Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Lucien Alphonse Legros

Baltoro Glacier.

June 1902

[Note by Crowley.]

(As I think people at home will have had quite enough sober account from the others, I have allowed my fancy to roam free.)

Having devoted the 8th of June to causing as much trouble and confusion to everybody (except myself) as I conveniently could, I left Paiyu with twenty-two coolies and Abdullah Bat at 6.50 a.m. on the 9th, my five companions having got me out of bed by exertions which, more skilfully directed, would have amply sufficed to climb K2 several times over. My heroic and arduous march to Liligo was signalised by the cutting of one step on the snout of the glacier, but was otherwise uneventful. The Baltis go extremely well on moraine. They all use their sticks properly and jump from stone to stone with beautiful security and ease. They were a good deal surprised to find I was better than they were (of course I had no load, but these men are not critical on such points). They were in high spirits, and full of stories of Bruce, who had been their standard of Sahib mountain craft, and repeatedly called out "Yih Sahib lechmo!" to their comrades as I jumped about in the moraine. A horrible confusion of tongues, but very flattering to me. One of the best goers (who was carrying a sack of flour) tried to show off down one slope. Result, some small stuff slipped from a big, smooth slab, on which he sat down with a considerable bang. A stone, about three times his own size, followed him down but, fortunately, hit him in the flour! There is a nice lake by the bank here—close to the camping place—which gets drained in summer, so that one can keep to the side. As it was, we had to make a half-hour detour on the glacier to turn it. Soon after arriving it began to pour with rain. I made some soup—and made a mess of it—and made a virtue of necessity—and made the Baltis very happy by turning it over to them! I also served out a handful or two of tobacco. They have made fires and seem pretty comfy. My tin-opener broke at once: it is now only useful for cutting after the hole is made. Luckily, I have a sort of affair with my knife to make the hole with. I fed like a duke on cocoa and biscuits and Pfannl's [Heinrich Pfannl] splendid bread, and potted pheasant, and boned turkey, and I mean to taste beef to-night for the first time for two-and-a-half months. A chit arrived an hour after me from O.E. [Oscar Eckenstein], who is in trouble down below. He accuses me of having eaten the spare parts of his lamps. I can only hope I haven't—my digestion might stand it, but I do not want to get into trouble with O.E.—as it was distinctly understood from the start that these were emergency rations. I shall go and read—I'm tired of talking just now.

June 10th.

—It rained and snowed all night, but in the morning I decided to go in spite of it, so got off about 7.30, and went up the left bank of the glacier to a big lake, which had to be turned by climbing the moraine—job involving three or four steps. Soon after this we got to the camp. I, trusting to the improved appearance of the weather, pitched my tent on a high hill. Hardly was I settled when it began to blow and snow with great violence for two hours. At three o'clock, however, it was quite fine, and I went and basked in the sun. I had dinner out-of-doors by a nice fire, and smoked while a coolie cleaned my plates, etc. I had put some hot water (of which I had plenty) into a pot, and showed the Balti (who did not seem to be sure whether it was food or to-be-poured-away, but saw no other possible use for it!) how to remove the grease by its means. He did so with great satisfaction and success, but seemed amazed when I showed him that the outside of the pot could be best cleaned in the same way, and I think he began to suspect me of unholy arts when the same happened with all the vessels. I had just finished this job when, without any warning, the wind came down with tenfold fury. "I never can work hard just after lunch," it observed, "but I'm in fine form now; just you see me blow that tent other side of Jordan!" I reasoned with it calmly—having tied every available string and made myself snug. "O, Brother wind," I said, "this is simply foolishness. You are young yet—I can excuse you—abut you really don't know the sort of job you've taken on. These tents are absolutely pukka (the name is Edgington, near London Bridge—Southwark side—you may know him) and just such a one as I've got here we had on the Schönbühl [Glacier in July 1898]. There you, or a cousin tried for three days and nights to blow away Eckenstein, and never got a hit nearer. Now, I'm going to-morrow—it's not giving yourself a fair chance. Go away and get into some sort of training, and come back when I'm fixed up in one place for a week!" The wind simple whistled—just the rudeness of youth, and showing how perfectly impotent it was—for that very reason I shall consequently (like Miss [Marie] Corelli) treat it with silent contempt in six consecutive novels.

Later.—Learn, my children, never to misjudge motives rashly on insufficient evidence. The wind has just explained that its sole desire was to help me, and to prevent my suffering from that formidable enemy of the adventurous traveller to fearful heights like this (13,000—14,000 feet)—stagnation of the atmosphere! I forgot to mention that Pfannl arrived about eight a.m. from O.E. with a literary stomach-pump—but the lost burners were not to be found in any of my things.

June 11th.

—A most uneventful day. The weather changed every hour or so, and my language varied accordingly. Otherwise, absolutely nothing of any interest occurred.

June 12th.

—We had quite a nice march to-day, crossing the glacier to its right bank. The weather was fine, and even my blasé self got quite excited when the corner was turned, and Gusherbrum and Masherbrum leaped into sight. And then the ice peak above rdokass. Suddenly above it reached the glory of a far higher peak—the most superb ice summit I have yet seen. And then, to crown the day's wonders, as I came opposite the Mundu Glacier, out came Gamn Mundu—a marvellous rock face towering up 10,000 feet above me, with such ridges of ice, such architecture—Stay! I insist on payment for poetical rhapsodies—I had slight indigestion, but was otherwise feeling in capital form. My work, hitherto practically a sinecure, was to-day of important. The way across the glacier was very complex (for coolies). As it was, I had to cut quite a lot of steps. We passed a lake in the middle of the glacier and a really quite remarkable iceberg—standing up quite alone, clean, and made of ice-fall ice, but fixed in the moraine—I suppose the unmelted remains of the biggest block of some Cyclopean avalanche! (I think I should get eighteen pence or two bob for "Cyclopean avalanche"—never mind, I'll credit it in expedition accounts). The stage is by a small stone gully, under some enormous slabs, which, by being broken away in one place, leave a small shelter. Here I made the men build a house—a stone wall some three feet high and thirty feet long—of course, as much under the rock as I could. I set the example of working myself, and they soon caught on and worked splendidly. We had the whole thing ready and the space inside levelled and earth-filled in about an hour. I hope by this means to insure that Pfannl and Knowles [Guy Knowles] (should it turn wet again) shall have no trouble getting their men to come here. I also hope to be able to make a similar arrangement higher. On the middle of the glacier I made a number of compass observations, so many great peaks being visible, but so far without any result I can make certain of. I think I am at the place which Conway calls Storage Camp—though it might be Pool Camp, as there is a pool quite close. In neither case can I get the mountains to agree. Pool Camp is the better—but then all my previous observations are wrong. So they are, anyway—even the number of glaciers noted does not work in! I shall have another try now, at once—the perplexity is beginning to tell on my fine nervous organization! So I take seventy-five grains of bromide, and begin. It seems to me, either that Conway's map in entirely faulty (which I cannot think), or that the S. side of the glacier—mountains and all—has slipped down (or up—either is intelligible) in the last ten years. The Ordnance Survey is less utterly perplexing, but lacks detail.

June 13th.

—We had a most tedious and uninteresting march to-day, notably chiefly for the conclusion that I came to (and hope to test to-morrow) that either "Masherbrum" is quite a different mountain to the one that looks like it, or that the Baltoro here runs N.E. and S.W., and not E. and W. as on the maps. Considerations of my position really take up the whole of my time. I have never before been made so perfectly miserable. The responsibility of getting to K2 is on me, and one is so accustomed to trust to maps that it still seems possible that O.E. may arrive and say "The maps are all right. What the trouble is, is that you are such a mutton-headed idiot—!" This stage is very silly. It is at the foot of a side glacier, on sand which an hour's good hard rain would turn into mud. There is very little wood and no shelter at all. The view is cut off by moraine on the E., the weather looks like turning bad, and altogether I shall be glad of to-morrow—if it rains I shall use a bad word. The coolies were rather ingenious this afternoon. They got five flat stones and cemented them with flour and water so as to make a water-tight trough in which they proceeded to cook some queer stuff. Rather a clever notion—I hope I shall never be reduced to employing it. I have been suffering from a slight feeling of oppression in the head for three days—I think possible one symptom of the true mountain sickness—though I hold that, unless one gets indigestion or liver chill, the symptoms never amount to what may be called sickness. That is, up to any height I have been to so far (about 18,000 feet). I am now camping higher than I have ever climbed before; I am probably at about 15,000 feet. This diary must read very egotistical, but when a man is alone for more than a day or two there is no other person in the world. The unreality of material things becomes clear—assimilated by the consciousness almost—and in journeying this is especially the case. The scenery is always changing, and the thought (for want of object to occupy it) has its rate greatly reduced. The time-sense, however, remains pretty constant, and the result is that everything is rather dream-like. Absence of civilised intercourse heightens this effect still further. Consequently, everything centres round the Ego far more than usual. I have here no equal or superior (just as elsewhere some people seem to think I think) and it is, consequently, my kiltas, my coolies, my comfort, my journey that fill these pages. Now, this superb explanation ought to calm everybody down and make them all forgive me for saying "I" so often. I'm sure they would if they only knew how cold my fingers were, and that I am writing this drivel for their particular edification. Any person not edified and returning the article within a week, the money will be refunded. So much for Ghore—I have great hopes for the morrow.

June 14th.

—Quite an exciting day. All my doubts have been cleared up. Conway has merely mis-named the Mustagh Luyma "Piale" as well as other similar trifling blunders. He has put "Bruce's Camp" about four miles too far E., and marked his own six marches as four. P. [Heinrich Pfannl] and W. [Victor Wessely] did not find any trouble, but say that Conway's map agrees "very as the nature," which I feel a diffidence about disputing. I think their positions are nearly, or quite right, but then they have not my native information, which makes the trouble with names, e.g., they look at any glacier and call it Piale, to fit their ideas of distance. Anyhow here am I at Pool Camp, with a splendid view of the Mitre Peak and a beast of a bed to lie on. The glacier has invaded this parau there is no pool, and the only maiden is soft mud. So they cleared away the moraine a bit and made a place for the tent. There is no wood, and water is distant. The dak (one man of it) came up at one o'clock with matches and meat, and all sorts of luxuries including a mysterious chit from P. and W. They (and the dak man) could not find any stone men on the glacier or moraine. My men are simply amazed. The guide must have been an idiot of the best—anyhow he lost his way. There is hardly a way to lose, some cavillers might say; but the fact remains that we built stone men till the moraine began to run short—there are only about ninety cubic miles of it in the district—and where P. and W. got the stones from to build their stone men I can't think. The great joke is, though, that the dak-wallah could not find any—and as they came after P. and W.—! I wonder if they will miss the stone man here. It is six feet high and solid. The men found a Lingua stone and put it on top: I have consequently dedicated the place to Shiva. There is a subtle joke in this, as Shiva is, par excellence, the destroyer, and I never yet saw a place which could be more thoroughly improved by annihilation. To complete my misfortunes, a tin of Digby Chicks—on which I had built great hopes—turned out bad, and my left boot is now nearly shorn of its nails. This everlasting moraine is terrible stuff to walk on—I am very much afraid O.E. and G.K. [Guy Knowles]—with the inferior leather of which their boots are made—will hardly get here. (This is a standard topic—I am delighted to put my views where they can't be contradicted). Of the meat sent up I selected only a small quantity for myself and gave the rest to the coolies. The tobacco which arrived was very little—I can't understand why O.E. did not lead-seal the bag. Perhaps he did—N.B. [Nota bene] to ask him. I have just been reading Milton, but when I came to the line "To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new" I shut him up in disgust.

June 15th.

—In weather growing worse and worse I went up to camp VII. Part of the way very beautiful with grass and a tender violet flower, with which the men lavishly decorated me—I felt like a Queen of the May for the first time. As a rule, anyone calling me early is shot—if he can wake me sufficiently for the purpose. Durbar succeeds durbar, quite a daily function. I discuss everything with all the men in a language compounded of Hindustani, Balti, Kashmiri and Persian, with a little Ladaki, Sanwa-it, or English thrown in to relieve the monotony. We got to camp early, and had a hearty meal and went out on the glacier. I was able to see nothing, but what I couldn't see, and why I couldn't see it, gave me information to tide me over to-morrow. For to-morrow (mark the word) I really rise to the heroic stature! Where the foot of man hath never trod—what a sublime thought and how well it might be made to rhyme with God! And I am going there—I, the hardy, intrepid, indomitable explorer! With no companions but heathen savages, unarmed—Integer vitae scelerisque que purus—ask my tutor. I march resolutely into the awful—the unknown! (I am not sure if some ass hasn't been silly enough to go up a day further here—if so, I withdraw my remarks). But this is all very fine. My dak came up to-day; things seem going fairly down below—bar food, of which there seems a scarcity. And I, the hold, the intrepid—. Stop! That's the other old story. Anyway, G.K.—of all people—asks me to send my spare men down with food. A violent snowstorm came on at four o'clock, and I had no shelter ready—I don't mean to be caught again. I have told off ten men to build a big shelter, and asked Pfannl to see that this is done at every stage above this. I will not have a man die if I can help it; besides, if the men know that they have absolute security of warmth, food, etc., they will go on from such a place further, when they would not go otherwise. By my plan, one day's journey (really two to three hours' walk for a good man) will bring him to good shelter. But I only hope O.E. is not having trouble with food. My dak foolishly disobeyed his orders, and lost a day in consequence. If there is trouble it is my fault, as I am ordering the spare men to bring up wood from Rdokass, and this means so many more mouths to feed. Still, the importance of getting the coolies to make the last march can hardly be over-rated.

June 16th.

—I got quite a long way up the Godwen-Austen glacier to-day. There is no camping place here—the tent is on snow, and the coolies on a very flat bit of moraine where they have constructed a small shelter. K2 is clouded over, but I have, by dint of constant watching, caught a glimpse, now and again, of part of the ridge. I made the coolies, who thought they were going to die, quite happy again with half-a-pint of hot water from the precious petroleum stove—an awful extravagance, but worth it. The men with P. and K. will follow, surely, if they know there are men above. I have had a great joke trying to make them understand that I am not going to Yarkand. They, of course, take my word, but are not in the least convinced! Kitoul and another man have headaches—so have I, a bad one. I gave them a grain of opium apiece—I wonder what the doctor will say?

The result of all this is that it is June 18th—and I haven't written a word. I dropped to sleep that afternoon (16th) and woke up refreshed, and prepared my dinner and Wessely's breakfast, for I had sent down for W. to come and look after my coolies, it being urgent that I should go reconnoitring. As it was, I sat up all night staring at K2, but was not able to see the upper part of the E. ridge. I saw enough, however, to decide me to go up that side of the mountain first, which I accordingly did. After waiting nearly one-and-a-quarter hour for W., I left his breakfast and Abdullah Bat, but after another hour they came on, saying there were no signs of him. I, of course, had to give up my reconnaissance. I had hoped to reach the pass to-day, but the late start prevented this, and the coolies preferred to stop on a spur of the S. face of K2—Camp IX. I sent down chits of the most urgent kind to find out what was the matter down below—no answer. I slept all day and at night dosed myself with Rover's powders and had a really good night, only waking up once to write some rhymes—the word "argue" beats me; I fixed up "silver." I served out snow-goggles to some whose eyes were inflamed. Issa, our prize strong man, was ingenious enough to do without by tying his hair over his eyes.

June 18th.

—I am here at Camp IX. I waited an hour for a chit from Pfannl, thus starting at seven. Nothing came, and after cutting up the glacier to the pass E. of K2, I sent down all the men but Issa and Gholum Mohammed (another very good doer) and sent a special dak by Abdullah Bat to find out, somehow, what was wrong. An hour or two later, however, a dateless, placeless, illogical chit arrived, with one Mummery tent. This is useful to shelter my two men—true, but my original plan of getting four or five men 3,000 or 4,000 feet up the mountain side with a Whymper [tent] and a food unit is quite knocked on the head. I cannot possibly keep more than two men here with the arrangements at my disposal. Abdullah Bat wept in the most copious manner at leaving me. I am too annoyed to weep. I broke up two round kiltas and made the men a floor with the leather and basket work. Now the Mummery has arrived they are very happy. I am very tired—with worry, physically I am A1.

After a nice long sleep I continue. An amusing circumstance occurred this morning. Seeing that the men did not understand snow, I—who had started with Abdullah Bat and a coolie—sent the latter back for the rope. I explained to A.B. about seeing concealed crevasses, and he said "Oh yes, he could do that too," as I pointed to the one on whose edge he was standing. I laughed back "Oh yes, anybody could see that one, but there were others more difficult." A.B. then calmly walked towards me and—fell headlong into the very crevasse I had just pointed out! As it was only a few feet deep it was merely a good object lesson to him.

June 19th.

—Pfannl and Wessely arrived, and explained—obscurum per obscurius—why they had not sent me any news. The whole affair was very mixed up. Still more extraordinary is the circumstance that they found wood up to camp VI—thick wood for cooking chupattis—where my men could not rake together sufficient to make tea. We talked pretty well all day about this and other things! All's well that ends well, I suppose. It gets cold here very quickly—it is now seven p.m. and there are already 3° C. of frost in my tent, and a stove has been going for the last hour. But I am tied into my valise in a sleeping bag and a poncho, with a hot-water bottle, and I have a sweater and a fur cap, and am not undressed—Yah!

June 20th.

—To-day, I woke a six o'clock, intending to go reconnoitring with P. and W., but it was snowing, misted over, and cold enough to freeze the ears off a cast-iron dog. So I drifted off into a dream again, until I was pursued by a giant through the abysses of space—aeons on aeons—and I just managed to escape him, when—from behind me—horror! a vast hand reaching out towards me and I woke. That hand was Knowles and I was on K2 (much better fun being chased by a giant any day), and Knowles came in and we squared everything up—and that's the end of the tale of my Hi-tra-la-la-a-lai-la-laity—O!

A.C.

[Additional notes by Aleister Crowley, appended to a letter from Guy Knowles to Lucien Legros dated Skardu, August 25th, 1902.]

Note by Crowley—On the descent from Camp XI—Camp X (August 4th) I had a couple of rather amusing experiences—as one ought to have on Benkoldy [bank holiday]! I was ahead with four roped coolies, and on coming to the crevassed part of the glacier they began to exhibit symptoms of caution and went very slowly. All in vain! There was a yell and a swish, and Mr. Balti the first was in a crevasse. He had fallen about eight feet before the rope brought him up. I quickly ran forward, jumped the crevasse, and, having laid down, found I could just reach the straps of his load. One vigorous "hoick", and up he came like a bird. I was still rather weak after my five days' fever, so how easy is it for a strong and healthy man to pull another out unaided. After this, the men went slower than ever, probing many times at every step. So I decided to put myself on their rope and lead. Now we went down gaily, I, of course, trusting to the rope, and not wasting time by keeping my eyes open. So there was soon another crash, and I was in a biggish crevasse—about twelve feet. The walls were vertical, but just opposite me was a clump of frozen snow and ice, affording a capital series of rather unstable (but not so bad as chalk) holds. Also, the width of the crevasse was just right for back and foot work, and I could jam the axe across for handhold. So I told the men to leave the rope loose, and proceeded to climb out with a good deal of hard work, but no difficulty.

While I am writing this note I may as well explain my action with regard to Camp X—for choosing which I have been blamed:—

(1) On arrival at Camp X, I was in great distress at having no news from P. and W., to whom I had written urgently—I did not even know if they were following in my tracks.

(2) Owing to the clouds I could not see the camping-place on the opposite slopes of rock and moraine some half-hour above Camp X.

(3) I supposed that we should make an attempt on K2 directly from Camp X by the snow slopes above—I still think this the best way up.

(4) Camp X—horrible as it proved—would not have been so bad if, as I then had reason to believe, bad weather could not last more than two days. It must be remembered that so far we had had perfect weather, save on the glacier itself, and the snowstorms below had been mild and transitory. No man could possibly have been prepared for so sudden and absolute a transition from fine weather, with odd snatches of doubtful ditto, to continuous snowstorms with only rare breaks—and that really abominable weather began the very day after my arrival.

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