Chapter 10
In the Himalayas, the approach to the highest peaks is often more difficult than actually climbing that mountain. Most major peaks are guarded by a tangle of all but impassable lesser peaks, gorges and valleys that cut across each other and block the way. Through the valleys flow turbulent mountain streams which have to be forded on foot and where one false step may mean death. For instance, Nanda Devi, that beautiful peak which is the abode of the mountain goddess of the same name, is completely inaccessible in her sanctuary, behind two rings of sheer sided peaks. Through the gorges between these peaks flows the savage Rishi Ganga, whose furious waters sound like the roaring of some pent-up demon as they rush through the towering defiles.
Pyramid Peak was no exception to this rule. At first the approach looked deceptively easy. The path ascended a wooded hill by the side of the stream which flowed along the camp. They passed under huge conifers, deodars and cypresses, whose needles carpeted the path. Birds twittered among the trees, unseen but not unheard. Butterflies flitted-everywhere. The air was crisp and clear. Once they reached the top of this peak, however, they realised that it was only an outlying spur of a much bigger mountain that stood in their path. This peak loomed ahead, composed of buff crags with ochre striations. Buff where the sedge like grass grew copiously, and ochre where the naked rocks rose out of the turf, banded by snow and wind. It was stark and beautiful. As they neared the summit of this brown mountain, above the tree line, the air got appreciably cooler. On reaching the top they found that they would have to descend to another valley and get around a rather difficult looking peak, before they could get close to their goal.
There was no easy way down. Ropes and crabiners had to used here and the Colonel led the way, driving pitons into the rock to enable his companions to follow him. Mary Joe forced herself not to look down, as they clung to the overhanging rock face with their hooked fingers, with nothing to stop them from falling down the precipice but the single rope coiling around the pitons and their crabiners. After a long while they reached a slope which could be tackled without the rope and pitons. Progress down this long grassy glissade was easier and Lobsang was almost running when they finally reached the valley.
"Look flowers," shouted Mary Joe as she reached the bottom, and flowers there were in plenty. The whole valley floor was carpeted with tiny anemones, purple primulas which grew in large clusters on nodding stalks, and blue gentians. In one sheltered spot, under some rocks were Himalayan poppies, their delicate petals as blue as the deep cerulean blue of the sky. They pitched camp on a sandy cove under the shelter of some large rocks.
"No bears, Colonel, I hope," said Mary Joe, as she got into her sleeping bag, tired after the long journey.
"None that would dare to approach you, Mary Joe," said the Colonel, 'poking the fire and keeping up a vigil after the others had gone to sleep.
An early start was made the next morning, as the Colonel wanted to be close to Pyramid Peak that day and establish base camp. He took them across a gushing brook where single log was laid out as a bridge. Near the log bridge stretched across the brook on a rope, were prayer flags, which gladdened Lobsang. It meant they were getting closer to their destination. It also meant someone who shared his faith had already been there before him and his unseen presence gave them fresh heart. The Colonel who knew the way well, took them through a narrow defile into a side valley over whose upper reaches, for the first time since starting out on their journey, they saw the snowy summit of Pyramid Peak. By the afternoon they were on the heaving surface of a glacier, fortunately free from crevasses, and-after going across it, they were finally on to the flanks of the peak. Mary Joe and Lobsang wanted to pitch camp on the snow field but the Colonel egged them on. They went on late into the evening. The snow was firm and the going was not difficult. They finally reached a snow ridge, below whose knife-edge crest was a small couloir where they pitched camp.
Their bivouac was well chosen. There was an avalanche in the night, but the snow swept down the slope well to the left of their camp, leaving them unharmed. They woke up as usual at dawn, when the clear cold stars were still shining in the paling sky. Before the sun was up they had completed their breakfast and struck camp. In their backpacks they now carried the hang gliders and apart from some Tibetan currency, little else. Only a change of clothing. Mary Joe also carried her Chinese identity papers, stitched into the lining of her jacket. They would be used later, for now she was a dropka woman on a pilgrimage with their brother. No compasses, transmitters, or weapons of any sort. These tell- tale devices would be a sure give away if they had the misfortune to be caught by the Chinese.
Soon they were plodding up the snow slope. The going was slow, because of the altitude. They were now above eighteen thousand feet and climbing steadily. The slope did not present many mountaineering difficulties but the soft snow was often knee-deep, and the crest of the ridge was a knife edge where one shp would have meant a fall down the precipice. After climbing continuously for four hours they paused to rest under a rock chimney that rose vertically for about fifty feet, blocking their progress. Here the Colonel was on familiar ground. He tackled the rock face like a true mountaineer, finding tiny holds in the vertical slab of rock that were invisible to his companions. Up he went on the rock face, sure footed as a bharal, driving pitons in the crumbling rust coloured stone, belaying the rope, and the others followed without much difficulty. They ate their lunch in the lee of an overhang after climbing the chimney. The summit was not far now. The ridge seemed to lead up gently to the symmetrical cone of snow that seemed barely 3 thousand feet higher.
"This is a good place for a rest," said the Colonel," let us remain here for a few hours. The sun is uncomfortably hot."
Gradually the sun went down. They started their final climb in the late afternoon and reached the summit a little before the sun was going to set. An unforgettable sight now met their eyes. Round about them were snowy peaks, the sun gilding their pinnacles. On the left was the towering hulk of Kamet, and far to the right the glorious Nanda Devi m her inviolable sanctuary. In between were hundreds of named and unnamed summits, the lofty pinnacles of the loftiest mountain in the world. But even more remarkable was the panorama directly to the north and east. Here, burnished by the rays of the setting sun, was the limitless expanse of a vast plateau that stretched away below them as far as the eye could see.
"Look Mai Hoe, Bod, my homeland, Khabchen, the land of the snows," said Lobsang, a note of pride and reverence in his voice, as he pointed westwards with a sweep of his arm.
Of snow however, there was no sign. What they saw was the earth, and the colours of the earth. A whole panoply of earth colours, rust and ochre and burnt sienna, and brown and russet and brick red, and on the far horizon, hills lost in a purple haze.
As she gazed out on this vast and wildly beautiful panorama, Mary Joe felt a thrill of awe and wonder. "Vow! Now I know what Colulllbus must have felt when he first ' gazed out on the shores of America.''
"Or Cortez, when he first looked out on the Pacific, 'silent upon a peak in Darien."
"Is that your own, Colonel?" Mary Joe asked suspiciously.
"No, its Keats actually, but don't ask me for the whole quotation, I may not be able to give it you."
The sun had set and twilight had rapidly given way to darkness. A strong wind was blowing from the north. It was time to take off and both Mary Joe and Lobsang were ready.
"Time to go, Mary Joe and Lobsang." The Colonel put out his hand to shake hands with Mary Joe, but Mary Joe gave him an impulsive hug.
"You're a dear Colonel, though a bit of a square. Don't forget .me or write me off. I mean to come back"
Then it was Lobsang's turn to embrace the Colonel, not an easy thing to do for a person who is strapped up under a hang glider. Under them was the precipitous slope of Pyramid Peak. There was no room for abortive take-offs, and there were none. With a final wave they were off, first Lobsang and then Mary Joe, flying off into the darkness that now shrouded the land, far below.
