SCOTTISH HINDU KUSH EXPEDITIONS, 1965-70

DR. R. ALAN NORTH

FOUR young Scots drove to the Hindu Kush in 1965 and entered the hitherto unexplored headwaters of the Bashgal valley (maps 1 and 2). It was a small mobile expedition, planned and executed in the traditions of the Corriemulzie Mountaineering Club, taking little precedent from earlier Himalayan exploration. The party set up its Base Camp above Panajir (35° 53' N., 71° 31' E.) and ascended the Shoshgal valley. Carrying food and equipment with them, they crossed a low col on the east ridge of Koh-e-Chrebek and then descended the Suigal. Throughout this excursion the whole party moved together, splitting up to ascend mountains from each of five individual camps. They claimed several fine summits (Appendix A), the most notable of which were Koh-e-Chrebek (6,290 m.), Koh-e-Morusg (6,435 m.) and Koh-e-Sisgeikh (6,130 m.). The team also crossed the ridge which falls east from Koh-e-Morusg and looked southwards into the lost valleywhich they did not realize to be the northernmost tributary of the Schurigal. They noted a host of attractive 5,000-metre peaks in the south and resolved to return to them.

Philip Tranter, the leader of the 1965 Scottish Hindu Kush Expedition, was overtaken by tragedy in 1966. He was killed in Northern France in a motor vehicle accident whilst returning from a climbing holiday in Turkey and the Alps—Scotland was deprived of a promising engineer and explorer. His friend, Ian Rowe, took over the organization of the next expedition.

The political problems for mountaineers in Afghanistan are comparatively simple. The country is surrounded by a 'border zone'—some 10 to 20 miles wide—to which the entry of foreigners is restricted. Unfortunately, many fine mountain areas fall within this zone, especially the High Hindu Kush of the Wakhan corridor. Our original application to climb in the Schurigal in 1968 would involve our entry into the restricted zone as we passed along the Bashgftl valley—we had nothing to lose by applying for permission to visit Wakhan, where we knew the mountaineering prospects to be more exciting. In particular, our eye was on Lunkho. Alas, our Embassy in Kabul felt that the chances of this application being favourably considered were so remote as to make it not worth forwarding to the Afghans. It was certainly true that western Europeans had seldom been accorded permits to penetrate far into Wakhan.

Japanese mountaineers had taken Noshaq in 1960, from beneath the noses of the first Polish expedition. Austrians, under Kutschera, had been active in the Warg and Kishmi Khan valleys east of Qazi Deh in 1962, and the Poles were back in the Urgend- e-Bala valley. 1963 saw renewed activity by the Swiss, Poles and Austrians and a deeper penetration of Wakhan by an Italian party. The Swiss visited the Urgend-e-Payan valley and conquered Koh in the Qazi Deh valley. The Italian Oxus 63' Expedition, under Pinelli, took advantage of the newly constructed 'road' to Qala Panja. They reconnoitred the Ishmurg and Khandud valleys and were impressed—finding Lunkho a particularly interesting mountain—before moving further east and making the first ascent of Koh-e-Baba Tangi. The Germans were fortunate in 1964, having a successful time in the Langar valley ; but also journeying on horseback far east of Qala Panja to where the Hindu Kush loses height and interest for the mountaineer.

In the following year a large party of Czechoslovakians were in the Ishmurg valley—they climbed 17 peaks including Koh-e- Hevad (6,849 m.), Koh-e-Uparisina (6,260 m.), Koh-e-Qala Panja (6,328 m.), Koh-e-James (6,120 m.) and a small peak Koh-e-Myani near the foot of Lunkho's north ridge. 1966 was a further quiet year with a Polish team in the Noshaq area, and the following summer the Japanese succeeded in climbing Lunkho-e-Hawar but from the south side, approaching through Chitral and unaffected by the Afghan border zones.

None of this intelligence was ours in 1968 when our six-man team arrived in Kabul in mid-July. There we met Ales Kunaver with his Yugoslavian team and a party of four Austrians, both bound for Lunkho ; and Henri Agresti was there with his family hoping to obtain permission to visit the Qala Panja valley. The Afghans had conveniently misplaced our application for the Schurigal, so that negotiations began from scratch. In our camp site beside the Qargha dam, for we were not an affluent expedition, we hurriedly prepared a new application—to visit the Ishmurgh valley. The Austrians and Yugoslavians were both going for Lunkho from the Khandud valley—we took the risk of finding a more difficult route on Lunkho, but preferred to have a valley ‘to ourselves'. The Austrians, the Yugoslavians and ourselves all believed Lunkho to be the highest unclimbed peak in the Hindu Kush—unaware of the Japanese success from Pakistan a year before. This belief constituted our total knowledge of the moun¬tain—we had done our homework on the Schurigal! Seven days after submitting our application, permission came through. Un¬known to us all, a Polish party was heading for the Yamit valley, next west of the Khandud valley, and for Lunkho.

The men of Ishmurg were anxious for work, doubtless aware that their compatriots up and down the valley had taken rich pick¬ings from the Polish, Austrian, Yugoslavian and French parties. It was a prosperous year for some of the porters. Any attempts to line their pockets from the Scots were vigorously resisted; though we still had to pay them 100 Afghanis per man for a one- day carry into the Ishmurg valley. Twenty men left Ishmurg on 26 July, and 19 loads arrived at our initial ⁶ Base Camp^? that evening ; the missing load constituted a greater loss to us than gain to them—we could spare the food which it contained but not the total supply of expedition toilet paper. Ten more porter loads followed up the valley and then several days were spent in moving everything 2,000 feet up the valley to our definitive Base Camp near the glacier snout. Undoubtedly, we should have retained the services of the porters for a further day or, better, exhorted or tricked them to carry from Ishmurg to the glacier snout in one day. Although strenuous, this latter proposal would have been quite feasible. Accordingly, it was 2 August before we had established a well-stocked Advance Base Camp on the glacier's true right bank, beneath a small rock peak climbed by the Czechoslovakians. On the following day we penetrated Lunkho's northern cwm by climbing a small ice-fall, and set up Camp I (map 3).

The head-wall of the Ishmurg valley is most impressive—it is formed by the north face of the main chain of the Hindu Kush. Up to 7,000 feet high and stretching 10 miles from the western peak of Lunkho-e-Hawar to Koh-e-Setara, it comprises a series of magnificent individual peaks including Koh-e-Uparisina (photo 1), Lunkho-e-Kuchek (photo 2) and the broad high crest of Lunkho- e-Hawar itself. From the Advance Base Camp the whole of the section of the north face from Lunkho-e-Kuchek to Lunkho-e- Hawar rose above us (photograph, H.J., Vol. XXIX, 1969), its crest never dropping below 20,000 feet. The easy lines on this section of the face were few: Lunkho-e-Kuchek threw down a long ridge towards us which would hold the key to its upper glaciers and onto the ridge west of its final pyramid, and four miles further west the broader snowy north ridge of Lunkho-e-Hawar offered an easier approach to the crest. It at once became my ambition to climb both the Lunkhos accessible to us and to traverse the frontier ridge between them.

Lunkho's north ridge joins with the south ridge of Koh-e-Hevad at a low col—on the earlier maps no col is shown here, and it was believed that an easy passage existed between the Khandud valley and the head of the Ishmurg valley. From Camp I in the northern cwm, the col was still a thousand feet above us ; and any thought of a direct approach to it was discredited by the barrage of stones and ice which swept the slopes beneath the col. Paul Brian and I made a route up a system of ribs and couloirs and arrived on the crest of the ridge half a mile north of the main col before returning under threatening skies. On the second tentative attempt, four of us traversed the ridge to gain the main col, cross¬ing the rather insignificant peak of Koh-e-Myani (possibly Koh- e-Marzaki of the Czechoslovakians). The col was heavily corniced to the east, and sloped very steeply into the Khandud valley on the west—certainly not an easy passage. Snow conditions were bad and thwarted this attempt to gain a foothold on Lunkho's north ridge proper.

Another spell of poor weather followed. A party of four attempted Koh-e-Dusti (Koh-e-Mina of the Czechoslovakians) but failed 2,000 feet from the summit despite two inclement bivouacs. I returned to Base Camp with the fifth member to treat his haemor¬rhoids. The weather improved on 17 August and three days later Paul Brian, Ian Rowe, Dave Martin and myself again reached the col and bivouacked beside it. The next day began well enough ; the snows of the col were frozen hard and Lunkho's north ridge soared above us (photo 3). We made good progress along the lower more level heavily-corniced section of the ridge until enveloped by a local thunderstorm in mid-afternoon. The weather became quite violent and, rather than spend several hours retracing our route to the col and over Koh-e-Myani before being able to lose height, we elected to descend directly into the Khandud valley down somewhat easier slopes. After a bivouac on the upper Khandud glacier we awoke to glorious weather, despondent not to have accepted the minority opinion and sat out the storm on the north ridge. Adding to our chagrin was the sight of a relatively easy route unto Lunkho-e-Hawar from this valley—the Austrians and Yugoslavians must surely have climbed it by now. Lunkho-e-Dosare appeared to be more difficult, and was by far the most splendid of the Lunkhos in appearance (photo 4).

Reluctantly, we walked down the valley, catching up with the Yugoslavians in Khandud and learning of their success ; then, after a short night at Ishmurg, we ascended to Base Camp on 23 August. The mood of the party was varied. Some felt that we should now abandon our attempt on Lunkho-e-Hawar and go for other peaks. But we had chosen a fine route on Lunkho and logistically we were in a good position—food was high on the mountain and no major difficulties remained above it.

Ian Rowe and myself reached the previous high point on 26 August, where we were again afflicted by a storm. It had not been an uneventful ascent, Rowe had narrowly escaped decapita¬tion by a dislodged boulder and we had found our food dump attacked and ravished by ravens. We sat out the blizzard which ensued in a comfortable snow cave at about 5,700 metres. The following day showed no amelioration and several inches of snow fell on the ridge outside. Life in the snow cave was pleasantly soporific, an atmosphere largely produced by the intoxication from unburned paraffin vapour. Early on the 28th I left the snow cave in the continuing blizzard. Fifteen inches of new snow lay on the ridge outside, making upward progress almost impossible. There was no alternative but to retreat whilst it was still possible, and no sense in eating food high on the mountain. The new snow on the western side slid away beneath our feet, forcing us ever upwards to where the cornice edge dimly appeared. Down at the col the wind had dropped but the rocky traverse of Myani was tricky with its heavy cover of new snow. We reached the bergschrund at dusk, with the tents only 10 minutes walk away. Despite searching for a couple of hours we could not find Camp I in the dark and falling snow. Awakening from a cold bivouac at dawn the crest of the tent was just showing above the snow, laughing at us from a few yards away.

It was a time of accentuated despair. Our early plans to climb Lunkho and several other peaks had taken a body blow. The other teams had already succeeded and left. Snow lay every morning at Base Camp at under 4,000 metres and we wondered whether the summer had ended. We did not know that September was often one of the most settled months in the Hindu Kush. Added to this, we could only spend a further week in the area. Even assuming good weather, it was difficult to decide whether to continue on Lunkho, already climbed, or to go for new summits. We decided on a broad-based assault. Paul Brian and Dave Martin would go for Koh-e-Qala Panja; Pat Mellor and Jim Tancred would go for a smaller unclimbed peak north of Koh-e- Tirma ; myself and Ian Rowe would go yet again for Lunkho.

We regained Caftip I on 1 September during a resumption of superb weather. In the ice-fall I had slipped a few feet when a crampon came loose and landed in a thigh-deep glacier pool. On the following day we ascended to the snow hole—12 hours of climbing—and found it still intact and hospitable. We were still 4,000 feet from the summit and set off an hour before dawn on the upward climb—it was 3 September. At first progress was agonizingly slow, the snow waist-deep and the slope unstable. As we gained height, the cold west wind crossing the ridge had hardened the snows and our speed increased. The line of the Aus¬trian and Yugoslavian ascent to the col between Lunkho-e-Hawar and Lunkho-e-Dosare became clear over to our right—the more aggravating for its apparent simplicity. At the top of the north ridge the angle steepened and there were a few pitches of quite difficult rock-climbing. My double boots had not dried completely from the immersion in the glacier pool and two days' wearing of crampons had combined with the cold wind to freeze my toes. We wandered along the summit ridge in the tracks of the earlier parties and after half an hour stopped on a snow peak. Further along the ridge a rock tower rose about a hundred feet higher and we felt that this must be the highest point, the west central peak ; however, it was about half an hour away even though there appeared to be no further difficulties. It was after three o'clock and, rather than risk further damage to my already frozen feet, we decided to turn back in an attempt to reach the snow cave before nightfall. The descent is another story (H.J., Vol. XXIX, 1969).

On the same day as our success on Lunkho, Jim Tancred and Pat Mellor had made the'first ascent of a peak immediately north of Koh-e-Tirma of about 5,950 metres, which they called Koh-e- Andaval. Meanwhile, Dave Martin and Paul Brian came close to success on the western ridge of Koh-e-Qala Panja but failed despite three bivouacs. There was no scientific programme to our expedition, but Jim Tancred, an expert ornithologist, made a collection of bird sightings in the area.

Soon after our return to Scotland, Paul Brian was married. It was at his wedding that Jim Tancred and myself first discussed our return to Lunkho-e-Kuchek and the other unclimbed peaks in the area. The President of the Royal Scottish Geographical Society, Lord Balerno, had heard the story of the 1968 expedition, and kindly accepted my invitation to be our patron. Ian Rowe, leader in 1968, agreed to join the party. Alas, Jim Tancred had to resign for professional reasons ; Bill Sproul and Wilf Tauber were recruited to complete a four-man team. *

The deep Wakhan had not been overvisited. In 1969 Japanese climbers had been to a tributary of the Ishmurg valley, the Austrians had made a brief visit to the Khandud valley and another Japanese party had been in the Pegish valley, the next west of the Yamit. Our objectives in 1970 were all well inside Wakhan: a Polish friend, Ryszard Palzcewski, who had made several visits to the area, told me of many fine unclimbed rock peaks in the Baba Tangi region. Interestingly enough, the Poles themeselves were refused permits for Wakhan in 1969. To our dismay, our application to climb in our chosen area in 1970 was turned down. A second application was submitted, requesting that we be allowed to visit the Toghw valley of the Central Hindu Kush. It was not until we arrived in Kabul in mid-July 1970, that this request was granted. We had learned that it was quite possible to wait until one's arrival in Kabul to commence negotiations with the Afghan Government (Appendix B).

The irony was complete. In 1965, the Scots had been refused Lunkho, and had gone to the upper Bashgal. In 1968, they had planned to visit the Schurigal, but gained permission for the Ishmurg valley. Two years later, we had wanted to return to the region of Ishmurg but were to finish up ‘over the hill' from the Schurigal. The Schurigal itself had lost its attraction following a visit by a Californian party in 1968. On the other hand, we believed the Toghw valley to be unvisited by climbers, one of the last major valleys in the Central Hindu Kush to preserve its virginity. In 1968 an English party had climbed Koh-e-Bandaka by its south face and then made a short visit to the Darrah-e- Sharan, a tributary of the Munjan draining Koh-e-Sisgeikh, Koh- e-Morusg and Shak-e-Kabud (map 5). They had looked into the head of the Toghw valley reporting that it contained as much good climbing as the whole of Mont Blanc. Their valley, the Darrah-e- Shahran, had been previously explored by the Germans, as had the next major tributary of the Munjan to the south, the Darrah-e- Parshui. Between these two, four lesser valleys drain the western side of the main chain of the Hindu Kush, running into the Munjan. Their waters eventually join with those of the Anjuman to form the Kokcha river, which flows into the Oxus. Only the northern two of these four valleys are large, and only the Darrah-e-Toghw actually gives access to peaks on the main chain. Crossing from the head of the Darrah-e-Toghw, one reaches Nuristan and the headwaters of the Schurigal. With all the recent activity in the Central Hindu Kush, it seemed surprising that the Toghw valley should be unvisited: one reason must be its remoteness.

The village of Shah-e-Pari (35° 54' N., 70° 53' E.) at the foot of the valley can be reached by three routes (map 1). Firstly, it can be reached from the north by following its waters. This route, which we elected, involves crossing the main chain of the Hindu Kush by the Salang Pass and then by way of Kunduz, Taloqan, Keshem, Faizabad and Jurm to the Kokcha valley and Keran-o- Munjan. Secondly, one can ascend the Panshir valley from Charikar, cross the Anjuman Pass and so come to Keran-o-Munjan. Thirdly, one might go by way of the Kunar and Pech valleys, crossing the Weran Pass at the head of the Munjan and descending the valley to Shah-e-Pari. The most pleasant solution would be to approach by one route and depart by another.

In 1968 we had driven our Ford Transit van all the way to Ishmurg, despite considerable problems on account of its small wheels and low ground clearance. The road beyond Faizabad had become even worse in the intervening years, and in 1970 we took a local truck from Faizabad to Hazrat-e-Sayet, some 40 miles beyond Jurm. The village of Hazrat-e-Sayet is effectively the roadhead: it is possible to take a small vehicle along the track a further 14 miles to camp, but donkeys or horses would still have to be brought from Hazrat. Our interminable problems with porters began at once; the Abob, or headman, proved to be an utter rogue. The equipment was loaded on to 30 donkeys and two horses, whereas it could have been comfortably transported by half that number. We employed these men for a lump pay¬ment of 3,200 Afghanis for the journey to Sar-e-Sang: they could go no further as the bridge at Sar-e-Sang had been recently des¬troyed (map 4). We did not consider the broken bridge to be a major problem—a telephone line runs up the valley to the ad¬ministrative centre at Keran-o-Munjan, and it would be possible to get donkeys down to the other side of the bridge; if we could construct a ropeway for our baggage across the river. In any event, we planned to stay in Sar-e-Sang for some days to attempt two unclimbed 5,700-metre peaks on the east side of the river.

The first day’s march took us to camp (map 4) where, despite our protestations, the donkeymen unloaded our equipment and took flour and wheat up to the government mine at Sar-e-Sang. We were stranded. Next day, the donkeys returned and took on more flour; there was no other source of labour and we were infuriated, exasperated and powerless. On the following day, 24 July, they took our loads to Sar-e-Sang. Part way along this section of the journey, which in places is tricky for loaded animals, a horse carrying the whole of our mountaineering equip¬ment entered the fast-flowing Kokcha river and was swept down¬stream. By good fortune, the horse managed to escape onto the opposite bank ; it seemed unhurt and all our precious equipment was intact upon its back. The horse could not move up or down river on account of steep rock buttresses rising from the water. We could not possibly cross the river, and the nearest bridge, seven miles upstream at Sar-e-Sang, was destroyed.

It was essential that we retrieve the equipment for, although we had more than enough rope, all our other gear was on that horse. Ian Rowe and Bill Sproul went upstream until they were able to ford the river (photo 5), then returned to erect a ropeway at Sar- e-Sang. Continuing down the west bank they found difficult going in sections, for the rocks often dropped steeply into the river. At the place where the horse had last been seen, nothing remained but bloodstains and a broken bridle. The horse and all our ironmongery were gone ; we could only assume that the beast had re-entered the river and had been swept away. A man was sent two days downstream to search the banks, but found nothing.

The two attractive peaks above Sar-e-Sang which remain un- climbed would have been difficult without at least the occasional piton, but in the event we discovered that any approach from this side was prohibited on account of the government mines. Porters were sent for from Iskaser, a village near the foot of the Anjuman river, and the stores swung across the ropeway (photo 6). We were on the move again after a five-day delay— worse off by £200 worth of hardware and despondent that the Toghw peaks might be out of our reach. One day's march took us to beside the Anjuman river and the following morning we forded this near its confluence with the Munjan. In a few hours we were at the valley capital of Keran. The policeman, an unlikely looking character in smart civilian clothes but whose authority was in no doubt, refused to allow our drovers from Iskaser to go any further. Clearly partisan, he insisted that we recruit local men from Keran—which involved a further night outside the police station and a protracted haggle over rates the next morning. The Munjan cuts a deep gorge through terminal moraines above Keran and the path rises to 3,000 metres over the barren Pajuka Pass before dropping down to cross the Borish stream and enter Shahran. The bitter argument on rates of pay delayed our start until noon, and six hours later we were in Shahran.

The deal with the men had been, so far as we and they under¬stood, for the journey to Shah-e-Pari, about six miles on from Shahran. They would not be paid until they got there, a point which we emphasized the following morning by sending Ian Rowe and Bill Sproul ahead with all our money. However, the men of Shahran, anxious to be employed themselves, refused to allow passage through their village to our porters from Keran. The Keran men were unable to advance through Shahran, but reluctant to return unpaid! The hostile groups set about on the village green as though engaged in some strange industrial deadlock. The stagnation ended after several hours when we agreed to employ Shahran men for the return journey, having no intention of doing so.

The walk beside the Munjan to Shah-e-Pari is a rare treat after the rocky confines of the Kokcha valley and the dry stony wastes of the Pajuka Pass. The valley is wide and green, the waters deep blue and crystal clear. Shah-e-Pari is a small poor village of a hundred folk in the mould of any remote Afghan mountain place ; the womenfolk toil endlessly sowing, irrigating and harvesting, whilst the men idle the day away, gathered in huddles with their ' tarioch \ There was a good turn-out of men at our arrival and it became instantly clear that much of our confusion with the porters had stemmed from the fact that Toghw valley was wrongly named. We had found the name on Wolfgang Frey's map, but the correct name is the Darrah-e-Mulaw. More news followed—the valley had been entered two weeks before by a Japanese team of six mountaineers. Our initial surprise and aggravation were soon tempered by the realization of our immense good fortune—we might even now obtain some equipment and attempt serious climbs.

Taking on 10 men at 130 Afghanis per man per day and carrying heavy loads ourselves, we set up a Base Camp at four thousand metres at the head of the highest lake in the valley. Wilf Tauber and I made contact with the Japanese, a party from Akita Climbers Club, on 5 August. They had ascended three peaks at the head of the valley (map 5) and were about to depart, leaving us ample scope and all their equipment. We agreed a price for pitons, karabiners and hammers, and learned of their success on Koh-e- Barf (5,797 m.), Koh-e-Mulaw immediately to its east, and Koh-e- Cousin (5,751 m.), all in the south-west corner of the corrie. They had attempted the west ridge of Shak-e-Kabud and Pk. 5,752 m. but had failed for lack of time. We heard also of the four other Japanese parties in the central Hindu Kush.

Our oriental friends left the valley on 7 August and on the same day we established an assault camp on the moraines beneath a noble rock peak (5,700 m.) which dominated the western corrie. Benefiting from continuing perfect weather, we simultaneously attacked Pk. 5,752 m. and Pk. 5,620 m. Wilf Tauber and I were on the former, climbing by its north ridge to a bivouac just beneath the summit. Ian Rowe and Bill Sproul climbed a steep ice and rock slope to gain the high col west of the latter peak, which had been referred to by the Japanese as 4 Ama Dablam \ though the resemblance was scant. At eight o'clock on 9 August I saw Ian Rowe and Bill Sproul on their summit (photo 7) and half an hour later we had also climbed our first peak. The Pk. 5,752 m. was called Koh-e-Corner (Koh-e-Kunj); the Pk. 5,620 m. was Marble Cake mountain (Marmar-Koh). From the same assault camp Ian Rowe and Wilf Tauber climbed Crystal Peak (Koh-e-Crystal) (5,700 m.) by a rib on its south-east corner, whilst Bill Sproul and I ascended Koh-e-Farda (5,420 m.) in the course of an attempt on Pk. 5,613 m. It had been an active start, four fine peaks in as many days, and we returned to Base Camp replete.

A second assault camp was placed on the opposite side of the valley. On 15 August, Bill Sproul and Wilf Tauber climbed two summits of the Pk. 5,637 metres (Koh-e-Parrendah, Bird Peak) above the camp by direct attack on its west face, returning to the camp that day. Ian Rowe made a solo ascent of Pk. 5,555 metres (Arroos-Koh, Bride Peak) on account of my incapacity with a heel abscess which required draining. With the foot bandaged I was able to join Ian Rowe for summit number seven—an absolutely splendid traverse of Pk. 5,430 metres (Koh-e-Jumjumma, Skull Peak). The traverse occupied two full days, leading us from the obvious col between Pk. 5,637 metres and Pk. 5,430 metres, which was defended by some steep and difficult rock over the twin tops of the mountain. From an idyllic bivouac at 5,400 metres (photo 8) we watched the host of rock spires in the east (photo 9) discharg¬ing orange streamers into the night sky before the eventual rising of a full moon.

On our return to Camp II, Bill Sproul and Wilf Tauber had left for Shak-e-Kabud (6,190 m.)—both anxious to cross the 20,000-foot mark. It had only one ascent, that from the Shahran valley and had repulsed the Japanese before us. They were thwarted in their attempt on Shak-e-Kabud on 20 August but managed to bag Pk. 5,316 metres (Koh-e-Sassi) before descending to Base Camp that day. After returning to Camp III and bivouacking above it, they completed the ascent of Shak-e-Kabud by a steep snow couloir on its south face on 22 August. On 23 August they cleaned out the east side of the corrie by climbing Pk. 5,590 metres ; on this they were surprised to find evidence of a recent party fairly close to the summit. We could only assume that the orange tent which we had noted down in the Schurigal was the source of the attempt; it was occupied by climbers from the Imperial College, London.

Ian Rowe and I had evacuated Base Camp and ascended the next valley to the south, the Darrah-e-Joumeh. This is another exciting valley, its head-wall dominated by the 5,000-foot north face of Koh-e-Mondi (photo 10). Wild life abounded in the valley, Himalayan snow-cocks attacked me as I slept, chamois watched us as we ate, and mice kept us awake at night. It is unfortunate that some of the major peaks in the valley have already had ascents from other aspects, but it still offers fair scope. Alas, climbing was denied us by a recurrence of my heel abscess and the visit could only be an amply rewarded reconnaissance. A botanical collection was made for the Royal Botanic Gardens, Edinburgh.

The party gathered at Shah-e-Pari on 27 August to begin the return march to Hazrat-e-Sayet. The men from the village with three horses and three donkeys stayed with us the whole way- taking care to avoid other villages where possible. Despite delays by the stick-swinging policeman at Keran, we came to Hazrat in four days. The bridge at Sar-e-Sang had been repaired. The Abob in Hazrat had not changed: he proved very unhelpful and avaricious and succeeded in alienating us from the people of his village. We returned by lorry to our own vehicle in Faizabad on 2 September.

APPENDIX A

Peaks ascended by the Scottish Hindu Kush Expeditions

[Some of the heights do not seem to agree with those in the maps —ED.]
(i) 1965 (map 2)

 

Philip Tranter, with Gavin Johnstone, Will Fraser, John Wedder- burn.
(ii) 1968 (map 3)

 

Alan North, with Ian Rowe, Bill Sproul and Wilf Tauber.

APPENDIX B

Political procedure for expeditions wishing to climb in Afghanistan

Expeditions should request their own embassy in Afghanistan to submit certain letters to the Cultural Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Kabul. The first of these can be organized well in advance, but the others must normally await the expedition's arrival in Kabul.

1. A formal request for permission for the expedition to visit the required area; stating clearly the composition and sponsors of the expedition, its aims and its purposes with suitable testimonials, and the exact location of the required area with the routes to be followed in approach and withdrawal. This should be in triplicate and illustrated with maps, etc.
2. A formal request for permission for the expedition to have access to any required maps from the Cartographic Institute in Kabul. This letter should contain a note of the numbers and scale of the maps required, which information can only reasonably be obtained by a visit to the Institute. The maps are of limited value to mountaineers.
3. A declaration of all goods brought by the expedition into Afghanistan. This should be in triplicate.
4. A statement of the names, nationalities, professional qualifications, and passport numbers of all the expeditions members.

Submission of these letters to the Cultural Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs will normally result in the prompt provision by that department of further letters. These should be delivered by the expedition.

1. To the Ministry of the Interior, requesting them to furnish the necessary letter of permission. The Ministry of the Interior will usually do this within 24 hours.
2. To the Cartographic Institute, requesting them to provide for purchase or perusal of specified maps.
3. To the visa office of the Police Department, requesting them to make any necessary visa alterations. Expedition members may have entered the country on ‘tourist' visas, which would need changing to ‘stay' or residence visas.
4. To the Customs Department of the Ministry of Finance. This letter informs the Customs authorities of the goods carried by the expedition into Afghanistan: the goods may have to be presented for evaluation of import duties. These duties are particularly high on foodstuffs.

Only when the Letter of Permission is to hand, visas are adequately extended and any import duties have been levied should the expedition leave Kabul.

On returning from the mountains it will normally be necessary to revisit the Ministry of Foreign Affairs requesting the issue of exit visas. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs will provide a letter to be carried to the visa office of the Police Department, who will then issue exit visas.

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