earlier at Tukucha. You’ll be tired after travelling on an empty stomach, so with the remaining rupees you can hire ponies.’
‘What about you?’
‘Don’t worry, with a slab of chocolate I’ll manage to get up to the Tilicho camp.’
‘It’s a hell of a long way!’
‘I’ll be there tomorrow morning. I’d like to go up with Ichac to this “accessible” summit.’
We had a little to eat and then went on our separate ways.
I was all alone. With a slab of chocolate as my only food I should have to be pretty nippy to get up from 9000 feet to over 16,000! My plan was to go as fast as I possibly could, to run when possible, until I couldn’t go a step further.
An hour later I was at Khangsar. Without losing a minute I followed the path which gradually faded out along the left bank of the torrent. I made my way between the cliffs, going up and down to avoid obstacles. The hours went quickly by.
I found the steps which Phutharkay had cut in the limestone. Then I started up the great scree-slope and at last came to the stream which had to be crossed. Jumping was out of the question, so I took off my boots and hung them over my shoulder. It was getting dark and a slip into the icy water would be extremely disagreeable. I entered the water gingerly, testing every stone with my feet.
The current was very strong. Suddenly I slipped, tried to save myself, only to fall in deeper, and ended by going right over altogether. This time I was soaked to the skin. With considerable difficulty I got up on to the opposite bank and began wringing out my clothes and emptying my boots. Still shivering and with my teeth chattering, I got dressed again. It would take me four hours to reach the camp and I had scarcely more than an hour of daylight left. Staggering on, I crossed a long steep slope of hard earth, where more than once I narrowly avoided slipping.
A piercing wind blew up from the valley and I shivered with cold. I could no longer see to go on, so I looked for a grassy place where I could spend the night, and ended by sitting down on a tuft, spreading my cape so that it covered me completely. My legs were icy cold and my knees knocked together. With my hood over my head, I hesitated between eating my last bit of chocolate and keeping it for the morning. I chose the first course, and then I allowed myself the last cigarette.
I was lost in the heart of the mountains, over 14,000 feet up, soaked through, weary and starving. Should I have the strength to climb up the last fifteen hundred feet? A treacherous wind found its way through every gap in my clothing, and snow began to fall. I closed my eyes, relaxed my muscles, and composed myself as I always do in mountain bivouacs.
Long and monotonous, the hours went by. Below me the full rumble of the torrent shook the ground and the noise echoed back and forth interminably in the valley. The damp rose up and went right through me – a horrible feeling when one is already chilled to the marrow, and I had to fight against it. From time to time I had a look round. The weather was not improving. If the clouds came down I should not be able to recognize the way.
Though numbed and half asleep, I welcomed the first streaks of dawn with real delight. I should have to wait for it to get a bit lighter, and how hard those last minutes were! Folding my anorak, I started off again with a painfully empty stomach. It was very cold and I hoped to warm up as I walked. The weather had improved slightly and I frequently stopped on the pretext of picking out the way ahead. My legs were trembling and refused to make any effort, but all the same I managed to gain ground. I could see patches of sunlight shining on Manangbhot, but up here I was still in shadow.
At every halt, before starting off again, I picked out ahead a comfortable stone for the next stop. The stops became more and more frequent, and longer. I began to wonder if I should ever get up. Whenever I came to a flat rock I sank down
‘What about you?’
‘Don’t worry, with a slab of chocolate I’ll manage to get up to the Tilicho camp.’
‘It’s a hell of a long way!’
‘I’ll be there tomorrow morning. I’d like to go up with Ichac to this “accessible” summit.’
We had a little to eat and then went on our separate ways.
I was all alone. With a slab of chocolate as my only food I should have to be pretty nippy to get up from 9000 feet to over 16,000! My plan was to go as fast as I possibly could, to run when possible, until I couldn’t go a step further.
An hour later I was at Khangsar. Without losing a minute I followed the path which gradually faded out along the left bank of the torrent. I made my way between the cliffs, going up and down to avoid obstacles. The hours went quickly by.
I found the steps which Phutharkay had cut in the limestone. Then I started up the great scree-slope and at last came to the stream which had to be crossed. Jumping was out of the question, so I took off my boots and hung them over my shoulder. It was getting dark and a slip into the icy water would be extremely disagreeable. I entered the water gingerly, testing every stone with my feet.
The current was very strong. Suddenly I slipped, tried to save myself, only to fall in deeper, and ended by going right over altogether. This time I was soaked to the skin. With considerable difficulty I got up on to the opposite bank and began wringing out my clothes and emptying my boots. Still shivering and with my teeth chattering, I got dressed again. It would take me four hours to reach the camp and I had scarcely more than an hour of daylight left. Staggering on, I crossed a long steep slope of hard earth, where more than once I narrowly avoided slipping.
A piercing wind blew up from the valley and I shivered with cold. I could no longer see to go on, so I looked for a grassy place where I could spend the night, and ended by sitting down on a tuft, spreading my cape so that it covered me completely. My legs were icy cold and my knees knocked together. With my hood over my head, I hesitated between eating my last bit of chocolate and keeping it for the morning. I chose the first course, and then I allowed myself the last cigarette.
I was lost in the heart of the mountains, over 14,000 feet up, soaked through, weary and starving. Should I have the strength to climb up the last fifteen hundred feet? A treacherous wind found its way through every gap in my clothing, and snow began to fall. I closed my eyes, relaxed my muscles, and composed myself as I always do in mountain bivouacs.
Long and monotonous, the hours went by. Below me the full rumble of the torrent shook the ground and the noise echoed back and forth interminably in the valley. The damp rose up and went right through me – a horrible feeling when one is already chilled to the marrow, and I had to fight against it. From time to time I had a look round. The weather was not improving. If the clouds came down I should not be able to recognize the way.
Though numbed and half asleep, I welcomed the first streaks of dawn with real delight. I should have to wait for it to get a bit lighter, and how hard those last minutes were! Folding my anorak, I started off again with a painfully empty stomach. It was very cold and I hoped to warm up as I walked. The weather had improved slightly and I frequently stopped on the pretext of picking out the way ahead. My legs were trembling and refused to make any effort, but all the same I managed to gain ground. I could see patches of sunlight shining on Manangbhot, but up here I was still in shadow.
At every halt, before starting off again, I picked out ahead a comfortable stone for the next stop. The stops became more and more frequent, and longer. I began to wonder if I should ever get up. Whenever I came to a flat rock I sank down
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