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The Eiger Nordwand was finally climbed in the summer of 1938 by two Austrians who teamed up with two Germans. Although the climbers themselves insisted that their passion had nothing to do with politics, Hitler gave them medals in a public ceremony before a cheering throng. This only reinforced the Anglo-American conviction that the best climbers in the Alps were Fascist maniacs throwing away their lives for Führer and Vaterland.

Although Fritz Wiessner had immigrated to the States in 1929 partly to escape looming Fascism and had become an American citizen six years later, he was regarded by some of the more conservative higher-ups in the AAC with the kind of suspicion that had attached itself to the German and Austrian Eiger climbers. And that suspicion deepened after the 1939 tragedy on K2.

Through the first three weeks of June, various members, including the Sherpa, carried loads up to Camps II, III, and IV (Camp III being the supply depot exposed to rockfall). But only Wiessner seemed capable of leading. With the exception of a few hundred feet of steps chopped in snow and ice above Camp II by Pasang Kikuli, Wiessner led every pitch from base camp to House’s Chimney. That inequality would persist through the rest of the expedition: from Camp IV through Camp IX and even higher, Wiessner led every single foot of new ground.

Just how incredible a performance that was is hard to grasp. When I’ve been at my fittest, I’ve been on expeditions where I did a lot of the leading. But never anything like every foot of the route—except for my solo attempt on the north side of Everest in 1993, when I reached 25,000 feet. Breaking trail in deep snow is one of the most exhausting chores in mountaineering, even on Mount Rainier, let alone on an 8,000er. Normally you’re only too glad to turn the job over to a teammate after you’ve plowed a few hundred feet upward. From the Bottleneck to the summit of K2 in 1992, Scott, Charley, and I regularly swapped leads because of the exhausting snow conditions.

In 1939, Wiessner didn’t take the lead time and again out of some egomaniacal need to be in the vanguard. The problem was simply that nobody else was up to the job. Yet in K2: The 1939 Tragedy, Kauffman and Putnam take Wiessner to task for being out front all the time. Their criticism is founded on an expedition theory that doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. As they explain it,

Until recent times … virtually all large expeditions had an official leader whose task consisted of coordinating and supervising major activities from before departure until return. On any such expedition, in modern times or earlier, the leader has by far the most important duties. But these are usually thankless ones involving drudgery, hard work, dedication, and constant attention to detail….

In addition, someone, usually the fittest and most experienced member of the climbing team, is selected point man (the military term), or lead dog (the Eskimo term). This is the person who takes care of the actual climbing problems on the mountain. The expedition leader and deputy cannot be expected to take over the role of point without seriously endangering the flow of supplies and support.

Basically, Kauffman and Putnam argue that the lead climber cannot also be the leader of the expedition. And so, armed with a theory whose rationale they never justify, they insist that in doing exactly that, Wiessner endangered the whole expedition:

But Fritz failed to select anyone to serve as point, and at Base Camp it became increasingly clear that he was reserving that position for himself, either because he didn’t trust his companions’ abilities, or because he had always been in the habit of going first….

In short, it was Fritz who had to go first. And with his heavy personality it was natural that he would want to be in the position of making all decisions. Fritz was also brought up in a culture in which no one ever questioned the orders of a higher authority—a far different environment from that