Child of the Peaks: Messner and the Fourteen Highest Summits
In the mountains of South Tyrol, northern Italy, I was born into a nine-child household; my father balanced his job as a rural teacher with a fervent love of climbing. The bright moon above Mount Everest (image source: Grant Dixon), the sight of Mount Kailash, and rock climbing in the Dolomites all prompt the question: What is beyond that mountain? For images, see https://www.britannica.com/biography/Reinhold-Messner and https://achievement.org/achiever/reinhold-messner/; the book 《My Life At The Limit》, with Yang Mao's translation, is available at http://reinhold-messner.de. Such memories are rooted in the rocks of my early years.
My first climbing instructor in life was also him. With Messner and his parents, I first went mountain climbing at age five. There were four of us—father, mother, brother, and me—and we climbed Sass Rigais. Messner is taking a photo with his siblings. Before we started ascending, my father taught me basic rock climbing skills. That climb, as I recall, wasn't hard.
After reaching the mountain top, overlooking the 600-meter-long rock wall to the north, I felt it sparked my passion for rock climbing because I could see the world beyond the valley. Messner in childhood As they say, there are always higher mountains beyond. The world suddenly seems much bigger. Curiosity drives me to ask, "What lies beyond that mountain?" Messner birthplace Father's trust Around the age of 12, my father and I climbed up the east peak of Kleine Fermeda. This was my first real rock climbing experience.
During my final school years, it grew clearer to me that the knowledge I sought wasn't to be found in a library, in a professor's chair, or at a university. As for the climb: the slope wasn't particularly steep, yet at the moment it seemed nearly vertical to me. My father went ahead, fastening the rope to rock pegs and hauling me upward. Then, when we reached the last third of the slope, he allowed me to take the lead. That section was 40 meters long; a fall would have meant death. Messner rock climbing 1950-1964 Messner rock climbing
Hermann Buhl, a famous Austrian mountaineer, was the first to climb Nanga Parbat solo in 1953, without supplemental oxygen. In 1970, I signed on with a German team to tackle the south face of Mount Nanga Parbat, with the Rupal ice rock on the mountain's southern side being the challenge rather than the summit itself. My brother, who worked at a bank, resigned from his job to accompany me on this undertaking. These events arise from real-life experience, as reflected in Messner's rock climbing, and Namcha Barwa Peak is also part of this context.
In one of his books, Buhl observed that climbing the Rupal face of the south side was considered to be impossible by many. Yet that very challenge drew him in irresistibly. At age 29, Hermann Buhl reached the South Summit of Nanga Parbat. Forever lost. Prior to leaving the campsite, because the weather was poor, I made the decision to go up alone, while my younger brother and the photographer stayed behind at camp to await my return.
After I had been climbing for some time, I caught sight of my younger brother. He had quietly trailed behind me, as it turned out, intending to prove he could make the ascent as well. Yet his sudden appearance disrupted my focus. As his older sibling, I am responsible for his safety. I had set off at three o'clock the following morning, having packed some clothes, spare gloves, and a small tube of vitamin pills. Rupal face of Mount Nanga Parbat Image source: mountainsoftravelphotos
After Messner and his younger brother Günther attained the summit of Nanga Parbat, they lingered there for sixty minutes before commencing their descent. During this downward journey, Günther repeatedly halted to recover his strength. Reaching the treacherous incline on the southern side—the Rupal face, with image credit to mountainsoftravelphotos—he declared, "I can't go down, I can't do it, it's too dangerous." The combination of high altitude and unrelenting exhaustion progressively sapped his physical condition.
In 1978, Messner went alone up South Gasherbrum I. As for us, we had ascended without rest for a day and a half to reach the top, having no chance to eat or drink. Our only option was to search for a new way down, trying to get back from the original Rupal face. Yet not until the following day at dawn did we see that the side was actually a perpendicular ice face, like standing at the edge of a high rooftop. A descent was absolutely impossible.
The Rupal face of Mount Nanga Parbat Image source: mountainsoftravelphotos My toes have gone numb from the biting cold. We cry out for help, and eventually, a few shapes emerge in the distance—our expedition companions. I wave, hoping to get their attention, thinking all they'd have to do is walk over and toss us a rope. Messner rock climbing But when they failed to answer my signals, it hit me that they couldn't cross over. Even if they tried, slipping and falling on the way would have cost them dearly, with no gain for anyone.
Shishapangma I, northwest face, 1975. Another night would have been fatal for both of us, so descending along the Diamir slope was the only option. With my face iced over, I began searching ahead for a downclimb route, while my younger brother followed behind; sometimes we were quite far apart. At that point, I waved quickly and called out to them, "Everything is fine here. You can continue climbing up without worrying about us.
I spotted a steep slope sheathed in thick ice, with huge ice blocks crashing down. Acting on instinct, I sprinted downhill to escape the avalanche zone. Diamir face of Mount Nanga Parbat Image source: mountainsoftravelphotos But when I glanced back, my younger brother had vanished from sight. At first, I was not overly worried, assuring myself that he would descend shortly; he was probably just resting. Mount Namcha Barwa, 1978 I found a spring close by and quickly drank a few sips.
After almost four days without any food, I climbed up once more in search of my younger brother, continuing my search from afternoon through night and into the early morning. At sunrise on the Rupal face of Mount Namcha Barwa, another avalanche struck, and I finally understood that Günther was gone forever. The immense trauma of losing my brother showed me that escaping with my life was the most essential thing, and now, having survived, that itself stands as my greatest achievement.
In 1978, I returned to Mount Namcha Barwa and suffered severe frostbite that resulted in the amputation of seven of my toes. The doctor told me I would never climb again, and it was true that my former approach to climbing was no longer viable. Fortunately, I discovered high-altitude climbing, and in that same year, I made the first successful ascent of Mount Everest without supplementary oxygen alongside Austrian mountaineer Peter Habeler. Two years later, I decided to attempt climbing Everest alone, without supplemental oxygen.
In 1980, Messner climbed Mount Everest solo. By 1986, I had completed the ascent of fourteen 8,000-meter peaks, which opened another chapter. Earlier, with Peter Habeler, we had reached the summit of Everest in the latter part of August. After three consecutive days of climbing, I was more exhausted than ever before; I just sat there, unable to feel anything, knowing I was completely drained.
Climbing, for me, represents freedom as much as it does a sport. My wilderness experiences are unrivaled, which is why I'm forever planning the next journey. Even though I repeatedly tell myself "this is enough" during an adventure, a few weeks later, after that time's hardships and worries are forgotten, I begin envisioning a new climbing plan and soon depart. Messner completes climbing fourteen eight-thousanders. Kangchenjunga Expedition, 1982.
No one has ever hiked across the Antarctic continent, nor has anyone crossed the entire island of Greenland from north to south. No one has even considered hiking across the 2000-kilometer Gobi Desert. I think I can give it a try. Mount Kilimanjaro (highest peak in Africa) Crossing. Crossing Antarctica 1989-1990. Walking clears my mind and purifies my thoughts, letting me see myself and the world more clearly and feel connected to the world. This is the freedom to experience new things beyond all rules and the freedom to understand human nature.
During a trekking journey across the Arctic in 1995, my worldview differed from what it is when climbing. The nearest place to buy food could be 200 or 400 kilometers away, necessitating the finding of food locally and contact with the inhabitants. My Tibetan journey was just such an experience. In 1978, while exploring Mount Namcha Barwa, I relied on Zanba and beef jerky. Upon my first arrival in Tibet, it seemed like another world. The air was clean and pure, and the colors were not vibrant but soft.
For Messner, Tibet ranks alongside South Tyrol, Patagonia, and Bhutan as the most beautiful place on earth. He stands before the fluttering prayer flags at the Firmian Museum. In 1986, I set out from eastern Tibet carrying food, first aid equipment, and clothes in a single bag. Seeing a group of Tibetan nomads on the move with their yaks brought me a sense of relief. Despite the challenges of communication, their first act was to load my backpack onto a yak.
Yak on the Adventure Road Back then, I ate meals and drank tea with them every single day. My food included dried yak meat (ཤ་སྐམ་པོ། Sha kampo) and tsampa (རྩམ་པ། zampa)—a type of barley flour combined with yak butter and tea. It was truly delicious.
Annapurna Peak Expedition 1985: Footprints of the Snow Monster. I was again in the eastern Tibetan wilderness, unsure of the right path. The locals directed me to the west, and I followed a river into the mountains. After several hours of walking, as the sky darkened, I noticed some footprints. Exploring Messner in 1995, I abruptly saw a huge black object moving in the bushes ahead. At first I assumed it was a yak, but it wasn't. Once it had disappeared without a trace, I moved closer to inspect the footprints.
At the base of Mount Everest, mountaineer Eric Shipton photographed “Yeti” footprints in 1951. Those prints resembled human tracks but were far larger, and my initial reaction was that they seemed exactly like a yeti’s footprints.
After finally emerging from the forest, I learned from the local people for the first time that a snow-monster-like creature truly exists there, and they call it "Chemo." According to the Legend of the Yeti, a man from the Kangding area dances while wearing the fur of a Himalayan brown bear, which zoologists believe resembles the mythical snow creature.
In 1999, while campaigning for the European Parliament, I pictured George Mallory, the Everest hero who had died 75 years earlier, making his attempt to reach the summit on June 8, 1924. When photographs of his body were eventually found, they pulled me back into that scene with such vividness that it felt like I had witnessed it firsthand. Mallory first joined the Mount Everest expedition team in 1921. The image comes from 《My life to the limit》, "Invisible companions.
Mount Everest in the morning light, 1921, photographed by Mallory. Image source: 1stdibs. When I was young, my mother read me stories by the oil lamp about Mallory, the first man to attempt Mount Everest. He was a pioneer, a legendary figure—that was my first climbing story. Image source: AFR Wollaston/Royal Geographical Society/Getty Images. From then on, his story became fixed in my subconscious. Later, as I climbed Mount Everest alone, he became an invisible companion.
More and more, I reflect on a different aspect of wilderness experience. I'm starting to grasp the relative meaning of success. The legend of Marlowe concerns the unclimbed Everest; Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay were the first to reach Everest's summit, but they were not climbing the same mountain as Marlowe. Meanwhile, Mallory photographed "Heading towards the cairn on the Kharta Glacier, 1921" and "Mount Everest in the clouds, 1921" — both images sourced from 1stdibs.
The values I focus on are different—quiet, vast, and nearly unattainable. I am like Mallory attempting to conquer Everest: even though he failed to return, stories such as his are far more exciting than any success story. In 2004, I trekked across the Gobi Desert. I started the Mesna Mountain Museum in 2006, and in the northern Alps region of Italy, I created six mountain-themed museums, including the Dolomites Museum. I establish museums because I love doing so and because I feel I must.
I am more concerned with how a person changes when coming face to face with a mountain than with the mountains themselves—this is the core interest at Messner Mountain Museum Firmian. Just as I once felt compelled to scale Mount Everest, I now have to launch the Mountain Museum project; it is my way of expressing myself. At Corones Museum, I feel the time has come to display all that I know and all that I don't know, using the museum as my medium. "Fireside Chat
In the Taklamakan Desert in 1992, I learned that my sense of achievement and happiness comes not from applause or any kind of praise, but from my capacity to pursue what I desire and to keep going. Climbing a mountain never alters the mountain itself; instead, we are the ones who are transformed, and anyone who takes up rock climbing will inevitably come back as a changed person. For me, "success" is not something waiting at the end of life—it is found in the very act of focusing on a task, and my success, my life, is nothing more than converting ideas into reality. That is what I came to understand in Pakistan in 2013.
Reinhold Messner, born in 1944 in Villnöss, South Tyrol in northern Italy, ranks among the most celebrated climbers and adventurers of his era. Speaking at the Firmian Museum, he says that for him mountaineering is far more than a sport—it represents freedom: the freedom to discover new things outside every rule and regulation, and the freedom to grasp what it means to be human. Maybe the real purpose of life is simply to make the best effort we can to express who we are.
His time and energy are now mostly devoted to the Messner Mountain Museum (MMM) project and the Messner Mountain Foundation (MMF), whose goal is to assist mountain communities worldwide. Earlier, he made roughly 100 first ascents, summited every one of the 14 peaks over 8,000 meters, and traveled across Antarctica, Greenland, Tibet, the Gobi Desert, and the Taklamakan Desert.
This article is a translation from Yangmo Tashi's blog. The author has written dozens of German-language books, including his autobiography (1989; Free Spirit: A Climber's Life), (1990; Antarctica: Both Heaven and Hell), and (2002; The Naked Mountain), all of which were translated into English.