DUNAGIRI AND TRISUL, 1933

Lieut. P. R. OLIVER

IN October 1932, just before my home leave from India ended, Mr. David Campbell and I spent some time rummaging amongst the many Himalayan maps belonging to General Bruce. We can say that the paper Himalaya are nearly as formidable as the real thing, and abound in all types of scenery. We wished to find a mountain about 23,000 feet high, fairly easy to get at, not of great known difficulty, and if possible unclimbed. Dunagiri, 23,184 feet, in Garhwal was our final choice. It appeared easy to reach and not too difficult to climb. In 1883 Graham had attempted it, apparently giving up when near the summit, and Dr. Longstaff had written, 'Dunagiri is probably easily climbable by the south-west ridge (Graham's route) from a bivouac at the head of the Tolma Nala'. After much expenditure of Air Mail stamps Campbell and I completed our arrangements before he arrived at Bombay in the first week in April 1933.

On the 11 th May we started from Ranikhet, the most convenient base for our purpose. That day we took bus to Garur (Baijnath) and then walked in the rain to the Forest Rest-house at Gwaldam which overlooks the Pindar river. Clouds obscured the famous view of Trisul. But early the next morning we saw the mountain with primrose-tin ted snows just catching the slant rays of the sun rising near it, and appearing radiant above hills and valleys that still seemed lost in night.

Four days' marching, during which we passed over the beautiful wooded ridge at Suk Tal, took us to Chamoli in the Alaknanda (Ganges) valley, a few miles before which place we met the pilgrim route to Badrinath.¹ Two days' march along the pilgrim route brought us to Joshimath. Though the road was dusty and the surroundings often sordid, the gorge-like valley was magnificent. But the pilgrims, weak and ailing many of them, had no eye for this beauty as they strayed along the road like shades from Dante's Inferno. One man alone lacked the languor and weakness that seemed to pervade all those on the road, and ran up a hill-side to salute us. He was Kesar Singh, of Kamet fame, who was to be one of our porters.

Joshimath is on a sloping hill-side of fertile terraces, set above the meeting-point of the Alakpanda and Dhauli rivers where starts the adult Ganges. Opposite, above the deep gorges, tower rock peaks of terrific aspect, backed by savage shapes of ice and snow. In the Joshimath bungalow we stayed a day to collect some of our high camp porters and food for them, and to change from mule to coolie transport.¹

 

On the 19th May we marched up the Dhauli valley to Tapoban, and on the 20th to Suraintota at the junction of this valley with the Tolma stream which rises from the glaciers of Dunagiri's west face. We saw Dunagiri for the first time from near Tapoban, and then from above Suraintota we had a splendid view of it rising high above the end of the Tolma Nala, a 'knight in shining armour'. On the 21st we moved from Suraintota to Laman, a camping-ground a mile beyond Tolma village up the Tolma Nala, and camped under a big cliff near the right bank of the stream—a beautiful place, but from sunrise to sundown afflicted with millions of pestering flies. Here we nailed the porter's boots, cut down loads to suit more difficult country, and generally reorganized. We had expected to recruit a certain number of porters from Tolma and Lata for our next stage, to our proposed Base Camp for Dunagiri. But the local men were working in their fields, and we had perforce to persuade our un-willing men to remain with us. Meanwhile Kesar Singh arranged for a few more Bhotias to join us, and Alam Singh of Mana, our Sirdar, promised to send us more as soon as possible. We left Alam Singh in charge of our dump at Laman, whence he was to send on to us, when possible, additional supplies and the many extra loads caused by our reorganization. It was not until about the time we gave up our attempt on the mountain that we finally had our full equipment and food available, and also a good team of seventeen Bhotias.

 

On the 23rd May, with eight Bhotias, twenty Agency coolies, and the cook, we started up the north bank of the nullah. Almost at once we were in difficult country but in three hours reached the first camping place, Ishar, beyond which the coolies would go no farther. The next day we continued. The country became increasingly difficult. Very steep hill-sides, nearly impassable areas of bamboo, and wildernesses of thorns, alternated. In such places

. . . The Mountaineer

Thus strove by fancies vain and crude, to clear
His brier&d path to some tranquillity.

I can never pretend that we had no 'fancies vain and crude', nor that we failed to express those fancies in language even vainer and more crude; but certainly we never tried to 'clear our briered path to some tranquillity' by this means. Instead, I personally retired to the rear of the column ostensibly to ginger up stragglers, while Campbell and Kesar and other strong men dealt with the difficulty in summary fashion by opposing flesh and blood to prickles. Flesh and blood won, and a suitable path was stamped. Later, when we returned from our Base Camp to Laman, we returned over the charred remains of our former enemies, for the coolies who kept coming and going along our communications applied fire to the problem, like Hannibal, and solved it.

The Agency men did not object to the thorns as much as to the precipices over which we had to coax them. In one place, where they refused to move for an hour and a half, all their loads had to be carried over by the eight Bhotias in relays, before they would even consent to look at the difficulties. Finally, when the place was partly roped, when they had seen the Sahibs, in order to shame them, take across a load each—they thought this a great joke—and when they had seen our noble cook, clutching an umbrella, being pulled across by two Bhotias and pretending it was simple, they crossed and then with the greatest of ease.¹ Another difficult place where we used a rope was reached .just before Shem, our night's camping- ground and Base Camp to be, where we arrived at 6 p.m. The place was a wilderness of undergrowth. The men slept under a cliff and we pitched a tent on the one available piece of flat ground, having cleared the site first.

 

On the morning of the 25th we sent back the Agency men, with four Bhotias as an escort, and in the afternoon Campbell, myself, and the four remaining Bhotias, started off to find a route up to the basin shown on the map as being enclosed between the south-west ridge and the upper portion of the Lata Peak-Tolma Peak ridge. Owing to indecision and time wasted on the second day we did not reach our objective until midday of the 27th. The route taken, the only possible one, was by a long couloir leading from the southern branch of the Tolma stream. This route passes under an all but perpendicular cliff, whose narrow ledges of melting snow loosen stones of all sizes to fall with terrifying 'whirr' and 'thud' on to the steep snow below. We christened this place 'Whizzbang Cliff'.

The basin, or 'plateau' as we called it, was very shallow, and more like a shelf than anything else in its upper glaciated part. It is about half a mile wide and a mile long, and from its southern end a stream falls to the Rishi Ganga. Later, on my way to Trisul, my party crossed this stream between Durashi and Dibrugheta. We pitched our camp ('Plateau Camp'), which we expected to use as an advanced base, on the western edge of the plateau, at a height of about 15,000 feet. We had climbed some 4,000 feet that day, first kicking steps in hard morning snow, and later plunging up slopes of soft snow under a blinding sun. We all felt languid and Campbell was troubled by the altitude.

Once we had established a camp on the plateau we were in a position to appreciate the difficulties ahead. Steep snow slopes and hanging glaciers guarded the way to the south-west ridge. This ridge then flared up in an aspiring sweep of red rock to a long iced knife-edge, which led gradually to the top. Sites for three more camps at least were essential. But where were they? The view was not encouraging, though we hoped that reconnaissance would find a way through the difficulties.

On the 28th, Campbell, who was still mountain-sick, made a great effort, got up, and with two men descended to Shem, where he soon recovered. With the remaining two men I went for a short reconnaissance to the upper part of the plateau. The hot sun, the soft snow, and yesterday's exertions left me too languid to do any more. The nearer view I had of the only possible route on to the south- west ridge confirmed our estimate of the difficulties ahead. For a party of our limited experience the route up the south-west ridge seemed too difficult, and in my judgement, dangerous.

In the afternoon we rejoined Campbell at Shem Base Camp, having left the tents and stores at Plateau Camp. The top layers of snow in the upper part of our couloir were inclined to avalanche gently and those slopes might be dangerous under certain conditions. The route under 'Whizzbang Cliff' is certainly dangerous at midday as one cannot get far enough away from the cliff to avoid the furthest fling of its continual barrage of stones.

On the 29th we rested at Shem, and on the following afternoon with ten porters set out again for Plateau Camp. Though on the 1st June we started at 4.30 a.m. and had reached the plateau by 11 a.m., yet 'Whizzbang Cliff' was in a nasty mood and the final snow slopes were soft and purgatorial. We spent the next day resting and inspecting the south-west ridge. Though it borders the plateau for at least a mile, in only one place is there a route to it which looks at all feasible. This leads diagonally across several tiers of hanging glacier and ends with a steep snow and ice slope. It starts, as shown in the illustration, under the great triangular mass of the mountain as we could see it from the plateau, and ends up on the south-west ridge well to the right. We judged that the ascent of this part of the route, if practicable, would need two days. Above this the route would turn left-handed up the south-west ridge, but it seems to me to be insurmountable. The ice-covered knife-edged summit ridge is cut off from the lower ridge which borders the plateau by the edge of the south face, a climb of about 4,000 feet at an angle of about 50 degrees. From the plateau it appears even steeper than this. If climbable, it would be a two-days' task, and nowhere on the steep portion is there a place suitable even for a single tent.

On the 2nd June four porters and I set out for the steep west buttress which forms the left edge of the triangular aspect of the mountain from the plateau, and divides the north-west face of the mountain from the south-west. My object was to see whether the diagonal route to the south-west ridge looked any more inviting from there, and whether there was any chance of a diagonal route across the north-west face of Dunagiri. While I was doing this, Campbell was to explore along the Tolma Peak-Lata Peak ridge, where a much more extensive view of the south-west of Dunagiri was to be expected.

Quite early in the day my party set up camp at the bottom of the buttress on a little eyrie which stuck out over the precipices leading down to the Tolma Nala. To go higher seemed unsafe, as masses of hanging glacier bulged out of the slopes a thousand feet above us. The route across the north-west face looked quite out of the question because of the masses of steep hanging glacier to be traversed or passed. The route from the plateau to the south-west ridge appeared quite possible in its central parts, but the lowest section was up a difficult ice-fall, and the steep slopes at the top looked, if anything, steeper from this angle.

West Buttress Bivouac, as I named our camp, was set in a lovely situation above the great down-rush of slopes to the Tolma Nala. Across the plateau and the Rishi valley, Trisul lifted her head well above the nearer peak, 20,842 feet, and showed more of her full stature than she did from Plateau Camp. Farther west and also across the hidden Rishi Ganga, Nandakna and Nanda Ghunti stood up above some fierce 'tricouni⁵-shaped mountains which we had seen first dominating the view up the Rishi Nala from Rinti. Clouds hid the huge wall of the Badrinath peaks and the cone of Nilkanta, but to the north-west across the Dhauli valley great masses of rock, snow, and ice pushed up solidly through the clouds, which lazily seemed to make way for them. Nearest was the huge blond elephant head of Hathi Parbat and, just behind, the finer crest of Gauri Parbat. Farther back to the right rose Rataban and in the gap between these two magnificent groups, like a Rajah in his palanquin, was the far-off pyramid of 'Kamet'.

On the 3rd, after a short reconnaissance up the slopes of the buttress, my party returned to Plateau Camp and found Campbell and his party, who had also failed to discover any hopeful signs on their reconnaissance. Campbell and I talked the matter over and decided with regret to give up our attempt on the mountain. On the 4th we evacuated Plateau Camp and saw the glorious view from it for the last time. On the 6th and 7th we marched back with most of the stores to Laman and everything was evacuated there by the 9th. It may seem that we had made little effort to go higher. This is true. But as soon as we knew our chances of even moderate success on Dunagiri were very few, the possibility of Trisul occurred to us, and Campbell very generously said that it would be better to attempt Trisul, on which there was a good chance of success and certainly of getting that climbing at high altitudes for which we wished. Actually he sacrificed himself by this, for the time at his disposal was insufficient in which to attempt Trisul, though it was enough to allow an immediate attack on Dunagiri.

After our failure on Dunagiri it was unfortunately necessary for Campbell to return to England—very bad luck on him, as he was unable to share with me the good fortune that was in store and which our joint preparations had made possible. But I had another twenty days to spare before leaving Tolma for Ranikhet, and so I determined to try to repeat, if possible, Dr. Longstaff's ascent of Trisul in that rather short time. As every one knows, in 1907 Dr. LongstafF, the two Brocherels, and a Gurkha N.G.O., Karbir, climbed Trisul by a route from the north-north-east. What I remembered of Dr. Longstaff's account of his climb was to help me very much.

Here a word about the topography of the region may be useful. The main Nanda Devi group is in shape rather like a gigantic horseshoe with the open end narrowed and facing to the west. The Rishi Ganga, flowing through this neck, drains the enclosed glaciers. An inner sanctuary is formed by a high north and south ridge cutting across the centre of the space enclosed by the horseshoe, which is only breached by a narrow gorge, up to the present found impassable, and through which thunders the Rishi. Dunagiri is near the western end of the northern arm of the horseshoe, and Trisul in a corresponding position on the southern arm. Nanda Devi projects into the space enclosed at the eastern end of the horseshoe, and its brown precipices frown down upon glaciers where man has yet to tread.

To get to Trisul from the north it was necessary for me to cross into the Rishi Ganga over a shoulder of the northern arm, climb along the slopes above the Rishi to the north, and then descend and cross the Rishi, before ascending the Trisuli glacier which curves round in a north-west direction from the eastern face of the mountain. Since my party would not see a village the whole time we were in the Rishi basin, we took twenty days' food.

On the 10th June Campbell and I parted. He, the cook—still clutching his umbrella with vice-like grip—and some new-levied porters, set off on what proved rather a troublesome journey back to Ranikhet. With seven high-camp porters, nine other Bhotias, and a shikari to show us the way, I set off on my dash for Trisul. The shikari, Kanchan Singh, was an interesting man and very fit for a man of about 60 years of age. He had been employed in 1907 by the Trisul party as a shikari and guide for the Rishi precipices and had several stories to tell, especially of a very strong Sahib (General Bruce).

Our march of the 10th from Tolma to Utui, a lovely sheltered alp on the north slopes of the Lata Peak-Tolma Peak ridge took the porters about nine hours, owing to the fact that the laden men were much impeded by birch woods. On the nth we continued uphill through thick forest and undergrowth until in three hours and a half we got to the open alp at Lata Kharak. From here we crossed the Lata Peak-Tolma Peak ridge at about 13,000 feet and, after another hour and a half coasting along the huge precipices falling to the Rishi, reached a bivouac which our guide called Yeru Thela, in the bed of a steep gully. The next day's march was along precipices at first and then up an enormous rock gully which ended in a little col overlooking the; broad Durashi grazing-grounds to which we descended and pitched our camp after a march lasting six hours and a half. From Lata Kharak to Durashi we had used the lower and more difficult of the two possible routes, because there was too much snow on the upper route for the men.

On the 13th we first climbed to the eastern rim of the Durashi bowl. From there steep slopes fall to the stream which drains the 'plateau' of Dunagiri. To our right were the precipitous slabs aptly called 'the Curtain' by Dr. Longstaff from their appearance from farther up the Rishi. The scene ahead was magnificent. Above the end of the huge Rishi trough rose Nanda Devi. Coming into the trough from the right was the Trisuli Nala, bordered on the east by the high snow ridge which divides it from the glaciers below Nanda Devi. Trisul was hidden by the slopes of Peak 20,840, which had been prominent across the Rishi for the last two days. To our left fairly easy slopes led up to the Dunagiri plateau, and above that rose Niti Peak (17,052 feet) and the south-west ridge leading from it up to the summit of Dunagiri. Below, and on a V-shaped promontory between two streams from Dunagiri, at just the meeting-point of the brown bharal-slopes above and the dark forest below, was an oasis of brilliant green, our next camp, Dibrugheta. We descended to Dibrugheta in a left-hand sweep, our shikari managing to shoot a bharal on the way. It was an easy march of six hours.

The next day's march, also of six hours, led us over a wooded shoulder, and then diagonally down to Duti, which is situated in thick scrub about three-quarters of a mile below the junction of the Rishi and Trisuli Nalas. That evening and the next morning we spent in cutting trees to bridge the Rishi torrent, a process only made possible by a large boulder in mid-stream which served as a pier for the two spans. Then we climbed round the spur dividing the Rishi and Trisuli Nalas, starting at a noticeable landslip gash near Duti. After seven hours going we pitched camp about a mile short of the moraines of the Betatoli glacier.

On the 16th we crossed the Betatoli glacier and enjoyed a view of Peak 20,842 at its head. Then we passed the pleasant site of Dr. Longstaff's 'Juniper Camp' and climbed along boulder-strewn hill-sides until we got to the end of the true left moraine of the Trisuli glacier. Following this we could see a long stretch of the Trisuli glacier which some way ahead curved round to the west, behind low cliffs and easy grass and snow slopes leading up to the invisible ridge between Trisul and Peak 20,842. Finally, after a leisurely march of seven hours, we pitched our Base Camp on a flat place near a stream, in the trough between the moraine and the mountain side. We found old 'Poulton and Noel' tins nearby and we may have been at the place calculated at 14,300 feet by Dr. Longstaff, though at the time I thought we were higher. I sent down most of the unequipped men and the shikari to the site of Dr. Longstaff's Juniper Camp.

The weather had steadily been getting worse during our march along the Rishi. Nearly every night there was rain, and clouds often hid even the morning views, which are usually so clear. After a day of rest at the Base Camp snow fell during the night of the 17th. I felt anxious and was glad to move again the next day. On the 18th our route led first along the moraine top with little interruption. After rounding some bluffs we reached a point where the moraine curved up to the mountain side, and where a subsidiary glacier cut in from the north-east slopes of Trisul. I could see high snow slopes which obviously formed part of the North Ridge of Trisul beyond the gently tumbled masses of glacier. A broad easy ridge led up to the North Ridge on the opposite side of the subsidiary glacier. We crossed the glacier and climbed to the bluff end of this ridge and pitched Camp 1 about 1,000 feet above the moraine of the Trisuli glacier at an altitude which I calculated to be between 16,500 and 17,000 feet.²⁶

On the 19th all the seven high-camp porters and I started at 7.40 a.m. and ploughed up snow slopes until 1.15 p.m., when on a fairly level place on the broad ascending ridge we pitched Camp 2. Just ahead the slopes became a good deal steeper as our ridge merged into the eastern slopes of the North Ridge. Our route appeared fairly obvious, being more or less straight ahead and then diagonally left above the great masses of hanging glacier which were between our ridge and the steep east ridge. At the time I calculated the height of our camp to be between 18,500 and 19,000 feet.¹

The 19th had been a glorious day until the evening, the last fine clay I experienced on my leave. As we ascended we could see to the south the Trisul gap and the steep east ridge of Trisul. To the north over the large subsidiary glacier we had crossed the day before was .1 ridge parallel to ours leading up to the northern ridge from Trisul to Peak 20,842, which it met, causing a little rise above the general level of that ridge. I believe this to have been Dr. Longstaff's route. At Camp 2 the wide view was of that astounding mountain brightness which makes everything appear as if it has been revealed for the first time. Dominant in the mountainscape stood Nanda Devi, with its double-turreted summit ridge. The higher western summit was like the Cenotaph in shape—a veritable monument of mountain inaccessibility. Dunagiri leered at us across the Rishi Ganga, revealing but cold, like a chorus girl who sets herself out to catch a Duke and will not tolerate a Mister. Changabang and other mountains in the vicinity of the Bagini pass, wedges and shields of white snow or shining grey rock, appeared most difficult. Far away we could see Kamet, which was climbed by Smythe's party in 1931, and the dark valley trough near Bompa village, where many of the porters lived.

Snow fell gently most of the 20th. Four porters and I rested and waited vainly for three men whom I had sent down to Camp 1 the day before to bring up another tent and more food. These were necessary to my plan of setting up Camp 3 at about 21,500 feet from which Kesar Singh, Kalu, and I were to make for the summit on the 22nd. At 7.45 a.m. on the 21st we started up the mountain to establish Camp 3, taking our two tents with us, confidently expecting that the three men would reach and pitch the reserve tent at Camp 2. The weather was clear up to about 22,000 feet but above that all was in cloud. A cold gusty wind soon made us put on our windproof suits. Our rest at Camp 2 had done us good and we steadily ascended the easy though arduous slopes of crusted snow. More and more of the route between Camps 1 and 2 came into view, and at last we could see that there was no party ascending to Camp 2. For a while, in a mood of bitter disappointment, I hesitated between turning back, waiting another day at Camp 2, and establishing Camp 3 as had originally been intended. This last plan meant staying the night with the four porters at Camp 3 with insufficient food for them. Then Kesar suddenly suggested making a dash for the top. It was a tempting idea. After all, Dr. Longstaff had done so from a low camp. I assented.

 

The revised plan was that Kesar Singh and myself should push on for the summit, as we were fittest, and that the others should put up the tents to shelter themselves from the fierce wind, and have hot drinks ready for us on our return.

I think it was at 11.15 a.m. when we halted at about 21,000 feet. At 11.30 Kesar and I, as lightly burdened as possible, continued in a south-south-west direction ploughing diagonally up the slopes leading to the summit ridge. The work was most fatiguing, especially for the leader, who never knew whether the snow crust would hold him, or let him through with a sickening lurch into a foot or more of soft snow underneath; more often than not he went through and each step was a definite effort. At first I let Kesar lead, but in about an hour it was evident that the work of carrying a load earlier in the day had tired him; I therefore assumed the lead and kept it for the rest of the day. Time was short and we dared not rest much, except for brief panting intervals doubled up over our ice-axes, after every 30 or 40 paces, and often less where the snow was very bad. The wind from the Trisul gap, blowing along powder snow like a dust-storm, was most trying to the unprotected parts of the face. Otherwise (except for rather cold feet) we were perfectly warm and comfortable in wind-proof clothing and loose-fitting waterproof boots.

 

The weary business went on. We could seldom see far ahead of us in the clouds, but in the occasional bright intervals we could see for perhaps a couple of hundred yards. It seemed that we would never reach the top, but I determined to keep on until 3 o'clock. 'Determined' is hardly the right word to use, for it implies inflexibility of purpose. I had none, but merely moved along full of doubts and a kind of angry doggedness. On the left the snow slopes falling away gradually steepened to the unseen hanging glacier below, while the ridge we were on became more definite than it had been lower down. At about 1 o'clock we must have reached the summit ridge and turned left hand along it. During a bright interval or two we could dimly see a great ridge coming up from the left and joining our ridge.

At about 2 p.m. hope revived. We appeared to be approaching the summit. The ridge steepened and a few rocks appeared on the right where the slopes fell away quickly. Small cornices mostly hid the steep slopes to our left. At 2.30 p.m. we arrived on a little plateau which I first thought must be the top. We flopped down and shook hands. But a bright interval showed a short continuation of the ridge to a higher bump. We crawled up this and at 2.45 p.m. found ourselves on the real summit—that is to say on a place from which in every direction the slopes went down. It also tallied with Dr. Longstaff's description of the summit. Again we shook hands and felt pleased, mildly pleased only, for tired men are no receivers of emotions. Such moments as these, 'neglected in the passing— have a grace in the past'.

Alas, we did not see the view. Blank whiteness hid what Karbir, the Gurkha who accompanied Dr. Longstaff to the top, was able to see. For, as he informed credulous villagers afterwards, from the summit of Trisul he could see Delhi and the plains; beyond the plains he could see Bombay, beyond Bombay the big Ocean, and beyond that Ocean, England—and he knew that it was England because he had been there!

We rested for seven minutes—no more than this, for bad visibility and falling snow threatened to make the descent slow. As we started moving down I was horrified to find how weak we were. We had no strength to keep our balance over the unevenly crusted snow so that we might have passed for drunken men. Kesar, who was showing an extraordinary lack of control in his movements, so much so that he fell several times, suddenly said that he could not see properly and that he thought he had got some snow in his eyes. By this time we had also lost our upward tracks. The wind blew with great spite, and ice crusted on our eyebrows and lips. The situation was becoming unpleasant. I felt thoroughly frightened, and as a sort of antidote to both of us adopted a merciless and unsympathetic attitude to poor Kesar, whose eye trouble I could help in no way. Like a dog on a lead he staggered right, or left, or straight down as I ordered, while I lurched a few paces behind him trying to puzzle out the way. When we got to clearer weather lower down we had some anxious moments as I could not recognize the first mountain I saw rising from the mist, and thought we might have been descending the wrong side of Trisul. But suddenly Peak 20,842 showed up clear half left of us, and I knew that we were not far wrong. In an hour and a half from the top we reached the tents again. There we were warmly greeted and given hot drinks. In a short while Kesar Singh's eyes became normal again.

After an adequate rest, at 5 p.m. we all took our burdens, that is to say, I shouldered 10 lb., Kesar about 20, and the others up to 50 each, and started down the snow slopes. I could skate along the crusted surface at times but the others sunk up to their knees at every step. We passed the small dump left at Camp 2, and later a subsidiary camp of the three porters who had failed to arrive when they should have done. These were told to evacuate the dump at Camp 2 which they did the next day. At last, tired and ready for bed, we reached Camp 1 at 7.30 p.m. just as darkness was falling. Here I ceremonially opened a bottle of rum and distributed its contents between myself and the grinning Bhotias, each of whom deserved a full bottle to himself.

On the 22nd we woke to a dismal flurry of snow and descended in sleet and rain to the Base Camp. Here, a prey to reaction from the exertions of the day before, I spent the depressing hours dozing in a leaky tent, while fresh Bhotias were sent to evacuate what was left of Camp 1. In the evening these arrived and with them the men who had failed us at Camp 2, bringing down the dump from Camp 2. Thus we were all collected once more at the Base Camp.

The next few days of misty and rainy weather we spent in climbing back along the Rishi precipices to the main Dhauli valley and mankind. We camped at Duti on the 23rd, at Dibrugheta on the 24th, at Durashi on the 25th, and finally at Lata on the 26th. We spent a fairly long day going from Durashi to Lata, taking the easier upper path which crosses the ridge farther east than the lower path and not far from the topmost crags of Tolma Peak, at probably the place marked 14,700 on Dr. Longstaff's map. We met herdsmen with sheep and goats both at Durashi and on the path near Lata Kharak. On the 27th we arrived at Tapoban. Our dash to Trisul and back had taken 17 days and all the 20 days' food was eaten.

On the 28th June I started for Ranikhet and parted from the cheery Bhotias. We had been good friends for many days, except on the frequent occasions when I found out some new loss or damage to equipment they had caused me, when my side of the friendship dissolved temporarily in flames of fire. At other times too, their incessant scrounging for anything they imagined they could get out of me tried me beyond my endurance. But theirs were small faults in the face of their virtues—loyal hard work and cheerfulness. The thanks of every one who climbs nowadays in Garhwal should go to the pioneers whose just and kindly treatment of their high camp porters has resulted in the general trust and confidence in the 'Sahib' above the snow-line. Of my men, Kesar Singh, theatrical, keen, and determined, whose prestige amongst the men made him virtual Sirdar, and Kalu, always willing to work hard and ensure one's comfort, were the best. Kesar was at his best at any time of emergency and was by far the most capable mountaineer of them above the snow-line. Kalu proved his worth both as porter and cook, for after Campbell left with our professional, Kalu took over the kitchen utensils and did his best with my simple meals.

Suitable local coolies to take my kit back to Ranikhet were produced with difficulty, mainly through the efforts of Kesar Singh. After the Bhotias they looked a poor lot, and proved so. The first part of the seven days' march back to Baijnath was made anxious and unpleasant by continual rain storms and by coolie trouble. But it ended in better weather and with the coolies in a cheerful mood and proving worthy of their hire. For, as my lorry from Baijnath started on its journey to Ranikhet, they all crowded round it, crying ^'Khushi hai maharaf and ‘Raji hai maharaj’. Really, it was most affecting to see such contentment. And so to Ranikhet, where I proved again—if indeed it needed to be proved—

. . . Beer does more than Milton can
To justify God's ways with man.

 

APPENDIX I

Summary of expenses (Rough figures)

1. Equipment (includes cost of shipping to India). Rs. £ Main articles included: 4 ice-axes (porters), 280 feet rope, 2 Whymper tents, 1 Meade tent, 2 Wedge tents, 2 sleeping-bags, E. P., Sponge-rubber ground-sheets, 5 porters' warm outfits and gloves, boots, blankets, 4 windproof suits, goggles, woollen clothing, cooking stoves, fuel .... Rs. 1,650 £123 N.B. Besides these articles newly purchased we had in our possession 5 other tents, some warm clothing, climbing equipment, boots, table and cooking utensils.

2. Transport.

Coolies and mules to and from climbing area .	530 39
Porters on Dunagiri .....	290 21
Porters on Trisul ......	290 21
Rs.	1110 £81

3. Provisions.

Our Tinned Provisions .....	360
High Camp Porters' Provisions . . .	155
Cook's Pay............................................	80
Sundries .......	50
Rs.	645 £48

4. Travelling Expenses.

1. Campbell's expenses (very rough figures), including Return Fare City line, Railway expenses, staying in Ranikhet, &c. . . . 1600 120
2. My travelling expenses from south of India, including expenses for staying a week in Ranikhet ....... 750 55

5. Total Expenses . . . . . . Rs. 5,755 £427

 

APPENDIX II

Route on Trisul

My route on Trisul compared with that of Dr. Longstaff is not yet determined. We ascended a ridge parallel to the steep east ridge of Trisul and separated from it by a re-entrant covered with ice cliffs. To the north of my route, across a glacier, was another parallel ridge which joined with the north ridge of Trisul at a little snow knoll. A photograph of the final slopes of Trisul which Dr. Longstaff has kindly sent me is taken from a point apparently to the north of this snow peak. My route passed to the south of it, so I am inclined to think that Dr. Longstaff's route was up the next ridge parallel to and to the north of that which I was on. Dr. Longstaff has written to me agreeing in the main with my opinion, but saying that he will explain more fully what he believes his route to have been, in a subsequent letter.

APPENDIX III

W. W. Graham's Attempt on Dunagiri

I have not read Mr. W. W. Graham's account of his attempt on Dunagiri and therefore cannot really compare what he did with our complete failure. But I believe it was something of this sort: from Dibrugheta or Durashi he pushed up a bivouac and then attempted the mountain, getting quite near the top, before retreating. If that was so, then the following remarks may not be out of place.

From either Dibrugheta or Durashi he could get to the plateau in about four hours, and the only route on to the south-west ridge from the west is from there, unless he went over the top of Niti Peak (17,052 feet), which is most unlikely. From the plateau to the top of the mountain is a climb of about 8,000 feet of real difficulty. It seems hard to believe that if the bivouac was on the plateau any one could get anywhere near the summit in a day.

Another alternative is a bivouac on the south-west ridge. The lowest point of the south-west ridge is about 1,700 feet above the plateau, and the only possible route leads through complicated ice falls and up a very steep snow and ice slope. To get from Dibrugheta or Durashi to the crest of this ridge in one day would be very difficult indeed. From such a bivouac on the south-west ridge the summit is still some 6,000 feet away and the ridge is very long, and steep for half its length.

Another possible route might be to get to the south-west ridge from the east side, but that is hardly feasible from Dibrugheta or Durashi in less than two days, as a long circuit would have to be made round the slopes of Niti Peak (17,052 feet). However one looks at it, it seems very unlikely that a party, however good, could have climbed about 8,000 feet from Durashi, or 11,000 feet from Dibrugheta, in two days, especially as the climb includes some two miles of difficult ridge.

Could Graham by any chance have mistaken Niti Peak (17,052 feet) for Dunagiri? It seems almost impossible, since Dunagiri can be seen from above Durashi, though from Dibrugheta the slopes of Niti Peak loom up very big and might be mistaken for those of Dunagiri.

⇑ Top