NORWEGIAN EXPEDITION
TO TIRICH MIR, 1950
H. R. A. STREATHER, Capt. Chitral Scouts
It is an an interesting real story worth to read and I am sure the readers will enjoy it,
especially for those who are adventure
lovers and explorers. This will inspire you to have and attempt on the highest
mountain of Hindu Kush. It is surprising that the local here still say that no
one has been on the summit of this mountain, they have superstition and myth
of fairies on the mountain, they don’t allow to reach the summit. There is an
interesting part about the myth of one of the Chittrali high porters’ of the
expedition persuading the members not to
wear red clothes, which are not like by the fairies, if you do so they throw
stones on you.
FOREWORD
Since 1907 when C. W. Rubenson and I. Monrad-Aas
came very close to success on Kabru, the 24,000-foot south-western outlier of
Kangchenjunga, Norwegian climbers have had several plans for Himalayan
expeditions. These ambitions could not be realized until 1950 when sponsored by
the Norsk Tindeklub and the Norwegian Geographical Society, following his
reconnaissance of the previous year, Professor Arne Naess led his team to
Chitral. The attainment of their goal by the Norwegians was largely due to the
willing assistance and benevolence of the Government of Pakistan and the
friendly co-operation and kindness of the authorities and people of that country.
It proved to be of very great value to the expedition that Captain H. R. A.
Streather of the Chitral State Scouts was permitted join the expedition. His
knowledge of the region, of the inhabitants and their language, together with
his capable handling of the porters was invaluable.
We are glad to learn that a narrative of the the expedition will appear in the Himalayan Journal from the pen of Captain
Streather and we take this opportunity of thanking him and all his countrymen
who, from the very beginning, was always willing to help us.
Arne Naess
Henning Tonsberg
(Pres. Norsk Tindeklub)
The fact has not been noted, though a photograph
indicates it, that the flags planted on the summit were those of Norway,
Pakistan, and Great Britain.—Ed.
It was in the summer of 1949, at the hot weather
headquarters of the northwest Frontier Government at Nathiagali, that I first
met Professor Arne Naess. He had come to Pakistan with Arne Randers Heen on a
small expedition to the Himalayas and the adjacent mountains and his
particular interest lay in Tirich Mir in Chitral—a mountain that had been
strongly recommended to him by Eric Shipton and by Professor Morgenstine, the
Norwegian speci¬alist in Afghan and Khowar languages.
He had also heard from Major Foskett, then of
the Chitral Scouts, that there appeared to be a south-east ridge that might
prove a possible line of assault to the summit. On this information Naess and
Heen decided to go to Chitral and hold a reconnaissance on that part of the
mountain—I had myself been to Chitral on leave and was able to offer a little
advice as to the journey there. I was also able to help by lending a few maps
of the Tirich Mir region.
At that time I was not serving in the Chitral
Scouts and little did I guess that the following year, not only would I be
living in Chitral, but also was to have such luck as to be able to accept the
invitation of the main Norwegian party, which was to follow the reconnaissance,
to join them as their guest, and to help them with their transport problems.
Naess and Keen were unfortunate on their
reconnaissance expedition in that they experienced trouble from their porters,
even before they had reached the mountain. From 13,000 feet on they had the
thankless task of trekking back and forth between five camps carrying their 350
lbs. of equipment to the highest camp at 19,000 feet. They had, however,
expected porter trouble and it had been said that if Tirich Mir were ever to be
conquered it would not be with porters from Chitral. The following year I did
all I could to prove this saying untrue. Really well-picked Chitralis can hold
their own anywhere. I do not believe for a minute that the average Chitrali
could compare with an average Sherpa—as a porter, who could? But to condemn the
Chitralis as 'the worst porters in the world', as I believe has been said, is a gross injustice.
Tirich Mir, the highest and most easterly peak
in the Kindukush range, lies between the Kunar or Chitral river and the Oxus. The latest maps show the west summit to be 25,263 feet and the eastern 25,237 feet.
It lies in the center of the independent state of Chitral. Both to the east and
to the west the surrounding mountains are much lower and so Tirich Mir stands
out in its isolated glory dominating the entire Chitral valley with its vast
shining magnificence. There is little wonder that there has grown up about the
mountain, in the minds of those who live under its spell, a multitude of superstitions
and myth. The stories have been passed down from generation to generation and
are believed, anyway in part, by even the most enlightened Chitralis. It is
said that the summit is in the form of a castle inhabited by fairies. The
fairies are guarded by frogs, the size of lorries, which live in the crevasses
on the glaciers. Anyone venturing on the mountain will probably be devoured by
the frogs, but should they survive these, then they are cursed to die within
the next year. It is a cheerful thought and I am keenly waiting to see what
our fate is to be. There are said to be people in Chitral who have been up to
visit the fairies, on the invitation, and have lived to tell the tale. I have yet
to meet one.
It was greatly to do with this superstition that
we were particularly worried about the possibility of porters refusing to come
with us. However, we need not have worried, for Chitral was then going through
such hard days that the villagers would do anything for a few rupees. The
Methar, or ruler, had been forced to leave, there has been a revolution
against his misrule and incompetence and the State was only just recovering
from virtual chaos. Porters were only too keen to enlist, but would they be
just as keen when they had been carrying a load for a few days and when they
were suffering from mountain sickness at the higher camps? This was to be our
great problem—how long could we rely on the porters? So far all previous
reports of them had been bad.
There had been but few previous attempts to
reach the summit of Tirich Mir. Survey of India officers had been in the region
in 1928 and 1929 and had made unsuccessful efforts to reach high peaks suitable
for triangulation in the neighborhood. They had, however, collected useful
data covering weather conditions in these years.
In 1935 members of a mainly scientific German
expedition to the Hindukush made an unsuccessful attempt to reach the summit
from the south.
In 1939 Smeaton, Miller, and Richard Orgill,
with some experienced Sherpas, made an attack from the south by the Owir
glacier. They reached the ridge between the Dirgol glacier and the South Barim
glacier at a point just above what was later to be our Camp V, and between
Little Tirich and South glacier peak, as they were later to be known to us.
From there they had an impressive view of the south ridge but were disappointed
by the steep drop down from South glacier peak to the South glacier col.
Looking across the col the south shoulder looked to them to be very steep and
uncompromising and they decided to turn back, as they did not think they had
sufficient rope and pitons to make a securely fixed rope-way on the steep part of
the route. On return to Base Camp, they were to hear the grave news of the
outbreak of the Second World War and so had to give up any idea of further
attempts on Tirich and return to England. When they turned back from the ridge
they had not given up hope and had it not been for the war, their attempt may
well have succeeded.
After the war climbers of several countries had
their eyes on Tirich Mir, but the Norwegians were the first to make definite
plans for reconnaissance in 1949, and a major assault in 1950.
In 1949 Naess and Heen put in much good work, in
spite of having been let down so badly by their porters. On nth July they started
up the South Barum glacier and reached a point at about 18,000 feet where the
glacier meets the main central pyramid of Tirich Mir. On the south side of the
glacier was a formidable ridge with two main peaks which they called Little
Tirich, marked on the map as 20,869 feet, and South glacier peak a little to
the west at about 22,000 feet. The north side of the glacier was flanked by the
steep south-east ridge, which leads directly to the eastern summit of Tirich.
From the Barum glacier the lower slopes of the
south-east ridge seemed very steep and so no attempt was at first made to reach
this ridge. Instead, an attack was made on an S-shaped side glacier, which led
to the ridge to the west of the Barum glacier, where the main south ridge of
Tirich begins, at about 21,500 feet. Wide crevasses reaching from side to side
of the South glacier forced them towards the west until they reached a point
just beneath the summit of the South glacier peak. They decided that the crevasses
themselves would not prevent an expedition from reaching the south ridge, but
in the middle of the South glacier were great ice-towers, which seemed very
unstable and ready, at any moment, to start ice avalanches. However, that year
they did not see even one avalanche on the South glacier but, even so,
concluded that it would not be a safe route for a big expedition, which would
entail many crossings of the most dangerous places. The wiseness of their
decision was proved only too conclusively in the following year when we were
to experience the most terrifying avalanches roaring down the upper part of the
South glacier several times a day.
The next few days were spent by Naess and Heen
in establishing a camp just below the south-east ridge. The steep 2,000 feet of
rocks and snow-gullies did not prove as difficult as they had expected. They
reached the ridge on 27th July and followed it sufficiently far to be certain
that an ascent by the south-east ridge would be practicable. As they had only
two days left at their disposal they did not attempt to establish camps on the
ridge.
Home in Norway they were able to report that,
with weather conditions as they were in 1949, with uninterrupted sunshine on
the slopes between 15,000 and 21,000 feet and with only light snow showers
higher up, a major expedition to Tirich Mir would have a very fair chance of
success. At the same time, they feared that the fine weather conditions and the
resulting avalanche proof snow would make climbers over-optimistic. It would
tempt them to climb fast and to site camps in dangerous but convenient
positions. If a major snow-storm should break then there would be more chance
of disaster than under average conditions. It was quite clear to them from
reports of the Indian Survey on weather conditions that, whereas June and July
could show long stable sunny periods, at the same time snow-storms and mists at
higher altitudes were not uncommon. There had been, at the beginning of June,
just before the arrival of the reconnaissance party, a violent snow-storm
lasting four days, which had set back the season in the whole of Chitral by
about a fortnight. Fruits were late in ripening and snow conditions late into
July were still bad, due mainly to this one single storm.
Naess and Heen concluded from their reconnaissance
that the south-east ridge would have to be given priority as the likely route
of attack to the summit. The South glacier route was in all ways more
preferable, but the great danger of avalanches could not be ignored. If, in the
following year, both the south-east ridge and the South glacier routes proved
impracticable, then there was still a very tempting 'third route', and short
cut, leading directly to the south ridge, just below the summit, between the
two main possible routes. This would have been the obvious way for an amateur
to choose, but to an experienced mountaineer it was clear that the 'third
route' would be suicidal in the event of a major snow-storm, and therefore,
when planning a major expedition, it was better to forget about this tempting
short cut.
And so it came about that, in Oslo, a major
expedition sponsored by the Norwegian Alpine Club and the Norwegian
Geographical Society was prepared during the winter of 1949-50 to make an
assault on Tirich Mir in the summer of 1950. The party was to consist of five
climbers, namely, Arne Naess (38), Hans Bugge (40), Henry Berg (27), Per
Kvernberg (32), and Fridtjot Vogt Lorentzen (41), who was also to be a doctor to
the expedition. There were to be two scientists, Finn Jorstad (27) as geologist
and Per Wendelbo (22) as a botanist—Ramus Breistein and Arild Nybakken were to
accompany as photographers. Professor Abdul Hamid Beg, of the Islamia College,
Lahore, was invited to join as a liaison officer. The expedition was to be led by
Arne Naess.
Soon after I had met Naess in 1949 I was posted
to the Chitral State Scouts. I am no mountaineer, but several years of service
in the Scouts on various parts of the Frontier had naturally led to a great
interest in the mountains amongst which I lived. Leaves spent trekking in Kashmir
and Gilgit had fostered this interest and had taught me to look upon the great
peaks from a climber's point of view. How well I remember in 1947 spending ten
days trekking hard from Srinagar and back just to get a glimpse of Nanga Parbat
at dawn, before it was enveloped in clouds. Later I was to have many wonderful
views of this great mountain while flying from Peshawar to the new airfield
recently built in Gilgit. No one can live in Chitral, dominated as the state is
by the vastness of Tirich Mir, without be¬ing drawn towards that magic peak—and
so it was with great enthusiasm that I read of the plans of the Norwegians for
a major expedition in 1950. I wrote at once offering to help in any way I
could—for being on the spot in Chitral and having a fair knowledge of local
conditions and languages I felt that I was in a good position to help with many
problems, particularly the very delicate question of porters. I think even then
I had a secret hope that I would get a chance of going high on the mountain but
I would not admit this to myself, let alone tin- Norwegians. I was in close
touch with Professor Beg, and between us, we were able to arrange the details
for the reception of die party in Peshawar and the passage of them, and their
tons of equipment over the Lawari pass into the Chitral and on to the Base
Camp.
Pakistan Government authorities were keen to do
all they could to help and generously assisted the expedition in every way
during the time they were in Pakistan.
On 4th June I met the party at Dir. This was as
far as they were to be able to travel by lorry and from here we started our
trek through Chitral to Base Camp. Professor Beg had already joined the party
at Peshawar, as also had Mr. Chaudri, a young botanist from Lahore who was to
stay with us for some time at Base Camp. The party of climbers as they arrived
in Dir was a sad sight and seemed hardly capable of struggling over the Lawari
pass into Chitral, let alone tackle Tirich Mir. The long journey from Norway
and particularly the last part of their travels across the Sind desert by train
had taken a cruel toll on their health. I had written to warn them that they
could not know the meaning of heat until they experienced the Sind desert in
the summer. When they arrived they were more than ready to agree with me. I
suspect also that they had been tempted to eat fruit from the dirty bazaar
shops. Several days of rest were needed at Base Camp before they were fit again
to go on with their work.
The journey from Dir to Base Camp was not
without event. Our troubles started when we tried to get the hundred or so
porters, who were to carry the equipment in the first stages, started from Dir. It
was late in the morning before the chaos of shouting and arguing ceased, and
the last load left on its way.
The main route into Chitral from Pakistan is
through Dir State and over the 10,000 fool Lawari pass. All goods going into
Chitral must be carried over the pass by pack animals or by coolies. The pass
is closed by deep snow, sometimes for weeks on end, during the winter, and it
is not possible to get animals over until well into June. If we had been able
to carry our equipment on mules our transport problem would have been much
simplified, but there were but few animals crossing the pass at the time. Our
first night was spent at Ziarat, a small post on the Chitral side of the pass.
On the second day we rejoined the few miles of road which have been built in
the State, and late in the evening reached the town of Chitral. The lorries in
which we traveled had been dragged on the hard snow over the pass by hundreds
of coolies many years earlier. Rough use on the roads of Chitral had done them
little good and the 26-mile journey from Drosh to Chitral took us nearly four
hours. In Chitral the party was welcomed by the Board of Administration which
was at the time ruling the State in the absence of His Highness the Mehtar.
The accommodation was arranged in the grounds of the
Palace and a State Banquet were given in the evening. Unfortunately, the party
were in no form to appreciate the splendid eastern food, but Professor Beg and
I was able to do it full justice. The Assistant Political Agent, Mr. Mir Ajam,
was also there to welcome the party to Chitral and he kindly made many
arrangements for their comfort. He generously offered to send on mail by porter
to us at Base Camp every few days. The Political Agent of Malakand, Major Mohd
Yusuf, M.C., who is responsible for maintaining contact between Pakistan The government and the three Frontier States of Dir, Swat, and Chitral was at the
time on tour in Chitral. He showed very great interest in the aims of the
expedition and sent us on our way with every good wish for success.
Later, when returning to Peshawar, we were to
enjoy the generous hospitality of his charming wife and himself to lunch at his
house in Malakand.
After a short rest in Chitral, we were ready for
the four days' trek which was to take us to our Base Camp. We had engaged fresh
porters to carry the equipment, and we were all looking forward to getting up
to the cool mountains and away from the stifling heat of the Chitral valley.
Even on the mountain, it was the heat which was to prove so troublesome to the
Norwegians, whereas to Beg, the porters, and it was a welcome sight to see
the sunrise in the morn¬ing and slowly feel our blood warm again, having spent
the night in freezing agony.
We trekked for two days north, up the main
Chitral valley, camping for the night at Koghozi and Barenis. On the third day
we crossed the river by a very primitive and frightening bridge at Par- pish
and reached Barum. This was the last village before Base Camp, and it was from
this district that we hoped to enlist porters who would work on the mountain.
We called for volunteers and many came forward.
The next day, 11th June, Base Camp was established at a height of about 12,000
feet at the snout of the South Barum Glacier. Some of the keener and
stronger-looking porters from Chitral and from Barum were selected to remain
for work between the high camps, and the rest were paid off.
It had been arranged through the kindness of
H.Q. Frontier Corps at Peshawar that a wireless station, manned by the Chitral
State Scouts should be established at Base Camp and should remain there to
enable the expedition to be in direct contact with Chitral and through Peshawar
with the outside world. This proved very useful when it became necessary to
call up further supplies from the porters from Chitral and it meant that news
of our success was able to reach Norway the same day as we returned to Base
Camp, and not after about a week, as would have been the case if it had had to
be sent from Chitral after our return there.
Most of June was spent in establishing advanced
Base Camp or Camp IV, near the top of the South Barum Glacier, at about 17,800
feet. There were no serious obstacles, and a huge ice-fall between Camps III
and IV proved easily climbable by a narrow path of snow on its east edge.
Unfortunately, I missed much of this early work as I had been recalled to our
headquarters in Drosh, from Base Camp, as there was still some doubt as to
whether or not I was to be allowed to remain with the expedition. Eventually, I
was able to obtain leave and rejoin them at Camp IV later in June.
The three Hunza porters, who were to work with
the expedition, were late in arriving at Gilgit, and did not join us until much
of the heavy work in establishing the lower camps had already been completed.
In many ways, this was an advantage, for although only two of them proved fit
for the work they were fresh for carrying at the higher camps. The third was a
veteran from the German Nanga Parbat Expedition and although keen and efficient
was much too old for any climbing. He spent most of the time in hospital at
Camp IV. We had held high hopes of the Hunza men being our mainstay for the
summit but as things turned out they did not prove better than the best of our
Chitrali porters. Apart from the old veteran, they were not pleasant to work
with, and when the time came to pay them off two of them refused to accept
their money, saying it was not enough. This was hard to understand as the
Chitrali porters were more than pleased with their pay and the Hunza men were
to receive an extra two rupees a day as traveling allowance while on their
journey to and from Hunza. We sent their pay on to the Mir of Hunza. From what
little I have seen of Gilgit, 1 do not think these two were typical of the
likable straightforward Gilgit people.
Soon after Advance Base Camp had been
established the south-east ridge was inspected and it was soon found that the
snow conditions were bad as compared with those at the time of 1949
reconnaissance. It was therefore decided to give up the idea of an attack by
this route—anyway until late in July.
These first days in Advanced Base Camp were made
all the more interesting by the frequency of avalanches from the hanging
glaciers on the main Tirich marine. Three times one or more of the tents were
leveled to the ground. There was, however, no part of the glacier completely
safe from avalanches and so there seemed to be little point in moving the camp.
Having given up the idea of assent by the
south-east ridge, our attention was turned to the South glacier route. On 3rd
July Camp V at 19,000 feet was established, and reconnaissance of the upper
South glacier was started.
We very soon realized that whatever had been the
condition in 1949, the route this year was quite out of the question. The
spirit of the glacier had quite changed. Several times a day avalanches were
thundering down the steepest parts. The unhappy conclusion was reached that the
South glacier route, too, must be given up.
This was a critical time for the expedition.
Both the main possible routes of assault had proved disappointing, and the conclusion
was forced upon us that we would have to try the more direct but dangerous
route—the highly tempting short cut running between the other main routes
directly to the south ridge. There was a narrow snow-ridge running from the
summit walls of Tirich and looking very attractive from Camp V. It seemed easy
to reach about 21,000 feet and from then on it seemed necessary to make a
formidable traverse of a steep but very smooth glacier covering the main wall
of Tirich. Then there was a last very steep, partly rocky, climb until the
upper part of the south ridge was reached at about 23,000 feet. Should we try
this route? If the weather held we would have a very fair chance of success.
Until then the weather had been very much in our favor and had produced what
seemed to be avalanche- proof cone-ridge snow. On the other hand, we were
getting well into July, and could we trust the fine-weather conditions to last
forever? If the weather changed and we experienced a major snow-storm above
21,000 feet and particularly on the summit ridge, then complete disaster would
be almost inevitable. Both the traverse and the final climb up the summit ridge
were highly exposed to snow avalanches and, as any storm inevitably would come
from the west, with the prevailing wind, masses of fresh snow would be swept
across the very broad summit ridge and would fall down the smooth and steep
flanks which we had to traverse. If we saw a storm threatening there may be
time to make a rapid descent to Camp V, from even as high as 24,000 feet, but
having got height it is unlikely that the mere possibility of a pending storm
would deter us from making a bid for the summit. High up only a real storm
would halt us, and this would be too late, for even if we survived the storm
descent of the steep flanks of the ridge, with fresh snow lying on the old hard
snow, would have been well-nigh impossible. Every step would create an
avalanche.
It was a hard decision which the leaders had to
make, but eventually, it was decided that fine weather would be a fair gamble
and that we should try the 'third route’.
On 6th July Naess and Bugge held a
reconnaissance on the first part of the route, but at about 20,000 feet they
reached a step of about 200 feet, on the sharp snow edge. This was covered with
waist-deep soft snow and at times it was almost impossible to get a foothold on
the very narrow ice-edge under the snow. There was a great tendency to step out
to one side or the other, both of which were extremely steep. The danger of
starting an avalanche was great and the conclusion seemed warranted that
further attempts should not be made here. There was, however, a very strong
counter-argument for as yet we had not actually seen one avalanche on the
surrounding very steep slopes. Below 22,000 feet all the avalanches seemed to
be produced by hanging glaciers which broke off from time to time. The
snow-slopes, even the steepest, were in an exceptionally stable condition due
to the long spell of fine weather.
If this line of assault should be abandoned then
we faced the depressing decision of having to transport all our equipment down
again to Camp IV, and then to try again the south-east ridge in the hope that
snow conditions there were more favorable than at the beginning of June.
As seen from Camp V it was clear that not only
was the ridge very long but also that one could be faced with considerable
technical difficulties. The morale of the few porters we then had with us was
low, and it seemed unlikely that they would stay with us much longer if there
was any further serious delay. Further, my leave was coming to an end and if we
were to return to Camp IV I would not be able to stay long enough to help with
the porters in an attempt by the south-east ridge.
Although it had tentatively been concluded that
the 'third route’ should not be further tried, it was decided that the other
climbers should have one more look at the critical 200 feet the next day.
This day was to prove the most cheering we were
to have during the climb. Naess and I went up some steep rocks between South
glacier and the 'third route’ in the hope that this might prove a possible
by-pass to the critical snow-ridge. Although I had not previously experienced
any difficult rock climbs of this sort, to follow Naess seemed easy—he climbed
with such grace and simplicity, up what from below appeared to me to be quite
impossible rocks, that I had no option but to follow.
Away on our right, the main party had arrived at
the ice-ridge, heavily laden with ropes, ice-axes, crampons, ice-bolts, and
snowshoes. On return to Camp V in the evening we were to hear that Kvernberg
had suggested and tried an unusual technique. With snow-shoes attached in a
curious way, and with an ice-ax in each hand, he had managed to struggle up
the 200-foot step with a kind of swimming movement through the loose surface
snow. The critical place having been secured by fixed ropes, the party returned
to Camp V.
That evening, in high spirits, it was decided
that the next day an attempt to reach the summit by the 'third route’ should start.
Lots had already been drawn as to who should be in the first assault. Berg and
Kvernberg had been the lucky winners.
On 8th July Camp VI was established, at about
20,500 feet, but when it was seen that this was at the tip of a hanging
glacier, efforts were at once made to carry a little higher to Camp VII, at
about 21,500 feet.
This first day of the attack, 8th July, was to
prove a sad anticlimax after our high spirits of the previous evening. On our
way to Camp VII two porters had left us, and only young Abdul Karim and Mutaib,
my orderly, were really fit. The effort of carrying the two extra loads between
us, in addition to our already overladen packs, had exhausted us all. Late in
the evening, I had returned to Camp V with Abdul Karim and Mutaib, leaving
Naess, Bugge, Berg, and Kvernberg to establish Camp VII. The plan was that, on
the following day, they would make a reconnaissance of the route forward, and I
should return to Camp VII with Abdul Karim and Mutaib—the three of us to act as
porters for the assault.
Unfortunately, things were not to work out as
planned. The 9th of July was to prove a fatal day. Early in the morning Abdul
Karim came to my tent to say that Mutaib was ill. I very soon learned that this
was no understatement. I went to the porter's tent and found him in the throes
of an epileptic fit. I had not realized the fight that had been going on in his
sub-conscience. In spite of all his outward joking about the fairies, he had
now seen them. Inwardly he had been worrying about them from the day we left
our headquarters at Drosh. This recalled to my mind an incident that had
occurred while I was packing warm clothing for the expedition before leav¬ing.
I had a bright red polo-necked jersey that was very warm, and I put this out on
my bed with the other things that I should be need¬ing. When I came to packing
I found that it had been put back in the cupboard. I asked Mutaib about this
and he told me, with a guilty smile, that he had put it away as I could not
wear it on Tirich Mir. He told me that the fairies did not like red and if I
wore it they would certainly throw stones at me. I did not take this very
seriously at the time but the red jersey was left behind. Now, in his mad state
in Camp V, I was to see him scream and struggle every time he saw even a speck
of red on a label of a tin.
The porters who had fallen out the previous day
had left early for a lower camp and, apart from Abdul Karim, the only other
person in Camp V at the time was Nybakken, the photographer who followed us to
21,000 feet. It took all the strength of the three of us to hold Mutaib and
prevent him throwing himself and us down the steep rock-face to Camp IV.
Eventually, we had him securely roped and then we had to decide on our next
step. Up in Camp VII, the others would be wondering why the three of us had not
set out to join them with further supplies. Should Abdul Karim and I go on, leaving
Mutaib with Nybakken? When I mentioned this idea to Abdul Karim he flatly
refused to leave Mutaib. They had become very good friends and he was
determined to stick by him now that he was not well. This speaks well for the
boy and was typical, as we later learned, of the spirit and manner of this very
gallant little Chitrali. There seemed little point in my going up to Camp VII
alone, and anyway I was not able to see I could fairly leave Mutaib in his present
state. I decided to go down as quickly as possible to Camp IV and fetch
Lorentzen, the doctor. We had given Mutaib strong doses of sleep- ing-tablets,
but these had little or no effect. He continued to struggle and scream and to
talk about the three fairies which were sitting on the tent watching him. He
was not quiet until Lorentzen arrived and gave him a strong shot of morphia.
When we had not arrived in Camp VII the others
had realized that something was wrong, and had amended their plans. They had
decided to make an attempt without porters, but their luck had been no better
than ours. They were all exhausted after the hard climb, with heavy loads, on
the 8th, and on the next day, Bugge had developed pneumonia. The advanced party
tried to get forward but returned exhausted on the 12th. However, Camp VIII, at
about 23,000 feet, had been established, and they were able to confirm that the
summit ridge could probably be reached without serious technical difficulty by
the 'third route'. To add to our troubles, during this critical period we had
experienced a violent earthquake. Avalanches had come down all about us and we
were quite sure that our end had come. Later we learned that the epicenter of
the quake had been at Tirich Mir. This was little consolation.
Mutaib had to be taken down to Base Camp and
sent home to his village, where he rapidly recovered, and Bugge took down to
Camp IV where careful treatment by Lorentzen soon put him right.
It was decided to make a second and last attempt
by the 'third route5 when we had rested. Snow conditions were deteriorating and
so we could not wait for long. The weather might also change any day.
Bugge and Naess were to have taken the lead in
the second assault, but Bugge would not be fit to climb for some time. It was
decided that Naess and Berg should go and that I should attempt to accompany
them to encourage the porters. Abdul Karim was still with us, although I had
had great difficulty in persuading him to stay and not go down with Mutaib, and
we had also two of the Hunza porters, who had been in Camp IV and were still
fit.
Kvernberg was to try alone, knowing that he
could fall back 011 our camps, moving steadily up behind him, if he should
experience any difficulty.
On 21 st July, as we reached the summit ridge,
at about 23,400 feet, we could see him about 1,000 feet above us, having spent
the night in the open, at about 23,500 feet. He had a fair chance of reaching
the summit that day. Late that evening he joined us in Camp IX and we learned
that he had reached the summit, in beautiful weather, at about 6 o'clock.
The summit ridge did not offer any serious
technical difficulties, but the snow was very deep and treacherous. It proved
much easier to gain height after we had reached the protruding ribs of rock
which led to the ridge.
Camp IX, just as Camp VII and VIII, was nothing
more than a small snow cave, but somehow we managed to keep some pretense of
warmth and to make plenty of hot drink. The three porters had stayed with us to
the last camp, and from there had returned to Camp VII, and then down to Camp
V. We had hoped that we might have Abdul Karim with us to the summit, but the
last two days had been too much for him and we had to send him down with the
others. He had been keen to come on but was suffering from both head- and
stomach-aches, and this was too much even for his indomitable spirit. The
hardest job at these high camps was to get the porters started in the morning.
We would have liked to have set out early when the snow was still hard, but it
seemed impossible to get them to move until the sun had risen and slowly
brought them back to life. By this time they were carrying so little that we
would probably have done better to go on without them.
Having reached Camp IX and sent the porters
down, Naess, Berg, and I set about making our snow cave. None of us by then was
thinking too clearly, and we committed the first of our two serious mis¬takes
that night. We made much too big an opening to the cave, and in the morning
were covered by snow, which had been blown in on us by the Strong wind from the
west. Later, when we crawled into our sleeping bags, we committed our second
serious mistake. We failed to take our boots into our bags with us and, in the
morning, they were, of course, frozen hard. It was some time before the sun had
enough heat to melt them, and the few candles we had with us proved of little
help. This one mistake might well have spoilt our chance of reaching the
summit.
Because of the delay over our boots, we were very
late in starting, and at one moment it seemed that we would not have time to
reach the summit and return to Camp IX before dark. We had with us nothing but
cameras and flags and a little extra warm clothing, but even so, my rucksack
seemed to weigh a ton—as also did my boots. I had slept badly for the last
three nights and had little energy left for the summit. Berg did all he could
to help me, for which I was more than grateful. It was surprising how well he
and I got along together. He could not speak a word of English and I could not
speak a word of Norwegian. I soon realized that I was very nearly exhausted
when I saw, coming down the snow towards me, a large black elephant—not pink. I
ducked down, hoping that it would pass over my head, but when I looked up again
it was still there— a small rock firmly bedded in the snow many yards above me.
We reached the summit at about 6 o'clock. The
view was magnificent, in spite of the clouds to the north and north-west. The
Western Karakoram and the Kashmir mountains, with Nanga Parbat, could be seen
above the clouds 150 miles away. We could look down, across the Oxus, into the
Soviet Union, and at the same time north-east into Chinese Turkistan. From
where we stood, with a turn of the head we could look into Pakistan,
Afghanistan, Russia, China, Kashmir, and possibly even Tibet.
A few days later we were all back again at Base
Camp. Only then did we appreciate the beauty of this peaceful Morain Camp at
the snout of the South Barum Glacier. The trees were green and the ground was
carpeted by countless mountain plants. For weeks we had seen nothing but snow,
ice, and rocks.
We had been very slightly frost-bitten during
the last day to the summit, but did not realize this until we had returned to
Camp I. We found it difficult to walk for many days, but luckily there were no
more serious consequences.
The scientists had been working hard and had
gathered much interesting material. They had been in the same camp for nearly
two months, but even so, we're reluctant to leave when the time came to pack for
home.
Looking back there seem so many things that
contributed to the success of the expedition. The months of careful planning in
Norway, the really good, well-chosen equipment, and the vast experience of five
of the best Norwegian climbers all played their great part. But I think we
should not forget how perfectly the weather favored us. Surely no one could
have hoped for better.
As 'Chief Coolie', as I later became known in
Chitral, I should like to pay tribute to those many Chitralis and three Hunzias
who worked with us as porters. Although on many occasions they tried our
patience to the utmost, and at times even let us down, we could not have
achieved success without them. They may have many shortcomings, but I am sure
there is not one of us who could but help to like these distant, simple folk.
And particularly I shall remember those two gallant Chitrali boys, Abdul Karim
from the village of Awi in the Barum valley, who served us so well, and Sepoy
Mutaib of the Chitral State Scouts, from the village of Tirich, who was doing
so well before he was overcome by the superstition of the mountain. With better
luck, these two friends may well have reached the summit with us.
Lastly, I must thank the Norwegians for inviting
me to join them, and for giving me the chance of being with them to the summit—
a privilege and an honor that I shall never forget.
(The Himalayan Journal Vol.16, 1951)
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