could hitch a ride to Everest in an aircraft, be
dropped by parachute onto the lower slopes
of the mountain and then climb to the top.
He soon realised this was a ridiculous
notion likely to lead to his instant death. He
shelved the Houston plan before he had
told too many people. But the idea of a flight
to the mountain stayed with him.
By February 1933 Wilson had found his
own plane: a De Havilland Gipsy Moth. It
had been slightly damaged in an accident in
1932 and the price was knocked down. He
thought it was perfect and immediately had
his Moth repainted and rechristened
Ever-Wrest. All he had to do now was to
learn how to fly it.
Nigel Tangye, Wilson’s teacher, was
horrified at his pupil’s stated objectives.
Not only did Wilson want to fly to Everest,
alone, and land on its lower slopes —
a suicidal idea, Tangye thought — but he
wanted to leave that year. It was madness
in the instructor’s eyes.
By the end of February, though, Wilson
was flying solo. By May 21 he was on his way.
Twelve days after setting off he had made
it to India — 5,000 miles from his
departure point of Stag Lane in Edgware,
north London.
On his first morning in Purnea in
northern India an interview with Wilson,
who was a believer in health and purity
through fasting, appeared in the Daily
Express. His adventures were now
entertainment for millions of readers. The
headlines on the article were intoxicating:
“Diet of dates to climb Everest” ... “Lone
flier preparing in India” ... “Deep breathing
and one meal a day”.
That day he wrote in jubilant manner to
Enid Evans, his soulmate — and the only
person who believed he would succeed in
climbing Everest. Enid was slim, stylish,
vivacious and married, living in Maida
Vale, London.
He was cripplingly in love with her. She,
too, was enraptured by the ebullient
adventurer and his wild stories. Recently
their affair had flourished in letters. He told
her that if permission was not granted for
him to fly over Nepal to get to Everest, he
would “just have to take the law into my
own hands, damn them”.
Wilson did not know that the law had
already taken matters into its own hands
before he had a chance to do the same.
Officials in India had impounded his plane,
locked it in a hangar and were guarding it
around the clock. He had been expressly
forbidden by the British authorities — both
interested in expert opinion. He was
interested in the power of human will
and the motions of the soul. Everest was
a job he felt was within him.
Wilson had hired three Bhutias —
Sikkimese men of Tibetan ancestry — to
accompany him, and carried much of his
climbing equipment disguised in what
looked like bags of wheat. He had also sewn
many pockets into his outfit. In one he
placed a small emerald green diary, made in
Japan. His entries in the diary would
eventually resemble a long and intimate
letter to his lover, Enid. In another pocket
he stashed a pistol, to ward off brigands in
Tibet. Around his neck was a gold cross
engraved with amor vincit omnia, Latin for
“love conquers all”.
Wilson and Tsering, his lead Bhutia and
an experienced climber, had plotted their
clandestine trek into Tibet with the care of
advancing generals. Their path bisected
peaks higher than 22,000ft, went along the
Yaru River, past isolated fortresses, across
a desolate plain and, finally, into the valley
that led to Everest. On Friday, March 30,
Wilson crossed the border. His diary was
exultant: “Now in forbidden Tibet and feel
like sending government a wire ‘Told you
so’ or ‘How’d you like your eggs boiled’.”
The victory fizzed in his blood.
On the Tibetan plateau, where a fast, cold
wind blew in their faces and the elevation
was about 15,000ft above sea level, the
effort was Olympian. Wilson staggered into
camp one night, sunburnt, exhausted, but
thrilled at the progress he had made. He
wrote: “The boys are already talking about
what we are going to do on our way back ...
It is lovely that everyone is so optimistic.”
The elevation increased. Wilson now
started to get headaches from the altitude.
At the house of a Chinese man they stopped
to buy eggs. Soon there would be noBritish government
officials sent warnings
ahead to expect a
loud-mouthed aviator
in India and at home in England — to make
the journey. The Nepali government had
not given him permission to enter its
kingdom and the British were anxious to
avoid a diplomatic incident. What’s more,
he was told he would be charged three
rupees a day for the protection of his plane.
All was not lost. When the press caught
up with Wilson, he told them that his plan
was now to walk to Everest. Eagle-eyed
British government officials clipped the
reports and sent warnings ahead: expect a
loud-mouthed aviator, without an aircraft.
But Wilson did not have permission to
enter Tibet, either.Wilson spent the winter in northern India
and began his trek to Mount Everest in
early 1934. He was 35 and the fine blond
hair of his youth had run to silver. His knees
ached — the legacy of an inexpert
parachute jump made more than a year
earlier. Nevertheless he was fit, strong and
rail thin after months of training and
intermittent fasting. He set off from the
hill town of Darjeeling and would walk
more than 300 miles to the north side of
Everest, in Tibet, in disguise as a Tibetan
priest. He then planned to climb the
mountain, alone — and, in doing so, to
become the first person to reach the
highest place on Earth.
The idea was mad any way you looked at
it. No climber from four separate official
British expeditions — the first in 1921 and
the latest only the previous year, in 1933
— had reached the summit of Everest.
Those parties comprised the best alpinists
of their generation and were supported by
teams of porters carrying bountiful
supplies. The odds of a novice such as
Wilson succeeding where those missions
had failed were vanishingly long, as every
pundit had told him. But he was notWISH ME LUCK Wilson’s lover Enid Evans, centre, holding a dog, waves off him off from
Edgware on the first leg of his intrepid journey. Twelve days later he arrived in IndiaPREVIOUS PAGES: GETTY34 • The Sunday Times Magazine