I spent the next week recuperating at Hotel Annapurna. The first few days were bad weather. Since heavy snowfall threatened our route up the glacier with avalanches, Tim, Greg, Andy and Mike decided to climb the ridge direct to the Col. The climbing to the top of the sub-peak we had named the Pyramid proved to be enjoyable but not easy. Beyond that snow conditions worsened dangerously. It was nine o’clock that night before everyone was back in the snow cave, with tales of deep soft snow and of Greg triggering two avalanches.
Narayan and Tenzing came up to stay from Advance Base shortly before the weather worsened again. By the time it was safe to climb, a few days later when the avalanches had cleared, I decided that though my injuries were still painful I would be able to follow the footsteps of the others. Mike returned to Advance Base because his cracked sunburnt lips had become badly infected, while Andy and Greg set off via the glacier route to set up Camp II on the Col. Narayan, Tenzing, Tim and I followed the next day. The Col was a windswept spot and the snow was too icy to dig a snow cave. Instead we built an igloo. At a height of 6600 metres we were at last getting close to the main difficulties.
We rested for a day to give our bodies a chance to adjust to the altitude. Our plan to climb a few hundred metres higher and dig a snow cave at the base of the rock pyramid was frustrated by bad weather. We woke after our second night to half a metre of fresh snow. Rather than eating the supplies which had taken so much effort to carry up here we returned to Advance Base Camp.
As quickly as we could we climbed down to Hotel Annapurna. We rested in the snow cave for an hour making hot drinks and eating, during which time another metre of snow fell. On the descent from Hotel Annapurna a slope avalanched while Tim was on it. By reacting instantly and with a little luck he scrambled free just before the avalanche plunged over the 300-metre cliff above Advance Base. We continued down to the place we had climbed up and down earlier. To our horror we saw that the whole nature of the route had changed because the tremendous weight of the ice pushing the glacier down had pushed it sideways to the edge of the cliff. Huge blocks of ice teetered above our route ready to fall at the slightest nudge from the glacier behind. An ice avalanche had swept away the ropes we had left in place. Fortunately, by abseiling down the one rope we had with us, Tim was able to reach the tangle of ropes caught in the gully lower down. From there he made his way to the bottom of the cliff.
While we were waiting for Narayan to follow, a lump of ice the size of a television set bounced down the slope towards us. I was standing on the edge of the cliff and had nowhere to go. The block bounced straight towards me. I was able to jump over it, but caught a glancing blow to the thigh before it disappeared over the edge. We stared nervously at the blocks the size of trucks that were poised over us.
By the time I abseiled down to the others my thigh was so swollen and painful that I could not walk. My companions pushed, pulled and carried me down the glacier to Advance Base Camp where I spent a second week as an invalid.
Our decision to retreat from the Col was the right one as the weather stayed bad for many days. Everyone except Tenzing and I made the journey down to Hoga to fetch more food. Three thousand metres down and back in two days was hard going and it was the only time I was at all thankful for my injuries.
After nine days of waiting we set off from Advance Base, this time to reach the summit. I was still unsure of my leg but was determined to try. The others had reconnoitred a line up the cliff which avoided the worst of the falling ice. We climbed that line to the top of the cliff and plodded through knee-deep snow up the ridge to Hotel Annapurna. The camp had disappeared under two metres of snow so the next two hours were spent digging out the snow cave entrances and the one tent we had previously pitched. The tent, of course, had collapsed. The amount of snow led us to worry about the safety of the route up to the Col. The next day proved to be hard work through deep snow and fresh avalanche debris, but reasonably safe because most of the big avalanches had already fallen. Col Camp was partially buried and the poles of one tent were broken. Exhaustion dictated that the next day be spent resting to allow us to build up our strength for our climb to the summit.
The following morning we shouldered our loads and climbed slowly upwards. Though the high altitude made the going hard, the magnificent scenery and the perfect weather made the day enjoyable. The snow was firm and the climbing safe and straightforward. Early in the afternoon we reached a place at an altitude of 7100 metres where we could dig a snow cave. Mike, Tenzing and Narayan dumped their loads, wished us luck, and headed back to the Col. Now it was up to the four of us to climb to the summit. Our first task was to dig the snow cave, exhausting work at that height. From where our heads lay at night, Tim and I could see the lights of Pokhara through the door over 6000 metres below. The warmth and humanity of the town were brought nearer by the glow of its lights.
We expected to spend at least one night out on our climb to the top so in the morning we took food, stoves and sleeping bags with us. The rock of the 800-metre summit pyramid was friable and devoid of ledges, a difficult combination for climbing. Where it was possible we climbed patches of snow on top of the rock in preference to the rock itself. By mid-afternoon it was obvious that we would get nowhere near the summit that day. What’s more, there were no ledges at all, let alone places to dig snow caves. We decided to stash the food and extra climbing gear and return the next day. With lighter packs, familiarity with the terrain, and an extra night to adjust to the altitude, we hoped to make much better time.
Once again our decision to retreat proved wise. That night a snow storm began which lasted two days. When the snow stopped falling a strong and intolerably cold wind kept us in the snow cave for another three days. During the long wait we became weaker day by day because our muscles were not getting enough oxygen to sustain them. The sixth morning was fine and windless. In our eagerness to push on with the climb we left before dawn. It was bitterly cold until the sun rose. As our senses thawed we were able to appreciate the beginning of a perfect day. By mid-morning we reached our previous high point. Again we had to worry about selecting the best route up the rest of the Face. Slowly we worked our way diagonally to the left. The difficulties were exaggerated by the altitude of 7500 metres. Every step which was in any way awkward required a few extra breaths for concentration. Every pull up was a real exertion. The way to cope with the enormity of the climb and the effort it demanded was to take each small problem as we reached it, and deal with that without worrying about all that lay above.
One thing we did have to worry about was where we were going to spend the night. There were no ledges more than a few centimetres wide. As the sun was setting in the lowlands Tim reached a steep snow-filled gully. There the snow was deep enough for us to dig ledges large enough to sit on. The sunset was magnificent. Annapurna II cast a shadow which stretched above and beyond Manaslu into the sky and gave to the heavens an eerie impression of solidity.
The ropes from our waists we tied to anchors hammered into the walls of the gully. We huddled on our tiny ledges nursing our small gas stoves until two in the morning, melting enough snow to quench our thirst because a vital part of surviving at high altitude is preventing dehydration. For the remainder of the night we dozed intermittently and waited for the sun. Our drowsiness and the cold spoiled our appreciation of the beauty of the dawn.
Since we planned to make the summit that day we left our stoves and sleeping bags on the ledges. Immediately above our bivouac was a hundred-metre-high vertical gully of extremely rotten rock. The climbing was so difficult that we needed the whole day to climb those hundred metres. Again our plan to reach the summit was frustrated. We left our ropes hanging down the gully for a quick ascent the next morning and descended to another long and miserable night on the ledges.
By the morning the lack of oxygen and proper food, combined with the cold, had left us drained of energy. Only determination to succeed pushed us back up the ropes to our high point. The short rock wall ab
ove presented no problems. Beyond that a steep but firm snow slope led to the summit. The peak itself was corniced with an overhanging lip of ice so we stopped on the steep slope a couple of metres below.
There was no place to sit and an extremely cold wind blew across from Tibet. Clouds obscured the familiar view to the south but we could still see the mountains and valleys to the north. As we stood there, catching our breath and feasting our eyes, the clouds thickened beneath us, slowly filling the valleys. Soon the lesser mountains were buried in the clouds. We were left alone in a circle of Himalayan giants—Manaslu, Himalchuli, Annapurna I and Dhaulagiri. There were handshakes and slaps on the back, gently given so as not to unbalance our precarious footing. The real elation was to come later. Foremost in all our minds was not celebration but the task of descending the mountain. It was only seven hours later as we sat in the snow cave with a violent electrical storm raging outside that we were able to relax and appreciate our success.
Despite a solid sleep we were still exhausted the following morning. We packed and staggered down against a strong wind. At Col Camp we stopped to melt snow for a drink and could not muster the momentum to move again. We spent the remainder of the day sleeping, drinking and eating. Our rest had been painfully earnt and was much needed.
That night over a metre of snow fell. In the morning we were faced with descending the avalanche-prone slopes between Col Camp and Hotel Annapurna in the worst possible conditions. Every step through the thigh-deep snow was a struggle. The bad conditions increased the time we spent exposed to the dangers. At nine p.m. we reached Hotel Annapurna, having survived avalanches which fell in front, behind and between us. It was the worst day any of us had spent on any mountain.
The next day proved to be even more dangerous and exhausting. The storm continued through the night. Tim, Greg and I, who had slept in a tent, had to dig through three metres of snow to free Andy from the snow cave. Because the snow was chest-deep it took two and a half hours to travel the first two hundred metres from camp. Beyond that the slopes had avalanched and we were able to descend much more quickly though still threatened by avalanches from far above. The next problem was the glacier above the cliff leading down to Advance Base. Huge crevasses obstructed our path and blocks of ice overhung the cliff. We could not find a route through the maze before nightfall so we were forced to camp again, this time on the glacier with no food, no drink, and with one tent for the four of us. We were so worn out that we slept despite the discomfort. In the morning another shock greeted us. Advance Base Camp seemed to have disappeared. The area was covered in snow and there was no sign of the tents. The whole day was needed to negotiate the terrifyingly dangerous glacier and the cliff beneath it. Again our ropes had been swept away by icefall; we felt very much in the firing line as we set up new abseils. Everything was made more difficult by the metre of new snow.
Shortly before dark we floundered exhausted into Advance Base. It was deserted but to our delight the collapsed kitchen tent was still there. From somewhere we found the energy to dig away the snow and to whoop with joy when we discovered the food the Sherpas had left. Though we were a week late they had not given us up for dead as we had feared, but had simply moved below the snow line to wait for us.
That night we feasted. The fare was not elaborate but there was plenty of it and plenty of drink for our insatiable thirsts. It was with minds at ease that we crawled into our sleeping bags. The sun woke us in the morning and for the first time in days we knew that we would be alive at nightfall. The danger was behind us. We had time to enjoy the warmth of the sun, to taste the elation of success and to appreciate the privilege of life.
“Climbing Mt Everest is unquestionably dangerous.”
The heat from the spotlights in the television studio made me sweat through my make-up. “Do you have a suicidal urge? Are you crazy?”
I stared back at the carefully painted face of my interviewer. I could not believe the mindlessness of her question. Her concern was with confrontation, not with any rational discussion of mountaineering. But I was here to publicise our expedition, to convince people that the challenge we faced was worthy of their support. My reply was tempered accordingly.
“I’d go crazy if I spent my life safe and secure in boredom behind a desk.” Or in front of a television camera, I added to myself. “Craziness has nothing to do with proving yourself to yourself, which is what I do in the mountains. And suicide is giving up the game rather than playing it for all it’s worth.”
“So life is a game for you?”
“It’s more of a game than death is, so when you’re alive you’re obliged to get the most out of it. That means putting all you’ve got into it.”
The night was warm and peaceful outside the lecture theatre. A low wall near the entrance made a comfortable seat for the four of us as we waited.
“There must be something good on Brisbane television tonight,” said Kate.
“When we were in Adelaide our slide show coincided with the final episode of ‘A Town Like Alice’.” I laughed at the memory. “We had an audience of twenty-three.”
“We might break that record tonight,” said Tim, but without any gloom in his voice. Gloom did not have much of a place in his world.
The next minute four people walked up. I hurried inside behind the table piled high with Expedition T-shirts to accept their admission money. They were the catalyst. Two cars pulled up. A cyclist locked his bike to a tree. A few more pedestrians arrived. A quarter of an hour after our scheduled start several dozen people made the hall look only half empty. It was time to begin. Tim and I left the doors and took the stage. Silence fell as Tim nervously tapped the microphone.
“Good evening, everyone. Thank you for supporting our expedition to Mt Everest by coming along to our lecture. If you’d like to support us further there’ll be T-shirts and posters for sale afterwards. I’m Tim Macartney-Snape and this is Lincoln Hall. We’re here tonight to show slides of our recent climb of Annapurna II, which was part of our training programme for Everest as well as being a worthwhile climb in its own right. I’ll begin by talking about the planning and approaches and the first part of the climb, then I’ll hand over to Lincoln who’ll take you to the summit …”
That was my cue to leave the stage and switch on the projectors. A dozen shows had made us familiar with our equipment and with telling our story. Always we were nervous until we became lost in the memories the projected images never failed to arouse.
Dappled shapes of sunshine played upon our bodies. The patterns changed as the warm wind swayed the casuarina branches above. The sun reflected brightly from the river and the sand. The heat of the Australian summer lived through everything around us, presenting no option but to relax and forget the tension between us.
“How have you been?” I asked.
“Really, life could not be better.” She smiled gently at me, as if to say she understood how that reply would hurt. “I love it here.”
“I can see that you might,” I said. “It’s a beautiful place.” I paused. “It’s only now, afterwards, that I can see what you tolerated from me. With me being away from you so much, and expecting you to wait, and the worry, and the hope that every climb would be the last. Yet as soon as I was back I’d be planning the next.”
“You were impossible. You were worse than that.”
“I know,” I interrupted. “I’m not suggesting we start again.”
A gust of wind rustled the leaves of the trees shading the river and sent ripples across the surface. A currawong’s call rang out pointing to a reality beyond our own, reminding us both that life was so much simpler when unclouded by emotion.
“I’ve been here three months now. There are some really good people. There’s so much to do, so much to learn about myself.”
“Rather than about me?”
“It didn’t take long to learn about you.”
I laughed.
She did not allow the conversation to dwell on our pas
t. “What have you been doing since you got back from Nepal?”
“Relaxing back into Australian life. I’ve been rockclimbing a couple of times. Beginning to worry about how we are going to get the money together for Everest. The organisation is horrifying.”
And now she interrupted. “I’m so glad I’m not involved in that anymore.”
How much climbing rules my life, I thought, while she talked on about her new friends. The important thing in life is to have something to live for. Here she had found it.
Soon it was time for me to leave.
“You must visit more often,” she said as we stood up.
“I will.” The implication was that the initiative must be mine.
I kissed her quickly and turned away.
One day, perhaps.
But meanwhile, priorities.
In the past, mountaineering had always been an intensely personal experience. The satisfactions were private and of little interest to anyone else. We soon learnt that Mt Everest was something different. By planning to climb the world’s highest peak we had become the vehicle for satisfying some kind of public need. People looked for symbols which could be identified with displays of courage and patriotic determination. Many found such a symbol in our attempt to climb Everest.
Our wish was to climb the mountain. At the most courage and patriotism were incidental to our aim, yet at every organisational level the people we dealt with and were encouraged by understood our drive only in those terms. Like explaining the beauty of a sunset, the rewards of mountaineering are deep and fully appreciable only by the initiated. Consequently, when support was given to our expedition we were especially grateful for the faith shown in a project which no one quite understood.
White Limbo: The Classic Story Of The First Australian Climb Of Everest Page 6
