MANALI HOLIDAY, 1970

REV. GORDON JONES

FOR the expatriate mountain-addict residing in India, Manali is a hard place to beat for a holiday. There are no worries about permits or liaison officers, the river level is 6,000 feet, and the high pastures are only a half day s slog up from the bazar. If a family holiday is required, there is an endless supply of delight¬ful picnic spots, especially along the Manalsu stream; to say nothing of the cherries and the plums and the apricots ...

When my wife and I were there in 1964, Dr. Peter Snell, of the Lady Willingdon Hospital, had remarked that an interesting trip would be to go up Khanpari Tibba west of the bazar, and walk back along its level-seeming ridge towards the higher ridge behind, which runs north and south. When Elizabeth and I subsequently camped at the Chander Khanni Pass (H.J., Vol. XXVI, p. 148), we had a good look across at the Khanpari ridge, which did indeed look very level.

May 1970 saw us again in Manali, this time with two small children, aged four and three, and our friend, Esther Denham. The Khanpari ridge appealed as an appropriate goal for the few days for which I felt justified in taking leave from a family holiday.

1. RAHANI RECONNAISSANCE
2. KHANPARI TIBBA
3. THE CATHEDRAL
4. ROHTANG PASS

 

 

First I put in a day on reconnaissance from across the Kulu Valley. On the valley's eastern side there is a steep gully clear of trees, which had always intrigued me; because a careful look at it revealed a track which zigzagged from the hamlet at the bottom (behind the Institute of Mountaineering) right up to the grassy pastures at the top of the valley wall.

Leaving the tar-sealed road on the east bank of the Beas at six one morning, I took three and a quarter hours to surmount the zigzag and continue up, in and out of beech forest, to the open pasture. There I found myself on a gentle slope of magnificent dwarf irises. There were views across the valley and up the Manalsu nala, with Khanpari Tibba on the left; and up north to the lower part of the Solang nala. A cloud ceiling at about 14,000 feet blocked out the summits. Two friendly Kulu shepherds who were cooking beakfast at their open camp gave me some fresh goat's milk.

Another hour or so up through more forest took me above the tree line, to the really open pastures. Over the brow of the hill was a small stagnant tarn, and on its shore was a cluster of bright pink primula, nodding in the slight breeze. Following up a shallow valley, I came in sight of an extensive hill to the north¬east, and simultaneously found a good spot among rocks for lunch—amid the flowers and the sunshine and the silence. Moving off again at noon, I was soon able to see over the Rahani ridge down into the Alaini nala ; and could trace the Jabri stream up as far as the apparently vertical great tongue of the glacier falling from Deo Tibba. The hill ahead of me appeared a dull brown from a distance, but in fact it was covered in bright yellow anemones among the grass on the soft earth. Not until 2.30 did I reach its summit. It was a semi-circle of fiattish rocks whose open half dropped steeply into the Alaini valley ; which then turned sharply right (east-south-east) up to the Hamta Pass, now veiled by cloud.

The Rohtang Pass was visible to the north. Across to the south-west, Khanpari Tibba stood well back from the initial rise of the hill west of Manali. Beyond its summit and along its west ridge was another matching crest, but beyond that the ridge dis¬appeared into cloud. According to the contour lines of the map (52 H/SW), I was at about 13,400 feet. Further north-east, the ridge dropped a bit and then rose steadily towards Point 14,096 feet. The sun disappeared behind the clouds, and light rain fell on my way down.

On the edge of the higher patch of forest, I was following the track down the open hillside when, some 70 yards below me, appeared a huge black bear coming up! He was walking upright, and I had a distinct feeling that what I was seeing just couldn't be true. But I ducked behind some scrub, and then he turned off to his right into the forest, to disappear towards his lair among the big rocks. I was sure that he had not seen me, but I gave him a good long time to get far away before carrying on down. Only just below this spot were the shepherds of the morning with their flock. When I warned them about the bear, they wanted to know how it compared in size with the largest of their dogs.

My unaccustomed and protesting knees made the descent seem even longer than it was, and I reached the highway at 7 p.m., just before dark.

 

 

⇑ Top

 

A few days later Chering (a part-time Ladakhi instructor at the W.H.M.I.) and I set off from our orchard cottage just before seven on a fine morning, and struck straight up through the steep pine forest well behind and above the Dhungri temple. After a stiff hour or more we reached a huge flat-topped rock giving a great view back across the valley. From here an ordinary camera lens could take in both the Manali bazar and the summit of Deo Tibba. Soon afterwards the way levelled off on a well-used forest track along the hillside, to reach the open pastures of ‘Amar Dum’ Up to the left was a ‘ski hut' belonging to the Sherpa Guide School of Bashisht. The grassy slopes looked as if they would be skiable in the winter. At this time they were populated by sheep, goats and a herd of buffaloes whose keepers sold the milk down in Manali every day.

A stony path led up through rhododendrons to a shepherd's camp site on a col, where we rested at 1 p.m. in light rain. Cher¬ing advised camping at this spot, as he knew of no water or suitable sites further up. He began flattening a tent site, when I caught sight of a shepherd's cave under an overhanging rock. We shifted there and found a dry, spacious shelter. Water had to be brought from a trickle of a stream about two furlongs away. Rhodo¬dendron firewood was plentiful.

Next morning, as I expected, our cave mouth looked straight across at Deo Tibba and Indrasan. The night's clouds still hung heavily at dawn, but cleared temporarily for good views around seven o'clock.

Away at 7.25, we continued steeply upwards through rhododen¬drons and glorious wild flowers, including marsh marigolds and dwarf juniper, to reach Khanpari Tibba's soft-turf summit at 10.10. Clouds enveloping us blocked out any views.

Then began the trek westwards along the ridge. It was undulat¬ing at first, but more level later on where we could keep to the contours and avoid some of the ⁴ ups'. A few slopes of old snow on the shadow side of hills required step-cutting.

At 2.45 p.m. we halted on a col at about 14,000 feet. Many upright stone monoliths here marked the point from which shepherds take their flocks down to the upper Manalsu valley— but not until later in the season, when the steep slope is less snow- covered. This was also the point, recalled Chering, at which Pettigrew's party (of which he had been a member) reached the Khanpari ridge after climbing out of the upper Manalsu on their return from the second ascent of Hanuman Tibba or Solang Weiss- horn (H J. Vol. XXVII, pp. 94 IT. In Pettigrew's sketch map on p. 100, I submit that the dotted line showing their return journey should pass to the east, and not to the west, of Point 15,727 ft.).

While I flopped exhausted after a day carrying a moderate pack, Chering, whose load must have been nearly twice mine, glissaded with shouts of joy down the snow slope, and ran part way up again! Handy snow banks provided an ample water supply, and the kerosene primus roared away faithfully. The night was cold enough to freeze our condensed breath on the inside of the tent, as well as to frost the grass and rocks outside.

 

 

⇑ Top

 

The morning of 31 May brought a heavy cloud ceiling above, but it was high enough for us to look out from under and see lhat away to the south-east all the rest of the Himalayas except the Kulu Valley were in clear sunny weather. Ali Ratni Tibba and White Sail could be seen, but not Deo Tibba or Indrasan. Across the Manalsu nala was the impressive Shakuntala Tibba (16,524 feet), where Chering had been one of the three summiters of its first ascent in 1966 (H.J., Vol. XXVII, p. 105).

Looking upwards from our Monolith Camp, the prominent feature was a big black rock massif, bearing a striking resemblance to a cathedral. Regular matching buttresses, edged with snow, rose from a steep snow slope, and the 6 apse' at the eastern end had its own roof lower than the main roof ridge. The gradual rise of the latter ridge from east to west served unmistakably to identify the mountain with Point 15,727 feet on the map.

Leaving the tent in place, Chering and I set off at 7.15 to tackle the immediate ridge, which from then on was definitely upwards. In places we walked up old subsided cornices, and at other places Chering cut steps in the very loose shale and earth. By 9.30 we arrived on the roof of the apse, and contemplated the fearsome dragon's tooth of jagged rocks forming one of the two ‘steps' up onto the main roof. I had my doubts about going further, as we had no rope, but Chering went on to ‘look at the route’. He was back in three-quarters of an hour, saying that he had been to the top, and that once he had surmounted the steps, it was only a walk. A light lunch strengthened my resolve sufficiently to decide to have a go, with Chering showing the way. There was some steep rock-climbing for a start, on the left side of the step. It was airy in places, but there were always adequate holds and no overhangs. Once we were up on the roof ridge, it was mainly easy walking along a snow path, and we trod the small snow dome of the summit at 11.25 a.m. There were occasional spells of weak sunshine amid the cloud swirling around us, which robbed us of any panoramas. West of the summit was a steep drop, with a few sharp pinnacles between the Cathedral and the higher north- south ridge.

We were back at camp by 1.50, just in time to shelter from a half-hour s heavy shower of rain. Sunshine followed, then more cloud, and sunshine again around five o'clock.

Monday morning was overcast and, although we took our time in striking camp, the tent was still wet at eight, when we packed it last thing before leaving. But the clouds had been kind enough to disperse briefly for final sunlit views both of the Cathedral and of Hanuman Tibba soaring above the head of the Manalsu nala. Nearing Khanpari Tibba, we passed several places where tents had obviously been pitched. They would provide magnificent views on clear days, but would be dependent on snow for water. The crest itself was again wreathed in cloud as we passed over. Retracing our route down the north-east ridge, we found the wild flowers even more profuse than before, and filled our kettle and another container with them. Down at the sunlit pastures we soothed tired feet in a cooling stream, and bought buffalo's milk from herd boys. As we finally came out of the steep deodar forest at half past two, Hindi film music wafted across from a loud-speaker in old Manali village.

Some weeks later it was gratifying to learn that our modest effort was, as far as is known, the first ascent of the Cathedral (that is, Chering's was!).

 

 

⇑ Top

 

Even the most inactive can now get up to the snow, by ' luxury bus' on day trips in the season, from Manali to the Rohtang Pass and back. In contrast to the ordinary Indian bus, the two short twenty-seaters used for this trip have wide, high windows giving unobstructed views. Perhaps the view through the front wind¬screen is a bit too clear, because the mountains sweep dizzyingly from left to right and back again at every zig and zag in the tortuous climb.

Our whole family party came on this trip in a bus leaving the bazar shortly after 7 a.m. As the time of reaching the pass was about eleven, we felt that that was a bit late for views. So we had decided to stay overnight at Mahri, at 11,000 feet, and walk up to the pass early next morning. Our bus reached Mahri at about 9.30, and all the passengers disembarked for hot drinks in the teashops. We got down our bulging pack and five-person bedding roll from the bus roof, and took up residence in the 'Nepali Hotel'—one of several stone-walled shacks which have roofs of tarpaulin held down with more stones. In the winter the owners fold up the roofs and take them down with them to Manali, abandoning their hotels to the snow until the following April or May. Beyond the cluster of stone hotels were the tents of many Tibetan road-workers.

Ram Singh, the hotel proprietor, was kept constantly at work cooking meals and providing hot drinks for the stream of travellers who kept dropping in. Among them were a Delhi High Court judge and his entourage returning from a visit by jeep to the pass ; and two students with a Kulu guide, who were starting a courageous trek to Spiti and Simla.

Midday was cold with drizzling rain, but the late afternoon was clear. On a walk up a nearby hillside, Elizabeth and I could see the whole of the Khanpari ridge in the distance, including 6 my' Cathedral.

After the last of the travellers had finished their evening meal in the hotel, we spread out our air-mattresses and sleeping-bags on the plank benches around the walls ; and found that the night was less cold than the daytime.

Next morning, 7 June, was perfectly clear, and we were away walking by six, leaving our gear to pick up when returning by bus. Myfanwy (four) and David (three) went as well as any of us, apparently unaffected by the altitude. The smooth tar-sealed road helped—but we did go up the stony short cuts of the mule track wherever they shortened the distance. A large snow bank in a gully provided a fine playground for a short diversion. Then a big flock of sheep and goats overtook us on their way to summer pastures in Lahaul. The children were intrigued to see the heads of small kids poking out of the front of the strong home-spun coats of the hardy Kangra shepherds.

Passing another two stone 'hotels' with their prayer-flags fluttering, we gradually progressed over the brow of the wide pass. Every few yards we became more and more astounded at the magnificence of the mountains of Lahaul as they unfolded, until there in front of us was the whole fantastic panorama. Most impressive was the Kulti basin with its great vertical ice-fall (eight miles away in a direct line) and its back-drop of Tainbu, The Twins and Aqela Quila. Just at nine o'clock we reached the stone mile-post marking the highest point of the road, at 13,050 feet. Shortly afterwards our exertions were mocked by an Ambassador saloon car effortlessly buzzing over the pass on the highway and disappearing down into the trench of the Chandra valley—a far cry from my crossing twelve years previously on foot with Wangyal, after the tough struggle up the steep track from Kothi and Rahla (#./., Vol. XXI, p. 138).

Just below the mile-post was a partly frozen tarn, and the passing of the flocks added a picturesque foreground to the tremendous view all around. We spent a couple of hours just enjoying the spot and after lunch, as clouds began to arrive, retreated to a teashop to await the departure of the two buses for Manali.

The lower went the buses, the higher went the temperature, and the more were the layers of warm clothing we peeled off. No matter how hard we wished, Hanuman Tibba and the Solang peaks stubbornly continued to sulk behind their impenetrable dark clouds—which seemed to be the unfailing source of whatever bad weather we had.

The day we left Manali, 15 June, torrential rain prevented the scheduled planes coming to Kulu from Chandigarh, to where we had flight bookings. But the following day, on which there were no flights, was perfect as we endured the drudgery of the tortuous bus trip; while Deo Tibba continued to beckon to us in successive glimpses until as far away as the Beas-Sutlej watershed ridge on the approach to Bilaspur.

⇑ Top