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Jan
Mountain climber
Colorado, Nepal & Okinawa
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Apr 19, 2014 - 09:36pm PT
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Bruce, I was not responding to you at all.
In answer to your own questions, yes the wife can remarry and often does if she's not older and doesn't have too many children (that pretty much applies every where doesn't it?)
The children might be apprenticed to work in the household of someone as a servant when they reach 12 or more, though I doubt this happens much now, thanks to the Hillary Schools and the Education Fund I mentioned that was established for the express purpose of educating for free, the children of men killed in climbing.
And I do agree with your opinion of the Kangshung Face. In fact, I would guess that we agree about most things most of the time, cowboys now withstanding. :)
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hamie
Social climber
Thekoots
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Apr 20, 2014 - 01:01am PT
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Climbski2,
For what it's worth I believe that Messner's solo was from the Chinese side, and not via the Khumbu.
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Ham and Eggs
Mountain climber
Aoraki/Mt Cook Village
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Apr 20, 2014 - 02:03am PT
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There is something unseemly about having Sherpas take the bulk of the risk in the Khumbu Icefall while clients acclimatize on nearby peaks.
Where the consequence of an event is established; though it's likelihood unknown, indeed the frequency of exposure becomes quite the issue.
It's prudent to note, that the icefall fixing team is exclusively controlled by Nepal's SPCC - they decide who decides the route, they decide who sets the route and the methods used all the ways to Camp 2. The western guide companies have had no control over the ice fall since Mal Duff died.
Cotter and Brice, have to no-end been critical of the route selection taken by the ice fall fixing team for many years - though they have had limited effectiveness in changing it.
Last year, a bunch of the major western guide companies got together to establish minimum pay rates for the Sherpa and Sherpani. This move in-part, was an effort to prevent the likelihood of come-by-lately guide companies paying the locals an even lessor pittance - indeed some of these new companies were run by folk out of Kathmandu.
The consortium was criticised for restricting trade through wage-fixing. At the same time, the consortium was also trying to set minimum skill/experience standards.
For all the experienced Sherpa and Sherpani on the mountain, skills in route selection and weather assessment are still quite reliant on western guides with considerable years of climbing and guiding in varying conditions, under their feet.
As locals take to wanting more control of guiding on the mountain, they will need to up their skill set. Many are striving to help them do just that, which includes two of the better guide companies on the mountain - each run by Kiwis to standards Sir Ed would have expected.
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Ken M
Mountain climber
Los Angeles, Ca
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Apr 20, 2014 - 03:05am PT
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Ken M. I'm curious how the whole "insurance" thing works/could work. Not for some lesser being but a brother human. Not sure why you're projecting "dick like behavior" on some who are genuinely interested in helping. No, I'm not a fan at all of the merit badge corporate climbing culture invading Everest.
But as others have said, this is a big part of the Nepalese tourism economy. Any reason why it shouldn't be taxing westerners appropriately and handling that tax well?
$.02,
pc
No reason at all why there shouldn't be high taxes on tourists.
However, I don't think it is seemly for us "enlightened" westerners to tell the "backward" easterners how to run their country...which is how it comes across. It feels strangely like the treatment of "childlike" native americans in the US, who were guided to do things the "right way".
I don't advocate that I know the sherpa culture expertly, but I am aware of cultures that placed little importance on things like money, and huge emphasis on community, and we destroyed their culture in the conversion to the love of money.
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Jan
Mountain climber
Colorado, Nepal & Okinawa
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Apr 20, 2014 - 05:22am PT
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I don't think there's much to worry about on the Sherpa's account.Their culture seems as strong as ever from what I've observed. When they first encountered large numbers of Westerners there were some set backs to the local ecology, but that has been rectified for the most part.
One of the things that has helped a lot is their great strength at altitude compared to their rich clients from the West. Although they were/are in the lesser position status and money wise, they have always known who relied on whom and have never felt inferior as a consequence.
Their religion gives them a lot of moral authority as well, compared to most of the Westerners they come across. They seem to have something that we've lost in that regard.
They're also well aware that they are able to tolerate hardship in a way that we can't. I think the only western person they really feel is equal or stronger than themselves is Messner.He was the western Mountaineer at the 60th Anniversary of the First Ascent, that they all wanted their photo with.
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Ham and Eggs
Mountain climber
Aoraki/Mt Cook Village
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Apr 20, 2014 - 07:56am PT
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They're also well aware that they are able to tolerate hardship in a way that we can't. I think the only western person they really feel is equal or stronger than themselves is Messner.
Is that right Jan? Name the five climbs, above 8000m, that are genuinely considered to have involved solid, sustained technical difficulty. And rattle off a couple solid Sherpa/Sherpani led FAs at any altitude if you can.
You paint a romancers view. North Face jackets exchanging for traditional dress. All the gambling that goes on. Westerner being lambasted on other peaks when they choose not to hire Sherpa assistance.
Don't get me wrong. Wonderful communities. Just support your claims.
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survival
Big Wall climber
Terrapin Station
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Apr 20, 2014 - 09:17am PT
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Ham and Eggs,
I don't know you, and you don't know me, but please don't come here and start dancing on Jan. She has spent a lot of time with Sherpas and has a unique insight into their culture and thinking that most climbers do not.
She knows very well how many western bad asses there are. I could care less if she is a degree off in her commentary. She is a very respected member of this forum.
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climbski2
Mountain climber
Anchorage AK, Reno NV
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Apr 20, 2014 - 09:25am PT
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For what it's worth I believe that Messner's solo was from the Chinese side, and not via the Khumbu.
I knew I was a bit fuzzy on that. You are correct he did go up the Chinese side. So now I have no idea what the last really significant ascent is that used the Khumbu.
and yes Jan is an amazing member we are lucky to have. Especially so when it comes to discussions about the Sherpa.
I was a bit over the top a few posts ago. But I do wish that the Khumbu would become a very disrespected way up Everest. One that would brand anyone doing it negatively instead of positively not just among informed climbers but also in popular culture.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Apr 20, 2014 - 11:32am PT
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Tibetan porters, Minya Konka, 1930s.
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Jan
Mountain climber
Colorado, Nepal & Okinawa
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Apr 20, 2014 - 11:56am PT
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For me, the most admirable trait of the Sherpas is their cheerfulness and optimism in the face of adversity. No matter how difficult the circumstances, they manage to make a few jokes about it and soon, things don't seem so bad. They support each other and when they criticize they do it very diplomatically and in a positive way. They include everyone in the village and they extend their good will toward animals as well. Are they saints? No, but they are striving to improve their karma.
Are there Sherpas who don't fit this mold? Of course. There are even Sherpa outlaws. By and large however, I have found them to be the most positive and helpful people I've ever met and I lived in 15 different countries and traveled in many more.
As for who they admire, it's Messner, for his natural strength and vision and approachability. How good a person is as a technical climber is less interesting to them.
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JerryA
Mountain climber
Sacramento,CA
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Apr 20, 2014 - 11:58am PT
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Hi Jan . Did you know Pasang Kami ? His tales about as a child meeting the first westerners to ever visit the Khumbu were very interesting . The transformation of his homes culture during his lifetime must have been staggering.His daughter's experiences during her dental training in Canada were equally unique. People asked her what her tribe was & went blank when she said Sherpa.
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Kalimon
Social climber
Ridgway, CO
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Apr 20, 2014 - 12:01pm PT
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Buddhism.
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Jan
Mountain climber
Colorado, Nepal & Okinawa
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Apr 20, 2014 - 12:16pm PT
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I never knew Pasang Kami but I have heard many funny stories from Sherpas describing the first time they saw a westerner and tried to make sense of it. Ghost, demon and yeti were all categories that ran through their minds.
Meanwhile I forgot to mention that Messner is their hero now because he is alive. Hillary of course has ascended to an almost god-like status which has nothing to do with his first ascent of Everest but everything to do with the fact that he treated Tenzing Norgay like an equal and always refused to say who got there first (humility is a big virtue for them), but most of all for building the airstrips and the schools which enlarged their world and gave them the tools to help themselves.
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steve shea
climber
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Apr 20, 2014 - 01:19pm PT
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I met Pasang Kami several times. Quite a guy.
Approaching some stone age looking villages between Tingri and Changbujang, in the Rongshar, we met many Tibetans who had never seen westerners before. They were as curious and shocked as you might expect but our Han Chinese LO did his best, unsuccessfully, to keep us separated. An unforgettable experience. I can only imagine what the sherpas thought at the first sight of western tourists. The area we were in had only seen two official groups in the past, in the fifties. Culturally it was not much different than the sherpa villages just over the Nepali border in the Rolwaling. Mao had kept this area off limits for years. It was regarded as an especially sensitive area. Anyway, not the Khumbu, but a glimpse into the past Tibetan life in an almost pristine area.
Jan is so right about the good nature of these people. When socializing, you could not tell that you were not in a Sherpa village. Everything seemed just the same save for our presence. Not any mountain travel by westerners yet. This was pre monsoon 1988.
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Jim Clipper
climber
from: forests to tree farms
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Apr 20, 2014 - 01:57pm PT
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Which outdoor equipment companies work to support mountain communities? When I was in living in the East Bay, I was tempted to put a sign that read, "Viva Babu!", on the lawn of a business in the area. I'm not really in the market for gear right now, but I may be in the future. I may have to think again about American made equipment, or at least stuff that isn't made in China.
How about splitting the "Sponsored Athlete/Ambassador" stipend between a few Sherpas. More bang for the buck.
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Ed Hartouni
Trad climber
Livermore, CA
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Apr 20, 2014 - 02:09pm PT
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Freddie Wilkenson's NYTimes OpEd piece referenced Shipton, and brought it up from the depths of my memory. I'll post the chapter in my next post.
Shipton is one of my climbing inspirations from my youth. His account of the first encounter with The Ice Fall is interesting reading, I could not summarize it and do it justice. Sorry for those who cannot tolerate the prose, I still find it immediate, genuine, and pertinent to this thread.
"It now seemed that we would be faced with a most difficult decision: to abandon this wonderful new route to the summit of Everest that had appeared like a vision, this chance that we had scarcely dared to hope for, not because the way to it was beyond our powers, but because on a small section of the approach the party, and particularly the Sherpas, must repeatedly be exposed to the risk, however slight at each individual exposure, of extermination."
One wonders where our ethics have gone.
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Ed Hartouni
Trad climber
Livermore, CA
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Apr 20, 2014 - 02:10pm PT
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CHAPTER THREE
The Ice-fall
We left Namche on 25th September, taking with us supplies for 17 days. In that time we hoped to make a thorough reconnaissance of the great ice-fall; if possible, to climb it into the West Cwm and to see whether or not there was a practicable route from there to the South Col. If we found a route we would then send down for more supplies, carry a camp into the Cwm and climb as far as possible towards the Col. If, as we expected, there proved to be no practicable route, we would then undertake an extensive exploration of the main range, the southern side of which was almost entirely unknown. We had engaged another five Sherpas, whom we equipped for work on the mountain, bringing the number up to ten. One of them was Angtharkay's young brother, Angphuter, whom I had last met in 1938, when as a lad of fourteen he had come across to Rongbuk from Namche and had carried a load to Camp 3 (21,000 feet) on Everest. Another fifteen men had been engaged to carry our baggage and supplies to our Base Camp at the head of the Khumbu Glacier.
We followed a path across the steep mountainside, 2,000 feet above the gorge of the Dudh Kosi, from which we had climbed three days before. On the way we met a very old friend of mine, Sen Tensing, whom I first met in 1935, when he had come across to Tibet to join the reconnaissance expedition. His peculiar appearance in the clothes we gave him had earned him the name of the "Foreign Sportsman". In the years that followed he had been my constant companion in various parts of the Himalaya and Karakoram. In 1936 I had taken him to Bombay, an adventure which he evidently still regarded as one of the highlights of his career. He had heard news of our approach while herding his yaks in a valley, three days' march away, and had hurried down to meet us, bringing gifts of chang, butter and curds. He came along with us, and for the rest of the day he regaled me with memories of the past.
After some miles the path descended into the gorge. We crossed the river by a wooden bridge and climbed steeply through the forest for 2,000 feet to the monastery of Thyangboche, built on the crest of an isolated ridge dominating the junction of the Dudh Kosi and the large tributary valley, the Imja Khola. The ridge was shrouded in mist that evening, and as it was growing dark when we reached the monastery we saw nothing of our surroundings. The monks welcomed us, and we found that a large Tibetan tent had been pitched for us on a meadow nearby.
During the past few days we had become familiar with the extraordinary beauty of the country, but this did not lessen the dramatic effect of the scene which confronted us when we awoke next morning. The sky was clear; the grass of the meadow, starred with gentians, had been touched with frost which sparkled in the early sunlight; the meadow was surrounded by quiet woods of fir, tree-juniper, birch and rhododendron silvered with moss. Though the deciduous trees were still green, there were already brilliant splashes of autumn colour in the undergrowth. To the south the forested slopes fell steeply to the Dudh Kosi, the boom of the river now silenced by the profound depth of the gorge. To the north-east, 12 miles away across the valley of the Imja Khola, stood the Nuptse-Lhotse ridge , with the peak of Everest appearing behind. But even this stupendous wall, nowhere less than 25,000 feet throughout its five-mile length, seemed dwarfed by the slender spires of fluted ice that towered all about us, near and utterly inaccessible.
We stayed in this enchanting spot till noon and visited the monastery during the morning. With its cloistered courtyard, its dark rooms smelling of joss sticks and the rancid butter used for prayer lights, its terrifying effigies, its tapestries and its holy books bound between boards, it resembled most Tibetan monasteries in all save its setting. In the centre of the main room or shrine there were two thrones, one for the Abbot of Thyangboche, the other for the Abbot of Rongbuk. At that time the former was away on a visit to his colleague on the northern side of the great mountain, Chomolungma (Everest). Hanging in one of the windows of the courtyard, we were amused to find an oxygen cylinder. This had evidently been retrieved from the East Rongbuk Glacier by the Sherpas of one of the early Everest expeditions. It is now used as a gong which is sounded each evening at five o'clock as a signal for all the women who happen to be there to leave the monastery.
From Thyangboche the way led gently downwards through the woods and across the Imja Khola at a point where the river plunges as a waterfall into a deep abyss, overhung by gnarled and twisted trees with long beards of moss waving in the spray. Beyond the village of Pangboche we left the forest behind and entered highland country of heath and coarse grass. We spent the night of the 26th at Pheriche, a grazing village then deserted, and on the morning of the 27th we turned into the Lobujya Khola, the valley which contains the Khumbu Glacier. As we climbed into the valley we saw at its head the line of the main watershed. I recognized immediately the peaks and saddles so familiar to us from the Rongbuk side: Pumori, Lingtren, the Lho La, the North Peak and the west shoulder of Everest. It is curious that Angtharkay, who knew these features as well as I did from the other side and had spent many years of his boyhood grazing yaks in this valley, had never recognized them as the same; nor did he do so now until I pointed them out to him. This is a striking example of how little interest Asiatic mountain peasants take in the peaks and ranges around them.
Two days were spent moving slowly up the glacier and getting to know the upper part of the valley. The weather was fine each morning, but each afternoon we had a short, sharp snowstorm. We had some difficulty in finding water along the lateral moraine, but eventually we found a spring in a little sheltered hollow on the west bank of the glacier at the foot of Pumori, and we established our base camp there at an altitude of about 18,000 feet. Later we found that the spring was fed from a small lake a few hundred feet above. There was a small heather-like plant growing on the moraine which served as fuel and supplemented the supplies of juniper that we had brought from below.
On 30th September, Riddiford, Ward and Bourdillon, with two Sherpas, Pasang and Nima, crossed the glacier to reconnoitre the lower part of the icefall. Hillary and I climbed one of the buttresses of Pumori so as to study the ice-fall as a whole and, in particular, to examine the position of the hanging glaciers on either side of the gorge leading into the Cwm, and to plot the areas of potential danger from ice avalanches falling from these. We reached a height of just over 20,000 feet. It was a wonderful viewpoint. We could see right across the Lho La to the North Peak and the North Col. The whole of the north-west face of Everest was visible, and with our powerful binoculars we could follow every step of the route by which all attempts to climb the mountain had been made. How strange it seemed to be looking at all those well-remembered features from this new angle, and after so long an interval of time and varied experience; the little platform at 25,700 feet where we had spent so many uncomfortable nights, Norton's Camp 6 at the head of the north-east spur, the Yellow Band and the grim overhanging cliffs of the Black Band, the Second Step and the Great Couloir. They were all deep in powder snow as when I had last seen them in 1938. Straight across from where we stood, Nuptse looked superb, a gigantic pyramid of terraced ice.
But the most remarkable and unexpected aspect of the view was that we could see right up to the head of the West Cwm, the whole of the west face of Lhotse, the South Col and the slopes leading up to it. Indeed, a view from the interior of the Cwm itself could hardly have shown us more. We estimated that the floor of the Cwm at its head was nearly 23,000 feet, about 2,000 feet higher than we had expected. From there we could see that there was a perfectly straightforward route up the face of Lhotse to about 25,000 feet, whence, it seemed, a traverse could be made to the South Col. This long traverse would only be feasible in good snow conditions, and at present conditions were obviously anything but good.
The sudden discovery of a practicable route from the West Cwm to the South Col was most exciting. But we had come here to study the ice-fall, and this occupation soon sobered our spirits. The total height of this frozen cataract was about 2,000 feet. A rough transverse corridor divided it into two equal sections. The glacier descended from the Cwm in a left-hand spiral, so that the lower section of the ice-fall was facing our viewpoint while the upper half was largely in profile. With the field glasses we picked up two figures on the lower part. From their movements we recognized them, even at that distance, as Riddiford and Pasang. of the others there was no sign. We heard later that they had taken a different route across the lower glacier and had been forced to turn back by a mass of ice pinnacles before reaching the foot of the ice-fall. Riddiford and Pasang had made splendid progress, though they were obviously having to work very hard in the soft snow. By two o'clock they had reached a point about four-fifths of the way up the lower section. Here they stayed for an hour and then returned.
Such excellent progress by a party of only two at the very first essay was in itself most encouraging. But from where we were standing, it looked as though the corridor above them was in danger of being swept throughout its length by ice avalanches falling from a great line of hanging glaciers on the left-hand wall of the gorge; it looked, indeed, as though the surface of the corridor was composed entirely of avalanche debris. The right-hand side of the lower ice-fall and of the corridor were clearly menaced from a mass of hanging glaciers in that direction, while our profile view of the upper ice-fall made it look very ugly. There was an easy way round the upper ice-fall to the left, but this was obviously a death-trap.
One of the many reasons why an attempt upon a great Himalayan peak offers so very much less chance of success than climbing a mountain of alpine size is that a great part of the route has to be traversed again and again by parties of laden men carrying supplies to the higher camps. All objective dangers must be judged from this standpoint. The risk, say, of walking for ten minutes under an unstable ice-tower, which might be accepted by a party of two or three unladen mountaineers, is obviously increased a hundred-fold in the case of large parties of heavily laden men passing over the same ground dozens of times. The rules of mountaineering must be rigidly observed.
It now seemed that we would be faced with a most difficult decision: to abandon this wonderful new route to the summit of Everest that had appeared like a vision, this chance that we had scarcely dared to hope for, not because the way to it was beyond our powers, but because on a small section of the approach the party, and particularly the Sherpas, must repeatedly be exposed to the risk, however slight at each individual exposure, of extermination.
When we met Riddiford in camp that evening he was much more optimistic about the difficulties on the upper part of the ice-fall, but he had not been in a position to judge the avalanche danger. On the following day (1st October), while Bourdillon and Angtharkay repeated our visit to the Pumori ridge and climbed to a point some 300 feet higher, Hillary and I made a reconnaissance from another angle. This time we went up to the head of the glacier and climbed again to about 20,000 feet on a ridge of the peak bounding the Lho La on the west. From here, although we could not see into the Cwm, we had a much better view of the upper part of the ice-fall and of the corridor. We saw that, at this time of year at any rate, the avalanches from the left swept rather less than half the length of the corridor and that a crossing made at about its centre would be reasonably safe. We could also trace a good route through the upper part of the ice-fall.
On 2nd October, Riddiford, Hillary, Bourdillon and I, with three Sherpas (Pasang, Dannu and Utsering), took a light camp up to the foot of the ice-fall with the intention of making a concentrated attempt to climb from there into the West Cwm. At this time Murray and Ward were both still suffering from the effects of altitude and remained at the base camp for further acclimatization. The next day the weather was bad. It snowed gently most of the day and we stayed in our tents. The air about us was absolutely calm. At about ten o'clock we heard a dull roar which sounded like an Underground railway train. At first we thought it was a distant avalanche somewhere high up in the Cwm. We were quite accustomed to the thunder of these, falling intermittently all around us, from Nuptse, from the great ice-cliffs of the Lho La and from the ridges of Pumori. As a rule, the noise did not last more than a minute or two at a time. When, after a quarter of an hour, this distant roar was still maintained, we began to think that somewhere far away an entire mountainside must be collapsing. However, after an hour, even this theory seemed hardly tenable, and eventually we came to the conclusion that it must be caused by a mighty wind blowing across the Lho La and over the ridges of Everest and Nuptse. It went on throughout the day. No breeze ruffled the canvas of our tents.
The morning of the 4th was fine and very cold. We started soon after it was light. As we had anticipated, one of the difficulties of working on the ice-fall, particularly at this time of year, was the fact that the sun reached it so late in the day. At first, we were moving over hard ice, but as soon as we reached the ice-fall we were up to our knees in soft snow. Our feet became very cold, and once during the morning Hillary and Riddiford had to remove their boots, which were designed for their summer expedition and were only large enough for two pairs of socks, to have their feet massaged back to life. With Riddiford's tracks to follow, we had no difficulty in finding our way through the maze of crevasses and ice-walls. After 3 1/2 hours' steady going, we reached his farthest point. Here Bourdillon, who was also still suffering a good deal from the effects of altitude, decided to stop and await our return. The place was just beside a prominent ice-tower which was thereafter known as "Tom's Serac". As the sun was now up, he would be able to keep warm enough.
Indeed, our trouble was now exactly the reverse. With the scorching glare of the sun on the fresh snow and the stagnant air among the ice-cliffs, it was rather like working in front of a furnace. This, combined with the altitude, very soon drained our energy and robbed all movement of pleasure. We shed all our upper garments except our shirts, but even so we poured with sweat, and before long our panting produced a tormenting thirst. The going now became far more complicated and laborious. Threading our way through a wild labyrinth of ice walls, chasms and towers, we could rarely see more than 200 feet ahead. The snow was often hip-deep, so that even with so many to share the labour of making the trail, progress from point to point was very slow. The choice of one false line alone cost us an hour of fruitless toil.
But technically the climbing was not difficult, and even if it had been we had plenty of time for the job. By the middle of the afternoon we seemed to be approaching the top of the ice-fall. We had decided to turn back not later than four o'clock in order to reach camp by six, when it would be getting too dark to see. Even that was running it rather fine, since it did not allow for accidents, such as the breaking of a snow bridge, and to become involved in such a complication after dark would be to run considerable risk of frostbite.
From the last line of seracs we looked across a deep trough to a level crest of ice marking the point where the glacier of the Cwm took its first plunge into the ice-fall, like the smooth wave above a waterfall. The trough was really a wide crevasse, partly choked by huge ice blocks, some of which appeared none too stable. Crossing it was the most delicate operation we had encountered.
By 3.50 we reached the final slope beyond the trough, less than 100 feet below the crest, from which we expected to have a clear view along the gently sloping glacier of the Cwm. We had to climb this diagonally to the right, so as to avoid a vertical brow of ice directly above. Pasang, whose turn it was, took over the lead; Riddiford followed and I came next. When we were on the slope it became obvious that the snow was most unstable and must be treated with great caution. By this time Pasang had advanced about 60 feet. Suddenly the surface began to slide downwards, breaking into blocks as it went. Pasang, who was at the upper edge of the break, managed with great skill to dive over it and ram his ice axe into the snow above. I was only a few yards from Hillary, who had a firm anchorage on an ice block at the beginning of the slope, and I was able without much difficulty to scramble off the moving slope back to him. Riddiford went down with the slope, and was left suspended between Pasang and me, while the avalanche slid silently into the trough. It was a nasty little incident, which might with less luck have had rather unpleasant consequences.
It was now high time to retreat. Going down was, of course, almost effortless compared with the labour of coming up. We had the deep trail to follow and we could jump or glissade down the innumerable little cliffs, each of which had cost a great deal of time and hard work to climb. It was after 5.30 when we reached Bourdillon, who had had a longer wait than he had bargained for, and was by now getting both cold and anxious. Soon after we had started down, the ice-fall became enveloped in mist. Later, this broke behind us and we saw, high above the darkening Cwm, the north face of Nuptse, a golden tracery of ice lit by the setting sun. We reached camp as it was getting dark, very tired after a strenuous day.
We were well satisfied with this reconnaissance. It was rather disappointing at the last moment to be denied a view into the Cwm from the top of the icefall, though in fact it would not have shown us much more than we had seen already. But we had climbed practically the whole of the ice-fall in a single day, despite abominable snow conditions and the fact that for the largest and most difficult part we had been working our way over entirely new ground. In time the route could certainly be greatly improved, and the climb would then be done in half the time and with less than half the effort. We thought that the snow conditions would probably improve, but even if they did not, the final slope could certainly be climbed and safeguarded by suspending lifelines from above. Finally, at this time of year at least, the route seemed to be reasonably free from the menace of ice avalanches. We had little doubt that, with a few days' work, we could construct a safe packing route up the ice-fall into the West Cwm.
We decided, however, to wait for a fortnight before attempting to do this. There were three reasons for this decision. The first was to allow time for snow conditions on the ice-fall to improve. Secondly, we had seen that there was still an enormous amount of monsoon snow lying on the upper slopes of Lhotse and Everest which would make it impossible to climb far towards the South Col, to say nothing of the possible risk of large snow avalanches falling into the Cwm from above. While we knew that at altitudes of 23,000 feet and above this snow would not consolidate, we had reason to believe that by the beginning of November a great deal of it would have been removed by the north-westerly winds which were already becoming established. Finally, half the party were badly in need of acclimatization before they could undertake any serious work even in the ice-fall. We spent the fortnight making journeys into the unexplored country to the west and south.
On 19th October, Hillary and I, who had been working together during this fortnight, returned to the Base Camp on the Khumbu Glacier. We had expected the others to get back on the same date, but they did not arrive until nearly a week later. On the 20th and 21st we took a camp to the old site at the foot of the ice-fall. This time we brought with us a large 12-man double-skinned dome tent designed for the Arctic. It was well worth the labour required to level a sufficiently large area of the ice surface on which to pitch it, for, after the tiny mountain tents we had been using hitherto, it was positively luxurious, and, having more room, we found it a great deal easier to get off to a really early start in the morning. On the 22nd we started work on the icefall. Snow conditions had improved slightly, but a number of new crevasses had opened up across our former route, and these caused us a little trouble to negotiate. However, by the end of the first day's work we had made a solid and completely safe route up as far as "Tom's Serac". Near this we marked out a site for a light camp from which to work on the upper part of the ice-fall, but we decided that for the present we would continue to work from our comfortable camp below.
On the 23rd we started early, taking with us Angtharkay and Utsering. It was a glorious morning. With every step of the way prepared, we climbed without effort, breathing no faster than on a country walk at home, and reached "Tom's Serac" in one hour and twenty minutes. We paused there for a brief rest that we hardly needed, while the sun climbed above the great Nuptse-Lhotse ridge to quicken the frozen world about us. We were in a mood of exultant confidence, for we expected that very day to enter the great Cwm.
But immediately above the Serac we ran into difficulties. A broad crevasse had opened across our former route, and it took us an hour and a half and a lot of very hard work to find a way across it. This check, though a salutary warning against over-confidence, was not serious, and it was not until we were over the crevasse that the real trouble began. Here, about one hundred yards from the Serac, we found that a tremendous change had taken place. Over a wide area the cliffs and towers that had been there before had been shattered as though by an earthquake, and now lay in a tumbled ruin. This had evidently been caused by a sudden movement of the main mass of the glacier which had occurred some time during the last fortnight. It was impossible to avoid the sober reflection that if we had persisted with the establishment of a line of communication through the ice-fall and if a party had happened to be in the area at the time, it was doubtful whether any of them would have survived. Moreover, the same thing might happen on other parts of the icefall.
With regard to our immediate problem, however, we hoped that the collapse of the ice had left the new surface with a solid foundation, though it was so broken and alarming in appearance. Very gingerly, prodding with our ice-axes at every step, with 100 feet of rope between each man, we ventured across the shattered area. The whole thing felt very unsound, but it was difficult to tell whether the instability was localized around the place one was treading or whether it applied to the area as a whole. Hillary was ahead, chopping his way through the ice blocks, when one of these, a small one, fell into a void below. There was a prolonged roar and the surface on which we stood began to shudder violently. I thought it was about to collapse, and the Sherpas, somewhat irrationally perhaps, flung themselves to the ground. In spite of this alarming experience, it was not so much the shattered area that worried us as the part beyond, where the cliffs and seracs were riven by innumerable new cracks which seemed to threaten a further collapse. We retreated to the sound ice below and attempted to find a less dangerous route. Any extensive movement to the left would have brought us under fire from the hanging glaciers in that direction. We explored the ground to the right, but here we found that the area of devastation was far more extensive. It was overhung, moreover, by a line of extremely unstable seracs.
We returned to camp in a very different frame of mind from the joyous mood in which we had climbed the lower part of the ice-fall only a few hours before. It seemed obvious that, though it might be a permissible risk for a party of unladen mountaineers, working on long ropes and taking every available precaution, to attempt the ice-fall, and even this was doubtful, we would not be justified in trying to climb it with a party of laden porters whose movements are always difficult to control. It looked as though, after all, we were to be faced with the decision which we had dreaded three or four weeks before: to abandon the attempt to reach the Cwm, not because the way was difficult, but because of a danger, which by the very nature of its underlying causes was impossible to assess with any certainty. In this case, however, it did not mean the total abandonment of the route; for the condition of ice-falls is subject to considerable seasonal variation, and it was not unreasonable to expect much better conditions in the spring than in the autumn. Nevertheless, it was a bitter disappointment not to be able to proceed with our plan of carrying a camp through into the Cwm and making a close examination of the route to the South Col. We agreed, however, to defer the final decision until we had made another reconnaissance of the ice-fall with the whole party.
The following day we again climbed the ridge near the Lho La. The view was not very encouraging, for we could see no way of avoiding the shattered area, which was in fact a belt stretching right across the glacier; though the upper part of the ice-fall above the corridor, so far as we could see, was undisturbed. On the 26th the rest of the party arrived back at the Base Camp, and on the 27th we all climbed the ridge of Pumori from which Hillary and I had first looked into the West Cwm on 30th September. We saw that a certain amount of monsoon snow had been removed by the north-west wind from the peak of Everest, though the north face of the mountain was still in an unclimbable condition. There was no apparent change in the snow conditions inside the Cwm, on Lhotse or on the South Col.
That evening we reoccupied the camp below the ice-fall, and on October 28th all six of us, together with Angtharkay, Pasang and Nima, set out for the ice-fall once more. Our chief object was that the others should examine the situation for themselves so that we could come to a united decision; though Hillary and I, too, were anxious to have another look at it. We arrived at the shattered area by the time the sun reached us. Only minor changes had taken place in the past five days, and this encouraged us, with great care, to cross it and make our way over the delicately poised seracs beyond. Pasang and Angtharkay made no secret of their apprehension and constantly pointed out to me that it was no place to take laden men. Beyond the corridor we found that the upper ice-fall was in a fairly stable condition, only one serac having collapsed across our former route. By ten o'clock we reached the final wall dominating the ice-fall. The steep slopes below this were in the same dangerous condition as they had been at the beginning of the month; but a fin of ice had become detached from the wall, and while other routes were being explored, Bourdillon succeeded in cutting steps up this, thus enabling us to reach the top of the wall. This was a fine effort, for it involved cutting his way through a deep layer of unstable snow into the ice beneath. By keeping to the edge of the fin, he was able to avoid any risk of a snow avalanche, but, as the whole thing overhung a profound chasm into which it might collapse, it was as well to avoid having more than one man on it at a time.
We now stood above the ice-fall, on the lip of the West Cwm, and we could look up the gently sloping glacier between the vast walls of Everest and Nuptse to its head. But we soon found that we had by no means overcome all the difficulties of entry into this curious sanctuary. A little way farther on a vast crevasse split the glacier from side to side, and there were indications of others equally formidable beyond. To cross these in their present state would have taken many days of hard work and a good deal of ingenuity, and unless we could carry a camp up to this point we were not in a position to tackle them. I have little doubt that in the spring they would be a great deal easier. We sat for nearly an hour contemplating the white, silent amphitheatre and the magnificent view across the Khumbu Glacier to Pumori, Lingtren and the peaks beyond the Lho La. Then we returned down the ice-fall.
The fact that we had now climbed the ice-fall without mishap made the decision to abandon the attempt to carry supplies through into the Cwm all the more difficult. We discussed it at great length. The next day Ward and Bourdillon climbed the ridge near the Lho La to satisfy themselves that there was no alternative route, while Hillary and I paid one more visit to the icefall. Angtharkay and Pasang were still convinced that it would be madness in the present conditions to try to carry loads through it, and unfair to ask the Sherpas to do so. There was nothing for it but to submit, hoping that we would get another chance in the spring.
-Eric Shipton, Everest 1951; The Mount Everest Reconnaissance Expedition 1951
anthologized in The Six Mountain-Travel Books ©1985 Nick Shipton, ISBN 0-906371-56-2 (UK)/ISBN 0-89866-075-X (US)
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crunch
Social climber
CO
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Apr 20, 2014 - 02:42pm PT
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Interesting stuff, Ed Hartouni.
I was reading a different perspective on this recently. For decades the UK Alpine Club's Everest Committee had been keeping Everest to themselves and the friends, sending a ragtag assortment of upper class, amateur mountaineers for attempt after attempt. Cronyism. Shipton was unorganized, amateurish, little chance of ever getting anyone to the top of Everest. But he could write well and knew the right people (and the pool of available, skilled upper class mountaineers kept shrinking), so they kept inviting him back. The AC refused to countenance the idea of sending any of the rising stars of UK climbing, like Joe Brown or Don Whillans, who in the early 1950s were far above anyone else in the UK in ability, but who were working class, poor. They were in their prime, hungry, strong: likely they would have romped up Everest.
It was, if I recall, a Swiss expedition later in 1952 that almost put someone on the summit that prompted a sudden panic. So, for the 1953 season, the Everest Committee fired Shipton, cast about for the best upper-class mountaineers they could find, ignored Whillans, Brown and their friends, came up with John Hunt, who had solid military career, private school, and establishment credentials. As luck would have it, they encountered good weather, which, combined with a huge, military-syle siege of the mountain, inevitably put someone on top.
Not to bash Shipton (nor Edmund Hillary). Hugely admire Shipton's attitude and his reputation (and Hillary has done huge work to help the locals, using his reputation). But Shipton was a poor choice for running a trip to the top of Everest.
I guess my point is how politics, prestige and cronyism were a part of Everest even before it was ever climbed.
EDIT: Another legacy of the Hunt expedition was the widespread adoption of large-scale, siege tactics in the years to come. Had one of Shipton's small, light, fast, deliberately amateurish trips succeeded in summiting, then I wonder how different the later history of Everest would have been?
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steve shea
climber
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Apr 20, 2014 - 04:01pm PT
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Shipton's was one of the groups that preceded us. 1953. They took the famous yeti footprint/axe photo on that trip.
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