that smoking aids acclimatization to altitude. It restores the lowered CO2 level in the blood that controls involuntary breathing. (As a smoker, I naturally believe this.) ‘Besides,’ says Mal, lighting up another – ‘it does your body good to be accustomed to a certain level of abuse.’ This is the Mal Duff theory of Abuse Training, and he adheres to it rigorously.
‘Will Julie Tullis be considered for a summit attempt?’ The media had naturally centred a great deal of coverage on Julie. ‘Anyone who is still on their feet can have a crack at the summit,’ Mal replied. Then came the inevitable questions about the fate of Joe Tasker and Pete Boardman: where did we think they were? Had they fallen down the Kangshung Face, or were they still on the Ridge? What would we do if we found them? Mal’s answers were models of tactful evasion, and I was struck by how much he’d changed, in terms of public persona at least, from the irreverent and casual enthusiast of a few months before. He now seemed the very model of a serious, responsible and business-like leader of a major expedition – at how much personal cost, I wondered. His preoccupation with the Expedition’s overall planning and the demands made on him as our figurehead, had put a distance between him and the rest of us, and perhaps him and himself.
‘I can’t say I get any special thrill out of leading this trip,’ he later said to me. ‘It’s more that I really wanted to go to Everest and no one else seemed keen to pick up the ball and run with it.’
Then one by one we were taken aside for photos and factual details, as if queuing for school medical examinations. Being processed. Name, age, role in Expedition. Then one of the photographers suggested we go onto the roof for team pictures. ‘Be careful up there,’ one of the hotel employees said nervously, ‘there’s ice on the roof.’ We said we thought we could handle that, and trooped up.
‘All I want to do is go climbing,’ Jon complained, voicing a general feeling.
‘So do I, Jon,’ Mal replied. ‘But it’s not as simple as that, not on this one.’
No point in denying that elements of publicity and its attendant gravy-train are fun – particularly the free drinks and taxis and hotel rooms. And it’s some recompense for parents and relatives after years of despairing of their off-springs’ dangerous, erratic and unprofitable life-style, to have them enter the public realm.
I’d gone through the publicity process before in book promotions, and accepted it as a commitment made in return for someone else risking their money. Often it’s silly, sometimes you’re being asked to be false, mostly it’s good fun. But the lads were uneasy. Their private pursuit had become public property. If anyone takes up serious mountaineering in order to become famous, I’ve never met them. What climbers do is deeply personal, between them and the rock and ice. They are reluctant to speak seriously about it because they fear they will be misunderstood or misrepresented – as heroes, perhaps, or people ruled by a death-wish, or seekers after enlightenment, or squaddies without nerves or imagination. At most they want the respect and recognition of their peers, and among peers there is little need to speak of the why and what of climbing.
‘Still,’ said Sandy as he opened The Times next morning, ‘you don’t crack an egg because you want to crack an egg, but because you want to eat an omelette, eh?’
Jon Tinker’s Glencoe Notebook, Jan – Feb ’85.
Duff climbing on Cam Dearg Buttress. A helmet pokes into view, Garfield-like sleepy eyes check the turf. Crank and clatter, huff and puff. ‘You are definitely psychotic, Jon!’ ‘I blame it on Duff.’ ‘You always do.’
Half an hour later they’re on their way back down to the Clachaig with a new Grade VI route under their belts. For these few weeks they’ll be guiding six days a week and climbing on their own account on the seventh. ‘Well, it’s better than training,’ says Mal, ordering another lager. Somewhat to their surprise they climb extremely well together in Scotland, swapping leads, silently urging each other on to the undiscovered limits of what’s possible.
A semi-formalized relationship with Sandy. The bickering keeps the edge which lets us both perform at higher standards. Many’s the quiet giggle we’ve had at outsiders’ views on this ménage à deux.
Andy G. going up beside Clachaig Gully – the fluency is there now – next step is to find the rhythm out in front.
Liz too sensitive about her role. The Lizometer – check the age jokes. Does she know her role yet? At least she’ll stop Malcolm pining for the fiords. Don’t worry, kid.
Pre-route manoeuvring – who’s going to make out on E., make it up and off. All a waste of time. Sandy and Bob the consensus so far. I’ll keep quiet on this one. There must be no pairing off at the beginning though.
It’ll be relaxing being on the hill again with my mates – Mal, Sandy, Tony, Nicko and Wattie. The rest will be by the end. Monk-cowled figures staring into the thin. That bitter taste of altitude. The sweet smell of sweat and the soured deflation of success.
Mal trains on beer and chips. Jon trains on fear and loathing. Tony trains on climbing and training. Sandy keeps quiet. Andy G. must learn to be stupid.
One-pint Wattie – flair and apeshit. Watch this man go! A dark horse by inclination. That youth will go far.
Dr Aido’s PATENTED GO FASTER (GRADE V) PILL
½ oz garlic
⅛ oz snuff (Black Death brand)
2 slivers of red pepper
2 grains of cocaine
1 cut-down amphetamine suppository
MIX WELL AT BASE CAMP. ALLOW TO SET.
INSERT WHEN FACED WITH
– Grade V
– FAILURE, DEATH, PANIC
– BORING PARTIES
EFFECTS UNCERTAIN BUT IT WILL MAKE YOU GO FASTER!!!
Chris Bonington lecturing at the Clachaig. ‘I’ll be sitting on the South Col with loads of Sherpas carrying up tons of food and oxygen; I’ll look across at Mal Duff and his merry men and I’ll think “You poor buggers, hee hee!” … I hope they reach the top but even more that I reach the top.’
Later, after the lecture, we had a quick talk. He thinks we’ve got a chance, and emphasized how bloody high, hard and long it is. I came away almost certain that I will not get above 8, 000 metres and even that will take all I’ve got. It’s quite nice to go without summit pressure or financial worries. Even load-carrying will be a privilege, so many people would sacrifice a lot to go on this sort of adventure.
The photo-call at the Clachaig. We play around on an ice-fall for the cameras. Kurt and Julie have seen it all before – they sit around – also they’re outside their home ground. A trifle ruffled by the lads trying to pin down what they’d done the day before. ‘We just went up the mountain.’ It transpires they went up Summit Gully – a descent route off Bidean Nam Beith which Mal not unkindly calls ‘a steep walk’. Later in the pub Kurt toasts Julie to a good day out ‘even though Mal says it’s just a steep walk’. I fall about. Legends can play this game better than most.
Andy said that he hadn’t got the same excitement or sensed the same feeling about this trip. I think most of us feel the same. It’s too big to comprehend, so many people are involved.
Andy playing guitar much later in the Lounge, Mal in babble-mode, Dave thumping his chair – it’s great having him on our side. Meanwhile I’m reading Hornbeim on thin cold air, Willi Unsoeld and the North Face traverse1 in a back issue of National Geographic …
I needed to take the occasional weekend away from writing Summit Fever to go climbing in Glencoe and remind myself why I’d actually become involved in this game. There’d be little technical climbing for me on Everest, just the bottomless weariness of carrying loads