It was not until late in the afternoon that
my six Sherpas and I managed to escape from our
predicament. Early in the morning, soon after leaving our high
camp on the glacier, we had found
ourselves trapped above sheer cliffs - unable to climb back up
and unable to descend.
We were on the 10th day of our trek and on
the third day of crossing the remote, 5800metre
( c19,000ft. ) Tilman`s Pass through the Jugal Himal into the
Langtang Valley to the north of
Kathmandu.
Tilman`s Pass was the final link in my
traverse of the Nepal Himalaya from Kangchenjunga in the
East to Dhaulagiri in the West. The pass was only infrequently
crossed and Highland Sherpa, my
trekking agency, did not have a guide for the route. However
accounts of previous crossings did
not indicate that it would be any more difficult than other high
passes that I had already crossed.
From Kathmandu we drove through ripe,
golden-yellow, paddy fields and lush sub-tropical vegetation
to the roadhead at the Tamang village of Chautara.
For four days we climbed up and along a
broad ridgetop on primitive trails through uninhabited
wilderness. Fine views obtained down to the river valleys and
across to rugged, green hillsides
strewn with meagre terraces and isolated dwellings. Along the
northern horizon stretched the great
white wall of the Jugal Himal.
My six Sherpas were: Nima, sirdar, only 24
but a veteran of many previous treks with me; Phurba
Tilje, also 24, our cook, and Mingma, l8, our kitchenboy, both
from Nima's home village of Tashinam;
Phurba, 35, our climbing guide, and his younger brother Pema, 20,
a high altitude porter;
Pasang, 22, a porter and tall for a Sherpa at about six feet and
head and shoulders above the
diminutive Phurba.
On our sixth day a narrow, rocky staircase
wound up to the Jugal Panch Pokhari - a set of five
small lakes - ensconced in a vast boulder-strewn amphitheatre,
where we encamped near the small
temple to Vishnu, a place of pilgrimage for local Hindus from the
surrounding Helambu region but
presently deserted.
A faint and intermittent path now contoured
round a succession of corries beneath a high rocky
escarpment. From the crest of a final spur we gained a splendid
panorama of the peaks of the Jugal
Himal.
Directly opposite, towering above great
glaciers and tumbling ice-falls, were the twin summits of
the dominant Dorje Lakpa; only just under 7000metres in height.
Extending from Dorje Lakpa were the
jagged peaks of Kanshurum, Urkinmang and Ganchenpo forming a
massive barrier of rock and ice
blocking our way North to the Langtang Valley.
Although we could see our way ahead up the
moraines and snow of the Balephi Glacier our objective
of Tilman's Pass remained concealed by a dog-leg behind the
cliffs of Urkinmang.
Descending into the Balephi Khola Valley we
continued down past two lochans and encamped beside a
stream beneath the terminal moraine of the glacier. In the
evening the summit snowfields of Dorje
Lakpa flamed red in the final rays of the setting sun.
It was several hours difficult going up the
snow -covered moraines next morning before the pass
came into view - a narrow gap in the skyline sandwiched between
high rock precipices of Urkinmang
and Ganchenpo. Late in the afternoon we trampled out spaces for
our tents in a level snowfield
beneath the ice-cliffs falling from the upper glacier.
An awkward scramble up broken rock and
loose scree on the right ( East )side by-passed the
ice-cliffs and a series of narrow, suspect, snow-bridges provided
a zig-zag route through a badly
crevassed zone onto a broad upper neve.
It was then hard going through deep, soft
snow and the two Phurbas took turns at breaking trail.
However frequent stops were made to enjoy the spectacular view
back down the glacier into the
Balephi Valley.
A final steep, snow -slope gained the top
of the pass and a magnificent new panorama of the peaks
of the Langtang Himal ranged along the Tibetan border.
There were crevasses on the left and
crevasses on the right but we plunged directly down the
fall-line onto a small plateau where we made a second snow camp
beneath the towering heights of
Ganchenpo and Urkinmang. Further below, on the lower, flatter
glacier was a small lake seemingly
only a short distance away.
I slept soundly that night content that we
had successfully crossed the pass and with the prospect
of an easy, downhill journey the following day.
The two Phurbas had gone ahead and
signalled us to follow down a steep snow slope. It was at the
foot of the slope that our predicament began.
"Now we have to go round",
announced Phurba. I was not unduly concerned. Straight line
descents
are uncommon and I`d had to `fiddle` my way down many mountains
in Scotland and other parts of the
world. The lake looked very close.
Our climbing rope had already been secured
between two rocks. Loads were clipped onto the rope with
carabiners and slid across to the far end.
We were still transporting two dokos (
conical wickerwork baskets for carrying loads ). Mingma had
the `kitchen` doko packed with cooking and eating utensils and
Pema one with our food supplies.
The food doko was too heavy and was
unloaded. One sack was placed on the snow. I shouted a warning
as it started to move but too late. Moving slowly at first, it
gained speed, started to roll,
turned on its long axis and cartwheeled out into space. The
danger of our situation was apparent.
At the far end the loads were piled up. A
small white kitbag, a family heirloom, a relic of the
Boer War, was dislodged and also disappeared over the edge.
We were committed to continuing - there was no way of going back - certainly not carrying any loads. I was now seriously concerned about our situation. Two loads had already been lost - next time it might be a person!
We progressed across the face but without finding any way down.
Another traverse across a rock rib proved
more difficult to negotiate.. Again the two Phurbas
managed to secure our rope between two rock projections. However
in this case an initial vertical
descent was followed by a horizontal traverse.
I managed the vertical part but on
transferring to the horizontal lost my footing and found myself
suspended on the rope - the first time ever that I had ` come off
'. Badly shaken I regained
contact and inched my way to the end of the rope. It was a few
minutes before I recovered enough to
unclip and move on. The Sherpas said nothing but I do not think
they were impressed by my
performance. Mingma and Pasang followed without apparent
difficulty.
The `kitchen' doko was clipped onto the
rope and sent off but jammed on the rocks. The rope was
jerked to free it - the carabiner flew off the rope! For an
instant the doko hung in mid-air before
plunging out of sight. There was an outburst of Nepali -
presumably to the effect of " how the hell
did that happen?".
Phurba produced a jumar and climbed back up.
He then cut off the section of rope tied round the top
rock, threaded the rope through the belay and came back across on
the doubled rope enabling it to
be retrieved. We were now well and truly committed to finding a
way down.
Frustratingly, on the far ( western ) side
of the lake we could now see easy snow and scree slopes
leading from the upper glacier - obviously the way we should have
come.
A gully offered some hope of escape but
Phurba soon re-emerged. " Sakdaina ",( not possible )
he
declared.
Phurba and Pema then made a long rising
traverse across the face. I watched anxiously as they
negotiated a seemingly vertical rock step and then an exposed
slab. They disappeared round the
corner. It seemed an age before they re-appeared." Sakcha
", ( possible ) they shouted.
Slowly they returned hacking out better
steps in the snow and ice. At one frightening moment Pema's
foothold gave way but he quickly swung in the pick of his ice-axe
and hauled himself back up.
" Not possible to carry loads - only
personal belongings ", announced Nima. I agreed and our
remaining loads - tents, mattresses, kerosene, food, - were all
jettisoned to an uncertain fate
down the gully.
I was apprehensive about climbing the rock
step but it proved to be easy. The slab however was
awkward with no good holds. I called on Phurba to keep the rope
tight, spread myself over the rock
and edged my way up trying not to think about the drop below. The
other Sherpas followed with more
aplomb and assurance.
That was the crux. Around the corner a
steep snow slope, albeit an avalanche cone, swept down to
the lake. It had taken us eight hours to escape from the cliffs.
From the lakeside I looked back up at the
sheer wall and the vestigial, intermittent snow ledges.
It looked utterly impossible that we had somehow managed to come
across it.
We continued downwards over the rough, snow-covered moraines.
It was now late in the afternoon, the sun
had already disappeared behind Ganchenpo, and there was
no suggestion of going to look for the loads. We were still high
in the mountains and the only
thought was to get down as far and as fast as possible.
Another steep snow slope from the crest of
a moraine brought us onto the subsidiary Langshisha
Glacier and below the snowline. However it was now dark. By
torchlight we stumbled on over the
boulder fields and eventually came to a large shelter-stone
beside a stream.
Here Phurba and Pema decided to spend the
night and quickly had a fire going. I also decided to
stay. Nima and the others wanted to continue on to Kyanjin, a
popular trekking destination in the
Langtang Valley with many lodges, and after a brief rest they set
off.
It was a typical himalayan night-sky filled
with countless stars - familiar constellations of
Cassiopea and the Plough difficult to discern - and also bitterly
cold.
At first light I shared out the remains of
my emergency rations and we continued downstream through
trackless scrub. Shortly our way was barred by the Langtang Khola.
Ice-glazed boulders left us no
option but to immerse our feet in the freezing waters to get
across.
That was the final hurdle. At the yak
pastures of Langshisha we met another trekking crew who
provided us with some very welcome hot food. It was then a
pleasant walk in warm sunshine down the
meadows of the spectacularly beautiful Langtang Valley beneath
its avenue of imposing himalayan
peaks; Langshisha Ri, Ganchenpo, and the reigning, 7000metre,
Langtang Lirung towering above the
cluster of lodges at Kyanjin.
After a day's rest Phurba, Pema and Mingma
went back in search of the loads. Late the following
evening they returned in triumph. They had succeeded in
recovering almost everything. Apart from
the white kitbag, which had been torn to shreds but had protected
its contents, the major loss was
our two stoves. I had planned to return to Kathmandu over the
Ganja La high pass but this was not
now possible. We were all relieved!
