Annapurna (8 page)

‘So they didn’t see the Tilicho Pass?’

‘Not the ghost of a pass. If there really is a Tilicho Pass leading to the foot of the north face of Annapurna, it’s somewhere else.’

‘The man from Tinigaon was right! I hope they’re not too tired.’

‘They’re resting. What sort of weather have you got up there?’

‘Very cold. We’re in the clouds. Greetings to everybody.’

‘Cheers, and good luck.’

Next morning at daybreak we proceeded rapidly in the direction of the great ice-fall. From close at hand, and in the half-light, it was extremely impressive. The party consisted of myself, Lachenal and Rébuffat, and the Sherpas – Angtharkay, Phutharkay and Sarki. It would be the first time on this expedition that they had come up against considerable technical difficulties.

The day was one long search for snow-bridges over the crevasses: we wound in and out between immense barriers of ice or alongside gaping crevasses. We were obliged to make our way beneath gigantic seracs that threatened to collapse at any moment, for there was no alternative. As we climbed, cutting steps, or walking up on our crampons, we often glanced uneasily, out of the corner of an eye, at these huge, precariously balanced blocks of ice.

The slope steepened considerably, and we cut a lot of steps. The Sherpas laboured beneath their rucksacks, which weighed over forty pounds. The weather had been threatening since 11 o’clock, and it now grew suddenly worse. We had to find a level spot, sheltered from falling seracs, on which to pitch camp. It was 2 o’clock, we were only half way up the glacier, and it started to
snow
. The afternoon was lost. We spent a pretty restless night; my companions couldn’t sleep a wink.

We were up very early in the morning, for every day the weather was liable to break any time after 2
P.M
. Then the noise of the thunder would echo ceaselessly among the surrounding walls and rumble away until the evening.

Day was breaking, and the first rope climbed the ice slope above the camp. Various bits of ironmongery – ice-pitons, hammers and snap-links – clanked in our sacks: we were prepared for anything. At such an early hour the ice was very hard. The Sherpas used their crampons correctly, but were slow. As we had observed the day before from our lookout point, the best, if not the only, route ran along the true right bank of the glacier.

Round about 16,000 feet our breathing became laboured. When the Sherpas halted they would double themselves up over their ice-axes and empty their lungs with a deep whistle to which we soon became accustomed; even during the preliminary marches some of the porters used to breathe like this.

Although there is no hard and fast criterion in the matter, it seemed to me that I suffered less from the lack of oxygen than Lachenal and Rébuffat: probably the happy result of those recent nights spent at 16,000 feet. This consideration convinced me of the need to make everyone go up to between 16,000 and 20,000 feet before a major assault.

It was already midday, and we were still 300 yards from the plateau which marked the end of our difficulties. A glacier is like a river; the level places where it spreads out tranquilly are succeeded by turbulent falls. The possibility of crossing these 300 yards was doubtful.

‘Looks bad,’ said Lachenal.

‘Not reassuring. Look at the blocks of ice that have come down already!’ said Rébuffat.

‘Bare ice everywhere,’ I said dejectedly. ‘And what a slope! We’ll have to go right across the glacier and try the left bank.’

‘Before committing ourselves to that side, we ought to have a look just above, and to the left near the rocks,’ advised Rébuffat.

‘Go and see whether there’s a way, both of you. I’ll wait here with the Sherpas.’

In a twinkling they were up the first slope, which was green ice and extremely steep.

‘Well done! Nice work!’ I couldn’t help calling out to them.

Their skill cheered me greatly, and the Sherpas were amazed. After a few minutes Lachenal shouted:

‘Maurice! Don’t go over to the left. You can come up, we’re going to have a look over to the right.’

‘O.K. Be careful!’

The sky was livid – it was the daily storm coming up. Lachenal and Rébuffat were on extremely dangerous ground. At any moment they might be caught under a serac.

‘Let’s go on,’ I said to the Sherpas, who were not feeling too happy. I was obliged to cut plenty of big steps as well as holds for the hands, for their cumbersome sacks tended to tip them outwards. The angle was so steep that a man standing upright could lick the ice without the least difficulty.

‘Nothing doing,’ a voice called to me from above.

‘There’s an enormous crevasse right across the glacier,’ yelled the other. I could hear them cursing.

‘Won’t it go?’ I said, using the mountaineers’ term. ‘Well then, we’ll have to cross over. Perhaps there’s a way on the other side.’

It was snowing a little, the cloud ceiling was low, and thunder growled ceaselessly, setting our nerves on edge. All six of us were in the middle of gigantic seracs; we were overwhelmed by the unexpected difficulties with which the mountain was confronting us. Sinister cracking noises shook the great blocks of ice on which we moved. The glacier was pallid, the light grew dim.

Although they were obviously uneasy, Lachenal and Rébuffat made a gallant attempt in the direction indicated while the rest of us waited in complete silence, trying to keep cool and impassive when the glacier was shaken by signficant shocks and tremors. The others returned looking glum.

‘No way there,’ they told me.

‘It’s not very cheerful,’ I said doubtfully, ‘but … if there’s nothing doing …’

‘Maurice, we’d much better get down,’ insisted Rébuffat, ‘it’s not healthy here.’

Suddenly we heard a loud, prolonged cracking. We tucked our heads in: but it wasn’t our turn yet!

‘Come on! We’ll be caught,’ yelled Lachenal, ‘down we go.’

‘Let’s get out of this,’ shouted Rébuffat.

The endless rumbling of the thunder added to the general alarm. It wasn’t a retreat, it was a flight from the mountain, which was preparing to strike.

‘If we’re not caught, we shall be lucky,’ Lachenal just had time to gasp as he flung himself down the slope with a Sherpa on the end of his rope.

‘Get a move on!’

I swore at my chap, who was too slow for my liking. Down the ice wall we went, one after the other. Then a violent hailstorm broke, and we had to check ourselves from going to fast for safety in this place where every move demanded care.

‘Mind out for the Sherpas. Don’t let them come off,’ I called into the wind to Lachenal, who was setting rather too hot a pace for his man.

‘We’d go the hell of a long way!’ he flung back at me without slowing down.

The hail slackened: now, safely down the wall, we were out of danger.

‘Hell! We so nearly got there – !’

‘You can’t push on when it’s like that.’

I reflected that even if we had reached the plateau, it would have been madness to try to bring the main body up this way. The risk was far too great; no victory would justify loss of life resulting from such deliberately taken risks.

The hail turned to snow, and we were surrounded by mist which reduced visibility to five yards. Grey shadows loomed up from time to time as ghostly figures went their headlong way down towards camp. Avalanches of fresh snow fell continually, with a frightful din. The inferno receded, but for us it would always remain a nightmare memory.

About five o’clock, down at Base Camp, we were drinking tea which Noyelle had brewed as soon as he had spotted us.

‘So you came up yesterday?’

‘I found the way quite easily. When I got here I sent young Angdawa down to Tukucha – an unnecessary mouth to feed here, and Terray needed him.’

‘What day is it then? We’ve lost all notion of time.’

‘It’s the third.’

‘What, May 3rd already! Just a month more before the monsoon.’

‘And nothing decisive has been discovered about Dhaulagiri. To settle the whole question once for all we’d have to explore those buttresses of the south-east ridge lying just in front of us.’

‘Perhaps we could go,’ exclaimed Lachenal.

‘Right. As soon as your skis arrive, go and have a look at the big snowy point at the end of the ridge.’

‘A ski trip – that sounds all right.’

‘I’ll be able to take some pictures of the south face.’

Noyelle suggested that we should get into radio communication with Tukucha.

‘I spoke to Ichac a couple of hours back, but there was such a buzzing from the aerial that I thought it best to switch off.’

‘Afraid for your precious set?’ Biscante teased him.

A few minutes later communication with Tukucha was established.

‘Herzog speaking. What’s the news from Tukucha?’

‘Ichac here. All’s well in camp. Nothing to report. Lionel and Oudot went off this morning. But what about you?’

‘We haven’t reached the top of the glacier, but we know where we are.’

‘Then you’ve found a possible route?’

‘Not on your life! These mountains are unclimbable! No expedition could ever get through this way.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going down tomorrow. Rébuffat and Lachenal will go on skis to a small point of about 18,000 feet on the south-east ridge of Dhaulagiri. From there they will be able to see the whole of the south face.’

‘Do they need anything?’

‘Send up extra food supplies and three pairs of skis.’

‘O.K. If you come down tomorrow you’ll have
thar
for lunch.’

‘
Thar?
’

‘Himalayan chamois. G. B. and the Suba have been hunting – with our rifles – and shot three. There’s one for us.’

‘Well, then I’ll come down tomorrow for sure. And Lionel … did he go off just the same?’

‘Don’t worry – he took a good big hunk with him!’

‘See you tomorrow.’

‘Greetings to everybody. Off.’

Early next morning I left the others upon the grass beside the camp, giving the Sherpas a lesson in ice-technique, and made my solitary way back to Tukucha. The descent was pure delight. I tried not to lose too much time, but I couldn’t resist stopping every hundred yards or so. My heart was full of joy as I passed beneath the trees with their wonderful red blossoms and then, humming to myself, went striding down grassy slopes covered with budding spring flowers.

Between two fir trees, and modestly concealed by wooded hillocks, lay a green lake in whose limpid waters was reflected the graceful picture of the Nilgiris. The larches round it looked less severe than the firs, and its banks were covered with soft moss. Rough tracks led down to the stony plain of the Gandaki. The waters had risen, and I should be obliged to get my feet wet. I didn’t want to get blisters, and so I hesitated. By good luck a Tibetan came along just then, and took in the situation at a glance. In the admirable manner of the country, he took me gently on his back and then, despite his load and the current, he crossed the flooded streams of the Gandaki barefoot on the stones and deposited me on dry ground. How could I show my gratitude? I held out a rupee. Very respectfully he bowed to me several times in succession. Poor devil! Generosity can’t often be exercised in this wild part of the world.

‘Look, here’s another.’ He couldn’t believe his eyes. Bowing deeply, he came up and kissed my feet! I was rather embarrassed and didn’t quite know what to do. I struck a dignified and lordly attitude, and then went off feeling a bit ashamed of myself. At 1 o’clock I reached Tukucha where Couzy and Ichac gave me a cheerful welcome.

‘Fresh meat, for once,’ I said between mouthfuls. ‘Congratulations to G. B. for the
thar
.’

I was in splendid form, and my appetite rivalled Terray’s.

‘Was the East glacier all that bad?’

‘Technically, it must be much about the same as the north face of the Plan, but incomparably more dangerous. That’s what Biscante thinks too. We had some really nasty moments up there. We came whizzing down; the Sherpas all came off several times.’

‘Not very funny, that sort of thing,’ said Couzy.

‘But at any rate no harm’s been done.’

‘Yes it has! Time – the days are flying by. Dhaulagiri is putting up a very good defence.’

‘There’s no knowing we shan’t find a route tomorrow.’

Ichac gave Couzy a long glance, then answered me:

‘Tomorrow – that would surprise me. We’ve got to find a way, but what’s worrying me is that none of us has yet seen even the glimmer of a hope. The reconnaissance stage is far from finished.’

‘There are still possibilities of access by the south-east ridge. On the other hand the East glacier, which stopped us yesterday, might be turned by the left-hand wall.’

‘Now, Maurice, forgive me, but really …’

‘Yes, I’m a bit sceptical, too,’ I had to admit.

‘Schatz and I could go,’ said Couzy.

‘That’s true. Are you rested now?’

‘I should say we are!’

‘Well, you shall kill two birds with one stone: get acclimatized to the altitude, like the rest of us, and make a final reconnaissance of the upper part of the East glacier.’

‘Don’t you think that would just be duplicating the object of the trip which Lachenal, Noyelle and Rébuffat are making to the snowy peak?’ asked Ichac.

‘No, they’ll not be able to see much more than the possibilities of the south ridge and the south face.’

‘From one face to another, and one ridge to the next, we shall finish up by going all round Dhaulagiri,’ concluded Couzy. ‘So we’ll be off tomorrow.’

‘Congratulations on the
thar
,’ I said to G. B., who had come into the tent. He was very proud of being a good shot.

I noticed he felt like talking that evening. He seemed to be at a loose end. With some difficulty we started a conversation about Nepal, the Gurkhas, and the Rana family who are all-powerful in this country. From his wallet he pulled out his instructions, which were now a month old: he might have shown them to me earlier! He held out some parchment (made of bamboo paper) covered with Sanscrit writing and adorned with several complicated seals: it looked like the ancient charters of our early kings.