It is after midnight and I have been
lying awake for an hour now. It’s not that I don’t want to sleep, but the cold
is creeping into my body and I feel miserable. The
eiderdown in my sleeping bag and the two inches of my air mattress are all that
separate me from 27,900 feet of hard, cold, rock. This is just one of the
contributing factors adding to my discomfort. Another
is that the air is not as dense at this elevation due to reduced atmospheric
pressure so it is hard to sustain my mental and physical alertness. To put it
more pithily, I feel sluggish. However, the main reason I feel the way I do is because
it is bloody cold out – minus 27 degrees Centigrade! I know there is nothing I
can do about the temperature, but there is something I can do to lessen the
discomfort. However, I either have to suffer some discomfort for another hour
and then sleep, or sleep now and suffer later. Lying next to me is a light
alloy cylindrical oxygen bottle that has two hours’ worth of oxygen left in it.
That is two hours if I adjust the flow rate to one litre per minute, less if I jack
up the rate. That doesn’t sound like a whole lot and in reality it isn’t. This
odourless, invisible gas which flows out of the bottle through a regulating
valve and mask into my lungs, permeates through my body within seconds and warms
me up, allowing me to rest comfortably. Unfortunately, there is not enough oxygen
in the bottle to get me through the whole night so I have had to turn it off. I
decide to wait another hour before turning on the oxygen. This way I can sleep
for two hours just before beginning our assault.
Tenzing, who is sleeping on the lower shelf, is no
better off than I am in these cold, cramped conditions. His feet are
over-hanging the steep slope because the bench he is lying on is too short for his
stretched-out body. For his own reason he has decided to sleep with his boots
on. They are not the high-altitude boots designed for our British expedition,
but the Reindeer boots issued to him by the Swiss last year. I have chosen to
take my boots off and use them to prop the toe of my sleeping bag off the ice as
my legs are draped across Tenzing in the lower corner of the tent. This thin,
flimsy piece of material is the only thing protecting us from the elements, the
elements we have no desire to deal with in the dark.
The wind that would begin its violent roar on the
ridge above and rapidly descend towards our tent like an agitated swarm of bees
returning to their hive after a day of frenzied honey collecting has finally abated
and it is now calm and quiet. I no longer need to use my body as a brace
against the fabric of the tent.
As predicted, I awake at 4 a.m. when my oxygen
supply runs out. A quick peek out the tent door reveals an inky black sky above,
but down below the peaks are beginning to glow in the early dawn. Fifteen
thousand feet below us Tenzing points out Tengboche Monastery, a sight that he
believes is a good omen. I sure hope so! As I recheck the oxygen sets,
Tenzing fires up the Primus and we begin consuming large quantities of lemon
juice and sugar. One of the detrimental side effects of climbing at high
altitude is the loss of appetite and thirst, but I force myself to at least
drink.
A major concern of mine is my frozen boots. I reprimand
myself for not leaving them on in my sleeping bag as I cook them over the
Primus stove. Despite the acrid smell of scorched leather that permeates the
tent I manage to soften them up enough to get my cold feet into them.
We don every piece of attire we have with us, including
our precious down clothing and wind proofs, and our gloves – all three pairs.
Tenzing is also wearing the red scarf given to him by Raymond Lambert, and Earl
Denman’s balaclava. I check my camera and set the aperture now so that I don’t
have to do it later. One less thing to worry about if we reach the summit! At 6:30
a.m. we crawl out of the tent. Our first task is to strap our crampons onto our
boots. Although a simple task at lower elevations, I feel like a farrier who
has struggled to attach horseshoes onto the hooves of a Clydesdale. Finally, I
set both our oxygen gauges at three litres per minute instead of four as we had
planned. I know that by doing this we will be breathing less oxygen, but the
bottles will last longer and hopefully get us further up the mountain before we
need to change them.
As I tie onto the rope my mind wanders and I
remember today is May 29, the 150th day of the year. A rather ordinary
day, but I am reminded of my Sunday school teacher in Auckland who talked about
Psalm 150 from the Old Testament. It is the last psalm in the Book of Psalms.
In it the writer urges the congregation to praise God with music and dancing.
Although I am not going to sing, I feel my first step of the day towards the
summit is my way of praising God, either my Christian God or Chomolungma, the Tibetan
Mother Goddess of the Earth. I slowly lift my right foot and let it sink into
the snow. My crampons bite into the ice below and I automatically move my left
foot up. My dance has begun!
I decide to let Tenzing lead as my feet still feel cold
and I feel a little unstable. From our tent we need to angle up a bulge back towards
the Southeast Ridge. It’s not very far but the traverse allows us to set a
rhythm with our breathing and stride. The lower angle of the climb means we
don’t need to breathe too hard. ‘Breathe too hard,’ that’s a joke! I take one
step, which is an effort, and then pant for 20 seconds before taking a second
step. Although Tenzing is shorter than me and his legs aren’t as long, I am not
chaffing at the bit behind him. The length of my stride is usually longer, but
because of the effort to lift my legs, my step is shorter and therefore I
comfortably fall into stride behind him. Gradually my feet begin to tingle, a
sure sign that blood is reaching my extremities and warming up my toes alleviating
my concern about frostbite.
On top of the bulge, the South Summit towers a
further 500 feet above us. It looks so close, but I know it will take us
another two hours to reach it. Angling out to the right from the South Summit are great menacing
cornices overhanging the Kangshung Face which lead to the main summit somewhere
beyond. I now take over the lead and arrive at a sharp narrow ridge. I avoid
the sheer ice on the right and head to the left where it looks more manageable.
Here I find a breakable crust, the bane of mountaineers. The snow holds my
weight for a few seconds, giving me a false sense of security, then shatters
beneath my boot causing me to lurch forward knee deep in powder snow. In spite
of this, I feel I am moving well and persist in these trying conditions for
another half an hour. We cross a little bump in the ridge and there lying in a
hollow are the two oxygen bottles left by Charles Evans and Tom
Bourdillon. I wipe the snow off the dials and see that they are just under a
third full. By my calculations we should be able to get to the top and back to here
with the oxygen we are carrying. We will be able to use these
bottles to continue the descent.
Above us a 400 foot snow slope rises steeply
towards the South Summit. Tenzing and I now alternate the lead. A thin skin of
ice covers deep snow and my fears are heightened when a six foot wide piece of
ice shatters around me and begins sliding down the mountain. I stumble backwards
but remain on my feet and watch the ice as it continues to gather speed and
slides down out of view. I feel my heart rate increase, but take a couple of
deep breaths and pause for a minute to calm myself before moving on. I am aware
of the precarious conditions and know that we need to be cautious.
At 9 a.m. we emerge on the South Summit and look
for signs of footprints. Three days ago our teammates reached this point, the
highest anyone has been on this route. I sense their spirit is with us now,
urging us on. They, and the rest of the team, have contributed to getting
Tenzing and me to this point. Without the team and the gradual build up over
the last months, weeks and days, we would not be standing on the South Summit where
our ultimate goal of reaching the top of Mount Everest is now within our grasp.
Tenzing pulls his water bottle out and we take a
drink of sweetened lemon juice and I check our oxygen supplies. Both
our bottles are almost empty so to save weight I remove them and hook-up our full
bottles. I take care to make sure they are securely attached and that there are
no leaks in the system. We have roughly four and a half hours of oxygen to
get us to the top and back down to the bottles we found and don’t want to be cheated
by faulty connections.
With a growing sense of excitement I move down from
the South Summit to the small saddle at the start of the final summit ridge,
the ridge we saw from below with the great menacing cornices. We are now in
uncharted territory. When I talked with Tom and Charles at the South Col after
their attempt, they could only speculate about what conditions would be like
for us and what we could expect, but now we are literally ‘rubbing our noses’
in it. I lead on for 40 feet cutting steps then I plunge my ice axe into the
firm snow and belay Tenzing up. Tenzing then leads off and does the same. We
continue in this manner until we reach the base of a great rock step. I had seen
this imposing feature from the South Summit and knew that it might prove to be
a major hurdle, but I focused on the task at hand to get us to its bottom
without dwelling on it. It is very easy for the mind to play games when the
brain is not functioning at full capacity due to low oxygen; therefore I want
to deal with one step at a time.
At nearly 29,000 feet I am confronted by a sheer
rock wall that appears unclimbable. However, looking out to the right I can see
what looks like a possible route. Overhanging the precipitous Kangshung Face is
a great ice cornice that gravity has pulled away from the rock leaving a narrow
crack running up the full length. I nervously wonder if the cornice might
collapse under my pressure, but there is only one way to find out. I make sure
Tenzing has a solid belay and then ease myself into the crack. Facing the rock,
I jam my crampons into the ice behind me and wriggle upwards using any feature
I can as a handhold. My breathing is labored and I am puffing hard. The ice is
holding, and slowly, inch by inch, I climb the 40 feet and, in a state of
exhaustion, pull myself onto the top of the rock step. I lie there panting for
a couple of minutes and then slowly arrange a belay to bring Tenzing up. I wave
down to him to indicate that I am ready and then he too begins the task of
climbing up the fissure. After about 10 minutes he arrives panting next to me.
I am now sure the summit isn’t very far away.
I again begin cutting steps in the ice reassured by
the fact that the ridge is no longer as steep. I can feel the excitement
mounting. I want to go faster. I want to get to the top! Amongst climbers this
sensation is commonly referred to as ‘summit fever’. I am in the throes of
summit fever, but am tormented by the fact that the ridge appears to go on and
on, and all I can do is to continue to move at my snail’s pace.
Ahead of me now is a rounded snowy dome. It must be
the summit. Back in 1924 George Mallory and Andrew Irvine were last seen just
below the second step on the North Ridge still moving towards the summit when
clouds moved in, hiding any further view of their progress. I often wonder if
one, or both, of their bodies sit quietly frozen on the summit, but I can now
see they do not. Maybe I will find something in the snow they have left behind.
With two more steps I move onto a flattish exposed area of snow with nothing
but space in all directions. Tenzing steps up beside me. This is it. This is
the top. The highest point in the world! The summit of Mount Everest! It is a
moment I will never forget. My skin feels charged, electrified, and goosebumps
form down the nape of my neck. This pleasant feeling when mixed with my mental
state produces a wonderful euphoria. I can feel a huge grin charge across my
face. I turn towards Tenzing and reach out with my arm to shake his hand. This is
not enough for Tenzing and he throws his arms around my shoulders and gives me
a big hug. In this moment I realise that a handshake is too formal, too British.
I too reach around my companion and hug him, thumping his back. Even with the oxygen
mask on, I can sense his excitement. It is 11:30 a.m. on the 29th
May, 1953.
I know we can’t stay on top for long, but this
moment has to be savoured. I turn off my oxygen and remove my mask. My face is
immediately prickled by ice splinters carried by the wind. I reach inside my
down jacket and bring out my camera as Tenzing unfurls the four flags wrapped
around the shaft of his ice axe: the United Nations flag, the British Union
Jack, the Nepalese flag and the Indian flag. I take a photo of Tenzing standing
on the summit with the flags flapping in the breeze, then turn to take photos
looking down on the major ridges as evidence that we have reached the summit.
The view is dramatic! To the south, east and west are mountains as far as I can
see including the mighty Kangchenjunga and Makalu. To the north is the brown, barren
Tibetan plateau. However, the most moving view is looking down the North Ridge
towards the North Col and the Rongbuk Glacier.
This is the route where many of the early feats of
courage and endurance were performed by the British expeditions. In the early
1920’s men struggled and fought their way to reach 28,000 feet without modern
equipment and without reasonably efficient oxygen sets. I can see part of the
ridge where they established their high camps, but the last 1000 feet, which
proved to be such a formidable barrier, is hidden from view. The slopes drop
away with frightening abruptness from the snowy summit pyramid. Again my
thoughts turn to Mallory and Irvine who lost their lives somewhere on the
mountain 29 years ago. I look around for some sign they have reached the
summit, but can see nothing.
I turn around and see Tenzing crouch down and dig a
small hole in the snow. I watch as he places in the hole some pieces of
chocolate and other food and some small gifts for the gods whom he believes
spend time on the summit. This jogs my memory and I reach into one of my
pockets and pull out a small crucifix that John Hunt, the leader of the
expedition, has given me. He asked me to leave it on the summit and I promised
I would do so. I bend down and press the crucifix into the snow.
The 15 minutes spent on the summit have passed too quickly
and I must think about going down, but before I do there is something else I
have to do. Our expedition doctor Griffith Pugh always stated one of the
greatest risks faced by climbers going high is dehydration. Before departing
the tent Tenzing and I quaffed down copious quantities of hot lemon juice and
now as a consequence I have a full bladder. There is nothing else to do but
urinate. I move down the ridge on the Tibetan side a few feet so I will not be
disrespectful to the highest mountain in the world. I focus on a rock slightly
buried under the snow and when I finish I notice something jutting out beneath
it. I look back over my shoulder at Tenzing. He has removed the flags from his
ice axe and thrust them into the snow and is now looking back down into the
Western Cwm towards Tengboche. I reach down and flip the rock over and there is
an old sardine tin. Bloody hell! I don’t know what to do. Should I pick it up
or flip the rock back over it. Curiosity gets the better of me. It takes a bit
of prying, but I manage to free it from the ice. The tin has been opened and
the inside is frozen ice. I turn the tin over in my gloved hand and notice a
date scratched into the metal with the point of something sharp. I can’t
believe what I am looking at. The date etched is 1947!
My initial thought is that the tin must have been
left by Mallory or Irvine, but seeing the date I know it isn’t theirs. It takes
me a second to recall who else has been on the mountain and I remember Earl
Denman, the Canadian. He made an illegal attempt from the Tibetan side in 1947
with Ang Dawa and Tenzing, the very same Tenzing who is standing not more than
10 feet away from me and wearing Denman’s balaclava. I am beginning to feel
lightheaded so I put the tin in my pocket and move up to Tenzing. I don’t say
anything! I just give one nod of my head as a signal that it is time to leave.
He too senses that our time on the summit is up. I clear any built-up ice from my
mask, replace it on my face and turn on the valve. I check Tenzing’s valve to
make sure it is working okay and then we begin retracing our steps down from
the summit. A few feet down I stop and glance back at the summit stunned by the
reality that someone had reached the top before us, someone else’s boots had
left their footprints in the snow!
My lightheadedness disappears once I begin
breathing the oxygen and I notice a distinct brightening of my vision. I just
wish it would also clear my head of the sardine tin dilemma. Had Tenzing
reached the summit with Denman? Why had he never said anything about Denman? Maybe
Denman went for the summit by himself and didn’t tell Tenzing he had reached
the top! Should I say something to Tenzing? Obviously, now isn’t the time. I have
to focus on the descent!Coming down off the summit I am finding it much
easier knowing the route and having steps to follow. In what seems like no time
at all I am back at the top of the rock step. I down-climb the familiar crack
reversing the procedure I had used to get up and wait for Tenzing to join me.
Although tired, I am not too tired to be careful. I continue the descent down
the ridge and after a short rise, I crampon back onto the South Summit. It has only
taken one hour. I have a swig of sweetened lemon juice and hand the bottle back
to Tenzing. I feel refreshed as I turn and begin descending again. Several
times I touch the outside of my jacket pocket where the sardine tin is stashed.
I have to reassure myself that it is real.
It is real and so is the fear I am feeling as I
face the descent down the steep snow slope. The snow is very firm and Tenzing
leads off re-cutting the steps as he goes until he reaches the end of the rope;
then I come down. I carry on ahead and produce a neat line of steps for Tenzing
to follow. To the left the snow is a little softer so I move over and begin
stamping out firm footholds. This is done to ensure our security as the
exposure below us is scary. Eventually I start moving right onto a narrow ridge
above our camp and come across the oxygen bottles. We load them onto our backs
and descend the short distance to our tent where we collapse as the oxygen
bottles we are breathing from are now empty. It is 2 p.m..
Tenzing lights the Primus and makes refreshing hot
lemon juice with sugar while I take the empty bottles off the pack frames and
attach the one third full bottles. Going down I calculate we can get all the
way to the South Col if I set the flow rate at two litres per minute instead of
the three litres we have been using. I push the sleeping bags, air mattresses
and personal gear into our packs, but leave the tent and empty oxygen bottles
where they are. I can now sit down and enjoy the drink!
Although I am tired and my body feels numb, I take
some time to reflect on the sardine tin and the moral dilemma of what to do
with it. Why had Earl Denman never said anything about his ascent? Was it because
it was unlawful? The Tibetan authorities know nothing about his attempt and if
they did would it have implications for future expeditions? It is possible Denman’s
ascent would not have been believed by the mountaineering community unless he
had photographic evidence. So why, then, did he leave anything at all on the
summit? Because it would verify his ascent when it was eventually found? If I
had not walked from the summit down the North Ridge those few feet I may never
have seen the rock or found the tin underneath it. Why did he bury it down there
and not leave it on the very summit where it would have been more obvious? I
start to suspect that he didn’t want it found by the next party to climb the
mountain. The only sense I can make of it is that he wanted that party to
announce, to the world, their success in being the first to conquer Mount
Everest. Maybe in the future other mountaineers, who reached the summit from
the north, might have found the sardine tin, but by then it would be too late
to change history. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I found it! I know now what I
must do.
With a last look at our tent that has served us so
well I begin the final descent to the South Col. I follow Tenzing as we head
towards the tattered remains of the Swiss campsite where we branch off on our
last stage down to the great couloir. After a couple of feet I pause and pull
the sardine tin out of my pocket. Looking down at it I silently acknowledge
Denman’s extraordinary achievement and promise to find him when I get back to
England. I throw the tin over the edge into the abyss. My heart cries as it
disappears from sight.
Below us I find that the wind, which has been
blowing in the latter part of our climb, has completely wiped out our tracks.
It is now a hard, steep, frozen slope before us and in our tired state the
gusting wind is trying to pluck us from our steps. I am resigned to cutting
steps for another 200 feet before handing the lead over to Tenzing who cuts another
100 feet of steps.
At long last we exit the couloir and plod wearily
down the long, easy slopes above the South Col. I can see a figure coming
towards us and know it is my ol’ mate George Lowe. Tenzing and I both stop and
turn to look at the mountain. This will be the last time today that the two of
us – just the two of us - will stand together before the mountain and share
this unbelievable day. The intensity of the wind is rising and a plume of snow is
blowing off the summit ridge. Any sign of our footprints will soon vanish. Tenzing
lifts the mask from his face, turns and leans towards me, the silhouette of
Mount Everest mirrored in his dark obsidian eyes. In a discreet voice he
whispers: “Secrets buried in the snow stay buried in the snow.”
