Letters From Everest Read online

  The stone grows old.

  Eternity is not for stones.

  But I shall go down from this airy space,

  this swift white peace, this stinging exultation.

  And time will close about me, and my soul

  stir to the rhythm of the daily round.

  Yet, having known, life will not press so close,

  and always I shall feel time ravel thin about me;

  For once I stood

  In the white windy presence of eternity.

  Eunice Tietjens, 1917

  All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes, to make it possible.

  Thomas Edward Lawrence, 1922

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Epigraph

  Foreword by Jan Morris

  Introduction by Huw Lewis-Jones

  LETTERS FROM EVEREST

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Afterword by Peter Hillary

  Thoughts

  Further Reading

  Biographies

  Copyright

  FOREWORD

  Jan Morris

  In two senses these memorable letters come, as they say, from the heart. They come from the true heart of a twenty-nine-year-old New Zealander, writing from distant parts to the ones he loved at home. And they come from the conceptual heart of a famous adventure.

  In a way those hearts were shared, anyway. George Lowe was a mountaineer of classic stature, straight as they come, indefatigable, unselfish, fine at the long haul and the apparently insoluble obstacle. The adventure was the British Everest Expedition of 1953, the very first to reach the top of the world, and its style, like his, was traditionally dogged, decent and sensible.

  Many thousands of words have been written about that expedition in the sixty years since then, but nobody has recalled the emotions of the experience so intimately as George does in these always vivid, often touching letters from Everest. They were written on the spot, at the moment, and sent to his sister Betty in New Zealand for distribution among their family. He writes about matters petty and monumental, comical and disturbing, frivolous and fateful, about oxygen rates and tinned peas and friendships and perilous crevasses, all with the same frankness and homely clarity. So he elevates a terrific experience to the level of ordinary human understanding.

  The world was to grow familiar with the names of Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay, the two who reached the top of the mountain, and of John Hunt the leader who got them there. Lowe was to remain more private, but he was essential to the character and success of the venture. There was no phase of the expedition in which he did not play a vital part, spending long periods at extreme heights, ready to turn his hand at any task, step in at any emergency and tackle the most demanding stages of the route. Hillary, his life-long friend, said afterwards that if Lowe had been in the summit party he would certainly have got to the top, and anyone who reads these letters will have no doubt about it, either. No sense of disappointment or irony weakens them. George enjoyed himself on Everest, and what he told his Betty was all honest, all happy, and all true.

  His attitudes exactly mirrored those of the expedition itself, which remains as admirable an exploit as it seemed in 1953. A few petty disputes tarnished its reputation for a time – who got to the top first? – why wasn’t Tenzing knighted like Hillary? – and several thousand men and women have climbed Everest since. To my mind, though, there was something essentially decent about John Hunt’s expedition, something almost innocent to its triumph, that has made its memory affectionately cherished to this day.

  History has helped. Halfway through the twentieth century the British nation was approaching the end of its career as a great world power – signing off, though its people did not always recognize it, after so many victories, such grand tragedies and accomplishments. As it happened in that very year a new young Queen of England was about to succeed to the throne, and visionaries hoped that her accession might mark a sort of rebirth, the start of a new Elizabethan age.

  On 2 June 1953, Elizabeth II was crowned at Westminster, and on that very morning the news broke in London that Everest had been climbed. Not only the nation, but people around the world rejoiced at the conjunction. For the Empire, however, it was not a revival but a final hurrah. Yet the Everest success endures far beyond this. These letters from the mountain bear witness to the character of a historic event – and to the character of a good man, too.

  * * *

  INTRODUCTION

  Huw Lewis-Jones

  The first ascent of Everest in the summer of 1953 was one of the twentieth century’s great triumphs of exploration. Its symbolism as a human achievement, perhaps more so than its usefulness, means that it will always be remembered fondly, often proudly, by those who were alive when word of the success spread across the world. For the generations that follow, and for those of us who discover the story anew for ourselves, it is something, perhaps, of a different age. It shares in the heroism and adventure of history’s explorers, yet stands at that precious moment before our race launched itself wildly into space in a blaze of rockets and radar screens. In that, it seems to me at least to sum up the best of the human spirit, in enterprise, daring, and downright hard work. These were the qualities that would lead to that sublime moment when man set foot at last upon the highest point on Earth.

  George Lowe was one of two New Zealanders on the Everest expedition, and his efforts on the mountain were crucial to the endeavour. He was one of the lead climbers, forging the route up Everest’s Lhotse Face without oxygen and later cutting steps for his partners up the summit ridge. He ‘put up a performance’, described the expedition leader John Hunt, ‘which will go down in the annals of mountaineering as an epic achievement of tenacity and skill’. For his own part, George was just happy to be on the mountain sharing in the teamwork of something incredible; doing something he loved. Chosen by his dear friend and climbing partner Ed Hillary to be his ‘best man’ when married after the Everest success, Lowe was a modest fellow who never sought the limelight. Almost ninety years old now, his achievements deserve wider recognition.

  New Zealander George Lowe on the South Col of Everest in 1953.

  As a historian, it’s not often that you have the chance to meet your heroes and, better still, to be given the honour of working with them. Though George’s health has now declined, he is still with us and that is something to treasure. Of the Everest climbers of 1953 only George remains.

  Over the course of creating George’s Everest memoirs, just recently published, and gathering together materials from his rich lifetime of adventure, I came across a small bundle of letters at his house neatly tucked away at the bottom of an oak chest. Sometime later, another small cluster of dusty envelopes appeared, their distinctive red and blue edges calling out, buried within a large stack of faded newspapers. Then, whilst slowly sorting through some old glass slides, a handful more were revealed. George’s wife Mary was delighted and after a bit more rummaging pulled a file down from a high shelf. Inside were yet more letters, including many that George had gathered when returning home to New Zealand after the Everest celebrations had quietened down. In time other members of his family also shared their memories and gradually this collection of correspondence has come together.

  Though more letters will surely find their way home, we now have a complete narrative of his days on Everest. In this special bo
ok a trove of these unpublished letters are brought together for the first time to describe the day-by-day moments of this historic expedition as never before. They provide us with a rare glimpse of private hopes and very public achievements.

  These letters are offered here in full in the manner that George hoped for them to be shared with his loved ones, perhaps to be published someday, before his eventful life took him all over the world and consigned the letters to safekeeping. Time passed and attentions, as always, moved elsewhere. Though some minor edits have been made for clarity, original spelling and punctuation, and other idiosyncrasies, have been retained. During his travels George wrote letters home to his family as often as he could. In turn, they could then keep their friends updated with news, frequently before the local newspapers had full accounts of his climbs. Yet these letters were more than just news – George also wrote in case he and his friend Ed never returned to tell the tale.

  * * *

  George Lowe was born in 1924 in Hastings, a small town on New Zealand’s North Island, the seventh child of Archibald and Teenie. His father was a fruit farmer known locally for his fine nectarines and pears, some twenty-seven varieties of apples, and his equally prodigious clan of active children. George’s eldest sister Betty, ten years his senior, helped take care of the family throughout her life and they were all very close. After George, came a younger brother, bringing the tally of Lowe children to eight. The majority of the letters George wrote from Everest were to his long-suffering sister Betty, who then had the mammoth task of making multiple hand-written copies to share with the family.

  Providing a growing circle of admirers with regular correspondence was a daunting prospect for carefree George. At sea, shortly after leaving Australia, he hatched a plan to cope with replying to a pile of letters, all wishing him luck on the expedition. ‘I have an idea that means work for you,’ he wrote to Betty in February 1953, ‘but it will probably be a good thing.’ He went on to explain his plan. He’d write one letter to Betty at every chance he had to jot his thoughts down and she would then share them at home with their folks and the brothers and sisters.

  Betty had the task of copying each letter twice by hand, lest an original go astray, and then getting some more typed up by a local lady. Extracts could then be read out, with considerable pride, at George’s tramping club. Betty also had a list (it grew to about twenty addresses) to which she would send on some copies. The names included George’s old climbing friends, and a few old girlfriends too, whilst the rest could be sent where Betty liked as long as the postage wasn’t ‘too awful’. ‘This will save me a tremendous amount of repetition and it will enable me to give you longer and more detailed news,’ he explained by way of an apology, before adding, ‘but please be careful that the copies don’t get to the press!’

  During the march out from Kathmandu George wrote copiously, relaxing by streams in the morning sunshine or scribbling by hurricane lamp then torch-light into the night, too excited to sleep. As they climbed ever higher on the mountain writing became more difficult but he stuck to his task. From Camp III on 8 May: ‘I’ve just had to have the ink bottle thawed over the primus to fill my pen – I had it in my boot thinking it may have escaped the cold – temperatures at night here are recorded at -30°F’. Halfway up the Lhotse Face and running out of ink, he radioed down to the lower camps and soon one of his companions lent him a much-coveted biro pen (in return for some extra tins of tomato juice). The biro was at its best when warmed gently inside his sleeping bag and in the tough conditions of the climb it worked a treat.

  Events moved so swiftly it was often hard to find a moment to write but George would make up for missed days by producing energetic accounts when he had a spare hour or two. Safely in his tent, he wrote until he was too tired to hold a pen and then took refuge in well-earned sleep. Back safely at Base Camp, and reunited with his supply of ink, he was able to fill in all the details at length. And thank goodness he did so. These rare letters from Everest now allow us to travel back in time to join his companions every step of the way: a vivid, behind-the-scenes witness of a climb that would make history. In clear and elegant prose, this is a unique testimony of a superlative human achievement.

  * * *

  George has been called the ‘forgotten man’ of Everest, an unsung hero of sorts. Some say his achievements have been overlooked as eyes are drawn to the triumph of the summit or to the disasters and controversy on the mountain of more recent years. George is passed by, perhaps, because he played his part so well. He was a master of his craft, on ice and snow, and a central figure in ensuring the success of the final pair – Ed and Tenzing – who would step up onto the summit that day in May.

  Lowe first met Hillary while working in New Zealand’s Southern Alps just after the war and they soon struck up a friendship. Little did they know it would be the beginning of a journey to the highest altitudes and latitudes on the planet. Ed would later write that it was George who ‘set off the spark that finally got us both to the Himalayas’. In 1951 the pair joined the first New Zealand expedition there, exploring the Indian Garhwal and being part of the team that climbed the 23,760 ft Mukut Parbat.

  The following year, thanks to Ed, George was invited by Eric Shipton to join the British expedition to climb Cho Oyu (26,865 ft), the formidable next-door neighbour to Everest and the sixth highest peak in the world. They found a possible way up from the northwest side of Cho Oyu, but with a severely stretched supply chain Ed and George only reached 22,500 ft before they were turned back by dangerous ice-cliffs. Shipton suggested that they might like to have a go at crossing for the first time a pass to the east of Cho Oyu called the Nup La. The young pair agreed without hesitation.

  In June 1952 they crossed the Himalayan divide from Nepal down onto the immense glaciers of Tibet to secretly explore the north side of Everest. It took them six days to cover just four miles. The experience remains, in George’s estimation, the most exacting and satisfying mountaineering that they had ever undertaken. Standing on the Rongbuk Glacier, Ed wrote: ‘There was Everest, proud and aloof against a wind-streaked sky. The glacier was a shining pathway of ice sweeping up to the foot of the mountain.’ They managed to explore over halfway round the great northern flank ridges of Everest and eventually clambered back into Nepal, though they had for some time to keep their journey a secret.

  George and Ed Hillary at the Malte Brun Hut, near the upper Tasman Glacier in 1951. They became good friends climbing in New Zealand before heading to the Himalayas together.

  Within days George and Ed set off on their next adventure with Shipton and Charles Evans, with just what they stood up in, plus only a sleeping bag, lilo, down jacket and a few exposures left in their cameras. In fact, George recalls, he had less than he would have had for a weekend tramp in New Zealand. Their aim was to get onto the Barun Glacier – an unexplored ice stream between Everest and Makalu (27,838 ft), the fifth highest in the world. Makalu had never been approached before and reaching the head of the Barun and looking into Tibet from there would complete a circuit of Everest over its highest passes.

  After exploring many virgin valleys the team eventually retreated, wading knee-deep in new snow, falling in up to the shoulders in masked crevasses and generally having a bleak time. With the monsoon upon them, they got out and down to grass level and then ‘hitched their belts’ very seriously this time, because ‘we were going to try to follow the Barun Glacier and river to its junction with the Arun River, almost twenty miles away, through gorges galore and formidable jungle’, George recalls. But this sort of thing was ‘bread and meat’ to Shipton who thought that this way of finishing a trip, by ‘exploring to the very end, was the choicest delight’.

  The following year, as is now well known, George was an integral part of the successful Everest expedition, leading the route up the Lhotse Face towards the South Col. Together with Alf Gregory and Sherpa Ang Nima, he supported Ed and Tenzing by placing a final advance camp just 300 m below the summit. Mo
re expeditions followed: to Makalu in 1954, again with Ed Hillary, although the mountain was not climbed. Then, after meeting Vivian Fuchs, he and Ed were invited to join the Commonwealth Trans-Antarctic Expedition. George, ever versatile, was given the job of filming the first crossing of the continent. His still imagery and footage are a lasting tribute to his skills and his courage as an explorer with a bewildering array of talents. ‘He was,’ Ed Hillary described, ‘just such a good fellow. Gentle, brilliant, and humble. Simply first-class.’ High praise indeed, from this most respected of mountain men.

  As we can read in these letters, it was George who first embraced Ed and Tenzing as they made their way down from the summit of Everest, that brilliant May day back in 1953. George had been observing their progress from high on the Col and climbed up to meet them as they descended. He brought with him a thermos of warm tomato soup. Ed unclipped his mask, grinned a tired greeting and then sat down on the ice for a rest. Finally looking up to his old friend, he said in his matter-of-fact way: ‘Well, George, we knocked the bastard off!’

  * * *

  Mount Everest, the highest mountain in the world, attracts attention like no other. From its southern approaches it dominates the Khumbu region of Nepal, far to the northeast of Kathmandu. Triangulated as Peak XV in 1856, the mountain was named soon after in honour of Sir George Everest, a former Surveyor General of India, though of course the mountain had been known about for centuries. To the Nepalese she is Sagarmatha, to the Tibetans Chomolungma – Goddess Mother of the Earth – the jewel of the Himalaya, a range that stretches for over 1,500 miles from Kashmir to Assam. It is generally agreed that the main summit is a formidable 29,029 ft (8,848 m), and the mountain is actually slowly growing taller each year – some 5 mm, scientists suggest – uplifted as the Indian tectonic plate pushes northwards into Asia.