THE MUSTANG BEAT: TWO UNHEEDED HISTORIC SITES

PHILLIP STURGEON, M.D.

Introduction

IT WAS THE AUTUMN OF 1992, shortly after Mustang had been opened to trekkers, that my son, Tim, and I along with Dave and Bob found ourselves in Nepal on the opening leg of our Mustang Trans Inner-Dolpo trek. The four of us were ascending the Chotare Lapcha, the first of several passes we had to cross on our way to Mustang. We counted ourselves among a somewhat tardy component of the vanguard hoping to be "the first" trekkers to reach Mustang — last of the previously forbidden Himalayan Kingdoms. A narrative of events over the preceding scores of years which led up to our then approaching a summit is given in Himalayan Echoes.¹ The book also sets out our experiences on the ten day trek to Mustang and back, as well as for the additional 25 days which led us on over into Inner Dolpo — the first trekkers to do so. However, two sites of considerable historic importance were only touched upon briefly in that narrative; it was anticipated that they would be paid the heed they well deserved by writers amongst those who had preceded us or by some amongst the scores yet to follow.

Now, close to eight years have slipped away and indeed the beat to Mustang has been the subject of scores of publications — books, periodicals, newspaper articles and TV programs. However, neglect seems to have been the fate for those two sites. Moreover, in the interim I have seen fit to join the ranks of the octogenarians and cannot escape the feeling that time is running out for those two neglected sites to be resurrected from the annals of the early Himalayan explorers.

Part I. THE GREAT BARRIER

As we gained height on our ascent to the Chotare lapcha,² the views of distant mountains ahead to the north and those at both sides rose ever higher above the horizons. On turning to look back down the trail towards Tsele³, where we had camped the night before, my excitement grew with the realisation that the broad expanse of majestic snow clad peaks emerging high above that southern horizon was the main range of the Himalaya. Traditionally, in the view of hundreds of millions of humankind over the millennia, the Himalaya have been seen from India — as a distant white rampart far to the north. By contrast, a minute fraction of humankind, and in essence none from our world, had ever stood where they could look south to that broad expanse of giants, but there they were, standing tall in all of their grandeur, just for us. Even today, essentially all of the approaches to the Himalaya are made from the south. On the occasions where treks do cross over on to their north slopes, such as on the classical Around Annapurna trek, one is right at the foot of the mountains. Viewing the individual peaks is not only awesome and breath-taking but can also strain the neck. Those peaks, however, come into view one by one as the days roll on; all of this I well recalled from my trek around Annapurna in 1977.

Photos 3-4

Now, as I sat comfortably atop the 12,000 ft (3655 m) Lapcha and looked back (See photo), the whole north facing slopes of those Himalayan ramparts were laid out for my eyes to feast upon. Soon I had identified old friends from earlier treks, friends whom I had seen close up but never before from a distance. To my far left (east), in the foreground, was Yakawakang whose prominent glacier caps its 23,000 ft (7000 m) summit; it does indeed resemble the face of a Yak. Opposite was Khatungkang of exactly the same height and, in the saddle joining the two, was the 17,500 ft (5330 m). Thorong-la — pass of the dawn — which I had crossed 15 years earlier.

To my far right (westward from the Kali Gandaki) I could see only in my mind's eye the Dhaulagiri Himal (intervening summits and connecting ridge lines blocked the view ).⁴ It extended to the west a distance equal to that which the Annapurna Himal did to the east and was also composed of an equal array of spectacular peaks (Dhaulagiri-I, II, III, etc.) In between these two extremes, and with a little further study of the somewhat more distant main range, I could identify other of my old companions, all of whom constituted components of the Annapurna Himal.⁵ They took their origin in the due south, arising out of the Kali Gandaki. Eastward, to my left, I first recognized the Nilgiris and then came Tilicho peak. But further on, were distinct formations that were new to me.

While I lingered there, enthralled by that grand vista of the north slope of the Annapurna Himal,⁶ and marveled at how few had ever seen it in all of history, a new realisation began to emerge. Then it became all but certain, I was looking at a landmark of major historical importance in the annals of Himalayan mountaineering. The expanse immediately before me had to be "The Great Barrier" from that epic account Annapurna by the renowned French mountaineer Maurice Herzog⁷ who made man's first ascent of a peak of over 8,000 meters [26,400 ft.]; he was the first to conquer one of the "Ten Himalayan Giants".

It was this, prior to 1950 non-existent mountain range, which forty-two years later held my gaze and stirred up blurred visions of noteworthy associations. It occurred to me then that on returning home, I would look further into those details to bring into sharper focus first the history, then the topography and cartography of this foremost of Himalayan land marks — The Great Barrier.

The essence of the historical events are clearly set out in the Herzog account.⁸

In 1950, three years before Everest was climbed, Herzog's final assault on the summit of Annapurna-I took place. That, of course, is the climax of his book; it relates how, after reaching the top, the team essentially froze to death on their descent; they did managed to escape with their lives but not with all of their limbs. However, preliminary to all of that, the problems they had in even finding Annapurna, is eloquent testimony to just how primitive the maps of the Himalaya were in those days. In essence, after extensive attempts, they had concluded that the approach to the summit of Annapurna from its south slope was impossible and decided to come at it from the north. However, they encountered a major problem. The valley, shown on their maps as being along the base of Annapurna's north slope, was in fact completely blocked by a massive 23,000 ft (7000 m) high intervening mountain range totally unknown to the cartographers. After extensive reconnoitering of the unknown range and of being unable to find their way across it, they christened it "The Great Barrier."

Topographically, with current maps, the task of relating the names that they used to those in current use for the various peaks and ridge lines of the Annapurna Himal, was complicated because of differences in the names. Also, on some current maps, the essential formations are not clearly defined and, above all, the Great Barrier is not even marked on the majority of them. However, in Regards Vers l'Annapurna, the first publication on their adventure, Herzog and Ichac, clearly set out the extent of the Barrier.⁹''. . . the wall of ice of twenty kilometers that joins Gangapurna to Nilgiri North . . . we have baptized the 'Grande Barriere.' The central summit, the 'Roc Noir' makes the point of junction with a higher ridge . . . that rises towards the west to reach the point culminating in Annapurna'' [Author's translation from the French.]

Photos and Figures here, traces, the crest of the Annapurna Himal and within the Himal it shows the extent of the Great Barrier. Also shown are the names of the main mountains included in the Barrier and of some of those nearby. In the following, the names are given from west to east (right to left). Where the Nilgiris rise out of the Kali Gandaki, the Barrier begins. First is Nilgiri North (Central and South are immediately behind) and the full face of the well fluted Tilicho Peak comes next; both are clearly marked on most maps. The summit of Annapurna-I, peeking up from behind the Barrier, shows as well and is labeled on all maps. The next two summits, though usually indicated as such on the majority of maps, are often not labeled, and if so, from slightly to totally different names are used. The first of these is Khangshar Kang¹⁰ — also spelled "Khangsha Kang."¹¹ By virtue of its face's colour and its geometric form, it may also be called "Rock Noir,"¹² "Roc Noir,"¹³ "Black Rock,"¹⁴ and "Triangular Peak."¹⁵ Next is the heavily ice and snow covered, broad and rounded Tarke Kang;¹⁶ It has also been called "Glacier Dome."¹⁷ The Barrier ends at Gangapurna which is marked as such on all maps and has had but one rendition. Immediately beyond that eastern limit of the Great Barrier, comes Annapurna III; and the Marsyandi Khola marks the Annapurna Himal's eastern limit.¹⁸

Soon that jumble of vague thoughts evoked by that view to the south had to be suppressed and the gradual descent from the Chotare Lapcha began. "As we resumed our northward progress up the morning's trail, the high ground we were on sloped gently down to our right to the region of the Kali Gandaki only to gradually rise back up again in a series of unending undulating low lying ridges."¹⁹ With the satisfaction of having unexpectedly discovered one of the Himalaya's major mountaineering land marks, I looked forward expectantly to another one of historic importance. In two more days we were to reach the Plain of Prayer on which was Lo Mantang the capital city of Mustang.

Part II. KETCHER DZONG

Those two days following our reaching the Chotare Lapcha's crest and the discovery of the Great Barrier were filled with memorable experiences and early in the afternoon of the second day, we crested the Rober Lapcha. There it was, Mustang ! As with the Great Barrier, its discovery was by another of the early French explorers of the Himalaya, Michel Peissel.²⁰With my very first glimpse of the city situated on the Plain of Prayer, I asked, 'Am I truly here. . .?' Then immediately my eyes locked in on the high, almost volcano-shaped mountain that framed the city. That had to be Mount Ketcher. I recognized it from the pictures in the books I had read over the years and from my dreams of someday standing on its summit. I could see clearly, unmistakably, the crumbling remnants of an ancient fortress. It had to be Ketcher Dzong!²¹ Its oval shaped exterior again evoked memories of what I had learned about the colourful explanation for the Dzong's uniquely curved walls — as recorded in Mustang's earliest written history.²²

Ame Pal,²³ who is considered the founder of Mustang, built on Mount Ketcher's summit the usual rectangular Dzong. However, he committed the grave offence of having one of its four corners aimed directly at the entrance of the castle far below belonging to Dutrina Radjin. Mustang was, at that time, a disunited group of feuding fieldoms which were being thoroughly terrorized by Dutrina Radjin; who was known as ''The Demon Black Monkey.'' For Ame Pal's grave offence, Demon Black Monkey at once had the Dzong destroyed. Ame Pal then rebuilt the fortress in the shape of an oval and Demon Black Monkey had to leave it intact for it no longer had threatening corners. Later Ame Pal's son, Tsetin Trandul, swept down on Demon Black Monkey, defeated him and ultimately Tsetin and his father, Ame Pal, unified the land from Kagbeni on the south to the Tibetan border on the north and from west to east, between the Dolpo Barrier and the Damodar Himal; they had created the Kingdom of Lo, — of Mustang.

That Dzong for me was Mustang's goal of paramount importance and so I had assumed it would have been for at least a few of those vanguard trekkers and reporters who had already reached, or were soon to reach Lo Mantang and the Plain of Prayer. For all to see, centre stage, and surmounting the walled city below in the foreground, was the Dzong — beckoning to be visited! ²⁴

For the following day, our main objective had been planned well in advance; we were to have an audience with the King of Mustang, Jigme Palbar.²⁵ The next day, the last of the two full days allowed for Lo Mantang, was to be optional.

Our audience with the King proved to be a memorable experience and as we lingered in the mess tent after dinner that evening, our head Sherpa, Roshan, asked what he might arrange for us tomorrow. Quickly it became evident that, other than myself, nobody had given that subject much thought. All knew, of course, that there were a host of inviting sites to be visited within the village or in the nearby surroundings. With apologies, I took the uncompromising position that for me there was but one place that I had to see. Ketcher Dzong was that place and that regardless of the difficulties in getting there, without it, I would consider the Mustang trek a partial success. I outlined the reasons for my steadfast position and invited whoever wanted to come along. I was a good salesman; it was unanimous; we would all go; Roshan would organise the whole day; so it was settled.

The day began with an excursion on pony back for a visit to the Nyiphu monastery high on a cliff side. By noon the visit was completed and as we worked our way back down to the ponies patiently awaiting us below, we could see in the distance a conical formation which at first rose gradually out of the plain but then swept upwards ever steeper into a sharp but slightly rounded summit. It was Mount Ketcher and there, capping its top, were the clearly oval shaped crumbling ruins of Ketcher Dzong. Standing in stark isolation, totally free of competition from any other works of man, it was a graphic reminder of an era poorly defined in the medieval history of Himalayan civilizations. There was an additional layer of fascination; it stood at the end of a trail-less climb to one of the highest sites in Mustang.

We headed up cross-country, keeping our navigation sights on the Dzong. Then at an altitude of about 3800 m, the pitch increased to a degree where the ponies were having to struggle; it soon became obvious that our four footed friends were reaching their limits, that the pitch was simply too great for them. They became breathless and the inside of my leg, against my pony's heaving chest, was constantly being thumped by his pounding heart as he struggled bravely on — the ponies were not going to deliver anyone up to the fortress. We all dismounted and soon found we were having to scramble up on all fours. However, whatever doubts I had about being able to reach the top were dispelled as I thought about the Dzong's place in history and that we likely would be the first to reach it since Peissel²⁶ discovered it almost thirty years ago. Lo and behold, along with the rest of our group, I was positioning myself to take in the panorama from the top. But first, as is my compulsion on reaching a summit, I had to take an altitude reading. My altimeter read 4,010 metres — 13,230 ft and I realised that the excursion up to the Dzong had already yielded a fine dividend for me. I had broken the 4,000 metre barrier and for one who lives in the Alps, that was a rite of passage into manhood.²⁷

The view from the top was nothing short of breathtaking; for that alone, the ascent to Ketcher Dzong is an absolute must for anyone who is able to make it to Lo Mantang on foot. As Peissel had put it 28 years earlier ''. . . by the time we reached the fort we had at our feet not only Mustang but, so it seemed, the entire world."²⁸ Over and above the general view, however, I was able for the first time to get a clear grasp of the geography of the whole of Mustang — from there the Land of 'Lo' is laid out before one like a giant relief map. Down below (to the southeast; that is in the mid distance to my left) was Nyiphu where we had been a few hours ago. Close-in on the right was the Walled City itself with its surrounding fields. With a slight further turn to the west, my eye fell upon Namgyal, the biggest of the monasteries. Then, continuing my clockwise turn, I scanned out across the major valley on the Plain of Prayer as it stretched north in the direction of Tibet. I easily found the King's summer palace at Trenker. Further up, the outlines of the valley's mountainous west flanks gradually faded out and were lost as they blended in with the gradually rising pastel purple of the Tibetan plateau; it occupied the whole of the northern quadrant of my uninterrupted full circle panorama. In the pure crystal clear air, the vast sweep of the plateau stretched endlessly out over the horizon. Well short of that, I realised that I was looking far beyond the northern border of Mustang, slightly down into Tibet. I gazed there longingly.

While withdrawing my field of vision back from that distant north to where I stood, I followed at eye level the prominent ridge that divides the Plain of Prayer into western and eastern halves. The pinnacle on which the Dzong is situated is formed by the end of that ridge, where it slopes off abruptly down to the valley below. On completing my panoramic view, as my gaze lingered again to the east, I once again became awed by the limitless horizons and vast desert grandeur of that remote, inaccessible and sparsely inhabited land. There were deeply eroded desert lands in pastel shades of yellows, tans, and reds, and uninhabited undulating ridges that faded off interminably to the distant horizon. Closer in was the broad, scarred and almost dry bed of the Kali Gandaki heading north to its source close up to the Tibetan border.

Upon finding a position where crumbling remains of the Dzong were not interposed, I turned again to take in the full sweep of the view to the south. There, in the far distance, were low lying snow clad crests — a narrow white band of Himalaya pushing up from over the horizon. With careful scrutiny of the peaks, I could still identify all of my old acquaintances in the Annapurna Himal and its Great Barrier. Well in the foreground was that last ridge before Lo Mantang where, at Rober Lapcha three days ago, we had crested the pass and had that first dramatic glimpse of the walled city. There the trail could be easily seen in its full course running diagonally down across the face of the ridge to the Plain of Prayer below.

Having completed the full circle, I turned again to the distant west to ponder that foreboding range that we had christened the Dolpo Barrier;²⁹it loomed as high and impenetrable as ever, yet we were still going to have to find a way to breach it. Very much closer, in the foreground and only a short way below, was a smaller knoll on which stood another ruin, said to be the remains of a monastery but from the massive size of its walls, I guessed it had to be a ruin from the Dzong.³⁰ Just beyond that knoll's edge and hundreds of feet below was the city of Lo Mantang with its uninterrupted enclosing wall, and again, right at my toes, were Ketcher's ruins. As I contemplated those crumbled remains of the Dzong's massive stone walls, I regretted that unfortunately not enough remained standing to furnish an idea of the structure's internal layout. The disposition of the huge chunks of outside wall, however, left no doubt as to its uniquely oval shaped exterior. That again evoked memories of what I had learned about Mustang's earliest written history — the colorful explanation for its curved shape.³¹

This brought me to the further recognition that I had realised one of my most sought after goals for Mustang. Although I was high on a mountain top with a spectacular view, I had been transported back to the origins of its history. I had come to the very site of its "Declaration of Independence." what could be more appropriate for one's first visit to a foreign land?

We had spent well over an hour on the mountain top scrutinising our private universe in all directions, from the ruins at our feet, out to all of the surrounding horizons and every thing in between; we had had that entire universe totally to ourselves, without a single other soul or the remotest suggestion of tourism. But we could linger no longer and, as I carefully picked my way back down the steep slope, I realised — and I am sure so did the rest — that there had never been another castle visit quite like it and that most likely there never will be.

Where the pitch lessened, the ponies had been gathered by the driver to await our return. He wrestled me awkwardly back up into the saddle and my sure footed pony, following his own instincts, transported me safely down off the rest of Ketcher mountain and with deliberate slowness, back to camp.

On the way it drifted across my mind, if our ascent had not been unique, that up to that time, it had been a very rare event indeed. From my subsequent review of the Dzong's history and all that has been written about Mustang since, the latter indeed seems to remain the case. Now, as the whole experience mellows with time, my mountain top uninterrupted full sweep view of the Plain of Prayer — an incredible Himalayan panorama — is one that remains indelibly inscribed in my memory and one which begs not to go unheeded by anyone who makes the trek to Mustang.

SUMMARY

In the years since Mustang's opening in late 1991 to the time of embarking on this writing in early 1996, a host of articles have appeared in newspapers, journals and books on Mustang. In all of them, whether by adventurer, explorer, writer or scholar alike, the Great Barrier has remained unrecognized. Similarly Ketcher Dzong, despite its prominent appearances in photographs of the region,³²has escaped recognition in all but one publication;³³ moreover, there is no mention of anyone having made the ascent to the fortress.

Prior to the opening of Mustang, but in the several books written since the "modern discovery" of Mustang by Tucci³⁴ in 1952, there is but one mention of an ascent; that was in 1962 by Peissel.³⁵ Thus, from the time of Ame Pal — Mustang's founder who built the fort seven hundred years ago, Peissel was the first on record to make the ascent; three decades later we, it seems, were the next; and we too looked down indeed with "the entire world at our feet."³⁶ On the way we conquered a viertausender and once there, we had a magnificent panoramic view and were able to explore a ruin of paramount historic importance. That was indeed an adventure travel packed day to a place of historic significance — a pilgrimage!

Future travellers along the Mustang beat can be well advised, as they crest the Chotare Lapcha, not to overlook Herzog's Great Barrier and on reaching Mustang not to forego a scramble up to Peissel's Ketcher Dzong. Those two historic sites remain well worthy of recognition by the scores who have already made the trek to Mustang as well as those who are yet to follow.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Gurung H, (1976) Annapurna and Dhaulagiri Himal, Jore Ganesh Press. Kathmandu. Nepal

Gurung, H., (1982) Round Annapurna, Vista Maps. Kathmandu

Gurung, H., (19??) Round Annapurna, Mandala Trekking Maps, Jore Ganesh Press. Kathmandu

Gurung, H., (1991/1992), Jomosom to Mustang, Mandala Trekking Maps. Kathmandu

Herzog, M., M. Ichac, (1951), Regards Vers l'Annapurna, B. Arthaud. Paris

Herzog, M., (1953) Annapurna, E. P. Dutton & Co., New York

Jackson, D. P. (1984) The Mollas of Mustang, Library of Tibetan Works & Archives. Dharamsala/INDIA

Laird, T. (1992, Oct. 9) In the Shadow of the Himalaya, A Kingdom Unveiled. Asia Week 18, no. 41, 81-97

Montillier, P. (1995) Mustang, Dernier Royaume du Nepal, Editions de la Boussole- Diffusion Vilo. Annemasse, France

Peissel, M. (1967) Mustang, The Forbidden Kingdom, E. P. Dutton & Co., Inc.. New York

Sturgeon, P. (1998) Himalayan Echoes, A Septuagenarian's Traverse of Mustang and Inner Dolpo, Book Faith India. Delhi

Sturgeon, P. (1999) Mani Stones and Mantras, 2nd ed. Pennine Press. Zermatt, Switzerland

Tucci, G. (1977) Journey to Mustang, Ratna Pustak Bhandar. Kathmandu/NEPAL

United States Army Map Service, (Edition 1-AMS)NH 44-16, Series U502 Corps of Engineers, U.S. Army. Washington, D. C.

 

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