HIMALAYAN JOURNAL : XXX-38 (1970-1980/81)

AAMIR ALI

I CONSIDERED THE LAST article in this series, covering 11 volumes, over 2000 pages and nearly 200 articles, to be the limit of human endurance, both for writer and for reader. I was grateful that the present article was to cover only 9 volumes; I took it hard, therefore, when I discovered that these totalled 2500 pages and over 280 articles! As Michael Westmacott, then President of the Alpine Club, wrote about our Editor on another occasion, ‘he has sent me down a fast one — or is it a googly?’

In trying to keep this article within respectable limits, I have arbitrarily ignored a large number of interesting articles: for instance, the enchanting Hindu Kush, Chitral, Kulu and Kashmir have been banished altogether for no justifiable reason.

In looking over the wealth of material, three points emerge: the marked increase in the number of articles by Indian mountaineers; the increasingly difficult climbs being undertaken; and the wide adoption of ‘Alpine-style’ climbing.

One landmark during this period was the death of Kenneth Mason in 1976; his obituary by Trevor Braham appeared in XXXIV-74. Mason had been one of the two real godfathers of the HC, Editor of the HJ for 13 years, Vols. I to XII; the first professor of Geography at Oxford; the author of The Abode of Snow, 1955.

Another landmark was XXXV-1976/78, commemorating the 50th anniversary of the HC. It was a bumper issue of 363 pages, with a colour photograph of Nanda Devi by Asst. Editor Kapadia on the cover (the first time the Journal had a cover in colour). The issue contained a detailed history of the HC by John Martyn, and a Retrospect and Prospect by Trevor Braham; it had five articles reprinted from earlier volumes and was the last edited by Soli Mehta.

From time to time there had been appeals for articles on ‘extending knowledge of the Himalaya.... through science, art, literature’ but in fact the focus had been on climbing. In this series of Journals, the pendulum has swung back and there are about 40 articles on general questions, covering Natural History, the Environment (an increasing preoccupation), Mountain Medicine, the International Mountaineers’ Meet to mark the 20th Anniversary of the climbing of Everest some outstanding personalities such as George Everest and the remarkable Schlagintweit Brothers, and the eternal question: why climb?

Mountaineering

Alexander the Great sat down and wept because there were no more worlds to conquer. Mountaineers are made of sterner stuff. When there were no more giants left to conquer, they turned their attention to more difficult routes. As Chris Bonington said about the South Face of Annapurna I, ‘I wanted to try another big Himalayan face. This also seemed a logical development in mountaineering, now that most of the major peaks.... have been climbed... Our ascent ...does not mark the end of Himalayan climbing but rather the start of an exciting new era.’ And in this series we have accounts of climbs of several very difficult routes such as Robert Paragot’s climb of the West Pillar of Makalu, 1971, followed by Roskelley’s solo in 1980; his climb of the East Face of the Uli Biaho Tower 1979; Akira Takahashi on the West Wall of Manaslu. 1971; Jim Whittaker’s ascent of K2 by the NE ridge 1972 and Bonington and Scott on Baintha Brakk, 1977.

Perhaps a concomitant of more highly advanced technical climbing was a lot more technically advanced evacuation of the injured; rescue by helicopters was increasing.

Again, there is much of a muchness in reading about many of the expeditions. But some are extremely well written accounts of memorable climbs; some are poorly written accounts of very ordinary climbs. And poor writing doesn’t mean ‘Japanese English’ or ‘Czech English’, which indeed can have a charm of its own. I mean just poor writing.

Several expeditions had trouble with their porters; could it be that porters were no longer content where it had pleased Providence to place them?

Everest

Volume XXXI-1971 has six articles on Everest. T.S. Blakeney’s ‘A.R. Hinks and the First Everest Expedition, 1921’ reprinted from the Geographical Journal, is a tribute to Arthur Robert Hinks (18731945), a formidable personality.¹ ‘Everest expeditions, especially the first in 1921, owed much to him, and it is appropriate, fifty years after the event, to pay tribute to him.’

 

Norman G. Dyhrenfurth had led the American Expedition to Everest in 1963; the lure of the mighty south west face brought him back. The International Himalayan Expedition, 1971, XXXI-71 had climbers from 13 countries, (including Dougal Haston, the Swiss duo Michel and Yvette Vaucher, Bahuguna) a BBC film crew of nine and an Australian journalist. Lt. Col. J.O.M. Roberts agreed to be joint leader; Chris Bonington had agreed to join but later withdrew. They had 40 Sherpas. The object was two-fold: a Direttissima on the SW face, and the west ridge beyond the American Camp 4 along its entire length.

Newspaper reports to the contrary, the team worked smoothly together — at first. Then there was the storm in which Harsh Bahuguna — ‘much loved by us all’ — died and the Austrian Wolfgang Axt was accused of having deserted him. Dyhrenfurth conducted a tape recorded inquiry immediately, showing that Axt could not in any way be blamed for Bahuguna’s death.

Bahuguna’s death was the turning point in the expedition. Several members wanted to climb Everest by the normal route despite Dyhrenfurth’s pleading; dissension (between ‘Latins’ and ‘Anglos’: ethnic strife had come to the Himalaya), quarrelling, and sicknesses were now rife. The Sherpas were all for continuing the attack on the face; so were the sahibs, except the two ‘Latins’ there. The Vauchers and Axt were at Base, and as the walkie-talkie broke down, couldn’t be contacted. There was obviously an Anglo Saxon plot’. Accusations of ‘cowardice, dictatorship, lies, drunkenness, insults to France and Italy, bad organisation, weak leadership and other niceties. ‘Yvette threw stones at my tent²...... All our efforts (to persuade them) were in vain, they felt betrayed, let down, plotted against’ and Pierre Mazeaud sent his famous message to Paris: ‘They expect me, Pierre Mazeaud, Member of the French Assembly, aged forty-two, to work as a Sherpa for Anglo-Saxons and Japanese. Never! This is not me but France they have insulted!’

 

The highest point reached was 27,500 ft.

Not surprisingly, the Japanese followed on the heels of Dyhrenfurth on the SW Face. Two reconnaissance parties sent in 1969 and an attempt made in 1970 are described by Hiromi Ohtsuka. Six Sherpas were killed in the ice fall by a glacier avalanche. Four days later, another porter was killed by a falling serac. Twelve days later, an expedition member died of a heart attack.

The attempt on the SW face was finally called off after two members had been injured by falling rocks and the whole time table upset: two teams reached the summit by the South Col route.

Chris Bonington followed Dyhrenfurth in autumn 1972, and wrote of his South West Face Expedition in XXXII 1972/73. They had permission for the ‘autumn slot’, which has to be a ‘race against the winter winds and the cold.’ The members included Dougal Haston, Hamish MacInnes, Nick Estcourt, Doug Scott. They established Camp V at 26,000 ft. and Haston reached the site of Camp VI: ‘Our whole plan was based on climbing the Rock Band by a gully I saw on the International Expedition in... l 971....But now I am faced with a rock gully - no snow...800 to 1000 ft high, demanding rock climbing techniques, with an oxygen pack on your back....’ Storms and wind that never blew at less than a 100 mph, and there was ‘nothing we could do.’

Was the expedition which cost 960,000 worth it? ‘All we, the members of the expedition, can answer is that it represented one of the most enthralling and exacting experiences of our mountaineering careers.’

‘Five previous. expeditions to the South West Face of Everest had failed,’ wrote Doug Scott, in his account of how the face was finally climbed by Chris Bonington’s expedition of August-September 1975, XXXIV-1974/75. The team included Haston, Boardman, MacInnes, Estcourt, and unlike some others of mixed nationalities, complete harmony seemed to have reigned on this one. Well, yes, Britain is an island unto itself.....

It fell to Scott and Haston to make the first attempt from Camp VI, a successful one. Having attained the south summit, they were drawn on to the summit by the ‘normal’ route. As they approached the summit, Doug Scott was ‘aware of a confident presence that seemed an extension of myself. Whenever I walked too far to the right, it urged me back left, and when I tripped through the crust, it suggested slowing down the pace....’ On the summit, these reticent Brits ‘thumped each other’s backs and congratulated each other.’ As Tilman might have said, ‘They so far forgot themselves.....’

It was dark by the time they got back to the south summit; they bivouacked determined not to lose any fingers or toes because there were so many other mountains yet to be climbed. They didn’t, and got down to the South Col tents intact. Peter Boardman and Pertemba made the next climb; Mick Burke and Martin Boysen were to follow. Martin lost his crampons and had trouble with his oxygen and had to turn back while Mick continued. He met Peter and Pertemba who were coming down; he continued though it was misty now. Boardman and Pertemba waited on the south summit for him, but visibility was poor, the wind was coming up; they decided to go down and had to battle for their own survival. ‘Mick probably fell through a cornice, perhaps just below the Hillary Step.’

The Annapurnas

Eight articles on the Annapurnas. While Maj. Gerry Owens’ Army Mountaineering Association was climbing Annapurna I, (26,545 ft) XXX-70; Chris Bonington was on the south face of Annapurna I, XXX70. His party of 11 included Don Whillans, Dougal Haston, Ian Clough, Martin Boysen, Nick Estcourt, and Mick Burke, and marked, in the words of the French climber Robert Paragot (XXXII72/73), ‘a landmark in the conquest of Himalayan peaks. It ushers in a period of overcoming obstacles and the use of modern techniques at more than 8000 m.’ The climbing was the ‘most difficult any of us had encountered at this altitude.. The line of fixed ropes up which we were going to have to ferry food, oxygen and gear was like an aerial rope way with free Jumar pitches, and awkward traverses across sheer snow slopes;’ ‘I had gone down with an attack of pleurisy after my push to the end of the ice ridge;’ ‘Mike Thompson had nearly collapsed on the killing carry up to Camp V and had been forced back down;’ ‘Boysen had driven himself beyond the point of exhaustion for the good of the rest of the team.’ ‘I was by myself, dangling on an improbable thread of rope three quarters up the south face of Annapurna. The solitude was both stimulating and frightening....The last length of rope up onto the Flat Iron was the most strenuous of the whole climb. It dangled, completely free of the rock, over an overhang 200 feet above. Because of the stretch of the rope I bounded at the bottom like a helpless yo-yo, shoving each jumar up alternately, panting between each shove. It took me two hours of lung-bursting effort to reach the top.’

Don Whillans and Dougal Haston finally set off to establish Camp VII but saw no point in setting it up and went to the top. There they saw traces of the army team that had got there the previous week from the North side. They had done 2500 ft of climbing without oxygen in the ‘worst storm that either had ever experienced in the mountains.’

The success was marred by the death of Ian Clough, killed by a falling tower of ice ‘in the last hour of possible danger.’

The Chamonix expedition, consisting of four élite climbers from the famous Ecole Nationale de Ski et Alpinisme, climbed Annapurna South Peak (7195 m) south face, in autumn the same year, XXXI -71. The climbing was extremely difficult; the author Maurice Gicquel was above Camp I for 24 days. ‘It was our Sirdar Pemba Rinzing, the best of our sherpas, who accompanied us all during the time we occupied the camps on the heights, the other sherpas going and coming..... None of them, except Pemba Rinzing and Da Wanchu, were able to go beyond Camp III, the technical difficulties being too great for them. Devouassoux and Gicquel reached the summit ridge from Camp IV at 5 p.m. and met `the full fury of the north wind... It was the most terrible encounter I had ever experienced on any mountain.....’ They bivouacked at 7100 m within half an hour of the summit in a simple hole in the snow and the next morning ‘trod the summit.’ Strong winds prevented any further attempts on the summit. On the return journey they met ‘Messrs. Henty, Snowdon and Pargal who acquainted us of the existence of the Himalayan Journal and it was with pleasure that we promised them to write an article about our adventure.’ And a footnote tells us: ‘The visitingcard-toting Editor and his wife had parted from their companions five days before...’ (Moral: If you cannot escape the Editor even in the wild fastness of the high Himalaya, what hope is there for an ageing decrepit member, holed out in Geneva ?)

Eiko Miyazaki, the leader, described the successful nine member Japanese Women’s Annapurna III expedition 1970, XXX-70. She should have been taught a lesson on publicity by Arlene Blum, whose team sold T-shirts emblazoned A Woman’s Place is on Top- Annapurna as a major source of funds for their American Women’s Himalayan expedition, 1978, 38-80/81. Their Sirdar was Lopsang Tsering, who was meticulous in ensuring the safety of their camps by sprinkling rice that had been blessed by lamas and raising prayer-flags. An ingenious supply of fresh salad had been arranged by Joan Firey, who brought seeds and sprouted them ‘in plastic water-bottles, keeping them warm inside her sleeping bag on cold nights.’ Thus they were able to celebrate the birthdays of their youngest (21) and oldest (50) team members with sprout salad.

A snow storm forced them to abandon Camp 2, with avalanches booming down on either side.’ Later another large avalanche levelled Camp 1 though no one was injured. ‘The avalanche danger was so grave that we seriously had to consider giving up and going home.... But the momentum of the ascent overwhelmed our doubts.’

‘Almost every day our spirits were raised by the sight of geese migrating from Tibet to India....flying at 27,000 ft. above the summit of Annapurna. These geese ...filled us with wonder...hearing their honking day after day ...moved us intensely.’ ‘An important question was why were we there. Answers came readily: to visit Asia, to climb a mountain, to test our limits, to know ourselves. All these were true but not enough. Why would any woman risk her life to stand on the top of a mountain? The geese circled the summit once more before resuming their flight south. Were they whirling among the high peaks for the view? For the glory? I smiled and thought, ‘I bet they’re going it for the fun of it.’ A salute to the Annapurna women — no other expedition thought it worthwhile to report migrating geese — or perhaps they didn’t bother to look at them.

Four climbers including Sherpa Chewang reached the summit from Camp 5 and planted several flags including one ‘A Woman’s Place is on Top;’ they were held together with a Save the Whales pin. A second attempt by two women ended in disaster; they must have fallen ‘on the steep ice below Camp 5 or been knocked off ...by ice or rock fall. They fell nearly a thousand feet.’ The others engraved their names on the stone which already had seven names on it; the Sherpas chanted ‘om mani padme hum’, and ‘members and Sherpas chanted together with arms linked.’

Linda Rutland might well have read the message of the American Women as she set off with the Cumbria Himalayan expedition 1979 consisting of seven members going for the unclimbed south face of Annapurna III, 24,787 ft. She and Ron Rutland describe it in 3779/80. The first accident was on the way to the mountain when Peter Melling fell into the Modi khola gorge and down a 60ft waterfall, breaking a leg, pelvis and dislocating a shoulder. He was moved on a makeshift stretcher to the old Machapuchhare base camp and evacuated by helicopter to Kathmandu.

That left six: they left Camp 2 at 17,000 ft. with 10 days’ food, down sleeping bags with Gortex outer shell covers and a two-man Troll tent. Allan Deakin had to descend after the first night; then there were five. Robin Whittam was not acclimatising and had to go down; then there were four. On the fifth day, the supply situation forced Spider Penman and Ron to decide to go down and leave’ Linda and John Whittock to go on; so there were two. Another bivouac in an ice tunnel, then another one with sleeping tablets to help. Yet another bivouac and even with sleeping tablets it was still ‘a long dark dismal night.’ ‘The final cornice was aerified and eventually I (Linda) could go no further without fear of it collapsing. John took one picture and we headed down. It had been nothing like I imagined, no sense of achievement, only a sense of relief, ‘ They had 14 bivouacs at subzero temperatures and both suffered second-degree frostbite. No Sherpas, no oxygen.

The Dhaulagiris

Dhaulagiri VI was climbed for the first time by the Kansai Mountaineering Club party led by Tetsuya Nomura, who wrote the account in XXX-70. They wanted to traverse to Dhaulagiri IV, but there were a series of cornices and a knife edge ridge; they were forced to abandon the idea.

The Austrian Himalaya, expedition attacked Dhaulagiri IV in 1969, XXXI-71. They had five Sherpas, and according to Leo Graf, the author, the condition of four of them, ‘compared to us Europeans — was very poor, and by they had to drop out.’ At Camp II, Kurt Ring ‘made the sacrifice of taking back the seriously ill Ang and another Sherpa.’ The six-man summit team at Camp V, 6,900 m. was full of hope, and radioed, ‘The next day everyone would stand on the summit.’ Alas, that was the last communication. The next afternoon, the weather deteriorated, and though this lasted only a day, all ‘our exertions to find out anything were in vain....The disaster probably occurred when they had their goal before them... In bitterness I mull over the questions of “how” and “when” and “why”. One continues to climb, but will the sun ever again shine so brilliantly?’

The Austrian Himalaya Association’s expedition to Dhaulagiri II, 7751 m. in 1971 (Franz Huber, XXXI-71) was more successful, as two ropes of two men each reached the summit.

The American Dhaulagiri expedition 1973, born of the tragedy in 1969 on that mountain, consisted of 16 climbers and only seven high altitude Sherpas. The aim was to climb the 26,795 ft. mountain by the NE spur and the unclimbed SE ridge. They used airdrops. The ridge finally became extremely narrow, and the crest was a finely chiselled rib of hard ice stretching for two miles. Roskelley, Nawang Samden and Louis Reichardt — who wrote the account for the American Alpine Journal reproduced in the HJ, made the final climb, up the ridge so narrow that at one point they had to straddle it. They did not use oxygen; they had been above 23,400 ft. for 20 days; Roskelley’s feet were frozen.

They were unfrozen at base camp but for three days he had to be carried on the backs of Sherpas; the ‘strength of these porters could not have been matched by any sahib. Their efforts were simply fantastic.’ The Finance Minister was attending the opening of a bank in the district, and ‘in a striking humanitarian gesture, the minister and his deputy agreed to walk the 70 miles to Pokhara so that Roskelley and Duenwald could fly out in the plane.’ His toes were saved.

Meanwhile the assault along the NE spur was continuing. ‘The strength of Nawang Tenzing was unreal.... although it was his fifteenth day without oxygen at Camp III.’ Wind and cold and heavy snowfalls led to everyone being recalled to Base. We carried away with us a strong sense of collective, not individual achievement....in which rapport between climbers and Sherpas was excellent. For this we were indebted to Jim Morrissey, whose leadership did much to maintain the cohesion and morale of the group and to Sonam Girmi, the Sirdar, who succeeded in implanting our enthusiasm among the sherpa climbers and sherpa porters. Probably no expedition has ever had more willing and cheerful supporters.’

1975 was Japanese year for Dhaulagiri IV. The Alpine Club of Tokyo University sent an expedition to Dhaulagiri II (7751 m) east ridge, in spring 1975 (XXXIV-74/75); they got up to 7300 m. At the same time, two members of the Osaka Mountaineering Federation team succeeded in making the first ascent of Dhaulagiri IV (the 16th attempt); alas, they failed to return. They fell on to the Konaban glacier from about 7500 m. on the summit ridge, where they had bivouacked for the second night.

In autumn 1975, the expedition of the Kamoshika Coterie (Tokyo) went to Dhaulagiri IV and three parties, a total of 11 members, reached the summit.

In spring 1975, the Tokyo Himalayan expedition attacked the South Pillar of Dhaulagiri I, 8167 m. (36-78/79); Camp I was wiped out by an avalanche and two Japanese and three Sherpas were killed. The climb was abandoned. A new party returned to the attack in spring 1978. Above Camp 2 they used a winch and wire ladders for supplies. Of the 11 high altitude porters, only ‘three could climb the wire ladder. So we Japanese members groaned under the burden of transportation.’ Naganuma, after working on the route to Camp 3 for three days, was going down to Camp 1 when he fell and was killed instantly. He was one of the strongest climbers so his death was ‘a great shock to us. We were in deep grief, and no mood for climbing. But we recovered our spirit and.... resumed climbing for the summit Every day acrobatic route making was continued at the limit of human ability.’

Shigeno and Kobayashi attained the summit first; a second party of four including Ang Kami also succeeded.

Anglo-Polish joint climbing teams in Chamonix, the Tatras, Afghanistan and Garhwal led to the expedition to the Dhaulagiri east face, described by Alex MacIntyre, 37-79/80. There were difficult bivouacs on the face. ‘The second bivouac ...was an absolute horror....At one point Alex and Ludwick found themselves stranded on front points in an all engulfing stream of spindrift unable to move or even reseat their gear for fear of being pushed off the face. The bivouac spot was non-existent. One minor ledge was excavated and three members got in the bivouac sac ...Voytek slumped in slings, half sat on a minute crumbling ledge of snow, unable to get in his sleeping bag and with the bivi-sac upside down over his head.’

The third bivouac was ‘made in the teeth of a bitter, howling wind, snow and thunder.’ Bad weather forced them to descend, where Alex and Rene were waylaid by Mars bars at the site of a Swiss camp. By dint of excavating the snow ...all sorts of goodies could be unearthed. The consequent indigestion forced the wayward couple to sleep in a collapsed tent which had been abandoned after a small snow slide had struck it.’

A further bivouac at 7200 m and they reached the summit the next day.

Vera Komarkova, one of the women whose place had been on the top of Annapurna in 1978, had been enchanted with her views of Dhaulagiri and this resulted in the ‘Up and Down the Pear Route on Dhaulagiri I’, 38-80/81. The American Women’s Expedition was back and trying for the unclimbed route, where in 1954 the Argentineans had blasted a camp site with dynamite — are there no laws of men or gods against such sacrilege?

Camp 4 was established but Camp 2 was caught in an avalanche and though most people were lucky and escaped, Lyn Griffith, a plant ecologist from Australia, had disappeared; she ‘probably fell out of her tent and slid through the small opening into the crevasse to the bottom and was covered by the avalanche snow.’ After much discussion, the expedition decided to turn back after this tragedy. They held a memorial service at Base Camp; it 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’’.’

Makalu

The first permit that the Nepalese government granted under their new code, was to the Japanese Makalu expedition, 1970, XXX70, with scientific as well as climbing aims. To get over the Shipton pass, they fixed ropes, took the porters across once empty-handed, then brought them back to carry loads; the members of the expedition made carries as well. From Camp VI at 7850 m. Kawaguchi and Goto tried for the summit but had to turn back at ‘well over 8400 m.’ They had to bivouac, and this led their companions below to worry lest they had met with an accident. A second attempt by Tanaka and Ozaki was successful, though they had to descend by moonlight. The authors Hara and Asami concluded that there were too many climbers and not enough Sherpas (too many Chiefs, not enough Indians?).

Robert Paragot led the French Himalayan expedition to the west pillar of Makalu in 1971, XXXII-72/73, a party of six ‘old campaigners’and five others. They met snowfalls on the 24 day approach, and one porter died on the way. On the climb, ‘two of our sherpas, Ang Temba and Pema prove themselves to be efficient and courageous.’ Storm bound at Camp II, their supplies dwindled to critical levels. When the storm abated and they went up again to Camp III, they found it devastated.

Above Camp III, ‘five sherpas accompany us. We have a small number of efficient sherpas, but these people are admirably courageous; they have never advanced in such a perilous terrain; during the first days, they worried us and we hardly banked on them beyond Camp III; they helped us much in the long run.’ They have some difficult rock climbing, with overhangs; Camps V is installed with much difficulty; then Camp VI and two men reach the summit. (The translation from the French is poor; which is a pity.)

In 1976, both a Czechoslovak and a Spanish expedition went to Makalu. The account is put together by Anders Bolinder and others in XXXV-76/78. The Czechs climbed the SE summit, 8010 m and then prepared for the main one by the Japanese route of 1970. The first attempt was unsuccessful. Meanwhile, the Spaniards were going up the SE ridge, but most of the members were ill or overtired. The two expeditions joined forces; two Czechs and a Spaniard reached the summit, the fifth ascent by the SW pillar and the second by the SE ridge.

They were coming down on their own. Krissak reached Camp 6 by 7 p.m. having lost contact with the others. Camprubi arrived at about 10 p.m. but there was no sign of Schubert and a storm was now raging. ‘Next morning they could hear him answering their shouts but after that even this contact was lost — most likely having slipped down the south face in his exhausted condition.’ Two days of searching revealed nothing; they had to get Orolin down as he had developed thrombosis.

The 1980 American Makalu expedition, described by John Roskelley in 37-79/80, intended to make the second ascent of the West Pillar, climbed by the French team of 1971. The team of four planned to do this without oxygen and without Sherpa support. They met hurricane winds and blizzard conditions; Momb was hindered by an injured knee; the three others went for the summit from Camp 4. A rock buttress was impassable head on and time was running out; Kopczynski and States decided to turn back leaving Roskelley to try solo. He reached the summit at 3.30 p.m. and his flags joined other mementos on top which included three used oxygen bottles, a bamboo wand and a package of rye crisp crackers.’

Manaslu

Manaslu, 8156 m., seemed to be a preserve of East Asia during this period. A Japanese team had climbed it in 1956, but the west wall had been considered ‘impossible without wings by H.W. Tilman who saw it from afar.’ ‘The north-west wall is a 4000 m high precipitous and dangerous wall of ice and rock with inclination of about 40 degrees on the average,’ wrote Akira Takahashi in XXXI 7.1. His 1971 party consisted of 11 members.

After a reconnaissance by a two-man team, they upped their requirements and their budget. They took 13,000 m of rope (nearly all of it was used), 200 snow bars, wire and duralumin ladders; they found ice pitons were useless and they had to rely on screw pitons. They spent a total of $ 10,000 in Nepal itself.

Above Camp III, they faced what seemed the most difficult climbing, the Kasai-wa or umbrella rock, because it looked like a half-opened Japanese paper umbrella. It took 20 days to open the route up this 250 m. overhang. Loads were hoisted by cables. Camp V was established at 7360 m. and Kohara and Tanaka reached the summit from there. ‘Just under the summit they found the ice piton which was driven in by Mr. Toshio Imanishi ....and Gyalzen Norbu when they climbed Manaslu for the first time 15 years ago...They drew out this precious piton and brought it back to Tokyo just as a French party fetched back a Japanese rising sun flag from the top of Makalu this year.’

In 1974, a Japanese party was back on Manaslu, led by K. Sato and described by him (or her ?) and others in XXXIII-73/74. During the account it becomes clear that some of the members were women but there is no indication if they were all women or if there were some men. No first names are given, only initials. It seems likely that this was a women’s expedition, though no slogans about a Woman’s Place being on Top were displayed. They followed the 1956 route of the Japanese Alpine Club, and took special care between Camps II and III, where five members of a Korean party had been killed by an avalanche in 1972. Two ropes of two persons each, including Sherpa Jambu, attacked the summit from Camp V, 7650 m. They reached a summit but realised that it was not the true one, which took another couple of hours to reach. There on the rock tower of the summit, I found a rock piton and was comforted with this which had been hammered 18 years long. I struck a new rock piton under the right side of the old one,’ wrote Nakaseko. They had to stand on the tiny summit one by one, after Nakaseko, Jambu, Ms. Uchida and Mori. Only Mori used oxygen all the way; Jambu didn’t use it at all but carried a cylinder for the others. Jambu was presumably a Sherpa and presumably male.

The second party trying for the summit was not so fortunate. Ms. Suzuki was separated from her companion Ms. Ito and lost in a blizzard going up to Camp V. Later the Sherpas found her ‘ice-axe, cylinder and rucksack, and some distance away, her red jacket and safety belt... She had probably slipped down to the Manaslu glacier...Thus she was missing...We pray that her soul rest in peace.’

In XXXV-76/78, Jung Sup Kim gives summaries of the Korean expeditions to Manaslu of 1971 and 1972 before reporting on the third expedition, 1976. One must admire Kim’s courage and determination: one of his brothers was killed in the 1971 expedition, a second in 1972 with four other members and 10 Sherpas, while a third brother had ‘been pushed back (by the avalanche) 1000 m. but he survived.’

Lhotse

Ryohel Uchida’s account of his expedition to Lhotse in 1973, XXXIII-73/74 is a delight to read and cries out to be quoted. One of the Sherpas told him that the ‘main street’ to Everest was Tara, Tara, Tara and Matie, Matie, Matie; Tara means down and Matie means up. ‘At five in the morning the kitchen-boy called at our tent. “Good morning, sir.” He served us morning tea. English expeditions have trained them to do that, I hear.’

‘Every three hours porters dropped in “batty”, a kind of tea shop and bought a cup of milk tea (25 paisas) or “chhang” (50 paisas). Chhang, a kind of unrefined alcohol, was made from rice, corn, millet or barn millet. But chhang made from rice tasted best. We camped in the school ground, in the premises of temples, in the dry river bed or in the field.’

‘When we got to the Lhotse glacier, it was as if we were on the moon. Rugged rocks, ice blocks and small ponds like craters of the moon were all found here....The great south wall, over 3000 m. long, towered before our eyes..... As soon as the south wall got the morning sunshine it began to hove like a living thing. One after another, snow avalanches were seen to fall down slowly like a white lace-worked curtain.’ (Echoes of Tennyson’s slow dropping veils of thinnest lawn did go.) ‘All these constant snow slides stopped our south wall route plan.’

‘One pair went down the glacier to look for a possible route. The other pair climbed the mountain on the west side in order to find out where the avalanches did not occur....Both pairs told me it was impossible....They also reported that with the avalanches a lot of stones were also falling. I announced my decision to abandon the attempt of this “diretissima” route.’

They decided on the steep south ridge and then join the west ridge which had been climbed before. They established three camps, but continual snowfalls and mist made further progress impossible and the attempt was given up. ‘My experience had increased from this climb, but at the same time I knew our team’s weaknesses, mountaineering techniques, equipment, food, acclimatisation, building of high-altitude camp etc. My next plan is this. I need 15 members and 30 Sherpas and lots of oxygen.’

I look forward to reading the account of his next expedition.

Lamjung Himal, by Dick Isherwood. XXXIII-73/74. is amusingly written and very readable. A group from Hong Kong, without Sherpas indulged in some tough climbing, and used their secret weapon, ‘monumental stakes made by the Royal Engineers to my somewhat extravagant design out of one of the world’s more expensive alloys.’

The Hong Kong-ers were back, Dick lsherwood reporting, the HK Kanjiroba expedition, 1976, in XXXV-76-78. Three members and 2 Sherpas headed for Kanjiroba, and found that all the mountains for miles around were called Kanjiroba. We began to appreciate John Tyson’s achievement in finding and mapping the highest peaks of this complex group despite the total inaccuracy of the old Survey of India maps.’ Following the main Jagdula valley, Pemba, our Sirdar, found a route through the cliffs above, ending in a 150 ft. abseil down vertical grass to rejoin the river. We began lowering loads down this section, but the novelty of swinging on ropes soon infected the whole party, and several porters went down hand over hand with 70 lb. loads. Rates of pay by now had doubled to Rs. 40 per day but at least we were still progressing.’

Dick and Pemba climbed the summit, 22,523 ft., finding remains of a previous Japanese party. In the valley they had some excellent ‘close up views of “bharal” (blue sheep) on the juniper covered hillsides.’ They found the lower gorge studded with small traps for mouse-hares, weasels and the like, ‘but we never discovered how they trapped “bharal” whose carcasses appeared here and there along the route.’

Sikkim

When Sikkim was opened to Indian mountaineers, Harish Kapadia and his companion Boga cashed in at once, being the first to get in after 15 years. They trekked for some 240 km., visited the Green Lake, crossed four high passes including the Sebu La 5852 m. XXXV-76/78. Harish was not appointed Hon. Editor for nothing and some of his descriptions are mouth-watering. ‘The route to Shobuk was a walk in paradise. We passed at least twenty different kinds of rhododendrons, varying in colour from white to deepest red, and in height from trees of 20 ft. to scrubs of not more than a foot.’ And the much described Siniolchu, ‘There is no other mountain that can equal Siniolchu, tilting against the sky, lifting its silver spear. We understood how it was that Douglas Freshfield, who had seen many mountains on earth, spoke of it as the most beautiful peak in the world and the most superb triumph of mountain architecture.’

And at the head of the Zemu glacier, they were face to face with Kangchenjunga, eight miles away and rising to 28,000 ft; ‘ now that Sikkim is part of India, it is the highest peak in the country’ — 28,208 ft. or 8598 m.

Kangchenjunga 28,208 ft. 8598 m.

36-78/79 records three successful expeditions to Kangchenjunga. An Indian Army team led by Col. N. Kumar made the second ascent in 1977. A store dump of 50 loads was buried for ever by an avalanche, and tragedy struck when Sukhvinder Singh fell down a rock step and was killed. As the Indian Army never leaves its dead behind even in war....we had to bring our dead down ...’ even though this entailed great risks and cost them 15 precious days. Sukhvinder was given a military funeral at base.

In spite of some over-colourful prose, the achievement was remarkable and Maj. Prem Chand and Nima Dorjee Sherpa reached the summit. They respected ‘the promise the team had given to the people of Sikkim’ and left the last 6 feet untrodden. Capt. Kumar and Norbu were poised for a second attempt but the deteriorating weather foiled that one.

Incidentally, Kumar recounts how when he first mentioned his ambition to climb Kangchenjunga to ‘the Chogyal, the Maharaja of Sikkim’, the Maharaja got up angrily saying, ‘How dare you climb the mountain we worship?’ ‘I ventured to say that like the Britishers we will leave the top 6 feet untrodden. His sarcasm was biting when he said, “I have heard that one before. The tallest Britisher who got to the summit was 6 ft. 3 in. and his head was above my God’s head.” I had no answer.’

Sikkim is now part of India and if there is a Chogyal, he has no power to protect his God. I wonder how many expeditions continue to respect the need to leave the summit untrodden? Does the fact that Sikkim has become a part of India make the peak less sacred?

The third Polish Himalaya expedition, 1978, 36-78/79, with some 25 members including two Americans, set off to climb Kangchenjunga south. They shared much of the approach and the camps on the mountain with the Spanish Yalung Kang expedition (which later changed its objective to the central peak of Kangchenjunga). A strike of porters and a shortage of them led to many delays and it was ‘47 days before all our baggage was finally in base camp. This was one of the longest caravans ever known in the history of Himalayan expeditions. It was also probably the most expensive; we were forced at the end to pay 45 Nrs per day, 2.5 times the normal rate.’

The first attempt had to be abandoned due to strong winds and exhaustion. Chrobak and Wroz reached the summit of Kangchenjunga South 8474 m. from Camp 4. ‘The Poles have succeeded in conquering their first virgin eight-thousander!’ (And what, one may ask, about the Polish team that climbed the Broad Peak (Middle) 8016 m. in 1975, described later in this article?). With Polish nationalism running high, the second assault team decided to change their aim and attempt ‘the yet virgin Kangchenjunga central peak.’ They used Camp 4S (the left-over Spanish tent) 7550 m. Branski, Heinrich and Olech got to the summit 8496 m. and everybody ‘in the camps once more experienced a tremendous joy. In our most audacious dreams we never imagined that our expedition was going to conquer for Poland two yet unclimbed eight-thousanders..... Our expedition is the only one in the history of Himalayism which has climbed simultaneously two virgin eight-thousanders.’ Well, not quite simultaneously, surely.

But the heavy hand of the law, no respecter of exultant nationalism, was waiting for them in Kathmandu. Their explanation that the south and central summits were ‘a fragment of our planned route to the Main summit’ was not accepted and the authorities held that they had contravened their permit. The leader Piotr Mlotecki, one of the authors of the account, was banned from the management of Himalayan expeditions for three years. And the climbs were not officially registered!

Doug Scott’s British expedition to Kangchenjunga 1979, was a very different one, with only four picked climbers — Peter Boardman, Joe Tasker and Georges Bettermbourg — who planned to make the first ascent from the northwest, without oxygen, or radios, winches ‘and other encumbrances’, and to limit Sherpa support to two Sherpas only as far as the north col.

On the approach, Peter damaged a ligament in his ankle and had to be carried for four days in a wicker basket. The first summit attempt experienced violent static electricity that ‘felt as if their backs and buttocks were disintegrating.’ Their bivouac tent was blown to shreds by hurricane force winds and finally snatched away altogether. The second attempt was made without tents or sleeping bags, but they took a shovel to dig an emergency shelter if necessary. The weather deteriorated and they had to come down.

Third time lucky. Georges descended to base, but the other three went on to bivouac, and next day ‘reached the summit for a magnificent sunset ...it was, surprisingly, a very enjoyable day... although the descent to the bergschrund cave was something of a trial.’

Chris Chandler and Cherie Bremer-kamp made a gallant attempt from the north on Yalungkang, the west summit of Kangchenjunga.They trained hard in the Alps, and Rockies. They spent a month establishing three camps when all their cached supplies were buried by a huge avalanche. They put together alternative equipment, very inadequate, and made their attempt; snow and wind added to their difficulties and at about 26,000 ft. they realised that they no longer had the equipment necessary for the final stretch.

Siniolchu and Others

Sonam Wangyal’s account of his expedition to ‘the peerless Siniolchu 22,597 ft (6687 m.) 37-79/80, to many who have seen it the most beautiful in the world’ is worthy of the mountain and of the amazing success of his team. It had been climbed twice before: by Paul Bauer’s party in 1936, and by the Schmaderer-Paidar-Grob trio in 1939, when the two Germans were interned on their return because war had broken out. From the names of his team mates, Sonam’s party consisted of fellow Ladakhis, Sherpas and Sikkimese; most of them belonged to the Indo Tibet Border Police.

Four parties reached the summit, a total of 21 persons (two men went up twice). Sonam himself led the fourth party. ‘Perhaps Siniolchu was still angry with us for defiling its sanctuary after 42 years of undisturbed peace....an avalanche slid from the upper reaches. It overtook us by complete surprise. When the dust and din settled, I opened my eyes to find in utter disbelief, my rope mates sitting dazed, down below. ....We were badly shaken. We reached the base where a warm reception compensated us completely for our pains.’

Vasant Limaye and Shashank Kulkarni wanted to climb Pandim 21,953 ft. but were denied permission as it lay in the proposed Kangchenjunga National Park (38-80/81). So they decided to try the Kabru Dome, 21,650 ft.

They explored all the seemingly possible routes and finding none decided to attempt some of the minor peaks around. They climbed Palung 18,167 ft. Night fell while they were descending and they had no torch. They had a brilliant idea: they burnt a couple of pages of Raja’s diary, a signal which their companions waiting anxiously in camp understood, and came up with torches, water and biscuits to help them down. In camp, they were treated to coffee-brandy by Vasant.’

Samantha Nath Dhar and his party from the Diganta Club, (3779/80) had permission for Pandim and Guicha in 1979, but were unsuccessful.

The Karakoram

An image of a light, self-contained expedition to the Himalaya forms. Just good friends and good climbing. ‘Big efforts with oxygen and lots of porters are out.’ Thus Galen A. Rowell — who had been twice to the Karakorams — came to the conclusion, simple and absurd : why climb a mountain at all ?

His account of the 1980 American Karakoram Traverse on skis 38-80/81 is refreshing and delightful. He and three friends began their 285 mile traverse in 43 days from Khapalu at the confluence of the Shyok and Saltoro rivers. Each man had 120 pounds to carry and pull on sleds; food and survival gear for weeks of subzero living’, climbing gear to traverse the south face of Sia Kangri at 22,500 ft. between the Siachen and Baltoro basins.’ It had, of course, proved impossible to begin at the snout of the Siachen, which is in India.

It took them about two hours to set up camp and two hours in the morning to break it. Sixteen days brought them to the end of the Siachen from where they looked down on the Kondus glacier a mile below. The mile and a half traverse of Sia Kangri between 20,500 and 22,500 ft. took three days and several rappels, The traverse was a great achievement and the account makes great reading.

John Roskelley led a strong team of climbers up the Uli Biaho Tower, 19,957 ft. via the east face in 1979, 37-79/80. They spent ten nights in hammocks and the climbing was Grade VII, 5.8, and A4. A remarkable climb.

The expedition of the Munich section of the German Alpine Club, 1970, (XXXI-71) described by Peter von Gizycki was near success when the author’s brother lost a crampon and they were forced to go down. Tragic news awaited them. Horst and Bend were climbing above Camp II when an ice-avalanche destroyed the camp; a second one threw Horst into a crevasse. He was ‘able to extricate himself very laboriously after a period of unconsciousness. ....a sore knee and slight concussion. Then he found Bernd dead with a broken spine.’

In 1971, an expedition of the Styrian High Mountain Club succeeded on Malubiting, 7549 m. (XXXII-72/73) after six previous expeditions had failed. Above Camp III they used short skis, which seems remarkable. And above Camp IV ‘Hilmar will use his skis only upto the beginning of the steep slopes and will leave them there for Kurt.’ To use? To ski back? And at 7150 m/ they dump their rucksacks and skis and climb to the summit... From there, on a sunny cloudless day, looking down on the Indus ‘6000 m. below’, ‘We do not celebrate our success. We have no flag or pendants (sic) to hold heroically against the sky or to plant into the summit snow.’ A refreshing change from the too-common fanfare of flags and beating of national breasts.

Andrzej Kus gave an account of the Polish Himalayan-Karakoram expedition, 1971, XXXI-71, which climbed Khinyang Chhish 7852 m. In Gilgit they met Trevor Braham with whom they had useful discussions. At Nagar, solemnly welcomed by the Mir, they played a volley-ball match with ‘Nagar representation’ and won. The editor Soli Mehta, adds a useful piece of advice: include a few sportsmen in your team. A ‘British caving expedition finding no caves in Himachal Pradesh, in 1970 spent their time playing football with the local population. The Editor was shamed into playing hockey with the jawans at Kalpa (9000 ft) “to prove his worth” during his attempt on Leo Pargial in 1966.’

The Polish base camp was rather luxurious, being ‘arranged with electrical lighting, eight big living tents, laboratory and kitchen to give us full recreation.’ They had a tragic accident near Camp III. A huge snow bridge collapsed and Jan Franczuk fell into a crevasse. His two companions found him after half an hour but could only confirm that he was dead. They put up a memorial to him near base but finally decided to continue with the climb. The summit party bivouacked without tent or sleeping bags just 150 m below the summit and got to the top next morning. ‘Flags of Pakistan, Poland and the Polish Mountaineering Club bound to the ice-axe fluttered in the increasingly strong Himalayan wind.’

Masahiko Kaitsu and his team of four climbers made the first ascent of Chongra, 22,390 ft. or 6830 m. XXXI-71. For an orderly account of a climb, Kaiatsu’s article is a model. It was Camp II that they met the most dangerous part of the climb and used up the 4500 ft of rope they had ‘for fixing’. For the summit they took a bivouac tent, two lengths of rope and food for seven days. They had to bivouac in a cave because ‘there was no place to pitch up the emergency tent. So we were obliged to pass the night in an uncomfortable condition.’ The corniced ridge ‘was always presenting the danger of falling down the opposite side of the ridge.’ The third night was a bivouac without tent but ‘covered by a thin nylon cloth.’ The next day they reached the summit, hitherto hidden by a shoulder.

K.M. Herrligkoffer’s expedition of 1971 to Rakaposhi 7788 m had been foiled by ill health; in 1973 he returned with another party including some old friends XXXIII-73/74. A fall of stones destroyed a tent at Camp I but luckily none of the three porters in it was hurt. ‘The climbing problems are far more immense than that we experienced at the Rupal flank of the Nanga Parbat...the ascent over the north ridge can be counted as amongst the most difficult problems in the Karakoram.’ They reached 6500 m but a prolonged period of bad weather forced them to abandon the attempt.

The Polish K2 expedition, 1976, XXXV-76/78 made two bids for the summit but bad weather and trouble with oxygen sets forced them to retreat from 27,550 ft. In 1978, an American expedition under Jim Whittaker received permission and opted for the NE ridge; a Chris Bonington expedition was aiming for the west ridge. Whittaker had led an unsuccessful expedition in 1975. Surprisingly,the choice of the summit team led to disharmony in the camp for some time. Delays due to bad weather led to a transformation into a lightweight alpine style effort. Reichardt and Wickwire reached the summit together, though often climbing separately; Reichardt started down earlier; Wickwire realised the danger of descending in the dark and bivouacked 450 ft. below the summit. Reichardt overshot the camp in the dark but was guided back by flashlights and shouts. Roskelley and Ridgeway achieved the summit the next day, without oxygen.

Wickwire, the author of the article, developed pneumonia, pleurisy and pulmonary emboli as a result of his bivouac at 27,800 ft. He was evacuated by helicopter. So the Americans, after their attempts in 1938, 1939 and 1953, had made it, by the hitherto unclimbed NE ridge.

Trevor Braham, being denied permission to go to Malubiting, went with three others to NW Karakoram in 1970 (XXX-70). Reading so often about porters’ strikes and troubles, it is pleasant to read Braham’s praise of their two porters, Burum and Jamset. They explored the area and two of them climbed the Sentinel 17,918 ft. Interesting to note: the expedition cost 9100 per person, excluding air fare.

It was meant to be a ladies’ expedition; then some males were added to increase safety it being understood that the males would go to Gasherbrum II, 8035 m, and the ladies to Gasherbrum III, 7952 m. (XXXIV-74/75). But as anyway the route to the col between II and III was the same, and as God has joined males and females together for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, the groups merged. Three parties climbed II and one party climbed III. The female component was under the leadership of the redoubtable W. Ruthiewics. As the leader of the males Janusz Onyszkiewicz points out, Gasherbrum III was the highest virgin peak climbed by ladies and II ‘the first 8000 m peak climbed by European lady climbers.’

Doug Scott’s crawl down the Ogre — or Baintha Brakk — XXXV-76/78, must remain a classic of grit and survival. It is a story of a first ascent by a team including Chris Bonington, Nick Estcourt, Mo Anthoine in 1977 and an epic descent. The expedition had no leader, because ‘the inclusion of such a personage would have been laughable, seeing that all members of the team had so much expedition experience that they could easily arrive at decisions communally.’

Bonington and Scott reached the summit; but on the way down in the gathering darkness, Scott unwittingly placed his right foot on a veneer of water ice while ending a swing at the end of a rappel. He swung back and slammed into the opposite side of the gully. ‘Splat! Glasses gone and every bone shaken....Oh! Oh! my ankles cracked whenever I moved them.’ Bonington came down, what hoing cheerfully. “I’ve broken my right leg and smashed the left ankle,” I said. “We’ll just work at getting you down,” he replied airily. “Don’t worry, you’re a long way from death.” ’

Scott found that the only way he could move was on his knees, ‘and that’s how it was done over the next seven days, with a little help from my friends — Chris, Clive, and Mo.’ Chris and Doug got down to the snow cave where Clive and Mo awaited them. There was a blizzard. They continued the descent, Chris rappelled off the end of his rope once, fell 20 ft. and broke two ribs. When they finally got to advanced base, it had been evacuated as they had been given up for dead. Mo went down to fetch reinforcements which finally arrived. ‘In three days they carried me down to the Biafo glacier and then along to its snout ....where a helicopter could land. It was a remarkable journey on a home-made stretcher constructed of juniper wood poles, a climbing rope and sleeping mats. Never once did they look like dropping me, and I seldom felt a jolt..... no one ever shouted or became excited.’

One cannot help recalling another epic descent, that of Joe Simpson and Simon Yates from the Siula Grande in the Peruvian Andes, when Joe broke his leg and his companion kept lowering him on the rope — till it jammed and Yates took the only rational but fateful decision to cut the rope. Joe survived and crawled back to camp, to live and tell the tale in Touching the Void. As Chris Bonington said in his Foreword of February 1988, ‘To put Joe’s struggle for survival in perspective, I can compare it to my own experience on the Ogre in 1977, when Doug Scott slipped whilst abseiling from the summit and broke both legs. At this stage the situation was similar to the early part of Joe’s ordeal. There were just the two of us near the top of a particularly inhospitable mountain. But for us there were two other team members in a snow cave on the col just below the summit block. We were caught by a storm and took six days, five of them without food, to get down. On the way down, I slipped and broke my ribs. It was the worst experience I have ever had in the mountains and yet, compared to what Joe Simpson went through on his own, it begins to pale.’

Garhwal and Himachal Pradesh

Prof. Ramesh Desai led an expedition to Bethartoli in 1970 (XXX70); the team included Harish Kapadia as deputy leader and Jagdish Nanavati. They journeyed together with the ladies’ Trisul expedition till base camp at Tridang. Four persons climbed south peak 20,730 ft. and ‘planted the national flag and the flag of the Climbers’ Club’; the team attempting the main peak 20,840 ft. were stormbound at Camp II, 19,200 ft, and so decided to come down. There were seven persons on one rope, when an avalanche and tragedy overwhelmed them and carried them down some 200 ft Nitin Patel was killed immediately while Passang Temba was left hanging in a crevasse but rescued. There was no trace of Ang Kami, Gnappa and Chewang Phinzo. Pemba was injured. A ‘long, horrible night’ ensued at Camp I; search parties found nothing.

The four ladies on Trisul 23,360 ft were dogged by illness but Meena Agarwal with Sherpa Lhakpa and two porters reached the summit. Returning to base, their triumph was turned to horror by the news of the catastrophe that had overtaken their co-expedition on Bethartoli.

Bethartoli inspired John Nanson of the American expedition 1977, 36-78/79 to verse — the team was led by Lute Jerstad and Sudhir Sahi was the liaison officer.

Today I was a porter and will speak his point of view. I carried the arrogant sahib’s toys while he pretends the old is new.

He flaunts his wealth and expects us to respond to every bribe. His weakling body needs our strength, for this land of our tribe.

Not all expeditions have sympathised with their porters and many have had porter trouble: the Tatra climbers in 1969; the Poles on Gasherbrum, 1975; the Americans on K2; the Seattle expedition to Nanda Devi in 1978; John Thackray’s small ‘guerrilla’ group that climbed Thalay Sagar, to name a few. John Cleare’s expedition to Himalchuli 1978 almost led to battle. Seventy Tibetans drew their knives while eight climbers and two Sherpas gripped their ice-axes. Tempers ran high. But there was no alternative to a reluctant surrender, a settling of the inflated pay demands ....and three wasted days while the twelve of us ....ferried 86 loads to our proper base camp.’ There was often exasperation, very understandable, on the part of the climbers, held up on their way to their mountain as leave, money and good weather slipped by through the breach of agreements made. There was no doubt tactical skill on the part of the porters, who had learnt lessons from more sophisticated societies, and chose to strike when it hurt most and when the climbers had no alternative. Just as air-controllers and airport personnel choose to strike at the height of the tourist season, leaving thousands stranded at airports. As that spokesman of the oppressed, Shylock, said: ‘The villainy you teach me I will execute. and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.’

Or Bill Aitken, writing of his visit to the Nanda Devi sanctuary in 1981, 38-80/81), said: ‘Recently, when I challenged a townsman’s description of my pahari friends as “dirty, scruffy villains”, we were both surprised to see how our attitudes could differ so violently. He had never got further than Lata because he was used to getting the better in any haggling. He was astonished to learn that I paid my porters in advance at a rate fixed by the headman. On such a dangerous trek what good is it to try and keep money dry in one’s pocket? Trust, I found with these men, is repaid with trust.’

Also pleasant reading is K.C. Prashar’s account of his sympathetic dealings with the shepherds as he crossed the Kugti and Chobia passes, XXXIV-74/75, and rescued a goat that had fallen into a crevasse. Romesh Bhattacharji, writing of his trip to Chango ‘81 in 38-80/81, said, All but two of our porters ....were from Chango, ...mostly of Tibetan stock. A few are Kinnauris too. They are industrious...and inclined to be cavalier as porters. They will bargain for a while then settle for a reasonable amount. Rs. 15 and food per day per person. But they sure eat well. They are not particular about the loads they are given. They settle for 25 kg. loads but if the need arises they will make two ferries in a day and carry as much as 40 kg. All with a smile. They are excellent climbers and dependable companions. If you treat them well, they will treat you well.’

Harish Kapadia himself suffered an accident in 1974, when after making the first ascent of Devtoli 22,270 ft, in the Nanda Devi sanctuary, he fell into a crevasse and injured his left hip, XXXIII73/74. Coming down after the summit climb, ‘Jagat, who was in the lead, checked the snow bridge, about 15 ft. wide and 10 ft. broad. He crossed it with ease and took a belay position. I also checked it, nodded to Mahesh for belay and stepped on it. A little sound, and the next moment I was dangling 30 ft. in the crevasse held by belays from both sides....the rope was biting on my ribs, constricting my breathing slowly but surely. ...Mahesh and Nima tried pulling me up but the rope had cut in about 5 ft. deep in the snow at the edge and wouldn’t budge..... It was too painful to hold out any more. I shouted up that I was cutting the rope and jumping about 40 ft. to the bottom...I threw my ice-axe away...I had a knife in my shirt pocket with which I cut the rope. The fall was violent and I fell on my left hip.’

Harish describes it in his book², ‘The fall was violent...and I slipped down further about 10 m. ...I was conscious and shivering wildly, unable to move an inch. Tremendous pain shot through my left leg. I shouted up to Mahesh, telling him that I had broken my left leg....Pain and cold were increasing.’

 

Rescue came from Camp II, and he was hauled out. The tents from Camp II were brought up for the night, the next day a makeshift sledge carried him down. ‘It was a tremendous piece of mountain rescue from 20,000 to 13,800 ft. over most difficult terrain.’ Finally a helicopter took him to the military hospital in Bareilly.

Balwant S. Sandhu is always fun to read; he was deputy leader of the Indo-French expedition to Nanda Devi and Nanda Devi East, 1975, and described this in XXXIV-74/75. There were eight Frenchmen and five Indians, hoping to do the traverse that had been attempted by the ill-fated team of Duplat and Vignes in 1951. They climbed both peaks but an early monsoon prevented any attempt of the traverse. Two parties climbed the main peak, including Sandhu and Prem Chand. Alas, Sandhu injured his ankle on the descent and though he got down, hobbling and being carried, he had to be evacuated by helicopter.

Terry King wrote most amusingly of the attempt he and Paul Lloyd made on the Nanda north face, 1978, 36-78/79. Six and a half days of tough climbing with unpleasant bivouacs brought them at 23,000 ft to a ‘huge ice crustation, like an inverted fir tree.’ It was no go, and they descended, with one more bivouac. They were met by a sergeant and five soldiers and escorted out, without being told what their crime had been. Their films were confiscated; they were supposed to be returned in Delhi but no one knew where. The fact that the story of a ‘nuclear powered bugging device being lost there in the mid 60s had just been reported in the press’ might have had something to do with this.

More sedate was Nanda Devi via the south ridge, by Michael Clarke, 36-78/79, a Seattle expedition in the same year. Sedate but not without tragic incident, for the Liaison Officer, Capt. S.S. Dhillon fell to his death coming down from Camp 2. An Indian Army team arrived within five days and arranged to helicopter the body out. Six members reached the summit.

Clarke noted that previous camp sites had been left in a mess; he and his colleagues burnt a lot of litter with Japanese and Czech labels. He was shocked at the trees that had been felled since his visit to Trisul in 1975, and the large camp fires that were still being lit.

Col. Balwant Sandhu (he, or the editor, seems to use a slightly different form of his name every time he writes an article — which is, happily, quite frequent) was back on Nanda Devi with a team of five men and six women, 38-80/81. Seven members reached the summit. When the second party was descending in the dark, a stone hit Rekha Sharma and knocked her out for a while. A gust of wind swept Harsha Bisht and Rattan Singh off; Rattan managed to stop them but had a difficult time coping with the delirious Harsha.

A notable feat was that of Nandlal Purohit, who set out alone from Camp 4 at sundown and reached the summit at 5 a.m. to watch the sunrise.

William McKay Aitken writes about the shepherds of the Nanda Devi sanctuary, 38-80/81. He, unlike most visitors, certainly took time off to learn and understand the shepherd’s life. He deplored the ecological damage done since the previous year in the sanctuary. ‘Personally, I feel now that the Indian ladies have climbed Nanda Devi, the main peak should be declared inviolate for the next 50 years....most of these dangers were advertised by Lavkumar Khacher in 1977 but some mountaineers were blinkered...

Col. L. P. Sharma of the Nehru Institute of Mountaineering, took both the men’s and the women’s course to Bandarpunch 6316 m. in 1975, XXXIV-74/75. Eleven men reached the summit in two parties. The women’s course came later, and as he did quite often, Gurdial Singh accompanied them to introduce them to the flora and fauna of the mountains. Harshida Swamy lost her life in a drowning accident but the team carried on and they all made it to the summit— including Gurdial then 52 years of age and Rekha who was 16. Gurdial had been on Bandarpunch before with Jack Gibson, Holdie and Tensing (who had dubbed it the ‘Doon School mountain’).

Inspired by Jack Gibson’s autobiography As I Saw It, Parash Moni Das and a ‘motley group’ from St. Stephen’s set out for Bandarpunch in 1978, 36-78/79. By the time ‘we were through.... we discovered, not without some surprise, that an “alpine style” ascent had been executed.’ Then, to round things off, they climbed Hanuman 5548 m. It is a pleasure to read as’ account not only of the climb but of the joy he gets from birds and flowers. Another joyful expedition from St. Stephens was the ascent of Kulu Pumori 21,495 ft. XXXI-71. Having admired the flowers and birds of the valley, and noted the stack of rusted tins and empty bottles left by the Calcutta Ladies’ expedition of the previous year, they climbed their mountain and planted a marker flag that Thondup had brought as a souvenir from Chomolhari.

Jagjit Singh, younger brother of Gurdial, led an expedition of the Indian Military Academy to Gang Chua 20,630 ft. and Leo Pargial, in 1974, XXXIV-74/75. The purpose was to introduce young officers and gentlemen cadets to mountaineering. They climbed both peaks.

Lt. Col. Balwant Sandhu led a successful Parachute Regiment Expedition to Kinnaur, 1976, XXXV-76/78. He also climbed Phawararang 6349 m. in Kinnaur In 1980 (36-78/79). Sudhir Sahi went with seven St. Stephenians to Leo Pargial 22,280 ft.; they got to within 500 ft. of the summit (37-79/80). Another group from St. Stephen’s almost got to the top of the Black Peak in 1976; it is described by Mandip Singh Soin in XXXV-76/78.

While Rohini Kumar Bhuyan’s expedition to Kamet, 25,447 ft. in 1972, XXXII-72/73, failed to reach the summit, that of Maj. J. K. Bajaj in 1980, 38-80/81 climbed both Kamet and Abi Gamin 24,130 ft. Unfortunately, sickness and frostbite meant a difficult descent to Base from where four members were evacuated by helicopter.

Harish Kapadia is an indefatigable climber in the Himalaya; he is also the indefatigable editor of the HJ. It is only proper, then, that just about every issue of the Journal should contain some account of his doings. In XXXII-72/73 he described his trek to the Everest Base Camp in 1972. In ‘On Sherpa Trail’ 36-78/79, Kapadia followed the old trail from Kathmandu to Solu Khumbu and then to Darjeeling, covering 375 km. in 40 days. In 1980, 37-79/80, he went with a companion on a trek in Ladakh and Zanskar: the Nubra valley, Pangong lake (where one can see — I hope still the Black-necked crane), Padam and Kishtwar.

In XXXV-76/78 he described his 1977 expedition of seven members to the unexplored Kalabaland glacier in eastern Kumaon and the ‘virtual paradise for climbers with all the peaks unclimbed and unexplored.’ They aimed for the euphonic Chiring We 21,520 ft.

The 150 goats couldn’t get to Base because of snow, and they had to make two ferries daily for three days to get all their loads in place. Sickness reduced their effectiveness by two and they were forced to change their objective to a Pt. 18,372 ft. This was climbed and ‘We cleaned our camp sites and burnt all the rubbish to leave the place as unspoilt as possible.’

Not surprisingly, Kapadia was back again on Chiring We in 1979, the ‘Mountain of Long Life’, 36-78/79. This time the expedition was successful and the mountain was climbed, as were three other peaks.

‘Sudarshan Parbat became “our” mountain. It had beauty as well as challenge. Situated above the Gangotri temple it was seen by millions of pilgrims and mountaineers through the ages,’ wrote Kapadia in Une Belle Montagne, 38-80/81, the account of a French-Indian expedition 1981. Four French and seven Indian climbers joined together, somewhat improbably, following a chance meeting in Bombay two years before. They made the first ascent of Sudarshan, and of several other peaks over 6000 m.

‘Chango ‘81’ by Romesh Bhattacharji, in 38-80/81, sounds very much like another St. Stephen’s adventure, though it isn’t called that. Ten young men and women went to Chango 20,200 ft. next to Reo Pargial (like Balwant, Reo Pargial appears in different incarnations). Two attempts failed to attain the summit; two members had frostbite; V.K. Puri lost three fingers, while Adil Tyabji got down to the plains in time to save his by riding pillion on Romesh’s motorcycle.

Jaonli, 21,760 ft. had already been attempted thrice ‘by the Doon School under Hari Dang’, wrote Lt. Col. D. K. Khullar, 36-78/79, when his 18 man Gunner’s expedition set off. (Khullar, then a Major, had led a Gunner’s expedition to Kinnaur Kailas in 1973 XXXII-72/73.) Every member seemed to have a nickname which must have helped to make ‘a happy team’. Gurdial Singh of the ‘Doon School, a veteran of twenty-five odd expeditions including two to Everest, was also accompanying us, and what greater personality could our youngsters have asked for to initiate them into this great sport of mountaineering ?’ On the way, they called on ‘Col. Jagjit Singh, Principal, Nehru Institute of Mountaineering, Uttarkashi, who happens to be Gurdial’s younger brother, a gunner and renowned mountaineer.’

From Camp 3, a team reached the summit after a 12 hour effort and were back by 8 p.m. The ‘summiters were hauled into Camp I like victorious soldiers on winning a war... Success of an expedition is measured in terms of whether the mountain has been scaled or not ... but there are other values too, namely the effort itself, the companionship, and the fact that the team is fortunate enough to return in one piece ... ours had been a complete success.’

John Cleare’s party of eight, ‘Himalchuli ‘78’, 36-78/79, wanted to ‘keep a low profile and avoid the tasteless publicity and razzmatazz that surrounds many mountaineering ventures these days.’ Having been on the 1971 International Everest epic, he had reason to know. Janusz Onyskiewicz’s wife, Alison, was on the Ladies’ expedition to Annapurna and due to join them at base camp after that. But news arrived that she had died on Annapurna. Janusz set off alone for Kathmandu; the morale of the Himalchuli party, many of whom had known Alison well, was low. There was bad professional news for another member; the motivation for the summit had gone. However, they determined to clear the mountain of the 700 pounds of equipment on it; this they did and withdrew with ‘drums beating and flags flying.’

Holidays in the Himalaya

One sad aspect of trying to cover so many articles without exceeding a reasonable length is having to leave unmentioned several accounts of joyous holidays in the mountains. So I cannot do justice to John Allen’s ‘Peaks, Passes and Phabrang, 1974' in XXXIII-73/74, a group of four friends, a liaison officer who became a firm friend and revelled in the mountains, a glorious trek, encounters with local people, a successful climb. Or to Dr. Ungerholm’s ‘Second Swedish expedition to the Himalaya,’ to Manik Bannerjee’s ‘Attempt on Nitalthaur’, M. Day’s expedition to the Chamrao glacier, Rob Collister’s trips to Kishtwar, Jose Paytubi’s to Urgunt-e-Bala. And many others.

Perhaps I should end, with due modesty, by mentioning the trip that Gurdial Singh and I had in Ladakh in 1979, 37-79/80. For me, with very limited leave reduced still further by the vagaries of the Indian Airlines and a jeep that failed, it was ideal because Gurdial’s extensive connections made it possible to rely for shelter and food on hospitable army camps and therefore carry little ourselves. Of the many birds we saw, the prize was Guldenstadt’s Redstart: white crown and neck, black wings and back, large white wing patches, chestnut under parts and tail. Gurdial had seen this in Tibet with Lavkumar in 1954. But he fell over with excitement when he saw a most attractive orange poppy, Papaver naudicaule. And three months later, visiting me in Geneva, he fell over again when he saw the same poppy in the Botanical Garden. A mountaineer should really learn to maintain his sang froid in all circumstances.

SUMMARY

A continuing series on the Himalayan Journals, its past and present relations.

 

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