UP AND DOWN THE PEAR ROUTE ON DHAULAGIRI I

VERA KOMARKOVA

IT WAS WHILE climbing Armapurna I (26,545 ft) in the fall of 19781 that I began to admire Dhaulagiri I, a solitary mountain which was m ice considered the highest in the world; both these two magnificent i /eaks rise, side by side, for about 23,000 ft from the Kali Gandaki river 4orge, the deepest gorge not only in the Himalaya but in the world.

As we kept climbing higher and higher on the Dutch Route on Anna- purna's North Face, the pyramid of Dhaulagiri I (26,795 ft), the White Mountain, grew and gleamed right in front of us. During the days when Annie Whitehouse, Sherpas Che wan g Rinzing, Mingma Tsering and I were trying to establish Camp 4 at 23,000 ft, the foreshortened perspective made Dhaulagiri just one of many peaks, but from higher up, especially during our summit climb, there was no mistake about its being one of the greatest peaks on earth. And in the few ecstatic minutes which Irene Beardsley, Chewang Rinzing, Mingma Tsering and I spent on top of Annapurna, Dhaulagiri I rose as one of very few white floats on a sea of undistinguishable reddish brown. I could not resist, and while we still lingered in the enchantment of Nepal after the Annapurna climb, I made a preliminary application to attempt Dhaulagiri in the fall of 1980. The Nepalese Government later granted us a permit for the usual route, the Northeast ridge, which was climbed by an American party in 1973.

Both Annapurna and Dhaulagiri, which form the western outpost of high peaks in Nepal, occupy distinct but very different places in the history of Himalayan mountaineering. Annapurna was the first major, 8000-m (26,248 ft) peak to be climbed and Dhaulagiri was the last; in fact, the members of the 1950 French expedition, which later made the first successful ascent of Annapurna, investigated Dhaulagiri and found it so formidable that the expedition attempted Annapurna instead. During the next decade, Dhaulagiri had an involved history of attempts on the 'Pear Route' on the North Face; the shape of the buttress which the route skirts perhaps reminded the early climbers of the fruits of home. Only after five expeditions had failed on the Pear, there was one unsuccessful attempt and finally the first ascent of Dhaulagiri by the today standard Northeast ridge by a Swiss expedition in I960.² The recent reputations of Dhaulagiri and Annapurna are almost the opposite of the early ones. The French, easiest route on Annapurna is rightly considered dangerous and our ascent in 1978 was only the fifth one of Annapurna total, whereas the Northeast ridge on Dhaulagiri is considered less dangerous and nine ascents of Dhaulagiri succeeded by that time.

 

We started out by planning a small, mobile party which would not use oxygen or high-altitude porter support for the attempt on the Northeast ridge, but soon it became obvious that there was another, very challenging option; an attempt on the still so far unclimbed 'Peai Route'. When we made the decision to switch to the Pear Route, our light-weight plans had to be abandoned. The technical difficulties and notorious lack of camp sites on the Pear required a different approach, and we came to Nepal equipped with box tents, pi tons, bolts, oxygen, thousands of feet of fixed rope, and a hanging tent which could be suspended from just one anchor. We also hired several Sherpas.

When we stood on the French Pass (17,500 ft) during our approach looking down on the glacier below us and on the Dhaulagiri North Fact above it from the same point as the French thirty years ago, I could understand their attitude and the preference of the early expeditions for the Pear Route. The approach to the Northeast ridge through the icefall of the Mayangdi glacier looked outright uninviting and exposed to ice falling from the glaciers hanging on the face above it; the ridge itself looked like it would be more prone to surface avalanches than the steep North Face. Head on, the Pear Route seemed to be straightforward and relatively safe; the difficult rock ridge crowned by towering gendarmes, which lies at about 24,600 ft and about which little is known as only a few expeditions succeeded in reaching it, reflected the late afternoon sunlight above the face which was in the shade. I thought that I could see the highest point on the route, reached by Argentinians in 1954: snow among rocks beyond the rock ridge at 26,000 ft, above which the route seemed clear of difficulties all the way to the summit.

Four weeks later, and almost exactly two years after our establishment of Camp 4 on Annapurna I, Annie, Chewang and I were at it again, trying to establish Camp 4 on the Pear Route. Camp 3, where we had moved the day before, was at 21,300 ft on the North Face proper below the Pear buttress. The camp was more or less protected from avalanches by a triangular serac—a tower of ice. There was enough snow below the serac to support a comfortable platform with three tents and a spacious snow cave which we used for storage and as a communal kitchen. It was important that we get Camp 4 in as soon as possible; it was almost the end of September, and we could not hope for much good weather before the arrival of strong winter winds. So far, the weather had been variable, with one big snowstorm whicfi dumped at least 6 ft of snow at Camp 2 and delayed our progress by several days. The 'window' of good weather between winter and the end of monsoon, which we desperately needed for the work on the exposed gendarme ridge and for the summit attempt, is usually short and it almost seemed that it will never materialize this year.

The first day out we made a pretty good progress. We started out early and made for the Pear buttress in a straight line, not much sinking into the snow during the trail breaking. Like the Polish expedition the year before, we were going to climb around the Pear on its steeper right side where smaller snow accumulation makes for lesser avalanche danger. That avalanches do occur on the left side of the Pear we knew from one of the books about the route; a snow cave was buried, but fortunately the occupants were able to dig themselves out. In Himalaya, however, everything occurs on such an enormous scale that one cannot rule an avalanche out almost anywhere. Below the lowest rock-band of the Pear buttress we traversed to the right and started fixing rope which would make not only our descent but also every following ascent much easier. We were making progress in 300 ft long sections determined by the lengths into which the rope was cut. Usually, Chewang was up front, making tracks and pulling the rope up; I belayed him, and Annie was untangling the rope coils so that they would smoothly slide up. After each 150 ft long section we stopped and secured the fixed rope to a well-placed anchor. We kept to places with more snow because we knew from photographs that winds could clear the rock and make the route very difficult. The layer of snow plastered on the rock was already very shallow, and when placing most of the anchors we had to remove the snow and search for cracks in the rock which were few, far between, and usually closed a short distance from the beginning of the crack — a sure sign that they were totally unsuitable for our purposes. We tried to drive pitons in by force, but the only tangible result of this strategy was my blackened finger — I had hit it with a hammer with all my strength. Because the pitons were so poorly placed, we put two or three at every rope length, but it was clear that when more people will start using the route the pitons will have to be supplemented by bolts, placed in holes drilled directly into the rock. We climbed about 1300 ft that day and got back to camp late and confident that we can make good progress tomorrow too.

But the next day it was pretty hard even getting to our high point. Relentless wind was blowing, and with an increasing force as one got higher; it was as if the winter had already arrived. One could always see the gust making its way, like a dancing little white dervish, across the face. Then we had to pause and hang on to the fixed rope as each gust swayed us in the shallow footsteps. For a few minutes, during which we scarcely had an opportunity to catch our breath, the world consisted of swirling whiteness and each of us was completely alone on the unyielding slope. My mind was blank as well, I just waited for the gust to go away so that I could start moving again. When it finally departed, it would leave unbroken whiteness in its tracks. Gasping, I would straighten out and start the slow plod up. Although there was Chewang moving up one fixed rope above me, I had to break a completely new trail, as Annie had to one fixed rope behind me. When we finally arrived at the end of the fixed line it was almost too late to start anything, and we felt pretty tired. But all this effort for carrying up a few fixed ropes and some anchors? So we put up another 300 ft but that was it for the day. We turned back, wondering how many days it will take us to get to the top of the Pear at this rate.

The wind was too strong to go up the next day, 1 October; we stayed at Camp 3, playing cards, reading, and talking. We started out to work on the route again early the next morning, but soon we realized that snow was in a poor, maybe dangerous shape and that it would be better to turn back. After the strong wind, the surface layer formed a hard slab, and the layer underneath was soft, perhaps providing a good sliding plane for the slab. We were all pretty tired, and waiting another day at the altitude of Camp 3 would not be much help; in addition, we would be using our high-altitude rations and fuel which somebody had to carry up. We talked the situation over with Camp 2 on the radio, and headed down for the lesser heights.

The snow slope below Camp 3 was in a better shape than the one above it, but we did not quite dare to slide down it on our bottoms as we did a couple of times before. The slope narrowed into a ridge above Camp 2, and climbing up the ridge were Lucy Smith and Cyndy Simer, both instructors from the National Outdoor Leadership School from Lander, Wyoming, who were responsible for the excellent organization of our equipment. They were going to take our place at Camp 3 and with Sherpas Ang Rita and Gyalzen to try to finish the route to Camp 4. We paused and exchanged a few words about the snow, route, and the location of material which we cached on the fixed ropes. We wished them luck — we sure hoped that they will be able to find Camp 4! The Sherpas who were to take part were very strong, particularly Ang Rita, who is the most qualified Bhaulagiri climber in the world; he reached the summit three times, twice during the same Spanish expedition. We watched them climb, from the relative comfort of Camp 2; way up, Cyndy decided to turn back because of freezing feet, but Lucy and the Sherpas pushed on and succeeded in making a considerable advance. Lucy definitely was the strongest climber, carried the heaviest packs, and there was no question in my mind that if we did get to the summit, Lucy would be among the summiteers. Cyndy and Lucy then decided to descend again to Camp 2, so it was up to Annie and me to go and finish what we started, this time with Ang Rita and Gyalzen.

On 5 October we started really early, determined to give it a good try. The Sherpas were far ahead of us, and I had a slow start and it took me some time to catch up. It was windy, but only up high today. As we progressed up the fixed ropes, we could see how the conditions on the face were changing. Since we had been here a few days ago, a lot more rocks have appeared and the route became more difficult. 'Did you find the candy I left for you at the last piton?' called out Annie when we met again, slowed down on the so far unbroken terrain. A couple of fixed ropes led us to a less sloping section, and through the intermittent snow flurries we were finally able to see beyond the Pear buttress into the basin below the gully leading to the gendarme ridge. In fact, the very place we were standing on looked like a possible camping spot. 'Camp 4?' asked Ang Rita, who got there first. We could not agree more. All the way from Camp 3, 2100 ft below us, there was not a single spot at which we could rest comfortably, letalone pitch a tent. And looking ahead the terrain did not seem any more inviting, just slabs and slabs of rock sparsely covered with snow, albeit inclined at a lesser angle than the buttress below us. Our chosen place looked better than any other one, but it did not look terribly secure; it was a snow bank perched on the top of the buttress with almost unimpeded view toward Camp 3. We started digging out a tent platform, and we saw that the snow was densely packed by wind and seemed to be solidly attached to the rock. We continued shovelling until the platform was big enough for one of our box tents, which seemed to have been made for this windy, unprotected and inhospitable spot. We saw that we could probably put at least two more tents there, allowing for some more extensive shovelling work. We were at about 23,400 ft and the terrain looked easy all the way to the steeply sloping snow-filled gully above which was our next landmark.

We did not climb on 6 October; it was very windy even low down on the face, and all we could do was to watch the wind redistribute the snow fallen earlier and create slabs and avalanche conditions. I was lying in a very small two-person Japanese Dunlop tent, taking stock of our progress so far and of our further prospects. Our situation was not very encouraging, although it was far from hopeless. A few climbers were plagued by minor ailments, but everybody was in reasonable shape. The Sherpas were working very hard. Camp 3 was very well stocked and carries to Camp 4 could start right away; we could place more tents at Camp 3 so that more people could move up and start carrying and fixing the route. But it was clear that there were very good reasons why the route has not been climbed so far and that the real difficulties were still ahead of us. Are we going to find out what the Pear Route is all about? Certainly the force ruling the North Face was the wind. The wind, the real effect of which could be only guessed until one tried to live on the steep, fierce face. The North Face itself offered no protection from it. If the wind did not let up soon, the face would become bare and probably even our tiny Camp 4 site would disappear; was not the Pear forever marked by the Argentinians who blasted a camp site out of the rock near the top of it? All of these, the force of the wind, the lack of camp sites, and the difficulty of the route and the rock were going to increase with and be magnified by the high altitude above. We did not even get a glimpse of the high altitude yet; a world of its own, it starts somewhere above 24,000 ft, offering very little comfort to anybody who gets that high. One feels like an ultimate intruder, when every step up makes it harder and harder to continue, and energy and reason are being rapidly negated by the lack of oxygen. Sleeping, breathing, and eating become painful chores. But the allure is also ultimate; floating above the earth where you can see its curvature, being almost in the stratosphere is not easy to forget. And one wants to do it again.

October 7 just did not start right. At Camp 3, it was windy and tent fabric kept flapping through the night. Snow kept accumulating around the tents and over the snow cave entrance in our small lee space below the serac, and all around us the dangerous build-up oI slabs continued. I got up early and had to push my way around in the drifted snow. All shovels were in the cave, but when I tried to squeeze in past and through the big snowdrift in the entrance, it gave way with an ominous whoompbu Ang Rita soon appeared and I handed him the shovels through the hole; it was quite a job cleaning the whole camp. With us at Camp 3 were now our Swiss physician Heidi Ludi and Sue Giller, who was responsible for organizing all the food; they came up to acclimatize and perhaps work on the route or carry to Camp 4. Everybody came to the snow cave to have breakfast, participate in the radio conversation with other camps, and plan for today; the only one missing was Sue who was altitude sick. Always active, Heidi was proposing that we do a carry to Camp 4, but everyone else agreed that this was not a good day to go up; especially Ang Rita was adamant about it. Snow was in bad shape and up high were almost blizzard conditions; on occasion, giant snow swirls of wind gusts reached down below the Pear. People at Camp 2 were not carrying either. We spent the morning cleaning up, cooking breakfast, and lying around in the tents reading. Still not feeling well, Sue decided to go down to Camp 2 around noon. Heidi started to dig out a platform for an additional tent below the platform on which our tents were pitched.

All the rest of us were in the tents when we heard Heidi call out that it looks like Camp 2 has been hit by an avalanche. The radio was silent, so our only information consisted of what we could see as we scrambled outside. A localized slab of snow on the ridge above slid off and some of the debris reached the camp site. This ridge, which was very narrow right above Camp 2, widened considerably closer to the North Face proper, and finally merged with it. We have used it as just about the only way to gain the face and Camp 3. We were aware of Camp 2 being exposed to the snow sliding off this ridge, but placing the camp on the ridge itself in the place where it was wide enough would have meant a very long carry. We saw that most of the tents in the camp have been broken and we saw people moving around the camp site; however, when we tried to count them, we always came up short of several. What happened? At least Sue appeared to be safe, she was still on the ridge above the camp. We were convinced that to go down now would be a wrong thing to do because we could start more avalanches, but not knowing what had happened and not being able to help was very frustrating. We had kept the radio on stand-by, but nobody called and we guessed that the radios might have been in the partly buried tents. The activity at Camp 2 was centred around a small crevasse opening which had been located between the tents, and we watched as more people emerged from it; the count was full now, or very close to what we figured must have been the number of people at the camp. Finally, the voice of Sonam Girmi, our excellent sirdar who also was at Camp 2 at the time, came through on the radio. He told us that everybody was accounted for, but kept repeating, distressed: 'We can't find Lyn! We can't find Lyn!' Lyn Griffith was a plant ecologist from Australia and as the leader of cur support team was in charge of the logistical support of the expedition during the climb. Our base camp was separated from the nearest village by two 17,000-ft passes which sometimes were covered by snow and dangerous for unaccompanied porters. Lyn coordinated the movement of supplies over the passes and the occupation of the support camps, as well as helping with environmental research which some members of the team were doing. Now she was visiting the climbing scene and helping to carry between camps for a few days; when the avalanche came, Lyn was with the climbers in one of the tents, getting ready to play cards. It was very unfortunate that it was this tent which was pushed by the avalanche snow into the nearby narrow crevasse. The tent landed on a snow-bridge about 40 ft below surface; Diana Dailey, a climber and school-teacher from Edmonds, Washington was outside the tent on the snow-bridge, and Cyncy, Lucy, and Shari Kearney, a climber and photographer from Portland, Oregon were inside the tent. They freed themselves, but Lyn, who was sitting next to the tent entrance, was not there. Sonam Girmi, Chewang, and another three Sherpas were in other tents or outside and were able to get out of the tents and snow by themselves except for the kitchen helper Gyalzen who had to be freed by the others. Chewang suffered a torn ligament in his right ankle. Most of the equipment in the camp was covered by snow, so the Sherpas used webbing to help the slightly injured climbers out of the crevasse. But there was no Lyn!

Sonam Girmi told us on the radio what equipment was needed and we started down from Camp 3 late that afternoon. When we got there, the search for Lyn was under way. There were only two possibilities; that she was under the avalanche snow or in the crevasse. The avalanche snow was compacted and it had to be dug through rather than probed; the layer was so shallow that it appeared very unlikely that we could find Lyn there. Nevertheless, we continued digging until late that night but with no success. It was good to see everybody else safe, but we all went to sleep that night with just one concern. Early the next morning the search continued. Most people worked on the rappel into the crevasse, others proceeded with digging. The descent into the narrow, deep crevasse with a small opening below the snow-bridge required a thin, light-weight person. Sue, who among us fitted this description best, volunteered and was lowered almost 150 ft. A problem was that she could not work effectively because the crevasse was getting narrower toward the bottom and it was impossible for her to dig through the snow there. She sent up several small items and then was pulled up herself; she needed help to be able to work. The next time Heidi was with her, but even their joined efforts did not enable Sue to reach the bottom and dig there; the crevasse was too narrow, Heidi and Chewang also dug through the snow-bridge, and at the end of the day it was clear that there was nothing else we could do In the crevasse itself.

Another day was spent digging through the snow, but then we had to give up; practically all of the avalanche snow at the camp site had been moved and almost all equipment recovered, and we had to conclude that during the accident Lyn fell out of the tent and slid through the small opening into the crevasse to the bottom where she was covered by the avalanche snow and where we could not reach, So we lost Lyn, one of the most vital, positive, and strongest people I have known. Lyn put much effort into expedition work, and her characteristic enthusiasm and friendliness became one of our expedition's greatest assets; she was always ready to take on the most difficult and uncomfortable tasks. Lyn was greatly interested in peoples of Nepal and in the Himalaya; many times during the expedition, she expressed her happiness about being back in Nepal and talked about coming again in the future. We carved a memorial to her into the rock at Camp 2; a living memorial, close to her heart, and a cause which she supported herself, will be the establishment of a fund supporting education of Sherpa children in Nepal.

Susan Havens, a physical therapist and climber from Anchorage, Alaska, and three young Sherpas who had been carrying between Camps 1 and 2 came up with more supplies. I went to meet Susan and we cried as I was telling her about the accident. Now we had to decide whether to continue with the climb or give up. It was late in the season, 9 October, and our spirits were at an all-time low. We discussed it, among ourselves and with the Sherpas, and opinions changed as the day wore on. We still had to do the hard part of the route; on the* other hand, we had more than the necessary supplies to start climbing higher at Camps 3 and 2, where the only major item lost was Heidi's Camp 2 medical box, most of which could have been replaced from the Base camp supplies. The Sherpas and some of us considered the accident bad luck, indicating that we should turn back, but they said that they would support us, providing that they did not have to do any leading at high altitude. In my view, once we had the Sherpa support we did not really need a great number of climbers to continue; however, I was well aware what another accident would do for the image of women's expeditions. I wanted to go on, but it was obvious that it would probably be a futile attempt considering not only the persisting avalanche conditions lower on the mountain, but particularly the unceasing, strong winds up high which were unlikely to stop this late and probably signalled an early onset of winter. So, with only a minority of climbers wanting to push on, we decided to turn back.

Once the decision was made, we started to evacuate, first from Camp 2, and after a couple of days, with some trepidation, from Camp 3. We left Camp 2 on 13 October, and it took us several days to get everything down to Base camp. We were able to gather at Base camp on 16 October for a memorial Glacier, some distance from the Base camp. The service was deeply moving; most people spoke a few words in Lyn's memory, some cried, and according to the Sherpa Buddhist custom, all of us burned Tibetan incense and dried local sage plants, in Tanya's words, 'wishing well to Lyn's roaming spirit’. We looked behind us, and among the approaching storm clouds, the North Face of Dhaulagiri was lighted as if by magic.

It was really windy and cold as we approached the top of the French Pass and we knew that we had made the right decision by turning back. In the 1980 fall season, only one expedition was successful on a high peak in Nepal, Germans on Annapurna I; all other expeditions were stopped by bad weather and winds. Perhaps we will be able to come back to Dhaulagiri some other time. As we paused on the pass for one last look before starting to descend into the Hidden Valley, storm clouds were closing in over the big mountain behind us.

 

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