Our plan had been to take all our equipment down from the mountain. It was obvious we did not have the strength for that, but we did manage to retrieve the three hundred metres of rope which ran up the slope above Camp II. At the snow cave, Greg sat inside with the stove, thawing the frozen pot of tea Geof had made for us before he had descended with Andy. I sat outside coiling endless lengths of rope and stuffing them into a kitbag. I stuffed our down suits in as well, bound the bag firmly, then called Greg outside onto the narrow ledge so he could share in the ceremony of throwing the kitbag down the remaining thousand metres of the Great Couloir. Since Andy’s pack had survived being dropped from almost this height a few weeks before, and Jim had repeated the act through exhaustion rather than accident, it now seemed the logical way to clear Camp II. That morning Geof had packed up and thrown off everything at Camp II apart from the stove and the frozen pot of tea, leaving only the rope and the non-essential climbing gear we had carried down for us to jettison. The kitbag bounced down the slope then disappeared over a cliff in a frightening imitation of a falling person. At least that was the image which came to my mind. Carefully I stepped back from the edge and clipped onto the rope.
“Okay Greg,” I said. “Are you ready to go?”
He nodded.
“I’ll go ahead and see you at the bottom of the Face. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” he replied.
“Just make sure you start as soon as I’m off this rope. It’s four o’clock now and we are both going really slowly. Okay?”
“Okay.”
My main worry was that he would sit down here and go to sleep until the cold of the sunset woke him. If he began the descent now I was confident the abseiling would keep him alert.
“See you down there,” I said, and quickly abseiled over the edge.
It was good to be going down over the familiar ground where the dangers and difficulties were known. Also good, was the capability to abseil and at the same time think clearly and quickly. The few hours’ descent from Camp III to Camp II had brought us to air which, though hardly rich in oxygen, offered enough of the vital gas to allow me to feel approximately normal again. Looking up, I could see that Greg was following me as planned, so there was no need to wait.
Despite my wish to hurry, my muscles did not have enough strength left for me to move quickly. I was content to go down slowly. There was time on the long abseils between anchors to think about our feat. We had done it, climbed a new route on Mt Everest without oxygen; a first, a real mountaineering coup. But of more importance in my mind was the thought that this was our last day on the mountain. No more painful load-carrying up the fixed ropes, no more cold feet and hands, no more worrying about the fickle mountain weather. From now on, back in Australia or away in the mountains, Mt Everest would never be the same. Gone was the air of mystery which had surrounded the mountain during our years of planning. Gone were the doubts of whether our small team was equal to the challenge. Gone was the fear that I might not return from the largest, most impersonal, but somehow most inviting graveyard of all.
At each of the anchor points I needed to interrupt my train of thought to swap my abseiling tool from one rope to the next. I remembered only too clearly the descent Tim, Andy and I had made from the summit of Ama Dablam in Nepal, where in the dark I had not noticed my waist karabiner undone. Only luck had saved me from falling to my death. Luck cannot be taken for granted. More than a fair share of it had come my way in the mountains. Nowadays I expected a run of bad luck, so I acted with an appropriate excess of caution.
An exception came at the large crevasse at the bottom of the Face. Our rope led down and across a flimsy snow bridge. A quicker and more exciting alternative would be to jump the gap. I edged towards the lip and peered into the bottomless chasm. It looked considerably less inviting a prospect from close up. I could retrace my steps, but there would be no other opportunity to regain the self-respect I would lose by backing out. It would be like climbing down the ladder from the high diving board. So I jumped. I landed with my ice-axe in the steep downhill slope but my feet did not grip on the ice, and shot out from underneath me. I was left hanging by one hand from my ice-axe. Quickly, I pulled up and carefully climbed across to easier ground. My heart was full of laughter as I descended the avalanche cone to the glacier. One last thrill. Silly perhaps, but what the heck?
What I thought to be several people sitting in a bunch on the glacier, turned out to be Colin waiting with the pile of gear that had been thrown down from Camp II.
He walked towards me and hugged me. Another down alive. “Well done! Welcome back!”
Back to the world of the living, to the world of people beyond our small expedition, to the beginning of the rest of my life. At last I could afford to relax my concentration enough to think about those things. There was no rush but it would be good to get home.
But meanwhile we had to wait for Greg who was still several hundred metres up the Face. I sat on my pack and drank lukewarm tea from Colin’s thermos.
“How’s Greg?” he asked.
“Okay when he’s climbing, except really slow. But in camp he’s been really vague. I think he is so burnt out that he doesn’t have any energy left to think.”
I considered my words and realised I had painted a very gloomy portrait.
“He’s all right, really,” I qualified. “He just needs a couple of weeks on the beach.”
Colin nodded and stared up at the small dot slowly following the ropes down.
Tim arrived from Camp I on skis looking a little weary but in great shape considering the rigours of the last few days. We sat and talked for a while as shadows crept up the mountain. Soon it would be dark, and there remained the few kilometres to Camp I. Colin had brought my skis up from the Stash. Gratefully I changed into my ski-boots and stepped onto my skis. Tim, Colin and Mike (who waited at the Stash) would escort Greg down. I needed to get to Camp I where I could lie down and drink my fill of whatever Narayan and Tenzing could give me.
Directly below the Stash was the steepest part of the glacier. Normally I tried to ski it, often falling on the turns as I zig-zagged down between the crevasses. Today I was too exhausted to want to pick myself out of the snow, and my legs felt as if they would buckle under the strain of carving the turns. I removed my skis and walked down the slope to where the angle eased again. By then it was completely dark, and already the peaks of Lingtren and Khumbutse were lit with moonlight. I remembered that today or tomorrow was the night of the full moon. Tim, Colin and Greg would have good light to travel by. Meanwhile I skied along slowly, all my tired muscles tensed to absorb the bumps as I tried to judge the angle and my speed over the ice in the darkness. I slid to a stop as I crested a small rise. The snow around me was rapidly losing its blackness. The distinct line between the mountain’s shadow and the white light of the moon seemed to sweep towards me as I stared. I turned around in time to see the tip of the full moon rise directly over Everest’s summit.
I could not believe my eyes, yet the unbelievable was definitely happening. The moon rose huge and bright over the apex of the mountain we had just climbed. The snow around me glistened as particles of ice threw the light up at me. The irritability which had been growing with my tiredness disappeared. How could anything be wrong in this most magnificent of settings? Awe filled my being, not with fear or insignificance, but with the warmth of belonging, of being a part of something so beautiful.
I turned around and skied along the well-lit slope. The moonrise could not have been better timed, nor could I have been better placed to appreciate it. The coincidence of those events left me feeling privileged, because I had survived the impersonal strength of the mountain, and had been given such a breathtakingly beautiful scene for my farewell. No longer did my weariness annoy me. The short rests I took every few minutes were not merely delays between me and the comfort of Camp I, but chances to admire the perfection of the night.
At nine o’clock I reached Camp I exhau
sted. Tenzing heard me take off my skis so he came to carry my pack the last fifty metres to the camp.
“Congratulations,” he muttered in the soft voice he reserved for speaking English.
I thumped him on the back a little powerlessly and laughed.
At the camp I collapsed into the mess tent. The tea Narayan immediately gave me was frustratingly too hot to drink. Having smelt its steam I could hardly bear to wait till it cooled.
“It’s all over now, youth,” said Jim with a huge grin as he and Geof crawled into the tent.
“It sure is.”
“Sounded hard up there,” said Geof. “It was more than hard enough where I got to.”
“How’s Andy?” I asked.
“Sleeping like a log,” said Jim. “It’s difficult to know about his hands for a while yet, but they’re pretty bad.”
We sprawled in the tent and drank endless cups of tea while we talked about what had happened. Narayan and Tenzing produced a marvellous meal, but my only appetite was for sleep, and to see Mike, Colin, Tim and Greg return to camp. They staggered in at about eleven o’clock. Greg could barely stand, but found the breath to joke about what an epic it had been.
It was eight days since we had left this camp for the summit. During that time, keeping alive our faith in our ability to succeed and survive had been an enormous psychological drain. The sheer physical effort had almost crippled us. It was time for the joy to begin to surface, and to start to wallow in the delights of being alive.
The first real pleasure was to become familiar again with the feeling of good solid sleep. In the tent which I shared with Tim, I could barely summon the strength to undress and crawl into my sleeping bag. The ground was flat and the air was smooth to breathe; sleep came at once.
The next thing I knew, Tim was shaking me awake. Narayan was crouched in the doorway with the kettle and behind him was the soft, blue light of morning.
Tim poked a steaming cup of black, honey-sweetened tea at me. I sat up and shook my head.
“Where did the night go?” I grumbled. “I could sleep for days.”
Tim laughed softly and put his arm around me.
“There’ll be plenty more nights.”
Geof, Andy, Tim and Greg approach the North Face of Everest. Lincoln Hall.
The South Face of Annapurna II. The route taken by our expedition follows the shadow-etched spur dropping directly from the summit. Tim Macartney-Snape
After the climb of Anapurna II, the team sits in front of Hoga villagers. Back row: Narayan Shresta, Andy Henderson, Tomi Mugar, Tim Macartney-Snape; front row: Lincoln Hall, Greg Mortimer, Tenzing Sherpa. Lincoln Hall
The Potala Palace sits on a hill above Lhasa. The gold-ornamented roof on the Jokhang Temple is in the foreground. Lincoln Hall
Our truck stalls just before we reach the far bank of the Dzakar Chu River, the last obstacle on our journey to Base Camp. Lincoln Hall
From the moraine-covered river flat where Base Camp is established, I look south to the North Face of Everest. Lincoln Hall
In the mess tent at Advance Base Camp: Andy, Simon Balderstone and, in front, Greg. Lincoln Hall
Unstable terrain is no obstacle to the yaks that carry our equipment to Advance Base Camp and halfway to Camp I. Lincoln Hall
In the mess tent at Camp I: Geof Bartram, Tim and Lincoln. Lincoln Hall
From Camp I we can see plumes of snow streaming from the summit, confirming that the winds are still too strong to climb there. Mike Dillon
Setting up fixed ropes to allow safe and rapid ascents and descents was an important part of our preparations. Here, Geof follows three other climbers up the continuous line of fixed rope. Lincoln Hall
Geof climbs the fixed ropes in Greg’s Gully. Although only 10 metres high, the difficulties of this vertical gully took Greg two hours to solve. Lincoln Hall
Greg arrives at Camp II, a snow cave that we dug at 6900 metres. The Rongbuk Glacier is below. Lincoln Hall
The ‘front doorstep’ outside the Camp II snow cave. Greg (left) and Andy, with afternoon tea brewing in the foreground. Lincoln Hall
Crowded but sheltered, Andy (lying down) and Tim relax in the Camp II snow cave. Lincoln Hall
Greg (top) and Tim ascend the fixed ropes on White Limbo. Lincoln Hall
After the exhausting work of digging the ledge in a snow slope, Andy (left), Tim and Greg pitch a tent to make Camp IV at 8150 metres. Lincoln Hall
To save time we climbed unroped in the Great Couloir. Tim above Camp III. Lincoln Hall
The view to the west from Camp IV. From the tent doorway the slope plunges 2000 metres to the Rongbuk Glacier. Lincoln Hall
The final 700 metres of Everest’s North Face. For the Australian route, see the map on . Lincoln Hall
Tim Macartney-Snape’s classic photograph of Greg Mortimer on the summit of Mt Everest, 3 October 1984.
Narayan Shresta, typically cheerful, in 1984. He died tragically four years later in an avalanche on Everest’s West Ridge. Lincoln Hall
Except for his right thumb, Andy’s fingers were all ravaged by frostbite and required amputation to the first knuckle. Lincoln Hall
“Why on earth do you climb mountains?” People ask me so often that the question now rings unspoken in my ears. I look at my shoes or out of the window and wonder why I cannot reply. Only today, sitting here while the rain falls, do I appreciate the reason for my inability to explain: now is afterwards, and so my hunger has gone. Today a photograph of a mountain leads my practised eye to pick out a route, but there is no quickening of my heart as I imagine climbing the steep ice-face.
Comfortably alive and back in Australia, I ask myself why I spent two months of my life risking storms, rockfalls and avalanches while, on the Nepalese side of the mountain, five people from three expeditions died attempting the same feat. The secret of survival is to be able to judge precisely what one’s limits are, and to have the determination and discipline to push oneself that far and no further. The temptation to reach just a little beyond one’s ability is great, but the penalty is final. Though I shall never see the summit panorama other than through the eyes and hearts of Tim and Greg, I know that no view is worth that price.
The history books will remember our climb because two of our team stood on the top of the world. As with every expedition our overt goal was to reach the summit. Yet as each climb progresses I realise that it is not the summit that brings me to the Himalaya but the need to relearn the value and beauty of existence. Not only my existence, but that of the mountains, the sky, the friendship with my companions. But those rewards do not come from simply looking at the mountains. One must accept their challenge and try to touch their peaks. During the attempt, danger and hardship strip away all pretence and self-delusion. And the realisation grows that the only thing which keeps one alive is the strength of one’s spirit.
When I have the time to be alone with my thoughts I can understand why I climb. But what can I say to the person who expects the answer in a single phrase? How do I tell someone who expects me to speak of fame and glory that it is really a trip into myself? How do I explain that sometimes there needs to be more to life than comfort and pleasure, that fear and suffering can reveal another dimension? And, hardest of all, how do I explain the reason for two deaths which in no way seem warranted?
Less than a week after the first Australians trod Everest’s summit Craig Nottle and Fred From fell to their deaths from high on the West Ridge. As we left the mountain we had hoped that their expedition would echo our success. Now the echo rings hollow and horrific.
The mountain had cast the same spell on climbers from both teams. It had given existence a purpose. At the time when life meant most it was taken away. In its place is a vacuum and the unforgettable grief of loved ones who stayed at home. For Fred and Craig life was not muffled by fear but enhanced by it. Their final expedition gave them feelings and experiences of an intensity that few people who live to three times their age will know.
&n
bsp; High on Everest, the line between success and tragic failure is very fine. As it was, three of our team of five climbed the mountain (Andy will not be recorded in the statistics of Summiteers but, to our minds, fifty metres from the top of the 8848-metre peak is good enough) and we all survived. The loss of Andy’s fingers seriously mars our triumph, and shows again just how small are the margins between the completely unscathed, the incapacitated and the dead.
So now I feel like a survivor. The clearest view in the world is when your head is on the block, and once your head has been there the view stays in your mind for a long time. Friendships are deeper, the sunshine warmer, there is value in everything. As I sit here the rain is not spoiling the weekend but dancing across the road to nourish the grass and shrubs in the park. Being alive has never felt so good, though all I do is sit and watch the rain.
Lincoln Hall,
Manly,
26 October 1984
CLIMBING TEAM
In 1986 all five climbers were awarded Orders of the Medal of Australia (OAM) for their services to mountaineering.
The ages given in brackets are those at the time of the climb. Information updated to 1993 is given in italics.
White Limbo: The Classic Story Of The First Australian Climb Of Everest Page 19
