PaintedMountains

FirstascentsintheIndianHimalaya

StephenVenables

www.v-publishing.co.uk

http://www.v-publishing.co.uk/

–Contents–

PartOne:KishtwarShivlingChapter1–ADreamChapter2–CausewayofDistressChapter3–MonsoonChapter4–GettingtoKnowtheMountainChapter5–OntheWallChapter6–TheSummitChapter7–ReturntotheEarth

PartTwo:Rimo–ThePaintedMountainChapter8–AnInvitationChapter9–MangoesandMomoesChapter10–BeyondtheInnerLineChapter11–TotheLakeofBonesChapter12–ExplorationChapter13–SevenDaysonRimoIChapter14–TheFarSideofRimobyJimFotheringtonChapter15–TheDouble-HumpedCamelandMahendra’sBridge

PostludeAppendicesAppendix1–ExpeditionDiary:Kishtwar-Shivling,19831983Appendix2–MountaineeringintheKishtwarHimalaya,1947–1985Appendix3–SiachenIndo-BritishExpedition,1985Appendix4–ExplorationandMountaineeringintheEastKarakoram,1821–1985AcknowledgementsMaps

–PartOne–

KishtwarShivling

–Chapter1–

ADream

Snowbegantofallatdusk.Insidethetentwestruggledtocooksupper.Thestovewasanold punctured tin can filled with smouldering lumps of dried yak dung. Our smartpressurestovehadbeenabandonedmanymilesback,whenwefailedtoobtainpetrolforit.Intheforestwehadmanagedwell,cookingonwoodfires,butforthreedaysnowwehad been above the tree line, forced to improvise, and I had felt slightly ridiculousclimbinguptotheHimalayanwatershedwithalargebagofyakturdstiedtothetopofmyrucksack.

Now,ontheeveningof11September1979,wewerecampingat5,300metresonthecrestoftheHimalaya,inKashmir.Thatafternoonwehadforthefirsttimelookednorthto the brown desert landscape of Zanskar.We had planned to cross theHimalaya andcontinuethroughZanskartoLadakh;butonelookdownsteepiceslopes,curvingdownoutofsightonthefarside,hadbeenenoughtodeterus.Philip,mybrother,hadvirtuallynoclimbingexperienceandnocrampons to copewith thehard,glassy, ice, sowehadabandonedourplananddecidedtoreturnthewaywehadcome.Aseveningwasalreadydrawinginandcolddampcloudswereswirlingaround,wehadstoppedtocampwherewewere,ontheridge,pitchingthetentonasmallmoderatelylevelpatchofsnow.Nowthe wind outside, the horrible black fumes of yak dung augmented by diesel on ourmakeshiftstove,and thecold,seeping insidiously throughthe tentfloor,all intensifiedourfeelingsoffailureanddespondency.

Thefollowingdaywesetoffbacksouth.Wewalkeddownthroughgreydrizzleandstopped in theevening tocamp inacave,ekingoutapitifulmealofdriedonionsandmashedpotato.

Morning transformed everything. The skywas blue; ameandering stream glitteredsilver in the sunlight; and, as we sauntered down through meadows of edelweiss andcotton grass, the air was filled with the vibrant twittering of a thousand songbirds.Suddenly, failure was forgotten and I could abandon myself to the exuberance of aradiantautumnmorning.

Wewerefollowingthecurveofthestreamdowntowardsalowervalley,whichwouldeventually lead us back to theChenab river and the hill town ofKishtwar,where ourjourneyhadbegun.Gradually,asweroundedabend,agreatmountaincameintoview,atfirst only the gleamingwhite summit, severalmiles to the south; then ice cliffs, rockbuttresses and pinnacles revealed themselves until, finally, the whole mountain wasframedintheVofourvalley.Itwasaninspiringsight.Thesummitwasacurvedhumpofpristinewhite snow;on either side, ridges fell away in a series of plunging towers;between the ridges, the North Face dropped in a single swoop of 2,500metres to thevalley.Only theelegant snow flutingsof the summit ice fieldwere in sunlight.Belowthat,thefacewasinshadow;steepslabsofgranite,smearedwithicesliversanddustedwith powder snow; below them a great barrier of ice cliffs, poisedmenacingly abovemore rock walls; further down still, a chaotic glacier tumbled darkly into the valleybelowus.

Ilookedbackuptothesummit,wonderingwhyIhadnottakenmorenoticeofitonourwayupthevalleyafewdaysearlier.Iknewfromourmapthatitwasc.6,000metresabovesealevel(about20,000feet),quitelowbyHimalayanstandardsbut,inthecontextof thisKishtwar regionofKashmir,where fewsummits exceed6,000metres, itwasamagnificent mountain. A friend of mine had seen it the previous summer and haddiscoveredthatthelocalvillagerscalleditShivling,thephallusofShiva,godofcreationanddestruction.ThereisanotherShivlinginKashmir,apillaroficeinacave,reveredbycountless Hindu pilgrims. There is also another mountain called Shivling, 200 milesfurthersouth-eastalongtheHimalayanchain;itwasclimbedbytheIndia-TibetBorderForcein1974,butthis‘Kishtwar-Shivling’hadneverbeenattempted.OnthatSeptembermorning in 1979 Iwas in no fit state to climbmountains. After several weeks in thesubcontinent,Ifeltweakandundernourished;andinanycasethiswasatrekkingholiday,wewerenotequippedforseriousclimbing.ForthemomentKishtwar-Shivlingwasjustsomethingbeautifuland inspiring to lookat, a final reminderof thehighpeaksbeforedescendingtotheforestsoftheChenabgorge.Nevertheless,asamountaineerIcouldnothelpbeing intriguedby the ideaof trying to climb it. It lookedveryhard, harder thananythingIhaddoneintheAlpsorduringmyfirstHimalayanexpeditiontotheAfghanHinduKush. Itwouldbea fascinatingproblemand Iwonderedwhether Imight returnonedaytofindawayuptothatremotegleamingsummit.

WereturnedtoEngland.Kishtwar-Shivlingremainedatthebackofmymindasavague

possibility,ahypotheticalscheme.ThefollowingsummersomefriendsinOxfordaskedto see my pictures of the Kishtwar region. They were planning their first Himalayanexpeditionandwerelookingforpossibleobjectives.IshowedthemaphotoofShivlingandtheyconsideredmakinganattemptbuteventuallyoptedforatechnicallyeasierpeak,making the first ascent of Agyasol, a fewmiles to the south. Although I still had noseriousplansforShivling,Iwassecretlyrelievedthatitremainedunclimbed.Iwasalsorelieved tohear from theOxfordexpedition thatShivling’s south side,which theyhadseen fromAgyasol, looked steep anddifficult – relieved, because if therehadbeen aneasy way up the back, much of the peak’s challenge would have been lost. There issomethingveryexcitingaboutabeautifulunclimbedHimalayanpeakwithnoobviouslyeasyroutetothetop.Thesouthsidemightbeslightlygentler,buttherewasnotmuchinit,andIalwaysreturnedtomypicturesoftheNorthFace,agreatmixedclimbonsnow,iceandrock,amassofintricatedetailsformingacoherentarchitecturalwhole,likesomehugeandfantasticGothiccathedral.

In the meantime, other events were occupying my time. In the summer of 1980 Ijoinedanexpeditiontoattemptanewrouteononeofthehighestmountainsintheworld:the 7,850-metreKunyangKish.Themountain had previously only been climbed once,afterthreeattempts,whichclaimedfourlives.OurattemptontheNorthRidgefailed,butitwas amovingandmemorable experience.PhilBartlett,DaveWilkinsonand I spentseveralweeksisolatedamongst thevastglaciersof theKarakoramrange,comingquiteclosetosuccessonarouteinvolvingnearly4,000metresverticaldistancebetweenBaseCamp and the summit. In comparison with Kishtwar, the Karakoram is a savagelandscapeandeventheapproachmarchhaditsdangers,aswediscoveredwhenwewerecaught in a terrifying rockfall in the Hispar gorge. On the mountain, too, there werefrighteningmoments–twofallsintocrevasses,anearmisswhenanoverhangingcorniceofsnowbrokewitha loudbang,andalways thenaggingfearofavalanches;but itwasexhilaratingtofindanewrouteonthemountain.Twiceweclimbedto6,800metres;bothtimesbadweather stoppeduscontinuing to the topandwewerehelddownbystorms,maroonedforseveraldaysinasnowcave,beforeretreatingnervouslydownavalanche-wrackedslopes.

Timeranoutandwehadtoadmitdefeat.IreturnedtoEnglandwearyandskeletal,tendays late for a new teaching job in York. KunyangKish had been such a compellingobjective, insuchmagnificentsurroundings, thatwewentbackforasecondattempt in1981,hopingforbetter luck. In theevent theweatherwasabysmalandwedidn’teven

reachthehighpointofthefirstattempt.Davewassoenthusiasticaboutthemountainthathehadpersuaded twomore climbers to joinus.Onewas anAmerican,CarlosBuhler,wholatertookaleadingroleinthefirstascentoftheEastFaceofEverest.TheotherwasoneofBritain’smostexperiencedmountaineers–DickRenshaw.

IfirstheardofDickin1973.Ihadjustreturnedfrommyfirstsummeralpineseason,slightlydisappointedwithunambitiousclimbs.InMountainmagazineI readabout twoYorkshiremen, called Dick Renshaw and Joe Tasker, who had spent the summersystematically climbing some of the most formidable north faces in the Alps. Thefollowingsummer theirnamescroppedupagainand then, in1975, theymade thefirstBritishwinter ascent of theNorth Face of the Eiger. Later that year,while amassiveBritish expedition laid siege to theSouthWestFaceofEverest,with the assistanceofsixty high-altitude porters, Dick and Joe drove out on their own in an old van to theGarhwal Himalaya, in India, to climb the South Ridge of 7,066-metre-high Dunagiri.Thisaudaciousclimbofanextremelydifficultroute,byatwo-manteamwithnoback-upatall,receivedimmediateacclaimintheclimbingworldandsetthetoneforarevivaloflightweight expeditions.Dick published a superb article about the climb inMountain,and readingbetween the linesofBritishunderstatement,onegained some ideaofhowhard he had been forced to struggle, in an epic retreat from themountain, descendingwithoutfoodorwater,deliriouswithexposureandsufferingfromappallingfrostbite.

The following year, when his frostbitten fingers had recovered, he teamed upwithDaveWilkinsontomakethefirstascent,inwinter,oftheNorth-WestFaceDirectontheMönch, one of the most serious routes in the Swiss Alps, which has still not beenrepeated.DaveaskedhimtocomeonthefirstKunyangKishattemptin1980,buthehadalreadybeenbookedbyJoeTaskerandPeterBoardman foranotherKarakorampeak–K2.Likeus,theyweretwicedrivendownfromtheirhighpointbyatrociousweather;buttheirs was a more prolonged struggle on a higher mountain, where the storms werefiercerandtheavalanchesmoredevastating.

TheyreturnedsafelyandDickacceptedDave’sinvitationtocometoKunyangKishin1981. Itwas interesting tomeet for thefirst timesomeoneaboutwhomIhadheardsomuch.IthinkthatIhadcomposedanimaginarypictureofsomeformidablydourspartanandwaspleasantlysurprised todiscoverhissheepishgrinandfriendlymanner.Duringlongspellsofbadweather,watchingandwaitingatBaseCamp,Icametorealisewhatanidealpersonhewastohaveonanexpedition,quiet,patientandself-contained,butalsofriendly and considerate, with an underlying sense of humour. He clearly loved the

mountainsbuthadnointentionofdyingamongthem.Someoftheriskswehadtakenthepreviousyear came in for a gooddeal of criticismand in1981,when conditionswereworse,Dick’scautionwasahealthyinfluence.Heexpresseditsuccinctly:

‘Themostimportantthingaboutanexpeditionistocomebackalive.’‘What aboutDunagiri?’we retorted, remindinghimabout the timewhenhehad so

nearlynotcomebackalive.Hedismisseditasanirresponsibleadventure,carriedoutinblithe youthful ignorance: but it had obviously been a tremendous experience to havesurvived and perhaps it was those excessively bold adventures of his early climbingcareer that had instilled the caution, the knowledge of his abilities and the constantawarenessofpotentialdangersthatmadehimsuchagoodHimalayanmountaineer.

Likemostpeople,IfoundDickeasytogetonwithandhopedthatwemightgoonanexpeditiontogetheragain.Intheautumnof1982IwaslivingwithmyparentsnearBath.I had now stopped teaching, had left York and was hoping to spend more time onexpeditions.IhadjustreturnedfromtheAndes,whereDave

Wilkinsonand Ihadclimbedanumberof6,000-metrepeaks– a refreshingchangefromtheslowabortivestruggleonKunyangKish.OneeveningthetelephonerangandafamiliargruntingnoiseannouncedthatDickwasattheotherend.Ourhesitant,circlingconversation resembled that of two shy lovers trying for the first time todeclare theirfeelingsforeachother;weweredealingwithalessemotivetopic,butittooksometimetoarriveattheconclusionthatwewerebothfreethefollowingautumnandthatwebothwantedtovisittheIndianHimalayaafterthemonsoontoattemptaclimb.Dickhadjustreturned from Chris Bonington’s ill-fated Everest expedition. Joe Tasker and PeterBoardmanhaddisappearedhighon theNorth-EastRidge,never tobeseenaliveagain;Dickhimselfhadbeenforcedtoreturnearlier,aftersufferingastrokeat8,000metres.Luckily therewas no serious permanent injury, but hewas advised not to go too highagain.Itmusthavebeenabitterdisappointment,laterovershadowedbythelossoftwoclosefriends;buthehadlostnoneofhisenthusiasmforthemountains.Thedoctorshadsuggestedalimitof6,000metresandnowhewaslookingforaninteresting,challengingclimbofaboutthatheight.IsuggestedKishtwar-Shivling.

At the weekend I drove over to Cardiff, where Dick lived with Jan and their sonDaniel.OntheSaturdayeveningweprojectedaslideofShivlingontothewallandforthefirsttimeDicksawtheNorthFacethatIhadseenthreeyearsearlier.OntheSundaywedroveover toChepstowandspentadankgreydayclimbingonthecliffsabovetheriverWye.BeforeIreturnedhome,DickhadagreedtoattemptKishtwar-Shivlingduring

thefollowingautumnof1983.

Himalayan expeditions still hold a certain mystique and many people imagine thedifficultiesoftheterrain,thealtitudeandthebarriersofAsiaticbureaucracytobealmostinsurmountableobstacles. In comparisonwith a trip to theAlpsor even theAndes, anattemptonaHimalayanpeakdoesusuallyinvolvealotofhardwork,butthedifficultiesareoftenexaggerated;afteroneortwoexpeditionstheorganisationbecomesquiteeasy.OurjobwastoarriveatasuitableBaseCampwithenoughfoodandcookingfueltolivethereforseveralweeks.Themountainmightrequiremorethanoneattemptbydifferentroutesandwemightbedelayedbyprolongedbadweather;soitwasessentialtobeself-sufficientforlongenoughtotryallpossibilities.OurproposedrouteontheNorthFacewould probably involve several days of hard technical climbing, requiring quite aquantityofrockandiceequipment.Iftherouteprovedtoodifficultortoodangerous,wewouldhavetoabseilbackdownagain,abandoningequipmentontheabseilanchors;sotherewouldhavetobesparestoattemptalternativeroutes.Wewouldhavetotransportall these suppliesandourselves toDelhi, continueby trainandbusup toKashmirandfinally hiremules for the seventy-milewalk-in from the roadhead. Before any of thiscould happen we had to apply to the Indian Mountaineering Foundation (IMF) forgovernmentpermission toattempt thepeak.Fora royalty feeof£330 thiswasgrantedandwewereassigned theobligatory liaisonofficer (LO),whowouldaccompanyus toBaseCampandwhowouldhavetobeclothedandfedthroughouttheexpedition.

All this requiredmoney.The final cost of the expeditionwas £2,200, a paltry sumcomparedwiththemoneyspentbymanyexpeditionsbut,paltryasitmayhavebeen,itwasmorethanwecouldaffordfromourownpockets,sowewereveryrelievedwhentheMount Everest Foundation and the British Mountaineering Council (supported by theSportsCouncil)agreed togivegenerousgrants towards thecostof theexpedition.TheWestern Daily Press later promised more money in return for an article and photos,manufacturers provided equipment at cost price, and the camping store in Bathgenerouslydonatedsomeofourrequirements,asdidvariousfoodcompanies.

Preparationsprogressedthroughthewinterof1982–1983.Everyfewweekswemettodiscussplans,usuallyduringaday’sclimbing.SofartheonlyclimbswehadsucceededontogetherweresmallrockclimbsonBritishcrags;soitseemedagoodideatoattempta big alpine climb together before going to theHimalaya.At the end of FebruarywetravelledtoSwitzerland,totheBerneseOberland.

Wehadtowaitthroughdaysofbadweather,untilitwassafetosetoffforoneofthemostremote,rarelyclimbedfacesintheAlps,theNorth-EastFaceoftheFinsteraarhorn.Gettingtothefootofthefaceinmidwinterinvolvedatwo-dayapproachonskisfromtheJungfraujoch railway station. On the second day I fell into a concealed crevasse. ThespeedofDick’sreaction,pullingtheropetightbeforeIfellanydeeper,wasacomfortingreminderofhisskillandexperience.Wespentthreelong,tiringdaysonthefaceitself,climbingslowlyupfortyrope-lengthsofsteepintricateterrain,reachingthesummitjustasnightfellonthethirdday.Onoursixthdaywedescendedthemountain,collectedourskisandfinally,ontheseventhday,skieddownthelongFiescherGlaciertothefirsthintof spring in the Rhone valley, to complete a wonderful adventure. At last we hadsucceeded together on a serious mountain route. The 4,274-metre Finsteraarhorn inwinterwascomparable to6,000-metreShivling insummer.Ofcourse,onShivling, theroute would be longer and there would be the additional strain of doing technicalclimbingnearly2,000metreshigher;buttheoverallfeeloftheclimbwouldprobablybesimilartowhatwehadexperiencedontheFinsteraarhorn.

Summer came. InEngland itwas the finest summer for eight years. LikeDick, IwasearningmylivingfromjoineryanddecoratingandduringthelonghotdaysofJuneandJuly I drovebymoped along twisting lanes, through the abundant fields andwoodsofSomerset, to a small village where I had been contracted to paint two houses.OccasionallyIescapedfromthetoilofbrushes,scrapersandladders,tojoinDickforaweekendonthelimestoneseacliffsofPembrokeshire.SometimesJanandDanielcametoo and itwas fun getting to know the family. Janwas not looking forward toDick’sdeparturebut seemed resigned to theyearly separation.She recalledwith retrospectiveamusementthetimewhenDickarrivedbackfromK2,onlyjustintimeforthebirthofhis son. Apparently he had been so dazed and exhausted by the long struggle at highaltitude that it took some time for him to register what was happening and show hisnaturaljoyandexcitementatDaniel’sbirth.

By July everything was ready for Shivling. Another expedition from Cardiff waskindlyfreightingoutsomeofourluggagetoDelhiandwewereduetoflywiththereston5August.ImanagedtofitinaweekwiththreefriendsintheLakeDistrict,whereitwassohotthatweonlyclimbedintheshadeofnorth-facingcragsandweswaminthecrystalwatersofLingcornBeckandStickleTarn;evenWastwaterhadlostsomeof itscustomarychill.ThentherewasjusttimetoreturntoLondonandpaintonemorehouse

duringa tiringweekof fourteen-hourdays,with thepaintglaring fiercely in theharshsunlight.

Setting off for Heathrow on the underground, I felt the usual last-minute pangs ofdoubtabout leavinghomeforall thediscomfortsandpossibledangersofaHimalayanexpedition.

Dickwaswaitingat theairport, sweltering indoubleclimbingbootsand ladenwithgrotesquelybulgingrucksacks.Wetalkedoverthefinaldetails,checkingthatallthelast-minuteshoppinghadbeendone.DickseemedasenthusiasticaseveraboutthetripandintheexcitementofdepartureIquicklyforgotmyearlierdoubts.Itwasexhilaratingtobesetting out for a single, precise, compelling objective, which I had dreamed aboutintermittently for four years; and I felt again a sense of commitment and excitedanticipationaswepushedouroverladenluggagetrolleystowardsTerminalThreefortheflighttoIndia.

–Chapter2–

CausewayofDistress

AlargeblackvulturesatperchedatoptheheadquartersoftheIMF.DickandIburstintolaughter,puzzlingthetaxidriver,whosawnothingfunnyinthespectacleofthisominouscreature, settledwith suchproprietorial assuranceon theverypinnacleof the fortress-like building which is the starting point for nearly every expedition to the IndianHimalaya.But forus itwasamarvellousmomentofblackcomedy–oneof themanyabsurditieswhichenlivenedaweekofmundanedrudgery.

We had just returned from a morning’s shopping in the bazaar and the taxi wascrammedwithboxesof food.Wehumped theboxes into the IMFbuilding, relieved toreturntotheshowersandelectricfanswhichprovidedacoolhavenfromtherelentlesshumidheatofDelhi.Thechokidarbroughtteaandweorderedourlunch.

In the afternoonwe rested in the dormitory, sprawled under the fans. I had almostfallenasleepwhentheIMFsecretarycameintointroduceourliasonofficer.ReluctantlyIgottomyfeet,yawningdopily,butjustconsciousenoughtobeawareofthefactthatDickandIweredressedinnothingbutunderpants.OurLOwassecondedtousfromhisdutiesinGarhwalwiththeIndia-Tibet

Border Force, the paramilitary group responsible for patrolling India’s longHimalayan border with China. He was a big man in his early thirties, his hairimmaculatelygroomedandheworeafreshlylaunderedshirt,tailoredtrousersandshinyblack shoes. I shook hands, smiled through the yawns and let Dick do the talking.Everything was very polite and formal, underpants notwithstanding, and it was ratherdauntingtothinkthatthispukkahmanwastobeourconstantcompanionforthenextfewweeks.Asenseofawkwardnesswasaccentuatedbycommunicationproblems:hehadaverythickIndianaccentandhadtorepeateverythinghesaidseveraltimes,sothatittooksometimetoestablishthathisnamewasPatial.Hefoundusequallyincomprehensibleand when in doubt said yes to anything we said. He could be excused, though, forincomprehension, because Dick is notorious for his sotto voce mumbling and myarticulationoftenisn’tmuchbetter.

After a few minutes of confused small talk, Patial started to work round to themomentwehaddreaded:

‘MayIseetheequipments?’‘We’vepackedalltheequipmentinthosebags.’‘Yes–Iampackingtheequipments?’‘No–thatisalreadydone.Itisready.’‘Yes–Iamready.’Wedecidedonadifferenttack:‘Perhapsweshouldgotothebazaarnow–thereismoreshoppingtodo.’‘Yes…’Therewasanotherpause,Patiallookedperplexed;hetriedagain:‘IshallbeseeingpersonalLOequipments?’‘Sorry?’‘Sorry…?’‘Canyourepeatwhatyousaid,please?’‘IamwantingtoseepersonalLOequipmentarticles.’

ThemessagehadfinallygotthroughandDickandIexchangedshiftyglances.Weknewthat every LO joins a foreign expeditionwith high expectations of LO perks.We hadbroughtamotleyselectionofclothingandcampingequipment,whichjustcompliedwiththeIMFregulationsandwhichwouldbemorethanadequateforPatial’srequirementsatBase Camp; but he had friends who had worked for heavily sponsored Japaneseexpeditions, lavishly equipped with all the latest in mountaineering fashion andtechnology. He made no attempt to disguise his disappointment when we produced awell-usedrucksackcontaininganoldtentofmyparents,mybrother’swalkingbootsanda down jacket of Dick’s which was extremely warm but had a slightly déjà vuappearance.Patialfingeredourofferingsdisdainfully.However,oursponsorshadkindlyprovidedafewcompensatoryitems–abrandnewkarrimat,pristinethermalunderwear,someluxurious loopstitchsocksandagleamingredSwisspenknife–whichseemedtocheer himup a little.We also assured him thatwe had packed the regulation ice axe,cramponsandclimbingharness–itemswhichweknewhewasunlikelytouse,butwhichweweregladtohavewithusasspares.

Werepacked the rucksackandhanded itover toPatial,promising tobuyhimsomedenimjeansandatransistorradio.DickandIputontrousersandshirts,thenthethreeof

uswentintotheglaringheatoutside.InthecourseofanotherlabouredconversationweexplainedthatDickandPatialwouldcontinuewith theshopping,whileI tookanauto-rickshaw to the tourist office near IndiaGate to reserve berths on the following day’snighttraintoJammu.

ImetDick again in the evening.Patial had returned to armyquarters.Dick lookeddisconsolateandIaskedhowtheshoppinghadgone.Hehadprocuredtheextrarice,flouranddriedfruit,butapparentlyPatialhadbeenlittlehelp.

‘Hewasuseless!’DickexclaimedinhisbluntestYorkshireaccent.‘Ihadtocarryalltheheavystuffonmyown,whilehe justwatched.Hedidn’tseemtohaveacluewhatwasgoingon–didnothingbutaskabouthisbloodyjeans.It’sgoingtobeawfulstuckwithhim,prancingroundBaseCampinhisnewLevis…’

It was depressing and wewere both worried that Patial was going to be a terribleliability. However, as so often happens, our first impressions were wildly inaccurate:withinafewdaysPatialhadacceptedthefactthathehadbeenconsignedtotwoslightlyeccentricEnglishmenwithverylittlesparecashandhewastryingtomakethebestofadisappointing situation, obviously doing everything he could to be helpful. As theexpedition progressed, we often heard his favourite aphorism – ‘Communications IsMust’–andbydintofmeticulousarticulationandgrowingfamiliaritywebuiltupagoodrapport.BytheendofthetripwewereagreedthatPatialhadcopedmostcheerfullyandefficiently with whatmust have been an exceedingly boring job, acting as negotiator,interpreterandBaseCampguardfortwoforeignerswhowereneitherwillingnorabletotakehimonthemountain.

WehadarrivedinDelhionaSaturdaymorning,hopingtoleaveforthemountainsthefollowingMonday.However,Patial’slateappearancedelayedusslightlyandwedidn’tleaveuntiltheeveningofTuesday9August.WehadnowboughtallthebasicfoodstuffstosupplementtherationsdonatedinEngland,anditonlyremainedtofindparaffinandcookingutensilsinJammuandfreshvegetablesinKishtwar.ThreetaxiscametotheIMFtotakeusandoureighteenpiecesofluggagetotherailwaystationandweleft,drivingthrough the spacious avenuesofNewDelhi, past all the embassies and IndiaGate andLutyens’grandiosepresidentialpalaceandonintotheborderlandofNewandOldDelhi,seethingwithanoisymassofpeople,carsandcows.Thestationportersintheiruniformredshirtswelcomeduswithanoutrageouspriceforcarryingourluggagetotheplatformandtheyseemedinnomoodfornegotiation.SoDickandIastoundedthemallbypickinguptwotwenty-five-kiloloadsandsettingoffourselves.Itwasalongjourney,acrossthe

lethaltaxistand,throughtheteemingentrancehall,upoverafootbridgeanddowntoourplatform. Patial guarded the diminishing pile of luggage outside while Dick and Ialternately humped loads and guarded the growing pile on the platform.After half anhourofhard labourwehadstubbornly relayedall the loadsandcould rest, sweatyandexhausted.

TheFrontierMailwastwohourslate.UnlikeBritishRail,theDelhistationauthoritiesdo not announce publicly the late arrival of their trains. The expected time of arrivalremainsasubjectforrumourandconjecture,whilethepublicaddresssystemisusedformore educational purposes: every fewminutes its impeccable toneswould cut throughthe hubbub, exhorting people to be sensible, asking them to refrain from carrying toomuchluggageorridingonthefootplatesorenteringanair-conditionedcarriagewithoutanACticket.Thebestannouncementwentsomethinglikethis:

‘Pleasedonotsitontheplatforms,whichisuncomfortable,andanuisancetootherpeople;instead,pleaseusetheseatsprovided.’Itseemedanunreasonablerequest,whenourplatformboastedperhapsfoursmallbenchseatsforawaitingcrowdofhundredsofpassengers,nottomentionthescoresofpeoplewhojusthappenedtolivethere,sprawledontheplatformindensemoundsofsleepingbodies.

The train arrived. We had treated ourselves to the luxury of an air-conditionedcarriage,whereasmallbribetoaporterenabledustostowalltheluggage,illegally,inthecompartment.Itwaswonderfultoretreatintothedeliciouscoolnessofthecarriage,settleintocomfortablebunksandwaitforthegentleswayingmotionofthetraintorockustosleep,asittrundledthroughthenightacrosstheimmenseplainsofNorthernIndia.

Jammu lies right at the foot of theHimalaya, at the southern extremityof the stateofJammuandKashmir.Wearrivedinthelatemorningandonceagainhadtoshiftalltheluggage,atediousprocesswhichseemstoberepeatedendlesslyduringtheearlydaysofeveryexpedition.ItwasadayofheatanddrudgeryandthateveningIsummeditupinmydiary:

Sittingin‘retiringroom’No9atthebusstation,tryingtowritebythedingylightofasingleyellowbulb.Theconstantdinofscooters,auto-rickshaws,taxis,lorriesandbuses,andthefreneticshoutingofthousandsofpeople,thesmellofcowshitandstaleurineandcurryandrottingmangoes.Thesmellofsewageinourshowerroomandthesweetlittlebrownratsscurryingintherubbishcupboard…allthisis starting tomake us just a little weary. In themorning a skinnymangy horse

pulledacartwithour300+kgofluggagetothebusstation.Staringatitsfesteringfly-infested sores and watching its pathetic attempts to shake its head, I feltdepressedby thehopeless crueltyof it all – thehorse, thepeople in the squalidhutsbythestation,thegrotesqueheadofamanperchedonatinyleglesstorsoonthefloorofthebusstation,thecooliescarrying100kgloadstoourroom,thesoft-eyedscrawnycowamblingnonchalantlyroundthebusstation,obliviousofallthenoise–itallseemedutterlyhopelessandfutile.

TheromanceofIndiaseemedtobeeludingus.Ofcourse,ithadn’tallbeenasbleakasmydiarysuggests.Wehadcompletedthefirst

partofour journeyandwewerebookedon to thenextday’sbus toKishtwar.Wehadmanagedasuccessfulshoppingtriptothebazaar,buyingparaffin,potsandpans,alargepolythenesheet forourBaseCampkitchenanda transistor radio forPatial.TherehadevenbeenmomentsofbeautylikewakingupatdawntostareoutofthetrainwindowatthegoldandgreenfieldsofthePunjaband,intheevening,escapingfromthebazaartothe twilitpeaceofaHindu temple,wherechildrenplayed in thecourtyard,while theirparents prayed.Nowwewere back in our room, about to go to bed.Therewas a loudknock on the door and Dick went to open it, to find an enormous beturbanned manprowlingaroundthecorridorwithanaxeinhishand.Dicksaidhelloandhastilyshutthedoor, but Patial told him not to worry, assuring us that the man was just a residentsecurityguarddoingacheckoftherooms.

Everylong-haulbusinJammuandKashmirisadornedwithoneoftwomottos,either‘Trust inGod’or ‘BestofLuck’. Icannot rememberwhichourswas,but itnegotiatedwithout incident the first stretch of the journey into Kashmir, along a road decoratedliberallywithroadsafetyslogans:‘Betterlatethannever’;‘Dazzlehimandhemaydashyou–Puzzlehimandhemaycrashyou’;‘Keepyournervesonsharpcurves’.

Weclimbedupthroughpineforestsandoveramountainpass,crossingthePirPanjalrangetoBatote,wherethemainroadcontinuesnorthoveranotherpasstoSrinagar,andarougher roadwinds its way tortuously eastward, following the twists and turns of theChenab river to Kishtwar. We were to take the latter road, but first we had to stopovernight at Batote. I am always glad of a chance to sleep, but at Batote I wasdisappointed. Just after we had settled into our beds in a five-rupee hotel, giant fleasbegan to advance at high speeds from every chink and crevice in the beds and thesurroundingwallsof theroom.Thethreeofusfleddownstairs, tobalanceprecariouslythrough the night on narrowbenches, islands in a sea of voracious bugs; but they had

alreadydonetheirworstinthebedroomandwewereallsufferingfromfuriouslyitchingredweals.

InthemorningwecontinuedonthelongroadtoKishtwar,bouncingformostofthedayalongtheroughtrackhighabovetheChenab.WehadalmostreachedKishtwarwhenthe bus stopped abruptly at a bend. Several other buses and truckswere alsowaiting.Round thebend, a sectionof the roadhaddisappeared, swept down in a great slice ofrain-loosened earth and rock into the turbid waters of the Chenab, 200metres below.Landslidesareaconstantexpectedhazardduring themonsoonandalreadyabulldozerwasatwork,tryingtore-excavatethetrack.Itwasobviouslygoingtotakesometime,soI settled in the shadebeside thebus to continue readingV.S.Naipaul’s taleofdarkestAfrica,BendintheRiver.Aftertwohourslittleprogresshadbeenmadeandpeoplewerestartingtocarrytheirluggageacrossthebreach.Reluctantlywetookdownfromthebusroof our packing cases, kit bags, rucksacks and scratchy hessian sacks, to start on yetanotherluggagerelay.Itwasfrighteningwork,stumblingacrossafifteen-metrestretchof boulders, glancing nervously up at more boulders poised precariously above,imaginingwhat itmightbe like tobecrushedandsweptdown thesteepgully into theriver.

Oncealltheluggagewasacrossweweresafe;butbynowaqueueoftruckshadbuiltuponthefarsideforseveralhundredmetres,andaseveningdrewinwehadtotrudgebackand forth,humping loadafter loadpasta long lineofoldBedfords.Althoughwewerenowaboutathousandmetresabovesealevelandtheairwaslesshumid,itwasstillveryhotandIwasdevelopingaragingthirst.AsIputdownthelastload,Ithoughthownice itwouldbe ifwecouldallgooff to thepub todrinkseveralwell-earnedpintsofcooldarkbeer,andIrememberedsittinginWasdale,onlythreeweeksearlier,doingjustthat.However,thiswastheChenabvalleyandallwehadwassuspectwater,whichDickwasboilingontheprimus,andIhadtocontentmyselfwithscaldingtea.

Wesleptby the roadand in themorninga reliefbus tookus toKishtwar.The firstWesternertovisitKishtwarwasanEnglishmancalledGodfreyVigne(pronouncedVine),whocameherein1839,inthecourseofextensiveexplorationswhichtookhimalongthelength andbreadthofKashmir.HisTravels inKashmir,Ladakand Iskardoo describeshow he found a town of about one hundred houses, containing amixed population of‘Mussalmen’and‘Hindoos’.TheRajahofKishtwarhadoncecontrolledall the land tothe north and east to Ladakh. By Vigne’s time it had all been swallowed up in theexpandingempireofGulabSingh,theRajahofJammu.TheKashmirisofSrinagarheld

the region of Kishtwar in ridicule, and their contempt was illustrated by Vigne in atranslationofoneoftheirsongs:‘Kishtwaristhecausewayofdistress,wherepeoplearehungrybydayandcoldbynight;whoevercomesthere,whenhegoesawayisasmeagreastheflagstaffofafakir.’

KishtwarperhapslacksthelushabundanceofthecountryroundSrinagar,butit isapleasantenoughtown,situatedonabroadshelfoflandabovetheChenab,surroundedbyfieldsandwoodedhills.Wesawnosignsofgrossmalnutrition,andpeopleseemedtobeasprosperousandthrivingastheyhadbeenin1979.Thetown,whichhasgrownslightlysinceVigne’s day, is the trading and administrative centre for a large area of isolatedvillages.Villagersmay travel over a hundred kilometres on foot, to visit the bazaar’sthrivingtailors,ironmongersandchemists.Thereisapolicestation,postoffice,DistrictCommissioner’soffice,officesforforestryandagriculturalofficials,andbothmosquesand temples tocater foramixedpopulationofMuslimsandHindus,who in the1980swerestilllivingpeacefullysidebyside.

ThreehotelssurroundthemainsquareinKishtwar.WhenDick,PatialandIarrivedinthemorningweheardthattherewouldbenobustotheroadheaduntilthenextday,soweaskedtostayatoneofthehotelsandcrammedallourluggageintoatinyroomupstairs.

Anirritatingroughnessatthebackofmythroatwasdevelopingintoacold,andnowthefamiliaracheoffluwasseepingthroughmybody,intensifyingasthedayworeon.Ilay onmywooden bed, feeling sorry formyself, while Patial tookDick to the policestation to report the expedition’s arrival. In the evening they persuadedme down to asmoky cafe, where I struggled unsuccessfully with chapattis and a leguminous mushstewed in searing chilli juice. I returned to bed and dosed myself to sleep withParacetamolandPiriton;but in themiddleof thenightIwokeagain,aching,shiveringand filledwith a loathing for the caninepopulationofKishtwar.Himalayandogsbarklikenootherdogs,andonthisnighteveryhound,bitchandpuppyformilesaroundwascompetinginafrenziedhowlingthatechoedrelentlesslyaroundthemountains.

Ilayawake,hatingdogs,hatingIndia,hatingtheHimalaya,andwonderingwhyIhadcomeonthishorribleexpedition.OfcourseIknewthatflumakespeoplemiserable,thattravelling through India in August is always hot and difficult, that drudgery anddiscomfortareunavoidableelementsofanyexpedition;Iknewthatwehadinfactcometoclimbawonderfulmountainandthattheselittleirritationswouldpass;butatthetimeitwashardtobelievethattherewasenjoymentahead.

Near Kishtwar-Shivling there is a village calledMachail. In the village there is a

temple.WeweretoldthatthetempleisdedicatedtoagoddesscalledChendi.ThenameisunfamiliarandIhavenotbeenabletotraceit,butitmayperhapsbealocalnameforoneofthecelebratedHindugoddesseslikeParvatiorLakshmi.Whoeversheis,alargegroupofwomenandgirlsweresettingoutonSunday,14August,topayhomageathertemple.LikeustheyweretakingthebusfromKishtwartoGalhar,wheretheroadendsand we would have to start walking. The pilgrims were accompanied by a gentle,courteous,grey-hairedman,whoappearedtobetheirgroupleaderandchaperon.ItwashewhopersuadedthebusdrivertoleaveforGalhar.Theroadwasundergoingrepairs,sowasofficiallyclosedandinanevenworsestatethanusual.Thedriverrefusedtoleaveuntil the chaperone had done a whip-round among all the prospective passengers,collectingenoughmoneytobribehimonhisway.

AswerumbledoutofKishtwarthepilgrimsstartedtosingHindusongs.Theyoungestgirl,who lookedabout ten, sangwithboisterousenthusiasm,never flaggingduring thefive hours it took to cover the twenty kilometres toGalhar. She had a shrill powerfulvoiceandseemed tobe trying tosinganoctaveabove theothers,but sheusuallyonlymanagedsomethinglikeaseventh,addingawonderfullydiscordantdescanttothesongs.Thewomen’sexuberantsingingmadeadelightfulantidotetomybroodinghypochondria.Itwasalsohearteningtoseepeoplegoingcontentedlyabouttheirbusinessaswedroveout of town, past the spaciousmaidan (the Indian equivalent of themunicipal park orvillagegreen)borderedwithmajesticplanetrees.Bumpingalongattenmilesanhourinbillowsofdust,wepassedmenwithsaws,boysleadingdonkeysladenwithfirewood,awoman bowed under bundles of maize leaf fodder and a tethered ram being draggedreluctantlypastagroupofbewilderedewes.Allalongthetracktherewereroad-mendersatworkwithpickaxes,crowbarsandshovels.Manyof themwerechildren,gladof thechanceforabriefrestwhilethebuspassedthrough.Frequentlyweallhadtogetoutandwalk,while thedriver inched the strainingvehicle over a particularly rutted stretchofearthandboulders; thenwewouldallclimbbackonboardand thesingingwouldstartagain.

GalharwasasIhadremembered it:dusty,smellyandbuzzingwithflies.Wedranksweet sticky tea outside one of the huts, while Patial entertained the locals. He wasentering thoroughly into the spirit of things, acting as our self-appointed PR man,proudlytellingeveryoneabouttheShivlingExpeditionandbrandishingouronephotoofthemountain.NeitherDicknorIspokemorethanafewwordsofHindi,soweweregladtohaveaninterpreter,andasPatialtalkedwithtwooldmenhetranslatedforourbenefit.

ApparentlytheycamefromtheDarlangNullah,aremotevalleytothesouthofShivling.Oneofthemclaimedtohaveclimbedpartofthewayupthemountain:metalinhisbootshad stuck to the magnetic rocks … the mountain had glowed iridescent with manychangingcolours…hehadheardthesoundofmelodiousvoicesandthemusicofconchshells…Healsoknewofasadhu,aholyman,whohadlefthiscaveoneday, towalktowardsShivling.Atnightfallhehadlaindowntosleepatthefootofthemountain,butthe followingmorning he had woken to find himself back in his cave. Later, readingVigne’saccountofhisvisittoKishtwarin1839,Ifoundanalmostidenticalstory.Vignewritesabout‘theBrimah…averyloftyrange,coveredwitheternalsnow’–anotherholymountain,nowusuallyspelledBrammah.HewastoldaboutafakirwhomadenumerousattemptstoclimbBrammah.Thefakirwouldalwaysmakehisfirstbivouacbesidealittlelake,partofthewayupthemountain;butheinvariablywoketofindhimselfrightbackat thebottom.DickandIwereslightlyconcernedthat theremightbeobjectionstoouraspirationtosetfootonthesummitoftheholyShivling,butboththetwooldmenfromtheDarlangNullah andother local peoplewemet later seemed tohavenoobjections;theywere,onthecontrary,amusedandcuriousatourplans.Therewasalsobusinesstobedone.Wehad to transport410kilosofsupplies toBaseCamp,seventymilesaway.PatialopenednegotiationswithamuleteercalledMohammedIkbar,whoreckonedthathecouldhandlethejobbyusinghisfivemulesandsubcontractingagenialolderman,RuphSingh,toprovidetwo‘littlemules’,whichappearedtobeordinarydonkeys.Afteraheateddiscussion,duringwhichwerealisedwhatahard-hittingnegotiatorPatialwas,wearrivedatapriceof2,600rupees(about£170)forthefive-dayjourney.(MohammedwasameanobstreperousmanandwewereinfuriatedtohearlaterthathehadonlypaidRuphSinghaniggardly300rupees forhisshareof thework.)Patialconcludednegotiations,securing at our insistence a written contract, and then announced proudly that‘Tomorrow,afterpackingallthearticles,weshallproceedtoourdestination.’

Byeveningtherepackingofall thearticleswascomplete.Mohammedhadsewnalltheloadsintospecialdoublehessiansackstobeslungacrossthemules’backs,andhadagreedtoappearwithRuphSinghandtheanimalsatdawnthenextday.

Kishtwar-ShivlingliesjustsouthoftheHimalayancrest.TothenorthoftheHimalayaliesLadakh,thearidregiononceknownasCentralTibet,ethnicallyandculturallyveryclosetoTibetproper,butpoliticallypartofIndia.ThroughLadakhflowstheIndusriver,dividingtheHimalayafromtheKarakoramrangefurthernorth.TheIndusactuallyrisessomewayeast,inTibet,toflownorth-westthroughLadakh,alongthesouthernflankof

the Karakoram, which feeds the river every day with millions of tons of glacialmeltwater,swellingittoamightyswirlingtorrentbeforeitcarvesitswaysouth,roundthewesternbastionoftheHimalaya,NangaParbat,andoninexorablydowntofeedthegreatfertileplainofthePunjab,thelandoffiverivers,wheretheIndusisswelledbyitsfivemaintributaries–theBeas,Chenab,Jhelum,RaviandSutlej.

SinceweleftthefleasatBatote,Dick,PatialandIhadbeentravellinguptheChenab.FromGalharwehadtocontinueeastupthesamevalleyforanotherthirtymilestothevillageofAtholi,wherewewouldturnnorthalongatributaryrivercalledtheBhut.

The journey toAtholi takes two days – two days of walking high above the river,constantlyclimbingupanddownthebeautifullyengineeredhairpinsof themuletrack,whichconsistsinplacesofstepsandgangwaysbuiltoutfromsheercliffs.Occasionallyonehearsthemuffledroaroftheriver,enclosedthousandsofmetresbelowbythesteepwallsofthevalley,butformostofthejourneyoneisalonewiththesoundsoftheforest– crested tits twittering among the pine cones, the occasional screeching of a flock ofemerald parakeets,monkeys scampering through the undergrowth and branches above,the strange tongue-clicking, whistling and grunting of muleteers driving their ladenbeasts along the path, and the polite ‘Good-morning-what-is-the-time-by-your-watch-please?’of agovernmentofficial, stopping to sayhello,beforecontinuingonhisway,briefcaseandfurledumbrellainhand.Therivergorgeisdenselycoatedwithanabundantforestofchestnut,hollyoakanddeodar–theHimalayancedar,withitsinimitableheadyscent–andtheforestflooriscarpetedwithpungentwildcannabis.

Walking peacefully through the filtered green light of the forest, it seemed no lesswonderful than it haddone four years earlier, and Iwas able for awhile to forget thewearyingacheandchestycoughoftheflu.Ontheseconddaywedescendedtoriverlevelandwalkedthroughterracedfieldsofrice,maize,beansandpotatoes.Childrenplayedintheshadeofancientwalnuttrees.Threegirls,smilingcoyly,workedarevolvingmustardseedpress.Atthispoint,theconfluenceoftheChenabandBhutrivers,thevalleyopensout, and Atholi lies on a gently sloping plain, in the midst of fields and orchards,encircled by wooded hills. We camped just outside the village and in the eveningchildrencametostarewide-eyedthroughthedoorofourtent.

WecontinueduptheBhutNullah(‘nullah’isHindiforrivervalley),enclosedagainbysteepwallsofforest,whichhidthehighsnowpeaksfromview.Wepassedaforestrycamp,wherelabourerswerefellingcedarsandadzingthetimberintosquare-cutbeams.ItwashearteningtolearnthatthistreefellingiscarefullycontrolledandthattheIndian

forestrydepartment,inthisareaatanyrate,seemstobeavoidingthekindofdevastationthat has wreaked such havoc in many parts of the Nepal Himalaya. (Like the roadauthorities,theyexhibitapenchantforeducativeslogansandIrememberonecharmingplaquenailedtoawaysidetree,proclaiming‘Woodisgoodbuttreeisbetter.’)Theyarehelpedbythefactthatthereisasyetnoroad,soallthetimberhastobefelledbyhandand floateddown the river toKishtwar–a slowprocesswhichhashardlyaffected theluxuriantabundanceofthissilvanparadise.

The villages, too, make little impact on the forest, isolated as they are in smallclearingsof terraced fields.Children staredatus from the flat earthen roofsof timberhouseswithexquisitelycarveddoorpostsandlintels.Later,onthewayhome,westayedatoneofthehouses,sittingonthelargeverandah,facingoutoverthevalley,whileourhostplieduswithfood,maizespiritandhashish.Aftersupperhetookusintotheinsideroom,where a firewas burning in the hearth.We coughed and spluttered in the acridfumes, understanding painfully why so many of the people suffer from eye and lunginfections.Our host explained that during thewinter thewhole family lived round thefireinthisoneroom.Hugewooden-liddedbinslinedtwowallsandwerebeingstockedwith food for the long winter, when the house would be half-buried in snow. Animalfodderwas alreadybeing stackedon the roof and latermorewouldbepiledupon theverandah,helpingtoinsulatethehouse.Theanimalsthemselveswouldliveinthehouse,pennedbehindwoodenrailsontwosidesoftheroom,addinganotherlayerofinsulation.

Afterreturning toEnglandIsometimes thoughtof that family, incarcerated throughfour or five longwintermonths in their dark smoky house, totally self-sufficient andisolated,withnothingmuchbutcooking,sleepingandweaving tokeep themoccupied.Thefourthdayofourwalk-inwasinterminable.Acoldgreydrizzleturnedthepathintoaquagmire.Mohammedwas surly and irritable, threatening to turn backwhenwewereconfrontedbyanavalanchechuteleftfromthewinter,andwehadtocrossagreatmoundofoldgreysnow,embeddedwiththesplinteredremainsofpinetrees.Themulesbaulkedatonegreasyslipperytreetrunkthatblockedtheway,andthefiveofushadtoheaveitdown into the river. As the daywore on I lagged far behind the others, sneezing andcoughing, reluctantly draggingmywobbly legs and pausing frequently for ever-longerrests.However,atleasttherainstoppedintheafternoonItotteredintoMachail,tofindDickandPatialwaitingwithtea.Thebeautifulpilgrimwomenwerealsothere,garlandedwithflowers,dancingandsingingtheirwaythroughsomejoyfulreligiousceremony.Notrestricted to the pace of amule train, they had travelled quickly toMachail, arriving

there before us. They looked healthy and happy and the sixty-mile walk through theforest had not blemished their immaculate saris. In comparison, I felt a very feeblespecimenofhumanity–ill,haggardandsplatteredwithmud.

On the morning of Friday 19 August, two weeks after leaving England, we leftMachailonthelastlegofthejourneytoBaseCamp.WewalkedeastforthreemilestotheentranceoftheDarlangNullah,butthenturnednorthupanothernullahwhichwouldtakeusroundtothenorthsideofShivling.Towardsmiddaywestoppedatatinyhamlet,whosenameIdidn’tknowbutwhichIcalledPotatoVillage,becausefouryearsearlierPhilip and Ihadbeen treatedhere to amealofnewpotatoes, flavouredwith lumpsofrocksalt.Thepeopleinthisandthelastvillage,Sumcham,areTibetanBuddhists,whomustoriginallyhavecrossedtheHimalayafromthenorth,tosettleinthishighvalleyonthesouthside.WehaltedoutsidethehouseIrememberedwhichnowhadanextensioninprogress – newwallsmade from layers of rock andmud, sandwiched between lateraltimbers.Membersofthefamilyappeared,theirroundslit-eyedfacessmilingwarmly.Irecognisedoneofthegirls,whowasnowaboutfourteen,andthenhermotherappeared.Themotherhadagedveryslightly,buttherewasstillthesamewelcomingtwinkleinhereyes and the same elaborately jewelled pendant hanging from her nose. She didn’trecognisemeuntilIspurredhermemorybyproducinganenvelopeofphotos.Suddenlythefamilywereallcrowdinground,laughingandgigglingandpointingexcitedlyattheirpictures. Possibly it was the first time they had ever seen photographs and theywereclearlydelightedwiththepresent.Formypartitwasgoodforoncetobegivinginsteadoftaking:givingsomethinginreturnforthehospitalitythatIhadsooftenreceivedintheHimalaya.However,theladyofthehousewouldnotacceptourpresentwithoutgivingusoneoftheirpreciousgoatcheesestotaketoBaseCamp.

AtSumcham the bridgeover a side river hadbeenwashed away and replacedby asingle plank. A few days earlier a mule had drowned trying to cross this plank, andMohammedwascertainlynotgoingtosubjecthismules,hislivelihood,tothesamerisk.Thealternativecoursewastocrossthemainriverbelowthevillage,whereamoundofoldhardenedwintersnowhadformedabridge;butMohammeddidn’tlikethateither.

‘Wehaltedforanhour,whilePatialtriedtocajoleMohammedintoaction,andDickand I walked back and forth across the snow bridge, pointing out how safe it was.Eventually Mohammed agreed to proceed to our destination and brought the mulesacross.

However,hewasnowinasurlyintractablemoodandtheminorobstacleofasmall

woodofsilverbircheswascitedasanotherreasonforstopping.Irememberedthephrasecoined by the Oxford Agyasol Expedition, ‘stubborn as a muleteer’. Mohammed wasclearlyhopingtosetoffhomeatthefirstopportunity,withoutcompletinghiscontract,and itwas left toDick andme, bemoaning the bad industrial relationswhich seem totainteveryexpedition,torushbackandforththroughthetrees,alternatelyreconnoitringthe route and rushing back to help Patial cajole our caravan forward. After a wearyafternoonofill-humouredargument,wereachedasuitablecampsite,unloadedthemulesand paidMohammed his 2,600 rupees. Ruph Singh, the oldermuleteer,was his usualcharming self-effacing self, almost apologising forMohammed’s behaviour, forwhichhewas innoway responsible, andgivingushis address so thatwecouldmeethim inmorecongenialcircumstancesinKishtwar,attheendoftheexpedition.ItwasonlythenthatwelearnedhowshamefullyhehadbeentreatedbyMohammed.

We could not have asked for a better Base Camp. A stream burbled down from acopseofsilverbirchesontoalevelmeadow,wherewepitchedourthreetents.Alargegraniteboulderformedthebackwallofourkitchen,supportingoneendoftheroof,thelargepolythenesheetwehadboughtinJammu.Theotherendofthesheetwassupportedonbirchposts,heldtightbyguylines.

After the constant travelling of the last ten days, it was a relief to settle into apermanenthome,andthethreeofusspentacontentedeveningpitchingtents,unpackingloads,buildingthekitchen,liningthefloorwithhessiansacksandmovingintopreparerice,lentils,onions,spicesandpotatoesforanenormoussupper.Weweregrantedarain-free evening, but the monsoon was still very much in evidence and low cloud washanging over the valley when we retired to bed. Shivling remained hidden, lurking,unseen,somewhereaboveus.

–Chapter3–

Monsoon

Iwaswokenveryearlybythepatterofdrizzleonthetent,andspentthenexthourtryingvainlytosinkbackintotheblissfuloblivionofsleep;butitwasnogood,soassoonastherainstoppedIgotuptoescapetheclaustrophobictent.Outside,myfeetwerequicklysoakedinthewetundergrowth,thebirchtreesweredrippingandgranitecliffsglisteneddarklyinthebleakgreylight.BeyondthetreesIcouldseethegravellygreysurfaceofaglacierandnowcloudsweredriftingupwardtorevealbigger,blackercliffs,theshatteredprofiles of ice séracs and snow gullies gouged by avalanche furrows. As the cloudscontinuedtorise,higherbandsofrockappeared,wheresnow,notrain,hadfallenduringthenight,leavingadustingofcoldgreypowder.Whateverthismountainwas,itlookedveryunpleasantandIhopedthatShivling,justroundthecorner,waslesshostile.

Dickemergedfromhistent, lookedupdisapprovinglyatthecliffsaboveandasked,‘Isthatit?’

‘Idon’tthinkso,’Irepliedhopefully.‘Well,Idon’tthinkwe’vecomethatfarupthevalley.Don’tyouthinkit’sjustroundthatshoulder?’

‘I’mnotsure.Thislookslikeabigmountain.Itlooksarightbugger,doesn’tit?CanyourememberiftherewasanythinglikethistotherightofShivling?’

Mymemorywas vague, I had forgotten the details surrounding themountain and IbegantowonderifthismonsteraboveusactuallywasShivling.

‘We’dbetterhavealookatthatphotoandfindoutwhichmountainwe’remeanttobeclimbing,’Dicksaid,soIcrawledbackintomytenttorummageamongbooksandmaps,eventually finding the photo that I had taken four years earlier from a higher, moredistantviewpoint.Dickstudied it: ‘Yes,yousee thosebig icecliffsabove theglacier?Well,aren’ttheytheseoneshere,halfwayuptheface?Andlook,that’sthesnowgullyontherightandthat’stheright-handbuttress.Thatsnowarêtegoinguptoasortoftoweristheoneinsunlightonthephoto…’

It all began tomake sense.Wewere indeed camped right at the foot of ourNorthFace, seen now from a different angle, foreshortened so that it seemed a squat ugly

travestyofthevisioninthephotograph.Dickwasmutteringthingsabouthowhorribleitlooked,reinforcingmyownfeelings

of pessimism and fear. It all looked very steep and difficult, and the ice cliffs, aboutwhichwehadpondered somuchathome,nowseen fromclosequarters, lookedmuchmore extensive and threatening than the photo had suggested. We stared up at thebuttressontheright-handsideoftheface,whichwehadconsideredasapossibleroute.Itwouldgive somevery steep,possiblyoverhanging, rockclimbingand theapproachupthe glacier looked hideous – a chaotic jumble of leaning ice towers and dark jaggedcrevasses,allliberallysplatteredwithrocksthathadfallenfromabove.Laterweweretosee the rocks bouncing off the cliffs high above and winging out through space toplummethundredsofmetreson to theglacier,andatall timesofdayandnight itwasthreatenedbythebandoficecliffswhichjuttedoutfromahangingglacierhigherontheface.Moreicecliffsfurtherroundto theright threatenedotherapproaches to theWestRidgeofthemountain.

Iwasdepressedbythisformidablebatteryofdefences,butDickwasnowbeingmorepositive and rational, continuing to search themountain forweaknesses, and itwashewho pointed out the snow arête leading up on to the left side of the face. Speakingsolemnly,analysingajobofworktobedone,hedescribedtheroute.Abovethefarsideoftheglacieragentle-angledsnowfield,nowhighlightedbymorningsunshine,appearedtoleadwithouthindrancetoasharpsnowarête,whichinturnleduptothecrestofsomecomplex snow towers. Beyond the towers hung the ice cliffs, guarding the hangingglacier;butatthisleft-handendtheyseemedslightlymoreamenable.Beyondtheshelfofthehangingglacierwastheheadwallofsteepgranite,seamedwiththespiderylinesofsnow and ice runnels, which offered a number of possibilities, all of them no doubtinvolvingdifficulttechnicalclimbing.Themostprominentrunnelledstraightuptothesummit ice field, a final topping of elaborate snow flutings, capped by an enormouscornice. The cornice seemed to be a permanent solid structure, in which case theheadwall,althoughverydifficult,wouldprobablybefreefromavalanche threat. Itwasthe lower part of the mountain, particularly the basin of the glacier, which wasdangerous; and Dick’s route, sneaking in from the left, was a safe prow above theavalanche funnels. Therewere all sorts of problems, but theywere technical climbingproblems which could be investigated in relative safety, free from the threat ofavalanche. As for reaching the start of the prow, we could see on the far side of theglacieralongmoraineofovergrownboulderscurvinguptowardsanareaofmoderately

angledcliffs,gulliesandscreeslopes, throughwhichtherewouldalmostcertainlybearouteuptothestartofthesnowfields,completelyavoidingthedangerousglacier.

Inhalfanhourwehadmovedfromapositionoffearandpessimismtooneofrationalhope,anditwasreassuringtodiscoverthattherewasperhapsarouteuptheNorthFacewhichwecouldmakeourfirstobjective.Forthetimebeing,however,wewouldnotbeclimbingveryhigh.Ourcamponthevalleyfloorwasonlyabout3,500metresabovesealevel;thesummitwas2,500metreshigherandmostofthehardclimbingwouldbeinthelast thousand metres, between 5,000 and 6,000 metres. Before tackling strenuousclimbingat thataltitudewewouldhave toacclimatise,andbefore IcouldcontemplateanythingremotelystrenuousIhadtorecoverfromtheflu.Theworstsymptomsseemedto have passed but Iwas still veryweak, particularly as I had eaten virtually nothingduringthewalk-in.ThecuisineatthewaysidechaihouseshadbeenrudimentarytosaytheleastandIhadn’tmanagedtoraisemuchenthusiasmfor the interminablebowlsofovercooked rice and dahl, flavouredwith nothing but the ubiquitous chili, andwasheddownwithendlesscupsof‘tea’,asaturatedsolutionofteapowder,driedmilkandsugar,boiledlongandhard.Myfirstprioritynowwastorestandeat,andIintendedtostartonthejobrightaway,withalargebreakfastandmylong-awaitedpotofstrongblackcoffee.

Wewerecampedinaparticularlydelightfulspot.Wildraspberriesandstrawberriesgrewamongbouldersat theedgeof thewood.Wehad fresh runningwaterandon thefirstmorning,when the sun had reached us, after introducing Patial to the delights ofporridge for breakfast, we were able to have a good wash in the tingling water.Afterwards,Iwentforawalkroundthemeadow,photographingtheluxuriantcarpetofflowers.

When the sun became hotter I settled in the shade of the trees with a fat book.Acclimatising on an expedition, away from distractions, provided just the rightconditions for absorbing Proust’s long convoluted sentences, albeit in English, andduring the next twelve days I spentmany happy hours immersed in the first thousandpagesofRemembrance of ThingsPast.Occasionally, however, the high seriousness ofthismonumentalworkbegantopall,andIwouldescapeforlightrelieftoachapterofP.G.Wodehouse.Dick,meanwhile,wasgluedtoTheForsyteSaga,anunusuallylightbookforsomeonewithhisausteretastes.Althoughhetrainedasascientist,readingGeologyatManchesterUniversity,Dick’s sympathies seem to liemore towards thearts andhemustbeoneofthebest-readclimbersaround.

IfProust atBaseCamp suggests an atmosphereof rarefied intellectualism,we also

tookgreatpainstonurtureourbodies.DaysatBaseCampalwaysstartedwithaleisurelybreakfast. I insistedonmakingapotofrealcoffee,so thickanddark thatDickalwaysinsistedondilutingit.Wealsohadabigbowlofporridge,followedbybreadrolls;thedoughwasmadefromcoarseflouranddriedyeastandwasdeepfriedingheeovertheprimus, so that the end product was a sort of wholemeal doughnut, which we spreadlavishlywith tinnedDanishbutterand,until it ranout, fragranthoneymadebyDick’sbee-keeping father from the heather of the North Yorkshire Moors. Dick had been avegetarianforseveralyearsandalthoughIliketoeatmeatwhenitisonofferIwasquitehappytogowithoutitduringtheexpedition.Intheeveningweusuallymadealargestewofbeansorlentils,withcarrotsandpotatoes,cookedinthepressurecookerandflavouredwithonions,garlic,anelaborateselectionofspicesandvariousotherflavouringswhichDick had procured in one of Cardiff’s more recherché wholefood shops.We had onebottleofwhiskythatwassometimesbroughtoutforapre-prandialdrink,tobesavouredwithacigarette.TherewasalsoacanofTomCaxton’shome-brewbeerconcentrate,andone of the first jobs on arrival at BaseCampwas to dilute the concentrate, yeast andsugar in fortypintsofwarmwater.Thebrewwasmixed, in the absenceof thebucketwhichhadbeencrushedbyoneofMohammedIkbar’smules,inoneoftheheavy-dutypolythene sacks donatedbyCarsons camping store.Wekept it proppedupwith sticksandatnightcovereditlovinglywithhessiansackstoinsulatethepreciousfermentationagainstthefrost.

OnSunday,oursecondmorningatBaseCamp,theweatherwasfine,soDicksetofftoinvestigatethelowerpartofthemountain,carryingiceaxeandcramponsinasmallrucksack.IwastakingmyrestingveryseriouslyandwasquitehappytoletDick,whoisalways infuriatingly fit, do the reconnaissance. He returned in the afternoon lookingpleased.

‘Howwasit?’‘It’sokay.’‘Didyoureachthecol?’‘Yeah.There’sagoodspotforatentandthefirstpartoftheroutelooksallright…

well, there are a few dips you can’t see into, but it should be all right. There’s a bigboulderslopeatthebackofthatrockpeak,soyoucanwalkroundtothestartofthesnowslopes.’

‘Whatabouttheicecliff?’‘I’mnotsure,youcan’treallytellfromthecol,butitshouldbeallright.’

Hehadskirtedroundthefootoftheglacier,justbehindourcamp,thenclimbedupthelongmoraine on its right bank, up into a large gullywhichwas filled higher upwithsnow.FromBaseCampitappearedthatthetopofthegullywasblockedbyacliff,buthehadfoundawayouttotheleftuplooserockandearthledges,awkwardbutnotundulydifficult.Abovethat,steepscreeslopeshadledtothecol,asaddleonthecrestofarockypeakatthefootofoursnowslopes.Thecolwouldbeanidealstartingpointfortheclimbproper,about1,000metresaboveBaseCampand1,500belowthesummit.

WhileDickhadbeenexploring, Ihadbeenmaking theacquaintanceofsomeof thevalley’s other temporary inhabitants. Just above our camp, threemen had diverted thestreamintothehollowboleofatree,wheretheywerewashingtheirblankets.Theyweresemi-nomadicshepherdswhoownhousesnearJammu,300kilometresdistant,buteveryspring set off north with their enormous flocks of sheep and goats and with poniescarrying tents, bedding, brass cooking pots and basic foodstuffs, to spend twomonthstravellingslowlyuptothehighvalleys,wheretheyremainuntilSeptember,whentheybeginthelongreturnjourneytoJammu.Patialgavearatherdisparaginganalysisoftheirexistence:‘Theyareaveryrichpeople–oneofthesemenowns300goats!Buttheydonotknowanything–theyarejustgoinghitherandthither.’

Theshepherds,knownastheJammuwallahs–orgujars–,areMuslims.Theyhavethe long Semitic-looking faces typical of most Kashmiris, in marked contrast to theTibetanfacesoftheBuddhistsinSumchamandPotatoVillage,justdownthevalley.Thisparticular sect or tribe do not adhere to themore oppressive dictates of Islam and thewomen neitherwore veils nor showed any shyness about visiting our camp.Wewereparticularly takenbyonegirlwithunusuallydark skin.Herhairwasplaited into tightlocks,likeaRastafarian’s,andsheworeelaboratejewellery.

Unfortunately, she had a young baby, which meant that there was presumably ahusbandlurkingnearby,butshedidsometimesdropintoseeus,withherbaby,acousinandheryoungerbrother,aboyofabout fourteenwhoalreadyhadhisheadshavedandencasedinanenormousturban,likeallthemen.HehadavibrantengagingpersonalityandwouldspendmanyanhourtalkingandjokinginHindiwithPatial,questioninghimaboutourabsurdplantoclimbShivling.

Othershepherdscametoseeus,oftencomplainingofheadaches.Thisseemstobeacommonproblemamongthesepeople,possiblycausedbysomedietarydeficiency;butallwecoulddowastogivethemsomepainkillers,warningthemtogoeasywiththembecausesupplieswere limitedandwehad tokeepsomeforourselves, incaseofhigh-

altitudeheadachesoranaccident.Therewereothervisitorstothevalley.Oneevening,astheshepherdswererounding

uptheirflocks,wenoticedanencampmentofenormoustentsonthefarsideoftheriver.Patialtoldusthattheybelongedtothearmy.IturnedtoDickandsaid:‘Whoelsewouldhavesuchenormoustents?’

‘ChrisBonington!’hereplied,withadeprecatinggrin,butthenwenton,‘Actually…Iwouldn’tmind… ’ and therewas a faraway look in his eyes as he remembered theluxurious Base Camp of the previous year’s Everest expedition, a necessary place torecover from the exhaustion of extreme altitude, with the big frame tent, the stereocassette player, the cases of wine and champagne, the Americans dropping in forcocktails.According to Patial the armywas investigating the possibility of building aroad all the way up fromGalhar to this valley, which would almost link up with theZanskarroadontheothersideofthewatershed.Apparentlytheywerehopingtomakeastartontheroadintenyears’time,andIthoughtsadlyofhowirrevocablytheareawouldbechanged.

If theroadisbuilt, itwillprovideaneasyapproachto theUmasiLa,ahighglacierpasswhichcrossestheHimalayajusttothenorth-eastofKishtwar-Shivling.ThepassisusedfrequentlybyLadakhiandZanskaritraders.Oneeveningwemettwosuchmen,whohad crossed the Himalaya to trade salt for wool. They had bought the wool from theshepherds,andnowitwasallbundledonto thebackofashaggyyakwhichwasbeingalloweditsfillofgrassbeforestartingthestrenuousjourneybackovertoZanskar.OurbusinesswasexclusivelyonthissideoftheHimalayabutwedecidedafterthreedaysatBaseCamptowalkuptotheUmasiLa,nottocrossit,butjusttoseesomenewcountryandgetsomeexercise. Itwouldalsobeagoodopportunity toacclimatise,because thepassisover5,000metresabovesealevel.

Fouryearsearlier,PhilipandIhadtriedtocrosstheHagshuLa–anotherpass,nowdisused, immediately north of Shivling. I now knew that we had followed the wrongglacierbranchattheheadoftheHagshuNullah,reachingthewatershedwelltotherightofthecorrectpass,henceourdisappointmentandfailuretocrosstoZanskar.TheUmasiLa,however,ismuchbetterknownandliesattheheadofaparallelnullah.Toreachit,DickandIwouldhavetowalkfurthereastupourvalley,crosstheriverbyanothersnow-bridge,thenstrikenorthuptheUmasiNullah.

Ifeltmuchbetterafterthreedays’restandwasgladtobeonthemoveagain.Weleftafter breakfast, carrying tent, sleeping bags, gas stove and food for an overnight stop

somewhere near the Umasi La. It was a beautiful morning, with the birch treesshimmeringandthepinkflowersofHimalayanbalsambacklitbythestilllowsun,whichhadjustbrokenoutfrombehindthecirqueofpeaksattheheadofthevalley.AsfarasIknew, theonlypeople tohaveexplored theglacierat theheadof thevalleywereFritzKolb and his companion. They were Austrian mountaineers who had taken part in ahighly successful Austro-British expedition to Lahul in 1939. Having made the firstascent of Mulkila, they descended to the valley to be confronted with the news thatBritainandGermanyhad justdeclaredwar.TheBritishclimbersrushedoff to join thewar effort; the Austrians, however, were now aliens in British India and wereimmediatelyarrested,tobeinternedfortheduration.

At theendof thewarKolbhad towaitanother twoyearsbeforehecouldgeta seapassageback toEurope.During that timeheworkedasaschoolteacherand,duringhislastsummerleavein1947,managedtofitinaquickexpeditiontothelargelyunexploredKishtwar region. It was the ultimate shoestring expedition: two men with only theslenderest finances,meagrefoodsuppliesand thewornremainsofequipment theyhadbrought out to India eight years earlier. Yet they succeeded in locating the highestmountain in the area andgave it thenamebywhich it still goes–SickleMoon.TheyclimbedtwosmallpeaksbutinadequateequipmentprecludedanattemptonSickleMoonitself, so they returned toMachail, taking note of another fine peak across the valley,Agyasol,whichmyOxfordfriendsweretoclimbthirty-fouryearslater.Then,withonlyafewdays’leaveremaining,KolbandpartnersetoffupthevalleybelowShivling,totheglacierattheheadofthevalley.TheyclimbeduptoahighpasscalledtheMuniLa.The1945 Survey of India map marked this pass in the midst of some very conjecturallydepictedmountains, crossed by a dotted line, labelled ‘old deserted road’.Kolb hopedthat thispasswould cross thewatershed toZanskar, butwhathe foundwas adifficultgap,which had probably never been a road to anywhere and certainly didn’t cross thewatershed.InsteaditledthembacksouthtotheDarlangNullah.KolbwasstillverykeentoreachZanskar,but theideaofreturningsimplytothewell-knownUmasiLaseemedtoo tame, sohesuggested tohiscompanionamoreambitiousplan.Duringagruellingthree-day marathon the two men travelled over a hundred miles through little knownterrain,withnoadequatemap,crossingthemainHimalayanaxistwice.Theywalkedformany longwearymiles up theDarlangNullah, to find the remote Poat La,which didcrosstherangetothefabledlandofZanskar.AtthecapitalofZanskar,Padum,theyonlyallowed themselves the briefest halt before continuing up theDoda river to locate the

entranceofavalleywhichwouldtakethem,viasomesecretstepscarvedinacliff,backovertheUmasiLatotheirstartingpoint.Onthethirddaytheyreachedthefamouspass,descendedtheglacieronthesouthsideandstumbleddownthroughthedarkness,lateatnight, tothefirst treesinthevalley,wheretheycouldfinallymakeafiretocooktheirlastmorselsoffood.

Now the crossing of theUmasiLa is a popular tourist trek – quite understandably,because to cross from the harsh arid landscape of Ladakh and its southern province,Zanskar,overthemonsoonbarrieroftheHimalaya,tothegreenabundanceofKishtwar,mustbeaveryrewardingexperience.AsDickandIsetofffromourcamp,wenoticedonesuchparty,alargecaravancomingdownfromtheUmasiNullahonthefarsideofthevalley.Wehadsomeletterswhichtheymightbeabletopost,soDickdashedaheadtocross the snowbridgeand rushdown theother sideof thevalley to catch them.HecaughtupwithaFrenchgirlwhoclaimedtobethegroupleaderbutwhoapparentlyhadnocluewhereherpartywasheading,hadneverheardofMachailanddidn’tevenknowthe direction they were travelling in. All initiative was left to an army of competentLadakhiportersandguides,whoassuredDickthattheywereheadingforKishtwar,whereourletterscouldbeposted.

Later,Dick caughtupwithmeat the topof a steeppathwhich zigzagsup into theUmasiNullah. In theafternoonwereached theUmasiGlacierandwalkedeasilyup itssmooth surface of gravel-encrusted ice. Above us several glacier branches descendedfromoutoftheclouds,butwewerenotabsolutelysurewhichofthesebranchesledtothepass.Nodoubtonecanbuyguidebookswhichexplainthesethings,butwehadnosuchsophistication.However,wedidsuspectthatthepasswasattheheadoftheeasternmostbranch,andintheeveningthediscoveryofcopiousyakdungatthefootofascreeslopeheadingthatwayconfirmedoursuspicion.

Here we camped, glad of the tent as hail started to fall. The following morning,however,wasfineandwecontinuedupthescreeslopeandontotheupperglacier,withasmallrucksackforspareclothesandsomefood.Aswesetofffromthetent,Dicknoticedmyslowspeed.

‘ShallItakethesack?’I answered irritably: ‘I’ll be slowwhether I carry the sack or not.’ But in his flat

unruffledtonesheinsisted:‘I’lltakeitanyway.’Hewasonlytryingtobehelpful,butIwasstillfeelingweakfromtheflu,sensitive

aboutmyslownessandperhapsslightlyresentfulthatDickalwaysseemedtobetaking

theinitiative.Thesefeelingswerequicklyforgottenaswereachedthecrispsnowoftheupperglacierandclimbedsteadilytowardsthepass,animprobablenotchintheserratedridgeattheheadoftheglaciercwm.Justbeforewereachedit,Inoticedtheprayerflagsflutteringinthesunlight.AfewminuteslaterweclimbedoutbesidethemandstoppedonthecrestoftheHimalayanrangeat5,342metres.

We stayed for a while to enjoy the wonderful early morning view north-east overunknown,unclimbed,bluemountains, thendescendedto the tentandpackedupfor thereturntothevalley.OnourwaydownwepassedsomeLadakhimenwhowereontheirwayup to theUmasiLa.Oneof themwas struggling to carry threeenormouswoodenbeamsrightovertheHimalayatoLadakh,wheretimberisinsuchshortsupply.

The weather was still fine that evening and the Jammu wallah’s ponies weresilhouetted in the sunlight as they cantered aroundBaseCamp.Our beerwas frothingbeautifullybutnotyetreadyfordrinking,sowestartedonthewhiskywhileDickcookedsupper.Lifeseemedmuchbetterthanithaddoneafewdaysearlier.Ihadclimbed,albeitslowly, to over 5,000metreswithout any ill effect and ourwalk to theUmasiLa hadgiven us the chance to examine Shivling from a new angle. Looking across from thenorth-east,wewereabletoseetheupperpartoftheNorthFaceinprofile.Theheadwallcertainly looked steep,with an average angle of about seventy degrees.We could justmakeout thehangingglacierbelowit,with the icecliff juttingout fromthe face.Thecliff would obviously give us some hard, vertical, ice climbing, but it did not lookimpossibly high. On the left, the East Face was glowing in the morning sunshine, asmoothbastionofbrown-greygranite.MoreinterestingtouswastheSouth-EastRidge,further left,on theskyline; if theNorthFaceproved impractical, this ridgemightbeamagnificentalternative,asteepbuttresswhich,oncereached,wouldprovideadifficultbutsafe rockclimb.However, this routedidhave twodisadvantages: firstly, therewasthe long tedious approach, culminating in a snow gully which was almost certainlythreatenedbyrockfall; secondly, ifwedidclimb thebuttressabove thegully, itwouldnot take us directly to the summit, for from its topwewould have to continue over along, almosthorizontal ridge, spikedwith complex towers,whichwouldbevery time-consuming.ForthemomentitseemedbesttosticktoourplanforthemoredirectNorthFace,andthateveningwetoldPatialthatwehopedtogoupthenextdaytoinspectourroute.

Wedidnotgoupthenextday.Inthemorningwesortedoutfoodandequipmenttotake to Advance Base on the col, but by midday clouds were massing and just as I

finishedpackingmy rucksack the skydarkenedanda fiercewindcame rushingup thevalley,tearingatthetentsandthrashingthroughthetrees.Thencametherain,heavyandpersistent and accompanied by thunder, rumbling around Shivling. We retired to ourtents and the following day theweather remained bad. On the third day themonsoonweatherstillhungoverthevalley,asIrecordedinmydiary:

Saturday27August–OureighthdayinthevalleyandstillIhaven’tsetfootonthemountain.Itrainedduringthenightandtodaywerosetoagreyhumidsky,Patialdressedupinhissmartnewjeanstogoandvisitanotherencampmentonthefarsideoftheriverwhereresidesabeautifulwoman,whotreatedhimtopirhata,gheeand tea and gave him two precious hen’s eggs to bring back. Desperate forexercise,Iwentforawalkupthevalley,reachedthesnoutofthemainglacierandstared up at vague dark shapes of mountains, disappearing into thick clouds. Iwalkedbackinthedrivingrain,gettingincreasinglywetandcoldandgladtobereturning‘home’todryclothes,breadandbutterandEarlGreytea.Dickcookedan excellent supper of rice, dahl and potato curry,with roast flakes of coconut.Afterwardsall Icoulddowasretire tobed, lightacandleand,proppeduponalargepillowof clothes, reada fewpagesofWodehouse,before rollingoverandfallingasleep.

SundaywasagaincloudybutonMondaymorning,gettingupat5.30tostaggeroutofthetentforapee,IwassurprisedbyamyopicvisionofShivling,rose-tintedagainstapaleblue sky. Sleepy as Iwas, I had tomake the effort to fetchmy glasses and bring thewonderfulvisionintofocus,beforereturningagaintothetent,totheluxuryoflyinginbed with an empty bladder, savouring an hour of sleepy relaxation before breakfast,secureinthehappyknowledgethatthedaywasgoingtohaveapurpose.

Later, having in the words of Bertie Wooster ‘got outside’ a large breakfast, werepacked the rucksacks and set off slowly under theweight of twenty-five-kilo loads.Dickquicklydrewahead,hisshortlegspoundinginexorablyupthehill,whileIgangledalong behind, stopping for frequent rests to photograph flowers, which included thetranslucent azure petals of aHimalayan Poppy and a pale creamAquilegia.After twohoursofsteepstruggle,aidedbyapairofskisticks,IfoundDickwaitingatthebottomofthesnowgully.Weunpackediceaxesanddonnedhelmetsasprotectionagainstanyrocksthatmightfallfromthewetwallsoverhangingthegully.Luckilythesnowwassoftenoughtokickstepsin,soitwaseasyworktoreachthetopofthegully;butthewayouttotheleftlookedawkward;steeplooserocks,brokenbyearthyledges.Itwasthesortof

terrainwhere delicacy is paramount; delicacy is hard to achievewith a heavy sack onone’sback,sotoguardagainstapossiblefallweropedup,andafterwardslefttheropefixedinplacetosafeguardanyfuturejourneysupanddownthatstretch.

While rooting around a dank corner of rock for a belay, I came across a cluster ofPrimulamacrophylla, a plant which I had first seen in the Hagshu Nullah four yearsearlier.Itonlygrowswellabove4,000metres,hasthickfleshyleaves,insulatedagainstthecold,andiscrownedwithaheadofrichpurpleflowers.Thiswasjustoneofmanyprimulas and other species, like the exquisiteParaquilegiamicrophylla, with its pinkcuppedfloweranddelicatefern-likeleaves,whichgrewnearAdvanceBase.Findingalltheseflowersgrowinginsuchprofusionintheirnaturalrockgardensamongstthecliffsandboulderswasadelightfuldistraction from thehardchoreofclimbing to thecol, aclimbwhichonthisfirstoccasiontookmeafullfivehours.

Dickhadbeentothecolbefore,butIhadtheexcitementofseeingthefaceaboveatclosequartersfor thefirst time.Itwasveryforeshortenedanditwasdifficult togaugetheangleoftherunnelontheheadwall,butthelowerpartoftheroute–therampleadingup to the icecliff– looked reasonable.Wewerenowat leasta thousandmetresaboveBaseCampandthebirchtreesinthevalleylookedaverylongwaydown.AttheheadofourvalleyintheeasttheunclimbedpeaksroundtheMuniLawereluminousorange-pinkagainstadark luridsky,and in thewest thesettingsunpiercedshaftsof light throughtoweringcumuluscloudspiledhighovertheturretedsummitofArjuna.

We hadwith us a tiny bivouac tent, a relic of Dick’s early alpine days, whichwemightbeusingonthewall.ForthemomentitdidserviceasourAdvanceBase,pitchedon a small platform which we excavated from the snow and earth on the col. It washorriblycrampedandwespentarestlessnightsqueezedinside,uncomfortablyawareoftheominouslywarmairtemperature.Whenwesetoutjustbeforedawntoinvestigatethelowerpartoftheroute,swirlingcloudsmadeusuneasy.Thesnowhadnotfrozenduringthe night and at dawn, afterwe had climbed up a soggy gully, the cloudswere firmlydescending.

Westoppedatthetopofthegullytositinthewetsnowanddiscusswhattodo.DicksuggestedgoingbackdownbutIremonstrated:

‘Thisiseasyground;we’renotgoingtocometoanyharm.’‘Ijustdon’tlikeclimbingintheseconditions,’heinsisted.‘Yes,wellit’snotverypleasant,butIdon’tthinkit’sactuallydangerous.’‘Wouldyousetoutonanalpinerouteintheseconditions?’

‘No,notabigroute–nottogotothetop–butwhycan’twejustgoabitfurthertoseewhatit’slike?Thisisn’tthesortofslopethat’slikelytoavalancheandiftheweathergets reallynasty there’snothing tostopusgoingbackdownstraightaway.’Asusual Iwasimpetuouslyanxioustogettogripswiththemountainandimpatientwiththenotionthat climbing inbadweather shouldneverbeconsidered, as amatterofprinciple.ButDickwasadamantthatwewerewastingourtime.

‘Look,itwasnowherenearfreezinglastnight.It’sallwrong.We’vegottowaittillthismonsoonweather’sover.Themountain’snotreadyforclimbing.’

IrememberedtheincidentontheFinsteraarhorn,whenwehadarguedaboutwhattododuringabreakinthewinterweather.Wehadcontinued,butthathadbeendifferent,becausewehadalreadybeencommitted,halfwayupabigfacewhereretreatwouldhavebeendifficult;andthecloudsthenhadproved,asforecast,tobeashortbreakinalongfine spell.Now, on Shivling, itwas a case of thewholeweather pattern beingwrong.Dickwasright:wehadampletimeonourhandsandtheclimbcouldwait;sowereturnedtoAdvanceBase,leavingacacheofallthefoodandequipment,anddescendedtoBaseCampforalatebreakfast.

Onceweweredowninthevalley,thecloudsliftedtantalisingly,promptingPatialtochideusforoursupposedcowardiceandprocrastination.Heseemedtobeimpatientwithourslowprogressandthiswasperhapsareflectionofhisownboredom, isolatedashewas,awayfromhisarmycolleaguesandhiswifeandchildren.Hecouldn’tevenhavethedubiousexcitementofgoingtoAdvanceBase,becausewedarednotleaveamanwithnoclimbing experience to descend alone back down the snow gully, where a slip couldresult in avery long slide,withpainful, orpossibly fatal, consequences.Sympathisingwith his unenviable job,wehad said all along thatwewould have noobjection to hisgoingtoKishtwarforabreakandcomingbacktofetchusattheendoftheexpedition;but he insisted on staying to guard our camp, bored and lonely and mourning thetransistorradio,whichhaddiedaquickdeathshortlyafterarrivalthere.

TwodayslaterPatialdidwalkdowntoMachailtochatwiththeequallyboredpoliceofficersdoingtheirstintinthewilds.Hereturnedintheeveninginhighspirits,slightlydrunkafterhelpingthevillagerscelebrateKrishna’sbirthday.Wealsohadbeendrinking,starting on the home-brew beer,which still had a certain yeasty rawness butwas justpalatable and quite potent. Patial had procured some cigarettes,whichwe pounced ongreedily,eagerforeverystimulantwecouldlayourhandson.

IwasstillreadingProustandwasenjoyinghisyearningremembranceofsittingonthe

seafrontatBalbec,inNormandy,onegoldenevening,watchingwithdelightedcuriositythehappy,boisterous,beautifulgirlswheeltheirbicyclespastalongthefront.Therewerenogirlswalkingpastourcampandthebeautifulshepherdesswasnowheretobeseen,butalcoholandnicotineinducedawarmserenity,heighteninggenuinefeelingsofhappiness,asIgazedoutoverourvalleywiththeshreddedbarkofthebirchtreesgleamingwhiteinthe evening sunlight. In twelve days I had become very fond of this spot, and thisgrowing intimacy with a particular corner of landscape recalled childhood campingholidaysonthecoastofWesterRoss,underthecliffsofaNorwegianfjordoramongtheforests of Ticino. Our comfortable well-stocked kitchen, nestled in the corner of themeadow,wassoredolentofdomesticityandsecuritythatitwouldalmostbeawrenchtoleaveitforthemountainwaitingabove.However,therehadbeennorainduringthelasttwodaysanditseemedthatwemightbewitnessingachangeintheweatherpattern.Wehad spent the day sorting out additional food rations, climbing equipment and gascylinders. Ihadcutmarkerwandsfromthebranchesofabirch tree,while twofloppy-eared goatswatched curiously, occasionally plucking up courage to sniffmy trousers.NowwehadeverythingpreparedsothatiftheweatherremainedfineinthemorningwewouldbereadytoclimbbacktoAdvanceBase.Wewouldnowbeequippedtostayonthemountainforatleasttwoweeksandwehopedthat,withalittleluck,whenwenextcamedowntothevalleywewouldbereturningfromthesummit.

–Chapter4–

GettingtoKnowtheMountain

In themorningwewere disappointed: theweather looked unpromising, but itwas notactually raining,soweclimbedbackup to thecol.Thecloudsbuiltupduring theday,andweweregladthistimetohavebroughtupacomfortableSalewadometenttoreplacethe tinybivouacshelteratAdvanceBase.Wellaware thatwemightbespendingsometimethere,wepitchedthetentcarefullyonthecol,securingthebaseandguylineswithboulders.Beforegoingtosleepthatevening,wesetthealarmfor2.30a.m.,justincasethemorningshouldbefineenoughforclimbing.

Atmidnightwewerewokenbyviolentthunderandlightning.Rainstartedtobeatonthenylonflysheet,announcingthatwewouldnotbegoingclimbingthatday.NomatterhowenthusiasticImaybeaboutaclimb,whenitcomestotheawfulrealityofgettingupin the middle of the night, bad weather always comes as a blessed excuse to remainthankfullyinbedwithaclearconscience.

Boredomandfrustrationmightcomelater,butforthemomentIwascontenttolieinbedandenjoylisteningtothefuryoftheelementsfromthewarmsecurityofasleepingbaginadrytent.

The patter of rain on nylon dragged on for hour after hour, only interrupted byoccasional grunts of conversation, as I had a turn with The Forsyte Saga and Dickimmersedhimself in the appropriately titledBleakHouse.Higher on themountainweheardtheclatterofstonefallandroaringsnowavalanches.Becausethefacewassosteep,newsnowdidnotstickforlong.ThesteamofEarlGreyteafilledthetentwithmemoriesofhome,andIonlywishedthatonecouldaddadropofmilkfromthefridge,insteadofdriedAnikspray.

OnSaturdayeveningtherainfinallystoppedandweescapedwithrelieffromthetent.Asweatesupperoutside,thecloudshadgraduallydriftedaparttorevealShivling,starkagainst a deep blue sky. The upper part of the facewas plasteredwith new snow, butlowerdownonlyrainhadfallen,compactingfurthertheoldsnowleadinguptothearête.Ifitfrozehardduringthenight,itwouldbeingoodconditionforclimbing.Byduskthe

last clouds had evaporated and we hoped for some action in the morning. If the skyremainedclearwewouldsetoffbeforedawntoinvestigatethelowerpartof theroute,hoping in one day to reach the top of the snow arête and ascertainwhether or not thetowersandicecliffsabovelookedareasonableproposition.Iftheydid,wewouldleaveacacheofalltheclimbingequipmentatourhighpoint,returntoAdvanceBaseandthensetoffagainonMondaywithfoodandbivouacequipmentforasummitpush.

Ourplanforareconnaissance,followedbyafull-scaleattempt,wasnotinthepurestmoderntraditionofHimalayanmountaineering.Overthelastfewyearstherehasbeenagrowingpractice,helpedbyvastlyimprovedlightweightequipment,oftacklingdifficultHimalayan peaks in ‘alpine-style’ – in other words setting off from the foot of themountainwitharucksackfullofeverythingrequiredfortheclimbandmovingupinonecontinuousunpreparedpushtothesummit,asonewouldnormallydointheAlps.Itisarefreshing reaction to the older Himalayan tradition of enormous cumbersomeexpeditions, layingsiege toamountainwitha lineofcampsandfixedropes–a tacticusedwith great efficiency, for instance, on the first ascent of Everest in 1953, on theSouthFaceofAnnapurna,theWestPillarofMakalu,andtheSouth-WestFaceofEverestin1975.But1975hadalsoseentheascentofanewrouteon8,068-metreGasherbrumIby Reinhold Messner and Peter Habeler, who climbed and descended the world’seleventh highestmountain in amere three days, carrying theminimum of equipment,rejectingeventheweightofarope,eachmanrelyinginsteadonhissuperlativeskillandexperienceforsecurity.AndthatsameyeartherehadbeenDickhimself,withJoeTasker,on Dunagiri, 1,000 metres lower than Gasherbrum I, but technically harder anduncompromisinglyalpinestyle.

Since1975evenmoreaudaciousclimbshavebeenachievedintheGreaterHimalaya,someofthemdemandinganextraordinarylevelofconfidenceandcommitment.Alpinestylehasbecomesomethingofanobsession.Forsomepundits,onlyatruealpinestyleascent is worth considering, and alpine style strictly precludes reconnaissance of theroute:theascentmustbemadeinonepush,withnorecce,nosafetylineoffixedropes,nohiccupsinthesinglecontinuousupwardprogress.(Thelogicalinferenceisthatifyoudiscover, shortlyafter leavingBaseCamp, thatyouhave forgottenyour iceaxe,goingbacktofetchitdisqualifiesyou–sorrymate,ifyouwanttodoarealalpine-styleascentnow,you’llhavetocomebackagainnextyear.)Inreality,however,mostpeopleemploythe tactics that seem best for them at the time. Some of the biggest, hardest recentclimbs,likethedauntingSouthFaceofLhotse,havebeenachievedbyfull-scalesieges.

Other climbs have been donewith the help of limited sections of fixed rope, nibblingslowlyatthelowerpartoftherope,beforeleavingthetopoftheropesforaquickdashtothesummit.

Onechangethatthealpinestyleethichaswroughtis tostimulatearevivalofsmallexpeditions.Mostmountaineersnowadaysprefertheambienceofasmallteamoftwotofourclimbers,wheredecisionsaremademoreeasilyandmembersallhaveasignificantshare of the leading, the satisfaction of being responsible for their own actions and adegree of intimacywith themountain which is hard to find on amassive expedition.Tacticsdependlargelyonhowfarpeoplearepreparedtosticktheirnecksout;mostofusarecontenttosettleforsomesortofcompromisebetweenthedesiretosurviveandthedesire to retain an element of uncertainty and adventure, adapting our tactics to aparticularmountaineeringproblem,ratherthantryingtoadheretosomeprecisedogmaticstatement.

Thiswas thecaseonKishtwar-Shivling–amodestclimbcompared to someof thehardest routes being done onmuch higher peaks, but still a difficult routewhichwasgoingtoinvolveusinsomeslowtechnicalclimbing.Boththeclimbandthedescentweregoing to require a considerable weight of climbing equipment. The weather was stilluncertain,theicecliffmightinvolveusinlongdelaysanditmightbebesttoestablishanintermediatecamp in itsvicinity.Wemightdecide touseour limited supplyof fixingrope.

Aswell as the climbing equipment,wewould have to carry bivouac tent, sleepingbags, spareclothing,stove, fuelandseveraldays’ foodsupply.Thisalladdedup toanenormousweight of gear, and for themoment it seemedbest to do two carries up thelowerpartoftheroute.Itwouldgiveusthechancetoexplorethearearoundtheicecliffwithcomparativelylightsacks,whilewewaitedtoseewhattheweatherwasreallygoingtodo. Itwouldhelpus toacclimatisebetter toaltitudeand itwouldenableus tohaveadequatefoodandfuelsupplieshighonthemountain,sothatwecould,ifnecessary,sitoutanotherstormandstillbeinapositiontocontinuetothesummit.Wewerealsoveryconsciousofourisolation–twopeopleutterlyaloneonasteepface,withnopossibilityofa rescue.Patialmightbeable to summonahelicopter toBaseCamp,butwewouldhavetogetdownthereourselves.Evenasimpleinjury,likeabrokenarm,wouldresultinaslowdesperateretreat,whereadequatesuppliesoffoodandgasformeltingsnowcouldmakeallthedifferencebetweensurvivingandnotsurviving.

Possiblyourapproachwasalittlecautious,butitseemedthebestwayofensuringa

reasonabledegreeofsafetyandahighlevelofenjoymentonthemountain.Asiftore-affirmthatthiswasthebestapproach,DickspokeonthatSaturdayeveningatAdvanceBaseofhisexperienceonDunagiri.ItwasthefirsttimeIhadheardhimtalkinanydetailabouthisdescentfromthemountain.BythetimeheandJoehadstarteddownfromthesummit they had run out of food and fuel for the stove – the only effectivemeans ofmelting snow for water. Several days later, during the long, gruelling, thirst-rackedretreat,Dickhadfoundsomeoldscrapsofpaperinhisrucksackandhaddesperatelylitatinyfire:‘Ihadalreadydroppedthepan,butIwassofargoneItriedmeltingsnowinaplasticmug!’

Hewentontodescribehisappallingfrostbite,hiswildhallucinationsresultingfromseriousexposure,andtheenormouseffortofwillrequired,eachtimehecollapsedforarest, to forcehimself togetupagain,knowing that ifhedidn’thewoulddie.Thenhechuckledoverthepostlude:walkingbackonhisownfromBaseCamptotheroadtoseekmedicalhelp, stilldesperatelydehydrated,hediscovered that all the streamshaddriedup.Onemorning,wakingupwitharagingthirst,hehadbeenreducedtoscrapingoffthefrostonhissleepingbagandspooningitintohisparchedmouth.

Itwasawonderfulstoryofcourageandendurance,butunderstandablynotastoryhewishedtorepeat,andheseemedreconciledtoamorecautiousapproachtoourattemptonShivling.

Wesetoffonourrecceat3.30a.m.,climbinguptheboulderfieldbehindthecamp,picking out rocks in the beams of our head torches. At the snow we stopped to fitcramponstoourboots,putonclimbingharnessesandtieontoafifty-metrerope.Thistime the snowwasbeautifully frozen, crisp and firmunder our crampons.Wequicklyreached the highpoint of our abortive recce five days earlier, then continued up thehumpedbackoftheridge,zigzaggingourwayupthehardsnowcrust.Acrossthevalleytotheeasttherewasafaintpurpleglimmeroflightbehindthespikysilhouettesonthehorizon,butwewerestill indarkness,using the lightofourhead-torches to fixa rockbelaybelowanawkwardsectionoftheridge.IcontinuedwhileDickpaidouttherope;bythetimehecameup,dawnhadbrokenandthesnowridgehadformandcolour,poisedabove a background of drifting valley clouds. Far away in the north-west, above theclouds, the high summits of SickleMoonglowedorange. Itwas the first timewehadseen this famous peak and I was excited to pick out the crescent-shaped snow saddlewhichgivesthemountainitsname.

Soonafterdawnwediscoveredourfirstseriousobstacle:theridgewasblockedbya

forty-metre cliff, a great bulge of glacier ice, split into semi-translucent fins, whichjutted out over space on the right side of the ridge.Dick traversed leftwards to see iftherewere any easy options, but the cliff continued uniformly steep andwe dared notcontinue left into an easier snow gully, because it was one of the mountain’s mainavalanchechutes.Wepreferredtosticktothesafetyoftheridgeandthatmeantclimbingdirectlyupthisicecliffwhichhadbeeninvisiblefrombelow.Wewerebeingforcedintotechnicalclimbingsoonerthanwehadexpected.

We hammered an ice screw into the base of the cliff and I tied on, paying out theropesthroughafricti