Climbing Kangchenjunga - A Collection of Historical Mountaineering Accounts of Expeditions to the Himalayas

By Read Books Ltd.

Many of the earliest books, particularly those dating back to the 1900s and before, are now extremely scarce and increasingly expensive. We are republishing these classic works in affordable, high quality, modern editions, using the original text and artwork.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Read Books Ltd.
• Release date: Sep 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781473355699

Book preview

Journey to Kangchenjunga

Often and often it came back again

To mind, the day I passed the horizon ridge

to a new country.

EDWARD THOMAS, Over the Hills

ABOVE Tola I shook hands with and said farewell to the members of the expedition. Da Temba put the white scarf from Sangi Lama round my neck, and placed a cup of rakshi in my hand. Sherpas and Sherpanis gathered round, giving me their blessing for the road. It was so spontaneous and honest I was sorry to be leaving these fine people.

Nim Tenzing, Phu Keepa, Norbu, and Mingma left with me. At Dingboche we were given chang to drink, and we took a supply for those waiting to join us at Chukung. Twenty-five Nepali rupees bought us a sheep for the pot—the greatest problem being the killing of it. Buddhists should not kill, the more devout ones not even eating food that has been killed. In this case the Sherpas solved the problem of killing by drawing names from a hat. Little ‘Henry’ was the unfortunate slayer. Apparently the problem of eating did not exist. With Danu staying behind, I was one short in my bandobast, but was relieved of the trouble at Chukung. I recruited Karmi, sister of Nim Tenzing, a strong, good-looking Sherpani who from then on carried my heavy kit-bag all the way to Kangchenjunga and Darjeeling. Her presence was a great influence on the good spirits of the Sherpas throughout the journey. A few local yak-herders joined us in a dance that night. Later sleep came slowly as I tossed and turned, thinking of the days to come. On what might be a long and difficult journey I was responsible to some extent for eleven people. None knew the country beyond Makalu, and I hadn’t a map. Nevertheless, it was the type of mountain travel that fascinates, and I was sure it would be full of interest.

The Five Treasures of the Great Snow

The Kangchenjunga massif, as seen from Rungneet, Darjeeling.

The Author and his Brother meeting, at Tseram, in the Yalung Valley

Four Mountaineers

Left to right, Victor Russenberger, Lucien George, John A. Jackson, David Bryson.

Ang Dawa, who was now my sirdar, gave out the loads in the morning. For several reasons the start was delayed—an important one being the chasing and removal of three fat fleas from my vest. Ang Dawa and Ang Dami said good-bye to Ang Temba, and I gave him a liberal bucksheesh for his faithful work in the Khumbu. It was a hot day, and a slow march was brightened by the ruby of a newly opened azalea and the delicate lavender of Primula denticulata. Yaks were calving by the banks of the Imja Khola—May 9, 17,000 ft. Once again we camped by the lake at the foot of the Ambu Lapcha. My pyramid tent was occupied by four—Ang Nima, Nim Tenzing, Ang Temba II (Nima’s cousin), and myself. It was a crush and the air none too sweet, but by the end of the trek I became immune to it. Straight away in the morning Ang Nima established his routine—for having his simple unspoiled Khumbu cousin was a godsend. Nang Tsering always brought me tea, and this day I had to burrow in my sleeping-bag to chuckle when Ang Temba brought the same for Ang Nima, who took it with a very lordly air. Something new and amusing was often turning up when Ang Nima was around.

Starting early, we crossed the moraine to the foot of the Ambu wall. Avalanches had swept the steep gullies and the pass from top to bottom, leaving hard snow-ice to contend with. Difficulties were honest and straightforward. With the long file of Sherpas behind me, I cut steps across the bergschrund and up the steep gully to the rock. With tricounis in my boots it was sound—but it was with heart in mouth I shepherded those in yak-soled boots over the tricky portions. A cold wind swept down the gully. Crisp slivers of snow and ice tinkled round us from all sides. The warm sun and hard work brought trickles of sweat on every face. All were jolly and joking, and for some reason a carefree spirit of freedom was abroad. Again, at the steep couloir I had to fix the rope for a hand-rail, aided by Ang Dawa and Ang Nima. Here the snow still lay deep, dangerous, ready to slide. A few soft blocks did slide away from my feet and axe, but, adopting snow-plough methods, I pushed and kicked huge masses down, laying bare the hardened surface beneath. It was the only safe method for the party—that, and cutting bucket steps. Once across, Ang Nima saw the rest secure before they followed. Ang Dawa, the last man, looped in the rope as he came. No stones were kicked loose this time, and a cheerful party crossed the pass. It felt fine to have such good company.

In the afternoon the sky clouded, and we had snow—the pattern of the weather for most of the journey. Phu Keepa soon found the stored juniper and built a huge fire. As there was no sign of the New Zealand expedition, I decided no difficult peaks were going to be attempted on this side. However, we still left a little wood before leaving in the morning, and I placed a book with a note on top of a large stone. If I remember rightly, it was a thriller called The Case of the Abominable Snowman.

Several dreary hours were spent boulder-hopping that day before we placed our tents among the large rocks near the foot of the Barun West Col. From the camp we had good views of Chamlang, and also of Ama Dablam, over in the Imja Khola. I was sorry to be leaving, though looking forward to the new experiences to come. The next day I would cross the saddle, out of Sola Khumbu, away from Sherpa-land. A freezing wind rustled ice particles across the glacier ice, and drove fine powders-now through cracks in the tent. In the large tent a roarer Primus stove heated the food efficiently, and we all sat close together for warmth, laughing, talking, and eating large amounts of tsampa with chillie water, but I jibbed at butter-tea with salt, and had mine with sugar. Prior to sleeping we sang a few Sherpa melodies, and a clear evening inspired me to talk to the Sherpas of Dawa (the moon), Nima (the sun), and Karmi (the stars).

There were many clouds in the morning—too many, though at first we had welcome periods of sunshine. A south-west wind whistled softly among the rocks as we ate breakfast. Soon away we plodded slowly over the glacier, crossed an incipient bergschrund, and began the scramble over loose rock to the top of the West Col—maybe 20,000 ft. Loose snow was blowing in a cold wind, but between lulls I was able to take a few snaps of Makalu and the Barun