THE RUPAL NULLAH
'And thus these threatening ranges of dark mountain,
which, in nearly all ages of the world, men have
looked upon with aversion or with terror, are, in
reality, sources of life and happiness far fuller
and more beneficent than the bright fruitfulnesses
of the plain.'--_Modern Painters._
Our camp in the Rupal nullah was certainly most picturesque, pitched
on a slightly sloping bank of grass, strewn with wildflowers and
surrounded by a species of willow-tree which, during the hot midday
sunshine, afforded most welcome shade. Firewood could be easily
obtained in abundance from the dead stems and branches of the thicket,
and water from a babbling stream which descended from the lower slopes
of Nanga Parbat, almost within a stone's-throw of our tents.
Determined after our week's walk from Bandipur to make the most of our
delightful camp, we spent the next day, July 17, in blissful laziness,
doing hardly anything. We pretended now and again to busy ourselves
with the tents and the baggage. A willow branch which hung in front of
our tent door would need breaking off, or a rope tightening. But the
day was really a holiday, and our most serious occupation was to bask
in the warm sunshine and inhale the keen, bracing mountain air fresh
from the snow-fields at the head of the Rupal nullah.
[Illustration: _A Himalayan Nullah._]
The sense of absolute freedom, of perfect contentment with our present
lot, blessed gift of the mountains to their true and faithful devotees,
was beginning to steal over us. Languidly we talked about the morrow,
our only regret arising from our inability to catch a glimpse of that
monarch of the mountains, Nanga Parbat, and the ice-fringed precipices
which overhang his southern face.
The Rupal is the largest nullah close to Nanga Parbat. It runs
eastwards from the peaks by the Thosho pass under the whole southern
face of Nanga Parbat, till it joins the valley coming down from the
Kamri pass, some eight miles below Tashing. The total length is
about twenty-five miles in a straight line, but only those who have
wandered in these Himalayan nullahs know how that twenty-five miles
can be lengthened. The interminable ups and downs, which with endless
repetition confront the traveller, now descending on to glaciers by
steep moraine walls, now scrambling over loose stones and debris, or
crossing from one side of the nullah to the other, all the variations
which a mountain path strews with such prodigality in the way, set
measurement at defiance, and no man may tell the true length of a
nullah twenty-five miles long. The inhabitants are wise; they speak
only of a day's journey, and later we easily dropped into their ways,
miles being hardly ever mentioned. In fact, to show how deceptive
measurement by the map may be, when late in August we left the Diamirai
nullah with the whole of our camp baggage to reach the next big nullah,
the Rakiot, the traverse over two easy passes just below the snow-line
took us no less than three days from early in the morning till late at
night, though the distance as the crow flies is only ten miles.
Tashing, the village, which lay a few miles below us down the valley,
is large and prosperous, the peasants owning many flocks and herds.
Chickens, eggs, and milk are plentiful, and situated as it is some
distance from the Gilgit road, any surplus stock of provisions is not
depleted to the same extent as is the case with hamlets in the Astor
valley. Sheep, which are small and not easy to obtain at Astor, may be
purchased without difficulty at Tashing. Not many years ago Tashing
used to be periodically raided by the Chilas tribesmen, who lived on
the western slopes of the Nanga Parbat range. They, like the old border
thieves, would swarm over the Mazeno and Thosho passes and lift all
the sheep and goats they could find, sometimes even taking the women
as well. This, however, is now completely stopped since we 'pacified'
Chilas. Mountain robbers of course still harass the land, but they have
been driven further to the westward, and now it is the Chilas folk
themselves who are the victims. In fact we heard later that at the
end of July the tribesmen from Kohistan and Thur (to the south-west
of Chilas) were pillaging the country at the head of the Bunar and
Barbusar nullahs, where they had killed several shepherds and driven
away their flocks.
[Illustration: MAP OF NANGA PARBAT J. Bartholomew & Co. Edin^r.]
The Rupal nullah above Tashing is fairly fertile, the vegetation
stretching up a considerable distance. Pine-trees and small brushwood
flourish at the foot of the Rupal or main glacier, whilst for several
miles further on the north side of the valley grass and dwarf
rhododendron bushes grow. The glaciers from Nanga Parbat sweep across
the valley much in the same way as the Brenva glacier sweeps across the
Val Véni, cutting off the upper pasturages from the villages below. Of
course the highest peak in the neighbourhood is Nanga Parbat itself.
But those on the south-west of the Rupal nullah, rising as they do
some 7000 to 8000 feet above the floor of the valley, present a most
magnificent spectacle. One especially (marked 20,730 feet) which stands
alone at the head of the nullah, charms the eye with its beautiful form
and exquisite lines of snow and rock. We christened it the Rupal peak,
whilst its neighbour further west, almost its equal in size (20,640
feet), we named the Thosho peak.
Another summit (20,490 feet) to the eastward might, as it stands at
the head of the Chiche nullah, appropriately be termed the Chiche
peak, and the glacier which descends from it to the end of the Rupal
glacier, the Chiche glacier. A very good idea of the relative size and
form of the great main range of Nanga Parbat on the north side of the
Rupal nullah may be obtained from the top of the Kamri pass. The ridge
to the westward of the true summit of Nanga Parbat, stretching as far
as the Mazeno La, does not culminate in any very pronounced peaks.
The lowest point, probably 19,000 to 20,000 feet, lies a little over
a mile directly west of the top of the mountain. We have called this
dip in the ridge the Nanga Parbat pass, and two peaks marked 21,442
feet and 20,893 feet the Mazeno peaks. To the eastward of Nanga Parbat
the Rakiot peak, a superb snow-capped mountain, rises to the height
of 23,170 feet, and here the main ridge turns considerably more to
the north-east, ending in the twin Chongra peaks, 22,360 feet, which
overlook Astor and the Chongra valley. Beyond these a sudden and abrupt
fall in height of about 3000 feet occurs, and the ridge running more
and more in a northerly direction, and never rising above 18,000 feet
in height, constitutes the western boundary of the Astor valley.
The height of our camp in the Rupal nullah was calculated from
observations made with a mercurial barometer. The difference in level
between the two cisterns was 531 millimetres, from which observation it
was 9900 feet above sea-level.[F]
We finally decided that it would be best to obtain a good view of the
south face of Nanga Parbat before we made up our minds whether we
should remain in the Rupal nullah. Two of us, Mummery and I, agreed
to start the next day with the intention of combining business with
pleasure; in fact, we had vague ideas about climbing the Chiche peak,
20,490 feet.
On July 18 we set out early. Our route lay up the north side of the
Rupal nullah through the fields of the small hamlet of Rupal. The
morning light, the ripening crops waving in the sunshine, and the
fields backed by pine woods, glaciers, and snow-peaks, were very
beautiful. Unfortunately, as is usual in this part of the Rupal nullah,
we were unable to obtain any view of the great peak of Nanga Parbat,
our path taking us directly underneath it. Above the Rupal village
the Nanga Parbat glacier sweeps across the valley from underneath
the summit of the peak. This glacier, which owes its formation to
avalanches perpetually falling down the southern face of the mountain,
lies across the Rupal nullah almost at right angles, and forms a huge
embankment varying from 500 to 800 feet high. The route up the nullah
here turns off to the right, following a hollow which has been formed
between the mountain-side and the true left bank of the glacier, and
which we found well wooded, with a clear stream running down the
centre. In all the larger nullahs the same conditions were conspicuous:
usually for several miles up the valley above the end of the glacier a
subsidiary valley would exist, between the side moraine of the glacier
and the hill-side. These side moraines are often clothed with huge
pine-trees, whilst below, birches and willows, dwarf rhododendrons and
wild roses, cover the pasturages.
A climb of about 200 feet is necessary to take one on to the Nanga
Parbat glacier, which at this point is flush with the top of the
moraine, and, like so many others in this district, is littered with
stones of all sizes. Though much more uneven, it is similar to the
lower end of glaciers such as the Zmutt or the Miage. On the west side
of the glacier a steep descent must be made down on to the bottom of
the Rupal nullah. The floor of the valley here is carpeted with masses
of brushwood. As one proceeds up the nullah two more glaciers, similar
to the Nanga Parbat glacier, descend at a steep angle from the big
peak, but do not stretch quite across the valley, and can be passed by
walking round between their ends and the Rupal torrent. Just below the
Rupal glacier itself, a well-wooded stretch of pasture-land opens out,
studded with pines and other trees. Here it was that we saw, or thought
we saw, our first red bear; he was some way off, but the keen-eyed
shikari saw the bushes moving, and assured us that the movement was
due to a 'Balu,' and as there were traces of these animals in every
direction, probably the shikari was right.
Having made up our minds to camp just at the end of the Chiche glacier,
we tried to effect a crossing over the Rupal torrent which looked
quite shallow in several places, but these mountain streams are very
deceptive. From a distance of a hundred yards nothing seems more easy
than to wade across, but to any one in the swirling torrent the aspect
of affairs is very different; ice-cold water with insecure and moving
stones below is by no means conducive to a rapid crossing, and our
shikari, who first essayed it, made but little advance. Ultimately
he edged his way safely back to land, but still on the same side of
the stream. Mummery, who was not to be beaten, next made a determined
effort, but in his turn had to retreat after having been very nearly
swept off his feet. There was, however, an alternative route. By
ascending the valley to the end of the Rupal glacier a path would
doubtless easily be found on the ice which would take us across to
our camping-ground for the night. We were not disappointed, and soon
found a spot where our tents could be pitched. The day had been more or
less misty, but towards sunset the clouds began partially to roll off
the peaks. Then in the gleaming gold of a Himalayan sunset we beheld
the southern face of Nanga Parbat. Eagerly we scanned every ridge and
glacier, as naturally we preferred to attack the peak if possible from
the well-provisioned and hospitable Rupal nullah. Should we be unable
to find a feasible route on this side, then it would be necessary
to move our base of operations over the range into the wild Chilas
country, about which we knew very little, but where we were certain
supplies would be difficult to obtain. Knight, who was at Astor in
1891, writes of the Chilas country as follows:--
'That white horizon so near me was the limit of the British Empire, the
slopes beyond descending into the unexplored valleys of the Indus where
dwell the Shinaka tribesmen. Had I crossed the ridge with my followers,
the first human beings we met would in all probability have cut our
heads off.'
Our survey of the south of Nanga Parbat was not very encouraging;
directly above the Rupal nullah the mountain rose almost sheer for
14,000 to 15,000 feet. Precipice towered above precipice. Hanging
glaciers seemed to be perched in all the most inconvenient places,
whilst some idea of the average angle of this face may be obtained from
the map. The height of the glacier directly under the summit is about
11,000 to 12,000 feet--that is to say, in about two miles or _less_,
measured on the map, there is a difference in height of 15,000 feet.
In the Alps one can only compare it in acclivity with the Mer de Glace
face of the Charmoz and Grépon. On the south face of the Matterhorn
or of Mont Blanc a mile measured on the map would probably only make a
difference in height of some 5000 and 7000 feet respectively. To come
to more familiar instances, the top of the Matterhorn rises 8000 to
9000 feet above Zermatt, but it is distant some six or seven miles;
whilst the summit of Mont Blanc, which is 12,000 feet higher than
Chamounix, is about eight miles off.
One route however seemed to offer some hopes of success. By climbing
a very steep rock buttress and then traversing an ice ridge, which
looked like a very exaggerated copy of the one on the Brenva route up
Mont Blanc, a higher snow-field could be gained, from which the Nanga
Parbat pass seemed easy of access. But as the pass was not much over
20,000 feet, at least another 6000 feet would have to be ascended,
and the rocky ridge which connected it with the summit would tax the
climbers' powers to the utmost. An obvious question also arose as to
the possibility of pushing camps with provisions up to 20,000 feet by
this route, for we were agreed that our highest camp must at least be
somewhere about that altitude.
But the evening mists again drifted over the magnificent range opposite
and soon hid the upper part of the mountain. They did not finally
disappear till long after sunset. In the meantime we contented
ourselves with planning our expedition for the morrow by the light of
the camp fire. The height of the camp by mercurial barometer was 12,150
feet.
Before daylight next day we started up the middle of the Chiche
glacier, accompanied by two of our Kashmiri servants. Stones without
number covered the ice, and our lanterns only sufficed to show how
unpleasant our path on the glacier was likely to prove. Soon the cold
grey of the morning revealed the Chiche peak straight in front of us,
a dim and colourless shadow. Quickly the dawn rose; we saw the bare
precipitous ice slopes on its northern face, scored everywhere by
avalanche grooves, and the loneliness of the scene impressed itself
upon us. We were entering on a new land, a country without visible
trace of man; probably we were the first who had ever ventured into its
recesses. No breeze stirred, and the eastern sun slanting across the
peaks threw jagged shadows over the snows; soon rising higher in the
heavens, it topped the ridges and bathed us in its warm glow.
At once the glacier wakened into life, and as the stones on the
surface were loosened from the frozen grip of night, those which were
insecurely perched would ever and again fall down the slippery ice;
then would we hear a grating noise followed by a deep thud or booming
splash. These luckless stones had 'left the warm precincts of the
cheerful day,' and deep in the cavernous hollows of each crevasse or
below the still green water of the glacier pools they rested, till
such time as the crushing heel of the relentless ice should grind them
slowly to powder.
Grand and solemn in the perfect summer's morning was my introduction
to the snow world of the mighty Himalaya. The great hills were around
me once more. The peaks, ridges, ice-clad gullies, and stupendous
precipices encircling me, sent the blood tingling through my veins;
I was free to climb where I listed, and the whole of a long July
day was before me. To those whose paths lie in more civilised and
inhabited regions, this enthusiasm about wild and desolate mountains
may seem unwarranted, may, perhaps, even savour of an elevation of
fancy, a vain belief of private revelation founded neither on reason
nor common sense. They probably will agree with Dr. Johnson, who
writes of the Western Highlands of Scotland: 'It will readily occur
that this uniformity of barrenness can afford little amusement to the
traveller; that it is easy to sit at home and conceive rocks, heaths,
and waterfalls, and that these journeys are useless labours which
neither impregnate the imagination nor inform the understanding.' The
'saner' portion of humanity, on the whole, are of one mind with the
great Doctor, at least if one can judge from their utterances, and the
votary of the mountains is often looked upon with pity as one who,
being carried away by a kind of frenzy, is hardly responsible for his
actions.
A sport like mountaineering needs no apology. Moreover, it has been so
often and so ably defended by writers with ample knowledge of their
subject, that nothing remains for me to say to this 'saner portion,'
unless perhaps I might be allowed to quote the following oracular
remark: '"But it isn't so, no-how," said Tweedledum. "Contrariwise,"
continued Tweedledee, "If it was so it might be; and if it were so it
would be; but as it isn't, it ain't. That's logic."'
There are, however, those who accuse the mountaineer of worse things
than a foolish and misguided enthusiasm about the waste places of the
earth. I have often been told that this ardent desire for wild and
rugged scenery is an unhealthy mental appetite, the result of the
restless and jaded palate of the age, which must be indulged by new
sensations, no matter at what cost. Why cannot the mountaineer rest
content with the fertile valleys, the grass-clad ranges, and the noble
forests with the streams flashing in the sunlight? Why cannot he be
satisfied with these simpler and more homely pleasures? To what end
is this eagerness for scenes where desolation and naked Nature reign
supreme, where avalanches thunder down the mountain-sides, where man
has never lived, nay, never could live?
To a few the knowledge of the hills is given. They can wander free in
the great snow world relying on their mountain craft; and should their
imagination not be impregnated nor their understanding informed, then
are their journeys indeed useless. For Nature spreads with lavish hand
before them some of the grandest sights upon which human eye can gaze.
Delicate, white, ethereal peaks like crystallised clouds send point
after point into the deep azure blue sky. Driven snow, marvellously
moulded in curving lines by the wind, wreathes the long ridges; and in
the deep crevasses the light plays flashing backwards and forwards from
the shining beryl blue sides: sights such as these delight the soul of
the mountaineer and tempt him always onward.
The ever-varying clouds, forming, dissolving, and again collecting
on the mountains, show, here a delicate spire of rock, undiscernible
until the white curling vapour shuts out the black background, there a
lesser snow-peak tipped by the sunlight floating slowly across it and
rimmed by the white border of the morning mists.
But it is needless for the lover of the mountains to describe these
sights; the mere stringing together of word-pictures carries little
conviction. The sailor who spends his life on the ocean might just as
well attempt to awaken enthusiasm for a seafaring life in the minds
of inland country-folk, by describing the magnificence of a storm at
sea, when the racing waves drive by the ship and the wind shrieks in
the rigging, or by telling them of voyages through summer seas when
the fresh breezes and the long rolling billows speed the ship on its
homeward way through the ever-changing waters.
The subject, however, must not be taken too seriously. No doubt the
average individual has most excellent reasons for abstaining from
climbing hills, whilst the mountaineer is, as a rule, more competent
to ascend peaks than to explain their attractions; and to quote from a
fragment of a lost MS.,[G] probably by Aristotle: 'Now, concerning the
love of mountain climbing and the excess and deficiency thereof, as
well as the mean which is also a virtue, let this suffice.'
But I have wandered far from the Chiche glacier. Whether it was owing
to our tremendous burst of enthusiasm which reacted on our ambition, or
to a lack of muscle necessary for a hard day's work, nevertheless it
must be recorded that presently our anxiety to climb the Chiche peak
gradually dwindled, and after several tentative suggestions we both
eagerly agreed that from a smaller summit just as good a view of Nanga
Parbat could be obtained as from one 20,490 feet high.
We therefore turned our attention to a spur on our right which ran in
a northerly direction from the Chiche peak. As the day wore on even
this proved too much for us, and after tediously floundering through
soft snow, and cutting steps up a small couloir of ice, a strange and
fearsome process to our Kashmiris, we sat down to lunch, at a height of
16,000 feet, and basely gave up any ideas of higher altitudes. We were
hopelessly out of condition. Below us on our left lay a most enticing
rock ridge, where plenty of fun and excitement could be had, and from
its precipitous nature in several places, it would evidently take us
the rest of the afternoon to get back to our camp.
Clouds persistently interfered with the view of Nanga Parbat, but
now and again its summit would shine through the drifting vapours,
showing precipice above precipice. The eastern face of the Chiche
peak, which we saw edgeways, was superb. Nowhere in the Alps is there
anything with which one can compare the savage black corrie which
nestled right in the heart of the mountain, showing dark, precipitous
walls of rock, with here and there a shelf where isolated patches of
snow rested. This corrie forms one of the heads of the Chiche nullah,
which would be worth visiting for this solitary and savage view alone.
As we descended our rock-ridge we had to put on the rope, and soon
experienced all the pleasures of the initiated. Our bold and fearless
Kashmir servants got more and more alarmed; and the peculiar positions
they occasionally thought it necessary to assume made us feel how sweet
is the joy of being able to accomplish something that an inexperienced
companion regards as impossible. In many places it was only by very
great persuasion that they were induced to move. Many were the things
they told in Hindustani, which we understood but imperfectly, though
we gathered in a general way that no self-respecting Kashmiri would
ever attempt to climb down such places, and that even the ibex and
markhor would find it an impossibility, a true enough assertion, seeing
that many of the small rock faces to be negotiated were practically
perpendicular for fifteen or twenty feet.
We reached our tents late in the afternoon to find that Hastings had
come up from the lower camp. A council of war was then held. Evidently
we were not in condition to storm lofty peaks; and in order to get
ourselves into proper training, a walk round to the other side of Nanga
Parbat was considered necessary. Hastings as arranged had brought up
plenty of provisions, thus enabling the party to brave the snows and
uninhabited wilds in front of them. Our immediate movements decided
upon, we sat round the camp fire, dined, smoked, talked, and finally,
when the stars were shining brightly above the precipice-encircled
summit of Nanga Parbat opposite, retired into our sleeping-bags for the
night.
FOOTNOTES:
[F] All the heights given, other than those taken from the Ordnance
Survey, are deduced from observations made with a novel and portable
form of mercurial barometer, which can be coiled up and carried in a
small tin box in the pocket. As we were unable to make comparative
readings with a second instrument at a known height, the barometrical
readings are, in every case, calculated from the pressure at sea-level
being assumed to be 30 inches. This makes the heights, as a rule, about
800 feet _lower_ than if 31 inches were taken as the normal sea-level
pressure.
[G] Cp. page 304.