: H.W. Tilman
: Mischief in Greenland Only a man in the devil of a hurry would wish to fly to his mountains
: Vertebrate Digital
: 9781909461253
: 1
: CHF 3.20
:
: Wassersport, Segeln
: English
: 220
: Wasserzeichen
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB
'Only a man in the devil of a hurry would wish to fly to his mountains, forgoing the lingering pleasure and mounting excitement of a slow, arduous approach under his own exertions.' H.W. 'Bill' Tilman's mountain travel philosophy, rooted in Africa and the Himalaya and further developed in his early sailing adventures in the southern hemisphere, was honed to perfection with his discovery of Greenland as the perfect sailing destination. His Arctic voyages in the pilot cutter Mischief proved no less challenging than his earlier southern voyages. The shorter elapsed time made it rather easier to find a crew but the absence of warm tropical passages meant that similar levels of hardship were simply compressed into a shorter timescale. First published fifty years before political correctness became an accepted rule, Mischief in Greenland is a treasure trove of Tilman's observational wit. In this account of his first two West Greenland voyages, he pulls no punches with regard to the occasional failings, leaving the reader to seek out and discover the numerous achievements of these voyages. The highlight of the second voyage was the identification, surveying and successful first ascent of Mount Raleigh, first observed on the eastern coast of Baffin Island by the Elizabethan explorer John Davis in 1585. For the many sailors and climbers who have since followed his lead and ventured north into those waters, Tilman provides much practical advice, whether from his own observations or those of Davis and the inimitable Captain Lecky. Tilman's typical gift of understatement belies his position as one of the greatest explorers and adventurers of the twentieth century.

Harold William Bill Tilman (1898 1977) was among the greatest adventurers of his time, a pioneering mountaineer and sailor who held exploration above all else. Tilman joined the army at seventeen and was twice awarded the Military Cross for bravery during WWI. After the war Tilman left for Africa, establishing himself as a coffee grower. He met Eric Shipton and began their famed mountaineering partnership, traversing Mount Kenya and climbing Kilimanjaro. Turning to the Himalaya, Tilman went on two Mount Everest expeditions, reaching 27,000 feet without oxygen in 1938. In 1936 he made the first ascent of Nanda Devi the highest mountain climbed until 1950. He was the first European to climb in the remote Assam Himalaya, he delved into Afghanistan's Wakhan Corridor and he explored extensively in Nepal, all the while developing a mountaineering style characterised by its simplicity and emphasis on exploration. It was perhaps logical then that Tilman would eventually buy the pilot cutter Mischief, not with the intention of retiring from travelling, but to access remote mountains. For twenty-two years Tilman sailed Mischief and her successors to Patagonia, where he crossed the vast ice cap, and to Baffin Island to make the first ascent of Mount Raleigh. He made trips to Greenland, Spitsbergen and the South Shetlands, before disappearing in the South Atlantic Ocean in 1977.

– Foreword –


Tilman’s Influence


Colin Putt

I left school in 1943 to work as a surveyor’s assistant in the field, making ordnance maps of previously uncharted country in New Zealand. This led naturally to an interest in exploring difficult country and in mountaineering as a means to that end. The leading New Zealand mountaineer Danny Bryant, a member of the 1935 Everest reconnaissance expedition with Eric Shipton and Bill Tilman, provided my introduction to their books. To us in New Zealand, Shipton and Tilman were the perfect exemplars, their small low-cost expeditions to explore unknown mountain country, climbing virgin peaks as a secondary objective, seemed a perfect fit to our own situation and ambitions.

Then at the end of the 1950s, a French report on Antarctic activities and achievements described how Tilman had more recently adopted a seaborne approach to the problem of accessing remote mountains. From his more recent books, it became clear that he had quickly become a leading authority on sailing very small ships in high latitudes.

In 1964 I was involved in preparations for a joint mountaineering and scientific expedition to Heard Island, a remote Australian Antarctic Territory with unclimbed peaks and a challenging lack of safe anchorages. A ship, crew, finances and supplies had been acquired but we were lacking that most important item of all, a sailing master. Warwick Deacock, our expedition leader was a firm believer in always going straight to the top of any organisation, always asking for the best available. So, as expedition secretary I was instructed to write to Tilman as the best man for the job, inviting him to take command of our ship, the schoonerPatanela. He accepted, writing that he had long viewed Heard Island as a worthy destination but thatMischief was too small to carry both the shore party and the sailing crew necessary to take the ship off to the nearest sheltered anchorage at Kerguelen some 200 miles to windward[1].

Arriving straight from the airport in Sydney, he reviewed our state of preparation, at once saw what was needed, asked for a marline spike and set about splicing wire ropes. He lived on board and quietly assumed control of the final fitting out, loading and departure. Here was a man who really knew what he was about, one from whom you could learn all about small sailing ships, yet one who stuck closely to his doctrine of the minimum which had been so successful in the mountains. His practical seamanship went far beyond the conventional knowledge found in yachting books and magazines into areas I had not previously recognised; fundamentally he was a Victorian master mariner rather than a mid-twentieth century yachtsman.

Tilman’s choice of route from Sydney to Heard Island went of necessity westward against the prevailing wind across the Great Australian Bight usingPatanela’s engine. At Cape Leeuwin on the South-East corner of Australia he stopped the engine and reached North up the West Australian coast into the variable winds of the horse latitudes. He used the variables expertly to sail West toward South Africa until we were past the longitude of Kerguelen, then went reaching down across the Roaring Forties and Furious Fifties to Kerguelen, running back before them to Heard Island. ‘Only a fool will sail to windward on a passage’ he remarked, ‘you go where the wind is going your way.’

From time to time in the variables we were headed by the wind. If the wind was moderate Tilman would sail close hauled on whichever tack placed our course closer to the chosen direction. In this way we might make slow progress but we didn’t lose any ground. If the contrary wind became strong enough to make the ship pitch violently and slam into waves he would heave to on the more favourable tack. If ever she heeled far enough for water to run up on to the lee deck he would come up on deck, take a good look at the situation and call all hands to shorten sail. He never cracked on in a way which would subject the ship or the crew to an excessive beating but he never slowed her down more than was necessary. He had a simple rule that if in a light wind our speed fell to less than three knots we could start the engine and bring the speed up to no more than a fuel-efficient seven knots. He made clear to us the duties of the watch on deck and gently but firmly corrected any neglect of those duties. He explained what he did, usually in the course of conversation at mealtimes, and those who wished could learn a tremendous amount about sailing as distinct from yachting.

The Heard Island expedition was successful in every way; it taught me more than I had known there was to learn. On our return to Sydney, I went back to my work in the heavy chemical industry and the Skipper, as we had come to call him, returned to England to takeMischief to sea on her next West Greenland voyage.

Four years later, I heard thatMischief had been lost, had been replaced bySea Breeze, and that her first voyage toward Scoresby Sund had been ruined by a ‘polite mutiny’. Feeling that I had earned a holiday, I wrote to the Skipper offering my services toSea Breeze on her next voyage, offering to help put down any mutiny that might arise. Tilman accepted my offer, my benevolent employer gave me leave with pay and my long-suffering wife gave me leave of absence.

The 1970 voyage was to the west coast of Greenland, between Cape Farvel and the Arctic Circle where there are continuous ranges of mountains within easy distance of the coast. In that year, 1970, the heavystoris[2]