Annapurna

by Maurice Herzog

  11.15: A man has appeared exactly at the spot where we saw one this morning, going towards Camp V. He has stopped and is evidently looking up. His appearance is comforting in one way, for he is certainly not alone at Camp IV. So that he and his probable companion make two, plus those coming down – three and two – seven in all. Seven out of ten. It looks, then, as if one party must still be somewhere higher up.

  12.20: I’m watching the group of four crossing a very steep slope above Camp III. Behind them is one man alone, lagging a bit. Now, very high up, another man has just left Camp IV and is quickly descending: perhaps one of those I saw a short time ago? Suddenly a cloud of snow – like a volcano – appears to spurt out beneath the feet of the four near Camp III. They are knocked down and go rolling over and over. Then the avalanche passes on, leaving three figures stretched out on the snow; the lowest, who has been swept down 150 feet,3 is now climbing up the slope again; now two more – ah, thank God! – they have separated and revealed a fourth. So they are safe.

  Our Sherpas have realized what’s happened. Angdawa and Phutharkay have gone off to meet them with ice-axes and glasses which they have lost. The others are continuing to descend. At 3 o’clock they meet the two Sherpas at the top of the avalanche cone. At last we shall know everything …

  We were now quite near the tents of Camp II and Ichac, Noyelle and Oudot rushed up to meet us. I was in a fever to tell them the good news.

  ‘We’re back from Annapurna,’ I shouted. ‘We got to the top yesterday, Lachenal and I.’ Then, after a pause: ‘My feet and hands are frost-bitten.’

  They all helped me; Ichac held something out to me, and Noyelle supported me, while Oudot was examining my injuries.

  My responsibility was now at an end. We had succeeded, and I knew that the others would all be with us in a few minutes.

  We were saved! We had conquered Annapurna, and we had retreated in order. It was now for the others to take the initiative, above all Oudot, in whom lay our only hope. I would put myself entirely in their hands; I would trust myself to their devotion. Henceforth only one thing would count – the victory that we had brought back, that would remain for ever with us as an ecstatic happiness and a miraculous consolation. The others must organize our retreat and bring us back as best they could to the soil of France.

  My friends all rallied round – they took off my gloves and my cagoule and settled me into a tent already prepared to receive us. I found this simplification intensely comforting: I appreciated my new existence which, though it would be short-lived, was for the moment so easy and pleasant. In spite of the threatening weather the others were not long in arriving: Rébuffat was the first – his toes were frost-bitten, which made it difficult to walk and he looked ghastly, with a trickle of blood from his lips, and signs of suffering writ large on his face. They undressed him, and put him in a tent to await treatment.

  Lachenal was still a long way off. Blind, exhausted, with his frost-bitten feet, how could he manage to follow such a rough and dangerous track? In fact, he got over the little crevasse by letting himself slide down on his bottom. Couzy caught up with him on his way down and, although desperately weary himself, gave him invaluable assistance.

  Lionel Terray followed closely behind them, held on a rope by Schatz, who was still in fine fettle. The little group drew nearer to the camp. The first man to arrive was Terray, and Marcel Ichac went up towards the great cone to meet him. Terray’s appearance was pitiful. He was blind, and clung to Angtharkay as he walked. He had a huge beard and his face was distorted by pain into a dreadful grin. This ‘strong man’, this elemental force of nature who could barely drag himself along, cried out:

  ‘But I’m still all right. If I could see properly, I’d come down by myself.’

  When he reached camp Oudot and Noyelle were aghast. Once so strong, he was now helpless and exhausted. His appearance moved them almost to tears.

  Immediately after, Schatz and Couzy arrived, and then Lachenal, practically carried by two Sherpas. From a distance it looked as though he was pedalling along in the air, for he threw his legs out in front in a most disordered way. His head lolled backwards and was covered with a bandage. His features were lined with fatigue and spoke of suffering and sacrifice. He could not have gone on for another hour. Like myself, he had set a limit which had helped him to hold on until now. And yet Biscante, at such a moment, still had the spirit to say to Ichac:

  ‘Want to see how a Chamonix guide comes down from the Himalaya?’

  Ichac’s only reply was to hold out to him a piece of sugar soaked in adrenalin.

  It was painful to watch Terray groping for the tent six inches from his nose: he held both hands out in front of him feeling for obstacles. He was helped in, and he lay down; then Lachenal, too, was laid on an air mattress.

  1 The day Lachenal and I left Camp V and were going up towards the summit.

  2 Oudot and Noyelle were intending to go up to Camp III to pitch tents to replace those taken on by Gaston and Lionel to Camp IV. For Oudot this ascent was to be a vitally important experiment in the use of oxygen.

  3 In fact it was 500 feet.

  16

  The Retreat

  EVERYONE WAS NOW off the mountain and assembled at Camp II. But in what a state! It was Oudot’s turn to take the initiative, and he made a rapid tour of inspection. Faced with the appalling sight that we presented, his countenance reflected, now the consternation of the friend, now the surgeon’s impersonal severity.

  He examined me first. My limbs were numb up to well beyond the ankles and wrists. My hands were in a frightful condition; there was practically no skin left, the little that remained was black, and long strips dangled down. My fingers were both swollen and distorted. My feet were scarcely any better: the entire soles were brown and violet, and completely without feeling. The arm which was hurting me, and which I was afraid might be broken, did not appear to be seriously injured, and my neck was all right.

  I was anxious to have Oudot’s first impression.

  ‘What do you think of it all?’ I asked him, ready to hear the worst.

  ‘It’s pretty serious. You’ll probably lose part of your feet and hands. At present I can’t say more than that.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll be able to save something?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure of it. I’ll do all I can.’

  This was not encouraging, and I was convinced that my feet and hands would have to be amputated.

  Oudot took my blood pressure and seemed rather concerned. There was no pressure in the right arm, and the needle did not respond at all on my left arm. On my legs the needle oscillated slightly, indicating a restricted flow of blood. After putting a dressing over my eyes to prevent the onset of ophthalmia, he said:

  ‘I’m going to see Lachenal. I’ll come back in a moment and give you some injections. I used them during the war and it’s the only treatment that’s any use with frost-bite. See you presently.’

  Lachenal’s condition was slightly less serious. His hands were not affected, and the black discoloration of his feet did not extend beyond the toes, but the sinister colour reappeared on his heels. He would very likely lose his toes, but that would probably not prevent him from climbing, and from continuing to practise his profession as a guide.

  Rébuffat’s condition was much less serious. His feet were pink except for two small grey patches on his toes. Ichac massaged him with Dolpyc for two hours and this appeared to relieve him; his eyes were still painful, but that was only a matter of two or three days. Terray was unscathed: like Rébuffat he was suffering from ophthalmia – most painful, but only a temporary affliction. Couzy was very weak, and would have to be considered out of action. That was the balance sheet.

  Night fell gradually. Oudot made his preparations, requisitioned Ichac and Schatz as nurses, and Camp II was turned into a hospital. In cold and discomfort, and to the accompaniment of continual avalanches, these men fought, late into the night, to save their friends. Armed with
torches, they passed from tent to tent, bending over the wounded and giving them emergency treatment, at this minute camp, perched 20,000 feet up on the flanks of one of the highest mountains in the world.

  Oudot made ready to give me arterial injections. The lamp shone feebly and in the semi-darkness Ichac sterilized the syringes as best he could with ether. Before starting operations, Oudot explained:

  ‘I am going to inject novocaine into your femoral and brachial arteries.’

  As I could not see a thing with the bandage over my eyes, he touched with his finger the places where he would insert the needle: both groins and in the bends of my elbows.

  ‘It’s going to hurt. Perhaps I shan’t get the right place first shot. But in any case you mustn’t move, particularly when I have got into the artery.’

  I was not at all reassured by these preparations; I had always had a horror of injections. But it would have to be done, it was the only thing possible.

  ‘Go ahead,’ I said to Oudot, ‘but warn me when you are going to stab.’

  Anyhow, perhaps it would not hurt all that much in my present condition. I heard the murmur of voices – Oudot asking if something was ready, and Ichac answering: ‘Here you are. Got it?’

  Oudot ran his fingers over my skin. I felt an acute pain in the groin and my legs began to tremble; I tried to control myself. He had to try again, for the artery rolled away from the needle. Another stab, and my whole body was seized with convulsions, I stiffened when I should have relaxed, and felt all my nerves in revolt.

  ‘Gently!’ I could not help myself.

  Oudot began again: my blood was extremely thick and clotted in the needle.

  ‘Your blood is black – it’s like black pudding,’ he said in amazement.

  ‘That’s got it!’ This time he had succeeded in spite of my howls which, I knew very well, made the operation all the more difficult to perform. The needle was now in position:

  ‘Don’t move!’ Oudot shouted at me. Then to Ichac:

  ‘Hand it over!’

  Ichac passed him the syringe; I felt the needle moving in my flesh and the liquid began to flow into the artery. I should never, until then, have believed so much pain to be possible. I tried to brace myself to the utmost to keep myself from trembling: it simply had to be successful! The liquid went on flowing in.

  ‘Can you feel any warmth?’ asked Oudot, brusquely, while he was changing the syringe. Again the liquid went in; I gritted my teeth.

  ‘Does it feel warm?’

  Oudot was insistent – the point was evidently crucial; yet still I felt nothing. Several times the syringe was emptied, filled up, and emptied again.

  ‘Now, do you feel anything?’

  ‘I seem to feel a little warmth, but it’s not definite.’

  Was it auto-suggestion? The needle was withdrawn abruptly, and while Ichac sterilized the instruments, I had a few moments’ respite.

  ‘It’s excruciating, the way it hurts,’ I said, just as if Oudot needed telling!

  ‘Yes, I know, but we must go on.’

  The performance was repeated on the other leg. My nerves were all to pieces, and to brace myself like this took all my strength. In went the needle and I howled and sobbed miserably, but tried in vain to keep still. I could see nothing because of the bandage. If only I could have seen the faces of my friends it might perhaps have helped me. But I was in the dark – a terrible darkness – with nowhere to look for consolation but within myself. It was late and we had all had more than enough. Then for that day it was over and the first-aid party moved on to Lachenal’s tent. Perhaps he would have more courage in face of physical pain.

  It seemed to me, when I vaguely became aware of the end of the session, that things had gone more quickly for him. Terray slept in Lachenal’s tent and Couzy and Ichac slept beside Rébuffat, who was delirious and moaned about his feet all night. Oudot came and lay down next to me. If anything were to happen, he would be there.

  Next day plans were completed for the evacuation of the entire camp: the three injured men would be taken down on sledges, two would be able to walk, with assistance, and four were all right. There were miles of glacier to cover, rock barriers to get down, interminable moraines and scree slopes to skirt round or to traverse, a river to cross, and a pass of over 13,000 feet to negotiate – and all this in the monsoon!

  It was now June 6th, and Ichac was worried; he remembered the Tilman expedition to Nanda Devi, which was held up for three weeks by rivers swollen by the torrential monsoon rains. Should we have time to reach the Gandaki Valley where the easier gradient would put fewer obstacles in our way? In a week’s time we must be clear of the mountains. Soon Couzy would be fit again, Terray cured of his ophthalmia and Rébuffat able to walk. But there were two serious casualties who would have to be carried on the porters’ backs under the most appalling conditions, as far as the main valley.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ remarked Ichac, ‘it’s actually fine today.’

  The medical supplies urgently demanded by Oudot had arrived from Camp I. He began his rounds with me, and was pleased because the injections had been effective and warmth had returned as far as my insteps. He put fresh dressings on my hands, and though I felt no real pain, there was, nevertheless, some sort of feeling in my fingers. Again I put my question:

  ‘What shall I have left?’

  ‘I can’t exactly say. Things have not completely settled down yet and I hope to be able to gain an inch or so. I think you’ll be able to use your hands. Of course,’ and he hesitated for a moment, ‘you’ll lose one or two joints of each finger, but if there’s enough of the thumbs left, you’ll have a pinch hold, and that’s of prime importance.’

  It was grim news, but still, only yesterday I had feared that the consequences would be far worse. For me this meant goodbye to a great many plans, and it also implied a new kind of life, perhaps even a new conception of existence. But I had neither the strength nor the wish to look into the future.

  I appreciated Oudot’s courage and was grateful to him for not being afraid to tell me the extent of the amputations which he foresaw would be necessary. He treated me as a man and as a friend, with courage and frankness which I shall never forget.

  The injections, which had already done so much good, had to be repeated. This time the session would be even worse and I was terrified at the prospect. I am ashamed to say that the thought of this treatment daunted me – and yet so many people have had to endure it. This time it was to be an injection not of novocaine but acetylcholine, of which a few ampoules had been brought up from Camp I. Terray joined me in the tent and stood close beside me. He, too, could see nothing under his bandage, and he had to be guided if he wanted to move about at all. I pictured his face, and touched his features with my forearms while Ichac and Oudot prepared the needles, ether and ampoules. I whispered to Lionel what a fearful ordeal I found it all, and begged him to stay close.

  ‘Oudot will warn me before inserting the needle; I mustn’t budge then, and you must hold me as tight as you can in your arms.’

  I hoped that Terray’s presence would help me bear the agony. Oudot began with my legs; as on the day before, it was too awful for words. I howled and cried and sobbed in Terray’s arms while he held me tight with all his strength. I felt as if my foot was burning – as if it had been suddenly plunged into boiling oil. Professionally, Oudot was in the seventh heaven and everybody shared his delight in my suffering, which was proof of the success of the treatment. This gave me courage and at last, after the fourth syringeful, the necessary 100 c.c. had been injected.

  ‘Now for the arms,’ announced Oudot.

  This session seemed to go on for ever and I was utterly worn out, but there was distinctly more feeling in my right arm. Oudot stormed away – the needles were either too thick or too small, too thin or too long: never just right, and each time it meant a fresh stab. I began to howl like a dog again.

  ‘Hold me tighter,’ I gasped between sobs to Terray,
who was already holding me as tightly as he could. I tried hard not to tremble, but Oudot was not satisfied:

  ‘Don’t move, nom d’une pipe! We’ll go on as long as we must. It’s got to succeed.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m doing all I can; I’ll bear it, never fear.’

  I held out my arm for a fresh attempt. When Oudot did find the artery, then it was the needle that got blocked – the too-thick blood clotted inside. From the bend of the elbow Oudot gradually tried higher and higher up towards the shoulder so as not always to stab in the same place. Twice he touched a nerve: I did not cry but sobbed spasmodically. What an eternity of suffering! I could do nothing. Oudot stopped for a moment. ‘We’ll manage all right,’ Ichac assured me.

  ‘Stick it, Maurice!’ Terray whispered. ‘It’ll soon be over; it’s dreadful, I know, but I’m here beside you.’

  Yes, he was there. Without him I could never have borne it all. This man whom we thought hard because he was strong, who made himself out to be a tough peasant, showed a tenderness and affection towards me that I have never seen equalled. I hid my face against him and he put his arms round my neck.

  ‘Come on! Get on with it!’

  ‘Too small and too fine,’ shouted Oudot.

  He began to lose patience. All this fuss with the instruments exasperated me, and I wondered if they would have succeeded ‘first go’ in a nursing home.

  After several hours, and goodness knows how many attempts, the injection was successfully made. In spite of frightful pain I remained still as the syringe was emptied. Deftly Oudot replaced it with another without removing the needle from the artery. With the second syringeful, I felt the warmth spreading, and Oudot was exultant. But this warmth became unbearable. I howled and clung to Terray in desperation, holding my arm out stiff, without, so I hoped, moving it a fraction of an inch. Then I felt the needle being withdrawn and cotton wool applied.

  ‘Right arm finished! Now for the left!’