Sir Chris Bonington. Mountaineer, adventurer, journalist, philanthropist. For anyone who has ever felt the thrill of exploration, here is the model of a life well lived. From first steps in the Welsh hills to soaring Himalayan peaks, Chris has spent a lifetime challenging his physical and mental limits in perpendicular places around the world.
In man’s search for satisfaction, modern psychology offers us the concept of flow. To experience flow is to engage in an activity in which we are both skilled and highly engaged, leading to a merging of action and awareness where the ego dissolves through connection with the present. Though he does not label it as such, it’s clear that Chris finds flow through climbing:
“I felt in sympathy with the rock; I found my body somehow slipped into balance naturally, without any conscious thought on my part… I knew I had found a pursuit I love, that my body and my temperament seemed designed for it, and, most of all, that I was happy.”
One envies the certainty that Chris finds in his passion, the knowledge of an activity that provides a limitless source of pleasure and fascination, worthy of pursuit for its own sake. In retrospect, it seems inevitable that he would find a way to make the mountains his life, but in the 1960s the concept of a professional mountaineer scarcely existed.
What did exist were broadsheet newspapers in large circulation and a general public thirsty for tales of exploration, particularly when they involved British heroes. These days it is hardly conceivable to imagine a national newspaper funding the sprawling logistical apparatus of a siege-style expedition in the Himalaya, but, back then, there were vast cash reserves for the right story. Chris appears more media-savvy than many of his contemporaries and his skill with the sponsors, together with a ferocious work ethic, propelled him to leadership roles on a series of thrilling expeditions to the Greater Ranges.
The book includes photographs of the formidable faces scaled by these expeditions, marked with lines of attack and a series of camps leading inexorably to the summit. My favourite is the Ogre (nickname for a formidable 7000er called Baintha Brakk in the Karakoram), brought to monstrous life by Chris’ prose:
“The Ogre was no shapely summit of soaring ridges meeting at an airy summit. It looks like an ogre, solid, chunky, a complex of granite buttresses and walls, threaded with icy gullies and ice slopes, leading to a three headed crown.”
It is one thing to look idly at a picture of a mountain, quite another to contemplate climbing it. In his description of the routes, Chris encourages us to see the peaks through a mountaineer’s eyes, seeking out chinks in their armour and promising lines of ascent. I was transported from a sunny deck chair to the maniacal winds of a storm at high camp, huddled in my sleeping bag, dreaming deliriously of an unconquered summit.
No adventure comes without risk and mountaineers play for the highest of stakes. In the central section of the book it seems scarcely a chapter goes by without the sacrifice of another companion on the altar of the implacable peaks:
“It was John, lying spread-eagled on his back, arms outstretched, his features undamaged, even after his 5,000-foot fall… There was a strange, terrible beauty to the juxtaposition between this broken man and the vast, gloomy face behind him. I forced myself to check for a heartbeat, pointless really, and then we sat in the snow and cried.”
All high-altitude climbers must deal with the possibility they might not come home. Chris made nineteen expeditions to the Himalayas, many during his years as a young father. He and his wife frequently supported the widows of lost climbers, all the while knowing that Chris himself might one day be among them. To go back time and again in the visceral knowledge of disaster suggests a fascination bordering on madness, a willingness to risk all in pursuit of greatness. Through his countless runs of the gauntlet, Chris seems blessed with extraordinary luck, but perhaps the truth is that dead men tell no tales.
Running parallel to the expeditions is a domestic life of love and family rooted in the Lake District. This secure foundation gives Chris a base to recuperate from the last adventure and plan the next one, but more importantly to enjoy the warmth of family life. He has a wonderful first marriage that is brought to a cruel end in the final part of the book by the grim spectre of motor-neurone disease. The couple meet this heart-breaking condition with a defiant determination to live life to the fullest:
“There was lots of laughter as she struggled up and down the hill; such challenges could be joyous, even against the inexorable development of the disease. We were involved in a fight, sharing moments of intense joy at minor victories, making the most of every moment of happiness.”
As someone for whom the dying of the light is hopefully a distant prospect, this still served as a powerful memento mori, a clarion call to use my faculties while they yet burn bright.
At every stage in his life, Chris has nurtured a passion for adventure. For sure, he may have passed the 8,000m peaks to the next generation, but still he finds outlets for his pioneering spirit. A friendship with sailor Robin Knox-Johnston, first man to sail solo around the globe, leads to a voyage of discovery in his late 50s, seeking first ascents amid the remote glaciers of Greenland. Wanting to share his love of the Himalaya, at 65 he whisks his sons off to Kathmandu to tackle the unclimbed peak of Danga.
Ascent’s matter of fact prose, litany of adventures and zest for new horizons will probably make you wonder what the hell you are doing with your life. In an age of questionable demands on our time, this is no bad thing. The staccato account of expedition after expedition can feel a little overwhelming, but remember this is the distilled essence of a lifetime drinking deep from the cup of experience. The injunction is to throw ourselves wholeheartedly into the adventure at hand, trusting that if we fill our days with passion, the tapestry of our lives will turn out all right.
Want to read more of Chris’ exhilarating exploits? Pick up the full book at the affiliate link below:
Photo credits:
Lagginhorn traverse: Jef Willemyns
Everest with prayer flags: Kalle Kortelainen
The Ogre: Ben Tubby <ahref=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>(license)</a>
Mountain camp: Simon Berger
Glenridding: Diliff <ahref=https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7174148>
Greenland fjord: Tina Rolf
Lake Louise: Mark Koch