FROM KALINDI KHAL TO THE BHYUNDAR PASS

T. H. BRAHAM

I parted company with the Swiss Expedition on the top of the Kalindi Khal (19,510 feet) on 14th August. We had been together in the Gangotri region for two months. There had been a brief but inspiring view of Kamet and Mana peak from the top of the pass; but by the time I was ready to commence the descent into the Arwa valley at 8.30 a.m. a heavy mist had come up reducing visibility to a few hundred yards. Two Sherpas, Angtenzing and Thundu, accompanied me, and we were all pretty heavily laden.

The going was easy at first down gentle snow slopes below a 21,ooo-foot peak rising to the right; soon, however, care was required owing to the presence of a large number of crevasses. Grossing a steep 15-foot ice-gully in which steps had to be cut, we traversed to the left on to rocks and descended the rather crumbly slopes for the next 700 feet towards a badly broken, if level, glacier. We had to cut down about 100 feet of strep ice and overcome a few intricate crevasses before we sat down on the ice on the glacier at 11.30 for our meal. Thereafter the going was fairly straightforward, though we did not yet remove the rope owing to the badly-riven ice.

We arrived at the snout of the glacier within a couple of hours, and proceeded down the rocky bed of the valley on the left of the stream. It soon became apparent that we would have to cross to find a good camp-site, and in fording the torrent I contrived to lose my balance and got a thorough drenching in the icy water; however, once on the right bank, progress was rapid. In soaking clothes and facing a biting wind I raced down the valley to a good camp site at about 16,000 feet; it bore signs of having been used before.

It rained most of the night, and the next morning I awoke to the patter of rain on the tent roof. We struck camp at 7.15 a.m., and within half an hour were walking across the sandy bed of the now dry Arwa Tal. The weather was continuously bad throughout the day with heavy mists, a damp wind, and intermittent gusts of rain; the Arwa valley looked terribly wild under such conditions. We kept to the right bank of the main stream throughout but were constantly worried by small tributaries racing downwards from the numerous glaciers to the south (about six join the main valley, with the resultant heavy deposit of moraine debris). Towards its end, the Arwa valley narrows down to almost gorge-like width before turning into a broad level plain at its junction with the Saraswati. We reached Ghastoli that evening, and camped on a hospitable meadow across the river. It had taken us ten hours to cover about ten miles. It was a refreshing sight to see horses grazing nearby. Towards dusk, a solitary shepherd, who evinced much interest in our camp, passed by with his flock.

We reached Badrinath on 16th August. There I met Mr. Rao, the Transport Officer of the Swiss Expedition, who was awaiting the arrival of the party. I collected some welcome mail from the post office, and spent the next three days reorganizing and procuring the good things of life, such as were obtainable at the village. The pilgrim season was in full swing and the shops were full of activity. I engaged three Mana coolies for the next part of my journey. They were Netar Singh, who possessed quite a good chit from Smythe in 1937, Bal Singh and Inder Singh, two inexperienced but hardy lads who turned out to be very satisfactory during the next three weeks.

The weather took a sudden change for the better on my last day at Badrinath, and I was informed by the inhabitants that the end of the monsoon could confidently be expected in these parts by the third week of August; this information proved to be unduly optimistic. However, we set out for Pandukeshwar on 20th August, in brilliantly clear weather, making our 4,ooo-foot descent a hot one. Dozens of pilgrims were on the Badrinath road. Those toiling upward bore melancholy expressions of despair and seemed on the point of giving in; those on the return from their pilgrimage appeared no happier for their experience.

We reached Pandukeshwar shortly after noon. I had slight foot trouble so spent the day resting in the bungalow and feasting on the luscious, if green, peaches in the garden.

Early on the 22nd we set out, and leaving the main road after 1 ½ miles we crossed a rope bridge over the Alaknanda. The path up the Bhyundar valley plunges almost at once into dense vegetation and thick undergrowth. About half-way up the valley is situated the Sokpal Temple, and the path is consequently in fair condition up to this point; beyond a shepherd's track provides a satisfactory route almost to the head of the valley. It was a hot march—the Bhyundar river thundered down the narrow valley not far below. There were signs of cultivation at intervals and small groups of people were encountered. Flowers were numerous in variety but disappointing in extent and evidently past their bloom. We reached Bhyundar village in the afternoon and were at once surrounded by its inhabitants: the village comprises a small school, one or two cretins, and numerous goitre cases. Leaving the smells and dirt behind we rapidly made our way upwards, and camped at about 8,700 feet, in a small clearing beside a clear stream.

It was drizzling next morning as we followed the track which soon petered out into a hopeless tangle of undergrowth. After much time had been wasted in searching we came upon the crude bridge that leads across the river to its true left bank—two hours later we came upon open meadows, bestrewn with flowers or under crops. A solitary figure approached us and was delighted to exchange about 4 lb. of freshly picked potatoes for an empty Ovaltine tin. We crossed the river again and reached the large shepherds' habitation of Bhamini Daur where we were obliged to cross the torrent issuing from the Khanta Khal. A shepherd on the opposite bank was trying in vain to coax his sheep across; eventually they were driven in and reached the other side after a short but desperate struggle. The crossing-place was about 7 feet wide where two unbound bamboos had been placed on boulders at either end. Tenzing recklessly attempted to carry his 65-lb. load over, lost his balance, and fell into the torrent; he would certainly have been swept away if the shepherd had not managed to get his load off him at the right moment. The rest of the loads were hauled over on a rope and we crossed with extreme caution! Cold, and soaked by a persistent drizzle, we made Bhamini Daur, where two shepherds were sitting beneath a rock shelter smoking contentedly round a fire, and camped a little farther on where the valley extends into a vast grassy plain; there were huge flocks of sheep in the valley and it seemed to me that most of them busied themselves sniffing round my tent the entire night long.

Next day one of the shepherds, a jovial old man named Harak Singh who had spent twenty-one summers in this valley, led me to Joan Margaret Legge's grave, informing me that he had seen the accident in which she was killed eight years ago—the grave is situated in a beautiful spot commanding a splendid view up the valley. That afternoon we pitched camp at about 11,500 feet at the snout of the glacier near a solitary shepherd whom I questioned about the Bhyundar pass, as I lacked an adequate map; he informed me that the pass was in regular use by shepherds several years before, but it began to prove too dangerous for their flocks, so fell into disuse, and nowadays crossings were never attempted. He promised to accompany me on a reconnaissance next day.

Dunagiri from near Tapoban

Gamsali and Banke Glacier

There was no change in the weather and it was a damp, heavily clouded morning when Tenzing, Bal Singh, and I set out to find a way to the pass. My shepherd friend kept his word and joined us. A faint track on the true right of the glacier climbed the hill-side very steeply in a northerly direction, and in about two hours we stood 12,750 feet up on the dividing ridge overlooking a broad glacier; the shepherd assured us there would be a splendid view from here but the weather had deteriorated so much that our view was confined to the moraine-covered bed of the glacier 500 feet below. The general direction of the pass was pointed out to us and we were advised to wait for a break in the clouds which would reveal the pass itself. However, no break in the clouds came and we were to learn next day that the shepherd's indications were entirely misleading. We decided to return to camp along the glacier, cairn- ing a route for the morrow, to avoid the steep ascent with loads, and the shepherd flatly declined to follow us, saying he always avoided glaciers. Next day, 26th August, our cairned route took an hour to follow up and we then emerged on to ice which, though broken up, presented no difficulty. At the head of the glacier, where visibility was confined to a few hundred yards, we came to a definite disagreement about the route-the Mana men, in deference to the shepherd's reports, favoured a northerly route; Tenzing, who had always' his own notions about everything, was convinced the pass lay to the east. I compromised and plumped for an ascent of the slopes rising to the north-east above the glacier. Four and a half hours later, completely enveloped in cloud, we decided to camp at 16,500 feet. Our camp-site had evidently been used before; our tents were pitched on level platforms well preserved through the years, and we found empty containers of Ogden's Gold Flake and Fry's Cocoa.

Next day the weather had not improved at all and the Mana men looked rather pitiful, but we were away at 7 a.m. and three- quarters of an hour later we found ourselves at the top of the Bhyundar pass, 16,688 feet. Descent had to be cautious as the boulders were dangerously loose; on reaching the level ice a glacier was visible, distant and far below, issuing from the north face of Rataban. When we arrived at the brink of the level ice we were relieved to discover nothing worse than 40° slopes, leading down for a couple of hundred feet to easier ground. The Mana coolies, improperly shod, were justified in downing loads whilst Tenzing and I strapped on crampons and cut a staircase, and when this was ready the coolies, like the fine fellows they are, descended bravely in the steps, where a slip would have been impossible to hold. Without further difficulty we reached the level glacier; I considered the Bhyundar pass hardly a suitable place for shepherds—half-way down we found the remains of a sheep killed in a fall some years back.

That afternoon we pitched camp at 13,300 feet at the snout of the Banke glacier. Three shepherds, camped nearby at a place they called Chor Gar, sold me a sheep for Rs. 15. Its meekness affected me and I did not have the courage to witness the ceremonial slaughter by the coolies. Towards evening the weather showed signs of improvement and next morning, after a luxurious breakfast of liver and kidney, I set off up the river with Tenzing in brilliant sunshine.

We continued our ascent of the glacier along its left bank, and as we gained height the lovely peaks surrounding the Banke region appeared more and more impressive. Rataban, whose north face was now in full view, looked supurb across the glacier, and Nilgiri Parbat, an impressive sight from our low camp, was changing in aspect and increasing in loveliness as we drew nearer. We camped that afternoon at about 14,800 feet on a moraine belt above the Banke glacier. Directly opposite, two small tributaries issuing from a basin with Nilgiri Parbat at its head joined the main glacier, the left tributary sweeping down in a steep and difficult ice-fall. In the evening I climbed the slopes above our camp and was rewarded with a splendid view to the east, before the clouds rolled over at sunset.

The 29th August dawned cloudless, and Tenzing and I left camp at 6.30 to climb a rock peak to the north. In three hours and a half, after some very easy climbing up boulders and rocks, we reached the top (c. 18,000 feet). Above this sprang the small glacier which had kept our camp below so well supplied with water; this tongue of ice was evidently a western outlet of the great snow plateau lying high above the Banke glacier. The view was splendid. The main glacier sweeping upwards to the north-west is enclosed by a great dividing ridge along which lofty snow-covered peaks were visible; further view of the great divide and of the pass at its north leading to Mana was barred by a 20,ooo-foot snow-ridge close at hand to the west, which also obscured Kamct and Mana peak from our viewpoint. Just visible in the distance beyond the divide were Ghaukhamba and Nilkanta. Rataban in the south paled before Gauri Parbat looming up behind ; whilst a vast array of mountains rising close at hand in every direction under brilliant skies emphasized the splendour of this valley—truly the mountaineer's paradise, filled with accessible peaks of moderate height. Far away to the south-east could be seen Nanda Devi and Trisul, majestic in the distance. We spent an hour on the top: the whole scene filled me with regret that I must return to the towns and cities of our civilized world.

We went back to our camp at the snout of the Banke glacier that evening, and the following day we marched down to Gamsali along the delightful Sagar valley on a carpet of grass amidst sparkling streams. The road down the valley from Gamsali is in perfect condition, and the scenery is of surpassing beauty throughout and frequently enhanced by glimpses of distant snowy ranges. We passed many shepherds leading their flocks or camped by the wayside—the music of their bells, the bleating of the sheep, the cheery faces of the men, and the scented air of the forests are memories that will linger. Soon we were able to replenish our depleted stocks of food and enjoy better dinners round blazing camp-fires. The first evening we camped 4 miles below Malari, the second at Surai Thota; on the third day we reached Tapoban. From there we took the road to the Kuari pass, crossing it on 3rd September in dreary weather, with no view from the top. Thereafter, via Pa Pana, Ramni, Ghat, and Dungari we reached Ghaldam on 7th September. There, early next morning, I had my last glimpse of the High Himalaya when the mists lifted with dramatic suddenness and revealed Trisul and Nanda Ghunti, dazzling in the sunlight. At Baijnath on 9th September I said good-bye to the Mana men who had served me so well, and when they shouldered their packs to take the road, I boarded the bus to Ranikhet. It was good to return for a while to the more varied and indulgent ways of life, but I knew well that in a very few weeks I should be yearning once more for the high hills.

Note.—For maps see III. Swiss Garhwal Expedition, p. 18.—Ed.

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