OXFORD UNIVERSITY WEST NEPAL EXPEDITION, 1954

IAN F. DAVIDSON

UNTIL, 1952 the Oxford University Exploration Club had not one Himalayan expedition to its credit. Before that year the main areas of its activities had been Africa and the Arctic regions. In 1952, however, John Tyson led the first Oxford expedition to the Himalaya—to Tehri-Garwhal.* The particular area which we visited in 1954 was suggested to us by John Tyson, who in 1953 on his second visit to the Himalaya explored the Api and Nempa Group in West Nepal, f

Our original plans were to explore the Saipal Group, east of Api, around the headwaters of the Seti River, to carry out scientific research, and to reconnoitre, and possibly attempt, Saipal (23,079 ft.), the second peak of West Nepal. Conditions compelled these to be changed later. Unlike the Tehri-Garwhal expedition we were unable to take advantage of the post-monsoon period, and we were forced to visit West Nepal between July and September. We were lucky in escaping the worst effects of the monsoon by travelling north into the Tibetan frontier.

We assembled in Tanakpur on July 18th. Dr. Harrington, leader of the expedition, was to carry out geological research, Arnold was a botanist collecting plants above 14,000 ft. for the British Museum, Murray was to collect mice and lizards, also for the British Museum who were anxious to use the specimens in their work of relating colour and size to altitude. I was to study the people, with particular reference to their religion. In IyUcknow we had been joined by Todd, fresh from his magnificent climb on Baruntse with Sir Edmond Hillary's expedition and our two sherpas, Ang Temba and Mingma.

It took us four frustrating days to cover the 96 miles from Tanakpur to Pithoragarh, by bus. By July 26th we were ready, having recruited thirty Dotial porters. One day's march took us to the Nepalese border village of Julaghat, on the Kali River. Once in Nepal we marched steadily eastwards through country heavily cultivated with rice and corn. The sun shone down from a cloudless sky, and we began to wonder whether the monsoon was not just a myth. Most of the time we had little idea of our exact position for it was impossible to follow our route accurately on the Indian Survey map. After seven days we reached the Seti River. By now we had had one or two wet camps, and our mockery of the monsoon ceased.

After days of climbing over one ridge after another it was pleasant to follow a valley, and the Seti, conveniently, would lead us close to the site of our base camp. Three days following the river led us to the village of Chainpur. Murray and I left the main party before it arrived in Chainpur to visit the Rajah of Bajang. We climbed four thousand feet out of the valley to the palace which stood on a small plateau, and here we were regally entertained to dinner and breakfast. The Rajah, who speaks excellent English, takes a very great interest in expeditions in his territory, and had travelled to the base camp of the Austrian Saipal Expedition earlier this year.

On August 7th we joined the others in Chainpur. Here we spent two days collecting rice and ata, and on the second day we were entertained at the local school.

The route ahead lay over a 12,000 ft. ridge, to avoid a large easterly swing in the river, to the village of Dhuli. We crossed the ridge in three days and it was during this time that we had our first view of the mountains. In one of the very infrequent cloudless spells we saw spread out before us some of the outlying peaks of the Saipal Group. On the third day we descended again to the river, and camped close to Dhuli, where we found a strange tribe quite unlike the Dotials who inhabit this part of West Nepal. These people were distinctly mongolian in appearance, and much smaller than the Dotials.

Earlier in 1954, an Austrian expedition had attempted Saipal from the head of the Ghat Khola, a tributary of the Seti east of Dhuli. They failed to reach the summit, having lost one man of pneumonia at 21,000 ft., and they reported that side of the mountain to be din cult and dangerous. We decided therefore to establish our base at the head of the Niuno Khola west of Dhuli.

From Dhuli we followed the Seti northwards for one day and then branched off into the Niuno Khola. Another day was spent facing a track through dense undergrowth, with the coolies growing less and less willing. From our camp we made a reconnaissance higher up the valley, only to find that an impassable gorge, carrying the turbulent swollen river, made further progress impossible. A dejected party, we retreated to the main Seti and followed it north for three days. On the second day we emerged from the forest on to high alpine meadows, blazing with the colours of many flowers. The next day led us to a large river flat close to the Tibetan trading settlement of Saipal, and about six miles south of the frontier. Here we established base camp.

The Tibetans who inhabit Saipal come into Nepal twice yearly bringing salt which they exchange for rice and flour. The barter takes place under an agreement—centuries old—between the Rajah of Bajang and the local Tibetan ruler. We were fortunate in being able to buy sheep from the Tibetans, to supplement our rations.

Time at base camp was short as we had to be back in India by early October, and so immediately we began our twofold programme. North of camp—marked roughly and named Byasrikhi Himal on the map—known locally as Rakshya Urai, was a range of peaks from 20,000 to 22,000 feet. It was here that we hoped to find a peak to replace Saipal, which was now beyond our grasp. Arnold and Murray began their work in the vicinity of base, Harrington and Sherpa Ang Tembo moved north and established Camp I at 18,500 feet just short of the frontier, and Todd and I with Sherpa Mingma followed a tributary of the Seti to a glacier coming down from the Rakshya Urai. We reached the glacier but very bad weather prevented us making a satisfactory reconnaissance.

A few days later we left base and joined Harrington at Camp I, where he had been carrying out geological work. From this camp the work of collecting and surveying went ahead. On numerous occasions during the course of our survey work we reached points of 20,000 feet which rendered magnificent views across Tibet including that country's highest peak, Gurla Mandhata, its lofty summit shrouded in thick cloud. Murray and Harrington recorded our first success by climbing a rock peak of just over 20,000 feet, which stands sentinel above the Urai Hagna Pass (19,400 feet).

On August 23rd, Todd and I, with Mingma, made an attempt on an unnamed peak of 21,500 feet. In the cold early morning we crawled from the tent to find that Mingma, not satisfied with Primus stoves, had a large juniper fire burning. We set off as the first light of dawn was touching the summit of our peak. Behind us as we climbed up the glacier we saw the twin summits of Lepu Dandar split by a tremendous ice couloir, and further away the snowcapped summit of Saipal looked grey in the pale morning light. We crossed the bergschrund without difficulty, and climbed a snow couloir towards the summit ridge. On reaching the ridge we found it to be a rotten knife-edge, and we were forced to traverse some dangerous slabs which frequently showered down avalanches of stones on to the glacier. We climbed steadily across the slabs and eventually, having spent an hour cutting steps across an ice couloir, we were checked by difficult rock. We were breathing badly and felt incapable of tackling the rock above. Thus about 500 feet below the summit we turned back and descended to the glacier. Thick cloud now covered all the peaks, and we returned to camp in a rainstorm.

Before leaving this first Camp I, we followed the track up to the Tibetan frontier, and looked out across that strange fascinating country—down the valley towards Taklakot. On the pass, on a small cairn, fluttered hundreds of prayer flags and standing there in a snowstorm, I have seldom felt so lonely.

We returned to base camp before establishing a second Camp I at 19,000 feet under the Rakshya Urai. It was planned to spend the first day reconnoitring the largest peak in the range-a peak of 22,000 feet, named, rather unimaginatively by us, Rakshya! Jim Murray describes the eventful day as follows—'August 29 dawned cold and clear. In the glacier camp we were up by five o'clock- clear mornings were too rare to waste. Breakfast seemed to take an agonisingly long time but at last we were away. The boulder covered surface of the glacier was free from snow and we made good time.

For the first time Rakshya, now on our left, was free of cloud. To our excitement, there appeared to be a feasible route opening out before us. A subsidiary glacier coming down from our left apparently gave access to a col on the main east ridge of Rakshya. From there snow slopes, steep but practicable, led to the final snow ridge of the summit.

The sky was still clear, our early start gave us sufficient time; and as the weather would very likely never be so favourable again, we decided to seize the opportunity and turn our reconnaissance into an attempt to climb Rakshya. Quickly we roped up and set off. We moved quickly up the steepening slopes of the subsidiary glacier. A bergschrund was crossed on a substantial snow bridge, and a second turned where it was incomplete. The angle steepened continually, and we were cutting steps before we reached the col.

The col, once reached, rewarded us with a view of peaks in all directions—the giant massif of Saipal, Kapkot, Api, and the plateau of Tibet. Turning our attention again we found that our gentle snow slope had deceived us. It lay at a fearsome angle. Fortunately we were able to break out to the right into a region of seamed and shattered rock, affording fairly easy climbing. Several hundred feet of this rotten rock led us to a break of the slope where we were able to regain the anete proper. Now the inevitable monsoon clouds, which had been boiling up from the valleys below, enveloped us in mist.

About this time, through the mist, I could just see an ice cliff which I judged to be another 1,000 feet above us. I turned to tell Todd of my fear, and was surprised when he laughed. Then a rift appeared in the cloud and showed the cliff to be very near at hand and about twenty feet high ! Once up this short pitch we were on the almost level snow which ended in a huge cornice at the very summit'.

Two days after the climb on Rakshya, we followed the main glacier flowing from Rakshya, up to a col on the ridge. Heavy cloud hung over the glacier as we climbed steadily upwards. Todd and Murray were ahead, whilst Harrington and I following planned to descend for a short distance on the north side. Once on the col we groped our way across when a shout from above halted us—what we had imagined would be a glacier on the north side was in fact a drop of thousands of feet on to the moraine below. Being compelled to abandon our plans we climbed to a point of 20,500 feet from which we hoped to complete some survey work in the tangled mass of peaks to westward on the border. The cloud hindered our work but we were rewarded for our long wait by infrequent but magnificent views of the peaks glistening like gems against the velvet blue sky of Tibet.

Time was now growing short and we returned to base where our three Dotial coolies waited anxiously. They had heard stories from coolies coming over from Tibet that the Chinese troops at Taklakot were coming over to get us ! We have yet to see them.

On September 8, having cleared up some outstanding scientific work, and made more frustrating attempts at surveying, we began to march out, following the route by which we had travelled in. It rained heavily as we crossed the ridge, south of Dhuli. After a few days the monsoon cloud receded and the temperatures rocketed up. The journey out was uneventful and by the beginning of October we were travelling south by train. A fitting farewell to the Himalaya was our last view of Api (23,399 ft.), rising above the blue ridges of the foothills—its summit bathed in golden light as it held the last rays of sunshine.

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