ATTEMPT ON NANDA KOT, 1939

H. FRANKS

In 1936 a Japanese expedition of six students succeeded in climbing Nanda Kot—the first known Climbers ever to reach the 22,530-foot summit. Their story is told in the Himalayan Journal of 1938 by Mr. Hotta. In 1939 Lieut. L. C. Lind and I made an attempt to scale the mountain, and though we failed by 500 feet, we felt that our efforts, under the circumstances, were not without some success.

The Japanese adopted the siege system a large party, a lavish outfit (sixty-six coolies and a large quantity of Japanese food), time limited only by the seasons, and above all that great asset in the Himalayas, Shrrpa porters. We, on the other hand, were two strong; we started out with sixteen Dhotial coolies and near Base Camp added six Bhutias; we had brought no Sherpas, a large proportion of our kit was improvised, and to a great extent we lived off the land. Finally, and what turned out to be the most important factor of all, 0111 time was strictly limited: the 'exigencies of the Service' demanded that we should be back in Almora by nth June. In fact, 'rush tactics' as opposed to 'siege tactics'.

On 11 th May we set out from Almora, and making our way through the beautiful foothills of Kumaon arrived at Rilkot on the 19th. Here we collected from Laspa the six Bhutia porters, atta, satu, and kerosene which Lind had arranged for previously. On 21st May we turned west from Martoli along the Lwanl Gadh, intending to establish Base Camp as high as possible. However, a mile out of Martoli a blinding snow-storm smote us and put us two days behind schedule. We established Base Camp half a mile from the foot of the glacier that descends from the north slopes of the Nanda Kot massif. Here we reorganized loads and set off, with eleven coolies, up the glacier. The eleven coolies left in Base Camp were to replenish the camp with atta and firewood from Martoli.

We pitched Camp I at the head of the glacier below an ice-wall at what we estimated to be 15,000 feet. The coolies seemed very comatose, would eat nothing and piled into bed, while Lind and I pitched tents and saw to gear. The ice-wall above the camp was a fortuitous barrier against the snow avalanches which thundered down throughout the night from the northern ridges.

Next day the Patwari announced that some of the coolies were sick and could not go on, so Lind and I with four chosen men set out to reconnoitre. After a demonstration in step cutting we told the four coolies to make a route on the lowest slopes while we went up 1,500 feet and completed the step-cutting higher up. We then decided on the route we would take to the rocky ridge above us, where we would establish Camp II next day. There was a lot of ice on the route and, lower down, several difficult crevasses, and in one place we would have to cross directly beneath a hanging wall of snow—a potential avalanche—but with the route prepared for 1,500 feet the going ought to be fairly rapid.

May 25th. We rose at 5.30 a.m. to find another brilliant day, the temperature 18° Fahrenheit. Leaving one coolie and the 40-lb. tent behind we set off up our 1,500 feet of cut steps. At the foot of the ice slope the going appeared too difficult for the coolies so Lind and I started up to test it slow and careful work. We had climbed a bare 100 feet when there was a roar, and snow, ice, and rock, luckily only in small amounts, hurtled down towards us from the hanging wall above. We derided that we could not risk so difficult a route with the added danger of avalanche, so returned to the coolies and the only alternative route, to descend, manoeuvre round a wide crevasse and traverse left to a stiff pitch of avalanche snow. In spite of the fairly secure footholds the grade was too steep to preclude cutting steps, so kicking and cutting, we ascended some 500 feet to rock—the base of the rocky ridge where we hoped to make Camp II. It was bad rock, coming away at the lightest touch and, after scrambling the first few feet, we used ropes, Lind and I, with a rope each, ascending and then belaying, while the coolies made their way first to the head of my rope and then on again to the head of Lind's rope, what time I made my way a rope's length above Lind again. Thus relaying, we succeeded in climbing about 300 feet, and at 4 p.m. decided to make camp.

We sent seven of the coolies back to Camp I and kept three picked men. The returning coolies were chary of returning on their own, but fortunately were ably led by our head Bhutia, whose simple motto 'Kismet ki bat hai' enabled him to face life or death with equal serenity. We owed a lot to the willingness and ability and energy of Jagu. We and the three remaining Dhotials then went up a little way and made rope-holds along the more difficult bits of rock above us in readiness for the morrow, leaving our three 50-foot ropes belayed to firm rocks hanging down the mountain side. Returning we put up our tents, which seemed to be perched on most precarious positions. Just before sunset we saw the seven coolies arrive safely in the camp below. A series of domestic tragedies started here with the losing of our one and only dekchi, which gave us the slip and slid away down towards Camp I, swiftly followed by one of our two mugs! We found a coolie's lota a poor substitute for the dekchi as it only gave us half a mug of tea at a time. The three men with us, Patwari, Parbat Singh, and Namonia, seemed tired but happy, and we felt we had picked three good men.

Next day after tea and aspirins—we all had headaches—we broke camp. We had found that the tents leaked a bit, and our blankets were thinly coated with snow which had fallen during the night. Lind started out first to reconnoitre while the coolies took the loads in relays up the ropeway; I came up last with the ropes to find the kit all stacked on a ledge. The rock was better and we were able to take the loads up, in relays, without the use of the rope, for some time, till we reached bad rock and the ropes were required again. It was late by the time we arrived at the foot of a steep snow ridge, too steep for setting up tents, so we decided, as we were all feeling tired, to camp on the junction of the snow and rock. Lind and I hewed away the rock while the coolies collected loose flat stones to make a firm base. After two hours we had made two platforms and put up our tents, reckoning we were at about 18,500 feet, 1,000 feet above Camp II. We were safe from avalanches here, but we felt sure that it would not need a very strong wind to blow down the tents or dislodge the platforms when, cold and tired, we turned in, only to find our limited ration had been shortened by a complete tin of treacle having broken open and oozed into the kitbag, leaving the tin as empty as space! We had by now a regular camp routine— I made the beds, while Lind lit the primus and cooked snow—a cold, lengthy job, demanding the utmost patience. The coolies would then cook the chapatis for us in their tent, while we got into our tent, took off our boots and knocked the snow off them, another cold and much-disliked job. We would then have supper in bed and spend the rest of the night trying to keep warm.

May 27th. Patwari woke us at seven to announce the coolies were ill and could not go on; we did not feel too good ourselves, so distributed aspirins all round and tried to stay in the sun and keep warm—the first day of rest we had had since leaving Almora. We spent the day drinking innumerable lotas of tea and discussing plans. We decided that next day we would leave one tent here and take only our own tent, rations, and bistra up to Camp IV, the coolies would return to Camp III, and next day Lind and I would make for the summit. At midday a strong gale started to blow and snow fell. The sun gave up the unequal contest and we found it difficult to keep warm; we hoped the gale would blow itself out before next morning as time was too short for us to waste another day in camp. We wondered how Camp I was faring, for that morning we had seen an immense avalanche rush down the mountain and, leaping the ice-wall, go bouncing over the single tent, hiding it from our view with a spray of snow. We had stood petrified until the spray cleared, and thankfully we saw that the tent still stood.

That night was cold and stormy and the next morning still blew hard though the snow had stopped. Taking down the tent and dividing out all the loads for Camp IV was difficult in the bitter cold. With the help of Patwari and Parbat Singh—for Namonia had announced himself hors de combat—four loads were ready at last, our numbed hands battling with rope knots.

By the time we had finished light snow had turned to a blizzard, and the wind was violent. The coolies huddled in their tent—Lind and I ascended a little way to see how the going was, but visibility was almost nil—it was obvious we could do nothing till the storm blew over. The snow ridge was treacherous for beneath the snow lay ice, and the top covering, though thick, was powdery and loosely packed, giving way at the slightest pressure. We returned and packed into the coolies' Meade tent. The men were cold and glum; one glance at Namonia told us what he thought about it all! After an hour our feet were numb; we took our boots off and massaged each other's feet, warming them slightly. A corner of the tent blew loose and had to be adjusted; finally Nature, not content with the devastation she had created, sent one sudden gust which tore a gaping rent in the tent. After a period of intense cold we managed to repair this with a rain sheet, and an hour later, with no sign of the storm abating, climbed wearily out into the cold again to put up our tent. The platform was snow-covered and had to be cleared and the wind fought to tear tent and blankets from our hands; the knots seemed like knots of steel. It was an hour of struggling before we eventually shut ourselves in from the storm, cold, wet, and discouraged, to face another night in Camp III. The storm had cost us another valuable clay and our chance of success seemed more remote than ever.

May 29th. The storm had at last blown over—it was still very cold. Namonia refused to work and lay huddled up, determined to appear as ill as possible. He certainly was sick, partly from mountain sickness but more from lack of food, as it appeared he was of different caste to the other two, and not allowed to cook his food inside the tent. As it had been impossible to cook outside he had just gone without, until thoroughly discouraged through weakness. Neither cursing nor cajoling were of the least avail so we left him bundled up in blankets, and got under way. It was obvious that going would be very slow, for the route was difficult and we were a man short. Once again we reconnoitred the icy ridge above but it was hopeless. At every dig the ice chipped away and the grade higher up became almost vertical, so we turned our attention to the rocky ridge. Thetop of this, where it met the base of the snow ridge, was covered in a slush of ice and loose rock; however, digging deep foot-holes we pushed on, then with our feet well embedded and as firm as possible, we belayed the ropes, one above the other, so that the coolies could bring the four loads up in two relays. We continued like this for about 150 feet, but it took a long time to cover even this short distance, for the coolies were working very slowly and needing long rests. The rock now merged into snow, and formed a single slope, and here we turned left, to climb the snow face and then reach the top of the snow ridge above us. This face was again very steep, with ice below the thin covering of snow. One large rock jutted out of the snow on which the coolies dumped the loads; above, the ice was steeper and impassable. Lind was traversing very slowly—the ice was still bad—but eventually reported better snow, and I joined him with a rope. We turned upwards and found it was now possible to kick our way up. The coolies found the traverse difficult and slipped several times to be saved by their grasp on the rope, but we succeeded in getting coolies and kit to the top of the ridge. We were now about 400 feet above Camp III but owing to the traverses, had covered a lot of ground, and taken six hours to do it. While the men rested we went a little way along the false crest of this ridge and turned upwards to find, 150 feet higher, a flat space beneath an ice-wall, cut off from the wall by crevasses. We went back, belayed at intervals, and eventually got the kit up to this area. The coolies then announced they were very tired and very sick and could not go on, and we decided that if we were to go on we would have to ascend several hundred feet to find anything resembling a possible camping ground—the coolies saw this too; they certainly had had a hard day's work and the height was obviously affecting them; we, too, were weary but perfectly prepared to go on if it was practical. However, it wasn't, so we made camp and sent the coolies back to Camp III with two of our three ropes to help them on their way, and orders to return two days later. The ground was ideally flat, and after levelling the snow we put up our tent and heated snow on a Meta stove inside. I had a splitting headache and increased my daily diet of aspirin to four—I reckoned that if I died on the mountain it would be from aspirin poisoning!

The sight of Nanda Devi from Camp IV was wonderful. From the immense walls that surrounded them, her twin peaks rose to firm pin-points of snow-covered rock and stood out starkly against the sky. A spume of snow blew from the western peak, and a black crow flying against the white background of the Nanda Kot shoulder added to the poetic beauty of the scene.

May 30th. After breakfasting on hot tea and raisins, we set off with lightened rucksacks. For the first two hours Lind cut steps the whole way up a steep snow-face, while I held him on the rope, an amazing piece of labour, and it was only on retrospection that I realized the amount of energy he must have expended in those 120 minutes of non-stop work. Disdaining my offers to take over, he carried on till we reached deeper snow. Here we—-or rather, he—rested for a while, then, still using the rope, we kicked our way up never-ending slopes, sometimes resorting to step-cutting to cover a stretch of ice. We then came to a precipitous slope, turned left to manoeuvre round some crevasses, and ascended another steep slope—more step-cutting. We rested on a false crest and then kicked our way to the top of a ridge, and, left again, to the main ridge of which Nanda Kot is the summit. Here we made a reconnaissance. The main ridge was broken here, and to get on to the higher ridge leading to the summit, we must ascend a vertical ice-wall, directly beneath which was a deep crevasse, with a narrow ledge between it and the wall. We then went over the ridge to explore the other side and found an immense snow-field at the far end of which steep slopes led up to the Nanda Kot ridge. It was late by now so we decided to return to camp, and next day we would scale the ice-wall and make for the summit, which we reckoned was 1,000 feet above. It was not till later we knew our calculation had been 1,000 feet short.

Still roped we made our way down the snow rapidly till we reached the series of steps we had cut at the beginning of the day. These had to be taken carefully and with firm belays as the footholds had become very icy; we reached camp to find Patwari and Parbat Singh had brought up the primus and kerosene; this left them nothing to cook with so they must be living on satu. We felt confident that, given good weather, we could easily climb to the point we had reached to-day, scale the ice-wall and go for the top. There was no time to establish another camp, as the next day was our last— we must descend on 1st June to be in Almora by 11th June.

May 31st. The bright sun and cloudless sky of the morning augured another fine day and we left early. The sight of Nanda Devi, her majesty shiningly revealed by the rays of the morning sun, thrilled us again. We wondered how the Polish expedition was faring. Roped, we made our way swiftly up the slopes by our old steps, and in two hours were at our ice-wall. I belayed Lind on a short-rope and directed him while he cut foot and hand holes. Half an hour's work saw us above the ice-wall on a slope leading to a knife-edge ridge. At the bottom the snow was good and we kicked our way up, but soon the snow thinned and it was precarious going, step-cutting to the near end of the knife-edge. On the left was a steep slope to the snowfield and crevasses below; on the right the wall was sheer to the head of the glacier; the top was a cornice overhanging the left side. We made our way along this, astraddle, digging our ice-axes in deep ahead of us to warn us of any possible breaks—twice we had to step over small breaks. But in the middle of the knife-edge we were confronted with a yawning chasm, too wide to step over; the only alternative to go down and round it, a slow job, and then continue along the ridge. At last this came to an end: we descended to the snow slopes, and started to kick our way up the thick firm snow. By this time we were pretty tired, and after an hour or so we were moving with difficulty. By 4.30 we were dragging ourselves up a few feet at a time, half asleep with fatigue, with leaden feet. We reached a mound 500 feet below the summit, and I sank wearily to the ground, and hauled up the rope that had been trailing behind me. Lind was looking at the summit in a very morose way; I assured him that I at any rate couldn't move another step upwards. We both looked long at the top and decided that, apart from our present condition, it would take two hours to reach it, for the final slope looked as though it were ice. Exhausted as this, it would be almost impossible to get over the knife-edge in the dark, if we were to go on now. Tired though we were, the feeling of deep disappointment seeped into our minds bitterly: we had failed in what we had set out to do. We had misjudged the height, as many have done before in the Himalayas, and our limited time had been diminished by a series of unfortunate incidents. It was with the greatest reluctance that we now turned our backs on our objective and started the long descent back. We roped at once and started down the snow slopes, shuffling, stumbling, and sliding.

Three days later we were at the Base Camp having picked up at Camp II a very welcome bag of mail which Major Foy had kindly sent on. In it was this letter from him:

Base Camp
Polish Himalayan Expedition

Your post was sent to us by mistake yesterday, so I am returning it by our porter. We watched your ascent and return on the Nanda Kot Col today with great interest and congratulate you on your splendid effort, regretting that time does not permit of your reaching the summit of Nanda Kot on this occasion.

Wishing you better luck next time and a safe return to Naini Tal. I have one patient, Dr. Bujak who is unfit to climb at all.

Yourg sincerely,
F. R. Foy.

P.S. I am sorry the blue prints were too late for you. Cheerio. S. Blake.

Best greeting from all. P. H. E.¹

¹ Polish Himalayan Expedition.

Six weeks later Dr. Karpinski and Mr. Bernadzikiewicz were killed on the Milam glacier shortly after two other members of the expedition, Dr. Bujak (who was 'unfit to climb at all') and Klarner, had succeeded in reaching the summit of East Nanda Devi, the original objective of the Poles.

On 3rd June we left Base Camp, and were in Almora on the 12th. Nine years have gone by since Lind and I made this attempt. The day before we parted we made plans in Almora, and discussed the outlines of a long-term Himalayan climbing scheme: next year, Trisul, to give us more experience on an easy peak; and thereafter Kanchenjunga, Kamet, Chomolhari, Nanda Devi, Nanga Parbat, and one day—why not?—Everest. Three months later Hitler put an end to all such plans and two and a half years later Hirohito broke up our team-—Lind, then Major L. C. Lind, M.C., The Kumaon Regiment and member of the Himalayan Club, was last seen brandishing an empty pistol at the oncoming Japs at Singapore, swearing at them with impotent fury and all the courage that had made him the great leader of our small, empiric Nanda Kot venture.

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