The Chango Chronicles - 1993 : First Encounter

A handshake is a wonderful thing: you can use it to say hello or to bid goodbye. I was about to say farewell to Raghu who was leaving Base Camp. As I leveraged my buttocks off the rock an excruciating pain shot up my spine from the lower back and I froze in a semi upright position. I lowered myself gingerly back onto the ground and remained there for the next couple of hours. Ajay propped me up with a sleeping bag and some clothes and I simmered in the sun at 16,500 feet on the moraine of the Chango Glacier in the north east corner of Kinnaur in Himachal Pradesh.

If I moved as much as a muscle, the pain would return. Later in the afternoon when the chill wind began to blow, Ajay and Harsha succeeded in moving me back inside the tent where I remained for the next 24 hours. This was not a propitious beginning for our little expedition to this little visited glacier.

An article by Romesh Bhattacharya in the Indian Mountaineer had first piqued my interest in the Chango Glacier. The attractions were obvious: the village of Chango nestled at 10,000 feet on the banks of the Spiti river and was accessible by public transport! Rising steeply above the green oasis of the village, the Chango torrent provided access to a glacier ringed by a host of attractive summits, none below 20,000 feet. Dominating the head of the glacier was a monolithic bastion of steep rock, unclimbed and unnamed. It had the silhouette of Batman, the caped crusader of comic book fame; we referred to it as such, though Bhattacharya preferred the term Granite Peak. The exact height of the peak was a mystery to us since the Survey of India topographical sheets of the area belonged in the "restricted" category and not available to ordinary mortals. It was surely way above 21,000 feet, second only in height to its more famous neighbour to the right, Leo Pargial.

Leo Pargial ( 6791m) from the Chango Glacier

Granite Peak (6685 m)  (Telephoto from Base Camp)

Convincing Ajay Tambe and Harsha ( who had shared the Brahmma - http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2013/04/brahmmah-man-proposes-god-disposes.html and Dibibokri - http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2013/10/dibibokri-dreaming-part-2-icing-on.html adventures with me ) was a cinch. Franklyn Silveira as usual opted to take care of things at Base Camp, and Raghu Iyer planned to spend a couple of days in the initial stages before heading back home.

A brief correspondence with Yousuf Zaheer who had climbed in the Chango glacier provided us with useful information on the approach walk. Harsha's friend Chetan Shah generously provided us with free truck transport up to the PWD (Irrigation) Rest House at Chango. We arrived here late in the afternoon at the end of the second week of  August, fresh from a brief trek to the meadows of Lalanti near Kalpa -  http://accidentaltrekker.blogspot.ca/2014/01/tiny-tots-in-tirung.html. It was quiet and peaceful as the dying sun played its luminous brush strokes on a canvas of soaring scree slopes that cradled Chango. The muted roar of the Spiti river filtered through the stand of willow trees that lined the road, now totally bereft of any traffic.

Chango

At 10,000 ft. the village of Chango is bordered on its sides by the Chango and Kuru Tokpo streams, both of which drop down almost 8000 feet from their glacier origins. They provide this oasis of green with a rich harvest of peas (the sweetest I have ever tasted in my life!), apples and apricots. Wholesale fruit and vegetable traders come from as far away as Chandigarh to buy the produce.

We picked up a modest supply of vegetables for our Base Camp and with the help of mules our little party of would be adventurers toiled their way four and a half thousand feet to camp among tussocks of grass which had a little seasonal stream running through.

...and the mule said, "Why can't you guys carry your own junk?". Approach Camp I

Day two found us ascending a little higher to what Yousuf had referred to as Lake Camp. The lake in question was really a little pond formed by snow melt at the base of a cliff and would dry up a month later. This would be home for the next couple of days while we shifted loads to a rather cheerless Base Camp site at approximately 16,500 ft on the true left lateral moraine of the glacier. On the plus side, we had access to a tarn for our water supply and relentlessly gorgeous sunsets when the chill of the afternoon winds died down.

Lake Camp

In a couple of days of near perfect weather we had scouted up the glacier, decided on a site to pitch an Advance Base Camp, transferred some loads and were optimistic that our new camp would put us in a position to explore the climbing possibilities on Granite Peak and the west face of Ninjeri. Our resident cook Raj Kumar kept us well nourished from his kitchen tent and the days went by in a happy kaleidoscope of physical effort, savage and stunning mountain vistas, the camaraderie in the big Wild Country Super Nova tent where the five of us would squeeze in for long sessions of card games and Scrabble fuelled by an endless supply of chai. And then the Curious Case of Aloke's Ailment took place, throwing a small spanner in the works.

Group picture with our muleteers at Base Camp
Ajay Tambe , Franklyn Silveira (second and third from left) Raghu Iyer ( standing fifth from left )
Aloke Surin (third from right, dark glasses). Raj Kumar and Harshavardhan Subbarao sitting (left and right)

The tarn near Base Camp

While I recuperated and prayed that I would be able to walk again, Ajay and Harsha made a brief foray to climb the peak right in front of us, christened Ningmari / Flat Top (6393m) by Yousuf Zaheer who had made the first ascent. With a little help from Franklyn, they made the tedious and tiring traverse across the interminable boulder strewn moraine and camped below the peak.

Ningmari / Flat Top (6393 m)

For ten days we had enjoyed an uninterrupted spell of great weather. That was about to change now. As I watched Ajay and Harsha through my binoculars the next day, they were making good progress up the slope leading to the base of the right hand skyline ridge (which in turn would lead them to the summit) when thick, menacing, black and moisture laden clouds gathered below us and rapidly advanced into the valley leading to Ningmari. In a few short hours our two friends were swallowed up in the storm that began to rage around them and they disappeared from sight.

Their first thought was to wait out the storm. When it didn't clear for a day and loosened rocks began to scream down the icy slopes, they decided to retreat to Base Camp.

In the next spell of clear weather, Ajay, Harsha and I moved our residence up to the Advance Base Camp site while Raj Kumar was told to head back down to Chango and catch a bus to Rekong Peo to see a dentist. The poor chap had been suffering from an abscess in his teeth and our stock of painkillers had failed to give him lasting relief. This left Franklyn once again the sole occupant at Base Camp - we did not worry, as he seemed to be a past master at fending for himself - on the Dibibokri trip we had left him alone at our Advance Base Camp for ten days and he hadn't gone berserk! The grazing ibex on the steep and crumbly scree slopes on the opposite bank of the glacier would keep him company.

Ajay's leap of faith across an icy runnel en route to Advance Base

The window of fair weather proved to be temporary. A bigger storm moved in and kept us incarcerated in our tents for a week. We spent the time shovelling snow off the tent, brewing endless cups of tea, playing cards, reading and jostling for the best sleeping positions. Spurred on more by boredom and ennui than any rational thought, Ajay and I made a futile attempt at trying to establish a camp at the base of Granite Peak.

Ajay (left) and I set off in the storm

Carrying heavy loads, we set off with a small measure of optimism, relieved to be vertical bipeds rather than the supine nawabs we had morphed into. Harsha preferred the horizontal mode of existence and elected to stay back. A couple of hours of battling fierce and cold winds, almost zero visibility and spindrift forcing its way into every crevice in our clothing convinced us that we were merely being idiots. We returned to the tent, thoroughly chastised and frozen to the core. It took us a couple of hours to thaw into a semblance of normality, Harsha very kindly keeping us supplied with hot soup and chai.

Advance Base after the storm

When the storm finally cleared, the granite on Granite Peak wore a liberal coating of fresh snow. We instinctively realised that we were not going to make any impression on the peak. Turning our gaze into the small subsidiary valley in front us, we agreed that an attempt to climb Ninjeri via its west face might give us something to do. Climbing into the vale, we pitched a two person tent for the three of us and dried our sleeping bags in the brief afternoon sun that found its way into this charming cul de sac. While the fabric dried, we made our way towards a small ice fall which separated the attractive rocky peak on our left from the sweeping slopes of Ninjeri's west face. We would have to either climb into the ice fall or find a way to circumvent it to gain access to our proposed route.

Ninjeri ( 6646 m) is the peak on the right

A sudden crackling sound followed by a whoosh made us glance up. Instinctively we ducked as a barrage of bricks of ice shot through the air. Ajay was hit on the hand, a piece of ice glanced off his helmet while I took three smaller hits: on my right shin, left elbow and the right side of my chest. We scampered out of harm's way, realising we were fortunate to sustain only minor injuries from the collapsing serac. Humiliated and a little shaken, we went back to the tent to pack for an early start the next day.

Ajay at Ninjeri camp

Planning to spend a night on the saddle between Ninjeri and its rocky neighbour, we packed camping supplies and climbing gear and headed for a narrow gap between the ice fall and the cliff on the left. It was dramatic squeezing through between the rock and the ice. It became even more dramatic when it began to snow and the weather seemed to be closing in again. Undaunted, we climbed a few pitches in fading visibility. The saddle appeared close but we knew that it would require three or four hours of frustrating effort to ascend the steepening ice with our loads. We had to take a decision: climbing up into another storm might not be in our best interests, as we had food and fuel to last us only for a day. We held a shouted debate on the pros and cons of proceeding upwards, the words snatched from our mouths by the freezing wind which was now howling across the ice and snow and crevasses. By a vote of two to one we decided to go down.

Heading towards the saddle

The storm increased in intensity as we descended and it was late in the evening when we collapsed exhausted into the tent. Soup and mashed potato put some life and warmth back into our tired bodies. We went off to sleep as the storm raged outside.

A few more days of snowfall finally convinced us that we were not going to climb anything. We retrieved some loads from below Granite Peak, packed up Advance Base and felt our way in almost whiteout conditions across the glacier. The crevasses were completely hidden and the diffused light under an overcast sky played tricks with my eyes as I led the way back. It was a nerve wracking traverse, knowing that if any of us fell into a crevasse with the massive loads on our backs, it would be a herculean task for the other two to retrieve the unfortunate victim. We found a huge flat boulder and cached our stuff. Now it would be a simple task to continue on down the moraine ridge to the safety of Base Camp. But our twisted minds had conjured up a last ditch attempt to justify the time and effort we had expended to come to the Chango Glacier.

Corner Peak ( 6370 m)

Across from the boulder, a small glacier led up to an attractive little summit we called Corner Peak. It was about 20,900 feet and was still virgin, though one attempt had been made in the past. We repacked our rucksacks and set off to pitch a camp late in the evening in extremely cold conditions. The initial approach was quite gentle, but it steepened quickly and the snow was deep and soft. A cold wind sprang up and frustrated our attempts to pitch the tent. One of the poles slipped from my hand and shot out of sight down a darkening slope. By the time we had settled in and nourished our bodies it was almost midnight.

Camp on Corner Peak

We spent the next day drying out our gear and hoping that our luck would change.

It didn't. Waking up at 03:45, we could only move at seven o'clock. It was brutally cold, my watch thermometer registered minus 20 deg C and the sun reached us at 06:30. Incredibly, the snow was soft and deep where we had expected it to freeze to a crunchy hardness and we were soon wading up to our knees in the stuff. We reached a bergschrund that split the face. Icicles radiated a cold, indifferent beauty. Above, the slope was composed of hard ice, which came as a surprise. Believing that we were not likely to encounter any ice after the huge snow dumps of the last couple of days, Ajay and I had blithely left our crampons behind. To compound matters, both Harsha and I had elected to leave our short axes out of our gear. So now we had one pair of crampons and one short axe between the three of us. We felt like the Three Stooges, a couple of dilettantes who had seriously underestimated the mountain.

Deep snow on Corner Peak

The yawning chasm loomed above us and beyond that the cold sun glinted off the blue ice. Ajay's feet were beginning to feel numb inside his double leather boots - his socks had not dried adequately the day before. Toiling up the soft and deep snow we were not feeling our best. It was not difficult to accept the fact that we should graciously accept the drubbing that the Chango glacier had meted out to us in the more than four weeks that we had spent in its folds. It was time to go home.

When we arrived at Base Camp late that day, Franklyn and Raj Kumar greeted us. Raj Kumar's teeth had been successfully attended to and Franklyn's solo sojourn had ended. It took us a few days more to evacuate Base Camp, waiting for the mules to show up. It was nearly the end of September and the nights were chilly. The blue HDPE plastic sheet that we had spread below the groundsheet of our big tent as added protection from the stones was frozen into the ground and it took a great deal of effort to wrench it out. I knew it would require an even greater force to stop me from coming back to the Chango. My heart was stuck as firmly as the blue plastic to this inhospitable waste of rock and ice and I knew would return.

The West Col of Leo Pargial as seen from the Ninjeri  valley

Children of Chango

Dibibokri Dreaming - Part 2. Icing on the Birthday Cake.

Paradise has its perils, of course, as Adam and Eve found out a long time ago. I held the apple cupped in the palm of my left hand, using my thumb and forefinger to brace it. With my right hand I aimed the point of the Swiss knife squarely in the middle of the fruit and plunged it home. The blade sliced through the crunchy flesh of the apple and the momentum carried it through until it hit my thumb. There was a moment of pain, I winced, the now halved apple dropped to the ground, and a thick, crimson, viscous ooze spurted from my thumb. I held my left hand way up above my head to stop the flow of blood while Harsha picked up the pieces of apple. To take my mind off the painful thumb, I gazed at the wonderful scenery all around us.

Kulu Makalu ( 6349 m ) and Rubal Kang from our first camp on the West Glacier.

Away to the north, at the head of the glacier, the sun glistened off the great hump of snow that was Rubal Kang ( 6150 m / 20,172 ft ), its turtle-head rocky summit almost merging into the rock monolith that was Kulu Makalu - 6349 m / 20,825 ft. Paulo Consiglio ( "Italian Expedition to the Punjab Himalayas, 1961", Himalayan Journal Vol XXIV ) had suggested the name "Lal Kila" (Red Fort, after the famous monument in Delhi ), "because of its bastion-like appearance and the beauty of the red granite". Unfortunately, in all the time that we spent in the West Glacier, not once did the cliffs of Kulu Makalu glow any shade of red!

Sketch map by the late Arun Samant for The Himalayan Journal ( Vol 49 )

My immediate concern was to stem the flow of red fluids from my thumb before attending to other camp chores. Harsha and I had left Franklyn alone at the Advance Base Camp on 22 September, to take up residence in our first camp on the West Glacier. The route wound its way up on the left of the ice fall and was comfortably accomplished in a pair of sneakers; on an earlier foray, my feet shod in plastic climbing boots, the constant boulder hopping had proved to be excruciating. However, the boots came in useful when one day we decided to climb the ice fall as a form of diversion.

Opposite our glacier camp, on the true left bank, rose an attractive summit of 6250 metres, or 20,500 ft. An earlier Italian expedition which climbed Mt. Parvati ( 6633 m ) from the Main Glacier, named it Ice Sail, though from our perspective, it resembled the black sail that a pirate ship might hoist! Perhaps it did have a different appearance from the other side. Black or white, Ice Sail tempted us. It had no previous climbing history, the route we were contemplating seemed well within our modest skills and we reckoned that we might be able to reach its pointed summit in one push from our glacier camp at just under 17,000 ft.

Ice Sail ( 6250 m / 20,500 ft ) from glacier camp

Believing firmly in the benefits of seeing the bigger picture, we decided first to ascend a small peak on our left hand side. We were sure that this little vantage point would give us the perspective needed to attempt Ice Sail which was on the opposite side of the glacier.

Our little lookout peak as seen from Rubal Kang

Leaving the tent in freezing conditions at a little after 5 am with a flask of tea as sustenance, we worked our way up the fourth tributary ice fall on the left of the West Glacier, crossed over a bergschrund to access the summit ridge and clambered up the summit rocks a little after 10:30 in the morning. Though of little consequence as a peak in its own right, it gave us an enjoyable day out with some stupendous views up the glacier. We also got a better perspective of the upper half of Ice Sail. The highlight of the morning, however, was seeing some fresh paw marks on the snow as we walked up the lower part of the mountain. I have always found it fascinating that animals can live at these heights and in these apparently barren landscapes, coming and going without the benefit of all the paraphernalia that we humans have to lug along wherever we go!

The West Glacier curves up towards Rubal Kang and Kulu Makalu

Ice Sail

The alarm went off at 02:30 am and I wriggled myself into a sitting position, my torso and legs still warm in the lower half of my down sleeping bag. I positioned myself at the entrance of the tent and lit the stove under the canopy entrance and began to melt the snow we had collected the evening before. As usual, it took almost 45 minutes to produce two mugs of sweet, milky tea. As I handed over the mug to Harsha, still cocooned in his sleeping bag, he pulled out an envelope and handed it over to me.

"Happy Birthday, Aloke," he said. "Here is a little something......Margaret made me promise that I should wait for your birthday before I gave this to you." Margaret, my wife, and my son Sanal were far away in Mumbai but as I opened the envelope and looked at the birthday card, they were as real as sitting in this warm tent on this frigid glacier. There was a letter enclosed with the card, and it was written as if it came directly from my 19 month old son. My wife had done a wonderful job of tugging at the heart strings : "Darling dada," the letter began, "I cannot figure out where you've gone. Sometimes when I see a plane in the sky, I think of you....."

The lump forming in my throat made it difficult to swallow the tea. There were the details of his daily routine and it ended thus : "....take care dada....11th of October seems very far off - say hi to Franky, Harsha and Aneeta.....have a good trip and you must take me with you the next time.....mama sends you her love and hopes she will hear from you by and by......"

Our route to the north col on Ice Sail. Thereafter the route followed the ridge on the other, eastern side, all the way to the top.

I finished drinking my tea, geared up and stumbled out into the bitter cold outside. It was Friday, 27 Sept. and the stars twinkled frostily from a clear sky. I stamped my feet to keep warm while packing up my rucksack and waiting for Harsha to emerge. At 04:00, we began to walk across the glacier towards the base of Ice Sail which loomed out of the darkness, menacing in its blackness. We walked in complete silence, the only sounds the crunching of ice underfoot and the occasional sound of rocks groaning in the grip of frost. Once at the foot of the mountain, we stopped for another cup of tea from our flask before setting off up the left hand branch of the ice fall descending from the west face of Ice Sail. After four hours of climbing, at 08:00, we broke through into the sunlight on the col at the base of the north ridge. The blinding sunshine and the views took our breath away. Another welcome halt was in order to appreciate the scenery.

Climbing into the sunlight on the north col

Mt Parvati ( 6633 m ), left and Dibibokri Pyramid ( 6408 m ) from the col

While it felt great to feel the warmth of the sun on our frozen limbs, we realised that if we lingered too long here, we ran the risk of the snow becoming softer the longer we tarried. The route now forced us to climb on the east side of the mountain, the west being overhung consistently with cornices. The crux of the climb was getting across a bergschrund which split the face higher up. Thereafter we did not experience any more hurdles and, a few hours later, were striding along the summit ridge leading to a very unstable boulder perched at the very top of the mountain. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, eleven hours since we left our camp. Harsha graciously let me be the first to step on to the summit, me being the birthday boy. I could barely conceal my pleasure: this was awesome, a First Ascent of an unclimbed peak of 20,500 ft. in the Kullu Himalaya as a birthday present! The gods had been indulgent, and I felt truly blessed.

Harsha high on Ice Sail.

I stop to admire some of the peaks of the Upper Parvati basin

Harsha with Mt.Parvati in the background

I take the final steps to the summit

We spent perhaps half an hour on the summit before beginning our descent, leaving a token red nylon sling draped round a rock a few feet below the top. We hurried on down as a mist began to envelop us and snow began to fall from the sky. By the time we had regained the glacier it was dark and we had to locate our tent with our headlamps and instinct. It was 7 pm and we were exhausted. I heated up some soup and leftover khichri and we were in our sleeping bags by nine o'clock. I closed my eyes in utter bliss and drifted off to a deep and satisfying slumber.

Heading to the base of Rubal Kang

Rest is for the wicked, they say. Therefore, since we considered ourselves still untainted by evil, we packed up our camp the next day and moved on up the glacier to pitch the tent at the base of Rubal Kang, which we intended to tackle next. Since the mountain seemed to be a fairly simple climb via its normal route, we decided to do a variant by trying to access the upper half of the long snow ridge which drops down from the summit via the gap between two clusters of rock which adorned the south east aspect of the peak.

But first my clothes had to dry! (see http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2013/09/dibibokri-dreaming-part-1-freedom-of.html ). We spent two extremely cold days as the weather worsened, making use of the time by using the stove to dry our inner boots, our gloves and socks - all of them had taken a severe beating in the relentless snowfall.

We set the alarm for 02:30 am but could not get going for almost three hours as the wind howled outside our tent. Finally, when it subsided around a quarter to six, we threw caution to the (what else!?) winds and headed out. The sky was clear and we were freezing, but made reasonable progress on our intended route, enjoying the exposure and the beauty of the ice.

Harsha heads for the rocks across a bergschrund

The view down the face to the glacier. Harsha is just visible at the bottom of photo.

My turn to head up to the ridge

We were elated when we topped out on the ridge, thinking that the summit was now only a dreary plod away. However, we had not reckoned with our friend the wind. It greeted us with fiendish intensity, sucking every ounce of heat in our bodies and threatening to blow us clean off into the Tichu Nala beyond. By 3 pm we were exhausted, depleted of body warmth and could sense the bitter taste of defeat. It was a classic illustration of the So Near and Yet So Far syndrome. Deeming retreat to be the better part of valour, we took a few last photographs and turned around, descending the ridge all the way down to its end where it met the glacier.

Harsha gazes wistfully at Kulu Makalu (left) while the rocky summit of Rubal Kang juts out tantalisingly close from the final snow slopes in the middle of the picture.

Descending the long whale back ridge of Rubal Kang. The glaciers on the peak behind drain into the Tichu Nala

We had one last desire to fulfil before heading down to Advance Base : a peek into the No.2 Glacier from the saddle below Kulu Makalu. So off we scampered on the first day of October. The visit to the col was worth it in terms of a better understanding of the terrain and some great views.

Mt. Parvati from the saddle between the West and No.2 glaciers.

On the evening of the next day, 2nd October, we staggered into Advance Base heavily laden, exactly 10 days after having left. Franklyn had seen our little dots grow bigger as we came down the final moraine slopes and had a brew of hot coffee waiting when we laid down our loads at the kitchen cave. He had been totally on his own, with no human contact whatsoever, and was overjoyed to see us. The temperamental little transistor radio was all he had if he wanted to listen to voices other than his own! As we sipped the coffee, he had a severe attack of verbal diarrhoea, the words spilling out in an uncontrolled flow, filling us in on how he had passed the time. If something had happened to us up on the glacier, he had no means of knowing, and was not really equipped to find out either. In that sense, we were all gamblers out there, taking our chances and prepared to live with the consequences.

That night we fried some corned beef and added it to our staple fare of khichri and pickles. To celebrate our modest successes and the fact that we were all alive and well and together again, Harsha produced a bottle of cognac from his secret stash. Dibibokri was now a dream come true.

Further Reading :

                     
1) "The Dibibokri Basin....and beyond". By Kenneth Snelson, Himalayan Journal

Vol. XVIII Page 110.


2) "Italian Expedition to the Punjab Himalayas, 1961". By Paulo Consiglio, Himalayan

Journal Vol.XXIV Page 86.


3) "The first ascent of Mt.Parvati." By Tremonti M. Himalayan Journal Vol. XXX

Page 201.