THE BATURA GLACIER

MATHIAS REBITSCH, GERHARD KLAMERT, AND DOLF MEYER

1. Report of the German-Austrian Himalaya-Karakoram Expedition, 1954
2. WE FIND THE ROUTE THROUGH THE ICE-FALL
3. THE SUMMIT
4. A DANGEROUS DESCENT
5. WE TAKE OUR LEAVE OF THE KARAKORAM

 

 

The Austro-German expedition had intended to attempt Rakaposhi, but found on arrival that a party from Cambridge, under George Band and Tissieres, had a prior claim to the south-west approach. They explored other approaches but found them impracticable. Splitting into groups, they then set out to explore the Baltar, the Kukuay, the Batura, the Minapin, and the Hassanabad glaciers. Rebitsch has given us the story in detail of their doings on the Batura ridge.

Our thanks are due to the German Alpenverein for permitting us to use it.—Editor

 

 

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ON 20th July we camped among the boulders before the aim huts of Put Mahal '(11,000 feet) opposite the unnamed snow peaks of the Batura ridge, and scanned our projected ascent route through our precision binoculars. The inaccessible rock faces yielded but one level gap: a wildly torn ice-fall forced its way for 6,500 feet between the sheer soaring cliffs, rising more gently in its upper portion to steep hollows and terraces up to the last glistening Firn flanks of the unnamed ' seven-thousanders'. If we could force this ice-fall the problem of the ascent as far as climbing technique was concerned would be solved.

Avalanches crashed down from the gigantic cliffs to the broad glacier basin more than 10,000 feet below, the greatest of which scattered its dust of ice over the moraine wall and into our Base Camp which we had set up on 21st July. Our route through the ice- fall seemed threatened from both flanks by overhanging ice 'balconies'. The cold desolation of the scene and the constant danger from avalanches with which it was threatened far surpassed the grimness of the Baltar valley.

When the route had been twice reconnoitred Bernett, Sha Khan and I put up the first tents of Camp I on a narrow Firn terrae among the crevasses. In the late afternoon of 24th July Bernett, Sha Khan, and I burrowed a deep trail through the wet Firn. It w strenuous work. After much wandering among a maze of yawning chasms and snow bridges we were finally halted by a bottomless crevasse 30 feet wide. The only chance of negotiating it was by way of a fragile snow bridge, but this was not to be risked, even with the best possible belay, for if the bridge were to collapse the climber would be buried beneath the masses of snow carried down with him. Beyond this enormous crevasse there lay others, each one more gigantic and forbidding than the last. There was no hope of further progress the same day, but we decided to make another attempt to cross our 'problem crevasse' the next morning when the snow would still be frozen hard.

In the evening Marti and Dolf with a troupe of porters came up to join us in Camp I. Their enthusiasm was infectious and they put new heart into us.

25th July. In the cold of the morning the snow was as hard as a board. Securely belayed I made my way across the tenuous snow bridge. Everything went surprisingly well and there was no hitch. We spanned the chasm with a permanent rope like a suspension bridge. I tried to advance by a protruding Firn rib beyond, but it led only into space; Marti climbed over another nearby, however, and was soon well away, leading with Dolf through the ice-fall, across fragile snow mushrooms and over thin walls and sharp edges to a safe camp-site on easier terrain. Suspended above the maze of the ice-fall a snout of ice protruded from a granite wall, ready to break off at any moment. It was christened portentously 'The Gentleman Opposite'.

Dolf had brought the news that Zeitter was still laid up with a high temperature at Put Mahal. Klamert would have to stay behind to look after him. With a heavy heart our doctor sahib decided that he must descend to attend to the patient.

26th July. We went up with the porters to establish Camp II (15,750 feet). Scarcely had we emerged from the ice labyrinth into a safer area than 'The Gentleman Opposite' crashed down. We were no greenhorns, but as masses of ice shot down over the smooth rock face, burst asunder, flattened seracs still long after released a wave of avalanches in their train, we began to feel that our contact with the primeval forces of nature was too close here for comfort. From the position of the avalanche course, however, we were able to conclude that ice falling from this direction would not endanger our ascent route in the future. We were consolidating Camp II. Marti took the Hunzas back to Camp I. The weather had changed and mist and driving snow had set in. Dolf and I reconnoitred the continuation of the route on the crevassed and avalanche-threatened slopes covered with deep loose snow.

27th July. Bernett, up again from Base Camp with a column of snow-encrusted porters, appeared at the early hour of nine. Camp II was now sufficiently provisioned. Sha Khan led the porters back. Dolf and I continued with our search for a way through to the first plateau. The mountain-world around us was gigantic, intimidating, dreamlike. We discovered a passable ramp which led up through the last ice barrier and soon we were standing on the terrace. We decided on the site for Camp III (16,400 feet), and turned back. The way to the summit was open.

On 28th July I had a rest-day in camp. Transport through the danger zone between Camps I and III was in the capable hands of Klamert and Zeitter. I could push on with the assault with an easy mind, Bernett and Meyer were to occupy Camp III on this same day; Marti was bringing the porters back to us in Camp II.

On 29th July Marti, Sha Khan, and I moved up to Camp III Meyer and Bernett could be seen as two minute dots on the steep slope 2.000 feet above us. The sun beat down with a paralysing heat but the two gained height fairly quickly. In the late afternoon they brought back the news that they had found a safe spot for Camp IV at a height of 20,000 feet.

On 30th July Marti, Sha Khan, and I with the porters Seppl and Suleiman established Camp IV. For days on end the sky had been cloudless, and now the snow surfaces reflected a throbbing heat. The 20_; 000-foot peaks that had been such an impressive sight from Base Camp were now on a level with us. But the ‘seven-thousanders', the peaks above 23,000 feet, that framed the shallow basin of the second terrace still stood 5,000 feet above us.

31st July. At 3 a.m. Marti and I crawled out of our down sleeping- bags. In the ice-cold starry night we groped our way across the level glacier. Our goal was the shallow saddle behind the basin from where we hoped to gain a view of the slopes leading to the summit. It was bitterly cold and Marti complained that his toes were completely numbed. After an hour and a half he had to return to camp. I went doggedly on alone, stamping ahead until I got to about 20,700 feet. Here I took off my boots and massaged my toes. But it was no good—I, too, had to turn back, A little later the sun was beating down on the over-heated tents again for another long day. Bernett and Meyer had come up from Camp III with porters, and Marti took the Hunzas down, we were all feeling the effects of the high altitude. If we moved thoughtlessly in our sleeping-bags at night we had to gasp for air. Only Dolf seemed to be immune. He went on doing his P.T. exercises, turning somersaults in the snow, just as if he had been in the gymnasium at home. We had to warn him not to break his neck before the time came to launch our attack on the summit.

1st August, Meyer, Bernett, and I set off saddlewards to establish Camps V and VI some few hundred feet higher up. I was actually supposed to wait in Camp IV for the arrival of the porters. After half an hour I saw Sha Khan with two porters coming up to the camp. Dolf and Paul went on trail-making towards the saddle. For many hours I could see them burrowing their way laboriously onwards, leaving a deep trail behind them. In the evening two Hunza porters staggered slowly down from Camp V; they handed me a note from Bernett and dropped exhausted into their tent.

2nd August. Storm and driving snow. Marti came up from Camp III with some bad news: Klamert had just got beyond the ice barrier with seven porters when the seracs had collapsed. Gerhard Klamert reported later:

On 29th July at 4-30 a.m. I set off from Camp I with eight porters on two joined ropes. There was not the slightest breeze in the ice-fall; the nil was quite still. Now and then a rumbling came up from the depths of the glacier. We reached Camp II at 9 a.m. I decided after a short rest to take the loads still farther up to Camp III and then to descend again to baseCamp. The approach to Camp III had become far more difficult than it had beend been earlier. The serac barrier had disintegrated to some extent, but the greater part of it was still standing as we wound our way round the 8feet-high towers, shortly to arrive on the terrace near Camp III. It was already past 1 p.m. and we could not stay long. After exchanging two porters we made our way down again. I was the last man on the rope. The column picked its way down past the tall seracs and over the ice-blocks. The going was slow. I was some five yards away from the last great serac when suddenly the whole slope began to move and the ground under our feet slipped away. The towers crashed down with a roar and everything was smothered in snow-dust, while the bridge on which I was standing collapsed under my feet. I slipped downward with the debris for about fifteen yards. The porters yelled, the rope between us was at full stretch and, preoccupied as I was for the moment with my own predicament, I had no idea that the man in front of me was hanging suspended over an enormous crevasse. I was buried up to my waist and the first thing I did was to roll off with my hands a huge block that lay on my chest. With the help of my ice-axe I then succeeded in working my way out and at once looked round for the porters. My call was answered with 'porters tike' and as soon as the clouds of snow which hovered over the ground dispersed, the porters' shout of thanks, 'Ya-Ali', was to be heard. As the cry was repeated for the third time, I caught myself joining in. Khambar was freed from his awkwardly airy position and I took a look around to assess the situation. For as far as the eye could see, that is, for a distance of about 150 yards, the entire barrier had collapsed. Only then did I realize what a narrow escape we had had.

It was indeed a miracle that our comrades were safe. But more trouble was in store, for on the morning of 2nd August the occupants of Camp III were startled by powerful tremors in the ground beneath them. Fresh cracks opened up right through the site. Through the constant movements of the glacier the porter convoys and the spearhead group were in grave danger. I would have to go down myself to examine the situation in the danger zone and to make decisions accordingly. Through dense mist and drizzling snow Daud and I took our porters down to Camp III. Marti stayed up in the tent to keep open communication with the climbers in Camp V.

3rd August. Snow storm! With one Hunza I climbed cautiously over the barrier and across the expanse of debris from the crumbled seracs down to Camp II. The transport service could not be continued. In the heat of the past days the glacier had burst open everywhere. A fresh crevasse separated the two tents of Camp II. Another cut our ice-cave in two. We dug out two new sites with our axes and moved the tents farther up. 4th August. From Camp II we could see as tiny dots a convoy coming up. I left mail and instructions in the tent: ' The shuttle service between Camps I and II is now permissible only in the early morning hours. Transports are to be discontinued after this convoy.' I started upwards with Djoard Beg. It was a nerve-wracking hour we spent below the crumbling ice barrier. Who could tell when the next great slide was going to occur In Camp III we found our Pakistani companion, Mr. Daud, sitting quite alone performing his religious exercises in the confined space of the tent while resisting the temptations of our tinned ham. Our supplies of beef, permitted by Allah, had already been exhausted. After some strenuous trail-making I arrived in Camp IV with Sha Khan and four porters before nightfall. The weather had cleared and I announced to Bernett, Dolf, and Marti my assault plan for the next day. However, they remained unconvinced that there would be any long-standing improvement in the weather and wished next to attack not the highest, but a safer' seven-thousander '. It was hard for me to submit to their arguments. for all my thoughts and plans had been focused only on the highest peak. We arrived at a solution acceptable to all: Marti and Dolf were to start off in the morning for their 'safe seven-thousander', Bernett was to bring up the last loads from Camp III, while I with Sha Khan would observe Dolf and Martl's assault from Camp IV. By the day after the morrow Bernett, Sha Khan and I would be fully rested and ready to continue the assault on the highest Batura summit.

 

 

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Here is Dolf Meyer's account of the ascent to the summit: 'All details had been discussed and the assault rucksacks packed the day before. Accordingly, at 3 a.m, on 5th August Marti, Schliessler, and I crawled out of our tent. In spite of the doubtful weather we were resolved to attempt the summit/Shouting a greeting to Mathias and Paul, we stumbled off wearing short skis and carrying torches through the Bruchharsch (snow glazed over with a brittle ice crust) in the direction of the saddle. After 2 1/2 hours we reached the south arete of our ‘seven-thousander". Fine snow was falling. Here we exchanged our skis for crampons. After a brief consultation in view of the deteriorating weather we climbed up direct to the sharp- edged ridge, the first hundred yards above the Bergschrund being very steep and taking us over sheer ice. Snow eddied round us and in the half-light of dawn ghostly banks of mist came drifting across from the west. Sharp and steep, the partly corniced ridge before us reared up into the unknown, To the left a high wall of granite, to the right an ice-armoured slope! As we approached a stiff swing upwards, we would frequently sink waist-deep into the new snow. Our strenuous trail-making made us very conscious of the thinness of the air. An occasional downward glance through gaps in the mist indicated the growing altitude. A short rest and a few draughts from our field-flasks revived our flagging spirits. At about 10 a.m. after negotiating a very steep ice-covered rise in the ridge I thought I could make out the summit, but I said nothing to Marti about it for the moment. But at 10-30 a.m., after another few hundred yards of climbing we were indeed able to shake hands on top. The altimeter registered 24,310 feet, but when in Camp V again we , observed deviations up to 500 feet up or down, we assumed an altitude of 24,000 feet. On the summit we fastened the flags of. Pakistan, Germany, and Austria to the ice-axe and Marti took photographs so far as the weather allowed. Naturally we felt highly gratified to have achieved this success for our expedition.’

The descent in the bad weather was very dangerous as the surface layer of fresh snow tended to break away beneath our feet in small slabs and avalanches. By about 2.30 p.m. we had put the 3,600 1 feet between summit and saddle behind us. Stamping out a new trail we sought our way back to our starting-point—Camp IV (20,000 feet). Mathias came to meet us with hot drinks and gave us a warm welcome.'

Mathias Rebitsch continues his report: 'In the early afternoon 1 made out two dots on the saddle. They were moving down very slowly. I tucked two flasks under my arm and together with Djoard Beg went to meet Dolf and Marti. "Did you reach the summit? "Yes." There was no need to say more. I was stirred in spite of myself. After so much reconnaissance work, foul weather, and setbacks through illness, the climbing team could at last claim a tangible success. Our first " seven-thousander an ice-coveted peak of impressive dimensions, had fallen! '

' Before Camp IV we ran into Paul coming up from below with a troupe of porters. Subdued congratulations. Paul began hesitatingly: "I've brought the mail, but first I must break the news to you. There has been a fatal accident in the Hunza gorge. Heckler is dead." All joy in our victory evaporated. We lay silent in our tents. It was hard to grasp this tragic fact. All our thoughts were with our dead friend, the best of climbing comrades.’

 

 

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6th August. It snowed throughout the night. A wall of snow was growing round our tents. Camp V was established and the assault team for the highest peak (25,600 feet)—Bernett, Sha Khan, Dolf, and I—stood ready. But an ascent was now quite out of the question. One day before our attempt on our highest objective was to take place, we were overtaken by catastrophe in the form of the weather. It went on snowing incessantly. Avalanche snow piled up on the slopes and the way down to Camp II over the 1,000-foot precipice was probably already barred. Nevertheless I hesitated. I still cherished the hope that the clouds might part and that another assault might be possible. But the snow drizzled down from the heavily laden clouds with infuriating steadiness. At 1 p.m. Dolf and I climbed on to the precipice in order to examine the layers of snow and assess the danger of avalanching, we decided that the descent could be risked if it were taken vertically. At 3 p.m. the tents were struck and packed. In driving snow and dense mist our withdrawal began. We had joined five ropes together and roped up the porters. Marti took up his position in the centre in readiness to belay. Bernett was last on the rope. I led, groping my way ahead to test the snow, lay the trail, and make any decisions that might be called for. Dolf, as second man, could direct and belay me. Thus did we wriggle down, like an attenuated worm, through the endless masses of loose snow. Now and again the porters slipped and fell, but Marti and Paul held them fast. Twice a layer of snow detached itself from the slope beneath my feet. But all went well. At 7 p.m. the tents of Camp III loomed out of the mist and Mr. Daud served us his last tea ration.

7th August. We had now to tackle the worst danger zone—the overhanging ice barrier. Once more the glacier had pushed forward a little beyond the break in the slope. At any moment now the next collapse could occur and no one could say exactly when. But there was no alternative; we had to get through and could only trust to luck.

The tents of Camp III were bound on to the bulging rucksacks of our six good Hunzas. Cautiously we approached the barrier. The old route over its vertical drop had fallen in. We were looking along an overhanging wall of snow many hundreds of feet wide and down to an area covered with ice debris. An ice-axe was rammed into the Firn as anchor and Dolf lowered me on the rope down over the drop. But having descended thus far a yawning crevasse still separated me from the other side. I finally managed to snatch a grip and pulled myself across to a foothold. We stretched a rope as a handrail from above across the crevasse; then came porter after porter dangling down, some of them upside down, toppling over and dragged on by the weight of their enormous loads. Dolf and I tugged them across the chasm. None of the Hunzas showed any anxiety or nervousness; they certainly were good chaps. Marti being the last man had to abseil. The greatest technical difficulty was now behind us, but the danger from falling ice had still to be reckoned with. If the ice-fall kept quiet for another hour we should be all right. We groped our way onwards through the snow-covered maze of ice-blocks and at last got to the first safe hollow. From then onwards the descent became easier. The tents and equipment of Camp II had to be taken along, too. The Hunzas were now carrying up to 110 lb., and the sahibs' rucksacks, too, were swelling monstrously.

The subsequent descent was accomplished according to plan, along beneath the threatening bulges of the hanging glaciers, across Firn wedges and labyrinthine crevasses to the torn-up ' ski-slopes' above Camp I. The mighty towers and gteat blocks had fallen and melted away like wax. Our former trail here was baiely recognizable. Again and again Klamert and Zeitter had to force a new way through.

At dusk we reached the flowery meadows and before nightfall the blazing fires of Base Camp. Thanks to the exemplary team-work of sahibs and porters this perilous retreat had been successfully accomplished.

In the morning Zeitter with all the porters brought down the last loads from above Camp I. And then we were all together again, safe and sound, among the flowering shrubs. The load would now have been completely off my mind had it not been for thoughts of Karl. A simple cross of birch now stands above the camp: 'Karl Heckler d. 26.7.1954.’

In accordance with the programme of the scientific group we had ascended one of the highest peaks in Batura, their main research area. Our expedition had been planned on the principle that the work of the climbers and of the scientists was complementary. And even if our summit achievement was not exactly spectacular, we had given of our best, had aimed high, and had done all that was humanly possible. The effort itself deserved credit.

 

 

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While Klamert and Zeitter continued to penetrate into the remotest recesses of the Batura glacier. Marti, Dolf, and I as the main party proceeded with the yaks and porters down the valley; once more we enjoyed the contrasting beauty of this mighty ice stream in its unique setting. After the enervating heat in the snow basins we refreshed ourselves in a moraine lake at an altitude of 11,000 feet, its bright blue waters reflecting the icy peaks around. We swam close to the glaciers and in turn basked on the hot sand. Then we rode back through the Hunza gorge. At the head of the valley behind Pasu the pyramid of a ' seven-thousander' pointed dagger-like into the cloudless sky. The grain was already harvested. Crowds gathered in the village squares to watch the departing Germanos. The Lam-badars greeted us and with lightning speed assessed the value of the gifts we bartered for eggs, butter, and chupattis. We had had no fruit for a long time and fell greedily upon the now plentiful supplies of apricots, apples, and grapes.

From Sareth onwards the Hunza river has cut a narrow gorge into the rocks. The uncemented rock path narrows in places to a bare 12 inches as it clings to the precipitous walls. We passed the spot where Karl Heckler had fallen to his death, and this opened once more the wound of grief but scarcely healed. Silently honouring his memory we set up a cross of birch which would later be replaced by a memorial tablet.

Once more we were guests of the Mir of Hunza. On the Pakistani Independence Day bonfires blazed above the Hunza goige as is the German custom at solstice. We were invited to the celebrations and sat on a carpeted stone wall bordering the polo field, the ancient fortress forming the backcloth to the colourful scene. A sword-dance marked the climax of the celebrations.

Dr. Pillewitzer and Dr. Pfaffen of the scientific party had gone off long since to Nanga Parbat to study the Rakhiot glacier. Dolf and Martl made a last excursion to the farthest unexplored corner of the Hassanabad glacier. Then came the business of disbanding our Hunza and Nagar high-altitude porters who for three months, through good times and bad, in danger and adversity, had served us faithfully and well. It seemed strange that we should now suddenly be going our separate ways. Our best and most devoted porter, young ‘Seppl', and the cook 'Simmerl', who proposed calling his eating- house in Gilgit 'Hotel Germany'_; accompanied us to Gilgit. There we parted also from our friend Sha Khan. Soon the aeroplane was carrying us past Nanga Parbat again and over the green plains of the Punjab. The mountain waste of the Karakoram gave place to woodland and fields, villages and towns. Civilization claimed us once more.

In Rawalpindi we paid our official call at the Ministry for Kashmiri Affairs. We were promised every support should we come again. We spent an evening of friendly comradeship in the company of the successful Italian team from K2 and the British who had been on Rakaposhi. In Lahore we were entertained by the Pakistani Mountaineering Karakoram Club and were elected honorary members. On arrival in Karachi on 5th September we were surprised to be met by representatives of the German-Pakistani Cultural Association, by the Charge d'Affaires of the German Embassy, Dr. Schmidt-Horix, and Dr. Hartlmaier of the Austrian Legation. On 8th September the two diplomats presented each member of the expedition to the Prime Minister of Pakistan, Mr. Mohammed Ali, who presented each of us with a silver medal and assured us of his enduring goodwill.

In company with the Italians from K2 we were soon sailing across the Indian Ocean. In Egypt the pyramids gave us a last opportunity for a little scrambling. Soon we were home again and the great experience of our Karakoram expedition was at an end.

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