rescue team of Sherpas. To decide who did which, they tossed a pill in lieu of a coin: Ortenburger ‘won’ the trip with two Sherpas carrying their single bottle of oxygen to Mulgrew; Harrison went down. But at Camp 5 on the Col there was more bad news. When Harrison entered the big tent to discuss the situation with Mike Ward, he found him disoriented and obviously ill with cerebral edema. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.
Ortenburger’s first glimpse of Camp 6½ was no less dismaying:
We reached 6½ quite easily – I was feeling much better than the day before. My first impression on seeing 6½ was one of horror. The tent was pitched badly and full of snow, the worst sight of misery I have ever seen, yet the occupants were more or less of good cheer. Peter was not doing too much talking but Tom was lucid and we spent an hour discussing what to do. It was decided that he should take the oxygen and go down with the two Sherpas while I stayed at 6½ with Peter and await the arrival of help. Sleeping bags were 50% water-soaked and we had no air mattresses. It was a miserable night.19
Nothing happens quickly at high altitude. Mulgrew next morning was spaced out, but Ortenburger, in full possession of all his faculties, could feel the clock counting down. Getting Mulgrew across the ice to Camp 6 was going to be exceptionally difficult, but his life expectancy was only a day or two if he remained at 6½. Then at 1 p.m. they heard voices, and suddenly three lively Sherpas were there with oxygen. They were Pemba Tharkey and Siku from Phortse, and Tenzing Norbu from Pangboche. All three were ‘low-altitude porters’, which meant less pay, no down clothing and no climbing higher than 20,000ft. The joke went around that giving them an extra pair of socks had turned them into high-altitude Sherpas. They were unbelievably alert and strong. None of them spoke any English.
Mulgrew had one crampon missing, but with four people and an oxygen set to help him, he was nursed across the ice traverse. It was 8 p.m. and dark when they reached Camp 6 where, inexplicably, there were no air mattresses and no stove. It was another desperate night.
The route to Camp 5 next day would have taken three hours for a climber in reasonable shape in fine weather, but they were in poor shape, without food or drink, and the wind was as bad as it had ever been and driving into their faces. To make matters worse, the three Sherpas suddenly decamped downhill, leaving the two climbers on their own. Ortenburger’s diary describes what followed:
Peter was going very slowly belayed by me and the Sherpas got further and further ahead until they’d left us behind. Peter would take 3–15 steps at a time before he’d lose his balance and collapse. We had no idea whether the Sherpas would return so our only hope for Peter’s life lay in this slow unaided progress. A night out, I believed, would finish him and might well finish me. So after allowing a rest after each collapse, I’d talk him into continuing the struggle.
In the late afternoon we reached the low angle icefield across which very strong gusty winds blow making it difficult to maintain one’s balance. I saw two Sherpas standing around on the other side of the icefield. I signaled for them to come and after some time one of them started across. I thought he had the oxygen but when he arrived all he had was a pair of down pants. Summoning most of my remaining strength I drove this fellow, Nima Gungi, back across the icefield to the other Sherpa who had the oxygen and then drove them both back to Peter. There was only half an hour of oxygen in the bottle, the first bit of ice was uphill, and these two incompetent Sherpas were almost no help at all.
Then I noticed five Sherpas approaching at a good speed, among them Urkien, and in no time they had Peter across the icefield. He was able to walk with assistance during this portion, but his strength gave out on the other side and it grew dark just about then. The weather was very bad by then, strong and gusty wind driving snow and ice particles – it was worse than when the first assault team turned back. We realized that Peter had to be carried so a Sherpa went down to Camp 5 to get a headband and once we had this and on a Sherpa’s back we made rapid progress since the terrain was easier.
The difficulty now was in finding Camp 5 – we had no flashlight. After travelling for half an hour, all of us peering into the darkness, Urkien said he was going to look for camp, and after 15 minutes he found it. In the dark we would have passed it had not Urkien found it. In addition to this feat and his personally carrying Peter part of the way, probably the greatest thing that Urkien did was to realise that if Peter was to get off the mountain it was his responsibility and not that of the terminally-exhausted climbers.
We reached Camp 5 at 8pm. Harrison and West were most helpful and kind. Peter was completely out of it by then and had to be put into his sleeping bag. Some assistance was given to me and I certainly appreciated the warm and dry sleeping bag which was given to me. Warm drinks were brought and eagerly drunk.20
West had come up from Camp 3 the previous day using oxygen – ‘Never let anyone tell you that oxygen doesn’t help,’ had been his comment – and had brought fresh energy to the retreat from the mountain. Mulgrew was an appalling sight. In the past week he had
changed past recognition. The flesh had shrunk beneath his skin, leaving him gaunt and cadaverous; his colour was an ashen grey and his eyes had sunk back into their sockets; black patches of frostbite were showing on his face and hands, and his feet, were a pale lilac colour and cold as ice from the ankles down. Whenever he moved, an agonising pain shot through his chest. It was a miracle that he was still alive.
But the worst was over now. From Base Camp we had a radio link with Desmond at Silver Hut where he managed to contact Kathmandu via an intermediary ‘ham’ operator in Bangkok – who knew a Jesuit priest in Kathmandu, who found a helicopter to pick up Peter Mulgrew from a grazing pasture at 15,000ft in the Barun Valley. On 29 May, 11 days after his collapse at 27,400ft, Mulgrew was lifted into the bladed Perspex bubble that dropped out of the sky to carry him back to Shanta Bhawan Hospital in Kathmandu.
What went wrong?
For a start there was the sheer size and complexity of what were in reality three expeditions linked to each other over a period of nine months. The yeti expedition was a lightweight affair from a climbing point of view but was important for the sponsors. The scientific expedition was anything but lightweight, while Makalu with its combination of science and oxygenless climbing was a major attempt on the world’s fifth-highest peak. At the end there was an element of expedition fatigue added to physiological fatigue.
We could claim that we’d had some bad luck – pulmonary infarcts are rare – but that was only part of the story. None of us had understood what we were up against. I have no memory of us ever sitting around discussing the problems we would face on Makalu or how the experience of the climbs on Everest in the 1920s and ’30s was relevant to what we were attempting. We knew the successful stories of Everest in 1953 and Makalu in 1954, but all those climbers had used oxygen for both climbing and sleeping above 23,000–24,000ft. We had a reasonable supply of oxygen – 50 cylinders compared with 160 on Everest – but we never discussed how or when we might use them. Griff had emphasised to Ed the importance of taking plenty of oxygen to Makalu, but I can find no record of how much was actually carried to our Base Camp. We never practised its use below Makalu Col. We had not appreciated, except in a distant and theoretical way, how desperate life can be at extreme altitude, and how thin the safety margins are in case of illness when oxygen is not at hand for a quick retreat.