Annapurna (10 page)

‘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.

The stones were all the same size as though they had been put through a sort of sieve with an enormous mesh. When at last we reached the head of the gorge, we were suddenly brought up short by a steep ravine of hard earth.

‘There’s no doubt, we’ll have to cut steps,’ I said to Rébuffat, somewhat puzzled.

‘I’d rather it was ice!’

It was a chance to see how the Sherpas would manage. Phutharkay went ahead on to the slope, ice-axe in hand. He stood in perfect balance and cut steps with quick blows. Pansy followed, quite at ease. We had only to follow in their tracks.

After this ravine we had expected to find grass slopes, but when we reached the crest, a second ravine confronted us, then a third, and a fourth. In the end we were obliged to cut steps for a good hour before we reached the easier slopes of green. We went down some immense screes, glissading in clouds of dust.

It was past midday, and we stopped by the edge of the clear waters at the lower end of the gorges, and made a quick lunch. It was rough going along the banks of the torrent, and at times we had to climb up several hundred feet in order to find a way through the thick jungle growth.

This was a completely different world from the Tukucha Valley;
here
it was much hotter, there was more vegetation, and the contrasts were greater. From time to time flowering trees gave to the scenery a softer and more friendly aspect.

Man had already penetrated here, and the various ill-defined tracks now converged to form a path. Manangbhot was still a good way off, and as we had no camping equipment and very little food we must reach it that evening. At a bend in the path we suddenly came upon some habitation, sheltered behind a dip in the ground. A Buddhist
chorten
adorned with prayer flags marked the entry to the village of Khangsar. Ragged children, black with filth, caught sight of us and rushed up. It was the first time they had seen white men and they stared curiously at these apparitions from the mountains. They could not conceive that we had come from the other side of the range. In fact they didn’t know there was another side. The only path known to the natives here is the pilgrims’ track to Muktinath which goes over the Thorungse.

Pansy asked for the Suba. A noisy procession preceded us along the foul-smelling lanes. The Suba came out to meet us. He showed no surprise whatever: for centuries Buddha has taught the art of remaining impassive in face of the most extraordinary happenings. I asked him to procure tsampa for our coolies who had remained up in the mountains. With loud lamentations he replied that Khangsar was very poor: not a pound of tsampa to spare, nor a handful of rice, much less a chicken. We must go on to Manangbhot: it was only an hour’s march, he told us, and then the sahibs would find everything they needed. Manangbhot at once became a paradise, and without waiting any longer we continued on our way, in spite of the heat and our hunger and thirst.

As we left the village we came upon the completely bare skeleton of a yak, lying across the path. No one would dream of moving these sacred bones: there they had been for months and there they would stay until they turned to dust. Everyone reverently skirted round them.

A series of steps hewn out of the rock and a very steep slope brought us down to the torrent again, and we made our way rapidly along its banks.

‘Manangbhot!’ said Pansy.

The town was perched on the cliffs after the manner of the ancient towns of Tibet. From the river we could see nothing but
walls
, and it looked as if we were going up towards a fortress. A plank across the water showed that we were now in a civilized country.

We followed a series of alleys which brought us to the centre of the town where we found an immense prayer wall about fifty yards long. The villagers came running up on all sides and surrounded us: the usual wretched-looking children, an old woman with a very curious portable prayer-wheel which she turned continuously, and young men – most of them very good-looking, and with a different type of face from those in the Tukucha district.

Here all were Buddhists. They were all crying out something, I couldn’t make out what, but I didn’t worry. I had learnt that to say ‘good morning’ in this country everyone finds it necessary to make a long speech at the top of his voice. After discussions lasting a quarter of an hour, a man went off in search of the Suba. Meanwhile Pansy had found us lodgings on the second floor of a barn. We climbed up to it by a ladder made of a thick plank in which notches had been cut. We all left our sacks there and Gaston and I returned to the square.

The villagers gathered round gesticulating:

‘Americans?’

‘No, French.’

‘ – ?’

‘Yes, French.’

As if this were conclusive proof, they nodded approval:

‘American!’

‘No, there are Americans, and there are Englishmen, but we are French.’

‘Oh yes! But you’re Americans all the same!’

I gave it up.

Most of them were Gurkhas who had served with the British army. We were the first white men to come here.

But as for Annapurna, not a thing was known about it. A summit of 26,000 feet doesn’t pass unnoticed. Even if it were further along the range the locals should at least have known of its existence. Perhaps its name here was different – perhaps it was called after some other god.

The sun was sinking; it had already gone behind the splendid summit – our Triangular Peak – which towered above Manangbhot.
Through
Pansy, who questioned the inhabitants closely, we learned that the mountain in question was Ganga Purna. The two other summits on the left were Tchongor and Sepchia. Coming back from a stroll through the narrow alley-ways of the village, which had at last quietened down, Rébuffat and I met our Sherpas who reported sadly that the country was very poor. It would be extremely difficult for us to find supplies.

At that moment along came the Suba, an old man with a long beard, dressed very simply, and looking intelligent. After being introduced we sat down. Immediately the conversation opened on very practical lines. He would provide ten kilos of tsampa, and that was all. He gave us so many reasons that he got quite muddled himself. No hens, only four ridiculously small eggs; no milk and no rice. It was a very small amount of the tsampa so essential for our porters at the Tilicho Pass.

This serious news compelled me to send Phutharkay back to the pass first thing next morning. I scrawled a note to Ichac.

Dear Matha,

Phutharkay is just off on his way back to you. It’s a very very long way down here. Results up to date:

Beyond the great Triangular Peak, which is called Ganga Purna, is another summit, Tchongor, a snow and ice peak of 23,000 feet. Then the range appears to drop down to the valley at a distance of about two miles from here, near a junction with another river, the Choundikiou, at the little village of Chindi. From where we are we can see another big summit on the right bank of the Choundikiou – this is Sepchia.