Conquistadors of the Useless

by Roberts, David, Terray, Lionel, Sutton, Geoffrey

  The next day the weather was clearer but still as icy and windy. Gicquel, Martinetti, Gendre and Bernezat took their turn but were literally paralysed by the cold and did no more than complete the ascent of the Second Step and climb some sixty feet of the Third. Huntington was valiantly defending its virginity!

  Determined to try to carry off a great coup, Soubis, Batkin and Sarthou and I set out at 2.30 a.m. to renew the attack. We pushed along at top speed and it was scarcely more than 8.30 when we reached the last equipped point. Using snow stakes, I was able to overcome a vertical wall of near twenty feet by artificial means, and after an easy slope I was slowed down by a very steep section of hard ice. But above it the snow became easier and at about 10 a.m. we reached a sort of small dome which formed the summit of the Third Step.

  The weather was no better than on the preceding days, but this time my morale was steely and I was determined to endure the worst in order to get as high as possible.

  When the squalls momentarily dispersed the clouds, I saw the part of the arête we were about to attack. It was almost horizontal, but punctuated by a long series of saw teeth which we called ‘the lace’. From here it seemed not too formidable and we reckoned that if we found good snow we should only need two or three bouts to reach the Fourth Step. For a moment I glimpsed the possibility of reaching the summit that very day!

  Thus enthused I began the descent towards the ensuing gap. To my left a small crevasse had formed between the cornice and the mountain. To my right was an ice slope that plunged into the abyss of the west face. Like a tightrope-walker I balanced along the narrow crest that marked the boundary of the crevasse and the slope.

  Suddenly the slope broke away under one of my crampons: I lost my balance for an instant and to avoid falling into the crevasse I sprang a little to one side. Had I not done the same thing in the Alps many times? Unfortunately the ice was too hard and my crampons did not grip. Without being able to make a movement to save myself, I found myself slipping down the slope. I tried desperately to check my fall, but the face was as slippery as an ice rink and I slid away towards the abyss.

  At last I felt a savage blow and at the same moment a horrible pain in my right elbow. I found myself hanging by the thin line which I had been trailing behind me for the second man to arrange as a fixed rope. Two snow stakes tied to the top of my sack had passed over my shoulder and then under my right arm, which was turned backwards in an unbearable position. Not without difficulty I succeeded in extricating myself and regaining my feet. Then, using the jumar in my left hand, I began a painful re-ascent up the steep ice bulges down which I had fallen back towards the arête.

  Then I saw Soubis begin to come down towards me, looking rather stupefied. I shouted to him to wait for me. Soon I was beside him. He had not realised what had just taken place. At the moment of my fall he was not belaying me, but peacefully arranging the strap of one of his crampons. He had been very surprised when the bundle of rope which he had put down in front of him had suddenly reeled off at top speed, though he had not guessed the cause. We then realised the lucky chance which had prevented us from making ‘the great leap’ together. At the moment of my slip the second party had just fitted the thin ‘Menaklon’ line to a stake that had been firmly planted in the snow. Only this thin line had stopped my fall and prevented Soubis from being dragged off behind me.

  Surely luck had been with us in our accident, nevertheless, my elbow had been severely sprained and my arm was horribly painful. I was deeply annoyed: I now knew that I would never get to the top of Huntington and this seemed to me most unfair. I had worked for months to have those unparalleled minutes of joy and excitement, and now I was to be cast aside like a useless beast.

  The descent was done slowly, but with the help of the fixed ropes I was able to move reasonably well.

  For me the accident was catastrophic, but the expedition was not going to stop for that. By nine the next morning four men had already reached the scene of my fall and it seemed they had a good chance of getting to the summit. In order to find snow, they tried to pass along close to the edge of the arête, but they had scarcely begun to climb the first point of the ‘lace’ when a large piece of cornice crumbled into the Ruth Glacier: another few inches and Gicquel would have gone with it.

  The wind blew and it was very cold. The arête was interrupted endlessly by short but vertical walls of ice, and progress was extremely slow.

  Soon Martinetti complained that the ophthalmia which he had contracted two days earlier was worsening rapidly. His sight was almost gone and he suffered intolerably. Once again we were forced to descend, but this time we had gained only a few score yards and the party’s morale fell hopelessly.

  At Camp One that evening we held a council of war. After a brief discussion we argued that the ‘lace’ had turned out much more difficult than we had thought, and because the last step was not at all an easy walk the final stage on Huntington would still require a few more days. To avoid losing time in coming and going along the crests, we decided to set up a second camp at the foot of the Second Step.

  At an early hour the six fit men descended to Base Camp to get more provisions and equipment. Unfortunately, a storm blew up in the afternoon and they could not climb back the same day.

  Martinetti and I remained alone in the cave – a sad couple: he completely blind, me with a crippled arm. It was with great difficulty that I did the cooking and helped my comrade who could do practically nothing for himself.

  Outside the snow fell ceaselessly: our comrades at Base Camp (with whom we talked by radio) told us that on the Ruth Glacier more than a metre had fallen in twenty-four hours. Thus we remained blocked for two long days. To pass the time I tried to read, but I did not succeed. I was very depressed and very uneasy. I had read somewhere that big storms in this massif can last for eight or ten days. Now we had almost no provisions or fuel, and without doubt we were going to be forced in the midst of the storm to descend the evil slope that separated us from base camp. With almost two metres of new snow that would be ideal terrain for an avalanche.

  During the twenty-five years that I have climbed among all the mountains of the world I had seen too many such avalanches begin beside me, or even over me, sometimes in the most unpredictable places. At the very idea of becoming involved on that slope I felt an animal-like fear.

  At dawn on the third day the storm had ceased but the sky was still very cloudy and the temperature rose. We had to descend quickly before the fog came back and the snow warmed up. Martinetti had practically regained his sight and I was able to use my arm a little. In the first couloir the snow had slid and we went quite quickly, but lower down an exhausting struggle began. We plunged in up to our bellies, and sometimes to the waist; the fog surrounded us and we could see only for a few yards; many landmarks had disappeared and it was very difficult not to lose the proper route. Moreover, the fear of seeing the whole slope move and of feeling oneself carried away helplessly plunged us into miserable anxiety. Luckily, the snow remained very cold, which lessened the danger a great deal. Eventually we reached the last couloir: here the new snow had already slipped off and we had only to let ourselves down the fixed ropes. Soon we were able to greet our comrades.

  On the next day, at dawn, the wind was very violent, but the sky was limpid blue; my seven companions climbed up again to Camp One with heavy loads of provisions and equipment. Their plan was to send a party out on to the arête, and on the same day to pitch camp two, from which they would be able to launch the final assault on the summit.

  Throughout the morning, very depressed, I watched my friends ascending. In all my life I have rarely felt so alone and unhappy: I had not even the courage to prepare a meal. During the night I scarcely slept, but in the morning I had reached a decision: I would rejoin my comrades and try to follow them to the summit. Certainly, my arm still gave me great pain, but by using the Jumar with my left hand, I should be a
ble to make progress.

  At seven I made contact with Soubis and asked him to wait for me, which he agreed to do with pleasure. I took quite a long time getting ready. The track was still good but I was heavily laden and I made quite slow progress. The bergschrund that barred the upper part of the route held me up for a long time as it was very wide and overhanging. With only one arm I was not able to drag myself up with the jumar. Finally, thanks to an etrier, I succeeded in getting through though only after a desperate effort.

  It was after 5 p.m. when I emerged upon the arête Soubis and Gendre welcomed me with friendly smiles, which gave me great comfort. I was exhausted and hungry, and I simply had to regain my strength before going on.

  While I was eating, my two friends told me that after many hours of step-cutting Gicquel and Martinetti had succeeded in reaching the foot of the Fourth Step, while Batkin, Bernezat and Sarthou had been able to set up a rudimentary but adequate camp two.

  We started off again at 6 p.m. but the weather had changed: it was snowing a little and the wind was blowing strongly, continually raising enormous and blinding swirls. Knowing the instability of the weather in this massif, we went on nevertheless. I had recovered my morale and energy and thanks to Soubis, who helped me a lot, I was able to haul myself up the fixed ropes without slowing our progress too much.

  The higher we rose the greater became the intensity of the storm and when we reached Camp Two at 11 p.m. we were in the midst of a real hurricane.

  While six men packed into a four man ‘Makalu’ tent as best they could, Soubis and I shut ourselves up in a minute bivouac tent which was soon almost completely buried under the snow. We spent a heroic and splendid night struggling to feed ourselves and get a little rest.

  In the morning we had to surrender to facts: the storm raged on and it was impossible for all eight of us to remain there waiting for good weather. We had not enough room, nor provisions, nor fuel. I decided that Batkin and Sarthou, who until then had done most of the less spectacular jobs, should remain so as to try and reach the summit at the first clearance. Then we started down the route to Camp One. The storm was diabolical, but we were now so used to the cold and the wind that this struggle with the elements seemed to us like an exciting game.

  The next day (the 25th of May), when we emerged from our cave, the weather was very moderate; the wind had almost fallen and the snow had stopped; on the other hand, Huntington was completely hidden by heavy clouds.

  At 10 a.m. when we resumed radio contact with our two comrades, we learned with surprise that they had set out very early and that, despite the wind, they had just reached the foot of the Fourth Step.

  At noon, further contact told us that Batkin and Sarthou had surmounted a last difficult wall and were about to attack the terminal ridge. The wind, snow and fog hindered them a great deal, but their morale was steely and they were fully determined to reach the summit at all costs.

  We lavished them with encouragement but also with advice to go carefully. Following their progress by radio was wildly enthralling; we were all in a state of extreme excitement. Eventually, at 4.30 p.m. Sarthou’s voice, trembling with emotion, told us that for several minutes Batkin and himself had been standing on the top of Mount Huntington.

  We jumped for joy and hugged one another like brothers. We experienced one of those moments of simple happiness which show their real meaning in mountaineering. I begged my two comrades to descend carefully and every two hours I made contact with them. The two men were tired and the wind had so filled their tracks that they had great difficulty in finding their steps again. In such conditions the descent was very slow and difficult. And they did not regain the camp until well after midnight.

  Despite systematically equipping the route with fixed ropes, it still required twenty-three hours of almost uninterrupted effort to complete the final day of climbing on Mount Huntington. I think that in its very simplicity this figure shows very well how arduous and difficult the struggle had been.

  Gendre, Martinetti, Gicquel, Bernezat, Soubis and I set out at 2.30 a.m. The weather was extremely cloudy, but the wind had fallen entirely and the temperature had eased a great deal.

  At six we passed Camp Two, where our two comrades wished us luck. Then the climb was resumed at top speed. Fortunately, the tracks had not been filled up and I had become so used to using my left arm that I was able almost to keep up with the first two ropes.

  At last we attacked the elegant ‘lace’ and I understood why so much time had been taken in overcoming it, we continually ran up against walls of ice that were quite short but vertical or even overhanging.

  Now and again we exchanged yodels and shouts of delight. After so many difficult and dark days we had a marvellous feeling of liberation. We felt strong and light, and this ascent from crest to crest seemed like a triumphant gallop.

  Eventually at 11.30 we were all together on the narrow summit. Unfortunately, the sky remained very cloudy and we had not a single glimpse of the great mountains that surrounded us. Delight showed, on every face: we were all shouting and singing, and it was in a festive atmosphere that we went through the traditional rites that mark the conquest of a peak.

  But soon we had to start the descent. Suddenly I felt sad and distressed. I know, certainly, that a mountaineering victory is only a gesture in space, and for me, after the Himalayan and Andean peaks, Huntington was only another summit. Nevertheless, it was sad to leave that crest!

  On this proud and beautiful mountain we had spent many ardent and noble hours in brotherhood. We had ceased for several days to be slaves and had truly lived as men. To return to slavery was hard …

  – Appendix Two –

  Lionel Terray’s Climbs and Expeditions, and other Achievements

  Symbols:

  § first ascent of mountain or route

  expedition doctor

  1933

  Chamonix area. First alpine season. Trip to Couvercle Hut with guide. Ascent of Aiguillette d’Argentière with an older cousin who was working at the Ecole Militaire de Haute Montagne. They also did Clochetons de Planpraz, the south-east face of the Brévent, the Grands Charmoz and the Petite Aiguille Verte.

  1934

  Vercors. Dent Gerard in Trois Pucelles by the ‘Grange Gully’. Climbed with his friend Georgette and five others (one of whom was more experienced). This developed into a minor epic with Terray soloing the ‘Sandwich Crack’ to assist the leader hoist his second up the ‘Dalloz Crack’. Later Terray tried the route again with Michel Chevallier but failed. Chamonix area Second guided alpine season doing classic easy routes.

  1935

  Won prizes in regional ski competitions in Dauphine

  Aiguille du Grépon. Traverse via Mummery Crack, with Alain Schmit and a pushy guide who hoisted them up the climb – an efficient demonstration of brutal guiding.

  1937

  Won first ski championship. Reclimbed Grange Gully (Trois Pucelles) with a schoolmaster (G.H.M. member) in better style.

  1939

  Does well in national skiing championships in the Pyrenees and another competition in Provence during illicit absence from his school in Chamonix. Expelled, having already been moved from two other schools after similar incidents. Took part in further ski contests and earned some money as a ski instructor.

  1940

  Aiguille du Moine. Ascent of south-west ridge with Robert Michon (G.H.M.), an ex-soldier who sought him out after the end of hostilities in the north. This climb re-ignited Terray’s climbing interests after years of skiing. They went on to do a series of classic routes during the summer including the north ridge of the Chardonnet and the Cardinal.

  1941

  Third in national ski championships.

  Joined ‘Jeunesse et Montagne’ – a cadre of young outdoor instructors (with a military and mountain flavour) based at Annecy. In this Terray first met the Marsei
lles climber Gaston Rébuffat who had ambitious designs on great north faces. Both were later seconded to a climbing instruction unit at Montenvers commanded by André Tournier.

  Dent du Requin (Mayer/Dibona), Aig. du Grépon (east face) with Gaston Rébuffat.

  1942

  Married Marianne Perrollaz (who he met at a ski championship), and rented a farm in Les Houches. Gaston Rébuffat worked as their farmhand for a period.

  Aiguille Purtscheller. West face § plus other climbs with Gaston Rébuffat (6th May).

  Col du Caiman. North flank §, with descent by Pointe Lépiney and down the south ridge of the Fou, with Gaston Rébuffat (26th Aug) – an epic and (for Terray) inspirational ascent, with difficult glacier work and an ice runnel to the col (c. Scottish 4).

  Joins Group Haute Montagne.

  1943

  Aiguille du Peigne. New line on west face of summit tower § (left of the Lépiney Crack) with René Ferlet (2nd Aug). Terray later had a close escape on this climb when he dropped his equipment at a critical point.

  Aiguille des Pèlerins. West ridge § with Éduoard Frendo and Gaston Rébuffat (10th Oct).

  1944

  Meets Louis Lachenal in Annecy.

  Paine de Sucre. East-north-east spur § (2nd Aug) with Gaston Rébuffat.

  Aiguille des Pèlerins. North face – L/H route § (10th Aug) with Gaston Rébuffat. Later to become an important winter climb (§ Rouse and Carrington, Feb. 1975).

  Pointe Chevalier. East face § (11th Aug) with Gaston Rébuffat.

  Following Liberation (August) Terray joined Compagnie Stéphane (ex Maquis) newly incorporated into the Chassuers Alpins. In this largely-independant unit Terray saw eight months of army service, with action on the Italian frontier near the Dauphiné.