Annapurna

by Maurice Herzog

  Meanwhile our path skirted the cliffs. Looking down through the conifers we could barely make out the wild, rumbling waters of the Krishna Gandaki; tremendous waterfalls gushed here and there from the limestone cliffs. We gained height imperceptibly, and realized it by the party’s heavier step and slower pace.

  At Ghasa it began to get chilly, for we were now about 6500 feet up, with another 1600 feet to climb up to Tukucha. There were no longer any bananas or rice, only a few poor-looking crops, mostly barley. A little further on we saw the upper slopes of Dhaulagiri, streaked with blue ice. The south-east ridge running down towards us, of which we had had some hope, extended endlessly, as sharp as the blade of a knife and bristling with ice pinnacles and snow cornices – absolutely impregnable, as seen from here.

  We all craned our necks to get a view of the gigantic walls which disappeared nearly four miles up into the clouds and the blue sky. The rock was dark brown, the snow dazzling, and the light so intense it made us blink. To try to pick out a route seemed presumptuous. Nevertheless we couldn’t hide our pleasure, so happy were we to be in the mountains and able, from now on, to devote ourselves to the real object of the whole expedition. As for myself, I should at last be able to give up a role which was more that of a carrier or impresario than leader of a mountaineering expedition.

  At Lete we passed, with some surprise and feeling, through a pine-wood which reminded us astonishingly of our own mountains – the same trees, the same scattered blocks of granite and cool mosses. I could not know that two months later this beautiful idyllic place would witness my sufferings.

  We came out on to a long stony plain formed during the centuries by the impetuous and irregular flow of the Gandaki which had cut a colossal corridor right through the great Himalayan chain. Tremendous gales blew down this funnel and held up our advance. These hurricanes rage all the year round, and prevent any kind of growth. Columns of dust were whirled up into the air, the wind howled round this gloomy, rocky inferno, and Ichac, who was protecting himself as best he could, yelled in my ear, ‘We might be in the Karakoram!’

  The barefoot coolies doubled themselves up and kept together in tight little groups for mutual protection. Everyone was in a hurry to reach Tukucha.

  Angtharkay soon felt quite at home. He is an ardent Buddhist and he had just caught sight of Larjung with sacred streamers flying from its housetops, their prayers agitated by the wind.

  In the distance, at the far end of the stony desert, we could see a village gay with hundreds of prayer masts and encircled by what looked like fortifications.

  ‘Tukucha, Sahib!’

  We all hurried on, forded the swirling torrent – the Dambush Khola, of which we shall hear more later – and so made our entry into Tukucha.

  There were, after all, far fewer people than we had expected. Numbers of dirty children surrounded us, observing our every move with curiosity, and playing about in the water conduit in the middle of the village in which the women washed their pots and got the water for their tea. The old men remained on their doorsteps, suspicious and mistrustful of these white men who were here with such obscure intentions. We were through the village in a few minutes, and before us lay an open stretch. On a Buddhist temple with rose-coloured walls flags flapped in the wind. Although it was not a very prepossessing spot, and was made rather gloomy by a naked grey cliff rising above it, it was the only suitable place for our camp.

  The preliminary marches were now over. The date was April 21st and we had taken just over a fortnight to travel practically right across Nepal.

  1 A large river, a tributary of the Ganges, which we were to follow to Tukucha (map, see here).

  2 See maps, see here and here.

  3

  The Hidden Valley

  THE PROGRAMME NOW before us was clear-cut. First we should have to establish camp, unpack, check, list and sort out the equipment and food; for the next forty-eight hours everybody would have a definite job. They were soon at it, dirty, noisy and cheerful. Ichac delved into his precious crates of films and equipment, Oudot was deep in his dressings and medical supplies, and the Sherpas were pitching the tents, fixing up their kitchen, and helping the Sahibs stow everything away.

  The weather was superb, and this first day at headquarters the mountains were looking their very best. It was marvellous to get at last a proper view of the peaks all round us. The Gandaki Valley is a long rift between two immense mountain groups: the Dhaulagiri massif on the west rising to 26,795 feet, and the Annapurna massif on the east rising to 26,493 feet. Mist often lies in the depths of this rift, giving even greater majesty to the inaccessible walls that towered over us. The shapely Nilgiris,1 the ‘blue mountains’, glittered nearly 15,000 feet above us. Towards the north the sky was much clearer, and as far as we could judge, vegetation was sparser up there towards Tibet.

  Tukucha is a maze of alleys, and the houses, regular little fortresses, are mostly caravanserais where passing travellers can find lodging for the night. The majority of the 500 inhabitants are Buddhists, whose piety can be judged from the wall of prayer-wheels, 50 yards long. Our Sherpas never omitted, when passing, to give a joyful turn to the metallic cylinders upon which sacred texts are engraved – a far more practical idea than the reciting of lengthy prayers.

  A caravan surrounded by a host of children had assembled not far from our camp, and everyone was talking hard – Tibetans, no doubt. The women wore very becoming coloured aprons, and their typically Mongolian faces were adorned with pats of cowdung applied to both cheeks. Confident in their power to charm, they laughed, exposing all their teeth. A crowd gathered, and suddenly a wild dance started. The dancers were silhouetted against a magnificent background of snowy mountains. The ballet, which appeared to express the eternal dualism of joy and sorrow, life and death, was perfectly controlled. Its beauty was rough and primitive, for a dance always reflects the spirit of a people.

  Abruptly they stopped. A Tibetan woman placed a copper dish in the centre of the circle; the dancers began to mime most expressively, and their gaze travelled from the dish to us and back again. With great dignity the Bara Sahib generously tossed in a few rupees. This was a great success. Immediately the dance began again, even wilder than before, and again they all stopped suddenly. The Bara Sahib was obliged once more to display his generosity.

  Since our arrival at Tukucha we had all nursed a secret hope of discovering a safe and easy ridge that would lead us straight to the summit of Dhaulagiri or Annapurna. The south-east ridge of Dhaulagiri, which was clearly marked on the map, and which we had seen from Baglung, gave some slight encouragement to this hope, but no one was very certain. Then there was the north ridge; it was undoubtedly ice, but, judging from the general structure of the mountain, its moderate angle and slight rise in height would make it very suitable for an attempt. Now, by pitching a few intermediate camps, we might … As for Annapurna, its proximity to the Tilicho track seemed to make it easily accessible, and for that very reason it lost a good deal of its interest from the climber’s point of view.

  Next day Couzy left with Pansy on a reconnaissance to make observations from the 13,000-foot point that dominates Tukucha and should command a wonderful view.

  At 11 A.M. I was in radio communication with them.

  ‘Coucou speaking. Just reached the top. The view is marvellous; Dhaulagiri dominates everything. The south-east ridge looks absolutely frightful. Very long, with lots of ice towers. Camp sites dubious.’

  ‘What about the north ridge?’

  ‘Ice all the way. Looks very steep. Certainly great technical difficulties. The ticklish part is towards the middle, but there’s another snag, how to get on to the ridge. From here the East glacier,2 which you would expect to be the normal approach, looks extremely broken up.’

  ‘Can you see the north face?’

  ‘Those great walls of seracs make it a very dangerous proposition. At its foot there is a relatively easy slope, which ought to give access to the north-west ridge
, but from where I’m standing I can’t see very well.’

  ‘What do you think of the Nilgiris?’

  ‘Absolutely sheer. Not a hope from this side.’

  ‘Thanks, Coucou. See you later.’

  ‘O.K., Maurice. Off.’

  This first report did not do much to encourage optimism. When he returned we should proceed to a first examination of the problem, with the help of his sketches.

  That evening in the mess-tent Couzy, between cups of tea, confirmed what he had told us by radio.

  ‘We must find a way to the foot of the final pyramid,’ began Rébuffat. On this point everyone was agreed. But on the means of getting there opinions differed.

  What ought we to do? Ought we to go up this East glacier of Dhaulagiri, which was in a chaotic condition and was without question extremely dangerous? Or skirt round the Tukucha Peak, which marks the end of the north arête, and follow this Elbow Valley shown on the map,3 in order to reach the northern basin of Dhaulagiri?

  ‘We must reconnoitre in all directions,’ I said, ‘and to do so we shall obviously have to split up. During this period of reconnaissance, when we shall be working our way round Dhaulagiri and Annapurna, we need parties of two only .’

  ‘There’s certainly something to be done on Annapurna,’ declared Schatz. Then, dreamily, ‘A pass at 20,000 feet, a track …’

  ‘Dhaulagiri has a nasty look. I’d prefer the other fellow,’ admitted Couzy.

  ‘Very well. Tomorrow, we’ll all get going. You, Lachenal, and you, Gaston, will go and reconnoitre the East glacier. The M.O. and Schatz will take horses, and go up above Lete to get a view of the Tilicho Pass and Annapurna. Matha and I will take a little trip up to the top of the Elbow Valley, marked as the Dambush Khola. Perhaps we shall be able to see the north side of Dhaulagiri.’

  ‘And what about me?’ said Couzy, deeply disappointed.

  ‘You’ll rest in camp. Don’t worry, there’ll be something for everyone to do. It’s now April 23rd, we’ve time enough before the monsoon breaks, early in June. You, too, Lionel, try to keep warm.’

  ‘And stick to light food for the present,’ advised Oudot.

  Terray, who had been suffering from a stomach upset, was feeling a bit better already, but I still thought he looked very pulled down.

  ‘And I suppose I’m to twiddle my thumbs?’ asked Noyelle.

  ‘Your excellency will be good enough to make contact with the big-wigs. And you and Coucou can finish organizing the camp.’

  We were awake at 5 A.M. Lachenal and Rébuffat went off with two Sherpas, carrying skis and one high-altitude unit. This consisted of a nylon tent for two, two special sleeping-bags, two half-length air mattresses, a spirit stove and cooking utensils; the whole weighing roughly 22 lb. A shikari would guide them over the lower slopes of the mountain where otherwise they might well lose time in the valleys and forests.

  Oudot and Schatz were up and about, and their horses were ready at 7 o’clock. I hoped that during the day they would be able to go high enough to see the famous Tilicho Pass and clear up the mystery about it. Then Ichac and I left camp, delighted at the thought of being in the mountains once more. In a few minutes we came to the Dambush Khola, whose valley we were to follow as high as possible.

  ‘Certainly this stream’s on the small side,’ I conceded.

  ‘I don’t want to influence your judgment, Maurice, but to me it’s practically a certainty: the drainage from the northern slopes of Dhaulagiri doesn’t flow this way. There must be a valley on the other side. It follows that we must be separated from the north face by a ridge.’

  ‘We’ll soon see.’

  Our route took us through a wonderful stretch of thick jungle. We were greeted by the first rays of the sun, and at this early hour a delicate scent rose from some pink flowers, and some recently felled fir trees gave out the familiar smell of resin. It was already pleasantly warm. Jumping from boulder to boulder, climbing the rocks that barred our path, scrambling over precariously balanced obstacles at the risk of falling into the stream, we rapidly gained height.

  THE RIDGES OF DHAULAGIRI – These sketch maps show the fundamental differences between the map of the Indian Survey, above, and the true lay-out, on the right. Tukucha had been chosen as our base on account of its proximity both to the Elbow Valley, which appeared to give access to the north face of Dhaulagiri, and to the east face, where a small glacier lies wedged between the north-east and the south-east ridges As Dhaulagiri has no true north ridge, we were accustomed to call the north-east ridge (which joins Dhaulagiri to the Tukucha Peak) by this name.

  ‘The first snow!’ shouted Ichac happily.

  ‘More at home on this sort of ground, eh Matha?’

  ‘What contrasts there are here, and how different from the Alps! Here it’s only a step from jungle to snow.’

  By keeping to the cliffs on the true left of the valley we hoped to get some enlightening glimpses of the north face, and even perhaps a proper view. We had great hopes of this side, since we were aware that in the Himalaya north faces, for many reasons of geology and weather, often offer the least steep and least difficult means of access.

  For some time we had been keeping along by the cliffs.

  ‘It’s like the Cirque de Gavarnie, only on a much larger scale,’ remarked Ichac.

  The Tukucha Peak, a ‘seven-thousander’, completely blocked the view with its grand and terrifying walls. All round us cascades spouted from the rocks, and banks of rotten snow clung desperately to the flanks of the mountain. It was the end of winter.

  Who knows the secret of the renewal of life in such places? From beneath the snow as it melted and slid off, the vegetation appeared, stunted, twisted and flattened. Birds and insects were migrating to heights which once again could nourish them.

  ‘Another few weeks and summer will be here.’

  ‘The Expedition’s arrived at just the right moment, don’t you think?’

  Ichac took some bearings. The altimeter registered 11,000 feet. ‘North Nilgiris 111° east. Tukucha Peak 270° west … This map is wrong! It’s quite obvious. The great Dambush Khola cirque is contained on the north by a ridge coming from the Tukucha Peak. At the foot of Dhaulagiri on the north side there is another basin, that’s all. But if we’ve got to cross the ridge to get to that basin before tackling the north face, then we’ll still be here next year!’

  I was beginning to be shaken, but we had to leave it at that if we were to reach camp that same evening. We made some long glissades down the snow, stopped to take a few pictures and pick up some stones for the geologists, and at 4.30, sunburnt and happy, were sipping wonderful tea with milk back in camp at Tukucha.

  ‘What, didn’t you even see Dhaulagiri?’

  The others were astonished. No doubt they had been expecting a 1:20,000 map in relief, and coloured too, upon our return from the outing.

  ‘You must never expect too much from a reconnaissance. Everything’s on such a huge scale. It’s bound to take days and days of marching to get a view of the north face, even from a distance …’

  ‘No post?’ asked Ichac.

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Noyelle; ‘I’ve spoken to G. B. and he is making inquiries.’

  ‘What about Annapurna? Have you seen it?’ I asked Oudot and Schatz who had just come back.

  ‘Only the very top part.’

  ‘Ah, at last!’

  ‘The little we saw looked all right. I think it impressed us favourably, didn’t it, Oudot? Getting there, however, is quite another matter, and I’m afraid it’s going to be a bit of a puzzle. But of course we only had a very distant view.’

  ‘We were just able to pick out, above the gorges of the Miristi, a sort of depression which on this side looked possible. The other side is an unknown factor. We’d have to get a much closer view to be able to say anything.’

  ‘You ’re right, we’ll have to get a much clearer idea of it,’ I said to Oudot. ‘As soon as you’re rested, you can go off again
, this time for several days.’

  For the moment we were completely in the dark. We discussed it all endlessly, but this didn’t increase our knowledge by one iota.

  ‘Hi, Maurice! Here’s the boss!’

  Noyelle came in with G. B. and a gentleman of forty or so, well-dressed, and wearing boots. He had fine drooping moustaches, and looked intelligent. It was the Suba, the head man of the district. There were Hindu greetings on both sides.

  ‘He comes from Tinigaon,’ our friend G. B. informed me with emphasis, pointing to a native who had held back until then. ‘He’s a friend of the Great Man.’

  A searching interrogation began, for the man was a shikari who claimed to be perfectly well acquainted with the Tilicho Pass. We had to take him to look at our map.

  ‘Tilicho Pass, at the foot of Annapurna? No? There. What?’

  ‘But it’s not possible – north of the Nilgiris? And not south? Isn’t it along the Miristi?’

  He must be muddling it up with another pass – the Thorungse, above Muktinath.

  ‘No, look, he says no.’

  ‘Let’s see, it’s most important. If the Tilicho Pass is to the north of the Nilgiris we should have to cross them to get to Annapurna, which would be impossible, or else make a big détour to the north.’

  ‘Can he take us to the Tilicho Pass? Two days’ march? Why, then, that alters everything. We’ll soon see when we get there.’

  ‘In point of fact, on the map there is a star marking a col to the north of the Nilgiris.’

  ‘Look! The Tilicho Pass is clearly marked all the same between the Nilgiris and Annapurna. Perhaps the surveyors have made a mistake about the name? There must be a pass there all the same. Ask this chap from Tinigaon if there is a way between Dana and Manangbhot.’

  ‘He’s never heard of one.’

  What were we to believe? There was only one thing to do – go and see the Tilicho of the man from Tinigaon. But this was all part of the exploration of Annapurna, and would be for later on. For the moment we were concerned with Dhaulagiri.