Annapurna (24 page)

‘We’re going up,’ I said without the least hesitation. ‘When we come down it’ll mean the top’s been reached – it’s all or nothing.’

And I felt that Lachenal was as determined as myself. The other two wished us good luck, but I read doubt in their faces. Now it was up to us.

We set to on the slope; Sarki, Angtharkay, Lachenal and myself took it in turns to go ahead to improve the tracks fortunately left by Terray and Rébuffat on their way down. The going wasn’t too bad, but all the same Angtharkay was amazed at the difficulty of the ground. Pansy had already told him that neither on Kanchenjunga nor on Everest had they ever coped with such difficult terrain. It was the first time these Sherpas had done any climbing on ice and been obliged to get up vertical walls. But all went well, we pushed on steadily, and found the going much easier than the previous times, which showed just how vital acclimatization is on Himalayan expeditions. It was now burningly hot, and by the time we reached Camp III we were sweating profusely. What a truly magnificent camp this was, lost in the very heart of the mountains in a tiny snow-blocked crevasse! How snug and comfortable it managed to appear!

We had to conserve our strength: there would be no going further today. Most of the time we just lay in our sacks, and the Sherpas handed us our meals through the entrance of the other tent. The weather was set fine. This time everything was in our favour and we would get to the top.

It took the Sherpas ages to make tea because of the decreased heating power of the stoves at this height. A few cigarettes, followed by the ration of pills, which both Sahibs and Sherpas obediently swallowed, and before dark everybody at Camp III was already asleep.

In the morning we waited placidly for the sun, since the day’s programme consisted of going only as far as Camp IV, which would take us barely four hours. But we should also have to move that camp again and re-pitch it right on the Sickle glacier. We each set about getting our things ready, and I took a few cine shots. Down below, the plateau on which Camp II was pitched appeared to have become a regular village. Big valley tents and high-altitude tents stood side by side and it looked altogether like an advanced Base Camp.

‘Lionel and Gaston must be resting now,’ said Lachenal.

We decided to move off, taking advantage of the relatively good state of the snow, and we reached the site of Camp IV more rapidly than we had expected. On the way I took some cine shots, in particular of the bergschrund by the plateau on which the camp was situated. The weather was still very fine. Angtharkay and Sarki had gone splendidly, one of them on Lachenal’s rope, the other on mine. It was still early and we should therefore be able to move Camp IV right up on to the Sickle glacier. We were pleased about this, for beyond this camp there would be no further technical difficulties to keep us back. We quickly took down one tent, which we ourselves would be carrying, as well as food and equipment, etc.

‘In less than an hour we ought to be up the big ice slope leading to the edge of the Sickle,’ I said to Lachenal, ‘it’s not all that long.’ Angtharkay and Sarki would come back to the present camp where we were leaving the other tent. The following morning they would have to dismantle it and carry it up to the new Camp IV. From there we would start out for the next one – Camp V.

Laden like donkeys, we sank up to our waists in new snow on the first few yards of the great ice slope. But presently there was less, and very soon only a thin layer of unconsolidated snow lying on ice. The angle was comparable with that of the steepest Alpine slopes. Now and again we cut a few steps, but most of the time we just went straight up on our crampons – though cramponing at this height was not exactly restful and we puffed away like steam-engines.

The Sherpas were not at all happy. They were not expert on this sort of ground, but as they were afraid of getting left behind they made all possible speed. After a couple of hundred yards of this exhausting work we came to the edge of the Sickle. Lachenal, who was leading, had a look round up there, and I did the same down below. Our choice fell upon an inviting site at the base of a serac just where we had emerged from the ice slope. It was an ideal place, protected from the wind both by the serac itself and by a little ice ridge which formed a natural screen. Lachenal was delighted:

‘Once we’ve fixed things up we’ll be as snug as in my own little chalet at Chamonix.’

We set to work at once and the tent was soon in position. As it
was
already late afternoon I packed Angtharkay and Sarki off to the lower camp, none too pleased at the prospect of going down such a difficult slope. But I knew that Angtharkay would not hesitate to cut extra steps and, if necessary, to make a staircase the whole way.

ROUTE OF THE FINAL ASSAULT ON ANNAPURNA
From Camp IV to the Summit

‘Good night, sir!’

We shook hands warmly and our two Sherpas disappeared down the slope. Meanwhile we arranged our shelter. Mist closed round us and an icy wind got up, stinging our faces with blown snow. Neither of us had much appetite, but we forced ourselves to eat, and when the tea was ready I set out in a row the collection of pills that Oudot had strictly enjoined us to swallow. For all Lachenal’s assertions, we were only relatively comfortable. We put our boots into our sleeping-bags to prevent them from freezing, and settled ourselves in for an excellent night.

When dawn came I poked my head anxiously through the opening of the tent: the sun was rising and it was fine and cold. It looked as if the monsoon would not be arriving that day and I felt much relieved, for the latest news had rather worried me. We were embarked upon a race against time. As soon as Angtharkay and Sarki arrived we shared out the loads and made up our sacks. We were shivering and could not leave our serac quick enough. We set out, leaving one tent where it was; the other was for Camp V.

A traverse to the left across the Sickle glacier enabled us to avoid an area of broken-up seracs. In this way we reached the base of a wide valley of large, steep snow fields with few obstacles in the way. No word was spoken – every one of us was tense with effort, and the loads weighed us down. We thought of what lay ahead. For me, the main question was the monsoon: it was now June 2nd, and we could not reasonably hope for more than four days of fine weather. That would just give us time, but there was not a moment to lose. Now that we had only this great snow field before us, we held the advantage: there were no technical obstacles – or at least hardly any. Not for a single moment did either Lachenal or myself entertain the slightest doubt about our victory.

We stopped frequently for sweets to suck, or for the nougat for which we always had a great craving. At our backs, the sight was enough to make anyone giddy: the plateau of Camp II was a mere pocket handkerchief, and the great Annapurna glacier, which took an
hour
to cross, was reduced to a small tongue of ice. In the distance, over the top of the Great Barrier, we could distinctly see Tibet; on the extreme left Dhaulagiri was partially hidden by the great rock wall of Annapurna. Our zigzagging upward tracks were visible the whole way.

The jagged ice ridge at the summit produced a curious effect – a snow-laden wind blew through it as if through the teeth of a comb. Mist straggled right across the sky over our heads. One of the buttresses of Annapurna towered above us, in rose-red rock – it was the shape of a bird’s beak and looked like the Bec d’Oiseau on the Grépon in the Mont Blanc massif; a thin rib of rock in the shape of a spear-head ran up to it.

‘We’re pretty sure,’ I told Lachenal, ‘to be able to find a place somewhere on that rib big enough for our “coffin”.’

Lachenal agreed: ‘We’ll make ourselves safe by using as many pitons as necessary, and anyhow we shall be on dry ground.’

With dogged perseverance he and I took it in turns to make the trail. The two Sherpas got terribly winded and we kept stopping to regain our breath. Two or three times we made long traverses to avoid the seracs and one particularly long crevasse. Often we sank in and each step seemed an eternity. Although we progressed upwards the rib always appeared to remain just as far off.

‘Enough to dishearten anyone,’ complained Lachenal.

Gradually the difficulties lessened, the snow became firmer and we did not sink in so deeply. We had the feeling that we were climbing on an enormous roof: the slope was even, and though it was at an angle of about forty degrees we were able to crampon up it. Every ten yards we halted, in cold so intense that our feet grew numb. But we could not afford any unnecessary delay: ‘On to Camp V!’ became for us a kind of refrain. The going became terribly exhausting, for the surface crust of the snow broke through beneath our crampons and again we sank in at each step.

With a final spurt of energy we gained the rib of rock.

‘Oh hell!’

What a disappointment! Those fine, sound, clear-coloured rocks were plastered with ice – there were no ledges, no holds. We should have to pitch camp right on the slope.

The Sherpas joined us: we were at 24,600 feet and the height distressed them badly. They could not speak a word and made
signs
that their heads were bursting. But we all had to set to work. With our axes we made a level space, and to do this on such a steep slope we had to move great quantities of snow. Every thirty seconds I had to rest. I felt as though I were suffocating, my breathing was quite out of control, and my heart pounded away. Yet the Sherpas, who were not in such good trim as we were, managed to carry on for five minutes without a break.

An hour later the shelf was ready: it was close to the rib and we were able to tether the tent to two pitons which Lachenal drove into cracks in the rock.

I had a brief conversation with Angtharkay in our pidgin-English.

‘Tomorrow morning Lachenal Sahib and Bara Sahib go to the summit of Annapurna.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You are the Sirdar and the most experienced of all the Sherpas. I should be very glad if you will come with us?’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘We must share the victory! Will you come?’

At that moment I felt it my duty to take into consideration the Sherpas’ very understandable feelings. After a pause Angtharkay replied. He was grateful for the choice of action I had given him, but he held back:

‘Thank you very much, Bara Sahib, but my feet are beginning to freeze …’

‘I see.’

‘… and I prefer to go down to Camp IV.’

‘Of course, Angtharkay, it’s as you like. In that case go down at once because it is late.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

In a second their sacks were packed and, just as they were setting off, they turned round and I could guess their anxiety at leaving us alone.

‘Salaam, sir. Good luck!’

‘Salaam – and be careful!’

A few minutes later two black dots were on their way down the slope we had just come up. How oddly their minds worked. Here were these men, proverbial for their trustworthiness and devotion, who quite certainly enjoyed going high on the mountains; and yet, when on the point of reaping the fruits of their labours, they
prudently
held back. But I don’t doubt that our mentality struck them as even odder.

No word passed between Lachenal and myself, and our silence had something heavy and obsessive about it. This time we would not turn back.

It would be a grim night. The place was dangerous and the ground unstable. Under the action of the wind the snow slid down the length of the slope and piled up above our shelter. We hoped it would not weigh too much on the tent. The pitons driven into the limestone, the axes driven right into the snow, gave us only moral support and we had no illusions. We said nothing but we both feared that the edge of the platform would collapse and carry the tent away.

Our minds worked slowly during this last night before the final assault, I had great difficulty in concentrating, and I could not get up an interest in anything. Conversation languished. With great effort, and only because we urged each other on, we managed to make some tea on the stove and swallow our pills with military discipline. It was impossible to swallow any food.

A fierce wind sprang up and the nylon fabric of the tent flapped noisily. Several times we feared that the wind would blow the tent away, and at each gust we clung to the poles as a drowning man clings to a plank. It began to snow, and the storm howled and moaned around us. The air was fraught with terror, and in the end we became terrified too.

Every movement demanded a tremendous effort of will. There was no question of undressing. Pushing our boots to the bottom of our wonderful sleeping-bags we tucked ourselves in. Good old Pierre Allain! How we blessed him that night! And away flew our thoughts to the friend who had designed our marvellous equipment.

Lachenal settled himself on the outer side of the tent while I curled up against the slope. It wasn’t pleasant for either of us. Lachenal, on the edge of the precarious platform, felt as though he were slipping off into space, while I was threatened with suffocation under the snow which slid down and piled up persistently on the roof of the tent.