SWISS HIMALAYAN EXPEDITION, 1949

RENE DITTERT

1. NORTH-EAST NEPAL
2. PYRAMID PEAK (23,370 feet)
3. TANG KONGMA PEAK (c. 20,500 feet)
4. ATTEMPT ON NUPCHU (c. 23,160 feet)
5. DZANYE PEAK (c. 20,800 feet)
6. RETURN TO NEPAL

 

 

On 18th March we left Switzerland by air for the Himalayas for the second successive year. Thirty hours later, in Calcutta, where the heat was terrific and the humidity intense, I picked up Rahul, who had been our liaison officer in Garhwal three years earlier. We went up to Darjeeling to enlist our Sherpas, several quite young but full of go and goodwill, with a leavening of older and well-tried men. We took on Pasang Lama as contractor and enrolled 200 coolies to carry our 4 tons of equipment and stores to base.

Returning to Calcutta via Kalimpong we disposed of the numerous diplomatic formalities attendant on our entry to north-east Nepal. This was a great relief, because in 1948 permission for Dhaulagiri had been refused us.

A dock strike delayed our stores in Colombo for three weeks, during which time the remaining members of our expedition joined us. These were Mme Annelies Lohner and Alfred Sutter of the 1947 Garhwal expedition, together with Dr. Wyss-Dunant of Geneva and two guides from Grindelwald, J. Pargatzi and A. Rubi.

It was not until 1st May that we were able to set out from Darjeeling, although to save time our stores and equipment had been specially packed in Europe in 66-lb. coolie loads, all ready for transportation. By 10th May we had reached Dzongri, half-way to our intended base camp on the Kangchenjunga glacier. Two more stages took us over the Kang La, 16,680 feet, into Nepal and down to Tseram—leading several cases of snow blindness. Thence over the trying Mirgin La to the Char Chu valley and Kunza, with Jannu, the inaccessible 25,294-foot giant, towering up on our right hand. The next halt was at the hamlet of Kangbachen; the Vale of Kang- bachen, though politically in Nepal, is ethnographically Tibetan. In fact only ninety years ago this part of Nepal was actually part of Tibet. The nineteenth day from Darjeeling found us at our base, Lhonak.

Here we established ourselves on a small alp, sheltered from the persistent west wind, between the Tsisima torrent and the moraine of the Kangchenjunga glacier.

After a few days' rest two reconnaissance groups set out to find what this vast region, much of it unexplored, could offer us in the way of possible ascents. One party, Mme Lohner, Sutter, and Rubi, went north towards the Chabuk La on the Nepal-Tibet frontier to explore the triangle Drohmo, 23,300 feet, Jonsong peak, 24,416 feet, and Nupchu, c. 23,100 feet.

Pargatzi and I, with six Sherpas, went off in the opposite direction to examine the Ramtang glacier and the approaches to Kangbachen, 25,927 feet. We crossed the Kangchenjunga glacier and climbed over coarse dry grass alongside the Ramtang to a bivouac at 16,200 feet. Next day we crossed to the left bank and came to a semicircle of seracs averaging some 1,600 feet in height. The ice-fall was broken by a ledge, while the upper terrace was dominated by the immense sheer 6,ooo-foot face of Kangbachen, with its almost sheer flanks and its threatening hanging glaciers.

Uncertain of finding a site higher up, we camped at about 18,000 feet. It was unbearably hot inside the tent and the light was dazzling, but the moment the sun disappeared it froze hard, and that night the thermometer registered about 5 degrees Fahrenheit.

We left camp at about 8 a.m., intending to climb to the upper terrace, but on reaching the lower ledge we found that the only possible route was by way of a narrow couloir swept by avalanches and falling seracs. It would be dangerous, and for laden porters the risk would be unjustifiable, the more so because of their complete trust in us.

In any case access to Kangbachen from this side would be extremely problematical, even after reaching the higher terrace. This leads south-west to a col and from there up a steep-crevassed snow-slope lo the lowest point of the summit ridge. The ridge itself is about 2 miles long and, rising from 23,000 to 26,000 feet, presents a serious handicap, doubled by the difficulty of having to be sure of a retreat in case ol bad weathei Al the same time there seemed to be no technical difficulties.

We then returned to Lhonak.

 

 

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Situated on the main arête of the Nepal-Sikkim frontier, Pyramid peak is a colossal mountain; ii i one of the loveliest in this portion of the Great Himalayan i mp.

Two previous attempts had been made, the first in 1926 by C. R. Cooke, Spencer Chapman, and J B. Harrison, who, after ascending the Sphinx (22,890 feet), derided that the length and difficulty of the north-east arete were too great to be tackled then. In 1939 two Germans, Paidar and Sclunadrrrr, with Grob, the Swiss, established a camp on the Langpo La with t he intention of following the arete to the summit of the Pyramid itself. But the monsoon forced them to relinquish their plan. These two attempts were from bases in Sikkim.

On 27th May we left our Base Gamp and Pargatzi and I went ahead to fix camps at Pangpema and Pangpegorma. Returning to Gamp I, we rejoined Sutter and Dr. Wyss; Mme Lohner stayed at base as liaison and supply officer. A. Rubi, much to our regret, had to go back to Europe suffering from insomnia, a badly sunburnt face, and nervous exhaustion.

Again we made the wearisome ascent of the labyrinthine Ginsang glacier to Gamp II on the West Langpo. After tea I went to ferret out a possible way through the seracs.

Next morning, in perfect weather, we started off through these strangely shaped ice-blocks and, thanks to my tracks of the previous evening, quickly attained a plateau which led us towards the steep faces of the Pyramid and the Sphinx. The Langpo La here forms a deep breach in the frontier ridge. We pitched Camp III there at about 21,000 feet, half burying the tents in snow to protect them from the wind. In front of us, 2 miles away, towered the Pyramid.

All night and all next day it blew and snowed and the temperature was below freezing-point. I had a bad headache and Gyalgen, the head Sherpa, managed to get himself drunk on methylated spirits! After a second tempestuous night it dawned clear, but the wind was so violent that we shifted the tents some 600 feet lower, and went down to Camp II to recover from the effects of the forty-hour storm.

The bad weather persisted until 4th June when, after a quiet night at the foot of the Langpo La, we managed to establish Camp IV on the north-eastern spur of the Sphinx at close on 22,000 feet. Three Sherpas, Gyalgen, Arjeeba, and Dawa Tondup, stayed with us, while Sutter took the others back to the Langpo La, while Pargatzi and I prepared tracks as far as the summit of the Sphinx. The view was superb. Orange-tinted mists drifted through the clear thin atmosphere and Everest, Makalu, and Lhotse stood out clearly on the western horizon. Sparkling peaks which stretched around us as far as the eye could see were a striking contrast to the sombre valleys.

We were up early that 6th June as there was a heavy day ahead of us. Unfortunately Dr. Wyss decided not to accompany us but to await our return at Camp IV. Even before leaving one of us had to take off his boots to rub his icy feet. Danger of frostbite, of course, is serious at these altitudes. The blood thickens and darkens and the number of red corpuscles decreases by about 9 millions to the cubic mm. at about 22,000 feet. Circulation to the extremities is so slow that they become cold quickly and are very hard to warm up again.

We left camp at 7 and climbed quickly to the Sphinx in the tracks we had made. We had to lose 350 feet of height in order to get to the col from which the north-east arete leads to the summit of the Pyramid. We had hoped to reach this ridge quickly, but high cornices forced us down on to the fluted slopes above the West Langpo glacier. Gradually we worked our way back to the crest, only to be driven off it again by seracs. Mists crept insidiously over the mountain; the snow was heavy and balled in our crampons, making each step an effort. The slope became steeper, and on our right chunks of snow broke away and rolled down into the depths. Mercifully the mists hid the abyss from our sight, though from time to time a malicious gust of wind would lift the veil for an instant.

The gradient of the ridge was now about 55⁰, and again we were forced by cornices on to the almost sheer north face. All at once the pitch eased and we stood on the summit crest, about 80 yards from the top. We could hardly see it and were separated from it by a barrier of vertical spikes of frozen snow and ice. We would have had to have broken them down one after another—a titanic task at such an altitude, and it would have been a senseless undertaking as anyway the Pyramid had been conquered. We were overjoyed, despite the mist and storm which reminded us that we were at over 23,000 feet and that a mile and a half of arete separated us from our tents. The joy of conquering a Himalayan peak, however easy, always has to be paid for by hardship and fatigue. On this occasion the length of the climb and the distance covered, together with the scale of the difficulties we had encountered, had called for our utmost effort, and when we got back to camp we were all in. Our faces and nails were blue with exhaustion, and Dr. Wyss said we had reached the limit of our endurance.

Two days later, thirteen days after leaving Lhonak, we strolled into the Base Camp. The sky was blue, the earth was warm and fragrant with the scent of flowers, and the mountains were more splendid than ever. We were content.

 

 

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After four days' rest, Pargatzi and I again took the long trail up the Kangchenjunga glacier. Our immediate aim was to establish a camp as high as possible, from which we would reconnoitre the unknown region on the right bank of the glacier. This consists of a broad spur which stretches for some 6 miles from our Base Camp at Lhonak to the highest point—Drohmo, 23,300 feet. Sutter had already deemed the north and north-west faces inaccessible. We wandered about for hours and finally camped by a muddy half- frozen pool. No sooner were our tents up than it began to rain, and then to snow. This lasted sixteen long hours.

Early next day I went out to find the clouds riven asunder, with patches of blue sky showing through. Kangchenjunga looked cold and icy, and a heavy layer of snow covered the ground. Drohmo towered over 6,000 feet above us, and from where we stood we could see no promising approach. We worked obliquely along the mountain-side for two hours, and then, rounding a jagged, crumbling hump, we were astonished to see below us a deep little valley into which descended the glacier from the main ridge. We had found what we were looking for. By this route we would tackle Drohmo, and if, as I feared, we found it impracticable, we could transfer our attentions to another fine peak which rose from the same ridge on the other side of a snow-saddle.

We raced down the mountain, losing 3,000 feet in under half an hour, and fetched up, panting, in the meadow of Tang Kongma. Thanks to the torrent which roars down the valley, we found the exit between crumbling rock-faces. We gave the valley, peak, and glacier the same name—Tang Kongma, and so put this hitherto unknown spot on the map.

Three days later we returned and camped close to the glacier snout. Next day, after working through high ice-towers, we forced the ice-fall that gave access to the upper terrace. From here it was evident that Drohmo was unattainable, and we at once decided to tackle the Tang Kongma peak next day.

We established Camp II at about 18,000 feet and started off at 6 a.m. On the first rope were Sutter and Pargatzi, with Mme Lohner, while Dr. Wyss, Pasang, and I were on the second. The firm snow enabled us to move quickly and easily. We went straight up the pitches below the summit, by-passed a high serac, and then broke through on the summit crest. We reached the top at 10 o'clock. At last we had achieved a Himalayan ascent which was not killing, and which gave us a chance to enjoy to the full the unsurpassable view. Everest, Makalu, and Lhotse first drew our gaze, but many other peaks, less in stature but no less beautiful, enthralled and intrigued us. An endless chain of nameless peaks ran along the Tibetan frontier, an unknown and fascinating world which we counted ourselves fortunate to have chosen for our activities during the weeks to come.

One last look around, and we started down in the now dangerous soft snow on our way back to Base Camp. So we left the valley of Tang Kongma, with its glacier and dream peak, which had remained inviolate throughout the ages.

 

 

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Our activities on and about the Kangchenjunga glacier having come to an end, we could now turn our attention farther north, where the Nepal-Tibet frontier range is far less affected by the monsoon than the Nepal-Sikkim border range. This is by reason of the height of the latter, which checks the monsoon clouds so that each succeeding chain of peaks is less affected as one proceeds north. In addition to this the winds sweeping down from Tibet too play their part. We thus avoided the monsoon conditions which had already become evident at Lhonak in the shape of strong winds, higher temperatures, and heavy showers.

From Tang Kongma peak we had studied the topography of this region, and then and there tunned our plans for the next fortnight. It took a couple of days to rearrange the loads, with a continuous bustle between the various camps Valuable help came from Khunza in the shape of five Yaks which carried double loads up to Camp I.

On the morning of 20 th June, leaving our Base Camp, we crossed the sand flats of the Tsisima and tackled the great frontal moraine of the Lhonak glacier, and then continued on up the right hand of the glacier to a small tarn, where we camped. The second day's march along the glacier was most unpleasant, but gradually the clouds thinned, the sky became clearer and over Tibet it was blue. The mountains gradually appeared, but only one had a name— Chabuk. Opposite the camp and parallel to the glacier rose a powerful cliff, the lowest breach in which was the Chabuk col.

We began our reconnaissance next morning and crossed the glacier to the base of the rotten cliff. Though we chose a route sheltered from stone chutes, nevertheless missiles whistled past our ears. But we safely reached the col. Then are two different worlds, on either side of the frontier divide. On the one side crystalline mountains with jagged ridges and raggrd slopes; on the other a region of rounded massifs, old, worn mountains copper hued, weather- eroded, swept by the unceasing west wind-Tibet.

We left one tent and some equipment, and went down to rejoin our friends at Camp II. Next day we all climbed to the wind-swept saddle. The descent on the Tibetan side was steep, through coarse loose snow, which entailed making deep tracks. We pitched Camp III above the Chabuk glacier at about 18,200 feet. The site, immediately below the pyramid Chabuk, seemed all right, but the harsh Tibetan climate soon made itself felt.

On 25th June we left Mme Lohner and Dr. Wyss to await our return at Camp III. Before us, across the glacier, rose Nupchu in a clear sky. The north-east spur was too long to consider, so we decided to try the south-west ridge, which was much shorter. The base of the mountain is encircled by a sheer el iff, crowned with a great wall of seracs and a hanging glacier which we planned to reach by working up the ledges and slabs. Camp IV was pitched on a stony slope close to this first rampart.

We struck camp early, leaving only a couple of tents standing; a long traverse over treacherous rock led us to an exposed couloir. Here each European took a Sherpa on his rope. Aug Dawa was sick and unwillingly went back to camp. Our porters behaved admirably, though before long we got into a danger zone where we were exposed to bombardment from stone falls and avalanches. We by-passed the seracs and reached the hanging glacier. The sun was scorching, and it was unpleasantly hot. We were once more over 20,000 feet, and panted towards a saddle where we pitched Camp V at 21,700 feet, just below the ridge leading to the summit. Later we climbed up to the crest: the sun was setting and the light was softened by mist. In the deep valleys to the south we could see the heavy monsoon clouds moving sluggishly towards us like a dark rolling sea. Impressed, we hurried back to camp, knowing that when the shadows reached us it would be bitterly cold.

All night the tent was battered by the wind, and the sun rose late. We left at 7 and climbed quickly to the crest which we hoped to follow to the summit; but we found it would not go, crowned as it was by a series of fragile cornices, and we had to make our way along the north face some yards below the actual crest; we were clinging like flies above an immense abyss, and for hours on end cut a path with our axes along the fluted face. The packed snow was excellent for climbing, a factor essential on slopes so steep as to necessitate making handholes to help keep our balance.

About 20 feet from the crest we thought we were safe, when suddenly a sinister crack rent the air. Above me I saw the ridge subside, and wondered if I was dreaming or drunk, but realized it was an actual fact when about 160 feet of the huge cornice broke off and crashed down the north face. Great blocks of snow rolled over and disappeared from view beneath our feet, leaving us petrified with fright, although still on the ridge. We carried on, though for some minutes we were badly shaken. The traverses became more exposed, and the gradients even steeper, but we at last managed to cross the crest of the ridge, thereby conquering the first of Nupchu's bastions. The gradient became steeper still, and then we reached a small ledge where we could rest for a while. We were utterly weary after six hours of nervous tension at a benumbing attitude. In the distance the clouds surged slowly towards us. I looked round this world of tremendous mountains, and the imperishable picture will always be with me. I shall remember to the end of my days the sun lighting up the mountains and the seas of mist in which light and shadow strive for mastery; I could sense Everest and Makalu screened by the clouds, while the great Tibetan plain stretched far away until lost to sight in the haze. We dreamed for an hour and then started off again. One hundred and fifty feet up was a rocky saddle where we hoped the difficulties would be at an end. But what a disappointment—the mountain was steeper than ever, even more exposed—the whole west face was one great precipice. It became more and more risky and we had not the strength to carry on the bitter struggle. It had taken us many hours to gain less than 1,000 feet even. We decided the difficulties were too great. Personally I have never spent such a long time above so stupendous an abyss—nor have I ever traversed such steep slopes.

Though defeated we were satisfied that we had given of our best. Slowly and gradually we climbed down in the steps we had made, and at last reached safety, grateful that we were not lying somewhere at the foot of a precipice.

Our reverse had once again proved to us that in the Himalayas the ridges are too long and too narrow, and the cornices too dangerous: only mountains that are easy of access can be attempted with any chance of success.

 

 

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After our efforts on Nupchu we felt we had earned a day off. A little earlier each day the sun was coveted by the monsoon clouds from the south, and day by day the weather became more threatening.

Sutter and I decided to have a look at the Dzanye lake, about a thousand feet below. A strange place: death-bed of several glaciers, which break into enormous chunks under the tremendous pressure of their own weight, shattering the silence with their death throes. There were patches of jade-green water here and there, breaking the thin layer of ice that covered the lake, and in the soft evening light it looked like a pastel of unspeakable melancholy.

We returned to camp, having decided to attempt the peak which commands the east side of the lake.

On 30th June the skies weir heavy and the early mists clung to the frontier ridges, lint it was out last chance, lor our stores were all but finished and we must perforce turn south to Lhonak next day. So we set olF, and on reaching the glacier put on our crampons. Thefrozen snow was conducive to last climbing as we wound our way through seracs and across half-hidden crevasses. Our first objective was a wide col where the mists around us were thinned by a hail blizzard which lashed our already painful faces. The weather was foul, but it got no worse, and once on the col we and our four Sherpas were all glad of a rest.

We took it in turns to lead. The monotonous whiteness all around wearied our eyes. The gradient increased and we saw the bluish tinge of the ice-belt above us. We found a vulnerable spot where a vertical cone of frozen snow adhering to the ice would enable us to reach the next pitch. Pargatzi, wielding his ice-axe, hacked and cleared a way for us. We continued through melted dangerous snow, steadying and helping the Sherpas. An hour later, the obstacle overcome, we saw the peak itself quite close at hand through a gap in the clouds. We congratulated Mme Lohner on her achievement, an ascent from camp to summit of about 3,000 feet in deplorable weather conditions.

We were indeed fortunate to have been able to climb this peak in the now definitely established monsoon. We got back to camp ten hours after we had left it; the weather was still foul. Separated as we were from our Base Camp, it was imperative that we should return to it next day before things got worse. Indeed, on 1st July, the Chabuk La greeted us with a snow-blizzard. The descent on the south side, over verglas-covered rocks and in piercing cold, was most unpleasant. For our heavily laden Sherpas the steepness was punishing, but they were surprisingly sure-footed. They too were well aware of the danger and lost no time. The snow lashed us and we were soaked as we struggled against it, but at last we reached the shelter of our tents at Camp II.

When we continued our journey next day the rain had stopped and a few rays of sunlight filtered through the clouds. By the left- bank moraine of the Lhonak glacier we marched through green dales covered in white and yellow edelweiss, forget-me-nots, anemones, rhododendrons, asters, roses, and fragrant mint. The clear streams meandered between granite rocks, in the shelter of which grew primulas, blue and yellow. These were dream valleys.

 

 

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After a few days' minor reconnaissance of the Tsisima basin, we finally quitted Lhonak on 18th July. We hired twenty-four yaks to help carry our ton and a half of stores and equipment to Khunza. These yaks transported two loads of 66 lb. each, securely strapped on either side.

Four days later, at Khunza, we picked up coolies for Taplejong on condition that they received anti-malarial treatment. On 24th July I started after my friends, who had gone ahead, leaving me to settle the transport details with Lama Terang, a most valuable helper, who carried out his jobs with a rare tact and diplomacy. I recommend him to anyone who goes to Khunza as a charming, courteous, and scrupulously honest man.

While his four yaks were being loaded, Gyalgen and his wife, who was completely inebriated, raised a chorus of noisy protests complaining that they had been left the heaviest loads, and threatening me. This individual terrorized the whole neighbourhood and, we were told, not only had he stolen from two Americans, but threatened the lives of the entire family of a young village belle who had refused to marry him. A very undesirable type, and we were glad to get rid of him two days later.

We followed the river, and then branched off up a side valley towards the Nango La, which we had to cross to reach the Zari Chu valley, for the daily torrential rain had broken down the banks and bridges, and made it impossible Ibr us to follow the shorter route taken by Dr. Wyss a fortnight earlier.

Our stage that day was very short, and our tents were pitched before the rain came down at i .30. Next day it was still raining. We did not start early, although we had a long march ahead of us. It took us two hours to reach the Nango La (some 15,500 feet) through pasture and rotten rocks. The far side of the pass was very wild—a gorge between almost sheer cliffs, that brought us to the foot of the MarsongLa. The descent from this col into the Zari Chu was troublesome for there was no track, and we had to follow a torrent which rushed down through water-hewn gorges. From our river-side camp Lama Terang climbed up to the village of Nup to collect coolies as replacements for the yaks, which we sent back.

This Zari Chu valley, which we followed for several days, lower down becomes the Tamur valley. The track, a, veritable slough, ran beside the river between thick forest-clad slopes through which torrents and waterfalls tore their way. It was easy to see how these ungovernable waters could bring disastei to the plains during the monsoon. The sodden track wound on and on and up and down with an all-pervading smell of decaying vegetal ion and corruption. Day after day we trudged on in almost unceasing rain.

We rejoined the main Tibet-Nepal road which led through Walungchung-Gola, a market village, and Selap, a sordid hamlet of mud, bamboo, and black porkers, to Chinglen-rather cleaner, with terraced fields of maize. By the river was a primitive paper factory, where two men worked with the same type of pie as that used by the Egyptians and Chinese of old.

During the night at Enon there was a terrific cloud-burst which did not stop until 1 a.m. The level of the Tamur rose about 10 feet to within a few paces of our tents, speeding our departure considerably !

Soon after this we left the valley bottom to continue our journey higher up, away from the torrents. The country was now more populated and better cultivated. Taplejong, a thriving little town, is the headquarters of the province of Dhankuta, on the trade-route from Tibet. The mud-walled thatched houses are attractive, gaily decorated with fuchsias and geraniums. The inhabitants, mostly Ghetris, had never set eyes on a European and were greatly interested in us. There was always a crowd around us, mainly of women, who are as curious here as elsewhere!

The bulk of our Khunza men went back, and we engaged replacements—not without some difficulty. We paid a courtesy visit to a Nepalese officer and his two wives.

We left Taplejong on a hot sunny day, but heavy clouds were already gathering. Nevertheless it was a pleasant march through conifers, over carpets of pine needles to Angbung, whence the parklike country-side stretches to the foot of the Singalila ridge, the frontier. The slopes of this ridge are strewn with rotting fir-trees, victims of the heavy rainfall. (Between 15th June and the end of August 1949 there were only three fine days.) Once across the frontier we were on the good road which led us to Sandakphu and the shelter of a roof, after many days of rain and mist. Two more stages and we were greeted at the frontier bazaar of Mani Bhanjhang by the din of motor horns, the crowing of cocks, and the hurly-burly of the crowd. We drank our final chang, paid olf our coolies, loaded our baggage on a lorry, and made for Darjeeling. At 11.30 on 7th August we were set down at the Mount Everest Hotel, where Dr. Wyss and Rahul, both in good form, welcomed us with our mail from Europe-and with a barber to remove our beards.

Thus, on its ninety-ninth day, ended out second expedition to the mountains of Asia. Our one unanimous W ish was to come back some day and experience again a marvellous I Iimalayan adventure.

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