Visiting the Grave of Owen Glynne Jones

There comes a time in the career of an author when the seemingly impenetrable veil between reality and the imaginary worlds we write about is lifted. We are touched by the very stuff of our stories. Characters who were real enough to us in our heads become suddenly tangible human beings of flesh and blood; human beings with a voice more real than any we could give them.

Such moments are incredibly profound. I am lucky enough to have experienced such a moment precisely three years ago when I visited the grave of O.G. Jones in Evolena, Switzerland.

Dent Blanche from the streets of Evolena

Followers who have read The Only Genuine Jones will be familiar with Jones, the primary hero of the book. He's a complex man who seeks progress in the world of mountaineering yet frequently sabotages his own efforts - a man who can be reckless and myopic, yet is steered by a deep-seated sense of right and wrong. My character is based strongly on the real historical figure of Owen Glynne Jones, and in 2010 I undertook an Alpine voyage to visit the area where he spent his last days.

Dent Blanche

In summer 1899 Jones climbed extensively in the quieter regions of Switzerland. True to character, he did everything at breakneck speed and hardly stopped to eat or sleep; on one occasion he was observed to come down from two days of hard climbing, tweed jacket in rags, and paused merely to gulp down a glass of beer before setting out into the mountains once again.

When he was asked why he felt the need to cram so much mountaineering into such a short space of time, his reply was, tragically, "You see, I won't be able to do this sort of thing for much longer, so I must make the best of it while I can."

Within a matter of days he was dead, killed in one of the worst mountaineering accidents of the 1890s.

Together with his friend Mr Hill and three Swiss guides, he set out to climb the Ferpècle arête of Dent Blanche, a fearsome peak between Arolla and Zermatt. Near the top of the ridge one of the guides slipped and fell to his death, dragging everybody else off as well; only Hill survived, who was fortunate in that the rope broke before it could pull him after the others. Poor Mr Hill had a devillish time getting down off the mountain and finally arrived in Zermatt after a trying ordeal to raise the alarm.

A search party scoured the glacier at the foot of the mountain for remains. Only a few sad items were found: scattered body parts, a hat, and the broken shaft of Jones' ice axe. These relics (minus the body parts) can today be seen and touched at the Zermatt Alpine museum, which I had first visited in 2007. Touching the ice axe of O.G. Jones had been a pivotal moment in my book's conception.

But in 2010 I finally gained the chance to stand at his grave, take off my hat, and gaze up into the summer heat at the summit of the mountain that had killed my main character and one of my greatest heroes.

The grave of O.G. Jones

The moment was one of profound connection with this man whose life story had inspired my entire creative input and output since 2007. Suddenly I felt I knew him a little better; I had come to the place where his friends, family and guides had assembled one chilly morning in September 1899 to pay their respects to a great man. Evolena is an isolated and quiet sort of place and the chapel where he is buried is a tiny stone building, hardly big enough for a congregation of a dozen. The village has changed little since the 19th century and to this day retains a little of the atmosphere of "der alte Alpen". There are no ski lifts here, and (unlike Zermatt!) no MacDonalds.

The Hotel Dent Blanche, where Jones frequently stayed.

I returned from my trip to the Alps that year with a profoundly different appreciation of Jones and his life and death. It had ceased to be a story of purely academic interest to me some time before, but now it was more personal; I felt far more intimately connected with his tale. In understanding his last days and death (which were, I think, exactly as he would have wished them to be) I felt able to understand his life and character better than ever before.

Every writer whose work is grounded in reality should seek out these moments of connection with their characters. Their transformative powers are remarkable, and you won't look at your work in the same way again.

You can buy my novel, The Only Genuine Jones, here for £1.99 on Kindle or £7.99 in paperback. It's inspired by the life of Jones and has gained a lot of 5* reviews!

The ugly side of climbing and mountaineering culture

~ Aleister Crowley in 1902 ~

I'd like to begin this post by apologising on behalf of climbers everywhere. Today mountaineering has been in the news, and for all the wrong reasons: it seems that Western climbers were involved in a fight (brawl? pitched battle?) high on Everest. Other news has also come to light today which can only lead me to conclude that the climbing world has temporarily lost its marbles. A number of readers have already been in touch to mention the similarities between recent developments and events in my novels.

Truth, it would seem, is stranger than fiction!

Death threats on Everest

News first began to circulate on Twitter, and the first article I saw was unfortunately by the Daily Mail and featured some very shoddy reporting. The article has now been updated with less blatantly false information, but at first it simply mentioned that a Swiss mountaineer called "Wool Stick" and some other Western climbers had been attacked by a mob of 100 Sherpas. "Wool Stick" is in reality no other than Ueli Steck, the "Swiss machine" and one of the world's top Alpinists--a climber capable of speed-soloing classic north faces.

At present the facts are hazy and we have no way of knowing precisely what happened, but it would appear that a disagreement between some Sherpas and the Western climbers (Ueli Steck, Simone Moro, and Jonathan Griffiths) escalated into violence, fighting, and death threats. The BBC's sparse account is probably the least speculative report on the incident available right now.

It's too early to determine exactly what happened, but it looks like it was an unpleasant situation for everyone involved.

The People's Climbing Front

The Works is a disused quarry in the Lake District which is used as a popular dry-tooling venue. Dry-tooling is the practice of climbing rock using ice gear and is great training for winter climbing, but controversial for the damage it causes to the rock. It also involves two other controversial topics for climbers: fixed bolts in the rock, and top-roping.

The Works was recently vandalised, rendering it unusable as a dry-tooling venue until re-equipped. Bolts were chopped and a huge amount of equipment stolen.

Today the British Mountaineering Council received an email claiming responsibility for the act ... from an organisation calling itself the "People's Climbing Front!" They claim that dry-tooling is eroding the ethics of winter mountaineering and promise to return the stolen equipment when climbers can tell the difference between "in" and "out" of condition. The concern here seems to be that dry-tooling is encouraging poor ethical standards elsewhere.

This is a classic example of a climbing ethics panic. When people are seen to be climbing winter routes in dry conditions, or top-roping hard climbs and claiming an ascent, tempers tend to get raised. Bolting is another contentious subject and in this case all three have combined to make a perfect ethical storm. Sometimes stupid acts of vandalism, such as bolt chopping or equipment theft, is the result.

Not in condition

Historical precedent: Aleister Crowley in the Himalaya

The K2 expedition (Crowley centre right)

In 1902, Aleister Crowley and Oscar Eckenstein (two characters who feature heavily in my fiction) were involved in an early attempt to climb K2, the second highest mountain in the world. Although the attempt reached the remarkable height of 6,525m, it ultimately failed due to personality clashes. Crowley pulled a revolver on Guy Knowles, who proceeded to knee Crowley in the groin. Knowing Crowley I have no doubt that his selfish personality was the chief cause of the disharmony, and there are numerous reports of Crowley treating his native guides very badly, possibly having them flogged. The team beat a hasty retreat.

Crowley returned to the Himalaya in 1905, this time making an attempt on Kangchenjunga. On this expedition the outcome was even worse: four people (including three native porters) died in an avalanche, and instead of attempting to rescue them, Crowley simply sat back and drank his tea, later claiming that he had no sympathy whatsoever. Once again there are reports of Crowley beating his porters.

These events prove that conflicts between both individuals and cultures have been an unfortunate feature of Himalayan mountaineering since it began. Although I think it would be unwise to draw too many parallels between recent events on Everest and Crowley's insanity in the early 20th century, it's clear to see that when great ascents and reputations are to be made, tempers can fray and violence can ensue. They call it "summit fever" and it's perhaps the ugliest face of mountaineering.

Historical precedent: O.G. Jones and the first ethics panic

Jones climbing on Gable

In 1897, O.G. Jones made the first ascent of the Kern Knotts Crack, a short climb on Great Gable now graded Very Severe. He had chosen to make the "first ascent" after a number of attempts at the climb suspended from a top rope and aided by his friends the Abraham brothers. It was, in short, an extensively pre-practiced ascent, and the ethically aware climbers of the era were quick to cry foul. A climb must be done on-sight and without a top rope or it isn't a first ascent, they said. We still adhere to the same basic principle today: an on-sight lead is considered one of the most pure forms of climbing.

Aleister Crowley, who had already taken a dislike to Jones (see Crowley's Rival), did his best to stir the incident up into a major row. Jones was accused of cheating and climbing ethics as we know them today--poorly defined, easily broken, and subject to controversy--were born. The incident proves that as far back as 1897 climbers were arguing over style and trying to destroy the reputations of others.

Have we learned anything at all?

I've chosen to mention the escapades of Crowley and Jones to highlight my point, but there are numerous examples throughout history that demonstrate the ugly side to mountaineering. I could mention the legendary clash of personalities surrounding the first ascent of the Matterhorn in 1865, the rivalry on the Eigerwand in 1936, or Everest itself on many occasions. Climbing ethics continue to be a prickly subject and enormous arguments frequently erupt both online and at the crag over activities that one group or another considers questionable.

Sometimes it seems that not much has changed in over a century. We are still prone to petty jealousies, our egos are still easily dented, and we still fall prey to summit fever. Some climbers continue to climb in ways that others consider cheating, and others continue to violently react to any perceived erosion of climbing ethics. We still argue about top-roping and bolting and the grade of Three Pebble Slab.

On the other hand, I give you this image:

James Roddie high in the Cuillin, June 2010

What could be better?