George Mallory and Andrew Irvine were last seen at 8 000 metres on Everest’s north-east ridge. At 12.50 pm on 8 June 1924 Noel Odell saw “a tiny object moving and approaching the rock step. A second object followed, and then the first climbed to the top of the step.” Then clouds obscured his tantalising vision. To this day it is not known whether they were the first men to reach the summit. Mallory’s supporters in the 1920’s thought they did. They argued that Mallory, once above the Second Step - the last obstacle - would not have turned back before reaching the top, “because Mallory was Mallory”, as his friend Winthrop Young put it.
But to climbers on the unsuccessful 1933 expedition the Second Step looked like a formidable cliff which they thought was impregnable. One of them, Frank Smythe, traversed below “the steep bow of a battle cruiser” - as he described it - rather than attempt the cliff. So Odell’s observation of Mallory and Irvine on the Second Step was questioned. It was argued that since he could see only part of the ridge, he had probably seen the climbers on the First Step and mistaken it for the Second. And if Mallory and Irvine were only at the First Step at 12.50 pm, then, based on their rate of ascent, it was calculated they could not possibly have reached the summit.
This theory was reinforced in 1960 when the Chinese did the first ascent of the route. They took five hours to climb the Second Step and the lead climber, in order to get better purchase, removed his boots to scale the smooth slab at the top. Accordingly, it was argued, the 30 metre high cliff would have been too difficult for Mallory. In 1975, on the second ascent, the Chinese placed a ladder on the step and all climbers since then have climbed it rather than the rock. The technical difficulty of the Second Step’s upper slab, and whether Mallory could have climbed it, are interesting facets of the mystery.
Theories about what happened in 1924 abound among Everest historians. Speculation relies heavily on Odell’s final sighting of Mallory and Irvine. The conservatives consider the Second Step too hard for them to have climbed and say they must have been last sighted on the First Step. The belief of many that they could have made the summit is based on Odell’s claim being correct: they believe that once above the Second Step, summit fever spurred them on to reach mountaineering’s Holy Grail. No conclusive evidence exists and theories are the creations of people who have not climbed the route. In May 1995 George Mallory’s grandson and namesake formed his own opinion when he became the first South African-born climber to tick the “Mallory Route”.
71 YEARS ON - EVEREST’S NORTH RIDGE
Dave Cheesmond was, I believe, the first South African to attempt Everest. He was part of the 1983 American East Face team which made the first ascent of this notorious side of the mountain. Dave also attempted the North ridge in 1986 on an expedition which had as one of its goals the recovery of Mallory’s camera. It always seemed to me that Dave was South Africa’s finest mountaineer and I believe an analysis of his ascents would confirm this. So it is ironic that Dave was not the first South African-born climber up Everest and that, with my limited alpine experience, I was.
I suppose Everest is the one mountain every mountaineer would like to have on their resumé. It seems impressive and it is after all the highest mountain. By virtue of its altitude (8 848 metres) it will never be relegated to the Sunday school picnic division, but if everything comes together on the mountain, it can be almost easy. For me, in May 1995, this was the case.
These days, with a lot of money you can buy your way onto a commercial trip to Everest. Actually you need a huge stash. One of the ‘up-market’ outfits charges US$ 75,000 for a fully guided attempt on the South-east ridge. On the North ridge (or “Mallory route”) one might get by on about US$ 35,000. I did not join a commercial group but was invited by the 1995 American Mt. Everest Expedition which had as its theme the commemoration of the first three Everest expeditions and the adventurous spirit of men like Norton, Somervell, Geoffrey Bruce, Irvine and of course George Leigh Mallory, my grandfather.
Since I did not know any of the Americans when I was invited, one might wonder what the difference was between our expedition and commercial outfits which have been described as “the ultimate blind date”. Well, for starters, I had to meet the team at Mt. Rainier near Seattle in July 1994. This and the trek in Nepal in March 1995 helped us get to know each other and I am certain contributed greatly to the stunning success our expedition turned out to be. Our leader, Paul Pfau, a lawyer from Los Angeles, selected people whom he thought would be “more giver than taker” (Americans go in for natty labels!) and insisted that we “honour the process”. Initially I had no idea what he meant, but as the weeks on Everest wore on I realised that climbers can be tempted to lunge for glory at their mates’ expense.
With my grandfather so closely associated with Everest and with only two Alpine seasons to my credit, I naturally felt very intimidated. My trepidation increased with the news in May 1994 of the death of a Melbourne climber on Everest’s North ridge. Mike Rhineberger had set his sights on Everest and on his seventh expedition to the mountain had, at last, reached the summit - at 7.30 pm! His slow ascent had forced him and his guide to bivouac just below the summit, an ordeal which lead to Rhineberger’s death the next day. He was the first Australian to summit via the North ridge and made the 8th Australian ascent of Everest.
Both Mallory and Rhineberger were presumably seized by ‘summit fever’, mistakes which cost them their lives. With these two tragedies so close to home I was prepared to do anything to avoid duplicating their performances. So I took my training seriously. Apart from cycling to work, walking up and down a hill with a heavy pack every Sunday, running and rock climbing, I also trained to increase my stamina. Cycling up and down a mountain near Melbourne (where I now live) became my speciality and in October 1994, in one mammoth session, I accumulated 11 000 metres of ascent in a 340 kilometre ride which took 23 hours. Without Everest to motivate me I know I could not have done it. Funny thing is - looking back - that feat, as well as my two 8,800 metre sessions, were far more demanding that anything I experienced on Everest. But I didn’t know this then.
After we had acclimatised in Nepal on an 8-day trek, we drove up the Friendship Pass into Tibet and on to Base Camp which is at an altitude of 5 200 metres. On the way we saw Everest’s north side for the first time, a memorable moment because, of the five 8 000ers visible (Shisha Pangma, Cho Oyu, Everest, Lhotse and Makalu), only the ‘Big E’ was high enough to be blasted by the jet stream and wore the tell-tale summit plume. My grandfather’s description took on new meaning:
“At the end of the valley and above the glacier Everest rises not so much a peak as a prodigious mountain-mass. There is no complication for the eye. The highest of the world’s great mountains, it seems, has to make but a single gesture of magnificence to be lord of all, vast in unchallenged and isolated supremacy. To the discerning eye other mountains are visible, giants between 23,000 and 26,000 feet high. Not one of their slender heads even reaches their chief’s shoulder; beside Everest they escape notice - such is the pre-eminence of the greatest.”
The Land Cruisers dumped us at Base Camp which is at 5 200 metres. For the first 12 days all we did was take day walks up the side valleys, and even on these, we puffed like four-minute-mile runners. Over the next month with the invaluable aid of our Sherpas, we slowly but steadily established and stocked our camps with food, fuel and oxygen. At first it took us several days to walk up from Base Camp to Advanced Base Camp, a walk which, at fastest, came to take me a bit over five and a half hours up and four hours down. ‘Expedition style’ usually means you get to hump loads up and down a mighty big mountain for a long time before a desperate summit bid. But we were doing Everest the easy way and our Sherpas did most of the hard work. In fact, prior to the summit bid, Jeff Hall was the only non-Sherpa member of our expedition to have made it as high as Camp 5 (7 800 metres).
By early May our camps were in place and stocked. Our leader had selected two summit teams of seven climbers each and we were ready to place our US$ 35,000 bet on Everest’s fickle weather. Although participating in an Everest expedition requires being away from home for four months, the summit push takes just seven days - five up and two down.
Day One is a 22 kilometre walk to Advanced Base Camp at 6 400 metres. The route follows a well trodden yak path and, once acclimatised, fit climbers take 6 to 8 hours to gain the 1 200 metres.
The North Col, at 7 000 metres, is the destination on Day Two. This high pass between Everest and her closest neighbour to the north, Changtse, was first climbed by George Leigh Mallory in 1921 during the reconnaissance expedition to Everest. Day Two is the shortest of the five days but is avalanche prone. It was here that in 1922 Mallory’s party was struck by an avalanche that killed seven porters. On our way up, a huge ice block crashed to the glacier only 150 metres from our route. As we watched, we hoped that similar seracs above us didn’t follow suit. The route is ‘fixed’ - lined with ropes - and because it seldom exceeds 40º, is not technically difficult. By May I was so well acclimatised that I was able to climb the Col breathing only through my nose, a tactic I thought would help preserve my respiratory tract.
Since on our expedition we had all decided to use oxygen above 7 800 metres, Day Three - the slog up the North ridge to that altitude without oxygen - was physiologically the hardest day. By the time our tent was within sight, six long hours after we had left the North Col, I could only manage ten steps between rests. But the weather was excellent and if it held, we could reasonably expect to get to the top. Prospects looked good.
Walking up to our high camp at 8 300 metres with an oxygen mask strapped to my face was a new experience for me. On the way up I passed New Zealander Russell Brice. Alison Hargreaves had just spoken to him over the radio from the summit. Climbing without bottled oxygen and unassisted, she had just become the first woman to climb Everest without bottled oxygen since Lydia Bradey claimed to have reached the top via the easier south-east ridge route in 1988. Bradey took no summit photos and although her claim is now generally accepted, it cannot be proven. The news of Alison’s success raised my spirits even higher.
But on the eve of the biggest day of my life, I was troubled by many thoughts. My grandfather’s attempt to climb this mountain, 71 years previously, had been seen as symbolising the “transcendence of mind over matter”. I wondered how my attempt would be perceived - that is, if anyone noticed. But if the press did think it worth a mention, what would they say? Would the story be used as a vehicle for campaigning to have rubbish removed from the South Col? Would the press sneer cynically at my climb and say that modern equipment has rendered the climb devoid of any real challenge? Maybe the journalists would miss the point - that this climb was an opportunity to celebrate the adventurous spirit of those pioneers from the early expeditions - a spirit which, in some measure, we all have in us. Or perhaps, heaven forbid, I would slip and provide the sensation-hungry writers with some easy meat. I visualised the headline - “Mallory’s Incompetent Grandson Dies on Everest”.
These thoughts tormented me in the evening and prevented sleep. Our tiny tent precipitously pitched on a sloping platform 2 200 metres above the Rongbuk glacier at an altitude which is higher than all of the world’s summits bar five, was not exactly an environment which promoted sleep either. At 11.00 pm my friend and climbing partner Jeff Hall and I stirred lazily into action. At 12.30 pm we emerged and once we had donned boots, harnesses, crampons and oxygen gear, set out at 1.00 am on 14 May to climb to the planet’s highest point. There was not a breath of wind and the moon was full and bright. The years I had spent walking up Blouberg by moonlight and climbing at night were about to be put to good use.
Jeff, Chhiring Sherpa and I formed a trio and, as agreed, left the other four members of our party to set their own pace. Within minutes of leaving our high camp we started scrambling up the 40° sloping mixed rock and snow known as the Yellow Band.
We scrambled up the First Step which, technically, is no different from the Yellow Band. After an hour we reached the crest of the summit ridge and looked over the other side. The exposure was tremendous. Everest’s east face gaped below and Makalu, the world’s fifth highest mountain, was bathed in moonlight just 20 kilometres away. As I peered over the 3 300 metre drop to the Kangshung glacier, I was reminded that in 1921 Mallory and Bullock had been the first Westerners to see the Kangshung face. They had been impressed by the technical difficulties it posed and had concluded that “other men, less wise, might attempt this way if they would, but, emphatically, it was not for us.” The face was first climbed by the American team in 1983 of which Dave Cheesmond was a member.
The climbing along Everest’s summit ridge is much harder than anywhere else on the route. This is not because it is exceptionally difficult, but rather because, to that point, the route is technically easy. In 1922 Geoffrey Bruce was doing his first ever climb when he, together with George Finch, set a new altitude record by reaching 8 200 metres, the equivalent of high camp on this route. In fact Everest’s North ridge is probably the easiest place in the world for climbers to reach the alluring 8 000 metre goal. But to get much higher, and particularly up the Second Step, technical rock climbing skills are invaluable.
It was 3.45 am when we reached the base of the Second Step, the place where Odell said he had seen my grandfather in 1924. But did Mallory climb the Second Step? Or was Odell mistaken? Perhaps the climbers had actually been seen lower down on the First Step? After all, climbers on the 1933 expedition had thought the Second Step impregnable yet, on the way up to high camp I had seen the ridge from exactly the same place where Odell had caught his tantalising last glimpse. To me the two features had looked totally different - the helmet-like First Step quite unmistakable from the “sharp bow of a battle cruiser”.
By then the moon which had been brilliant, was low in the west. The Second Step in moon shadow was dark, so we switched on our head torches and continued the ascent. Moderate rock climbing, and a couple of slightly trickier moves, lead up to a ledge below the final slab where Chinese mountaineers had placed a four metre ladder in 1975. Immediately above me was the one place on this “prodigious mountain mass” which has been the subject of so much discussion. Could Mallory have climbed this piece of rock?
The sight of the ladder evoked mixed emotions. I was delighted that the last technical obstacle would be easily surmountable, but there was also a twinge of guilt as I realised how much easier the climb is compared with what it was like for my grandfather in 1924. I took a few minutes to study the rock. An off-width crack made an attractive line left of the ladder but was blocked at the top by a chockstone. I looked right to where the rock was more fractured. A crack which starts from lower down the ledge looked easily climbable. I wondered if, on our way down, Jeff might be persuaded to give me a top rope belay with the objective of putting my opinion to the test.
But having assured myself that my grandfather could have scaled the cliff, I again focused on the job at hand and I climbed the ladder. We had been told that moving from the top of the ladder back onto the rock could be tricky but I found there a jam crack which perfectly fitted my hand. I put it to good use, stepped easily onto the plateau and shouted down to Jeff: “There are brilliant hand jams. It’s a piece of cake!”
It was then 4.00 am I had taken thirteen minutes to climb the 25 metre high cliff which constitutes the Second Step - the section of the north-east ridge which had taken the Chinese climbers five hours in 1960. The pre-dawn glow illuminated Everest’s final pyramid. Mountaineering’s Holy Grail was almost within my grasp.
We changed oxygen bottles and stashed our three-quarter full cylinders behind a rock. I figured we would collect them on the way down but actually we left them on the mountain. My guilt was eased several days later when some clowns from an under-supplied commercial expedition ran out of gas close to the summit and saved their lives by plugging into our ‘litter’.
The moon was no longer visible. Instead, the glow on the eastern horizon heralded dawn. The terrain ahead was mostly snow-covered so I unpacked my ice-axe which, till then, had been useless on the rocky Yellow Band. The route was clearly marked by footsteps and again I set off in the lead. From there, Everest’s summit pyramid seems very close and the intervening ground looks easy. In fact it seems so near that it is inconceivable that anyone would turn back from there - and especially not someone as driven as George Mallory had been.
The brightening eastern sky made me wonder if anyone had seen sunrise from the summit. “Neat idea”, I thought, then tried to make sure I would be there for the spectacle. Nevertheless, even with the oxygen turned up to 2.5 litres a minute, climbing the soft snow slope of the summit pyramid was hard work. I managed no more than 10 steps between rests. We were about half-way up the slope when the first shafts of sunlight struck the snow. In the west Everest’s immense shadow stretched to the horizon past a multitude of Himalayan giants and I felt a growing sense of imminent victory.
The gradient at the top of the pyramid increased to 60º and the snow had sloughed off to expose hard ice. Although I had clipped into the fixed line placed by Sherpas on the Japanese North-east ridge expedition, the outrageous drop below was a good reason to swing my axe and kick hard with my crampons. At the top of the steep bit we emerged onto the summit plateau and there, just 100 metres away, was the top of Mt. Everest. Emotions overwhelmed me as I knew that nothing would stop me from realising my dream.
I had been so focused on (some would say obsessed with) reaching the top that I had had no idea what to expect once there, but for the record...
We reached the summit at 5.30 am - so much for our self-imposed 2 pm turn-around-deadline! Lhotse, Nuptse and Ama Dablam were below me to the south. In the west, Cho Oyu and Shisha Pangma were visible. The view of Makalu surrounded by a sea of clouds was quite spectacular and 130 kilometres to the east, Kanchenjunga’s huge bulk was well above the horizon.
That point - the summit of the highest mountain, where the view extends down for 200 kilometres in every direction - must surely be the one place on this planet where it is easiest to feel a sense of accomplishment. For nowhere else is one’s achievement more obvious. There, the sensation of success flooded into me. The moment symbolised the unarguable completion of our family’s project. No more did my grandfather’s fame weigh me down and instead I felt I was being handed the family baton. From my pack I retrieved a laminated photograph of my grandparents and knelt down to plant it in the snow. Jeff, in the spirit of the moment, said: “George, your grandfather would be proud of you.”
After 50 minutes on top - time spent taking photos, helping Jeff change film and shivering (there was a breeze on top) - we started down. Summiting was great but the euphoria was quickly replaced with the most sober mood of my life. There’s no point in getting up a mountain if you don’t also get back down and as every mountaineer knows, most accidents occur on the descent.
Moist air leaked from my oxygen mask and fogged my sunglasses. A minor stumble at the top of Everest’s north face scared the hell out me and persuaded me to do something about my eye wear. My goggles didn’t mist up but to see my feet I needed to bend over forwards - not a good posture for climbing down. So I tried my glacier glasses which also misted up. Finally I settled for the sunglasses, occasionally pushing them up onto my forehead to allow them to de-mist. Risking snow blindness to avoid a 2 500 metre plummet seemed worthwhile. Describing it is easy; not so easy to do it at 8 750 metres is.
At the top of the Second Step we met the other members of our summit team - Jim, Dan and Wongchu Sherpa. Our sirdar looked strong. He and the other two Sherpas each carried three bottles of oxygen, two each for themselves and an extra, just in case. Jim and Dan seemed to be struggling and, although I felt anxious about their condition, they were experienced mountaineers and I knew better than to meddle with their decision to carry on up. For me it seemed there was one and only one thing to do - get down safely.
Descending the Second Step was not straightforward. Several ropes dangled over the edge and some of them did not reach the ledge below. Clipping into a rope which forms a loop half way down a vertical rappel at 8 200 metres is a mistake to be avoided at all costs so we spent a few minutes dithering on the edge. Chhiring avoided the dilemma and climbed down holding the rope with one hand. His antics were not for the likes of Jeff and myself and we discussed our rappel technique in detail. The story of the Australian climber, Mike Rhineberger, who had taken two hours to descend the Second Step and had then died on the traverse below served as a solemn reminder of the dangers. Jeff, solid as ever, went first and I followed. Again the hand jams at the top of the ladder proved useful. I continued down the lower part of the Step but remembered first to photograph the ladder.
From the Second Step Jeff lead the way down, Chhiring continued to act as my guardian angel and Kaji Sherpa sped ahead. At the knife edge we paused to take photos of Makalu and then continued - past the First Step, across the Yellow Band and finally down the snow slope to our tents at 8 300 metres. Because it was then just 9.20 am it was suggested that we descend to the North Col. This plan was feasible and had merit for us since it would reduce our risk of getting altitude sickness but our mates were still on the mountain and we needed to be there with them. We therefore spent the rest of the day waiting anxiously for the other three who made it safely back to high camp at 5.30 pm.
Two days later, six more members our expedition summited and returned unscathed. Our team comprised 38 people and every one contributed to its success. Although we were exceptionally lucky that there were six consecutive days of calm weather, it must be said that when the ‘window’ arrived we had been ready to use it. Some expeditions are not. It is said that to climb Everest and to return unscathed requires luck. Perhaps. But this should not stop mountaineers from doing everything they can to minimise the dangers and to maximise their chances. Our leader, Paul Pfau had stressed safety to the point where I was nauseated, but high on Everest, where climbers do some remarkably stupid things, safety needs to be instinctive.
Although Everest has now had over 700 ascents, an ascent of Mallory’s “primeval tooth, excrescent from the jaw of the world” remains in the public mind the ultimate symbol of challenge and adventure.
I finished a climb which started in the 1920s. The family business is now complete. Or is it? After all, I climbed the ladder, not the rock and used bottled oxygen.
EDITOR'S FOOTNOTE:
George Mallory became the first South African-born person to reach the summit of Mount Everest on 14 May 1995.
He started climbing in 1976 whilst a member of Pretoria Boys High School Mountain Club. In 1980 he joined the Witwatersrand University Mountain Club, and in 1983 became its Chairman. Also in 1983 he became a member of Transvaal Section. He gained a BSc degree in civil engineering.
His natural rock-climbing ability and dedication lead to six productive years of new route establishment, particularly on Blouberg's North wall. Notable new routes included 'Razor's Edge', 'Eight Miles High', 'Scatterlings' and 'Teddy Bear's Picnic'; most notable though was the now legendary 'Bug Push' - five routes in 24 hours with Kevin Smith in March 1989 (See Journal No. 93, 1990, Page 88).
George now lives in Melbourne, Australia and works for a civil engineering consultancy as a water resources engineer.
He was 35 when he fulfilled his dream of standing on the earth's premier summit.