Expeditions & Explorations

1. First Indian Ascent of Shoshala¹
2. Patience
3. Northwest Face of Kanchung Nup
4. Tengkangpoche¹
5. The West Face of Changabang—Following in the Footsteps of Boardman and Tasker
6. Cheepayadang
7. Pregar 2021
8. Polish Exploratory Expedition in North Karakoram¹
9. Climbs in Nangma Valley, Karakoram
10. Pumari Chhish 2021
11. The First Ascent of ‘Guruganesh’¹
12. Manda I and Bhrigu Parvat Giripremi Expedition 2021
13. Jugal Spire
14. Attempt on Ramjak
15. On the Wings of a Butterfly—Explorations in Spiti
16. Expedition Notes from Pakistan and Nepal
17. Ghulam Rassul Galwan
    Ladakhi Explorer Extraordinaire
18. In the Shelter of Vishnu’s Fortress
19. Siniolchu’s Secret: Exploration and Discovery of the Zumthul Phuk glacier
20. Old Trails New Companions
    A trek during Covid in Kashmir
21. Exploring J&K

 

 

Following their success on Kokankada (an 800 m wall in the Western Ghats of Maharashtra) in 2017, the Shivdurga climbers Rohit Vartak, Yogesh Umbre, Sameer Joshi, Onkar Padval, and Bhupesh Patil set their sights on a grander objective—a Himalayan big wall, namely Shoshala. Rohit remembered, “In 2012, I met Elie Chevieux who discovered the massive Shoshala. He had come for the sport climbing competition that took place in Mumbai. I was already mesmerized by the high-quality rock and the tough climbing shown in the Shoshala film. Fortunately, I got to listen to the expedition stories from Elie himself and I knew I had to climb Shoshala one day.”

The team began their preparation. Pinnacles, multi-pitches, trad routes, big walls, jobs involving technical rescues; over the years they racked up experience for the Himalayan giant. Bhupesh said, “Three years after the Kokankada victory, I went to Rakcham for a reconnaissance. I felt pretty confident looking at the wall. I knew we had to do it now. We were ready for it.” Despite their high spirits, the pandemic ultimately delayed the expedition. However, as the third wave diminished, they finally bought tickets to their dream climb.

Five climbers led by veteran climber Sachin Gaikwad and filmmaker Shivam Aher left Rakcham village on 7 September 2021. The challenges began days before they started their climb when Sachin had to return due to high BP problems while they were acclimatizing at the village. However, Sachin was constantly in touch with the team and continued his guidance until the end of the climb. Onkar commented, “First, Sachin sir had to leave. Then it took us over a week to trace the path to the base. Once we found the trail, Sameer and I were held back in the village due to heavy rains while others had moved ahead. That delayed our climb by another three days. In the 23 days, we got only 11 climbing days. Rains and storms were our regular visitors and we learnt to live with them.

“Each day we could open only two-three pitches. Terrible weather didn’t allow us to continue for long. We would then retreat to our base camp and wait for the next best day. Some days it would be disappointing, to jumar 400 m for two-three hours, climb just one pitch, and then rappel back immediately due to rain. It was never-ending.”

As the team bided their time for a good window, they harvested 150 litres of water, which saved them considerable effort. They climbed the 700 m route in 21 pitches (the original line is 19 pitches; on long scree traverses they misconstrued the intermediate bolts to be belay bolts) through cracks and along scree traverses. The hardest section was 7a+. They also aid climbed wherever necessary. Yogesh commented, “I enjoyed solving the pitch 4 crack. It was fun to crack climb at high altitudes. We also loved pitch 9, we called it the iconic pitch. It is a technical 7a traverse. I distinctly remember on pitch 14, Bhupesh and I were over 400 m off the ground when a sudden thunderstorm halted our climb. By the time we descended to the tents we were drenched and cold. The weather this year was merciless.”

The team enjoyed a memorable summit push. Bhupesh explained, “I was leading the last pitch. Towards the last few metres, I could feel a momentum boost. After me, one by one everyone advanced to the top. I cannot truly express how we all felt. We were crying and laughing. It was a tremendous rush of emotions. It was something we had dreamt of for so long and after so many hurdles we had accomplished it. But at that moment we were aware that we had to wind up. The climb was not over for us.”

While the team celebrated at 4000 m, Sameer was recovering from fever at base camp. He added, “I knew my body was not ready. It was wise to stay back and not put others in a critical situation just for my sake. Who reached the summit first didn’t matter; getting to the top was more important. And I climbed up the next day to collect the gear. So, I got my summit too.”

The first Indian ascent of the historic mountain of Shoshala with limited funding and equipment is a major boost for these climbers. Rohit added, “For all of us the climb is more than a dream. The idea manifested years back and eventually it happened. But it requires a village to face a big wall. Luckily, we had the most dedicated team. We are left with immense gratitude for our supporters. We shall now aim for something just as big and unreal!”

Summary

On 27 September, an Indian team stood on the summit of Shoshala a decade after its first ascent in 2011. Shoshala (4700 m) is a rocky peak in the Kinnaur region of the Indian Himalaya. Team Shivdurga, with members Rohit Vartak, Yogesh Umbre, Sameer Joshi, Onkar Padval, and Bhupesh Patil repeated Trishul Direct, a 750 m 7a+ established by Elie Chevieux, Yannick Boissenot, and Giovanni Quirici. With this ascent, these climbers have set new standards for Indian big wall climbing.

 

 

⇑ Top

We arrived at base camp two weeks earlier than in 2019, and the monsoon was still blowing at full force. After we’d spent a night at 5800 m on the ridge between Annapurna III and IV, the weather turned really bad, and we sat for five days at camp. We finally started for Annapurna IV very early on 6 October 2021. The next day, by 8:00 a.m. we were starting to climb the rock barrier.

Nothing had changed in two years—it was the same awful rock; fortunately, you’re climbing diagonally the entire time, or else you would bombard the ropes and the other guys with stones. Atop the northwest ridge of Annapurna IV, our route converged with the 1955 first ascent, which started from the north in Manang Gorge; to this point, prior to 2019, our route may have been unclimbed.

All next day we tramped along the gentle and endless snow of the northwest ridge. We spent a restless night at 6900 m. We hadn’t gone any higher than this in 2019, and we weren’t set on reaching the top—the main goal was acclimatization. In addition, the weather wasn’t conducive to ‘taking a walk’ to the summit—by lunchtime the wind had begun to knock us off our feet. Since the terrain and conditions did not permit us to rest or talk, we just continued without discussion until, as we contoured around the north side of the mountain, the wind suddenly died.

After another hour and a half, the three of us were at the summit. Back in base camp, we anticipated resting for three days and then starting the main climb. But the forecast news wasn’t good: five days of excellent weather and then a two-day storm with a metre of new snow. This meant we’d need ten days in base camp to sit out the storm and wait for the fresh snow to stabilize. At that moment, my hopes that I’d make it to Turkey to vacation with my family at the end of October collapsed, because we all agreed that we’d only go home after we climbed the mountain.

There was, also a problem with the food and fuel. When we realized, we would have to extend our expedition by two weeks, the first thing we did was separate out 12 days of food and gas for Annapurna III as an untouchable supply. Everything else would have to be rationed while we waited. As a result, when we finally set out for the climb, one month after leaving Pokhara, the only supplies left at base camp were a handful of crackers, 100 grams of bacon, and not a single gas cylinder. We joked that our trip was in the best tradition of Soviet climbers, who climbed mountains because they had better food up high than at base camp.

The Ascent

At 8:00 p.m. on 22 October, we finally set out for the Annapurna III. Each of our packs weighed 22 to 24 kg as we left camp. There was a full moon and firm snow on the glacier, so we walked quickly, sometimes even without headlamps. By 10:00 p.m., at 4600 m, we left the glacier and began to climb—first along a grassy slope and then firn², quickly gaining altitude. Our progress soon slowed, however, because there was much less snow on the route than in 2019; steep mixed steps of five to ten metres interrupted the ice gullies, and these had to be climbed with a belay. As a result, we reached the snow ridge at 5600 m at 4:00 p.m., not at daybreak as planned—a 20-hour day of work. And despite the forecast for 12 days of perfect weather, it had started snowing at midday. We dug a site and set up the tent in a real blizzard, which left about 20 cm of fresh snow. Surprised, we messaged for an updated weather report, and almost instantly received confirmation: “Twelve days of ideal weather!” Because the snow was quickly becoming slushy once the sun appeared, we always moved at night on the lower part of the route and rested during the day. The next night, I climbed a rock barrier of about 30 m and entered a steep gully, which on the last attempt had been completely filled with névé; we had gained 150 m of altitude there in half an hour. This year, all the snow had melted, and the gully was a heap of unstable rock flakes and blades, covered with the previous day’s fresh snow. It took me five minutes just to leave the belay station, because every rock I weighted with my feet shifted ominously or fell off immediately. I moved a little to the side and started up tensely, like a sapper clearing a minefield, tapping all the holds and pushing away everything unreliable. Dealing with such terrain, it took us another two nights to climb 400 m and reach the snowy ‘pillow' at 6000 m, the most comfortable campsite of the route. The next day, 27 October, was Slava’s birthday. In the morning, the birthday boy was given an off-the-books pack of kissel fruit drink, and was informed that a special holiday snow ridge was waiting for him to lead. However, our hopes that he would find firm névé leading up to the first rock band on the route came to nothing. The snow would not hold his weight as he walked, so Slava had to straddle the ridge as if on horseback or else squat, lop off the top of the ridge with a shovel, and tamp down the snow in front of him until it seemed possible to weight it. Then he would crawl forward less than a metre and start over. He would definitely remember this birthday! As on all previous days, it started snowing in the afternoon and stopped an hour after we had dug out a campsite and pitched our tent. We simply accepted that whatever was happening around us was ‘ideal weather’. The next day we started up the biggest rock buttress of the southeast ridge and, well after midnight, climbed onto the familiar ledge beneath the crux rock chimney.

We woke late the next morning and decided not to move the tent but just fix ropes on the chimney. For me, this pitch was like déjà vu: Despite the two years that had passed, the chimney felt as familiar as a training climb at home. The first time I led this pitch, the sharp, flaky rock had shredded my shell pants and jacket, and it looked like I had been fighting with a bull terrier. This time all my clothes remained intact. Slava aptly said the rock was like the Middle Eastern sweet called halva—it looked like a puff pastry, crumbling wherever it was touched. One dubious plus: Sometimes I could drive my crampons into that halva for a foothold. The next morning, we jumared the two ropes I’d fixed, and then Nikita continued up mixed ground along the ridge—probably the only place on the route where the rocks were more or less monolithic. We prepared for the night as usual, rappelling onto a drift of snow to the right of the ridge and building a tent site there. Ahead was a series of snowy ridges and very steep rock walls that were impossible to bypass—we had to climb them head on.

On 31 October, we climbed on top of a giant snow pinnacle at 6500 m with the last rays of the sun. There was no way to install anchors on the snow mushroom, so we simply dug the tent deeper into the snow, hoping that the entire structure was stable. This was the highest point anyone had reached on the southeast ridge before us, and it was easy to see why. To continue from the tent site, we would have to crawl across a 50 to 70 m ridge of snow that was sharp as a knife. In the middle of this section, the ridge dropped sharply, and what the snow was like there we could only guess. The whole picture did not bode well, and everyone’s spirits fell a bit. Our snow specialist was Slava. No one, including Slava, knows where he got this skill. He just somehow feels the whole spectrum of snow conditions, knows how to position himself correctly on snow and interact with it. Plus, he really likes to use a shovel, and in this form of climbing, the shovel is the main tool. Slava moved quickly across the first 15 m of the ridge, but when it abruptly dropped, he looked beyond...looked harder...thought...stood...turned to us...and threw up his hands in confusion.

There was a long pause as each of us wrestled with his inner thoughts. If Slava couldn’t get past this spot, we didn’t see any other options—to the right and left, below the knife-edge, it looked even worse. Then, apparently, something occurred to Slava. He asked me to take the rope tight and gradually lower him beyond the bulge. My belay anchor was just me, sitting on a backpack where we’d set up the tent, but I carried out Slava’s instructions, and he gradually disappeared from sight.

Over the next hour, unseen to us, an inspired Slava threw down several cubic metres of snow, descended and ascended the vertical snow wall a couple of times, and slowly constructed a set of seven broad and well-packed steps, so that Nikita and I could descend the steep snow with our heavy packs without the benefit of a top-rope. We couldn’t see any of this, and tension lingered in the air. I remember telling Nikita that if Slava managed to reach the rocks beyond the knife-edge, we would descend only via the summit, and he agreed. Satisfied with the result of his labours, Slava started moving forward again. He crossed another 15 m of horizontal ridge, and then climbed another 20 m to the rocks, where he shovelled off another few metres of snow, built a belay anchor in the rock, and yelled the much-desired ‘belay on’. Looking back from that station, our previous night’s bivouac looked even more magical than we could have imagined. Above Slava’s belay, I climbed a pitch of steep ice, which seemed like a reward for previous troubles—just straightforward and fun terrain! But like all good things, it quickly ended. It was already our tenth day on the route, and we had realized long before that we would need to stretch our rations, which had been calculated for a total of 12 days. Our meals thus became briefer and less and less varied.

In the morning, an exceptionally chossy (crumbly) section awaited me. Slava and Nikita were right below, and there were no ways to climb to either side. The face was piled with large, trembling spikes. You had to climb with an ear for the music of the rock—you tap all the handholds and footholds, and when you find those that emit the highest-frequency sound, you make a move, simultaneously trying to ensure the rope below does not shift any low-frequency stones.

After another short but wicked overhanging wall, I climbed onto the ice slopes of the upper buttress, leading toward the ridge top. It started snowing as usual, and after a couple of pitches we built a platform under a huge snow mushroom and spent the night. The next day was much the same. By evening we were still not off the buttress, and through the blowing snow and darkness, we could see a vertical ice step that looked to be about 100 m high and too difficult to climb at night. It was time to deploy our ‘secret weapon’—a snow hammock, which up to then had been travelling in a backpack. We were in a steep icy gully covered with 20 cm of snow that had just fallen that day. We hung the hammock from ice screws, shovelled in all the snow we could reach, then chopped at the 50° ice slope for another hour or so. The result was a shelf about 50 to 60 cm wide—just enough space to crawl inside our tent and sit up throughout the night, trying not to slide off. In the light of the morning sun, the ice wall turned out to be only 20 m, not 100 m, but it was still just as vertical. Still, we were at 6900 m and we could see the finish line. After a couple more vertical stretches, it was already dark when I led the final vertical rock band. I climbed to the very top of this section, decided to have a little rest, hammered an ice axe into low-angle ice, and clipped in to it. I inhaled, exhaled, and then began to fall! Ten metres down, I hung from the rope next to a very surprised Slava. Under my weight, the spike had pulled out of the shaft of my ice tool. Slava took over and finished the lead, and then we simul-climbed up an ice gully, before climbing a vertical ice tunnel formed by two snow and ice ridges, back-andfooting as if in a rock chimney. Sometime after midnight, we popped onto the ridge top at an altitude of 7100 m.

The lights of Pokhara were visible far below. It was very beautiful and terribly windy and cold, and we immediately began to dig a site for the tent. We huddled inside and sat silently for about 10 minutes, warming up and recovering after such a crazy day. Then came the realization: We had climbed the southeast ridge of Annapurna III! From here, it should be just a walk to the top. And then somehow, we had to get down.

The Summit and Descent

We slept late and then, putting on everything we had, set out at around 11:00 a.m. to climb to the top. The forecast was for wind of 90 to 110 km/h and bitter cold of -35°C to -38°C. Though we were really freezing, we’d say the gusts were a maximum of 70 km/h. But that was still enough to greatly slow our already slow pace, and at times these gusts forced us down onto all fours, driving ice tools into the firm snow so we wouldn’t be blown away. By evening we were still about 150 m below the top. We found a small boulder sheltering us a bit from the wind, and after an hour of work with a shovel, the tent site was ready. Despite the high altitude, everyone slept like babies.

Early in the morning, we left everything and headed for the top. The wind had not weakened, and although the ridge was not steep, it took us three hours to gain the remaining 150 m. The time was around 11:00 a.m., 6 November, 2021. We had started climbing 15 days earlier. We yelled something into the camera, shot a couple of pictures, sent short messages, hugged each other, took a few more glances around, and started back down. Initially, we had planned to descend along the route we climbed, and for this we had carried an extra 15 poundin hooks and five titanium pitons for rappel anchors—that is, a total of 30 hooks and 10 pitons. But the higher we climbed, the more we understood how risky this would be, with all the loose flakes to snag a rope or pull down on your head.

Plan B was to traverse over the summit and along the eastern ridge and then descend into the Manang valley (generally the route followed for the first ascent of Annapurna III in 1961). However, during the day that we struggled through the wind to reach our final bivouac, we abandoned this option as well. With such a headwind, we simply did not have enough strength to traverse 3.5 km along a ridge at 7300 m. At that moment, one of us glanced down and to the left, toward the western slope, and voiced a new idea: Why not go down this way? We had no description or photo of this face. The terrain that we could see did not cause particular concern: It was mostly snow, with ice in some places, and though there might be surprises, we reasoned that we had a lot of gear and would deal with them.

In the end, our descent was a whole other chapter of this story, its level of uncertainty probably higher than that of the ascent itself, and it’s an experience we hope to never repeat. At first, the slope was simple and we walked down to 6800 m, alongside the south ridge. Below this point, the route would turn to the west on steeper ground; there were obvious icefalls below us, and, so late at night, we decided to put up the tent. In the morning we continued, sometimes moving together, sometimes rappelling off Abalakov anchors. By evening we were at 6400 m, but now we were at the top of an icefall with a vertical drop of about 100 m. It became clear we’d need to spend another night here. We built a good ledge under a serac, which gave us excellent protection from the strong wind. Still, this was possibly the coldest night of the expedition. Now we were each subsisting on one and a half bars a day plus a few cups of cold water and a pinch of electrolytes. Intuition prompted us to look to the right in the morning, and it was not mistaken—we were able to rappel around the icefall. However, we soon got another surprise: a vertical rock wall with a drop of 80 m. Well, we still had plenty of gear, so we set up a rappel and started down. At the end of the ropes, we all hung from an anchor in the middle of the rock face. Then, as dictated by Murphy’s law, the ropes would not budge when we tried to pull them. Shit. We could have aided back up the face, but it might have taken a full day. We even discussed abandoning the two ropes and continuing down with just our 50 m static rope. Thank God we didn’t make that decision. In general, what does not yield to brute force often yields to brute force plus technique. I snapped ascenders onto the rope we were trying to pull and began to jumar upward as Slava and Nikita hung onto me. It took five steps, but finally the rope, now as taut as a violin string, shifted half a metre. After another half an hour, the ropes were ours. We exhaled and rappelled down the remaining 25 m to escape the rock. There we sat on gently sloping ice for a while, recovering and waiting for darkness—the slope below obviously was raked with ice falling from the upper serac. In the gathering twilight, the slope quickly froze, the pelting from above stopped, and we continued our descent. The last rappel was 55 m of vertical ice. Finally reaching the icefall below the face, we saw the landscape around us littered with pieces of broken transparent ice, ranging in size from peas to a twostory house—we called it the ‘cocktail party’, but it was definitely not a place you wanted to linger for a drink. We quickly stashed the extra rope in our packs and moved away from the ice cliffs. Once we were 200 or 300 m away from the face, we decided to wait for dawn under the protection of a high serac. The altitude was 5400 m.

While I melted ice with the remnants of our gas, the guys fell asleep. I woke them up, and we drank cold water and ate a handful of crackers, the absolute last bit of our food. I melted another half a litre of water, and the stove went out for good. Then I too closed my eyes. Our preparation the next morning was lightning fast—just get dressed, put on the boots, and go. After a couple of hours, we escaped the icefall and reached a flat glacier without crevasses. This was it, we realized—we were safe. We stopped, hugged, and sat down to wait for warm sunlight. Nikita called Thaneswar, our manager, told him our coordinates and also that we were a little hungry, and that his and Slava’s fingers were slightly frostbitten. We agreed we would descend to 4500 m and a helicopter would pick us up there. No matter which side we had descended from the summit, we eventually would have needed a helicopter to collect base camp and get back to town. With no money or documents in our packs—and only 8000-m boots on our feet—it just made sense to ask for our ride here and now, rather than attempt to trek all the way down to Pokhara.

The moment the sun arrived, we remembered how hot it can be at 5200 m. The backpacks felt heavier, the snow became slushy. I noted a large boulder below and walked in its direction. Even going downhill, I had to stop and rest every few steps. At 5000 m, I sat in cool shade by the boulder and furiously nibbled icicles for a bit of moisture.

And then—at first, I could not believe my ears—the sound of a helicopter. I jumped out, waved my arms, and the helicopter circled and landed, about 50 m above me. The smiling magician Mingma Sherpa, owner of Seven Summits, tossed a bag of Coca-Colas into my hands and told me to stay put while they flew up to get Slava. Five minutes later, Nikitos appeared and I handed him a bottle of the precious liquid. Seemingly in no time, we were all at the Pokhara airport. It was hard for us to get used to the speed of events, but even if it was all just a dream, it was a good one. Nikita and I warmed ourselves on the grass of the airfield while Slava and Sobit flew off to base camp to retrieve our equipment and trash. An hour later they were back, and—another miracle! Mingma said we would refuel and fly to Kathmandu. That evening, the very same day, having showered and shaved, we were drinking beer and eating steaks in Thamel.

Afterward

Slava lost 16 kgs during the expedition, Nikita lost 13, and I lost 12. For the first time, we didn’t just climb a mountain, we learned to survive on it: 15 days up, three days down. We learned that we could endure uncertainty, cold, wind, and malnutrition, and at the same time continue to climb, belay, joke, share the day’s last Snickers with a partner, give him a more comfortable spot at a belay or in the tent, offer to take over a lead or cook food when it wasn’t your turn. The worse the conditions and the higher the level of uncertainty, the more we cared for each other. It did not take us long to come up with a name for the route: Patience. We all consider patience (with the mountain, with partners, with the weather and all other things that happen up there) to be one of the main qualities for a high-altitude climber. During each of those 18 days, we felt like the mountain was presenting us with intricate new puzzles that had to be solved, one by one. And each fresh puzzle extended the journey, so each time you had to be patient and find the inner resources to move on.

Summary

First ascent of the southeast ridge of Annapurna III (7555 m) by Nikita Balabanov, Mikhail Fomin, and Viacheslav Polezhaiko from Ukraine. The trio summited by the upper south ridge and descended previously untravelled terrain on the southwest face. The route was named Patience (2950 m, 6a A3 M6 80° ice and 90° snow).

 

 

⇑ Top

This time we went for the north face, which was attempted by a British party in 2019 but there was no record of a spring attempt and the wall was drier than we had expected (compared to during the fall). There was almost no snow on the wall and the ice was undeveloped, so climbing the north face did not seem at all reasonable. We decided to move on to the northwest face, which was in a better condition and had less risk of avalanche. The middle part of the wall, which was supposed to be the crux of the climb, was also in between snow and ice, so we were able to enjoy a good mix of climbs. Despite some difficulties due to the high altitude, it was a successful first ascent and the first summit from the north side of Kangchung Nup.

On 22 April, we planned to set up our tents before the crux. We woke up at 6:00 a.m., left at 8:00 a.m. to start climbing at 10:00 a.m. After one pitch of ice climbing, we climbed up a snow slope of about 50 degrees with no rope. We had a hard time finding a comfortable tent site because the snow was not firm like in the Rockies. We finally changed locations and set up on a rock terrace. At 3:00 p.m., it started snowing so we feared that the route would be covered by snow but it stopped after an hour or so. Since we had less than 600 m to go to the summit and it would take us three hours to get there, we decided to make a single push. We decided to leave our sleeping bags, gas cans, food, and mats here at camp. This is the light-and-fast style we had learned in the Rockies. Even if we couldn’t make the summit the next day, we had trained well enough to manage to stay on the wall for at least one day.

4/23 Summit Push 5500 m—Summit—Col of between Kangchung Nup and Shar.

We started climbing at 5:00 a.m. as the sun rose. We started pitch climbing from here. The best conditions were found at the crux of the climb, where ice was well developed.

Sloughs were coming when the sun hit the wall due to yesterday’s snowfall. Each step was painful due to the altitude but we gained altitude steadily without rushing. The rope lengths were 60 m, but we had to cut them off after 30 m at times. We were climbing for 11 pitches to the shoulder at 5900 m. The Czechs team in 2014 recorded that they bivouacked here and bailed, but there was no comfortable bivouac site as in their record. I imagine their record was wrong and they did not climb until 5900 m, or they may have climbed a different line.

The headwall was easy, but it was a very loose wall. We had to be very careful not to drop falling rocks. From the headwall, we thought we were close to the summit, but we had to climb four pitches up an even more precarious glacial knife ridge. The altitude was making my legs tired, and I kept taking a few steps and then stopping.

We were at the summit at 4:00 p.m. Darkness was approaching, but I was not in a hurry. I sat down on the flat snow and let flow all the emotions I had been feeling for the past two years from planning to this point. The pressure I had been under up to this point was suddenly released, and I shared my joy with Tani. This was the moment that crowned what we had achieved together so far in Canada. We were excited as ever by the amazing location. The Lunag mountains to the west, Cho Oyu to the north, Everest to the east, and Taboche and Cholache to the south...the best panorama ever! After a few minutes of taking pictures, I came back to myself.

Tani had suggested that we descend the route in the opposite direction due to concerns about the knife ridge and falling rocks on the headwall. Although it was time-consuming to retrieve our depot gears, I decided to descend to the south side via another line toward the col of Kangchung Shar. Perhaps it was the altitude, but I felt very tired and each rappel was painful. No matter how tired I was, I had never experienced anything like this before. Was this the severity of climbing at high altitude? Slowly but surely, we built a rappel anchor and kept descending for eight pitches. We descended to the glacier near the col, set up our tents, and went into the bivouac without a sleeping bag. It was cold and we could not sleep at all. But We made it anyway. We spent our time cooking and waited for morning.

At sunrise, we were able to move as usual. The descent line was in my mind from the Czechs’ report. From the col, we did some easy scrambling and in less than two hours we were able to descend to the Meadow, a safe zone. We joined the trekking route and headed back to Gokyo. Couple of days later, we retrieved our gear from ABC but I’m sorry that accidentally I forgot to take crampons to the wall and I couldn’t clean up our sleeping bags, food and gas.

Summary

In April 2022, a team of two made the first ascent of the northwest face of Kangchung Nup 6090 m. Kangchung Nup is also known as Cholo Peak, Abi, or Kangchung West which is located east of the Gokyo glacier and lakes in the Khumbu region. A spectacular big wall climb, further pushing the envelope for pure climbing challenges.

 

 

⇑ Top

October ‘21. North-east pillar of Tengkangpoche, Day Five (around 6000 m). Khumbu region, Nepal: Hanging from a single peg in front of my face, I watched as it flexed under my weight. Anxiously scratching the snow, I searched for another placement. The key to Tengkangpoche’s upper headwall was contained within this single crack. All our efforts up to this moment were suspended in one question: could we climb through this feature? How I’d wondered, worried, longed to see what was around the corner. Would it go?

A gale blew ice into my numb cheeks and stung my eyes, shaking the rope like useless string. Straddling the blunt arête, a thousand metres of air dropped beneath my boots. The distant valley was already dark—night was rushing. ‘Move!’ I shouted at myself, trying to maintain a pace whilst aid climbing. The building, pounding drumbeat of ‘Angel’ by Massive Attack rose in my ears, thundering round my head.

In another metre I looked up, simultaneously registering the setting sun on my face—bright but without warmth—and the end of the headwall. I could see easier nevé leading to the summit ridge. I leant out above the void and glanced back at Matt, huddled in all his clothes. Punching my arms into the air, I screamed, ‘YEEAAHH! It goes! Also, watch me!’

September ‘21. Six weeks earlier.

I was eager to climb in Nepal for many years. Its history and culture are intertwined with mountains and alpinism. I’d heard many stories of the kind Sherpa people, living in the shadows of the world’s highest mountains. Since I’d already visited Pakistan three times and India once, Nepal Himalaya was a logical. In September 2021, Matt Glenn and I agreed on a last-minute climbing trip there.

Matt’s strength of mind compensated for his relatively green experience in the Greater Ranges. He speaks with a light Northern Irish accent and his eyes light up when he enthuses about ‘the sesh’ (hedonistic parties). I saw a familiar burning psyche for difficult alpine routes. Last winter we shared a rope on the north faces of La Meije, the Grandes Jorasses and Les Droites, promptly developing a strong partnership and mutual affinity for techno music.

Matt and I quickly searched for objectives which fit our requirements of a relatively short trip in October: the mountain couldn’t be too high, so as to limit the acclimatization needed; not too far from civilization, so as to limit the trekking approach; not too expensive; and either something that ‘grabbed our attention,’ like an aesthetic and already-climbed line, or a new route which appeared high-quality.

I found a couple of mountains in Nepal but filed them away for another time, either too high or too remote. I re-checked my list of ‘amazing unclimbed peaks,’ noting I’d written ‘Tengkangpoche.’ I’d already messaged Quentin Roberts in June 2021, congratulating him on his previous attempts to climb this 6487 m mountain in Nepal’s Khumbu region. He’d spent six days on the sharp and sheer northeast pillar in 2019 with Juho Knuuttila, and tried it again in spring 2021 with Jesse Huey. I asked if he was planning to return and if conditions were much worse in the autumn. Quentin’s confirmed, so I initially ruled it out.

The search continued, Matt and I stressing about our departure date looming in just two weeks. Eventually, I suggested the Thame valley: it fitted our requirements and had a host of mountains nearby: Kwande, Kongde Ri, Tengkangpoche, Tengi Ragu Tau—and several things we couldn’t identify but liked the look of. I figured we’d find something when we arrived and saw the peaks first-hand. We’d keep our options open—or as I often do: we just postponed the decision.

I asked Dawa for a permit to the Thame valley. My experience in Pakistan and India has been that permits are a pointlessly bureaucratic and occasionally expensive process. On three of my trips the agent has essentially ‘fudged’ the permit, either ignoring it or combining it with another team. I’ve also heard of permits being issued after the route has been climbed. Dawa explained the easiest method was to apply for Tengkangpoche. Its altitude (less than 6500m) meant we had minimal paperwork and it was an ‘open’ peak. With the flights hurriedly booked and only days to go, Matt and I agreed.

In Khumbu now, I was impressed at how many local people had climbed Everest—and how often! “I’ve climbed to the summit six times,” one young shop owner in Namche Bazar told us.

“And I’ve climbed it twelve,” said another, happily. They chuckled as they animated dragging their clients along, or at the risks involved. “Much danger!” one of them said, then laughed as if it was a bonus.

Just before we left WiFi in Thame village, Quentin messaged me saying he was rather upset that we might try Tengkangpoche. I explained that we had put that mountain on our permit because it was easiest and cheapest, and it was just one of the many options we had in mind (including the mountain’s north face, rather than its pillar). I also said we didn’t want to ‘steal’ his mountain and I respected that he had put a lot of effort into it. I suggested it was better to talk again at the end of our trip. In the meantime, our decision-making would be influenced by conditions and motivation: the priority is always to come back safe and have fun.

Once in Thengbo, the quietness allowed us to focus. We switched off our phones—an act I really enjoy during my trips—and began to feel the rhythm of the mountains. We scoped our surroundings through our budget binoculars. Down valley, Kwande appeared like a fortress: a bulk of rock and ice. Kongde Ri rose in a jumble of walls, like a ‘double Grandes Jorasses.’ At the head of the cirque, Tengi Ragu Tau stood tall and imposing. And straight in front of us, Tengkangpoche soared. It reminded me of Les Drus in Chamonix—a pointed spire ready to blast off, almost ripping the fabric of the sky.

With more red blood cells, we returned to Thame village for WiFi and hot showers. (I’m used to a remote base camp without luxuries, so this ‘tea house style’ was a treat!). A weather window appeared on our forecasts; Tengkangpoche’s north-east pillar seemed to be the most suitable objective. Of all the available peaks, it was in the best condition, with dry rock and little snow; it also looked like the most impressive and obvious. Our minds were slightly intimidated, since Quentin and Juho had found a lot of hard free and aid climbing. We were also somewhat hesitant, since Quentin had tried it twice before and invested a lot of effort, but we reasoned we’d ‘have a look’ with low expectations. Matt and I packed our bags with quiet apprehension, minimising gear as much as possible. I was optimistic—we had a good partnership—but apprehensive. Could we climb so many hard pitches, day after day?

By first light the following day we stood at the base of the pillar. Sherku had kindly carried a bag up the grassy slopes too. Now, with everything inside, our packs weighed about 17 kilos each. I worried we had too much junk, but reasoned that big routes need big bags.

We scrambled up easy slabs until steeper ground called for the rope. It was strangely reminiscent of Idwal Slabs in north Wales, comforting me. Our double boots clunked loudly against the compact granite. Matt led, stretched out on smooth ripples of stone. ‘Shit!’ he shouted, skidding and tumbling down the rock. Thankfully his fall was stopped by his last piece of gear. Moving together along ledge systems and zigzagging up the face, the terrain grew steeper and the walls began to loom. Transitioning to crampons and axes, we raced up snow and ice through a feature we’d nicknamed ‘the smiles’; two upward arcs of snow we saw from base camp. Above, the impressive rock walls were cut by large snow terraces, like thin layers within a cake. We hoped we would find comfortable bivies at the terraces.

Around noon, we reached a snow terrace where previous teams had bivied. “We can’t stop here… it’s only 12!” Matt and I agreed. I’m all for taking it slow and stopping early on these Himalayan marathons, but sleeping there seemed counter-productive. We shrugged on our giant red backpacks again and weaved back left. Just before the next snow terrace, one long mixed pitch had me hot and pumped, cursing the strangely compact-yet-loose granite. I left my backpack on a piece of gear about 15 m from the belay, so Matt had to second the pitch whilst dragging it.

Stomping out our first bivy in the snow, the sun painted the surroundings in gold. Mt. Everest, Makalu, Cho Oyu and hundreds of other impressive peaks smouldered. ‘I guess that’s Everest!’ I said, pointing to the highest peak. “You think?!” Matt teased. “It looks strangely close…funny to see it in reality, and to think it’s made of snow and rock, just like everything else.” We also saw Quentin’s backpack from his attempt in the spring, sympathizing for him and Jesse; they’d put in a good effort but had had bad luck with the weather. We looked inside then left it alone. Diving into the tent, we tried not to think about the 300 m headwall looming above.

The next day we aimed to fix our single and tagline ropes up the lower headwall. After an hour of glorious sunshine, we shuddered in fridge-like temperatures again. “It looks like the Dawn Wall,” I thought ominously. I started aid climbing up sporadic crack systems, patches of ice and my limited aid experience making things slow. On the second pitch, after about 20 m, I saw an in-situ copperhead and gingerly weighted it. Using my axe to pull up, I suddenly felt a crunch. The axe ripped, I slumped onto the copperhead and—effortlessly—it pulled out. I was caught by a good cam some way down the wall, but scraped my little finger on the rock in the process. Blood dripped out of a deep cut and I could wiggle the nail around.

Bandaging it back at the bivy, we were quiet. “Let’s keep climbing for now” we agreed, jumaring back to my pitiful highpoint. I couldn’t believe I’d fallen off and scraped my little finger—of all things! My ego was the most bruised, but we were also concerned about the risk of infection.

Matt led three more pitches until, late in the afternoon, we had the inevitable conversation. “What do you think?” Matt asked. Climbers always start an awkward conversation like this; the words are heavy, loaded with subtext. Whenever the situation gets bad, this is the weighted start to a painful conversation of whether to climb or bail. “I can only jumar with a giant mitt, and my finger hurts but it’s ok. Sorry mate. Shit. Maybe we could keep going, but you’d have to lead a lot? I guess it really needs a doctor.” We rapped down to our bivy, pulling the ropes. The following day we descended, taking all our gear with us. With heavy legs and quiet thoughts, we walked to Thame in search of a doctor Of all the reasons to bail from climbing a mountain, I didn’t think this one would be so bad. Storms have rolled in, heavy spindrift pushing my head down into my shoulders. Drilling a v-thread into ice is a lot harder when you can’t see your hand in front of your face. Doubt has clouded my head and heart. Could this really be possible? I’ve thought, looking at the ground. My partner and I have reached ‘unclimbable’ features, devoid of holds to climb or cracks for protection, and felt the sting of defeat. But to cut my little finger in a fall during our first attempt at Tengkangpoche’s north-east pillar? Of all the reasons to bail, this seemed like the most pathetic and ego-punishing.

The doctor in Thame valley winced when he saw my finger. “Hmm…that needs cleaning,” he said, squirting more iodine into the wound. He slowly dressed it then gave me antibiotics.

Five days later, the clouds cleared. Matt and I could finally see the mountain-tops. The peaks had been transformed, now completely plastered with snow. I nursed my bandaged finger and swore. I was pissed off about my injury and the poor weather, but glad the forecast showed another opportunity for us to try something. 80 kmph winds were also predicted.

We decided Tengkangpoche’s north-east pillar was again our most logical option after the bad weather. The surrounding peaks of Kongde Ri, Kwande and Tengi Ragu Tau remained buried in powder snow which transformed very slowly due to their northerly aspect; they also avalanched often and remained dangerous; Tengkangpoche’s pillar was steep and thus mostly devoid of snow; it was also cleaning the quickest and received some sun; the pillar had a low avalanche danger and would be slightly sheltered from the strong westerly winds; plus, we had gained knowledge of the first section.

We also decided to use some bars, gas and a few items of equipment that we’d seen in Quentin’s stashed pack. In hindsight, we shouldn’t have taken this ‘easy’ or ‘lazy’ option, and it wasn’t the best decision. At the time, we reasoned we would each save a kilo or two on the first day of climbing. It wouldn’t make the difference between climbing the mountain or not, since the pack was low on the mountain, but the weight-saving was useful. In my messages with Quentin, he’d said the gear ‘might be bad by now already.’ Matt and I also agreed that if we bailed from the pillar, we’d replace everything we had used with our excess food and gas, thus leaving the stash in its original condition. We had the necessary food, gas and gear in base camp, but the rapid change of conditions, the failure of our first attempt and the knowledge of what to expect on that first day meant we made the easier choice.

The next morning, beneath a thousand soft stars, we launched. Sherku again helped us by carrying some of our gear to the base of the mountain. By dawn, we were climbing. Instead of soloing dry rock, this time we donned crampons and waded slowly through unconsolidated powder snow, taking turns to dig. Finally reaching steeper ground and the feature we’d dubbed ‘the smiles,’ we moved faster, weaving through the lower section of the pillar. On the harder mixed pitch below the first bivy, I was prepared; I hauled my pack and knew what pieces of gear to place. I’d been dreading this section but it actually went smoothly—it’s always better to expect the climbing to be difficult!

We reached the first bivy, satisfied the ascent had passed smoothly so far. Early on the second day, we quested into the lower headwall.

On day three we again woke early, apprehensive about the 300 m of hard (for us) aid climbing above. In the soft pastel colours of dawn, we took turns to jug the ropes. I tried to switch off my brain as I slid the jumars methodically up the 6mm tagline, dubiously eyeing the furry orange cord. I was glad to be moving upwards efficiently, but also disliked the act and risk involved. We prefer to free climb whenever possible, but in this instance, jugging made sense.

Matt steadily led several pitches, then I took over. We followed the only cracks on this otherwise compact wall, always chasing the arc of the sun as it slipped away, just out of reach. The tempo of aid climbing gave the belayer plenty of time to think, whilst the leader’s heart hammered out of their chest as they stared at the bendy half-in peg in front of their face, gingerly stepping higher in the etrier…

“I almost enjoy aid,” I shouted down to Matt during one particularly long pitch. “It’s engaging and hard and it’s not as fun as climbing, but you can get into a good rhythm.” Our Nomic ice axes were now haggard, the constant placing of pegs and peckers taking its toll. I was impressed at the steepness of the wall, only occasional foot ledges giving slight relief.

As the sun set, I started up slabbier ground. We were relieved to have made it through the steepest section of the lower headwall and eager to reach the next snow terrace. With slow dread, we realized it was still far away. ‘This is relentless; it just goes on and on,” we sighed. In the darkness I climbed into a dead-end, eventually went the correct way, tried to excavate one shit bivy, then finally found a small alcove which must’ve been taken by Quentin and Juho in 2019.

We excavated the alcove and slumped into an uncomfortable semispooning position. It was 1:00 a.m. by the time we half-pulled our double sleeping bag over us, doubts drifting. At least the night was calm. On the fourth day, I climbed several mixed pitches of nevé, enjoying the quicker style of movement. Some sections were only 20 cm wide and required delicate, thought-provoking swings. I welcomed the good cam placements and supportive crunch of my crampons, enjoying the more familiar feel of free climbing. I reached the snow terrace and frowned as the sun immediately left my belay.

Finding a good bivy site and both tired, we decided to stop early. The ‘marathon pace’ of Himalayan climbing had finally been beaten into us. We were really psyched to have made it through the lower headwall, which was demanding—but we knew it had already been climbed. The real crux laid above. The upper headwall was the biggest ‘unknown’ of the route and we didn’t know if it was even possible. We might find blank slabs too, we mused. However, we’d seen a right—trending ramp system from the valley and - now camped below it—were pleased to see cracks split the rock.

The piles of food were smaller each day, and we’d already begun sharing our meals. We went to sleep optimistic and hopeful, daring to believe we could make it through the wall and onto the snow ridge.

The glorious, warming, life-giving sunshine hit us as we aided on the fifth day. Our rhythm was now familiar: Matt started leading first, then I would take over. “Take as long as you like,” I joked as he pegged upwards. “I’m just happy to be warm whilst alpine climbing!” He steadily progressed up the cracks we’d seen from the bivy, laughing in the sun. The gear was often small or fiddly but never too desperate—there weren’t lots of ‘body weight only’ placements in a row. Still, Matt took a small fall when a micro cam blew, grunting then resuming with determination. I took over, desperately hoping for easy ground leading out of the headwall. We could see Quentin and Juho’s highpoint just below our ramp system and really felt for them; they had come so close.

Finally turning an exposed arête with a single crack running through it, I battered in pegs and wires as hard as I could. With the wind howling on the other side, it blew pieces of ice into my cheeks. I looked up, seeing both the setting sun and the end of the rocky difficulties. Leaning out above the void, thousands of metres of air beneath my boots, I could see we’d made it through the upper headwall and I buzzed with relief. Leaning out from a single peg, the faint sunlight on my face, I punched my arms in the air and screamed to Matt, “YEEAAHH! It goes! Also, watch me!”

Matt seconded the pitch with wild, wide eyes, but he cracked a grin when he saw we’d made it through the headwall. In another pitch a perfect bivy, sheltered by a cliff band, flashed in my headtorch a few metres away. Happiness spread through me at the prospect of comfort. We put up the tent and collapsed inside. Exchanging messages with friends via our Garmin InReach, they reassured us about the forecast. “Keep safe!” they said.

There was a final question mark in our minds—could we find a way through the cliff band that we’d bivied under? On our sixth day, Matt searched for a passage, both of us wishing for an easy way out. We’d been tried and tested and pushed for days. Now, all we wanted was respite; our slim bodies were like tired engines, burning more energy than they consumed.

Instead, we found an overhanging step which looked hard. Tired and buffeted by the bitter wind, I willed Matt to climb fast. He backed off, unsure if he could free it. “Can you switch to aid?” In his fatigue, he hadn’t even considered aid climbing, but with renewed energy he tried again.

Wearing every item of his clothing, the wind whistling, Matt methodically aided through the cliff band and belayed on its lip. The belay seemingly hung straight over the valley in an outrageous, adrenaline-pulsing position. Using my axes and crampons, I then tried to mantle onto the nevé slope above, my picks dragging through the soft snow. Stepping onto the top piece of the belay and trying not to stab Matt, I leant into the slope and delicately pull on my axes, expecting everything to rip and for me to crash into the anchor. With my heart thumping and breath stolen by the wind, I inched higher, face hovering above the snow… until I could swing into solid nevé and inhale again. We slugged up the snow ridge, occasional ice screws giving some safety in the soft sugar. The arete felt ‘classically Himalayan,’ a beautiful white arc rising towards the still-distant summit. Soon, there was basically no gear or belays. We plunged our axes into the unsupportive snow, sinking up to our elbows as we slugged over tricky steps.

As the sun set, I took stock. “We’re still miles from the top. I think we’re going to have to bivy again. This thing is a monster,” I said coldly. Matt nodded, words now expensive and tiring. Flecks of ice pelted our face and we huddled against the wind. We cut into the ridge and hunkered inside the tent, occasional gusts punching and shaking the fabric. “We’ve got to be finished by tomorrow, or we’ll be very hungry!” we agreed, mixing our intentions and hopes.

Matt did a brilliant job of leading on the seventh day, sticking to the crest and breaking trail. I followed, drained. I was hypnotized by loose snow whipping from the ridge and flying into the distance. Eating an entire sachet of peanut butter, I took over with new energy.

Finally, eventually, I belly-flopped onto the 6487 m summit of Tengkangpoche around noon, screaming down to Matt. “I can’t believe it—I can’t believe we’ve actually done it!” I said, before looking around in case there was a higher point. With so many unknown variables and so much difficult climbing, we’d been halfexpecting to bail. There were so many times when we wanted an easy pass, a break from the hard or bold pitches, but the route was relentless. We’d wondered, sometimes aloud, about the cruxes: could we find a passage through the upper wall? Would we be able to protect the snow ridge? At each moment, at each test, we were lucky to make it through.

But here we were: tired, elated…and at the top.

Our descent down the east ridge was thankfully quick and straightforward. From a col, we rappelled and down-climbed about 1500 m back into the Thame valley. Wasted, covered in white sun cream, but deeply satisfied, we staggered back into our tea house as night fell on our seventh day.

Matt and I lay on a boulder outside the tea house, soaking in the warm sunshine. We both thought the climb was finished, that we’d weathered the storm. However, we were soon to be involved in a different kind of storm…

Posting on Instagram about our route about five days later, I was surprised to generate a storm. Quentin was upset that I hadn’t immediately acknowledged the use of some of his gear from his backpack. Of course, I intended to publish a full account of our ascent at a later date, with due credit, but I underestimated how necessary it would be to immediately and specifically mention each aspect of gear we had borrowed or used from the pack to the public. An article appeared on an American climbing blog. The blog threw a metaphorical Molotov cocktail at Matt and I, attacking us and sparking an internet debate. It claimed we ‘stole’ the First Ascent of the route from Quentin and Jesse; that we had stolen their gear left on the mountain; and that we couldn’t have done it without their help. The blog also claimed Quentin and Jesse had no knowledge that we were going to try Tengkangpoche, and that we were ‘entitled rich kids.’

Social media is an interesting place. Traditionally, climbing news was subject to scrutiny by an editor (of a magazine, for example). Responses were equally examined, and published if they represented a legitimate or sensible opinion. Nowadays, the role of the editor has been removed. Opinions can be shared by anyone with an online platform, to anyone. The distance and effortlessness of typing on a screen desensitizes: it’s easier to write something you would never say to someone’s face, and easier to add a comment online than create a letter or email. Many people commenting together can generate a group feel, creating a confirmation bias or echo chamber. Since the publication of the American blog, other blogs copied the information and muddied the truth, making it harder to distinguish fact from fiction. Complete research is often necessary to give context to the story, but social media can reduce (or even ignore) this step. The blog was simply provocative clickbait and unfortunately only reduces the integrity and credibility of the website. In fact, the blog received so much negative publicity and calls that it was inciting a witch hunt, the author was forced to issue a subsequent blog stating he was just being a commentator.

I would attempt Tengkangpoche’s north-east pillar again; I don’t believe anyone owns an alpine route or mountain. Things are different when sport or trad climbing, of course. I did feel some reservation before our attempts because I know Quentin, and that he had invested time, energy and money in this mountain. However, Tengkangpoche’s pillar was the most obvious, attractive and safest choice for us. Also, we weren’t particularly confident we would climb it. I would attempt the north-east pillar if I was to be the first or fifteenth ascent.

Summary

First ascent of ‘Massive Attack’—the north-east pillar of Tengkangpoche, 6487 m, Khumbu region, Nepal, by Matt Glenn and Tom Livingstone. Climbed between 24-30 October 2021.

 

 

⇑ Top

Two plus one equals four, five, six or maybe even seven. Basic maths right, you can’t argue with the result? A highly functioning team is greater than the individual sum of its members. Or to put it another way, an all-star team will always beat a team of all stars.

Mountaineering (excepting the solo mountaineer) is a team sport and team dynamics plays a vital role in any successful or failed ascent. Select the wrong team with the wrong motivations and you are not only setting yourself up for failure on the mountain, you might not come home at all.

“F**k it’s cold!”. When climbing on the west face of Changabang I think I said that on several occasions. Leading through the rock tower with temperatures around -30℃ was one of the hardest days climbing I’ve ever done. It wasn’t the difficulty of the movement that made it hard, it was the cold. We were a long way from the summit and the top of the mountain seemed unreachable at our slow measured pace. Matt patiently belayed me as minutes stretched into hours and I slowly inched my way up the wall. By the end of the day, he was so cold he could barely function, and was in urgent need to get into his sleeping bag to warm up with a hot drink.

Daily afternoon storms and the west facing aspect made for a suffer fest. The moments of warmth and pleasure were few and far between. Our shared commitment to each other and our egos drove us forward, there was little else to keep us going. On day six while sitting in the tent together Kim said, “I would only do this kind of route with you or Matt, as I knew you wouldn’t bail. There’s too much to invest in these kinds of trips to chance your luck on people with no proven track record, as far as I’m concerned.”

I’ve never had frostbite or even frostnip, but as I write this with numb fingers and tingling toes, I came as close as I ever have to being injured by the cold. All of us came off the mountain with some degree of frost damage on our fingers and toes. Even with all our modern gear, the early wake-ups each day to beat the afternoon snow storms really punished us. I doubt we had morning temperatures above -20℃, and on several days it was easily nudging -30℃. Morning wind added another layer to the suffering.

The only way to cope was to focus on one day at a time. We focused on that day and said as long as we get the gear to where we planned, tomorrow is a new day. None of us thought we would summit. We never imagined it could be possible until the final one hundred metres. We knew that on an ascent and descent where you have planned for ten days there is no point worrying about what is to come. The sheer amount of effort required on a route like the West Face can wear you down mentally if you worry about the future.

We were leading one day each in rotation and it was paramount for each of us not to fail the others on our allocated day. This placed a lot of pressure on you when your turn came but it also acted as a great motivator, as you knew the others had suffered equally. As luck would have it, we seemed to get the right day for our various skill sets when the time came. No one failed on their day. Our team functioned well with one person in charge of setting up camp each day and melting snow for drinking, while the other two pushed our ropes and gear higher up the wall. For this kind of route, a three-person team is efficient, with one person leading, another hauling the bag, the third person cleaning gear and helping when the haul bag gets stuck. Sometimes the leader would set out on self-belay while the other two dealt with the haul bag or set up camp. We were busy from the moment we woke till the time the portaledge door was zipped up and we fell asleep.

It’s been hard to figure out exactly what to say about our ascent. This is despite the fact that after forty-six years we made the first repeat of the famous Boardman Tasker route. Peter Boardman and Joe Tasker were the shining lights of British mountaineering in the 1970s and their climb has attained legendary status. Chris Bonnington commented before they left. “It’s a preposterous plan. Still, if you do get up, I think it’ll be the hardest thing that’s been done in the Himalayas.” Their audacious ascent took them twentyfive days and their use of big wall techniques on a Himalayan face was revolutionary. Boardman’s classic The Shining Mountain, rings with drama and hardship, and the overlying feeling is of two young men who had cut ties with the world, who seemed happy to keep pushing on Changabang for as long as they were able to put one axe and hammer placement in front of the other. It’s a romantic story that gives a glimpse into the world of stepping outside yourself and not caring if you die.

Did we want to reach those dizzying heights, an almost transcendental high? No, not even close, coming home is always more important than completing the climb. To be in the right mind set I had said my goodbyes to family and friends before leaving. It puts you in the zone you need to be to perform on a route like this. That being said prior to the trip we promised each other there would be no epics on our expedition. We were going with plenty of gear food and clothing. Whether it was success or failure, the ascent would be smooth and safe. It’s one of the key things I enjoy about climbing with Matt and Kim, we rarely get strung out. In comparison to Boardman and Tasker our ascent was a rather smooth affair. Yes, we had the daily storms to contend with, one of which was intense.

We were just under the icefield and the storm which wasn’t in our forecast came late morning. There are few places to be avalanched off the west face, but as luck would have it we were hanging under the ice field, in the middle of a large snow storm. Spindrift poured down the mountain and we fought to establish a safe spot to hang our portaledges to escape the onslaught. During the night Kim’s portaledge frame snapped and he was left hanging in a sagging mess.

We had other minor dramas. On the final bivvy our tent started to slide off the small platform we had created on the edge of a 1000 m drop. We didn’t really sleep that night. It was a hard ascent due to the cold and physicality but smooth because of the strong teamwork and commitment to each other. All the hard work eventually paid off and we were rewarded with a fine summit morning and on the final pitches of the climb a rare moment of warmth and sunshine. What then was the magic formula to this smooth ascent?

I have always believed the right pairing of climbing partners on the right day is potentially unstoppable on a mountain. I feel like I have tested and proven this theory over the last twenty-three years as I hopped from one expedition to the next. It took a while for me to get it. That my success on an expedition had more to do with my partners than my own ability. But once this clicked, I set about building a collection of long-term climbing partners who in a strong collaborative way would help me realize my climbing goals, along with their own.

The story of our successful ascent of the west face of Changabang began over ten years ago. We all met as a group for the first time at the 14,000 foot camp on Mt Denali. I was on a trip with Steve Fortune and Matt, along with two young members of the New Zealand Alpine Team (NZAT). Kim and another soon to be friend and climbing partner Owen Davis were also at the camp and we quickly bonded, sharing many days climbing together

Matt, Kim and I went on to share many future trips together. With Kim I have spent over a year of my life camped in a tent on the glaciers of Alaska, at the foot of mountains in Nepal, or hanging out in El Chalten and Chamonix. Those trips, either as a three or with one of us climbing with the other spawned many successful ascents from the North Face of Cholatse, Cerro Torre, the North Face of the Grandes Jorasses to Taulliraju. Each success or failure, built trust and resilience in our shared partnerships and abilities. We took the time to discuss our mistakes, analyzing where we went wrong and how we could improve for the next trip, then moved on. I’ve never felt that by failing, the partnerships were ever at risk.

Two years ago, when I first proposed Changabang, Matt who would have preferred to go on an 8000 m peak, summed it up when he said, “Well, Kim and you are the climbing partners for my life, so if you are going then I’m going.” When Matt and Kim said they were going to Changabang, I knew they would never back out, they would find the money, the time and they would be fit and motivated on the day we landed in India.

Commitment means being physically and mentally fit for the route. Not just any kind of fitness, but a level that is comparable to the people you are climbing with. We all have our strengths and weaknesses but we shared a promise that we would align to each other’s fitness level at the start of the expedition. This involved around three months of specific pre-trip cardiovascular training along with regular climbing. We then agreed to meet for five weeks in Chamonix prior to leaving for India to pre-acclimatize and get some mountain days. We needed to re-acquaint ourselves with the big mountains after a two-year COVID enforced break from climbing outside of New Zealand and Australia. This was the key to getting us onto Changabang fast when we arrived in India. With only six weeks scheduled for the expedition we did not have a lot of time to acclimatize. Having already climbed the south face of Mont Blanc before starting the expedition we could move quicky to base camp and begin carrying loads to Advance Base Camp (ABC). With the pre-trip training aside, we were looking at a three-month commitment away from family and friends for Kim and six weeks away from family for Matt and myself. (Our partners and kids were in Chamonix with us).

When we analyzed why the twenty odd attempts on Changabang’s west face had failed, the best answer we came up with was poor planning and logistics. Plenty of good technical climbers had tried the route, but we doubted it would be the difficulty of the climbing that would stop us. Weather, the extreme cold, poor acclimatization strategy, low morale, fatigue from load carrying from base camp to the start of the climbing, animals eating our food. These were things we hoped to avoid by having a solid plan for the expedition and the ascent. It wasn’t easy to come up with a plan for a valley and mountain none of us had visited before. Matt who had been stuck in the Blue Mountains for the past two years was frothing more than a shaken bottle of coke. Every week he would email ideas, plans and theories.

One of the most important of these was we would not climb to the easiest col at the start of the West Face.

Matt’s master plan was to start closer to the north face and climb to a higher col than the main Bagini col, thereby saving us carrying haul bags and portaledges along the easy ridge traverse. This cut at least a day off our ascent time, and a lot of effort. I was still debating the pros and cons of the idea right to the base of the mountain, as from afar climbing to ‘Matt’s Col’ looked difficult. However, after climbing the first pitch I knew Matt was right, as it was straightforward. I thanked him later that day, he had put a lot of time into thinking over this part of the plan.

Our time in India was full-on from the get go. Even getting into the country was stressful. When we booked our flights, India was still closed to tourists. But a friend of a friend working at the New Zealand High Commission lobbied on our behalf and before we knew it visas arrived. On arrival we were hosted for a welcome dinner at the High Commission. It was surreal that our team of five climbers were staying in a fully catered private residence on the Embassy grounds and receiving an official welcome by the Ambassador and various Indian dignitaries.

The approach to Changabang from base camp (BC) was our first taste of the pain and effort to come. Its nearly 10 kilometres of moraine travel from BC to the foot of the mountain. We were a large group now joined by 42 porters. All up 50 people are making the trek to base camp. Most of this terrain is above 5000 m. We had approximately 180 kgs of equipment and food to take to ABC. This was enough for ten days on the wall and five to seven days at ABC. This meant around three load carries up and down the glacier. In spite of this we found ourselves swinging our ice axes into the side of Changabang for the first time just eight days after arriving at BC. We fixed the ropes we had on the start of the col, and after climbing up to around 5800 m returned all the way back down to BC for two days’ rest. We had decided that we would only have one shot on the mountain and seeing as it stormed basically every afternoon, we were in India timing was not that important. There was no point waiting for perfect weather as it was unlikely to eventuate. We had decided that as soon as our gear was in position at ABC and we had explored the col we would go for it.

We planned to acclimatize on the route. This meant we could afford to move slowly and at various points of the ascent we would spend two nights at the same camp. This was more for the first few nights when we moved up to and above 6000 m. This strategy worked well and while we were slow and unacclimatized no one suffered from any of the usual altitude headaches. Most days we only planned to move between 200-300 m up the wall. The exceptions were the first day where we moved from ABC at 5150 m to a camp above the col at 5950 m and our second last day on the route where we moved from the base of the ‘Upper Tower’ referred to in Boardman’s topo to 6650 m and our final camp under the summit.

In The Shining Mountain, Peter Boardman describes a wall devoid of good bivvy spots. We therefore chose to take two portaledges and a tent. We hoped we would find some tent platforms but just to be certain we took the ledges as well. We went prepared for the worstcase scenario and hoped for the best. Our triple rack of cams, full aid climbing gear, spare rope, large piton rack and several sets of wires along with fifteen cans of cooking gas and ten days food made for a heavy haul bag. We knew this could be difficult to haul over broken loose terrain, but both Kim and Matt have a wealth of big wall climbing experience and all obstacles were overcome with relative ease.

It was Matt’s day to lead as we climbed to the summit. He is the strongest of us at altitude and it was fitting that the last pitches of the climb would fall to him. We had been expecting to be able to unrope and walk the final ridge to the summit. The route though remained steep and sustained right to the final pitch. I followed the last lead side by side with Kim, I could feel the emotion and tension of the last weeks and months starting to well up. On the summit, all three of us embraced, tears flowed freely. An ever-expanding view greeted us. Not quite as far as Tibet, but we did manage to see the famous Nanda Devi in all its glory. It was a real relief that we could finally begin to abseil down the same way we had come up and make the first steps towards base camp, warmth and safety.

Summary

In April- May 2022, Kim Ladiges and Matthew Scholes from Australia and Daniel Joll from New Zealand made the second ascent of the West Wall of Changabang (6880 m) in India, first climbed by British mountaineers Peter Boardman and Joe Tasker in 1976. In this article, Daniel analyzes what makes for a successful climb and how a team that works well together can work wonders. For details on the climb the reader can check https://alpineteam.co.nz/2022/west-facechangabang-following-footsteps-boardman-and-tasker.

 

 

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The Adi Kailash range occupies the easternmost mountain wedge of Uttarakhand, squeezed between the borders of Tibet and Nepal. The massif is bound on the west by the Darma valley and on the east by the Kuthi Yankti-Kali Ganga rivers. The range has received scant attention from explorers, due to a relative want of altitude compared to the ranges of Panchachuli and Nanda Devi to the west, and the security veil that was drawn over this border area after the Chinese incursions of 1962.

The Central Adi Kailash sector has Adi Kailash (5975 m), considered as holy peak by local habitats due to its sacred status and striking profile as Holy Kailash as viewed from Parvati Tal and Jolingkong. It was first ascended by a British-American party (leaders A Perkins, M Welch 2004) via the SW ridge, gained from glacier valley to the south of the summit. Next is Ishan Parvat or Adi Kailash II, 6150 m (Shiva’s Mountain, previously unnamed) 80°38’E 30°18’N. This is the higher snow peak 1 km SW of Adi Kailash, to which it is connected by a col of 5850 m, and was ascended by an Indo-British-German party (leaders M Moran and M Welch, 2006). The third and highest mountain in this range is Brammah (6321 m). The fourth prominent peak is Cheepaydang, 6200 m (peacock peak) 80°39’E 30°16’N. In 2014, Martin Moran and a group from the Scottish Mountaineering Club, made the first ascent of Cheepaydang, the second highest mountain in India’s remote Adi Kailash Range¹. The peak lies two km SW of Brammah Parvat. There are two more peaks below 6000 m named Yungtangto (5850 m) Pandav Parvat (5750 m) in this range.

The inaugural CBTS ‘All Women Expedition 2021’ climbed Cheepaydang peak. Supported by District Administration (Nainital), Kumaon Mandal Vikas Nigam Ltd and The Himalayan Goats, the objective of the expedition was to encourage expeditions in the Kumaon region, to promote adventure tourism and homestays as well as encourage women’s mountaineering. Also, safety support and guide skills are needed to increase safety on the mountains. These expeditions would be a good exercise to improve medical aerial evacuation if necessary.

The road head was Kuti village, 3600 m. The trek from village to base camp was moderate, covered over two days after load ferry cum acclimatization at intermediate camp. Team set up camp 1 (summit camp) close to the base of Cheepaydang. Some team members went up to Sela pass.

The initial route to camp 1 was through moraine towards the glacier. After five hours of climb in the moraine, the team reached camp 1(5400 m) and pitched two tents. Three members began route opening and four members stayed back to prepare the next day’s summit push.

On 29 September 2021, the team set out for the final summit push at 1:30 a.m. One member turned back but six climbers continued towards the summit. They reached the 5800 m mark by 6:30 a.m. Hereafter they fixed the rope through the gully on the right towards a patch. The team had to deal with continuous rock fall but managed to reach the pink rock patch by 10:15 a.m. Here the team traversed towards the southwest ridge of Cheepaydang and reached the summit at around 11:45 a.m. During the descend, one member was hit on the knee due to rock fall and suffered an open fracture. All the members reached safely to the camp 1 by 5:30 p.m. Two members descended to base camp to get help for the injured.

The base camp support team descended to Kuti village for help. ITBP provided a stretcher and local manpower was recruited to bring down the injured member.

Thus ended a successful expedition to the Adi Kailash Range in Vyas valley, where objectives were met, along with training & high-altitude exposure for youngsters with little experience.

Summary

Over the course of five weeks, an all-woman team summited Cheepaydang (also known as Peacock Peak), 6220 m and two prominent passes, Sela/Nama Pass (5100 m) and Syeno la (5495m) which connects Vyas valley to Darma valley. Members included Sheetal (leader), Vandana Khair, Dhurvy K. Mody, Yadniki Bhilare, Stanzin Youthok, Minakshi Rawat, Kalawati Badal, Menka Gunjyal, Manisha Seepal, Deepika Karande, Rekha Nikhurpa and Mamta Bisht. They were supported by Minakshi Rathaur, Draupadi Rongkali, Geeta Thakur and Anamika Datal.

 

 

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The team set out from Chamonix to visit the Hunza valley in July 2021. This was region was chosen for the following reasons: 1) In Pakistan, permits and LOs are not required below 6500 m if not too close to the frontier. 2) None of the team had been the valley, so it would be new territory for all and additionally there seemed to be a number of unclimbed 6000 m peaks in the valley system 3) There were reports of previous expeditions to the area from 1984 to 2016, so there was good background information to support the exploration. 4) Logistically it appeared to be fairly simple with easy access to the road head on the Karakoram Highway followed by a two-day trek to a base camp at 4000 m, which was important given that there was a relatively short time window of three weeks and that it was necessary to have sufficient time to acclimatize and select an objective and explore approaches to it.

The team flew from Paris to Islamabad, where we were met by our excellent agent Ishaq Ali of North Pakistan Adventure. Missing the next flight to Gilgit we took the KKH (Karakoram Highway) to Gilgit (13 hours) continuing on to Karimabad the next day (three hours). Advice for future expeditions to Hunza; it is preferable to spend night in Islamabad and fly to Gilgit. The government seem to be losing the battle to stop it reverting to mountainside. There was a delightful day in Karimabad collecting supplies (including two chickens) for the base camp, then a two-hour jeep drive to Murkhun where we collected our cook for the base camp and local porters for the trek to base camp. From Murkhun there is a spectacular gorge leading to the Boibar, less a settlement than a remote group of animal laagers. The gorge continues to the herder hamlet of Prariar. 300 m higher at 4000 m is a beautiful turf campsite with a spring fed stream at the entrance to a side valley leading to the north side of Zartgarbin. This was our chosen base. There are further campsites a day’s trek up the Karun Koh valley at 4500 m to 4600 m, but not as well appointed at the Zartgarbin base site.

Base camp was established on 5 July and dismantled on 20 July giving a 15-day period at or above base. Three of the possible objectives, Jurjur Kona Sar, Zargarbin and Pregar 2 (marked as point 6200 m on the Jerzy Wala 1992 map) were discounted for different reasons. The obvious and highly attractive route on Pregar 2 turned out to be an avalanche trap in the conditions we had in early July. After several exploratory sorties it was decided to attempt Pregar from the west. ABC was established at 4900 m under Pregar on the right bank of the Murkhun glacier. The team left ABC at 4:00 a.m. on 17 July to attempt the climb. This involved five rope lengths in an atmospheric canyonsided couloir to reach a long glacial shelf, a serac barrier (turned on the orographic left bank; the south side) and final 10 rope length ice field to the summit block. The final pitches sported insecure snow undercut by cornices and were poorly protected with snow horizontal stakes buried deep. It is not easy to give an Alpine grade to the climb, given the length of the route and conditions we found, AD would seem about right. The top of the mountain had a double summit, the slightly higher one, in good mountaineering fashion, being hidden till the last moment. The summit was reached at approximately 1:30 p.m. Doug Scott used to say it was respectful of the sacred nature of mountains to stop just below the top; at a point where the climber can see over the highest point. That is what the team did. The descent was prolonged by fast deteriorating snow conditions. After the ten rappels, the crisp surfaces of the glacial shelf and the serac barrier had become thigh deep porridge by late afternoon producing conditions that were simultaneously tiring and hazardous in places. The access couloir was rappelled in deteriorating conditions, small streams of water where there had been early morning ice. The descent took as long as the ascent; the team were back at the tents by 11:00 p.m.

On 18 July the team cleared the ABC and staggered down to base camp, leaving nothing behind except for a circle of stones marking the site. Three days later the team trekked down to the KKH and Karimabad. There were no available flights from Gilgit and this time the journey from Gilgit to Islamabad took 23 hours. Not very recommended.

We carried an Iridium satellite phone and an InReach communicator. Our base camp staff also had a satellite phone so radios were not needed for communication between the mountain and base camp. We received regular weather forecasts on the InReach from weatherforexpeditions.com which were very useful.

Summary

Three Chamonix guides - A Frenchman, an Italian and a Brit, climbed Pregar in the Hunza valley alpine style during a 15-day span in July 2021.

 

 

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During September-October 2021, A team of five Polish climbers–Michał Czech, Wadim Jabłoński, Maciej Kimel, Janusz Gołąb and Adam Bielecki travelled to the Karakoram with certain objectives. The expedition goal was to explore the surroundings of Gunj-e-Dur glacier located in the basin of Pami-e-Tang river in the northern Karakoram range. This area has never really been explored by climbers and offers multiple options to open new lines on virgin summits exceeding 6000 m. Our team focused on climbing major peaks via technical routes. As the team was diverse in age and high altitude experience, learning of how to deal with this wild and unknown terrain was part of the plan.

Over the course of three weeks we climbed six virgin summits (four of them exceeding 6000 m).

We left Poland on 2 September, arriving in Islamabad on 4 September. We immediately continued our journey by road, and reached Karimabad. The next day, we reached the village of Shimshal in the evening. We started the trek on 7th morning, accompanied by a dozen or so porters and donkeys. Distance to base camp was relatively short (45 km), but the path led along steep and exposed terrain, and some places were quite a challenge for donkeys, and even more for the porters watching over them. At one point we had to cross a rapid glacial river. Due to the high-water level, we had to use a rope to transport luggage. In the end, the caravan lasted 3.5 days and on September 10, around noon, we set up the base camp.

After a day of rest, the whole group went on a reconnaissance up the valley, in order to acclimatize and set up an advance base camp. It was also an opportunity to see the potential targets and to photograph the walls we were interested to climb. We set up advance base camp on a moraine at 5260 m and returned to base camp.

We spent the following night at ABC. Early next morning we set off towards the virgin peak 211 (according to the Jerzy Wala map). After a few hours of hiking with short sections requiring the use of an ice axe, we stood on the summit. We decided to call it Qtang Sar. We were back at advance base camp the same afternoon. The younger part of the team decided to spend one more night there for better acclimatization.

We stayed two days at the base camp to rest, and to wait for our red blood cells to multiplicate. We went back to ABC ton 18 September. The Gołąb-Bielecki team attempted the almost kilometre-long north face of the highest peak in the vicinity: Gunj-e-Sar. Both summited the peak the next day, after a bivouac on the ridge. The Czech-Kimel-Jabłoński team chose the western face of the neighbouring Trento. They climbed most of the wall on the first day and set up a bivouac about 200 m below the summit. The next day, the last stretch to the summit was covered, and later they rappelled to the glacier on the adjacent ice slope and descended to advance base camp. The Gołąb-Bielecki team, had one more bivouac on a moraine, not very far from the base camp. Unfortunately, the next morning a large stone fell on Janusz’s leg, crushing it in a very painful way. This accident meant that Janusz reached the base camp with great difficulty and he was unable to participate in further ascents, and even the descent to the village on his own was questionable.

For the next effort, we divided into two teams: Czech-Kimel and Jabłoński-Bielecki. The first one targeted peak 216 with the intention of reaching it by the south-west wall. The rock formations looked difficult and steep, and to overcome them artificial climbing techniques would be necessary, so most of the wall was climbed by easy ice couloir. The last 100 m became much steeper, and the difficulties reached M6. In the late afternoon the team reached the summit ridge and set up a bivouac literally a few metres below the summit. The next day, they reached the summit, and rappelled down to the glacier. They went down to the base camp without any difficulties. The peak was named Sakwa Sar

The Jabłoński-Bielecki team established, advance base camp under peak 278, and the climb began the next day. They reached the summit the same day and bivouacked in on the ridge. The next morning, they climbed the neighbouring 277, and on the same day descended to base camp.

We used the last days in base camp to rest and to retrieve equipment from advance base camp. Weather was great during all September even though climbs were getting significantly colder towards the end of the trip. The area still offers great potential for opening new lines and doing first ascent and we highly recommend it as a training ground for climbing in remote and unexplored areas.

Summary

Five Polish climbers achieved the following climbs in autumn 2021:1) Aclimatization ascent on virgin peak 211 which they named Qtang Sar, 6047 m. Summit: Michał Czech, Wadim Jabłoński, Maciej Kimel, Adam Bielecki, Janusz Gołąb. 2) Shimshali Highway, AI5, 1000 m wall and 300 m ridge—new route on the highest peak in the area Gunje-Sar, 6300 m. Summit: Adam Bielecki, Janusz Gołąb. 3) Pakistani Disco, M6, WI4+, V, 800 m, Trident Gunj-e-Sar, 6150 m—new route. Summit: Michał Czech, Wadim Jabłoński, Maciej Kimel. 4) Ja Soldat, AI4, M5+—new route on peak 278 named Jarj-e-Dunduk 5700 m, and ridge traverse to peak 277 named Koh-e-Ganj, 5800 m. Summit: Adam Bielecki, Wadim Jabłoński. 5) Forever Young, AI4, M6, 400 m—new route on peak 216 named Sakwa Sar, 6063 m. Summit: Michał Czech, Maciej Kimel.

 

 

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At the beginning of the last week of August 2021, Tom Seccombe, Tim Exley and I arrived in Islamabad marking the beginning of our trip to the Nangma valley in the Hushe region of the Karakoram. We quickly flew to Skardu and made the short drive to Kanday which indicated the end of our journey by road. We made the short walk, only a day, up the valley and arrived in our basecamp (c.4300 m) on 28 August situated right below Brakk Zang.

In the first few days we had unsettled weather but managed to walk up the moraine and establish ABC at the foot of the east Changmah glacier at around 5100 m. From 1 September we had been forecast seven days of high pressure so on the 2nd we walked up to ABC to attempt our initial objective the unclimbed Korada North. On the 3rd we left ABC and walked almost to the head of E. Changmah where we climbed snow slopes that led us onto the NW ridge of Korada. After several pitches of mixed climbing along the ridge we decided to retreat after encountering steep, loose rock on the north side. We returned to basecamp that day. After a day’s rest we returned to ABC with the intention of trying the west face. On 6 September we initiated our climb up the ice fields. 700 m of climbing up to 75 degrees led to a leftward trending mixed ramp which took us to the north-west ridge where we could put up our tent. The next morning, just before day break, we left the bivi and climbed onto the north face where 150 or so of enjoyable mixed climbing led to the summit ridge. However, a 15 m blank slab guarded (what we thought to be) the summit. Tom cooly balanced up the slab (M5+) and soon we were all traversing the final few metres to the true summit. We then rappelled the route making around 20 abseils back to the glacier.

After six days of unfavourable weather, which did however give us time to rest, we received news of the long high-pressure system that we would need to attempt our main objective of the trip, the unclimbed Kapura Central. On the 14th we packed our bags and wandered up to ABC. The following day we climbed up the col (c.5500 m) at the head of the E. Changmah which we had hoped would provide us with a smooth entry into the Second Charakusa Cwm. Three rappels and a short walk saw us establish camp just below the west face of Kapura. Our alarm sounded at 1:00 a.m. on 16 September. By 3:30 a.m. we were over the bergschrund and climbing the long snow/ice slopes at the start of the face. We climbed mostly good ice and Neve for 700 m following the line of Wild Wings (2009), although in much better conditions, to the base of a large rock wall where we stopped at 1:30 p.m. We made a semi-decent ledge using our improvised snow hammock (the footprint of our ABC tent) and settled in for a night under the clear Karakoram sky.

The next morning after a short traverse left, we entered the top ice field which we followed left to the base of mixed ground. A short step of 85° ice led to some delicate climbing over melting, verglassed rock (M4+). Following this we reached the upper snow field which led to the col with the tower where we had, somewhat optimistically, hoped to have been able to stamp out a tent platform. Much to our disappointment the corniced ice ridge forced us to continue. In search of ledges, Tom left the col climbing a tricky mixed pitch (M6). By then it was getting late and rather than push on into the unknown we chopped a small, sloping ledge. The wind picked up forcing us to erect the tent on the inadequately sized ledge. A sleepless night followed.

Tim, giving up on the fantasy of sleep, was melting water by 3:00 a.m. At first light we could see the summit was close and we were all keen to get up there and then begin heading down. A short tension traverse/pendulum placed us on the final snow slopes which after a 100 m or so led to the corniced summit ridge and warm sunshine. Some sugarsnow ridge led to the summit proper. Almost immediately we began to rappel. At the base of the second rappel I said goodbye to belay device as I watched it tumble down the face. Lots of karabiner brakes and some frozen V-threads near the base slowed us slightly however 27 abseils and nine hours later we were back on the glacier. The next day, after a deep, long sleep, we trudged up to the col and began the tiresome climb back up and over. That evening, six days after leaving, we were back in basecamp.

Summary

In August-September 2021, three British climbers Tom Seccombe, Tim Exley and Will Lewallen, made two wonderful first ascents in the Nangma valley, Karakoram, Pakistan. They first tackled Korada North, 6146 m (N 35.415647, E 76.490393) and named their 900 m route Hot tang (TD+ 75°M5+) reaching they summit on 6 September. After a bad weather break the climbed Kapura Central, 6530 m (N 35.426786, E 76.508197), naming their 1300 m route In the fire–ED 85° M6, summitting on 18 September.

 

 

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We blasted through Pakistan like a bullet from a gun, the beads which hung from the wing mirror flinging from side to side as the driver blasted the beat-up bus. The wheels hummed on a fresh tarmac road, painted signs announcing a ‘lasting friendship between China and Pakistan.’ We bellowed a plume of dust behind.

The country was evolving, hungrily clawing at development and prosperity. Even in the three years since my first trip here, the place had noticeably blossomed, foreign influences grown. The bus driver twirled and gestured his left hand as he happily chatted, his open palm or pointed fingers emphasising opinions. The hands of a Pakistani person can convey a hundred phrases and ideas.

The driver’s other hand directed the bus to overtake anything and everything. Elaborately decorated trucks laden with sacks of rice and potatoes trundled along. Amongst them, tractors, wagons, motorbikes, cars, minibuses, animals—and animals in minibuses—all careered along like an artery in flood. It was a true Pakistani experience, a seemingly-organized chaotic computer game in real life. The tarmac quickly disappeared as we left Islamabad and aimed toward the enticing Karakoram mountains to the north.

Mathieu Maynadier (Mémé) and I had four duffels each which slid around the back of the bus, crammed with the world’s best and lightest equipment…which made me wonder how we’d got so much weight! We had our sights on the Pumari Chhish massif (around 7000 metres) in the Hispar/Hunza region.

Base camp, 4500 m, was a luxurious meadow above the Jutmaro glacier. It was the perfect altitude with front-row seats of the frontrow views of the south faces of Pumari Chhish Central (7492 m) and East (6850 m). For the past three days, we’d hired about 25 porters to carry our junk, food and equipment up the Hispar glacier. These tough, weathered men were incredibly sure-footed despite carrying 20 kilos. I got the impression we were walking through their front garden, such was their comfort in the mountains. The villagers were also hopelessly ruthless about money, not realizing that every time they massively rip off an expedition, they ruin the likelihood of more climbers visiting the area for the next few years…

Meme and I started our acclimatization by hiking to 5600 m, but we quickly discovered the local weather was very different to our forecasts. The good or bad weather usually came in French, our forecaster announcing ‘tres beau temps’ when we had bad weather, and ‘gros orages, toujours mauvais’ when it seemed fair. Our meteorologist was having a hard job because the Pumari Chhish massif was in the lee of a bigger peak Kungyang Chhish, which itself was one of the first big peaks to meet prevailing south-westerly weather. Pumari Chhish seemed to attract clouds and snow like a magnet, giving unstable and hard-to-predict weather. ‘Always in the clouds,’ seemed to become our motto. Looking down the valley, we’d see blue skies and wonder about our luck.

For the following weeks, we had sun, rain and snow every few hours. We finally accepted we’d have to skip the ‘ideal’ acclimatization plan of sleeping at least one night 1000 m below the summit of our main objective. I wondered if I was losing the plot when I went for a swim in the lake in heavy snow.

We continued to prepare for a route by stashing our gear below Pumari Chhish, and even found a way through the jumbled glacier to reach the base of the face. Previous teams had warned us of the glacier and it’s deteriorating state, but luckily, we found a snow gully to sneak through.

Finally, on 8 July, the weather pattern shifted to the north and we expected four days of good conditions. We reached the unfortunate conclusion that four days of good weather wasn’t enough for our main objectives, but we chose a consolation prize by attempting the south-east ridge of Pumari Chhish East.

The next day we reached our stashed gear beneath the mountain. On Saturday 10th we began climbing the south-east ridge of PCE. I’d read many reports of horrible, rotten, bottomless snow ridges in the Karakoram. Giant cornices and snow mushrooms give committing, engaging and run-out climbing. I’d even experienced this type of ‘fun’ on Latok 1.

We spent the morning climbing up to the south-east ridge, then bivied. On the 11th we climbed along the ridge, which thankfully was mostly fine (we could dig deeply to find ice and create trenches through the snow). However, Meme led a particularly memorable section which involved down-climbing vertical snow-ice with little gear and downmantling snow mushrooms, a 100 m drop below our heels…

In the afternoon we walked up easy snow to about 6400 m. I wasn’t psyched to be under so many seracs (there are about four big ones which we were directly beneath, and several more which looked menacing). I think it’s not a good idea to climb under seracs, nor to take extra risks on expeditions, and it would be a dumb way to get smoked. In fairness, there was no fresh debris—they didn’t look active. Meme was very motivated to continue. After much discussion, we decided to continue, and bivied (…logically, beneath a serac).

In the evening, we saw the weather pattern shift to the south again and it snowed lightly. On the 12th we rubbed our eyes awake at the usual 3:00 a.m. We poked our heads out of the tent to thick cloud and then heavy snow. We started up anyway, sneaking through the seracs (which actually didn’t look too bad up close), then climbed moderate snow and ice to around 6750m in deteriorating weather. It was frustrating to be so close to the summit ridge but in worsening weather. This was supposed to be a clear day, so we were surprised at how wrong the forecast could be.

Heavy snow, spindrift, wind and thick cloud all gave for a very ‘Scottish’ experience. We could glimpse our approximate position, and knew that we were close to the summit ridge (although the actual top was further back, along the ridge). It felt like we pushed and pushed our luck and kept climbing higher in the worsening weather… but eventually we decided to bail. It was bittersweet to have climbed 99% of the mountain, but I felt happy with our effort and thought any other team in our position would’ve done the same.

That afternoon, we rapped back to our tent, which was half buried in snow. We then tip-toed down big snow slopes before rapping the logical descent line into the basin below PCE south face. We dragged ourselves to base camp that evening, arriving around midnight.

With more mixed weather forecast, the porters arrived at base camp on 18 July.

Summary

Attempt on the south-east ridge of Pumari Chhish East (6850 m) by Mathieu Maynadier and Tom Livingstone in July 2021. High point was around 6750 m.

 

 

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Since a few years the Swachhand Adventure Foundation has been organizing unique expeditions in the Indian Himalaya. However, in 2020 there was a pause due to the pandemic. Along with the entire world, mountaineering too came to a standstill. 2021 was the fifth anniversary for Swachhand so we eagerly looked forward to an ambitious expedition to mark this occasion. We looked for climbing options in the Spiti valley of Himachal Pradesh as we had never visited this part of the Himalaya. We came across a report of The Himalayan Club 2004 expedition to Khhang Shilling (6375 m) by Divyesh Muni and team who had scaled the peak from the Khamengar valley. This was an interesting option so we immediately started exploring Khamengar valley and the surrounding area. We located two peaks in the adjacent sub-valley of Khamengar, one measuring 6325 m and the other 6135 m which we decided to attempt.

A four-member team of Trupti Joshi, Omharsh Jape and Sanved Mathpati under my leadership left on 3 July 2021, for Chandigarh and continued further to Manali. On 5 July, we departed for Spiti valley. Our road head was a small, quaint village named Teha Ka Dogri, 3750 m, around 40 km from Kaza in the Pin valley National Park. Along the way we reached a place called Dhad-dhad pool ahead of Chhatru along the coast of Chandra river and camped along the roadside on a plain grassy patch. The next day we reached Batal with stunning views of Dharamsura (6420 m), CB 12 (6248 m), CB 13 (6264 m) and CB 14 (6078 m). We stopped at Kunzum pass for some time and continued to Kaza and further to Teha, a small village with just three families. They warmly welcomed us as we pitched our tents in the backyard of a house overlooking the Parahio river valley, a tributary of Spiti river. Our route to base camp was along the Parahio river.

On the 7th, we started for base camp. We trekked along the Parahio river passing through Thango village until the confluence of Debsa nala and the Khamengar nala that form the Parahio river. Though we did not gain much altitude, 13 km walk in scorching heat was very tiring. We pitched our interim camp at a place called Shikkim just near the confluence at an altitude of 3950 m. The following day, we crossed the Khamengar stream over a wooden bridge and turned right into the Khamengar valley. Our plan was to trek up to a point where there is a confluence of three streams, one coming from the Dibibokri glacier, one from Khhang Shilling and the third coming from an unnamed glacier where our targeted peaks were located. As it was a confluence, we named it Tridhara camp. Our progress was stopped by a fast-flowing stream coming from the Kangla Tarbo group of peaks. The muleteers refusing to cross the stream, dumped all the expedition load at a nearby small lake named Chom (4150 m) which is the traditional base camp for Kangla Tarbo peak. This was a big blow as we would have to ferry loads to our base camp which was around three hours ahead after crossing the Kangla Tarbo nala. But it was beautiful. Khhang Shilling peak was clearly visible to the west. Chirping birds around the lake added to the serenity. We started early the next morning with heavy loads and instead of crossing the nala straight through, we turned left in search of a safe place to cross the stream. To our relief, a little ahead, we spotted a snow bridge. In next two hours, we reached Tridhara camp. We dumped our loads and went for a recce. Our destination was in the valley which connected to an unnamed glacier towards the north-west. But it was impossible to cross the Khamengar that had been formed by confluence. Further towards Dibibokri glacier was a huge, strong snow bridge and a flat area just before the snow bridge, perfect to pitch our advance base camp. On our way back, we met a shepherd along with his herd. To our surprise, he had two full grown horses and he agreed to help us shift our loads to ABC. On 10 July, we shifted all the remaining load to ABC in one day. The camp was located right below the west face of Kangla Tarbo massif. Towards the south was a splendid view of Dibibokri Pyramid (6440 m). The steep rocky ridge of the north face of Dibibokri Pyramid reminded me of Shivling’s famous Ganesh Dhar. The bustling sound of the stream added to the grandeur of the site. After a tasty lunch made by our cook, Khem, we got back to work. The task was to bring the load that we had dumped at the confluence. Two of our guides, Chandi and Inderdev, did a short recce of the route to camp 1 to find a safe place to cross the stream coming down from Khhang Shilling. In the evening, we sorted the equipment that we would need at higher camps. The weather looked good so we decided to do a load ferry to camp 1 on the following day.

The route ahead was going to be tough as it was non-existent. We identified a relatively safe place to cross this stream and entered the unexplored, unknown valley of the unnamed glacier. We climbed further for about 350 m over moraine and scree to reach a spot which was suitable for pitching camp 1 at an altitude of 4950 m. A small stream of water flowed nearby. We had the first glimpse of our objective; Pk 6325 m stood tall towards the west to the right of Shigri Parvat and the dome shaped summit of Pk 6135 m towards the northwest. We dumped the load and went for a recce towards Pk 6325 m. On close observation, we found that the ridge to the summit was steep, rocky, broken and prone to dangerous rock fall. Also, there were multiple pinnacles just before the summit that looked almost impossible to tackle. We took some close-up photos of the ridge and returned. Pk 6135 m looked pretty straight forward. We identified two possible routes to the summit. One was through the col towards the east of the summit and the other was a direct ascent on the south face. We decided to take the first option. We returned to ABC for a late lunch. We unanimously decided to drop the idea of climbing Pk 6325 m. By evening the clear skies had given way to clouds and the following morning we awoke to rain. It had been a hard five days so a rest day was welcome.

On 13 July, we shifted to camp 1 with heavy loads. After lunch, we did a recce of route for camp 2. Omharsh, Chandi and Inderdev would shift to camp 2 on the following day while Trupti, Sanved, Raj Krishan and I would ferry load to camp 2 and return to camp 1. We climbed around 100 m over the lateral moraine and after crossing a stream of melting water, continued climbing towards the col over the south face of an adjacent unnamed peak (5950 m). The plan was to traverse the south face of this peak and enter the glacier between that peak and our peak. However, it proved to be very long and exhausting route as it was a climb in knee deep snow. After climbing for around six hours, we reached a flat place on the snow field at 5525 m. At a distance, there was a small stream of water due to melting of ice. The place seemed perfect for pitching camp even though it was around 45 mins before our desired place. We dumped loads, helped Team A to pitch their tent and returned to camp 1. The return journey was even more tiring due to soft, slushy snow. On 15 July, Team A started route opening at 7:00 am while Team B packed the remaining load to shift to camp 2. Both teams met at camp 2. Team A had successfully fixed rope on a 100 ft ice wall angling around 60 degrees half way on the summit ridge. We decided to go for the summit the next day.

As decided, we woke up at 1:00 a.m. on 16 July and got ready for the summit push. At 2:30 a.m. when we set off, temperature was subzero. We progressed steadily to enter the glacier and further reach the base of the wall. Team A had fixed one length of rope here. We climbed the wall and continued further. The snow was compact and nice to walk upon. By the time we reached the col, it was dawn. We turned left towards our peak and started climbing on steep ridge towards the summit. After two humps, our progress was halted as this part of the ridge was extremely narrow. The terrain was mixed with scree, snow and ice. On the right there was cornice and on the left was a steep drop. There was no chance to fix rope to make the route safe. We decided to continue roped-up. As we were aware of the possible threats, each step was taken with extreme caution. It took us around 45 minutes to clear a traverse of about 150 m. Now, the summit was within striking distance. At 8:48 a.m., four of us along with three guides were standing on top of this beautiful unnamed peak. Fatigue vanished into thin air and the entire group celebrated the joy of being atop an unclimbed peak. Luckily, we were blessed with perfect weather conditions. A 360-degree view of majestic Himalayan peaks was visible. To the west was Shigri Parvat (6526 m) and Ratang Tower (6199 m), towards the north was Manirang (6593 m), on the east horizon, Kangla Tarbo I & II (6250 m) and Ratiruni peak towards the southeast. Dibibokri Pyramid (6440 m) stood to the south. Khhang Shiling (6375 m) was visible to the southwest and behind Khhang Shiling stood Parvati Parbat, at 6632 m, the highest peak of the region. After flags and photos, we started our journey back to summit camp reaching by 1:30 p.m. On the way down, we retrieved all the fixed ropes. We were completely exhausted due to walking down in knee deep snow. We had a quick lunch, wrapped up camp and continued down with heavy loads to the safety of Camp 1. Extremely exhausted, we reached the camp at 6:30 pm.

The next day we found that the snow bridge near ABC was broken and huge cracks had formed so we negotiated this section carefully to reach in time for Khem’s gala lunch to celebrate our success.

This was a first of its kind success for all four summiteers. It is a regular Hindu practice to dedicate ones first success to Lord Ganesh. Hence, the team has decided to name the peak Guruganesh.

Summary

In July 2021, a climbing club, Swachhand Adventure Foundation, discovered and climbed a virgin peak in the Khamengar valley in the Spiti region. Measuring 6135 m in height, the team including leader Aniket Kulkarni, Trupti Joshi, Omharsh Jape and Sanved Mathpati and guides Chandi, Inderdev and Raj Krishan stood atop the beautiful summit on 16 July.

 

 

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One sentinel in the Garhwal Himalaya that had thwarted Giripremi’s mountaineers twice back in 1990s was Manda I. I myself have closely witnessed two years of extreme struggle in pursuit of the ascent of Manda I.

Back in 1988, Avinash Foujdar, Sanjay Doiphode and I learnt about Manda I from Pune’s senior trekker and mountain explorer Dr. G. R. Patwardhan who had explored the Kedarganga valley, where the Manda massif comprising Mt. Manda I, II, and III are located. He had attempted Manda I in the 1960s. His meticulous documentation of the peak helped us plan an expedition to Manda I during Sept 1989. We were stunned by the enormity of the mountain. We barely managed to reach camp 2 at 5500 m. The expedition was a failure but before returning home, we did a thorough reconnaissance of the route to camp III on the knife edge north ridge, and the upper west face of the peak.

On our return to IMF, we learnt that M. Sasaki, had a successful ascent of Manda I from the north ridge route (Kedarganga side) back in 1982. We got their report and planned another expedition in Sept 1991 making steady progress and managing to establish camp 3 at 5900 m on a very narrow north ridge. Further on, the ridge got narrower with each step and the landmark point called ‘junction’ (a point where north and west ridges meet) seemed way out of reach. Having completely exhausted ropes and anchors, we decided to retreat.

30 years passed. Now Giripremi had a new generation team of skilled climbers. The new expedition was led by Anand Mali Dr Sumit Mandale, Vivek Shivade, Pawan Hadole, Varun Bhagwat, Rohan Desai, Ruturaj Agawane, Ankit Sohoni, and Nikunj Shah. We decided to attempt the peak from the north ridge route (The Japanese route). Three Sherpas from Darjeeling, Mingma Sherpa, Nim Dorje Sherpa, and Ming Temba Sherpa were part of our team. I was stationed at base camp to guide the team.

The team embarked on the expedition on 24 Aug 2021 from Pune and arrived in Gangotri on 29 Aug. Through our hike to BC, Thalaysagar and Bhrigupanth towered in the southern skies reminding us of their absolute authority. We crossed the river at numerous locations.

Base camp was first established at the bottom of Manda nala that flew from the eastern slopes. 30 years ago, above those slopes at 4500 m altitude was our ABC. To avoid logistical challenges, we decided to shift our base camp higher up so with the help of six porters we shifted over 700 kg load to the new base camp (the old ABC).

On 3 Sept, our team began route opening to camp 1 which was situated at 5000 m an endless moraine field and a 150 m rock face, a serious challenge as the team encountered rockfalls that came down without any warning. Unstable boulders of the moraine lying on slopes of the glaciers, made the climb strenuous. Camp 1 was established. Interestingly, our team found the old ropes which we had used back in the 1991 expedition—the rope and anchors were intact. The weather was not on our side and whiteout conditions had already formed.

Camp 1 offered spectacular views of the west face of Manda I. Towards south, stood Skyscraper, at north was the formidable wall of Bhrigu. The western horizon was lit up in the evening, displaying the scintillating Gangotri I, II, III, Srikanth, Swargarohini, Bandarpoonch, Jaonli, Kala Naag and so on.

On 5 Sept, Anand, Vivek, Sumit, and Pawan along with Mingma Sherpa opened the route to camp 2 located at 5500 m at the foot of Bhrigu. It was a relatively easy climb. The icefall had significantly retreated compared to 1991. Manda I that connected to the Junction point, lay on the opposite side of a cwm. On 7 Sept, Vivek and Pawan opened a 200 m route through a steep ice wall along with Mingma and Nim Dorji. Above the ice wall, a rocky roof loomed like a terrible shadow. As the day wore on, loose rocks began hurtling down. One of these hit Nim Dorji’s back. He was in agony. Despite snowfall and rain, the team vacated the mountain and descended to base camp.

The team spent three days eating and hydrating. They had recced the possible near vertical line of ascent (around 300 m) that would connect to the north ridge. The line seemed possible but only for a certain duration. They decided to wait for a good weather window and make all movements on that line well before 3:00 p.m. At the same time, considering the difficulty and risks involved, we decided to have two teams. A (Anand, Sumit, Vivek, and Pawan) would go to Manda I and Team B (Varun, Rohan, Ruturaj, Ankit) would go to Bhrigu Parvat. Nikunj, the youngest member assisted me at base camp for walkie talkie communication, logistics and load ferry. This 20-year-old proved to be a valuable resource. I am sure he too learnt much about mountaineering.

On 11 Sept at 7:00 a.m., Teams A and B departed to camp 2. Just when the team crossed the dumping point, we got a weather update that it was going to snow heavily for the next 3-4 days due to cyclonic activities in the Bay of Bengal. By the time they reached, it had snowed over half a foot. Little did they know that they would have to stay inside the tents for the next three days as it snowed over 8-10 inches daily.

At the base camp, Nikunj and I were busy with ration refilling, logistics and weather updates. When it comes to big mountain expeditions, their success relies as much on management as on actual climbing. Thus, I sent additional supplies to camp 2 along with Ming Temba Sherpa.

On the 13th, weather seemed to be improving. The Manda I route opening was out of question as the route passed through avalanche and rockfall prone regions so we would have to wait for 48 hours under a clear sky, after the bad weather patch. The Bhrigu Parvat team decided to go for a summit push on 13th morning.

In 1991 we had made the first ascent of the peak. This time the team had to negotiate a mix of fresh snow and slippery rock and scree along a gradual slope so progress was slow. Anand and Ming Temba fixed the rope from 100 m below the summit so that everyone could jumar up. At 11:30 a.m., the team stood on the summit of Bhrigu Parvat (6041 m). The descent was scary. To make it worse, the weather, which we believed was improving, had deceived us. Finally, by 5:00 p.m., all members arrived at camp 2. It took them five hours to reach the summit but over six-seven hours to descend!

Now our focus was back to Manda I. We learnt of a short window during 16-17-18 Sept. This would be followed by a week-long spell of snowfall. So, we decided not to waste time in setting up camp 3 and instead make a final push on 17th night, directly from camp II—a climb of over 1000 m. On 16th and 17th, team members would assist Sherpas in route opening. The route had to be opened up to junction point before the summit push and before 3:00 p.m. to avoid avalanches and rockfall. The junction point was the crux of the climb, as beyond the route seemed gradual. Base camp had a clear view of the entire climb from junction point to the summit.

On 16^th, under bright clear sky, Mingma Sherpa along with Sumit, Vivek, and Pawan left camp 2 at 6:00 a.m. The team unearthed an already fixed 200 m rope. Mingma Sherpa with his immense experience, designated a line of ascent through ice, followed by rocky terrain. They fixed another 50 m vertically through ice and traversed diagonally to right where the rock section began. Through small gullies and couloir, the team made their way all the way to the top of the ridge. They dumped additional rope, ice screws, and snow bars at the top of the ridge.

On 17th morning, Mingma, Nim Dorje and Ming Temba opened the route up to junction point. Team members rested as the summit push was scheduled for the same night. The ridge was so narrow that finding spots to hammer pitons or snow bars was a difficult task, let alone traversing it. After crossing the ridge, the 200 ft vertical ice wall just below the junction point proved to be the most difficult task. The trio spent eight hours in this critical section but succeeded. They returned to camp 2 at 6:00 p.m. I was a bit concerned as we had planned for the summit push the same night. I advised rest but the Sherpas despite tiredness, were as excited as the team members and determined to march to the summit that night.

The moon shone brightly above Manda I, perhaps assuring the team a sense of companionship en route; gusty winds calmed as if to ensure a smooth passage. The team Pawan, Vivek, and Sumit along with Mingma and Nim Dorje Sherpa set forth. The team easily negotiated the vertical route up to the ridge as they were quite familiar with it already. By 2:00 a.m., the team crossed the ridge and arrived at the foot of the junction point. Sumit said that until that point the weather was perfect but as soon as they started climbing to the junction, cold and gusty winds significantly slowed their progress.

By 3:30 a.m., all of them were beyond the junction point—we had a dramatic view of the subsequent climb from our vantage BC point. Five head torches shone on the west face of Manda I and we signalled with our headlamps. It was an absolute delight to watch them climb.

They encountered a complex maze of ice walls. But for Mingma, who had opened the routes of Pumori through a crevassed field, it wasn’t going to be an impossible task. He initially tried to enter into a wide crevasse and climb on the other side, but a lack of adequate ice screws forced him to call off that option. In the meantime, Nim Dorje identified a delicate snow bridge, but safe enough to cross over. Finally, they reached a 100 ft ice wall just beneath the summit.

Being the west face, even at 9:00 a.m. despite a clear sky, the team was desperate to feel the warmth of the light. Cold winds had numbed their toes and fingers. The team was experienced—Sumit had ascents like Annapurna, Kangchenjunga, Cho Oyu, Kun, under his belt; Vivek the had climbed Kangchenjunga, Ama Dablam, CB 13, Cathedral.

At 9:40 a.m. on 18 Sept 2021, Mingma Sherpa, Nim Dorje Sherpa, Vivek Shivade, Dr Sumit Mandale and Pawan Hadole reached the top of Manda I (6510 m).

Truth be told, as I write, I can’t stop my tears. A thirty-year-old dream had been fulfilled.

From the top the team gazed across the vast Garhwal, where prominent Shivling, Meru, Bhagirathi group, Satopanth, Sudarshan, Vasuki, Thalaysagar, Bhrigupanth, Gangotri range, Jogin, Manda II & III were seen. The views were just enchanting. The warmth of the sun made the summit moments even more rewarding. After spending an hour at the top, the team started to descend.

This was one of the most remarkable climbs of Giripremi and certainly for Indian mountaineering too. We are grateful to White Magic Adventures and the Indian Mountaineering Foundation for their kind assistance.

 

 

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To be honest I had never considered climbing in the Jugal Himal until the Covid lockdown in the UK left me with far too much spare time on my hands. I used it to research possible climbing objectives online. While cruising around on various forms of satellite imagery I spotted a very steep face in the Jugal that I had never noticed before. Zooming in on the satellite image I realized the face was on an outlier of Dorje Lhakpa and represented a very significant peak itself. The peak was marked 6563 m on the map and bizarrely, it was quite possibly the nearest 6000 m peak to Kathmandu. Research indicated that not only was the peak unclimbed, but it also seemed to be unattempted. Before I knew it my mind was made up and I was heading for the Jugal with only a vague satellite image to go by and the promise of lots of adventure.

This year I teamed up with a young Scottish climber called Tim Miller. Tim is half my age, but we had met at a variety of events where I was helping to mentor young British alpinists who wanted to climb Himalayan peaks. Tim was one of the more enthusiastic of the bunch and we got on well.

Flights were booked and agents found to help organize the logistics shortly before we arrived in Kathmandu in the first week of April 2022. I understood that our peak was actually visible from Kathmandu but never had a chance to find out as the pre-monsoon weather was much worse than I expected. In fact, it rained, hailed or snowed on a daily basis for at least part of the day if not all day until we returned to Kathmandu at the end of our trip.

A half day bus ride takes you to the road head at Bhotang. Here we joined a major trekking trail that leads in a few days to the lakes of Panch Pokhari, which is an important pilgrimage route in the busier post monsoon system. From here the trail is much reduced as we followed the infrequently used trekking route to Tilman’s Col and the Langtang valley. After two days we set up our base camp at the junction of the streams below the Lingshing glacier. From base camp we could see the south side of Peak 6563 m but we couldn’t see the north face of the mountain, where we hoped to find something steep and icy.

After an initial reconnaissance, where we found a great route up a side moraine on the north side of the glacier, we decided to set out on a combined full reconnaissance of the route combined with an acclimatization outing on the west ridge of Dorje Lhakpa.

After several days of flogging uphill with a huge rucksack, we eventually arrived at a platform on the west ridge where a rare break in the weather allowed us to see the north face of 6563 m for the first time and it would be an understatement to say that we were impressed. The face is a huge sweep of very steep granite. Normally this would be the preserve of the rock climber or big wall climber but after very careful study though the binoculars we realized that a steep ice line did exist crossing the face from the lower right corner to the summit snow fields just below the summit. The line looked steep, very steep, and enough sections appear devoid of ice to make us doubt whether or not it was possible, but it clearly was a very impressive objective.

Moderately acclimatized we returned to base camp very excited to get started on the route. After a couple of rest days, bad weather set in forcing us to wait a few days more. I have rarely climbed in Nepal in the pre monsoon season but the weather this year was much worse than I remembered it. While most days dawned fine, cloud usually started to build up around 7:00 a.m. and by 9:00 a.m. we had some form of precipitation, often hail, followed by regular lightening in the afternoons.

Eventually a slightly brighter morning saw us departing on the two-day approach to the foot of the face. It could be done more quickly but difficult snow conditions had us break it up into two very short days on firm snow that eventually softened in the sun. Arriving early below the face gave us plenty of time to view our planned route and to be frank it looked very intimidating. The steepness meant that after the first few pitches we couldn’t see any ice at all, just a steep wall of granite rising up into the cloud. The only good thing we noticed was the complete absence of rock-fall during the day as we sat waiting for the inevitable sleepless night before starting out at dawn.

The first day was the least steep day as we climbed the lower snow slopes to get started on the face. These snowfields slowly narrowed before petering out into steep icy runnels that were reminiscent of Chamonix goulotte climbing. In places the ice thinned to nothing and forced us to make delicate mixed climbing moves on granite slabs sometimes devoid of protection. At the end of the first day, we arrived at a fine snow patch below an overhanging rock wall that with a bit of digging made for the perfect tent ledge, flat and protected from rock and ice falling from above. Moreover, Tim had had a chance to look around the next corner at tomorrows climbing and though it might go!

Our second day saw us taking on the steep rock wall that had most concerned me during our earlier binocular study from the west ridge of Dorje Lhakpa. While most of the route had some obvious line with at least a suggestion of ice in the corner of steep grooves, this rock wall had just looked steep and blank. Though in some light conditions I had convinced myself I could see some kind of feature suggesting the route might be possible.

As we moved around the rib hiding the route from our camp spot the following morning, it was clear that our luck might be in. Above through the steep rock wall were a series of chimneys, behind a line of flakes that had been hidden from view. These chimneys were a tight squeeze in many places, unclimbable in rucksacks and requiring the full utilization of back and footing technique, knee locks and arm bars. Over three pitches we squeezed, thrutched and generally groveled out way up. In many ways the greatest difficulty was to haul up our rucksacks which constantly and repeatedly jammed in the chimney. Eventually we topped out of the chimney exhausted but confident that we had overcome the most uncertain stretch of the route. Though never count your chickens till they hatch.

That night we rigged my snow hammock and pitched the tent in what we thought was a perfect location but no sooner had we got into our sleeping bags that we realized that our tent was located in a spindrift avalanche runnel. Soon the snow started to build up behind the tent forcing us of the ledge. Very quickly we had to evacuate the tent and begin digging the ledge out. After hours of digging, we eventually gave up and just stood there in the dark as our tent and equipment was buried. Toward the middle of the night the snowslides stopped allowing us to dig out and crawl back inside our now ripped and deformed tent. The mountain was getting the upper hand again.

Tired, we set of on the third day to climb steep thin ice up neverending granite grooves. The weather was improving, the ice was good and after the poor night before, confidence slowly improved. A good lead by Tim over a steep rock bulge on very thin ice linked our line through to the foot of the summit ice fields. We erected the ice hammock again and hoped for better luck with spindrift which never did materialize as we enjoyed a beautiful sunny evening on probably the best day of the entire expedition. The tent was no longer useable as a tent so we just wrapped the fabric around ourselves and settled in for the night.

The summit snowfields should have been easier but bullet hard ice made the climbing slow and tedious, made much worse by the afternoon sunshine, which slowed my pace dramatically. We were trying hard to make the summit that day with the hope of a flat campsite but found ourselves climbing in the dark a short distance below the summit. Then about 50 m short of the summit we found a natural rock cave that allowed us to crawl inside and spend another night protected from the elements with a flat place to sleep. The mountain was generous that night to a team with no tent.

A short climb the following morning brought us to the summit of Peak 6563 m. As far as we understood this summit had not been climbed before and was unnamed. Provisionally we called the peak Jugal Spire, though I later learnt that some people refer to the peak as Dorje Lhakpa II. Our route we named the Phantom Line due to the ephemeral nature of the ice and the ability of the line to appear and disappear under different light conditions when viewed from a distance. All that remained was to get down!

Fortunately, a comparatively easy snow slope and gully led first south then west to the Lingshing glacier where we spent the night before carrying on down to base camp the following day. Base camp as always, was shrouded in cloud and rain as we waited for our porters to arrive for the trek back to Bhotang and Kathmandu.

Summary

First ascent of Peak 6563 m (proposed name Jugal Spire) Nepal via the Phantom Line on the north face, 1300 m, ED. Paul Ramsden and Tim Miller 22-30 April 2022.

 

 

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A team from the Mountaineers’ Association of Krishnanagar attempted Ramjak, 6318 m in Lahaul Spiti during August 2021.

Our trek started on a metal road from Zanskar Sumdo situated on the confluence of Jankar nala and a nala coming from Mayar valley in Lahaul & Spiti District of Himachal Pradesh, India. The weather was good and the view was scenic. In 3.5 hours, we completed this 10 km trek and reached base camp at Chuminakpo (4620 m) situated beside the Darcha–Shinku-la road. For the first time in our experience, base camp was established beside a motor road saving us a lot of money and time as there was no porter cost or load ferrying. We pitched four tents.

The route to camp 1 was an easy hike with some bouldering. After climbing approximately 300 m we reached a flat area along a stream from the Ramjak glacier. From here we got views of Ramjak. We crossed that stream and walked along its right side. We had to cross the stream again to establish camp 1 at 5120 m on glacial moraine. We returned to BC.

7 August was rest day for some of us. Pemba Chiring, Richung and Lila Raj along with Subhas, Sumitra and Chitta ferried loads to camp 1 and the following day we all moved there. On the 8th, members rested at camp 1 while Sherpas ferried loads and fixed rope up to summit camp. On the 10th all of us proceeded towards summit camp. The gradient was not severe but there were some chances of rockfall from above. We found some old ropes left by previous expeditions. We continued climbing cautiously to reach the ridge. After negotiating a rocky area, we started climbing through snow. As the ridge was exposed, we climbed with fixed rope using jumars. It was a sunny day and the Ramjak view was very clear. At the end of this ridge, we descended towards the west and established our summit camp at 5710 m on a snow field. It felt like if we took a short run, we could reach the top of Ramjak. Pemba Chiring and Richung proceeded to fixing ropes to the summit. We could see them clearly from summit camp.

As they continued the next day, Pemba Chiring found rope short and thus used rope that had been fixed below the summit camp. We were now ready to proceed for summit at 2:00 a.m. next morning.

After hot tea, Ashim Kumar Mondal, Biswanath Saha, Subrata Ghosh and Sumitra Debnath along with Pemba Chiring, Richung Sherpa and I set out for summit. Weather was foggy and cold but there was no wind. We proceeded through 50° to 60° snow and ice slopes and continued jumaring along fixed rope. Snow stakes were used for fixing ropes. After crossing two crevasses we had to negotiate a 60° to 70° wall. At 6:00 a.m. we were 60 to 70 m below the summit. Pemba Chiring was leading but I understood that it was difficult to fix ropes on sharp exposed ridges due to hard ice. I advised Chiring to proceed further with one or two members. They were short of ropes but I suggested that ropes which we had fixed below should be taken off, if needed, as distance to the summit was very short. When Chiring continued to hesitate, I took the crucial decision to abandon. We had reached approx. 6250 m and it was 6:30 a.m. After taking photographs we started descending with broken hearts, reaching summit camp at 8:00 a.m. safely.

Summary

A team from West Bengal attempted Ramjak in Lahaul-Spiti during August 2021. Members included Basanta Singha Roy (leader), Biswanath Saha, Ashim Kumar Mondal, Subrata Ghosh and Sumitra Debnath, supported by Pemba Chiring Sherpa and Richung Sherpa. They reached at an altitude of 6250 m. when shortage of rope and technical difficulties pushed them back.

 

 

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The river was a torrent. Its strong currents leapt both sides of the steep gorge. We were about a kilometre into the Gyundi nala searching for a route. It was not long before we realized the futility of our attempt. It had been raining heavily in the region and the water from the entire catchment of the Gyundi valley was flowing through the bottleneck formed by the steep rock faces on both sides of the gorge. It was not possible to traverse higher on the cliff and we predicted that this would get even worst further up the nala. Our plans to explore the Gyundi nala were washed away on the very first day.

Our five-member team from The Himalayan Club Mumbai, including Vineeta Muni, Rajesh Gadgil, Rajendra Shinde, Atin Sathe and I, had set out to attempt climbs in the Gyundi valley on 29 July 2021. We were excited at the prospects of an expedition after the long hiatus due the pandemic.

We completed our preparations at Manali and were joined by our support staff Lendup Bhutia, Phupu Dorji Bhutia, Pemba Lama, Vipin Sharma and Rakesh Kumar (Keshu) with five Nepali low altitude staff. While the staff would travel with our luggage on 5 August, team members reached Kaza on 3 August to recce the route into the Gyundi valley from the village named Hul on Kaza–Kunzum la road.

We realized that the heavy rain/snowfall of the previous few weeks had resulted in high-water levels in the Gyundi nala making it difficult and risky for the team to proceed with loads into valley. One would have to attempt this much earlier in the year when snow levels were high and water levels low, for safe passage through the gorge.

Back at Kaza that evening, we switched to Plan B, i.e. exploration of the branch of the Kharcha valley that leads to the Bara Shigri glacier. This had remained unexplored during our last visit to the area in 2018.

The route from Batal to base camp is fairly simple, a good track that winds its way at a reasonable angle. We crossed the river coming from Kharcha nala over a snow bridge to trek up the true left bank of the river. However, we had a difficult crossing of one of the streams coming from a side valley.

One more major river crossing and base camp was established on 8 August 2021 at ‘Gharelu’ (4500 m) on the junction of the Kharcha nala with the valley leading to the Bara Shigri glacier. We were delighted to meet a shepherd and his dog, who visited the camp. Fascinating stories of their journeys across various passes in the area with their flock enthralled us. It was interesting to know that they cross into the Gyundi nala from a pass close to the Kharcha Parbat and would exit at Hul village sometime late September when the water levels were lower.

Having done a short recce of the route to advance base camp on 8th itself, we trekked to the proposed camp site on 9 August with light loads. The route climbed steeply above BC for about 200 m and traversed the true right of the valley. As the valley opened up, the route flattened out gradually to ABC established by us on 11 August at 5000 m.

The route to camp 1 was gradual till the snout of the glacier. The valley opened up to some stupendous views of the peaks at the head of the glacier. We turned south east, keeping to the true right of the glacier. A bit ahead, we crossed over the lateral moraine to set up camp 1 at a height of 5500 m.

We spent a few days at ABC stocking up the higher camp whilst allowing the weather to settle. A fit and well acclimatized team shifted to camp 1 on 15 August.

We spent the next two days exploring the glacier to study the terrain around. On 18 August we moved to camp further south east. We explored a possible entry to the Gyundi nala, keeping south of Ache Peak (which we had climbed in 2018 from its east). It would be a steep descent to the Gyundi with a lot of loose scree and broken rock. A high snow line would surely make it easier, earlier in the year.

Back at camp 1, we went further south west across the glacier and climbed up to the dividing ridge between Kharcha nala and Bara Shigri glacier. The effort was rewarding. This ridge formed a divide between the glacier flowing from Lion peak on its south west and the glacier flowing from the base of Ache peak on its north east. One could connect to the Bara Shigri glacier by descending south west from the ridge and keeping west of Central peak. The ridge line with the two glaciers on its flanks and a peak at its south eastern end looked like a butterfly. We decided to attempt this peak from a summit camp on the ridge line at around 5800 m. The route to the summit camp along the ridge was dramatic. A drop on both sides to the glaciers flanking the ridge and peaks visible far into the horizon.

Summit camp was occupied on 24 August and preparations were made for an attempt the next day. Unfortunately, on 25 August, we got news of the demise of Vineeta’s father. Vineeta and I moved down to base camp by late evening and returned to Mumbai the next day.

Rajesh, Atin and Rajendra made the first ascent of P. 6065 m on 26 August 2021 at 12:30 p.m. from its north west ridge supported by Lendup Bhutia, Phupu Sherpa and Vipin Sharma. Starting at 8:00 a.m. from summit camp, they climbed a steep ridge of loose rocks for about 100 m. They then traversed a rock gendarme from its south to a fairly easy angled climb of another 30 m. The final climb to the top was on steep mixed climb. We named the peak Fyanlabte meaning Butterfly in local (Lahauli) language.

Summary

First ascent of Pk 6065 in Lahaul-Spiti via its north west ridge by a Mumbai based team from. The Himalayan Club led by Divyesh Muni.

 

 

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Pakistan Ski Expedition 2021
-Tiphaine Duperier

Despite four cancelled flights and one week of waiting for our skis in the hot atmosphere of Islamabad, we finally reach out Gilgit on 2 June 2021. Happy to be there, Boris Langenstein, Aurelia Lanoe, Guillaume Pierrel and I were keen on acclimatizing. So that we did not get bored going up and down the same route, we chose to spend fifteen days between two areas: Bagrote valley (30 km NE of Gilgit) and Darkhut (150 km NW of Gilgit, on the Afghanistan border).

Our first plan was to explore the Chiantar glacier and Darkhut, but a strike along the road forced us to change plans. Afraid that we would be late for the main goal of the expedition (Gasherbrum II, French route), we went to Bagrote (south face of Diran) with the hope to ski some new lines.

After a half day walk on the Bualtar glacier, we set up a base camp on a nice meadow at 3342 m. Just to have a better idea of what was possible, we climbed and skied down a 4800 m peak behind BC. We had to walk up to 4000 m to find snow. Generally, we found late spring snow conditions. We spotted two interesting summits of around 5000 m. Diran’s south face seems really too steep and too high to start our acclimatization.

We first climbed Darchan (5347 m) and skied down its beautiful north west ridge (5347 m), a bit steep at the beginning (45°) in pretty horrible snow conditions. Then we established another camp on the west ridge (4573 m) of the nearby 5040 m summit. This was the second objective in this area. This west ridge was a beauty: aerial, steep (between 55° on the top and 45° at the bottom) with a breathtaking view of Diran. Happy to have seen a new cool spot close to Gilgit, we left the valley to get back on our first plan: Darkhut.

As we had spent precious days waiting for our skis in Islamabad, we only had five days left before heading towards the Baltoro. To optimize those days, we decided to be on our own, without porters or a fixed base camp. We walked up 10 km of a good shepherd’s paths, east of Darkhut village, with the Gamubar Zom (6518 m) behind us. We were a bit disappointed as our first look found dry mountains; snowpack was at around 4700 m. This meant we would have to walk up another 1000 m with skis on our backs. Our first camp was in the last flat place we crossed, with good and clear spring water.

As the mountains were so dry, we were stressed not to have the right snow conditions to ski down. But at least, it was safe! In our hurry to check this out, we put another camp on the snow right at the bottom of the west side of Garmush Zom I (6240 m). On 13 June we left our camp to climb this straight west couloir to the top. Just before getting on the summit ridge, monster cornices blocked the view of the Chiantar glacier. For the last 200 m, we walked in deep soft snow. We knew that we would have to wait for the sun to melt the snow, otherwise a ski descent could be a real nightmare. The cold and the altitude finally made us leave the summit earlier than we wanted to. It was far from what we dreamed of, but still, this steep slope was a good exercise for steep skiing (steepness between 55° and 45° for 1100 m).

The excitement of our success convinced us to move the camp to the right, just at the bottom of Garmush Zom II (6180 m). Another 1400 m couloir was just there, on the southeast side. Going up wasn’t as easy as the day before; it was more technical. For the first 500 m there were steep avalanche debris. The following 200 m were across some icy parts and then we went through deep snow, sinking up to our calves. 30 m of mixed climb gave us the access to the summit ridge and we could finally see the Chiantar glacier!

We skied from the top and crossed the mixed section with a rappel. Snow was hard to anticipate, sometimes hard, sometimes just crusty on the top. We now hurried as we needed to be in Skardu on 18 June. Going down this beautiful valley, beside a powerful river, I thought that we were lucky to find what we came for: steep skiing in remote places.

Yawash II
- Jerzy Wala

First ascent and ski descent by Andrzej Bargiel

The team consisted of Andrzej Bargiel, leader, Jędrzej Baranowski, skier-climber, Dariusz Załuski, filmmaker, Jakub Gzela, drone operator, Bartłomiej Pawlikowski, photographer and local support.

The route was from Shimshal via the Boesam pass (4930 m, 4875 m) to base camp (c.4400 m) in the Ghidims Dur valley on 25-28 April 2021.

On 29 April, accompanied by two porters, members set up the camp 1 (5160 m) at a point where the north Ghidims glacier splits into the right ice flow and the left ice flow. On 30 April morning, Andrzej Bargiel and Jędrzej Baranowski climbed the snowy south-western slope of the Yawash Sar II massif. The weather was good, at night the temperature dropped to –15°C but during the day, in the sun, it was hot. Both on the glacier and on the slope leading to the summit, the spring cover of snow and avalanches, covered the crevasses and did not require any belaying.

They approached the face of the rock perch descending from the north-west ridge of Yawash Sar II along the road more to the right from the location of Krzysztof Wielicki’s summer attempt. Here, less acclimatized and moving more slowly, J. Baranowski stopped. Heading right, Andrzej Bargiel continued, crossing the slide of a great avalanche at the highest point (the slide was formed in the middle of the slope after the descent of a vast, powerful slab avalanche, which dispersed on the talus cone at the foot of the slope) and circumventing rocks in an indistinct rib, he climbed straight up along a rocky perch and reached the summit ridge, along which he approached the summit. Warned by the drone operator Jakub Gzela, he stopped in front of the overhang at the peak.

In view of the steepness, exposure and poor adhesion of the thin snow layer to the icy ground below, the descent along the western ridge was carried out by slides assisted by a rope attached to the Abalakov anchors, then further left towards the path of the approach and, making a wide curve, back to Jędrzej Baranowski sitting below the rocks of the perch. Together, they skied—initially in the proximity of the second perch on the right side of the snow slope and lower, down the centre of the talus cone, onto the glacier and then to C1. On that same day, they went back to base camp and on the 1 of May all the participants of the expedition began their return to Shimshal, from where they went to Skardu.

Dansam
- Juho Knuuttila

Attempt on the north face of K13.

In July 2021, I travelled to Pakistan with Eivind Hugaas (Norway) and Nelson Neirinck (Belgium) to attempt first ascent of K13 (6666 m), also known as a Dansam peak.

The day before jumping into a plane we learned that a French team had climbed our planned line on the north face of the mountain. Our moods sank a bit but we also knew that they had summited the lower western summit, already climbed by a Japanese team in the 80’s. The main summit, 1 km further to the east was still untouched.

From Skardu we drove the village of Khorkondus and hiked to Mingling valley, where we set up our base camp on 7 July. For acclimatization we hiked to the base of the north face of K13 and slept at 5170 m, scouting the face for possible lines. It became clear that there were not many safe options as hanging seracs filled almost the whole face. Anyway, we found one, safe enough looking passage that we could try

To acclimatize, we made the first ascent of Pk 6210 m. The peak didn’t have a name on the map, but it was the most prominent looking mountain between K13 and Saltoro Kangri. It also seemed easy enough to save energy for the main objective.

On the 15th, we hiked to a glacier located south of Pk 6210 m. Since we wanted to take it easy and let the glacier refreeze during the night, we slept atop big flat boulders, under open skies at 5170 m.

The following morning, we travelled on a glacier for a few kilometres before climbing an easy snow couloir to another glacier higher up. We camped at 5700 m and endured the heat of the day. Due to high temps, our only option was to try climbing at night.

After midnight we simul soloed a 60° ice and snow couloir to a broad ridge and then followed the SE ridge to the summit of Pk 6210 m, which we reached at 3:40 a.m. on 17 July. We measured the altitude and then started downward without wasting time. We rappelled icy parts in the couloir back to our camp, packed it up and continued back to base camp for an early lunch.

We rested for five days at base camp before getting an excellent sixday weather window to attempt K13. On the 23rd we walked to the base of the north face which was quite plastered with snow this time. The idea was to climb during the night to reach a safe spot before sun hit the face.

We started up simul soloing ice-fields and roped up when we reached difficulties. I led two pitches of almost vertical slush. Poor protection and insecure climbing made going quite slow. Snow was melting even middle of the night which didn’t promise well for the day.

Nelson led another tricky mixed pitch before Eivind took over to aid through a rock barrier. At this point small stuff was already raining on us and it didn’t require too much talking to decide to bail. It was just too warm and climbing too slow to be safe. We rappelled from our high point (5550 m) back to base and walked back to base camp while huge wet snow avalanches were running down the face. We returned to Skardu and flew home.

Rokapi, Api Himal, Nepal

First winter ascent via a new route on the south face and southeast ridge.

From 21-23 December the American John Kelley made the second overall and first winter ascent of Rokapi (a.k.a. Kap Chuli, 6468 m, 29°50’52.60”N, 81°2’19.20”E), alone. He established base camp on 19 November at 4380 m, below the south face of Rokapi. After a week of snowfall in early December he cached gear a little below 4900 m and descended to base camp. He did not return to this cache until the 20th, when he slept the night and started next day up the south face of the mountain. Kelley climbed toward the right side of the 1200 m south face comprising mixed rock, ice, and snow to reach a subsidiary summit of 6050 m on the southeast ridge. He bivouacked once on the face at around 5300 m. From there, he followed the ridge to a c. 6000 m col before the main summit and made his second bivouac. On the 23rd he reached the summit after a long day and returned to his bivouac at night. On the 24th he was back in base camp. Difficulties are reported to have been sustained at M4 WI3.

In 1974 a British team, having seen photographs taken by the 1970 British expedition to Nampa, planned to attempt a beautiful peak on the ridge to the south. At that time the only peaks on the permitted list were Api and Nampa, so they applied for, and received, a permit for ‘Nampa South’. Approaching via the difficult Salimor khola to the east, the first mountaineering team to do so, the team moved west into an unnamed valley, found their peak, and climbed the south ridge to a point 400 m below, but some distance from, the summit. They were told locally that the peak was named Rokapi, but many years later it became apparent they had reached 6400 m on Jethi Bahurani (6850 m). This high peak was eventually climbed in spring 1978 by Japanese, who also operated under the guise of ‘Nampa South’. They were not so lucky with the authorities; the leader was banned from Nepal for five years once the true summit was known.

In 1977 another British team planned to attempt the 1974 expedition’s Nampa South, but this time from the opposite side. They ended up climbing what is now known as Rokapi. The eightman team approached from the Rokapi khola to the northwest, establishing a base camp towards the end of September at 3800 m. Despite being slightly epic in character, the ascent of the mountain—a 13-day alpine-style traverse—remains an impressive if littleknown achievement for the era. With only the leader, Dick Godfrey, left in base camp, Tom Herley and Kelvin McLane climbed the westsouthwest ridge, over a fore summit they named the Meringue, to the main top. Then, returning to the col before the Meringue, they cut back north and descended the northwest face. At one point on the ascent, they were avalanched about 150 m, while on the descent both fell between 12 and 25 m over an icen cliff. They had no food for four days, and on the last two, suffered many hallucinations. Godfrey and the liaison officer, having given the two up for dead, were just on the point of leaving when Herley and McLean staggered into base camp.

Chobutse, Nepal

First ascent of northwest face

Between 28 and 30 October 2021, Slovenian alpinists Nejc Marčič and Luka Stražar succeeded in making the alpine-style first ascent on a new 1700 m route on the north-west face of Chobutse (6680 m) above the Rolwaling Valley in Nepal, which they named Slovenian Direct, ED, M5, AI5.

This mountain was first climbed in 1972 via the north-east ridge by the Germans Wolfgang Weinzierl, Peter Vogler, Gustav and Klaus Harder. In 2015, Mingma Gyalje Sherpa made an impressive solo ascent of the west face, while Slovenian mountaineers now made the first ascent via the north-west face.

Stražar and Marčič left Slovenia at the beginning of October with Marko Prezelj and Matija Volontar. After acclimatizing, Stražar and Marčič climbed the mountain’s north-west face from 28 to 30 October.

The initial slopes were in good condition so they were able to advance fast at the start. Unexpectedly they encountered steep climbing in the lower part of the face. They had to rappel one pitch due to poorer conditions and find a new passage on some thin ice. They found steep, exposed climbing in the central part. On the first day they found a bivy spot in a steep terrain without any decent ledges. On the second and third day the ascent was accompanied by low temperatures and strong winds, creating frequent spindrift. The second bivy was made in a crevasse some 500 m below the summit. To avoid the confusion due to small height difference, they climbed both the Central and the East summit of the mountain. Descending from the west side they reached the base camp on the evening of the third day. Prezelj and Volontar for their part attempted a line up the mountain’s south face, but were forced to turn back due to the high winds.

Chamlang, Mahalangur Himal, Nepal

Chamlang, north face, A l’Ombre du Mensonge; Hongku Chuli, southwest ridge

On 4 October, six French alpinists—Charles Dubouloz, Damien and Fanny Tomasi, Aurélien Vaissière, Benjamin Védrines and Symon Welfringer—arrived at the 4970 m base camp in the Hinku valley below the north face of Chamlang (7319 m). In 2019, Védrines had attempted the unclimbed north pillar and then climbed the northeast couloir to a 7240 m fore summit on the east ridge of Chamlang. He was now back with Dubouloz for the main affair, a new direct route up the north face. The other four climbers would attempt the north pillar.

Dubouloz and Védrines spent 1-3 October climbing and sleeping on Mera Peak (6470 m). From then until the 9th, when they slept at a previously placed camp below the face, they either rested at base or cached gear at this higher camp, on one day climbing over the bergschrund to check snow conditions on the north face and leaving a rope fixed (a good precaution, as it happened, because by the time they made their attempt, the crevasse had opened considerably).

Leaving on the morning of the 10th, the pair simul-climbed the first 300 m of the face (55-65° snow) and then pitched more difficult ground between 6000 m and 6400 m, finding the climbing much steeper than they had envisaged. They bivouacked to the left of what would prove the crux section and spent a fairly miserable night due to heavy spindrift.

Next morning, they made a rappel to reach the start of the 200 m crux section and climbed through it over thinly iced terrain (WI5+ M5+), bivouacking just above at 6700 m. According to Védrines, this was the worst night of his life, as spindrift constantly tried to collapse the tent and came through the walls and into his sleeping bag. The pair had very little sleep. They experienced no wind while climbing the lower and middle sections, but in the upper part found mostly continuous 30-40km/hour westerlies, which funnelled spindrift down the north face.

On the 12th they found the upper slopes less sustained (45-50°) and in good condition. At first, they pitched but then climbed unroped, stopping only to belay two mixed pitches of M4 and M5. After eventually joining the last section of the 2019 Hák-Holoček route, UFO, on the northwest face, they arrived on Chamlang’s summit at 3:00 p.m. in strong wind.

Moving fast, the pair descended to a bivouac at 6600 m on the west ridge by 4:30 p.m. The following day they climbed unroped down the west ridge, finding it sharp in sections. Passing old fixed ropes and a section of rotten rock, the pair eventually reached grass and then a path bringing them back to base camp, where they arrived at around 1:30 p.m. They named the route A l’Ombre du Mensonge (In the Shadow of Lies, ca 1,600 m, ED WI5+ M5+ 90°, with around 10 sustained pitches of this technical grade in the crux section).

Meanwhile, the other four French had reached a 6100 m camp on the plateau below the north pillar, but had found too much snow for a safe attempt. Instead, they chose to try Hongku Chuli’s southwest ridge. On the morning of the attempt, while packing without wearing gloves, Welfringer badly injured his thumb when a tent pole snapped. After some debate, the four descended to base camp.

On the 15th, with all other climbers resting in base camp, and knowing that bad weather, promising one metre of fresh snow, was on its way, Védrines decided to solo the southwest ridge of Hongku Chuli (6833 m). This mountain is officially unclimbed but may possibly have been ascended from the north in 1952 by the Evans-Hillary-Shipton expedition (the 1954 Hillary expedition climbed Hongku Chuli West from the north), and since by unauthorized parties. The southwest ridge, however, was more than likely unclimbed, although it had been attempted in November 2019 by the German guide Luis Stitzinger and his client, Manuel Moeller, who turned back 300 m below the summit, having climbed 12-15 pitches to their highpoint along an exposed snow ridge with several gendarmes and occasional rock sections. Védrines was able to use his fellow team member’s tracks on the 300 m west-northwest face of the 6070 m col that gives access to the plateau below the northeast side of Chamlang (M3+ in lower section), and in this way quickly reach the start of the ridge.

Above the col, Védrines found mixed ground on the ridge and then a prominent rock section (III). Beyond another col was a beautiful sharp snow arête with a few mixed steps, which led to a 300 m-long plateau. Above this were sections of 40°, before he reached the summit and splendid views of the surrounding peaks.

Lacking in energy, Védrines began to doubt he could descend the way he had come, and he tried to inspect the west-northwest ridge. As he couldn’t see the lower section of this ridge, he returned by his ascent route, and fortunately his strength improved as he lost height and the downclimb proved less difficult than anticipated. The team left base camp on the 16th.

From information provided by Rodolphe Popier, Himalayan Database, France.

Barunstse, Nepal

West face of Baruntse, 1800 m route ABO+(M6+/VI+/80°) ‘Heavenly trap’

Marek Holeček and Radoslav Groh attempted the giant Baruntse, 7129 m, in the Hunku valley of Nepal in May 2021. After a 15-day trek they established base camp at around 6000 m. Marek wrote “The unique, sculptural Baruntse, filled the entire horizon leaving no doubt as to who was the master here”.

On 21 May they packed gear and food for six days and immediately set off for the glacier. The first bivouac was just below the start, hidden under an overhanging protective serac. The following day, they found hard ice in the lower parts which often changed to mixed sections. “No wonder, as the west face has undergone a major change in the last drought years, when lots of snow and ice have melted off the cliffs. Only the hardest shell has remained, withstanding the significant temperature fluctuations.”

They continued to ascend slowly. After ten hours spending on the tips of crampons and hammering with ice axes, which had been bouncing off the glass-hard ice, they dug a small platform into a ridge of solid frozen snow. The bivouac involved sitting all night and hanging on a rope. Marek said, “Ráďa, we need to catch up tomorrow. ‘The tangled bundle crouching next to him‘ replied: "Don’t worry, Mára, we will make it."

The weather was good on the 23rd. All day they thrashed ice axes in hard ice, climbing from one groove to another separated by ribs of unpacked soft snow. The climbing was monotonously tiring and dangerous. That night the bivvy was comfortable—a snow rib formed by wind and frost.

On the 24th was the most difficult passage of the ascent—a 250 m barrier of broken rock. The progress slowed down to a snail’s pace as the weather got worse. Managing another 70 m in heavy snowfall, the eternal search for a bivvy spot began. Fortunately, a rocky promontory jutting out over the valley and exactly matching the size of their tent helped build an airy bivouac. The weather continued its deterioration and was expected to worsen over the next few days.

The next morning dawned cloudy but there was no choice but to climb the ridge. The two reached the top of Baruntse at around 4:00 p.m. completely frozen and covered with hoarfrost. The two climbers managed to descend a bit and pitch tent. With the darkness came strong winds, pouring snow until dawn when the tent stopped moving—the wind continued to rage, but the tent was completely buried in snow and turned into an igloo, creating a claustrophobic space that they had to break out of.

On 26th morning, they moved the whole tent a few metres further from the new pile of snow. All around, was white darkness preventing them from any attempt to descend. “Even those few minutes outside the tent seem like eternity. The cold enhanced by the wind soon penetrates our wet-clad bodies. Then it takes hours in the sleeping bag for the body shivering to subside and the feeling of warmth to appear. Later, we lie next to each other all day without saying any words, with heavy thoughts wandering in our heads, that we better keep each for himself. In the next three days no change for better is on the horizon. On the contrary, it will get harder on Friday. The idea of lying in the wet sleeping bags for 72 hours without being able to make a single step arises in our minds. Not to mention that we are lost on a ridge which is seven thousand high and in places as sharp as a knife, with slopes falling deeper than a kilometre to each side. At night the wind comes again, then it changes into a hurricane and completely covers our tent with more new snow.“

Seven days after they left the glacier, at around 10:00 a.m. the wind began to calm down and the thick fog seemed to dissolve. Hastily packing the tent, expecting to descend at least a little lower, Mara discovered that visibility was zero and they were on a dangerous ridge with a horrible descent ahead. Rada and he argued briefly. Descending a few tens of metres, they pitched the tent anew and crawled into that scary tomb again. This time for two days and two nights with little and finally no food and zero energy.

Finally on 29 May the weather calmed down slightly and they could descend 1000 m along the sharp ridge that fell steeply into the valley. Nightfall forced the ninth bivouac for the duo. Mara managed to call for a helicopter rescue and they hoped they would be lucky.

On 30 May, they were finally picked off the western face of Baruntse.

In Marek’s words, “We are rising along the western mountain face which has been our home for ten days. I am watching the places that are deeply imprinted in my memory and at the same time I‘m glad that I am moving away every second. I am alive and finally I can afford to ease up my emotions. I feel the joy of an accomplished dream, wave of fatigue, onset of pain throbbing in my frostbitten fingers. The machine is floating like a dragonfly in the mid-air right in the heart of the Himalayas, past Amadablam, Lhotse, Everest, Pumori, Kusum Kanguru and other beautiful peaks all over the horizon. Suddenly, I see those thirty five days that we have gone through here. The pilot moves over them in 30 minutes and we are already landing in Lukla, where the whole run had begun. Just before landing, I turn to Ráďa, trying to shout over the booming noise of the rotor…“Thanks, Radek, you were great again.”

They called the 1800 m route ABO+(M6+/VI+/80°) on the west face of Baruntse Heavenly trap'. They have dedicated the route to their friends Petr Machold and Kuba Vaněk who got lost on this mountain face eight years ago.

 

 

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Ladakh is the ever-fascinating land of high mountains and desolate windswept passes. Located strategically at the crossroads of high Asia, it is also a land mired in great chivalry, mystique travel, and high adventure. Since times immemorial explorers, travellers, traders, kings, and their armies along with hardy inhabitants of this region have crisscrossed this great land and shaped its history through the ages. Also known as Maryul or Little Tibet, Ladakh in the Trans Himalaya region of the Indian sub-continent has always had a character, much different from Tibet. Towards the latter part of the nineteenth century, Ladakh had a healthy intermixing of the population, resulting in a good number of Arghons¹. This was a result of the frequent movement of travellers and caravans from Central Asia and other regions, which moved north-south and east-west, with many of them settling down in Leh, which was the epicentre of this region. Folklore was born here, often centering around the travels of many chivalrous Ladakhis who accompanied these caravans to distant lands in Central Asia and beyond, over difficult terrain and challenging conditions, often in search of better prospects of earning a better livelihood and a handsome remuneration. Some also accompanied many sahibs of the time, who were out on missions, playing the Great Game. One such intrepid Ladakhi explorer, who was universally acclaimed as one of the finest of this time in the latter half of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth century, was Ghulam Rassul Galwan.

Ghulam Rassul Galwan was born in Leh in 1878 into a poor Pathan family. His great grand-father was Kara (black) Galwan, a reputed clever robber of the time, known to rob the rich². He was eventually apprehended and hanged by the Maharaja. Fearing reprisal by the Maharaja many members of the Galwan clan fled from Kashmir to India and other places³.

Rassul’s grandfather Mahmut Galwan, who was head of the family, initially fled to Baltistan. Subsequently he moved to Leh with three brothers, two sisters and a Balti wife, where Rassul’s mother was born to one of the brothers of Mahmut Galwan.

Rassul Galwan’s mother Mariam was brought up by one of the brothers Gaffor who was married to her cousin, Shukur Galwan⁴. Lured with the prospect of becoming rich, Shukur went to Yarkand, but eventually remarried and settled there⁵. Mariam then married Ibrahim and bore four children, a girl, and three boys, one of whom was Rassul. His father was not a Galwan but Rassul took his mother’s maiden name.

Rassul grew up in Leh and had an eventful upbringing, under the direct tutelage of a strict and dominating but kind mother. As a young boy, he helped his mother in household chores such as collecting dung and running errands. Along with his friends, he also climbed ‘high places to collect tsafat growing in rocks’. During this time, he learnt to sustain himself by learning to live on sattu (mixed grainflour, mostly barley), making water from snow, as also by making his tracks on mountains. A young Rassul thus learnt life lessons early and was not intimidated by the harsh mountain environment. In fact, he later learned to revel in them, as he gained more experience and came of age.

At a young age, Rassul expressed his great desire to learn, both to read and write. But Leh in those days had no schools. Being a poor wheat winnowing woman’s son, he could ill afford a private teacher. In 1887, the Moravian Mission School opened in Leh and Rassul put in extra effort to learn reading and accounting. He was less fluent in writing, a fact that he lamented all his life. He could speak a number of languages including Ladakhi, Turki, English, Kashmiri, Hindustani, Chinese and Tibetan, which always helped him in in tricky situations.

Rassul began his extraordinary journey by measuring wheat and barley which he did at a very young age for the Kutedar in Leh. His honesty, ability and hard work were soon recognized and appreciated and he continued to work for the merchant for a number of years, even between his journeys to and fro, from Leh.

His first actual journey was to the Kashmir valley, as a young help to Dr Trall, who was carrying out a medical study. After returning from Kashmir, where he earned Rs 40, he aspired to travel more, especially to Yarkand, of which he had heard much in the Leh bazaar.

In 1890, a twelve-year-old Rassul got his first major break, when he accompanied Captain Francis Younghusband on his journey to Yarkand. Captain Younghusband was tasked by the British to explore the physical and ascertain the geo-political affairs of the region of Pamirs and Central Asia, including East Turkistan⁶.

Rassul was part of this journey as a young helper and a sais and thus began his extraordinary life, as a young explorer. For the first time, he walked over the desolate Depsang Plains, the mighty Karakoram Pass, and after an eventful journey reached Yarkand on 21 August 1890. While Younghusband proceeded with his onward journey to the Pamirs, Rassul because of his reliability, was entrusted with a personal post by Younghusband which had to be delivered to the British Joint Commission at Leh. In fact, so impressed was Younghusband with Rassul’s conduct, that on his return from his journey, he offered him reservice.

From the 19^th century onward strategic maneuvering by the great powers of the day began in Central Asia around 1830, which was called the ‘Great Game’⁷. The two main players of the game were the British and the Russian empires, who diplomatically and politically confronted and jostled with each other, with the purpose of exerting influence and gaining space in the region, as also furthering their presence and national interests in Afghanistan and Central Asia, where boundaries of nations were still not clearly defined. This led to a series of missions by the military and other officers of Russia and Britain, to gain more strategic space and influence. Sahibs of the British Government embarked on journeys in this region, where they were greatly assisted by sons of the soil; native guides and explorers like Ghulam Rassul Galwan, who made such forays possible.

In 1892, Lieutenant Colonel Lord Adolphus Charles Murray the 7^th Earl of Dunmore or Viscount Fincastle who was a Scotsman, along with Major Roche undertook a challenging journey through Kashmir, Western Tibet, Chinese Tartary and Central Asia. He reached Kashgar in December 1892. His long journey took him over many rivers and passes. Rassul was the sais with him during this journey, in which Lord Dunmore preferred to travel mostly on foot or horseback. The purpose of the journey seemed espionage and diplomacy to make visible and further the interest of the British empire.

On this long journey from India to Yarkand, Pamirs, Murghabbi, and beyond, Rassul Galwan and other brave and hardy Ladakhis, because of their conduct earned the respect of their sahibs. Lord Dunmore recorded:

It will ill become of me to close this preface without paying a just tribute of praise to those excellent hand working Ladakhis headed by Ramzan Ali, who formed the personnel of the caravan and accompanied the expedition on foot for 2,200 miles, crossing 69 rivers and 41 mountain passes, many of them being among the highest in the world⁸.

The ingenuity of Rassul while looking after the sahibs, his deft handling of awkward and sensitive situations such as while dealing with the Chinese, Kirghiz tribesmen, Russians, crossing of high passes, camping skills, etc. came to fore as also his outstanding qualities of loyalty, courage and fortitude, which earned him and his fellow Ladakhis, the respect of Lord Dunmore who subsequently recorded in his paper read before the Royal Geographical Society:

A better set of men, hardier, more willing, I have never met with.

During this difficult journey of Lord Dunmore in Aksai Chin, the expeditionary caravan lost its way in a valley and was beset with a sense of gloom. Young Rassul Galwan rose to the occasion by using his mountain sense and experience to successfully guide the caravan across the difficult narrow valley to safety. Lord Dunmore was deeply impressed by Rassul Galwan and christened the valley as the Galwan valley and the river as Galwan nullah⁹. It was perhaps for the first time, that a physical feature had been named after a native by the ruling British dispensation.

As we know today, the near 80km long Galwan nala flows east to west in Eastern Ladakh and joins the Shyok River near Mandaltang. Originating from the Samzungling heights in Aksai Chin, to the south and the southeast flow the Chang Chenmo and the Kugrang river valleys respectively, while to the north and northwest lie the Karakash and the Chip Chap rivers in the Depsang plains. The Galwan valley gives access to Aksai Chin from the Shyok valley. In all likelihood, this route might have been used as an alternate trade or a backup route or for movement between Ladakh and Tibet, albeit sparingly.

Over the years Ghulam Rassul Galwan accompanied many sahibs, in their exploratory travels and missions to Central Asia, the Pamirs, Karakoram, Tibet and Kashmir often for long durations. While Leh was his home, he spent considerable time in Yarkand, Kashghar, Shahidula and Khotan, as also in the Tarim Basin, Taklamakan Desert and other adjoining regions. Over the years, as he matured and grew older, because of his vast experience, gentlemanly conduct, sincerity of purpose and above all unflinching loyalty, Rassul Galwan become one of the foremost and most sought-after Bashi of his time, with an outstanding spoken reputation.

In 1900, twenty-two-year Rassul Galwan participated in another major expedition. This was a journey undertaken to the heart of Central Asia by two Britishers, PW Church, and EL Phelps. In this eventful journey, Rassul’s mountain travel skills, leadership, handling of ponies, and dealing with the Chinese came to fore. He was also exposed to the hunting skills of the sahibs for the first time. This difficult journey which was planned from Pamir on to Baltistan, Rastkan, Mustagh Pass and then on to Baltistan, culminated in their reaching the Mustagh Pass¹⁰. The guide and three Balti porters, failed to reach the pass. Walking on the glaciated terrain with great objective dangers was an exhilarating experience for Rassul. On this journey, he was mesmerized by the sight of a mountain that the Baltis called Masher-Brum, but which as per Captain Francis Younghusband was K2.

Rassul’s description of K2 without knowing the name of the mountain was as follows:

To the east was a very tall glaciers-mountain; very steep, covered much ice. That looked much beautiful. Top that mountains, always see over it a hat of cloud¹¹.

Rassul, along with Mr Phelps and Mr Church reached the Mustagh pass. They were the second team to reach the pass after Captain Francis Younghusband¹². On this journey, Rassul drank Brandy for the first time to keep warm and enjoyed the experience.

In 1895, within days of his second marriage, Rassul was appointed as the ‘actual’ Bashi, although Razak Akhun his colleague was earlier appointed as the Caravan Bashi of the Littledale Expedition to Central Asia¹³. This was to one of the longest journeys to be undertaken by Rassul Galwan, which lasted for nearly fifteen months including six
months of desert travel. The expedition was led by St George Royds.

Littledale and was accompanied by his wife Teresa Harris, his 25-year-old nephew WAL Fletcher and their terrier. They had seven Ladakhis, including Rassul and three Pathan sepoys. Littledale’s plan was to reach the forbidden city of Lhasa, undetected. He made an audacious plan to reach Lhasa from the north. After crossing the Tien Shan to Kashgar, they reached Cherchen, from where they crossed the Great Chang Thang plateau to the south. After crossing many rivers, nalas, valleys and mountain passes like the Akka Tagh, they reached the holy lake of Tengri Nor. After a few days, they crossed another 20,000 feet pass but when they were just 46 miles (a two days’ march or one day on good ponies) short of Lhasa, they were intercepted by the Tibetan Army. They were made to turn back after camping in the Goring valley. Although they could not reach Lhasa, the intention and message of the British Government of India was conveyed to the Deva Jung through the Mirpundtungaur.

They returned to Ladakh, moving outside the border of Tibet travelling west, after crossing Tsacha chu, travelling two hundred miles, via Bhangba, Ghirsa, Senkor, Rudok and Sushul (Chushul) ¹⁴. The epic journey for Rassul did not end at Leh, as soon after spending one day and night at home after fifteen months, he along with Hussin left for Kashmir to see off Mr and Mrs Litteldale. Mrs Litteldale, who had been unwell since being in the Goring valley, wanted Rassul to accompany them as she looked on Rassul as her son.

On his return from Kashmir, he crossed the hazardous Zoji-La pass in winter, traditionally never crossed at this time of the year. This too was a heroic achievement, which Rassul took in his stride.

In the early 1900s he accompanied Prof Roland Burrage Dixon, an American cultural anthropologist and Harvard graduate, who conducted cultural studies in the Himalayas. He also accompanied Filippo D Fillippi, an Italian doctor and zoologist of fame, who travelled to Ladakh in 1914 to conduct a comprehensive scientific expedition, including a complete survey of Depsang plains and exploration of the Rimo glacier. Undoubtedly, it is the breed of men like Ghulam Rassul, who made such journeys of sahibs successful because of their courage, experience and knowledge of the area.

Rassul’s longest journey was yet to come. In 1923, he was handpicked by the BJC and assigned as the caravan Bashi with Robert LeMoyne Barret during his two-year travel, fourteen of which were in the saddle, in the rugged terrain of Ladakh and Baltistan¹⁵. Although this sahib appeared to be a poor man, once committed, Rassul served him with full dedication and honour, meticulously planning all aspects of his caravan travel over a partially familiar, but nevertheless very challenging terrain. He won the trust and admiration of the ‘elder’ sahib, over the accompanying ‘young’ sahib servant, who had been specifically brought for his journey.

It was during the course of this journey, that Rassul became friends with Robert who encouraged Rassul to learn English, until he was good enough to write a book. It was here that Rassul’s autobiography was conceived. In one of his many letters to his wife Katherine Lee Barrett, Robert wrote:

Rassul’s manners are perfect: the most polished gentleman could do no more than equal them. He is a very good person, and a father to his men. He is a very black, very handsome man, graceful in all his movements, his smile most charming. His voice is the sweetest man’s voice I ever heard. The woman lives not who would not fall in love at first sight, but his standard of morals is very high. The women are afraid of him as of a saint¹⁶.

Ghulam Rassul Galwan was an epitome of a gentlemen. He was a simple god-fearing Mussalman, who believed in god and universal goodness of mankind. His simple philosophy is personified, in his song:

The sun gave from east. It is God’s kindly.
Four side round made bright. It is power almighty.
On poor boy look kindness.
On poor Rassul look kindness always.
Rassul not have work or money.
By kindly God get humble business.
If gave God, He not look
If wise or simple, He not care If big or little.¹⁷

Rassul Galwan, as he aged, became a much sought-after caravan Bashi. As a young boy he found his calling in the mountains. Being a poor women’s son, while the financial remuneration for his services rendered was important to Rassul, he was equally enthralled and deeply enamored by the prospect of seeing new lands and countries.

Ghulam Rassul was a caring family man. Although he married twice, having lost his first wife to sickness, he always looked after his mother. Despite long journeys and the fact that he was offered to settle down in the prosperous city of Yarkand, on the main Asian Silk Route, Rassul always longed to get back home to his wife and mother, in Leh. He was a man of high morals, which didn’t go unnoticed by his sahibs!

Towards the end of their journey, Mrs Teresa Litteldale complimented the multi-talented Rassul thus:

Rassul are a table-boy, and shikari and caravan bashi,
interpreter and clerk, and, with telling lie,
bringing good luck for ourself, and are doctor and tailor¹⁸.

Ghulam Rassul Galwan at forty-five years of age became the Aksakal of Ladakh, that is the Chief Native Assistant to the BJC of Ladakh. The Aksakal of Leh passed away in 1928, at a young age of 47 due to natural causes, leaving behind two sons. He rests in peace in the Muslim cemetery in Leh. The Galwans even today continue to live in Leh, with his grandson Ammin Galwan continuing the family legacy.

In the annals of Ladakh’s history, Ghulam Rassul Galwan is a name which will always evoke deep respect and reverence. He was one of India’s foremost explorers and a leader who earned deep respect from the sahibs and the goodwill of his comrades, in the challenging geo political environment of Central Asia and Tibet.

As long as the mountains of Ladakh stand tall, the passes high and the valleys pristine, the legend of Ghulam Rassul Galwan, will always reverberate and inspire one and all.

Summary

The story of Ghulam Rassul Galwan, one of the greatest and most intrepid Ladakhi explorers, He was universally acclaimed as one of the finest of this time in the latter half of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth century.

 

 

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Our clear objectives were: to observe the location of Gimme bank and the snout point from where the Kalpaganga emerges, and finally to locate and cross an unnamed col on Vishnu Garh dhar negotiating the northeastern section of Gimme bank. After crossing the col, we planned to exit through Nilkantha Khal on Dhamling dhar which extended parallel to Vishnu Garh dhar and could have led us to Badrinath finally.

We reached Kedar Kalpeshwar on 1 Oct 2021 after a 12-hour journey from Dehradun through Helang. Geographically Vishnu Garh dhar holds prime importance as it is bounded by Panpatia glacier to its north, Alakananda valley to its east, Gimme and Kalapani glacier region to its south and Madmaheshwar valley to its west.

A lack of documented journeys through Kalpaganga valley was a major obstacle I faced while planning this route. The veteran Bengali trekker and eminent author, Biman Bihari Kahali had embarked on a journey in August 1994 from Badrinath to Kalpeshwar by crossing Nilkantha Khal 4581 m and Matpatta dhal 4730 m on Vishnu Garh dhar. He thus completed his sojourn in ten days. Our route was not through Matpatta region; we planned to move to the end of the Kalpaganga valley along the upstream of Kalpaganga and enter Gimme bank region.

I found a report of a climb by the eminent British mountaineer Martin Moran, who reached Gimme bank during May 2016 through Bansi Narayan, a dissected flank of Achaari dhar, which is on the Western flank of Kalpaganga valley. The Indo-British team led by Francis Blunt comprising Adele Pennington, and Martin Moran along with Heera Singh and Mangal Singh climbed an icefall at the head of northern section of Gimme bank which led them to 5360 m Gimme Khal. They had to descend from the Col before commencing the P-5968 m climb. The team summited on 21 May 2016 and named it Vishnu Killa, the highest point in Vishnu Garh dhar¹. Another British expedition comprising Robin Bennie, Steve Brown, and others had climbed from Panpatia side at the eastern end of Vishnu Garh dhar and named the peak P 5919, as Lakshmi’s Peak in 2000².

Yet another British-India expedition with Susan Jensen and Anindya Mukherjee came to climb few unclimbed peaks in the Vishnu Garh dhar range during 2016, almost at the same time of Martin’s expedition. They intended to explore some of the cirques at the head of the tributary glaciers, south of Panpatia glacier. But a sudden unfortunate illness restricted the team in doing so³.

In 2017, a team of 10 climbers and three support staff led by Martin Moran explored the Kalapani glacier region on the west of Achaari Dhar and to the southern section of Vishnu Garh Dhar range. The team climbed two peaks P 5685 and P 5700 at the head of Kalapani glacier and named them as Rukmini Parvat and Radha Parvat respectively⁴.

It was evening and we were moving towards Devgram after crossing Layari and Barigenda villages. We stopped at Barigenda for permits but as the local forest office denied us permits as they didn’t have any information regarding our planned route. Left with no alternative, we moved ahead towards Kalpeshwar/ Joshimath to meet the DFO. Although a national holiday, all the forest officials were present and finally issued permits for the IMF approved period. By afternoon we returned to Kalpeshwar to search for local porters. We had three already but needed them to negotiate the extremely dense forest on both sides of Kalpaganga and also to share 14 days’ worth, 200 kgs of ration, fuel and equipment.

The local porters would be released once the forest was crossed. Now we were a team of 10 comprising three trekkers, six porters and one technical support, ready to embark on the route and to find a depression of 5080 m on Vishnu Garh dhar at the head of the North Eastern section of Gimme Bank.

On 4 Oct 2021 we moved along the true right bank of river Kalpaganga towards north west following its upstream Kalpeshwar Mahadev temple remained on the true left bank of the river. Initially the route was wide after which the vegetation began to get dense. After a couple of hours we crossed river Kalpaganga over tree logs. We then moved along the left bank of the river in dense untrodden forest.

On looking back, I had distant views of Nandadevi and Trishul. We moved through high grass, nettle and bamboo forests. It began to rain and we found ourselves in front of a large natural cave, spacious enough for an emergency camp. We took shelter for a bit and about eight hours after setting out, we camped at a place locally known as Kachgola at 2600 m.

They next morning dawned a clear sky. Within half an hour we came down to the river bed. An hour later we again entered a dense uphill forest. And another hour later, we crossed a stream named in the map as Garphura gad rushing downwards to Kalpaganga. We camped at Garphura (2890 m), with its oak trees offering shade. We had to cross Kalpaganga again the next day. We dropped a few thick logs to make a safe crossing. Our faithful dog Bholu (who had taken to us from Day 1) was a little hesitant but we waited until he crossed. Another river crossing came up; the river was too wide here so we ferried loads by rope. Unfortunately, it was too wide for Bholu who valiantly tried but then stared at us, standing on a boulder in the river.

An uphill walk led us to Ishwar thela from where we took a left turn into a rhododendron forest and a steep downhill trek to the bank of a nala rushing towards Kalpaganga. This nala is locally named as Rao gad or Rio gad. We had to cross this through knee-high water level. This was the last river crossing before the col. We crossed Rao gad and an uphill trek led us to a less dense pine forest, named Chakka at 3350 m. We went a little ahead to have a glimpse of next day’s route. It was through head-high vegetation. We could also observe that the valley was gradually opening up and Kalpaganga was gentler. Kalpaganga after emerging out from Gimme Bank, initially flows as Hirnavati or Hiranyavati, till Chaka after which it takes the name Kalpaganga rushing towards Alkananda to meet near Helong. So, at this time we will refer to the river as Hirnavati.

We started early on 7 Oct morning to reach the moraine zone of Gimme Bank at the earliest and to have a recce of the next day’s route. It would soon be time to release the local porters. Leaving the tall pine trees behind we started moving towards the river bed. An initial steep descent through forest brought us to a comparatively plain land. After half an hour we started ascending again on boulders. After two and half hours, we took a sharp turn right, keeping a gentle green slope of Achhari Dhar on our left on the opposite side of Hirnavati. After a steep ascent, we stepped on to a kind of pasture full of yellow grass. It took five hours to reach Lalmati 3876 m. from Chakka.

Straight on, two parallel moraine ridges extended in a crescent shape towards north; the distance between those two ridges was not less than 300 m in any section of Gimme Bank. Although Gimme Bank snout was not visible, we were very close to that. River Hirnavati while dancing down through the valley floor, split into a few narrow streams to again join with the main course below Lalmati. This was the Hirnavati river basin.

The now shrunken team of seven finally started moving ahead aiming the crescent shaped moraine ridge on the true left bank of the Gimme glacier. We already had touched 4000 m and were moving in parallel with vast moraine region of Gimme Bank on our left and the snout point of Gimme Bank opened up giving birth to Hirnavati and the clouds were engulfing the valley gradually. We found brahma kamals at 4353 m. We continued northwards through a zone of very unstable boulders and an hour later we were at Gimme Bank camp (4400 m).

It was a sunny morning on Day 6 and the white thick blanket was lifted from Vishnu Garh dhar. There was a huge icefall one km ahead of our camp, with a peak on each side, both around 5900 m, creating a beautiful depression known as Gimme khal (5360 m) negotiating which Martin Moran had approached P 5968.

On 9 Oct, we decided to find the feasibility of establishing next camp and ferry loads. On 10 Oct we moved up—the ridge was steep and some sections tricky, full of loose boulders. We came to the top of another parallel moraine ridge. This was also had the same crescent shape that we saw at our previous camp. A two-hour trek led us to a zone between a triangle-shaped peak and a dome-shaped peak. Our targeted depression was clearly visible. The impenetrable vertical rock wall of Vishnu Garh dhar on our left fell directly to the glacier bed. We continued through the crevassed glacier and established glacier camp 2 at 4800 m (coordinates - 30° 38’ 00.25” N, 79° 24’ 08.56” E).

I observed that a number of rocky knobs guarded the northern section of Vishnu Garh dhar and four prominent gullies in between those knobs extended up to the col. Near the gullies, the appearance of a long extended wide bergshrund, creating an apparent impediment, was also clear. Thick wide afternoon clouds soon barred any further visuals.

We pondered over which gully we should move on the next day. In accordance with the plan, Naresh was sent for a recce of the gully the next day. In three hours, he returned with news that the wide bergschrund was dry and safe. Winding up camp 2, we started our final approach at 6:30 a.m. the next day. We anchored ourselves and descended one at a time a few feet into the dried bergschrund and climbed to the opposite side which was more than five m high. Within an hour from our camp, we crossed the bergschrund safely. But from now onwards it was a difficult climb till the col and more than 200 m jumaring. We started negotiating a scree zone at nearly 8.30 am very cautiously as small rocks fell incessantly from the top of the slope. The last 150 m or so till the col were strenuous—steep enough but safe. On, 12 Oct 2021 at 10:30 a.m. the entire team reached the top of the col. The GPS read the coordinate as 30° 38’ 10.40” N, 79° 24’ 15.72” E and altitude showed as 5081 m. From the top there was

a smooth downward slope and then a beautiful small rectangular snowfield which gradually went downwards without any sharp drop. It was a blissful moment for the entire team that Vishnu Garh dhar at last allowed us on its crest which was hitherto untouched.

In the north was a glorious panorama of the Central Garhwal Peaks (L to R) Narayan Parvat (5965 m), Chamrao Parvat (6940 m), P 6775 m, P 6910 m, P 6760 m, Mukut Parvat I (7242 m), Mukut Parvat II (7130 m), Kamet (7756 m), Mana NW (7092 m), Mana (7272 m), P 6977 m, Devban (6855 m), Bidhan (6520 m), Nar Parvat (5855 m), Nilgiri (6474 m), Rataban (6166 m) and many more. The presence of Nilkantha khal (4581 m) towards NE was identifiable on Dhamling dhar which extended parallel to Vishnu Garh dhar. Towards the southwest from the col, was a sharp drop of almost 150 m. The far distant view reflected Achhari dhar, Manpai dhar, Rudranathania dhar; extending parallel to each other and meeting with Vishnu Garh dhar. Towards the east was the rear part of the dome shaped peak (P 5250) and towards the west, a slope came down from Lakshmi peak (P 5919). The point of depression where we stood, was between P 5919 P-5250 (dome-shaped peak). Beyond that, towards the far west, an uncountable number of ridges extended towards the horizon.

We named the col as Hirnavati col, perfoming a pooja before we left. We roped up and started descending on a smooth gradient and stepped into a glacier. The glacier though crevassed, had high snow deposition and so we didn’t have any difficulties. We were gradually turning towards east. A river named Bangthela gad emerged. Keeping it on our left, we entered a boulder strewn valley and camped after a trek of 12 hours.

According to the plan, we were to move towards Nilkantha khal (4581 m) on Dhamling dhar, and cross over—a route which could have led us to Badrinath. This route might have required five more camps as we would have to reach the confluence of Bangthela gad and Khirao nala, which was far and through a dense forest belt. It was already 12 Oct and we had weather clearance until 15 Oct 2021. Hence we had to reach the roadhead, by then. So, we decided to exit via the Khirao nala route.

We left camp and crossed a stream which was rushing down somewhere from top of the left side spur and was decent wide, though we crossed it comfortably over the boulders. Finally, seven hours later we reached the next camp.

Next morning, we started moving northward towards the confluence of Bangthela gad and Khirao nala. A distance of 500 m took more than two hours to reach as the river bed was stony. We rested at the beautiful confluence for an hour before another difficult move through the forest.

We should have been on the true left bank of Khirao nala but it was uncrossable at that point. After finding a crossing, we camped hoping to reach the village the following day. Moving through Khirao village and another village named Benakuli (2429 m), we crossed a bridge over Alakananda which meets with Khirao nala at Benakuli and thus concluded our journey from Kalpaganga to Alakananda valley.

Summary

A team consisting of Prasenjit Roy, leader, Debasish Acharyya, deputy leader, Shubhabrata Sen, Naresh Kumar, Adesh Negi, Jagbir Panwar and Nitin Negi crossed a hitherto untrodden col to connect Kalpaganga to the Alakananda valley.

 

 

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River Zamtu of the Zumthul Phuk 1 valley, North Sikkim is an important feeder of the Teesta river. However, this valley is relatively unknown as it remained unexplored until recent years. In 2014, Anindya Mukherjee and his team made the first successful traverse of Zumthul Phuk gorge. In May 2022, Mukherjee led another exploratory expedition into this glacier system and documented the formation of a sizable lake on the glacier. In this article, Mukherjee describes the expedition while Dr Nilanjan Patra studies the existing scientific data on the glacier lakes of the Eastern Himalaya that shows a rapid growth of the water bodies in recent years. Through remote sensing data, Dr Patra has noted that the Zumthul Phuk glacial lake is one of the newly formed lakes in the Teesta basin. He also points out that, although the automated scans have captured the water body on the Zumthul Phuk glacier recently, there is no study available to determine its potential as a glacial lake outburst flood (GLOF) threat and suggests an immediate field study for Risk Assessment. This article has three parts. Part I deals with history of the exploration of the Zumthul Phuk valley. Part II describes the exploratory expedition of May 2022. Part III is the study based on the remote sensing data of the region in general and Zumthul Phuk glacier in specific.

Historical Background

Although the crest of Siniolchu could always be seen from several long-distance vantage points of Sikkim and West Bengal, the sanctum sanctorum of Siniolchu’s immediate south and south-eastern aspects, i.e., the Zumthul Phuk valley, remained unknown until very recently. In 1903, in his seminal work, Round Kangchenjunga², Douglas Freshfield, one of the pioneer explorers of the Sikkim Himalaya, described Siniolchu as ‘The most superb triumph of mountain architecture and the most beautiful snow mountain in the world’. During his expedition in Sikkim, Freshfield could only see the north and north-eastern aspects of Siniolchu up close. Freshfield and his team was perhaps one of the first parties³ that tried to map (Prof. E.J. Garwood) and photograph (Vittorio Sella) the region around Kangchenjunga and its neighbours, but it was John Claude White who first indicated interest in penetrating the gorge leading to Siniolchu’s South East flanks.

White was the first British Political Officer to Sikkim and in July 1891, on his way to Lhonak valley, took the Tholung Gompa-Kishong la-Thiu la route. During his journey on the ancient trail to Kishong la, he made the following observation:

Whilst on the first day’s march I discovered that a large stream, the Zamtu-Chu, takes its rise on the eastern slopes of Siniolchu and joins the Rimpi on its right bank, thus proving the survey maps to be wrong in showing it, as they have hitherto done, running to the south. I was much tempted to follow up this stream, as Siniolchu is the most lovely peak of Sikhim, and the views at the head of the valley must be magnificent, but it would probably have taken me over a week and I could not spare the time, as I wanted to go north across several snow ranges and so reach a drier climate. ⁴

While Claude White never mentioned the existence of any glacier (which we now refer to as Zumthul Phuk) as the source of the river that so fascinated him in 1891, he was most likely the first explorer to report the name of the river that emanated from it, calling it the Zamtu chu. Sadly, White was not able to fulfill his desire of exploring the Zamtu chu valley.

In 1937, a German expedition led by Dr Paul Bauer came to climb Siniolchu. During their expedition, they managed to enter the upper Zumthul Phuk valley for the very first time. Led by Dr Karl Wein, a few members of that expedition were able to cross a col5 (27°43’34” N, 88°23’01.”E) from their base camp in the Zemu glacier valley and enter the Zumthul Phuk glacier from north. In their report there is no mention of seeing any glacial lake at all. I quote Dr Karl Wein:

After crossing the Zemu glacier we climbed, on the 23rd August, a pass 5,300m. (17,387 feet) high to the southeast of our base camp. From there, when there was a gap in the clouds, we looked upon a rugged mountainous country traversed by glaciers of unexpected beauty. From the precipitous south-east flank of Siniolchu hanging glaciers plunged down to feed the Zumtu glacier, which, like the Zemu glaciers, was completely covered with debris. To the south of this glacier stood some rocky mountains of incredible steepness. They ranged even higher than the continuation of the south ridge of Siniolchu. The loftiest point was the Siniolchu Needle, about 20,000 feet high. Undiscovered land lay before us, for no one had previously set foot in this valley. Unfortunately, we only caught a fleeting view of it in the morning; the rest of the time it poured in torrents.⁶

Since then, no party had gone near, much less attempted to go into the Zumthul Phuk valley. In May 2022, I lead a team consisting of Phurtenji Sherpa from Nepal and Mingdup Lepcha, Sampan Lepcha, Chhudup Lepcha, Sonam Pentso Lepcha, Pema Chopel Lepcha–all local Sikkimese men.

The Expedition of May 2022

The first part of the journey was a drive from Gangtok to the village of Bay/12 Mile in the Upper Dzongu region. It is necessary to change cars at Mantam as the motor road has been disrupted on the Rukel river by a massive landslide in 2014. Since then, the two sides of the river are linked by a long wire suspension foot-bridge. We reached Mangan from Gangtok on 28 April. For shopping, packing and logistics, we needed an additional day at Mangan and reached Bay on 30 April.

The first two days of the trek follows the old trail to Kishong lake and the Kishong la. On the first day’s walk from Bay village we reached the famous Tholung Gompa and the next day we halted at Temrong where our exploratory work began. While Tholung has several lodging options, Temrong has a wooden forest department hut, a few raised tent platforms and another privately owned hut. Both huts are in a sorry state. The landslide zone of Richen (below Tholung) poses certain rock fall hazard during rain and high wind. We reached Tholung Gompa on 1 May and Temrong the next day.

The trail blazing began after Temrong. Right after leaving our camp at Temrong, we found the old log bridge on Zamtu chu severely damaged, most probably by winter snow deposition. After crossing the river, we followed the true left bank of Zamtu chu. We soon reached an area where the forest was destroyed by an avalanche. Pushing through a dense shrub of rhododendron forest for more than an hour, we encountered a wet rock slab beyond which lay the main challenge of the day—crossing the river Zamtu. It took us over an hour to find a safe and suitable place on the river to build a makeshift bridge with two logs. The everyday patterns of rainfall restricted our daily activity and progress from 5:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. almost like clockwork. This pattern continued until the end of the expedition.

On 4th morning, we continued our traverse following true right of Zamtu chu. The snow bridges and snow tongues, remnants of last winter, actually helped us negotiate much of the terrain. We eventually had to force our way through some very dense rhododendron thickets on a near vertical slope. But by 10:30 a.m., we were engulfed in a complete white-out followed by rain. I decided to make an emergency intermediate camp, even though as per GPS and map, we were very close to our proposed base camp site just above the tree line. Next morning the sky was spotless as we reached our planned base camp area within an hour. But keeping the tradition of early rain and fog steady, we lost all visibility with torrential rain soon after we pitched our tents. The rain continued through the rest of the day and all through the following day and night.

It finally stopped raining on 7 May so without losing time we hurried to climb the settled terminal moraine of Zumthul Phuk glacier. Within an hour’s climb we reached the crest of moraine ridge and waited patiently for the fog to lift. After an hour of nippy waiting, the warmth of the sun lifted the cloud off the grand face of Siniolchu. An overwhelmingly beautiful lake appeared below its feet. All of us stood speechless for a while feeling grateful for witnessing this unforgettable sight. We felt that our toil and struggle had been rewarded and we were indeed blessed to have discovered the grand new creation of nature—the mighty lake of the Siniolchu’s glacier Zumthul Phuk. It was a feeling of completeness and it was now time for us to go back down to safety.

The team observed that the lake was a ‘Moraine Dammed Glacial Lake’ most likely created by glacial retreat due to global warming and by the topographic depression of the terminal and the right lateral moraine of the Zumthul Phuk glacier located due south-east of Mount Siniolchu. Normal draining was noticed and documented. The Co-ordinates: 27°40’39.5”N 88°22’50.8”E, Perimeter: 2.01 km (1.25 mi), Area: 189,180.18 m² (2,036,318.58 ft²), Surface Elevation: 3900m to 4100m.

Highlights of the study based on the remote sensing data of the Teesta river basin and Zumthul Phuk glacier

• Several studies have shown rapid development of the high-altitude glacial lakes over the last two decades both in number and size.
• In a recent publication in Nature Climate Change, scientists have concluded that the most dangerous hotspots of Glacial Lake Outburst Flood (GLOF) are now located within the Eastern Himalayas.
• The Teesta river basin has been the most important area to study GLOF lakes and their dynamics for geoscientists. Probability with GLOF risk shows as high as 42% for the total high-altitude lakes. The surface area of the high-altitude lakes in Sikkim has increased 24% in the last 40 years.
• In 2003, ICIMOD (The International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development) published the Lake Inventory of the Teesta river basin. However, they did not include any existence of the Zumthul Phuk glacial lake.
• In 2003, ICIMOD (The International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development) published the Lake Inventory of the Teesta river basin. However, they did not include any existence of the Zumthul Phuk glacial lake.
• We have studied the remote sensing Satellite data available at the ISRO centre and USGS portal. It shows the detectable amount of water body formation at the Zumthul Phuk glacier started in the year 2002-2005.
• The surface area of the lake is digitally measured using highresolution data obtained from the ISRO Resourcesat-2 LISS-3 (2017), 0.238 Km².
• The evolution of the glacial lake formation based on satellite imagery is highlighted in the present study.
• The quick development of such a large lake at a high altitude needs the attention of the scientific community. A study of the dynamics of the Zumthul Phuk glacial lake to assess GLOF risk is highly recommended.

High-altitude glacial lakes in the Himalayas

A glacial lake is a water body generally formed beside or in front of a glacier due to glacial dynamics. Such high-altitude glacial lakes are hazardous to humanity and infrastructure as they can drain instantaneously and create devastating floods called Glacial Lake Outburst Flood (GLOF). With the increasing number of glacier retreats, a huge number of glacial lakes formed in the high mountains in the world in the last few decades.

Earth and environmental scientists and geologists have found the formation of glacial lakes as the indication of glacier changes as most of these lakes are the result of glacier retreat⁷. There are numerous incidents of the rivers being hit by the deadly flood caused by the failure of glacial lakes reported and its impacts have been analyzed⁸.

This year (2022), a study shows that Himachal Pradesh has 2554 glaciers with a glacier area of 4160 square km and 229 lakes including 22 potential GLOF⁹. The Uttaranchal Himalayan region holds 1439 glaciers with a glacier area of 4060 km square. In Tibet Autonomous Region a total of 1578 glaciers with a glacier area of 2864 square km were mapped in the sub-basins of the Ganges. An earlier study, revealed 5218 glaciers with a glacier area coverage of 15040 square km and 2420 lakes in the Indus river basin, and among them, 52 lakes were identified as potentially dangerous glacial lakes in Pakistan¹⁰. In the Eastern Indian Himalaya, the Teesta river basin covers 285 glaciers with a glacier area of 576 km square, 266 glacial lakes, and 14 potentially dangerous glacial lakes.

In the Sikkim Himalaya, the lake outburst probability indicates a very high—42%—for the total high-altitude lakes. For example, the south Lhonak glacial lake is marked as a potential GLOF threat^{11 12}. A recent article published in 2021 made a thorough evaluation of the future GLOF hazard of South Lhonak Lake and predicted the impact of the huge volume of the water (114.8 × 106 m3) for different avalanche scenarios.

In 2003, ICIMOD (The International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development) extended the existing lake inventory to the Teesta river basin in the Sikkim Himalayas, India. This study identified 285 glaciers with a total area of 577 square km together and 266 glacial lakes, 14 of which were labelled as potentially unstable.

A group of scientists carried out an interesting study in 2017, indicating the evolution of the glacial lakes from 1975 to 2017 for all high altitude areas in Sikkim. They observed there was a continuous increase in the number and area of the lakes since 1975. The number increased from 425 in 1975 to 466 in 2017, at a 9% rate. The maximum increase in lake numbers occurred in Zemu (15%) and the minimum number is in the East Rathong basin (2%). Contrarily, a maximum and minimum increase in lake area was observed in East Rathong (41%) and Zemu basin (21%)¹³. Another important study in 2012 found 320 glacial lakes in Sikkim by using Resourcesat-1 LISS III satellite data¹⁴. They have marked 85 newly formed lakes including the Zumthul Phuk glacial lake as compared to the previous Lake inventory done in 2003.

On studying the remote sensing data we can see the evolution of water body formation at the Zumthul Phuk glacier. However, the ICMIOD-2013 database did not include this lake. Another study in 2017 mapped 472 high-altitude glacial lakes (with an area > 0.01 square km²) in Sikkim based on remote sensing imagery data¹⁵. It said that according to India-WRIS (2014), Sikkim consists of two main watersheds, Rangit and Teesta. 438 of the studied glacial and high-altitude lakes are found in the Teesta watershed and 34 are found at Rangit. However, the above study did not consider Zumthu Phuk glacier. A study published in 2013 based on automated remote sensing data shows some formations of water body at the Zumthul Phuk glacier. A publication of 2013 acknowledges the water body formation on the Zumthul Phuk glacier and marked it as one of the newly formed high-altitude lakes in Sikkim¹⁶. They recommend carrying out a field study. However, in March 2022, the Water Bodies Information centre (NRSC, ISRO), based on automated remote sensing shows the water body on the Zumthul Phuk glacier.

Summary

Anindya Mukherjee explored the Zumthul Phuk glacial lake area, finding one of the newly formed lakes in the Teesta basin, leading Dr Nilanjan Patra to study the existing scientific data of the growth of glacier lakes in the eastern Himalaya. He proves that there is a rapid growth of glacial lakes, indicating alarming signs of global warming, avalanche and flood dangers. Dr Patra concludes that there is no study to mark this as a GLOF lake and thus calls for an immediate field study for GLOF Risk Assessment.

 

 

⇑ Top

Holdsworth, a senior teacher at the Doon school holds a record for smoking a pipe on the summit of Kamet, a 7620 m peak! After retirement he continued trekking to different parts of the Himalaya. His article Moderate Mountains for Middle-aged Mountaineers¹ gave a classic coverage of the ranges suitable for persons catching up on age. He wrote:

THERE comes a time for dwellers in the Indian subcontinent, when they have climbed their own particular Everests and are no longer young enough, or perhaps wealthy enough, to take part in a large-scale expedition to one of the few remaining 8000 m peaks, but when the urge to spend their holiday in the high places is still insistent. For such as these there are still literally hundreds of mountains between 18,000 and 22,000 feet which are accessible without grandiose arrangements for stores, porters or equipment. I have long since reached this age and perhaps a few memories of such moderate mountains will be of interest to somereaders of the Himalayan Journal who are approaching this stage in their life¹.

   ‘A mountaineer never retires. In a sense, he never hangs his boots to call it a day. As he grows in years he continues with trekking and loving the hills…’ wrote Chris Bonington. After a two-year hiatus at home to due to COVID restrictions, I realized that planning was difficult. Where to go? Were tests mandatory to fly out? How much hardship could I overcome after so many months of being confined to a flat in Mumbai without much exercise, and who would be my companions?

“I am no longer that young, Harish uncle. I am now fifteen!” Shreya (Ranganathan), who had trekked with me for last five years announced. This was a declaration of independence, as all growing children like to do, as early as they can! I had to respond to her exuberance. “I am also not that old, only five times your age plus one, 76!” We formed the age limits for the team and the rest fitted within this range.

We decided to sneak a trip between the ‘second’ and ‘third waves.’ New protocols and rules of engagement were to be complied with. RT-PCR tests for travel, airlines stipulations like wearing masks and face-shield and if you had a middle seat, then a protective suit. The more cautious wore hand gloves and double masks! It felt like being in a spacecraft—not an aircraft.

I completed medical check-ups including blood tests, blood pressure, cardiogram and dental checkup (if I continue going to hills long enough, the packing list may include dentures too!) But, having walked in Himalayan valleys for more than five decades I was ready to match steps with the youth, imbibe their enthusiasm and maybe teach them a thing or two.

During two days at Pahalgam, Rajan played at the beautiful golf course, some walked along the Lidder river, and others concentrated on Kashmiri Wazwan food and trout in the bazaar. Pandemic induced activities were here with us, as young Sharmila Ranganathan attended online school, in her school uniform from a hotel room!

Old trails

For more than a century now, the trail to Lidderwat (camp on Lidder river) has been in use. Any Britisher worth his salt would not go back home without a visit to Kashmir. Kashmir, in addition to the shikara (houseboat) ride and other attractions, is also a favourite trekking destination. Treks from the Pahalgam area are the most popular as they can be as short or long as desired. This has led to the mushrooming of many trekking agencies in Kashmir. It is said that sometimes so many groups camped that there was no camping place available at Lidderwat. Sonamarg, in the adjoining Sind river valley then developed as a major climbing centre with a guide book Sonamarg Climbing and Trekking Guide, first published in 1944 by Wilfrid Noyce, H. Tilly and Whittle. A revised and updated version was published by John Jackson in 1976. (Both were published by The Himalayan Club) The famous book, The Tourist Guide to Kashmir, Ladakh and Skardu by Major Arthur Neve, was written in 1910 and after his death Dr Ernst Neve published the revised 15^th edition in 1933.

Nepal opened its doors for trekkers and climbers in 1949, which almost coincided with the Indian freedom and the Kashmir war of 1947-48. Soon, there were fewer trekkers; adventure activities almost stopped from 1989 when the valley was ravaged by terrorist activity. From then on, any incident and the state would be closed. It is only since 2019 that the situation has normalized somewhat, but again the pandemic forced a closure. Now in 2021, it was a new start on the old trails.

The Lidder valley

This was my third visit to the Lidder valley. Each one was with a different group and in different circumstances. After an accident in the Nanda Devi Sanctuary, and a hip operation in 1974, I was advised to stay on crutches for two years. It was too long a period not to visit the Himalaya. So, in 1975, four of us visited the Lidder valley. We arrived at Pathankot railway station after two days of travel by the Frontier Mail from Mumbai. Soon, we rushed for a plate of cutlets and omelette at the railway restaurant, managed by Naorojis of Dharamsala. These dishes are a major gift by the British to Indian cuisine and hundreds of plates are now gorged on Indian trains daily. From the railway station, buses by N.D. Radhakishan, the agency for the railways, would drive you to Srinagar with a night halt enroute. After a change of buses at Srinagar, one would arrive at Pahalgam for the start of the trek.

That year, I rode a horse all along, like early British travellers. A long day brought us to Lidderwat and after two days on the meadow, we went to the Kolahoi base camp. My horseman, Abdulla was an expert at telling stories and in the evening, he would offer special namaz for my recovery. As we returned to Lidderwat we were trapped in the forest rest house for three days as it poured heavily. The chowkidar went down to his village to get more supplies leaving the rest house in our charge. We had a unique mix of stranded trekkers in the rest house—two French air hostesses gentle company and when it was their turn they sang a soft song. Two Belgians, not understanding a word of English caused hilarious confusion. They would pick up one word from an English sentence and would reply to it with gusto. When told, “Your rucksack is getting wet in rain,” one of them would picked the word rucksack, saying, “Rucksack, I have, I have” till he was physically shown his rucksack which had almost filled up with water!

My companions from Himachal Pradesh sang lusty songs. That evening an American reporter joined us. He was from Washington Post one of those, responsible for unearthing the Watergate Scandal and was here to interview the Indian Prime Minister Mrs. Indira Gandhi. He had been given an appointment a week later so he was here in Kashmir with a liaison officer and was now trapped with us. He was at a loss when we said that he would have to sing a song as we all did. After some thinking, he went out of the room, and returned marching and thumping shoes and singing that American anthem, ‘When the Saints go Marching in…’

I camped again at Lidderwat in 2012 with group of friends and their children whom I had known for long. We climbed slowly towards Tarsar lake but had to camp early as there was heavy snow on the ground. We missed seeing the clean blue waters of the lake as the pass ahead was snow bound. We had to return the same way, missing visiting other lakes. So here I was again after nine years hoping to complete the trail.

2021 Trek

We started from Aru, the traditional starting point for this trek. A flat track led along the valley for 12 km to Lidderwat. I planned to stay here for next few days while the others proceeded to the Kolahoi base camp and a high-altitude lake, Dodsar. They left the next day. Vikas Manhans from Jammu also stayed back. We became ‘green card holders’ of the vast beautiful green ground. It was interesting to watch many local trekkers visiting and enjoying the trail in their backyard. On the second day we saw a yellow flag walking towards us, hoisted on a lady’s rucksack. She turned out to be from my city, Mumbai, and arranged treks for various groups. Like the modern ways, she had no office but operated through Instagram and Twitter. And the yellow flag, with her name, announced her treks to attract customers. On meeting us, she was keen on selfies and pictures of her standing on a rock holding the yellow flag high.

The same evening, a curious mixture of old and young arrived and settled nearby. Young students sat in a tent, lectured by their leader. Later, they climbed to a ridge and we could see the teacher giving them gyan. I wondered if they were from some local school. Kashmir has a tradition of summer outdoor schooling. Tyndale Biscoe School, founded in 1880, is one of the oldest schools. Named after Canon Cecil Tyndale-Biscoe (1863–1949), a well-known educator, it was started by Christian missionaries. Eventually, five other mission schools were set up in different parts of the capital city and one in Anantnag, still functioning as backbone of education in Kashmir.

Mallinson Girls’ School was founded in 1912 by Miss Violet B. Fitze as the Girls’ Mission High School. Its name was later changed to Mallinson Girls’ School in honour of Miss Mallinson, a missionary who served in the school from 1922–1961. Such schools take students out trekking and education is imparted on treks.

I could not hold back my curiosity and visited their camp in the evening to talk to the teacher, who introduced himself simply as ‘Gotu’. Actually, they were a group of family and friends from Mumbai’s suburbs. Gotu was well travelled and this was his way of passing on his experiences to the young in his family.

Kolahoi

We were in shadow of Kolahoi,² at 5437 m, the highest peak in the Kashmir valley. This legendary peak can be admired from many angles on this trail. But it’s steep walls will succumb to modern day rock climbers only when they are allowed to climb here in peace.

Amongst early explorers in Kashmir were the Neve brothers. Dr Ernest Neve was a fine climber and a medical doctor. He was one of the founding members of The Himalayan Club. A regular visitor to the Lidder valley, particularly to the Kolahoi peak, he made its first ascent in 1912 and Mount Tatticooti, 4742 m in 1901. Along with his brother Arthur, Ernest also climbed various other Kashmiri peaks such as Sunset Peak, Rajdain, and Sachkach.

Major Arthur Neve, a priest, a medical doctor and a mountaineer was more of an explorer and had joined famous climbers like Dr Tom Longstaff in the Karakorams and the Siachen glacier. When he was able to take time off from the hospital, Arthur found great enjoyment in discovering the outlying parts of Kashmir for either travel, medical work for people who could not reach his hospital, or evangelical work. His first tour in 1882 to the outskirts of Kashmir sparked this passion, as it allowed him to see other tribes, villages, people, and terrains. This first tour also led him to believe that there was more medical need and work to be done throughout these different parts of Kashmir, and this drove him to begin the long process of building the Kashmir Mission Hospital. Some of Arthur’s notable climbs include Nun and Kun at 7010 m, as well as climbs in the Nubra valley in Zanskar and Ladakh.

Holdsworth wrote³:

“Kashmir is, for mountaineers, associated with the names of Karakoram, Nanga Parbat and the Nun Kun group. These are all big mountains and possibly beyond the reach of the middle-aged. But perhaps some people do not realize that above the Kashmir Valley proper the Great Himalaya comes down to heights of no more than 18,000 feet. In the east, easily accessible from Pahalgam and the Liddar Valley there is the fine peak of Kolahoi, 17,800 feet looking remarkably like a minor Matterhorn. It has, I believe, been climbed two or three times, first, in the first decade of the century by Doctor E Neve. New routes might be invented.”

Kolahoi is an interesting climb, varying in difficulty according to the amount of snow. Its highest and central peak is Gashibrar (The Goddess of Light). The two other main peaks are Buttress peak, 5116 m, a mile to the south of Gashibrar, and Bur Dalau, 5109 m, a mile and a half to the south-east. Dr Ernest Neve and Kenneth Mason made the first ascent of the latter on 21 June 1911, by the eastern arete.

The first ascent of Gashibrar was made by Kenneth Mason and Dr Ernst Neve on 28 June 1912. They followed the Armiun Narr, crossed the Har Nag pass, and reached the icefield south of Kolahoi to the summit. G. R. Cooke and Lieut. B. W. Battye climbed the peak on the 9 July 1926. In 1938, John Hunt with Rowland Brotherhood made an ascent by a different route.⁴ Kolahoi proved difficult for later parties, defying many attempts. In September 2018, a group of nine trekkers from Kashmir went on an expedition to the Kolahoi peak. Unfortunately, the group was caught in rock fall near Burdalau region on the glacier during their descent, due to which the team lost two of its members: Adil Shah, founder of Alpine Adventures group and Naveed Jeelani who was a junior administrative officer from Srinagar. Their bodies were retrieved from the glacier two days later.

With some reading, walking and meeting interesting visitors our days at Lidderwat passed quickly and it was soon time for the party to return from the trek to Kolahoi base camp.

Lidderwat, Satlanjan, Kolahoi Base Camp and Dodsar (Shekhar Jaywant writes)

After settling Harish and Vikas at Lidderwat, the rest of us set course for the Kolahoi base camp with a night halt at Satlanjan.

The route gradually climbed along a valley, with the fast-flowing Lidder river for company. Though the walk was long, there were conifers and shaded grassy areas to rest along the way. Gradually, the trees turned sparse, and the ground started becoming rocky. We reached Satlanjan (place with seven streams) at lunchtime and decided to camp close to the river.

The next day after an early breakfast, we were off to the Kolahoi BC. Rain was expected later in the day but we hoped to reach the campsite before that. The walk was about five kms, but the area was rocky, with no shade. The views around continued to fascinate. We tried to pick up pace to beat the rain and were lucky to find shelter in a bakarwal’s hut, with a hot cup of Kahwa and a Kangdi to keep warm, while the others found shelter under a rock overhang.

The next day started with a river crossing on our way to Dodsar lake towards Kolahoi peak. Though a rope was put across the fast-flowing river, it wasn’t much use as it was held very loosely and most of us had a dip in the river. The climb thereafter was steep and tiring, but we were rewarded with an awesome view of the bluish green Dodsar lake and the glacier and the Kolahoi peak in the background. It was very windy with a slight drizzle, so we were unable to spend too much time on the top. After a packed lunch, we set course to return by a different route that our guide Arafat had planned. He had already gone ahead to recce it and luckily was spotted on a ridge in the distance. The route had a gradual descent, but was more treacherous with slippery scree slopes and traverses over sections of snow. We got back into the valley between Satlanjan and the base camp. This was the most tiring day. We had climbed about 400 m on a steep slope and descended the same height over treacherous terrain. The next two days were spent on the return trip to Lidderwat.

Onwards to lakes

A satisfied team gathered again, and our trek to the upper valley started. We chose to go up slowly with a camp at Homwas and Sekiwas. The trail was very easy, so halfway through, Sonal Jain left with Vikas to visit a small lake higher on the ridge. We could see the Yemhar pass (pass of the God of Death), a direct trail to Sonamarg. On the northern side of the pass a steep rocky staircase was built where several mules had fallen to their deaths.

Next morning, we woke up to the noise of goats, as they tussled for salt that they were given as the morning ritual. The trail climbed up steadily without any difficulties to Tarsar lake. The Gazetteer narrates a legend of a Fakir staying in a cave at Kolahoi glacier. He successfully accepted a challenge to swim across the Tarsar lake (Tar is swim, Sar is lake) but later he drowned in the Marsar lake (Mar is dead). Our day at this lake was peaceful despite many, visitors. An afternoon hailstorm, a rainbow, calm waters in the morning touched us with beauty and peace. A pass across a ridge in the north led us to the Zajimarg valley. This vast valley was appropriately nicknamed the silent valley as it had just a few huts of shepherds, and the river flowed quietly. A beautiful, shapely peak Deo Masjid (4440 m) stood on the northern wall of the valley. Note the curious mixture of names; Deo is God in Hindi/ Sanskrit while Masjid is the Muslim prayer house; a good representation of the culture of the valley.

A huge square rock called ‘Handoobeta’ marks the centre of the valley. A rich trader and owner of flocks of sheep visited us. We discussed future of meat production as a traditional occupation and whether his future generations would agree to roam in the hills. No one had an answer, of course.

From a higher camping ground in the Zazimarg valley, a major portion of the team gradually climbed for two hours to Sundersar (beautiful lake). The trail ahead to Marsar was steeper. There is a great view of the lake, with its discharge leading to the Dachigam forest. Fun awaited the youth on their return. A lovely snow slope next to the camp offered a good slope to glissade. Shanaya and Shreya undertook many rounds up and down, putting the seniors to shame.

Now we were to go across the watershed from the Lidder (Pahalgam) to Sind (Sonamarg) valley. Adjacent to our camp was the Sonamus pass (pass of gold—beautiful grass). At first it appeared difficult but once our mules went down comfortably it was encouraging. After some hard work and exposure, we were down to the grassland. Then on it was a long but easy descent to the Sonamarg valley after a night halt at Sonmasti. The trail ahead was now full of beauty for which Kashmir is known. On a single slope there were trees of Chinar, fur, pine, deodar and even an occasional birch.

Our waiting bus took us to a highway restaurant for an early dinner. Youngsters were busy demolishing vast amounts of food. My eyes lit up and without reading the long menu, I ordered a plate of cutlets! “What is that? Never heard of it before”, said the waiter. In one ignorant sentence he had dismissed the British Raj, their culinary gift and my wish to celebrate my 76th birthday in style!! I could see Shreya and others giving me sympathetic smiles.

We stayed on the banks of the Nagin Lake at the beautiful Dar-es-Salam hotel. Here, I could educate my new companions on the continuing pleasures of good old days by ordering traditional Kashmiri Wazwan—Gushtaba, Rista, and Tabakmas, with vegetarian dishes like Dum Aloo (potatoes), Ruangan Chaman (paneer) Saffron laced Kahwa.
Au revoir, Kashmir, till next time.

Summary

A leisurely walk in the Lidder valley in Kashmir, exactly how it should be, with friends, food, beauty and peace.

 

 

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I’m a minimalist fast hiker exploring the Western Himalayas alpinestyle. I have solo hiked around 10 thousand kms across 300 mountain passes in recent years. My focus is on lesser known, unexplored regions discovering unseen natural beauty and heart-warming hospitality through months-long ‘ultra-journeys’,

My goal for 2022 has been to explore thousands of kilometres in remote regions in Jammu & Kashmir throughout the four seasons (winter, spring, summer, autumn) and map these routes in Open Street Maps for the benefit of the independent hiking community.

A word of thanks to Sathya who inspired me into Himalayan exploration, Survey of India for publishing detailed Himalayan maps, Huzefa from Blue Bolt Gear for his ongoing support in innovative lightweight gears and the Quantum GIS (QGIS community for powerful tools for mapping and planning mountain traverses.

My journey into the Western Himalayas was initially hampered with the lack of good, public available maps of the region. This usually meant that I was either downloading existing hiking routes (GPS logs) or doing time consuming analysis of hi-res satellite imagery to identify yet unexplored trails. All this changed in recent times when the Survey of India made the Open Map Series topographic maps publicly available depicting the unseen corners of the Indian Himalaya in stunning detail revealing tens of thousands kms of yet unexplored trails and remote settlements.

Before exploring any new region, I usually spent weeks mapping the geography in detail in Open Street Maps which provides a blueprint for planning my months-long ultra-journey. For Jammu & Kashmir I studied the topography of the entire state through Survey & Legacy maps and mapped important geographic features for the benefit of the independent hiking community:

• Major valleys / rivers – 50
• Minor valleys / streams – 1500
• Mountain passes – 700
• Mountain peaks – 600
• Alpine lakes – 500
• Glaciers – 160
• Remote settlements – 5000 (food supply, night shelter)
• Trails to be explored – 13000 km
• Mapped hiking routes – 50 routes covering 2500 km

Inter-season exploration means planning a traverse which follows the ever-changing snow-line. Each season defines a subset of natural features (passes, lakes, peaks) within a certain altitude range suitable for exploration. In deep winter you’ll hit snow at 2000-2500 m altitude while in late summer you can easily hike above 4000-5000 m.

Once we identify target features for exploration we can plan a continuous months-long traverse connecting these via a sequence of trails. I usually target ridgelines providing mesmerizing views of surrounding valleys and far-off high ranges. My actual route remains dynamic as per the condition of trails (some no longer in use), weather conditions and changing snow-line which requires frequent rerouting.

As an alpine style hiker, I identify periodic (two to five days) checkpoints for food supply (and charging electronics) to sustain my months-long journeys. These are usually remote hamlets in the valleys in between passes and high ranges. Optimizing food ration allows me to minimize weight, enabling me to hike much faster in steep terrain and reach my next target quicker. It also allows me to eat fresh nutritious food to sustain long endurance journeys.

I download offline contours essential for understanding the topography of the region to be explored. Too often I see hikers still looking at Satellite / Earth maps instead of learning to read topographic maps which are essential for navigating steep mountainous terrain. Contours also help while exploring off trail or when fresh winter snow covers the trails.

For field navigation and dynamic (snow, weather) route planning I use offline state level OSM maps which include important geographic features. These scalable vector maps can be viewed at any zoom level for planning longer traverses. To complement these, I geo-reference and generate offline map tiles for Survey maps which provide me rich terrain detail including accurate trails and umpteen remote settlements for precise navigation and planning of night halts and food supply.

Winter traverse

In February 2022, I did a first low-altitude winter traverse through Jammu, Udhampur, Kathua and Reasi districts. I started from the Ravi river valley in Chamba district (HP) and traversed across 300 km beautiful ridgelines through the Himalayan foothills to Reasi near Jammu. I identified some 100 target passes in the 2000-2500 m altitude range to keep the winter snow below the knee level.

Going higher above the snow-line usually becomes too challenging on the steep, frozen north facing slopes. I connected several snow clad ridgelines offering mesmerizing views of the surrounding Ravi, Siul, Sewa, Tawi, Chenab, Ujh, Anji khad, Ramnagarwali khad and Khade da Nala river valleys spanning across the state of Jammu.

Similar to Uttarakhand, the foothills of J&K are dotted with countless tiny hamlets deep inside the remotest valleys up to 2500 m altitude. Each farming settlement is a green oasis within the surrounding forest consisting of a handful of beautiful homes built from natural materials. All hamlets in the same and neighbouring valleys are connected by an extensive network of forest trails and mountain passes providing infinite possibilities for alpine hikers.

One benefit of a low altitude winter traverse is that you are never too far away from these remote hamlets suitable for night halt and food supply. With few outsiders visiting these less explored valleys, one usually experiences overwhelming hospitality. Nothing beats a warm homecooked, homegrown meal at the end of an exhausting day in the snow. Within an entire month, I usually end up sleeping in a comfortable bed with warm blankets in a cosy wooden room, for at least 15 nights.

During winter the snow-covered alpine meadows are completely desolate. The higher slopes are dotted with countless summer dwellings (up to 3000 m) which are deserted and partly buried in snow. While hiking the ridgelines these uninhabited rock homes are perfect shelters for overnight stay in the cold winter nights and offer some safety against nocturnal predators.

Winters usually offer stable weather conditions (compared to summer / monsoon) resulting in beautiful blue skies contrasting the white landscape. With the sun shining bright above I usually hike in shorts and tee even when sinking knee deep in the winter snow. The melting snow in the afternoons provides plenty of drinking water, reducing the need to carry extra weight.

Spring Traverse

During April-May I did a second mid-level 800 km traverse through the lesser-known regions in the districts of Kishtwar, Doda and Ramban. I hiked along 3000-3800 m high ridgelines separating the Chenab, Tawi, Niru, Siul, Kal Nal and Kagune Gad river valleys. Further away I got treated to stunning views of the snow clad high ranges bordering J&K in the east and north.

Completely deserted in winter, the high alpine meadows are full of life during spring. Bakarwals (shepherds) migrate their large herds of sheep, goats, buffalos to graze the snow fed high meadows during summers. Some travel with entire families across hundreds of kilometres from the plains to spend the entire summer up there. Men with turbans and beards manage the large herds of cattle while women guide horses loaded with camping and cooking gear, carrying small children and new born goats along the way.

As we explored higher altitudes towards summer, we were further away from the villages in the valleys below to resupply food. This usually meant we needed to carry more supplies to cover higher traverses up there. At the same time with bakarwals in the lush green alpine meadows showing equal hospitality, food was usually not far away. On some days I got invited for a cup of tea with fresh goat milk 3-4 times a day and enjoyed thick, wood fried rotis with delicious sabzi around the campfire with the shepherds at night.

With few outsiders exploring these lesser-known regions of J&K, I got stopped once in a while by villagers with some initial suspicion of my presence given the past history of militancy in the state. Sometimes I ended up escorted by men with AK-47s to the local police chowki for an identity and baggage check. After verifying the purpose of my visit though, both locals and officials always offered hospitality to a lone stranger.

Summer / Autumn traverse

East J&K has hundreds of mountain passes, peaks and lakes in the 2000-4000 m altitude range (blue / green / yellow in map below) suitable for exploration during winter and spring seasons. In August and October, I am planning a summer and autumn traverse covering 4000-5000m high ranges (orange / red in map below) surrounding the valley of Kashmir. The Pir Panjal range in the south and the high ranges bordering Ladakh in the north are known for hundreds of large, beautiful alpine lakes, some of them with international repute.

The Survey of India maps holds a treasure of unexplored trails for the alpine hiker. Though the maps originate from the 18th century Great Trigonometrical Survey of India many of the mapped trails are still 90% accurate based on my recent years of explorations across the western Himalaya. Some trails which are no longer in use quickly disappear in this geologically active terrain. Disappearing traditional nomadic lifestyles and migration of young generations to cities mean these ancient paths continue to fade away. Therefore, I call out to the independent hiking community to continue exploring, GPS record and digitally map in order to preserve our rich heritage for future generations.

Those interested to learn more about alpine exploration can check out Alpine Hiking Bootcamp on my blog. It consists of 40 hands-on modules condensing years of alpine exploration. Topics covered: geography and topographic maps of the Himalayas, traverse planning and navigation, minimalist fast hiking gears, Himalayan terrains and Geographic Information Systems. So far 250 students have taken up the online course which is free of cost.

References

Photo selection at tinyurl.com/jk-2022
Daily blog posts on ultrajourneys.org
Visual journey on instagram.com/petervangeit
Hundreds of videos on youtube.com/vangeip
Video documentaries on youtube.com/creedaz
Mapped hiking routes on openstreetmaps.org
Survey of India maps onlinemaps.surveyofindia.gov.in
Waymarked Hiking Trails hiking.waymarkedtrails.org
J&K legacy maps zenodo.org/record/3595575
Mobile offline navigation osmand.net
Blue bolt gear blueboltgear.com
Mapping J&K ultrajourneys.org/mapping-jammu-kashmir/
Alpine Hiking Bootcamp ultrajourneys.org/alpine-hiking-bootcamp/
Sathya’s blog sathyastravels.blogspot.com
Quantum GIS qgis.org

Summary

This time ultra-runner Peter Van Geit decided to explore J&K in winter and spring and is off again to complete his all-seasonal exploration by running trails in summer and autumn. A one stop encyclopaedia on Himalayan trails, Peter has surely made Himalayan exploration more accessible and exciting.

 

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