The announcement by Communist China that it had succeeded in placing men on Everest’s summit in 1960 was greeted with scepticism in the West: there was no photograph, and the official account by summitteers Wang Fu-chou and Chu Yin-hua was longer on Party ideology than it was on nitty-gritty of the climb. Time, however, has tended to favour the Chinese claim.
The Chinese ascended via the North Col, thus succeeding where all the British pre-War expeditions had failed.
In the evening of 23 May, after six days of exhausting march, we 13 members of the Chinese mountaineering expedition, led by deputy leader Hsu Ching, reached the Final Assault Camp at 8,500 metres above sea-level. That night we ate very little food. The decision made at the Party meeting to launch the final assault on the summit was like a bugle call for frontline soldiers to push forward against the enemy. We could not suppress our excitement. The thought that we would make the final assault on Mount Chomolungma the next day kept us awake almost the whole night.
On the morning of the 24th, the sky over Chomolungma was clear and serene. According to the weather forecast, it was an ideal day for the ascent. The four team members assigned for the final assault – Gonpa, Liu Lien-man and the writers – after drinking plenty of water and putting rucksacks on our backs, were all set for the task. However, we were confronted with serious difficulties right away. We discovered that we had not sufficient oxygen left. Furthermore, deputy leader Hsu Ching could not be with us, as he had to stay at the Final Assault Camp to direct the whole operation as well as make all necessary arrangements to call for assistance in case of need. During the acclimatization marches, he had always been in the lead to make reconnaissance or open up roads, but now he was in a state of exhaustion. He obviously felt sorry that he could not go along with us and tears came down his cheeks. With a warm heart he said encouragingly, “I’ll stay here to welcome your successful return!” With tears in our eyes, we also assured him that we would not fail the Party and the people’s expectations and would conquer the highest peak of the world. Then with a deep feeling we set off to climb the last 350 metres of Chomolungma.
Soon, all four of us reached the famous Second Step, which is 8,600 metres above sea level. No wonder the British adventurers were stopped short here, and described it as the last hundredweight blow. The step is a sheer cliff of some 30 metres high, with an average gradient of 60 to 70 degrees. We cleverly skirted around the slope in a direction parallel to the base. But near the top of the step a three-metre-high vertical rock slab suddenly stood in our way. Liu Lien-man blazed the trail but failed in all his four attempts to open up a way. After each fall, it took him 10 to 15 minutes to get up again. Now he was completely exhausted. This made Chu Yin-hua impatient. He took off his heavy cramponned boots and thick woollen socks. Gripping the crevice with his hands and stepping on the rock surface with his feet, he tried to climb up. But twice he failed and fell down. Then snow began to swirl in the air, which made the climbing all the more difficult. What was to be done? Turn back like the British climbers had done before? No! Certainly not! The whole Chinese people and the Party were watching us. The moment we thought of the big send-off we got at the Base Camp with the beating gongs and drums and loud cheers, the solemn pledge we had taken before we started out, and the national flag and the plaster bust of Chairman Mao which we took along, we felt all powerful again. After taking some oxygen and a short rest, we were determined to climb to the top. This time, Liu Lien-man made use of his experience as a fireman. The short ladder method was employed. He crouched and let Chu Yin-hua step on his shoulders, and with great effort he stood up. Good! Chu Yin-hua got on the rock slab, and then Gonpa too. All of us were overjoyed at the success. It took us three full hours to get on top of this three-metre-high rock slab.
After walking about 100 metres on top of the Second Step, Liu Lien-man fell down. With great exertion he managed to stand up and march forward again. But after a few steps, he fell again. He did not utter one word, so the rest of us didn’t pay any attention. But when he fell for the third time, we began to realize that this veteran mountaineer was completely exhausted and couldn’t go any further. And the oxygen he had brought along seemed to be exhausted too. It was then seven o’clock in the evening, and we had another 180 metres to cover before reaching the summit. The oxygen reserves we brought along were also running low. Liu Lien-man is an experienced and skilful climber and a staunch Party member. Without him our ascent to the summit would be much more difficult. On the other hand, how could we leave him at an altitude of 8,700 metres with such thin air? It was too dangerous! Of course, we could sacrifice our personal interests and leave the little oxygen we had to him. But that would endanger our successful assault on the summit. In this dilemma, we did not know what to do. Then the three Communist Party members, Liu and the writers, held an emergency meeting on the highest peak of the world. At the meeting, Liu was still full of hope of our success. He said, “Press on. Be sure to finish the job! I’ll be alive here to welcome you back.” It was also decided at the meeting that we should get on top of the peak even without oxygen. Liu was then helped to a safe shelter below a cliff, and we said goodbye to him with tears in our eyes. Though he wasn’t with us his noble spirit gave us great strength to score the final victory.
In front of us, at 8,700 metres, there was another ice and snow slope. We laboured forward painstakingly in knee-deep snow. For every few steps we had to halt to catch our breath. In scaling a one-metre rock in our way, all three of us slipped several times. It was almost midnight when we got through this stretch of ice and snow.
It was getting darker and darker and we were getting weaker and weaker for every inch we made forward. Then we were confronted with another sheer icy cliff. We were forced to trudge along the northern slope and circle around the cliff westward towards the ridge in the north-west. We were just about to ascend when we discovered our oxygen reserves were all out! At that moment, we remembered the decision made at the Party meeting and Liu Lien-man’s words of encouragement, which filled us with confidence to plant our national flag on the summit. We had already reached 8,830 metres above sea-level and nothing would make us turn back! But our legs refused to carry us any further, so we had to go on all fours. Gonpa took the lead, and we two followed closely behind. Onwards, and onwards! We forgot time and cold. Suddenly we noticed Gonpa had disappeared. With a great surprise we looked upward. We spotted a shadow on top of the towering peak just a few metres away. It was Gonpa himself! We were overjoyed with excitement. Immediately, we forgot our fatigue, and great strength seemed to come back to us. When we went up to the top, we found there was another peak, still a few metres higher than the one we had just surmounted. That was the highest point of Chomolungma. Then we made our final assault with still greater exertion. Breathing became so difficult that each inch forward meant tremendous efforts. The last few metres of ascent took us no less than 40 minutes.
At this time, we saw the star-studded sky above us on the top peak of Chomolungma. To the south of the crest was gleaming white snow, and to the north was nothing but dull grey rocks. We stood on an oval shaped space, the boundary line between snow and the rocks.
We stayed upon the crest for about 15 minutes. We placed the Chinese national flag and a plaster bust of Chairman Mao Tse-tung separately on a great rock to the north-west of the summit and covered them with small stones. Then in accordance with international usage, we pencilled a note with our signatures and placed it under a heap of rocks. We were speechless, but our hearts were filled with joy and excitement. We had successfully completed the task the Party and Chairman Mao Tse-tung had entrusted to us.
After a short stay on the summit, we started to descend. The great excitement overshadowed our extreme fatigue. We were worried about our comrade Liu Lien-man. The day was breaking when we came down from the snow-covered slope. In the distance we could see Liu Lien-man still there alive. We learned that after we had departed, Liu found out that he still had some oxygen left, but he didn’t take any for himself. He thought of his comrades battling towards the summit of Chomolungma, and wrote in his diary that the oxygen was reserved specially for them. Finally he fell into a state of semi-consciousness. As soon as we found out what he had done, and as he offered us his breathing apparatus and a piece of candy which he had saved for a long time, we were all moved to tears by his noble character and embraced him and kissed him.
Soon the red sun rose slowly from the east behind the mountains, and shed its shining rays upon us. Ah, it was the shining light of our motherland! It was the shining light of the Party and Chairman Mao Tse-tung who gave us boundless strength and wisdom.
Singh led the first Indian attempt on the summit. An army officer, he was also Principal of the country’s Himalayan Mountaineering Institute, at which Tenzing (an Indian national, despite being a Sherpa born and bred in Nepal’s Sola Khumbu region) was chief instructor.
The Himalayas have been for centuries a region of pilgrimage and worship for millions of devout Indians. Equally, traders and missionaries have for generations braved the Himalayan hazards to enter Tibet over some of the highest mountain passes in the world. Among the early explorers and surveyors of this rugged mountainous terrain were some Indians, who, though ill-equipped and untrained in climbing techniques, performed some incredible feats of mountaineering in the execution of their tasks.
Till about ten years ago there were scarcely any Indians who went to the Himalayas for sport. The real impetus to mountaineering in India came from the ascent of Everest in 1953 when, teamed with Sir Edmund Hillary, Tenzing Norgay stood on the roof of the world. The spark of enthusiasm ignited by Tenzing’s feat has already developed into a torch to light the path of those who seek adventure and excitement among the Himalayan heights. Indian youth’s response to the call of the mountains is yet another sign of national awakening.
Thus, the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute came into being in 1954 to commemorate Tenzing’s great achievement. With Tenzing himself as the director of field training, the Institute has trained young men on basic and advanced courses and has also helped in organizing expeditions to lesser peaks in the Himalayas. The sport, however, grew fast and barely four years after the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute was started, an Indian team successfully climbed Cho Oyu, the sixth highest mountain in the world. Encouraged by this success, the sponsoring committee booked Everest for 1960, and also for 1962 in case it was not possible to make an attempt in 1960.
By all standards, an attempt on a mountain of the magnitude of Everest is an ambitious project requiring thorough planning and preparation over a long period. For one reason or another very little work was done in 1958 and, in fact, the first half of 1959 also went by without achieving much in the way of preparation.
During July and August 1959 I had gone to Europe on the invitations of the French Mountaineering Federation and the Swiss Foundation for Alpine Research to attend some international mountaineers’ meetings. When I returned to India in September, I was surprised to find that the sponsoring committee offered me the leadership of the expedition. It was a pleasant surprise, and indeed an honour, but I was diffident about accepting the task. However, after some thought I found it impossible to decline.
Once the decision had been made, two immediate tasks confronted us; first the selection of a team, and second the procuring of equipment. The selection of the team was not difficult because at the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute we were able to organize a special pre-Everest course in the Kabru region of western Sikkim in October and November 1959. Twenty-five mountaineers responded to the invitation, and after the course, on Tenzing’s recommendation and mine, the sponsoring committee finalized the team. We were happy to find that there were more qualified aspirants than places in the expedition, so several worthy men were unfortunately turned down.
In the end we selected thirteen men, all with considerable Himalayan experience. First there were the three Sherpa instructors from the Mountaineering Institute: Da-Namgyal, Ang Temba and Gombu, all of whom had been on Everest before. Then Keki Bunshah, Captain Narinder Kumar of the Kumaon Regiment, Sonam Gyatsho (who was one of the two who reached the summit of Cho-Oyu in 1958), Flight-Lieutenant Chaudhury, Rajendra Vikram Singh, B. D. Misra, C. P. Vohra, Captain Jungalwalla of the Gorkha Rifles, Instructor-Lieutenant M. S. Kohli of the Indian Navy, and myself. In addition, we had two doctors, Flight-Lieutenant N. S. Bhagwanani and Captain S. K. Das of the Army Medical Corps; a Films Division camera man C. V. Gopal; and a transport officer, Flight-Lieutenant A. J. S. Grewal. Our small signals detachment was led by Captain S. G. Nanda. Meteorologist K. U. Shankar Rao, and the Secretary of the Indian Mountaineering Federation, Sohan Singh, also accompanied us.
The second problem was far more difficult because it had been decided that as much of our equipment as possible should be manufactured in India, and imports should be restricted to specialized items only. In the past most expeditions to Himalayan peaks, including Indian expeditions, had to use European equipment. But we knew that we could rely on the skill and ingenuity of our own countrymen. In nearly all cases the indigenous equipment stood the severe test very well indeed. This in itself is perhaps one of the expedition’s major achievements. It will perhaps be possible in the near future for Himalayan expeditions to obtain reliable equipment and stores in India, thus reducing expenditure on transportation, and delays and irritations at arrival ports.
While we knew that India could make the equipment, the time factor was against us. We had barely five months in which to train and select the team, obtain prototypes of equipment and test them, place final orders for stores and equipment, and ensure delivery in time for us to start packing on 20 February 1960.
The attempt on a major Himalayan peak is, to a large extent, a logistical problem of great magnitude, the planning and preparation for which must begin the day the project is conceived. If success on a mountain like Everest is to be assured, a team of ten to twelve climbers and over forty Sherpas must first be properly equipped and transported with adequate supplies to the base of the mountain. To achieve this, many of the resources of modern technology must be mobilized. It was very gratifying to find that Indian industry and ordnance factories co-operated in a magnificent manner. Under Tenzing’s personal supervision, Sherpas and Nepali women of Darjeeling worked long hours knitting excellent woollen wear for the expedition. The Swiss Foundation for Alpine Research in Zurich gave us unstinted support and handled the supply of oxygen apparatus and other essential imported items. For three months the members of the team and many friends, as well as our sponsors, worked almost round the clock collecting the nineteen tons of equipment and stores which began to arrive at the Central Vista Mess in New Delhi towards the middle of February 1960. Now everyone worked eagerly sorting out the gear, classifying it, and packing it in sixty-pound loads. Finally, on 27 February, we passed our first big hurdle. We laid out the packages on the lawns of the mess ready for transportation by road to Lucknow on the first lap of our journey to Everest.
When we arrived in Jayanagar on 4 March, most of our Sherpas and over 700 porters were already waiting for us. We had only one day in which to register the porters, pay them advances, allot them loads and divide them into two parties, as it was not convenient for so many to march in one train. Here Tenzing’s help in handling the Sherpas and porters proved invaluable. The first party entered Nepal on schedule on 6 March, after a heart-warming farewell from the people of Jayanagar and many friends who had come to see us off.
Our two weeks’ journey to the acclimatization training camp near Thyangboche Monastery took us through terai jungles, lush padi-fields and over beautiful alpine meadows. Apricot and cherry trees in blossom and blooming rhododendrons and magnolias dotted the landscape along our route. Often local villagers would bring eggs, milk, and fruit, all as a friendly gesture, expecting nothing in return. Our long caravan arrived in Namche Bazar on 21 March. This sleepy-looking village, with about a hundred houses, is in the heart of Sherpa country, not far from Everest, and is an important landmark for all expeditions going to East Nepal. That night a heavy and much needed snowfall blanketed the surrounding country.
Three days later we reached Thyangboche, where we were given an audience by the incarnate Lama in a simple but solemn ceremony. The Lama promised to offer prayers for the safe return of the expedition. That same day we reached our acclimatization training camp at Pangboche at a height of 13,200 feet. Based on this camp, for the next three weeks we carried through a programme which entailed climbing peaks of 16,000 to 19,000 feet. We climbed in different groups and in different areas, carrying varying loads in our rucksacks. We also used this period for familiarizing ourselves with our oxygen and other specialized equipment. Physiologist Das and Doctor Bhagwanani kept a careful watch on our performance and conducted certain physiological tests. But so far no one required much medical attention, for we were all in excellent health and enormously enjoyed the good food with which the expedition had been provided. This was also a sure sign of the fact that we were acclimatizing well.
In the second phase of our acclimatization programme, we had divided ourselves into three parties each of four members, and each with a team of ten high-altitude sherpas. Each party was self-sufficient in equipment and stores and had selected its own area for its climbing activity. The plans of all three parties were ready by 30 March.
The first party, consisting of Keki Bunshah, Kohli, Jungalwalla and Ang Temba, moved in the direction of the base of Everest. They did their climbing exercises on the way. This party had been given the task of establishing the base camp and exploring the route through the Khumbu ice-fall.
The second party, consisting of Kumar, Misra, Vohra and Da-Namgyal, went over to the Amadablam area, where they indulged in some interesting rock scrambles. This party climbed the lower slopes of Amadablam and spotted fixed lines and rope-ladders put up by the ill-fated British Expedition to that great mountain in 1959. The party also climbed a relatively difficult rock feature, the Yellow Tower, so-named by the Swiss expedition to Everest in 1956.
The third group, consisting of Sonam, Gyatscho, Chaudhury, Rajendra Vikram and the photographer Gopal, went towards Taweche. They found the mountain very difficult from the southern slopes, but did some useful training climbs on ice and rock faces for three days, after which they moved to the Chukhung glacier.
By the end of the first week of April we had received the welcome news from Grewal that he would join us with oxygen equipment in the following week. Thus, all forces could now rapidly converge on the base camp. Our exciting task was about to begin. We had our equipment, and what is more, we were in good training and excellent health and our morale was high.
Our route towards the summit of Everest lay along the Khumbu glacier, through the Western Cwm, across the Lhotse face to the South Col and finally along the south-west ridge to the top. This was the route followed by the earlier parties because it is the only feasible approach from the Nepalese side of the mountain.
On reaching the base camp we could not see the summit of Everest, but the western shoulders of Everest and Nuptse enclosed the entrance to the Western Cwm above the Khumbu Glacier. Down these faces we could see and hear avalanches thundering intermittently into the valley.
Even without reconnaissance we were aware of the three main hurdles which had to be overcome before reaching the top of Everest. First, the Khumbu ice-fall, an awe-inspiring mass of ice which cascades nearly 2,000 feet down a steep gradient. In its downward plunge, this enormous slab of ice is broken up into gaping crevasses, massive ridges and ice-towers, forming a complicated labyrinth. The ice-fall in some respects is the most difficult obstacle and is constantly changing. Yet throughout our stay on the mountain we had to negotiate it every day. In order to establish higher camps it was also necessary to transport nearly two tons of stores and equipment over this treacherous and dreaded portion of the glacier.
The second hurdle was the Lhotse Face, a very long and steep slope of granite-hard ice and rock rising to 26,000 feet from the Western Cwm at about 22,400 feet. We knew this would tax our energy in cutting steps and fixing rope lines. Here we would also enter the so-called deterioration zone with its extremely rarefied atmosphere. Finally, there was the summit pyramid where, in addition to the technical difficulties, the effects of weather and high altitude were even more pronounced.
By the time all the parties assembled at the base camp on 13 April, the first party, consisting of Ang Temba, Keki, Kohli, Jungalwalla and Bhagwanani, had already established Camp I on 10 April at a height of 19,000 feet. They had also probed forward and made the route a part of the way towards the site of Camp II, but had to return somewhat short of their goal.
In accordance with our pre-arranged plan, the first team had to come off the mountain for a well-earned rest. The second party, composed of Da-Namgyal, Kumar, Vohra and Nisra, took over from the advance party.
I accompanied the second party up the ice-fall and spent the night at Camp I, established in an excellent location by Ang Temba and Kohli. Early next morning we started climbing towards the top of the ice-fall. After nearly three hours we arrived at the point reached by the earlier party. Here the Khumbu Glacier is compressed into a narrow gorge by the massive walls of Everest and Nuptse. Ahead of us, beyond several huge crevasses lay the Western Cwm and Lhotse. At this point we stopped on an ice ridge with Misra and my Sherpa companion, Lakpa. I contemplated the chaotic scene for some time. Looking back down the ice-fall I marvelled at the track-building ability of our climbers. The trail was marked with over 200 multi-coloured silk flags; ropes and ladders were fixed on vertical ice faces and there were many wide crevasses over which bridges had been made with baulks of timber lashed together. Many sections of light aluminium ladders were used for bridging other obstacles. We could see hundreds of feet of rope firmly fixed to the vertical ice ridges to assist the climbers and Sherpas traversing those dangerous sections.
Hours passed. Around three o’clock, Da-Namgyal and the four Sherpas who had gone ahead returned to inform us modestly that Camp II had been established. With a little more work, we could now start ferrying supplies through the ice-fall into the Western Cwm. Thus, with the establishment of Camp II at 20,000 feet, the first obstacle had been overcome; we had found our way through the Khumbu ice-fall.
In spite of a few incidents, we plodded uphill steadily. For example our liaison officer, Dhanbir Rai, fell ill from acute acclimatization failure. Captain Das, our doctor physiologist, saved Rai’s life by prompt administration of oxygen and medicine. Yet we went on. On the ice-fall one of the teams supervised the movement of supplies to Camp II, sometimes using plastic explosives to demolish tottering seracs. Further ahead, in the Western Cwm, Da-Namgyal and Kumar plodded forward, going round crevasses and dodging the artillery of avalanches hurtling down the near-vertical slopes of Everest and Nuptse. They established Camp III on 17 April at a height of 21,200 feet. Although fairly tired, they pressed on towards the Lhotse face and at a height of 22,400 feet marked a site for Camp IV with a flag. Exhausted by their continuous and strenuous march, they handed the task over to the third team. Now Gombu, Sonam and Chaudhury formed the vanguard while the second party went down to Labuje, at 16,000 feet, to recuperate.
We had now reached the high altitude zone where one had not only to guard against the deteriorating effects of reduced oxygen, but to cope with strong prevailing westerly winds beating relentlessly against the Lhotse face. Under such conditions upward progress is agonizingly slow and a man’s efficiency and performance drop considerably because his capacity to think and act rationally is reduced to a confused blur. In the face of these heavy odds, after fully establishing Camp IV, Gombu, Sonam and Chaudhury began their work on the formidable Lhotse face on 20 April.
Past expeditions had explored different routes from the Western Cwm to the South Col. The most practical route, however, was up the steep Lhotse Glacier a part of the way, followed by a high traverse towards and over the Geneva Spur to the South Col at nearly 26,000 feet. Sir John Hunt and Albert Eggler’s teams were lucky to find fairly long stretches of firm snow in which they were able to kick steps. Unfortunately for us the previous winter had been very mild and there was not much snow on the Lhotse face. Thus we had to hack our way laboriously over the very long ice slope of the Lhotse face.
In addition to these technical difficulties, we now faced very definite logistical problems. Our line of communication was stretched from the base camp at 18,000 feet through the ever-changing Khumbu ice-fall up to Camp IV at 22,400 feet. So far it had not been possible to stock the intermediate camps adequately. Thus, while Gombu, Sonam and Chaudhury were inching their way up the Lhotse face, all remaining available hands were busily engaged in ferrying supplies to Camp III. They succeeded in keeping a small trickle of essential stores and equipment to the forward team. Camp III, which was our advance base camp and the second firm base, was now steadily growing in size.
The Lhotse face was a tough nut to crack. Gombu and Sonam had made good progress on 20 April and nearly reached the site of Camp V, but had expended all their manilla rope and most of their energy. A day or two later Ang Temba and his team took over but, in the face of icy winds, made little headway. One of the Sherpas suffered frost-bite on his fingers. On 28 April, however, the indomitable Da-Namgyal succeeded in pitching a tent at Camp V at an altitude of nearly 24,000 feet. The western disturbances had already set in and the strong winds reduced the temperature to −22°C. Da-Namgyal and Kumar had worked against heavy odds and this herculean effort took its toll; both the climbers were thoroughly exhausted and had to descend to base and later to the rest camp to recover from their ordeal.
As we could not afford to expend much oxygen at this stage we worked in short shifts and a succession of climbers now took over the lead. Gombu succeeded in passing the Yellow Band and traversed towards the Geneva Spur up to a height of about 25,000 feet before he returned exhausted. Vohra and Chaudhury went next and climbed up to 25,500 feet on 6 May. Finally, on 9 May, without using oxygen, Ang Temba and Jungalwalla, with a party of six Sherpas, reached the inhospitable South Col after crossing the 26,000-feet level. After leaving a tent, a few oxygen cylinders and some stores they climbed down to Camp V and descended to base camp the next day. While exploring the South Col, Ang Temba recovered a diary of Dr Hans Grimm, who was a member of the 1956 Swiss Expedition to Lhotse and Everest.
During these hectic days we had our share of casualties. There were a few cases of minor illness and some early stages of frost-bite. All the same we kept up the momentum of our advance for the final bid. While a continuous succession of loads was being transported through the ice-fall and the Cwm to Camps III and IV, Lieutenant Nanda was at work setting up a telephone line from Camp II to the advance base in the Western Cwm, perhaps the highest telephone link ever established.
It would appear logical that, having reached the South Col, we should have maintained the momentum and begun the final and crucial phase of our task at once, but weather conditions frustrated our hopes. Severely cold and strong westerlies permitted no more than two small ferries to be pushed to the South Col. Then, after 13 May, the weather started deteriorating rapidly and snow began to fall intermittently. Faced with these conditions, we had no option but to withdraw to lower camps.
The pre-monsoon lull can generally be expected any time after the middle of May and on average should last for a fortnight. It was, therefore, still not too late, but when the weather showed no signs of clearing up, even after 16 and 17 May, we were a little anxious.
About this time, at the advance base, I was not too well and the doctor, Flight-Lieutenant Bhagwanani, suggested that I should go down. The weather continued bad and I had no option but to descend to the base camp on the 19th. But before leaving the advance base I was able to call a conference and announce my summit teams. I had to make a few difficult decisions. First, our most experienced and reliable member, Da-Namgyal, had to be dropped because of illness. Secondly, I had to detail Jungalwalla to the important assignment of supporting the summit teams from the South Col, which I had hoped to do myself. He would otherwise have been considered for one of the summit teams. Finally, I decided on the first summit team: Gombu, Sonam and Kumar. The second party was made up of Ang Temba, Kohli and Vohra. All these climbers possessed the required stamina, determination and experience to tackle the task.
After keeping us in great anxiety for over a week the weather suddenly cleared up on 20 May. We wondered: had the pre-monsoon lull arrived? The met forecast on All-India Radio indicated the monsoon’s steady advance up the Bay of Bengal, but there was no mention of the lull.
Although it was clear and bright on 20 and 21 May and there was hardly any wind, we could not send our men up the steep Lhotse face immediately after a heavy snowfall because of the avalanche hazard. After allowing two days for the fresh snow to consolidate and become first on the slope, the first team set out from Camp III on 22 May. In order to save time they went from Camp III to Camp V, where the three climbers and nine Sherpas spent the night. By the afternoon, accompanied by Jungalwalla and his support party, the team had reached Camp VI on the South Col.
24 May was a day of good weather and absolute calm. At seven that morning Gombu, Kumar and Sonam, supported by seven of the best high-altitude Sherpas, left the South Col in high spirits and carried with them a tent, butane gas fuel, food, sleeping bags and the indispensable oxygen cylinders. Using oxygen, the party made good progress and set up Camp VII at 27,600 feet. Here the Sherpas wished the climbers God-speed and good luck and trudged slowly back to South Col.
Gombu, Kumar and Sonam settled down for the night. Despite the altitude the three ate well that evening and crawled, fully clothed, into their sleeping bags. In a tent intended for only two, they were somewhat cramped. Excitement and the high altitude prevented sound sleep. They slowly crawled out of their bags at three in the morning and prepared to start.
Till the previous evening everything seemed to be going very smoothly and they were very optimistic about the final outcome. Luck, unfortunately, was no longer with them. The calm atmosphere of the day before had given way to a strong stormy wind which started whipping their tent at ten the night before. The three climbers waited hopefully for wind to abate. At seven there was still no sign of the wind velocity decreasing. There was no time to waste. They decided to take their chance and they set out.
The wind was strong and the going was heavy, but they were fresh and rested and at first made steady progress. The three climbers on one rope moved slowly, haltingly, up the south-east ridge, keeping slightly below the crest. Soon the condensed and frozen moisture from exhaled air blocked the valves of Kumar’s oxygen mask. He rapidly changed the mask and bladder, but this incident was an ominous portent of what might happen later when the climbers were obliged to expose themselves on the ridge to the full fury of the gale.
That moment soon arrived, and it became obvious that progress towards their goal was going to be painfully slow. Powder snow, carried by the wind, lashed at the climbers’ faces with such force that they had to turn their faces sideways to advance at all. Twice the party halted while Sonam rectified the frozen valves of his mask. The wind was showing no signs of abating. Instead, it increased and particles of drift snow restricted vision. To make matters worse the climbers’ goggles were filled with powdered snow, blown in through small ventilation holes. Visibility was practically nil at this stage.
About midday they halted for a little rest. They checked their height and found that they had reached 28,300 feet. They were barely 700 feet from the summit. The temptation to go on was great but the possibility of reaching the summit and returning safely was remote. Fortunately Kumar, Gombu and Sonam were mountaineers of sufficient experience to realize that, unlike a military operation, lives should not be risked unduly on a sporting adventure, no matter how worthy the goal. After a brief consultation they took the wise but difficult decision to retrace their steps.
This was the climax of the expedition. Next day the monsoon reached the Everest region, a week earlier than anticipated. The second team, which had in the meantime moved up to the South Col, waited throughout 26 May for the weather to clear while the weary first summit team descended to the advance base camp. On 27 May the weather was worse and the second summit team was also asked to withdraw from the mountain as fast as it could. Under those conditions further efforts would have been suicidal. Despite dogged determination, the supreme effort had failed. The climbers and Sherpas had done their best; and when you have done your best you can do no better. We were turned back not by the mountain but the “autocratic element”, the weather, over which man has no control.
By 29 May, the anniversary of the first ascent of Everest, everyone was back in base camp. It was willed that we should not succeed that year.
If we were disappointed, we also had reasons to be proud. Mountaineering is, for Indians, a relatively new sport. It was heartening to find that our young climbers were fit to challenge the world’s loftiest peak. We had organized and conducted a major expedition, solved seemingly impossible logistical problems, and had reached a point higher than any other mountain in the world except Everest itself. What was most important was the fact that every member and Sherpa returned safely. It was also proved that India could make mountaineering equipment which could stand the test of the highest mountain.
Not the least achievement of the expedition was the stimulus to mountain climbing given by our attempt. More and more young Indian men and women are now going out to seek the vigour, health and happiness which only a sojourn in the high mountains can provide. Nearly a dozen Indian expeditions went to Himalayas during 1961, the hard core and leadership for which was provided from amongst the seasoned Everesters of 1960. More than half a dozen peaks have been climbed. Everest is always there, waiting for our successors. These will come and, standing on our shoulders, will one day succeed where we so narrowly failed.
The 1960 Indian bid failed. So did the 1962 one, but the 1965 Indian expedition put no less than nine climbers on the summit.