Authors: Maurice Herzog
‘Bara Sahib!’
Quite thunderstruck, he watched me crawling along. Then everyone got up and came running towards me. I was saved!
They laid me down, trembling all over, on an air mattress. I drank, and ate a little, and learned that Ichac had not yet returned, but that he wouldn’t be long. I asked them to get a meal ready for me. With the assistance of the porters, Phutharkay opened an impressive number of tins. The fire burned merrily and the capacious cooking-pots began to simmer, giving out such an appetizing smell that to control myself I had to remain motionless and half asleep.
When the meal was ready, I began to eat straight out of the pots, which was not at all what Phutharkay was expecting – he had been cooking for the whole camp! For over an hour-and-a-half, without stopping, delightedly, and at high speed, I consumed the biggest meal of my life. I was like the snake who swallowed a fat sheep in the dream of the Little Prince, in St Exupéry’s story. I settled back in my sleeping-bag with relief.
‘Hullo, Maurice, good morning!’
I pulled myself together.
‘Matha!’
‘We’ve just come down from a peak of over 20,000 feet!’
We exchanged news. Everything fitted in with Ichac’s deductions and confirmed them, and the whole northern side of the Annapurna massif had been explored.
‘There’s no question of it,’ I told him. ‘The key to Annapurna lies in the south, along the route that Couzy, Oudot and Schatz took on April 27th, up the Miristi Khola.’
‘So there’s nothing more for us to do here,’ concluded Ichac. ‘We must get back quickly to Tukucha.’
Next day we packed up. The porters were delighted to be leaving this spot where they had spent three days completely cut off and with nothing to do, and there was no need to hurry them on or show them the route. In a few minutes the loads were made up and
allotted
, and while Ichac and I set out, still talking, the porters went off quickly under the supervision of Angtharkay who led them straight towards the Great Ice Lake. This time, without any fuss, they traversed its entire length.
In three days the snow which had formerly covered the ridge leading to the West Tilicho had melted. At the pass, we paused a little to look at the Great Ice Lake, the immense amphitheatre surrounding it, and above all at the remarkable Great Barrier. Never should we see it all again. We ran down the hillside and came out on to the lower slopes in the middle of a magnificent forest of deodars. A strong wind got up, but it was blowing the right way, and soon afterwards we reached Tinigaon.
Next morning we passed through Marpha; and after six exhausting days we were very glad indeed to get back to headquarters at Tukucha. As we neared the camp Oudot came towards us.
‘Hallo, Doctor! Any news?’
‘Everybody’s here and very fit. What about you?’
‘Have you seen Gaston?’
‘He got back yesterday.’
‘Good. It is May 14th, we’ll have to make up our minds. We’ll have a meeting this afternoon.’
Meanwhile what had been happening on Dhaulagiri during our absence? On the evening of Monday, May 8th, Noyelle had come racing down from the camp on the East glacier. Excitedly he explained that while going up the glacier with a Sherpa, he had seen the Couzy-Schatz rope in a very steep snow couloir. The point of this route was that it ought to have enabled us to by-pass the enormous and dangerous seracs of the upper part of the East glacier. Actually it was just as difficult and as dangerous as the other route, since the couloir was threatened by avalanches. One look upward revealed tremendous walls of blue ice, 1500 feet above. At the very moment when Noyelle was watching the movements of the other two an enormous unstable block of ice heeled over. Tons of ice shot down the slope with a fearful noise, just missing our liaison officer, and were pulverized on the plateau of the East glacier lower down.
‘And to think my camera wasn’t set,’ he said regretfully.
Couzy and Schatz had insisted upon going on. They were not to
be
deterred by a little thing like that; however, their efforts to get out of the couloir and set foot on the rocks proved fruitless. They pressed on with their attempt but were unable to advance more than a dozen yards: the rocks were slippery and unsafe. Schatz had one small satisfaction: he was able to hammer in his first piton in the Himalaya at over 16,000 feet. After having exhausted all the possibilities, they gave it up, and on the 9th they came down.
The following day Oudot and Terray went up in their turn, and though they met the Sherpas coming back, this did not stop them. They pitched a camp on the East glacier, at a height of 16,500 feet, up against a big rock wall on the right bank. During the night a stone tore right through their tent.
On the 11th Oudot and Terray broke camp early, at 3
A.M
., and so they had all day before them to devote to the problem. Putting on their crampons, they started up and with great difficulty succeeded in advancing a few yards. After considerable effort they reached the foot of the big ice wall which the first reconnaissance parties had climbed, and which Couzy and Schatz had passed on their right. Instead of going up the wall, on which steps had already been cut for a good part of the way, they went towards the left bank of the glacier. Cutting steps and climbing up with exhausting trouble, they reached the same height as the previous parties’ furthest limit. Soon they saw a possible way that had been invisible from the point these parties had reached. As they went up they were able to skirt round a number of seracs and gain height, and, taking dangerous risks, they reached the place where the glacier levelled out.
In front of them stretched a tangled maze of crevasses and snowfields with no way through. Further away on the right the slope steepened again and ran up into the north ridge of Dhaulagiri, which rose before them, clear cut and inaccessible.
Oudot and Terray rightly judged the difficulties and dangers to be far too great. What was the use of going on, only to be forced to give up later? The way up Dhaulagiri did not lie over this glacier, and if there were no other way, then the mountain would never be conquered. Having thus reduced our visionary hopes to their proper proportions, and realizing very well the bitter disappointment it would be to us all, the two decided to give up the attempt. That
evening
they made their way wearily back to Base Camp at the foot of the East glacier, and the following day to Tukucha.
If we were to launch the full strength of the expedition against Dhaulagiri, it would be a tremendous hazard full of uncertainty and peril; and we could only decide on this course after very carefully weighing all the reasons for and against it. We should have to examine the whole question soberly and judiciously.
On May 14th the entire expedition assembled in the mess tent at Tukucha for a solemn council of war.
1
This unpleasant test left us disagreeable memories; it consisted of blowing into a tube and maintaining in it a pressure of four centimetres of mercury. The session comprised about twenty different tests.
2
Another ‘eight-thousander’, 26,640 feet, to the east of Annapurna.
3
‘Hail, the jewel in the lotus flower.’
4
The way round by Muktinath would save a day’s march.
6
Council of War
THE HEAT WAS
oppressive, and the glare outside blinding; the greenish light that filtered through the canvas of the mess tent where we assembled offered a pleasant change. Throughout our deliberations Angtharkay kept us supplied with coffee.
Everyone looked serious. I realized very well that behind all Lachenal’s light-hearted joking and nonsense there lay a very understandable impatience and uneasiness. Well, in an hour’s time we should have come to some decision.
The Sherpas made themselves busy. They guessed that something was up – all the Sahibs were there.
‘It is now May 14th,’ I began. ‘In spite of all our efforts since April 22nd, no real possibility has turned up: we have no route in prospect, we aren’t even clear in what direction we ought to set out. We aren’t sure of anything. Time’s short. The moment has come to take major decisions.’
Nobody said a word.
‘These mountains are extremely tough propositions. The climbing possibilities are limited in every direction. As for Dhaulagiri by the Dambush Khola and the Hidden Valley, it would be pretty risky to plan a route which would involve crossing two passes of 16,000 feet, and then traversing a huge and extremely difficult glacier – and all this just to get to the foot of the mountain. A route up the East glacier would be even more problematical. I don’t wish to take the risk of sending the Expedition over such dangerous ground. There will be quite enough danger, wherever we go, without deliberately running into it at the very start. There remains another possibility: the Tukucha Peak, which we haven’t yet reconnoitred. But must we really first get up a seven-thousand-metre peak in order to climb an eight-thousander? It would be a counsel of despair – and the longest route, if not the most dangerous.’
‘I’m never going on that mountain again,’ said Terray, his recent experience among the rickety seracs and treacherous snow bridges of the East glacier fresh in his mind. ‘Dhaulagiri will never be
climbed
,’ he declared, and added firmly: ‘I wouldn’t go up there at any price.’
Schatz made a face. ‘The chances seem pretty thin. I, for one, don’t really see any possibility: the south-east ridge is out of the question. What about the north ridge?’
‘The north ridge!’ exclaimed Terray. ‘No one will ever get up it – it’s bare ice and the angle is so steep that hand-holds would have to be cut.’
‘When Couzy, Oudot and Schatz were up above the Miristi gorges on April 27th, they brought back sketches showing the average angle of the north ridge of Dhaulagiri. It looked perfectly reasonable. Moreover, the steep part didn’t look to me to be more than 15,000 feet high. On the left flank, looking towards the mountain, there are crevasses which would give shelter for camps. And why not place some fixed ropes?’ Although my argument was based on reasons of a technical nature it didn’t convince anyone. After a long silence Rébuffat replied:
‘In any case we’d have to reach this ridge somehow. So what?’
None of this was encouraging, but I wanted to appear to be defending possibilities which I really knew were hopeless, because I felt a tacit and unanimous opposition to them. Once we had abandoned Dhaulagiri, I did not want the party to have any regrets on the score of not having fully explored the question. Before turning the page I wanted the problem of Dhaulagiri to be well and truly settled.
Another long silence; everyone was thinking but didn’t want to be the first to speak. Then Couzy leant forward, and looked hard at me, searching for the right words:
‘Maurice, on Annapurna there are at least
some
possibilities.’
The tension relaxed, and tongues were loosened. Everyone thought it rather courageous of Couzy to broach the question. Indeed, it was to Annapurna that we must now turn our attention.
‘What we
do
know about Annapurna is that the only possible line of attack is from the north. But we must first get there. The way to the upper basin of the Miristi Khola is a problem we have already solved. From the farthest point reached, three routes were seen: first, the north-west ridge, and it is on this that, in theory, we ought to launch our first attack. Secondly there is the West glacier of Annapurna – it looks as if we ought to be able to follow a couloir
from
it up to the junction of the spur with the main ridge. And finally there is the glacier that no one has yet seen, but which, we can infer, flows down the whole of the north face of Annapurna.’
‘You see,’ said Oudot, ‘that spur is the shortest route. In two days we ought to be able to reach the summit ridge at a height of 20,000 to 21,000 feet. Of course between the top of this spur and Annapurna itself there is a bit that we haven’t yet seen. If there should be a gap, it would always be possible to get round it by taking to the West glacier, that is, to the right of the spur when you look at the mountain.’
‘Yes,’ added Couzy, ‘I’m all in favour of this route, because we ought to be able to gain considerable height without any special difficulty.’
‘And after all,’ continued Schatz, ‘it is only the middle part of the route that is still an unknown quantity. The upper slopes of Annapurna appear to be quite easy. There seem to be places level enough for tents, I’m sure. Let’s have a go; in three days we’ll have it in the bag!’
I was in complete agreement with Schatz; it struck me as an entirely reasonable plan.
‘What’s your view, Matha?’
‘I’m not here as a climber, Maurice. I’m your photographer.’
‘When you go out on reconnaissance you’re a climber all right. What do you think, Oudot?’
‘It strikes me that Dhaulagiri is altogether too dangerous. I’m for Annapurna.’
Noyelle was of the same opinion.
I turned to Rébuffat.
‘Do you think there’d be any chance of getting up the Tukucha Peak?’
‘I’ve already told you, Maurice: I think we ought to have begun by going up it: the summit must be a perfect viewpoint. But now it’s out of the question.’
Once a decision had been taken, the Expedition would, single-heartedly, throw all its strength into the attack. Every voice had been heard; now it was for me, alone, to decide. It was a very heavy responsibility.
‘Instead of immediately making an all-out attempt on Annapurna, we’ll send out a large reconnaissance party to find the best
route
up. This party will carry ten days’ food, and will be re-provisioned, on a limited scale, until further notice. As soon as the advance party see a possible route the whole reconnaissance will, upon definite orders from me, be transformed into an assault party. And right away we’ll make arrangements to ensure that this transformation can be effected without wasting a single day.’
‘Well, now that it’s all settled,’ exclaimed Schatz, ‘let’s be off at once.’