In late May, 1963, two men, having spent the night at 27,000 feet on a ledge carved out of ice on a sheer cliff face, begin the final ascent to the highest place on Earth, Mt. Everest, 29,029 feet above sea level. They are climbing without fixed ropes, freestyle, with no support team and no chance of rescue. They are wearing reindeer-skin boots, woolen pants, shirts and mitts and windbreaker jackets. Except for rudimentary oxygen tanks and masks, they are without any of the high tech gear that is standard to even the lowliest mountaineer today. It is an achievement in mountaineering that is in many ways unrivaled for its sheer audacity and, unless you are a climbing aficionado, largely unknown. This is the story told in “Everest: The West Ridge” by Tom Hornbein, one of the two men that made the historic summit of Everest by the previously untried West Ridge. Told in an almost matter of fact and humble manner, it is the stuff every boy and most men dream of privately. Of facing death, going on anyway, and winning. It is the stuff of legends and dreams.
Climbing Everest by a route no man had ever tried before. Knowing that they could not reach the summit with time to get down. Knowing that the route they chose did not allow them to turn back or retreat. Hornbein never admits it in this book, but he had to know that death was more probable than survival. And still they made the decision to go forward, a conscious decision in my mind that left only success or death as the two possible outcomes. Hornbein dances near to this issue throughout the book, but for some reason never tackles it head on. Maybe it was a decision he did not want to admit to for some reason. But when faced with the opportunity to do what no man had ever done before, even if it meant his death, he pushed on and grasped for the gold ring, and then spent the better part of the rest of his life trying to pretend it was no big deal.
Only dumb luck and iron will saved them. But they succeeded, the gods smiled at their audacity and will to succeed. There are two kinds of bravery and heroism I think. The first kind occurs when you have a split second to react, to save a life or lives with little time to think or ponder. The second kind occurs when you have lots of time to think. When the only life at risk is yours. When the easiest course is to turn back and no one would think the worse of you. But you move ahead anyway, knowing the two outcomes are success or death. That is a special kind of heroism and the subject of this book. Serendipity and luck also course through this story. How it never could have happened without the alignment of the heavens and almost mystical providence. The other key element I took from this book is how, when served up similar circumstances, men react and behave so differently. How some men, experienced mountaineers and strong climbers, never acclimated to altitude and suffered cruel defeat while supposedly lesser men soared to glory and thrived in the inhospitable environment presented to them. How is it that the man recruited to be the radio operator, needed to provide a willing back for manual labor because of the illness of others, ends up on the North ridge of Everett at 27,000 feet blazing a trail to the final camp?
I highly recommend this book, as well as the excellent historical recounting of the expedition The Vast Unknown, by Broughton Coburn.