Conquistadors of the Useless (42 page)

Maurice Herzog hesitated before the choice. Should he abandon a prize, however doubtful, in favour of a mystery so insubstantial? Could he expose men who had taken their oath to obey him to mortal danger? In full awareness of his terrible responsibility Maurice chose the more reasonable but uncertain course: we would attempt Annapurna.

Lachenal and I, guided by Schatz, were to set out at once. Maurice and Rébuffat would follow next day, led by Couzy, then it would be the turn of Oudot and Ichac. Noyelle and Angtharkay would remain at Tukucha with the bulk of the supplies, making them up into loads and recruiting porters until the order was given for the assault. This amounted to a reconnaissance in force, able to be changed at a moment's notice into an all-out attack or into a swift withdrawal, according to circumstances, in which case we would console ourselves with trying one or two seven-thousanders.

We got our things together at top speed, overjoyed to be going into action at last. A few bare necessities were dumped into our sacks, then the loads for our four porters were hurriedly made up. Early in the afternoon I struck up a Chasseur song and led off, twirling my ice axe over my head like a drum-major's mace. This time it was the big show. A rapid march across never-ending boulder-flats, followed by poor tracks winding along the hillside, brought us shortly before nightfall to the village of Soya, at nearly eight thousand feet. We had done about twelve miles in one afternoon – obviously the porters were robust and morale high, and our three Sherpas, Dawatondu, Angdawa and Adjiba, were doing everything they could to help. Camp was soon pitched on some comfortable flat grass and we enjoyed a meal of chicken before settling down for the night.

By daybreak I was already stirring the Sherpas into activity, and at seven o'clock we began the interminable grind up to the pass discovered by Couzy, Oudot and Schatz on 26th April. The weather was fine, as usual at that hour. I cast a last glance at Dhaulagiri. From this angle the north ridge looked almost easy, and for a moment I was seized with regret. But it was too late now, the chips were down, and it was better to go on without looking back.

We plodded slowly uphill past the terraces, observing with interest the highly adapted agricultural methods of this overpopulated country where every inch of ground is exploited even more meticulously than in the Alps. The cultivated area came to an end after about six hundred feet and we followed a remarkable path built out from the slope. Presently this descended steeply through a thick forest of bamboos until it reached the bottom of a gorge containing a clear stream, and started immediately up the other side. In places it was so steep that it virtually amounted to climbing through semi-vertical jungle. The trail was indistinct and hard to follow, but I blessed the luck which had put it where it was most needed, and also the Sherpas' flair in finding it.

After a time we came to a burnt-out stretch of forest, the gaunt remains of huge trees giving it an almost pathetic air. Here we made a halt and drank clear liquid which the Sherpas drew from a sort of birch. The uphill going was made pleasanter by the presence of magnificent shrubs, among which multi-coloured rhododendrons contended with dog-rose for the prize. As we approached the tree line it began to rain, making walking on the long, slippery grass tiresome and exasperating. We could now feel the effects of altitude, but on form and bursting with enthusiasm as we were, we wanted to get as far as possible that day. Despite their ponderous loads and the taxing pace the porters and Sherpas kept up valiantly. The path was ill-defined and sometimes disappeared completely, but led always to the left, so that we were following the line of a steep terrace between two enormous crags. Several times we had to cross snow gullies where I was worried by our porters' uncertain footing in their bare feet. A sort of gateway in the upper crag eventually opened on to easier slopes where we found the remains of many shepherds' camps, and at one of these the discovery of a pile of wood seemed to justify a slightly early halt. Our porters had, after all, climbed about six thousand feet with loads of nearly ninety pounds, and one could hardly expect more.

The day following another five- or six-thousand-foot drag brought us to a tiny notch on a secondary ridge of the Nilgiri massif. This pass, so insignificant-seeming among the vastness of the mountains, proved to be one of the most important in the history of Himalayan mountaineering, for it was from here that on 26th April 1950, Couzy, Oudot and Schatz discovered the amazing traverse of the walls of the Miristi gorge, without which Annapurna would never have been climbed. After descending a short distance down a spur we were able to see the tumultuous rapids themselves, though not so much as a murmur rose to us through the nearly five thousand feet of intervening space. The hopelessness of trying to penetrate gorges of such inconceivable proportions, at least for anyone not knowing these mountains intimately, became quite plain to us.

Our ankles continually bent over until they ached, we now began the intricate six miles of interconnecting ledges across the high south-western face of the south-east peak of Nilgiri. Sometimes the ledges were steep and narrow, sometimes broad and easy. Every so often one would come to an end, but by mounting or descending a gully, frequently with a torrent in its bed, we would come to the next, so that a tortuous switchback progress was always possible. The route constantly seemed to be barred, but at the very last moment an unforeseeable and generally easy way would open up ahead. A tiny cairned track made route-finding easier than it would otherwise have been in the afternoon rain and cloud, though conditions slowed us down all the same. Fortunately Schatz and the Sherpas guided us with great confidence and exactitude. A little cave with recent graffiti on its walls attracted our interest for a while, after which signs of passage became rarer. The cairns were getting farther and farther apart, until finally they gave out altogether. Fifty yards ahead, our ledge ended in a blank wall of rock.

I glanced at Schatz in anxiety, wondering what he would do now. Without batting an eyelid he marched confidently towards the edge of all things. Miracle of miracles! At the precise moment when all else failed a couloir opened at our feet, and a steep but relatively easy descent of somewhat over two thousand feet took us down to the Miristi Khola just a few hundred yards above the beginning of the gorges. Later I was to have the opportunity of observing that this was indeed the only possible way of getting from the ledges to the valley. Fortune had favoured us with such a fantastic stroke that it seemed impossible, henceforward, that she would abandon us again. An attempt to wade the torrent gave rise to some picturesque scenes, with a cowboy Lachenal lassooing porters as they were swept away. Eventually we solved the problem with an improvised bridge of branches.

Next day, 17th May, we carried on along widespread, seemingly endless moraines. Towards three o'clock in the afternoon we reached the farthest point of the previous reconnaissance. While Lachenal and the Sherpas looked around for a suitable campsite Schatz went on, hoping to see a practicable route. For a time I followed him, then, judging the visibility too poor to justify the effort, returned to camp. The low cloud ceiling hid all but the foot of the surrounding crags, but I could see enough to realise that all the routes so far suggested would be formidable in the extreme.

The end of our valley was occupied by an enormous glacier which descended in cascades of toppling séracs between titanic walls. Before turning back I scrutinised these through my binoculars in case they might offer a way past the ice fall, but they looked so steep and featureless that I was put off entirely, though admittedly I was not well placed for a proper survey. The great north-west spur which rose above me into the clouds looked much more attractive. Those of the party who had seen it from some way off in clear weather reckoned that it linked up with the summital cone of Annapurna somewhere around the 21,000-foot mark. It seemed a reasonable supposition that if we could climb the eight thousand feet or so to this key point, and rig them where necessary with fixed ropes, the rest would be comparatively easy. My now literally overflowing imagination went on at once to devise a plan of attack, and it did not take me long to convince myself that we would make short work of the spur.

Schatz got back shortly before nightfall, and we wasted no time in getting down to details. Lachenal and I wanted to investigate the whole valley to its end in order to be aware of all the possibilities and to get an unforeshortened view, but Schatz insisted he had been far enough to be certain that we would see nothing more. In his opinion we would be wasting a day that could be more profitably spent climbing Point 19,685 feet on the spur. This would give us a shrewd idea of the possibility of continuing, and also an excellent view of the range as a whole. Impatient to get to grips with the mountain, we let ourselves be persuaded too easily.

At 4.30 the following morning Lachenal and I once more formed the partnership which had so often brought us success, accompanied by Adjiba, who was to carry our sacks as far as the beginning of the real difficulties. It did not take long to cross the steep grassy slopes to the foot of the rocks at the pace we set, and when we got there we did not slow down for snow, verglas, difficulty or altitude. We were back on our old semi-divine form, each reacting on the other so as to double his normal skill and strength almost in defiance of the laws of nature. In this supercharged state we literally played with the obstacles, running up them like cats, and by 11 a.m. we had reached the second point on the spur at an altitude of 18,553 feet, climbing in cloud and snow-flurries. Strong gusts added to the difficulties, and in a brief clearing we saw a narrow ridge of snow leading to Point 19,685 feet. There was no reason to continue in such conditions, but in order not to lose a day I suggested bivouacking where we were. Lachenal did not agree, however, and soon talked me into a strategic retreat. We raced down the five thousand feet back to camp, including four rappels, by 2 p.m.

At camp we found Herzog, Rébuffat and Couzy newly arrived. Discussion began at once, and we succeeded in convincing them that with the aid of eight or ten fixed ropes it would be perfectly possible to get Sherpas up to the point we had reached, and probably also to Point 19,685 feet, since the snow ridge did not look particularly difficult. What ignorance of Himalayan conditions! What an accumulation of errors of judgement! In the event it took Maurice and me three days of top-class climbing to reach even the first pinnacle of a fantastic ridge of purest snow lace, utterly invisible from below. We were beaten again. Days of mortal combat had led us to no more than an unheard-of little summit.

For all that, however, this insignificant victory keeps pride of place in my heart. Nothing will ever surpass those desperate days when I gave myself up to the struggle with all the strength and courage at my command. The ascent of Point 19,685 feet on the north-west spur of Annapurna was probably the hardest piece of climbing done at such an altitude up to that time. It included four or five pitches of grade IV, some extremely difficult ice work, and a very exposed pitch of grade V plastered in snow and verglas which was twice led by Louis Lachenal.

Maurice and I got back to base on the evening of 21st, after a hard day, to be greeted with good news. Lachenal and Rébuffat, who had been discouraged by the spur and had descended the previous day, had carried out a reconnaissance to the far end of the valley, whence they had seen the upper eight thousand feet of Annapurna. They had seen nothing to hold up a party in this section, but a wide shelf around the seventeen-thousand-foot level had remained invisible. They were emphatic that the shelf could be reached, however, by climbing the repellent-looking slabs which formed the right bank of the ice-fall. Now we had already seen the shelf from Point 19,685 feet, and it offered no obstacle whatever. It looked as though we were on the right line at last. Was it possible that our luck was about to turn and all our obstinacy and faith to be rewarded? We hardly dared to hope it.

Maurice quickly drew up a plan of campaign for next day. Lachenal and Rébuffat were to attack via the right bank of the séracs, sending back Adjiba when they had found a campsite. Schatz, together with Aïla and Panzy, was to try another line he had spotted on the left bank which he thought looked preferable. Herzog and I, worn out by a week of continuous action, would have half a day of rest, hoping to make a long stage in the afternoon with the aid of the energetic Sarki. Couzy would recover any kit left low down on the spur, then transport the lot to a new base camp at the end of the valley.

After a good sleep-in I started getting food and equipment together, impelled by a thirst for organisation which rarely comes over me in ordinary life. Sarki did the laundry, I repaired torn gaiters and even reached such a peak of form that I cooked lunch. Maurice, as befitted a big white chief, disdained such sordid details and just lay in the sun admiring the scenery. Early in the afternoon we shouldered our heavy packs and staggered away, cursing and blinding, up the interminable loose moraine. Presently we encountered Adjiba, who brought word that our friends had established Camp One after an easy climb up the right bank of the ice fall.

The closer we got the more reasonable the slabs looked in contrast to their redoubtable appearance from a distance. Before long we even had the pleasant surprise of finding a continuous system of narrow zigzag ledges which made the ascent quick and convenient. The only drawback was the threat of ice falling from above. We could not help calling ourselves names for having listened to Schatz on the evening of our arrival in the valley. He had obviously been deceived by distance and the half-light of a misty evening which flattened out all relief and made the limestone crags seem more formidable than they really were. Seething after our long period of inaction, we had not even had the intelligence to spend a single day making certain of the matter, but had dashed ourselves against the spur like a flock of starlings.