THE WOLF HUNTERS OF PANGBOCHE

JOHN A. JACKSON

EI Nino - The Child

THE END OF APRIL 1987, Eileen and I returned to the Galapagos Islands with a party of friends. We saw immediately that everywhere the islands were greener and much more heavily vegetated than previously. The temperatures were higher than normal and the humidity exceptionally high. Clearly it was an E1 Nino year.

What is E1 Nino ? The Spanish name means ‘The Child’ and the child is born when the warm water normally retained within the great bowl of the Bay of Panama is swept out by winds into the Pacific Ocean. For the Galapagos Islands, this creates a dramatic imbalance in the environment. The cool waters of the Humboldt Current are replaced by the warm waters of E1 Nino and the abundant fish life leaves the area. Colonies of sea birds disappear. Sea lions and fur seals die of starvation. Iguanos, Painted Locusts and a variety of other insects, plus the birds that prey on them flourish. For us this made for a very interesting stay among those enchanted islands. Even so, as we left them, we knew that globally, EI Nino was an `ill wind’ that caused dangerous swings in the weather cycles throughout the world. I wondered how soon we would see or hear of some of the problems it would cause.¹

 

October - Nepal - the same year

Early on the evening of 17 October. Humphrey Smith, Godfrey Yates and I stood on a small promontory at the hamlet of Dole in the upper Dudh Kosi. We watched with awe whilst high clouds lit by the last rays of the sun sped from the west across the sky at high speed. In every way they moved as clouds do when projected on a screen by time lapse photography and I felt a strange foreboding.

At Nerebu the next evening and throughout the following thirty-two hours, snow fell in huge quantities enveloping tents, snapping tent poles, destroying visibility and generally creating havoc for trek groups throughout the area. Our party of fifteen battened down inside the sturdy mess tent but not before rescuing four German trekkers who, following the death of one of their porters, had stupidly abandoned their Sirdar, his staff and all their equipment except sleeping bags.

They would have assuredly perished but for us discovering them wandering about aimlessly in deep snow below our campsite.

Later we were to discover that at the same period of time in the rest of the world, much greater disasters were unfolding. In Bangladesh a typhoon from the Bay of Bengal created havoc and enormous loss of life. Back home in Britain, millions of trees and much property was destroyed by winds of hurricane force. Australia suffered from drought followed by raging bush fires that destroyed wild life and whole townships. Once again famine spread across huge areas of Africa when the water holes dried up, whilst America was swept by storms and floods. At Edmonton in Alberta there was a destructive tornado where none had been known before and, unusually, the same snow bearing clouds that we saw at Dole swept across the Himalayan divide into Tibet where hundreds of Tibetans perished in the snow. E1 Nino had been busy.

Tracks

For two days following the snowstorm in the upper Dudh Kosi, the atmosphere was brilliantly crisp and clear. There was not a breath of wind. All sound was deadened by the deep covering of snow but the sun shone warm and life giving. Apart from our own movements, other life forms having temporarily holed up in the storm began to stir. Soon we saw the footprints of mouse-hare, serow, and musk deer, then there was much excitement when Ken Hall and Neil Heaton were sure they had come across the prints of a snow leopard. I was not sure and because of my previous experiences in the Dudh Kosi was inclined to think they were the tracks of a wolf. The wolves of Khumbu are the large creamy coloured Tibetan wolves that cross over from the plateau where they are able to live on hare, marmot, gazelle and antelope but in Khumbu find easier pickings among the Sherpa lifestock. I thought of the time years earlier when with Eileen; I was with Lakpa Thondup, Ang Norbu and Sirdar Dawa Tenzing on ski. We were across the other side of the Ngojumba glacier from Nerebu and up at the Nimagawa la. We too had found the tracks of wolf on the glacier and the story of what happened to us during the following few days is worth telling.

Nepali Sharpshooters and Buddhist Sensitivities

We noticed the wolf prints early in the day whilst skiing with our Sherpas on the Chola glacier, but by the afternoon, had decided to strike camp and return to Dawa’s home in the Imja khola. Whilst we were descending the glacier, two Sherpas hurried down towards us. Dawa knew them both for they had carried loads together on several expeditions to Everest.

Down in the valley of the Nimagawa, not far from their village of Taknak, they had been surprised to see our figures at the pass. Both had been searching for tracks of a wolf and decided to ascend to the Chola glacier to see if we had seen anything of the animal. We could imagine how puzzled and excited they must have been to find both our ski tracks and also those of the wolf.

Having caught up with us they then wanted to descend with us to Dzonghla and go on to Pheriche where they hoped to locate a Nepali rifleman who could shoot the wolf, once they found its lair. To our surprise, later that evening, they returned to our Dzonghla camp bringing with them an ill-clad, shivering Nepali complete with rifle. All three were given hot food and drinks but we felt sorry for the Nepali rifleman, when most reluctantly he left with them to find a cave to sleep in higher up the valley.

Eileen asked why the Sherpas didn’t use a rifle themselves and I pointed out that being Buddhists they wouldn’t want to kill and animal, even one that was a menace to the community and that they wished to see dead. However, they would be perfectly happy if someone else killed the wolf — hence the Nepali. Before leaving they told us that all the prints we had seen had been made by a wolf that had killed a yak at Pheriche.

It was a lame wolf, and very clever because it never killed livestock in the same valley in which it had its lair. We knew that the killing of a yak would be a real calamity amongst a Sherpa community for these mountain cattle are highly prized.

The wealthier climbing and trekking Sherpas who stay in Khumbu buy them whenever possible to build up herds for later years.

Our friend Phu Cheeta already owned twenty-one yak and Ang Norbu was the proud possessor of eighteen yak plus two dzum or dzo. A dzum or dzo is a fertile female, good for milk production, that is obtained by cross breeding a yak with a Nepali or Indian cow. The males which are infertile are called dzubjok or dzopkio. They are strong, work well and are often used for ploughing or carrying loads. Yak meat is a scarce commodity, for though Sherpas enjoy eating it, none of these animals are grown for their meat. A yak will only be eaten when it dies. Usually it is buffalo or a cow that is killed to provide meat for trekkers at Sherpas eating houses or ‘hotels’.

We took our time on the journey from Dzonghla to a campsite below Pheriche the next day, stopping for a couple of hours for a long lunch in the sun at a sandy ‘beach’ by the mouth of the Chola lake. Later at Pheriche, situated on the alluvial flats below the terminal moraine of the Khumbu glacier, we wondered how the trekker were faring in the Chola Khola, for this was the village where the Yak had recently been killed.

Early next morning, we arrived back at Dawa’s house in Deboche having enjoyed the photography of freshly blooming primula and the many varieties of coloured rhododendrons. Angmou (Dawa’s daughter) made us welcome with a huge bowl of alu (potatoes) which we rapidly consumed along with tasty mounds of salt and swigs of rakshi. Would we ever hear more about the wolf was a question constantly on our minds.

Pangboche Gompa and the Yeti Scalp

On the following day, Dawa’s young cow bellowed in the baru waking us all to a mellow dawn, and the early morning sunshine quickly melted a light covering of snow. A line of snorting yak, throat bells clanging, steam rising from their shaggy flanks, plodded slowly behind a yak-boy on the trail to Pangboche. We were also going there for Ang Norbu had invited us to visit his home which was close to the gompa and where we hoped to see the ‘snowman scalp’.

Departing early, we left Angmou humming a Sherpani tune whilst she tidied round the fire. The day was particularly clear and we enjoyed seeing the broad high wedge of Ama Dablam, an ice festooned chisel of a mountain that towered above us.

Possibly Dawa was feeling penitent having drunk too much rakshi the night before. He stopped frequently to read out the mani mantra carved on the rock and each time he gave the ending of the mantra a particularly powerful hum !

Crossing the bridge over the Imja khola we began the steep ascent of the track that eventually led us to Pangboche village and the gompa.

Many prayer flags or torcho whipped and flapped in the breeze outside the entrance to the gompa, each wave and flap marking the equivalent of saying the many prayers printed on the fabric. Within the gompa we looked forward to seeing the Yeti (snowman) scalp. The one that Tom Stobart and I felt might have been made from the skin of a wild pig, when we carefully examined it during the search for the ‘Snowman’ in 1954.

Dawa located the lama with the key who then brought out the scalp for us to photograph. To my surprise, I discovered that a ‘Yeti’ hand had also been added to the exhibit. I believe the general opinion now is that the hand is human. The scalp was the same one we had first examined but seemed to have less of the bristly hair. Either visitors were extracting hairs surreptitiously or the Yeti was going bald! It was good to examine the scalp again but I was surprised that we only needed to pay 10 rupees to see it. I had always felt the charge was an excellent way of obtaining Gompa funds but thought the cost might have inflated more. (Now in the 1990’s, it has).

The Head Lama had been at special meditation when we arrived but hurried round to see us before we left. For an extra 20 rupees he offered to arrange for us to hear the blowing of the silver trumpets called the Gyaling, and even the great booming horns, the Saung Daungs, similar in appearance to the alpen horns of Switzerland but we declined his offer having already heard them many times.

Leaving the Gompa we wound our way along the narrow pathways to Ang Norbu’s house, meeting his wife and children at the door and soon having been regaled with typical Sherpa hospitality, felt not only well fed but slightly inebriated from the large quantities of chang consumed. Norbu was a bundle of nervous energy, never sitting down, hovering over our plates and chang cups, anxious to be the perfect host, pleased that we liked his spacious home and its breathtaking view of Ama Dablam. Dawa, too, seemed ill at ease and before long we knew the reason why. He wanted us to visit Annie’s house — Annie being his second daughter.

Annie’s House and the Wolf Hunters

The late morning sun glanced down from many hanging ice-walls across the valley as we trudged unsteadily through the fields, over high protecting walls and into the tiny outside yard of Annie’s home. Sprays of bamboo lashed to the wooden eaves sported gaily fluttering prayer flags of many colours — blue, red, orange, yellow, green, fresh clean white and dirty grey. In the courtyard were six men talking loudly and excitedly and all at once. A motley crew. All went quiet as we entered. Swaying gently, they looked towards us and six pairs of eyes stared a little vacantly at our party. One pair I noticed in particular, bright and shining mischievous eyes they were, that reminded me of someone. The face was familiar too and then I realised who it was. Twenty-two years had gone by but I still had many memories of Nima Tenzing and of the journey I once made with him from Everest to Kangchenjunga. One in particular was of crossing the Rakhala to the Naktang chu in Tibet. There had been a lot of snow and obscuring clouds on the pass but after an hour of descent there was a quite sudden transformation. Sunlight and cloud shadows enhanced the beauty of the rolling pastel — coloured landscape and close by, red sprays of azalea blossom sparkled with drops of water that also dripped from its dark green leaves.

‘Tibet side’ shouted Nima Tenzing and I could still see him clearly in my mind’s eye, his face one huge smile and his eyes, as always, bright and shining.

In the courtyard I took one step forward crying enthusiastically,

‘Nima Tenzing’, and his face took on a puzzled look.

‘Everest Kangchenjunga jaiga - Tibet side malam ?’ I continued, and another look, this time of incredulity plus dawning comprehension appeared on his face. He smiled as of old, flung his arms around me crying.

‘Malam Jackson Sahib, Bahut atcha rasta, malam Everest -Kangchenjunga jaiga.’ His Hindi was as crude and basic as mine but obviously he still remembered the journey of twentytwo years before. His shoulders squared and he stood another inch higher, his companions too stood a little straighter yet swayed in rhythm as if controlled by puppet strings. All blinked dazedly, then like Nima beamed with pleasure, faces wreathed in alcoholic smiles.

Dawa was displeased. Nima was some distant relative of whom he didn’t approve. This sudden notoriety for Nima and his heightened standing in the immediate company galled Dawa. To smooth matters over I suggested we go inside and offered chang all round. Nima shook his head, put off by Dawa’s obvious distaste and explained that unfortunately they were a wolf hunting party. He was the leader he explained and reluctantly, at real cost of his innermost desires, they must go immediately to Pheriche. The wolf (no doubt the same one whose prints we had seen in the Chola khola) had already killed two yaks he said and implied that the safety of all Sherpa animals in the valley was laid squarely on his shoulders. Thus, full of duty and recognising the importance of his mission he proudly refused the offer of chang and departed.

‘I must see him again’, I said to Eileen as we lowered our heads and went through the doorway into Annie’s house. There despite all our protests we again received typical Sherpa hospitality so that soon the table was a clutter of chang kettles, cups, jars and plates laden with gurr and tasty chapatties made with tsampa. Annie had been forewarned!

Five minutes went by when in trooped the six wolf hunters apologising for their rudeness. Not one of them Nima said, could think why they had been so rude as to refuse our offer of chang and they sat down forthwith to make amends. More jugs of foaming chang were brought and the determined hunters rapidly becoming more merry and inebriated, continued to down the contents.

Nima then told us that five of them came from Pangboche but the sixth man was a friend of theirs from Namche Bazaar. Rambling a little, he went on to try and explain something of his relationship to Dawa and throughout his narrative his eyes twinkled mischievously. His friends became more voluble and boisterous and to my amusement, so did Eileen and Dawa. Almost an hour went by when at a word from Nima the wolf hunters stood up noisily, bowed ceremoniously, shook hands with us, and swaying alarmingly, trooped out once again to catch the wolf of Pheriche. At least that is what we thought. It wasn’t long though before three of them returned, sat down and looking owlishly across at us began to quaff more chang. Ten minutes later, the friend from Namche made a big effort and as he went outside mumbled to Dawa that he would catch up with Nima and the others.

Ang Norbu then arrived at Annie’s house hoping to return with us to Deboche. Quickly he took in the situation and grinned at me, particularly relishing the merry mood of Eileen and Dawa. Leaving Annie to cope with the remaining ‘hunters’ we stepped outside and carefully picked our way along the narrow stony pathway.

Soon we heard the sound of voices, jocular but slurred and turning a corner found Nima Tenzing with his two companions, talking and arguing volubly yet with good humour. They were oblivious to the rest of the world and quite obviously not bound for Pheriche. Of the friend from Namche Bazaar there was no sign.

Our own little party went along quite happily with Norbu and I almost helpless with laughter at times as Eileen and Dawa, arms linked together, danced along the track singing the well known refrain —

‘We ain’t got a barrel of money, maybe we’re ragged and funny but we’re rolling along, singing this song, side by side.’

Round the chortens, down the steps, through the archways, past the prayer wheels, and along the mani walls they danced and sang their merry way. It was a hilarious journey home.

Finally at the long mani wall near Dawa’s house, we found the friend from Namche. Laid out with his back against the mani wall, he was sleeping in the sun, mouth open wide and snoring loudly. As with the rest of the hunters, all thoughts of the wolf had gone. Not surprisingly, before we left Sola Khumbu, Lakpa Thondup told us the lame she-wolf was still alive and running free.

A final Word

That meeting with Nima Tenzing and the wolf hunters had happened over a decade earlier, and the ‘wolf’ tracks we had found following the snowstorm reminded me of the story. But what had happened to the she-wolf I wondered? Probably she had died after all this time, as had Dawa Tenzing, but I thought perhaps the tracks were made by one of her progeny and I feared for the sheep and yak of Pheriche.

We retraced our steps to Khumjung two days after the storm and seeing the tracks. There Eileen and I were overjoyed to meet Lakpa Thondup again. Then to our astonishment and great delight at the hamlet of Pheriche, we met Ang Norbu with his son Ang Sombu. Most amazingly after we returned from a visit to the Everest base camp and the ascent of Kala Pathar, we were trudging through the snow in upper Pangboche when we found Nima Tenzing.

He was a trekking Sirdar now, having been on many journeys and expeditions. In 1979, three years after he ‘led’ the wolf hunters, he was assistant Sirdar with Doug Scott, Joe Tasker and Peter Boardman on their Kangchenjunga ascent. There he had made such an impression that Peter Boardman wrote to me asking for more information about this exceptional Sherpa. He had found him to be a good companion, strong, faithful and diligent and like all Sherpas of the old school, deeply religious. In Pangboche, Neil Heaton gave him a copy of the Climber and Hill Walker in which an article had been written about Nima Tenzing by the son of Eric Hoskings, the bird photographer.

Later at the ‘Tashi Delek Hotel’ in Thyangboche run by Ang Neesha (Angmou — Dawa’s daughter at Deboche) I left a few photographs taken of him when he was a ‘wolf hunter’, and several others that I had taken of him thirty-three years earlier on our journey to Kangchenjunga.

We met him again in Sola Khumbu after 1987, and then in 1990 on the Milke Danda ridge in Northeast Nepal whilst trekking to Kangchenjunga Each time it was a pleasure to meet an old and faithful friend who was still diligent, strong and religious and who, despite the passing years still had the same bright and shining mischievous eyes.

SUMMARY

Recalling events in the Sola Khumbu in 1987.

 

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