20 March 2021

Continuation

Aerial view of the Kolahoi Glacier snipped from Google Maps

43,000 words typed and I am left with just six hours more to do. It began as a dutiful task by a son in honour of his father but as it has progressed I have become enamoured with the story. Two young RAF men in the middle of a war, finding themselves on leave in the Western Himalayas and having the time of their lives - creating special memories that they would bring back to England, memories that would help to sustain them in the years ahead.

At one point my father mentions donning his balaclava. I remember that balaclava. It was a dusty pink colour and had a bobble on the top. I found it in a drawer in the early 1960's and I asked my father about it. He said he had worn it in The Himalayas - some faraway mountains in India and he mentioned a walk across a glacier though I had no real conception of what a glacier might be.

Arnold and Dad took seven hours to reach the summit of Doodh Nag - a sister mountain to the more famous Mount Kolahoi. Then they took five hours to return to their encampment below the glacier, next to a surging glacial stream. What a day that was! 

The next day, gloom descended as they prepared to head back to Delhi - almost a thousand miles away. Eighteen months later the war would be over and Dad would marry Mum in New Delhi before returning to England where they would begin a happy postwar life together, being good British citizens and raising four sons. 

🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘

On the summit of Doodh Nag:-

So with Kolahoi always in our view, we started off on the last lap to the summit. It was comparatively easy going up well-worn and rather sharply serrated rock but after the struggle of the climb from the couloir it felt rather restful. When we at last reached the head of the slope we found what we had half-expected – namely that we had not yet reached the highest point for from where we now stood there was a very gradual rising slope which led to the highest point. The peak itself was crowned with a gigantic rock about twelve feet high. Travelling faster than we had travelled all morning we arrived at the base of this great rock together. This saved argument as to who reached the top first. We did not stop but surveyed the rock for a way to the top of it. A convenient little rising edge not more than an inch wide at any point presented a means by which we could scale this last obstacle. There was sufficient roughness to provide all the finger holds we needed. So Arnold started up in a monkey-like manner. 

Quickly and with agility he reached the top and stood up tall shaking his clasped hands above his head much in the same manner of a boxer who has just won a prize fight. Following his example and in his foot and hand holds I was soon standing beside him and together we sat down on the weather-polished crown of the rock and stared about ourselves in wonderment. Arnold was particularly ecstatic about the day’s work for it was his highest ever mountain and I too was jubilant though it was my second highest climb.

Returning from the summit:-

From the col we scanned what lay below it for we hoped to leave the saddle on which we had stood and traverse diagonally down. About fifty feet below the saddle and away to the right, the steep slope seemed to be scarred with gullies of small dimensions but all snow-filled. Each of these, assuming that it finished safely at the bottom, provided a quick and easy downward path. So among the rocks below the saddle we struck own down and to the right. It was rather rough work on the ankles and except for the necessity of exercising a little caution there was no difficult obstacle to bar our way into the first gully. In this the slope of the snow was at an angle of around forty degrees and it sloped away down to the depths about a thousand feet below before it ended at a broad ledge, almost like the little plateau of Chhota Nag. 

There was absolutely nothing to prevent us revelling in the exhilarating exercise of glissading, elegantly or otherwise, down this slope. Independently, we started off and a few seconds later the wind was whistling in a cold, mad rush past our ears as we gathered speed down the snow. With conservative care I decided to try and find how quickly I could stop. The only possible method seemed to be to lift up one foot and drive one heel into the snow as a brake. Perhaps the word should have been “break” for no sooner had I attempted this than I turned at least two somersaults and finished at a very full stop several feet below. The experiment had been a success though not a comfortable one. Arnold was by this time way down below me. Gathering confidence from his descent, I continued my downward flight and soon I was sitting on my rump amidst the soft slush and rocks on the ledge, having followed Arnold’s example faithfully and down to the finest detail. For some time after this I felt very uncomfortable for the seat of my trousers was saturated.

Back at the camp:-

After what seemed like an age we eventually came within sight of our little camp and our steps were given a new vigour with the sight of a large and cheery fire crackling away merrily before our tent. Shortly after this, at seven thirty precisely, we slumped into our camp chairs with sighs of deep satisfaction. We had been away twelve and a half hours and the majority of this time had been devoted to walking or climbing. There was no wonder that we both swore that we had never felt so physically exhausted in all our lives. We sat there a while and drank cups of the most wonderful tea that has ever been brewed. Thus regaled and strengthened we removed most of our clothes and had a thorough wash in the waters of the stream which had ironically just cost us an additional two hours of walking. Arnold splashed and puffed during his ablutions as though he and cold water were the greatest of pals.

Some time shortly after this we were both sitting, warmly clad by our dancing bonfire with a feast of roast leg of mutton and various choice vegetables before us. All the trials and tribulations of the day were behind us and we felt like joint kings of the Earth. This is one of the things that I can never understand about physical exercise of any description. The enjoyment of the period immediately following a time of physical exertion seems to vary in proportion to the amount of energy expended. One can return, as we did, utterly worn out and after a bath and a meal and a change of clothing one feels fresh and fit and in the best of spirits. So we were and after dinner we even sang songs between jokes and swapped tales of past experiences. All memories of the harder and least appealing parts of the day were forgotten and we focused on the most enjoyable parts, the best climbs, the superb scenery and feelings of freedom that will never die.

38 comments:

  1. That sense of freedom: I remember waking up on the front porch of a deposito outside Mexico City with the feet of a friend in my face and a rooster staring curiously down from the railing. I sat up and leaned against that rustic building and watched the sun rise as the rest of my traveling mates (there were 7 of us) slept. I thought 'on my death bed, when my life flashes before my eyes, I will remember this moment.' 40 years later, I believe it still.

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    1. The thing is that you knew it, felt it in that moment of awareness.

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  2. I like the last half of his last sentence" and feelings of freedom that will never die." It's a great description of the day he had.

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    1. I know that you have climbed mountains Red and so this account would have a special, personal resonance for you.

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    2. Yes, being in the high country is a treat. Mountain meadows are full of life.

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  3. This is wonderful. Your Father was quite a talented writer.

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    1. I never knew that until I started this typing up process.

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  4. YP I bet you've got to know a little more about your father than you knew before! He was an adventurer and so much enjoying the experience at a time when life was so trepidatious due to wartime. I've loved reading your snippets from his journey and of his shared experience with friend Arnold... I wonder if he maintained that friendship post wartime?

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    1. Arnold was the best man at Mum and Dad's wedding. He lived in Stockport near Manchester. I probably met him several times at annual RAF Delhi reunions in Leeds but I cannot remember this.

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  5. I never knew your father but I love him and I can see him in my minds eye. Mr god, man! Each sentence is a magnificent story of pleasure and prose and adventure!! You must do something with his story. Leave it as is and then add to the beginning and the end or intersperse your words with his or .....something. But you must share his words somehow with more people than just us, your best friends.

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    1. Thank you for your support Donna. I plan to publish it as an e-book and have hard copies made for my brothers and perhaps my son and daughter. I just wish that I had some of Arnold's photographs to illustrate the story.

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    2. You know what strikes me, YP? There might well be a son or daughter of Arnold's who has a box of pictures and says, "Boy...wouldn't it be great to know the story of these pictures? It seems like they had the time of their life..." You need to go looking for the offspring of Arnold. I am sure you know his last name. Dig, man, dig. One day, we could all be watching a Netflix movie about this incredible climb and the story of how their children persevered until they were able to put the pieces of the story together.

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    3. I know where Arnold died and when but frustratingly I cannot find out any more just now. I will keep trying. I know that Arnold was a skilled photographer.

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  6. I love it that you remember having seen that original balaclava, and your Dad‘s explanation. I also love the description of how the two young men felt during and after their hike. In a much smaller measure, I can relate to how elated one can feel after a mountain climb and a restorative meal.

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    1. I love their boyishness - a kind of innocence prevails.

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  7. What wonderful writing, and what a relaxed attitude your father and Arnold approached the climb. They make it sound so easy - almost a boy's adventure. They had such a unique opportunity - something very few of their generation had, and made the very most of it, revelling in the enjoyment of their surroundings. I'm so glad to read that they enjoyed their well deserved roast mutton meal!
    The story is so different from the hype that seems to surround any Himalayan climb today.

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    1. No ropes. No helmets. No fancy apparel. But they did have a shoulder of mutton and dad had his pipe and pipe tobacco. Thanks for reading with keen interest CG.

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  8. Have you ever been mountain climbing Mr Pudding?

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    1. I have climbed Snowden, Ben Nevis and Scafell Pike - if indeed you can call them proper mountains. They were easy and safe. The inherent dangers of rock climbing and indeed snow climbing just do not appeal to me. I guess I am a bit of a wuss in that regard.

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  9. When you think of how pristine the environment must have been then. The clarity, the quiet--the lack of driven people who only want to capture a photo for social media--just the genuine delight of two good friends who have pushed their physical selves to the limit, not for glory or attention, but simply for pure enjoyment. For an opportunity they knew would never come their way again. Simply marvelous.

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    1. You have got it Mary - the very essence of this tale.

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  10. You are lucky to have your dad's journal and lucky to have had him for a father I'm thinking. I never really knew my father. He kept himself walled off from his children, walled off from the world, trying to stay safe.

    Thank you for sharing this.

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    1. I never thought of myself as being especially fortunate in the father stakes but I guess I really was. He was a very decent man and I loved him.

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  11. I wonder how often your father would think about those moments in the Himalayas in his life as a father, husband, teacher and shake his head and say to himself- Did all of that really happen?

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    1. I understand exactly what you are saying Mary. Sadly, it is something we will never know.

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  12. Great read. I wish you much success with your ebook YP.

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    1. I do not expect to make many sales. But e-publishing allows me to put it on record.

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  13. Glissading down the slope sounds pretty scary! I love his description of the exhilaration that follows a prolonged period of exertion. Ah, those endorphins!

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    1. Do you fancy glissading yourself Steve?

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  14. What a marvellous memoir - have you, I wonder, considered sending a copy to the Alpine Club - they would I think be very interested for their archives. These things should not be lost.
    Glissading is a lost art - all of the old mountaineering books used to include descriptions as to how descend that way - but not today - it is, I suspect, considered far too risky for our Health & Safety conscious world!
    I mentioned in an earlier comment the book on Shipton and Tillman in the Himalaya - I hope you will get a copy (when libraries open perhaps?); it is so resonant of your father's writing.

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    1. Thank you for your interest The Bike Shed and for the appealing book link. I will certainly also consider "The Alpine Club" connection. I had never heard of this organisation.

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    2. Here is a link - their archive is huge - I'm sure they would be very interested. It is quite a significant organisation.
      http://www.alpine-club.org.uk/

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  15. It's a great read. Now I want to know how your mother came to be living in New Dehli too? Was she also in the Services?
    Adele

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    1. Yes she was - WAAF. Women's Auxiliary Air Force.

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  16. And PS, what was your mother doing in New Delhi? And do you still have that balaclava?

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    1. No. Do not have the balaclava. My mother was in the WAAF - Women's Auxiliary Air Force stationed in Delhi.

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  17. I'm really pleased for you that you took the plunge after your initial hesitancy and that the book will be published. Your Dad would be proud that you had honoured him thus.

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    1. I also plan to make hard copies for my brothers and my two children.

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