GANGOTRI AND LEO PARGIAL, 1933

MARCO PALLIS

THE expedition to Garhwal and Upper Kanawar, in which I took part, was the outcome of a fusion of two separate plans. The Sutlej region had been chosen first, since its mountains seemed specially suited for the operations of a small party which aimed at the exploration of a group rather than the siege of a single huge peak. Later, opinion veered round to the Gangotri district, because it was thought that the climbing there would be more typically 'Himalayan' as known to us from books; but no sooner had this decision been taken than I began to feel regrets for the Sutlej, both because much valuable information had already been collected concerning that country, and because I felt a keen interest in the Tibetans and Lamaist art. The rival claims of the two districts seemed only too nicely balanced when suddenly G. F. Kirkus discovered in the appendix of Sir Edward Buck's Simla Past and Present—a book certainly not intended for climbers—some useful routes with details of stages, one of which was 'Chini to Mussoorie'. It was stated that the Nela pass, connecting a tributary valley of the Ganges with the Baspa, though high, was easy and in regular use by natives. This furnished a link between the two objects of our desire; we could go to Gangotri until the rains set in and then pass over into monsoon-free Kanawar and attempt Leo Pargial.¹

The party chosen consisted of four besides myself, namely F. E. Hicks, G. F. Kirkus, R. C. Nicholson, and Dr. Charles Warren, the last uniting the functions of climber and physician. We had climbed and camped together at home and in the Alps in almost every possible combination; consequently we knew that we were all good- tempered and believed that we could live together even in the wilds without quarrelling. The fact that we felt so happy a party made us reject the advice of those who pressed us to take a transport officer with actual Indian experience for fear of making a hopeless muddle of our porterage. Rather did we follow the counsel of Dr. T. G. Long- staff, who acted as Guru—I should rather say ma-bap—to our party, when he declared that if we took the trouble to study languages, and used common sense and observation, we should be able to run our own show all right. I rejoice that we acted thus and did not import a stranger into our well-assorted family, nor make ourselves dependent on any intermediary in our relations with our men or the villagers. We should certainly have missed half the fun had we done so, and also, of course, failed to gain experience that will serve another time. For, barring accidents, another time must surely come. I was warned that once a man has found the way to the Himalaya he falls inevitably under an irresistible spell.

 

I will only give a few details about equipment, for to describe it adequately would need a whole chapter in a book. I need only say that we always aimed at the greatest lightness compatible with strength and comfort, since we proposed to retain but few permanent porters and to do most of the carrying to high camps ourselves. Numerous experiments were conducted in the Alps, and at home in winter, with light tents and sleeping-bags; no important apparatus was taken on trust and the extra trouble was rewarded by the fact that nothing ever failed us in the field. All kit and provisions were packed in Liverpool by our own hands or under our eye exactly in the form which they were to go on to the coolies' backs. Things were so disposed to save us from opening more than a very few packages at a time.

The party sailed on theist of April by the Harrison Line cargo-boat Custodian, bound for Calcutta, the firm having offered to take us under very generous conditions. We thus escaped the tedious distractions of a passenger ship and devoted the time saved to an intensive study of languages. Every one tried his hand at Hindustani and two of us took on Tibetan as well. Before starting I had had some lessons in both tongues in order to get the basis of grammar and pronunciation. Many of the crew of our ship were lascars from Bengal, so we were able to practise on them a little before reaching India. I think they spoke more rapidly than any other Indians whom I have met since; I do not think this impression is due solely to my having still been in the elementary stages.

From Calcutta we went straight to Dehra Dun and were met by Dr. J. Maclagan Gorrie of the Imperial Forest Service, who laid us under a real debt of gratitude by his untiring and sympathetic co-operation in all sorts of ways. Among other things he found a man for the post of sirdar of our caravan during the first part of the journey. Jai Datt's appearance was refined and his manners good, not only towards us but to his subordinates. He proved suitable for the job of collecting good porters; but later, when we got into rougher country, we found that his physique and temperament were no longer suited by the conditions of life, so we had to send him back. In the early days, however, he was useful.

Before going up to Mussoorie two of us were taken by Dr. Gorrie in his car to visit H.H. the Raja of Tehri-Garhwal at Narendranagar, where we were received most kindly, first by the Dewan of the State and then by the Raja himself. Instructions were sent by his orders to officials and villages along our route so that they might give us every assistance. Our way was thus made smooth from the start. At Mussoorie we stayed for a week in order to collect the seventy odd porters who were required and to make final arrangements. I will confess to some little trepidation when the morning of the 10th May dawned and I had to take full command. I fixed the start quite early, chiefly in order to avoid having to air my rather hesitating Hindustani in front of other European residents in the hotel who might choose to come and look on. But all went as if on wheels, and by the evening, when we pitched our first camp under the pine-trees of Magra, I felt a much-enhanced sense of confidence, not made less by the excellent meal prepared by our cook, Maidar Singh. He was not a pukka cook, but carried his load like the rest; for we followed the advice of Mr. G. F. Meade, to avoid professionals and train a likely man from among the porters. We were lucky in our choice, for not only did Maidar Singh quickly learn our ways as regards boiling the drinking-water and milk, but he proved to know a lot about cooking, so that we fed splendidly.

Three marches by Deosar and Chapra led us into the Bhagirathi valley near Dharasu.¹ Thence five stages more along the pilgrim route brought us to Harsil, where we were to change coolies, as the first lot of men, though excellent, seemed unsuitable to take into the cold zone of the glaciers. The road to Harsil is good all the way and would be suitable for pack animals. Space forbids that I should try to describe many of the beauties of those early stages. Not a moment passed but it was full of delights. Immense thickets of white roses scented the air for miles. There were lovely pink magnolias with few leaves and trunks gnarled and twisted into fantastic shapes, each plant seemingly having been designed by some divine Chinese artist. At Uttarkashi, in the centre of the village green, there stood a brilliant orange-tree covered with plume-like spikes of flowers which we gathered to adorn our hats. All sorts of birds appeared; we were hardly ever out of sight of eagles. One eagle caught some small animal and carrying it to a height let it drop on the rocks in order to kill it before eating. Another eagle perched on a branch just facing the camp at Dharasu while feeding on its prey. The stage just before Gugnani lay through the most glorious woods, all sorts of trees being found therein, together with deep wine-red rhododendrons and fresh green bamboo; underneath was a carpet of white peonies. The last stretch of road before sighting Harsil lies high above the river because a spur has to be crossed. From the top of this spur the eye looks into a new world. The valley is broad and flat, and the Bhagirathi flows through wider channels with a less furious violence. The hill-sides, clothed with deodar, pass up to the realm of glaciers and snowfields. Here is the gate of the high mountains; by the side of the path are some banks of violets and edelweiss. Harsil lies at the far end of the valley on the edge of a magnificent grove of deodars. Between the straggling village and the river bank is a wide level green on which we encamped.

 

Two days were spent at Harsil. The baggage destined for the second or Sutlej portion of the journey was deposited in charge of the local forest-guard who resides at Darali. Food for the four permanent porters on the glacier was purchased, and the Mussoorie coolies were paid off. We were indeed sorry to part from them, for they had served most faithfully and were a cheery crowd at all times. The four men selected for the glacier work were Ishwar Singh, who later on was appointed sirdar, his young Jadh friend, Djun Singh, both belonging to Harsil (though the former is really from Poo in Kanawar), and two Badrinath men who had been with us from the outset, Dhan Singh and Khimanand. Dhan Singh is a wonderful porter; he always was the first to bring his load into camp on the trek, for which reason he was entrusted with a sack containing tents, so that we could be sure of pitching in good time. Once he had acclimatized to height he moved extremely rapidly up steep slopes and could manage a very big weight. He is also a good rock- climber, a quality which he shares with Khimanand. But for the sake of any one who wishes to engage him after me, I must add that lie needs some watching and should be held on a rather tight rein. Mr is a bit of an old soldier (he is actually a reservist of a Garhwali regiment) and combines an almost touching personal devotion with an irresistible tendency to impose upon his master in small ways.

Ishwar Singh was the great discovery of the expedition, for which I myself am ready to take all the credit. He is a rare character, intelligent, open-minded, scrupulously honest, devoted, and humane. He has remarkable tact with every sort of person whatever their rank or race. He is well educated in his way and can read and write both Tibetan and Urdu,, as well as speak numerous dialects of Kanawar and Tehri.

The new set of porters recruited at Harsil was not quite what we had hoped for. We wanted to take all Jadhs (the local name for Bhotias), who are the only really good mountain porters in those parts, but in the middle of May most of them are still on their way up from winter pastures and it was only possible to secure about a dozen. Later on many more become available, but waiting for these shortens the season too much, since the monsoon is apt to break at the end of June, not late July as some people have rumoured. Thus we were forced to fill the vacant ranks with cultivators from villagers round about. They were quite strong and able to go well over rough ground, but their rather feeble spirit and lack of intelligence were evidenced by the vacant expression of their eyes. They were not to be compared with our first lot, who were mainly drawn from the neighbourhood of Tehri town itself. Thus the problems of transport and victualling on the Gangotri glacier are considerable. It would be an advantage if a base camp could be reached some days earlier than we did, when snow is still lying quite low, for then full use could be made of ski for covering big distances, especially if exploration of the head of the glacier were involved. But at so early a date transport would prove even harder; probably no Jadhs would have come up the valley, and the local cultivators would be almost sure to kick against the supposed hardships of the way, due to the snow. Possibly, with foresight, Jadhs could be induced to join at Mussoorie from the start, but I do not know if this is practicable.

The first stage beyond Harsil was a shortish one, but before the day was over we realized what a change for the worse our caravan had undergone. The men's idea of marching consisted of rushing for a short distance at an absurdly fast pace till they were out of breath; then they simply sat down and lit their pipes. They did this whenever they were not actually under our own eyes. By the time they had straggled into camp that evening I reckoned that their speed had averaged one mile an hour. It was clear we were going to have trouble.

Next day things went fairly well as far as Gangotri temple, where the path ends; but as soon as we were ready to advance on to trackless ground there arose a piteous chorus of lamentation. They implored us to stay at Gangotri that night, while they enlarged on the dreadful perils of avalanche and stonefall that lay beyond. We made them start off, but for the rest of the day they took every chance offered by the wooded ground of sitting down, and it was necessary to drive them on ceaselessly. Things were made worse by the sirdar Jai Datt and the forest-guard who had come up to help, because they lost their heads and began to invent orders of their own. At one moment I caught them shouting silly threats, the next betraying their fear lest the men should down loads and refuse to proceed. When at last we reached the appointed camping-place it was clear that the expedition stood in real danger of being held up at a time when days were most precious. It was evident also that the sirdar was a hindrance and merely helped to demoralize the men, so he was dismissed and paid off on the spot. With him we sent off the forest-guard, though I must in justice say that later on he quite pulled himself together and proved efficient and enterprising. I then went round and spoke to all the men in small groups telling them that no one would be there to give orders any longer but the five Europeans, and that we should regulate not only the march but the halts. Every half-hour there must be a short pause, at the hour a longer one. Above all, the pace would have to be kept slow.

Next morning the packages were distributed with extra ceremony and every one had to wait till the last man had got his load. We were carrying fairly heavy packs ourselves, and I think that made a good impression. We then spaced ourselves at intervals along the line and gave the word for the start. Within five minutes one or two men tried to dodge behind bushes and sit down, but we hooked them up rather jokingly with our axes and kept the column moving slowly and steadily without straggling. At the end of half an hour a halt was called. The next half-hour went better, and after that, perfect marching order prevailed without trouble. Sullen looks gave place to smiles, and in the evening I was able to congratulate the men on their improved form.

Two more moderate marches and we reached a still leafless birch- wood just short of Gaumukh, the Cow's mouth, as the spot where the sacred stream issues from the ice is named. Here we deemed it wiser to pay off the local men from Harsil whose rather childish timidity might perhaps have shown up again on the glacier itself. Only Jadhs and Tibetans were kept. This entailed three journeys for the baggage to be taken to the base-camp. The site which we chose was about three hours up the glacier not far from a high moraine which rises above its true left margin, and at a height of some 14,000 feet. Beyond could be seen a horrid-looking mountain with a striking resemblance to the Matterhorn, as it might appear in a nightmare. I have rarely seen anything that looked more unclimbable. On the opposite side of the glacier we could see into the opening of the first big lateral tributary which is marked on the map of the Indian Survey; for convenience I will call it Glacier 1. Its right or North Slope is well covered with juniper, affording a plentiful supply of firewood. More to the south was the entrance to the second big tributary (Glacier 2), the one down which Captain Birnie must have gazed when he crossed the main divide from the Arwa valley in 1931.¹ The angle formed by the southern bank of this glacier and the right bank of the main glacier is filled up by the vast massif of Satopanth. The peaks which appear on Captain Birnie's sketch-map under that name in Smythe's book Kamet Conquered seem to correspond to certain huge mountains lying a little farther eastwards and separated from the Satopanth by a deep depression containing two small glaciers, which we visited. Those big mountains would doubtless mask the true Satopanth from the view of any one coming over Birnie's col.

The position of the Base Camp had naturally to be selected rather hurriedly. Subsequent explorations showed its site to be by no means the best, but it had to be chosen before exploration could be carried out. The next party will be better informed. It did indeed possess the advantage of easy access to fuel, but there was much to set against that. The climate of the main glacier is trying; save in the morning there is always a bitter wind blowing. At night and until about 8 a.m. it blows down the glacier. In the afternoon it comes up the glacier, scattering fine dust everywhere. Thus rest-days are not as pleasant as they might be. It was also found that most of the more obviously climbable peaks lay up the side-glaciers rather than near the main glacier, so that we were let in for long walks over a broken surface before we reached the base of our peak, a fact that added considerably to the fatigues of each climb.

The favourable sites for a base camp would be either on Glacier 2 or else on a smaller lateral glacier flowing in on the left side almost opposite the Satopanth. These side-glaciers are more sheltered than the main one, and early in June the grass is laid bare, offering a pleasant camping surface. A yellowish moss, growing in large a spongy mass which burns as peat, is abundant in some places. But for good wood-fuel one has to go to Glacier 1. I suggest also that not less than six permanent porters are needed for comfort on the Gangotri glacier, otherwise the transport of tents and supplies in various directions falls too heavily on the actual climbers, and each ascent becomes a little expedition of its own.

It was during the earlier days of our exploration that we made one regrettable mistake. When we first arrived, much snow still lay on the glacier, and it would have been possible to ski to its head with little trouble. For any party that establishes its base camp a week earlier than we did, this would prove simpler still. Unfortunately our minds were so bent on reconnoitring for climbable mountains that we failed to observe the rapid melting of the snow. The journey to the head was put off till too late; for, once the moraine-covered surface was exposed, our rate of progress became too slow and would have entailed several camps and heavier transport. The error is understandable, since climbing was the first consideration; but it is none the less to be regretted that a most interesting piece of geographical knowledge should have been sacrificed. The details of the topography beyond the bend of the Gangotri glacier are still unknown.

The achievements of the Expedition in the Gangotri district are as follows:¹

1. 'Little Satopanth', a small subsidiary peak about 18,000 feet high immediately to the south of the exit of Glacier 2, was climbed on the 2nd June by Kirkus and Hicks.
2. A big massif separates the Kedarnath glacier from the glacier to the north of the 'Matterhorn' peak, and has three main peaks. To the west are two smaller summits of which the western one (20,100 feet) was climbed up a difficult face of rock and snow by Kirkus and Hicks on the 5th June. The eastern summit was climbed later, see (7) below.
3. A snowy peak about 20,400 feet high lying to the north of Glacier 1 was climbed by me on the 4th June. This glacier is joined some way up by a tributary flowing almost due south. This tributary is noticeable to any one looking up Glacier 1 even from a distance, because it is white, whereas the stream which it joins is covered with red rubbish. The white glacier enters it through a gorge filled with pointed seracs; higher up it opens out into a huge snow-filled basin with a great peak at its head. The right or western wall of the serac-filled gorge is formed by a broad ridge rising to two peaks. The outermost peak, just above Glacier i is rocky; beyond is a snow col, and beyond that northwards is the second, entirely snow-covered, with three little summits of about equal altitude close together. I reached the col with Dhan Singh from the side opposite to the white glacier, climbed the snow peak alone, and then we both traversed the col eastwards and returned through the serac-filled gorge. Two bivouacs were needed for this ascent, which was completed on the 4th June.
   
   (1)
   1 The sketch-map accompanying this paper has been drawn by me from the following sources. The positions of the triangulated points are from the old Great Trigonometrical Survey of India observations. The positions of the Saraswati and Bhagirathi rivers have been accepted from the old Survey of India maps. The Arwa valley and glaciers are from Captain Birnie's sketch-map, made in 1931 and published in the Himalayan Journal, vol. iv, 1932, p. 44, subsequently corrected by Mr. J. B. Auden, of the Geological Survey of India, in Records, G.S.I. vol. Ixvi, 1932, and further slightly modified to fit with descriptions and with a sketch-map supplied by Mr. Kirkus of the expedition now described. It seems to me certain that Captain Birnie's Glacier '9' is the head of Mr. Pallis' Glacier 2, which Pallis ascended with the object of attacking North Satopanth peak (23,240 feet). As suggested by Pallis, it seems to me highly probable that Birnie misidentified this triangulated peak, a conclusion made more certain by his crossing the watershed to Glacier A 2 instead of into Bhagat Kharak as he expected. The correct positions for glaciers A 1, A 2, and A 3, as shown by Auden, leave no doubt in my mind that the Satopanth peaks were west and south of Birnie as he ascended the col at the head of his 'Glacier 9'. It is, of course, much easier to correct errors on a previous map than to make a good one without sufficient fixed points.—Ed.
4. An attempt was made to climb a big white mountain on the left bank of the main glacier beyond the 'Matterhorn' peak, between the 7th and 12th June. The party that tried it used ski up to 17,500 feet and then continued on foot, planting in all four bivouacs. They reached an altitude of about 21,600 feet; some 500 feet from the top, but by great ill-luck were forced to turn back before a heavy snow-storm.
5. An attempt was made by myself and Djun Singh on a rocky peak in the angle formed by the right bank of Glacier 1 and the Gangotri glacier, just opposite the Base Camp. Some little distance below the summit, the whole ridge was found to be surrounded by smooth holdless slab-rock, the place being also swept periodically by vicious little avalanches. We traversed a long way round to the right, but found no passage; too late we saw that another ridge farther east seemed to be practicable.
6. I explored a snow gully on the left bank of Glacier 2 behind the Satopanth, prospecting a route up steep slopes nearly as far as a high col between the Central and North Satopanth. I planned to return and attack the mountain by that way, but what happened will be described further on.
7. The eastern peak (about 20,600 feet), of the massif mentioned in (2) above, was climbed on the 14th June by Hicks and Nicholson. I append a description by the latter.
   
   It was not far from the Base Camp to the foot of the mountain and for once no advanced base was required. By 11 a.m. we were over the moraines and starting up the grassy and flower-strewn lower slopes of the mountain. Soon the confusion of gullies and little ridges gave way to a single rock arete which rose direct to the final snow slope: a pleasant ridge, not easy enough to be monotonous, nor yet hard enough to make progress slow. At 4 o'clock we pitched a bivouac on a platform levelled in a steep snow-drift at about 19,000 feet.
   
   'At sunrise next morning we left all superfluous gear in the tent and started up the remaining 400 feet or so of mixed rock and snow, towards the final snow slope. This proved to be exceedingly steep, though free of ice and in good condition. Our pace was much slower than over the rock ridge on the day before, and we were not on the summit till midday. Weather favoured us and we enjoyed the view under unclouded skies. Across the Gangotri glacier we could see the head of Glacier 1 curling northwards at the foot of a huge and prominent pyramidal peak, and at the head of Glacier 2 we could see what must have been the col crossed by Captain Birnie from the Arwa glacier in 1931. But more interesting was the view to the west and south towards the head of the Kedarnath glacier. Towards the snout, the glacier trough is rather narrow, and the massif opposite us, walling it in on the west, has a very forbidding appearance. Higher up the glacier basin opens out to form a great amphitheatre under the huge northern flank of Kedarnath. The glacier falls into it from the main ridge, on which Kedarnath stands, in a series of ice-falls, which, seen from this distance, did not appear to be completely impracticable. If a route could be found up the ice- falls, it is probable that the western snow ridge of Kedarnath could be climbed.'
8. The Central Satopanth (22,060 feet) was climbed on the 18th June from the Gangotri glacier side by Kirkus and Warren. I leave the former to relate the story in his own words.
   
   'On the 15th Warren and I set out from the Advanced Base Camp at 15,000 feet for the Central Satopanth peak. We had to cross the Gangotri glacier, an unpleasant proceeding over foul moraines lasting about an hour. We were making for a ridge which fell from the summit on the right sky-line and then turned straight down to the glacier. A delightful turfy and boulder-strewn slope took us quickly up to the ridge, after which we had some sound and difficult rock- climbing, worthy of British crags. I almost wished that I had my rubber shoes with me. We pitched camp at 17,500 feet, having to revet a small platform of snow with stones.
   
   ^‘A gale and snow-storm sprang up during the night and we had fears for the tent. As it was, we had to wait in the morning for it to thaw before we could pack it. We soon had to rope to turn an un- climbable gendarme, traversing out on the left across smooth snow- covered slabs which gave a lot of trouble. When we rejoined the ridge, things went much more smoothly and we pitched Camp II at 19,500 feet on the col at the foot of the final peak—a perfect site on flat slaty ground, with an incredible view of the great west face of the mountain, falling almost vertically for 3,000 feet.
   
   ^‘The ridge in front of us rose in a great 500-foot step. We made a long and trying traverse to the right across rotten rock and snow, returning to the ridge again across a dangerous-looking slope of snow and stones. On the ridge now the climbing became definitely difficult and the rocks terribly loose. In particular, one vertical pitch appeared as though it might collapse. After a rather gruelling day we pitched Camp III on an inadequate snow-patch at 20,900 feet, overhung by great cliffs which cut off the afternoon sun at 3 o'clock, so that we retired to our sleeping-bags at five for warmth.
   
   'There was another snow-storm in the night, which made us feel very pessimistic. It would have been heart-rending to have had to turn back now. By half-past seven, however, the weather cleared and we set out before nine. Immediately above us was an appalling tower about a hundred feet high, the steepest part of the ridge. The upper section was vertical and the rocks loose, cold, and covered with new snow. It was technically very difficult and caused us a lot of uneasiness, if not actual fright, before we got up. Soon, however, we saw the summit through the cloud, quite close. At the top of an awkward gendarme of rock and ice we dumped our loads and made some tea. After resting for an hour we started on the last lap unhampered by our rucksacks, and an easy snow ridge, corniced on the right and falling steeply on both sides, led us to the summit (22,060 feet), which we reached after one o'clock. We were in thick cloud, so only stayed ten minutes or so. Then we went over a cornice of ice to the twin peak (21,991 feet) and were back on the higher summit in an hour. The weather was dull and chilly and we were tired, so we descended and pitched Camp IV on a nice little snow ledge at 21,700 feet.
   
   'The next morning we had a very tiring time negotiating the difficult rocks to the col. We 'abseiled' down the severe pitch, and nearly lost the tent and ice-axe while lowering the baggage. The monsoon had evidently started and when we had to leave the ridge for the traverse, small snow avalanches and boulders were crashing down in an alarming manner. We reached the col at 19,500 feet very tired, for we had been moving roped together, one at a time, for the last three days. Once more it snowed all night and it seemed that we might be marooned. Warren was partially snow-blind owing to his goggles having been unfortunately packed with the tent on the previous day. Food was almost exhausted, and altogether the outlook was not very pleasant. It was, however, quite warm and we finally descended, in spite of the snow-storm, to reach the Base Camp after a week's absence.'
9. While Kirkus and Warren were climbing the Satopanth from the main glacier, the rest of us returned to the gully on the other side of the mountain and attempted to complete the route which I had prospected earlier on (see Expedition 6 above). We pitched an advanced base some way up Glacier 2 in a pleasant miniature valley contained between the flank of the Satopanth and the great left- lateral moraine of the glacier. This was now all grassy with a charming rivulet. Flowers, especially primulas, were opening on all sides. From here we carried a camp to the head of the gully and pitched it on the old site up there. On the 20th June Hicks and I, carrying spare food and the light bivouac tent, started for the col, but we had not walked far before I began to feel unwell. We tried to press on, but soon I saw that it was hopeless. I could not understand why a slope which I had ascended when yet imperfectly acclimatized should beat me altogether now, and I experienced the greatest disappointment, since it was obvious that my own chances of a Satopanth peak were gone for good. In the evening, feeling a little better, I went down to the lower camp while Hicks stayed up, hoping that some one else would be available to join him in a renewed attempt. When I reached camp I found my elbow had swelled a lot. Some sort of poisoning had occurred, which for the time being put me out of action. To make things worse, in the night the atmosphere seemed suddenly to warm up and rain fell. The monsoon had evidently broken at an exceptionally early date (night of 20/21 st June), ringing the curtain down on our further activity. Dhan Singh was sent up to help strike the upper camp, while we rested where we were for a day and then all regained the Base Camp. Ishwar Singh and Djun Singh were already away, having been detailed to bring Jadh porters from Harsil for the final removal of the Base Camp. My arm was very troublesome and made me feel weak and ill, so it was deemed advisable for me and Nicholson to start for Harsil ahead of the others.

We moved down to the old birch-wood camp below Gaumukh, (aking Dhan Singh and Khimanand to carry most of our kit. The wood was all in leaf and many flowers were in bloom, especially different species of fragrant daphne. What a change it was after the life on the glacier, which seemed so dreary under grey skies.

Next day we proceeded down the right bank of the river, now crossing loose slopes, now hugging the edge of the water. The stream showed itself under a new and threatening aspect as it rushed past, swollen from the melted snows and turned to a deep coffee-colour. In the evening we camped on a broad shingly flat near some specially beautiful birch-woods; but we were not allowed to enjoy the scene to the full, for Dhan Singh sprung on us the disturbing news that the way to Gangotri was blocked by an impassable cliff and that we ought, to retrace our steps all the way to the glacier, unless indeed a certain snow-bridge spanning the flood were still intact. It seems that he had gathered this information from some Sadhus who were camping near the Cow's mouth, but he had not thought of mentioning it at the time! The news was distinctly upsetting, with myself unwell and provisions only just enough to take us to Gangotri, assuming an unobstructed passage. The glacier was at that moment far from popular with us, and we should not only have had to return to it and cross the snout to gain the left bank, but we should have had to go back to the Base Camp for more supplies.

Earlier in the season the snow-bridges permit constant crossing and recrossing of the river, but when they break down travel is confined to the left bank, since the water washes right up against the base of the cliff opposite. To follow the right bank all the way is reckoned impossible, but this had been quite unknown to us. So repugnant, however, was the thought of retreat that we resolved to go forward and explore a passage across the obstacle. That same evening we walked on after supper to see if the snow-bridge had perchance held, but we were disappointed.

Next day we rose with anxiety in our hearts. Before starting, hot water was brought for me to foment my elbow, the abscess opened and began to drain freely, an immense relief. The way led through forest of exceptional splendour, with rich undergrowth of wild rose and banks of white lilies. How one would have liked to linger, but impatience drove us on. At last we came in sight of the bad place and it certainly looked formidable: huge cliffs, very smooth in their lower portion, past which the flood swirled and raged. Higher up it seemed hardly more promising, but in the middle there were a number of cracks and ledges overgrown with juniper. The luggage was deposited and Nicholson and I roped up. Access to the cliff was given by a nasty little pitch, a narrow upward-slanting ledge under an overhang, past which there was just room to squeeze, using a small rose-bush as hand-hold. This was followed by a series of short pitches mixed with spells of rough scrambling among plants. We seemed ever on the point of seeing 'round the corner', but time and again we found a new face to cross by similar cracks and ledges. At any moment one short piece of holdless rock might spoil everything. We were feeling more and more anxious when we heard a shout and perceived Dhan Singh, who had made a route at a lower level and reached a point just below us. 'There is a way off,' he cried, and brought us scrambling down as fast as we could, hanging on to the tough juniper-roots. He pointed to an easy plant- filled gully which led off the cliff and back to the river shore. What a joyous moment that was all anxieties dispelled in a second! Meanwhile Dhan Singh went back to the start and subdivided the loads into smaller parcels. Then he and Khimanand made several rapid journeys across the face till all was stacked at the top of the gully. Their agility, even with loads, was astonishing, and I cannot praise their work too highly. We all forgathered at the edge of the river and cooked a meal. The porters were very tired, so we only went on a little way and then camped. Though it did not involve the conquest of a peak, I think the passage of the right bank of the upper Bhagirathi gorge is one of the best adventures that I have ever taken part in.

Next day we passed Gangotri, and on the following day came to Harsil, to enjoy complete relaxation and plenty of fresh food. We rested there a few days, being joined by our other friends from the glacier. Two of them, Hicks and Kirkus, went back to Mussoorie as their time was up, while the other three of us, after rescuing the boxes of provisions that had been left with the forest-guard, made ready to embark on the second part of our journey. There was now no difficulty about finding a full complement of Jadh and Tibetan porters, so that we were not obliged to draw on sources of inferior quality. Before leaving on the 11th July, a friendly little Lama from Sarang attended in his fine vestments of dark red and orange to bless the party. We all sat on the grass while he went round in turn with holy water, peacock-feathers and rosary.

The path for the Nela pass¹ branches off from the main road hardly a hundred yards beyond the village and might easily be missed, so steeply does it mount up a spur on the right side of the Nela torrent-valley. A short distance on, it enters the glen, winding its way through magnificent deodar-forest with an undergrowth of syringa, which was in full flower when we passed and filled the air with sweet scent. Soon the valley steepens and the footpath rises abruptly through thicker and darker woods. The first camp was set in a glade of magical beauty, shaded by a few old birches divided into several trunks. The earth was carpeted with tall-growing strawberry plants; at one side the torrent rushed past, while a smaller stream of clear water formed a boundary on the other. It was the most romantic resting-place, I think, of the whole expedition.

The second day's walk was an easy one, partly in open meadows and across drifts of old snow, and partly through birch-woods. The scenery is utterly different from that of the Bhagirathi valley, for the hills are less steep and form open combes of rich pasture, true 'alps' such as we had not met before. Wherever a stream or gully is found, the birch creeps up high, reminding one of Scotland. Looking back, the peak of Srikanta appeared framed in the entrance to the valley, with two other equally formidable peaks next to it, making up a group of exceptional grandeur. We camped in a meadow quite early, leaving ourselves time to wander on the hill-side looking for flowers, of which we found a great variety, especially mauve irises and potentillas both yellow and orange and dark crimson. There were also pale orange lilies, and in the woods bushes of large white rhododendron. One specimen of Meconopsis poppy was also met with, mauve with a yellow centre.

The morrow's walk proved just as beautiful as the last one, mostly in flowery meadows. It was surprising to come upon long drifts of winter snow still lying about. At last we arrived at the camping- ground of Khyarkuti, a meeting-place of several deep glens, each affording a glimpse into a fine glacier-combe with its dominating peaks. The bottom of the valley is quite flat; a few Jadh shepherds occupy it for two or three months with their goats, sheep, and ponies. It would be an ideal spot for a base camp since it lacks nothing that man requires. It is sheltered as well as scenically magnificent, and there is abundant fuel in the shape of low woods of willow and white rhododendron. It is easily accessible from Harsil, so that supplies and transport present no problem, while sheep and milk are to be had from the shepherds. The mountain slopes are covered with flowers, small pale lemon-yellow rhododendron, huge purple auriculas, three species of fritillaria, greenish, white, and pink; primulas grow in marshy places, and king-cups where the snow has only just melted away. There are sheets of big white anemones with many blooms on a stalk, and asters like and unlike the Swiss ones. Straight ahead rises a stony slope and easy snow-fields leading up to a challenging white peak. Following the main Nela stream one enters a narrower boulder-filled gorge of the wildest aspect; but at distances of about an hour apart there are good camping-sites with ample juniper or willow bushes near at hand. Opposite each camping-ground a side glen is enclosed between terrific rock ridges converging on to sharp peaks of about 19,000 to 20,000 feet. Most of them appear to be climbable though never easy, and a party should find magnificent sport. I can imagine no better scene for the operations of a lightly equipped party who did not mind their peaks not being especially lofty. Such a party might start by attacking Srikanta, based on Harsil itself—it looks a most difficult mountain,— and then pass on to the almost idyllic life of Khyarkuti, whence a whole group of soul-satisfying climbs could be undertaken.

We rested there an extra day and then moved up the gorge that I have described to the foot of the Nela pass. Weather, which had been fair, now turned damp again and remained so till we reached Sangla, well down the Baspa valley. The usual camp for natives crossing the Nela lies some distance from its actual foot, near the last slope where juniper is found. This makes the march over the pass a very long one, and it is preferable to camp much nearer to it than we did, though juniper-wood must be cut and carried for the last two hours. The pass itself (r. 18,000 feet) is reached by a tedious walk for some hours up a not very steep glacier, causing fairly heavy work for porters. The last few feet of the ascent are over a small crest of rock, but the view from the top is undistinguished. The descent on the Baspa side is quite steep at first, but it soon eases right off. Some of our porters were very nervous of the steep part, though we had cut a wide staircase for them. Below the snows, long slopes covered with old moraine lead to a poor camping-place with no fuel. It would be better to push on considerably farther than this spot, but to do so, not only should the previous camp be nearer the pass, but the start in the morning must be exceptionally early. The scenery at the head of the Baspa is not outstanding, but as one descends on the right bank it gets more and more beautiful. Some difficult torrents have to be passed: near one of them we had to pitch camp and wait till the early morning hours for the snow-water to pass. Eventually we struck a path and, after a long walk through country abounding in flowers, approached the upper limit of trees and the village of Chitkul. On the opposite bank the tree level is much higher. During that day we found several specimens of blue poppy, never more than one plant at a time, growing in pockets among the screes. Among other plants we found about there, were a small dark red rhododendron and great purple banks of willow- herb.

Our column approached Chitkul about sundown. An assemblage of village elders was gathered together under the richly carved porch of the principal temple. When they caught sight of us, two of them, tall men of fine presence, came running along with offers of service. It seems that our arrival did not come as a surprise, since the Superintendent of Hill States, Simla, had very thoughtfully informed H.H. the Raja of Bashahr of our coming in July, and he in turn had kindly sent out instructions for us to be received with all friendliness by his villages. We did not accept the offer of a camping-ground near the houses, as the place lay on the bank of a torrent which flows through the centre of the village. We preferred to follow a path leading down to the Baspa from the shelf on which Chitkul is built, cross the bridge, and pitch on the fringe of the deodar woods, which abound in a lovely pale turquoise aquilegia.

Chitkul stands not far from the foot of the Charang pass, backed by a screen of mountains of superb form.

The village is architecturally interesting, for nearly all the houses are adorned with admirable wood-carving on doors, rails, and open verandas. Some designs show Moghul influence, but others, notably the decorations of a small pavilion near the chief temple, seemed related to the Jain style as known from Mount Abu and other places. Surely it is most unlikely that the Chitkul carvings are of such antiquity.

The religion of this part of the Baspa is curious, owing to Lamaist infiltration probably by way of the Charang La.²⁷ Both here and at Raksam there are two temples, the chief one being dedicated to the local deota, and sufficiently Hindu to become forbidden ground for strangers, while the second is typical Lamaist, frescoed all over by some monk with the saints and divinities of the Tibetan Calendar. This shrine was of course open to our inspection. In the Chitkul one there are many recent frescoes, one of which depicts an avenging angel, slate-blue in colour and brandishing a sword, like St. Michael, the whole work showing great boldness and animation. There are also a number of Mani walls on the main road.

Another day's march, through rich park-like country, brought us to Sangla, where we received hospitality from the Forest Officer, Mr. Deans, and his wife. Here we learned the first news of Mount Everest and rejoiced in the safety of our friends, though we were disappointed about their bad luck with the weather. From Sangla we continued down to the mouth of the Baspa and turned up into the Sutlej valley, leaving behind the last traces of the monsoon, save that we often had cloudy skies as far as the frontier. The river was crossed by the jhula at Poari, whence we ascended to Chini: thence by the Hindustan-Tibet road through landscape turning drier and more arid to Poo. We had meant to rest one day there, as it is the home of Ishwar Singh, but the place pleased us so much that we extended our stay.

The approach to Poo is truly magnificent: the road leaves the river and sweeps across a grand ravine to a miniature pass between a tiny spur and the main hill-side. On the pass stands a Lamaist monument: it seems like the gate of the Tibetan lands. The inhabitants are unusually intelligent as well as hospitable. Some of the houses are fine, and contain small private oratories with carved galleries all round, under the shelter of which are painted rows of Tibetan saints.

We left Poo on the 30th July for Namgya whence we got our first look at Leo Pargial, having missed a distant glimpse than can some times be had just short of Kanam owing to mist. At Namgya our camp was set in an apricot orchard not far from that of Professor Tucci, the eminent Italian archaeologist, with whom we took dinner. He had arrived from Spiti, where he had been taking complete photographic records of the wonderful frescoes in the temples at Tabo and elsewhere. He told us that many of these monuments were now in serious danger, as their roofs were cracking through neglet.

 

For a recent account of the crossing of this pass see Mr. H. M. Glover’s ‘Round the Kanawar Kailas’, in Himalayan Journal, vol. ii, 1930,p. 85. See also Major Shewen’s paper in Himalayan Journal, vol. i, and Mr. W. E. Buchanan’s paper in Himalayan Journal, vol. ii, for accounts of the Baspa valley. —Ed.

Below Namgya is a bridge over the Sutlej by which we crossed. We mounted a dreary hill-side to Tashigang and passed round into the Spiti valley as far as Nako. Many flowers were found on the way, among them blue gentians and a brilliant deep violet delphinium. Nako is a bright green oasis, placed above the Spiti river at a height of about 12,000 feet in the midst of a stony waste. Near by is a small willow-fringed lake, where we camped. The people proved most friendly and helpful, and seemed to possess a lively sense of humour. They are quite Tibetan in character and their village abounds in prayer-wheels and chortens. In the fine thirteenth-century temple the frescoes are darkened with age, but there are some striking carved wooden canopies over the principal images.

Weather was still grey when we set out for our mountain, following the line of a stream just beyond Nako. The first evening we halted near the upper limit of firewood, which consists of low bushes of various sorts. The next march was still along the slopes on the left bank of the stream and over moraines to a hollow not far from the end of the glacier that flows out of the basin between the north and south peaks. It is difficult to imagine more desolate country: on all sides vast scree-slopes, ridges of crumbling rock, and moraines. From this camp several reconnaissances were made in order to try to find a good route up the North peak (22,210 feet), which is slightly the higher of the two. It differs from its fellow entirely in character, being almost covered by snow, whereas the South peak shows rock throughout. The latter should also make a grand climb and the ridge looks straightforward, though there are one or two passages which might prove troublesome. Between the two peaks there is a fairly low depression, but the glacier basin is everywhere shut in by nasty-looking walls of mixed rock and ice, while the ridges rising from the col look extremely long and frightfully difficult. We had some trouble in deciding on a route because of the mist which kept veiling the upper portion of the mountain, but eventually we fixed on a col lying to the west between the North peak and a smaller rock mountain. This col is reached by an easy walk along the lateral moraines of a glacier flowing in a southerly direction and joining the central glacier. On the col was placed the third camp, whence we could see that our route would be up a vast snow face till we could reach a broad shoulder o£the mountain, whence a sharply defined ridge leads to the top. There were some large pieces of bulging serac on this face which caused us anxiety: above them it seemed as if all would be plain sailing. The western col enjoys a marvellous view to the northward, towards the head of the glacier which flows down towards Ghango. This is surrounded by an array of peaks both snowy and of the Ghamonix Aiguille type. I can imagine nothing better than a season's climbing with a base camp well up on the Ghango glacier. There is an abundance of suitable sites and every variety of climb within easy reach.

It had been our intention to take two porters to help us plant our fourth camp, but soon after we had left the col the slope turned to ice, and we judged that we could not justly send the men back alone unless we cut very large steps, so we decided to postpone the actual attempt and merely prepare a staircase for our own use. The men therefore returned to the third camp while we advanced using crampons only, as long as the angle of the slope allowed. After that we had a spell of step-cutting till we came to a small platform at about 20,400 feet, just below some of the ice-bulges that had troubled us. It seemed the only place for a bivouac, so we retraced our steps and waited for the morrow. But in the night a fierce blizzard arose and in the morning all our beautiful tracks were buried in snow. The weather looked far from promising, but we were resolved to hang on as long as supplies would last. The porters were sent down to Nako.

In the afternoon of the same day, the 9th August, the weather cleared, and we (Charles Warren and I) at once packed up the light tent and provisions for the high bivouac and started from the col. Fortunately our staircase did not prove to be unrecognizable— probably some of the snow had been blown away,—and we had no trouble in clearing the steps and attaining the ice-platform on which our tent was anchored with crampons. The situation was not without its dramatic qualities as the space round the tent was narrowly limited. Below, the eye dipped sheer towards the glacier, above hung the big bulge, while at one end was a crevasse and at the other the steep pitch up which the staircase had been cut. The tent stood firm, but even so, we hoped that it would not be tested by a gale like that of the preceding night.

The morning of the 10th August dawned fair and we hastened to withdraw our supporting axes and collapse the tent on its emplacement with most of the spare kit underneath. Then we started and passed the ice-bulge on the left. We had been prepared to find the upper portion of the mountain iced like the part below us, but by good luck it was all snow henceforth, so that not a single step needed to be cut. The day seemed brilliant and filled us with hope. By midday we had reached the shoulder and halted to boil water for some tea. Then depositing the rucksack we began to advance on the final snow-ridge, which became defined and steep. But we were not destined to get to the top thus easily, for clouds began to gather rapidly and in a few minutes the South peak became hidden from view. Soon afterwards, the glaciers all round were blotted out, and a chilly wind began to blow across our path. Then the axes started sizzling ominously, and it was clear that a nasty storm was brewing. We felt our spirits much dashed, for it seemed as if we might yet be cheated of the prize.

The hissing of the axes now became so persistent that it was then judged wise to halt at some distance from them, especially as our hair was also standing on end and crackling in harmony. Violent peals of thunder shook the mountains, and wind-driven snow was added to the list of our enemies. Time and again the storm seemed about to blow over, and then returned to lash our peak once again. When there was a lull we kept advancing a little, but a time limit was set after which it would be necessary to beat a retreat. But our luck held just long enough: at 2.30 the storm seemed to abate and we pressed up the ridge. Some rocks appeared out of the mist. Gould this really be the summit? A few moments later we were there, and Leo Pargial was a virgin peak no more. The view, which must be of exceptional splendour owing to the isolated position of the summit, was denied us; nor could we linger, for the weather was again turning bad, and snow was beginning to fall. We hurried down, recovered the rucksack, and then began to descend the easy snow- slopes, where, however, our tracks had quite disappeared. White woolly mist shrouded the whole landscape, and a violent storm of wind and hail made no impression on it. For a time we lost our bearings and found ourselves near an area of crevasses, which showed that we had strayed too far to the right. We edged our way carefully to the left and downwards and suddenly came upon some seracs that looked suspiciously like the famous bulge above our camp. Then the tent itself came into view, while below it the mist was thin and the way clear. We gathered up the tent and hurled all superfluous objects down the ice-slopes. By six o'clock we were back in the roomy tent on the western col. During the night the storm came back with redoubled fury, and it was a wintry landscape that greeted us next morning. The whole mountain was covered with new snow, the weather seemed quite broken again, and it was evident that we had just snatched the peak on the one possible day. Thus was completed the work of the Gerrards, who in attaining a point 19,000 feet up on Leo Pargial in 1818, made the first attempt on any Himalayan peak. Of the return to Najco, and the delightful journey via Li and Chhii-ling to our beloved Poo, I will not write, nor yet of the viols on which we used to play Bach during the pleasant stages all the way to Simla. There we parted from our two climbing porters from Harsil, than whom I can imagine no better or more devoted men. Ishwar Singh insisted on accompanying us till the last minute. To meet friends like these again and share adventures with them is not the smallest of the magnets which draw me back to the Himalaya with compelling power.

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