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- Herausgeber: Vertebrate Digital
- Kategorie: Lebensstil
- Serie: Frank Smythe: The Pioneering Mountaineer
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
Frank Smythe's fascinating book Kamet Conquered tells of his successful bid to make the first ascent of Kamet (7,756 metres) in 1931. Through Smythe, an experienced high-altitude mountaineer, the reader experiences all the tension, fatigue, discomfort and struggle of a major expedition but is also able to enjoy the sublime descriptions of nature at its wildest and most beautiful. Smythe is a keen observer of light, cloud and colour and his spiritual prose conjures up a palpable sense of the Himalaya. There is a rich sense of history within these pages; the book is very much of its time. However, the sometimes harsh colonial attitudes do not eclipse the genuine respect Smythe has for his Indian and Sherpa companions, nor what these remarkable men achieved. Through this journey, we are led from the dank, steamy foothills of the Himalaya, to its harsh and inhospitable peaks as Smythe and his team push themselves to their limits. In his own words: 'A real appreciation of life is made up of contrasts. Civilisation cannot be properly appreciated unless you have lived in the wild … we had sweated and we had shivered; we had experienced comfort and discomfort; we had gazed upon ugliness and beauty; we had known comradeship; we had found peace.' A must read for any climber or alpinist, or indeed for anyone who yearns for adventure in the mountains.
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Kamet Conquered
Frank Smythe
www.v-publishing.co.uk
CONTENTS
FRANK SMYTHE
Frank Smythe was one of the outstanding mountaineers of the early twentieth century. He pioneered major routes in the Alps and Himalaya and was at the centre of high-altitude mountaineering development in its early years.
In the late 1920s Smythe made two important first ascents on the Brenva Face of Mont Blanc. In the 1930s, he went on a series of major Himalayan expeditions, joining an attempt on Kangchenjunga, leading the first ascent of Kamet and playing a key role in multiple Everest attempts.
Smythe wrote twenty-seven immensely popular books about his climbing and exploring. Well-written and wonderfully detailed, his tense depictions of moments of difficulty, danger, relief and elation are compelling, and we are not spared his discomfort, fatigue and dogged struggle. At the same time, there is no keener observer of nature and Smythe’s books are filled with evocative portrayals of cloud, light and colour – from the onset of a thunderstorm to a sublime valley transformed by wild flowers.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I should like to express the sincere thanks of the expedition to the Yorkshire Ramblers Club and the Ski Club of Great Britain, who generously contributed towards the expenses. I must also express the gratitude of the expedition to the government of India, who kindly allowed our equipment into India free of customs duty, and to the many officials, especially Mr N.C. Stiffe, commissioner for the Kumaun Division, who assisted the expedition in India. Before leaving England we were the recipients of valuable advice from Mr C.F. Meade, Mr H. Ruttledge, Doctor T.G. Longstaff, and Brigadier-General the Hon. C.G. Bruce, all of whom were intimately acquainted with the Kamet district, whilst General Sir William Beynon was instrumental in securing for the expedition two Gurkha NCOs, who were selected by Captain Bradford, commandant of the Third Gurkha Regiment at Almora. In India we owe much to the kind help and hospitality of Sir Malcolm Hailey, the governor of the United Provinces, and to Lady Hailey. In Ranikhet we were entertained by Major and Mrs Crowe, and elected honorary members of the club there, thanks to the courtesy of the hon. Secretary, Major Brown. Transport arrangements were facilitated in Bombay by Mr Golding and Mr Boreham, of the Army and Navy Co-operative Society Ltd., and by Mr Osier; at Ranikhet by Captain J. Clarke; and at Calcutta by Mr G.B. Gourlay; whilst Colonel H.W. Tobin selected and despatched porters from Darjeeling. Mr Browne, deputy commissioner for Almora, and Mr Smythies helped us en route to Kamet, and Mrs Brown helped with arrangements for porterage by writing to the Rawal of Badrinath, who was most useful to the expedition.
It was arranged that the expedition’s dispatches should be sent to The Times, the Statesman of Calcutta, the New York Times, the Asahi of Japan, and other newspapers. Thanks to the courtesy of the Indian Posts and Telegraphs, communications between the expedition and England were greatly facilitated, and I should like to express here our gratitude to its officials, especially Mr Wears Taylor and Mr Martin.
I should like also to testify here to the efficient work of the two Indian assistant commissioners, Hukam Singh Sahib and Ram Singh Sahib, who accompanied and assisted the expedition, and also to the Indian surgeon at Joshimath.
– CHAPTER 1 –
The Himalaya
Two hundred years ago mountains were regarded as useless and terrible masses of inert matter where dragons had their lairs and the spirits of the damned lay in wait to claim the unwary. But as man emerged from the superstitions and materialisms of the Middle Ages he began to realise that mountains were beautiful and their summits worthy of attainment. The nineteenth century saw the conquest of the Alps. Unknown difficulties and dangers had to be faced by the pioneers of mountaineering. Disasters occurred, lives were lost, and mountaineering thrown into disrepute. The mountaineer was not dismayed. He knew that beauty was his for the seeking; he rejoiced in a newfound comradeship and in the acquirement and exercise of a new craft.
The great alpine summits fell one by one; traditions were established; a technique was evolved; a literature was born. The ripples of alpine mountaineering radiated outwards, bearing with them mountaineers to other ranges: the Caucasus, the Rockies, the Andes, the New Zealand Alps. On their highest peaks the skill acquired in the Alps was sufficient to ensure success. But there remained one great range that defied invasion of its strongholds – the Himalaya. There, the technique acquired in the Alps was not sufficient. Height alone was a physical deterrent, and coupled to height was steepness and danger. Expeditions had to be organised to reach even the foot of the great peaks; time and money had to be found. Yet, despite these disadvantages, Himalayan mountaineering and exploration progressed steadily. Pioneers such as the Schlagintweit Brothers, Sir Joseph Hooker, The Duke of the Abruzzi, Mr W.W. Graham, Lord Conway, Sir Francis Younghusband, Mr D.W. Freshfield, Doctor T.G. Longstaff, Doctor A.M. Kellas, General Bruce, Mr C.F. Meade, Doctor and Mrs Bullock Workman, Messrs. Rubenson and Monrad Aas, and many other pre-war pioneers opened up a region unsurpassed for its beauty and grandeur, and by their experiences pointed the way to the highest summits.
Many people refer to the Himalaya as though their limitations in scenery and climate were similar to those of the Alps. The tourist who gazes upon Kangchenjunga, 28,226 feet, from Darjeeling returns home saying that he has seen the Himalaya. So he has, but how much of two thousand miles of mountains stretching from the Pamirs to the borders of Indo-China, and beyond these limits, in terms of mountains? A lifetime might be spent wandering about the Himalaya, yet the knowledge acquired would embrace but an infinitesimal portion of that vast labyrinth of peaks, valleys and plateaux scrawled across the map of Asia.
In climate alone there is an extraordinary variety. From hot steamy tropical valleys, filled with luxuriant vegetation, it is but a few horizontal miles to zero temperatures and the highest snows in the world. Between these two extremes is an immense range of climate, the common despot of which is a fierce sun. Added to the complexities of climate due to height alone is the added complexity of seasonal weather fluctuations, due directly or indirectly to the influence of the monsoons and weather conditions emanating from the plateaux of Central Asia.
Racial characteristics are as diversified as the climate. From the people of Hunza and Chitral to the Sherpas and Bhotias of Northern Nepal, the almost extinct Lepchas of Sikkim and the wild races of Bhutan, the Himalaya can show many different types, for they form a natural frontier between India and Tibet, and a pudding-bowl wherein is stirred a mixture of Mongolian and Indian blood.
Politically, only a comparatively small portion of the Himalaya is accessible to the mountaineer and explorer. Democracy is unknown in Tibet and Nepal, and both these countries have closed their frontiers to Europeans and resolutely set themselves against infiltration of European thought and ideas. Some of the finest peaks of the Himalaya lie within the borders of Nepal, including the southern side of Everest, 29,140 feet, Dhaulagiri, 26,795 feet, Gosainthan (Shisha Pangma), 26,305 feet, and many other great peaks. In addition there are other districts where the mountaineer is not always welcomed, owing to political and other objections. The three most interesting districts accessible to mountaineers and explorers are the Karakorams, the Kumaun and Garhwal Himalaya and the Sikkim Himalaya, including the eastern side of Kangchenjunga, and it is in these three districts that the most notable mountaineering expeditions have been carried out, with the exception of Everest (now barred politically) and the northern side of Nanga Parba (forbidden territory to expeditions at present). Each of these districts is magnificent in its own way. In the Karakoram there is no glacier to rival in grandeur the Baltoro, and no peaks surpassing in ferocity the terrific ice- armoured spires dominated by K2 (Mount Godwin Austin), 28,187 feet. From the Kumaun Himalaya rises Nanda Devi, 25,645 feet; the highest peak entirely within the confines of the British Empire, a mountain so difficult to approach that no one has yet succeeded in treading the glaciers at the foot of it, whilst Kamet, 25,447 feet, dominates the ranges of Northern Garhwal. In Sikkim, Kangchenjunga boasts the most wonderful snow and ice scenery in the Himalaya, owing to its exposure to the moisture-laden airs of the monsoon. It has defeated three determined attempts to climb it, in 1929, 1930 and 1931 by mountaineers well versed in the technique of high-altitude mountaineering. The highest point reached was 26,000 feet, by the gallant Bavarian expedition in 1931 and that only after incredible difficulty.1
Geologically, the Himalaya are a young mountain range, due to an uplift of the ancient seabed covering Central Asia. This uplift took place so slowly that rivers such as the Indus and the Brahmaputra, which have their sources to the north of the Himalaya, have been able to carve their way through the range as it rose. This is the only explanation that can account for the deep valleys cutting through from Tibet to India. According to geologists, the uplift is still proceeding, but whether or not it is taking place at a greater speed than the lowering of the peaks by weathering is a matter for conjecture. Owing to their geological youth, the Himalaya have not weathered as have the Alps. Their peaks are often wedge-like in form, wall-sided, and with incipient ridges and buttresses. This formation is unsatisfactory from the mountaineer’s standpoint, for it too often means that a summit cannot be reached by following a continuous ridge. A ridge is always the safest way up a mountain, and the modern alpine-trained mountaineer soon realises this truism in the Himalaya. It is a humbling experience, after climbing steep and difficult alpine mountainsides, to be confronted with a Himalayan giant. Putting aside the peculiar difficulties of altitude, the mountaineer finds himself confronted by difficulties and dangers, which can only be described as appalling in their frequency and magnitude.
The difficulties are due primarily to sheer length and steepness. In addition, ice-ridges are formed such as are never seen in the Alps, ridges so thin and steep that the sun may be seen gleaming through them many feet below their crests.
The principal dangers are avalanches and bad weather. Owing to an immense range of temperature, Himalayan ice is more plastic in its consistency than alpine ice, and it can adhere to mountainsides at an extraordinary angle.2 This ice is the product of countless snowfalls, which go to form hanging glaciers. These glaciers are frequently hundreds of feet thick, and on peaks such as Kangchenjunga may exceed 1,000 feet. Every hollow in the mountainside is plastered with them; gravity is ever dragging them downwards – a movement accelerated by snowfalls accumulating above them. When these hanging glaciers come to the edge of a precipice, they overhang it and then break away in masses of ice weighing tens of thousands of tons that crash with appalling force down the precipices and sweep the whole breadth of the main glaciers beneath. The mountaineer must discover a route, both in approaching the foot of the mountain and on the mountain itself that is not exposed to this danger. In the Alps a chance is sometimes taken, even on standard routes, but in the Himalaya a chance should never be taken, for Himalayan ice avalanches are cataclysmic in their magnitude. It must be remembered, too, that where a portion of an alpine route is exposed to falling ice the risk of traversing it is not taken more than once, or at the most twice, on an expedition. In the Himalaya, however, it might be necessary to take the risk every day for weeks on end. Unless a line of communication from the base camp to the high camps on the mountain can he found that is free of this danger, the route is unjustifiable.
And then, there is the weather – the incalculable factor in mountaineering. If Himalayan weather was as consistently treacherous and evil as alpine weather, few parties would return alive from the great peaks. The Alpine mountaineer benighted in a storm and forced to bivouac has a chance of survival, but the Himalayan mountaineer knows that, to bivouac without protection in bad weather at a great altitude can have but one ending. At mid-day the sun’s rays at great altitudes are sometimes almost paralysing in their intensity, but when the sun has set a coldness akin to the coldness of space comes to the upper world. In the Alps, mountaineering is a sport. The mountaineer starts from a hotel and ascends to a hut. The following day he climbs his mountain, and returns to the hut or the hotel. In the Himalayas he may have to march weeks to get to the foot of his mountain; then he may spend weeks in climbing his mountain. If it is a mountain such as Kangchenjunga, the chances are in favour of him returning defeated to Europe. It is not really fair to compare Alpine mountaineering with Himalayan mountaineering; they are so different that comparison is liable to become odious, but it is the only possible and understandable comparison.
Had it not been for the Alps, a great deal of what has been accomplished in the Himalaya would not have been accomplished. For, even though the mountaineer in the Himalaya must readjust his ideas if he would climb safely and successfully, the knowledge he has acquired on alpine peaks will be invaluable to him. But let him beware of approaching the Himalaya with preconceived and bigoted notions, for not only will he find conditions that are unintelligible to him until he has learnt to understand them, but he is liable, on the strength of his Alpine knowledge, to underestimate the dangers. An Alpine mountaineer walking up to the Concordia Hut along the eastern bank of the Aletsch Glacier does not expect to be blotted out of existence by an ice avalanche falling from the cliffs of the Dreieckhorn, a mile away on the opposite side of the glacier, yet if the Aletsch Glacier was under the hanging glaciers of Kangchenjunga or Nanga Parbat, this is what he would have to expect. Such things are not to be learned by trial and error, they should be assumed beforehand, and heed taken of the experiences of others.
The Himalaya must be approached humbly. Respect their beauty, their majesty, and their power, and they will treat you as you deserve: approach them ignorantly or in a spirit of bravado, and they will destroy you. Other mountains forgive mistakes, but not the Himalaya.
1 The former measurement of Kanchenjunga was 28,156 feet, and that of K2, 28,252 feet. The latest measurements of these mountains are Kanchenjunga, 28,226 feet, K2, 28,187 feet; the difference is so negligible and so dependent on the perfect accuracy of instruments, and even upon fluctuating snowfall, that it is best to assume equality in height. [Modern measurements give K2 26,260 feet/8,611 metres. and Kangchenjunga 28,146 feet/8,586 metres. [Back]
2 A temperature of 219 degrees Fahrenheit. direct sun heat has been observed (Alpine Journal, Vol. XXIV, p. 141), whilst at night it may fall to minus thirty degrees or lower – a range of about 250 degrees Fahrenheit. [Back]
– CHAPTER 2 –
The Early Attempts to Climb Kamet
The primary object of our expedition was the ascent of Kamet, 25,447 feet, the great peak in the Central Himalaya; and the secondary object, exploration in the Badrinath range west of Kamet, which forms the watershed of the Gangotri and Alaknanda rivers, the two parent tributaries of the Ganges.
Kamet has known various names. The Schlagintweit brothers, who in 1855 were the first to attempt its ascent, referred to it as the Central Ibi Gamin; it has been called Kangmen by surveyors, whilst it is known to the Tibetans as Kangmed (the ‘Lower Snows’), as distinct from the ‘Higher Snows’ of Kailas, in Tibet, 110 miles east of Kamet, although this last range is lower than Kamet, the highest peak being Gurla Mandhata, 25,355 feet.
Strictly speaking, Kamet does not rise from the main Himalayan chain, but is the culminating point of the Zaskar Range, which forms a northern bifurcation. It is situated in the extreme north of British Garhwal, on the watershed of the Upper Alaknanda and Dhaoli rivers, and its summit is one mile south of the Tibetan border between the Mana and Niti Passes, which are traversed by trade routes between British India and Tibet.
Climatically, the mountain lies on the borderline between the dry westerly Tibetan winds and the area invaded by the Indian monsoon: it receives a heavy precipitation of snow during the winter months, but during the summer months, although subject to local bad weather, it is struck by an attenuated monsoon. Much of the moisture is precipitated on the intervening foothills, the Zaskar Range to the south of Kamet, and the main Himalayan chain; but the Upper Alaknanda Valley and the Dhaoli Valley, form funnels for the warm moisture-charged airs that survive their passage of the foothills or penetrate the Lower Alaknanda Valley, and it is left to the dry Tibetan westerly winds to exercise a sheering effect on the clouds and evaporate their moisture.
Snowfalls during the summer months, comparable to those of Kangchenjunga, 570 miles southeast of Kamet, are unknown, whilst winds seldom persist for long or rival in remorseless ferocity those that assail Everest, 500 miles to the southeast. Even during the height of the monsoon season, fine spells, when the hot Tibetan sun blazes down from cloudless skies, are common.
Another reason for Kamet’s equable weather, as compared to that of Everest or Kangchenjunga, is that deep, hot tropical valleys do not lie close to the mountain, and convection air currents are therefore less strong.
In scenery and climate Garhwal is comparable to Switzerland at its best, and no district in the Himalaya can show scenery combining such tender beauties and savage grandeurs. From valleys carpeted in alpine flowers and lined with noble pine forests, the traveller passes through gorges of terrific aspect, where eagles wheel aloft, and the dark knees of the peaks bend down towards thundering glacier torrents. Then, in a few horizontal miles, he climbs up to the snows, where peaks unknown and unnamed stand watch and ward over untrodden glaciers. A simple, friendly people inhabit the upper valleys of Garhwal, varying in race from the Hindu to the Mongolian; a mixture of blood due to the linking of Garhwal to Tibet by the Niti and Mana Passes. Fate, if not choice, has decreed their existence to be a nomadic one. In the winter months, when snow and avalanches render impassable the upper valleys, they are forced to descend to lower and warmer levels, but, when the snows melt, they return to their primitive villages and pastures with their flocks of yaks, sheep, and goats, bearing grain, wool, cloth, and other commodities, which they barter with the Tibetans for salt, borax, and ornaments, of which they are inordinately fond.
Kamet, as the crow flies, is some ninety miles from the Indian hill station of Ranikhet, and nearly as far from Ranikhet’s sister station Almora. Seen from these hill stations, it appears as an insignificant point, just peeping over the intervening foothill ranges, and not to be compared in size or magnificence with the main Himalayan chain, that culminates in the great peak of Nanda Devi, 25,645 feet, 198 feet higher than Kamet, and the highest mountain entirely within the British Empire. Seen, however, from the Kuari Pass, other elevated points of the higher foothills, the valley of the Sutlej, and Tibet, its majestic pyramidal peak of reddish granitic schist forms a towering landmark.
Kamet is the highest of a group of four peaks which, ranged in order from north to south, are: the Western Ibi Gamin, 24,200 feet, the Eastern Ibi Gamin, 24, 170 feet; Kamet, 25,447 feet and Mana Peak, 23,860 feet.1
Owing to Kamet’s apparent insignificance when viewed from the Indian side, it remained unmeasured until 1848, when Richard Strachey determined trigonometrically the height and position of its four peaks. The mountain was not again visited by Europeans until 1855. In the August of that year, however, a resolute attempt to climb it was made by the brothers Adolphe and Robert Schlagintweit, of the Magnetic Survey of India. Approaching from Tibet they ascended the Abi Gamin Glacier. Their highest camp was at 19,325 feet, and from this they reached an altitude of no less than 22,239 feet, after bivouacking continuously for ten days at altitudes over 17,000 feet. Theirs was an amazing performance, especially if it be remembered that at that date many of the great Alpine peaks had not been climbed, and not for another nine years was this altitude surpassed. One thing, however, is certain; the mountain the Schlagintweits attempted was not, strictly speaking, Kamet, but the Abi Gamin East, for to climb Kamet from the Tibetan side would be impossible without first traversing that mountain.
Three weeks later, Adolphe Schlagintweit made a panoramic drawing of the Kamet group from the Boko La, fifty-seven miles distant in Tibet, yet, although he correctly delineated East and West Abi Gamin, as well as Kamet itself, he apparently did not realise his original mistake. It was, however, a natural mistake, for the traveller approaching from Tibet cannot see Kamet, as it is hidden behind the Abi Gamin East.
No further expedition of importance to Kamet appears to have taken place until the survey of it under Mr E.C. Ryall, of the Survey of India, in 1877. Kamet was then accurately fixed both for position and height, but the earlier trigonometrical observations relating to the Eastern and Western Ibi Gamin being considered doubtful, were rejected, and both those peaks remained unmeasured for some time.
During a topographical survey, Mr I.S. Pocock, of the Survey of India, set up his plane table at 22,040 feet. As he approached from the Mana or western side of the group, his route must have lain up the slopes of East or West Abi Gamin. He reported that from the Mana side the illusion that the Abi Gamin East is merely an excrescence on the northern ridge of Kamet is extraordinarily strong.
No further attempt or reconnaissance of Kamet was made until 1907, when Doctor T.G. Longstaff, Major (now Brigadier-General) the Honourable C.G. Bruce, and Mr A.L. Mumm, made a preliminary reconnaissance from both the Niti (east) and the Mana (west) sides. This expedition was fully reported in the Alpine Journal, vol. XXIV., page 125 et seq, and the Geographical Journal, vol. XXXI., P. 379 et seq. After a preliminary excursion up the Raikana Glacier, Doctor Longstaff and General Bruce started to reconnoitre Kamet, taking with them the Italian guides Alexis and Henri Brocherel, six Gurkhas, and ten coolies.
Crossing the Raikana Glacier from their base camp, which they had pitched at 15,350 feet, they: ascended the East Kamet Glacier and made a camp at 16,800 feet on its north lateral moraine. A mile beyond this point the East Kamet Glacier narrows abruptly and becomes little more than an ice-filled gorge, less than half a mile wide. The glacier is bounded on its southern side by a steep wall of peaks that culminates in Mana Peak, 23,860 feet. Every hollow and shelf in this wall is filled with hanging glaciers hundreds of feet thick, which appear ready to discharge ice avalanches of appalling magnitude at any moment across the whole breadth of the East Kamet Glacier beneath.
As Doctor Longstaff considered the direct ascent of the glacier too dangerous, the party turned sharply to the north-west up steep moraine-clad slopes to the north of the glacier. This landed them on a glacier of a secondary order, which they followed upwards towards a snowy saddle at its head. They hoped that this saddle would prove the key to the situation, and lead them on to the slopes of Kamet. Mist enveloped them, but they pushed on up steep snow-slopes to the saddle, 20,180 feet. On their arrival, the mist cleared somewhat, and they saw below them the upper portion of the East Kamet Glacier, winding down from the foot of Kamet. But disappointment awaited them; they found themselves completely cut off from the slopes of Kamet by impracticable precipices, and what they saw of the East Kamet Glacier confirmed their opinion that it is horribly dangerous, lying in so narrow a gorge that it would be quite impossible to escape the ice avalanches which constantly fall on to it.
As the party considered it useless to attempt Kamet from the east, they decided to cross the Zaskar Range to the Alaknanda Valley. Utilising and reopening the Bhyundar Kanta Pass, 16,700 feet, and the Khanta Khal Pass, 14,750 feet, they reached the Bhotia village of Mana, to the west of Kamet. Thence, they ascended the Khaiam Glacier for some little distance, and climbed to the summit of a peak of 17,550 feet. They experienced very bad weather, with high winds and snowstorms, and their reconnaissance was cut short by the onset of the monsoon.
One result of their reconnaissance was that they came to the conclusion that the Khaiam Glacier was the most likely approach to Kamet.
Earlier in the same summer, and prior to this reconnaissance, Doctor Longstaff made his memorable ascent of Trisul, 23,406 feet, which, until the ascent of Jonsong Peak, 24,344 feet, in 1930 was the highest actual summit attained.
Unfortunately, no complete record exists of the determined attempts made to climb Kamet by the late Captain A. Morris Slingsby, of the 56th Frontier Force Rifles, who was killed in 1916 at the head of his regiment in Mesopotamia.2 He bid fair to be a great mountaineer, and, had he lived, would undoubtedly have achieved much in the Himalaya, As few will have read the account of his attempt in Vol. IV of the Yorkshire Ramblers’ Club journal, I make no excuse for quoting it.
With Captain (now Lieut-Colonel) H. Ch. de Crespigny he set off from Ranikhet early in May 1911 with eighty coolies, carrying stores for two and a half months. It was an exceptionally late winter, and at Badrinath the party were delayed for two weeks owing to no Bhotia coolies being available.
Early in June, however, they set off up the Ghastoli Glacier with ten picked coolies, who were well provided with warm clothing, sleeping bags, and boots. They camped at 15,500 feet and next day continued on up the Glacier, having to toil knee deep through soft snow. They were overcome by mountain sickness, and had to halt and camp at a height of 18,000 feet. They gave up all idea of reaching the col below Kamet, at which they were aiming, and returned to Ghastoli with their stores.
A day spent in a comfortable camp aided acclimatisation, and Slingsby set out again with six coolies and double-marched up to the 18,000-foot camp in eight hours.
Next day he left the camp at 6 a.m. for the col between the Eastern and Western Abi Gamin, confident that the former peak was merely a minor pinnacle on a continuous ridge leading to the summit of Kamet. He now felt very fit, and the coolies also were going well. After two hours’ walking, the foot of steep slopes leading up to the col was reached. The party found themselves standing in a snowfield almost surrounded by an amphitheatre of ice, snow, and ice-covered rocks, cleft by gullies stretching up to the col some 1,500 feet above them.
The slopes to the col were very steep, but a thin covering of frozen snow over the ice sufficed for footholds and saved them the exertion of step-cutting. At last however, step-cutting became necessary.
A thick mist enshrouded them, and the Bhotia coolies became tired and dispirited after three hours’ climbing, all but one were weeping bitterly and declaring that they could go no farther. They did not, however, dare to retreat, as Slingsby had taken off the rope. By way of cheering them up, he let them sit down, and went on ahead by himself to cut steps. He got above the snow, and had to climb steep ice. The rocks also were sheeted with ice, and the whole burden of chipping this off and making footholds fell upon him. At intervals of a hundred feet he halted to fix the rope round an ice axe or a rock and threw it down to the coolies, who, utilising it as a handrail, hauled themselves up one by one.
It was very slow work. Thick mist made it difficult to keep to the route that had been mapped out from below, and it was essential that this route should be adhered to owing to falling stones. As Slingsby wrote:
... We went on slowly like this, until, after ascending about 1,000 feet, we came to more rocks and ice, where we had to cross over to the main gully, and, after getting across it, climbed up by its easterly side. I had hoped the abundance of rocks would have made it easier, but they only added to the labour, for they were all covered with ice so hard that even at noon it was only with difficulty that I could chip off enough to get a foothold. Each coolie had to be carefully watched, for there would have been little hope of saving anyone who slipped, as there was nothing over which to hitch the rope. They were now very tired, dread of the unknown adding to their physical weariness, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that with the help of Gulab Khan, after nine hours spent in climbing some 1,500 feet, we reached the top of the col (21,000 feet) at 6.30 p.m., as the day was drawing to a close. The place was so steep that it was only with difficulty that I found a site for our Mummery tents. One coolie, overcome with weariness, sat down and, slipping his arms from the rope by which he held his load, stood up. Immediately, and without warning, the load slid away before he could stop it and went bumping down to the bottom of the gully, where we found it the next day.
In reaching this col, Slingsby had accomplished a splendid piece of mountaineering. His account in the Yorkshire Ramblers’ Club journal continues:
After settling down in camp, I went on to the top of the pass and got a glimpse of Kamet and the country to the north. The mists slid away, and the panorama before me was magnificent. Just below the corniced slope of the col, a very high glacier, starting from the north-west side of Kamet, stretched away at our feet – and curved gradually north until it merged in the low grey hills of the distant Sutlej Valley. Beyond the untrodden summits of the Kailas Mountains rose tier after tier up into the skies, girt here and there with long straight lines of hovering clouds, which seemed to add considerably to their height. Turning from this vast upland view of Tibet, I looked eastwards on Kamet. From the col, a long snow-slope swept up to a great rock tower, itself a minor peak, some 2,000 feet above me, from which, if it were climbed, it would be necessary to drop down many hundreds of feet before again commencing to climb up the slopes of Kamet itself. By going more to the east, however, and avoiding it altogether, it would, I believe, be possible to get on to a long continuous snow-slope, and so to the top of Kamet. What manner of hidden crevasses lie between the col and this slope I cannot say, but the snow, of course, gets the full effect of the sun at the early dawn, and here undoubtedly would be the greatest difficulty. To the south and west were countless small peaks, and here and there a larger one that raised its head above its fellows, their eternal snows flushing pale yellow in the rays of the setting sun. As I gazed on this sea of peaks, as yet untrodden by man, the last parting rays of the sun lit up their upper slopes, the wind dropped, the peaks grew dim beneath the twinkling stars, the avalanches from Kamet ceased, and over all a great stillness reigned.
Next morning, after a cold but windless night, I tried to get the coolies to come on, but they had all been somewhat affected by the altitude and their exertions of the previous day, and only one would accompany me. Though the reward of our efforts had seemed so close at hand, even within our grasp, I now began to realise that I could not go on and leave the coolies where they were, for they would surely have died. With the obstinacy of despair, I went on for about two hours, to a height of, I suppose, some 22,000 feet, and then returned to camp. The snow was very soft, and this served to confirm my misgivings of the previous evening and the effect it would have had on our further progress.
Retreat was imperative, and Slingsby returned to Ghastoli. Thus ended a gallant attempt to climb Kamet. If Slingsby had had expert Darjeeling porters with him, he would in all probability have reached the summit of the Abi Gamin East. He seemed to realise that this peak was a separate entity and that it would have been necessary to have descended many hundreds of feet before the ascent could have been resumed. Actually, a descent of over 700 feet. from the summit of Abi Gamin East to the col between it and Kamet would have been necessary.
It is even doubtful whether the summit above him was the summit of the Abi Gamin East. His proposal to go to the east and avoid the Abi Gamin East shows that he was misled by the nature of the ground. Such a traverse would have been quite impracticable, whilst a traverse across the western face would have been equally impracticable.
Any party approaching Kamet from Slingsby’s Col would be bound to traverse the summit of Abi Gamin East. Such a traverse would be a very long one, and would involve at least another two camps above Slingsby’s highest camp, whilst the position of a party exhausted on the final slopes of Kamet, or caught there, or on the col between Kamet and the Abi Gamin East, by bad weather, and faced with a re-ascent over the latter mountain, would be precarious in the extreme.
Undeterred by his reverse, this determined mountaineer returned to the attack during May and early June 1913. The same route was adhered to, but he was again dogged by bad luck. As before, he had difficulty in persuading the local coolies to accompany him at high altitudes; the weather was bad, and finally, a severe snowstorm put an end to his climb at a height of over 23,000 feet.
The credit for the eventual conquest of Kamet belongs to Mr C.F. Meade, for he solved the perplexing problem as to the right route, and would undoubtedly have reached the summit had not luck been against him.
In 1910, Meade, with the Italian guide Alexis Brocherel and the French guide Pierre Blanc, prospected the western side of Kamet. They experienced very bad weather, and accomplished but little with the exception of an ascent of the Khaiam Glacier to the Khaiam Pass, 19,300 feet.
In 1912, Meade returned to the attack, this time with four alpine guides, Pierre Blanc, Franz Lochmatter, Justin Blanc and Jean Perrin.
The party left Mana on May 26, and two days later established their base camp on the Ghastoli Glacier. On May 31 they advanced a camp to 18,000 feet near the foot of the slopes leading to Slingsby’s Col. Bad weather intervened, however, and enforced retreat to the base camp. The weather mending, they returned to their 18,000-foot camp, and on June 5 ascended to Slingsby’s Col in three and a half hours. Like Slingsby, they found the slopes of snow above the col in very bad condition, and were not able to push their camp to a greater height than 21,000 feet. Next day, June 6, they continued to advance, finding the going very exhausting in the soft snow, but they struggled on to a height of over 23,000 feet. Deteriorating weather and mountain sickness again rendered retreat imperative. Fifty two degrees of frost were registered that night.
They returned to Mana, but on June 19 again set out for Kamet, this time without Franz Lochmatter and Jean Perrin, who had to return to Europe to fulfil engagements. On June 20 they reached Slingsby’s Col. Snow again fell, rendering the slopes exceedingly dangerous. Retreat down the steep face below Slingsby’s Col under such conditions was no easy matter, but the descent was skilfully accomplished without accident.
Although he ascended but little higher than Slingsby, Meade was convinced by what he saw that the Eastern Abi Gamin was not a mere spur or point on a ridge leading to Kamet, but a separate and formidable peak. The view he obtained of the Raikana Glacier system also convinced him that, if there was a practicable route at all up Kamet, it must be sought for on the eastern and not the western side of the mountain.
Before crossing to the eastern side of the mountain, he carried out an interesting exploration up the Satopanth and Bhagat Kharak Glaciers, from the combined snouts of which issues the sacred Alaknanda river, the source of the Ganges. In both cases he discovered passes from the heads of these glaciers, a pass across the range from the head of the Satopanth Glacier leading to the Kedarnath Valley system, and a pass from near the head of the Bhagat Kharak Glacier, which appeared to lead into the head of the great Gangotri Glacier, which is about twenty miles long. He then explored a pass from the ice-filled valley above Mana from which flows the Kulhia Ganga. This pass he crossed without difficulty, and descended into the Bhyundar Valley, and, ascending to the Bhyundar Kanta Pass, 16,700 feet, descended to the Dhaoli Valley and Niti.
During July, he thoroughly explored the Raikana Glacier system to the east of Kamet, becoming convinced from what he saw that the only solution of the problem of ascending Kamet was to traverse the East Kamet Glacier, the route which Doctor Longstaff had so uncompromisingly condemned on account of the danger from ice avalanches.
In 1913, Meade proceeded with Pierre Blanc to test his theory. By this time, thanks to their tactful handling by former expeditions, experienced and willing porters, who had lost much of their fear of the heights, were available from Bhotia villages such as Niti and Mana. Meade established his Base Camp on the Raikana Glacier and Camp 1 in the same position where Dr Longstaff pitched his camp. From Camp 1 he proceeded up the narrow trench-like East Kamet Glacier. Though very forbidding in appearance, this glacier did not prove so dangerous as it looked and no ice avalanches menaced the party. Camp 2 was pitched in a safe place at 18,500 feet, and Camp 3 at about 20,600 feet. Above Camp 3 the party’s difficulties began. It was only after some difficult rock-climbing and heavy step-cutting in steep ice that they were able to gain easier slopes and pitch their fourth camp at about 22,000 feet. This was their highest camp. They had hoped to establish another camp on the broad and easy col, 23,500 feet, now known as Meade’s Col, between Kamet and the Abi Gamin East, but, although they reached the col, they were unable to pitch a camp there, and were beaten by the weather and the terrible snow conditions. In addition to these troubles, they were not properly acclimatised to altitude, and suffered also from lassitude induced by the fierce glare of the sun.
Meade had accomplished great work. He had discovered the only practicable route up Kamet. From his highest point he saw that no insuperable obstacle intervened between him and the summit. That success should have eluded him at the last moment was cruel luck. Had he realised the importance of acclimatisation, and had the weather and snow conditions been better, there is no doubt that he would have gained the summit.
Owing to the war, no further attempt was made on Kamet until 1920. In that year Doctor A.M. Kellas, who died the following year while engaged on the first Everest Expedition, and Colonel H.T. Morshead, who was foully murdered in Burma in the summer of 1931, left Niti on August 29 with twenty-one yaks and forty porters. They established their Base Camp on the Raikana Glacier on August 31.
Owing to lack of acclimatisation and the incidence of malaria, they did not advance up the East Kamet Glacier until September 3. Having established Camp 1, they were delayed owing to transport difficulties, and it was not until September 8 that Camp 2 was established. Here Kellas’s servant was incapacitated through an accidental night out.
Their third camp was established on September 11. There they were delayed for another week by transport difficulties. The weather was fine, but very cold, temperatures below zero being registered. Owing to the effects of altitude and cold, their remaining servants were unable to go higher.
On September 19 they climbed the steep rocks and ice above Camp 3 and camped at 22,000 feet. After a rest day for acclimatisation, they ascended to Meade’s Col, 23,500 feet, with three Mana porters. They left their camp at 9 a.m., and reached the col at 3 p.m. From the col they pushed on for a short distance up the final slope of Kamet, and at 3.30 p.m. had attained an altitude estimated at 23,600 feet. This was their highest point. They were well acclimatised to altitude, and were fully fit enough to make an attempt on the summit, but their coolies flatly refused to continue on Kamet, or even to attempt Abi Gamin East, which seemed feasible. It was essential to establish a camp in the neighbourhood of Meade’s Col, but the coolies refused to carry up their tents, equipment, and food from Camp 4.
Several reasons contributed to the coolies’ lack of heart. They suffered from headaches, the stuffing was knocked out of them by a cold wind, and they were terrified by the thought that the first winter snowstorms were due. Another reason for the party’s defeat – a small reason but a vital one – was the failure of their paraffin cooking stove to vaporise in the thin air of over 20,000 feet. Thus they were unable to cook for themselves or their coolies.
It is interesting to note the time taken by the party to ascend from their base camp to their highest point. No less than eighteen days were occupied in making the ascent. This was largely due to transport difficulties, and it is doubtful whether Doctor Kellas intended to spend so long a time on the mountain before making an attempt on the summit. Yet, I believe that his experiences on the many other Himalayan peaks that he had previously ascended had taught him the value of slow upward progression at great altitudes. Meade and Slingsby both suffered from the effects of altitude, but Kellas and Morshead were not seriously inconvenienced, and, had it not been for difficulties other than those of the actual mountain and its height, they might have reached the summit.
Doctor Kellas, besides being a great mountaineer, was a clever physicist and had contributed many valuable papers to various learned societies on the problems of acclimatisation. On this occasion he took with him oxygen apparatus, in order to carry out various experiments, and it was the non-arrival of this apparatus from England that delayed his attempt on Kamet. I think it may be assumed, therefore, that, unlike other parties that had attempted to climb Kamet, he realised the importance of besieging the mountain and of acclimatising at each camp before pushing on to the next camp.
No further attempt was made to climb Kamet until the present expedition in 1931.
From the foregoing it will be seen that ten expeditions prior to 1931 prospected routes on the mountain or attempted to climb it. No other great Himalayan peak has received so much attention by mountaineers. For the convenience of the reader, I append the following table setting out these reconnaissances and attempts.
NOTE: The above list does not include the early reconnaissances of Strachey and the Survey of India.
As regards the secondary object of the expedition, explorations in the Badrinath Range to the east of Kamet, which forms the watershed of the Alaknanda and Gangotri rivers, the two parent tributaries of the Ganges, this possessed both human and topographical interest. What the Jordan was to the Jews, the Ganges is to the Hindus, for it irrigates and fertilises the northern plain of India and brings sustenance to millions of Indians. Because of this it is revered by all Hindus. As it flows past the sacred city of Benares it receives the living and the dead – the living, who enter it to be cleansed of their sins, and the dead, whose ashes are taken from the burning ghats and cast upon its waters. Yet, the devout Hindu does not consider himself to have completed his religious devotions by a visit to Benares; he must make a pilgrimage to Kedarnath and Badrinath and pay his respects to the holy and eternal snows whence the Ganges flows from the feet of the gods. Fifty thousand pilgrims toil annually to these places, of which Badrinath is the holier place and the seat of the Rawal, the high priest and the keeper of the temple.
Benares can be reached by train, but not so Kedarnath and Badrinath; the pilgrim must brave the heat and disease of the lower Himalayan valleys, and finally the freezing airs from the snows, before he can accomplish his pilgrimage. Some fall by the wayside, and many more perish of cholera, dysentery, typhoid, malaria and other tropical diseases. Yet, the greater the tribulation and the immolation the greater the virtue and the forgiveness. To gaze at the sacred image in the temple at Badrinath and purify the body by dipping it into the icy glacier waters of the Alaknanda river is worthy of much toil and suffering.
Unimaginative is he who can gaze upon the Himalaya from the lower foothills or the plains, and not sympathise with the simple, child-like adoration of the Hindus for the eternal reservoirs of snow, the gods of which despatch Mother Ganges to minister to their needs. Dull indeed is he who can gaze unmoved upon the snows – when the maiden of dawn fires them and the great peaks glow above the slumbering plains.
The explorer and mountaineer who visits northern Garhwal will find much to interest him in the religious mysticism, mythology and folk-lore associated with these holy snows of Himachal.3 Parties of explorers and mountaineers have been few and far between in this district and a wealth of virgin peaks and glaciers remain to be climbed and explored. The upper reaches of the Gangotri Glacier, which is not only the greatest glacier in the district, but one of the greatest glaciers east of the Karakoram Himalaya, are unexplored.4 The Indian Survey map, painstakingly accurate and uniformly excellent in its delineation of the main valleys and ranges of Garhwal is vague and sketchy in its delineation of the labyrinth of peaks and glaciers between the Gangotri and Alaknanda rivers. The most ambitious explorations in this range were those undertaken by Mr C.F. Meade in 1912. Although he only descended a few hundred feet on the western side of the range from his pass at the head of the Satopanth Glacier, he could see that the way was not difficult. The discovery of this pass is of particular interest in view of an existing legend that pilgrims in former times, when visiting Badrinath and Kedarnath, used to take a short cut across the range instead of making, as they do now, a long roundabout journey via Joshimath and Chamoli. Meade, however, is of the opinion that the pass is not a practicable one for pilgrims, for it is about 20,000 feet high, and its traverse necessitates mountaineering knowledge. Having seen for myself the pitifully underclad, shivering pilgrims who toil up to Badrinath, I am inclined to agree with him. Yet, in India, a land of strange and subtle changes, both progressive and retrogressive, anything is possible, and it is not inconceivable that in bygone years a hardier type of pilgrim existed who thought nothing of crossing 20,000-foot glacier passes in the execution of his religious vows and devotions.
As regards Meade’s exploration of the Bhagat Kharak Glacier, he discovered a pass, not from the extreme head of the glacier, but from the head of a side glacier leading southwards. If the map is to be taken as being approximately accurate in its general indications, this pass was across the range where it runs almost due east and west, and, if the map is to be trusted still further, leads into the head of the Gangotri Glacier, which flows from south-east to north-west, but which in its upper portion bends round in an easterly direction.5 Descent was made a few hundred feet on the far side of the pass, and it is Meade’s opinion that had he continued he would have found himself on the head of the Gangotri Glacier. He describes the scenery as being of a most magnificent character, and including many terrific peaks, which appear to be hopelessly inaccessible.
One of our objects, therefore, in exploring the Badrinath Range was to traverse it from east to west, and cross the watershed of the Alaknanda and Gangotri rivers, if possible descending to the Gangotri Glacier and thus making the first complete passage of the range.
1 Ibi Gamin is now known as Abi Gamin. For contemporary clarity these peaks are, from this point, referred to as Abi Gamin West and Abi Gamin East though the former is now known as Mukut Parbat. [Back]
2 A relative of Cecil Slingsby, the famous pioneer climber – noted for his Norwegian ascents. See AJ 28, pp. 326-28. [Back]
3 Himalaya. [Back]
4 Possibly the greatest, unless there are glaciers of greater magnitude in Nepal. [Back]
5 Survey of India Map No. 53 N.Badrinath. Scale: 1 inch to 4 miles, or 1:253,440. The main range is shown bending at right angles from a direction approximately north to south to a direction approximately due west to east. [Back]
– CHAPTER 3 –
The Conditions for Success
The successful carrying out of an expedition to the summit of a great Himalayan peak depends upon so many factors that it is difficult to enumerate them in order, yet, however well planned an expedition may be, and however well the plans are executed, there is always one link of strength unknown in the chain of circumstances, and that is – luck. That solitary link may be stretched unreasonably and not break; it may be strong and unyielding or pitifully weak; when apparently strong, it may develop an unexpected flaw, when apparently weak, it may continue to hold. Luck is blessed and cursed, but without it mountaineering would be a dull, mechanical pastime. Luck depends largely on the weather, and what the weather has done, or may do, to the mountain. Bow therefore to luck, accept it and forget it, making sure at the same time that all other links in the chain are as strong as human ingenuity and forethought can devise.
Himalayan mountaineering depends upon unselfish teamwork, and unselfish teamwork depends upon having a team of men who are temperamentally in phase. Your friend in civilisation may become your enemy on a mountain; his very snore assumes a new and repellent note; his tricks at the mess table, the sound of his mastication, the scarcely concealed triumph with which he appropriates the choicest tit-bits, the absurd manner in which he walks, even the cut of his clothes and the colour of the patch on the seat of his trousers, may induce an irritation and loathing almost beyond endurance. None of these things may matter at sea level, and why they should matter on a mountain is a problem more within the scope of physiologists and psychologists than the writer of this volume. But the whole success of an expedition depends upon them not mattering.
The ideal team is one that includes different interests; paradoxical though this may sound. It is a profound truth that men sharing identical interests seldom get on well together in the wilds. If they do, it is as much of a miracle as a happy marriage. Wide divergences of opinion seldom matter. It is the small divergences of opinions that count for so much. I cannot conceive a team of mountaineers composed exclusively of doctors, barristers or politicians.
In the present instance, I was extremely fortunate in securing as my companions men of widely diverse interests in life. I make no apology for putting on record the following scrap of conversation overheard at the end of the expedition. It emanated from Captain Birnie. He said, ‘When I started on this show I expected that I should hate you all before the end of it, but, strangely enough, I can still tolerate you.’
The size of a Himalayan expedition depends largely upon the magnitude of the task to be attempted. For a peak such as Everest, where long and difficult communications must be maintained, where ill-health and high-altitude deterioration are certain to reduce the party and where it may be necessary to make two or three attempts on the summit and each one by a fresh party, a minimum of eight to ten climbers is essential. For a party who aim at summits no higher than 23,000 feet, four climbers, who can be split up into two parties of two, is ample. The next best number above four is six, which can be split up into three parties of two or two parties of three.
