SKI-ING IN KASHMIR.

M. D. N. WYATT.

MY WIFE and I recently spent the best part of seven months' leave in Kashmir, arriving there at the beginning of December 1929. During this time we did a considerable amount of skiing over country which from a ski-runner's point of view was unexplored.

The most popular form of ski-ing in Kashmir, and that which we first enjoyed, is obtained at Gulmarg during Christmas and the New Year. Of its kind it is excellent. The snow, at any rate up to about a thousand feet above the tree-limit, is at that season almost always perfect powder-snow, and, in this condition, for the large number of ski-ing enthusiasts who go to Gulmarg, it ensures a cheerful and pleasant holiday. The 'Xmas Gully, Lone Tree, Gadarene and Gully-Gully runs, all of which are in the immediate neighbourhood of Gulmarg, are first-class and equal to anything obtainable at an ordinary Swiss resort, while wood-running in general is much above the average. Winter is, however, not the best time of year for long expeditions, as the days are short, extreme cold at heights above 12,000 feet has to be reckoned with, and the snow at these heights is often wind-swept.

By the 10th January we were the sole survivors of the Christmas party. We were therefore obliged to leave Gulmarg, as the minimum number of people for which a hut could be kept open was five. Two days in Srinagar were more than enough as it rained and sleeted continuously ; we therefore started off on the third day in our houseboat for the Wular Lake and remained there for nearly a month, enjoying excellent shooting and indifferent ski-ing. Most of the hills on the east side of the lake are steep and either too heavily wooded or too thickly strewn with boulders to be good for ski-ing, but the country above Baramula looked much more promising. Soon after we arrived, however, there was a very heavy fall of snow, so that, but for our ski, we should have been confined almost entirely to our house-boat for days on end with nothing to do. During this time we shot geese, duck, teal, snipe and chukor off ski; we also could have shot a Kashmir stag in the same way.

At the beginning of March we again went up to Gulmarg, where we were joined by a number of fellow-members of the Ski Club of India. In the interval since our last visit there had been exceptionally heavy falls of snow and there must have been a depth of from twelve to fifteen feet on the golf-course—double the amount that falls in a good year in Switzerland. Spring conditions set in soon after we arrived and the sun became so powerful during the middle of the day that the snow became water-logged and soft ; it was then not only useless for ski-ing, but extremely liable to avalanche. We had to get up at about four o'clock each morning and close our ski-ing by about nine-thirty. The rather grim start for these early morning runs was more than compensated by the wonderful dawns and excellent ski-ing on the hard morning snow. Ski-ing in the cool of the evening, when the sun was leaving the snow, was not so satisfactory, for although down to the upper tree-limit conditions were excellent, the snow in the woods was slow in hardening and the last thousand feet were usually run on vile ^c trap-crust.' April would probably be a better month on the whole.

During March three of us set out to climb Shin Mahinyo, which rises to 15,113 feet and is the highest mountain at the Gulmarg end of the Pir Panjal range. This expedition necessitated camping for two nights at Pajanpathar (10,800 feet), and some difficulty was experienced in persuading coolies to venture so far above the snowline. However, eventually a party of coolies and a cook, in charge of a so-called shikari who knew the country, were sent from Gulmarg on the 18th March with instructions to prepare a camp at Pajanpathar.

At 7 A.M. the following morning Major Dyce, Captain Curteis and I left Gulmarg and proceeded via the Ferozpur nullah to Pajanpathar. This proved the most difficult part of the trip, for the sides of the nullah are precipitous and the bed was much obstructed by fallen avalanches. The snow-bridges over the stream after a light frost the previous night were far from secure, and two of them, in fact, collapsed under the party, fortunately with no more serious results than the loss of two sticks and much time. It took us about eight hours to reach Pajanpathar, where we found an excellent camp had been prepared among the trees. The snow had been dug away to a depth of several feet and the inner fly of a Whymper tent had been pitched in the hollow so formed on a deep layer of fir boughs, an arrangement which we found warm and comfortable. The coolies had made a lean-to shelter of fir-branches for themselves, and gathered round a large camp-fire, cheerful and comfortable.

Next day we left at 1-30 A.M., as soon as the moon rose. The snow being hard and easy to climb on foot, we took two coolies to carry our ski. After about two hours we reached Basam Grali, 12,200 feet, where Major Dyce, who was not well, decided to go no further. A long traverse caused us to gain height so slowly that at dawn we had only reached about 13,000 feet ; it was then discovered that our direction had been slightly wrong and a detour had to be made. The last two thousand feet are over a fairly steep open slope which is monotonous to climb but presents no technical difficulties.

The summit was reached at about 9 A.M., though actually the final pinnacle—somewhat less than a hundred feet—was not climbed, for without crampons the precipitous knife-edge leading to it would not have been safe. Nanga Parbat, Haramukh, Kolahoi and the Nun Kun filled the northern and eastern horizons, Apharwat and Hadbal the western ; the main backbone of the Pir Panjal range, with Tatakuti's prominent pyramid, completed the circle of peaks. It was a marvellous panorama of mountains, opening up enough ski-ing ground to keep the most enthusiastic runner busy for a number of seasons.

After about an hour's halt we began the descent. The first two thousand feet gave excellent running on Telemark-crust and it took us only 12 minutes to come down ; but the sun had been on the lower slopes by Basam Gali too long, so that soft slow snow was encountered here. Camp was reached two hours after leaving the summit.

The following day the party climbed to a height of about 12,000 feet and enjoyed a very fine run back to Tangmarg, mostly through the woods.

My wife and I left Gulmarg towards the end of March, and after a day in Srinagar collecting equipment, we started off on a shooting- trip to Ladakh. We came across the first snow in the Sind valley some miles below Sonamarg and from there as far as Kargil—some sixty-seven miles—we relied entirely on our ski. When we arrived at Kargil we found that there was snow almost the whole way to Leh, and by then we were so sick of it that we changed our plans turned left-handed down the Indus valley and hunted markhor and ibex, instead of ovis amnon and burrhel, as we had originally intended.

The conditions we met beyond Sonamarg were quite exceptional. The villagers assured us that the winter snow-fall had been much heavier than usual and that the spring had set in late ; but there is no doubt that any party crossing the Zoji La early in the year, even in ordinary seasons, would find ski of great assistance. On ski one can get from the top of the pass to Matayan in half the time taken by an unladen man on foot, so a rucksack with food and extra clothing must not be forgotten. A lang-lauf expert would of course find ski of even greater benefit.

From Matayan onwards it was painful and wearisome slogging over innumerable avalanche-beds, with the rest of the way almost entirely on the level. The last day on snow between Shimsa Kharbu and Kargil was eventful, for owing to the large number of avalanche- beds to be crossed, we made much slower progress than we had anticipated and were still a long way short of our destination when the hot midday sun had thoroughly melted the snow and so made avalanches an imminent danger. Much of the route traverses steep open slopes ending in a drop into the Shigar river which rushes below. If one were caught in an avalanche there would be little hope of escape. Actually one fair-sized avalanche did start some hundreds of feet above us, but fortunately fell between two parties of our coolies. Immediately afterwards a very thick snow-bridge, which completely spanned the river, caved in as the last man crossed, so that it was with more than ordinary relief that we arrived at the end of the march after thirteen hours' hard going.

We spent April and May in Baltistan and the Haramosh region where, of course, we had no ski-ing. The 6th June found us at Dras on our way back to Kashmir. Here there was still a considerable amount of snow on the surrounding hills and we had two days' excellent ski-ing on a mountain on the east side of the valley marked 14,850 on the map. We did not succeed in reaching the summit, for at about two hundred feet below it we found a very steep open slope which had been exposed to the sun all day, and which would have almost certainly avalanched had we attempted to cross it. Through our glasses we saw some very promising country and a strong party with a light camp would get excellent ski-ing in April or early May, using Dras as a base ; while between the Zoji La and Dras there are a number of nullahs opening off the Treaty Road which would be well worth exploring. The drawback to all this country is that it takes some time to reach, and coolies over the Zoji La are expensive before the 15th May, by which time the best of the ski-ing is over. Nevertheless a ski-ing trip in this direction would be less expensive than a shooting holiday in the same area, and one would undoubtedly get some excellent sport on new ground with quite a good chance of shooting an ibex or a red bear off ski.

On our return we found the valley of Kashmir hot and enervating, so, after a few days in Srinagar, we went up to Khelanmarg and camped just below the Ski Club hut. There was still a considerable amount of snow on Apharwat and ski-ing was possible as low as the marg, but we soon discovered that the only really practicable route was via 'Xmas Gully to the top of Apharwat. Beyond the survey station there was much more snow and we made several expeditions in the direction of Linyan Marg and beyond the Frozen Lake. The snow down to about 11,500 feet was generally good, but below that height it was too much covered with debris and did not harden until after dark. We found that the best running was obtained about half an hour after the sun had left the slopes. We therefore used to leave the top about sunset and arrived in camp with the last of the light. There is no doubt, however, that if we had been sufficiently energetic, the conditions in the very early morning would have been much better.

On Midsummer Day we were caught in a sudden heavy snowstorm near the top of Apharwat and being quite inadequately clothed we suffered severely from cold. On this day it snowed down to below 12,000 feet.

After a week at Khelanmarg the possibilities of the neighbourhood had been exhausted, so our party, which now numbered seven, moved via the Ferozpur nullah to Pandanpathar. This was a fair day's march across country, but the route we followed would not be practicable with snow on the ground, and early in the year it would be necessary first to descend almost to Tangmarg and then climb left- handed by Pajanpathar—a much longer route. At Pandanpathar we found much better conditions and these lasted until the 10th July, when our leave was up. During the last few days that we were there the snow melted very rapidly and I think, even if we had had the time, little would have been gained by staying longer. From several points in this district views of the hills above the Tosha Maidan between Shin Mahinyo and Tatakuti were obtainable and there was still much snow on them, though the Tosha Maidan itself was almost bare. This would be delightful country to explore on ski during April and May, as there is a large expanse of ski-ing ground, giving runs of every degree of difficulty. During the time we were at Pandanpathar we skied every day and enjoyed much good running, but we were at least a month too late and the snow was nothing like so fast or good as spring snow, except in the very early morning. Also the conditions were rather too easy. Simple rock-ridges led to the top of every climb, so that we had nothing worse than an easy scramble with a coolie to carry our ski. Nor was there any need to beware of avalanches, so that, although the conditions were perhaps pleasanter, the ski-ing was less interesting than it would have been in spring or winter.

On the whole, snow conditions in Kashmir, which may be taken as typical of the Himalaya throughout the wet zone, are not very different from those in Europe ; but ski-runners must realize that, with the exception perhaps of a very few of the best shikaris and some of the porters who have climbed on Everest and Kangchenjunga, there is really no native mountaineering skill obtainable in India.* This affects the ski-runner in two w^rays : For ski-touring he must have a sound knowledge of snow and mountain craft to be able to select a safe route—one which will not lead across slopes that are liable to avalanche or be swept by avalanches—and except possibly in December and January, he must know enough about the effects of wind, sun and thaw on snow to enable him to plan expeditions that will give fast good snow for the run down. Without such knowledge he will run unwarrantable risks and at least half his pleasure will be lost.

In Europe all this is done for the inexperienced ski-runner by good local guides. In India, unless he has an experienced friend with him, he must rely entirely upon himself. There is no better means of getting the necessary groundwork than by studying Mr. Arnold Lunn's excellent book Alpine Ski-ing at all Heights and Seasons. This book, provided the reader is prepared to master it and not merely glance through it, will give him a sound basis to work on, after which he will be able, with comparatively little experience, to make the best of conditions with the minimum of risk.

Briefly, the usual snow conditions to be met with during the winter—say, from December to mid-February—are powder-snow up to about 12,000 feet ; above that height snow has been usually more or less wind-blown. Powder-snow, which will be found in all woods and on sheltered slopes, with the probable exception of those facing south at comparatively low levels where the sun is likely to have formed a crust, gives the best of all running. Sun-crusted snow, provided the crust is thin or has been softened by the sun in the midday hours, is fairly good. Wind-blown snow varies from being mildly unpleasant to being utterly damnable !

Powder-snow, provided it has had two or three days during which it can settle and consolidate, and provided the general temperature of the air is low, is not likely to avalanche in winter ; but wind-blown snow—particularly when it has formed a hard crust—should, on steep slopes, be treated with the greatest caution, for under certain conditions, which need much experience to recognize, it may break away in wind-slab avalanches, which are extremely dangerous. The crust of the wind-blown snow cracks under the weight of the ski- runner and the whole snow-slope comes down in a mass of blocks which may be several feet thick. These wind-slab avalanches may occur at any temperature, while powder-snow avalanches usually occur only when the snow has been subjected to general thaw or to a strong sun. There was a very good example of a wind-slab avalanche near the top of the Zoji La last year, that had fallen just before we crossed the pass. We could see the line marking the upper edge of the avalanche and the track it followed ; the bed of the nullah, where it had come to rest, was strewn with blocks of frozen snow, many of which must have weighed at least half a ton. The ski-runner should also remember that a slope, safe in itself, may, owing to its position immediately below a steep slope, be liable to be swept by avalanches from above ; and that a track, which would be safe in the ordinary course, may be very dangerous if it lies immediately above a cliff or crevasse, for a small snow-slide may sweep the runner over the edge, or a slip on hard snow may not be stopped in time. Ski-ing during the winter months at medium heights, but for the avoidance of avalanche risks, presents fairly simple problems, but as soon as the sun begins to be powerful the question becomes vastly more complicated.

Ordinarily in spring we find on all slopes hard frozen snow at dawn. As the sun reaches it, it gradually softens, at first superficially, but after a varying period it becomes a sodden, slushy mass waterlogged throughout its depth. As the evening cools the snow again hardens. At first a slight crust forms and this rapidly thickens until the snow is again frozen hard. Snow which has been melted and then re-frozen, so long as it remains hard, will not avalanche ; even when its surface is again softened it is safe enough. But when it is again thoroughly melted it is extremely dangerous. The hard frozen snow of early morning and late evening gives fast good running on gentle slopes, but on really steep slopes a slip once started is difficult to stop. When the snow has been slightly softened by the sun it is almost as good as powder-snow and, as Telemark-crust, is safe, fast and easy on any gradient. This superficially softened snow gradually deteriorates as it gets softer, but it improves again in the evening as it hardens ; there is however a short bad period in the evening when the snow is sufficiently crusted to bear the runner for a short distance and then breaks and lets him through to the soft snow below. This is known as Trap-crust.

Fairly frequently whole slopes will be found covered with a very thin sheet of ice which reflects the sun like polished metal. When this is slightly softened by the sun it provides delightful running as one's ski cut through the film of ice to the softened snow below and the fragments of ice slip away with a pleasing rustling sound. This snow is known as Film-crust. During the middle of the day the film of ice remains, but the snow beneath becomes wet and slow. Thus we find that the morning and evening give excellent running, but that the midday hours are not only dangerous, but also bad for ski-ing. They should therefore be utilized either for sleep or for the climb, provided there is a safe route.

The condition of any slope will vary not only according to the time of day but also according to its orientation. Thus a slope facing north-east will soften sooner and harden earlier than one facing southwest. Again, a steep slope facing east is much more affected by the early morning sun than a gentle one facing the same direction, because the low early rays of the sun strike it almost at right angles and so have a greater effect. A further factor is the variation from month to month as the sun gets more powerful, rises earlier and sets later.

Thus the ski-runner's problem is to time his descent after considering all these various factors so that he may expect snow that will give him good and safe running. Such an appreciation needs experience and some knowledge of local conditions, but it is hoped that the above hints will be of some assistance. Mr. Lunn's book amplifies these points. He was of course writing of European conditions, which to some extent differ from those found in the Himalaya. The sun is so much more powerful in India than in the Alps that spring conditions set in earlier in the year, and the snow softens earlier in the day and more quickly than in Europe. The ski-runner's margin of error in timing a descent in the Himalaya is therefore small. Later in the year the strong sun causes effects, particularly on glaciers, that are not met with in Europe. The extreme heat of the sun, the effects of radiation and evaporation eat into the surface ice and cause remarkable formations such as pinnacles and waves. Probably the greatest difference is in the size and nature of avalanches. Mr. Smythe in his book, The Kangchenjunga Adventure, remarks on the size of the ice-avalanches that fall from Kangchenjunga ; he explains the size to the greater plasticity of Himalayan ice combined with an immense snow-fall. Such ice-avalanches are not likely to be encountered by the ordinary runner, but it must be remembered that the enormous snow-fall that occurs throughout the Pir Panjal, and in general throughout the outer Himalayan ranges, causes avalanches on a scale far larger than in Europe ; and almost level slopes that in Europe would be perfectly safe may, in the outer Himalaya, easily be swept by avalanches falling from steep slopes ending a very considerable distance away. This point must be borne in mind, particularly when choosing high camping sites.

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