to Mallory of what a real writer could do.
On June 13, Mallory caught his first sight of Everest—like “a prodigious white fang excrescent from the jaw of the world,” as he would write in the expedition book. The distant vision was daunting in the extreme: in a letter to Ruth, he recorded “the most stupendous ridges and appalling precipices that I have ever seen…. All the talk of easy snow slope is a myth.” Yet while the sight intimidated Mallory, at the same time it captivated him. The man’s obsession with Everest can be said to date from that first glimpse, still fifty-seven miles away from the mountain. As he wrote Ruth, during the subsequent days, “The problem of its great ridges and glaciers began to take shape and to haunt the mind, presenting itself at odd moments and leading to definite plans. Where can one go for another view, to unveil a little more of the great mystery?”
Part of Mallory’s genius was a deeply analytical grasp of the shape and structure of mountains. Other climbers might be content to stare with field glasses at a single aspect of the mountain, seeking routes; Mallory was eager, in effect, to create a three-dimensional model in his mind. As he wrote in the official report, “Our reconnaissance must aim at … a correct understanding of the whole form and structure of the mountain and the distribution of its various parts; we must distinguish the vulnerable places in its armour and finally pit our skill against the obstacles.”
As Mallory and Bullock trudged up one snow-struck valley after another, with the monsoon now in full force, the power of that visionary goal drove them across a succession of bleak landscapes. Mallory described one such clime in
Mount Everest: The Reconnaissance:
It was a desolate scene, I suppose; no flowers were to be seen nor any sign of life beyond some stunted gorse bushes on a near hillside and a few patches of coarse brown grass, and the only habitations were dry inhuman ruins; but whatever else was dead, our interest was alive.
By June 25, Mallory and Bullock had reached the terminus of the Rongbuk Glacier, the massive ice stream that drains thewhole north side of Everest. For a month, the indefatigable duo would explore approaches, only to be stymied and puzzled again and again. Few Europeans had yet traveled on any of the colossal Himalayan glaciers: used to the easy highways such rivers of ice formed in the Alps, the two British climbers were severely frustrated by the jumbled séracs, the crevasse-riddled icefalls, and the weird ice pinnacles, called
nieves penitentes
, that the Rongbuk threw in their path. The glacier was, Mallory wrote, “not a road but an obstacle”; and, “The White Rabbit himself would have been bewildered here.” Part of the time, the men hiked in snowshoes, but even so, in the soggy monsoon conditions they often could not avoid wading knee-deep through slush pools.
All the while, Mallory kept staring at the mountain, analyzing it. Early on, he had decided, as he jotted in his diary, “Last section of East arête should go.” Here was a pregnant observation, for on that last section of what would come to be called the northeast ridge, Mallory and Irvine would vanish three years hence.
Just as early, Mallory recognized that the key to reaching the northeast ridge was gaining the 23,000-foot saddle of snow and ice that he and Bullock named the Chang La, or North Col. The approach to the col from the main Rongbuk Glacier, however, looked impossible. For weeks, the two men reconnoitered, climbing lower peaks just to acclimatize and to gain new views of Everest, teaching their “coolies” (as they called the porters) the rudiments of mountaineering.
In the course of these explorations, the men climbed to another col on the west of Everest, called the Lho La. From here, the two became the first Europeans to behold the Khumbu Glacier and its upper basin, the Western Cwm (pronounced “Coom”), which Mallory named,
On June 13, Mallory caught his first sight of Everest—like “a prodigious white fang excrescent from the jaw of the world,” as he would write in the expedition book. The distant vision was daunting in the extreme: in a letter to Ruth, he recorded “the most stupendous ridges and appalling precipices that I have ever seen…. All the talk of easy snow slope is a myth.” Yet while the sight intimidated Mallory, at the same time it captivated him. The man’s obsession with Everest can be said to date from that first glimpse, still fifty-seven miles away from the mountain. As he wrote Ruth, during the subsequent days, “The problem of its great ridges and glaciers began to take shape and to haunt the mind, presenting itself at odd moments and leading to definite plans. Where can one go for another view, to unveil a little more of the great mystery?”
Part of Mallory’s genius was a deeply analytical grasp of the shape and structure of mountains. Other climbers might be content to stare with field glasses at a single aspect of the mountain, seeking routes; Mallory was eager, in effect, to create a three-dimensional model in his mind. As he wrote in the official report, “Our reconnaissance must aim at … a correct understanding of the whole form and structure of the mountain and the distribution of its various parts; we must distinguish the vulnerable places in its armour and finally pit our skill against the obstacles.”
As Mallory and Bullock trudged up one snow-struck valley after another, with the monsoon now in full force, the power of that visionary goal drove them across a succession of bleak landscapes. Mallory described one such clime in
Mount Everest: The Reconnaissance:
It was a desolate scene, I suppose; no flowers were to be seen nor any sign of life beyond some stunted gorse bushes on a near hillside and a few patches of coarse brown grass, and the only habitations were dry inhuman ruins; but whatever else was dead, our interest was alive.
By June 25, Mallory and Bullock had reached the terminus of the Rongbuk Glacier, the massive ice stream that drains thewhole north side of Everest. For a month, the indefatigable duo would explore approaches, only to be stymied and puzzled again and again. Few Europeans had yet traveled on any of the colossal Himalayan glaciers: used to the easy highways such rivers of ice formed in the Alps, the two British climbers were severely frustrated by the jumbled séracs, the crevasse-riddled icefalls, and the weird ice pinnacles, called
nieves penitentes
, that the Rongbuk threw in their path. The glacier was, Mallory wrote, “not a road but an obstacle”; and, “The White Rabbit himself would have been bewildered here.” Part of the time, the men hiked in snowshoes, but even so, in the soggy monsoon conditions they often could not avoid wading knee-deep through slush pools.
All the while, Mallory kept staring at the mountain, analyzing it. Early on, he had decided, as he jotted in his diary, “Last section of East arête should go.” Here was a pregnant observation, for on that last section of what would come to be called the northeast ridge, Mallory and Irvine would vanish three years hence.
Just as early, Mallory recognized that the key to reaching the northeast ridge was gaining the 23,000-foot saddle of snow and ice that he and Bullock named the Chang La, or North Col. The approach to the col from the main Rongbuk Glacier, however, looked impossible. For weeks, the two men reconnoitered, climbing lower peaks just to acclimatize and to gain new views of Everest, teaching their “coolies” (as they called the porters) the rudiments of mountaineering.
In the course of these explorations, the men climbed to another col on the west of Everest, called the Lho La. From here, the two became the first Europeans to behold the Khumbu Glacier and its upper basin, the Western Cwm (pronounced “Coom”), which Mallory named,
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