The Call of Everest Page 10

  As far as I remember, the first time I ever saw the Mik Karu (White Eye, which is our nickname for white people or foreigners) was 1963, the date of the first successful American Everest expedition. My uncle, Yula Tsering, was on that team.

  At that time, only a few expeditions came to Chomolungma, and it used to take at least four to five months to finish an expedition or at least two months to finish the trekking, because they had to walk from Kathmandu to Everest and back. In 1964 Sir Edmund Hillary built a small airstrip in Lukla. That shortened the trekking and expedition time, so from the 1970s on, the tourist flow increased.

  —SHERAP JANGBU SHERPA A lifelong resident of Khumbu, Sherap Jangbu Sherpa organizes and leads treks throughout the Everest region.

  PRAYER FLAGS CREATE a rainbow of color at the top of Cho La, Nepal. On the route to Everest, the pass, located at 17,780 feet (5,420 meters), offers stunning views of the Himalaya.

  THE FUTURE EVEREST LANDSCAPE

  What does the future hold for the world’s highest mountain, with its mélange of positive and negative changes? Tourism to the Kama Valley will probably increase as a new generation of wealthy adventure tourists seeks new and more pristine paths to the mountain, steering clear of ever more trekking tourists, yaks, dzos, and porters on the Khumbu Everest Base Camp trail. The north side of the mountain could indeed be closed, as Chinese officials have threatened, giving the fragile landscape a chance to heal and technicians the time to clean up decades of accumulated garbage, tents, oxygen bottles, and, sad to say, corpses.

  The fate of the Khumbu Valley is more complex. It will be largely determined by future global economies, the political stability of Nepal, and decisions made by the Sherpa communities regarding the current processes of change. Oil embargoes, the price of fuel and travel, and recessions and depressions will clearly result in ebbs and flows of tourist numbers. Some outdoor magazines advise readers to get to Nepal sooner rather than later, since political instability could once again result in the long-term closing of the country’s borders to foreigners.

  But world economies and national politics aside, how long will Khumbu remain a desired place to visit, given the increasingly overcrowded and unsafe health conditions? Will solid and human waste deposits in villages and along the trail reach a level that makes it an undesirable place to visit?

  The short answer? Not likely. “There’s only one Everest,” as many have said, and that fact will probably draw future generations of climbers, trekkers, scientists, filmmakers, journalists, mystics, academics, teachers, development specialists, and thrill seekers for years to come. The Sherpa people themselves face questions that are unprecedented in their nearly 400-year history in the region. The loss of their traditional culture is matched by their decrease in numbers as more and more move to Kathmandu or New York City. They have to settle long-term management issues concerning the tourism from which a majority profit in one way or another. But if the Sherpa people have demonstrated any one attribute century after century, it’s their ability to adapt, to recognize new opportunities as they arise, and to find solutions to what might appear to be insurmountable challenges.

  And the mountain itself? It, too, shows a remarkable ability to adapt. Everest has survived the spread of humankind over the Earth, the sweep of ice ages and interglacial periods, the slow migration of flora and fauna up and down its slopes, and the recent discovery of its lower slopes by farmers, yak herders, and, in the past 60 years, adventure tourists. Mount Everest will continue to tower among the clouds long, long beyond human memory.

  BARRY BISHOP HAS nothing but air around him as he rests on the summit in 1963, the year he and three other Americans became the first from their country to reach the top.

  When Tenzing Norgay heaved himself onto the top of the Hillary Step, “like a giant fish,” according to Edmund Hillary, they both knew they were about to reach the summit of the highest mountain on Earth. As they embraced on top on that historic day—May 29, 1953—their names became forever linked with Everest.

  Ten years later, as Willi Unsoeld and Thomas Hornbein stood on top of Everest after having climbed up a couloir that would bear his name, Hornbein pondered the meaning of it all: “It is strange how, when a dream is fulfilled, there is little left but doubt.”

  On May 8, 1979, Reinhold Messner admitted that when he and Peter Habeler stood atop Everest, having become the first to climb it without supplemental oxygen, he felt nothing special—just a sense of calm. Only when Habeler joined him on the summit did emotion overcome them both.

  Less than a year later, on February 17, 1980, in the face of screaming winter winds, Polish climbers Krzysztof Wielicki and Leszek Cichy reached the top, becoming the first to climb Everest—or any 8,000-meter peak—in winter. All the elements had been stacked against them, but they knew they had to perform. As Wielicki explained: “Poland was Poland, and Everest was Everest.”

  British climber Alison Hargreaves wept and laughed simultaneously as she radioed from the summit of Everest in 1995: “Tell my children I’m on the summit of the world and I love them dearly.” After becoming the second woman to climb the mountain without supplemental oxygen and the first to solo the peak, Alison’s first thoughts were for her children.

  PORTRAITS OF LEGENDARY British climbers George Leigh Mallory (at left) and Andrew Irvine fix these men in time. They pioneered a route on the Northeast Ridge from Tibet but disappeared into the clouds during their 1924 summit attempt. It was Mallory’s third time on Everest in four years.

  Outstanding moments. Amazing achievements. History being made. But what led to these remarkable exploits? They weren’t accidental. Years of effort, decades of exploration, dozens of unfulfilled dreams and aspirations led to these summit moments. And it all began with a surprise measurement.

  EXPLORATORY YEARS

  “Sir, I have discovered the highest mountain in the world,” exclaimed Radhanath Sikdar as he rushed into the office of Sir Andrew Waugh, the surveyor general of India. His announcement shaped the history of Himalayan climbing. Until then, Kangchenjunga had held the top spot. But once the Great Trigonometrical Survey of India, under the leadership of Sir George Everest, was completed, the mountain known as Peak XV appeared higher, at around 29,000 feet (8,839 meters). Later measurements edged the total up a bit to 29,028 feet (8,848 meters).

  Sir George’s successor thought it appropriate to name the mountain after this man who had initiated the survey in the first place. Everest’s name would never be forgotten, even though Chomolungma, which, according to Tenzing Norgay, means “the mountain so high no bird can fly over it”—is a much more descriptive title.

  The Alpine Club, started in London in 1857, soon became the incubator for forays into the greater ranges. One of its early explorers, Charles Bruce, was the first to propose climbing Everest. World War I put a stop to any efforts, but once the war ended, interest began anew.

  In 1919 Capt. J. B. L. Noel, a photographer and filmmaker who had grown up in exotic locales from Switzerland to India and had barely escaped World War I alive, spoke to the Royal Geographical Society, claiming to have been within 40 miles of Everest in 1913, traveling in disguise. A year later Alexander Kellas, a chemistry professor interested in the effects of altitude on the human body, displayed photos he had taken from within ten miles of the glaciers on Everest. Kellas and Noel were soon hatching secret climbing plans.

  After obtaining permission from the Dalai Lama to mount an expedition to Everest, the Alpine Club joined forces with the Royal Geographical Society. Their strategy: a reconnaissance in 1921 and a serious attempt the following year. The reconnaissance team of four included a young climber, George Leigh Mallory. A vicar’s son, Mallory was one of Britain’s finest mountaineers and almost impossibly handsome.

  Mallory didn’t accept the offer immediately. He had a profession, and he was a married man with children. But he understood that climbing Everest could be advantageous for his career, so he accepted. The decision would make him famou
s, but it would also cost him his life.

  In May 1921, because Nepal was closed to foreigners, the team left Darjiling and headed north through Sikkim into Tibet, accompanied by Sherpas who carried their heavy loads. Less than a month later, Everest claimed its first victim. Still approaching but within view of the mountain, Kellas died, apparently from heart failure. This was a tragic blow, for Kellas was an experienced Asian explorer and had already climbed nine peaks over 20,000 feet. He had also predicted that Everest could be climbed without the assistance of supplementary oxygen. He was right. But more than 50 years would pass before anyone did it.

  As the explorers emerged into the Rongbuk Valley, the stupendous mountain reared up in front of them. Mallory described it as “a single gesture of magnificence to be lord of all, vast in unchallenged and isolated supremacy.” More practically, what he saw was the 10,000-foot North Face, flanked on the left by the Northeast Ridge and on the right by the long West Ridge. An additional buttress descended in a northerly direction, completing the geometry.

  For days they explored the terrain, navigating the Rongbuk Glacier, climbing small peaks in order to get better views, trying to piece together the topography, always in search of easy ground. But they missed a nondescript little stream that emerged from a narrow valley in the east onto the Rongbuk, a stream that would eventually provide the key to climbing the mountain. From a high col they called the Lho La, they could see the Khumbu Glacier and the upper basin, which they named the Western Cwm. After two months of searching, they found a way over the Lhakpa La and down onto the East Rongbuk Glacier. Not until September 24 did they finally reach the North Col, four months after starting out! Mallory was weary of the effort, vowing in a letter to his wife, “I wouldn’t go again next year, as the saying is, for all the gold in Arabia.” But three months later, he was on his way back.

  The high point of the 1922 pre-monsoon attempt came when Geoffrey Bruce, together with George Finch, Britain’s best snow and ice specialist, reached 8,321 meters, both using supplemental oxygen. Amazingly, this was Bruce’s first mountain ascent. But the expedition ended in tragedy when a massive avalanche caught the team on the slopes of the North Col and killed seven Sherpas.

  A newcomer joined the team in 1924—Andrew Comyn Irvine, known by all as Sandy. A superb athlete with powerful shoulders, he rowed for Oxford and had first-rate practical skills and a great attitude. As his great-niece, Julie Summers, remembered, “Sandy Irvine was born to be brave.” Early on, Mallory singled out Sandy as his preferred climbing partner, in part because of his physical abilities but more importantly because of his handiness with the oxygen apparatus.

  Mallory had a strategy for Everest in 1924: two simultaneous attacks, one with oxygen and one without. He intended to use “gas” and make the ascent with Irvine. On this, his third trip to Everest, Mallory was the most motivated of the bunch, almost grim. In a letter to his wife he wrote, “It is almost unthinkable with this plan that I shan’t get to the top; I can’t see myself coming down defeated.” To a Cambridge friend, he was even more blunt: “This is going to be more like war than mountaineering. I don’t expect to come back.”

  After weeks on the mountain, expedition leader E. F. Norton put in a remarkable effort. Without supplemental oxygen and seeing double, he turned back at 8,570 meters, just 900 feet below the summit. His oxygen-free record would last for 54 years. Four days later, Mallory and Irvine, using gas, set off from Camp VI at 26,800 feet (8,169 meters). Hours later, Noel Odell was scanning the slopes when the clouds parted to reveal a small object advancing upward quickly, approaching a rock step. A second object followed. They appeared to be moving. Then the clouds moved in.

  Odell was confused. The pair had reached the top of the Second Step—a steep rock section of the ridge—but they were dangerously behind schedule. Concerned, he climbed even higher than Camp VI, calling and yodeling, trying to lure the climbers down. He descended to the North Col, and the next day he climbed farther beyond Camp VI, calling to no reply. Finally he dragged two sleeping bags from the tent and placed them in a T position, a signal for the teammates below that all was lost. Odell was convinced the two had reached the summit, based on his last sighting and his ardent desire that they had. For Ruth Mallory, it didn’t matter. Everest had claimed the life of her husband and the father of her children.

  No other lost explorer in mountaineering history has generated more speculation than George Mallory. In 1933 an ice ax was found on a rock slab 250 yards below and east of a rock step now called the First Step. This was somewhat lower than Odell’s sighting, but it almost certainly belonged to one of the two climbers. Then, in 1975, Chinese climber Wang Hongbao reported that he had spotted the body of a climber he referred to as “an old English dead.” His grim discovery took place near Camp VI at about 27,000 feet. Unfortunately, he could not be questioned further because he died a day later on the mountain.

  DURING THE 1922 British expedition, George Mallory and Edward Norton climb toward their high point of 26,985 feet (8,225 meters) on the mountain. A couloir on the North Face would be named for Norton, now also known as the Great Couloir. Reinhold Messner would use it for his 1980 summit—the first solo ascent without supplemental oxygen.

  In 1986, American Tom Holzel engaged British Everest historian Audrey Salkeld for the first expedition specifically mounted to search for the pair. Their effort was unsuccessful. In 1999, a young German, Jochen Hemmleb, teamed up with Salkeld and an American team led by Eric Simonson to mount a second effort. Their discovery would shock the mountaineering world.

  EARLY AUDACITY

  Nine years after the 1924 attempt, another team headed off. Among them was Eric Shipton. Born in 1907 in what was then Ceylon—today’s Sri Lanka—Shipton was brought to London at the age of eight in order to “settle down.” Yet school proved to be a disaster, for Shipton showed the classic signs of dyslexia. He eventually moved to East Africa to farm. Already a keen climber, he attracted the attention of another Briton farming in Africa—H. W. Tilman. Although he was older by ten years than Shipton, the two soon became climbing companions. The gregarious Shipton and reclusive Tilman seemed unlikely partners, but they are probably the most legendary pair in the history of mountaineering.

  Shipton’s exploits earned him an invitation to climb in the Garhwal Himalaya, which in turn brought him to Everest. Although three climbers of the 1933 team equaled the height record set by Norton in 1924, they did not reach the top. Shipton was sure that a smaller, lightly equipped team, moving quickly, would have a much better chance.

  The next year Maurice Wilson, a British aviator with no mountaineering experience, became convinced that he could climb the mountain. Armed only with his inflated self-confidence, he made his way through Sikkim and Tibet, traveling in disguise because he did not have a permit. An extreme ascetic, he planned to live on rice water, ascend the Rongbuk Glacier, and climb the peak in three or four days. Luckily, he came across the 1933 team’s food dump at Camp III, which he seems to have sampled. But what he ate wasn’t enough to get him to the summit, and he died not far from the dump. Even Eric Shipton, the master of minimalism, had to concede that Wilson had taken this approach too far. Still, he admired his conviction. “It was not mountaineering, yet it was magnificent,” he later wrote.

  By contrast, the 1935 expedition was a cautious endeavor. The team was charged solely with finding a way onto the Western Cwm from the north side. Many felt disappointment that this group, led by none other than Shipton, wasn’t going all the way. Shipton had a horror of large-scale affairs and delighted in keeping expeditions lean and mean, a “lightweight” approach that endeared him to future generations of climbers. His team managed to scale 26 peaks over 20,000 feet (6,000 meters), which he described as “a veritable orgy of mountain climbing.” On the team was a 19-year-old Tibetan Sherpa named Tenzing Norgay, hired by Shipton in Darjiling. The 11th of 13 children, he was already smitten with Everest, and Shipton gave him his first chance.

&n
bsp; The 1935 expedition collected a great deal of information that would contribute to future success on the mountain. It explored much of the surrounding area, gained a better understanding of the time window in which the mountain could be safely climbed, and proved the value of a small, nimble team. This expedition showcased Shipton as a model explorer.

  A large expedition was defeated by storms in 1936, and in 1938 Tilman took charge. Like Shipton, he favored the lightweight approach. Tilman was not a tolerant man, particularly of teammate Noel Odell, who was attempting to conduct scientific experiments with a humidity machine. “The results were so unexpectedly various that one concluded the thing was only guessing,” Tilman concluded. He further criticized Odell for his lengthy field notes, which he characterized as a full-length tome. Even Shipton got on his nerves, carrying with him the “longest novel that had been published in recent years.”

  Tilman was famously fussy about food supplies. He scoffed at jam, pointing out that the only valuable component was the sugar. Why not just take sugar, eliminating all that extra weight? Tinned food, commonly used at the time, was another waste of time in his opinion, since most of the weight was in the tin! He preferred real food: bacon, ham, cheese, butter, and eggs. In 1938 he managed to serve up a “full English breakfast”—bacon and eggs—all the way to the North Col. Despite the good food, the expedition was another failed attempt, one that Shipton referred to as a “vile waste of time.” Then World War II intervened and priorities shifted.

  NEPAL OPENS ITS DOORS