NO PICNIC IN PARVATI

The First Ascent of Kulhi Eiger

GRAHAM E. LITTLE

I READ THE Fax in disbelief :

'Government of India has not accorded clearance to your expedition to Gupta peak."

With only two days to go before our departure to India, how could they do it?

With all our planning geared up for a trip to Kishtwar we were now faced with either cancelling the expedition or a switching to an alternative objective and area at ridiculously short notice (and of course obtaining permission for the revised objective!). All seemed doomed but, if nothing else, mountaineering breeds optimism and we decided to keep the show moving.

The impossible was achieved through a combination of pulling strings, asking favours and sheer determination.

'Think of a new objective, Graham", Jim Lowther urged.

'Kullu Eiger would be good one. I saw it in 1985 - fantastic north face!"

'Where is it?"

'Well up the Parvati valley - beautiful walk - beyond Pando bridge"

'Has it been climbed?"

'I don't think so"

Colour plate 4

The other two members of the team, the mature John Finlay and the youthful Scott Muir, both Himalayan virgins, are oblivious to the last minute change of plans and anyway Kishtwar and Kullu both begin with 'KM So with Gupta peak ruled out and Kullu Eiger substituted on our T-shirts, off we go!

Sadly, memories do not keep pace with reality and it is a much changed Manali that our bus pulls into after hours of crawling along the banks of the Beas river, where recent floods have seriously damaged the road. On the positive side, we renew our friendships with the ever smiling Pasang and Prakash Bodh, companions from two successful Indian/British expeditions.

From the roadhead at Manikaran, a sort of flawed Shangri la with a full compliment of Sikhs, shrines, saris, sacred cows, hot springs and Sadhus, we trek up the Parvati valley. Initially we follow a part-completed road, described as being 'under construction' on a map of 1974 vintage!

The second day of the walk-in provides ample evidence that the Parvati valley is now suffering the early ravages of commercial forestry, with organised mechanical extraction having an impact that the timber needs of the local inhabitants could never inflict.

Although well after the 'official" end of the monsoon, the rain pours from a grey sky and the path becomes a trail of glutinous mud. As we gain height the temperature drops and the flimsy, soaking clothes that our porters wear offer no protection against the bone penetrating cold. We weather a couple minor revolts but a crisis situation develops at Pando bridge when the dispirited, near hypothermic porters, stand around in shivering groups, unwilling to erect their now sodden tents. Jim and I construct a big shelter out of the base camp tarpaulin, Scott distributes slabs of Kingshouse flapjack which together with a big brewing session combat the cold and put new life into the expedition.

Base camp lies on a flower decked pasture footing the north of Kullu Eiger, just beyond a character building wade across the river issuing from Glacier II. Although the mountain is still swathed in thick cloud we sense its presence. The porters waste no time and as soon as they are in possession of a thick bundle of Rupees, head down the valley like a straggle of refugees.

In best melodramatic fashion, the summit wedge of Kullu Eiger is revealed through a rent in the clouds, incredibly close, yet impossibly high. Although by Himalayan standards, at 5664 m, it is a modest mountain, the north face towers 2000 m vertically above base camp, the foot of the face but a stones throw from our tents. The north face is our choice of route, on the basis that if the mountain has already been climbed it will have been by an easier line!

The local shepherds, who graze large flocks of sheep and goats on these high summer pastures, are quick to pay us a social call. Before long we have bought part of the carcass of a freshly slaughtered three legged sheep. Some determined mastication confirms that it is definitely mutton not lamb!

Having brought only 300 m of fixed rope with us, we plan to fix the 'First Band' and then go Alpine from there. A long scramble, takes us to the base of the steep, slabby wall. Although the rock is excellent granite, most of the cracks and ledges are vegetated, requiring a hybrid/summer/winter technique to make progress - not dissimilar to Arran climbing! The fourth pitch, a long twin cracked groove, would have been three stars without the turf! Scott and I alternate the lead wearing rock boots and carrying heavyish sacks, whilst Jim jumars after us shouldering a sack that would cripple a donkey. In this surprisingly efficient mode we run out 250 m of rope, our overall height gain being well gauged by the miniature size of base camp directly below. A swift abseil descent and in a remarkably short time we wander back into base camp to enjoy a welcome bowl of subjee and dal feeling well pleased with the day's efforts.

The following day we clamber up the initial boulder fan by the light of our headtorches. A gruelling jumaring session then ensues. From the top of the in situ ropes we fix one more pitch and narrowly escape being wiped out by a large falling block. Under the weight of our crushing sacks, we scramble and zigzag up a series of vegetated ledges towards the 'Mini Icefield'.

Although I'm not a wild enthusiast for things botanical back home, I find that flower appreciation is an integral part of Himalayan expeditions. The ungrazed ledges that we traverse are thick in a rich variety of plants, including the extra terrestrial looking Saussurea Simpsoniana (a cross between an explosion of purple candyfloss and the small very hairy creature from the Adam's Family). In any case, looking at flowers is a great excuse for a rest!

We discover and improve upon a natural ledge where a toe of rock abuts the icefield. Although not exactly weatherproof it affords protection from falling stones and is just big enough for the three of us to lie down on. The views are outstanding!

'It's impossible to put a price on this experience,' Scott volunteers from the depths of his bivi bag. I know what he means. Popping a couple of sleeping tablets, I reflect that its been a good day for Friday the 13th!

The next day dawns grey and cloudy. Dumping some of the food at the first bivouac we traverse across to the start of the Smooth Slabs, our sacks still feeling ridiculously heavy for the technical terrain. Melt water runs down the slabs from the " Central Icefield' above and I get progressively damper as a number of promising lines turn out to be anything but. A diagonal line eventually proves the key. In deteriorating weather we cross the 'Central Icefield' and climb on to gain the small icefield above this that we have name 'The Mask'. The thick damp mist turns to drizzle with visibility is down to thirty metres. Our enthusiasm is at a low ebb. Damp and depressed we abseil and down climb, arriving back at the bivi ledge for a protracted brewing session and a review of tactics.

We decide to sit it out, hoping for an improvement in the weather. Our reward is a dramatic evening light display, strange tendrils of silver mist creeping down the mountain flanks and framing a large flying saucer shaped cloud with an underbelly glowing fire red from the rays of the unseen setting sun.

The dawn brings no shepherds delight, just churning grey clouds and heavy, wet snow. We lie ignoring it all for a couple of hours, until the melting snow pools onto our sleeping mats and starts to penetrate our bags. Scott and I simultaneously start to pack up and prepare to head down. From the depths of his Goretex cocoon Jim's disembodied voice enquires,

'Is there a change in the plans chaps?'

Scott and I start to descend!

As we squelch into base camp, I wrestle with those mixed emotions that speak of our weakness in bottling out yet praise the wisdom of a prudent retreat. Prakash thrusts a mug of hot chai into my hand washing away all lingering doubts.

Over the next couple of days Scott, the human dynamo, lies groaning in his tent, struck down with a serious infection. The very dubious weather also demonstrates that base camp is only the place to be!

For our second attempt we agree that a drastic weight saving strategy is required if we are to make swift progress and enjoy the weather window when it arrives. Perhaps taking only one Mountain Gemini tent and ditching our sleeping bags is a bit too radical! Jim surreptitiously also packs his bivi bag.

Our alarms shatter the silence of the night. By 5 a.m. we are heading up the hill, with envious (and ensuing) thoughts of the base camp team warm in their down embrace.

From the start I feel very weak and Jim and Scott soon pull ahead of me. After ten minutes I slump onto a boulder feeling like death. My brow is wet with perspiration despite the lack of exertion and the dawn chill. By the time I decide that I can't go on the other two are out of earshot and I'm forced to stagger my feeble way after them. It takes me over two and a half hours to reach the bottom of the fixed ropes as against less than one and half on previous occasions. They are all geared up and ready to go.

'I can't go on,' I groan.

They stare in disbelief. I urge them to continue. Jim suggests that we all go down. It is a real dilemma.

'OK, I'll give it a go and see how I feel'.

It's hard work but the slow rhythm of jumaring seems to suit my pathetic state and I plug away. It is late morning by the time we reach our bivouac of the first attempt. A welcome rest and a brew then we head on as the typical afternoon cloud wells up out of the valley.

The climbing rope that we left on the 'Smooth Slabs" is sheathed in ice, giving a taste of things to come. I call upon hidden reserves as I follow the lads up the 'Central Icefield" and on up to our high point on 'The Mask". Whilst Scott starts up the steep grooves above, I start to construct a tent platform out of shattered rocks, levelled off with gravel and snow.

Much to the amazement of us all, I follow Scott and go on to read the next pitch, a very awkward crack and groove streaming with water with desperate finishing moves. The weather is looking unsettled and Scott looks insecure. A frantic scrabble left and he's off, slamming back into the groove with a grunt and a curse. It is time to call it a day. We abseil down, complete the tent platform and pitch the Gemini.

Jim offers to make the brew, puts on his hideous fluorescent green bobble hat, then throws one of our two billy pans down the mountain. Scott and I exchange 'its better to humour him" glances.

Now the Gemini is a cosy tent for two but with the three of us crammed in sardine style it proves a restricting experience. Even with our combined body heat, the early morning chill numbs our toes and causes us to reflect (for the first but not the last time) on the wisdom of not bringing our sleeping bags.

A clear dawn encourages early activity and we stomp around on the frosted ledge, gazing longingly at the sun bathed slopes of the far side of the Parvati valley.

From our high point of yesterday, Jim leads a pitch then I climb on through. The cold and wet rock has been transformed by the addition an ice glaze and frozen moss. Rock boots are somehow not appropriate anymore! I lead a desperate pitch into an icicle fringed cave without crampons but from now on we are in our element, in full winter kit. The climbing is of the highest quality and Jim teeters his way up a brilliant, close on grade V, ice - drooling - groove to belay in the sun. The headwall towers above me, the sky is blue, there is no wind, I reach high to thump one tool into a thin straggle of vegetation (the highest bit on the face) - its just too perfect! The ice explodes around me, the glass shell that one tool and both crampons were embedded into is no more, an avalanche of shards crashing onto a cowering Scott in the groove below. In panic I crank up on the remaining placement, giving thanks to the God of flora.

I tie off the ropes on the 'Third Terrace" and solo up and around the corner to discover a perfect bergshrund bivouac with kitchen, toilet and tent platform potential. I couldn't have designed them better myself!

Although we've side-stepped the central challenge of the upper face it is obvious that the left hand side will be no pushover. Whilst Jim puts the finishing touches on our five star bivi, Scott muscles up a vertical groove and over an overhang to bag the best pitch on the route. Two more pitches and the angle eases back, the groove becoming a snowy ramp. Leaving our abseil ropes in situ for a quick start tomorrow, we join Jim for a splendid feast of soup, Tartex pate on oatcakes and curried macherel followed by butter shortbread, all washed down with mugs of fruit tea.

'This is better food than I eat in the flat', the impecunious Scott observes.

Unwilling to endure another night of intimate contact, Jim produces his contraband bivi bag and insists that Scott and I use the tent whilst he sleeps outside. We gain more space but sacrifice a lot of body heat!

The cold is intense and every hour we embark upon toe massaging therapy. I fantasize about my sleeping bag down at base camp.

The high peaks to the north glint in the crystal light of a perfect morning. Taking only outer shell gear and some food and water we commit ourselves to a summit day. The snowy ramp leads onto a narrow curving rock ledge footing a steep smooth wall. A swift push to the summit and back suddenly looks less likely. With diminishing faith, I follow the Gangway. At its termination, shattered steps and ledges lead down onto a straightforward snowfield. We've cracked it!

I'm down onto the snow first and with a surge of energy, I kick a long line of steps for 250 m, the three of us strung out on the two single ropes, until the shade of a small cave proves too tempting and I let the others join me. Jim takes over trail breaking and enters a shallow gully that cuts up through the band of decaying mica schist that caps the peak. At the top of this I cut away a nine inch thick layer of windslab, making slow upward progress to join the east ridge. The walk to the summit over mica mud and mushy snow patches is something of an anticlimax after the perfect granite of the north face.

The emotions of my last few steps towards the summit are as powerful as ever. I feel, with absolute certainty, that we are the first to take them on Kullu Eiger. I stop before the summit slab and let Scott enjoy the final privilege that is all the richer for the road we have taken. The cliche is true, the hard road is the one that leads to the sweeter destination. Jim joins us and we rejoice at the still point of the expedition and delight in a mountain panorama that is essential to the summit we tread.

We build a small cairn, take the obligatory round of photographs, then descend with great care via a combination of downclimbing and abseiling. Although reaching the tent by late afternoon, we decide to wait until the following morning to continue the descent. Sitting on a rib of rock we enjoy the slanting evening sunlight and delight in the sight of a perfect 'Broken Spectre" as mist wells up out of the valley.

Another toe numbing night is survived. A series of perfect abseils, without a single jammed rope, takes us quickly down the face. A short rest at the first bivi for a marzipan and Dundee Cake extravaganza and we carry on with shoulder bruising sacks.

Stripping as much hardware as safety will allow, we abseil down the 'First Band" to join a reception committee of John, Pasang and Prakash who, on spotting out descent with binoculars from base camp, have come up to meet us. This generous act is the perfect end to a most rewarding climb.

Scott conjures up a celebratory meal, including oysters and caviar, we drink a dram or two, then, with an acute sensual anticipation, head for our sleeping bags. Oh bliss!

Some days later, as I wander over high autumn pastures on my way down the valley, I think of my child soon to be bom. In Himalayan mountaineering we risk so much yet often fail to articulate, perhaps to even understand, our gain. I think of Paul Nunn and others who no longer live to share our passion. Is mountaineering just a selfish game or are we the better for its instruction ?

With sadness we part company from Pasang and Prakash. They head north to resume their family lives, we head south over the plains of India and then home.

SUMMARY :

The first ascent of Kullu Eiger, 5664 m, in the Parvati valley, Himachal Pradesh, India. The 2000 m high north face (vertical height) was climbed and the route named 'The Mask," at a grade of Alpine ED (El, A1 and Scottish V).

Scott Muir, Graham Little and Jim Lowther reached the summit at noon on the 21 September 1996.

 

⇑ Top