Annapurna (9 page)

The next day, May 5th, at about 8 o’clock Couzy and Schatz left
camp
. It was their turn to go and rub their noses on the East glacier! Suddenly everything became very quiet. Ichac and I alone remained in Tukucha.

‘There’s a soldier going down to Tansing! Any letters?’

Of course we had a whole pile. But where was our mail from France? For more than five weeks we had been without any news. With G. B.’s help we wrote a letter in Gurkhali for the postmaster to try and clear up the matter.

A telescope with a magnification of twenty-five diameters was mounted on the camera tripod, and we were not long in discovering our friends at about 16,000 feet, high up on the snowy peak we christened the White Peak, getting ready for the descent. Ichac and I wrangled for turns at the telescope. They were now giving a fine exhibition of the French style of ski-ing, in spite of the snow apparently being in poor condition. I recognized Lachenal by his style as he executed some dazzling turns before the startled eyes of the Sherpas who, themselves, preferred to descend on their backsides.

On his return Rébuffat gave us an awestruck account of what he had seen from the White Peak.

‘What’s the south face like?’ asked Ichac, and without waiting for the answer I added:

‘When we saw it from Baglung it looked terrific.’

‘If you’d seen it from close up you’d have seen something! A monstrous slope, several miles high, and without a break – something like the north face of the Matterhorn, which as you know isn’t exactly an attractive place, only three times as big.’

We all looked at one another in consternation.

‘The best thing is just to write off the south face.’

‘At least now we know where we are. What about the south-east ridge? The other day when we saw it from the East glacier, you were the most hopeful, you said …’

‘I was absolutely wrong. To begin with, it’s incredibly long, it’s all very high up, and above all it’s technically very difficult: great walls and towers of ice, some rock, broken ground, gendarmes – there’s no end to it.’

‘Any possible camp sites?’

‘None.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘all that’s not very encouraging.’

‘Oh,’ he replied, ‘there’s absolutely no question of going
that
way.’

‘I don’t think any of us had many illusions about the south-east ridge,’ said Ichac, ‘any more than about the south face.’

‘What’s the verdict?’

‘We must put a big cross against both these routes.’

Dejectedly we went off to get ready for dinner in the mess tent.

The next day we received a visit from a Buddhist Lama whom we had already seen at Baglung. His claret-coloured robe was of doubtful cleanliness, but his expression radiated jovial good nature. Ichac, who much enjoys the simplicity and naturalness of Buddhist Lamas, gave him plenty to eat. Our Lama spoke enthusiastically of Muktinath. Our conversation with him was carried on with Angtharkay as intermediary and was very quaint indeed. This is about how it went:

‘Are you going there now?’ we asked him.

‘I’ll be there tomorrow.’

‘But it’s a long way from here.’ Even though he was a Lama, and a man of oracles and prodigies, I didn’t think he would have seven-league boots!

‘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 tests
¹
– 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 Mauaslu
²
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.