ASCENT OF THE DIAMIRAI PEAK
'Nothing that is mountainous is alien to us; we are
addicted to all high places from Gaurisankar to
Primrose Hill, wherever man has not forked out
Nature. No doubt we find a particular fascination
in the greatest and boldest inequalities of the
earth's surface and the strange scenery of the
ice and snow world; but we are attracted by any
inequality, so long as it has not a railroad
station or a restaurant on the top of it.' DOUGLAS
FRESHFIELD.
About this time we were beginning to run short of provisions, though
a month earlier we had ordered all sorts of luxuries--jams, Kashmir
wine, and so forth--from Srinagar, and had heard that they had been
despatched to Bandipur, to be forwarded thence by the Government
Commissariat Department. All inquiries were, however, fruitless,
but Bruce had promised that should he, on his way down country to
Abbottabad, discover their whereabouts he would hurry them on.
Eventually he found them reposing at Bandipur, so he at once packed
them on ponies and sent them to our camp in the Rupal nullah,
knowing how the Commissariat Department had to strain every nerve
to get the requisite grain supplies for the troops over the passes
to Gilgit before the bad weather set in and blocked the Burzil, and
that private baggage and supplies might wait indefinitely till such
time as it pleased the Department to find ponies to convey them to
their destination. Personally we did not wish to leave the Diamirai
nullah, but at the same time it was absolutely necessary that somehow
we should replenish our vanishing stock of food. Already two of
our Kashmir servants had been sent down into the Bunar district to
bring up whatever they were able to collect, but we could not depend
on the Chilas nullahs to yield us all we might want. This question
of provisioning our camp caused perpetual worry. Unless one has
trustworthy servants, every ten days or so one of the party has to
start off to the nearest village for supplies. This may take a week
or more, and as the period during which the big mountains are in a
condition to climb is at the best but very limited, much valuable time
will be wasted.
Bruce told me that whilst he was with Sir W. M. Conway, in the
Karakorams, all the catering was left to Rahim Ali, his servant. If
every fortnight during their stay at the head of the Baltoro glacier
they had been forced, as we were, personally to forage and seek for
dilatory servants, the climbing on Pioneer peak would have progressed
but slowly. A piece of advice which cannot be too strongly urged upon
those who go to the Himalaya is to get good servants at any cost,
not to grudge the time spent, for it will be regained afterwards a
hundredfold. The cook or khansammah ought to be the chief servant in
the camp. He ought to be responsible for everything: it is his business
to provide food, and a good cook who feeds one well, and takes the
responsibility of the endless small details of management and supply
off one's shoulders is worth five times the wages which are usually
given.
Accordingly, after some consultation, Hastings generously agreed to
sacrifice himself and trudge back to our camp in the Rupal nullah and
thence to Astor, not only with the hope of bringing back with him all
the luxuries we had weeks before ordered from Srinagar, but also with
the intention of procuring sheep, flour, rice, and tea from Astor. At
the same time he hoped to shorten to a great extent the journey to
the Mazeno by making a new and direct pass over into the Lubar nullah
immediately south of our camp. In the meantime Mummery and I were to
stay behind in the Diamirai nullah and push provisions up the face of
Nanga Parbat as fast as we could.
Just south of our camp rose a snow peak, about 19,000 feet, which we
have called the Diamirai peak. On July 24, in crossing the pass from
the Diamirai over to the Lubar glacier, we had left it on our right. It
is not on the main ridge of Nanga Parbat, but on a side spur running
to the westward. Camped as we were at its very foot, and looking on
it as but a single day's climb, we determined to try to ascend it,
whilst we waited for the snow to clear off the rocks on Nanga Parbat.
By this time we had learned that the ascent of any peak 20,000 feet
high was a laborious undertaking. At first we had talked about the
'twenty thousanders' somewhat contemptuously, and not without reason,
for our hopes were fixed on Nanga Parbat, 26,629 feet; surely if a
mountain of that height were possible, those whose summits were 7000
feet lower ought to be simplicity itself. In fact, we imagined that, as
far as difficulty was concerned, they should stand somewhat in the same
proportion to each other as an ascent of Mont Blanc to a climb up the
Brévent from Chamounix during the springtime before all the snow has
melted.
[Illustration: _The Diamirai Peak from the Red Pass._]
Unfortunately they were not quite so easy as we should have liked; not
only did they involve an ascent from the camp of 7000 to 8000 feet, but
also a considerable amount of the climbing under a pressure of about
half an atmosphere. Then the interminable ice slopes, which in the
Nanga Parbat district are very much more common than in the Alps, meant
many hours of step-cutting, and the softened state of the snow directly
after the sun had shone on it added considerably to our labour. Besides
these drawbacks, which render the ascent of a mountain 20,000 feet high
not altogether easy, the utter confusion and wearisome monotony of the
stony and rugged hill-sides between the valley and the snow-line must
not be forgotten.
On August the 11th, we all started early in the morning by lantern
light, taking with us Ragobir and Lor Khan (as well as Goman Singh and
two coolies who were to accompany Hastings as far as Astor). We first
climbed up a small moraine coming steeply down the side of the main
valley almost to our camp from the glacier on the north-west side of
the Diamirai peak, and in about an hour and a half came to the glacier
itself. Here Hastings parted company with us, and, crossing a pass
(which he has named Goman Singh pass), to the westward of the Diamirai
peak, got safely over down to the Lubar glacier, whence by way of the
Mazeno pass he came to our camp in the Rupal nullah. Mummery and I,
accompanied by Ragobir and Lor Khan, turning slightly to the left, made
for a gully leading higher up to a snow ridge which ran upwards nearly
to the summit of the peak. At the foot of the gully we were confronted
by a small bergschrund. This we easily turned, and began scrambling up
the rocks on our left hand.
Gradually the grey dawn melted into a Himalayan sunrise. Far away over
the lower ridges we could see--
'The ever-silent spaces of the east
Far folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.'
Above there was very little colour, pale greens verging into oranges
and yellows, whilst below, in the shadows of the valleys, cold, dark
steel blues, clear and deep, were the predominating shades. For a
long while we watched the orange sunlight, catching first one part
of Nanga Parbat and then another, as slowly the patches widened and
spread creeping always down the mountain-side. Away to the north, on
the opposite side of the Diamirai nullah, two minor rock peaks on the
ridge were tipped with the rays of the morning sun. At the height we
had already gained there was visible over the intervening ridge all the
country above Gor on the further side of the Indus, while to the south
of Gilgit stretched away mile after mile of mountain ranges. But by
far the most striking sight was the enormous snow range beyond Gilgit
and Yasin, the extreme western end of the Mustagh or Karakoram range.
Rakipushi we could not see; it was just cut off by the western spur of
the Ganalo peak, but from a point just west of the Kilik pass almost to
the mountains above Chitral, snow summit after snow summit rose up into
the heavens clear cut and distinct in the wonderfully translucent air.
[Illustration: VIEW OF THE DIAMIRAI PEAK FROM THE RED PASS. The dotted
lines show our various routes.]
[Illustration: VIEW OF THE DIAMIRAI PEAK FROM THE RED PASS.]
With this marvellous view nothing interfered, as the average height of
the peaks on this mighty barrier which divides English from Russian
territory cannot be much less than 23,000 feet, and that of the hills
which lay between us and these peaks was not more than 16,000 feet.
High above the great snow range on the horizon, a long-drawn cloud
floated like a grey bar of silver, but it did not prevent the rays of
the rising sun from covering with their golden light the whole of the
distant and lonely snow world, as yet untrodden by the foot of man. As
usual, a perfect stillness and calm in the morning air seemed to herald
a fine day, but already we had learned to mistrust these signs:--
'Full many a glorious morning have I seene,
Flatter the mountaine tops with soveraine eie,
* * * * *
Anon permit the basest cloudes to ride
With ougly rack on his celestiall face.'
Few days were there during our stay in the Nanga Parbat region that
were clear after 10 A.M., and this morning was no exception.
The sun had risen above Nanga Parbat, and we knew well how soon the
snow would soften under its powerful rays--half an hour usually
sufficing under these conditions to thaw through the frozen outer
crust. New snow, too, had fallen in considerable quantities, so we
did not want to waste any of the valuable early hours on the lower
slopes. Fortunately about this time the morning mists began to gather
as usual, and not only prevented the snow from melting, but protected
us from the fearful glare which would have been our fate on a perfectly
cloudless day. Very narrow and steep was the snow ridge which stretched
up the mountain-side above us, but we knew, although we could not see
from where we were, that it led almost to the summit. The average
angle of the arête was a little over 40 degrees. At first Mummery was
easily able to nick out steps with the axe, but soon the crust began
to give way here and there, leaving us to struggle often knee-deep.
On our right the angle was not very steep, but on the left of the
ridge was a most forbidding ice slope. Every now and then we would
make rapid progress, finding a thinner coating of snow upon the ice,
with but one or two small crevasses to be crossed. Away on our left
was an excellent rock ridge, but we could not reach it without cutting
across the steep ice-slope. However, our arête, some distance further
up, seemed to join the rock ridge, so we pushed on quickly, in the
hope that above we should be rewarded by finding easy rocks to climb.
Before we reached this point a difficult and steep piece on the arête
had to be surmounted. If we could have traversed off to the right it
would have been easier, but the snow was in a most unstable condition;
small zigzags to the right and then back again on to the ridge were
resorted to, and ultimately we succeeded in getting up this somewhat
nasty place. Rapid progress was then made, but we found, much to our
disappointment, that the rock ridge ended where it joined the arête,
and our hopes of an easy rock climb vanished.
Finally we arrived just under the first summit of our mountain. Here
the same difficulty we had experienced down below again presented
itself, but in a worse form. The arête was much steeper, sloping
probably at an angle of about 55 to 60 degrees. Mummery tried the same
tactics as before, but soon had to confess that he dared not trust the
snow any further, for it was thoroughly sodden upon the surface of the
ice, and we might bring the whole face off at any moment. On the arête
itself the snow, where it had drifted and been frozen, lay curiously
deep, so that even at the thinnest point it did not allow of steps
being cut in the ice below. Our only chance, therefore, was to try the
ice slope on the left of the arête. Mummery led, cutting the steps
diagonally across the slope, where a thin coating of snow lay some two
or three inches deep over the hard ice underneath. As he moved slowly
upwards, I came next on the rope, and, to keep my hands employed,
passed the time in cutting the steps deeper into the ice.
The position was a sensational one--we were crossing the steepest ice
slope of any great size I had ever been on; below us it shot straight
down some 2000 feet without a break, till the angle became less in a
small snow basin. The next objects that met the eye were the stone
slopes far below in the valley, and unconsciously I began to picture to
myself the duration and the result of an involuntary glissade on such a
mountain-side.
Lor Khan, who came behind me on the rope, seemed to be enjoying himself
immensely; of course he had never been in such a position before, but
these Chilas tribesmen are famous fellows. What Swiss peasant, whilst
making his first trial of the big snow peaks and the ice, would have
dared to follow in such a place, and that, too, with only skins soaked
through by the melting snow wrapped round his feet? Lor Khan never
hesitated for a moment; when I turned and pointed downwards he only
grinned, and looked as if he were in the habit of walking on ice slopes
every day of his life. We were soon all in a line across this ice
face, and whilst I was cutting one of Mummery's steps deeper to make
it safer for our Chilas shikari, I noticed that the rope was hanging
down in a great loop between Lor Khan and myself. At once I cried out
to him not to move again till it was absolutely tight between us, and
always to keep it so for the future. In the East we found that people
were accustomed to obey instantly without asking questions. What the
sahib said was law, at least so long as the sahib was there himself
to enforce obedience. Consequently as I moved onward the rope soon
became taut, and fortunately remained in that condition. Shortly after
this Mummery turned upwards and slightly to his right, cutting nearly
straight up the face, owing to some bad snow which barred our way. Just
as I began the ascent of this staircase I heard a startled exclamation
below. Instinctively I struck the pick of my axe deep into the ice, and
at the same moment the whole of the weight of the unfortunate Lor Khan
came on Ragobir and on me with the full force of a drop of some five
to six feet. He had slipped out of one of the steps, and hung with his
face to the glistening ice, whilst under him the thin coating of snow
peeled off the face of the slope in great and ever-widening masses,
gathering in volume as it plunged headlong down the mountain-side,
finally to disappear over the cliffs thousands of feet below. For the
time being I was fascinated by the descending avalanche, my whole mind
being occupied with but this one thought, that if Lor Khan began to
struggle and jerk at the rope I should without a doubt be pulled out of
my steps. My fears proved groundless. Although Lor Khan had lost his
footing he never lost either his head or his axe, and was just able to
reach with his hand one of the steps out of which he had fallen. After
Mummery had made himself quite firm above me I found myself, with the
help of Ragobir, who was last on the rope, just able to haul up our
Chilas shikari to a step which he had manfully cut for himself. It
was, however, a very unpleasant experience; if the fall had been ten
feet instead of six, I should never have been able to have borne the
strain, and Lor Khan would have fallen considerably more than that if
he had not been opportunely warned that he must keep the rope tight
between himself and me.
Half an hour later we got off our ice slope and stepped almost on to
the first summit. All our difficulties were over. After ploughing
through some soft snow, at about half-past eleven o'clock we were
seated on the true top of our peak, the height of which by the
barometer turned out to be 19,000 feet.
We had climbed between 6000 and 7000 feet, and Mummery had led the
whole way. The last 3000 feet had been very severe, for at first most
of the steps had to be laboriously broken, and later we had to win
our way by the use of the axe. But Mummery was perfectly fresh and
could have gone on for hours, the diminished pressure (fifteen inches
of mercury) having apparently no effect on him; neither was Ragobir
any the worse for his climb; Lor Khan and I had slight headaches, but
otherwise were quite fit for more. As we sat on the top enveloped in
mist, Mummery and I debated afresh the old question, How should we
feel if we ever ascended to 26,000 feet? Mummery reasoned that it
would chiefly depend on our state of training at the time. Had I not
been dreadfully ill at 18,000 feet crossing the Mazeno La, whilst here
we were all right at 19,000 feet? Had we not ascended our last 3000
feet with hardly a rest and at exactly the same pace as if we had been
climbing in the Alps? As it always takes two to argue, I perforce had
to try my best as the opposition. At once I discovered that my headache
was by no means a negligible quantity, and was therefore an excellent
test for abnormal altitudes. Probably also mountain-sickness was a
disease which lurked in the higher mountains and was ready at any
moment to rush on and seize its prey. Luckily for us the particular
bacillus was not just then in the surrounding atmosphere, consequently
we had not been inoculated, yet perhaps should we on some future
occasion go to 21,000 to 22,000 feet, we might be suddenly overwhelmed.
Then I quoted an article I had read somewhere about paralysis and
derangement of nerve-centres in the spinal column being the fate of all
who insist on energetic action when the barometer stands at thirteen
inches. It was no good, Mummery only laughed at me; and at this moment
the mist clearing for a short space to the southward, we were soon far
more interested with the view of the Thosho and Rupal peaks. The summit
we were on fell away on the south directly under our feet in a series
of rock precipices. We started on our homeward journey at about one
o'clock without catching a single glimpse of Nanga Parbat. The descent
of the steep ice slopes of our upward route was far too dangerous to
attempt, so we decided on a rock ridge to the westward which we hoped
would lead us down on the pass that Hastings had crossed earlier in the
day.
Ragobir was sent to the front. He led us down the most precipitous
places with tremendous rapidity and immense enjoyment. It was all
'good' according to him, and his cheery face down below made me feel
that there could be no difficulty, till I found myself hanging down a
slab of rock with but the barest of handholds, or came to a bulging
mass of ice overhanging a steep gully, which insisted on protruding
into the middle of my stomach, with direful result to my state of
equilibrium.
At one place where the ridge was a narrow knife edge, with precipices
on both sides, we had a splendid piece of climbing. A sharp descent
of about a hundred feet occurred on the arête which seemed at first
sight impossible. Ragobir tried first on the right hand, but, owing
to the smoothness of the rock slabs and the absence of all handholds,
was unable to get down further than twenty feet or so. Whilst I was
dangling the Gurkha on the end of the rope, Mummery discovered what
he considered to be a possible solution of the difficulty. Ragobir
was to climb about twenty-five feet down a small open chimney on the
perpendicular south face of the ridge; he then would be on the top of
a narrow flake of rock which was laid against the mountain-side in the
same manner as those on the traverse of the Aiguille de Grépon. We
could easily hold him from above whilst he edged sideways along this
narrow way. After a short time he called out that it was all right,
and I let down Lor Khan next. When I myself got on to the traverse I
was very much impressed, not that it was very difficult, thanks to the
splendid handholds, but the face was so perpendicular that without
them one could hardly have stood on the narrow top of the slab without
falling outwards. A loose stone when thrown out about twenty feet
pitched on some snow at least five hundred feet below.
I found Ragobir and Lor Khan on a small niche on the ridge which
divided the arête into two and at the top of an incipient ice gully.
With considerable difficulty I managed to squeeze on to the small
platform of rock and direct operations. Ragobir cut his way down to the
next place where he could rest; and, after carefully hitching the rope
as safely as I could, Mummery was called on to follow. It was just the
kind of place he enjoyed, but it needed some one with iron nerves to
descend the somewhat difficult chimney and then edge along the traverse
without a steadying-rope from above. After the descent of the ice gully
the climbing proved much easier. Rapid progress was made in spite of an
uncertainty as to where we were going, for everything was hidden by the
afternoon mists. Our route kept slowly bending away to the south-west,
and as Hastings's pass lay directly to the west, we hoped that another
bend to the north-west would put us straight again.
We could not leave the ridge and traverse to our right, so perforce had
to keep on descending, and when at last the mists did rise for a short
time, we found our fears amply confirmed. The pass lay about a thousand
feet above on our right, and, what was still more exasperating, the
shortest route to it necessitated a still further descent of at least
five hundred feet, followed by a traverse underneath the overhanging
end of a glacier. An extra fifteen hundred feet of climbing up
the unstable, interminable, and heart-breaking debris, which is so
common on the south faces of the Himalaya, and that, too, late in
the afternoon, was trying even to the best of tempers. I used quite
unpublishable language, and even the imperturbable Mummery was moved to
express his feelings in much more forcible language than was customary.
There are occasions when language fails, and even the pen of Rudyard
Kipling is unequal to depict the situation literally, though he does
his best. There rises before me his description of that scene in the
railway works at Jamalpur, where an apprentice is addressing, 'half
in expostulation and half in despair, a very much disorganised engine
which is sadly in need of repair.' Kipling gives us the gist of his
language, but owns that after all the youth put it 'more crisply--very
much more crisply.'
We reached the top at last, but even then we had to traverse to the
westward half a mile before beginning the descent. Once started we went
at racing speed, sometimes getting a long glissade down soft snow,
sometimes a run down small stone debris; it was rather hard on poor Lor
Khan, who was not shod for this kind of work, and was soon left far
behind.
But it was getting late, and we wished to reach the camp before dark.
Just as the sun was setting over the far-away hills in the wild,
unknown Tangir, and shining through a thin veil of an evening shower,
the tents under the Diamirai moraine were sighted; and during the
after-dinner smoke opposite a roaring fire of pine logs we went over
our day's adventures, and both agreed that we had enjoyed ourselves
hugely: and so to bed.