 |
|
|
A Monkey's Tale
BANDAPUNCH: A MONKEY'S TALE
By: Hugh Moss
ALL IT TAKES IS, THE DREAM, THE DESIRE, THE DECISION AND THE COMMITMENT TO FOLLOW IT THROUGH.
We climb through 6000m, way higher than we've ever been: the air is correspondingly thinner. Out there on the vast white slopes with the world below us and our goal just ahead I count and breathe with my steps.
In, 1, out; in, 2, out; in, 3, out; in, 4, out; ......
The conditions, timing and solid companionship are in perfect alignment for success. On the final ridge, horsetails of spindrift billow over Dan as he approaches the summit cornices. Nearly there! We're going to do it!!
We put on crampons and rope up for the final approach -- it would be a long and unnecessary slide to the snaking glaciers below. Front pointing I dig in the sharp, black teeth of my crampons to the welcoming ice crust. Setting my axes in anchor I belay Dan up and past me to the broad shoulder of Bandapunch, our summit.
It was 10.06 a.m. on the 10th May 1995. We held our axes aloft in triumph and embraced one another with yelps of delight. Everything below us and above us only brilliant, heavenly, blue sky we felt at once excited and calm, content and happy.
John Cleare in his book "Mountaineering" says of expedition climbing that "to penetrate remote wilderness country and self reliant, locate, reconnoitre and climb small peaks or the ultimate mountains offers no greater satisfaction." He's not wrong. The process encapsulates the delight of being alive, on a grand scale amid stupendous natural architecture. Standing there on that summit we were momentarily at one with creation.
Preamble
At the beginning of 1994 I broke my back in a serious paragliding accident. My wing collapsed in a wind shear and the first I knew of it was that my whole field of vision was occupied by the red of an inoperative canopy. I was "flying" inbound towards the scrub covered, rock hillside, at 60kph. "This is it" I thought as my life flashed through my mind's eye.
WHACK I went in.
Here could end the story but I was alive. My first thought: "bugger this for a sport I’m going to stick to climbing". A week prior to the incident some friends had given a slide show on an expedition in Nepal. I was inspired by their enthusiasm for the mountains, their achievement and not least by their stunning pictures. I decided it was something I must do at least once in my life.
Over the next week-and-a-half I held onto a thin thread of hope until a successful operation removed bone fragments from my spinal column, decompressed a lumbar fracture, inserted a titanium scaffold and fused five vertebra. My recovery was miraculous and throughout the next year my close friend and climbing partner, Peter Baily shared his plans for a Himalayan expedition with an ever enthusiastic offer to join Toby Molins (a climbing friend from England), Dan Corning (a big-wall rock climber from the States). Initially I just couldn't see it. Apart from skiing holidays I'd never been up in the snow and ice, not even in Scotland or the Alps, let alone the Himalaya!! How would my back hold up? Would I ever be fit enough and how would I get the time off work?
We focused on the beautiful Garhwal Himalaya. Just to the west of Nepal this Indian range is the cradle the infant Ganges. Access to the mountains is comparatively easy yet the area is surprisingly undervisited by westerners. Most early Himalayan exploration took place here. Longstaff climbed Trisul (7100m) in 1906 and Tilman, Shipton and Smyth all marvelled at the scenic beauty of the region in the 1930s, comparing it to an enlarged Switzerland with splendid pine forests, lush valleys and flower strewn meadows. It sounded good to us and we picked a remote amphitheatre with a number of lesser peaks and two 6000m giants named Bandapunch (the Monkey's Tail) and Kalanag (the Black Tooth).
We met for the first time in April at Le Meridien, New Delhi where we were sumptuously hosted for three nights -- given that our creature comforts for the majority of the trip was to be in tents it was an ironic but extremely welcome bolt hold. Arriving with huge backpacks, expedition bags and skis we were far from the usual clientele and drew muffled amusement in the glittering lobby.
Tearing ourselves away from five star luxury we threw ourselves headlong into the harsh unreality of Indian public transport and, like confused alien orphans, were unceremoniously deposited in downtown Rishikesh, the next morning. Pushing on, we caught the last bus of the day at 2pm and unfurled sleeping pads on the roof for the 6 hour journey to the hill station of Uttarkashi. Reclined like Roman Emperors and with a warm breeze in our hair we rambled up and down steep switchbacks, passing through a landscape of terraced paddy fields, thick forests dotted with temples, shrines and villages of smiling faces.
Stupidly, Pete and I had come without skis, which spelt a disastrous gear glitch in accessing our peaks. After four days in Uttarkashi we managed to conjure a couple of ancient pairs from thin air with the help of a local agent and we scoured the town for additional food essentials. Spreading the gear on the spacious lawn of the guesthouse we felt like and expedition -- all we needed was ten porters.
At dawn on departure day we fought our way through a milling throng of pilgrims, Brahmin cattle, military- and hill-folk to load our gear. The bus was brimful so we happily overflowed onto the roof as we trundled out of town to a cacophony of air horns in a belch of black exhaust. Deep into the Garhwal, the road carved a delicate course up the Bhagirathi River gorge. Five hours on, with butterfly excitement, we glimpsed the first snow clad peaks of the Gangotri massif, towering, impossibly high above the deep valley. High above Sukhi, where we alighted, a snow bound saddle marked our route towards the Bandapunch amphitheatre, and our base camp -- a mere 15km away as the Himalayan eagle flies. It was to take us six days to reach.
The trail wound up through low pastures and we were greeted shepherds and children with the cordial "Namaskar". We quickly reached the snowbound pass, expecting to see our mountains as the cloud came down and the wind picked up. Faced with a steep descent into a deep gorge it was all too quickly apparent that our lads weren't the "porters with equipment" we'd negotiated for. They were woefully equipped -- track pants, T-shirts, hole ridden sweaters, canvas trainers and plastic thongs, a tweed jacket here and a wind proof anorak there and a couple of hats between them. Fortunately we were 'over' equipped and as the rain fell we dug into the packs dishing out our gear in a process that left the porters better dressed than their clients. We dropped down from the saddle, made a bedraggled camp just as the heavens opened and dined on packet soup, boiled cabbage and chocolate. As the rain lashed our tents we began to wonder why we were there.
The following day dawned crystal clear and across the chasm, we saw our brilliant white goal, burning in the morning sun. Making our way through emergent spring pastures and thick pine forest clinging to steep walls, we precariously slipped into the chasm. There we crossed the confluence of two rivers whos' brown waters boiled like a river of cappuccino. In this pristine nature, the only sign of human invasion was the scattered remnants of a shepherds' fire -- no litter, no footprints.
With the cumbersome loads, it was tough going as we scrambled over fallen trees and small land slides but as we climbed the next valley the river became covered with snow and the travelling was good and our spirits were high. Making an early camp we settled around the fire and exchanged happy songs with the porters beneath the star encrusted heavens.
By mid-morning of the following day a towering wall of rock with the snout of the glacier tumbling from its precipitous 1000' face blocked our way. In the midday sun we climbed for two hours before realising that the route was too technical for the party. Exhausted by the heavy loads, altitude and the wilting heat of the sun, we retreated -- it was a wrong turn, part of the learning curve, the process of an expedition. The porters saw it differently and like stubborn donkeys they dug their heels in and refused to go any further. Restless and cold the majority were for leaving, simply not equipped for going on. We couldn't blame them and as a heavy snow began to fall we upped the day rate we managed to secure four hardy Nepalese to help us up the next 1000m, to our base. The remaining six scampered off.
We simply wouldn't have made it without the faithful four. The 16 year old PBS was the real hero. He would cook our food in appalling conditions, doggedly carry huge loads in shin deep snow wearing only a pair of borrowed Nikes; his feet were never dry but his bright smile never waned. His friend, CBS, we suspected had never been above the snowline, was as cheerfully determined. The venerable Birdadur always shouldered the heaviest load on his short, stocky frame and moved the fastest. Singh just got on with it. They set quite an example to us "hardened" mountaineers who walked and slept in down and wore toasters for boots.
We were into snow country and pre-dawn starts were the order of the day, for as the morning sun bathed the icy surface crust it would melt and you'd sink up to your knees. It was to take another three teeth gritting days of early starts and leap frogging gear up steep slopes in thick snow to finally reach our base camp at 4500m.
I was completely breathless and somewhat dizzy from the altitude but as I caught my breath and drank more tea I began to take in the view. From where we’d come astonishing array of peaks tossed in exquisite perplexity; while to our backs our mysterious peaks loomed through the cloud. We dug snow ledges and set cook and gear tents, reserving the best view for the front door of our four-man Vango. On the first "official" rest day we waved a cheery to the porters who were to return for us in two weeks.
After the much needed rest day we headed out early for a recce of higher ground. With the skins strapped to our skis we were able to glide quickly (not effortlessly) up to the top of the second icefall. From the top, the enormous snowfields of the Charian Glacier spread like a Himalayan desert. A third, larger icefall rose in front of the snowy pyramidal Bandapunch and to its right towered the ominous black wall of Kalanag. Moving left along the base of an attractive unnamed peak identified only by it's height, 5500m we skirted the snowfield. The scale was staggering, and the silence deafening as we contemplated the enormity swirling about us.
The weather was set into a regular pattern of crystal clear mornings with cloud building by mid-afternoon and snowfall to early evening. Right on schedule the clouds moved in, thunder rumbled and as we moved off, snow collected on the base of our skis. We were confused as to why but they were useless so we strapped them to our packs. We started to whirr and crackle as the electrons of the inbound storm found earth through us -- we'd become mobile lightening conductors and we hurried back to base and left our skis and packs well away from the tent as the snow came down.
We decided on an acclimatisation climb of peak 5500m. The alarm bleeped into life at 12.30am. Not a lot of movement. It is so appealing to just stay asleep in the cold and dark. You have to get up right away or never. Pete and Tobe were out first and full of enthusiasm. Dan wasn't well and his farts told the whole story, I was nearly sick and made a break for the fresh air.
Beneath the sparkling firmament on an icy surface, we cramponed to the base of the peak. Pete and Tobe shared the lead up the steep slopes to the first rock band. My breathing was laboured and my progress painfully slow, I was lagging far behind. In the silent world, with my heart pounding I pushed on through the demoralisation of following, relishing the breaks where Pete or Dan would wait with encouragement. They were both worried and irritated by my slow progress -- it was too cold to stop for long and I searched for an evasive, regular pace.
Dawn awoke the magnificent scenery and the sun lifted our spirits as we crested a ridge which dropped precipitously down a rocky south face. I pushed doggedly on and it felt fantastic when eventually I joined the team on our first summit amid friendship, warmth, and laughter. As I caught my faltering breath water, chocolate and dried mango was thrust on me. The freezing cold, pre-dawn start with a body fighting sleep and a stomach fighting unknown fear were faded memories. I contemplated the vast, compelling grandeur as black choughs effortlessly beat their wings on the rising thermals --how easy it is for these birds to gain the celestial summits.
An immense snowslope fell away to the basin and we opted for the quick route down. Pete was first to launch. Ice axe in hand, ready for a self arrest, he leapt from the ridge and with big, honking steps he jumped and jogged through the deep snow, down the vastness of the grade, soon a fading red dot. I followed a different line some 20m to his left. What had taken over seven cold, dark hours to climb took less than an hour to descend in brilliant sunshine. Elated, feeling strong and tremendously positive we cooked up a large lunch and decided to go for an advanced base camp after another rest day.
It was an creaky start, our packs weighing at least 25kg as we schussed awkwardly out on skis, the skins barely holding on the icy crust. Tobe was out ahead but Dan was suffering an upset stomach. As he strapped his skis to his pack he dropped the thermos flask which skidded off down the glacier, leaving us with one tiny cup between four to drink from -- he returned to base to get two more. As Pete caught up with Tobe I waited, marvelling at the beauty of the starlit mountains, for Dan who scrambled back. As he climbed into his harness the inevitable back door emergency happened. I bit my lip, choking back the black comedy of the scene. He was having a serious motivation crisis and his sense of humour was long gone -- it was my turn to encourage.
It was 4am when we crested the top of the first icefall and we were a good hour behind the others. The sun rose in a cloudless sky, Dan grew more positive and we revelled in the ethereal beauty of golden light bouncing irregularly of the glassy surface of the crevasse chewed landscape. The others were dots on the distant third icefall. By the time we'd crossed the snowfield the sun was high and had well and truly melted the hard surface crust. We sank to our knees in the others' footsteps. Skis were the only way forward so we zigzagged up the steep sugary face and began to enjoy the process. Another immense snowfield, as yet unseen, opened up before us like a great desert complete with shimmering heat haze. The sun reached its zenith ,we'd way underestimated the distances and were paying heavily for our delayed start -- our skis sank into soft snow which the others had glided smoothly across.
Our route threaded through a blockade of surreal crevasses and snow bridges beneath Bandapunch. Shattered, we ascended a fourth icefall and skirted the mountain into an awesome amphitheatre spewing late afternoon avalanches from serrated ramparts. We finally spotted the tiny yellow spec of our tent dwarfed by an enormous tongue of ice spilling down off Kalanag. Pete and Toby had already been there for four hours. We threw off skis and packs and collapsed in the snow. Toby put on a brew and cooked up a dehydrated cocktail of beans on toast and Spanish paella -- it tasted so good.
The heat of the day turned sharply to high mountain cold and sardine-like we packed ourselves inside the yellow dome. Someway rested, Pete and Toby were keen to get on with the summit the next day. After our 14 hour slog Dan and I simply couldn't face it. It was a natural division but nevertheless disappointing that we wouldn't all summit together. At midnight, with a brisk wind whipping the flanks of the tent, they struck out into the fading moonlight. Dan and I made maximum snooze use of the vacated space. At 9.30am we heard delighted shouts from two tiny specs only just visible against the dazzling cobalt sky. They'd done it and we welcomed them back two hours later with chocolate and tea -- it was their turn to collapse.
Dan and I go
Our deep sleep was disturbed at 1am as the shrill bleep of the alarm kicked in. I unzipped my warm down bag and poked my nose into the still midnight air. The bright glow of the early moon was receding beyond the serrated ridge while the sky above was thickly decorated with a thousand constellations and the bright grey swathe of the Milky Way. Against this universe the benevolent pyramid of Bandapunch was outlined and we stepped out into the crisp, velvet dark of the high glacier. Cheerful grunts of good luck emanated from Pete and Tobe in the cramped tent.
Anxious of the shadowy maws of crevasses, I was glad of the previous day's tracks which we followed on to the first steep slope. I couldn't shake the early morning knot of fear. In this vast white wilderness it is the nag of self doubt, fear of the unknown, and the anxious voices of friends and family (justified in the wake of my paragliding accident). I shifted my focus and extinguished the comforting beam of my head torch, adjusting my eyes and following Dan's silhouette.
Even with three pairs of socks and the latest high altitude "thermo" liners woodening effect of the cold was hard to avoid. Depending on the gradient and the co-operation of my pounding heart, I managed thirty to forty steps between rests, when I hyperventilate to extract precious oxygen. In spite of the effort I felt elated to be in such immaculate, virgin wilderness with nothing but self imposed limitations to restrain progress to the goal. Doubts, fear, laziness, the cop-out option, a faltering commitment to go the whole way -- they all tease the mind.
To the east the comforting glow of the new day highlighted the Garhwal palisades. Venus, the harbinger of dawn, sailed south across a silvery sky; the Big Dipper and Orion vanished as the sky changed from amber to orange and gold then a deep cobalt and azure as the rising sun dispelled the last traces of night. It brought welcome warmth to our backs and caressed the vast white slopes and ramparts of the whole range.
Within view of the summit and after six hours of effort, Dan called a rest. Nearly spent, I planted my pack beside him and sat heavily in the deep, dry snow. The blissful sensation of dried mango and large mouthfuls of chocolate running down our gullets replenished low sugar levels. The view was more dramatic than ever and we sucked it in. Below a river of fluffy cloud filled the Bhagirathi Valley and a clear, petrol blue haze split the layers of air around the Gangotri massif.
Charged with new body sugar we climbed the summit ridge. The wind whipped up emotive horsetails of spindrift over Dan as he approached the summit cornices. Nothing could stop us. We front pointed up the last dramatic metres onto our summit. Higher than either of us had ever been before we felt invincible, we felt like we could do anything. So this is why climbers do it. This elusive and transient feeling, fleeting through the body, mind and soul, this irrevocable smile, this joyous heart, this incredible view. Success, we'd done it. It felt fantastic.
To the east and west stretched the peaks of this planet's greatest mountain range, dramatically represented by the resplendent black tooth of Kalanag. To the North, the Tibetan Plateau and to the south, across a calm ocean of cloud, towering nimbus, marked the heat building on the Indian Plains and New Delhi, where, spewed from our 5 star luxury of Le Meridien, we'd started our climb, some three weeks before.
Sitting in the dry snow of our achieved eerie, lapping up the 360 degree scene beneath a peerless cobalt sky we wallowed in a top of the world sensation and I realised what was important to me.
It was what I already had: a loved one, family, friends, a home and integral to them all, my health.
While Peter and Toby were set for more, and went on to a successful ascent of Kalanag and another peak called Panwali Dwar, Dan and I were content with our achievement and between us couldn't wait to get down and get on with the rest of our lives.
Thanks for having us Bandapunch.
Members of the expedition wish to thank the following sponsors for their kind support: Air India; Inchcape Insurance Brokers and A.I.U; Fuji Photo Products; Oakley/PacVision; the North Face; Mr Simon Murray; Hong Kong Mountaineering Training Centre; Le Meridien, New Delhi; Vango; Sprayway; StokerBar; Trigon and Ushba Mountainworks. |
|
|
|
|
|
