Annapurna

by Maurice Herzog

  ‘There’s something in that,’ admitted Lachenal.

  ‘So why not go straight up in line with the summit, skirt round the seracs and crevasses, slant over to the left to reach the Sickle, and from there go straight up to the top?’

  Rébuffat struck me as being not very optimistic. Standing there, in the old close-fitting jersey that he always wore on his Alpine climbs, he seemed more than ever to deserve the name the Sherpas had given him of Lamba Sahib, or ‘long man’.

  ‘But,’ went on Lachenal, ‘we could go straight up under the ice cliff and then traverse left and reach the same spot …’

  ‘By cutting across to the left it’s certainly more direct.’

  ‘That should be quite feasible,’ agreed Lachenal, letting himself be won over.

  Rébuffat’s resistance yielded bit by bit.

  ‘Lionel! Come and have a look …’

  Terray was bending over a container and sorting out provisions in his usual serious manner. He raised his head: it was adorned with a red ski-ing bonnet, and he sported a flowing beard. I asked him point-blank what his route was. He had already examined the mountain and come to his own conclusion:

  ‘My dear Maurice,’ he said, pursing up his lips in the special way that marked a great occasion, ‘it’s perfectly clear to me. Above the avalanche cone of the great couloir, just in line with the summit …’ and he went on to describe the route we had worked out.

  So we were all in complete agreement.

  ‘We must get cracking,’ Terray kept saying in great excitement. Lachenal, no less excited, came and yelled in my ear:

  ‘A hundred to nothing! That’s the odds on our success!’

  And even the more cautious Rébuffat admitted that ‘It’s the least difficult proposition and the most reasonable.’

  The weather was magnificent; never had the mountains looked more beautiful. Our optimism was tremendous, perhaps excessive, for the gigantic scale of the face set us problems such as we had never had to cope with in the Alps. And above all, time was short. If we were to succeed not a moment must be lost. The arrival of the monsoon was forecast for about June 5th: so that we had just twelve days left. We would have to go fast, very fast indeed. I was haunted by this idea. To do so we should have to lengthen out the intervals between the successive camps, organize a shuttle service to bring up the maximum number of loads in the minimum time, acclimatize ourselves,2 and, finally, maintain communications with the rear. This last point worried me. Our party was organized on the scale of a reconnaissance and the total supply at our disposal was only five days’ food and a limited amount of equipment.

  How was I possibly to keep track of the thousand and one questions that buzzed round in my head? The rest of the party were all highly excited and talked away noisily while the Sherpas moved about the tents as usual. Only a couple of them were here, and there could be no question of beginning operations with just these two. So the Sahibs would set off alone and carry their own loads: in this way we should be able to get Camp II pitched the next day. When I asked the others what they thought they enthusiastically agreed to make this great effort, which would save us at least two days. Ajeeba would go back to the Base Camp and show the people there the way up to Camp I, which would have to be entirely re-equipped since we were going to take everything up with us for Camp II. For Sarki there was an all-important job: he would have to carry the order of attack to all the members of the Expedition.

  I took a large sheet of paper and wrote out:

  Special message by Sarki, from Camp I to Tukucha. Urgent.

  23.5.50

  Camp I: Annapurna glacier.

  Have decided to attack Annapurna.

  Victory is ours if we all make up our minds not to lose a single day, not even a single hour!

  Individual Instructions:

  Couzy: Move Base Camp as rapidly as possible and reorganize it, about two hours further on from present site, on a very big and very comfortable site just below an avalanche cone. Bring everything up. Send all high-altitude units to Camp I, as well as all possible food, wireless sets, Gaston’s and my rucksacks, and Lionel’s camp boots. (Give Sarki 15 rupees: you’ll find them at the bottom of my pied d’éléphant3 which you must bring up to me.)

  Schatz: If Schatz comes down again from his ridge: organize Camp I, because Biscante, Lionel, Gaston and myself will take everything on to Camp II. The site is marked by a large cairn. It is just on the edge of the glacier. Bring up all possible food and equipment here.

  Matha: Come up quickly. Have got small camera with me. Bring films and send them up to me. Porters can get up to Base Camp; you can leave reserves there.

  Oudot: Come as quickly as possible to Camp I with essential medical supplies; leave further stuff (especially surgical equipment) at Base Camp.

  Noyelle: Most important, without losing a single hour, send up to Base Camp: 10 high-altitude containers, 6 valley containers, all high-altitude camping units, the last walkie-talkie, one jerrican of spirit, 2 gallons of petrol, 1 100-foot 8 mm. rope, 2 50-foot 9 mm. ropes, 650 feet of 5 mm. line, 15 ice-pitons, 5 rock-pitons, 10 snap-links, all the head lamps, 2 hanging lamps plus reserve batteries. The Austrian cacolet,4 1 pair skis, 2 pairs ski-sticks, Dufour sledge, everybody’s no. 2 rucksacks, Emerson set with wires, 3 pairs spare Tricouni gaiters, 1 pair Ours trousers, 2 valley tents (there will be 3 at Base Camp and 2 at Camp I), 4 pairs boots: 1 size 10, 2 size 9, 1 size 8.

  As the valley camping units have got disorganized (sleeping-bags and air mattresses left at Tukucha), bring up what’s necessary to fit them up again.

  MAIN ANNAPURNA RANGE

  Summit of Annapurna, 26,493 feet.

  East peak.

  The White Table.

  The Black Rock.

  Buttresses of the Great Barrier.

  North Annapurna glacier.

  Route of attempt on north-west spur.

  Subsidiary peak of north-west spur.

  Summit of north-west spur.

  Cauliflower Ridge.

  Camp I, about 16,750 feet.

  Camp II, about 19,350 feet.

  Camp III, about 21,650 feet.

  Camp IV, about 23,550 feet.

  Camp V, about 24,600 feet.

  All reserves of gloves and socks – tsampa or rice for the Sherpas. Pack up safely what’s left.

  Prepare 10 high-altitude containers and 6 valley containers for future use. A Sherpa could see to bringing these up later.

  Come along. Your headquarters will be at Base Camp. G. B. is free to do what he likes.

  Matha: Send a wire to Devies: ‘Camp I at 16,700 feet. Following reconnaissance have decided attack by north Annapurna glacier. Route entirely snow and ice. Weather favourable. All in fine form. Have good hopes. Greetings.’

  HERZOG.

  The reconnaissance was now being transformed into a definite assault. This order of the day would delight the whole expedition, but I was worried to think that it would take four days for my message to reach Tukucha. I explained as best I could to Sarki:

  ‘Annapurna,’ I said, pointing to the mountain. ‘Atcha now!’5

  ‘Yes, Sahib.’

  ‘All Sahibs go now,’ I said in English, continuing to point to Annapurna.

  ‘Yes, Sahib.’

  ‘Like this,’ I said, making as if to run, ‘very quickly to Tukucha for all Sahibs: Couzy Sahib, Doctor Sahib, Noyelle Sahib.’

  Sarki’s face was solemn. He had read in my eyes that this was not just an ordinary order; he had understood what I expected of him. He knew we had little food with us and not much equipment, and that if the Sahibs had decided to go up the mountain they must be able to rely upon help from the rear.

  Sarki was the most active and the strongest of all our Sherpas, and this mission he was about to undertake was of the very first importance. He stood in front of me, his stomach protruding as though he had a tendency to dropsy, his legs wide apart. His typically Mongolian face was adorned with a blue balaclava surmounted by hi
s dark glasses.

  ‘Off you go, Sarki! Good luck! It is very important …’ and I shook him by the hand. He did not lose a second; snatched up his things, briefly explained the essential points to Ajeeba in his clipped guttural voice, and a few minutes later we saw them go off under the great ice cliff which sparkled in the light, then disappear over the moraine.

  After a moment’s silence I turned round to gaze again on Annapurna, all bathed in light. There was not much shadow around us. A few minutes ago we had been shivering, now we had to take off our eiderdown jackets, sweaters and shirts. Dhaulagiri towered in the far distance, nearer at hand were the Nilgiris, and I thought of all that had gone before – the Dambush Khola, the Hidden Valley, the Great Ice Lake, Manangbhot. We were very far from everything that we had foreseen: ‘a light expedition’ – ‘nylon’, as we called it, a really fast expedition. To apply Alpine methods to a Himalayan enterprise – that was the basic strategy of all the plans we had made in Paris. The danger, we had gone on to say, lay in avalanches, so we must stick to ridges. And why arrange a route up the mountain fit for Sherpas? The Sahibs would undertake everything: no Sherpas; hence no need for complications. Heavens, how wrong we had been! Ridges were out of the question. Sherpas? We were not exactly sorry to have them with us. Lightness? Rapidity? The heights are so great that numbers of intermediate camps will always be needed. And then we had not paid sufficient attention to the question of exploration: you arrive in a district, burning with impatience to attack something – yes, but in which direction?

  All four of us, Lachenal, Rébuffat, Terray and myself, got our things ready and filled our sacks with as much as we could possibly carry in the way of equipment, food, tents and sleeping-bags, leaving behind only one container with a few accessories which we did not need at once. We shared out the equipment: as usual, some preferred the heavier but less bulky loads, with others it was the opposite. It worked out at an average of about forty-five pounds apiece. At this height, where the least exertion is an effort, we felt crushed beneath our burdens. The straps cut into our shoulders and it seemed a physical impossibility to walk for more than five minutes. All the same we somehow struggled on, for although the packs were far too heavy, we reflected on all the time we were saving.

  So the four Sahibs, in single file, and well spaced out on the rope, climbed heavily up through the snow of the great plateau at the foot of Annapurna. With the sun vertically above us, the glacier basin was like a furnace, with every ray reflected back from the surface of the snow. Walking soon became a dull agony. We sweated and suffocated. Then we stopped, split open some tubes of anti-sunburn cream and applied the paste thickly to our sweating faces. Lachenal and Rébuffat, who seemed to suffer even more than Terray and myself, made themselves white Ku Klux Klan cowls out of the cotton lining of my sleeping-bag. They assured me that this was admirable protection against sunstroke, but I was not convinced and they seemed to be stifled in them. Terray and I preferred to rely on the cream.

  There was not a single breath of air in this furnace and we longed for the first slopes. Crushed beneath our loads, we had to summon up all our resolution to overcome our breathlessness and lassitude. We climbed up the rognon, a rocky outcrop in the middle of the glacier, under huge overhanging seracs which threatened us with a forest of icicles that turned the sun’s rays into a rainbow of colour. Terray and I took turns at making the trail: the other two seemed utterly worn out. Our breathing was short and uneven as we approached the 20,000 foot level.

  ‘We’re not Sherpas!’ said Lachenal bitterly.

  ‘We didn’t come to the Himalaya to be beasts of burden,’ growled Rébuffat.

  Terray was stung to answer:

  ‘A climber ought to be able to carry his gear,’ he said, ‘we’re as good as the Sherpas, aren’t we?’

  Lachenal was bent over his ice-axe, Rébuffat had flopped down on his rucksack. Their faces were scarlet and running with sweat; they didn’t usually show their feelings, but now they looked really angry.

  ‘If we wear ourselves out now with this ridiculous porterage, how on earth shall we manage in a few days’ time? It isn’t the Sherpas who’ll be making a safe route through the seracs.’

  At this, Terray saw red:

  ‘And you call yourselves Chamonix guides! Just bad amateurs, that’s what you are.’

  ‘The more you’re put upon, the more you like it,’ retorted Lachenal. ‘You’ll tell me next that you’re positively enjoying this job.’

  ‘When I have to carry a load, I get on with it.’

  I tried to restore peace:

  ‘I know it’s hell, but it’s saving us two days. If the Expedition succeeds it’ll perhaps be on account of what we’re doing today.’

  Rébuffat spoke again:

  ‘You and Terray can manage your loads, we just can’t.’

  ‘You’re supermen,’ went on Lachenal, ‘real supermen, and we’re just poor types.’

  After this outburst, which seemed to relieve him, we went on. The ‘supermen’ took turns at making the trail. We were extremely tired, and our legs barely held us up as with slow, uneven steps we tried to wrest a few yards from the mountain. Each step was automatic, eyes glued to the heels of the man in front, and we had to resist the temptation to stop or relax our effort. Everyone knew in his heart that Terray’s hard words were justified even if not strictly necessary.

  For some minutes we had heard yodelling behind us: it could only be Schatz. The route he had planned joined ours here. Had he discovered the perfect way up? Anyhow it was an excellent pretext for a good halt: we stuck our ice-axes in up to the hilt and wedged our sacks behind them to make comfortable seats. We opened some tins and seized upon our water bottles, but the sips were rationed for we had only a limited supply.

  Schatz came up with his two Sherpas.

  ‘There you are! God, I’m tired!’

  There were certainly signs of considerable fatigue on his face. No doubt we looked much the same, but he had been alone with his Sherpas.

  ‘Well, how did you get on?’

  ‘The route’s no good. If yours is at all reasonable we must rule mine out.’

  ‘Too difficult?’

  ‘Yes, and dangerous. Instead of being able to traverse easily from the top of the little spur to the plateau, we came to a secondary glacier, very steep and with magnificent seracs. We pitched our tent last night as best we could on a microscopic site. Then, this morning, we had to pass beneath a wall of seracs on the point of crashing down, and finally go up a very steep snow slope which I wouldn’t like to descend at any price …’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Look here, isn’t that enough for one man? Then I caught sight of you, so I wound in and out between the seracs to join your tracks. But you’re making me talk when I’m dying of hunger.’

  While he hastily swallowed a laboriously prepared lunch the mist came down on us – forerunner of the usual daily storm.

  ‘On we go,’ said Terray.

  As we went up visibility decreased. Everything was blurred in the mist, and snow began to fall. The trail that Terray and I made by guess-work was certainly not very rational, but what did it matter? All we had to do that evening was to pitch Camp II somewhere towards the centre of the plateau, out of danger from avalanches. It was snowing heavily now and we took our thick capes out of our sacks. With Terray behind me, I could manage to steer some sort of a course. I must not turn round in a circle as I had once done in similar circumstances. As far as we could judge we had now reached the centre of the plateau, so we decided to pitch the camp where we stood – for the night, at any rate.

  In ones and twos Sahibs and Sherpas arrived at the site and put down their loads. We took hasty stock of the situation: it would not be wise to let the Sherpas go back by themselves to Camp I. So Terray, who was in good form, proposed to accompany them. It was late and still snowing very hard. Terray was in a hurry to leave, for the tracks of our ascent were already almost obliterated. He intended
to bivouac at Camp I in Sarki’s sleeping-bag, after sending the Sherpas on down to Base Camp, which was easy to reach, and these men would then be available for carrying up more loads.

  ‘Lionel’s crazy.’ Lachenal made no bones about expressing his view of the matter. ‘He likes to make a martyr of himself. Gaston, would it ever enter your head to spend the night lying on stones that stick into you everywhere rather than go down to Base Camp and sleep in comfort – and on top of it all to boast about it?’

  Rébuffat’s silent gesture was eloquent: the performance struck him as absolutely pointless. But climbers are all tremendous individualists; there is no more obstinate breed of men.

  Our poor little Camp II was completely lost among the snow and ice. We were deafened by the continuous roar of avalanches and could not determine their whereabouts. For that night we would have to put up with only relative security. Amid flurries of snow and gusts of wind we got the tents up, fixed in the pegs and constructed some sort of level platform; an hour later we were all warm and snug inside.

  I was with Schatz in the experimental tent that had served as a model for the construction of the other fourteen. It was slightly larger and Schatz assured me that with our heads at the back we should be ideally comfortable. All the same I had never spent such a bad night, and I would not for anything have repeated this miserable experience during which I was half suffocated; I prefer to have my head near the opening of the tent and so be able to adjust the ventilation. In other respects Schatz was a perfect companion. Snug in my sleeping-bag I watched him do the cooking; he served me with a substantial dinner where I lay. Sleeping-pills soon brought our conversation to an end.

  Whilst we were thus making the best of the situation, Terray, bivouacking down at Camp I, was kept awake for part of the night by a violent wind. The thickly falling snow covered him up completely, so he shut himself right into the cowl of his cape, at the risk of being suffocated. After several hours he relaxed and slept the sleep of exhaustion with his head resting on the stones.