THE ZEMU GAP

H. W. TILMAN

When in Darjeeling in April 1936 with some unexpected time on my hands I made a short journey to the glaciers south of Kangchenjunga. I had with me four Sherpas whom I was trying out with a view to taking them to Nanda Devi later in the year— Pasang Kikule, Pasang Phuta, Nuri, and Tilly. The first two were old hands and the others complete novices with no experience of ice and snow.

I intended to try to cross the Zemu Gap, 19,276 feet, from the south, and according to an article in the Geographical Journal, vol. lxix, pp. 344-50, which I found by chance in the Darjeeling Club, there seemed little to prevent it. In May 1926 Captain Boustead, the author of the article, crossed the Guicha La, went down the Talung glacier, up the Tongshyong, and crossed the gap to the Zemu glacier and back again. The main difficulties were encountered on the two glaciers, which apparently resembled a road near the front line on one of the unquiet days on the Western Front.

However, from a photo taken from the Guicha La it looked as though the ridge separating these two glaciers could be crossed in a direct line between the Guicha La and the Zemu Gap, so that there would be no necessity to come under the barrage of stones and ice which was said to play constantly on any party reckless enough to traverse these glaciers. There seemed to be no insuperable difficulties about crossing the gap, and I very nearly gave orders for my mail to be forwarded to Lachen, by which I expected to return down the Zemu glacier. Fortunately, being a pessimist by nature, I gave no such hostage to fortune.

We went to the Guicha La by the valley route, instead of the ridge- way by Phalut, for the sake of the food which could be obtained in the villages, thus lessening the amount we had to carry. We left on the 1 st May, and, since we were in a hurry, made a double march to Chakung, so avoiding sleeping in the hot valley at Singla. This means rather a brutal first day, but we hired two ponies to carry our loads as far as Chakung. We left at 8.15 and arrived at 4.45 in the afternoon.

The foot of the Guicha La was reached on the 9th May, and we camped there with food for three weeks and wood fuel for that night. Rice and atta had to be bought and carried from Pamionchi. In the afternoon of that day I left the porters and went on up to the Guicha La to spy out the land, and was fortunate to get there just before the mist. The snow saddle between the Talung and Tong- shyong glaciers looked easy, but even at this distance the Zemu gap roused misgivings. This Guicha La that I visited, and which we crossed next day, is the lower col about a half-mile north-west of what is, I believe, the recognized pass. On it, however, there is a cairn.¹

We crossed the pass in an hour and a half from camp. The weather was thick and on the descent it began snowing heavily, but I had taken the precaution of a compass-bearing to the saddle we wanted to cross. The snow slope down is fairly steep, and Nuri, one of the novices, parted company with his load. From the foot of the slope we crossed a wide terrace of rock and grass covered by snow of unequal depth, and reached the moraine above the right bank of the Talung glacier. Here the clouds lifted, momentarily revealing the opposite bank and our proposed col beyond it. We crossed in an hour, climbed the steep moraine, and toiled up a slope covered with grass and juniper, finally camping about 500 feet above the glacier at the highest water. A large herd of bharal was seen.

From what we saw of the Talung glacier it appeared wide and open-roomy enough for us to avoid anything but an avalanche on a Kangchenjunga scale, had there been any slopes to provide such an avalanche, which, except at the head, there were not.

The next morning the climb of 700 or 800 feet to the saddle in deep powder snow was tiring. The descent to the Tongshyong was over gently sloping neve, and we reached the glacier at 11 o'clock. As we crossed the glacier, here perhaps half a mile wide, it started snowing again, and we steered for the foot of the ice-fall at the foot of the tributary glacier leading up to the Zemu Gap. Both Marcel Kurz's and the quarter-inch Survey maps represent this as lying in a bay at the head of the Tongshyong. This is not correct, for the tributary glacier coming from the gap enters the Tongshyong almost at right angles and half a mile or more short of the head.

This first ice-fall is steep and intricate, and we were forced to traverse off it to the left and take to the rocks—rocks which I had purposely avoided on account of their slabby nature lower down. The easiest way would be up a scree slope still further to the left or north. We camped at about 18,000 feet, nearly level with the top of the ice-fall, taking a lot of time and trouble to find accommodation on a little patch of rock still clear of snow-trouble that was rather wasted because it was very soon all under snow, which fell throughout the night.

The snow froze on the tents, so next morning, which was fine, I left the men behind to follow up later and pushed on alone to reconnoitre. Taking to the middle of the glacier I worked up through an easy ice-fall, the second one, and waited for the men on the lip of a very bad crevasse. There was a lot of powder snow to break through, the going was heavy, and they did not join me until eleven o'clock.

 

We roped up and crossed the crevasse and camped a little higher at the foot of the last and steepest ice-fall. The heat and glare on this new snow, shut in between two high rock walls, was terrific, and it was essential to get some drink and some shade before having a look at this formidable obstacle. Owing to the nature of the ground and crevasses there was not much room for the two small tents, which were too close under the Simvu slope for comfort. Small avalanches kept hissing down, but all seemed to come to a respectful halt about ten yards from the tents. At an occasional louder roar the Sherpas would leap panic-stricken from their tent, so frightening me that I did the same. It reminded me of people popping their heads out of a dug-out to ask, 'Where did that one go?'

These alarms ceased about three o'clock, and now, feeling stronger, I kicked and cut up the ice-fall for about 100 feet. Here I came upon a doubtful bridge over a large crevasse leading to an amazingly steep ice-wall which would obviously take a long time to climb, and, after casting about vainly for an easier alternative, I left this for the morrow. Though loath to give in, defeat seemed imminent, because I knew that beyond this bad bit there was at the top of the gap a final ice-wall which, whenever we had caught a glimpse of it, appeared impregnable.

Pasang joined me next morning and together we hacked a big staircase up the thirty feet of steep ice, a job which took us two hours. Above that we could kick steps, but there were only a few inches of snow over ice and we realized that when the sun got to work the snow covering would not hold. Followed the crossing of a horribly frail bridge over a deep crevasse-it was doubtful whether it would support a laden man-and a short slope of soft snow led to yet another bridged crevasse. From here we could see the final wall perhaps 200 or 300 yards away up a gentle snow slope. It was at least 100 feet high and very steep, but, from a camp on this top plateau, I expect a way could have been cut. However, it was beyond the strength of our weak party, even had we got safely over the two bad crevasses, so Pasang and I turned and hurried down while the going was good.

We packed up and went down, taking the rocks on the north side of the lower ice-fall which we had funked on the way up-—justifiably, too, because to get off the rocks on to the Tongshyong glacier we had to rope down.

Camp was pitched on the glacier, and in the evening I walked up towards the head of it. The Zemu Gap differed so widely from the account I had read that I half believed a mistake had been made and that the genuine gap lay concealed behind some corner near the head of the Tongshyong. There was, however, no other break in the mighty south-east ridge of Kangchenjunga, and the low, easy col at the head of the glacier obviously led over into the wide bay at the head of the Talung. Is it possible that, in the thick weather prevailing when Captain Boustead was here, this had been mistaken for the Zemu Gap?

It was a glorious morning on the 14th when we walked down the Tongshyong. The rough surface of the glacier was now buried under a smooth carpet of frozen snow, and we strolled down it enjoying the easiest glacier walk I have ever had. The Tongshyong is probably narrower than the Talung and perhaps stones do fall from its steep containing walls (though we neither saw nor heard any), but by steering a reasonably central course it would be impossible to get hit. It is not less than 500 yards wide.

We proceeded to the junction of the Tongshyong and Talung streams, having some trouble to get down an exceedingly high and steep moraine bank, and went down the Talung Chu to Mangen, in the Tista valley, where we arrived on the 19th. There is not space, nor would it be of much value, to describe the route in great detail, for the country is such that any one who goes there will take the line that seems good to him—probably the line of least resistance. The forest is very dense until opposite the Passanram valley, but one repeatedly comes upon traces of native hunters—at times a faint path, marks of a kukri, a snare, bridges. The bridges are the key, because at many points one bank or the other becomes impassable, and the river cannot be crossed without a bridge.

We started going down the right bank. There was no path, but late that evening a single pine-log took us to the left bank, where we camped. Here we found a snare and a dead buck in it. At midday of the second day we were driven off this bank and found both a snow bridge and a natural rock bridge. We camped that night two miles (it took four hours) short of the Pandim stream, called on Kurz's map the Ranghep Chu. The third day gave us a ten-hour bush crawl along the right bank, midges, tree-ticks, and leeches doing their best to enliven the proceedings.

On the 17th we picked up a track which took us to a rickety three- span bridge, where an hour was spent roping the loads over. The going continued to be atrocious until we spotted another bridge, crossed it, and went down the right bank until 4 p.m. Here there was another bridge, only recently built, and we crossed and camped. Only a mile had been made good.

Crossing this bridge was a false move, as no progress was possible, so we recrossed and picked up a path. At 10 a.m. we came to what is probably Bontong on the map, a maize-field but no dwelling-place. Sakyong, the first village, was reached an hour later. From here there is a path, an indescribably poor one, and after a long day we camped by the river, at about 4,000 feet, in a cardamom-field. There seemed to be fewer pests at this low level than there were higher up. Passing through Laben and Ranglu, after which the path improves, we reached Mangen at 3 p.m. on the 19th.

⇑ Top