Features

Feature-length articles on mountaineering and mountain-related topics, including art, science and history.

 

The (Unbelievable) Kindness of Strangers

The (Unbelievable) Kindness of Strangers

September 1992. After about ten days of rickety Indian buses, army checkpoints, and trekking through dense, humid forest we reached our base camp at 4,000m, below the imposing and alluring unclimbed peak of Tupendeo. It’s a beautiful mountain, referred to by some as the ‘Dru of the Kishtwar’, lying in the border area of Jammu and Kashmir, in a remote valley that sees few western visitors.

After a few days’ acclimatisation, my climbing partner, Angus, and I set off to climb the mountain. Access to it was barred by a steep, boulder-strewn moraine field that led to a small glacier at the base of the main face at 4,900m. We established a cache of gear at what we over-enthusiastically dubbed ‘ABC’. After the first day of climbing we’d made good progress and passed what, from below, looked like the crux section of the wall and were about two-thirds of the way up. The next day it snowed hard and we decided to sit it out on a relatively comfortable ledge; big enough for one of us, with the other perched a few metres above.

The striking peak of Tupendeo (5700m)

The next day was better and we set off up the last section of difficulties, following a steep, snow-filled couloir that led to the summit ridge. As Angus pulled onto the ridge he dislodged a football-sized block. I was not in the fall line but, nonetheless, ducked and got as close to the rock as I could. The very first thing I recall was the sound of a dull thud and then an all-embracing sensation that is hard to describe. It was like every nerve in my body was screaming at me. And then I just started shouting, over and over, ‘my leg, my leg’. The lower part was hanging there, swinging and looked like it was only held on by the clothing. The rock had severed my tibia and fibula and removed a large piece of the front of my shin. Blood was pouring out and I was unable to really comprehend the situation for some time. Eventually, I understood. Yes, I really was mortally injured, incapacitated, and near the summit of an unclimbed peak in a remote part of the Indian Himalaya. Rescue seemed somewhere between improbable and impossible.

Angus put me in a sleeping bag and started the abseil down to get help. It took four days to get me down the mountain and onto the glacier. From here the treacherous, steep and loose moraine field barred our way. By day five I was delirious with gangrene and blood loss and had no idea what was going on. Several people from the local hamlet, Kaban, which was about six hours down the valley, arrived with a makeshift stretcher. It was not until many years later that I learned of the heroic, unprompted effort they had made to carry me down to flatter, safer ground where a helicopter could land.

The recovery was slow and there were many difficult times and dark moments. I’d lost quite a bit of bone and flesh and it was all badly infected alongside frostbite in my foot, which went through my Achilles, all the way to the bone. I had nine operations and was on crutches for four years, but slowly, ever so slowly, I was able to do a little bit more each year.

Making the return to the mountain

Ten years after the accident, two days before my 40th birthday, I ran a local half-marathon and won by a slim two seconds. That felt like one skeleton I could put back in the closet but there were, for sure, others lurking in the deepest, hard-to-reach parts of my psyche. While the fact that I could still run and still compete felt amazing, there were many things I couldn’t do because of physical and psychological barriers. I did climb (not mountaineer) again with Angus. For our first route together, for reasons passing understanding, we decided to climb the Pat Littlejohn ‘ultra classic’ Crow (E3) in Cheddar Gorge. It sounded amazing but in reality was quite loose and chossy in places, the last thing we wanted after our previous outing together!

Thirty-two years after the accident, in September 2024, I found myself visiting the Indian Institute of Science (IISc) in Bangalore and, as part of that trip, I took part in some fieldwork on a glacier in Ladakh. The week before, myself and a colleague from IISc (my unofficial guide) got on a bus from Jammu-Kishtwar before taking a car to the roadhead from where we hiked up to Kaban. I was met by a welcome party of villagers, several of whom had been part of the original rescue. They placed a khata (a traditional ceremonial scarf) around my neck and I spent three days in the village, meeting my rescuers and being treated like a long-lost son or brother. It was one of the most heart-warming, life-affirming experiences I have ever had. These people owed me nothing, more the reverse, yet they were so pleased, so happy to see me, alive, well and whole. At first, when I tried to explain to them how grateful I was for everything they had done and for saving my life, the words wouldn’t come out, I was so overcome with emotion.


Jonathan with his khata at the foot of the peak

With locals in Kaban

People talk about closure. I don’t really understand what that is when you’ve lost something important to you. There is no such thing for me. It’s about acceptance; embracing a new way of being and a new, different path. Not necessarily worse or better, just different. My journey back to Kaban was not about closure, although we did make a shrine to the gods below Tupendeo, but about accepting and embracing my new path and the beauty in and of the people who saved my life.

 

by Jonathan Bamber

 

 

 

The Guts to Climb

From single-pitch crags to the Piz Badile, Andrew Taylor shares his journey of learning to climb with a stoma.

We are not very good at talking about toilets and what we do in them. Though we all do the same, some of us do things differently. What follows incudes necessary details about what comes out of us, how it comes out of me, and how I manage this in the mountains. Everyone with a stoma is different and has their own experiences. These are mine. I made some mistakes, and I’m sharing so you don’t have to make the same.

Andy seconding the first hard pitch  - Sam Hawkins

Rock climbing and mountaineering have been a part of my life since attending Belper High School in Derbyshire in the 1980s. The school produced lots of adventurers and climbers, Alison Hargreaves and Nigel Vardy most famously, but plenty more too. Including me.

Following an accident in the spring of 2011, a series of scans offered an explanation for some long-standing bowel symptoms I’d been dealing with. My bowel was inflamed and scarred and not working as it should. I had surgery to remove the bad bit of bowel, but this led to even more scarring, a total bowel obstruction and unimaginable pain. Further surgery was required, this time to remove the now totally blocked bowel and a ‘resection’ to staple the good bits together.

I was warned I may need to have a colostomy or ileostomy, often simply called a ‘stoma’. I had a vague impression of what this meant. I was terrified of yet further indignity and embarrassment. I Googled, and found a couple of people who were open about their ostomy surgeries, one of whom was a climber. One piece of advice resonated immediately: ‘When you go in for surgery, take your climbing harness and ask the surgeon to position your stoma to fit around it.’

Pre-op with the potential sites for ileostomy and colostomy marked out - Andrew Taylor

The pre-op nurse had never had this request before: ‘The surgeon will do what he can. We can’t guarantee a stoma will work in that position. Everyone is different on the inside, you know.’

By this time I was feeling very different on the inside.

As it transpired, the surgery did result in an ileostomy and, luckily, it was placed where we had planned.

The many tears, the pain, discomfort and further indignities of the post-op recovery came and went, along with deep depression around what this change would mean for me. With brilliant support from my partner and wider family, I gradually built up the strength to walk, and to walk further, and then to walk uphill, and then to climb.

Everyone with a stoma is different, but for me, managing a stoma was weird, inconsistent, humiliating. It dominated everything in those first months. I had fixed an embarrassing problem of occasional incontinence by becoming permanently incontinent and constantly, exhaustingly, self-conscious. Dehydration and electrolyte imbalance is a particular problem with an ileostomy. ‘Drink plenty and eat crisps’ was my doctor’s advice.

Climbing regularly with the same partner meant I didn’t have to have too many ‘I need to tell you something’ conversations. On one new route in the Moelwynion, Sam casually shouted up: “Does it matter that your bag fell off?” Looking down I could see it had landed on a ledge just above his head. An unusual kind of ‘near miss’. A quick down-climb and my bag was back on. Sam was a few centimetres away from a direct hit to the head with a bag full of shit…

Somehow Sam kept saying yes to climbing with me and more new routes followed.

Finally fit, I felt ready to get back to the Alps, and to tackle a route that had long been on my wishlist: the Cassin Route on the northeast face of the Piz Badile.

Living now in Scotland, my training involved shunting easy routes at Dumbarton Rock. 30m of easy rock 10 times. Quickly nudging up to 20-30 times a session. I rehydrated with electrolyte solutions and was meticulous in when and what I drank.


Bivouac before the climb - Andrew Taylor

Early morning on the approach ledges - Andrew Taylor

August arrived. We drove through France and Switzerland and arrived at the marvellous Camping Acquafraggia. The weather was set fair for 5 days. It was on.

We ate in the hut, but continued on to the bivouac sites below the start of the North Ridge. From here I was managing rehydration with electrolyte / energy gels and water.

The bivouac proceeded as alpine bivis do. Wake and sleep, wake and sleep. Stars and moon progressing through the sky in snapshots.

4am alarm. Up, and eat – muesli bar, energy gel. We were moving early, but still weren’t first on the face. Sam took the first easy rock pitches to below the Diedre Rebuffat and I led the deidre before we switched to simul-climbing for the next 150m or so. Water supply fine, more energy gel.

Sam – the stronger climber – took the three crux pitches above the big ledges. This was feeling hard. I was struggling. Sam pushed through these pitches brilliantly but I was slower again now. Both dehydrated, I led the deep v chimney of the upper crux (It’d be a thrutchy HVS in Wales for the record.) Some fresh graupel in a deep section of chimney filled water bottles and we pushed on. We were both tired and slow now. More water, more energy gel.

More steep, thrutchy stuff followed. Sam led a pitch, I led a pitch, both properly unsure of how we were still moving, but both somehow managing. Some pegs were pulled on. With headtorches back on, I led a final pitch to the ridge. Moving together along the ridge took longer than it should. By the time we reached the highest point on the ridge we realised we weren’t going to find the hut and a bivouac spot was picked.


Andy on the 6a crux - Sam Hawkins

Sam on the upper crux - Andrew Taylor

This bivouac did not proceed as bivouacs usually do. We both probably slept a little, but at around 2.30am there was a pop as I shifted positions. The energy gels had done what energy gels do and sped things up. My stoma output had rapidly increased. Pressure had built up. Medical adhesive is brilliant, but it follows the laws of physics. The pressure had released, the bag adhesive had blown and a large portion of the contents of my bag had spurted out. Very liquid, very quick to cover almost everything I was wearing.

‘Shit!’ Literal and everywhere. Unhealthy ileostomy output, corrupted by energy gels and green with bile, is foul stuff. My training had not included trialling dietary elements. A major oversight. Somehow I cleaned what I could and reapplied the spare stoma bag I had.

Daylight came with a sunrise clear and pure. We reached the summit spike and then the hut, where we slept.

We were up by 10.30am, heading back along the ridge. The abseils went very smoothly – the new abseil points are carefully planned, but Sam’s attention to detail here was fantastic.

There is a point where the ridge abseil takes you immediately over a large overhang onto the northwest side. Sam went down, clipped the next belay, and I followed. Going over the lip I pivoted sideways, my ileostomy bag caught on the edge and was dislodged. I attempted a quick fix, and continued down. My bag was, by now, properly coming off and my only remaining spares were back at the bivi.

So here we were, Sam and I. Poor Sam. I apologised too many times. Around 500m of abseil remained, only I now had an entirely unprotected ileostomy trickling vile, greenish liquid out into the world, through my shirt, down my leg.

Stoma output is very acidic and soon the unprotected skin around the stoma was beginning to blister. I was so angry with myself – so much training, so much preparation, yet I had neglected something which even in day-to-day life I manage carefully. Big, BIG learning point. Always plan mountain diets, and always test them in advance.


Andy abseiling the North Ridge without his stoma bag - Sam Hawkins

The well-earned double breakfast - Sam Hawkins

The last few abseils led us down to the start ledge and then to the bivi kit. By now I was streaked with green bile, but I had given up apologising out loud. Sam had managed the abs pretty much single-handedly and had somehow coped with my physical and emotional mess. If you have a stoma and you want to climb, you need a partner like Sam.

I quickly found my spare stoma bags and other kit and got immediate relief. We’d been obsessing about a hut dinner all the way down, but instead we simply lay down and slept.

The stars turned, the moon rose and set, and breakfast time came. Sasc Fura breakfasts? We had two each, with coffee. Heaven.

So why have I shared all this? Essentially, I don’t want others in the same situation to feel a stoma is the end of their climbing. I want to demonstrate what is possible, and share some of my stoma-specific learning so others can avoid my mistakes.

Was this the first ileostomy ascent of one of the classic north faces of the Alps? I can’t say it was, but I can’t find other reports. That’s not the point of course. The point is that climbers come in all shapes and sizes, with disabilities and impairments, and with various ways of emptying bowels and bladders.

Since my surgery, Mick Fowler has been public about his colostomy, and is still doing Himalayan first ascents. That’s fantastic! There are a handful of other climbers who are public about their ostomies. So part of my purpose also is to try to find others in my position who want a similar challenge in the future.

What’s next for me? Rock has always been my thing, not ice. The great north faces of the Alps may be where I look. I’m going back to a list of dream routes I made long before I had a stoma. So – a call out to the stoma climbing community – Beckey-Chouinard on the South Howser Spire anyone? Lotus Flower Tower? New routes on the granite of the English Mountains, Labrador?

And look, I promise, this time I won’t be taking any energy gels.

Andy is an advisor to the Adventurous Activities Advisory Committee and instigated the production of guidance for outdoor instructors on managing toileting in the outdoors. Of course, this includes managing people with ostomies, and will be available in early 2025.

Andy can be contacted at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. 

 

 

 

Leading Through - The Next 6 Years

Leading Through - The Next 6 Years

Priorities, Plans and Projects for the Alpine Club following Blencathra 2024.

In 2018, the Alpine Club, under the leadership of John Porter, began quite an extraordinary process. It dedicated itself to a programme whereby, every six years, it would bring together its members for a large-scale consultation, assessing its organisational health, its relevance and its priorities for the future.

Informed by the feedback from its members following the 2018 event, held at the Blencathra Field Studies Centre in the Lake District, the AC began a journey which, among other developments, has seen the Club rapidly expand its meets programme, provide increasing opportunities for member development and commit itself to growing its digital offering.

When we met for the second ever Blencathra event in November 2024, it was astonishing to consider how much the Club had changed in the preceding six years; cementing significant progress despite the added challenges of the Covid-19 pandemic. There was a sense from attendees that the Club was travelling in the right direction and an enthusiasm to build upon the progress that had already been made.

As well as broader discussions about the AC and the mountaineering world at large, the event focused on five major topic areas – Membership, Our Values, Publications, Heritage and The Soul of the Club – with some consistent priorities emerging across these subjects.

The weekend was alive with ideas, as much in the downtime between formal sessions as in the discussions themselves. We have pulled together some of the clearest priorities and most widely-supported ideas below.

 


The Blencathra Field Studies Centre - Iain Young

AC President Simon Richardson introducing the weekend - Iain Young

Membership

The Club currently has more than 1,500 members and is attracting increasing numbers of women and younger members thanks to a dedicated focus on broadening our appeal. This was felt to be a healthy size for the Club and efforts to widen our membership through Younger Members' Meets, opportunities for development like the Rick Allen Skills Award and the revitalised ACG, were welcomed. The committee are dedicated to working to maintain our numbers, while continuing to increase the diversity of our membership so that it better reflects the mountaineering community at large.

Some newer members expressed how they had initially found the Club to be intimidating as an institution. We have already made some changes to our events at Charlotte Road to reduce these barriers and will be investigating other ways to actively make new and prospective members feel more welcome at their first Club events.

All the AC events discussed at Blencathra are built on an incredible foundation of voluntary effort and there was a real appetite amongst attendees for more opportunities to become involved in the Club. The committee is already considering the creation of a Volunteer Officer to help encourage and support volunteers. Additionally, we are looking at ways to regularly advertise volunteering opportunities.

 

Our Values

One of the great successes of 2018’s Blencathra was the creation of the AC Green Group, which has advised the Club on environmental matters and set out Club positions relating to travel and climate change. Sadly, in more recent years, the Green Group has been less active and there was a strong desire among attendees to see it reinvigorated. Happily, volunteers to help make this a reality have already come forward and this process has begun. Watch this space!

There was a general consensus that the Club’s mission statement was in need of a small update and the committee will bring this into review. It was also felt that we should continue to make a positive case for the Club’s values through our communications and by reviving the Spirit of Mountaineering Award, which recognises those who selflessly come to the aid of others in the mountains.

Lastly, there was an appetite for the Club to function as a hub for ‘lessons learned’ when accidents or near-misses occur in the mountains. The exact scope of this potential project and how it would interact with existing systems run by other organisations is currently being considered.

 

 

Publications

Throughout the weekend there was a real sense of pride in the Club’s literary legacy but also a degree of regret that it had not remained active in the guidebooks space. As an immediate priority, the Club will be continuing its work to digitise its existing guidebooks, creating an online database which will be made available to members and which can serve as the basis for future progress in this area.

In addition, the work to complete the updated Himalayan Index, a potentially colossal resource for exploratory mountaineers, continues apace, with project lead Lina Arthur recruiting 20 additional volunteers in the period following Blencathra.

The Alpine Journal and Club Newsletter remain valued publications and there was an eagerness from members to suggest potential new areas of focus for future editions. Similarly to the nervousness some members felt when first attending AC events, there was also an occasional reticence from some members to submit to the Journal and Newsletter. We will be working to demystify this process and to consolidate the excellent work done by Ed Douglas in encouraging more women to write for the Journal.

 

Heritage

From those not already involved with the Club’s collections, there was tangible excitement in learning about the literature, photographs, artefacts and art which the Club holds. We need to spread this awareness more widely, to the membership and the public at large, by making greater use of digital communications and novel forms of presentation to showcase our collections. This will be a key priority for the Library in the coming years, with the groundwork already laid by our hard-working Librarian Emma McDonald.

A perennial problem for our collections is storage. The Club’s premises have limited capacity to store and display heritage items, especially when the demands of work and meeting space are factored in. We will examine ways to make better use of our space and to free up storage by loaning out items to other museums and collections. Our incoming Honorary Secretary, Charlie Burbridge, is already investigating one potential avenue for this.

To ensure that challenges like the issue of space are responded to more proactively in the future, it was recommended that the Club seek to establish a Heritage Board to help coordinate the custodianship, development and showcasing of its collections. Discussions about how this Board will work are already underway.

 

Summit smiles on the 2024 Aspirants Meet

 

The Soul of the Club

This final topic might initially appear to be the most nebulous of those discussed, but it actually led to a number of extremely practical suggestions.

The annual Aspirants’ Meet in Sass Fee was singled out for particular praise for the way in which it fostered a sense of community. To build on the work of Nick Hurndall Smith and his team, it was felt that the Club should seek to find locations throughout the Alps in which to base itself for the summer, creating hubs where AC members know they can find each other during the season. The committee is already discussing what is required to make this a reality.

In recent years, the Club has run a number of symposia. These, it was agreed, are a great way of encouraging networking and promoting a sense of belonging. The committee will continue its support for these events in the coming years and investigate potential new topics such as destination-focused sessions.

The Club’s renewed focussing on supporting member development was welcomed and the committee will be making available a complete overview of all our development opportunities in the near future so that members at all levels can see how they can access guidance and support.

 

Conclusion

These, we hope you’ll agree, are an incredible range of priorities for the Club to work on over the next six years. There is a huge amount that needs to be done in order to make them a success, but if we can do so, the Club will continue to thrive, serving both its members and the wider mountaineering community.

The Club is the sum total of its membership, and our successes, like those we achieve in the mountains, are the result of our collective endeavour. If you’d like to help us make any of these projects a reality, in however small a way, we’d love to hear from you. You can fill out our new AC Volunteer Form and a member of the AC team will be in touch to find out more about how you’d like to be involved.

Finally, the Club would like to thank Sherry Macliver whose organisational work helped to make Blencathra 2024 a reality and Iain Young, our fantastic facilitator from the Scottish Mountaineering Club who lent an invaluable outsider’s eye to proceedings.

 

 

 

New Study Helps Quantify the Risk of Developing Acute Mountain Sickness

New Study Helps Quantify the Risk of Developing Acute Mountain Sickness

A new study by Johannes Burtscher and colleagues at the University of Lausanne has gone some way to helping us estimate the chances of developing acute mountain sickness (AMS) when we ascend quickly to high altitude. Jeremy Windsor explains.

The human body has an incredible capacity to adapt to its surroundings. Nowhere is this more obvious than following an ascent to high altitude. But if you try to rush the process you’re likely to be left exhausted or in some cases, faced with a bout of acute mountain sickness (AMS). But it's not always the case. There are plenty of people who drive out to Chamonix, spend their first night at the Torino Hut (3375m) and climb the Dent du Géant (4013m) the next day. But at the same time there’s quite a few others who spend the night awake and descend exhausted and disappointed the next day. So is there any way to estimate the risk of developing AMS? A new study has attempted to do just that.

Last year, a group of high altitude experts scoured the medical literature and identified 12 studies that quantified the risk of developing AMS at a given height. In seven studies the volunteers ascended slowly over 2 or 3 days, whilst those in the remaining five studies ascended in just a couple of hours.

In those who ascended over 2 to 3 days, the chances of developing AMS increased steadily with height. Whilst noone developed AMS at just over 2000m, 52% of those who ascended to 4559m developed the condition. Meanwhile, those who flew directly to altitudes of between 3350m and 3740m saw their chances of developing AMS range from 39 to 84%. Put simply, the study found that there is a 4.5 times greater risk of AMS if you fly to your high altitude destination compared to if you take a little time and walk to it. 

The 12 studies are divided into 2 groups - those who ascended in hours (orange) or 2 to 3 days (blue). There are often several data points for each study.
The numbers beside the data points are references to the studies identified by Burtscher and his colleagues


For me, this is all much clearer if you take a look at the graph. There are two lines of “best fit” that make it possible to estimate the chances of developing AMS at any given altitude. Using the trip to the Torino Hut (3375m) as an example. If you drive a minibus with ten passengers to Chamonix and jump straight on the Pointe Helbronner cable car, there’s a good chance that almost half of you will develop AMS by the next morning. If instead, you spend a couple of long days cragging on the Brevent, it’s likely that only 1 or 2 will encounter symptoms at the Torino Hut.

The difference is even starker the higher you go. Rapid ascents to 4,000m or more seem to all but guarantee a bout of AMS. However, even short periods of time spent acclimatising at lower altitudes can reduce the risk dramatically. 

All of this seems to confirm what mountaineers have known for a long time, that ascending more slowly reduces the risk of Acute Mountain Sickness. However, having clear probabilities for different altitudes and rates of ascent is of great help with decision-making, particularly for groups who have not previously been to higher altitudes and do not know how they personally cope. It also confirms that even a day or two of acclimatising at lower altitudes is not wasted time, but a way of making a real difference to your risk of developing AMS.

Johannes Burtscher's paper can be downloaded here.



Jeremy Windsor is the director of the Centre for Mountain Medicine at the University of Central Lancashire (UCLan)

 

 

 

2024 Boardman-Tasker Winner: 'Headstrap' | Review

2024 Boardman-Tasker Winner: 'Headstrap' | Review

At the 2024 Kendal Mountain Festival, the jury of the Boardman Tasker Prize for Mountain Literature announced Headstrap by Nandini Purandare and Deepa Balsavar as this year's winner. The book explores the lives and legends of the Sherpa community of Darjeeling who have long been associated with mountaineering in the Himalaya.

The book was reviewed for the 2024 Alpine Journal by artist and author Heather Dawe who found it to be a deeply empathetic work which goes far beyond the contributions of this community to famous expeditions, to examine their lives and culture in rich detail. You can read Heather's review below.


Headstrap
Legends and Lore from the Climbing Sherpas of Darjeeling
Nandini Purandare and Deepa Balsavar
Mountaineers Books, 2024, 423pp, £23.61

The land mass of the Himalaya is such that its Indigenous peoples are spread across an extensive area of the Asian continent. While the religions and wider cultures of these peoples vary, common threads run through their stories – reverence for the mountains above them, strength born from the hardships of living at altitude in a landscape of extreme geographies and weather patterns, a deep connection with their families, friends and the landscapes around them, to name a few.

Headstrap is a book focussed on the Darjeeling Sherpas, the community of people who, centuries ago, first migrated from Tibet to Nepal and then to the foothills of the Himalaya in northern India, becoming renowned for their skills as expedition porters from the turn of the 20th century. The content of the book is based upon oral histories collected by its authors: Nandini Purandare, economist, Honorary President of the Himalayan Club and editor of The Himalayan Journal and Deepa Balsavar, a writer and illustrator of children’s books and adjunct associate professor at the Industrial Design Centre, IIT Bombay.

These histories were collected during the extensive time the authors spent with the Sherpas in their homes in Toong Soong, the Sherpa village in Darjeeling. Hundreds of hours of interviews were recorded in Nepali, Hindi and English, each of which was then translated and transcribed prior to being distilled into the narratives of Headstrap.

In their introduction Purandare and Balsavar note how they came to recognise that, more than oral histories, they were collecting memories, making the important point that sometimes these memories, whilst believed to be fact by the person(s) retelling them, were not always wholly accurate.

‘It took time to understand that it was memories, personal and intimate, rather than the written accounts, that should be the focus of our work – after all, memories let us into people’s hearts and minds.’

While the authors made every effort for these histories to be based completely in fact (detailed further research into any available archives for example), their observation also reflects the significant gap in the literature Headstrap fits into. Despite the Sherpas’ major role in many of the world’s greatest mountaineering achievements (of which many books have been written), their complete history has previously been reliant on being passed down the generations by word of mouth. Such tales are likely to become changed and perhaps embellished as they begin to pass into legend.

The blurb of the book’s back cover describes Headstrap as a ‘culturally rich and evocative narrative’. This richness in observation and writing was a key takeaway for me; the book tells stories of the Sherpas’ strength, courage and achievements in the mountains but, even more than this, it shines a light on their lives. Their families, support networks, pride in educational achievement and more, all with a backdrop of the mountains above; entities that drive them spiritually as well as offering them physical challenge and the means to make a living.

The stories in Headstrap recount the backgrounds of those Sherpas most famous for their mountaineering achievements. Tenzing Norgay of course, but also Nawang Gombu, Nawang Topgay and many more, including Ani Daku Sherpa, one of the earliest woman porters. While the mountaineering achievements of these Sherpas are both impressive and important to write of, the empathy with which Purandare and Balsavar recount their wider lives – the tenacity the Sherpas showed to achieve, their relationships with friends and family, having to cope with tragedy and the ways they lived - bring the reader to the Sherpas’ lives in new ways.

 The Sherpa climbers of the 1953 Mount Everest Expedition - The Royal Geographical Society

 

The history of mountaineering in the region and its far-reaching influence are explored and discussed as a backdrop to the Sherpa tales – the introduction of the Tiger Badges as a means for Sherpas to prove exceptional high altitude and expedition experience and so justify higher rates of pay, the beginnings of The Himalayan Club and its continuing influence, the 1954 establishment in Darjeeling of the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute (HMI). The list goes on. As such, the reader is shown important developments in Himalayan mountaineering through the eyes of the people who, behind the scenes, facilitated and played a huge part in many of the first ascents of the 8000ers and other major peaks. 

As the children and grandchildren of the first generation Darjeeling Sherpas grew, an increasing number of them moved away to pursue their education as a route to safer, more stable careers. This led to a second wave of Sherpas coming to Darjeeling from Nepal. This more recent history is embodied by Phurba, Purandare and Balsavar’s trekking guide during some of their visits. Phurba and his peers continue to advance their guiding skills in the most progressive ways available to them, learning the basics from the HMI and then more modern techniques from their contacts in Nepal.

The stories of the Sherpas progress through to recent decades and the present day, and it becomes apparent that the client base of supported expeditions is changing, along with the roles of the Sherpas. There are now many more Indian and Chinese mountaineering parties, reflecting the significant economic growth of these two countries and perhaps the waning influence of Western countries on the leadership and outcomes of Himalayan mountaineering. Today Sherpas play a far more active role in the planning, guiding and climbing aspects of commercial expeditions. They are also, of course, making their own expeditions and developing new routes. Headstrap shows us these changes through the modern-day stories of a new generations of Sherpas, including Lhakpa Tsering and Dawa Norbu Sherpa.

Mountains and mountaineering have for a long time inspired literature, and we should not be surprised that the increased autonomy of the Sherpas and their contemporaries in other parts of the Himalaya is also bringing forth new work. Headstrap is one of a number of recently published such books.

It can be argued that Western mountaineering literature has reflected the narrow, rationalist view of mountains as being there to be scaled, conquered in some way. Headstrap is something quite different. While of course it discusses the Darjeeling Sherpas’ mountaineering achievements, it goes broader, telling us of their lives and culture, making for a rich and absorbing read. As Katie Ives writes in the book’s foreword:

‘This collection – along with other books by or about expedition workers – represents far more than a crucial way of filling gaps in the historical record. It is also a call to action for more writers, editors, publishers, and readers to join a larger reckoning and reenvisioning of what mountain literature has been, should have been, and might yet become.’

As mountain literature continues to diversify, books such as Headstrap are more than playing their part, they are showing us the way.


Heather Dawe

 

This review originally appeared in the 2024 Alpine Journal. The Journal contains reviews of many mountaineering and mountain-related books from the past 12 months, including a number of other Boardman-Tasker nominees. Copies of the 2024 Alpine Journal are available to purchase via Cordee.

 

 

 

Cold Comfort on Chomolungma

In a piece originally published in the 2023 Alpine Journal, Annie Dare, Head of Communications at the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD), explains why her organisation is moving from a solely knowledge-sharing role to become an active advocate on the issue of climate change and its impact on the Hindu Kush Himalaya. She also explains how alpinists can add their voices to ICIMOD's call for world leaders to take all necessary steps to protect this spectacular mountain region and the people who live there.


Going, going, gone? Seventy years on from the first ascent of Everest, the Khumbu glacier is disappearing at an accelerating rate. (Alex Treadway)

This spring, Catalan athlete Kilian Jornet was training around Everest, in Nepal. This was his 10th visit to the Khumbu region, but it was the first time he and his partner Swedish athlete Emilie Forsberg were accompanied by their two youngest children. Jornet, the son of a mountain guide who reached the summit of his first 3,000m peak at the tender age of three, was hoping to plant the seed for his daughters to develop a love for the people and nature of the Himalaya to equal his own. He delighted in seeing the girls playing with people and in places he felt so connected to.

Yet the trip was bittersweet. A climate advocate who consciously limits how often he flies in order to try to drive down his personal carbon footprint, it had been 10 years since Jornet had first seen Everest, or Chomolungma, ‘goddess mother of the world’ in one translation of the Tibetan. ‘The changes that have taken place in the snow and glaciers here, just in the space of that decade, are so immediately obvious, and so dramatic,’ Kilian told me. ‘It’s happening so, so fast.’

The family’s visit came just before dignitaries from the climbing world gathered at the base of the mountain, in Namche Bazaar, to mark the 70th anniversary of Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay’s first ascent. The glaciologists and researchers I work with at the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD), which for 40 years has monitored the cryosphere across the entire 3,500km long expanse of the Hindu Kush Himalaya (HKH), used the moment to zero in on the specific impacts of climate change on Everest. Their data provides incontrovertible scientific evidence to corroborate climbers’ increasingly alarming eyewitness accounts, such as Jornet’s, or that of Lukas Furtenbach, who saw puddles on the South Col in 2022, or another climber who, when climbing Gasherbrum IV in 2021, was shocked to find water cascading down a rock at 7,000m. Worryingly, ICIMOD scientists found that the 79 glaciers around Everest had thinned by over 100m in just six decades and that the rate of thinning had almost doubled since 2009. The iconic Khumbu glacier itself is disappearing up the mountain. And the further east you go, the worse this thinning becomes.

Tenzing Chogyal Sherpa, an early-career glaciologist at ICIMOD, travelled to Namche to join his grandfather, the last survivor of the first ascent, Kanchha Sherpa, and Helen Clark, the former prime minister of New Zealand, and Hillary and Norgay’s descendants for the anniversary events. Together, this group launched a campaign asking climbers to raise their voices to press for faster action to avert catastrophic, irreversible changes to Everest and other mountains under the banner of #SaveOurSnow. The campaign asks members of the public, but particularly climbers, scientists and mountain communities, to share stories of the climate impacts they’re seeing on social media and to add their name to a declaration that asks for governments to honour their commitments to limit warming as set out in the 2015 Paris Agreement.


All change in the Icefall. Always danger- ous, climate change is impacting on this key section on the ascent of Everest

Kanchha Sherpa, last surviving member of the 1953 expedition that put Hillary and Tenzing on the summit. (Tenzing Chogyal Sherpa)
 
 

‘The sporting community needs to step up,’ Jornet, one of the signatories of the declaration, says. ‘Alongside scientists studying these mountains, and the communities that live here, it is those of us who return year after year to these mountains, to work and to train, who can see with our own eyes the extraordinary pace of changes to mountain glaciers, snow and permafrost. These changes are not only aesthetic, of course. They also pose new dangers to climbers in terms of unstable terrain. But the much more profound impacts are the dangers these changes pose to the people and nature that rely on these mountains, for water, for livelihoods, for habitat.’

Climate impacts across the world’s cryosphere are fast outpacing scientists’ previous projections, with the fight to save summer ice in the Arctic declared essentially lost earlier this year, and revised forecasts suggesting Antarctica is vulnerable to devastating and permanent impacts at just 1.5°C of temperature rise. At 2°C of warming, glaciers in the Alps, the Andes, Patagonia, Iceland, Scandinavia, the North American Rockies and New Zealand are all set to disappear completely, while according to ICIMOD’s latest report Water, Ice Society, and Ecosystems in the Hindu Kush Himalaya around half of glaciers in the Hindu Kush Himalaya would be gone. That even just half might remain is unlikely: our current emissions trajectory sets us on course to smash through the ‘safe’ 1.5°C ceiling. At the currently plausible 4°C of warming, 80% of glaciers in the HKH will vanish by the end of the century. While glacier loss worldwide will devastate local communities and result in sea-level rise, the consensus is that the consequences of glacier loss, more erratic snowfall and permafrost thawing for people and nature in the hugely populated and bio-diverse HKH region, where 12 of the world’s major rivers originate, will be nothing short of catastrophic.

‘Nowhere is safe from climate impacts,’ says ICIMOD’s deputy director general Izabella Koziell. ‘But the Hindu Kush Himalaya holds the third largest frozen body of water on the planet, which provides freshwater services to a quarter of humanity. A staggering half of that population already suffer malnutrition. In the past two years alone we’ve already seen devastating climate-driven humanitarian disasters unfold in this region – in Afghanistan’s droughts, and Pakistan’s floods: a chilling illustration of what our scientists say will be one of the key climate impacts in our region – the issue of ‘too much water, too little water.’ The magnitude of the humanitarian catastrophe that will unfold should the reliable water supply that flows from these mountains be lost – undermining the food and water security of two billion people in Asia – is almost beyond imagining. Yet this is what the science tells us will happen unless world leaders act decisively now.’ 

The case for action is compelling. With very low emissions, most glaciers and snowpack can be preserved for water resources, with scientists saying losses would begin to slow slightly around 2040, with glaciers stabilising sometime in the next century. And the support alpinists have given the campaign has been unequivocal with over 2,000 signatories in the first 48 hours, including Kenton Cool, Rebecca Stephens, Peter Hillary, Wolfgang Nairz, Reinhold Messner, the glaciologist and alpinist Patrick Wagnon, Jamling Tenzing, Gerlinde Kaltenbrunner, Lakpa Dendi Sherpa, documentary-filmmaker Craig Leeson, and Pemba Sherpa. Other backers include the Nepal Mountaineering Association, the Mountain Research Initiative, the UN Mountain Partnership, and the UIAA.

‘It’s amazing to have had this strong early support from the climbing community,’ says Izabella Koziell. ‘But it feels like we’re barely scratching the surface with what might be possible, in terms of the leadership role alpinists might be able to play at this crucial moment,’ says Koziell. ‘Not just because of their tenacity and influence, but most of all because of their unrivalled intimacy with mountains and mountain people. Many climbers’ lives have often been if not profoundly transformed then at least hugely enriched by encounters with the landscapes and cultures of the Hindu Kush Himalaya. These experiences give them an intrinsic awareness of how much we stand to lose unless we check emissions that are threatening lives, livelihoods and cultures.


Visible changes seen in the terminus of glacier AX010 from 1978 to 2008. Situated in the Shorong Himal, this glacier has lost almost half its surface area in just the last three decades. (Alton Byers)

The terminus of the Rikha Samba glacier between 1974 and 2010. The rate of loss has only accelerated since then. (Alton Byers)

‘It’s hard to have spent any time among such communities too and not be struck by the sheer injustice of what we’re seeing unfold across this region: of the lives of peoples who have trodden so lightly on the Earth for generations being destroyed as a consequence of political and business choices being taken millions of miles away.'

ICIMOD, for its part, is reinventing itself to rise to the challenge of supporting communities and governments in the region that will confront the impacts of the changing climate. The organisation has completely reconfigured its portfolio in order to reduce the region’s vulnerability to disaster risks: biodiversity loss; and water, energy and food insecurity. This work runs from installing early-warning systems to forewarn communities of floods and encouraging governments to share data across national boundaries, to advancing the rights and recognition of nomadic communities and the role of rangelands, to identifying incentives for communities to protect biodiversity and forests.

Critically, the organisation is setting out to build an advocacy voice that is commensurate with the region’s importance and peril. Because, despite how much hangs in the balance in terms of human population alone, knowledge of the consequences of continued climate inaction on the Hindu Kush Himalaya globally remains low. There was no mention of mountain impacts at all within the draft text of this year’s critical Global Stocktake process, an integral of the Paris Agreement under the framework of the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change.

In collaboration with and on behalf of its eight regional member countries – Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Bhutan, China, India, Myanmar, Nepal and Pakistan – the organisation is setting out to change that lobbying at global fora: for faster action on mitigation globally; for the urgent scaling up of adaptation and ecosystem restoration funds; and programmes and for the mobilisation of loss and damage finance.


ICIMOD glaciologist Tenzing Chogyal Sherpa in the lap of Ed Hillary in 1992.

And with his grandfather Kanchha Sherpa. (Tenzing Chogyal Sherpa)

In seeking to strengthen its impact, ICIMOD is also looking outwards, exploring the creation of a new regional political mechanism, akin to the models used by the Alpine or Carpathian Convention, with the aim of accelerating political change through closer collaboration among countries to build greater resilience to these issues, many of which are trans-boundary, such as floods, and in securing greater prominence and negotiating power for the region.

‘For 40 years, ICIMOD has acted as a knowledge centre for the region, generating and sharing evidence to our member countries to support their policy processes, and this remains our primary work,’ says Koziell. ‘However, with humanity standing at such a crossroads, and our cryosphere being so central to that, our board, donors, regional member countries and stakeholders were all unanimous that ICIMOD should start to take a much more assertive role.

‘I believe that at this moment all of us are being called to go beyond ‘business-as-usual’ – and that it’s for all of use whatever platform we have to urge governments and businesses to transform how we power our lives, feed ourselves, move around so that Earth can sustain life. The science is clear – there really is no time left. Perhaps this transformation will be humanity’s greatest summit yet.’

 

  • To sign the declaration go to icimod.org/SaveOurSnow and share your story of impacts using the hashtag #SaveOurSnow.