Beyond Time

Citation preview

Beyond Time

Descending the 98½-foot pothole) which is absolutely vertical.

--

'

-

•

-

- ~ . - . . : : i.-.:-::::::::s.:a11111o1::a11eC--.lli.

-

---=-tia.....;;;;;:...·-= --_ . . --- -

·------ . - - - ------

by Michel Siffre TRANSLATED AND EDITED BY

Herma Brifjault

McGRAW-HILL BOOK COMPANY r

NEW YORK

•

TORONTO

LONDON

It was a risk, but I succeeded, and my friends of the C.R.S., Lafleur and Canova, rejoice with me. On previous page: I put through my ritual telephone call to the surface camp, where C.R.S. officer, Sprenger, and Marc Michaux, of the I.F.S., take my call and note the time.

BEYOND TIME Copyright © 1964 by Michel Siffre. All Rights Reserved . Printed in the United States of America. This book , or parts thereof, m ay not be reproduced in any form without permission of the publishers. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number : 63-22554 FIRST EDITION

57359

All photographs are by Claude Sauvageot for the Institut Fran fearing that I might by some misstep start an avalanche. And at one point I might well have done so when I caught hold of a solid looking rock which turned, detached itself, and just missed knocking me down. ( . . . ) Soon I reached that portion I had explored where the rowsing ladder should have been. Again I was seized with fear. How was I going to cross that pothole? I pushed forward and reached the difficult passage where my rope hung down. Never very agile at climbing with a rope, I took hold of it with both hands and was soon hanging on for dear life, one leg dangling in the void, the other pressed against the rock cliff covered with a sheet of ice much too tbin to give my crampons much leverage. By this time I was absolutely streaming with sweat, and tears had started from my eyes, but I continued to struggle and somehowI can"t imagine how, really-I managed, and was standing again on the opposite side of the pothole. Then I collapsed. I sat down on a rock and breathed heavily, noisily, fi]]ing my lungs full in an effort to settle my nerves. Gradually my hands trembled less, my teeth stopped chattering, and I was able to climb up the small vertical wall that separated me from the tent. Once more inside, I quickly undressed and crawled into my sleeping

152

Beyond time

bag, very pleased at having explored a new gallery about 130 feet long under the glacier.

Twenty-eighth awakening.• Contrary to habit, I made no notes in my diary for this day, postponing the job, and then being unable to do it because of the events I will proceed to describe. Feeling rested and energetic, I had begun to write a report on the condensation of water drops in my tent when I rea)ired that all I knew about it was its quantity, that I knew nothing at all about how it was produced, which surely deserved investigation if I expected eventually to design a shelter free of this unprecedented dampness. I therefore decided to dismantle the tent more or less and examine the inner canvas apart from the outer canvas to find out where the trouble lay. I began by moving out of the tent all my things, which was no small job. My camp bed (stacked with all my clothes) and the table ( submerged beneath a weird assortment of things) were taken outside and set down on the horizontal floor of the glacier, while the telephone wires were hung on the tent pole, detached from the two apparatus. Now, with an open space in which to work, I unhooked with some difficulty the inner canvas and piled it in a comer of the tent. What I saw then horrified me: thousands of water drops dripped unceasingly on all sides of the red nylon canvas and fell to the floor covered with the Tissamousse synthetic fiber. In my waterproof house slippers, I waded in about an inch and a half of icy water, • Siffre has here given up trying to make his periods of activity cor-

respond to his estimate of the calendar days. It is far from clear how long a time was consumed in the dangerous exploration of the glacier, just described, or in the futile effort to combat the flooding of the tent which occurred immediately afterward.-Editor.

Life underground 153 which began to chill me to such an extent that I began to think the situation hopeless. { ... ) But I continued the fight. I dragged the Tissamousse outside and tried to wring it dry. But while I was squeezing quarts of water out of a roll of the stuff, icicles began to form in the fibers, and I rea]izP.d that these would melt later on. Returning inside the tent I knelt down in the water and mopped for hours until the floor was merely damp and not a sheet of water. Then I thought of using the acetylene stove to heat and so dry out the walls of the tent, since this stove does not produce a flame. I dragged the stove around the tent, close to the walls. The heat sent up spirals of vapor, and I kept on, changing its position until I was thoroughly exhausted, gave up and decided to go to bed, resolved to continue the fight next day. My clothing was so wet that I knew I would have to change to my extra garments which I had hoped to keep dry until the end of the experiment.

Sunday, August 5. Twenty-ninth awakening. As I held the receiver this morning, putting through my phone call to the surface, my right arm became unendurably stiff with the cold. { . . . ) I was still sleepy, and wanted to remain in bed, but finally had the courage to get up. This time I put on my rubber boots for the mopping up job, along with the extra pants and padded jacket, both in blue waterproof cloth. Then, using my flashlight, I looked at the walls of the tent: all the back portion was beaded with condensation, some of the drops tiny, some big, the bigger ones spreading to merge and eventually stream down to the floor. The condensation does not occur at floor level for the most part, but at the head of my bed the floor is completely soaked and there are puddles in the inevitable folds of the floor canvas. But behind the camp bed and beneath it, where yesterday there was a real flood ( ... ), there is

\

154 Beyond

time

now no more than a sp, iukling of water drops. This fact is due to my mopping-up of yesterday, when I risked replacing the all-too-few stretchers of the wall canvas by safety pins, to raise the edge of the floor canvas. I had noticed a relation between the edge of floor canvas and the amount of condensation, and had put it in writing as follows: "When the edge of the wall canvas sags down and touches the floor canvas, there is a considerable accumulation of water drops; but, on the contrary, if the edges meet at right angles there is only a runoff down the canvas sides and condensation on the lloor canvas, without the formation of puddles.• The seam in the floor canvas toward its raised edge appears not only to be useless but a bad thing, for the water concentrates in a thin trickle down it and favors the £01 mation of a puddle. ( . . . ) Yet theoretically the tent floor canvas was designed in such a way that any condensation that fo1med would be drained off and pass to the exterior. ( ... ) My mind was concentrated on this problem and how to correct it in a tent designed for future use, when there occurred one of the most tremendous cave-ins of rocb and ice that have yet occurred. I was terrified, and tears started to my eyes-this has happened to me several times recently. There were successive crashes that seemed to go on endlessly. This uproar surpassed by far that caused by the big cave-in of July 30 ( according to my reckoning), when I pounced on the telephones to see whether the lines had been cut. ( . . . ) This morning I was completely st,1nned. My pulse was rapid, my mind was full of dark thoughts. In such moments one realizes one's insignificance. ( . . . ) Birth, life, death, and theni-notbing. No, nol Birth, creativity, and death-that sums up a man; the rest belongs to the animal

Life underground 155 kingdom. When I had partially recovered &om my fright I looked at myself in the mirror: a pale and puffy face, with haggard eyes brimming with tears stared out of the glass. I have a bad pain in the small of my back. Without much enthusiasm I resumed the battle against condensation. Kneeling again in the icy water, I mopped the floor, time and again having to wring out the sponge I was 11sing into a basin which had to be frequently emptied outside. My hands were swollen and aching. Then, as I did yesterday, I turned on the stove to dry out the walls.( ... ) I had finally dried out more or les.1 the far end of the tent, when I suddenly noticed with horror that the spot where the drops fall from the roof of the cave upon the tent exactly cor1esponds to the spot of heaviest condensation ins{de the tent. There can be only one of two possibilities: either the water drops at that spot are due to precipitation acting in opposition to the exterior moisture at just-freezing temperature, or else the nylon canvas is porous and lets the outside water come through. The latter case would be strange, for I have one of the best nylon· tents on the market, and I tested its waterproof qualities before coming down here. Abel Chochon and I set up the tent at his house and flooded the outside with water. ( ... ) But no, let's be scientific. I simply don't know the cause. What I do know is that there is no precipitation inside except where there is water on the outside. ( ... ) There is no way, apparently, to stop my tent from being flooded; I shall be condeaaaned from now on to put up with the water.( ... ) I gave up combatting the humidity ( mild tern1 for the condition! ) and took some photographs of the interior of the tent, after setting it to rights again. Then, after lunch, I went to bed ( . . . ) , hearing the drip-drip of water falling

156 Beyond

time

regularly on the tent. Finally I got up to see exactly what was happening. And I saw that it is not a condensation of water, but water coming into the tent, through a seam. This is serious, for there's nothing I can do about it. ( . . . ) My eyes hurt, and I had a headache in the course of the day.

Monday, August 6. .. Thirtieth awakening. My bedding was slightly wet when I got up this morning and the shooting pains in my back continue. I am becoming more and more sensitive to cold. When I telephoned to the surface, the voice that replied sounded as if wakened from sleep. ( . . . ) I spent the day putting back the lining of the tent ( ... ) and found that it had shrunk.( ... ) I had a hard time hooking it to the central pole which is a little too high for me. ( . . . ) Carrying all the heavy furniture outside, then bringing it back in ( . . . ) has worn me out. But the interior of the tent looks familiar again.

Thirty-first awakening. After doing a few odd jobs, I decided to return to the upper part of the glacier to examine again the mond-milch I saw during a previous exploration. ( ... ) This time I noted that the "milk of the moon" had sunk slightly into the ice. One might almost say an instance of corrosion: the edges of the ice and of the mond-milch formed a kind of macroscopic scalloping more or less accentuated, more or less deep, ending in a bevelled edge on the left side. On its right side I was struck by the darkening tint of the mond-milch. Seen close up, I saw that it was progressively being transformed into a veritable clay. In geology this is called "a lateral pass~ge from one for1nation to another." ( ... ) I at once realized that there is a close relation between the clay and the mond-milch oc-

-

Life underground 157 curring on the ice. ( ... ) This passage from a solid to a pseudo-colloidal state can only be explained in one of two ways: either by a physico-chemical transfor1nation or by the action of bacteria. I hope I may be allowed to believe that the transfo11nation is of bio-chemical origin. Only an examination under an electron microscope of samples that I shall later take will be able to settle the question. Continuing my exploration ( . . . ) , I reached the end of the gallery and stopped short, my attention caught by some spherical protuberances on the wall and roof of ice which at this point were covered with a fine film of clay. In the beam of my flashlight I saw to my amazement that the protuberances were bubbles varying in size from a fraction of an inch to over an inch. I had removed my gloves, and now I touched several of the bubbles with a fingertip: they immediately burst. And, in the spot where the bubbles had been, there were concave spheres hollowed out in the ice. Obviously, this concerned a gas imprisoned between the ice and the clay; in this instance, most certainly air. This discovery interests me; it proves the existence of a circulation of air within the ice, a circulation of veritable bubbles of gas. Now, as is well known, the exact dating of ice is made by counting the percentage of radioactive carbon 14 in the air conserved between the strata of various epochs. If this gas can emigrate upward-by means, say, of fissures and closed faults some errors in detexnlining the age of ice will inevitably occur. Search as I would, I could not ascertain the mechanism of this circulation of air in the ice which by a lucky chance I had observed, thanks to a film of waterproof clay which prevented the air from escaping without leaving traces. ( ) As I returned to the tent, I observed that the entire horizontal surface of the glacier displays grooves which

...

158 Beyond time show up white against a black background. Examining them at close hand, I noted tbat this is a phenomenon of fusion which appears at the edges of the crystals and separates them from each other. One can thus see quite distinctly the variations in sire of the "gxain" • of the sul>terranean glacier. Unfortunately I do not have with me the necessary apparatus for analyzing the various salts that are most certainly contained in the fusion water which flows through these s,,,all canals. ( . . . ) As I toolc off my crampons, bending down to do this, my eyes were drawn to the sight of a veritable ballet of brown particles which whirled to the surface of the water iss11ing from those s11 ,all grooves. They always followed the same route of a few inches at variable speeds and thus indicated the convexion currents that animate the fluid. Fascinated, I remained crouching there for quite a while, watching this spectacle of dust particles in movement.

On guard at the surface camp: C.R.S. Brigadier Sprenger, assisted by Pierre Nicolas.

Days and hours according to Michel Siffre '

Actual days and hours

Tuesday, August 7 Monday,August20 Awoke at 7:00 A.M. 2:45 A.M. Lunch 10:00 A.M. 8:45 A.M. 11:lOA.M. To bed 11:00 A.M. Awoke at 6:oo P.M. 11:4() P.M.

Tuesday, August 7.

Thirty-second awakening.

I did not sleep well; have a sore throat. Last night I kept the stove going. This raised the temperature and lowered • As1 :.a1blage of the different macroscopic crystals of ice.

Life underground 159 the correlative degree of humidity, which still remains intense: 8o per cent. However, I believe my throat is sore because of this change in temperature and humidity. From now on I intend to sleep at the no1mal temperature here of 32°F and the normal saturated humidity of 100 per cent. ( ... ) Last night while filling my stove with fuel, I had an accident. Since my supply of alcohol ( needed for lighting the stove) was n1nning low, I decided to use the gas itself, with catastrophic results. ( ... ) In a few seconds great Hames were licking the walls of my tent and I realized I must put the fire out or the tent would be destroyed. With a pencil I dashed the flaming cupels to the floor. The canvas flooring started to burn. I emptied a saucepan full of water on it and almost extinguished the fire. Then I seized the still-burning cupel and threw it outside on the glacier. I have now counted up the losses: three big holes in the top floor canvas and the Tissamousse ins1tlation burnt down some distance. This means new openings for outside water to pour into the tent. ( .•• ) I must be more cautious in future. Today I drew up a report on the tent, its charactexistics, its reactions to the environment and to accidents such as this. After lunch I was so cold that I went back to bed and to sleep after reading a while in some scientific books.( ... )

Thirty-third awakening. This JDOl9Ding, still ba]f asleep, I woke up with violent stomach cramps that obliged me to get out of bed and go out on the moraine. I have been sick all day, and suffering more than usual from the cold. ( ... ) In an effort to give myself more warmth, I have put my sleeping bag inside a big silk bag. ( . . • ) Then I went back to bed, wriggling with some diffir,ulty into my new arrangement of bags, and telephoned the surface. ( •.• )

16o

Beyond time

Today I glanced through a batch of photographs Marc Michaux and I took after exploring the Pearl Grotto: he was fourteen, I was thirteen at that time, but I looked much older evidently my vocation was aging me! ( ... ) How full of hope and enthusiasm we both were then! ( ... )

Wednesday, August 8. Thirty-fourth awakening. The new sleeping-bag arrangement is a great success: I woke feeling quite warm. ( . . . ) I must tell the Polar explorers about my system. ( . . . ) Am m11lling over in my mind a report I intend to make on the circulation of air in ice, on the basis of the evidence I gathered yesterday. ( ... ) Pierre Nicolas, on guard at the surface camp, told me when I put through my ritual morning call that the Martel Club boys want me to come out of the cave at the end of August and not in the middle of September as I planned. Obviously my parents and my brother are putting pressure on them. I do not intend to yield, and I got into quite a temper when making this clear to Pierre, poor fellow. ( ... ) I imagine that "they" on the surface are foxxnulating many plans without keeping me infoxxned. Too bad that they don't grasp the import of the experiment ( ... ) , the profound significance of the loss of any notion of time. ( . . . ) In a nutshell that is what I said to Pierre. ·( ... ) I also said they must have faith in me and stand by me to the end of this venture, which I consider ( ... ) an extraordinary one. ( ... ) I've decided to remain here until September 17 and nothing will make me budge from here sooner than that. ( . . . ) Thursday, August 9. Thirty-fi-fth awakening. ( ... ) In ten days, or thereabouts, if I'm not mistaken, I shall have been underground for a month-700 hours. ( . . . ) I am becoming absent-minded. This morning I

Life underground

161

went out to answer a call of nature and upon reaching the foot of the 130-foot pothole, I couldn•t for the life of me remember why I had gone out! ( . . . ) Picking up some old wet newspapers from the tent Hoor ( ... ) I found myself reading them with great eagerness, even to the trifling news items that I usually never read. In moments such as these I realize to the full extent how isolated I am from the world. { ... )

Thirty-sixth awakening. Some happening or other in a strange dream woke me up. In the dream I saw a castle being attacked. Rather than be taken captive, some men defending the castle committed suicide by plunging into the void and impaling themselves on a pike which then became the iron grating of a garden. ( ... ) There are fewer cave-ins now, either of rock or ice.( ... ) I suppose the melting of ice in the 130-foot pothole has about finished now. On the surface the melting of winter snows ends roughly in July; here, underground, the melting talces place later. I have no idea what day or hour it is, but curiously this now leaves me unconcerned. ( ... ) I recall that in Paris, especially, I seem to be always looking at my watch. Here ( ..• ) time has no value. My impression is that the days are short. Friday, August 10. Thirty-seventh awakening. I dreamed that the brook that plunges into a cave on the Ambroise Plain, just where we set up our base camp, comes out on the surface again on ( . . . ) the other side of the frontier, in Italy. If this were true, what a wonderful discovery it would be! ( ... ) Lafleur has arrived at the surface camp. We had a long talk on the telephone about various problems of the ex-

162

Beyond time

pedition. ( ... ) I settled with him the date of my emergence from the cavern, and asked him to get things going for this operation. ( . . . ) They are to warn me one or two days in advance, so I can pack the things that should be taken up with me. ( . . . ) He told me that my parents are insisting that I be made to come out as soon as possible. ( . . . ) I told I .aflP.ur that ( . . . ) my morale is good ( which is not quite the truth) and that I can hold out still for quite a while.

Thirty-eighth awakening. Out on the moraine I observed some white filifo1m mold that has fo1med on a banana skin; farther on are some other molds of circular fo1111. I noted that some of these molds have changed their shape since I came underground and that others constitute a radiating florescence of fine needles. I ran across a stack of eno1 n1ous rock slabs that I had not seen on the moraine before: these were probably among the stones that fell the other day in that eno1n1ous cave-in. ( ... ) Today I ate a copious meal: chicken soup with rice, a piece of bologna sausage with bread-the last piece of bread that remained; I managed to make it last until now. I also heated up a can of tuna fish, ( ... ) unfortunately the only can of tuna fish that I brought down. For dessert, I opened a can of sweetened chestnut puree. The tent pegs on the left side of the tent as one goes out have wo1 med their way out of the ice ( . . . ) and all that side of the tent has caved in, making it difficult for me to move about inside. I drove the pegs in again, but in a very few minutes they came out. ( ... ) Today I dictated to the tape recorder a portion of the journal I kept on the voyage to· Ceylon.( ... ) I have put the tape recorder within reach of my bed, so that even while lying down in

Life underground 163 the darkness ( ... ) I can register any idea that flashes through my mind. ( . . . ) I recall that I had considered the tape recorder a luxury; now I am very glad to have it, even though it increased my debts by 1000 francs.

Saturday, August 11. Thirty-ninth awakening. For the past few days I have felt very optimistic.( ... ) I suffer less from the cold; I am better adapted to conditions. When I put through a phone call to the surface just now I learned that M. Bleustein-Blanchet has sent a message. I do not know its content, but gather that it concerns the date for ~ding the experiment. It is good to know I am not forgotten by him. ( . . . ) I spent the entire day classifying my documents on the Marguareis Massif, and on my scientific studies. Sunday, August 12. Fortieth awakening. Last night, after drying the walls of the tent with my acetylene stove, I opened the ventilating Hap at the top of the tent behind the bed. Upon getting up this morning I noticed that a heavy condensation of water fills the base of the inner canvas. This signifies that in this part of the tent the condensation is not particularly due to the presence of my two lower panels of ventilation. TI;ie design of the tent is therefore not at fault. Today ( ... ) in working on my documents I ran across a note on Einstein's theory of relativity. I glanced through it, found an issue of Figaro Litteraire, 1956, the year of his death, and after reading the article concerning Einstein I read every word of the paper avidly. At times such as this one becomes aware of the value of human records, big and small. I also read today portions of Pagnol's memoirs, his schoolday memories: Mes debuts en cinquieme ( ... ) and forgot for quite a while the hostile world in which I am living.

164

Beyond time

Again I let myself go and did some bad cooking, { ... ) making a kind of omelet with sauteed onions and a few of the tomatoes that are beginning to spoil. Then I ate a little cheese my big temptation. ( . . . ) I am afraid there is too little liquid in my diet, and am drinking as much as possible. ( . . . ) Today I managed to straighten up the collapsed wall of the tent by tightening two wall stretchers, fastening one to a rock, the other to a deeply driven-in spike. I also went out-it took courage to get some seepage water that had collected in a basin I had left outside for that purpose. ( . . . ) More and more I am inclined to remain in the tent. ( . . . ) While outside I noticed that a piton driven into the glacier by the glaciologists at the beginning of this expedition is now partly pulled out, no doubt under the action of a slight fusion. I also noticed that the accumulated rubbish is now giving off a ( .•. ) disagreeable odor. While out on the moraine to collect my tomatoes, I heard a faint sound coming from between the rocks of the wall. I focused the beam of my flashlight on it and saw bubbles iss11ing from the wall and floating towards the top of the glacier! This artificial arrival of water which compresses air and obliges it to move was an illuminating discovery. It solved the problem of those air bubbles I had seen the other day, which had broken through the clay film on the rock wall. And I understood that the circulation of air in ice is due to the phenomenon of fusion. This is an important problem solved, at least on the theoretical plane. And it is another example of the part played by chance in scientific discoveries. ( ... ) My back pain~ me and I also suffer from tired eyes; the light is too feeble. This may be one of the factors that shorten my days; I forget the time passed and never know how many subjective hours have passed between the

Life underground 165 familiar incidents in my day. ( ... ) Sleep overwhelms me; I yawn, I listen to some music, but only half-play the record. Music means far less to me than it did during the first days down here. This may be a fo1111 of adaptation. I intend tonight, before going to bed, to shut the ventilating flaps of the tent, keep the stove burning, and tomorrow measure the percentage of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. It is dangerous, but worth a try. ( ... )

F orty-fi,rst awakening. My favorite pastime down here is study, or work; creativity is my pastime. ( . . . ) Yet by nature I believe I am

lazy. Some rocks fell this morning on the planks that project at the back of the tent, and I was extremely startled. I seem to be more sensitive to sounds. I am gradually organizing the folder labeled '"Institut Ftafifais de Speleologie.,, And while working I noticed with pleasure that I remain warm. I am discarding all worthless papers and there are plenty of them! On my table, as always, is the photograph of M .... She sometimes gets buried under the papers, but she has now reappeared. Dear little M ... I do love you.... While working I let my hot cocoa get cold. ( ... ) My diploma in speleology just turned up, which brought to mind my "chief' who always seems close to me in moments of peril. ( . . . ) After the stupendous cave-in of August fifth, I wrote a letter to him, which was my last will and testament. I am becoming more and more nervous, but I'd rather die than call for help. And mentally I address the chief: "I want to succeed in this experiment, partly for you, Maitre; quite a lot for your sake, really." The disorder in the tent is indescribable. But I am happy at getting my papers organized. It is a happiness that comes after much suffering and I have suffered more

166

Beyond time

here than I have admitted in this diary, for the cold is terrible, particularly when combined with the humidity.( ... ) What a mistake, that middle seam in the floor canvas! ( ... ) Yes, the disorder is great. Cardboard folders are everywhere on the rack of shelves, on the table, on the floor, ( . . . ) and even on the bed. ( . . . ) Before opening the entrance flap this morning I measured the CO2 content of the air: 0.3, or 18 per cent.( ... ) I must calculate the losses by seepage through the canvas

walls. I decided to try out the sleeping bag Noele lent me; it is the type used in the British air force, and is meant to supply me in case the tent were to burn down.( ... ) But I was soon cold, could not sleep in it, and returned to my former arrangement of doubled sleeping bags, one inside the other. Forty-second awakening. I cannot sleep tonight, so will give myself over to dictating in the darkness my thoughts on time and other things. I really seem to have no least idea of the passage of time. This morning, as an example, after telephoning to the surface and talking for a while, I wondered afterward how long the telephone conversation had lasted, and could not even hazard a guess. ( . . . ) As I stare into the darkness, flashes of white light occur in front of my eyes. ( ... ) I cannot keep my eyelids wide open in the dark; they shut of themselves, stinging a little. I believe it might be interesting to add some sugar to the molds; then next year we could see what had happened. And why not give some sugar to the mond-milch; this would bring a nourishing substance to the bacteria which are probably the source of the phenomenon. Time does not seem to pass slowly, but on the contrary passes quickly.

Life underground 167 The cave-ins are now so rare that the silence is complete. ( ... ) Now I am going to make a serious effort to estimate the time I have spent here underground. Soon a month will have passed; this will be the first time a man alone will have remained isolated in a cave for that length of time. Intuitively I feel that the date must be about August 20. According to my reckoning, I have wakened forty-one times, which means I have passed forty-two physiological days here. Yet sometimes I conclude that I have been here only twenty-seven days of twenty-four hours each. If I add 27 to 43 I get 70. Dividing that by 2, I get the mean time, or thirty-five days. I came down July 16, so it must be approximately August 20. My surface expedition, with Abel Chochon at its head, must now be on site. But I will not be info1·1ned of it until September. On guard at surface camp: C.R.S. Brigadier Lafleur, assisted by Pierre Nicolas.

Days and hours according to Michel Siffre

Actual days and hours

Monday, August 13

Friday, August 31

To bed at Awoke at Ate meal To bed at

3:00 A.M.

5:00 A.M.

10:00 A.M.

10:50 A.M.

2:00 P.M.

6:40 P.M.

3:00 P.M.

9:53 P.M. Saturday, September 1

Awoke at

10:00 P.M.

9:20 A.M.

Tuesday, August 14 Ate meal To bed

1:00 A.M.

6:35 P.M.

4:00 A.M.

11:40 P.M.

168 Beyond time

Day, and houn according to Michel Siffre

Actual days and houn Sunday, September 2

Awoke at Ate meal

12:00 noon

To bed

4:00 P.M. 7:00 P.M.

10:20 A.M. 5:50 P.M. 10:50 P.M.

Wednesday, August 15 Awoke at

2:00 A.M.

Monday, August 13.

9:10 A.M.

Forty-third awakening.

I had to force myself to eat a meal today; swallowed a few moldy tomatoes. I must not let myself weaken. But just when I was about to go back to bed, I upset a can of water, flooding the tent. Then, absent-mindedly, instead of using a sponge to wipe up the mess, I used some absorbent cotton. After which I shut the tent and heated the atmosphere with the butane gas stove. And then, in my black silk tights, I did some gymnastic exercises to music, which degenerated into a "twist" with me dancing like a bearded madman. What a sightl

Tuesday, August 14.

Forty-fourth awakening.

The worst features of a subterranean habitat ( ... ) are the constant cold and humidity. ( ... ) From now on my diary will be the transcription of my tape recordings. Even at night I suffer from cold now. I must look for a wool shirt to wear at night; the silk tricot I usually wear is not warm enough.( ... ) I lay for some time in my sleeping bag, alone in the vast silence of the subterranean night, listening to some Beethoven sonatas. The effect was fantastic. Impossible to count short lapses of time by the records; the beginning .and the end of a record blend and become integrated in

Life underground 16g the flood of time.( .•. ) Anyway, what does it matter? Time no longer has any meaning for me. I am detached from it, I live outside time. I am glad to note that I can endure silence better than I did during the first fortnight underground. I listen to music less and less frequently. ( ... ) I believe I am better adjusted. I now lead a relatively regular life, and very rarely now do I go outside the tent. ( ... ) Yes, I feel much more nor1nal, much better. At the beginning, I really suffered, but now things are much better. I can even say, life is great!

Forty-fifth awakening. I woke up with my mind so full of ideas that I am going to register my thoughts on the tape recorder; have pulled the micro• into my sleeping bag with me: -Must ask Pierre Hamel ( Radio Monte-Carlo man who lent us a tape recorder and micro) to register, unknown to me, some of my telephone calls to the surface. This might give us, at the end of the expedition, material for a series of interviews on the new orientation of French speleology and on the results of this experiment. -Some thoughts on women: how to win their affection. - I must have slept well, for I have no aches and pains1 no stiffness in the back or legs, no headache. -Must send a message by the surface camp to my friend Claude Sauvageot, our photographer; and I'll tell him off. - I had a hallucination just now: heard some music playing. Then I decided it was not a hallucination but possibly testing between the base camp on the Ambroise Plain and the surface camp at the mouth of the cavern; • Microphone.

170

Beyond time

this could happen through some neglect, a switch left open; an error they corrected almost immediately. -( ... ) I'm furious with Claude.( ... ) -Up till now I have not taken any medicine, not even for my attacks of dysentery.( ... ) -I must remember to tell Noele to make a list of my debts. -Must go with Marc to see the G1m, Touchez pas au

grisbi .• At this point I noticed that the tape recorder was acting up and stopped to repair it. Just then a stupendous cave-in began, but I wasn't afraid. The rocks fell behind the tent, about 10 feet away. Or it may have been a cave-in on the moraine, started by the huge boulder I noticed that was ready to topple; it may have fallen, bounced, and rolled on the moraine and continued its way down the glacier. I'm proud of myself: my morale was not in the least affected by this. ( ... ) I'll go out presently to see what happened and whether the ladder spread out on the ice has been damaged. ( ... ) Several things may cause the moraine to shift. ( ... ) One cause may be fusion; I noticed that a number of stones are covered with thick layers of ice. Since in this part of the cavern the temperature varies between 32 and 34°F, the ice melts slightly, and the stones topple of their own weight.( ... ) I must get up. For one thing, the lightbulb at the tent entrance is extremely feeble; I noticed this yesterday but thought it would be recharged while I slept. What will happen to me if my batteries no longer produce enough energy? I went outside to look for traces of the break-up on the moraine and found quite visible traces ( . . . ) of stones • grl8bi is, in argot, "money.., The film mentioned was drawn from a popular novel of the same title, by Albert Simonin.-Editor.

Life underground

171

slipping on the ice, evidently big stones for they left grooves about 8 inches wide and lines several yards long. ( ... ) I have rarely felt so well. ( ... ) I have now been underground a good month.( ... ) It is, according to my reckoning, August 14, which means I have spent thirty days here, counting twenty-four hours to the day. But I also know that I have really spent forty-eight days of a dozen hours each, basing my reckoning on the number of my awakenings. Which gives us 4B plus 30, which is 78; divided by 2, gives us thirty-nine days. This means that today may be the nineteenth of August instead of the fourteenth. It would not surprise me to be a few days ahead; I don't believe I'm behind. This being the case, the expedition of the Club Martel on the surface must be now beginning, since I had set the dates for it August 18 to September 2. 0 The spider I caught and put in a box is doing well. I put her on a piece of damp bread.( ... ) I looked at her yesterday and, feeling sorry for her, I gave her a tiny piece of cheese and a little bread, and very carefully gave her a spoonful of clay and water. ( ... ) She and I are all alone here. And neither of us wants to die, do we, little creature? As I prepare to go to sleep, my eyes are bothering me; they sting and are watering. ·

Wednesday, August 15.

Forty-sixth awakening.

For the first time in my underground life, I was wakened up, startled, by a big cave-in close to the tent. I was sufficiently awake to hear some big stones rolling and bouncing on the glacier. I did not telephone the surface at once, • Upon rereading this after returning to the surface, I was surprised to rPa]iz,, that the surface expedition had ended the night before I wrote these words, disproving my guess just when I was flattering myself on being a prodigy at calculation.-M.S.

172

Beyond time

for I hoped to go to sleep again; I was not consciously worried, but I noticed I was making a wheezing sound in breathing, as if suffering from asthma.( ... ) And my head ached. It's no joke if the cave-ins are beginning again_ All day long big ice fragments were falling on the planks that project at the back of the tent. I'm fed up with darkn~ and fear. Today I read Camus' essay, La Creation Absurde, and I don't agree at all with him. ( . . . ) Surely thinking is not exclusively reserved to man; animals certainly think, if on an inferior level. Man's superiority lies in the fact that he creates material things such as works of art, buildings, immaterial things such as doctrines and theories. ( ... ) I also read a little in Tacitus, the Pro Milone of Cicero, and the passage in Malraux's La Condition humaine where the death of Kio is described. Ever since day before yesterday, I have had a companion: the little spider. I often look at her, ( ... ) the only living creature I can see. It's possible to become attached even to a spider when one is alone, really alone, as I am.... I begin to show evidences of fatigue. The trip out on the moraine to fetch my food supplies is becoming an ordeal. Solitude constantly weighs heavier, and the darkness is beginning to affect my mental processes.( ... ) I have many sleepless nights and frequent headaches. Yet this is certainly not the result of a rise in the carbon dioxide content of the air; it has never risen above 0.12 per cent. Writing with red ink seems to cheer me. I have had enough of black, quite enough.( ... ) Here is the transcription of a tape I made during a sleepless night, the night after the forty-eighth "morning": • • The Diary at this point jumps from the 'Torty-sixth awakening" to the Forty-eighth, without mentioning the omission of the Forty-seventh. -Editor.

Life underground 173 For some time now when I go out on the moraine I am 11nsteady on my legs and have fits of wzziness. ( . . . ) I have never experienced this before underground, not even on the steepest declivities. Yet now my head swims and I stagger whenever a chasm, even a small one, comes to view.( ... ) For the past two days I have been depressed. This morning I listened to all my 45-rpm records, enjoying particularly Listz's "Second Hungarian Rhapsody" and Weber's "Invitation to the Waltz"-they are really marvelous. Listening to "Bambino" sing, I remembered pretty N. . . . She had the charming ability to forge my father's writing for my excuse slips, when I cut classes at the lycee ( . . . ) to see her. ( . . . ) I was only seventeen. The record that seemed to make time pass really fast was the song "Cavaliers du Grand Retour" sung by L11is Mariano. Before I leave the cavern, it will be interesting to put some wooden planks at several points on the glacier and the moraine to measure the superficial movements and at the same time to give evidence of rockfalls. I can hardly believe I have spent fifty physiological days down here. Surely I haven't been down here that long. My days must have been very short to make this the 15th of August [sic], as I am supposing it to be. Vain person that I am, I stopped writing just now to look at myself in the mirror that I broke several days ago, and to comb my hair-for the first time! The electric bulb is getting weaker and weaker. I think 111 connect five or six batteries to increase the voltage, for I can't endure this weak lighting any more. I spent the whole morning repairing my headlamp ( ... ) for a trip to the base of the 130-foot pothole to make some geological observations. Outside on the moraine I sat for a while, thinking. Then, flashlight in hand, I squeezed myself under the big slabs out there, risking at any moment being crushed by them

174

Beyond time

or wedged in and trapped. Some of these fissures lead to the underlying glacier, which I hoped to reach, but every time I bumped a little too hard against the rocks I shuddered with fear. In one squeeze, I thought I was trapped forever. I had been lured into it by something that glittered: it turned out to be merely a wonderful ice crystal. ( ... ) In my rather frantic efforts to get out of this crack I made some excited and senseless gestures ( ... ) but eventually managed to free myself, ( ... ) and continue my investigations on other parts of the moraine. During my investigations, I managed to see with my own eyes the course of the glacier, which continues to flow, even under the enor111ous rocks of the moraine, and rejoins the horizontal layers situated at a depth of 4,8a feet in the 130-foot pothole. In one fissure I was p11zzled at the sight of some white molds floating in the air and wondered about their origin. When I finally emerged from this nasty squeeze I remarked that they came from the dump heap just above. I returned to the tent very satisfied at having been able to link together the two elements that seemed separated from the whole. Without any real desire for food, I made myself eat something to keep up my strength. And I sat down, fully dressed as I was, on the cold stove and munched two raw carrots, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of solitude. ( . . . ) I must and shall hold out to the end; a fortnight or a month still to go-that isn't such a long time. And I thought, am thinking still, of you, dear little M. . . . How I long to see you again and ( . . . ) hold you close in my arms. I remember particularly that evening we passed together in a cabaret-was it in Montparnasse or Saint-Get 1nain-des-Pres? ( ... ) Again, just now, a huge mass of ice came crashing down. "Don't worry, you've made it, it's in the bag,

Life underground 175 now!" This is what the fellows at the surface camp frequently say. Which makes me mutter under my breath, "'l'hat is all very well, but there still remains the problem of getting me out of here!'' My "day" is ending, I have crawled into my double sleeping bag; intentionally I am now making my days and nights shorter.( ... ) On guard at the surface camp: C.R.S. Brigadier Melan, assisted by Chiesa.

Days and hours according to Michel Siffre

Actual days and hours

August 16 Awoke at 6:oo A.M. Ate meal 9:00 A.M.

September 5 11:20 A.M. 8:oo P.M. September6

To bed

1:00 P.M.

Thursday, August 16. Forty-ninth awakening. Another and another big cave-in. This is hellish. I don't believe rocks fell from above; I believe it was a displacement of boulders on the moraine or on the glacier. But when I went out to look, I saw no change. It may have been the eno1mous slab, ( ... ) which for the past two or three days has been sliding on the ice near the metal ladder. It presents a certain danger. I must ask Yves Creach to draw another diagram of the hydrological system of the Caracas and the Piaggia-Bella. Recently I've been very depressed. I'm fed up. This has gone on too long. . The cave-ins continue at intervals. ( . . . ) I have a .,crick" in the back; it hurts me all day long. ( ... ) Still worrying about the date. Is it August 15, or August 30? ( ... )

176 Beyond time Suddenly my sojourn in Ceylon comes vividly to mind: the coral beaches of Hikkaduwa, the cordial people I met, including our ambassador, our consul, the explorer Andre Guibaut, and the wonderful Ferdinands who behaved like a father and mother to me, ( . . . ) and I remember my visit to the "Gem-pits" • with the temperamental Calderra as guide ( ... ) and I see again the extraordinary documents Andre Guibaut brought back from the Ngnolo province and his sketch map of the course of a river in Tibet which he had been the first to explore. For some time now I have been staying on in bed for longer and longer periods. This is very unlike me. And I am becoming more and more absent-minded; and my efforts to measure short lapses of time are quite futile. ( ... ) Today I risked adding a battery to my lighting installation: the result was unexpectedly good, and now I have a decent light, which will tire my eyes less when I read or write. I have a very bad sore throat. I,m in for a real illness if I don't immediately take steps to prevent it. So I stop, make myself a hot drink and turn on the camp stove before getting back into my sleeping bag. ( . . . ) The idea suddenly came to me that it would be interesting to perfor1n another experiment "beyond time" ten years from now, and another twenty years from now-not necessarily in these painful conditions. I've been toying with the idea of doing some detailed drawings on the moraine, or at least, taking some rubbings. Today I equipped myself for this purpose and went out. After several futile attempts at getting some rubbings or making a drawing I gave up, went back, slung the tape recorder on a strap around my neck, and returned to the place where the ladder is strung out on the ice, • Shallow mines of sapphires and rubies exploited by natives using primitive tools.

Life underground 177 resolved to make a detailed description on tape. I set the recorder down on the rocks and went out to the big flagstone suspended over the void, curious to see again the narrow ascending shaft I discovered the other day. This time I went quite near and could see, beyond a narrow fissure several yards high, a widening portion that might be a chamber cave. I dared not climb to it alone, for in my present weakened condition, it would be too dangerous. Besides, I noticed it would mean crossing an overhang fo1111ed by boulders wedged together. For the moment there's nothing to do about it, but when the team comes to fetch me, the other fellows must try to go farther along that passage. We may discover other galleries and potholes that will take us into spaces of this subterranean glacier that are still unknown to us. I then resolved to do some surveying of the glacier on my own, to augment the staking out of it that had been done by the glaciologists Lorius and Kahn three days before my descent. It was hard physical labor. First I had to drive pitons into the roof ( I used tent pegs for the purpose) and then suspend plumb lines from them: these would serve as points of reference. Then, immediately beneath the pl11mb lines, I used my hammer to drive some long tent pegs into the glacier. When we return next year .all we will have to do to find out what movement has taken place in the glacier ( both lateral and frontal) will be to measure the distances between the tent pegs. As to any superficial fusion, this will be evaluated according to how much space exists between the surface of the ice and the ends of the plumb lines, which now touch it. I was hours and hours at this job, succeeding in driving in only eight pegs and eight pitons, often clinging to a jutting edge in dangerous positions, my legs dang~ing in the void. When I had finished, my throat was no longer sore and I went to bed preoccupied only with the problem

178 Beyond time of time, and how long I had been carrying out this work. As usual I gave it up; there was no point of reference corresponding to a plumb line by which to measure time!

Fiftieth awakening. Fifty is a round figure, and to celebrate the event I made myself a good breakfast: coffee with hot milk, buttered crackers with jam. Alas, all my bread is now gone. I am a mass of aches and pains today-aching legs, sharp pains in the back. After breakfast I sat at my table writing out an account eight pages long of my descent into the Scarasson Cavern. I was interrupted by stomach pains-another attack of amoebic dysentery. I have them inte1mittently, which is a big nuisance. Well, I feel better now, thank heaven. To cheer myself up and relax a little, I burst into song, singing loudly a slightly risque song, "Fe,11,mes de chez Maxim,s"-hoping the fellows on the surface wouldn't plug in their tape recorder! Then I went back to writing and did another eight pages without interruption. After this, feeling that I was in good voice, I sang some more songs. Singing is a great comfort. You hear your voice as if it were another self; you have the impression of a human presence. But imagine the weird scene: a man alone in the depths of the earth singing aloud in the darkness and cold, a captive within walls of rock. ( . . . ) Greedily, all morning long, I ate tiny bits of cheese; usually I resist the temptation, for I do want to have some left for the second month of my experiment. In the afternoon I ate a few prunes. Then I was thirsty and drank a lot of water. ( ... ) Friday, August 17. Fifty-first awakening. Unprecedented lapse of memory! Last night while waiting to go to sleep, I turned on the tape recorder and taped

Life underground 179 a number of ideas as they came to me. ( ... ) That is, I thought I had turned it on. This morning I became aware that I had turned on the playback knob instead of the recording knob! So all my ideas were wasted. I feel more and more exhausted. ( ... ) At thought of a whole month more still to go down here, I am pretty depressed. ( . . . ) It seems to me I am mixing up physiological time and abstract time. According to my time chart I have spent down here fifty-two days of fourteen hours each; thirtytwo days presumably of twenty-four hours each. Averaging this out, I decide that today s date must be August 17.( ... ) What is my most cherished wish? To live, to live, to live! Despite my aches and pains, now augmented by a fever sore on my lip, rheumatism in my right foot, and stomach trouble. While eating breakfast, I found myseH recalling, for no reason I could imagine, a day in a tropical cavern where bones, a great pile of human bones, grinning skulls all neatly lined up, contrasted oddly with the good cheer of my company. There death contemplated us. Here I contemplate death, always struggling to banish it &om my mind. Am struggling now, for the cave-ins have started up again, just when I was feeling confident of my success. ( ... ) Now I have the distinct impression that until the two months have elapsed and I am brought to the surface, there is no guarantee that I will come out of this alive.( ... ) And I am too young to end up a shapeless corpse smashed between two boulders in the cold and darkness, and the silence! This total silence is horrifying; there is only the drip-drip of water falling. Sometimes I listen to the frightful silence, and my mind reels. Sometimes I could weep. Have I wept? I don t think so; yet during the enorn1ous cave-ins tears start to my eyes.( ... ) 11

11

18o

Beyond time

I now understand why in their myths people have always situated hell underground. ( . . . ) Strange. Down here I need not fear encountering a dangerous animal or human being; yet sometimes when the feeble glow of my headlamp sets the shadows to dancing on the dark rocky walls, I have been gripped by fear. ( ... ) In those moments of uncontrollable fear, everything seems to have a life of its own-the rocky walls, the great plaques of ice, the dancing shadows. ( ... ) Fear must have taken hold of me very gradually. At first I almost paid no attention to the avalanches of rock and ice fragments that crashed down on the moraine. It was only toward July 30 that my fear crystallized. That was the day when the stupendous cave-in occurred and I suddenly realized vividly the dangers to which I am exposed. ( . . . ) From then on, an opening was made into which anguish, despair, and cowardice could insinuate themselves. ( . . . ) Yes, just as I had almost behaved like a coward on the eve of the descent into this cavern, there I was again, weak~ning. But my respect for all those whom I had drawn with me into this venture, my enthusiasm for research and exploration, my deeply rooted vocation, all revived my failing courage. ( ... ) Yet sometimes ( . . . ) my scientific observations only reinforced my fear. The sight of these cave walls chipped and jagged from the alternate action of freezing and thawing, the cracks and fissures full of ice or frozen earth, these accentuated my fear-a fundamental fear experienced by other men in similar circumstances. I am thinking of you, Haroun Tazieff, who have known some dramatic moments in the very mouths of volcanoes, ( ... ) and of you, Dr. Alain Bombard, alone on a small raft in the Atlantic, tossed about like a straw among the waves, for you must have experienced fear similar to mine. ( ... ) The mental vision of myself crushed under a mass of

Life underground

181

falling stones obsesses me. It is impossible to accept the idea that one may perish at any instant. No, I will never resign myself to the thought. I want to hold out, I want to see this experiment through. And I will. ( . . . ) qn the other hand, life is so beautiful, the sky is blue and so near. Why not return to the surface rather than perish, crushed by a stone, in this dark, mindless cave? And also, I was the one who conceived this expedition, I am the one that directs it; therefore I am free to terminate it. And if I don't, shall I not be deliberately committing suicide? ( ... ) Cavern, you have almost annihilated me, and may be my tomb! But also, what supreme joys you have accorded me among countless to1n1ents: the joy of exploration, the intoxication of discoveries! I have suffered more than usual from the cold today, and the rheumatic pains in my feet are almost intolerable. ( . . . ) I also believe my ears were frostbitten while I was out on the glacier. But I've done a good day's wor~ have written a paper on time and space and believe that it is satisfactory.( ... ) Now, to bed. I'm dead tired and seem to be breathing with difficulty.

Saturday, August 18. Fifty~second awakening. I'm dictating this in bed. I've stayed in bed for quite a while now. I've decided the most important thing is not what I do, but what I think about my situation. Books I absolutely must read when I return to the surface: Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth-but I can read that a little later on-,and Gagarin's account of his voyage in space. Ah, but now my stomach is asking for food, so I must get up. ( . . . ) I have just had another of those hallucinations: the flashes of light I see when I stare hard into the

darkness.

182

Beyond time

On guard at the surface camp: C.R.S. Brigadier Canova, auisted by Pierre Nicolas.

Days and hours according to Michel Slffre

Actual days and hours

August 18

September 8

Awoke at Breakfast

1:00 A.M. 2:00 A.M.

8:40

P.M.

11:00 P.M.

September g Lunch To bed Awoke again

3:00 A.M. 4:00 A.M. 10:00 A.M.

3:15 5:15 1:35

A.M. A.M.

P.M.

( . • . ) I am losing all notion of time. ( . . . ) When, for instance, I telephone the swface and indicate what time I think' it is, thinking that only an hour has elapsed between my waking up and eating breakfast, it may well be that four or five hours have elapsed. And here is something hard to explain: the main thing, I believe, is the idea of time that I have at the very moment of telephoning. If I called an hour earlier, I would still have stated the same figure. ( . . . ) I am having great difficulty to recall what I have done today. It costs me a real intellectual effort to recall such things.

Fi-fty-third awakening. I resolved to do some exercises, a few kneebends. First time since my descent. Then I took my pulse before and after. But the day started badly: imbecile that I am, I spilt a bucket full of "water" all over the floor. On hands and knees I had to mop it up and my hands were quite blue and swollen by the time I finished. Then, as an example of my present state of mind or mindlessness I mistook the telephone for the tape recorder. No, really!

Life underground 183 I have worked out a way to avoid the condensation of water drops inside tents set up like mine in a humid subterranean environment. Unfortunately it is too late to apply it here. But when I return to the surface I intend to have Lacordee, the maker of this tent, fabricate a tent modified according to my new concepts based on my unfortunate experience. Considering how I have suHered, ( . . . ) it is no wonder that I racked my brains to find .a solution to the problem. · Very strange: this "day" seemed endless; and yet time seemed to pass quickly. Time passes, but I don't feel it pass. I read a lot today and wrote a lot. I've been revising my account of the descent into the cavern. [I have utterly, utterly lost count of time. It is now, I believe, August 20. Anyway, I have now just flnished transcribing the above notes from tape recordings. ( . . • ) ]

Fifty-fourth awakening. I have been thinking about the expedition I intend to head next summer in this same mountain mass. ( . . . ) And I have been thinking alx;,ut the past. Spent some time looking at my color slides of Ceylon, putting together the ones I like best and which I can use in future publications. Then I put on a Beethoven record, my favorite sonata, and while it was still playing, I turned off the light in the tent and went out on the moraine to sit in the darkness, listening. And as I sat there alone in this underground no-man's land, the whole thing suddenly became absurd. Surely I hadn't embarked upon this expedition of my own free willl Surely some outside and superior force had impelled me.

Sunday, August 19. Fifty-fifth awakening. I ,afleur has just announced that the end of the experi-

18.f Beyond time ment is approaching. Exbaordinaryl Rather, impossible! since it is only August 19. Surely my reckoning can't be so far out that we are already in September? No, of course not. After all, Lafleur did not state an exact time. He merely said "soon.• That might mean a week or it might mean two. ( . • • )

Monday, Augud 20. Fifty-sixth awakening. I have invented a new game: quoits ( l11mps of sugar) pitched toward a goal ( a saucepan of boiling water) in the darkness. Standing at some distance. Very few l11mps reached their goal. I thought I heard the sound of some landing in the water, but this may have been an illusion. Am suffering from a freakish loss of memory. For the third time just now I put the same side of a record on and listened to it for quite a while without being aware. The record was "Because," sung by Mario T,anza. I took a piece of chalk and wrote the words "Institut Fran~ais de Speleologie" on the padded jacket of my red coveralls. Fifty-seventh awakening. Interesting, the effect different colors have on the mind in these underground conditions. Red is very agreeable, pink is restful; blue and pale green seem to have a strong trend toward black; yet the bright blue of my camp stove does not give this impression. The yellow tent lining is more than unpleasant; the lining should have been of white silk. ( . . . ) I was just leaving the tent to go out on the moraine when a huge batch of ice crashed down into the pothole nearby. I was very shaken up. How dreadful it would be if something happened to me just when the experiment is about to end successfully. I'm still not sure of coming out of this alive.

Return to the surface

My diary ends abruptly on those words. I added nothing except to encircle the date, August 20, and write exclamatorily, "'!'his is the most memorable day of my life!" I forgot even to add the actual date, which I had been told just before going to bed: September 14. The experiment "beyond time" had been completed. I had remained underground fifty-eight days and seventeen hours, or a total of 1409 hours. The time graph I had so painstakingly kept lagged 25 days behind the actual date. And my vital rhythm was topsy-turvy: according to my time graph it was bedtime on Monday, August 20, while on the surface it was 8:30 in the morning of Friday, September 14. And two days later a team would descend to pack up equipment and help me make the difficult ascent; in fact, an advance team would perhaps descend next day. I couldn't believe it. I was too stunned when Pierre Nicolas announced the news to have any reaction of joy. My first reaction was rather one of bewilderment, followed by intense interest in what light my experiment cast on man's "notion of time." I could not wait to get to the sur-

185

' \ '

186 Beyond

time

face to study their time graphs and compare them with mine. And so it was that at the end of the experiment as at the beginning my chief concern was scientific. I wanted to plumb the mystery of the nychthemeral rhythm in roan_ With Pierre Nicolas at the surface camp that day were Lafleur, Sprenger, and Canova. They listened in on the telephone conversation I had with Pierre, and had it taped. I believe it is worth recording at least a portion of it here if only to refute certain unfriendly critics who refused to credit me with scientific aims and labeled my experiment a mere exploit of physical endurance.

Tape recording of convenatwn on telephone between Michel Siffre and Pierre Nicolas, Sept. 14, 1g62. How much time in advance do you want to be warned that your experiment is about to end? Say, supposing a Monday is the day you will be brought to the surface? MICHEL: If I am to return to the surface on a Monday, then a team should come down on Saturday to help with my ascent. I need at least two days to gather up my things. There's a lot of equipment that must be salvaged. ( . . . ) And I need time to get things organizP,d. ( . . . ) See that Claude Sauvageot is one of the first to come down. And I'd like Kahn, the glaciologist, to come down in the first group as well, for I want to diw1~ a few things with him, and I need help to take some more specimens. A day or two can be spent taking photos and packing the bags. PIERRE: Yes, sure. MICHEL: 111 need some of the things down here to the very end: sleeping bags, tape recorder, and so on. ( ... ) I believe the first things that should go up are my documents, my papers. PIERRE:

Return to the surf-ace 187 Fine. Well then, you can start getting ready tomorrow, as soon as you wake up. MICHEL: What did you say? PIERRE: As soon as you wake up tomorrow, start getting ready. MICHEL: No! ~IERRE: Yes. Today's Friday, and you're to be brought up Monday. MICHEL: Are you kidding? PIERRE: No, I'm not kidding. MICHEL: But I'm talking seriously. PIERRE: Me, too. MICHEL: Tomorrow I'm to begin getting ready? And today is a Friday? ( ... ) PIERRE: It's Friday, September 14, 1g62, at 8:30 in the• morning. MICHEL: Then I'm twenty-five days behind in my calculation? How the devil did this happen? Did I miscalculatemy hours of sleep? ( ... ) PIERRE: No.( ... ) What threw you off was miscalculating your hours of activity. MICHEi,: My "days''? PIERRE: Yes, your days. MICHEL: My ''days" were short, they lasted only a few hours. PIERRE: That's where you're wrong.( ... ) Your ''days" averaged twenty-four hours, I mean your "days'' andl "nights" together averaged twenty-four hours, according to the graph I've been keeping up here.( ... ) MICHEI,: Why then, it was a no11nal rhythm. PIERRE: Yes. Amazing how it was maintained even in the conditions you were living down there. MICHEL: Despite the fact that I had no alternation of dark~ ness and light. PIERRE: Yes. PIERRE:

188 Beyond time Why, this is stupendous, this is sensational! ( ••• ) Then abstract time what I thought of as psychological time, was what threw me off. Incredible! You mean to say I kept normal days, although I thought my days lasted only about 15 hours, if that. PIERRE: Yes, according to what you told us, you considered your days were only 15 hours long, whereas ... MICHEL: Because I based my calculation on my no, ,x1al hours of sleep, which at home are not more than six or seven hours. ( . . . ) While my waking hours, at home, were very long, down here they have seemed very short. ( ... ) PIERRE: Well, take last night: you slept eight hours, fortyfive minutes. MICHEL: ( ••• ) Not more? And all the rest, all the remaining hours, constituted my "day"P PIERRE: Yes. MICHEL: I bad the impression that I was active only four hours. PIERRE: You woke up at 4:20 in the afternoon; you went to bed at 10:30 in the morning: that makes an interval of 14 hours.• MiraEI,: WhatP ( .•. ) I thought only four hours passed. Extraordinary! ( . . . ) But do you get the implications? A man thinks he is living four hours when he is living fourteen hours? Three times 4 is 12. ( ••• ) Why, then, my abstract time is more than three times shorter than actual time measured by clocks, if we take yesterday's horarium as an example. And over the whole period, my abstract time equals half of actual time! Had I known this, I could have eaten more. Think of it, I've left quantities of food go untouched so as to make it last into the second monthI Why, that's terribleI MICHEL:

• Pierre's calculation is wrong. That makes an interval of eighteen

hounl-M.S.

Return to the sutface 18g What does it matter? Once you're outside you11 be able to eat whatever you like! MICHEL: Listen. Did you notice whether my hours of going to bed, my hours of sleep and so on conditioned my abstract time? PIERRE: "Conditioned .•. MICHEL: Well, for instance, did it seem to you that the lapse of time between my waking up and my breakfast was constant? PIERRE: No. MICHEL: Amazing. PIERRE: Something else is still more amazing. MICHEL: Yes? PIERRE: The amazing thing is that your periods of activity and your periods of sleep show up on the chart as extremely variable. But if the two are added, the total is always twenty-four hours. ( ... ) MICHEL: That's really interesting! Now, by the way, how long have you and I been talking? I would say for five or ten minutes? PIERRE: Twenty minutest MICHEL: The doublet For you, twenty minutes have passed, while for me only five or ten minutes have passed This being so, it's advisable to live in caves! PIERRE: You mean ... ? MICHEL: Why, living in a cave, you prolong your life. (Jokingly) Cavemen, spacemen, will stay young! If time passes this quickly! PIERRE: But perhaps you're an exception. MICHEL: I wonder if time seemed longer or shorter dwing the cave-ins. Does the chart show this up at all? PIERRE: No, nothing worth noting. MICHEL: And after the cave-ins? PIERRE: No, nothing remarkable. MICHEL: When there's a cave-in, the mind is affected. First,

PIERRE:

r

igo Beyond time there's the shock of fear. Then, afterward, you begin to imagine things. You r~~lize that there's som~ing over which you have no control, ( ... ) something inexorable that decides whether you shall live or die. I'd like to study those moments on the graphs. ( . . . ) Who knows, an interesting relation might be found.

At this point, Pierre simply had to cut me short, for I seemed ready to spend the day-his day, my night-in a philosophical discussion. So, with a "Be seeing you soon, Michel,'' he hung up. I went to bed that Friday, September 14, at 10:10 in the morning! My vital rhythm was completely upside down. Just when millions of people were alert and working on the surface of the earth, there I was, in a subterranean space, a solitary young man overcome with drowsiness. And in spite of the excitement I felt at knowing my experiment had come successfully to an end and that I would soon be out of the cavern, I slept like a log. Next day, when I woke up and put through a call to the surface, ( ... ) the first thing I asked was, "What time of day is it?" And Pierre's answer, "Five o'clock in the afternoon," gave me a weird feeling. I was told that the first team was getting ready to descend. Then, later on, they telephoned down to say the descent would be delayed, because of an accident. ( ... ) Philippe Englender, who was to be in the first team, had had an accident while climbing to the Marguareis. But the other fellows were already at the surface camp. On Sunday, September 16, by consciously willing it, I woke up at 5: 15 in the morning. With an effort I had almost succeeded in according my vital rhythm with that of the rest of the world. Was busy all day tidying things up. The day seemed very long. LaHeur telephoned to say the first team was preparing to descend. At my request, my

Return to the surface

191

best friend Marc Michaux would be with that first team. At the beginning of my experiment the ladders had all been drawn up from the various potholes. Letting them down again took time. Also the rescue team would be numerous, I was told, and their descent would take at least two hours. According to Lafleur, a swarm of newspaper reporters and radio and television people, foreign as well as French, had arrived at the base camp on the Ambroise Plain. Some distinguished men among them, too. They would all camp there until I surfaced. Our friend Nino Porrera, who n1ns a restaurant at Saint-Dalmas de Tende, had established a refreshment-bar at the camp, and had a fire going which was burning anything resembling wood-there's not a single tree on the mountain-and Lafleur said that everyone seemed to be cheerful despite the lack of comforts. Lafleur told me the weather was beauti£ully clear, and that the helicopter would certainly be able to operate. I found myself trying to imagine the view from the base camp, the snowcapped range of the Alps showing against a blue sky. I was unable to imagine what a blue sky looked

like! Wanting to register my final impressions, I took the tape recorder out on the moraine, and there, alone in the darkness, I sat on a boulder and dictated some of my thoughts. My headlamp was 11nlit, for I wanted that darkness to be broken only by the beam of light that would tell me a friend was there. When I ran off this tape later on, I was astonished at the constant recurrence of ''the fear of dying at the last minute" which would erase my accomplishment: "And my experiment could not be said to have succeeded unless and until I emerge from the cavern safe and sound." Indeed, the full import of the experiment could not be grasped "until the physicians and technologists have examined me and my data." But interspersed

1~

Beyond time

with these dark thoughts were momentary flashes of optimism. The one thing I was sure of was that I had opened a new chapter in speleology, and that my "Operation Time" as the boys on the surface called it, would "bestow upon the Institut F r ~ de speleologie its letters patent of nobility. Within six months of its existence, the I.F.S. will be tops in the world of speleology." And not merely optimistic was the thought that, "from now on, speleologists will not have to con6ne their explorations of caves to a few hours or days. Serious programs of scientific study can now be set up underground." I also anticipated some of the criticisms that would be leveled at me: "Some people will say that I took too big a risk in undertaking this dangerous experiment without previously experimenting on animals. My answer is that such an experiment on animals would not be conclusive. There are situations in which animals perish but in which a man can survive, thanks to his mental powers and his astonishing ability to adapt to new environments." My "last thoughts'' often dwelt upon the friends and acquaintances who had stood by me and generously helped. I felt I owed particular thanks to the Sixth C.R.S., and their commander, Major Riolet. As I recorded my thoughts, I kept my voice low, for I was listening with strained attention for the least sound that would indicate the approach of my friends. I imagined them unrolling the wire ladders into the void, imagined I heard distant voices. I would become silent then, and the waiting became intolerable. Before, time had ceased to exist for me; now it was an insistent presence that I could not shake off. Suddenly I bounded to my feet. I had heard the clicking of metal that could only issue from a wire ladder being let down. I clambered nearer the base of the 130-foot pothole and stared upward. Far above me I fancied I saw

Retum to the su,jace 193 a faint glimmer. Was it a hallucination? I shut my eyes and opened them again. The light had grown brighter. Yes! There they were! Men. My friends. I let out a shout of joy. My heart thumped as if ready to burst. Tears sprang to my eyes. Abel's voice answered me. Then Marc's. And for a few minutes we communicated with an exchange of incoherent exclamations, for our words reverberated on the rocky sides of the cavern and got lost. Gradually, as their words became more distinct and the glimmer of light became a glow, I had a sudden intense feeling of time such as I had not had before: time had passed during my long claustration. I had stood like this two months ago watching my friends depart, straining my ears to hear the diminishing sounds, my eyes to see the diminishing light. What exactly had happened since then? I had the feeling that I had made a journey, had crossed an interval of time, and had not-as I had often felt in the past two months stood still at the center of a motionless space-time continuum. Yes, though I had covered no real distance, I had made a journey. I was older by two months and had explored at least something of myself. A louder clinking sounded: the last wire ladder was being unrolled into the 130-foot pothole, and soon I could see a glint o( light on the slender steel cables. Marc, steadied by Abel and Lafleur above, was beginning his descent. First I heard him, then I could see him clinging to the thin metal slats which twisted and turned under his movements. "Everything okay, Michel?" a voice called down, for I had remained for minutes silent. "That you, Lafleur?" "Thevery same." "Well, come down as soon as you can!" "You bet."

194

Beyond time

I turned my flashlight on Marc: in its beam I could see him ·swinging like a pendul,,m in the empty space above me. Then he faced the light and gave me a big ~••■j)P, while I exclaimed excitedly, trying to tell him all my hopes and fears in the first minute of our re,,nion. A.5 he drew nearer, an avalanche of small stones showered down, and I stepped back. But no sooner had he set foot on the debris of fallen rocks at the base of the pothole than I sprang forward again, and we were hugging each other like two kids frantic with joy. Saved! I was saved! But as I led Marc toward the tent, I heard the whistle of a big stone fa11ing, and flattened myself against a crag. "Watch out, Marci" I cried. He looked at me in astonishment, not at all afraid. My reaction reflected only too well the fear that inhabited me. But then, as we drew near the tent, it was his turn to exclaim in hoxror at sight of the indescribable disorder that reigned on the glacier: cannP,"x II ~ I 'e I.

.· ' •r=:.,;;1..:1.:_· ,··:•[;: .. .l. .. ·.1 .

' I..."'I -r _,...J.I _ .. "' L'., ·•

, •• .

•

•·

u

!_•

. - ... .

. ••

•

.. .

• • , ... .• • • -, . --

,_ ·•• .

l -

•

···• · • · ·

t---=,-:,1

.. I

"'~

I ' ..·+ -1 I

•.

_ ,,...,·--:;~···;::. ..I-.I

I

•

-,

, ••

ttxi .,. A 1

F k:, i1: 1 "ll:A'L -1 :t ;iol ·;1 1. 1

I

'

I

I

1 1-,_11 '\i

. ... "T"' .,.,,..... ... l.....,. . f: ·i,.:......... I . ~::. l.: :~ ·•::,,::. .: .·. .

■··-- ·~- ij

••

:::!!'c :t .... :r· : 1 • ·: L

l • ••

l

rr ,·,.~;.;,~.:~.ir. ~-. -: ~..~-, · r t,· · 9' ·-·--· 1...,.. ·1 i~;~~ ::;. !;~. .:··::. ! ... 1...·;::f: . .:.. . ·..-:. ~~-J__=~· ::··~..

'"j •

: ;;;; ... .::: •::. : : ~. : . ::.::;: • ::: :·;~ :;~· •_• ·

•;: ·•.~ ; · :

•••.:~ I

; ~~;~;~~-= -~:: _i:~= :i~~~~;;:

~~-

'.E~~::·:

.·-·.... . . . . "1. I.::·:··:l .. ...:::i' .

~~

l'' •-·~. :. .

..

•

,, ,

·•t: :.;

;

.

-

.. .. , ...

·- ::

·:•:•·

I,,

!::·~=:-: ;· .. i -~: i~:rr--·

1·-- . I ,

1::::J:~1::;.i·.

... --1· ..... .. •••1• .

!I

•

.

•• •• •• •.. t•• ••

•

1

·~.

'

•":! _ . '."..

:1......::,•:::T:..::1.::J s::1::: •· .. .... f. ' ".." I"" I ... f=·-·.:" II'".· ....... ... ,..... .... ·-· ............. .. . ·-· .. . ... . . ..... . .. ... .. ·--:r,•- ~ "' " ' "I :"• . . ., .. •• ... .. . ........ , - • . .. .... " I " .. .. i.: ':c:,:::' :.:-: :~,: ',':r:::: ~::.,::.' ;,;,1;: :::: :::: ::": . ':::F::: .:'"1:::: ·=::f . ... .... .... ,. • ; : ~: • • J • l ; : : : . ··••1- • · ••

;I 1 ·•

.j .....

:.r·· · r· r. .··... ; ::- -:·,-~

.: ..-:t:... .. ,. :.•:::r::~--::r:·:r:·:1 .-·::·•::::1 r.... ,........ . , ... ~ -~ . .... ,. .. :1~::. ~::: =~=-:••·- ·;·:~ .. ~· .:;· ;~~~ -· 1

"_ :;·:: ·'I·":• .;,.::·:•.. - -.1-.~:: ' -~ · :=--:-:;.:-: :•:i •:.; • ;:: • ., . ,!·. ,1::,,1.,, ,.,,, .. . ·'1 : -=·i:_, :·~ :.,=:: :··:_,,r·., •· . . . .. . . ·• ·.... ,. f:"j:O . .. I ... , • , ... I .. I . I .. ,. :i. ... . . ... , --::,:"• _·.. j;;: !• ,•:: •; :; " ' ;: • • , t ::; ... _, , _• 1•·• ·:. =·i ' ;,,,j,;.: ;;:,·, t ;,;;j·:· ===•=.: ·=r··=;·: ·, =·!,, ?i:::· .: ~~-r ,...!::~--~,--· : :•:,,·+ . j.· .. 1~-; .. 1::.:1:: I ·1.. 1.-;. ::l, I ..&::l::: l.:.:J:,.I ··• .. Ji::·;'. ~=· . ··,:. :·:·:~ ! '' ; ·-,; -.

f'

@. ,;~~;-~: :~;J;;/;~~;;;~tif.~J,-~ ::1:':LJ:~:.j ·::1· · ·. ·I :.,:·:

T. . T..

Hours zo

u

•• •- - ·• 1· •

• -

.. ~1:,::1

Acttvltl11

~mparlng: Eatimoted length of time

•

.•

• ••

• • •

••

•

I

~

&,,; ·••!_• •__:,

•

_·__ -

I

. •

:,=·:l"·j':,'l:

~

I !...·-

I :.•f:... '.•. . .:'...... R · -;:: ··•••·· . :·· ..·-••• I :. •

"" ~ .• ~ , ...:::·· :· .. ,......

·-··• ,;•; • .. .-. .•• ••••••. i'."":·

~!

.. · ·.;:~ ;;;::-r - 21 22

a 31 z

2111

a 29J> .J1 ,2 »

.

34353137 ·• •

'H

:; ; :::~

·- ~-- ~--~~-.-'· ---.---,1.i:: :::· «> 41 '2 a 44 a e'1 e as, s1sa 13 s. 56 ~ s1 Days, -., •••• •v•I

or "Awakenings"

Some questions, some answers

225

actually lasted on the average fourteen hours and forty· minutes. This experiment in time concerned one person, myself. But if a single case proves nothing, it is too bad. For now that the results of my experiment are published, it will henceforth be difficult for someone else to duplicate them. He will need only to count his number of awakenings to know the date with reasonable accuracy. Our experiment ''beyond time" will thus remain 11nique .•. An interesting correspondence was found between the pulse rate ( a measure of short durations of time) compared with the lapses of time between the beginning and end of the active period ( my "day") ( see the charts). These relationships, quite unexpected, and quantitatively measured over the two month period, also emphasize the reciprocal action of the mind on the body, the body on the mind. And one wonders: In estimating time, is it the brain that commands the heart or the reverse? It seems to me the importance of this data is great, and particularly useful in the realm of space studies, since with these relatively easy tests a picture could be given of the general waking state of the organism, that is to say, the more or less rapid response of the organism to stimuli. If this result has a statistical validity and appears again in the course of other similar experiments, it will be possible to infer the general level of human fatigue by the mere knowledge of the variations in the rhythm of heartbeat and the subject's estimations of short lapses of time. Only a detailed study can develop all the psychological considerations that cropped up in the results of the beforeand-after tests to which I was subjected. A synthesis remains to be made of the data for their application in the realm of civilian and military shelters, in air and space medicine, in prolonged submarine navigation, and in longdistance transportation by road and by air.

•e

-.... ..

m

,, my

Hf!

I

• I

-·•a 0 C

.2 .3

0 ,

AZ

.:==::::_: ·••···

.......

0

·:;:::.:.:.. ········· ···•···

~

..... •-E

--• -....... 0

a.

0

0

...•

.I:! 0 C

.2 +0

.§

~

~28 Beyond time As to what I learned personally from my experience, I can only repeat that if I survived the difficult conditions in which I had voluntarily placed myseH, it was mainly due to my will power, my passionate resolve to see the thing through, and not disappoint my collaborators nor lose my self-respect. I was not out to break a record; it was not a physical exploit that I intended to bring off; it was an experiment with scientific aims that I wanted and was determined to perfo1n1, come what may. Years ago an American classmate ironically repeated a folk saying that children two generations ago were made to copy in their exercise books: 'Where there's a will, there's a way." I memorized it, for I sensed behind the words age-long experience. In my case, that simple buth was certainly proved more than once. And if other young fellows plan to embark upon an adventure such as mine, I can only advise them-at the risk of sounding like an old fogeyto school themselves daily in seH-control, which is a fo1m of will power. Will power plays a part as important as, if not more than, the careful choice of equipment and a rigorous course in physical training. I would tell young upirants that, armed with this weapon, you can do a great deal; you can do anything.

About the Author

Michel Suire, although only twenty-three years old at the time of his experiment in the glacial Scarasson Cavern, had already explored more than 150 caves, starting when he was just ten years old. At the age of thirteen, he had already made an important geological discovery, and at seventeen he was in charge of a naval mission. In 1g6o ( at nineteen), he headed a geological expedition to Ceylon, where he had to fight for his survival against animals and natives who called him the "demon of the caves." At the age of twenty-two, he was in charge of a mission to Marguerais, where at a depth of 375 feet he discovered a glacier now called the Glacier of Scarasson.