THE ASSAULT ON
MOUNT EVEREST,
1922
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[Illustration:
The Second Climbing Party descending from their record climb.
LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD & C^{o.}
]
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THE ASSAULT ON
MOUNT EVEREST
1922
By
Brigadier-General Hon. C. G. BRUCE, C.B., M.V.O.
AND OTHER MEMBERS OF THE EXPEDITION
WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS
NEW YORK
LONGMANS, GREEN & CO.
LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD & CO.
1923
All rights reserved
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Made and Printed in Great Britain by
Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London
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PREFACE
The Mount Everest Committee desire to take this opportunity of thanking
General Bruce, Mr. Mallory, Captain Finch, Mr. Somervell and Dr.
Longstaff for having, in addition to their labours in the field, made
the following contributions to the story of an expedition whose chief
result has been to strengthen our confidence that the summit of the
highest mountain in the world can be attained by man.
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CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION. By SIR FRANCIS 3
YOUNGHUSBAND, K.C.S.I., K.C.I.E.
THE NARRATIVE OF THE EXPEDITION
By BRIGADIER-GENERAL HON. C. G. BRUCE, C.B., M.V.O.
CHAP.
I TO THE BASE CAMP 17
II THE ASSAULT ON THE MOUNTAIN 50
III THE RETURN BY KHARTA 77
THE FIRST ATTEMPT
By GEORGE H. LEIGH-MALLORY
IV THE PROBLEM 121
V THE HIGHEST CAMP 150
VI THE HIGHEST POINT 183
THE ATTEMPT WITH OXYGEN
By CAPTAIN GEORGE FINCH
VII THE SECOND ATTEMPT 227
VIII CONCLUSIONS 251
IX NOTES ON EQUIPMENT 262
THE THIRD ATTEMPT
By GEORGE H. LEIGH-MALLORY
X THE THIRD ATTEMPT 273
XI CONCLUSIONS 287
NOTES
By T. HOWARD SOMERVELL
XII ACCLIMATISATION AT HIGH ALTITUDES 299
XIII COLOUR IN TIBET 309
XIV TIBETAN CULTURE 313
NATURAL HISTORY
By DR. T. G. LONGSTAFF, M.D.
XV NATURAL HISTORY 321
INDEX 338
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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Second Climbing Party descending Frontispiece
from their Record Climb
PAGE
Frozen Waterfall, Chumbi Valley 28
Nuns at Tatsang 34
Rongbuk Monastery and Mount Everest 44
The Expedition at Base Camp 46
View at Base Camp 50
Camp II at Sunset 54
Mount Everest from Camp III 60
Watching the Dancers, Rongbuk Monastery 72
The Chief Lama, Rongbuk Monastery 78
Tibetan Dancing Woman 84
Tibetan Dancing Man 84
Old Tibetan Woman and Child 90
Fording the Bhong Chu 98
Panorama at Shekar Dzong 106
In Khamba Dzong 110
Lingga and the Lhonak Mountains 114
Base Camp and Mount Everest in Evening 124
Light
Serac, East Rongbuk Glacier 140
View from Ice Cavern 146
Seracs, East Rongbuk Glacier, above Camp 150
II
Party ascending the Chang La 156
Peak, 23,180 feet (Kellas’ dark rock 162
peak), from the Rongbuk Glacier, above
Camp II
Mallory and Norton approaching their 204
Highest Point, 26,985 feet
Summit of Mount Everest from the Highest 210
Point of the First Climb, 26,985 feet,
May 21, 1922
The First Climbing Party 218
Frost-bitten Climber being helped down 222
to Camp II
Mount Everest from Base Camp 232
East Rongbuk Glacier, near Camp II 236
Oxygen Apparatus 242
Captain Noel kinematographing the Ascent 242
of Mount Everest from the Chang La
The British Members of the Second 248
Climbing Party
Chang La and North-east Shoulder of 290
Mount Everest
Religious Banners in Shekar Monastery 314
Romoo, the Lepcha Collector who assisted 322
Dr. Longstaff and Major Norton
Karma Paul, the Expedition’s Interpreter 322
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MAPS
Sketch Map of Mount Everest and the 366
Rongbuk Glaciers
The Route of the Mount Everest 367
Expedition, 1922
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INTRODUCTION
By
SIR FRANCIS YOUNGHUSBAND,
K.C.S.I., K.C.I.E.
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INTRODUCTION
Colonel Howard-Bury and the members of the Expedition of 1921 had
effected the object with which they had been despatched. They were not
sent out to climb Mount Everest. It would be impossible to reach the
summit in a single effort. They were sent to reconnoitre the mountain
from every direction and discover what was for certain the easiest way
up. For it was quite certain that only by the easiest way possible—and
only if there were an easy way—would the summit ever be reached. In the
Alps, nowadays, men look about for the most difficult way up a mountain.
Hundreds every year ascend even the Matterhorn by the easiest ways up.
So men with any turn for adventure have to look about for the difficult
ways. With Mount Everest it is very different. The exhaustion produced
from the difficulty of breathing in enough oxygen at the great heights
is so fearful that only by a way that entails the least possible
exertion can the summit be reached. Hence the necessity for spending the
first season in thoroughly prospecting the mountain. And this was all
the more necessary because no European so far had been within sixty
miles of Mount Everest, so that not even the approaches to the mountain
were known.
During 1921, under the leadership of Colonel Howard-Bury, this
reconnaissance was most thoroughly carried out. Mr. Mallory found what
was quite certainly the easiest—indeed the only practicable—way up the
mountain, and Major Morshead and Captain Wheeler mapped the mountain
itself and the country round. They brought back also much valuable
experience of the conditions under which a definite “all-out” attempt to
reach the summit might be made. Ample data were therefore now at the
disposal of the Mount Everest Committee for organising an expedition to
make this attempt.
And first the question of leadership had to be decided. This was a
definitely climbing expedition, and a climbing expert would be needed to
lead it—and a climbing expert who had experience of Himalayan
conditions, which are in so many ways different from Alpine conditions.
The one obvious man for this position of leader was Brigadier-General
Hon. C. G. Bruce. He could not be expected at his age to take part in
the actual climbing. But for the command of the whole Expedition no
better could be found. For thirty years he had devoted himself to
climbing both in the Himalaya and in the Alps. He was an expert climber,
and he knew the Himalayan conditions as no other man. And, what was of
scarcely less importance, he knew the Himalayan peoples, and knew how to
handle them. Any climbing party would be dependent upon the native
porters to carry stores and equipment up the mountain. But climbers from
England would know nothing about these men or how to treat them. It was
essential, therefore, that there should be with the Expedition some one
who could humour and get the best out of them.
This was the more necessary as one of the chief features of these
expeditions to Mount Everest was the organisation of a corps of porters
specially enlisted from among the hardiest men on that frontier for the
particular purpose of carrying camps to high altitudes. This idea
originated with General Bruce himself. So far Himalayan climbing
expeditions had been dependent upon coolies collected at the highest
villages and taken on for a few days while the climb lasted. But this
was never very satisfactory, and coolies so collected would be of no use
on Mount Everest. General Bruce’s plan was very different. It was,
months beforehand, to select thirty or forty of the very best men who
could be found in the higher mountains, to enlist them for some months,
pay them well, feed them well and equip them well, and above all to put
into them a real _esprit de corps_, make them take a pride in the task
that was before them. But to do all this there was needed a man who knew
and understood them and who had this capacity for infusing them with a
keen spirit. And for this no one could be better than General Bruce
himself. He had served in a Gurkha regiment for thirty years. He loved
his Gurkhas, and was beloved by them. He spoke their language; knew all
their customs and traditions, and had had them climbing with him in the
Alps as well as the Himalaya. And Gurkhas come from Nepal, on the
borders of which Mount Everest lies.
For organising this corps of porters, for dealing with the Tibetans,
and, lastly, for keeping together the climbers from England, who were
mostly quite unknown to each other, but who all knew of General Bruce
and his mountaineering achievements in the Himalaya, General Bruce was
an ideal chief.
This being settled, the next question was the selection of the climbing
party. General Bruce would not be able to go on to the mountain itself,
and he would have plenty to do at the main base camp, seeing after
supplies and organising transport service from the main base to the high
mountain base. As chief at the mountain base, and as second-in-command
of the Expedition to take General Bruce’s place in case of any
misadventure to him, Lieutenant-Colonel E. L. Strutt was selected. He
was an Alpine climber of great experience and knowledge of ice and snow
conditions. But for the actual effort to reach the summit two men were
specially marked out. One, of course, was Mr. George Leigh-Mallory, who
had done such valuable service on the reconnaissance of the previous
year; and the other was Captain George Finch, who had been selected for
the first Expedition, but who had, through temporary indisposition, not
been able to go with it. Both of these were first-rate men and well
known for their skill in mountaineering. These two had been selected in
the previous year. Of new men, Major E. F. Norton was an experienced and
very reliable and thorough mountaineer. He is an officer in the
Artillery, and well known in India for his skill and interest in
pig-sticking. But in between his soldiering and his pig-sticking and a
course at the Staff College he seems to have found time for Alpine
climbing and for bird observation. A man of high spirit, who could be
trusted to keep his head under all circumstances and to help in keeping
a party together, he was a valuable addition to the Expedition. Mr.
Somervell was perhaps even more versatile in his accomplishments. He was
a surgeon in a London hospital, who was also skilled both in music and
painting, and yet found time for mountaineering, and, being younger than
the others, and possessed of exuberant energy and a fine physique, he
could be reckoned on to go with the highest climbers. Another member of
the medical profession who was also a mountaineer was Dr. Wakefield. He
was a Westmorland man, who had performed wonderful climbing feats in the
Lake District in his younger days, and now held a medical practice in
Canada. He was bursting with enthusiasm to join the expedition, and gave
up his practice for the purpose.
As medical officer and naturalist of the Expedition, Dr. T. G. Longstaff
was chosen. He was a veteran Himalayan climber, and if only this
Expedition could have been undertaken some years earlier, he, like
General Bruce, would have made a magnificent leader of a climbing party.
As it was, his great experience would be available for the climbers as
far as the high mountain camp. And this time it was intended to send
with the Expedition a “whole-time” photographer and cinematographer,
both for the purpose of having a photographic record of its progress and
also to provide the means by which the expenses of this and a future
expedition might be met. For this Captain J. B. Noel was selected. He
had made a reconnaissance towards Mount Everest in 1913, and he had
since then made a special study of photography and cinematography, so
that he was eminently suited for the task.
The above formed the party which would be sent out from England. And
subsequently General Bruce, in India, selected four others to join the
Expedition: Mr. Crawford, of the Indian Civil Service, a keen
mountaineer, who had long wished to join the Expedition; Major Morshead,
who had held charge of the survey party in the 1921 Expedition, and now
wanted to join the present Expedition as a climber; and two officers
from Gurkha regiments, to serve as transport officers, namely, Captain
Geoffrey Bruce and Captain Morris.
This completed the British personnel of the Expedition. It had been my
hope that a first-rate artist might have accompanied it to paint the
greatest peaks of the Himalaya, but the artists whom we chose were
unable to pass the medical examination, though the examination was, of
course, not so severe as the examination which the actual climbers had
to pass.
While these men were being selected, the Equipment Committee, Captain
Farrar and Mr. Meade, were working hard. Taking the advice of Colonel
Howard-Bury and Mr. Mallory, and profiting by the experience gained on
the previous Expedition, they got together and had suitably packed and
despatched to India a splendid outfit comprising every necessity for an
Expedition of this nature. The amount of work that Farrar put into this
was enormous; for as a mountaineer he knew well how the success of the
Expedition depended on each detail of the equipment being looked into,
and he spared himself no trouble and overlooked nothing. The stores were
of the most varied description, in order to meet the varying tastes of
the different members. The tents were improved in accordance with the
experience gained. Most particular attention was paid to the boots.
Clothing and bedding, light in weight but warm to wear, were specially
designed. Ice-axes, crampons, ropes, lanterns, cooking-stoves, and also
warm clothing for the porters, were all provided, and much else besides.
But about one point in the equipment of the party there was much
diversity of opinion. Should the climbers be provided with oxygen, or
should they not? If it were at all feasible to provide climbers with
oxygen without adding appreciably to the weight they had to carry, the
summit of Mount Everest could be reached to a certainty. For the purely
mountaineering difficulties are not great. On the way to the summit
there are no physical obstacles which a trained mountaineer could not
readily overcome. The one factor which renders the ascent so difficult
is the want of oxygen in the air. Provide the oxygen and the ascent
could be made at once. But to provide the oxygen heavy apparatus would
have to be carried—and carried by the climbers themselves. It became a
question whether the disadvantage of having to carry a weight of at
least thirty pounds would or would not outweigh the advantages to be
gained by the use of the oxygen.
And the Mount Everest Committee were warned of another feature in the
case. They were told that if by any misfortune the oxygen were to run
out when the climbers were at a considerable height—say 27,000 feet—and
they suddenly found themselves without any preparation in this
attenuated atmosphere, they might collapse straight away. It was a
disagreeable prospect to anticipate. But Captain Finch, who was himself
a lecturer on chemistry at the Imperial College of Science, Mr.
Somervell, and Captain Farrar, pressed so strongly for the use of
oxygen, and Mr. Unna was so convinced he could construct a reasonably
portable apparatus, that the Committee decided that the experiment
should be made. The value of using oxygen could thus be tested, and we
should know what were the prospects of reaching the summit of the
mountain either with or without its aid. Captain Farrar, Captain Finch,
and Mr. Unna therefore set about constructing an apparatus which would
hold the lightest procurable oxygen cylinders, and which could be
carried on the back by the climbers.
This final question having been settled, all the stores and equipment
having been purchased, packed, and despatched, the members of the
Expedition left England in March. But before I leave General Bruce to
take up the tale of their adventures, I must say yet one word more about
“the good” of climbing Mount Everest. These repeated efforts to reach
the summit of the world’s highest mountain have already cost human life.
They have also cost much physical pain, fatigue, and discomfort to the
climbers. They have been very expensive. And there is not the slightest
sign of any material gain whatever being obtained—not an ounce of gold,
or iron, or coal, or a single precious stone, or any land upon which
food or material could be grown. What, then, is the good of it all? Who
will benefit in the least even if the climbers do eventually get to the
top? These are questions which are still being continually asked me, so
I had better still go on trying to make as plain as I can what is the
good of climbing Mount Everest.
The most obvious good is an increased knowledge of our own capacities.
By trying with all our might and with all our mind to climb the highest
point on the earth, we are getting to know better what we really can do.
No one can say for certain yet whether we can or cannot reach the
summit. We cannot know till we try. But if—as seems much more probable
now than it did ten years ago—we can reach the summit, we shall know
that we are capable of more than we had supposed. And this knowledge of
our capacities will be very valuable. In my own lifetime I have seen
men’s knowledge of their capacity for climbing mountains greatly
increased. Men’s standard of climbing has been raised. They now know
that they can do what forty years ago they did not deem in the least
possible. And if they reach the summit of Mount Everest, the standard of
achievement will be still further raised; and men who had, so far, never
thought of attempting the lesser peaks of the Himalaya, will be climbing
them as freely as they now climb peaks in Switzerland.
And what then? What is the good of that? The good of that is that a
whole new enjoyment in life will be opened up. And enjoyment of life is,
after all, the end of life. We do not live to eat and make money. We eat
and make money to be able to enjoy life. And some of us know from actual
experience that by climbing a mountain we can get some of the finest
enjoyment there is to be had. We like bracing ourselves against a
mountain, pitting our mettle, our nerve, our skill, against the physical
difficulties the mountain presents, and feeling that we are forcing the
spirit within us to prevail against the material. That is a glorious
feeling in itself and a real tonic to the spirit—even when it does not
always conquer.
But that is not all. The wrestling with the mountain makes us love the
mountain. For the moment we may be utterly exhausted and only too
thankful to be able to hurry back to more congenial regions. Yet, all
the same, we shall eventually get to love the mountain for the very fact
that she has forced the utmost out of us, lifted us just for one
precious moment high above our ordinary life, and shown us beauty of an
austerity, power, and purity we should have never known if we had not
faced the mountain squarely and battled strongly with her.
This, then, is the good to be obtained from climbing Mount Everest. Most
men will have to take on trust that there is this good. But most of the
best things in life we have to take on trust at first till we have
proved them for ourselves. So I would beg readers of this book first
trustfully to accept it from the Everest climbers that there is good in
climbing great mountains (for the risks they have run and the hardships
they have endured are ample enough proof of the faith that is in them),
and then to go and test it for themselves—in the Himalaya, if possible,
or if not, in the Alps, the Rockies, the Andes, wherever high mountains
make the call.
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THE NARRATIVE OF THE
EXPEDITION
By
BRIGADIER-GENERAL HON. C. G. BRUCE,
C.B., M.V.O.
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CHAPTER I
TO THE BASE CAMP
The precursor of the present volume, _The Reconnaissance of Mount
Everest in 1921_, sets forth fully the successful and strenuous work
which was accomplished in that year and which has rendered possible the
Expedition of the present year. The whole of our work lying in country
which had never previously been explored by Europeans, it was rendered
absolutely necessary for a full examination of the whole country to be
made before an attempt to climb Mount Everest could possibly be carried
out. We have to thank Colonel Howard-Bury and his companions, especially
his survey officers, for their important work, which rendered our task
in arriving at our base comparatively simple.
The object of the Expedition of 1922, of course, was the actual attack
on the mountain in an attempt to climb it; but no great mountain has
ever succumbed to the first attempt on it, and therefore it is almost
inconceivable that so tremendous a problem as the ascent of Mount
Everest should succeed at the very first effort. In fact, I myself am
more than satisfied, almost astounded, at the extraordinary success
attained by my companions in this endeavour. The problem that lay in
front of us, I think, should be first explained.
Mount Everest, as all know, lies on that part of the Himalaya which is
narrowest. It is, therefore, exposed very rapidly to the first assaults
of the South-west monsoon, and this monsoon advances up the Bay of
Bengal at an earlier period in the year than that of its Western branch,
the Gulf current. It is this fact which supplies the greatest difficulty
to be faced in an attack on any of the great peaks which lie in this
region, giving one an unusually short season. However, to a certain
extent this is counteracted by the fact that the winter climate in this
portion of the Himalaya is far drier than it is in the West. There is
less deposit of snow on the mountains in this section of the Himalaya
than there would be, for instance, in the Kashmir mountains, and this,
to some extent, makes up for the early advance of the monsoon, and
consequent bad weather, which renders any exploration of the great
heights during the time that the monsoon blows an impossibility.
Towards the end of May the monsoon arrives in Darjeeling, and then,
according to the strength of the current, quickly approaches the
Southern faces of the Himalaya, and, as the current strengthens, drifts
across their summits and through the gorges and over the lower ridges.
The problem, therefore, of any party exploring in these mountains
resolves itself into the rapidity with which they can establish their
base of operations in a suitable locality to explore the mountains and
to climb them. During the period of the very great cold, naturally, the
upper heights are impossible, and camping on the upper glaciers is in
itself also almost impossible. Travelling across Tibet in March,
crossing high passes of over 17,000 feet is such that, although it might
be perfectly possible to do, it would be a great strain on the stamina
of the party, and likely to detract from their condition. We had,
therefore, to adapt our advance into Tibet so as to make it at the
latest possible moment, in order to avoid the very worst of the weather,
and yet at the earliest possible moment, so that we could arrive at the
foot of our mountains with sufficient time to attack them before the
weather broke up and rendered mountaineering an impossibility at a great
height. It resolves itself, then, almost into a race against the
monsoon.
This was our problem, and it is my special province in these opening
chapters to show how we tackled it.
During the winter of 1921–2, the Mount Everest Committee, owing to the
lateness with which the party had returned after the reconnaissance, had
to work at very top speed. They had to collect all the necessary stores
for the party, and not only that, but also to select a suitable
mountaineering team; this was a considerable difficulty. Finally the
party was made up as follows: myself as leader, Colonel E. L. Strutt as
Second-in-Command, and Dr. Longstaff the official doctor and naturalist
of the Expedition. The climbing party pure consisted of Mr. Mallory (of
last year’s Expedition), Dr. Somervell, Dr. Wakefield, and Major Norton.
We had three transport officers, one of whom belonged to the Alpine
Club, and was considered an assistant of the climbing party, Mr. C. G.
Crawford, of the Indian Civil Service. The official photographer was
Captain Noel. Two officers in the Indian Army were attached to the
Expedition as transport officers—Captain J. G. Bruce and Captain C. G.
Morris. Later, on our arrival in Darjeeling, the party was further
reinforced by Major Morshead, who had been one of the survey party of
the previous year, and whose general knowledge of Tibet and of Tibetans
was of great service to us; and last, but not least, Captain George
Finch, who came not only as a most important member of the climbing
party, but also as the scientific expert in charge of the entire oxygen
outfit.
This large party was collected in Darjeeling by the last week in March,
and in a few days we were all ready to make a start. I myself preceded
the party by about a month, arriving in Delhi to interview the Indian
authorities about the 25th of February. Through the kindness of the
Commander-in-Chief, Lord Rawlinson, we were supplied with four young
non-commissioned officers of Captain Bruce’s regiment, the 2nd Battalion
6th Gurkha Rifles, and an orderly of the 1st Battalion 6th Gurkha
Rifles, and right well all these five Gurkhas carried out their duties.
As will be seen later, one of them, Lance-naik Tejbir Bura, very highly
distinguished himself.
I arrived in Darjeeling with Captain Bruce on March 1, and there I found
that our agent in India, Mr. Weatherall, had carried out the
instructions which he had received from England in the most efficient
manner. The large quantity of stores which we had ordered previously
were all beautifully packed and ready for transportation; the tents of
the previous year all mended and in good order; the stores of different
kinds, such as there were, which had been left also from the previous
year, had been put into order; and last and most important, 150 porters
had been collected for our inspection and from whom to make a selection.
He had also for us a large number of cooks to choose from, a most
excellent individual to look after the tents, Chongay, who proved quite
invaluable to us, and a local cobbler who had expressed his willingness
to come with the Expedition.
Owing to the tremendous hurry in which all arrangements had to be made
in England, the stores were forwarded in different batches. On our
arrival in Calcutta, we interviewed Mr. Brown, of the Army and Navy
Stores, whose work, both for the Expeditions of 1921 and of 1922, has
been quite beyond praise. He told us that only one instalment of stores
had yet arrived, but that the ships containing the remainder were
expected shortly. Luckily for us, we had at the Army and Navy Stores,
and acting in the interests of the Expedition, a most capable agent. As
the ships containing the stores arrived, the latter were unloaded,
rapidly passed through the Customs, and forwarded on to Kalimpong Road,
which is the terminus of the Darjeeling Railway and the Teesta Valley.
On arrival there they were met by our representative in no less a person
than Captain Morris, handed over to the contractors who were moving our
stores, and forwarded on to Tibet in advance of the Expedition. This
naturally required a great deal of arranging.
I must mention that, shortly after our arrival in Darjeeling, we were
joined by Captain Morris, who immediately left for Kalimpong, two stages
on our journey, to which place the whole of the outfit of the Expedition
was sent. We could not spare the time to wait for the arrival of the
oxygen, and therefore, when the party finally left Darjeeling, Captain
Finch, the scientist in whose charge the whole of the oxygen and
scientific apparatus had been put, remained behind with Mr. Crawford to
bring it up. Luckily, the ship arrived in Calcutta just as we were
leaving, and therefore the delay was less than we had anticipated.
The people of Darjeeling, both the British and the native
inhabitants—whether Tibetans or Hillmen—were all immensely interested in
our Expedition, and Mr. Laden La, the Deputy Superintendent of Police,
was, if anything, the most enthusiastic of them all. Mr. Laden La has
himself rendered excellent service to Government, and has travelled
greatly in Tibet. He is himself a Tibetan, and, I believe, is an
Honorary General in the Tibetan Army. His influence in Darjeeling and
the district is great, and his help to the Expedition was invaluable. He
arranged in Darjeeling, both as head of the Buddhist Association of
Darjeeling, and in conjunction with the Committee of the Hillmen’s
Association, that the whole of the party should be entertained by these
two Associations, and that the chief Lamas and Brahmins of the district
should bless and offer up prayers for the well-being and success of the
party. The entertainment went off most excellently, and it was
altogether a most interesting function. The Nepalese members of the
party were blessed by the Brahmins, but also, in order to confirm this
blessing, further received the blessings of the Lamas. I think there is
every reason for supposing that this small function assisted in bringing
home to all our porters and followers what was expected of them by their
own people, and it was very likely a good deal in consequence of this
that they behaved on the whole so extremely well. For it must be
understood that all these hill people, whether Nepalese or Tibetan, are
very light-hearted, very irresponsible, very high-spirited, and up to
the present time prohibition as a national measure is not exactly a
popular outlook; in fact, none of them on any occasion, unless well
looked after, lost any opportunity of looking on the wine when it is
red—or any other colour.
Our cooks had to be chosen with a good deal of care. Captain Bruce and
myself took the most likely candidates out into the hills and gave them
a good trial before we engaged them. One of them, who was a Nepalese,
had been an old servant of my own for many months; he was the only
Gurkha among them. The other three (for we gave ourselves an ample
outfit of four cooks) were Bhotias (Tibetans). They were the greatest
success, mostly because they are hard-working and ready to do any amount
of work; but they were good cooks too. Captain Noel also engaged an
excellent servant (also a cook), and Major Norton’s private servant
(another Tibetan) was very capable in the same way; so that we were
thoroughly well provided with an ample outfit, and wherever we were we
could count on having our meals properly prepared. This is one of the
important points in Tibetan travel, from the want of which I believe a
certain amount of the illness that was experienced in the previous year
was due.
We also engaged almost the most important subordinate member of the
Expedition—the interpreter, Karma Paul. He was quite young, and had been
a schoolmaster in Darjeeling. He had also worked, I believe, for a time
in an office in Calcutta. He was quite new to the kind of work that he
would have to do. But he was a great acquisition to the Expedition,
always good company and always cheerful, full of a quaint little vanity
of his own and delighted when he was praised. He served us very well
indeed from one end of the Expedition to the other, and it was a great
deal owing to his cheerfulness and to his excellent manners and way with
the Tibetans that we never had the smallest possible misunderstanding
with any officials, even of the lowest grades, to disturb our good
relations with the Tibetans of any kind or class. He also was bilingual,
for he had been born in Lhasa, and still had relations living there.
On March 26 the whole Expedition started off for Kalimpong by rail, with
the exception of Captain Finch and Mr. Crawford, who remained to bring
on the oxygen. Owing to the kindness of the Himalayan Railway Company,
we were all taken round by rail to Kalimpong Road free, the whole
Expedition travelling up the Teesta Valley in the normal manner, with
the exception of Captain Noel, who elected to ride on the roof of the
carriages in order to take pictures with his cinema camera of the Teesta
Valley. The junction at Siliguri, where the Teesta railway branches off
from the main line, is only 300 feet above the sea, the terminus at
Kalimpong Road about 700 feet above the sea, and therefore as one dives
down from the hills one enters into tropical conditions and passes
through the most magnificent tropical jungle and the steepest gorges and
ravines. It is a wonderful journey. Even the long spell of hot and dry
weather and the heat haze at this time of year were unable to spoil the
scenery. And though we saw it almost at its worst time, it remained
gorgeous.
At Kalimpong the Expedition broke up into two parties, but before we
left we had a very pleasant function to attend. I had been charged by
Sir Robert Baden-Powell to deliver a message to the scouts of Dr.
Graham’s Homes for European Children at Kalimpong. Not only that, but
incorporated with these scouts was the first small body of Nepalese
boy-scouts. It was a very interesting function indeed, and a most
enthusiastic one.
From there we pushed on stage by stage over the Jelep La into the Chumbi
Valley. Of course, journeys through Sikkim have often been described.
Again we were disappointed. On my first arrival in Darjeeling, the cold
weather had hardly finished, but now (March 28) we were well into the
hot weather of Bengal, and in consequence we were also in the
hot-weather haze. During the whole of our journey we never got a single
view of the gorgeous Southern faces of the Himalaya, of Kanchenjanga and
of its supporters, and especially of the wonderful Siniolchum peak. This
was a very great disappointment, as from several points on our road a
view of the Southern face can be obtained. Nevertheless, a journey
through Sikkim is always a wonderful experience. The steep and deeply
cut valleys, the wonderful clear mountain streams, and the inhabitants
and their means of cultivation, are all full of interest. The depth of
the valleys is always striking, and can never be anything else. When one
thinks that from Rongli Chu, situated only at 2,700 feet above the sea,
one rises in one continuous pull to close on 13,000 feet on the ridge
which looks down on the Gnatong bungalow, and travels through
cultivation and forest the whole way, passing through every phase of
Eastern Himalayan landscape, one cannot cease to be continually
impressed by the scale of the country. We were too early for the
rhododendrons on the way to Gnatong, but there were just sufficient in
flower to give us a mental vision of what these wonderful rhododendron
forests would be like in another three weeks.
On the way to Gnatong, at a height of 11,500 feet, we came to the little
village of Lungtung. Here there was a tea-house kept by some Nepalese.
It was spotlessly clean, or at least all the cooking arrangements were,
and here, as we came up, we all indulged in tea and the local cakes, and
found them both excellent. Not only that, but the little lady who kept
the shop was full of talk and full of chaff, and we all sat down and
enjoyed ourselves for more than an hour, keeping up a continuous flow of
conversation. All the men joined us as they came up, and I am afraid we
made rather a noise. As a matter of fact, all through Sikkim these
little tea-shops are to be found, and the tea is generally quite
drinkable. This little lady’s shop, though, was particularly well run
and attractive. When we left we promised to call and see her again on
our return, which promise we were able to fulfil.
The higher portions of the road from Gnatong over the Jelep are a very
great contrast. It is almost like a march through the Highlands of
Scotland, and hardly represents or brings to one’s mind the fact that
one is among great mountains. The Jelep, which is 14,300 feet above the
sea, is a perfectly easy pass, crossed by a horrid pavé road, very much
out of repair, the descent into the Chumbi Valley being, for animals,
the last word in discomfort. We employed altogether in our two parties
about eighty mules from the Chumbi Valley, and we were all immensely
struck by this wonderful transport. There is a considerable trade
carried on between Tibet and Chumbi in particular for seven or eight
months in the year, as on this road quantities of Tibetan wool are
brought down for sale at Kalimpong, very nearly all of it being brought
by the Chumbi muleteers, and most efficient they are. They thoroughly
understand the loading and care of mules, and the pace they travel at is
something to see. It is only understood if one walks for long distances
with, or often behind, a train of laden mules. No doubt, owing to the
continual changes from cold to warmth and heat, many sore backs are
occasioned, and further, owing to the tremendous stress and continuous
labour involved, many mules are worked that have no business to be
worked. The muleteers themselves, when talked to about it, say that it
distresses them, but they are hard put to it to carry out their work,
and see no method very often of being able to fulfil their contracts and
at the same time lay up their mules.
After crossing the Jelep La, and leaving Sikkim, it is almost like
diving into Kashmir, so great is the difference in the general
appearance of the country and in its forests. While we were sitting on
the top of the Jelep we had the most splendid view of Chomolhari (23,800
feet). It showed itself at its very best; the day was quiet and very
warm. Chomolhari stood out clearly, and still with plenty of atmosphere
round it. Snow-streamers were blowing out from its summit. It showed its
full height, and did full justice to its shape and beauty. It is a great
mountain which completely dominates Phari and its plain, and is the
striking feature as one enters Tibet from the Chumbi Valley. We all
admired it enormously, but the enthusiasm of the party was somewhat
damped when I pointed out to them that our high advanced base on
Everest, in fact, the camp that we hoped to establish on the North Col,
called the Chang La, which had been marked out the year before by Mr.
Mallory, was, in fact, only about 600 feet lower than the top of
Chomolhari itself.
[Illustration:
FROZEN WATERFALL, CHUMBI VALLEY.
]
On arrival at Richengong, which is at the foot of the valley which forms
the junction between the Jelep Valley and the valley of the Ammu Chu,
which is the Chumbi Valley, we were met by Mr. Macdonald, the British
Trade Agent, who lives at Chumbi, and his wonderfully dressed
chuprassis, and also by a guard of honour of 90 Panjabis, who supplied a
small guard both at Yatung, in Chumbi, and also at the British post in
Gyantse, on the road to Lhasa. We had a very pleasant ride by the Chumbi
Valley to Yatung. I had previously supplied myself in Darjeeling with a
treasure of a pony, Gyamda by name, who was locally very well known in
Darjeeling. He was only 12½ hands, but had the go and the stamina of a
very much bigger animal. He was attended by a sais who was nearly twice
as big as himself, and was one of the finest-built Tibetans I saw the
whole time. Gyamda himself hailed from the town of Gyamda, which is
about 12 miles South of Lhasa. His enormous sais hailed from Lhasa
itself, and, unfortunately, could hardly speak a word of anything but
Tibetan. However, he improved by degrees, and very soon we got on very
well. He adored the pony Gyamda, but had the habit of giving it, unless
looked after, at least a dozen eggs mixed with its grain. When we
stopped him doing this, he was caught hugging the pony round the neck
and saying to it, “Now they have cut your eggs, you will die, and what
shall I do?” Gyamda carried me right through the Expedition, and could
go over any ground, and came back as well as he left, never sick or
sorry, and always pleased with life.
We marched from Chumbi on April 5, accompanied by Mr. Macdonald and his
son, who had come to help us make all our transport arrangements when we
should arrive in Phari. Mr. Macdonald helped us on all occasions, and we
cannot thank him enough for all the trouble he took from now on and
during the whole time the Expedition was in Tibet. It was owing very
largely to his help that we were able in Phari to get our Expedition on
so soon, for he warned the two Dzongpens of Phari Dzong beforehand to
obtain adequate transport for us.
Again, the march from Yatung to Phari has been described on many
occasions, but it is quite impossible to march through it without
mentioning its character. It is, especially at the time of year we went
through, one of the darkest and blackest and most impressive forested
gorges that I have ever seen, and almost equally impressive is the
debouchment on to the Phari Plain at the head of the gorge, dominated as
it is by our old friend Chomolhari.
We arrived in Phari on April 6, and made our first real acquaintance
with the Tibetan wind. Phari is 14,300 feet, and winter was scarcely
over; the weather also was threatening. Luckily, there is a little
British Government rest-house and bungalow and serai at Phari, and there
we found comfortable quarters. We were joined on the following day by
the rest of the party. This really formed the starting-point of the
Expedition, and, further, it was my birthday, and the bottle of old rum,
120 years old, specially brought out for this occasion, was opened and
the success of the Expedition was drunk to. If we had known what was in
front of us, we should have put off the drinking of this peculiarly
comforting fluid until the evening of the day of our first march from
Phari. The two Phari Dzongpens, probably owing to the fact that Phari is
on the main route between Lhasa and India, were far and away the most
grasping and difficult of any officials that we met, but no doubt their
difficulties were pretty considerable. Although there is a great
quantity of transport to be obtained in Phari, at this time of the year
it is in very poor condition. Grazing exists, but one would never know
that it existed unless one was told, and also unless one saw herds of
yaks on the hillsides apparently eating frozen earth. Everything was
frozen hard. We had difficulty, therefore, in obtaining the transport
required. We found here collected the whole of our stores, with the
exception of the oxygen. Our excellent tindel,[1] Chongay, who had gone
on ahead, had got it all marshalled; the tents were also pitched and in
good order.
Footnote 1:
Tent-mender.
On April 8 we set out from Phari, but had been obliged to reinforce the
local transport by re-engaging fifty of the Chumbi mules. We had been
obliged to do this because we were unable to get a sufficiency of
transport that was capable of carrying loads in Phari itself. But these
fifty mules were our salvation; without them, as it turned out, we
should have been in a bad way.
There are two roads that lead from Phari to Khamba Dzong, our next
objective; the short road passing over the Tang La and the Donka La, and
a long road which starts first on the road to Lhasa and turns finally
after two marches to the West. On account of the short time at our
disposal, and having regard to the fact that we had now in earnest begun
our race with the weather, we chose the shorter route. Owing to the
condition of the animals, all had agreed that the yaks could not
possibly, even by the short road, get to Khamba Dzong under six days. We
therefore divided our party again into two. The advance party, with
fifty Chumbi mules and a large collection of donkeys and particularly
active bullocks, and even some cows, were to march to Khamba Dzong in
four days, and were to be followed by 200 yaks in charge of our sardar,
Gyaljen, and two of the Gurkha non-commissioned officers, to wit, Naik
Hurké Gurung and Lance-naik Lal Sing Gurung, the other two Gurkhas being
in charge of the treasure-chest which accompanied the first party;
Lance-naik Tejbir Bura and Lance-naik Sarabjit Thapa were to march with
the first party.
The sardar Gyaljen had accompanied Colonel Howard-Bury’s party on the
first Expedition, and had, apparently, from the accounts given of him in
last year’s volume, not been a very great success. I, however, gave him
a second chance. He was a thoroughly capable man, and I had every hope,
as he knew that I had heard about him and had also seen the report that
had been made of him by Colonel Howard-Bury, that on this occasion he
would pull himself together and do well; in this we were not
disappointed. Of course, as all sophisticated men in his position are
likely to do, he was out to benefit himself; but we were able pretty
successfully to cope with this failing, and, generally speaking, his
services were of great value, especially on certain occasions.
Altogether, I think, he was a success.
Of course, we were rather well qualified from this point of view—both
Morris and Geoffrey Bruce had an excellent knowledge of Nepal and of the
Nepalese, and Nepalese is the one Eastern language which I may say that
I also have a good knowledge of. All Sherpas are tri-lingual—that is to
say, they talk their own Sherpa dialect of Tibet, Tibetan as a
mother-tongue, and nearly all of them Nepalese as well. Owing to their
being subjects of Nepal, the official language (that is, Nepalese) is
the one they are obliged to employ in dealing with the authorities. Also
nearly every one of the Tibetans we employed and who came with us from
Darjeeling spoke Nepali as their second language. In consequence of
this, nearly the whole of the work usually done by a sardar of coolies
in Darjeeling was carried out by the officers of the Expedition, who
dealt directly both with the men and with the people of the country.
On April 8 we started out. There was for a good long time a tremendous
scrimmage getting all the different loads packed on to the animals, and
dividing the animals, especially as the Tibetans had no idea of being
punctual, and in consequence the yaks, ponies for riding, mules and
bullocks, all drifted in at different times during the morning. Finally,
however, our two large mixed convoys were got off. It was really a great
piece of luck being able to keep the fifty Chumbi mules. These were
laden in the early morning with what was necessary for our camp and
despatched well before the rest of the luggage. The great convoy of 200
yaks was finally marshalled and sent off under the charge of the Gurkhas
and the sardar, but the advance party’s luggage was spread over miles of
country. In consequence of this, Geoffrey, Morris, and myself were
delayed until quite late in the morning.
[Illustration:
NUNS AT TA-TSANG.
]
Our first march was about 16 miles, and the day was very threatening. We
pushed along on ponies at a good pace and crossed the Tang La, which is
a little over 15,000 feet, in rough, but not actually wet, weather.
Luckily, the country is very open, over plains of more or less frozen
grass. Over the main chain of the Himalaya the clouds had settled, and
it was evident that the weather was breaking. A little after noon it
broke with a vengeance. The clouds settled down, it began to snow
heavily, and the wind increased to half a hurricane. Luckily, however,
most of our local men knew the road well, otherwise in this great open
and undulating country one could very easily get lost. The track, which
was fairly well marked otherwise, was completely and rapidly obliterated
in places. It was certainly a rather disheartening start. Morris was
delayed for a time to look after some luggage; Geoffrey and myself
pushed on. Going pretty quickly, we were able to pick up different
parties, and were lucky enough to pass one small encampment of Tibetans.
It was curious to see yaks contentedly chewing the cud, the whole of
their weather-side being a mass of frozen snow. They seemed to be quite
as happy lying out in a blizzard as though they had been ordinary
civilised cows in a barn.
About what is usually known as tea-time we sighted the camp. Our
excellent followers had got a few tents up, and I was fortunate enough
myself to find that the porter who was carrying my big coat had already
arrived. Nearly all Indian camp servants who are accustomed to
travelling in the Himalaya are good in a crisis, and, when things get
bad, come to the fore; but on this occasion they surpassed themselves.
It must be understood that, in Tibet, very, very seldom can anything but
dried yak-dung be found to make a fire with. On this occasion the snow
had obliterated everything, and in consequence a fire had to be
otherwise improvised. Some tents had been pitched, a fire had been got
going, and very soon a hot meal and hot tea were forthcoming. The rest
of the party gradually collected, but it was not until well after
nightfall that the whole of the advance transport had managed to arrive.
As a first march it certainly gave the party a very good idea of what
they might have to put up with in Tibet; it was a real good entry into
Tibetan travel. However, nobody was much the worse, and, the weather
having cleared during the night, we had a brilliant sight the following
morning.
On April 9, we made what I think was the hardest march undertaken on the
Expedition. Our path led us over the ridge in its three bifurcations
which runs North from Pawhunri and rapidly rises from our last camp,
each of these ridges being just 17,000 feet, slightly more or less, and
most of the path being at about 16,000 feet of elevation. At any time
early in April great cold would be expected at such a height, but on
this day the wind was blowing right over the Himalaya direct from the
snows across these passes, and howling down the gorges between them. It
was painfully cold, and the wind never abated from morning to night. We
left about seven o’clock in the morning, and it was well after nightfall
again before our transport was collected at our next camp at
Hung-Zung-trak. Longstaff and myself pushed on in search of the camp for
most of the day together, arriving before any of the animals at about
4.30 to five o’clock in the evening, and made our camp at the
above-named place under some overhanging cliffs with fairly good
grazing—such as grazing is in April—and with a stream beneath the camp
from which water could be obtained. We were very shortly followed by our
magnificent Chumbi transport, which had been pushing along at a
tremendous pace the whole day long. I do not know what we should have
done without it.
What was very much brought home to us was the absolute necessity of
windproof material to keep out the tremendous cold of these winds.
Fortunately, I had a very efficient mackintosh which covered everything,
but even then I suffered very considerably from the cold. It simply blew
through and through wool, and riding without windproof clothing would
have been very painful. It was also very fortunate for us that the
weather was really fine and the sun shone all day. I think we should
have been in a very bad way indeed if the blizzard had occurred on the
second day out from Phari, and not on the first.
However, by night we were all comfortably settled down, although the
whole of our advance stores did not arrive until after ten o’clock at
night again. Unfortunately, three of our porters who had stayed behind
with the slowest of the bullocks lost their way after dark. They stayed
out the whole night without bedding or covering, and in the morning
continued to the nunnery of Tatsang, which was about 4 or 5 miles
further down the valley and rather off our direct route. We here heard
of them and retrieved them. These men had not yet been issued with their
full clothes, and how they managed to sit out the night clothed as they
were and without any damage of any kind passes one’s comprehension. So
low was the temperature that night that the quickly flowing stream
outside our camp was frozen solid.
We halted the next day, as the transport was overdone, and the following
day (April 11) made another long, but very interesting, march direct to
Khamba Dzong, leaving the monastery of Tatsang on our right and crossing
high plains on which were grazing large herds of kyang and gazelle. The
mounted men had great fun trying to round up and get as close as
possible to the herds of kyang; they were trusting up to a point, but
never let us go close enough to get a good snap photograph of them.
Finally, the road led from the high plateau down to Khamba Dzong,
through what to several of us immediately became astonishingly familiar
country; for the whole surroundings of the Khamba Dzong Valley reminds
one very much of the scenery on the North-west frontier of India. But
what a difference in climate!
We camped at Khamba Dzong where last year’s Expedition had camped, and
were very well received by the same Dzongpen. We were gratified to find
Dr. Kellas’ grave in good order, and we further added to it a collection
of great stones. The inscription on the grave in English and Tibetan was
clear and clean. We were delayed in Khamba Dzong for three whole days,
partly because of the difficulty in collecting animals; also two days to
allow our main convoy of 200 yaks to catch us up, and we had the good
luck to be joined by Finch and Crawford, who had pushed on at a great
pace with the oxygen apparatus. They showed evident signs of wear and
tear, being badly knocked about by the weather. The storm had caught
them on the Jelep La, and as this is more South, there had been a very
much greater fall of snow, so much so that the Chumbi Valley was inches
deep in it. They spoke very highly indeed of all their followers, cooks
and Tibetans, and especially of a capital boy, Lhakpa Tsering, who had
come along with them as their special attendant. He was quite a young
boy, but had made the march in two days with them to Tatsang, where they
stayed for the night, without showing any particular signs of fatigue,
running along beside their ponies. I make a considerable point of the
following: I think great exertions and long marches at these high
altitudes before acclimatisation is complete would have tended to
exhaust, and not to improve, the training of the party, whereas to have
a pony with one and be able to walk or ride when one felt tired or
blown, gradually allowed the body to adjust itself. At any rate, I am
perfectly certain that if every one had been obliged to walk instead of
being able to ride, even on the terribly inadequate ponies that were
supplied to them in Tibet, but which, at any rate, gave them the
much-needed rest, they would not have arrived at the Rongbuk Glacier fit
to do the work which they afterwards successfully tackled.
Our march from Khamba Dzong to Tinki and from Tinki to Shekar was
exactly by the route followed by Colonel Howard-Bury in the previous
year, and calls for no particular comment on my part, with the exception
that two small parties of Finch and Wakefield and Mallory and Somervell
made a good attempt at Gyangka-nangpa to climb a 20,000-foot peak,
Sangkar Ri, on the way. This they were not quite able to do.
We had no difficulty in crossing the great sand-dunes where the Yaru
River joins the Arun, as we were able to cross it in the early morning
before the wind had arisen. But on that morning, when we came to the
junction of the valley of the Arun, we had a most wonderful and clear
view of Mount Everest to the South. Although it was over 50 miles
distant in a straight line, it did not look more than twenty. The whole
of the face that was visible to us was smothered in snow. The entire
setting of the piece was very strange; the country was almost bare
enough to remind one of a crumpled Egyptian desert, and the strangeness
and wonder was hugely increased by the South of the valley being filled
with this wonderful mountain mass.
At Shekar, where we arrived on April 24, we were again delayed for three
days getting transport. We found the Dzong filled with Lamas. There is a
great monastery in Shekar itself, and one of less account a little
further beyond. The great Lama of Shekar is an extremely cunning old
person and a first-class trader. In his quarters at the monastery he had
immense collections of Tibetan and Chinese curios, and he knew the price
of these as well as any professional dealer. We saw a great deal, in
fact, a great deal too much, of the Lamas of Shekar. They were the most
inconceivably dirty crowd that we had met in Tibet; the dirt was quite
indescribable. Although the people in Lhasa in good positions are
reported to be generally cleanish, here in the more out-of-the-way parts
of Tibet washing appears to be entirely unknown, except to the
Dzongpens, and I believe that the ordinary Dzongpen only has a
ceremonial bath on New Year’s Eve as a preparatory to the new year, and
I should not be at all surprised if Mrs. Dzongpen did too. At any rate,
the Dzongpens’ families were always infinitely better cared for in this
respect than anyone else. These people, however, have the most terribly
dirty cooks it is possible for the human imagination to conceive. For
this reason I never was very happy as a guest, and although the food
provided for one’s entertainment was often quite pleasant to eat, it was
absolutely necessary not to allow one’s imagination to get to work.
The three days’ delay at Shekar was greatly due to the movement of
officials and troops marching by the same route from Tingri to Shigatse,
and as they had commissioned every available animal, they interfered
considerably with our movements. Shekar was not comfortable during these
days; the wind was not continuous, but came in tremendous gusts, and
dust-devils were continually tearing through the camp and upsetting
everything. Shekar, as Colonel Howard-Bury has described it, is
wonderfully situated. The pointed mass of rock rises direct from the
plains, and the white monasteries and white town are built on its sides.
The illustration will describe it much better than I can. Shekar means
“Shining glass.” All the towns and houses on the sides of the mountain
are brilliantly white and show up very clearly against the dark browns
and reds of the hillside. It is no doubt this appearance which gives it
its name.
The Dzongpen at Shekar was a most important official. The whole of the
country South of Shekar and the Rongbuk Valley where we were going were
in his jurisdiction. We hoped that if we could only gain his own
goodwill as well as his official goodwill, it would be of very great
advantage to us. We entertained each other freely, and he was very
pleased with the lengths of kin kob[2] which I gave to himself and his
wife, and also with the photographs of the Dalai and Tashi Lamas which I
gave to him. By showing him pictures and taking his own picture, we were
able to make great friends with him, to our great advantage. He sent
with us his agent, Chongay La, who served us well during the whole of
our time in the Rongbuk Glacier; in fact, without him we should have had
great difficulty in obtaining the large amount of stores, grain, and
Tibetan coolies which were necessary for us in order to keep our very
large party properly provisioned when we were high up on the
mountain-side.
Footnote 2:
Brocade.
Among our other presents was the inevitable Homburg hat. Wherever we
went we presented a Homburg hat. I had provided myself with a large
number of these hats from Whiteaway and Laidlaw before leaving
Darjeeling. These were a cheap present, but very much valued. Any high
man of a village known as a Gembo La would do anything for a Homburg
hat; it was ceremoniously placed on his head and was invariably well
received. In fact, all recipients visibly preened themselves for some
time afterwards.
From Shekar our route differed slightly from Colonel Howard-Bury’s. He
had taken the direct road to Tingri, but our objective was the Rongbuk.
Therefore we crossed the Arun for the first time, and, crossing by the
Pang La, descended into the Dzakar Chu. This was one of the pleasantest
marches that we had made. The country was new—even Mallory had only been
over part of it. The Pang La (meaning “the Grass Pass”) was altogether
very interesting, and from its summit, where we all collected and
lunched, we had again a fine view of Everest, and on this occasion the
mountain was almost clear of snow and gave one a very different
impression. We here recognised the fact that Everest, on its North face,
is essentially a rock peak. Unfortunately for us, it did not remain
clear of snow for long, rough weather again coming up; the next time we
saw it we found it again clothed from head to foot in snow.
Four marches from Shekar found us at Rongbuk, the final march from
Chodzong to the Rongbuk Monastery being extremely interesting. There is
only one word for it: the valleys of Tibet leading up to the Rongbuk
Monastery are hideous. The hills are formless humps, dull in colour; of
vegetation there is next to none. At our camp at Chodzong, however, on
the hillside opposite our camp, there was quite a large grove of
thorn-trees. We had visions of a wood fire very quickly damped when we
were told that this grove was inhabited by the most active and most
malicious of demons, and that he would promptly get to work if we
interfered and carried away any sticks from his grove.
The Upper Rongbuk Valley is an extremely sacred valley; no animals are
allowed to be killed in it. In fact, the great Mani at the mouth of the
valley opposite the village of Chobu marks the limit beyond which
animals are not allowed to be killed. We were told that if we wanted any
fresh meat it was all to be killed lower down the valley and carried up
to us. The Tibetans themselves live very largely on dried meats, both
yak meat and mutton. I have never tried it myself, and its appearance
was enough to put off anyone but a hungry dog, but I am told that when
cooked it is by no means bad. Most Tibetans, however, eat it raw in its
dried state. I bought quantities of both sorts for the porters. They
cooked it as they would cook fresh meat, and it seemed to suit them very
well. For the sake of their health, however, I gave them, whenever
possible, fresh meat, and with the very finest results.
[Illustration:
RONGBUK MONASTERY AND MOUNT EVEREST.
]
Rongbuk means “the valley of precipices or steep ravines.” The Lepchas
of Sikkim are occasionally called “Rong Pa,” i.e., the people of steep
ravines. It is also used for Upper Nepal, or rather for the people on
the Southern faces of the Himalayan heights, as they are people of the
steep ravines. I have also heard it used to mean Nepal itself. Some five
miles up the valley one comes out on to a plateau and is suddenly almost
brought up against the walls of the Rongbuk Monastery. Here also, as we
came out to the Rongbuk Monastery, we found the whole Southern end of
the valley filled with Mount Everest and quite close to us—apparently.
In any European climate one would have said that it was a short march to
its base, and one would have been terribly wrong. The air is
astonishingly clear; the scale is enormous. The mountain was 16 miles
off.
We pitched our camp just below the monastery with considerable
difficulty, as the wind was howling rather more than usual. Then we went
up to pay our respects to the Rongbuk Lama. This particular Lama was
beyond question a remarkable individual. He was a large, well-made man
of about sixty, full of dignity, with a most intelligent and wise face
and an extraordinarily attractive smile. He was treated with the utmost
respect by the whole of his people. Curiously enough, considering the
terrible severity of the climate at Rongbuk, all his surroundings were
far cleaner than any monastery we had previously, or indeed
subsequently, visited. This Lama has the distinction of being actually
the incarnation of a god, the god Chongraysay, who is depicted with nine
heads. With his extraordinary mobility of expression, he has also
acquired the reputation of being able to change his countenance. We were
received with full ceremony, and after compliments had been exchanged in
the usual way by the almost grovelling interpreter, Karma Paul (who was
very much of a Buddhist here), the Lama began to ask us questions with
regard to the objects of the Expedition. He was very anxious also that
we should treat his people kindly. His inquiries about the objects of
the Expedition were very intelligent, although at the same time they
were very difficult to answer. Indeed, this is not strange when one
comes to think how many times in England one has been asked—What is the
good of an exploration of Everest? What can you get out of it? And, in
fact, what is the object generally of wandering in the mountains? As a
matter of fact, it was very much easier to answer the Lama than it is to
answer inquiries in England. The Tibetan Lama, especially of the better
class, is certainly not a materialist. I was fortunately inspired to say
that we regarded the whole Expedition, and especially our attempt to
reach the summit of Everest, as a pilgrimage. I am afraid, also, I
rather enlarged on the importance of the vows taken by all members of
the Expedition. At any rate, these gentle “white lies” were very well
received, and even my own less excusable one which I uttered to save
myself from the dreadful imposition of having to drink Tibetan tea was
also sufficiently well received. I told the Lama, through Paul, who,
fortunately enough, was able to repress his smiles (an actual record for
Paul, which must have strained him to his last ounce of strength), that
I had sworn never to touch butter until I had arrived at the summit of
Everest. Even this was well received. After that time I drank tea with
sugar or milk which was made specially for me.
[Illustration:
THE EXPEDITION AT BASE CAMP.
_Left to Right, Back Row_: MAJOR MORSHEAD, CAPTAIN GEOFFREY BRUCE,
CAPTAIN NOEL, DR. WAKEFIELD, MR. SOMERVELL, CAPTAIN NORRIS, MAJOR
NORTON.
_Front Row_: MR. MALLORY, CAPTAIN FINCH, DR. LONGSTAFF, GENERAL BRUCE,
COLONEL STRUTT, MR. CRAWFORD.
]
A word about Tibetan tea: the actual tea from which it is originally
made is probably quite sufficiently good, but it is churned up in a
great churn with many other ingredients, including salt, nitre, and
butter, and the butter is nearly invariably rancid, that is, as commonly
made in Tibet. I believe a superior quality is drunk by the upper
classes, but at any rate, to the ordinary European taste, castor-oil is
pleasant in comparison. One of the party, however, had managed to
acquire a taste for it, but then some people enjoy castor-oil!
The Lama finally blessed us and blessed our men, and gave us his best
wishes for success. He was very anxious that no animals of any sort
should be interfered with, which we promised, for we had already given
our word not to shoot during our Expedition in Tibet. He did not seem to
have the least fear that our exploring the mountain would upset the
demons who live there, but he told me that it was perfectly true that
the Upper Rongbuk and its glaciers held no less than five wild men.
There is, at any rate, a local tradition of the existence of such
beings, just as there is a tradition of the wild men existing right
through the Himalaya.
As a matter of fact, I really think that the Rongbuk Lama had a friendly
feeling for me personally, as he told the interpreter, Karma Paul, that
he had discovered that in a previous incarnation I had been a Tibetan
Lama. I do not know exactly how to take this. According to the life you
lead during any particular incarnation, so are you ranked for the next
incarnation; that is to say, if your life has been terrible, down you go
to the lowest depths, and as you acquire merit in any particular
existence, so in the next birth you get one step nearer to Nirvana. I am
perfectly certain that he would consider a Tibetan Lama a good bit
nearer the right thing than a Britisher could ever be, and so possibly
he may have meant that I had not degenerated so very far anyhow. I
should have liked to know, however, what the previous incarnations of
the rest of the party had been!
I think in my present incarnation the passion that I have for taking
Turkish baths may be some slight reaction from my life in the previous
and superior conditions as a Tibetan Lama.
The following morning, in cold weather, as usual, we left to try and
push our camp as high up as possible. Our march now became very
interesting, and we passed on our road, which was fairly rough, six or
seven of the hermits’ dwellings. These men are fed fairly regularly from
the monasteries and nunneries, and do not necessarily take their vows of
isolation for ever all at once. They try a year of it and see how they
get on before they take the complete vows, but how it is possible for
human beings to stand what they stand, even for a year, without either
dying or going mad, passes comprehension. Their cells are very small,
and they spend the whole of their time in a kind of contemplation of the
ōm, the god-head, and apparently of nothing else. They are supposed to
be able to live on one handful of grain per diem, but this we were able
successfully to prove was not the case; they appear, as far as we could
make out, to have a sufficiency of food always brought to them. However,
there they are in little cells, without firing or warm drinks, all the
year round, and many of them last for a great number of years.
Our march took us right up to the snout of the main Rongbuk Glacier, and
on arrival there we vainly endeavoured to get our yak-men to push up the
trough between the glacier and the mountain-side. There was promptly a
strike among the local transport workers, but the employers of labour
were wise enough to give in to their demands. If we had pushed further
up, we must have injured a great number of animals, and finally have
been obliged to return. So we found a fairly good site, protected to a
small extent from the prevailing West wind, and there we collected the
whole of our outfit and pitched our camp. I do not think such an
enormous cavalcade could possibly have mounted the Rongbuk Glacier
before. There were over 300 baggage animals, about twenty ponies, fifty
or sixty men in our own employ, and the best part of 100 Tibetans,
either looking after us or coming up as representatives of the Shekar
Dzongpen. Finally, all were paid off, and the Expedition was left alone
in its glory. The date was the 1st of May.
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