The White Ladder: Triumph and Tragedy at the Dawn of Mountaineering by Daniel Light | Book Review | Oneworld Publications

 

Perhaps even those only remotely interested in the history of mountaineering have heard the names of George Mallory and Andrew Irvine who (as the debate still carries on today) may or may not have been the first to reach the summit of Mount Everest, shortly before disappearing into the clouds and never seen alive again.

But what makes The White Ladder: Triumph and Tragedy at the Dawn of Mountaineering by Daniel Light thrilling is that it uses the fateful 1924 British expedition as its endpoint – something the narrative builds up to, starting from the very early days of mountaineering and giving a panoramic overview en route. As Light shows in vivid, involving detail, summiting wasn't always about glory and fame; in fact, mountaineering wasn't even always about summiting. The how and why of modern mountaineering turns out to be absolutely fascinating.

The White Ladder is a truly novel-like history. What especially fascinates me is how the initial interest in climbing mountains – purely scientific – evolved into sport, conquest and global power. From surveyors to naturalists, young aristocrats, rich protégés and even the odd occultist, the cast of mountain literature is as colourful as any novel, and Light gives an easy to follow chronological history of the evolution of high-altitude exploration. All the while, it is engrossing, written in a way that makes the reader feel like they are there with these great men (and even a woman), lighting pipes, breathing in the chill mountain air, eating Irish stew straight from the tin when the stove wouldn't light, 'slowly melting the lumps of white frozen grease in our mouths, and then swallowing them'.

Light doesn't just recount records, names and dates, but looks at key developments too, such as the gradual discovery of mountain sickness, the invention of crampons and using supplemental oxygen for the first time – small details that add colour and life to the cold upper reaches, and all in vivid, theatrical detail. I am so drawn into the book, in fact, that I don't want it to end: it truly allows me to live vicariously, with each chapter telling the story of a single person or team, and an expedition that moved the development of mountaineering forward, one way or another. Notably, I believe failed attempts actually outnumber successes, making it feel like a fuller, more realistic narrative.

It's a complete surprise to read about Fanny Workman Bullock, one of the most decorated Himalayan mountaineers – man or woman – of her time (though of course, the truth is that, as Light describes her, she was an 'ugly extension of British colonial rule' in attitude towards the locals, which may explain why she isn't as celebrated today as she might be). Equally, the eccentricities of late Victorian climbers are always a delight: from surviving on nothing but 'champagne and Danish butter', to Aleister Crowley arguing with Oscar Eckenstein about bringing his hefty poetry volumes to the top of K2 with him, because 'I would rather bear physical starvation than intellectual starvation'. 

Light doesn't shy away from sharing the often repulsive truths behind the glorified expeditions, including beatings, starvation, death and ugly gossip. But all that adds up to an intriguing history, one that pokes gentle fun at the white masculine heroism of the time, all the while giving credit where credit is due. It is thoroughly researched, very well written and highly recommended for anyone looking for an armchair escape into the cold peaks of the Himalayas.