‘You must come there,’ he began again, ‘every day there are miracles: flames come out of the ground, the priests make prophecies.’
‘We’ll certainly come. In a few days perhaps …’
Ichac suddenly had a wonderful idea: ‘Shall we climb Dhaulagiri?’
Here was a chance to show off his talents! The Lama reflected deeply. He began to tell the beads of an enormous rosary. He gazed up into the sky, then down at his hands. This went on for more than five minutes while we remained silent and motionless. Were we about to witness some extraordinary feat of magic? Had we not been told that these Lamas were supernatural beings?
Very slowly, the Lama seemed to be coming back to earth: he brought himself to utter:
‘Dhaulagiri is not propitious to you …’ Then he added after a minute: ‘It would be best to give it up and turn your thoughts towards the other side.’
‘Which side?’ asked Ichac.
For us the question was of some importance!
‘Towards Muktinath,’ he said, as though it was obvious.
Did he mean Annapurna? The future would soon show us.
Lachenal now turned up, bronzed by the sun. He had left Couzy and Schatz at the glacier camp, and as the radio was out of order, we should be without news of them for some days. About 5.30 Oudot and Terray ‘landed’ (the word is no exaggeration) from the cliff overhanging the camp. Terray was wildly excited; he’d grown a beard which made him look quite frightful.
‘As for Dhaulagiri, my lads, you can think again!’
His lips were protruding even more than usual in his efforts to find the right words. In a loud, exasperated voice he burst out:
‘Look here, Maurice, it’s absolutely unclimbable, that Dhaulagiri of yours! It’s fiendishly difficult!’
‘Come and sit down and have a drink. You’re all dust and sweat!’
I said this in the hope that they would calm down a bit.
‘Isn’t there anything to eat?’ Terray demanded.
‘They’re getting you something. Well, what did you see?’
‘I’ll tell you what happened from the beginning,’ said Oudot quietly. ‘On the third we pitched our tents at about 14,700 feet, between your two camps. The next day we spent the night in the Hidden Valley. When we got to the pass the porters gave us a bit of trouble. They were frightened: they had never been beyond this point. Yesterday morning, very early, Lionel and I reached the pass which you had seen from a distance and which overlooks the northern basin of Dhaulagiri. And there …’
‘Well?’
‘It still gives me the creeps.’ Terray could not stop himself from shuddering. ‘And there were the most terrifying gorges!’
‘But where?’
‘In front of us was Dhaulagiri,’ went on Oudot, ‘the real one – not what I had mistaken for it on the way up – and straight down below us was a huge glacier, heavily crevassed …’
‘The foulest-looking piece,’ put in Terray.
‘… flowing down a canyon with walls thousands of feet high!’
‘You see, I was right,’ said Ichac, with modest triumph, ‘so it does all drain into the Mayandi Khola!’
‘It’s all on such a terrific scale, it’s a world in itself,’ added Terray. ‘As for the north ridge, which you see separates this glacier from the East glacier up which you went, it’s half rock and half ice, and very steep. The north-west ridge, which we had never seen before, runs down into the canyon.’
This was most disappointing. ‘So you really think it won’t go?’ I asked.
‘The Lama,’ said Ichac briskly, ‘has informed us “Dhaulagiri is not propitious for you. Go towards Muktinath.” Well?’
‘Well, we must go towards Muktinath,’ I said firmly, ‘and tomorrow morning at that!’
‘Towards the Tilicho?’ asked Gaston.
‘We’ll cross the Tilicho, the pass north of the Nilgiris, the one spoken of by the man from Tinigaon, and we’ll take Annapurna in the rear.’
‘Why not make use of the Couzy-Oudot-Schatz reconnaissance of the Miristi Khola? They saw Annapurna.’
‘Yes, but only from a long way off. And they didn’t see the north face. To reach it isn’t going to be easy. And the ridge they saw there doesn’t seem to me to be worth it. They don’t think so either …’
‘Look at the map,’ interrupted Ichac: ‘if we go by the Tilicho we shall save several days’ march.’
‘You’ll see,’ said I, ‘we’ll arrive plumb on the north face – and north faces in the Himalaya are often the easiest. We’ll go just as far as is necessary to find Annapurna! As far as Manangbhot if need be.’
‘Well, so that’s what we’ve come to!’ concluded Ichac, quite disillusioned, ‘Just looking for Annapurna!’
5
Looking For Annapurna
‘HURRY UP, OUDOT, I’m starving.’
Lachenal and Terray were not enjoying themselves much that morning: Oudot was using them for various important tests – tests of metabolism, and Flack tests1 – and the proceedings had gone on for an hour or more. The tests had to be done on empty stomachs, which was hard luck, for people have pretty good appetites after getting back from a reconnaissance. While Terray was being put through it, Lachenal, who had finished, cut himself enormous slices of saucisson. From time to time Terray cast a sidelong glance in his direction.
‘Go away, Biscante, you hog, with your saucisson.’
‘Shut up, you’ll spoil the results,’ said Oudot unsympathetically.
At first I’d been a bit apprehensive that Oudot might be keener on climbing than on doctoring, but I need not have worried: he turned out to be a brilliant combination of the two. He kept me regularly posted about the physical form of my party and about the progress of their acclimatization. May all future expeditions have an Oudot!
While Terray was feeling sorry for himself, Ichac, Rébuffat and I were getting ready to leave for Manangbhot. An attempt on Annapurna by the Miristi seemed very problematical. From Manangbhot it should, by rights, be rather easier.
‘You can give Tilman our love,’ said Lachenal, who had finished his snack. Tilman is one of the great names in the Himalaya; it was he who had conquered the highest summit so far climbed by man – Nanda Devi, 25,645 feet high – and we thought the world of him. On our departure we had been told that he was preparing to explore just this district round Manangbhot. I felt that, given the party he had with him, his objectives would be a reconnaissance of the approaches to Mauaslu2 and Annapurna. Climbers always like to keep their plans dark beforehand; but it would be absurd if two expeditions were to attack the same summit.
Phutharkay left in advance to get quarters ready at Tinigaon. We were taking supplies for eight days; and before our return Oudot and Terray would have had time to go up to the Dhaulagiri glacier, if Couzy and Schatz should not meet with any success. These two rest days did me good; they gave me time to send news to France, to bring the Expedition’s accounts up to date, and to see that the organization of the camp was running smoothly. But the sedentary life really didn’t suit me and I was very glad to be off again.
Along the route to Tibet there straggled a number of caravans carrying salt and rice. We made a triumphal march through the little village of Marpha, where the prayer-flags were fluttering and the people crowded cheerfully round us. There were more Tibetans here than in Tukucha. All the Expedition’s sweets were distributed to a rabble of children; Marpha should retain happy memories of us! Later on we reaped the benefit of our open-handedness, for a great many coolies from the valley offered their services when we had need of them. We came upon a number of prayer walls adorned with slabs of rock upon which we read the classic inscription: Om mane padme hum.3 We were careful to respect the religious observances of these peoples, and to pass on the left of the walls. Little by little the look of the country changed; it became far more desolate even than the regions we had just left. Northward the contours were softer; hills covered with reddish coloured stones,
a new luminosity in the atmosphere, and a growing feeling of desert country, showed beyond all doubt that we were approaching Tibet, though the frontier was a good day’s march from this point.
At dusk we entered the wretched village of Tinigaon. The natives, extremely primitive and revoltingly dirty, stared suspiciously at us. A howling ragged mob, worthy of the Cour des Miracles of medieval Paris, escorted us to the only decent house in Tinigaon. A smiling Phutharkay was there to receive us; he had already made himself at home and was giving his orders, with his usual gentle kindliness, to numbers of women who crowded round him. We were in the house of the head man, the chief personage of the village, whose home served as a halting-place for the caravans. He was an astute trader, adept at procuring at an advantageous rate all that the village needed.
It was still dark when Angtharkay brought us breakfast next morning. A few stars were shining in a very clear sky: a promising sign. There, in the distance, a beautiful and moving sight, was Dhaulagiri, rising solitary above the shadows and already lit up by the sun. Its wonderful architecture stood out astonishingly, seen from here.
The shikari who was to guide us professed to be quite familiar with the Tilicho Pass, but he did not know how long it would take to reach it. We walked up in single file, bent under our loads. Angtharkay, Phutharkay, Pansy and several Tibetan porters came with us. To enable them to go faster, we had lent them boots, but these for economy’s sake they carried slung over their shoulders until we reached the snow.
After several hours’ march the shikari no longer seemed very confident of his previous assertions: though we plied him with questions he didn’t appear to know where the Tilicho Pass really was. In fact, this shikari was just an ordinary shepherd; and all he really knew was the way up to the grazing grounds. His role and his self-importance tended to diminish with the altitude, and, in the end he walked quite happily along behind us. In this manner we came to the much talked of Tilicho Pass.
Here we had a surprise. According to the map we ought to have been at the opening of a deep valley coming up from Manangbhot. Where was the wonderful view of Annapurna we ought to have had on our right? In some bewilderment we gazed at a dazzling scene of snow and ice where a galaxy of summits scintillated against the clear sky. It was a winter landscape, with something of fairyland in its brilliance and clarity.
On our right, instead of Annapurna, rose a gigantic barrier of mountains with many summits of about 23,000 feet. Before us opened out no deep valley but a vast plateau, in the centre of which was a great frozen lake covered with snow, its size difficult to assess. On the left, cliffs fell sheer to the immense white expanse of the lake.
‘But where the devil is Annapurna?’
‘There can’t be much doubt, Matha. It’s almost certainly behind that handsome triangular peak, over there – look to the right, in the distance.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Ichac.
‘Nor am I,’ said Rébuffat.
‘And the Tilicho Pass – where’s that?’ went on Ichac.
‘At the far end of the plateau, on the other side of the lake. It must overlook the Manangbhot Valley, which lies just beyond.’
‘Well, I shall have to verify that, but I’m not at all sure that you’re right.’
In any case we should have to go down towards the Great Ice Lake, as, for want of any better name, we already called it amongst ourselves. An hour later we were on its edge, and while Pansy cooked a meal, the discussion continued.
‘No sign of a lake on the map! And it’s at least four miles long.’
‘Oh, the map … Are all those summits marked on it?’
‘Where do you think the waters flow down to?’
‘This place is a regular funnel.’
‘Like the Mont Cenis Pass.’
‘I tell you the waters flow down towards Manangbhot!’
Everyone had his own idea, and insisted on putting it forward.
The main thing was to get to the other end of the lake. We took up our sacks, and the party proceeded along the left-hand bank until the superb red cliffs forced us out on to the ice. The coolies weren’t very keen on this diversion. Ichac belayed me with a nylon rope and I ventured out some fifty yards from the bank. There I jumped up and down and danced, and banged with my ice-axe to break the ice and measure its thickness. Then I called out to the others:
‘It’s like a billiard table. Come on, the lot of you!’
All the same it was better to be safe than sorry: so we roped up into two long parties, with the porters and Sherpas spaced out at intervals of at least twenty-five feet. They could not understand that we did this to secure the safety of one and all; being roped up like this prevented them from grouping together. The first rope started off in my wake. I began a wide circular sweep so as to come off the ice again on the other side of the cliffs. Behind me, one by one, the porters, bent under their loads, hesitantly approached the edge, then braced themselves to it as if they were plunging into water. Fervently gabbling prayers, they followed exactly in my tracks, the eyes of every one of them riveted to the ground. The operation went off all right, and henceforth the porters would not have the slightest wish to part company with us, for if they did they would be obliged to come back over the Great Ice Lake!
Safely across on the other side, we climbed up the slopes and reached a pass that corresponded to the one we had reached earlier that morning. We christened it the East Tilicho: its height was about 16,400 feet.
As I had suspected, there was no outlet here; this end of the lake was blocked. At our feet a deep valley opened out going down to Manangbhot. Here again I had made an error in estimating distances. I had imagined Manangbhot as lying at the bottom of a huge basin, but in fact the lie of the land was far more complicated: miles of moraines ran down steeply from where we stood, and the valley was blocked by a high mound of detritus. The only outlet here was a narrow defile which gave passage to the Marsyandi Khola, a torrent which rises at the Tilicho Pass and flows down beside the Great Barrier on which we hoped to find Annapurna. Beyond this obstacle, the ravine widened out gradually and here and there among the grey of the stones, shale and moraines were a few patches of green, islets of native cultivation.
To the right, along the continuation of the Great Barrier, were other peaks even more graceful and elegant than those we had seen above the Tilicho Lake; to the left, above the red cliffs, the Muktinath range rose to a number of 20,000-foot peaks. Behind us was the lake plateau over which we had just come, and at the far end the West Tilicho Pass which we had crossed that morning.
We settled down to a council of war. Ichac was of the opinion that, contrary to the map, Annapurna was possibly not situated on the Great Barrier.
‘These clouds have come just at the wrong moment. They’re blocking out all the higher summits. We can’t discuss things we can’t see.’
‘We had a glimpse just now,’ I said. ‘Of course I know the map’s a bit erratic, but I should hardly have thought it could make quite such an error; one doesn’t mistake the position of a peak over 26,000 feet high.’
‘So you think Annapurna’s on the Great Barrier?’
‘Yes, behind the big triangular peak in front of us.’
‘Well, I’m prepared to bet the Great Barrier isn’t marked on the map.’
‘Even though it’s over twelve miles long and has about fifteen points of 23,000 feet or over?’
‘Fifteen? Come, come,’ protested Ichac.
‘Well, there are quite a number.’
‘So, in short, you think the long ridge we see, and the ridge marked on the map, aren’t the same. Then there’d be two long ridges, wouldn’t there?’
‘I suppose so.’
Thereupon Ichac made some calculations about distances which, according to him, proved that it was quite impossible for Annapurna to be on this main ridge. I was shaken by his arguments, but not convinced.
Where on earth was Annapurna?
‘Well,’ I said at last, �
�let’s pitch camp here.’
‘Fine,’ said Ichac.
‘You can stay here tomorrow, and the day after as well.’
‘As long as you please …’
‘You can check your opinion by making all the observations you want to.’
‘And what are you and Gaston going to do?’
‘Go down to Manangbhot. No doubt Annapurna will turn up just there!’
‘I don’t really know whether that would help matters or not, but as far as I’m concerned I’d rather stay here.’
‘Right. We’ll take advantage of our trip to buy tsampa for the porters. Phutharkay and Pansy will come with us.’
‘Perhaps we’ll see Tilman, too!’
Next morning at dawn Rébuffat and I set off early with light sacks. We counted on finding provisions down at Manangbhot. Without bothering about the stonefalls that we started, we set off at a rush down the great ravine.
Jumping down from rock to rock, we soon lost height. We followed the turbulent waters of the Marsyandi Khola, which was fed by a big hanging glacier under the Triangular Peak. The lower down we went the more we realized the size of the cliffs barring the foot of the valley. Soon we were forced to admit that the bank we were following wasn’t really a practicable route and that we should have to cross. Gaston was over in a second. I hesitated. Let’s see, if I stuck my ice-axe into the bed of the stream and used it as a pole … One foot on that rock … hum! that’s not too safe … One … two! My muscles relaxed, the ice-axe twisted and the stone rolled over, and into the icy, frothing water I went.
The two Sherpas, Pansy and Phutharkay, had had a bright idea. They had made for the top of the cliffs and we could see them going along a vaguely marked track without any difficulty.
The great scree slopes which we had seen from the Tilicho Pass now barred our way, and from where we stood we could see no visible track or path. It was hard work climbing up. The slope seemed to be too steep for the stones to stay put, and the least movement was liable to start a regular avalanche. Far behind us we could see the Tilicho Pass, where we had been a few hours earlier.
Annapurna Page 7