CHAPTER XIXTOWARDS MOUNT EVEREST
“Tomake a determined effort, with every available resource, to reach the summit” were the instructions with which the 1922 Mount Everest expedition left England. The personnel was as follows:—
Mr.Crawford, I.C.S., and
Captain Morris,
The climbing party consisted ofMr.G. H. Leigh-Mallory, Major H. Morshead, Major E. F. Norton, who was also artist and naturalist,Mr.T. H. Somervell, also artist and medical officer, and myself, also in charge of the oxygen equipment and responsible for its use on the mountain. We had, in addition, four Ghurka non-commissioned officers, a Tibetan interpreter by name Karma Paul, and about fifty Nepalese porters and camp cooks.
The party assembled in Darjeeling, and two detachmentsmoved off towards the end of March to arendezvousat Phari Dzong, the first considerable village on the line of march through Tibet proper. The third detachment, consisting of Crawford and myself, had to remain behind in Darjeeling to await the arrival of the belated oxygen cylinders. It was not until April 2, a week later, that the apparatus turned up, and we were able to proceed on our way.
Our route lay through the independent state of Sikkim, at first a country of sub-tropical, or even tropical climate and luxuriant jungle vegetation. Cool, shady, woodland streams and pools provided welcome interludes in the hot and often dusty journeys. From the day we left Darjeeling, I took photographs of scenes and happenings and did my developing at the end of each day’s march. As I had to keep within a definite baggage allowance, my photographic outfit was of the simplest. It comprised a quarter-plate, roll-film camera fitted with a Zeiss Tessar lens, a vest-pocket Kodak, two Kodak daylight developing tanks with the requisite developer and fixing powders, and spools, sufficient for fifteen hundred exposures, sealed in air-tight tins. Simple though the equipment was, it meant my having to do without certain luxuries; but I have always considered the sacrifice well worth the while, as the photographic results obtained were, on the whole, pleasing.
Already on the third march out from Darjeeling, an ominous rattling was heard coming from the boxes containing the oxygen cylinders. At the first opportunity, the mules were off-loaded and the boxes opened, a rather lengthy proceeding as we had no tools save our pocket-knives. An examination of the contents showed that, even in this short space of time, the rubbing of the cylinders against each other had caused an appreciable amount of wear and tear—a state of affairs thatcalled for immediate remedy. Otherwise, sooner or later, a cylinder would have been weakened to such an extent as to be able no longer to withstand the pressure of the gas it contained; and the resulting explosion, apart from the possibility of its leading to loss of, or injury to, personnel, would have completely discredited oxygen which was already by no means universally favoured by the members of the expedition. Fortunately, we were able to purchase a large supply of string and cloth which we wrapped round the cylinders. These were then repacked in their boxes in such a manner that metal could not come into contact with metal.
On April 8, in a snowstorm, we crossed the Jelep la, the lofty pass on the boundary between Sikkim and Tibet, and that evening arrived at the dâk bungalow at Yatung at the entrance to the Chumbi Valley, where we passed our first night in Tibet. At the bungalow, we met the late Sir Henry Hayden and his guide, César Cosson (who lost their lives on the Finsteraarhorn in the Bernese Oberland in August, 1923). Like ourselves, they were bound for the interior. Crawford and I continued our journey on the following day, anxious to push on and try to catch up the main body of the expedition; and, on arriving at Phari Dzong on the 10th, we learned that they were only three marches ahead. After three more days of hard marching across those vast, arid Tibetan plains, through intense cold and in the teeth of a wind that whipped up clouds of dust and sand into our faces, we rejoined our companions at Kampa Dzong. On the first night out from Phari we camped in the open. On the second, the nuns of the Buddhist convent of Ta-tsang afforded us hospitality. Crawford and I passed the night in the roofless temple chamber. Some of the nuns spread out my sleeping-bag on the altar, and there I slept, awakened occasionallyby the cold. A brilliant moon shone down and lit up my weird abode. The dessicated remains of a magnificent billy-goat hanging above the altar grinned down at me, and prayer wheels surrounded me on every side. Next day, the 13th, we were in camp at Kampa Dzong. In view of our somewhat travel-stained appearance, the General decided to postpone the departure of the expedition until the 15th, and so afford us a much-needed rest. Since leaving Darjeeling, we had been marching hard without a single off-day.
From Kampa Dzong onwards, the yak replaced the mule as our transport animal, owing to the difficulty of providing suitable fodder for the latter. What the camel is to the desert, the yak is to Tibet—an animal indispensable for human life in the country. The yak’s chief form of nourishment is a very coarse grass, which grows in the marshy bottoms of the valleys fed by the streams that flow down from the northern slopes of the Himalayas. He relishes and thrives on this fodder which apparently no other animal can palate. In appearance, the yak is a hefty, beefy animal, somewhat resembling the Indian buffalo; but he has a coat of long, shaggy wool to protect him against the cold and wind. The Tibetans, who are forbidden by their religion to take the life of wild animals, are permitted to slaughter domestic animals for food. Thus the yak, in addition to being the national beast of burden, supplies the inhabitants of the country with milk, butter, cheese, meat, leather, wool and, last but not least, provides them, in the almost complete absence of trees, with their staple fuel, dried yak dung.
The pace of the mules was about four miles an hour, but that of the yak is a most moderate one of less than two. To hustle a yak serves no useful purpose; he simply gets annoyed, and proceeds to throw off his load preparatory to runningamok; and anything a yak does is very thoroughly done. The proper way to drive yaks seems to be to let them open out into extended order, line abreast, with the drivers walking behind. While on the march, it is up to the drivers to whistle soft, lullaby airs. If for lack of moisture on the lips or for lack of breath, the whistling should cease for any length of time, the yak objects and there is usually trouble. When treated in conformity with his wishes, however, the yak proves a most reliable transport animal, capable of carrying heavy loads for as much as ten to twelve hours on end at his normal, steady pace, irrespective of the nature or difficulty of the ground. When he comes to a river, he does not wait to be off-loaded, but plunges in without hesitation and wades across as if in his element.
Owing to the difficulty of obtaining a sufficient supply of yaks for such a large caravan as ours, some of our baggage was carried by donkeys. These little animals were extraordinarily game and tough, but on one occasion, when our way lay across an extensive area of quicksands, the nature of the ground had them thoroughly beat. With their tiny hooves, the poor little donkeys would, at almost every step, sink deeply into the quagmire; sometimes so deeply that little more than nostrils, eyes, ears and tail remained above the slime. In such cases the customary procedure was as follows: first of all, the loads were removed, after which three drivers stationed themselves at all three corners of the donkey, one at each ear and the third at the tail. Then it was simply a case of heave-ho! until the animal emerged with a noise resembling that of the withdrawing of a cork from a bottle.
From the European point of view the Tibetans have one great failing which might well, considering the rigorous climatic conditions, be deemed both excusable and incurable.If one ever wishes to talk with a Tibetan, it is advisable to stand on his windward side. A noble Tibetan informed me with great pride that he had had two baths, one on the day of his birth and the other on the day of his wedding. Having neglected to take the elementary precaution, I found it somewhat hard to credit his statement. In this matter of physical cleanliness, the Tibetan priests are even worse offenders than the laity; doubtless because they do not marry. As two-fifths of the able-bodied population of the country follow a religious calling, it will be readily understood that the odour of sanctity is all-pervading. Only once did I see a Tibetan having a bath. It was at Shekar Dzong, on the return journey from Mount Everest. The day was bright and sunny and all but windless. Disporting himself in the waters of a pool, quite close to the village, was a Tibetan boy, stark naked. An interested crowd of his fellow-countrymen looked on. On closer investigation it transpired that the boy was the village idiot and, therefore, hardly responsible for his actions. I would, in fairness, add that during our sojourn in Tibet our own ablutions, when judged by western standards, were by no means too thorough. We usually limited ourselves to washing the head and the arms as far as the elbows. The tooth brush was, of course, plied regularly by all and sundry, and it was this operation and that of shaving that afforded most amusement to the Tibetan onlookers who invariably supervised our morning toilet.
Apart from their one rather penetrating drawback, the Tibetans are a most likeable people. Their love for and pride in their country, harsh though it is, is great and sincere. They are cheerful and good-humoured, keen and willing workers, honourable in carrying out their bargains and scrupulously honest. During our travels in Tibet, thoughwe did not bother to keep close guard over all our stores and belongings, we never lost so much as a single ration biscuit through theft. They are most kind to their children. Unlike so many Europeans, they do not make the mistake of talking down to them; but, from the time their children can speak, they are treated with much the same deference as is shown to grown-ups. The priests form the ruling class in the country and are also the educated class, the monasteries and similar priestly institutions being the seats of learning. The religion of Tibet is Buddhism.
We had the good fortune to meet with a Tibetan soldier, resplendent in a Ghurka hat and a bandolier of beautifully polished ammunition which actually fitted the obsolete pattern of British rifle he so proudly sported. Some of the cartridges were innocent of powder, and the condition of many of the percussion caps was such as to guarantee misfires. A fine, handsome figure of a man, he was, like all his fellow-countrymen, courteous and friendly. War, a great war, was being waged between Tibet and China, but he was now on his way home to look after his crops. The Chinaman also had crops to tend; but in the autumn, when the harvest had been safely gathered in, he and his enemy were to meet once more and continue the warfare. An ideal arrangement!
To the average layman, the oxygen apparatus with which we were supplied was perhaps slightly complicated. Being responsible both for the apparatus and for seeing that all the climbing members of the expedition were conversant with its use, I instituted a series of oxygen drills. These drills were deservedly popular, being held, as a rule, each evening at the end of a long day’s march, when everybody was feeling particularly fit and vigorous.
On the 24th, we arrived at Shekar Dzong, the largest village we visited in Tibet. Indeed, one might almost dignify it by the name of “town,” with its four thousand inhabitants living in the clusters of white-walled houses that cling to the steep sides of a rocky pinnacle rising out of the plain. Here, owing to the necessity for changing the transport animals, we were forced to rest for several days. It is not to be supposed that such rest meant idleness. The General was particularly busy interviewing the Jongpen, that is, governor, of Shekar Dzong, regarding transport arrangements for the next stage of the journey to the Base Camp at the foot of Everest. The transport officers were kept busy taking stock of kit and stores. After attending to the minor ills and ailments of the European and Indian members of the expedition, the medical officers, headed byDr.Longstaff, busied themselves in strengthening the bonds of friendship between Tibet and Great Britain by ministering to the needs of sick Tibetans. Apart from the daily oxygen drill which never lasted very long, my time was practically my own and was spent for the most part on photography and sight-seeing.
On the first day out from Phari Dzong.
The mountain is Chomulhari (24,400 feet).
Shekar Dzong.
Facing page 290.
We left Shekar Dzong on April 27, and two days later crossed the Pangla Pass, about 17,000 feet in height, whence we obtained a good view of Mount Everest and the neighbouring peaks. Everest towered head and shoulders above its surroundings, a dark, irregular, forbidding-looking rocky pyramid. I have never seen the mountain to better advantage. On the 30th we pitched camp in the Rongbuk Valley, at the head of which Everest stands. Hard by the camp was a large monastery presided over by a very venerable old abbot who received us in audience. He was of a lively and intelligent curiosity and asked many questions. Why were we so eager to get to the summit of Chomolungma, Goddess Mother of Snows? For so the Tibetans beautifully name this highest of mountains. Why spend so much money, endure hardships, and face the dangers he was sure had to be faced, merely for the sake of standing on the top of this loftiest of great peaks? General Bruce, as usual, rose to the occasion and explained with quite undeniable logic that, as the summit of Everest is the highest point on earth, so is it the nearest point on earth to heaven; and was it not meet that we should desire to approach as closely as possible to heaven during our lifetime? This explanation, which contains much more than a germ of the truth, satisfied the reverend old gentleman completely. Henceforward he did everything within his very wide powers to further the interests of the expedition.
The next day’s march was destined to be our last towards the Base Camp, the position of which was determined by its being the point beyond which we could make no further progress with animal transport. A short distance below the end of the Rongbuk Glacier which flows down from Mount Everest into the valley, our tents were pitched (May 1) on a little level patch of ground close under the steep slopes of a moraine. We had fondly hoped that this moraine would shelter our camp from the wind. But later, bitter experience was to teach us that the wind blows not only up and down and across the Rongbuk Valley, but in any and all other directions that perversity can make possible. I have always felt rather sorry for the General, who spent the next seven weeks of his existence at the Base Camp. He, indeed, knew something about wind by the time his stay had come to an end.
No time was to be lost on arriving at the Base Camp, for the East Rongbuk Glacier, over which the North Col, the real starting-point of the climb on Everest itself, was to be approached, had not yet been explored. On May 2, ColonelStrutt, Norton and I went up into this valley and, quite close to the end of the glacier, selected a suitable site for a first advanced camp. This first brief reconnaissance was followed by a lengthier one carried out by Longstaff, Morshead and Norton under the leadership of Colonel Strutt. This party successfully explored the hitherto unknown regions of the East Rongbuk Glacier for a suitable way up into the great bay that lies at the head of the glacier and is enclosed by Mount Everest, the North Col and the North Peak. They also selected suitable sites for the more advanced camps. It was found necessary to pitch three such camps between the Base and the North Col. They were known as Camp I (17,500ft.), Camp II (19,500ft.), and Camp III (21,000ft.), and soon the transport officers with the porters were busy establishing and provisioning them.
For the time being I remained at the Base. A mild form of dysentery, which had at one time or another claimed as its victims most of the other members of the expedition, now took hold of me, and I was some days in shaking off its effects. By May 10, the work on the advanced camps had progressed so well that Mallory and Somervell were able to leave the Base in order to establish a camp on the North Col, and to make an attempt to climb Everest without the use of oxygen.
It may be wondered why, in view of our instructions, oxygen was not to be employed. One body of scientific opinion was most emphatic in its view that without the assistance of a supply of oxygen carried by the climbers it would be impossible to reach the summit of Mount Everest. Scientists, however, do not always agree amongst themselves. An almost equally strong body of scientific opinion declared that the weight of any useful supply of oxygen carried by the climberswould be so great as to counterbalance any advantages that might accrue from the oxygen itself, and that, therefore, oxygen would not only not be of assistance, but would actually be a grave hindrance to the climber. Perhaps I may anticipate here by stating that the second attempt on Everest in 1922 disproved beyond all shadow of doubt the tenets of the second body of opinion, and, what is more important, proved no less conclusively that Everest can positively be climbed by men carrying a suitable supply of oxygen. So far we have no like positive confirmation, either from climbing experience or scientific research, of the possibility of attaining the summit of Everest without oxygen. Personally I feel certain it never will be climbed without oxygen. But there existed another force of oxygen antagonists, largely unscientific, who were willing enough to admit that oxygen might, indeed, have its uses, but condemned it on the ground that its employment was unsporting and, therefore, un-British. The line of reasoning of these anti-oxygenists is somewhat hard to follow, and is inconsistent with their adoption of other scientific measures which render mountaineering less exacting to the human frame. For instance, they do not hesitate to conserve their animal heat by wearing specially warm clothing; they do not deny the “legitimacy,” from the mountaineering point of view, of the thermos flask; they fear no adverse criticism when they doctor up their insides with special heat and energy-giving foods and stimulants; from the sun’s ultra-violet rays and the wind’s bitter cold they do not scruple to protect their eyes by wearing Crookes’ anti-glare glasses; even the use of caffeïne to supply a little more “buck” to a worn-out body is not cavilled at. In fine, it may justly be supposed that if science could only provide oxygen in the form of tablets, the words “artificial,” “illegitimate,”“unsportsmanlike,” or “un-British” would no longer be applicable to its use as an aid to climbing Everest. It was written on high authority, and I read a copy of the article in question at the Base Camp, that “this (the possible failure of the climbers to tolerate the restraint of the oxygen apparatus) would be a good thing, because it seems to us quite as important to discover how high a man can climb without oxygen as to get to a specified point, even the highest summit of the world, in conditions so artificial that they can never become ‘legitimate’ mountaineering.” This sentence may be taken as indicative of the change in objective which was now becoming apparent amongst the members of the expedition. Instead of the aim being to climb Mount Everest with every resource at our disposal, the opponents of oxygen, of whom the writer of the above quotation presumably is, or was, one, had so successfully worked upon the minds of the members of the expedition as to induce them to entertain a fresh objective, namely to see how far they could climb without the aid of oxygen. It were pleasant to think that the writer who could thus acclaim possible failure and, in advocating a new objective, destroy the singleness of purpose of the expedition, was not a mountaineer. And so it came about that, by the time we reached the Base Camp, I found myself almost alone in my faith in oxygen. It is true that I had had the advantage of personal teaching from Professor Dreyer who had demonstrated, by experiments carried out upon myself, what a powerful weapon oxygen could be when rightly used. This faith in the lessons of my genial master was fully justified by later events. But “faith and unfaith can ne’er be equal powers”; in the mountains, the tragedy is that the odds are generally on the “unfaith.” It has been suggested that a keen sense of rivalryexisted between the exponents of climbing with and without oxygen. As far as I am aware, this was not so. Despite conflicting ideas on this subject, complete harmony of feeling prevailed amongst us—too valuable a thing to be disturbed by the friction into which, under the circumstances, a sense of rivalry might well have degenerated.
Mount Everest and the Base Camp.
Camp II.
Facing page 294.
However, it was arranged that, after Mallory and Somervell had made their attack, a second attempt should be carried out by Norton and myself. But a few days later, on May 14, Strutt, Morshead and Norton left to join up with Mallory and Somervell to make an onslaught in force, but without oxygen. Hitherto, I had been sanguine in the extreme about getting to the top, but when I saw the last mountaineers of the expedition leave the Base Camp, my hopes fell low. Any attempt I could now make upon Mount Everest would have to be carried out with untrained climbers as my companions; for I felt certain that, before they could be fit for another assault, the men of the first party would require, not merely a few days, but weeks, to recuperate from the effects of their initial effort.