Chris Bonington and the bold expeditions that defined modern mountaineering

In another life, Chris Bonington was a margarine salesman. Climbing was an affair that had started out in his teens. Yet, the stability of a job brought in more practical considerations. The mountains would have to wait.

In 1962, after making the first British ascent of the North Face of the Eiger alongside Ian Clough, Bonington had settled into the office. It all came to a head later that year when he landed an invitation to climb in Patagonia. But the message from his boss at work was clear—he could either go on the expedition or hold on to his job.

“And I chose to climb,” Bonington says, breaking into a smile while sitting easy at the new Himalayan Club office that he inaugurated in Mumbai last month.

Bonington cuts a dashing figure at 91 years, standing tall like he once did at the base of some of the biggest mountains of the world. Over the years, the British mountaineer, who is based in Cumbria, has authored several books, including I Chose to Climb (1966), Everest, the Hard Way (1976) and Ascent (2017).

Bonington grew up in Hampstead, London, and started climbing at 16, mostly during the holidays. His coyness disappeared the moment he roped up with anyone he could learn a thing or two from. The pocket money handed out by his mother, Helen, was never enough. But hitchhiking was a handy tool to travel to the far north of Scotland and Wales.

By the time Bonington was pulling off first ascents on technical rock climbs in the early 1950s, a mad dash for Everest (8,848m) had unfolded after Nepal opened its borders to foreigners. In 1951, the British expedition had the first opportunity to approach the mountain from the south; the following year, the Swiss got as high as about 8,600m. Finally in 1953, Tenzing Norgay and Edmund Hillary reached the summit, a feat that was celebrated around the world.

These large-scale expeditions were a contrast to the frugal resources on hand for the post-war community of young climbers. They would climb at the limit with basic gear, attempting hard routes mostly for fun and bragging rights.

“When I heard Everest had been climbed, it didn’t quite excite me. It was beyond my imagination and I never thought I would get there someday. I was more interested in what I was doing at the time as a rock climber,” Bonington says.

Over the next few years, Bonington served in the armed forces, took on some testing climbs in the Alps, and made first ascents of Annapurna 2 (1960) and Nuptse (1961) in the Nepal Himalaya. More significantly, he found a supporter in his wife, Wendy, who backed his climbing dream. This was a time when Bonington’s brethren held day jobs as plumbers, teachers or climbing instructors, setting off for the mountains with their meagre savings.

What Bonington desired was the life of a professional mountaineer—his predecessors Edward Whymper and Frank Smythe had got by with writing and photography and by delivering lectures. Wendy not only pushed him to give up on a conventional career, but also joined him on the expedition to Patagonia. In the time ahead, she would manage the home and the kids. It allowed Bonington to visit remote mountains.

The Eiger climb was Bonington’s first brush with public attention. It landed him assignments as a photojournalist on other adventures, until a few close calls made him realise that he was better off as his own boss.

Bonington continued climbing in the Alps and around the UK. But he also started toying with the idea of organising his own expedition at altitude. The chase of first ascents of 8,000m mountains had ended after Shishapangma, China, was climbed in 1964. He started contemplating routes that demanded a high level of climbing and resilience in testing conditions, an extension of what he had been attempting in lower ranges until then.

“I always liked going on climbs that were untouched and in places that had a lot of unknowns in store. That’s what made it a fresh experience, a real adventure,” Bonington says.

By his side was a crack team of equally radical climbers, soon christened “Bonington’s Boys”, who were united in their suffering and desire to succeed. The seemingly indolent Don Whillans who would show up when least expected; Doug Scott, a towering presence in stature and ambition; the reticent Dougal Haston who would come alive at altitude; Bonington’s trusted climbing partners Hamish MacInnes, Ian Clough and Nick Estcourt; and the next generation of British climbers, Peter Boardman and Joe Tasker.

Through celebrations, disagreements and heartbreaks, they shaped how mountaineering would be pursued over the next decade. And Bonington was the leader of the pack, a figure of pride and envy.

“The climbing world was a small place in those days where we all knew each other. There were differences in opinion, but there was also the inspiration to keep pushing each other,” Bonington says.

His first assignment as leader took him to South Face of Annapurna, the 10th highest mountain, a climb riddled with steep rock sections and towering ice seracs. Bonington called it the Himalayan equivalent of the North Face of the Eiger. It required the organisational skills he had picked up while reading military history books, which he says, outnumber mountaineering literature back home in Cumbria even today.

“While I planned in great detail, it was inevitable that things would change on the mountain. What was important was to have a structure in place that determined your judgements and decisions. This made it easier to make adjustments. Without that planning in place, I wouldn’t have bothered setting off on an expedition,” he says.

That climb met with success after Whillans and Haston reached the summit. Besides handling the logistics of the entire expedition, it was Bonington’s first brush with managing the egos and eccentricities of his teammates, which he realised was as arduous as forging a way up the mountain. It laid the foundation of his leadership style in the time ahead. He wouldn’t hesitate to make hard calls, often setting aside personal ambitions of his teammates, as well as his own, in favour of team goals.

“I would usually put myself in the third summit bid, well aware that there would inevitably be a crisis on the mountain that would need my attention. And that’s how it unfolded most times,” he says.

Two years after the Annapurna climb, Bonington started considering the South West Face of Everest. The rock band feature at around 8,000m had denied previous expeditions; it was the same for Bonington’s team in 1972.

Over the next two years, Bonington made first ascents of Brammah and Changabang in the Indian Himalaya, and returned better prepared with a bigger team to attempt the same route on Everest in 1975. It was Estcourt and Paul “Tut” Braithwaite who solved the problem of the rock band and made a summit bid possible. Haston and Scott reached the top at a late hour and survived a night out in the open, just a hundred metres below the summit.

But these bold climbs often had fatal consequences. Clough was killed by a serac that collapsed on Annapurna; on Everest in 1975, Mick Burke disappeared in a storm near the summit. Three years later on K2, Estcourt was swept away by an avalanche, while Boardman and Tasker went missing on Everest in 1982.

“Everybody is aware of how dangerous the mountains are. I was immensely saddened by the loss of a dear friend, but it was something that I had to accept if I wanted to go on the next climb. And it was the same for everybody else,” he says.

Bonington had to wait until 1985 to get to the top of Everest alongside a Norwegian expedition, the only 8,000er he’s ever climbed. “Everest is special for any climber. Mine was a delightful experience to the summit alongside some of the nicest teammates who didn’t utter a single cuss word from the start to the end of the climb,” he says, laughing.

The climbs that Bonington enjoyed the most were alongside small teams, especially those where he wasn’t in charge. His favourite adventure is the first ascent of the Ogre in Pakistan, an expedition organised by Scott in 1977 that featured six friends and required their collective experience to get back alive.

Seconds after Scott set off on the first rappel from the summit, Bonington heard a sharp cry. Scott had smashed into the mountain and broken his legs. The only way out for Bonington was to carefully lower his partner on the steep sections, before getting down himself. Even once they united with two other climbers, they were laid low by a raging blizzard and freezing conditions. The uncertainty grew by the day as they made tedious progress. Things got trickier when Bonington had a fall and cracked two ribs. It took seven days for them to get off the mountain and finally get rescued by a helicopter.

With age, Bonington’s interest shifted to lower, unexplored peaks. He found a mate in Indian mountaineer and explorer, Harish Kapadia, in the early 1990s. They co-led Indo-British teams comprising young climbers, making first ascents of Panchachuli II (1992) in Kumaon and Rangrik Rang (1994) in Kinnaur.

At the Himalayan Club’s annual seminar, Bonington was in his element with his old mate, Kapadia, who relived their eventful climbing years through visuals and memories—how Bonington craved mangoes the moment he landed in Mumbai or the high-altitude India versus England cricket matches during idyllic days at base camp. Bonington celebrated the evening with a little shimmy on stage, kissing his wife, Loreto, whom he married a decade ago after Wendy’s passing.

For Bonington, the mountains have been a delight since he first saw them on a visit to his grandparents in Scotland. Somewhere along the way, Bonington transformed into Sir Chris Bonington, a doyen of the world of mountaineering. All because he chose to climb.

Shail Desai is a Mumbai-based freelance writer.