Climbing Books

This book details several journeys to, and attempts to climb, Sepu Kangri. The chapters are written alternately by Bonington and Clarke, both of whom write engagingly. The alternation of voices keeps the narrative moving. However, I found the book somewhat slow, because much of it concerns the problems of Third World travel, plumbing (or lack thereof) and medicine rather than actual climbing. Readers who are non-climbers, though, may well find this lack of focus on technical mountaineering to be a plus. One certainly does get a good picture of what Tibet and its people are like today. Perhaps one of the book's best features is the lovely photography of some very striking peaks.

After a slow start, where the history of the Sepu Kangri area in Tibet was discussed, the pace picked up as Clarke and Bonington described their intial reconnaissance looking for a way to the mountain and a possible climbing route. The joy of roaming across terrain, essentially unchanged for hundreds of years, comes across in the narrative. I enjoyed reading about their discoveries and meeting the local Tibetan people. The story of the climbs themselves in two different years are not as detailed as in other climbing books, but a feeling for what it was like comes across. It definitely is from a perspective of a sixty-plus year old, yet I can only hope that I am as adventurous and physically able to roam the earth's wild places as Bonington and Clarke still do. The book is similar to Bonington's other books in style. There is no fast-paced, heart stopping, climbing action; but it's a story that I could imagine myself being a part of.

Page seven. The introduction. "...I must warn the reader not to expect much from this book." I count the book as a nice addition to my library but more for historical purposes. Page 62: "The trouble with harnesses is that they are a bother and are superfluous most of the time." Same page: "The problem with helmets is they are a bother." The book provides a bit of insight in to the world of climbing before Black Diamond and Petzl. The photos are full of homemade gear and climbing with laid rope. For technical content go with "The Freedom of the Hills" by the mountaineers. This book, once again, is more for historical reference in this day and age.

For anyone looking for a good read on Mallory, this book will rate as average. It didn't suck me in with anything not already written; it covers all the facts in a straightforward manner but best of all were the photos included inside.

Apart from the dry narrative and general seriousness of the book, the accounts of the three big Canadian expeditions on Everest are interesting. However, other than the first chapter, which examines why we climb, the text is generally lifeless and tends to focus on events and the main characters rather than draw the reader into the story.

Similar in tone to Jim Curran's documentary style account of K2's ascents in "K2 the Story of the Savage Mountain", this book will probably not interest those who prefer imagery laden text and introspective comments.

This is the story about the 1996 Everest tragedy told from the perspective of Anatoli Boukreev, who was one of the guides on the ill-fated Mountain Madness expedition led by Scott Fischer. It is written almost as a rebuttal to the perceived criticism by Jon Krakauer, author of "Into Thin Air", of Boukreev's actions on that ill-fated Everest climb.

This is a poorly written account, which is oftentimes confusing. It has none of the clarity of prose found in Krakauer's "Into Thin Air". It is, however, an important chronicle from someone who was there on Everest, and who had a pivotal role in the tragic events. Boukreev provides an insider's view of the Mountain Madness expedition itself and of the preparations which go into such a journey. It is packed with many interesting details which will delight Everest junkies.

Whether Boukreev's actions on the mountain were irresponsible, in that he did not use supplementary oxygen to summit and immediately returned to camp after summitting, rather than remain with the expedition's clients, or whether he was just following the orders of the expedition leader, Scott Fisher, who himself died on Everest, is an issue which will long be debated in mountaineering circles. There is no doubt, however, that Boukreev did, in fact, single handedly rescue three of the climbers during a raging blizzard; climbers who without his intervention would have died. Given the extreme weather conditions, his foray up the mountain to rescue climbers is nothing less than heroic.

Boukreev's is an important voice in the Everest annals, more so now that his voice has been silenced. On Christmas day, 1997, Boukreev died in an avalanche on Annapurna. RIP.

Mr. Raymo has a seasonal home near Mt. Brandon, has climbed the peak dozens of times and clearly loves the region and its history. The author interweaves tales of local natural and human history - both documented and legendary - with religious history, a smattering of Irish literature and his personal experiences on Mt. Brandon. But this book fails, in my opinion, to capture the feel and atmosphere, much less the spiritual aspect of the region of the Holy Mountain.

Instead the author focuses on how his interpretation of pre-Christian and early-Christian Celtic spirituality - mostly conjectural due to absence of contemporaneous written records - contrasts with what in his view is the rigid, obsolete, anti-human, anti-science Roman Catholic dogma that came to dominate pre-Enlightenment Europe as well as Ireland. That's the same dogma taught to Raymo in his alter boy childhood, a worldview he totally rejects in favor of the "truth" of contemporary western science which Raymo asserts is only reasonable modern worldview (Try telling that to the mullahs!).

At the same time Raymo keeps referring to the need for the scientific world view to incorporate "mystery" as a means to meet what he acknowledges is an innate human need for spiritual matters. But the religion-rejecting author never explains how this can be done. As near as I can tell he endorses - seeming for others but not himself - a return to a sort of pantheism that encourages people to replace prayer - demonstratably meaningless according to Raymo - with exaltation and celebration of daily natural phenomenon such as a mountain sunrise. In the single instance in which Raymo tells of a semi-supernatural personal experience - a solitary night vigil in an ancient Christian church in which he becomes "spooked" by his sense of an unseen "presence" - the entire experience is explained in the light of day - to himself at least - by the discovery of a bird's nest with newborn birds just above where he sat in the dark during the night. Mystery solved, once again, by science. Apparently Raymo thinks only other people - those too weak-minded, unlike himself, to boldly live in the "real" world where human logic and reason reign supreme - should experience or even believe in the possibility of mystery.

Finally, Raymo's obsession with Roman Catholicism's supposed blight on human thinking and history limits his ability to assess the reasonable proposition that a lot of the early Irish Christian church's supposed (superior) Celtic spirituality actually came, at least in part, from its documented historical connections directly with what we now refer to as Orthodox Christianity as opposed to the Roman variety.

There's an excellent generalized map of southwestern Ireland opposite the title page (a much needed map of the Mt. Brandon region is lacking), some nice sketches of local scenes illustrate the start of each chapter and there are reference notes and an index. The most interesting hisorical tidbits involved the author's version of the origin and practice of celebrating "cross dates" that evolved into Groundhog Day, May Day and Halloween.

Recommended to those who enjoy one-sided arguments for Mr. Raymo's worldview, but of limited interest for those seeking information to explore the Dingle Peninsula and its fascinating history, landscape and residents, much less, may I say, its spiritual aspects and opportunities.

Lene Gammelgard's book is the 6th one I've read by someone who was on the mountain in May of 1996. Krakauer's "Into Thin Air" remains the definitive account of events - all subsequent books are merely trying to fill its gaps. In this respect, Gammelgard does quite well, as she's able to give better perspectives of people she was closer to than Krakauer, especially those people in Scott Fisher's group (Krakauer was instead part of Rob Hall's group).

Anatoli Boukreev, a person who came across badly in "Thin Air" comes across a bit better here. Nevertheless, Gammelgard makes it clear that while Boukreev was a great climber, even Scott Fisher - his boss - found him taciturn and too aloof from the people he was being paid to guide. She also confirms something that Boukreev alleged in his book "The Climb" - Fisher was not in good shape for the ascent, was taking medication, and overexerted himself prior to the summit attempt - leaving himself exhausted for the descent. Also, although she portrays Sandy Hill Pittman much more sympathetically than other books have, it's clear that the physical requirements of an Everest climb were beyond what Pittman should have been able to do, given her prior high altitude experience.

In terms of style, Gammelgard's tale is less linear and more episodic than others, so it doesn't flow as well. Also, in some places the prose is awkward, but I think this may be more a result of translation than the author's intent (it was originally published in Danish). However, the book picks up in the later half, once the summit attempt begins. One thing I did appreciate - Gammelgard's description of events focuses less on what happened, and much more on how it felt. You really get an idea from her of how difficult conditions were, and how much effort was required (both physical and mental) to get through them. She gets across a sense of fear, exhaustion, and urgency which is missing from other books about this event. In that respect, her tale stands above the rest.

If you're interested in the Everest disaster, you'd be foolish not to read this - but it's best read as a filler once you've read the more prominent ones first. I also recommend Jamling Norgay's "Touching My Father's Soul" (a view from the Buddhist/Sherpa perspective), Matt Dickinson's "The Other Side of Everest" (same storm, but ascent route up the north face by a non-climber - VERY readable), and Broughton Coburn's "Everest: Mountain Without Mercy" (excellent photos from the IMAX expedition group).

This is yet another perspective of the 1996 Everest tragedy by a survivor of the fiasco. Written in journal style, the author at times frames her thoughts in a staccato, stream of consciousness, rambling fashion, coupled with new age psycho babble. At other times, she intones in a pseudo profound way about Everest. The author comes off as a silly, vapid individual.
It is interesting to note that while the author refers to Scott Fischer's expedition (of which she was a member) as an environmental one with a mission to clean up the debris on Everest left by expeditioners, nowhere does she state what it was that those on Scott Fischer's expedition were going to do to ameliorate the mess on the mountain. While she climbs up and down Everest, acclimatizing herself, she does not appear to be doing anything that remotely resembles conservation or clean up. Nor does she indicate any affirmative interest in doing anything constructive to that end.

She intones about the consequences of hubris up on the mountain. Yet, she, who had never before climbed Everest, was insisting that she would climb it without oxygen. She was even getting into arguments about it with Scott Fischer, who had the sense to tell her she would be climbing with oxygen. As it turned out, he was right. She could barely make it with oxygen. She should thank her lucky stars that he was so insistent that she climb with oxygen, otherwise she, too, would probably have died on Everest.

She also incessantly refers to herself as a mountain climber, but she didn't even know what gear she should take, relying on the recommendations of others, and then criticizing their recommendations when they ran counter to her expectations. It is clear, no matter how she wants to dress up her reasons for climbing Everest, that it was just a trophy mountain for her. She hoped that climbing Everest would gild the path for her to some psuedo celebrity status in her country of Denmark.

Her take on Anatoli Boukreev is much more sympathetic than was Jon Krakauer's in his book Into Thin Air. She saw Anatoli as an asset and misunderstood because of his taciturn demeanor. Anatoli comes off very well in this account. In fact, her take on him is much more sympathetic than her take on Scott Fischer, in whom she was apparently disappointed as an expedition leader. I must say if she acted the way she described in her book, then Scott Fischer, who was a true mountaineer, must of been heartily sick of her bravado about climbing Everest without oxygen. Her inflated sense of self is truly staggering at times. When she talks about hubris, she would do well to look no further than her own mirror.

Notwithstanding all of this, her account has some merit. As an Everest junkie, I found parts of her journal to be of interest, which is why I rated it three stars, rather than two.

This book covers virtually every aspect of climbing, from rock gear to avalanche detection and rescue. While it's all inclusive, the drawings (there are no photos) are poor, a significant drawback in a book like this. A lot of the things that he writes about snow and ice get very technical, especially when he discusses snowpack, ice formations, etc., which, if you have the patience to read all the way through, are pretty interesting. I'd buy John Long's book from the How to Rock Climb series first hands down, but this one is a good book to have nonetheless.

I find this guide much less useful than the guides by Jonnie Godfrey and Elizabeth Karslake (Western Crete and Eastern Crete, in the Sunflower Landscapes series). Wilson's guide contains fairly detailed verbal descriptions of numerous trails and a few black-and-white photographs, but there are no maps (the Sunflower guides show all trails in small full-colour reproductions of sections of a large-scale topographical map of the island, as well as an overall map of the island on which is indicated all the trails or tours covered in the guide). While Wilson's guide might, I suppose, be preferred by those with lots of serious hiking and mountaineering experience using compass and binoculars, people like me who want a map of where they're going will be disappointed with this book.

The route descriptions are fairly detailed, but (unlike the Sunflower series) neglect to mention some things important to more mortal hikers and walkers, like where on which hikes those prone to vertigo will need some help.