Base Camp To Katmandu

by A. Tallon

It was about midday on the 19th May, that Anderson and I with Pemba Gyalgen some distance behind, glissaded down the snow slope towards Base Camp.  We were supposed to meet Spenceley and Murari at Base sometime that day, but it was doubtful if they would be able to get there in time.  Anderson and I had a really enjoyable httle expedition all of our own in the Dorje Lakpa area but now the time had come for the return.

As Base Camp came in sight, Pemba gave one of those terrific shouts that only Sherpas can give.  And to our delight there came an answering shout from the Camp.  That would be Pasang, who had been to Katmandu with Spenceley and Murari.  Thanks to the sliding properties of our Wyncol trousers we were soon down at the camp where Spenceley talked of his record-breaking journey to Katmandu while Anderson and I read our mail from home.  That afternoon the Okhreni porters began to arrive and we ate and made plans for the next stage of operations.

We decided that Anderson, Spenceley and Pemba should go back to Katmandu by way of the Langtang route while I took the route over the Nauhng Lekh with the porters.  I had to stick to a pretty tight time schedule to meet the Embassy Land Rover at Sankhu on the 28th.

That night it was very cold and several inches of snow fell.  In spite of the spare clothing and bottle of over-proof rum which we had given to the porters they had had a rough time behind their boulders and under the mountain tent flysheets.  To aggravate matters it snowed most of the next day.  However, we managed to sort supplies out for the day following and fixed the Memorial Plaque on the rock behind Base Camp.

We were up at 4.15 on our last morning at Base and had the fire going before Pemba got out of bed (one up to the Sahibs).  The Langtang party were away at six and I was left with twenty loads to fit onto eighteen porters.  Nima Lama and a couple of his friends who were cleaning up the chaos at Base were persuaded to carry the extra loads to Pemsal where I hoped I could secretly pack the extra into the other loads while the porters were having breakfast.  Suffering much personal discomfort and a certain loss of dignity, I carried a forty pound load down to Pemsal on a headband, where I was able to rearrange the loads, and with Murari and me carrying much more than we had intended, we were able to move off.  Nima Lama’s grandson carried for us to Tempathang in return for an empty box.  The two porters who were to meet the Langtang party dashed off ahead of us bearing iceaxes and wearing balaclavas and snow goggles.  One of them took my anorak with him—I never saw it again—he lost it somewhere on the way.

We did not do a long march that day—to a Yak pasture just below the Rhakti Khola.  It was a pleasant march through pine forests with flowers and wild strawberries lining the path.  I saw my first leeches on the journey, they were hanging from the shrubs at the side of the path ready to cling to any bare foot that came within reach.  Thanks to Jones’ anti-midge cream we were all eaten alive that night.

The Okhreni men were enjoying this trip.  They knew just how long they had to reach Katmandu and it was quite obvious that they intended to take their own time.  The trouble was that besides the 60 lbs.  plus that they were carrying for us they all had about 30 lbs.  of loot that they had collected from Base Camp and it was truly remarkable in the circumstances just how fast they did move.  It was amusing to see them when we stopped for the night — they would hght a fire with expedition matches, smoke an expedition cigarette, take a drink of expedition lemonade from their expedition plastic bottles and retire under their expedition flysheets — the only thing they had left at Base Camp was toilet paper !

Next morning we were up early ready for an early start, we rose at 4.30 and at 7.30 were still there.  Eventually we did get away and moved for an hour without a halt.  After that it was the usual routine of half hour march, 20 minutes rest until at 3 p.m. we were just below Tempathang and it had just started to rain.  The porters decided to camp — it was quite a pleasant spot but there was only glacier water to drink — I decided to risk it for one night.  The day’s march had been through dense forests and I had found it rather hot after the snows and had not been going quite so well as usual.  Pasang gave a touching httle display of loyalty today.  I had wandered off into the jungle on one of my solo expeditions and returned to the track to find the rest of the party had disappeared, I pressed on — it was never a difficult job to overtake these chaps and I was not really worried about getting lost, after about five minutes I passed Pasang who had apparently stopped to admire the view and took not the shghtest notice of me so absorbed was he in the snow-capped hols and pine forests.  Then, about 200 yards lower down, he made apparent the reason for his lingering.  He shouted to me and pointed to a hidden path that branched off from the main path, the main party had gone that way and Pasang had waited behind specially to save me from about half an hour’s extra walk.  A touching httle gesture and so typical of the Sherpas’ loyalty towards their Sahibs.

That evening we had a visit from some of the Tempathang residents who insisted on making me drink some sour milk which they considered to be a great delicacy.  I managed to stop myself being sick until they all left.

Next morning we were away in quite good time, we soon crossed the Belephi Khola and set off upwards on to the ridge of the Nauling Lekh.  The sides of the valley are so steep at this point that one of the Okhreni porters threw a stone at Tempathang on the opposite side of the river.  He didn’t hit anyone.  At about ten o’clock we reached a house where some women gave us water and sour milk and we had a long rest.  Two of the porters were not going so well, Kami Lama had a fever and hired two girls to carry his load to the next camp.  Another Sherpa, a lad of fourteen (who was married) had so much loot from base camp that he could hardly move.  All day we walked uphill and I frequently went ahead to try to see the top of the mountain we were chmbing but it was impossible to see very far ahead because of the dense forests.  All the time we had splendid views of the mountains through the rhododendron trees, and finally we reached a rather dirty looking pond where we camped.  It was a very romantic looking camp site, with the tents reflected in the pool, the Jugal Himal across the valley and the porters all squatting round their fires smoking, talking and gambling for cigarettes.

Travelling in the Himalaya with 20 porters is a very interesting experience but it is also hard work — one has to be expedition doctor, treasurer, surveyor, Burra Sahib, food officer, secretary and photographer all at the same time.  Jones had given me instructions on dealing with any complaints likely to be met with and that evening I treated what I thought to be one case of malaria, three of dysentry, four of bronchitis, one foot with a thorn in it, and a swollen knee.  Most of my treatment could be classed as faith healing !

At six next morning I was having tea in my sleeping bag and at eight we were on the road.  Kami Lama still had a fever and so I carried a tent for him.  We marched uphill for a time and then after crossing a couple of cols we went down for a short distance and found some water for lunch.  A mere trickle, little more than a wet rock, but enough for everyone.  Just after lunch there was a lot of arguing amongst the porters, it looked as if I might have a strike on my hands.  Murari came to explain the situation to me.  The porters had agreed to get to Katmandu in eight days, but they wanted to spend a night at Okhreni on the way and because of the shortage of water on the ridge they were reluctant to go very far beyond the infrequent springs.  This meant that they could not reach Okhreni tomorrow as they had intended.  I consider it the greatest achievement in my Himalayan career that I managed to persuade them to set off early the next day and try to get home before night fall.  I learnt later that the real reason for them wanting to stay this side of Okhreni was that according to a local superstition they thought it unlucky to enter their homes after an absence of nine days.  Most of them had been away from home exactly eight days at the time of the argument They did reach home the next day and avoided arousing the anger of the gods by waiting outside their houses until nightfall and then nipping inside when no one was watching.

We reached camp that evening after another pleasant day’s march.  The camp was on a little col and we were joined there by six men who were out collecting bamboo for mats.  After my evening surgery I trimmed by beard just in case there was a dance on at Okhreni the next night.

We were all away by seven the next morning.  The porters really had their noses pointing towards home that day.  I remember I stopped to do some surveying along the ridge and it took me about two hours to catch up with them.  I met Tensing Lama on his way home after taking Jones and Lhakpa to Katmandu.  I had a long conversation with him and managed to find out that the patients were both in hospital.

I arrived at Okhreni about three with the first of the porters and spent a pleasant two hours wandering from house to house testing the different brews of rahksi and chang.  At one house we had some roasted wheat which tasted just hke a breakfast cereal.  By the time we reached Kami Lama’s house where we were to spend the night I found that I was speaking the language quite fluently.  Murari, Pasang and I had a meal in the ground floor of the house.  There are no chimneys in the Sherpa houses and the smoked flies went down very well with the chicken and rice.  After dinner the Sahib rather lowered the British prestige in that area by whistling a very Western tune in the house—he was asked by the master of the house to stop at once.  One must never whistle in Sherpa houses.  The Sahibs’ education was further improved when he was invited by one of the porters to walk round to his house to try some real home brewed chang.  Never have more than three bowls of chang before walking home along a terraced hillside.  Murari and I finally got ourselves back home without too much loss of dignity and crawled into our tent which was pitched in Kami Lama’s front yard.

The following morning we were not away very early.  While we were waiting for breakfast Kami Lama showed us the tracks left by a tiger as it had wandered round the house during the night, his dog was missing .  .  .

We were still in a festive mood and finally got away about 10, our water bottles full of chang.  We met up with the rest of the party just outside the village and set off down into the heat of the valley.  We had been joined at Okhreni by a goat and a woman: the goat was being taken to Katmandu to be sold — I think the woman was going shopping.  She evidently con­sidered that it would be more interesting to travel the three days to the big city in the company of twenty men than to do the journey on her own.

We were now moving into Tamang country and here the Sherpas were considered just as outlandish as myself by the locals.  Just before the Indrawatti river the party split up, six of us, including the woman, considered the short deep crossing of the river preferable to the long shallow route.  Some local fishermen helped us to cross, the woman was carried across, Murari gave them half a rupee and the porters gave them some maize flour.  I had neither food nor money to spare and so thanked them.  Murari and I now decided that we would have a swim in a deep pool by the side of the river.  This was a great moment for the Sherpa porters — some of them had never seen anyone swimming and for an hour they all sat on a huge rock shouting and cheering while Murari and I made fools of ourselves in the water.  Two of the porters came into the shallow end of the pool and actually washed themselves.

The camp that night was the one we had used on the way out on the hill above Baman Pati.  Murari took three rupees down to the village and came back with some wood, potatoes and onions.  We dined quite well that night but it was very hot.  Everyone except Murari slept out, it was too hot for a sleeping bag but without one the midges and ants had too much of their own way.  We were all away at half past five the next morning without any breakfast.  The porters were in a great hurry to be as far as possible on the road before the sun came up and Murari was not amused to find the tent down before he was out of his sleeping bag.  We were halfway up the hill before we had breakfast, eggs and rice, and as we ate it we watched the amazing assortment of tins and boxes walking past.  There seemed to be a lot of traffic that morn­ing.  After breakfast, Pasang who seemed to like the heat even less than the rest of us, hired two coohes who were returning empty to Sankhu to carry his load.  There were shouts of “Burra Sahib Pasang” from the other porters as he set off up the road with his men.

It was about this point that I had my first and only attack of dysentery.  It was terribly hot, the road was steep and cover was not always available at the right time and I spent a miserable day.  But everyone was very sympathetic, Murari carried my rucksack and the porters were blaming themselves because they thought I had picked up the disease at their village.  This may well have been so but I tried to reassure them, they looked so worried.  I eventually staggered into camp at Sankhu Pheidi about two hours after everyone else, it was in fact almost dark.  My tent was already up and I slept for two hours and then had quite a good meal.  Then I retired to bed with two thermos flasks, one full of hot coffee and the other full of cold lemonade.

By the time I was up the next morning most of the porters had gone.  They had dashed into Sankhu to hire a lorry to carry them to Katmandu.  These Sherpa people are not without initiative, it cost them their day’s pay to hire the lorry but as most of them had only come for the outing they preferred to do this than march in the heat along ten miles of roadway.  Murari, Pasang, two porters and myself wandered leisurely into Sankhu to meet the Embassy Land Rover at ten.  We had plenty of time to spare and sat around watching the local population going about its business and the business of the local population that morning seemed to be to stand and stare at us.

Anderson and Pemba arrived about ten, Spenceley, having fallen by the wayside with dysentery, was following at his own speed.  The Land Rover arrived at ten thirty, at least I said it was ten thirty but Wilson who had come for the ride informed me that my watch was in fact thirty-five minutes fast — I must have missed the time signals, As soon as we got to the Embassy, Ron Barclay invited us across to his house and half a dozen beers soon cured my dysentery.  Spenceley arrived soon afterwards and we set about adjusting ourselves to civilisation once more — not as difficult a task as we had thought.