Himalchuli

Michael Yager

AN HOUR AFTER we had set up the tent and crawled inside, the wind picked up. While Pema began to boil water for drinks and tukpa (noodles), and to prepare his special sauce—a mixture of garlic and chilis used by Sherpas to prevent high-altitude sickness—ice pellets peppered the tent; the wind was blowing fiercely. We were tired and cold, concerned about only two things: warming up and drinking as much fluid as we could.

From the other tent I heard Dan holler, “Boy, this is fun and we’re havin’ it.”

Dick Jackson, Dan Langmade, Pema Dorje Sherpa, and I had had an exhausting day climbing from Camp III (22,000 feet) to our bivouac in the cwm between the main and west summits of Himalchuli. We had ascended only 2000 feet, but it had been difficult. The wind-slabbed west flank of the west summit had been unstable and worrisome, and our progress plodding. We had alternated leads every 200 feet or so, but even that had not helped much; the underlying “sugar” snow refused to pack down.

We had reached our bivouac by four P.M. on October 20, quickly shoveled out two platforms, and fixed the tents with our axes and the few pickets we had left.

The sky was cloudless, and the view was like a message from the gods in residence. To the north, Manaslu’s summit rose above the rim of the cwm, and innumerable peaks and ridges in Tibet gathered the fading light. To the south Baudha’s summit, below us nearly 2000 feet, appeared like a small, golden cap nodding toward India. And to the east, Himalchuli’s west face spread, north to south, like a great open fan. For the first time since we had begun our ascent I was completely absorbed in the scenery. The pastiche of colors and shapes had caught me, and I thought, prematurely—my god, we’re going to make it! The next day and a half reiterated a lesson that most mountaineers learn as novices: that no amount of confidence or strength is a match for a fierce mountain storm.

Not until 1979 would the first Americans attempt Himalchuli. That year we were storm-bound on the southeast ridge, 7000 feet below the summit. We pushed into November, but it did no good; weather and time were against us. Discouraged we left the mountain, but determined to return.

On September 4, 1984, I stood under an awning, watching a group of Ne- palis struggle with an overloaded baggage trailer mired axle-deep in mud. It had taken five years to secure permits and assemble a second attempt on Himalchuli. An early start, during the monsoon, offered a high probability of more good climbing weather once we got on the mountain. I had planned, ideally, to arrive at Base Camp just as the monsoon petered out.

During the nine-day approach to Base Camp, the monsoon presented its traditional welcome: slippery trails, soggy campsites and an enthusiastic population of leeches. Radio Nepal announced the end of the monsoon only two days after we reached Base Camp. It seemed as if the discomfort we had experienced on the trek in was worth it.

This news was received as a good omen. Once the prayer flags had been erected, an altar built up, and the proper ritual offerings made, it was safe to begin the climb. We wasted no time. Stacy Standley, our Base Camp manager as well as a climbing member, began to sort and pack the food and equipment in sixty-pound loads to ferry to the base of the route. Everyone pitched in and nothing was missed. And so within ten days after having arrived at Base Camp all the loads had been cached at the base of the first icefall at 16,000 feet, and the route had been pushed to 18,000 feet.

By looking at the southwest ridge above the cache, we had estimated that the most difficult sections on the mountain would be located at the first icefall, and high up the mountain on the southwest face. Because the lower steps of the icefall were unstable and under barrage from séracs higher up the ridge, a direct route up the ice was out of the question. After some discussion, we decided to push the route up a massive buttress, south and adjacent to the icefall, then traverse onto the upper steps of the icefall, which appeared to be more stable.

Throughout the buttress there was much loose rock, yet by September 26 Camp I had been located on the southwest ridge. In superb form, Dick Jackson and Joe Frank had led much of the route to Camp I, and by the end of the month had established Camp II at 20,000 feet.

Above Camp II the terrain became troublesome. A second icefall was shattered and active, and the slope leading to it was covered with avalanche debris. We tried to minimize the objective risk by traversing as far below the icefall as we could, to its western limit. The next section was airy but safe, and led to less steep slopes in the middle of the icefall. Dick and Joe again climbed like minibuses (a Sherpa expression for someone who moves quickly), fixed the route, and within two days we had cached most of what we needed above the icefall.

Thus far the weather had been ideal, everyone had been fit, and we had been moving quickly. Then the jetstream dropped onto the mountain, and tenaciously hung in for the next seven days. By the fourth tent-bound day we had had enough, and so during a lull in the storm we descended to Base Camp. After a few days of rest and relaxation, Base Camp food and khukri rum, and a welcome rendezvous with our support trekkers, we left for High Camp.

On October 18 we pitched Camp III at 22,000 feet and began discussing the feasibility of our original plan to traverse across the south face of the west summit, through the cwm between the two summits, then onto the west ridge and south face of the main peak.

The south face of the west peak looked dangerous. It was steeper than we had judged earlier, and was laced with fractures. It would require fixed rope and we had none; in fact, we had stripped most of the rope off the lower sections of the route in order to fix the icefall between Camps II and III. We decided to contour around the west summit, traversing north, and then enter the cwm from behind the peak.

On October 20, after a day of acclimatization, we started the final ascent. We carried food and fuel for two or three days and only the essentials for a bivouac, quick ascent and descent. With only five of us above Camp II, we were acutely aware of the consequences of sickness or injury. Unfortunately, soon after we left camp, Joe Frank felt ill and returned to camp to rest. Later his condition worsened and he had to descend to Base Camp. It was depressing to lose a teammate who had contributed so much.

That night the weather broke. At the bivouac, the second day of the storm seemed endless. I awoke shortly after midnight feeling suffocated. The collapsing tent had covered my face. I quickly burrowed out the leeside door and began to dig the tent out. Twenty minutes later, I was back inside, cursing numbed fingers, with the job only half done. Pema popped out into the wind. For the next half hour he chipped and shoveled the ice between the fly and the tent wall, and all the while he sang. We sat up for the rest of the night, dozing, feet against one wall and backs against the other, to prevent the tent from collapsing.

At first light we awoke. It was October 22. There was not a sound outside. We looked at each other and both jumped to unzip the door. Our heads popped out the door, looking like twins fighting to be bom at the same instant. There was not a breath of wind nor a cloud in the sky. We decided immediately on the quickest, safest route to the summit.

In the other tent Dick Jackson and Dan Langmade grumbled and cursed. They had an ultra-light bivouac tent which acted like a selective permeable membrane by allowing only the smaller particles of snow to enter their tent. While they shoveled out, Pema and I prepared to start. By eight A.M. we were ready. We crossed the cwm, ascended the first bulges of the west face and traversed toward the northeast skyline. By noon we had reached a pinnacle that we took to be the summit block. Pema looked up at the snow and rock, smiled and asked if he could lead. By 12:45 we were standing on its narrow crest. We surveyed the cockscomb to the south to confirm whether we were on the true summit or not. It was difficult to judge because of the cornices. Then, only ten feet below us, I spotted an ice axe and pitons which had been left, pinned to a rock, by the last Japanese expedition. We were on the summit!

Forty-five minutes later we began the descent. Below the summit we met Dan and Dick, and within a few minutes they, too, were on top. Dan photographed a photograph of his infant daughter. And Dick—the only one who had not misplaced his flags—took photographs to confirm that we were a team, Nepali and American, and that we had, together, been fortunate enought to scale Himalchuli.

Summary of Statistics:

Area: Mansiri Himal, Nepal.

New Route: Himalchuli, 7893 meters, 25,895 feet, via Southwest Ridge, summit reached on October 22, 1984 (Jackson, Langmade, Yager, Pema Dorje).

Personnel: Michael Yager, leader; Joseph Frank, Richard Jackson, Daniel Langmade, Stacy Standley, Dr. Richard St. Onge, Americans; Pema Dorje, Sherpa.