Read an Excerpt

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS FOR ILLUSTRATIONS

Map photograph Gyger & Klopfenstein

An aerial view of the Face Swissair-Foto

Harrer on the Hinterstoisser Traverse. Kasparek traversing
to the First Ice Field The author's Eiger Archive

The Second Ice Field Sepp Jöchler

1952. The French climbers on the upper part of the "Spider" Gaston Rébuffat

1957. Rescue operations on the summit of the Eiger
Albert Winkler

Chapter One

"COME
BACK SAFE,
MY FRIENDS"

Writing a book about the North Face of the Eiger? Whatever for?" The question was put to me by a man of some standing in Alpine circles. I was taken aback and slightly cross, so I gave him a somewhat offhand answer: "For people to read, of course."

    That started him off on a passionate tirade.

    "Who's likely to read it? Don't you think the handful of climbers who are really interested in that crazy venture have had quite enough literature on the subject already? Or do you just want to join the sensation- mongers, from whose ranks a serious climber like yourself should keep as remote as possible?"

    I answered him: "If all climbers shared your point of view, it wouldn't be surprising to find the newspaper reports overflowing with misstatements and exaggerations. I believe the public has a right to authoritative information, especially when mountaineering problems become human ones. And I think it is a climber's duty tocontribute to the formation of public opinion in such matters."

    And with that I dropped the unpleasant argument.

    However, he had failed to shake my purpose to write a book about the Eiger. I had already been engaged on the preliminary work for months, indeed for years. My home was piled high with books, periodicals, newspaper cuttings—about two thousand of them in various languages—on the subject of the Eiger's North Face. I had written, and received replies to, innumerable letters. Every letter from a climber who had actually done the North Face was a personal document and, more than that, the documentation of a personality. I had no intention of allowing the history of the Eiger's North Face to become a mere calendar of climbs; its foreground theme was to be the men who had done those climbs.

    This man, who was so shocked at the idea of my writing a book about the North Face of the Eiger, was akin to a certain type of climber, who plants himself on a pedestal of extreme exaltation and merely smiles superciliously at the nonsensical idea of writing for the layman about climbing. But one cannot ignore public opinion and at the same time expect it to judge one sympathetically and intelligently.

    No less an authority than the late Geoffrey Winthrop Young, one of the grand old men of British climbing and outstanding in its literature, recognized the demands of the age and dealt with them in his article "Courage and Mountain Writing." He understood well enough the general public's thirst for sensation, but he faced it squarely and yet refused to give in to it.

    "The modern lay public," he writes, "is now ready to read mountain adventures among its other sensational reading. It still demands excitement all the time. The cut rope is no longer essential, and the blonde heroine has less appeal, now that she has to climb in nailed boots and slacks. It wants records, above all. Records in height, records in endurance, hair breadth escapes on record rock walls, and a seasoning of injuries, blizzards, losses of limbs and hazards of life.... I have suggested that the writers and producers of mountain books must also take some of the responsibility...."

    Responsibility with regard to the subject matter—responsibility with regard to the wishes of the reader. The key to a proper comprehension and understanding between the layman and the climber may well lie here.

    And how is the climber to write? In Young's view: "If he is to be read by human beings, he must write his adventures exactly as he himself humanly saw them at the time. General or objective description, such as satisfied the slower timing of the last two centuries, now reads too slowly, and is dull."

    But how can he avoid becoming a positive bore, if he intends to write a whole book about a single Alpine mountain face and the solitary route up it? Once again I will quote Young: "However well-known the peak, or the line of ascent, no mountain story need ever repeat itself, or seem monotonous. Both mountain surface and mountain climber vary from year to year, even from day to day."

    There is no mountain, no mountain face anywhere, of which that can more truly be said than of the Eiger and its North Face. And all the men concerned—those who succeeded, or those who tried and failed—were all sharply defined personalities. No two of them were alike.

    "A book about the Eiger? Whatever for?"

    The question continued to rankle, though probably the man who asked it never intended to make me angry. Yet the barb persisted. And, though I needed neither an explanation nor a justification for my undertaking, I was greatly heartened to read the following words in an article by Albert Eggler, the well-known Alpine climber and leader of the Swiss Everest Expedition of 1956: "However, we Westerners more especially, who owe the improvements of our life-time to the selfless devotion of a few exceptionally courageous and probably highly zealous men, ought not to be too hard on people who take on an assignment which in the end proves too big for them. Men who take unusual risks are not by any means the worst types. But what we could and should do is to open the eyes of young climbers in appropriate fashion to the very special dangers of the mountains. And in this direction, a great and worthwhile duty still lies before the Alpine clubs and Alpine publications generally."

    But was the duty really worthwhile? Was it really a duty? And, if it was, dared I, could I perform it? I kept on remembering that question: "A book about the Eiger? Whatever for?" I am not usually the kind of person to dither about a selected target, or about a route, once I have recognised it as the right one. To spur me on, I had all the mass of writings and photographs, the notebooks, the letters, much of the material already sorted and arranged under the individual attempts on and ascents of the Face. But those misgivings aroused by a thoughtless remark were a poor source of driving power to start me on my work.

    Then, one day, my old friend Kurt Maix called on me. In Austria there is no need to introduce Kurt. In his own country everyone who has anything to do with mountains or mountaineering knows him. His ability to describe things graphically has enabled him to interest laymen and those who know nothing of mountains in Alpine affairs, and to tell the devoted readers he has won for himself in this way everything he wants to, and everything he knows how to, about climbing and climbers. And that means plenty. For not only was he in his day a pretty sporting climber, but he continues to take a lively, indeed a passionate, interest in everything to do with mountains and mountaineers. He is no hack writer; every report on a climb, an expedition, a successful ascent, or an accident is a living experience for him. And though Maix is a journalist and writes by profession, he has never renounced his role as the mountaineer he remains at heart.

    I was delighted to see Kurt again, but it was high time I was getting on with my book. After our first joyous greetings, I said to him: "I'm sorry I haven't much time for you. I'm up to my neck in work."

    "So I hear," said Kurt. "They tell me you are writing a book about your African trip and Buwenzori."

    "No, not about Ruwenzori," I confessed.

    "Then what is it about?"

    I hesitated a little. Perhaps I was afraid of another answer like the one which had made me so angry a few days ago. Then I blurted out: "About the North Face of the Eiger."

    Kurt looked surprised for a moment; then he said, with obvious delight: "But that's grand news!"

    Still a little dubious, I asked him: "What's grand about it?"

    "Why, that you're the one who's going to write the book about the Eiger. Not only because you were one of the party which made the first ascent. But because a book of yours will have more effect on our youngsters than a thousand warnings from elsewhere. They'll believe you."

    "Certainly, there will have to be warnings," I said.

    Kurt shook his head vigorously. "No," he said, "I don't mean that you will warn them in the ordinary sense. You won't raise a minatory finger, with a superior smile. All you will need to do is to present the Face as it actually is. Its history is more than a record of mountaineering disasters and successes. It is a history of human development and human tragedies. Someone had to write this book about the Eiger sometime. I would have done it myself, if—"

    "If what?"

    "If I were properly qualified to do it. But this is a book which can only be written by someone with personal experience of the Face. General mountaineering knowledge, imagination, reconstructions, and a study of the sources, all these aren't sufficient here."

    I remembered a broadcast I had heard, the previous year. Fischer-Karwin, the Austrian Radio's star interviewer, had been asking Kurt Maix for his views about the mountaineering accidents of the summer of 1957. Kurt had answered: "I refuse to lump the tragedies on the Eiger Wall together with other accidents which resulted from carelessness or insufficient experience. Anyone who makes headway on the North Face of the Eiger and survives there for several days has achieved and overcome so much—whatever mistakes he may have committed—that his performance is well above the comprehension of the average climber."

    And now here was Kurt, thrilled at my determination to write the book. His enthusiasm was infectious and convincing. Had I really been annoyed a few days ago by a thoughtless remark? I had already forgotten about it. Suddenly, I saw a strange picture before my eyes. I was standing at the bottom of a high and difficult mountain face, intending to climb it solo. Then I was joined by another solitary climber who, too, stood looking up the face, just as I had stood, searching, studying, assessing. An unexpected meeting, a brief word of greeting, and a decision was born to climb the face as a pair.

    Following a spontaneous impulse, I asked Kurt: "Will you help me with the book? There is so much basic material that it needs continual revision and sifting. Thoughts and questions keep on cropping up which call for definite answers. It is often very hard to provide the right answer oneself. Could you stay for a few days?"

    Kurt stayed for many days. We worked like demons, from morning till night. We wallowed in reports and statements, made notes, headings, began to write things down, mostly each working on his own. But we both looked forward to the evenings, when we joined up again and shared the experiences and fresh knowledge the day had brought. Those evenings frequently extended far into the night, occupied by long conversations which always seemed too short. Everything always revolved about the North Face of the Eiger. Yet it was a focus from which our thoughts could range outwards in all directions. And from some small occurrence on the Face we often travelled directly to life's most serious problems. Memories which I had long since thought deeply overlaid came vividly to life again. A great deal of what was eventually set down and developed in the book arose out of our nightly talks. They were good days, those, with Kurt as my companion, and both of us spiritually in the shadow of the Eiger's Face.

    I have always been disappointed when climbers who lead a first ascent on a difficult climb fail to acknowledge the support of the second man on the rope. One loses nothing by reporting that the rope moved through the safeguarding hands of one's partner while one was mastering an overhang. And now that the book about the North Face of the Eiger is finished, I would like to shake hands with Kurt Maix, just as I would on reaching a summit.

    But there are many others besides Kurt whom I must thank for their share in the completion of this book. Their role has been that of the porters and teammates on an expedition, who pitch camps and shuttle loads, so that the assault party can push on up to the top. The late Othmar Gurtner, that great Swiss mountaineer, author, and editor, provided me, out of his rich store of knowledge, with endless facts, basic sources, and special Eiger documentation. How grateful I was for my acquaintance with Guido Tonella, who wields his pen for truth and justice as bravely as any Cavalier of old his sword. How gratefully I recognised in my correspondence with Lionel Terray and Gaston Rébuffat that brotherly comradeship which unites all climbers. And what thanks I owe to all the others who helped me, by their letters and reports, in my labours of compiling this book. Anderl Heckmair, Erich Vanis, Erich Waschak, Sepp Jöchler, Karl Blach, Sepp Larch, Jean Fuchs, Karl Gramminger, Alfred Hellepart.... Technical considerations alone prevent my naming all the others to whom my thanks are due. And then there are the dead, whose memories, whose achievements, and whose letters survive as living witnesses of strong and good men: Fritz Kasparek, Ludwig Vörg, Hans Schlunegger, Karl Reiss, Jürgen Wellenkamp, Hermann Buhl, and Louis Lachenal.

    As I write these lines, the summer of 1958 has begun. It is five years since the last party succeeded in climbing the North Face of the Eiger—the twelfth to reach the top safe and sound. So far there has been no thirteenth. I know that within the next few weeks some keen young climbers will be trying to break the barrier of tragedy that seems to hang over the thirteenth climb of the Face. They are continually in my thoughts.

    Easy enough to say it; but I mean it in all sincerity. I mean it as seriously as I mean the warning every reader of this book can draw from its pages. Obviously I could not fail to do justice to the rare beauty and the unique size of this mighty Face and of the route which leads up it; that would have been letting myself down. But I can only hope that Kurt Maix was right when he said: "No one who reads your book can fail to know, afterwards, whether he belongs on the Face or not...."

    A few days ago two climbers came to see me. One of them was young Brandler, the very same Brandler who in 1956 saw Moosmüller and Söhnel go plunging to their death near the Difficult Crack. In those two years since Moosmüller's falling body brushed past him, a boy has grown into a man who knows what responsibility means. He has worked hard and become a good mountaineer, not only an exceptional rock climber. This summer he wants to try the Face again. His rope mate is to be Hias Noichl, that outstanding Tirolean mountaineer and long-distance ski runner. Brandler asked my advice about equipment for the climb. Ought I to have dodged the responsibility, by warning him and begging him not to try the Face again?

    I could see that both were well trained and well prepared for an attempt on the Face. I could see that the character and skill of both men would make for a harmonious rope of two. I gave young Brandler as much advice as I could. We spoke in a matter-of-fact way without a touch of sentiment. Even when we said goodbye, I refrained from voicing the hope against hope which had been welling up within me all the time—"Come back safe, my friends...."

    But I watched them both for a long time, as they went farther and farther away down the road....