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Chapter eleven

One man alone - 1980

Since 1953, many hundreds of men and women have climbed Everest, most of them in large expeditions. Some groups have been very large indeed - in 1975 a Chinese expedition with 400 people managed to send nine climbers to the summit. They left a small metal tripod there, fixed to the rock. In 1985 a Norwegian expedition sent seventeen people to the top.

All these climbers, like Hillary and Tenzing, needed the help of many others. Almost all of them used oxygen, too. People have climbed Everest from the south, north, and west.

But the first climber to climb the mountain all alone, with no oxygen at all, was Reinhold Messner.

In 1978 two climbers, Reinhold Messner and Peter Habeler, joined a large German-Austrian expedition climbing from Nepal. Most of the expedition were using oxygen but Messner and Habeler decided to climb without it. After ‘the success of Hillary and Tenzing in 1953 using oxygen,’ Messner said, ‘the whole world thought that this must be the only way.’

But the early climbers did not think so. In 1924, Norton climbed to 8,575 metres with no oxygen. So, Messner thought, perhaps it is possible to climb 273 metres more.

He tried twice. The first time he reached the South Col with two Sherpas, but they were caught in a terrible storm. Their tent nearly collapsed in the wind, and they spent two nights without eating or drinking before they came down. But a few days later Messner tried again, with Peter Habeler, and in ten hours they climbed from the South Col to the summit, with no oxygen at all.

But back at the South Col, they were very ill. Habeler had a terrible headache. Messner had taken off his goggles to make a film, and the bright snow had hurt his eyes. Just like Norton in 1924, he lay in his tent all night, unable to see anything. The two men needed help to climb down from the South Col next day.

Two years later, in 1980, Messner began a new attempt. This time he went through Tibet, like Norton and Mallory in 1924. But Messner did not take a lot of heavy equipment and hundreds of porters. He just went with his girlfriend, Nena, and two Chinese people came with them to show them the way.

They started at the same place as the British Base Camp in 1924, then, with three yaks, they climbed to Camp 3 at 6,500 metres on the East Rongbuk Glacier. Then the two Chinese went back to Base Camp, while Nena and Messner stayed at Camp 3 for ten days, getting used to the height.

On 24 July Messner climbed to the North Col, at 7,000 metres. But he felt very tired, and there was too much soft snow. So he and Nena returned to Base Camp and spent three weeks walking and climbing above 5,000 metres. Each day they grew stronger, and breathed more easily in the thin mountain air.

On 15 August they returned to Camp 3, and on 17 August Messner climbed up to the North Col again, much faster than before. Now he was ready, he thought. He came down to Camp 3 to sleep.

That night he ate and drank, and slept for a while. Then he got up, dressed carefully, and packed his rucksack with everything he needed - food for a week, a small cooker, tent, sleeping bag, camera. He had a head torch, to see in the dark, two ski sticks, crampons, and a strong, light ice axe.

He touched Nena’s face gently with his lips, and stepped out of the tent into the night.

‘I shall be thinking of you,’ she said sleepily. ‘Bye bye.’

‘Bye bye.’ The words came out of the night, and then he was gone.

An hour later, he nearly died. When he was 500 metres above the camp, the snow suddenly collapsed under his feet and he fell into a crevasse. His head torch went out, and everything was dark. He had decided not to take a radio with him. Now he was frightened. He could see nothing, and it was not possible to call for help.

Then the torch came on again. He was standing on a snow bridge, about 1 metre square, above a deep black hole. He looked round. There was a small ice ridge to the left, going up. But to climb that, he needed crampons on his boots; and his crampons were in his rucksack.

Very carefully, he got them out and put them on. Carefully, he reached forward across the crevasse with his arms. Then he stepped across onto the ridge - right foot first, then left. The crampons held in the ice. Slowly, he climbed up, out of the crevasse, into the night.

Far below, Nena was still sleeping in the tent.

He climbed on, up to the North Col. As the sun came out, the clouds and mountains turned from dark blue to yellow and then pink. There was good hard snow under his feet. He climbed quickly, taking fifty steps, then resting, then taking fifty more. The ski sticks made climbing easier.

As he climbed, Messner thought about Mallory and Irvine. They had come the same way up the mountain, long ago. They had oxygen, but their clothes and equipment were much heavier than Messner’s. Mallory and Irvine had no light tents and sleeping bags, no crampons, no ski sticks.

But when Odell last saw them, they were high up on the North Ridge. Two tiny black dots on the snow, going strongly. Did they reach the summit, he wondered. Or did they die before that?

Far below him, Nena stood outside the tent, watching Messner climb higher and higher. To her, he was now a tiny black dot on the snow. ‘I would like to climb with him,’ she wrote in her diary. ‘One day perhaps, I tell myself. The further he is from me, the stronger becomes my love.’

By 9 a.m. Messner was at 7,360 metres. He was tired, and had to rest every thirty steps. Up here, the thin dry air had only one third as much oxygen as at sea level. His throat hurt, and for long moments he could think of nothing but breathing.

‘Still a bit more, you can do it,’ he told himself. ‘What you climb today, you won’t have to climb tomorrow.’

At last, at 7,800 metres, high up on the North Ridge, he decided to stop. The view from here was wonderful. Some of the highest mountains in the Himalayas were below him. And 1,300 metres below, he could see the tiny red dot of Nena’s tent.

He took a long, long time to put up his tent. Again and again, the wind almost blew it away. He held it down with his ski sticks and ice axe. Then he pushed his rucksack inside and crawled in after it. But he could not rest. To get water, he had to melt snow with his small stove. His throat hurt, but he had to make himself drink.

He was not hungry, but he had to cook and make himself eat. And that night, a storm came up. The temperature fell to -20 degrees. Winds of over 80 kilometres per hour tried to blow the tent off the mountain.

Next morning the wind had fallen, but Messner felt terribly tired. For an hour he lay in his tent, half asleep, unable to move. Every small thing - making a drink, eating, putting on his boots - was hard work. He had to argue with himself.

‘You must go on,’ he told himself. Then, a minute later: ‘Why don’t I go down?’ But he knew the answer to that. ‘I wanted to make the climb. I still want to.’

He took the tent down and packed his rucksack. The sky was blue, the sun was shining. But as he set out, the clouds and wind came back. His legs were tired, and his 18 kilogram rucksack seemed heavier than before. Every fifteen steps now, he stopped to rest.

There was too much new snow on the ridge, so he moved down onto the rocky north face - the same way that Norton had gone, also without oxygen. The rocks sloped steeply like the roof on a church. It was very quiet, but Messner began to hear voices. ‘Is that somebody talking nearby’ he wondered. ‘Is somebody there?. I believe I hear voices. Perhaps it is Mallory and Irvine!’

By 3 o’clock in the afternoon he was at 8,220 metres. He was too tired to go on any more. He could only take ten steps now before resting. He found a flat piece of snow above a large rock, and put up his tent there. He took a picture of the tent, then got inside his sleeping bag. Again, he had to melt snow to get water. And it was difficult to sleep. Even when he was resting in the tent, his heart was beating 100 times a minute.

Next morning he could see little - he was in the clouds. Should he go on, or wait, he wondered. No, he thought, he couldn’t wait. ‘It’s now or never. Either-or. I must either go up or go down. There is no other choice.’

He decided to leave the tent and rucksack behind. He put the camera in his pocket, picked up his ice axe, and set out. It was harder to climb without the ski sticks. He was afraid that he would fall, so he often climbed on hands and knees. As he climbed up to the ridge, it became steeper. Often, he dug his ice axe into the snow above his head, and lay on his face, resting.

For three hours he crawled slowly along the ridge. His dry throat felt like wood. ‘Where is the summit’ he wondered. He could see almost nothing. Then, suddenly, the cloud cleared, and he could see right down to the glacier in the valley. He took a few photos, then the cloud came back.

‘Where is the summit’ he wondered. ‘At most it can only be another ten metres up to the top!’ He crawled on, always upwards. Then, suddenly, there it was. The metal tripod, which the Chinese had fixed to the summit in 1975 - it was there in front of him! Messner had seen it before, in 1978; now he took hold of it, like an old friend.

He had done it! He was on top of the world, with nothing above him but sky. He sat down, like a stone. All he wanted to do was rest. But it was after 3 o’clock. He could not stay here in the dark. Slowly, he got up. He took a few photos. Then, at 4 o’clock, he turned to go.

‘I must get back down,’ he thought. ‘Half an hour too late means the end of me.’

On the way down he started coughing badly. When he reached the tent he lay in his sleeping bag like a dead man. But he could not sleep. He melted a little snow to drink, but ate nothing.

Next morning, he left the tent where it was. Carrying the ski sticks and rucksack, he came down the mountain like a man walking in his sleep. Twice he slipped and fell. Each time, he turned on his face and dug his ice axe into the snow.

Then suddenly, on the glacier, he saw Nena standing in front of him. Resting on his ski sticks, he looked at her. Was she really there? Yes, she was.

‘Reinhold, how are you’ she said. She ran towards him.

Messner fell to his knees. He was crying. Nena held him in her arms. ‘Everything’s OK, Reinhold,’ she said. ‘You are all right. The camp is over there.’

‘Where are all my friends’ he asked.

‘I’m your friend. I’m here, Reinhold. Don’t worry, we’re going to our camp now.’

‘Yes, where is the camp actually’ he asked.

‘Over there.’ She took his rucksack, and led him to the camp. Here, she gave him food and drink and let him sleep. All next day he lay in his sleeping bag without moving, while Nena watched over him.

Reinhold Messner had climbed the highest mountain in the world, all alone, with no oxygen. But the mountain had beaten him too. They both won this fight, the mountain and the man.