Non-Fiction Reviews
Touching The Void
(1988/1997) Joe Simpson, Vintage, £10.99, pbk, 216pp + 16pp photos, ISBN 978-0-099-77101-2
Unusually for SF² Concatenation, this book is neither science nor science fiction, though its title is vaguely SFnal and its adventure could be transposed into a genre work. What it is, is a factual account of a climber’s almost impossible survival in the Andes; gripping and well written, it is well worth reading. It has the advantage that it is written in the first person by the man himself, and he is a good writer. It starts with a Foreword by Chris Bonington, who described it as one of the most incredible survival stories of which he has heard.
But first, a note on publication details as I am somewhat confused due to inconsistencies. The book was originally published in 1988 by Jonathan Cape whereas my copy, a recent gift in pristine and apparently unread condition, says 1997 - but it contains an Epilogue written in 2003! I have found reference to the book being published by Vintage Classics with an ISBN of 9780-099511748 and the details of that publication generally agree with my copy. Perhaps it is a recent reissue? It certainly seems to be easily available.
In 1985, Joe Simpson and Simon Yates, two young British mountaineers, decided to undertake a climb in the Peruvian Andes. While passing through Lima, they came across Richard Hawking (another Brit), a solo traveller wandering the world, and invited him to join them. He was not a climber and would remain at their base camp, keeping an eye on it while they climbed and he soaked up the beauty of the Cordillera Huayhuash range. Their target was Siula Grande; at all but 21,000 feet, it had been climbed only a few times previously and that was via the ‘easy’ North Ridge, but they would be the first to tackle the daunting 4,500-foot West Face.
Climbing such difficult routes on such challenging mountains is always extremely dangerous and, over the years, so many climbers have not returned. Every such climber has friends whose bodies lie somewhere on a mountain; Joe and Simon were almost amongst them. As they would concede afterwards, they had underestimated the challenge before them, had failed to understand just how difficult and dangerous the mountain was, and made what would prove to be unwise decisions; that they both survived is an amazing tribute to their determination to do so and, they would admit, to a lot of good luck.
Having set up their base camp at 15,000 feet and about four miles (two hours walking) from their target, they spent a few days on smaller climbs, acclimatising and gaining their final fitness. Their plan was simple: day one would take them through the moraine and across the glacier to the foot of the West Face of Siula Grande, day two would see them climb the West Face to reach the South Ridge, day three would take them to the summit and along the North Ridge, and the fourth day would see them descend to the glacier, pass back though the moraine, and return to base camp. ‘Two days up, two days down, I reckon … Five at the outside’ said Simon.
At the end of the first day, they were indeed ensconced in a snow hole at the base of the face. However, the face proved to be much harder and slower than they had expected and they spent the second night in a precarious snow hole on the steep slope; despite climbing well into the night, they were still a long way short of the ridge. The next day found them still climbing the face and contending with fearsome seracs and later with extensive snow flutes, the latter being very difficult to find an upwards route through and proving very difficult to navigate; there just did not seem to be a suitable gully. Climbing well into the night again, they spent the third night in a snow hole nearing the top of the face.
After traversing more flutings the next morning, they finally arrived on the South Ridge, not far from the summit, which they soon ascended. Proceeding along the North Ridge, they found it much more challenging than they had expected. Having misjudged the huge cornices along the ridge, Simon plunged through one but fortunately, being roped together, Joe stopped his fall and Simon regained the ridge. They realised that the ridge was extremely dangerous but they could find no alternative. Climbing and traversing gullies and more snow flutings, again nearly falling catastrophically, and now being night-time again, they settled into a fourth snow hole for the night.
The fifth morning saw them finishing both their food and the gas for their stoves (to melt snow into drinking water). They continued painfully slowly along the ridge, constantly aware of the complete lack of a good route. Then disaster! As Joe started the decent of an ice wall, the ice gave way under one of his ice axes and he fell, hitting the bottom of the slope hard and feet first, resulting in his lower right leg being driven up through his knee joint and shattering it. In climbing terms, under the circumstances, he was a dead man - there was no way he could climb down and there was no rescue party.
Simon could have left Joe but he refused to abandon his partner. He realised their only hope was to abandon their planned route and immediately descend straight down the face below them, all three thousand feet of it. They tied their ropes together, totalling three hundred feet, and Simon, sitting in a bucket seat carved in the snow, controlled his speed as Joe slid the full rope length down the steep slope. It was agonising for Joe but speed was now of the absolute essence. Whilst Joe dug out the next bucket seat, Simon climbed down to join him.
This process worked well but took time and once more they continued into the night. It was on their last pitch that the second disaster struck. Unable to see in the dark, they did not realise that Joe was about to go over an overhang; when they realised the problem it was too late - Joe was hanging in the air unable to climb up the rope and too far from the face to climb it, and Simon could barely hold the weight, let alone pull Joe back up. They were both tired and weak, with stiff, frozen hands and frostbite; the situation was impossible. In the end, realising that his purchase in the snow was crumbling and soon they would both be falling uncontrollably to the glacier below, Simon was forced to do the only thing that would stop them both dying - he cut the rope and let Joe fall. Knowing he had killed his friend, Simon had a miserable night!
The next morning Simon, now seeing that he only had to go a little to one side to avoid the overhang, climbed down the remainder of the slope. Looking into the deep crevasse in the glacier into which Joe had fallen, he could only shout down in the vague hope that he would get a reply - he did not. So he picked his way slowly between the many crevasses and then made his way through the moraine. He was starving and dehydrated but eventually managed to find a trickle of melt water to sate his raging thirst. He arrived at base camp, where Richard brewed many cups of tea, cooked meals, and tended his medical needs. The next day was one solely of rest and recovery. Although it made sense to pack up base camp the following day, Simon could not bring himself to do so, opting to delay their departure until the day after (day nine of their climb); this would prove to be a life-saver of a decision.
Amazingly, Joe had not died, he had landed on a ledge part way down the crevasse. With immense effort and taking several hours, the next morning he climbed out and started to make his way slowly, hopping and sliding and slithering, across the glacier. Spotting Simon’s footprints, he had a route to follow, though so slowly, and did so until he was caught out by darkness. He hunkered down into a snow hole for the night but by next morning Simon’s footprints had been hidden by fresh snow. Without food or water, like Simon, he hopped and crawled onwards, escaping the glacier and somehow making his way through the moraine.
Once more night caught up with him and he had nothing to protect himself but his sleeping bag, but at least he was now on the ‘walk’ back to base camp. By next morning he was weaker but at least had found water to drink. Still he crawled, pulling himself along a few inches at a time, all day and into the following night, knowing that his friends had probably already left base camp but, if not, they certainly would the next day. It really was his last chance and he just kept painfully dragging himself onwards. Eventually, late at night and in a state of utter exhaustion, technically dying as his body had been pushed too far and was packing up, he let out an anguished cry ‘HELP Meeeeeeee!’. He was heard - amazingly he was only yards from base camp and, almost unable to believe it, his friends stumbled out of their tents to his rescue. Later, in hospital, he was to discover that he had lost three stone, nearly a third of his body weight, in his battle to survive.
I have, of course, merely briefly summarised their adventure. Joe tells all the details of the climb, the problems, their feelings, and their desperation, and takes two hundred pages to do so. His writing is excellent; he captures the beauty of the mountains, the thrill and the satisfaction of the climb, the worry at the unexpected problems, and the shattering desperation and determination after the accidents. I found myself almost living it with him. I strongly recommend this book - a good piece of writing and an honest account of the thrills and fears of mountaineering and surviving an accident that so nearly killed them both.
It is not covered in the book, but Joe returned to mountaineering despite the doctors saying it would be impossible. He also became a writer and a motivational speaker. In the end, though, the many deaths, especially of friends, that result from extreme mountaineering left Joe deciding that it was time to quit; this is described in his book The Beckoning Silence - which is on my To Get list!
Peter Tyers
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