Annapurna (7 page)

‘I’m as weak as a kitten!’ he told us. ‘I feel like death.’

To be on the safe side, he would go back to the first camp after having drunk some good hot tea.

‘It’s only mountain sickness,’ said Ichac. ‘You’re not really fit again. If you go down lower you’ll be all right at once.’

Angtharkay, after helping us to pitch our second camp, would go down to join him. We said goodbye to Terray and set off again, traversing some wide snow slopes overhung by great walls of seracs. The danger of avalanches was real but not excessive; we took the risk with our eyes open. We made over as quickly as possible to the side of the slope which might lead us to the pass, and embarked on a long pull up, which was very heavy going because of the altitude; we were not yet acclimatized. The pass was a long way off and we decided to send Angtharkay back. A little rocky island right in the middle of the slope offered a site for our tent. After putting down his load Angtharkay went off quickly so as not to be overtaken by the dark.

We soon began to suffer from splitting headaches, which are frequent above 16,000 feet, and were glad of the tablets of aspirin which Oudot, with foresight, had handed out. Although we were both very tired, we could not sleep a wink, and at sunrise we started in the direction of our wretched pass, leaving the tent up. We ascended much faster than the day before, and reached the pass in barely an hour. The morning sun made the ridge ahead of us stand out in extraordinary relief and bathed it in lovely clear colours.

‘Bad luck – this isn’t the true pass yet,’ I said to Ichac, who was deeply disappointed.

Instead of looking out on to a valley, we had before us a basin of crusted snow.

‘Maurice, look over there! The pass is the other side, at least two hours from here.’

In spite of our preliminary marches we were feeling our lack of training and acclimatization. It showed itself in our abnormal tiredness.

‘Everyone, including the Sherpas, will have to go on reconnaissance and sleep out between 16,000 and 20,000 feet up,’ I said to Ichac. ‘Today has made me realize that without previous acclimatization, one can’t go really high.’

An icy wind greeted us as we approached the pass. We put on our nylon anoraks and trousers, which were both snow- and wind-proof.

‘Well I’m damned! This is most odd. A valley starting here –’

‘It’s not marked on the map,’ said Ichac. ‘It’s an unknown valley.’

‘It runs down in a northerly direction, and divides into two great branches.’

‘No sign of Dhaulagiri! Surely it’s not that pale imitation over there, that impostor opposite us?’ said Ichac, pointing towards a 23,000-foot peak which had an odd likeness to Dhaulagiri.

Before us the ‘Hidden Valley’, as Ichac called it – he loved giving things names – ran gently downwards. It was broad, like a valley scooped out by a glacier, and the alternation of snow and yellow grass reminded one of a tiger’s striped coat.

‘To see the north face of Dhaulagiri, we’d have to go round to the left, right to the other end of the valley; it must be a terrific sight from there!’

But my words did not seem to arouse any enthusiasm in Ichac.

‘It’s too late now,’ he replied, ‘and we haven’t got the necessary camping gear.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘Go on down a bit, if you like, I’ll take a panorama and then we’ll be off.’

On the other side of Tukucha, above the Nilgiris, there rose a mighty summit which Ichac identified as Annapurna. He made a rapid sketch of it while I was climbing up to him again. There was a keen wind from the north, and clouds were coming up, so after swallowing the contents of a tube of condensed milk, we started back.

Walking automatically, and looking straight ahead, we advanced in silence: we were both short of breath. Our minds wandered off into daydreams. I thought of the gentle valley of Chamonix with its trees, of so tender and restful a green, and its shady paths, so pleasant to stroll along. I felt my strength ebbing. The last rise before the pass was hard going, and Ichac made the trail. I tried to follow him; I just couldn’t. Every ten steps I lay down in the snow. I couldn’t go any further! Ichac cursed me roundly – the only thing that does any good at times like that. At last we got on to the ridge. God, what a relief! But we still had the whole descent before us.

To my great surprise, from the moment we started going down I felt as light as air. We went careering down to the camp, reaching it in a few minutes. This was a new experience for me: going up, one suffers from the height, the lack of oxygen and difficulty in breathing; coming down is quite a different story – everything seems dead easy.

While the water was heating for tea, Ichac told me a queer thing had happened while we were on the plateau:

‘As I was ploughing along heavily, I thought I heard someone else behind me … a third man. He was following us. I wanted to call out to tell you. I couldn’t. I glanced behind me rather furtively, to set my mind at rest. But like an obsession, the feeling of someone else there kept on coming back to me. Then everything was all right again. It happened at the same moment that you felt so groggy.’

‘It just shows that when you’re at a great height, your powers of clear thinking deteriorate very quickly.’

We were all in, our legs like jelly and our heads like lead. Then the sun began to reach us, through the ceiling of nasty-looking clouds.

‘Angtharkay is coming!’ cried Ichac, who had just seen a little black speck on our tracks.

‘That’s fine! He’ll help us carry all this stuff.’

We were excited, and ready to put off for a while the joys of our super sleeping-bags. We got into our frozen boots as best we could, broke camp in record time and then burdened like donkeys we moved carefully down the slope of rotten snow.

‘Salaam, Angtharkay!’

‘Tired, sir?’

He wanted to carry everything himself, and it was hard to resist the temptation; my shoulders were being sawn through by the straps; but it was wiser to share the labour. On we went, striding down slopes which were just ready to avalanche and completely untrustworthy at this time of day. Here now was the ridge – Terray’s nightmare – and our skis were still there. Angtharkay went on down to the lower camp on foot while we skied slowly down, describing elegant figures in the very uneven snow.

Next day we were given a triumphal reception at Tukucha.
Terray
, who had gone down the day before, was better, though still pretty exhausted. The others plied us with questions.

‘Well, what do you make of Dhaulagiri?’

‘Where do the waters from the north face drain?’

‘They drain into the moon!’

¹
This impassable chain (not to be confused with the Nilgiri Hills of South India) forms an immense screen between Tukucha and Annapurna. To reach Annapurna one would have to skirt the Nilgiris to the south along the Miristi Khola, or to the north.

²
The East glacier lies between the north and south-cast ridges. At first sight it appeared to give access to both ridges.

³
See map,
see here
.

⁴
The north buttress of the Pointe Walker on the Grandes Jorasses is perhaps the most difficult climb in the Alps.

4

The East Dhaulagiri Glacier

EVERYONE WAS BACK
in camp, except Couzy and Schatz, who were still off on the Annapurna reconnaissance, so it was a good opportunity to review the general situation. Oudot, who had only just left them, reported that on April 27th he had gone as far as the depression which we had first seen from Lete.

‘It was hard work, but perfectly possible for porters. From there we saw Annapurna – but a long way off. From the higher ridges a spur runs down into the Miristi Khola Valley.’

‘And the pass?’

‘No sign of the Tilicho. I stopped there and let the other two go on.’

‘What it amounts to is this,’ I said after a moment, ‘there are three problems. For Dhaulagiri we must explore the north side, and the way of getting there. The reconnaissance that Ichac and myself have just made gave us one glimpse into the unknown, but did not really clear up the problem.’

‘It’s not a problem,’ said Ichac, ‘it’s a mystery. I’ve my own ideas on the matter, but obviously we must go and see for ourselves.’

‘Well then, we must organize another reconnaissance over there. It’s far away, and it’s high. We’ll have to make an all-out effort.’

‘I’m ready to go,’ said Terray, ‘as soon as ever I can. I’m fed up with being sick. I made very heavy weather the other day with Ichac and Maurice. I want to get my own back. In two days’ time I’ll be perfectly fit again.’

‘I don’t want to push myself forward,’ put in Oudot, ‘but I admit I’d like to be off, too. I spend my time handing out Epsom salts to my panel patients in Tukucha.’

‘All good for prestige. And anyway you’ve only just got back.’

‘Our prestige is so high it can stand my absence for a few days.’

‘Seriously,’ I put in, ‘I don’t care for the Expedition’s medical officer being too long away from Tukucha, but obviously it would be a good thing for you also to get acclimatized.’

‘Then we’ll go together,’ decided Terray.

‘Right you are.’

‘I warn you,’ said Terray to Oudot, ‘I’m going on to the bitter end.’

‘We’ll get there together.’

‘However long the route, however many passes there are to cross, whatever the difficulties, I shan’t stop.’

‘All that’s necessary is for you to go to a point from which you can sketch the whole northern side of Dhaulagiri,’ said I.

‘Right,’ said Terray, ‘but I’m in earnest about what we’ll need for this trip. I shall want two Sherpas, six porters whom we can engage locally, and at least eight days’ supplies.’

‘We’ll go into all that in detail.’

‘And what’s the second problem?’ asked Lachenal, who was obviously infected by Terray’s fever to be up and doing.

‘The second question is Annapurna. We’ll have to go further into it, but before we can decide anything we must wait for Couzy and Schatz to come back. As for the third problem …’

‘Ah, this is where we come in, Gaston,’ said Lachenal to Rébuffat.

‘You don’t know what I’m talking about.’

‘Oh, don’t I?’

‘The East glacier of Dhaulagiri,’ said Gaston.

‘Exactly. Is it possible to make one’s way up it, and then to get on to the south-east ridge on the left, or the north ridge on the right? Here again the reconnaissance that you made in this direction with Biscante wasn’t pushed far enough for a definite opinion to be possible.’

‘Far enough, all the same,’ Gaston replied, ‘to make us pretty dubious about it. I don’t think going straight up the glacier would be at all easy. Judging from what we saw, it’s a huge slope of ice cluttered up with seracs and seamed with crevasses. Avalanches sweep it continuously. I don’t much like the look of it.’

‘I shall go with you,’ I said to Lachenal and Rébuffat. ‘We’ll ride up as far as possible on horseback, and pitch a small base camp at the foot of the glacier. It’ll be surprising if we can’t clear up the problem.’

The following day everyone rested. In the morning Ichac, Noyelle, Rébuffat and myself took the opportunity to climb up a hillock south of Tukucha from which we had a perfect view of Dhaulagiri. Through the glasses I picked out the frightful obstacles on the East
glacier
. By keeping to the left, that is to say, on the true right bank of the glacier, we should be able to avoid most of the seracs, except in the upper section. The problem was to reach one of the two ridges.

Dhaulagiri, as seen from here, was magnificent. The morning mists were still lingering in the valleys, but high up the snow and ice glistened and made us blink. The sky was pastel blue. On another rocky point barely 200 yards from us, a vulture was watching, motionless.

We had now been in Asia for a month.

Next morning we traversed the great rocky flats of the Gandaki on horseback. The Sherpas took us by way of Larjung, no doubt so that they could spin the prayer-wheels. This village, where the alleys are covered in by roofs – there must be a great deal of snow in winter – is extremely picturesque. Half a mile further on we left our mounts, and the party spread out over the grassy slopes. Numbers of yaks and cows were grazing hungrily on the lush grass. On the hill-side our way was lined by trees covered with sweet-smelling blossoms that ranged from pink to red. It wasn’t easy to keep to a timetable in a paradise like this. Today – and the Sherpas couldn’t understand it – we let the porters have all the halts they asked for. It was fantastic that only a few hours after seeing these giant flowers and this inviting turf we were to be walking upon glaciers of such a scale that our cheerful assurance would suddenly change to awestruck respect. All day we climbed up.

We left the tree-line behind, and some patches of scrubby grass were the only sign of vegetation at this height; the névés increased in number. The porters came up steadily with their loads, and when evening came we pitched our Base Camp on the last patch of earth. The radio was set up – it enabled us to receive and send messages at a distance of over six miles – and contact with Tukucha was established. I listened with almost childish delight to Ichac’s voice as he gave me the latest news and the current village gossip.

‘Hallo, Matha? We’ve arrived safely. It’s gloomy up here this evening in this weather. We’re all spending the night here …’

‘Noyelle is leaving tomorrow to join you. Couzy and Schatz are back.’

‘Oh! What about Annapurna?’

‘They went on for three days. They succeeded in reaching the bed of the Miristi Khola.’

‘Excellent!’

‘They crossed it and then ran up against a subsidiary ridge coming down from Annapurna.’

‘The same one they saw with Oudot on April 27th?’

‘That’s it. This ridge seems to be huge. After a plausible-looking start it probably links up with the main ridge, but this junction wasn’t visible from below.’

‘Did they go any further?’

‘No. They thought it would be quite impossible to skirt round the ridge to have a look at the north face.’