THE MANCHESTER KARAKORAM EXPEDITION, 1968

J. T. H. ALLEN

Enthusiasm sells. The corner-stone of an expedition is enthusiasm for the mountains. G. I. Finch puts it all in a sentence: ^‘Mountaineering is a game second only to the greatest and best of all man's games life ' (Preface to The Making of a Mountaineer). Since the moment we began our tours in the mountains, it seemed a logical progression eventually to seek out the Himalayas. Other people go, so why not me ? General overall experience has been gained in rock, snow and ice techniques at all seasons during a number of years. How will familiarity with the greater scale of big mountains be attained, and how will higher altitude affect the physical and mental workings ? Unless an attempt is made, the discovery will never come about. In order that the attempt on the mountain can begin, one must arrive at the bottom. But how ?

The most crucial letter of all arrived on April 25, 1968. It ran: The Government of Pakistan have been pleased to grant permission to the Manchester Karakoram Expedition, 1968, to scale the Malubiting Peak provided they attempt it via Bunji/Sassli.' No one had received a letter like that for a few years. This was a privilege, and it was useful to remember the fact when things were not going right for us later. No one had ever been towards Malubiting from Sassli, so there lay the adventure we had dreamed of. To reach that point in the first place was another, quite different adventure, though we had expected this part to be relatively plain travelling. In England everything is organized, but south of Dover there are degrees of bureaucracy, and a deceleration of life's pace. Early in 1967, over 25 men found reasons for armchair dreaming. Then the brutal facts of life took their toll. Questions of leaving the family, finding the money, jeopardizing one s career, organizing the various aspects of the expedition itself prompted the further question more than once: ⁴ Is it all worth it ? ' The veterans, men who had been before said it was—after it was all over. This year eight men eventually look the chance, six from the Rucksack Club (Ian Bell, ' Ding Dong \ Arthur Clarke, ‘Squirrel', Brian Cosby, ‘Cos’ Ian Grant, ‘the Doc', John Allen, 'Twiggy', which I didn't like, and Tom Waghorn, 'Twag'), one from the F. & R.C.C. (Oliver Woolcock, ‘Wool') and one from the K.M.C. (Brian Ripley, ‘Rip'). Eric Shipton and Fred Pigott were our patrons, and the Mount Everest Foundation and Manchester Evening News were generous as sponsors. And our various employers gave us all leave of absence. The aim was ambitious. Only the height of Malubi- ting was known at 24,451 feet. The East summit (height ?) had been climbed by Tony Streather's party. Neither the Phuparash peaks nor the Juto Sar had been visited.

By the end of May, the expedition (i.e. eight men plus innumerable helpers) was overwrought by a high degree of sleeplessness, mental tension and hard physical labour. Departure day wa$ June 1 and found most of us doing the last-minute packing operations at Arthur's (and Yvonne's) house. ‘Cos ' demolished a six- foot wall in our early efforts to control the truck (an ex-Army RL Series Bedford), and spent a wet night rebuilding it. The General Strike in France had held back our double boots in Paris and Brighams found replacements. The oxygen cylinders and rebreathing masks (only taken in .case of medical emergency) arrived on the last day. And three unanswered questions still remained. Would we be allowed to drive the last 350 miles to Gilgit ? It would be expensive to fly in. How would the compulsory liaison officer, a Pakistan Army Major, Mohammad Ashraf, fit in with us ? But even before that, would Iran allow us to traverse her country ? A few days before we departed, she refused to give transit visas. As an alternative to Iran, the U.S.S.R. wouldn't allow us to cross the Caspian. So we would have to stick our necks out as far as Teheran and hope Iran would let us into Afghanistan. Otherwise a hellishly hot southward route to Kuwait would then take us across the Indian Ocean to Karachi, again expensive, and highly inconvenient. The Iran problem was settled on arrival in Teheran, and I took great delight in whizzing out of the truck the exit visas from Iran when we had crossed into ten-mile belt of no-man's-land desert before the Afghanistan frontier.

Incidents that could have been crises were many—Tom nearly demolished Canterbury Cathedral with the lorry and actually in Aachen did uproot a customs kiosk complete with officers. I was nearly gaoled for photographing military installations in Yugoslavia, and Tom's new anorak dropped into a highly revving transmission shaft which spat out the bits for a huge sow to snaffle as it ambled along the autoput. Cos drove over a young tree in Turkey and found the owner comparing its value with a man's life. Then in front of a very doubtful Iranian Customs Officer, he reclaimed his stripes by passing off a tin of Stan Bradshaw's Black Pudding for the Marmite—included in the list but missing from the box. The heat was hardly bearable (often our thermometer registered 115 °F). In Kandahar, the banks closed because of it, so I had to do some bargaining on the black market to exchange sterling for Afghanis to buy more petrol for our thirsty beast at 9 m.p.g. At Torkham, where the Khyber Pass begins to lead over into Pakistan, the customs officer took a dislike to journalists, and the Evening News almost got their man back before the party had really begun. Twenty-four hours of haggling and discomfort, but not bribery, overcame the problem as the regular smugglers padded backwards and forwards over the border under the cover of night and the customs men's watchful eye and ever-open pockets.

Our liaison officer was to be Major Mohammad Ashraf. We had already bought him a complete set of first-class mountaineering equipment, made to his dimensions. And from now on we would have to find all his expenses—hotel, cigarettes, food and others. He was there to see that we followed the regulations. And so we did. Though a little stiff at the beginning, he gave of his best, when necessary, interpreting regulations intelligently and saving us much money by skilful negotiation.

At Gilgit the weather was brilliant. Our flight over the western Himalaya past Nanga Parbat was not delayed by it. The whole of June had been cloudless. Would it break ? Were we too late ? The special radio forecasts for the expedition by Pakistan Radio were eagerly awaited after the national news in the evening. In Gilgit we bought food for two high-altitude porters and a cook, who became Ashraf s servant and batman, ordered five jeeps to carry us to Sassli via Bunji up the Indus River, and borrowed the official maps (Survey of Pakistan) from the Gilgit Scouts. We arranged that our postcards from Base Camp would be despatched promptly by the mail service. And early on July 5, we moved out. One day later we had taken on 70 coolies who carried the expedition up to Dache where the headman made the schoolroom available to us to use as a base for two reconnaissances, one to Juto Sar in the north and the other to the Baskai glacier to the east. To make an attempt on the mountain we would have to pick one or other of these two approaches. Because of the extreme heat in the middle of the day, we determined upon early starts, as if in the Alps, for all reconnaissances and for climbing on the mountain. July 7 found Ian Grant (fresh from doing the Lakes Threes before flying to join us), Ian Bell (suffering slightly from tummy upset, picked up in Karachi), Rip, raring to go after a futile night reccy from which he and Wool returned to drink 15 pints of liquid each (we were not acclimatized for such hot work) and myself awake at 4 a.m. for a light-weight 2/3-day trip to Juto Sar. Cos had already taken Husain Mahmud (who joined us from Gilgit for the early part of the expedition) towards the Baskai glacier on a reccy. It was indeed pleasant to escape from the fly-blown, nauseating animal smelling conditions of the schoolhouse where we had slept and eaten, and we all found the reccys a most enjoyable part of the expedition. On the shady side of the Phuparash river, we walked along the contoured water channels through Halumal and Jutial, sometimes cooled by the down-rushing air when close to the river, sometimes on the dusty but aromatic pathways through delicious bean patches and mulberry trees. Occasionally clear glistening water soothed our throats while hatfuls of it bathed our perspiring heads. The Phuparash peaks looked inviting before us, but it was a long morning before we caught our first glimpse of Malubiting. Villagers above Jutial brought us a midday offering of sweet yoghurt, cheese, ghee and rough bread. I first broke my rule not to eat local food but this looked and was so good. Payment was made for the food in kind from Ian Grant's magic medical box. By the middle of the afternoon we had made the Juto Sar at 10,400 feet, and rested in awe below the 14,000-foot face which swept up to the summit of Malubiting West. The scale was difficult to appreciate. But by anybody's standards, there was danger and difficulty to be encountered there. We wished our climbing permission could have stretched to the Phuparash peaks, one of which at 22,500 feet had a feasible and very attractive route. But regulations were regulations. We scoured with our eyes, sketched and photographed the face of Malubiting, but it was all still very impressive and daunting. However, in this fresh, well-watered spot, there were few flies, no clouds, and a cool breeze. And, after a night's sleep in the open, I was up early and managed to muscle in on the two high-altitude porters' breakfast of chappattis and tea with butter before our second breakfast of fresh rhubarb and biscuits with honey when the others awoke.

A long but fairly gradual ridge extended southwards from Malubiting. We decided to leave Juto Sar and explore a safe approach to it, and to see if its problems could be more closely examined. That day we reached 14,000 feet, tired but pleased with our progress towards fitness and acclimatization. Yet the problems before us were unresolved, except to confirm that we were not going to risk an attempt on the West face. And a stronger reccy was necessary beyond the 14,000 feet we had reached. On our return to Dache, we found that Cos had not been able to come to any conclusive decision about an approach up the Baskai glacier. The two reccy parties then switched to examine where the other had visited, but equipped themselves to stay out longer. I went with Ian Grant, Ian Bell, Rip and Wool to the Baskai, and Cos went with Arthur and Tom to reach above the 14,000 feet gendarme we had reached on July 8. We passed Iskere, crossed the Mani glacier beneath the vast North face of Haramosh, and stopped at Kutwal. Coolies could reach here in one day from Dache. The following morning we moved right up the Baskai glacier, beneath the dramatic twin peaks of Laila, and on to a high summer grazing alp, a glorious situation. We went as high as the receding snow-line and located reasonable sites for a possible Base Camp, though the water-supply was worrying. And from this point at 13,600 feet Rip and I thought we saw a possible route, fairly safe but long, across the East and Central to the main West summit. At least we could observe that no other approach on that side was safe from rock-, snow- and ice- falls. Thus heartened, we dozed peacefully in the shade of a boulder. In the sun it was like in a crucible.

Cos had reached 16,500 feet on the route to the South Ridge and from Juto Sar. His high-altitude porter would not go on (and nobody else was with him). But he still could not assert that there was a definite route. The highest possible point for Base Camp on the south side was at 14,300 feet but it would have been reasonably good at 13,500 feet. Above that the technical problems were by no means straightforward, but the chance of a route seemed better than by way of the South Ridge. So for July 13 we hired coolies at Rs.10 each to carry to Kutwal, a distance of 6/7 miles, fairly horizontal, and only awkward in the crossing of the Mani glacier.

Beware the coolies of Dache. Having agreed not only with us, the L.O. and their own headman that Rs.10 per day for this work was fair, their ringleader persuaded the rest to extend the one day into two days march, and claim double pay on arrival at Kutwal. Porters stopped for the night at Iskere. With the help of Ashraf, who was keeping up the rear, we tried to persuade them to move further than Kutwal that day. But the men of Kutwal now claimed that porterage above their village was for them and not for Dache men. The two problems caused a riot, fights between the two villages, strike and eventual mutiny. Nobody was paid, Ashraf went back to Gilgit with the headman and local police officer, and returned four days later with a police force who drove the ringleaders into gaol.

The expedition was getting nowhere. And since July 10 clouds had increased daily. 111 health had struck down Arthur, Ian Bell and Ian Grant to state of weaklings. We evolved a light-weight plan to dispense with the use of coolies and in the poor weather, members of the expedition would ferry to Base Camp, perhaps as much as two journeys carrying 60 lb. per trip. We would acclimatize, become fit, and use the bad weather period profitably, since we would be unable to climb high anyway. Having thus trimmed our loads to a minimum, we again became mobile. On the day we were about to implement our new plan, the mass of coolies, threatened by severe police or even army intervention against them, solved their internal problems and only the intransigent ones did not ask us for work. At this time I was closer to the end of my tether than at any other. I had seen the expedition as a three-part venture, to organize the expedition and to leave England with the necessary permission, to reach Base Camp, and to climb the mountain. We had now been within an ace of completing the second objective, foiled daily by the wretched coolies. When they did arrive in ones and twos, I could not see clearly whether to hire as many as possible and risk their amassing, when out of sight, to strike yet again. Maybe we should only hire as many as individual climbers could watch over. Perhaps we could double upon that. But keep them split into tiny groups. Eventually they all had turned up and taken a load, or two loads for the older men (i.e. 120 lb. per man); it seemed that in one single morning we were to established Base Camp.

Simultaneously and in direct contrast to this the expedition came near to friendly relations with individuals amongst the local people. Ian Grant tended the sick, and in apology for their hostility, they presented us with fresh meat in the form of a goat slaughtered before our very eyes with my penknife. An egg- sized swelling on Rip's eye was treated by a witch doctor (and by British medicines). A huge fire was lit. The Olympic games were remembered and the 'Kutwal Games' instituted. Tom performed his double jointed exercise, Wool heaved a boulder ⁽a la shot', and Cos engaged a local in strong arm exercise and balancing acts. (Later that night he drove off two thieves caught in the act of carrying off one of our food boxes. More fresh meat was provided as an offering). And then with the fire blazing fiercely, one of the locals came forward claiming to be a dyall, or fairy mystic, who could communicate with the fairies of the peaks. Submerging his head in the heavy smoke of smouldering juniper, he became entranced, and to a large gathering of locals and the expedition, he uttered his omens for our success on the mountain. Or rather this is how he was interpreted to us by our high-altitude porters, who required our further employment. His remarkable performance lasted about 45 minutes, during which his eyes remained fixed and unblinking, his body rigid, and from time to time he would hop around in a circle of locals on the ball of one foot. They, too, would chant and sing. At last he lay down, still rigid, and with the splashing of water in his face he returned to his mortal self.

The coolies played out their final act of treachery 600 feet below the allotted site for Base Camp, and demanded more pay to finish the job. So we sacked them on the spot, and Base Camp was fixed at 12,900 feet. Heavy rain began to hinder our progress daily, it also kept the thieves away. And higher up there would be new snow. In poor weather we established a dump above Base Camp and then transferred this to a permanent Camp I at 14,300 feet. The general health of the party was worsening, Arthur, both Tans, and Cos all became enfeebled. But Rip and Wool, with the high-altitude porters and myself did some heavy work up to Camp I and Wool discovered a clear fresh spring— Wool's well. Heavy rain on 18th, 19th and 20th prevented movement above Camp I, and nothing was possible on the 21st. There after, it began slowly to clear and Arthur and Ian Bell's health improved. We ferried the two-way radio sets (and the oxygen) to Camp I. Late on 22nd Arthur and I, Rip and Wool moved up to Camp I, hoping to push to a site for Camp II. The 23rd was a magnificent day and thereafter for nearly a week the weather was perfect. In the mornings we would be up daily at 5 a.m. or earlier (3.30 at Camp III), in order to make as much progress till 10 or 11 a.m., then descend before the softness of melted snow became unmanageable. For those who were fit and acclimatizing well, these days were good. Magnificent scenery, enjoyable climbing where no man had trodden before, and technically interesting as well. Several hundred feet of rope safeguarded the route from Camp I to Camp II, which used a rock and snow ridge to a convenient col, for two tents, at 16,600 feet. Here was a splendid site, safe, a good day's haul from Camp I, and convenient as a jumping off point for Camp III. Every evening we used the two-way radio for relaying the weather forecast, and to report news up and down the mountain. It must have been extremely frustrating for the sick members not to be able to play a full part. Fortunately the fit ones were always able to make some progress. Rip and Arthur almost made it to the col between Malubiting East and Laila on the 26th, leaving it to Rip and myself to establish the camp there on 27th and 28th. We fixed this section with about 1,000 feet of rope in its steepest parts, a diagonal traverse upwards to the right on a hard snow-ice slope of about 45°. The view over this col (at 5,625 m) showed a very simple snow approach from the Chogo Lungma glacier and would have made our Camp III approachable almost by bicycle from that side.

We now needed a big effort to carry loads to Camp III, but ill health really had a tight grip on Base Camp, and at most only half of the expedition were operational. We tried to engage our cook, Zumrat, as a high-altitude porter since he had shown every enthusiasm. Indeed he was one of the liveliest characters we had met, fashioning his chappattis with flair and magic, and rushing his 4 feet 11 inches of height about our needs with vigour always to please. He had discovered a male and female root buried under his kitchen at Base Camp, and though he had it blessed by the dyall and claimed it would fetch about £200 in the Gilgit Bazar as a powerful aphrodisiac in the owner's possession, he was keeping it for his own use!

The morning of July 29 found only Cos and one high-altitude porter fit enough to climb at Camp II, and only Rip and I at Camp III. Fortunately for my sake I was fit and eager to climb in the good weather. Nevertheless Rip and I had a murmured moan at sickness in general, and left our tent at 5.25 a.m. The ridge up to Malubiting East looked more difficult than from below, and the rock section proved to be very loose. By 7.30 a.m. we were above the rocks and cutting steps in what we had thought would be snow, but turned out to be harder stuff. By 8.30 a.m. we turned back because the sun was on the slope. Ahead of us a rock buttress looked very steep and dangerously overhung with seracs. We were depressed with the prospects. We had descended for half an hour, when tragedy struck. A rock above Rip, from which he had just lowered himself, moved towards him, caught him off balance, and knocked him down the mountain for at least 2,000 feet. I rushed down as safely as I could, and met Cos above Camp II. We could not locate Rip immediately. By about 3 p.m. we found his lifeless body in a very dangerous gully, swept by stone and ice-fall.

Would the expedition continue ? In my view it ought to. But the fatal accident had to be reported, and Ian Grant, Ian Bell, Wool and Tom were in no physical shape to make progress of any kind. Cos and Arthur, both now fit, would do what they could, whilst I had to return to Gilgit. Ian Grant came with me. And that journey was harrowing, for it was done mainly on foot, in the heat of two days, and with a jeep only for the last section. Apart from the filthy grey Indus itself, there was no water-supply at all, so we became extremely dehydrated, and suffered for at least a week afterwards with inability to digest food. Expedition morale was sadly affected, but even so another ascent was made by Cos and Arthur to Camp III. They concluded as Rip and I, that further technical difficulties were beyond the strength of the team at the time. So on August 5, the expedition began the descent from Base Camp. The weather was poor at the time, and it did not improve, for between August 6 and 23 there were only two flights from Gilgit to Rawalpindi.

From such deep involvement with every detail of the expedition, I find it difficult even now to say how I think we fared in relation to other expeditions. After all this was my first venture. At times it seemed that we had been fighting against the odds most of the time, with only one major piece of good fortune—we got permission. When handling the familiar in England, you develop a sixth sense of knowing that no matter how hard you persist, you won't win. And surely this is one of the very reasons for undertaking an expedition. You are lifted out of the rut of the familiar, and plunged into the unknown. Pigheaded persistence, the will to press on, the possibility of reward and satisfaction—enthusiasm for the mountains—compel that one step further. Unless you try you will never find out.

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