The Origins of the Festival
‘Salute a Bonatti’
The Sixteenth International Festival of Mountaineering Literature
This year’s festival saw a change in setting from the familiar, leafy surrounds of Bretton Hall, and was eventually to be found in the maze of the University of Leeds campus. The Conference Auditorium was cool, but comfortable – with ‘tip-up’ cinema style seating and, importantly, a bar. Terry Gifford, in his usual, enthusiastic introduction, felt the need to apologise to all the hardened outdoor types for the comfy seats – remarking that he knows they prefer the “hard seated, shoulder to shoulder bivouac approach” with which they are more familiar. The audience laughed and then huddled into their fleeces in preparation.
Colin Mortlock, who has spent much of his life teaching adventurous activities, began the festival with a reflective, if not ponderous talk. His book, Beyond Adventure, outlines his approach to the wilderness – which is “to seek one’s true nature.” His lecture tried to explain how a mountain journey should be a “spiritual quest”, a” pursuit of an inner journey where the quality of experience and actions needs to be balanced by reflection upon them.” His interaction with nature, when experiencing adventure, is the key to his own inner peace and spiritual development. He went on to say that understanding your surroundings and uniting with them, with a minimal impact on the environment, helps you to “find your own nature”.
The sentiment that there is more to adventure than adventure itself, that our wellbeing & feelings of contentment come from our union with nature, is one I think we can all relate to. Surely our desire to be in the mountains is born from something deeper than merely a wish to conquer?
After his thought-provoking and interesting talk
about this spiritual bond with our surrounds (which sadly lacked the
passion in its delivery that I’m certain Colin felt about his subject), it was his final,
almost throwaway remark, “do not use the wilderness as an extension
of the sports hall”, which seemed to provoke a reaction.
“Is sports climbing killing beauty?” I fear it may have been Ken
Wilson’s dulcet tones ringing out from the darkness.
“Rock is alive. To put a bolt in it is a heinous crime.” Colin
Mortlock replied with great conviction. “ You don’t harm it. To
do it for a bit of fun is wrong.”
There was a half-hearted effort to bring up the old bolting argument, but the auditorium was full of purists and it would never have had the legs. Everybody agreed that we should all carry responsibility for our environment and applauded heartily. Happily this also served to keep our hands warm.
Jonathan Neale, then stepped forward to talk
about his book, Tigers of the Snow – the story of the Sherpas of Nepal. The research for
his book included conversations with the Sherpas in their own language
in an attempt to unlock the secrets of the colonial mountaineering past.
He obviously feels a close personal bond with these people, and dedicated
his lecture to a ‘phenomenal man’ – Ang Tsering Sherpa
– who spent a year in hospital after his heroic efforts during
the Nanga Parbat expedition of (date here). The history of the transition
from Sherpas as porters in the Indian bazaars to the solid mountaineers
we know today was fascinating.
“Sherpas traditionally climbed nothing if they could possibly avoid it,” began
Neale. They climbed passes, and followed trade routes, but they regarded the
mountain peaks as dangerous places. Tellingly there is no word in the Sherpa
language for ‘summit’.
The relationship of mountaineers looking after their porters slowly turned round over the decades, and Neale’s book outlines this shift in responsibility to the porters eventually looking after their employers. Only 80 years ago, porters would still be left outside to sleep in the snow, without sleeping bags. Thankfully this would, we like to think, not happen today.
Jonathan Neale’s talk was fervent and concise and showed a huge respect and admiration for the Sherpa community. He ended with a plea for people to continue to visit Nepal. The country is, sadly, in a state of civil war, but according to Neale, foreigners are safe. The country’s economy is suffering appallingly and relies on tourism to survive. I, however, would be sceptical about the safety of foreigners at present. Unfortunately only that evening I was informed of a bombing in the Thamel area of Kathmandu, which is of course a popular tourist area.
The pre-lunch spot in the programme was handed
over to the ‘Women,
Mountains, Words’ group, who have already published two anthologies
of women’s writing. They describe themselves as a “forum
for women to explore climbing following their own compass” and
say that they are not so much taking themselves away from their male
counterparts as “humming the same tune, but using different harmonies.”
Hmmm….
I am not sure how much we overestimate the climbing world, or its expression
on a literary level, as being an essentially male environment. There
is, of course, a place in any festival of climbing for women – be
they climbers, writers or armchair enthusiasts. However, I am still strangely
uncomfortable with this self-imposed differentiation. I understand that
a group of people may want to meet and share their creativity and experiences,
but I personally could not contemplate making an issue of my gender.
You can either write well, or you can’t. Your style is your own.
Your gender should not be considered by anyone to be important in that
evaluation. That said, the readings given by the ‘Women, Mountains,
Words’
group were varied and absorbing, and also well delivered. Their workshops
obviously inspire, and produce some quality writing and strong friendships.
I just wish, and I say this knowing I’ll be lynched and found strung
up from a tree by a pair of laddered tights, that they could regard their
gender as being more, well…incidental.
After the lunch break, and firmly ensconced back in our comfy seats, the least educated of us were shocked to hear that the next lecture was to be given by 91-year-old Douglas Scott. Having quickly established that this was not actually Doug Scott, who I’m sure has many years to go before reaching such a grand old age, we were able to relax and enjoy a charming slide show. The newly published autobiography of his friend W H Murray, The Evidence of Things Not Seen (short listed for this years Boardman Tasker Award), provided the basis of Douglas Scott’s evocative lecture. Historic slides of tweed-clad and rugged climbers, standing heroically next to coils of hemp rope, looking out over unspoilt Himalayan vistas, brought sighs of pleasure to the lips of many a traditionalist in the auditorium. Scott spoke with great clarity and fondness of the “relaxed and uncompetitive era of the ‘30s” and the staggering feats of his friend Bill Murray. There is always a space at any celebration of climbing for personal accounts of this quality. I am impressed and moved that so many images of this pioneering era have survived, and astounded that Mr Scott should have felt the need to apologise for the fading of colour, which only add to their appeal.
Next came a weary but ebullient Jim Curran. No stranger to these literature festivals, he had travelled up from an RGS lecture in London the previous night to give a talk on Twenty Years of the Boardman Tasker. Jim has always regarded himself as something of a ‘Bridesmaid’ to this award, as he has been short listed five times, but has still to win the coveted first prize. Citing himself as being like ‘Beryl Bainbridge to the Booker’, he draws the line at any references to Tim Henman and Wimbledon.
After going over some statistics, facts and figures, and reading a fairly bizarre poem about climbing writers by Ronnie Rothen (check), which, according to Jim, sounded a lot better when read by the poet, Jim brought up some interesting points about the Boardman Tasker and it’s future. It infuriates him that during the summing-up at the Alpine Club you can barely hear over the sound of people pouring their wine, because the committee will not use a PA. He also pointed out, agreeing with the opinion of Charlie Clarke, that the judges heap praise on the runners up, the short listed authors receive a savaging and the one that gets savaged the least – wins. He then went on to suggest some ways in which the Award could change, to move with the times and hopefully become more contemporary. Could it try to attract sponsorship, creating a small subsidiary award? Wouldn’t it be a good idea to change the date, so that this Mountaineering Literature Festival, Kendal Film Festival, Dundee Festival etc were not all within the same month – possibly combining the Boardman Tasker with the Mountaineering Literature Festival? Should it necessarily be held at the Alpine Club?
His comments certainly provided food for thought, although whether they instigate any change after twenty years remains to be seen.
To continue on the same subject Mike Vause then delivered this year’s Boardman Tasker judgement for discussion. He was genuinely delighted at being chosen to sit on the judging panel, and thanked the knowledgeable, and ever reliable Maggie Body, who succeeded Dorothy Boardman this year, for helping to make the short listing process run so smoothly. Seven titles were short-listed, including Joe Simpson’s The Beckoning Silence and Jim Perrin’s Travels with the Flea, but the final winner was Robert Roper’s Fatal Mountaineer – a book about the life of Willi Unsoeld. Sadly, due to distribution problems in the United States, this book has been almost impossible to obtain in the UK. Widely unread, we will have to reserve our own judgement on this book until the publisher rectifies this problem.
The author of the winning book, Robert Roper, who had flown over from the USA for the Boardman Tasker Award, gave a brief speech of thanks and read from Fatal Mountaineer. His reading was an excerpt concerning Willi’s attempt to climb Nanda Devi in the ‘70s with his 22-year-old daughter ‘Devi’, whom he had named after the mountain. It was a very troubled expedition from start to finish, and Roper’s writing certainly captured the stress and difficulty of the climb and the relationships between those on the expedition. When the book is finally in the bookshops over here, it seems it should deserve a read. However, Robert Roper’s reading was probably a little too long and the pace of the afternoon began to creak to a sluggish plod. Unfortunately this was not helped by the ‘review’ of this work by Willi Unsoeld’s friend Pete Sinclair, who flies in from Seattle to attend the Festival each year. Pete had been billed as having something controversial to say about Robert Roper’s biography and the auditorium waited, if not with baited breath, certainly with some interest. There was no controversy. There was nothing of interest. Pete Sinclair spoke at great length, slowly, quietly, and with deliberation, with many pauses to collect his thoughts, I think about Willi Unsoeld – but I couldn’t be sure. After some time I could hear the shuffling of bum-cheeks on seats and not long after that, people began to creep out of the auditorium – one after the other. It seems that Pete Sinclair is no public speaker, and although after what seemed like an eternity of listening to anecdotes that went nowhere (and some reference to Chaucer), to the point of my almost losing the will to live, my heart went out to him. It is very difficult to engage an audience for an hour, but I wonder, should he have been put through that? Equally, when somebody has paid twenty pounds for a ticket – should they be in a position where they feel they have to get up and leave?
Leo Dickinson and Graham Hoyland were the esteemed judges of this year’s ‘High Writing Competition’ – which provided us with a quality piece of writing and one of the strongest winners in recent years. As ever, Ian Smith gave an animated and entertaining reading of the winning entry, ‘Bolt Hanger’ by Jon Sharratt from near Matlock, which lifted proceedings somewhat and dragged the punters back in. We were all amazed to hear that it was Jon’s first piece of writing, and when asked if he will be writing more he replied, “If it proves to be this lucrative, yes.” Who said that climbers were mercenary?
The break for tea gave everybody the opportunity to rush to the foyer and meet Walter Bonatti whilst he signed books. Seemingly having aged not one year since his last visit, to Buxton, 18 years ago, Bonatti was happy to sign his new book, The Mountains of My Life, for a large and excited crowd. After the signing, Bonatti and his interpreter for the evening, Antonella Cicogna settled in the spotlight for an inspiring and thoughtful talk about his life. Explaining how he was born in a flat part of Italy, he came to the mountains out of “true passion”. A cold and hard childhood in his country helped him confront the realities of life, and at the same time fed his curiosity, dreams and ambition. At 18 years old he started “extreme mountaineering” and in less than a year had repeated all the tough climbs of his predecessors. Claiming that his “state of mind was almost unreal. All seemed feasible at that time” his simple passion for adventure pushed him on – “dreaming with open eyes.” He shunned the advance of technology, preferring the purity of traditional methods of climbing so that he could truly compare his climbs with those of the ‘30s. In 1965, after his winter ascent of the Matterhorn, he felt he “couldn’t continue with new techniques and all their armoury” and chose a life of journalism, becoming a special correspondent. This was a new adventure for him, and one he approached with the same motivation – travelling the world detached from technical progress and free of organised support. Looking back on a life of pure adventure, united with nature and “merging with the universe” Bonatti finished with the sentiment that “our life has a meaning only if we live as intensely as possible”. Then, with an open smile and a dynamic twinkle in those Italian eyes he came to a close with the words, “I am not tired yet of dreaming.”
Walter Bonatti had saved the day, and thank goodness. I think it’s fair to wonder, what is this Literature Festival trying to achieve? Is it entertainment? Is it inspiration? Is it education? Maybe it’s merely meant as a celebration? However at times it felt less like a celebration of our literary past, and more like its wake. It never really fully delivers, and sadly fails to attract the young guns of the climbing world who surely should be encouraged to write about their experiences. Whilst I am aware of the huge effort put into the organisation of this event, and its admirable intentions, I can’t help feeling that its continuation can only be secured by broadening its appeal. To introduce some pace to the day, some of the talks/readings could be shorter. It may be an idea to finish at tea, rather than continue until 7pm. Quality rather than quantity is essential, as is a continued effort to attract a wider audience. The Seventeenth International Festival of Mountaineering Literature would benefit from having a more contemporary feel, with less reflection and more attention to the future of climbing literature and to those who will be left to continue and possibly redefine its fine traditions. I am sure there are many young, aspiring writers out there who are “not tired yet of dreaming”….