Chapter XX: Mount Everest (1)

During my stay at the Base Camp my time was not really wasted. A study of Everest and of its meteorological conditions, photography, overhauling of equipment and experiments with oxygen kept me fully occupied.

I wonder why it is that so many mountain travellers seem to lose all sense of proportion when they behold for the first time hitherto unknown ranges and peaks. Perhaps it is that they do not happen to possess the critical faculty of abiding by facts, and tend to describe what they expect rather than what they see. Whatever the reason, the ugliest, sometimes even the most insignificant of sights, provided it be but strange or novel, induces their pen to trail along in a pæon of praise, and the new mountain vision is elevated to all that is awe-inspiring, magnificent, beautiful, far excelling any mountain hitherto known to man. Thus we find that earlier explorers of Mount Everest have enhanced its wonders out of all proportion to the reality. It is as if its quality of height, the mere fact that Mount Everest is over 29,000 feet in altitude and the highest mountain in the world, has prejudiced their judgment of its other qualities. A closer analysis of this very question of height may prove edifying. A mountain has two heights, absolute and relative. The former represents its altitude above sea-level, the latter its height above the immediate surroundings, and is really the only altitude with which the eye can be concerned. It is only when mountains rise from the sea, as they do in Corsica, that absolute and relative altitudes are one and the same thing. 29,002 feet is the accepted absolute altitude of Mount Everest; the relative altitude, that is, the actual height that presents itself to the eye of the beholder, is arrived at by deducting some 16,500 to 17,000 feet. The suggestion frequently made to me that the sight of Mount Everest must dwarf into insignificance anything I have ever seen in the Alps, has invariably met with my decided denial. When seen from the north--the only aspect of the mountain with which we of the recent expedition are acquainted--Mount Everest appears as an uncouth, well-nigh shapeless mass partially blocking the end of the Rongbuk Valley, itself surely one of the most formless and ugly of mountain valleys. The impression of the grand or the prodigious which the view of a mountain makes upon one depends largely on the height to which the summit rears itself above the lower limit of its glaciers or eternal snows. Mont Blanc is nearly 16,000 feet high, and its glaciers descend to within 4,000 feet of sea-level--a vertical zone of nearly 12,000 feet of perpetual ice and snow. On the north, Mount Everest rises to a height of 12,500 feet above the Base Camp, which was situated a little below the end of the Rongbuk Glacier--a vertical zone of 12,500 feet of perpetual ice and snow. From the point of view of extent to which it is glaciated, therefore, Mont Blanc suffers little when compared with Everest. But the distance between the observer and the object observed is a determining factor in the impression of size and grandeur which a mountain picture leaves on the mind. Mont Blanc can be seen in all its magnificence at a distance of some five to six miles. On its northern side, Mount Everest can most advantageously be seen from the Base Camp, eleven miles away. Thus, when no scale of absolute measurement is present, Mont Blanc appears nearly twice as huge to the eye as Mount Everest. So much for “prodigiousness” or “grandeur.” From the point of view of beauty, there can be no comparison between the two mountains. Mont Blanc, seen from the north, is a wonderful, glistening mass of snowy domes, piled one against the other in ever-increasing altitude to a beautifully-proportioned and well-balanced whole. No beauty or symmetry of form can be read out of the ponderous, ungainly, ill-proportioned lump whose horizontal stratification lines produce an appearance of almost comical squatness and which carries, as if by accident, on its western extremity a little carelessly truncated cone to serve as a summit. For such is Mount Everest as seen from the Base Camp. This infelicity of form is further forced upon the eye by the fact that it is far from being shared by all the other mountains surrounding the head of the Rongbuk Valley. One of these, indeed, though only about 21,000 feet in height, presented its snowy northern flank to the gaze of the observer at the Base Camp; and in the delicately moulded flutings and folds of its tremendously abrupt snow slopes was contained such beauty, such magnificence, and such dainty grace of symmetry and poise as I have seldom, if ever, seen in a mountain.

It goes without saying that the weather was a thing most anxiously inquired into by all members of the expedition. During my fifteen days at the Base, I lost no opportunity of studying its vagaries and attempting to assign meanings to the different portents. During the entire month of May, there were only two fine days, and those were separated from each other by a wide interval of time. Both succeeded heavy snowstorms which had whitened the rocks of Mount Everest. In applying the term “fine weather” in the case of these mountain regions, it is necessary to be somewhat more critical than one would ordinarily be in the Alps, where cloudless sky almost invariably means favourable weather. In the case of Mount Everest, it is essential not only that the sky be more or less cloudless, but that the force of the wind be so small as to be insufficient to blow up and tear away streamers of snow dust from the ridges. These streamers betoken the presence of a wind of such strength that it cannot but seriously handicap the climber.

On the last stage of the journey, from Shekar Dzong to the Base Camp, the developing of the photographs I had taken _en route_ had fallen into arrears, and I now endeavoured to make these good. In spite of the simple methods adopted, developing was not always an easy matter. During development of the films, the solutions contained in the tanks had to be maintained at the proper temperature. Often the only way to accomplish this was to retire into one’s sleeping-bag with the tin or tins, as the case might be, as bed-fellows. The washing of the fixed and developed films was a simple matter. The Rongbuk stream ran close by. It is true that, in the biting winds which swept through the valley, frequent dipping of the hands into ice-cold water was far from pleasant. The most difficult part of the whole process of the production of the negative was the drying of the washed films. This had to be done at a temperature above the freezing-point of water, owing to the fact that, if the films once froze, frost marks formed in the emulsion. However, by the simple expedient of closing the tent as hermetically as possible, and remaining inside it with two or three candles burning during the drying process, the temperature could be kept above freezing.

At last the day came when I was able to think of advancing. Time there was none to lose. The weather outlook was by no means improving. Indeed, there was every indication of the monsoon breaking sooner than we had expected. Although there were no more climbers left at the Base Camp, the whole climbing strength of the expedition, with the exception of myself, being in the first party, my choice of climbing companions was easy enough. First of all, there was Captain Geoffrey Bruce. Tall, of athletic build, strong, endowed with a great fund of mental energy--an invaluable asset on ventures of this kind--and cheerful in any situation, he was, in spite of the fact that he had never indulged in mountaineering, an ideal companion. Believing two to be too weak a party to carry out the cut-and-dried plan of campaign that I had already formulated at the back of my mind, a third member was selected in the person of Lance-Corporal Tejbir, the most promising of the Ghurka non-commissioned officers attached to the expedition. He was a splendid specimen of humanity, standing fully six feet in his stockings, broad-shouldered, deep-chested and altogether well-knit. Above all things, the slightest provocation brought a wide grin to Tejbir’s pleasant face, even in the depths of adversity. Like Geoffrey Bruce, he had never climbed before; but I have noticed in the course of my experience that the man who grins most, is usually the one who goes farthest in the mountains--and perhaps also elsewhere. What porters we could, Geoffrey Bruce and I selected at the Base Camp. The remainder of those who were to assist in pitching and provisioning our highest camps were selected later, on the way up to and at Camp III.

I would like to place on record here that, whatever small measure of success Geoffrey Bruce, Tejbir and I eventually achieved, was almost entirely due to the loyal and gallant efforts with which these splendid little men backed us up on every possible occasion. No praise can be too great for the exemplary and cheerful devotion they displayed towards us throughout. These porters came for the most part from Nepal, the native state lying to the south of Mount Everest. Being of Mongolian extraction, they have beardless faces. One of the greatest honours that one can confer upon them is to call them by some endearing nickname. One I called “Josephine-Anne-Marie,” another “Dorothy” and yet another “Trudi”[16]; this last being suggested by his proper name, Tergio. Several of these men, Trudi and Dorothy among them, accomplished the extraordinary feat of climbing on three separate occasions to the tremendous altitude of 25,500 feet.

On May 16, we left the Base for Camp I. Wakefield was accompanying us as far as Camp III, in order to give us a clean bill of health from there onwards. The way up to this camp was wholly delightful, and led for the most part over the tremendous moraines flanking the right bank of the Rongbuk Glacier. Everest was always before us, and the nearer we approached the entrance of the East Rongbuk Valley, the more was our view extended over the mountains to the west, nearly all of which are far more satisfying to the eye than Mount Everest. The day was fine. The only clouds were of the peculiar type, with sharp-cut edges, which I had learnt to associate with more or less settled weather in this part of the world. Camp I was pitched just inside the entrance to the East Rongbuk Valley and quite close to the East Rongbuk Glacier. The following day was spent in attending to matters of equipment and also in ski-ing in the snow-filled bed of the East Rongbuk stream just below the camp. The porters were intensely keen on this amusement and, in spite of numerous tosses, were the aptest of pupils.

Thanks to the careful reconnaissance carried out by Strutt’s party, the way towards Camp II was a simple matter. For the most part we marched up over the stone-strewn surface of the East Rongbuk Glacier. Here and there the glacier was much broken up, but, by keeping to the moraines running down it, good headway was made. The views towards the peaks in that great chain which runs down from the North Peak towards the Base Camp were most striking. Point 22,580, in particular, is a most graceful mountain with a delightfully cornice-crested, aspiring summit. Clouds obscured Mount Everest, but for one brief spell they parted, and we saw, peeping down at us, the lofty summit, now looking far higher than it ever had before. Shortly before reaching Camp II, direct progress was barred by an enormous ice wall. The obstacle, however, was easily turned, and soon afterwards we arrived in camp.

The tents were pitched on a layer of stones lying upon the glacier, at an altitude of about 19,500 feet above sea-level. It was well sheltered from the wind, but unfortunately received very little sun; a great disadvantage, because life in the shade was hardly bearable outside one’s sleeping-bag. A large, frozen-over pond of glacier water lay within a few yards of the camp, and beyond it, within easy reach, were some magnificent ice slopes. The sight of these gave me the idea that it would be a good plan to give Geoffrey Bruce, Tejbir and those of the porters, whom we had selected to join our party, their first lessons in the proper use of the ice-axe and climbing irons. A suitable slope was soon found. At its foot lay the frozen-over pool. In a very short time my enthusiastic pupils were hard at it, and within half an hour many of them were so good that one might have thought they had been used to this sort of work all their lives. Tejbir, however, on one occasion chose to rely too much on his sure-footedness, with the result that he slipped, slithered down the slope, broke through the frozen surface of the water and got thoroughly ducked. With the instincts of the born mountaineer, he retained a grasp upon his ice-axe. We hauled him out at once, but as the external air temperature was well below zero, Tejbir soon discovered that he was encased in armour plate. We hustled him over to the camp and stripped him of his frozen clothing; and for the next two hours all that was to be seen of Tejbir was a broad grin surrounded by many blankets as he sat under shelter and thought things over. The problem of drying his clothes, though it was far too cold for the ice in them to melt, was quite a simple affair. At this great altitude, the air is so dry and so rarefied that ice evaporates at least as readily as water does at sea-level on a fine summer’s day--a phenomenon to which may be attributed the diminutive size of the mountain streams draining the extensive glaciers in this region of the earth. These streams are almost entirely supplied by water caused by the friction of the glaciers flowing over their rocky beds. Surface water due to melting of surface ice, the main source of supply of glacier streams in the Alps, does not exist on the northern slopes of Everest at this time of the year. Thus to dry Tejbir’s frozen garments one had only to apply a little logic and scientific training. Take, for instance, his trousers. These were first of all hammered out flat and then placed in a vertical position against a little wall of stones. The moment they collapsed and fell to the ground, it was obvious that their stiffening of ice had disappeared and they were, therefore, dry. Who, after this brilliant example, would gainsay the uses of science?

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The original intention had been to give my party at least one day’s rest at Camp II, with the object of assisting, as far as possible, the important process of acclimatisation. But on our march up to the camp, everyone had felt so remarkably fit, and I myself had walked so freely and easily, that, as Camp II was by no means too comfortable, we thought it better to make for Camp III. At 8 a.m., therefore, on May 19 we set off. At first, by keeping to the moraine, we were able to avoid having to seek a way through the broken up ice of the glacier. But all too soon the stones came to an end, and we had to take to the icefall. First appearances suggested the possibility of heavy step-cutting, but, as a matter of fact, things turned out extraordinarily well, and it was only very occasionally that we had to ply the axe. Here and there a frozen-over pool of water lying at the foot of some crevasse had to be circumvented. Although the ice was in most cases thick, it could not be relied upon to bear one’s weight, as the water underneath had often ebbed away and was no longer in contact with the ice. A ducking could not be risked now; we were so far away from the comforts of a camp that the consequences might have proved more than unpleasant. It was sheer joy, this climbing up and down or walking along the troughs of crevasses, circumventing and occasionally scaling huge séracs of fantastic shapes and showing the most wonderful range of colours from clear, deep blue, through green to a pure, opaque white which in turn merged into a crystal-clear transparency. Unlike the séracs of European glaciers, there was nothing to be feared from these great giants. Séracs in Switzerland are formed by the flow of glaciers over some marked step or irregularity in their beds; but here, north of Mount Everest, other causes seemed to be at work. Perhaps side pressure caused by tributary glaciers flowing into the main glacier, perhaps wind currents and evaporation of ice are the deciding factors. In any case, the séracs of the East Rongbuk Glacier stood proudly upon firm, wide bases and showed no rottenness or decay to menace those marching amongst them. Eventually we emerged from the broken up part of the glacier and found ourselves on the still snow-free but almost uncrevassed, gently-rising upper portion, over which progress developed into little more than a rather wearisome trudge. The North Peak was now to be seen at its best--a bold, heavily-built Colossus, above the eastern ridge of which appeared the summit of Everest. The mountains to the east were not attractive. We were now so close to them that it was evident that they are for the most part little more than glorified scree slopes rising from uninteresting-looking glaciers. The heat on this part of the day’s march was considerable. There was little or no wind, but, contrary to the experiences related by many Himalayan explorers, few of us were overcome by that form of heat lassitude usually associated with such weather conditions in these high altitudes. Indeed, most of us, including the porters, who carried loads averaging some forty pounds each, plodded along at a good, steady pace, which was certainly no slower than it would have been in the Alps, say, on the Aletsch Glacier at noon under a summer sun. It may, perhaps, be worthy of mention that since leaving the Base Camp, perspiration had been unknown to us. No matter how hot the sun, how still the air, or how great the exertion, any perspiration exuded by the skin was, owing to the dryness and the reduced pressure of the atmosphere, evaporated before one became aware of its presence.

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At an altitude of about 20,500 feet, some crevasses intersected the now no longer snow-free surface of the glacier, and we put on the rope. Soon after midday we rounded the end of the east ridge of the North Peak and hove in sight of Camp III (21,000 ft.). Like Camp II, it was pitched on a layer of stones resting on the East Rongbuk Glacier. We found Strutt in residence, and he gave us the news. That morning Mallory, Morshead, Norton and Somervell had left for the North Col prior to their attempt on Mount Everest. High up on a terrace above the steep snow slopes immediately below the Col, we could see a cluster of tiny black dots--the tents of the North Col Camp. On the skyline, in the col itself, were seen more little black dots, but moving. Evidently the first party were out taking a constitutional.

For the next few days Camp III was to serve as my party’s advance base camp. Here it was that we overhauled our stores and equipment, especially the oxygen outfit. With feelings akin to dismay, suspicions that I had already formed at Camp I were confirmed; not one of the ten oxygen apparatus was usable. They had suffered so severely in the course of our travels across Tibet that most of the soldered metal joints leaked; washers had become so dry that the other joints could no longer be made gastight, and several of the gauges were out of action. Then again, neither of the two types of masks with which we were supplied could be used. The first of these, the so-called “economiser” pattern, by means of an arrangement of valves, allowed oxygen flowing from the apparatus to mix with the air on inhalation, but stored it up and thus prevented waste on exhalation of the breath. It was found that, owing to the resistance imposed by these valves upon breathing, the mask could not be used, the strain thrown upon the lungs being too great. The second type of mask had really been supplied for use in the event of the “economiser” failing to give satisfactory service. It was wasteful of oxygen because the gas supply was continuous, no matter whether the climber were inhaling or exhaling; thus during the periods of exhalation the oxygen issuing from the apparatus was wholly wasted. However, we found that this mask suffered from, amongst others, the same defect as the first; the resistance imposed upon the free passage of the breath was too much for the lungs. It must not be forgotten that the whole oxygen outfit--masks, apparatus, containers--was more or less experimental; the conditions under which it was to be utilised were practically unknown, and, in the circumstances, the design was the best that science could produce.

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While waiting at Darjeeling for the arrival of the apparatus, I had turned the question of masks over in my mind and had formed the germ of an idea for another pattern which I intended to construct in the event of the others proving unsatisfactory. The wherewithal to make the new mask had been easily procured. A few toy football bladders and glass “T” tubes were all I needed. With these materials and odd bits of rubber tubing, I was able to construct a new mask, if indeed it could be so termed, by means of which oxygen could be mixed with the air inhaled by the climber without loss on exhalation and, at the same time, without any appreciable extra work being thrown upon the lungs. The new device, as so many useful devices are, was almost ridiculously simple. A rubber tube connected the oxygen delivery orifice of the apparatus with the mouth of the climber. Into this rubber tube was let a glass “T” tube, the third opening of which was connected to a football bladder. On inhaling, the oxygen flowed through the rubber tube into the mouth of the climber, there mixing with the indrawn air. On exhaling, the climber had to close the end of the tube in his mouth by biting on it, and thus prevent the flow and consequent waste of oxygen. During this latter operation the oxygen, which was still flowing from the apparatus, was stored up in the expanding football bladder. On re-inhaling, the climber simply released the pressure of his teeth upon the tube, and the bladder, collapsing slowly, gently forced the oxygen into his mouth where it mixed with the inhaled air. The correct closing and opening of the rubber tube by alternately biting and releasing the pressure of the teeth upon it became, after a few minutes’ practice, a perfectly automatic, subconscious process. The success of this simple mask pleased me greatly; without it, no really effective use could have been made of our oxygen supplies. Oxygen would have been misjudged as useless, and the solution of the problem of climbing Mount Everest would have been as distant as ever.

Camp III soon became the scene of much activity. Examination of the oxygen cylinders revealed that their contents were still intact; so we thereupon set to work with hacksaws, pliers, soldering iron and so forth to repair the damaged apparatus. Eventually two of these were made to function satisfactorily and, later on, two more. Owing to lack of accommodation, the work had to be carried out in the open, so that our hours of labour were limited to those of sunshine; in the shade, the cold was so intense that the handling of metal with bare hands was impracticable. Once the work was interrupted by a snowstorm, and, while waiting for the fresh snow covering up workshop, instruments, apparatus and all to evaporate, Geoffrey Bruce and I put on skis and pottered around on the glacier--quite an exhilarating pastime at these altitudes. Curiously enough, it was only on snow lying in the sun that good running could be had. I found that in the shade the snow was so cold as to exert a sticky, dragging effect upon the skis, almost similar to that which one might expect with sand. At nights the temperature occasionally fell very low; 62° F. of frost were recorded.

Approximate scale, 1 inch to a mile. All heights in feet.]

In order to test thoroughly the repaired apparatus, we went for a number of trial trips. One of these, over to the Rapiu la, a depression at the foot of the north-east ridge of Everest, was of particular interest to me. The valleys to the south of this pass were filled with great, rolling banks of cloud which almost wholly concealed the view. But the north-east ridge of Everest as far as the Shoulder was quite clear, and to my amazement I at once saw that this ridge would probably afford an excellent, perhaps even the best, line of approach to the Shoulder. I remembered now that Mr. Harold Raeburn, the most experienced climber of the 1921 expedition, had already pronounced upon this ridge as affording a practicable route to the summit. We have only to compare its advantages and disadvantages with those of the North Col route up the north ridge to see how sound the judgment of this veteran pioneer was. Take first of all the latter line of ascent. To the observer from Camp III, it is obvious that the approach to the North Col, if a line of ascent which is to be safe under any conditions is to be taken, particularly after falls of fresh snow, must be a laborious one, calling for an experienced ice-man with a wide knowledge of snow conditions. On the north ridge as far as the Shoulder, it is equally clear to the observer, both from the base and from Camp III, that the climber must be continually exposed to the full blast of the prevailing west wind--more appropriately, perhaps, termed gale--which, combined with intense cold, must prove an even more formidable enemy than mere altitude or rarefaction of the atmosphere. On the north-east ridge, on the other hand, the way from the Rapiu la right up to the Shoulder is perfectly straightforward, no matter what the conditions of the snow may be. Immediately below the Shoulder are some prominent rocky teeth. They look rather terrible, but from the Rapiu la, even had I not already known that the stratification of the mountain dips towards the north, I could see that they might be turned without serious difficulty and the Shoulder gained. But the supreme advantage of this route lies in the fact that it is practically always free from wind. Largely owing to its direction, the wind on the north side of the mountain fails to sweep over the north-east ridge as it does over the north, and, furthermore, it is more or less balanced by the up-draught from the south. In view of the facts, however, that the camp on the North Col had already been established, and that the first party had, as far as we knew, even established a camp much higher up on the north ridge, the recognition of Raeburn’s great discovery had come too late.

Snow fell on the night of May 20-21, and ushered in one of the rare windless days of that season. Towards sunset, while scanning the north ridge of Everest for signs of the first climbing party, we made out four dark specks descending the great, broad snow slopes of the lower section of the north ridge. They were the four members of the first climbing party making their way back to the North Col after their attempt upon the mountain. It appeared to us that they were more or less exhausted, so on the morning of the 22nd, acting on orders by Colonel Strutt, who, as eldest man, had with utter unselfishness stood down from the first party, Geoffrey Bruce, Wakefield, Tejbir and I, together with eight porters, set out for the North Col with the triple object of rendering assistance to the first climbing party, of replenishing stores in the North Col Camp and of giving the oxygen apparatus a final, thorough try-out. A longish tramp across the gently-rising basin at the head of the East Rongbuk Glacier led to the foot of the steep snow and ice slopes up which one must mount to gain the col. The first climbing party were making their way down towards us, and we eventually met them a short distance above the foot of the final slopes. Most of them seemed practically at the end of their tether and were hardly able to speak coherently. Norton, weather-beaten and with obvious traces of having undergone immense strain, gave us a brief account of their climb. On the night of the 20th they had camped at a height of 25,000 feet, and next morning, Morshead having already suffered too much from the effects of cold and altitude to be able to go farther, Norton, Mallory and Somervell had climbed on until, at 2.30 p.m. on the 21st, they had reached the enormous altitude of 26,800 feet above sea-level as then indicated by the aneroid they carried.[17]

There they had to confess themselves beaten, and return. Snow had fallen on the night of the 20th, but they had been blessed with a calm day for their climb. Retracing their steps, they had rejoined Morshead in their high camp, and all four had continued the descent to the North Col camp, where they had passed the night. Such, in brief, is the history of the first attempt on Mount Everest. We gave them food and drink, then, leaving Dr. Wakefield to see them safely down to Camp III, Geoffrey Bruce, Tejbir and I, together with our porters, went on towards the col. The slopes below the col were laden with fresh snow, probably most of it wind-borne and drifted. Not liking the conditions, and in order to make sure of running no risks of loosening snow-shields or avalanches, I avoided zig-zagging across doubtful slopes by working straight up, cutting steps where necessary. Thus we ascended in safety as far as the foot of the last, almost vertical ice cliff above which lay the camp. This cliff would hardly have yielded to a frontal attack, but I found that a safe traverse across a steep snow slope on the left could be made by keeping to the snow-buried, lower lip of a diminutive crack in the ice. Shortly before the crack came to an end, and with it the security against the risk of treading loose a snow-shield, it became possible to strike directly up towards the camp; not, however, without some slight indication of demur on the part of a few of the porters, who could not understand why, instead of choosing an obviously easy slope, I should deliberately choose a more difficult way up a much steeper one. But they followed cheerfully enough, and I think that some of them at least saw method in my madness. Three hours after setting out from Camp III, we arrived at the North Col Camp. Of this time forty-five minutes had fallen to halts, chiefly our meeting with the first party. The difference in height between the two camps is about 2,000 feet. We had, therefore, ascended at the rate of nearly one thousand feet an hour, quite a good average rate of progression even in the Alps. We had used oxygen. If such had been necessary, this were testimony enough of its advantages.

Arrived at the North Col, we dumped a supply of oxygen cylinders, food and other tackle and then sat down to look round and thoroughly enjoy things. The porters were amazed at the pace which we had been able to maintain, despite the fact that our loads were, on the whole, far heavier than theirs; and for the first time they began to take a lively interest in the oxygen apparatus. Geoffrey Bruce was called upon to explain its workings. He told them that I could climb well in the Alps because the “English air” about those mountains suited me. But Himalayan air disagreed with me, and I had, therefore, brought out a supply of the more vigorous air. Just to show them how strong “English air” is, I turned a stream of oxygen from my apparatus on to the glowing end of a cigarette, which thereupon flared up and spluttered with a brilliant white light. A better audience for this perhaps most beautiful of all laboratory experiments, carried out at 23,000 feet above sea-level, could not have been desired.

The view from the col is magnificent. Everest shows up to far greater advantage from this point than from the Base Camp. It still lacks beauty, but, owing to its nearness, had gained enormously, almost overwhelmingly, in size. We could trace out almost every inch of the way we hoped soon to follow to the summit. As the North Col is the depression on the ridge connecting Everest and the North Peak, we had only to turn round to see the latter, less immense but of far more pleasing appearance than its massive neighbour. The most remarkable feature of the view, however, was the jumble of séracs and great ice cliffs perched just above the camp. The untrained observer would, doubtless, have thought these unstable and a menace to the existence of the little tents; it need hardly be said that these would never have been pitched upon a terrace exposed to the dangers of falling ice; mountaineers are not quite so foolish and foolhardy as many people are inclined to believe.

That afternoon we all returned to Camp III. On the journey home we halted frequently, taking in all two dozen photographs. And yet, in less than fifty minutes after leaving the col, we were back in Camp III. All possible doubts as to the great advantages of oxygen, even when administered by means of the rather experimental and bulky apparatus with which we were supplied, were now at an end.

On arriving in camp, we found the four members of the first party much restored in health. They had indeed performed a wonderful feat in reaching an altitude of nearly two thousand five hundred feet above the previous world’s record for high climbing, established by the Duke of the Abruzzi in 1909. But they had not escaped unscathed; all had suffered, to a greater or less extent, from frost-bite. Morshead’s fingers and toes were in a woeful condition, blue-black and covered with immense blisters. On the 23rd all four, together with Colonel Strutt, left for the Base Camp, and succeeded in reaching their destination that evening.

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In the meantime we completed our preparations, and on the 24th Geoffrey Bruce, Tejbir and I, accompanied by ten porters, went up to the North Col. With us was Captain Noel, whom we had rigged out with an oxygen apparatus--a new convert to the true faith. Apart from the question of altitude, the camp in the North Col was the most comfortable of all, being well sheltered from the wind. As soon as the sun set, however, the cold became intense, and after a somewhat early evening meal we crawled into our sleeping-bags. In spite of the fact that the tents were pitched on snow, we passed a fair night.

Next morning we were up betimes; but not too early for the porters, who were as keen as ourselves on setting to work. At 8 a.m. they had breakfasted, loaded up, and started off towards the Shoulder of Everest. Knowing that with oxygen there would be no difficulty in overhauling them, we waited in camp until 9.30 a.m., busying ourselves the while in putting the finishing touches to our preparations and in making the best of breakfast. Both this and the preceding evening meal were rather meagre, the stock of provisions at the North Col being one permitting neither of waste nor over-consumption. Before gaining the long, broad snow ridge leading up towards the Shoulder, we had to make our way across a series of large crevasses intersecting the summit snows of the col. They gave no trouble, however, a number of different routes being made possible by an abundance of good snow bridges. The suggestion of dragging a wooden ladder all the way from India up to this spot, in order to negotiate an impassable crevasse or ice cliff, has been seriously advocated. Surely the adoption of such a stratagem is justifiable only in the case of the novice, or one whose mountaineering training has taught him to seek out difficulties in the mountains, instead of circumventing them with a steady eye on the ultimate goal. Also, in view of the fact that there are still doubts as to the morality or otherwise of employing oxygen, it were better that the use of artificial aids such as ladders, poles and what-not be deprecated.

Just before gaining the foot of the snow ridge, we came upon one of the porters sitting on the floor of a snowed-up crevasse. His strength had failed him, but his comrades had divided up his load amongst themselves, and he had now settled down to await their return. He was quite comfortable and well sheltered from the wind. So with parting injunctions not to move off before the return of his comrades, we left him basking in the sun, and carried on. The lower section of the snow ridge is not steep, and, furthermore, by keeping a little to the right of the actual crest, we were able to make good headway over stones where the rock of the mountain joins the snow of the ridge. We drew level with the porters at an altitude of nearly 24,500 feet, but halted only for a few brief moments while I took some photographs. Further delay was inadvisable. One of those extraordinarily rapid changes in the weather, for which Mount Everest is now so notorious, could be seen approaching. With the porters following and doing their utmost to keep pace, we climbed on steadily. Shortly before coming to the end of the snow ridge, we had to cut steps up a steep snow slope. I made them large and close together in order that the porters could not only mount easily but also descend in perfect safety. As a matter of fact, I might have contented myself with cutting the smallest of steps. Every single man in our party, sahib and porter alike, was working away as if he were a born mountaineer, showing splendid balance and self-confidence.

_The arrows point to the North Col Camp._

_Facing page 316._
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The weather had broken by the time the rocks above the snow ridge had been gained. We were at an altitude of about 25,000 feet. The wind was whirling snowflakes past us. We climbed on, however, because from Camp III I had detected, at a height of about 26,500 feet, a suitable site for our intended high camp. But by the time a height of 25,500 feet had been reached, the storm had become so threatening that all idea of further progress had, for the time being, to be renounced. To persist in going on in the face of this break in the weather would have meant running the porters, who had to make their way back to the North Col that afternoon, most unjustifiably into danger. This was not to be thought of; for I was responsible for the safety of these smiling, willing men, who placed absolute confidence in the sahib whom they served so well.

It was anything but a cheerful spot in which to pitch camp. But though I climbed some two hundred feet higher, nothing more suitable was to be found. The leeside of the ridge was bare of any possible camping ground, and, as a wind is always felt more severely a little below and on the windward side of a ridge than on the crest of the ridge itself, I elected to camp right on the very backbone, on a little ledge overlooking the tremendous precipices falling away to the East Rongbuk and Rongbuk Glaciers, now over four thousand feet below. As soon as we had sent the porters scurrying down towards the safety of the North Col, Geoffrey Bruce, Tejbir and I looked to see that the guy-ropes holding down the tent were quite secure, then gathered up our sleeping-bags and provisions and crawled into the tent. After taking off our boots, all the undressing that was practicable, we crept into the sleeping-bags. It was bitterly cold, and, as the exposure to wind and storm which we had already undergone had severely chilled us, we huddled up together as closely as possible for the sake of the preservation of mutual warmth. The storm without was now in full blast, and it was snowing hard. Although we did our best to block up all apertures in the tent walls, a thick, white pall of fine, powdery snow soon covered us. Much of it insinuated its way into sleeping-bags and through our clothing on to our skin, there causing acute discomfort. Towards evening we set about preparing a meal. With the help of solidified spirit, snow was melted and tea brewed. It was far from being hot, for at this altitude water boils at such a low temperature that one can immerse the hand in it without fear of scalding; but, such as it was, the drink imparted some small measure of comfort to our chilled bodies. After sunset, when we would fain have slept or at least rested, the storm rose to a veritable hurricane and kept us occupied for the next eighteen hours. During the whole of this period, we had to remain alert and vigilant. To sit down and meditate quietly over what our attempt on the mountain would bring forth was out of the question. Terrific gusts tore at the tent, and occasionally the wind would force its way underneath the sewn-in ground-sheet and lift it up at one side or the other. When this happened, our combined efforts were needed to hold the ground-sheet down, for we knew that, once the wind got a good hold upon it, the tent would belly out like a sail, and nothing would save it from stripping away from its moorings and being blown, with us inside, over the precipice on to the East Rongbuk Glacier. By one o’clock on the morning of the 26th, the gale was at its height. The wild flapping of the canvas made a noise like that of machine-gun fire, and, what with this and the shrieking and howling of the gale round our tent, it was well-nigh impossible to converse with each other except by shouting, mouth to ear. Later on came interludes of comparative lull succeeded by outbursts even more furious than ever. Some of the guy-ropes had broken or had worked loose, and we had to take it in turns to go outside the tent and endeavour to straighten things up. To work in the open for more than three or four minutes at a stretch was impossible, so profound was the exhaustion induced by even this brief exposure to the fierce and bitterly cold wind.

A cheerless dawn broke. The snow had ceased falling, but the wind howled and hurried with unabated vigour. At eight o’clock, on the morning of May 26, it showed signs of subsiding. It was but the rousing of false hopes, for half an hour later it had returned with greater energy than ever. With almost incredible fury it tore at our tent, and once again we had to take it in turns to go outside and tighten up guy-ropes. These little excursions showed, beyond all possible doubt, that until the storm had diminished there could be no question either of advance or retreat to the North Col Camp. No human being could survive more than a few minutes’ exposure to a gale of such fury coupled with so intense a cold. To add to our discomfort, a great hole was cut in the windward panel of the tent by a stone, and the flaps of the door were stripped of their fastenings. Fortunately, however, everybody was remarkably cheerful.

At one o’clock in the afternoon of the 26th, just as we were beginning to feel rather irritated at the rough treatment which Everest had hitherto so generously doled out to us, respite came. The blustering gale dropped to nothing more than a stiff breeze--the sort of thing against which one can walk comfortably if one only leans sufficiently far forward into it. This was our first opportunity to return to the North Col; but we decided to stay where we were for the rest of the day and the ensuing night, and on the following morning make an early start and climb the mountain.

The one fly in the ointment was that our provisions were practically at an end. Reasons for this shortage in food supplies are soon given. For one thing, we had never intended to spend more than one night in the high camp and had, therefore brought provisions for only one night, and even these had been measured out on an extremely niggardly scale. The majority of Himalayan experts had assured us time and again that it would (1) be absolutely impossible for a human being to survive a night spent at an altitude such as we had now attained (25,500 ft.), and that (2) at such an altitude one would be totally unable to eat owing to absolute lack of appetite. On the other hand, sound, scientific opinion emanating from Professor Dreyer had not only not prophesied either of these contingencies, but had, indeed, definitely warned me that oxygen would increase the appetite, irrespective of altitude. I was now bitterly to regret that Professor Dreyer’s warning had been swamped from my memory by the flood of the other assurances set out above. I well remember how, on that second night in our high camp, I fervently wished that one or two of those who had voiced such heresies had been available; we were ravenously hungry, even, I think, to the point of cannibalism! However, thanks to the fact that there still remained to us some cigarettes, the time passed well enough. Apart from its comforting influence, cigarette smoking incidentally exerts a most beneficial effect upon respiration at high altitudes. I noticed in a very marked fashion that unless I kept my mind on the question of breathing and made of it a voluntary process instead of the involuntary one it normally is, I suffered from lack of air and consequent feeling of suffocation. To recover from this feeling, it was necessary to force the lungs to work more quickly than they would of their own accord. There is a physiological explanation of this phenomenon. The amount of carbon dioxide normally present in the blood is, at high altitudes, largely removed from the system owing to the enormous volume of air which it is necessary to inhale in order to obtain a sufficient supply of atmospheric oxygen for the re-oxidation of the venous blood. Carbon dioxide serves to stimulate the nerve centre controlling the process of involuntary breathing. Lack of carbon dioxide results in this nerve centre being no longer stimulated, and, if suffocation is to be avoided, involuntary breathing has to be replaced by voluntary breathing, a process which in time throws such strain upon the mind and powers of concentration as to preclude all possibility of sleep. Both Geoffrey Bruce and Tejbir had likewise observed the annoying necessity of having to concentrate continuously on breathing. But after the first few deep inhalations of cigarette smoke, we discovered that it was possible to resort once more to normal involuntary breathing. Evidently something in the smoke took the place of the carbon dioxide in which the blood was deficient, and acted as a nerve stimulant. The beneficial effect of a cigarette lasted for as much as three hours. As luck would have it, we had with us a fair supply which lasted well into the afternoon of the 26th.

We were quite a merry little party that afternoon as we gathered round a scanty meal cooked with the last of our fuel, and then prepared to settle down for another night. Towards 6 p.m. I heard voices outside the tent, but thought I must be dreaming. When Geoffrey Bruce, however, started up at the sounds, I knew that someone must be without. Six porters, headed by that indomitable little fellow Tergio, clustered round the door. They brought thermos flasks of warm tea provided by the thoughtful Noel. These splendid men had, of their own accord, left the North Col that afternoon as soon as the storm had abated, and made the tremendous journey up to our camp just to assure themselves of our well-being. This is but one example of the many acts of brave, unselfish devotion performed by the porters of the 1922 expedition. Tergio, whose light-hearted gaiety, ready laughter and merrily twinkling eyes, whose high courage, boundless energy and perseverance had especially endeared him to me, now lies buried in the cold snows of the North Col. He will never be forgotten; I should like to climb with him again. The porters expected us to return with them, and needed no little persuasion before leaving us.

The second night in the high camp did not begin well. We were exhausted from our previous experiences and lack of food. Provoked, perhaps, by my labours outside the tent, a dead, numbing cold was creeping up my limbs; a sensation that I had only once before felt, and to the seriousness of which I was fully aware. Inquiry elicited the information that my companions were undergoing the same unpleasant experiences. Like a heaven-sent inspiration came the idea of trying the effect of oxygen. Previously we had used oxygen only while actually climbing, and, on arriving at our high camp, had dumped the apparatus outside the tent. Now hauling in one apparatus together with a supply of cylinders, we took doses all round, giving the action the air of a joke. Tejbir took his medicine without much interest; but as he inhaled, I saw with relief that his face brightened up. The effect of the oxygen on Geoffrey Bruce was particularly visible in his rapid change of expression; the hitherto drawn, anxious look on his face gave place to a more normal one. The result on myself was no less marvellous; almost at once I felt the painful, prickling, tingling sensation, due to the returning circulation of the blood, as the lost warmth slowly came back to my limbs. We connected up the apparatus so that all could breathe a small quantity throughout the night. There is no doubt whatsoever that oxygen saved our lives that night; without it, in our well-nigh exhausted and famished condition, we would have succumbed to the cold.