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Winston Churchill Memorial Trust

Fellowship

Report

Retracing Uncle George’s Last Expedition – Ama Dablam 1959

Sue Agnew 2009

Aim: Using my Uncle’s diary, retrace the original expedition to Ama Dablam, Nepal in 1959 and

look at some of the environmental, social and economic changes that have taken place since then.

Travel dates: February to April 2009

Countries: India and Nepal

Sue.agnew@virgin.net

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Thanks & Acknowledgments

There are many people, without whose support, I would not have benefited or achieved as

much as I did during my fellowship. This was not an isolated journey, a piece of academic

research, or impassionate venture, but a hugely personal part of my life. The support of my

father and siblings was so important to me, as was that received from my other relations,

friends and acquaintances. Particular thanks to those who looked after my animals, followed

my journey, and showed an interest in my personal development. I was truly grateful and

humbled by their open encouragement and support.

I met many people while I travelled, some who took the time to ask me where I was going,

and listen with interest when they realised I wasn‟t one of the crowd heading to Everest base

camp. Thanks go particularly to my guide Sirdar Hari Chan, who showed compassion and

belief in what I was doing, and I trusted fully to get me to my journeys end. He has become a

friend. And of course Robin, my porter whose smile shone, particularly when he stopped for

those „second breakfasts‟. Both their support went far beyond the normal required for a trek.

I made many friends on my journey; some of whom will be there for life.

On my journey I felt that I was not travelling alone; my mother was there in spirit, and I

believe Uncle George was too. It‟s a journey my mother should have undertaken to see her

brother‟s mountain. It‟s one I took on her behalf and am immensely proud that I did it.

And finally, thanks to the Winston Churchill Memorial Trust for believing in me and

providing the financial support to do the journey and take it beyond just a simple trek.

Introduction

I have always written diaries, and so it seems have members of my family. I knew very little

about my Uncle George, my mother‟s brother, who died before I was born while climbing

some mountain called Ama Dablam. But as children, he was very much part of our lives, and

we grew up with snippets of who he was; his best friend at Cambridge University was

godfather to his namesake George, my older brother; he was a civil engineer, and my younger

brother studied engineering; he climbed throughout Scotland in particular around our home of

Gatehouse of Fleet, and in the Gairloch area in the Highlands, and my mother climbed too.

George was a member of the Alpine Club, and my mother of the Pinnacle Club. I have some

childhood recollections of being taken to climbers‟ club huts and scrambling to the top of

seemingly mountainous 4 storey high bunks. I also remember as a teenager meeting Chris

Bonnington (probably at a RGS meeting) in London with my mother, who warmly kissed her

on the cheek and mentioned Uncle George‟s name.

So when I read the diary he had written up until the final push for the summit, I realised here

was a man that had left some legacy in my blood. My love for the environment and the

outdoors, my rather slow progression through the grades of rock climbing. He was part of a

climbing era that the history books now relish in recording.

However, this fascination for „George and his mountain‟ was a slow developing one. I came

across the National Geographic map of Mount Everest on sale in 1989 and discovered that

Ama Dablam was actually very close. I boldly declared to my family (and others that would

listen!) that I would go to that mountain one day. It only took 20 years to make the gap in my

life to finally achieve that ambition.

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As a very personal quest, it took some time to decide whether I would fund it myself, or look

to another source which would, if successful, inevitably include opening up the story to the

public domain. The Winston Churchill Memorial Trust seemed to be the ideal opportunity to

undertake what I wanted to do, and take this journey of a lifetime in the way I wanted to do it.

I wanted to follow George‟s diary, back to base camp and see if the stone memorial carved in

his and his climbing companions memory, was still there.

I also wanted to see what had changed in the 50 years since George‟s expedition; from an

environmental and socio-economic point of view, all of which would have the keystone of

tourism, be it mountaineering or trekking, as the instigator. It was easy to immerse myself in

the 1950‟s documented detail of routes, Nepal and its people. It was less easy to imagine the

changes Nepal would have encountered 50 years on.

The research started long before I had received the Fellowship, and in 2008 I met one of the

original expedition members, Ted Wrangham. I have learnt that if you approach these

challenges with little expectations, the outcomes can be far greater than you might dare hope.

Ted of course had photographs of the expedition, and kindly allowed me to copy these.

Unfortunately he died before I could return and show him the journey I travelled and the

changes since his own expedition. It was these photos and George‟s diary, which I used to

engross myself into during the journey through 2009 Nepal.

Further research at the Royal Geographical Society produced some exciting results, the most

significant find being the archive containing details of the „British Sola-Khumbu Expedition‟.

This included the expedition‟s original application for funding from the Mount Everest

Foundation. The budgeted cost for the British Sola Khumbu Expedition was £4000, for

which they received a grant of £1750. This included all costs, such as travel, food and

equipment as well as hiring over 60 „coolies‟ or porters, and 4 Sherpas for the 100 days on

the trek and climb. My eight week Fellowship in 2009, where I took one guide and one

porter and trekked for 35 days cost about the same.

At the Alpine Club library, I found out more about George himself as well as Ama Dablam.

He gained a scholarship to Cambridge University to study mechanical engineering and

geology, and it was here that he really developed his interest in climbing and mountaineering.

The Cambridge University Mountaineering periodicals detailed routes and adventures he had

taken during the 1950s including to Rakaposhi in 1954. This unsuccessful summit attempt in

the Himalayas identified some of the acclimatisation problems George suffered. Back home,

his rock climbing adventures are immortalised when in 1957 he and Mike O‟Hara led the

route „Dragon‟, now a classic climb detailed in the climbers book „Hard Rock‟.

The Journey - Leaving Britain

I travelled slightly earlier in the year than the expedition had, arriving in India on 8th

February 2009. The British Sola-Khumbu expedition left Britain on March 21st 1959

consisting of J H Emlyn Jones, the leader who had been one of John Hunt‟s short list for the

1953 Everest Expedition; Frederick Jackson, a cardiologist and the expedition doctor; Mike

Harris, a physicist who was in charge of equipment; my Uncle, George Fraser who was the

engineer in charge of food; and Ted Wrangham, also a Cambridge University graduate, who

was the official photographer. Nea Morin was the only woman on the expedition, and who

subsequently published the book 'A Woman‟s Reach' which included a chapter covering the

journey. I referred to this a lot while on my trek, as it not only filled in the parts my Uncle's

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diary was short on, but also expanded on some of the experience; and of course it gave me

insight to the return journey, which he would never write.

Most expeditions at that time travelled through Delhi, using the British colonial contacts even

though India was by now independent. Nepal had opened its doors fully to visiting

expeditions in the early 1950‟s, and this was the start of two decades of major assaults on

many of the higher peaks in the Himalayas. They flew from London airport, taking 19 and

half hours to Delhi: it‟s now a mere 8 hours with no fuel stops in Zurich, Beirut or Bahrain.

Although the population in Delhi was 2.6million in 1959, it had grown to a staggering

12.2million when I visited 50 years later; however the levels of noise and pollution, squalid

filth and poverty were probably little changed.

Kathmandu

On March 25th, 1959, they flew via Agra, Benaras, and Patna to Kathmandu. Ted and Emlyn

were already there having taken the expedition goods by ship, train and then truck. I arrived

on the direct flight from Delhi to a Kathmandu that has vastly changed in 50 years. George‟s

diary says „Kathmandu has it seems become quite modern recently, largely with the air

service. Electricity...water pipes, cars....worst of all American tourists and hence hotels‟. Had

much changed in 50 years? Electricity was, well at best, erratic. Water was fine in the hotels,

but water trucks were making regular visits for the local residents. And the American tourists

were just one of the now over 400,000 from around the world. Tourism at the end of the

1950s was still very much only a handful, although the Nepali government had included

tourism within its development policies from the mid 1950s and in 1959 there was a newly

formed Department of Tourism. The country was still relatively small in population at this

point, being 8.4million. By 1991, the population was up to 18.4million and by the new

century, over 24million and still growing at 2.3% per annum. Modernisation by western

standards was not keeping pace with this population explosion.

Previous expeditions in the 1950s had been put up at the British Embassy, but to George's

'horror' they were offered the 'Royal Hotel', which was owned and run by Boris Lisanevich,

and ex-ballet dancer from Russia, who was an instrumental figure in building Nepal‟s tourism

industry. This hotel was the meeting place for climbers and expeditions until 1971 when it

closed and the grand Yak & Yeti Hotel became the main venue. I searched for the old hotel,

and found that it was now a government building. I was given permission by the security

soldiers at the gate to take a quick photo of the building across the lawns, where in 1959 the

Sherpas and Porters all gathered to sort and load the expedition goods.

The Sherpas

One person I was very keen to meet while in Kathmandu was Miss Elizabeth Hawley. I had

been lucky enough at home to be recommended a tour company who could organise my

Nepali requirements including my guide and porter, and I will be eternally grateful to Sonam

at Sherpa Adventure Travel. Nothing was too much trouble for him, and when he heard I

was trying to retrace some of the Sherpas from the expedition, he immediately suggested

meeting Miss Hawley and set it up for me.

I was slightly apprehensive about meeting this „indomitable old dame‟ who had lived in

Kathmandu since 1960. She describes herself as a mountaineering chronicler, and was a

good friend of Sir Edmund Hillary. I had just finished reading her biography „I‟ll Call you in

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Kathmandu‟ and it was a little like entering the book itself; the polished bronze plaque

„Elizabeth Hawley, New Zealand Consul‟ at the gate, and the blue VW beetle in the car port.

At 84 she is still respected and admired by many climbers, and continues to record the major

expeditions to Nepal on the Himalayan Database, which is published by the American Alpine

Club and updated annually. It covers all expeditions from before the 1950‟s, and of course

there was an entry for George‟s expedition. It now details nearly 700 expeditions to Ama

Dablam (2008).

Through Miss Hawley‟s contacts, I met Zimba Zambu, who was the grandson of Sirdar

Dawa Tensing. This was where Ted‟s photographs were invaluable; I simply showed him the

photo of the Sherpas and climbers at base camp, and he named every one of them, identifying

his grandfather as well as his father, Ang Temba. They were all pretty much related, which

was very typical when employing expedition support. Often the womenfolk were included as

porter Sherpanis, but never as climbers. Now, women generally stay behind to run the

lodges, while husbands act as mountaineering or trekking guides, however, I did meet one

very accomplished and experienced Sherpa female mountaineering guide leading a client to

Island Peak.

At base camp. L to R: Back: J H Emlyn Jones, Lt Gadul, Nea Morin, Mike Harris, George Fraser, Fred Jackson, Ted Wrangham. Middle: Pemba Tensing, Annullu, Dawa Tensing, Urkien, Ang Temba. Front: Nima Dorje,

Pineri. Photo: Ted Wrangham 1959.

Dawa Tensing Sherpa was probably the most well known of the group and a popular

climbing Sirdar for British expeditions. He seemed quite a character who strongly upheld the

traditions of the Sherpa people, keeping his hair long and wearing an earring. He had been to

Everest South Col on both the 1952 and successful 1953 expeditions, and was Sirdar on the

1st ascent of Kanchenjunga in 1955. As a result of these successes, he visited England and

once when asked what he would like to take back to Nepal, he replied „a good breeding cow‟.

His daughter, Ongmu told me he tragically died in 1986 from his injuries after a bus crash

between Pokhara and Kathmandu, after returning from meeting the Dalai Lama in India. I

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travelled this road sometime later on a bus and I‟m sure the conditions hadn‟t changed much

since then.

Annullu, Dawa‟s brother was also on the 1953 expedition, and the first to reach the South Col

with Wilfred Noyce. He also accompanied his brother in 1955 to Kanchenjunga, and

continued to guide expeditions until his death on Dhaulagiri I when a Swiss Expedition

encountered an avalanche, I think in the 1970s.

Urkien Sherpa was the cook, and had also been on the Kanchenjunga expedition. He was

considered a fine mountaineer and had a charming personality. Ted Wrangham spoke very

warmly of him, and I think he became a friend of the expedition. He died from sickness,

possibly as a result of alcoholism, and George‟s diary did mention Urkiens love of chang, the

local Nepali brew.

Pinuri went on to become a cook for expeditions, but lost a finger through frostbite and then

died. The cousins, Nima Dorje and Pasang Chitar were also gone.

This left two Sherpas. Ang Temba and Pemba Tensing. Zimba told me Ang Temba and

Pemba Tensing were still living in Khumjung, just north of Namche Bazaar. This was terrific

news for me, and I found it all rather emotional and overwhelming. I realised that at that time

there were still four remaining survivors from the 1959 expedition; two Sherpas, and two

British members.

The Trek - Stage 1 – Finding the Old Route (days 1 to 9)

I had met my guide Sirdar Hari Chan a few days before we started the trek: I only needed one

guide and one porter, rather than the 71 porters the expedition used. In 1959, it was quite

normal to take transport as far as they could (to Badgaon or Bhaktapur) and start the walk

from there. However, as a bridge was down, George started walking from Kathmandu itself.

Asphyxiation would have put the end to any desire to do this in 2009! A new airport at

Kathmandu has cut across the original road out of the city, and trucks, buses, cars, mopeds,

motorbikes all clog up the potholed tarmac out of the Kathmandu valley. Hari had already

investigated the first part of the trek, using my notes from George‟s diary, to find out where

we might start from to avoid walking on roads.

We left Kathmandu on Wednesday 15th

February, about 5 weeks earlier than the expedition

did. I was very nervous and apprehensive, yet excited as I‟m sure the expedition was. Was I

fit enough to cover the 240kms of tough trekking which would ascend and descend over

15,200m? Was I carrying too much and would my bag be too heavy for Robin, my porter?

I had filled up with 3 litres of water, using the refill opportunities provided by KEEP

(Kathmandu Environmental Education Project) to try and reduce my plastic bottle use. This

is one of the greatest changes in 50 years, yet identifies one of the greatest challenges the

Nepali people still have. The water is still potentially contaminated, especially in the more

populated areas, and as the Nepali population continues to grow, this continues to be a

problem. Drinking the tea is usually safe, as the water has boiled (but this still needs to be

watched, as some outlets try to save fuel, and just heat the water), and chemicals such as

iodine which have been used since the earlier expedition days are still the main way to fight

the dangerous pathogens. I‟d bought some very good tablets which left very little chemical

taste, and I filled up and drank water from the same wells and water pipes as my companions.

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I met several enlightened trekkers using „steripens‟ a portable device which produces a UV

light and kills the pathogens in the same way we treat our private water supplies at home.

However, despite the availability of these alternatives, and sound guidance and information

provided in all the guide books, I was shocked at the number of tourists who were still buying

bottled water. There are plenty more sustainable options to spend tourist dollars and provide

income to the local population if that was a concern.

We started about 20km out of Kathmandu at Banepa. This first section of the walk was a

wonderful 8 days, through countryside now seldom visited by tourists. The scene was set as I

sat outside my first tea house, drinking sweet black tea, perched on a chair surrounded by

school children practicing their English as Hari and Robin sorted out the luggage.

It had taken the expedition just over a day to reach this point, and there must have been far

more interest from local communities in the large number of porters and group of sahibs than

I was receiving, but my Uncle rarely mentions this in his diary. On that first day‟s walk we

reached a village high on the ridge, and I was able to show the locals who had gathered, the

photo taken of the same place, 50 years previously. We were on the expedition‟s route.

We followed dusty tracks, old cobbled paths and at times short cuts across the layered

terraces, and most days had the sound of the road traffic constantly in our ears. This was

built through a Swiss development programme, to assist in the agricultural development of

the area. However, it also provided access for expeditions, cutting many miles off their

journey. In 1953 the British Everest expedition started from Bhaktapur, a few miles out of

Kathmandu. By 1963 Banepa was accessible, and by 1967 the road was at Dolaghat. It took

until 1980 to take it through to Kirantichap and finally it arrived at Jiri in 1984. The 10 hour

bus journey to Jiri reduces the trek by about a week, and the old route became unused. Along

this part of the trek, one of the most frequent questions we were asked was “why are you not

taking the bus?”

But the biggest change to the trekking route was when the airport at Lukla started to take

commercial flights in the 1970s. From here it is less than a day‟s walk to Namche Bazaar.

The landing strip was opened in 1964, originally to transport materials to the Khumbu region

for the Edmund Hillary Schools. As tourism grew, expeditions and trekkers started to

completely bypass the long walk in, and miss in my opinion, not only the chance to get fit to

tackle the high climate once past Namche Bazaar, but also the highly rewarding cultural and

historical trail that is followed.

Mobile phone network was also obvious as both my guide and porter‟s phones were

constantly ringing. Mobile coverage has only just come to Nepal in the past couple of years,

and like the entire world, it has been embraced by city and rural dwellers alike and is more

common than satellite television. I found it an intrusion and a distraction as my companions

managed their personal business while I tried to concentrate on the journey ahead. Luckily

the further we walked away from Kathmandu, the less available the coverage became, and

eventually I had my sought after peace and quiet.

I was starting to build a relationship with my guide and porter, something which was very

evident during George‟s journey too. Ted had spoken with great fondness of the Sherpa

guides, and I was drawn immediately to the friendly nature and good humour of my

companions. Hari spoke good English and was keen to learn more: he learnt some interesting

words on our journey such as „proud‟ and „stubborn‟ as well as English words for some of the

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plants and birds we saw. Robin spoke a few words, but his smile and laugh (which was

often) was infectious and lifted my spirits when I was tired, hungry or just generally fatigued.

I found these first few days long, both emotionally and physically, as we all got into a

rhythm. We were walking for about 7 hours (this was about the average whilst in the lower

altitudes), often on very dusty trails, through banana, mango and papaya groves, past green

terraces of wheat, potatoes and paddy fields. We walked with the local population and every

village or house we passed, or traveller we met, asked us questions about why we were

walking. The old trails were identified by the enormous pipal trees, offering shelter and a

resting point, with carefully built walls to perch the traditional baskets on, or these days,

backpacks.

These networks of routes are still the main form of travel between the villages and fields, for

school or work. We used the many tea houses for tea or meals, usually consisting of Dal

Bhat, the local staple food of rice, dal (a lentil soup) and vegetables (normally some greens

and potatoes). Hari and Robin would work very closely with the cook in the „kitchen‟ at one

end of a ramshackle wooden shed, where a small wood fire would be lit in a clay lined pit.

They gave directions about cleanliness, checking the water was boiling, and pots were clean.

A bowl of water, soap and towel were always produced for me to wash my hands and face

before I ate. Hari was very nervous about the risk of me getting sick, which was very real in

a country that has no running water in houses and people share living space with chickens,

goats and water buffalo. However, it turned out I still have a good constitution and I only had

one quick bout of diarrhoea on the whole trip which was probably more to do with the sudden

intake of fruit rather than cooked meals.

The houses in the villages were traditionally built brick, with mud interiors and a tiled roof

and probably not dissimilar to 1959, still with no glass in windows and in many cases,

newspapers on the bedroom walls as insulation and decoration. Cooking would be done on

an open fire in the corner of the main living room, sometimes with a chimney removing the

acrid smoke, often just a hole in the wall. Some fires were just laid on the mud floor, others

were in the clay lined pit. Often cooking would be accompanied by the munching of the

water buffalo in the corner, and none of the houses had running water.

Amongst the equipment Robin carried, my most welcome comforts included a thermarest to

put on the hard wooden bed, a camping stool, and my sarong which I could rig to provide

some level of privacy if the room was open or insecure. Although it was against my

independent and self-sufficient nature, I had to sit back and let Hari and Robin fuss around

me, preparing my meals, my bed, bringing me hot tea. Only occasionally was I fast enough

to grab the plate and wash it or peel my own orange. I was certainly not allowed anywhere

near the kitchen to help cook or carry water: I was the memsahib of my own expedition.

We moved on through hilly scenery covered with terraces and some small wooded

plantations, with villages and houses perched on ridges or hillsides, ascending and

descending constantly as we travelled eastwards across the countryside. With no tourism in

the area, we were living very much like the locals. When we were preparing to leave

Kathmandu, Hari knew very little about the country we would travel through on this stage

and therefore we carried camping equipment in case we could not find accommodation.

We actually never camped, as we found somewhere to stay each night. I later learned from

Hari that many people were asking what we were carrying in our bags, and if we were linked

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to the CIA or Maoists. There was general suspicion as to why a white Memsahib and two

Nepalis were walking through countryside that had not seen trekkers for many years. We

were even warned not to camp as there were some „bad men‟ in the area. Of course Hari told

me none of this until we were safely into the tourist areas, and I think there were many other

things he did not tell me at all.

When we were welcomed into Nepali homes, it was one of the most rewarding experiences

and I was glad to be providing a little income to these friendly people. Each day was so very

different from the last and every one held special memories for me. On my first night in

Harokse, we spent the night at the teachers house, with inquisitive village children with no

understanding of my need for privacy at the end of a long day. The excitement and warmth

of welcome from Anita, a young trainee teacher who invited us to her uncle‟s home at Dumre

where we had a wonderful social evening in broken English, although Hari had to decline on

my behalf the offer to share the bed with Anita. The rather surreal night at Leuri Deurali

where a wedding was taking place, and the small house we stayed in turned into a pub that

night and Hari spent most of it awake with his Kukri knife under his pillow in case some

intoxicated Nepali attempted to ascend the stairs to where I was sleeping. The very basic

house at Thulo Dhadin, that the Lama kindly gave up to us; in the last warmth of the sunlight,

I got some water and washed my hair and clothes which was total bliss. The only

uncomfortable aspect was that the toilet was the nearby woods, or the adjacent field. I was

careful where I walked the next morning, as the chickens or goats had not yet cleaned up after

the local children.

At Kiranthichap, my bed was kindly donated by an old lady, who simply moved in with her

granddaughter. The expedition had purchased an animal here – probably a sheep, and it

seemed we could do the same as we had chicken that night in a traditional Nepali curry. We

paid 200 rupees for this luxury (about £1.80). Then the first of the local boarding houses,

where Hari found me a room in a dirty, rundown shack, with old dirty newspapers covering

the wooden walls. The saving grace was a small balcony from which I had a stunning view

across to the distant snow capped mountains. George had referred to it as the Gaun Sankar

massif, extending as far as Numbur. We were heading that way.

Then there were the times when I really felt I was following in the expedition‟s footsteps.

When we got to the Indrawati and Sun Kosi rivers, we crossed by one of the suspension

bridges mentioned by George in his diary. The milky waters that they had stopped to swim

and wash in were enticing, but I did not partake. At Dumre we found the camping spot

mentioned in George‟s diary, and I retook the photo taken by Ted in 1959.

When we reached Risingo, which sits high on a hill with the white Buddhist monastery

prominent on its spur of land, we met Samlit, the head of the town. George had camped in

the enclosure at the monastery and mentioned its colourful paintings, prayer flags and prayer

wheels. Samlit explained that they had not tourists come through here for about 30 years,

but the area around the monastery had been used in the past for camping by expeditions.

There were now trees where it had once been completely deforested to allow space for tents.

The environment had made a recovery, but the people were poorer for it as the tourism had

been a valuable income. He showed us the fading frescos on the walls which they were trying

to repaint, as part of the building restoration; even in poverty it was important to look after

the temples.

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By the third day we started to encounter the first of many prayer or mani walls – always pass

to the left – as George had also recorded. These stone tablet dykes are covered with the

Tibetan Buddhist inscription „om mani padme hum‟, which means „hail to the jewel in the

lotus‟. It became a game for Hari and me to always walk on the left of them, which

sometimes took us off our path and on a bit of a diversion!

Bridges features quite a lot in an engineer‟s diary, and at the Charnawati River, the old

„Himalayan bridge‟ mentioned in George‟s diary was still there, the wires in place, the chains

and single planking broken and dangerous. However, we crossed by the safe modern bridge

next to it. The next river crossing at the Bhota Kosi River was more exciting, but not from a

dangerous point of view. This suspension bridge was also mentioned in George‟s diary, but

when trying to transcribe from his wiry handwriting, I had struggled to read the reference:

„John M Henderson, Aberdeen, Scotland, ref G4??‟. It was such a thrill to fill in the missing

numbers from the plaque as „G4720‟. We spoke to the old man at the bridge house and he

proudly informed us it had been in place for 84 years, and the only change was it had a metal

walkway rather than wooden planks. Of course the other change is that it is not now the main

route across the Bhota Kosi River as there is a road bridge nearby.

One night, we found rooms at the Agricultural Research Station which had been built in 1964

with American development funding. Hari was very keen on this, assuming I would be

happier with four painted walls around me and an ensuite toilet. I was less so, as I actually

preferred the simple living of the local people. The rooms were dark and damp, little

changed since they were built and of course the toilet did not flush. However, I did have a

bucket bath, which was bliss!

It was also a chance to learn a little about the agricultural activity in Nepal. As the

population has increased the difficulty has been trying to grow the food supply to match. The

research station was set up to look at barley, wheat, maize and corn varieties and is now run

by the Nepali government. Most of the current research is looking at disease resistant

varieties that might be more reliable, particularly during climate change. There had been no

rain that winter, except in the far east of the country, and as a result many crops were

struggling. Luckily there is (at present) a constant supply of water coming from the glaciers

in the mountains which allows irrigation. However, the difficulties of infrastructure (or lack

of) to move food around the country, as well as any political unrest which might block this,

add to the problems caused by climate change. At the same time, the population is growing

at about 2.5% per annum, and the cities such as Kathmandu at a much faster rate. Whilst

communities were continuing to be self-sufficient in their food production, the cities needed

more and more as they grew to accommodate those seeking employment. Any major

changes in climatic conditions are going to have a devastating effect on such a poor and fast

growing population.

When we reached Sikri on the 8th day, I knew we were near to the road head; televisions were

blaring and satellite dishes were fixed to the mud brick walls of some houses; we were about

to join the tourist trail from Jiri and leave behind the friendliness and basic living of the

country folk. Although we took many rest stops, we were walking pretty much at the same

pace of the expedition. I was feeling a little trek fatigue at this point, as both physically and

mentally my body was adjusting. I had a feeling George was at the same point, as his diary

entries were quite brief at this stage; the excitement at setting off has waned, a routine has set

in and it‟s still a long way until you get into the high mountains, let alone the one you wish to

climb.

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The Trek – Stage 2 – The road less travelled (Days 9 to 17)

On joining the tourist route, we became insignificant travellers amongst the other tourists

walking early in the season. Hari relaxed as he did not need to worry about where we might

stay or what we might eat. The lodges were numerous and the menus expansive, but dhal

bhat remained my staple diet as this was what my companions usually ate, and it was more

fuel efficient for the lodge cooks to make one big dish for everyone.

At first I resented the tourists that joined us on our trail. Two British guys arrived across a

small suspension bridge, white skinned, hot and sweating, carrying huge packs. They had

only walked 3 hours and ascended 300m; as they negotiated rooms for the night, I was quite

pleased we were walking for a further 3 hours and 1000m up to the Deorali pass. My first

night at a trekking lodge was very pleasant, particularly as I obtained a bucket of hot water

for a wash. There were no other tourists here, all having chosen to stop earlier, and it was a

welcome change to drink hot lemon rather than sweet black tea.

Now we were on the main trekking route we finally left the dreadful noisy road behind.

However, this was my first encounter of non-trekking porters, who because of the lack of

roads were the only form of transport for the multitude of goods, for tourists and locals, from

now on. Robin carried his load, which included my duffel bag, our food, tent and a certain

amount of personal kit, using a traditional tumpline, or strap around his forehead. I couldn‟t

lift the load, and suspected it was above the recommended 20kg, and closer to 30kg. He

would struggle each day to get himself comfortable and loaded, but once on his way was a

determined trudger, who would only stop for food rather than rest.

Hari carried a 70L back pack, with his and Robin‟s belongings, a medical kit as well some

food. I had my 35L pack with my own personal belongings. I was also comfortable in the

knowledge I had paid for insurance for both Hari and Robin should anything go wrong. They

were getting a good daily wage, had decent clothing, shoes and sleeping equipment, and

could eat regularly and well each day.

These local porters were carrying traditional baskets, again using the tumpline, and carrying a

short stumpy wooden stick with a T-bar at the top: not quite tall enough to use as a walking

stick, it was often tapped against the ground on each step, almost as a rhythm or mantra to

encourage each pace. Its main use was to rest the basket on when breath was becoming short

on an uphill climb. The baskets were laden with anything from cream crackers, oil, sweets

and biscuits to kerosene, water or just empty liquid drums. Hari asked one how much he was

carrying in weight and the reply was „it‟s a light load, only 90kilos‟. Walking behind the thin

bandy legs, with plimsolls as footwear, often with radios blaring, I couldn‟t help wondering

how many years their bodies would cope with carrying weights up to 120kilos. The strain on

ankles, legs, knees, backs, necks, the whole body, must be horrific. The lack of older porters

on the route was telling.

The porters are paid based on weight, so if they carry less, they get paid less. They travel

from the road head at Jiri, all the way to Namche Bazaar, a walk of many days, and have a

standard number of days to deliver the goods. But worse, as I found out later, many are

from the lower areas and therefore not used to walking at altitude. They are susceptible to the

same altitude problems any of us are, but because they cannot take acclimatisation breaks are

more likely to succumb. This is one of the many things the charitable group Porters Progress

is trying to solve. It is almost trying to create a trade union to provide fair pay and conditions

12

for the porters, but at present tackling the basics of proper clothing and equipment as well as

education on the risks of altitude.

On this stage of our journey to Namche Bazaar, we were starting to climb up to high passes,

and I found it very tiring. We spent one night at Sete, where the expedition had stayed at the

monastery. George had noted that the inhabitants were „two barbaric but attractive savages

and an equally barbaric old lady – all most un-ecclesiastical looking‟. Neas article gave a

little more insight, commenting that on her return to the UK when talking to Charles Evans

about Seti (Sete), he had seen only women there on their trek through in 1953, as all the men

were murderers and in gaol. When we met the current custodian of the now very derelict

monastery, and he told us that his father had in fact died while in gaol. The custodian and his

wife did not seem barbaric and were very civil and welcoming, and I never found out more

about the murders.

I did, however, delight in regaling the story to my fellow travellers that night at the lodge.

The one good thing about being on the tourist trail was that I had more people to talk to, and

on the trail you tended to meet up again and again on your journey. They were mostly

independent trekkers, with more time and a genuine interest in exploring Nepal and its

culture, although many were still heading for the mecca of Everest Base Camp.

The noise of the road had now been replaced with the sound of light aircraft flying on to

Lukla. We climbed the Lamjura Pass, which at 3530m is the highest before Namche Bazaar.

When the cloud is down, this pass cannot be flown over, and a few days of cancelled flights

leaves many desperate trekkers waiting to escape Kathmandu, often with limited trekking

time.

As we continued east and further from the road and Kathmandu, the countryside became less

cultivated, and hillier, but still heavily settled. With patches of juniper and pine forests it

was very like parts of Scotland, and I had a few (very brief) nostalgic pangs. The mani walls

soon halted any comparison with home, and one day as we approached a very large rocky

outcrop, I realised this was one of Ted‟s photos of George standing next to the painted mani

stone. I threw my camera at a rather bemused Hari and with cries from him to take care,

scrambled up the steep slope onto the ledge to walk out to the point George had stood. It was

thrilling to stand exactly where he had stood nearly 50 years ago. The only reference to this

point in his dairy was of „an interesting carving on a boulder just before Junbesi. Coloured

script 4‟ high.‟ The only change was that the mani had been repainted sometime in the last

50 years.

At Junbesi which was one of the largest settlements we‟d come to since leaving Banepa, we

took a day‟s rest. This lovely Sherpa settlement was still as „brilliantly painted‟ as George

had noted, although as the temperature dropped below freezing at night, thankfully now had

glass in the lodge windows. We used the time to catch up on washing, rest the blistered feet

and have an easy day visiting a nearby Tibetan monastery. We also visited the first of the

Edmund Hillary Foundation schools, built in 1964 for primary children, and expanded with

further western funding in 1980 to include secondary pupils. These schools have been

highly successful in enabling local communities to improve schooling in the area. Most were

learning English, which was important if the tourism industry was their chosen career.

From Junbesi we were very much on the main track that had been rebuilt with aid in the

1980s for porters to carry goods from the road head to the south, and now from the airstrip at

13

Phamplu, to Namche Bazaar. The traffic was probably pretty much the same as that noted by

George; farmers driving their goats and local travellers. However, it was also being used by

the donkey trains that are hired to carry much of the trekkers‟ equipment, or goods for the

villages. This is very new to this region of Nepal, the donkeys having been brought from the

dry desert area of Mustang in the north, near the Chinese border. I really didn‟t like them:

not only were the paths invariably smelly after a train of donkeys had been through, but they

also had the tendency to nip or kick you if you were too close to them. Hari always insisted I

stood uphill from them while they passed and at least we had plenty of warning as you could

hear the jangle of the bells around their necks.

The donkeys come with a new socio-economic and environmental concern; the trails will

suffer from these hard hoofs that cause more erosion that the porters sandals or plimsolls, yet

they are cheaper. Porters create more employment and income for a wider social group, yet

have to suffer what we would consider intolerable working and harsh living conditions. They

tend to camp at the side of the trails under rocks, or some spend a small amount of their

meagre earnings on the tea shops or basic porters lodges.

Other new traffic on the trails were the local population travelling further to work at Lukla, or

to go climbing or guide others. Even families – a couple with what looked like their

complete belongings on the man‟s back, and a small child on the womans. I did at one time

see a grandmother being transported in this way, in a basket on the son‟s back.

Two days on from Junbesi, we descended to the river was through rhododendron valley, and

then we were at the Dudh Kosi, the milk river. George and the expedition crossed this on a

rickety temporary bridge, which was always washed away when the rivers swelled with the

monsoon rains. Now, there is a well constructed suspension bridge, which crosses probably a

little further upstream than the „steep narrow gorge‟ in 1959. We were finally starting to

head north, following the river rather than crossing the multitude of rivers, valleys and ridges.

Not that this didn‟t mean we wouldn‟t ascend and descend, but at least we were now on the

route up to Namche Bazaar and there were no large passes to climb.

Other changes that tourism had brought were evident. The first solar purification water plant

I‟ve seen was proudly signposted, yet looked as though it had not received it‟s annual

inspection and certainly wasn‟t able to provide water that day. Perhaps we were too early for

the tourist season. But this section of the trail has also been hugely affected by both the

increase in flight availability into Lukla, and the recent risk of Maoist troubles on the path.

Attempts had been made to keep the area cleaner by providing green rubbish bins on every

corner, yet the contents were thrown into a hole by the river, and the only real result was that

there was less litter on the path. Where glass bottles provided beer or other drinks, they were

then stacked at the back of lodges waiting for ... what? Many were being used buried neck

down to form the edge of paths or vegetable patches. And this will only get worse. An

estimated 3,500 tourists passed through in 2008, which is an increase on the previous years,

but at the height it was probably 10,000 in this region.

The response to this increase in the 1990s was to build more lodges, which resulted in an

oversupply of accommodation. When the Maoists began their period of troubles in the mid

90s, tourism was affected as by the early 2000‟s even the Lonely Planet guide to Nepal was

giving a „warning‟ that there was a risk of Maoists asking for „donations‟ to their cause in

hill areas such as the Jiri to Lukla section of the trek to Namche Bazaar. Many trekkers then

took the decision to bypass this section of the trek and fly direct to Lukla. Unfortunately this

14

resulted in many half built, or empty lodges, although the canny Nepali has never relied fully

on tourism and always retained fields and agriculture as the mainstay to keep the family and

villages fed. As the political situation has relaxed, tourism is already increasing again, and no

doubt this will give more local people income and wealth. At the same time the pressures on

the environment such as waste management or clearing both agricultural areas and semi-

natural woodlands for building or fuel will return and continue to increase.

In comparison with the earlier part of our journey, we were now on the more travelled trail,

and Hari often met Nepali guides or mountaineers that he know. At Bupsa, he met a friend

from Kathmandu who lived in the village, and he invited us into his house for tea. The whole

family were there, spanning at least 4 generations, sitting in the smoky, dark kitchen with the

fire lit in one corner and the traditional Buddhist bowls and jars lining the shelves. The father

had died a few months earlier and this was the ongoing part of the mourning; the mother gave

the lovely Nepali welcome and I couldn‟t help but stare at her beautiful round face, deep

brown eyes and lovely smile. An old man sat in the corner drinking through a straw as hot

water was poured onto the jug of grain. This was the local brew and I declined to try it, and

kept with the sweet black tea. Hari‟s friend was a guide who had been into Ama Dablam

north base camp recently, and said it was easy to get to which was encouraging. However, he

did not mention any memorial cairn that was there which was slightly worrying.

Although we were not yet in the Sagamartha National Park, we were walking through

beautiful forest and ancient trees of chestnut and oak, dripping with moss, and colour from

the flowering rhododendrons. George talked of these forests, as well as tree-orchids which

we didn‟t see. By now we had the constant accompaniment of the noise of helicopters and

small aircraft, as we got closer to Lukla and the airport. I counted about 30 flights in and out,

carrying tourists, supplies and the odd rescue. Only when the cloud was down over the

Lamjura pass did we get the peace and quiet the trek demanded.

Once heading north the views were really starting to open out and the Karylung, Kongde Ri,

Numbur, Thamserku and even part of the Mera peaks were emerging above the valley sides.

It was generally very hazy, possibly from a forest fire that had swept through the area earlier

that week. When we were walking high above the deep gorge to the Dudh Kosi river way

below, I felt like I was on top of the world. Once we were over the Cheubas Pass we had

fantastic views up the Dudh Kosi to Namche; you could see the tiny white dot of the Everest

View Hotel perched above the town, and Khumbila, the sacred Sherpa mountain above

Khumjung that is forbidden to be climbed. Unfortunately the views and tranquillity of the

mountains was once again lost as mobile phone reception was received, and phone

communication became the focus of attention for a while.

Once the trail joined that from Lukla the feel of the trek changed dramatically. I started

counting tourists numerously, and the friendliness of those on the path was lost as we merged

into the many, even though this was the quieter end of the season. There was less chance to

develop relationships with the lodge or tea house owners, yet Hari and Robin still managed to

find the smaller places, where we could eat local food and laugh and joke with the local

Nepali‟s. The first of the many organised trekking groups were met, identified easily by their

white complexions, fresh clothes, slow pace and sole desire to reach Everest Base Camp.

Including one day‟s rest, it took us 17 days to walk to Namche Bazaar, the main town in the

Khumbu district. The expedition in 1959 had taken only 15 days; I learnt very quickly that

expeditions were in a hurry to reach their intended quest with little time to spare, or rest, and

15

often totally inadequate acclimatisation. With porters carrying everything, and camps both set

up and broke by them, as well as meals prepared and provided prior to the party reaching

them (breakfast and lunch) the main focus for the members was to continue walking to the

next stopping point. They also took more account of the heat, and started early (just after

dawn) stopping at lunchtime, or having a long break in the heat of the afternoon.

Namche Bazaar sits high at 3,420m. It is the main destination in the Sagarmatha National

Park which was established in 1972, based on an American National Park preservation

model. All trekkers from Lukla must enter through the „gateway‟ and register, show their

trekking permit, and if wise, read the many guidance notes on environmental behaviour and

risks of altitude sickness. In 1971 there were only 600 visitors, yet it had risen to some 3000

tourists when the park was declared. Over 25,000 tourists entered in 2001, and this is

probably more likely nearer 30,000 now.

This increase in visitors has led to some of the greatest changes in the area, to the

environmental and the people and a complex relationship between culture and impacts.

Tourism is considered one of the worlds fastest growing industries and the Khumbu region

has so much to offer, with Everest (or Chomolongma) and other mountains, unspoilt native

cultures and opportunities for numerous outdoor activities. The Nepali government has

viewed this as a positive growth creating employment and local income, as well as foreign

exchange. In turn it can be argued that the local Sherpa communities have more incentive to

retain cultures and their natural landscape and biodiversity. However, we live in a market

driven society, and often there is not time to plan effectively for these uncontrollable changes.

When the Khumbu region became a National Park, based on the Yellowstone National Park

model which was applied in the US where there was less social poverty, less indigenous

wealth and more true wilderness, it was seen by many as an imposition. With a population of

3500 people (mainly Sherpas) the challenge is for them to retain ownership of the

development within their area, and many of the western support agencies, such as

Community Action Nepal, and the Himalayan Trust encourage this. The benefits of

becoming a world focus for tourism are obvious; airstrips, dental and eye clinics, schools,

modern bridges, hydro-electricity, all of which contribute to the well-being of the local

people. Additional wealth allows better diets, as the frozen ground in the region allowed only

limited growth of potatoes, turnips, buckwheat, greens and barley. Yaks provide meat and

milk, and rice can easily be brought from the Terai flatlands by porters. And the 6500 lodges

and tea houses provide income for families as well as support the tourists that have now

replaced the Tibetans as purchases of local goods. Prior to the expeditions arriving in the

1950‟s, the only form of income was from the Tibetan trade. This is now completely

replaced by tourism.

But the impact on the environment is apparent. In 1959 there was little use of the yaks,

which are the high altitude pack animal, or zopkio (half yak, half cattle) which are considered

better tempered, and able to handle the change in altitude from Lukla to Everest base camp.

These animals can carry twice as much as the human porter and therefore are more profitable

as well as more reliable at altitude. But, they require food, and often this has been the native

pasture and scrub. In turn, as lodge numbers grew, forests have been removed for both

building and fuel. As restrictions have come into place within the National Park, and the

environment is becoming healthier with a return of much of the wildlife such as the national

bird the impeyen pheasant, as well as snow leopards, the pressure moves to the boundary

areas. Pollution from both human waste and rubbish is probably one of the most noticeable

16

problems; whilst much human waste is composted and applied back to the earth, non-

biodegradable plastics, batteries and even food wastes remain. In Nepal, contaminated water

causes 4 out of every 5 deaths of children.

Fred Jackson was the expedition doctor in 1959, and he studied some of the medical

problems of the local people, such as goitre, which was a thyroid problem associated with the

lack of iodine. Now, stress has become part of the problems where Sirdars are expected to

manage large numbers of staff and safety of tourists, which in turn leads to high blood

pressure and stomach problems as well as alcoholism and depression. Every one of the

lodges we stayed at were run by women, as the husbands were away guiding or portering.

These dangerous activities can lead to death, and very few are insured. There are subtle

cultural changes, and as wealth increases, loss of traditional values although some are still

strongly present such as Buddhist faith.

Namche Bazaar – Sherpas, altitude and sickness – Days 18 to 22

The town has changed hugely in 50 years. I tried to find the rock where Ted had stood to

take his photo in 1959, and realised that there is now a house blocking the view. The

bemused occupants agreed to Hari‟s request to view the temple and terraces from their

window, but were not interested in the old photo.

1959 (Photo: Ted Wrangham)

2009

From above the town I had my first view of my goal: Ama Dablam. With Nuptse, Luptse and

Everest too. An amazing sight. We climbed higher to Khumjung at 3850m to find the

Sherpas from the expedition. When visited in 1959 George wrote that the houses „are of dry

stone, well built, with yak dung plaster on the windward sides‟. The village was certainly

distinctive by its stone built houses, but glass windows and tiled roofs were a modern

development. By asking local residents, found our way first to Pemba Tensing Sherpas

house. At 77 years old, his memory and eyesight was poor, but he remembered my uncle‟s

expedition and that 2 men were lost on the top. He also remembered the memorial stone

being carved. I asked his wife if she had worried when he had been away guiding, and her

answer was that yes, she worried, but they needed the money. Their children have had a

good education and the house is modern by Nepali standards, all as a result of his work.

We stayed for tea, then departed to find Ang Temba Sherpas house. He was even older at 83,

but recognised the photos and pointed out George and his climbing companion as those that

had been lost. It was a real thrill to meet these old Sherpas who had accompanied my

Uncle‟s expedition.

17

Whether it was the altitude or the milky tea that was my downfall, I don‟t know, but I became

sick. Nausea, then vomiting, followed by migraine and loss of appetite, signalled classic

acute mountain sickness. I had always experienced problems with acclimatising when in the

Alps, or South America, however I had hoped that by gradually walking up to over 3000m I

might not suffer. George too had suffered, and he made many entries in his diary about

sickness when he was higher up. At this altitude, it can be fatal, and if I was to have any

chance of continuing I needed to descend, and quickly as after 24 hours I was not getting any

better. We took the decision to descend 800m to Monju, just outside the National Park

boundary. Luckily I recovered after several day‟s rest, but it was with some trepidation,

feeling a great deal weaker, that I ascended again to Namche Bazaar, now taking diamox

which helps increase the level of oxygen in the blood.

Altitude sickness is one of the most serious potential problems in the Khumbu region, yet

now it is one of the most easily recognised and treated. The photocopied Himalayan Rescue

Association posters announcing the Clinic at Periche, on the route to Everest, and advising

you how to ascend safely were posted everywhere, yet most people I spoke to were

dismissive of the potential risks. Every year trekkers still die, although now it is mostly local

porters. We came across several trekking groups, with their own doctors, who were trying to

treat clients for altitude problems as they continued to keep their walking schedule. The

timescales when on an organised trek allow little flexibility to stop and rest, or descend for a

while, and this can be exacerbated by delayed flights or a reluctance to give up a once in a

lifetime holiday to Everest Base Camp. We saw several clients being escorted down to lower

altitudes, but the most serious case was a Nepali who clearly had High Altitude Pulmonary

Oedema (HAPE). The breathlessness, dry coughing with a hint of gurgling clearly identified

that liquid was building on the lungs, and there was a real risk he would die. He did make it

to hospital, but his oxygen content in his blood was 23% of that available, and the doctor told

us he had been within half an hour of dying.

I had the level of available oxygen use in my blood measured when I was at 4240m at the

Periche clinic. It was 97% which I attribute entirely to the use of diamox and it still meant I

was walking slowly and breathless with every pace! With the lack of rest days the expedition

took, and George‟s recorded illnesses, it has been suggested that the altitude might have

finally got to him when he was over 6000m high.

The final journey - to Ama Dablam base camp – days 23 to 28

Feeling weak but healthy, we left Namche Bazaar for the find trek northwards. Hari was

determined that I was given as easy a journey as possible, and it became a game to try and

pick up my day pack before he did each morning. I finally persuaded him I was both fit

enough and needed to carry my own day pack, as it made me feel stronger.

Now that we were fully on the expedition and trekking trail, with Ama Dablam watching our

every step, we were often in company of large groups. When I questioned them on their

motivations to reach Everest Base Camp, the most common was „because it was there‟.

Since the first ascent in 1953, it has grown to become destination for many, and became more

prominent after a National Geographic expedition put Americans on the summit for the first

time in 1963. As mountaineering became secondary to trekking, the tourism developed to

include agencies and independent travel. Competitive flights to Lukla started in 1991

following a new tourism development programme funded by the Asian Development Bank

making travel affordable to many. Although to my mind the views of the highest mountain in

18

the world were superb from many better locations, the achievement of reaching base camp

and its sea of expedition tents at over 5000m was an aspiration of thousands.

My own base camp goal at over 5000m was now in reach and we travelled very slowly, as we

continued to ascend over the next 5 days. The guidance is not to sleep any more than 400m

higher than your last night‟s rest; the expedition after only one day‟s rest, took 3 days to

travel from Khumjung to the base camp at 5100m, some 1130m ascent. They passed through

Tengboche where the monastery dominates the ridge, with Ama Dablam as a backdrop.

Little had changed from Ted‟s photo. The expedition camped here, and visited the head

lamas who had recently arrived from Tibet, escaping the Chinese communist activity. It was

during this time that the Dalai Lama left Tibet for India, and many Tibetan monks were

leaving to set up monasteries in nearby Nepal. Some 80,000 refugees fled Tibet that year,

seeking political asylum and many crossed the border into Nepal. The monastery had burnt

down in 1989 and subsequently rebuilt, and now you could access internet from a small

communications centre. However, the yaks still grazed the meadows.

We continued to Dingboche which at 4530m is a recommended acclimatisation day for those

heading north westwards to Everest. This was our chance to find our route into the northern

base camp of Ama Dablam, which turned out to be the most seldom visited of the camps used

by mountaineers. When we asked on route which was the way into base camp, we were told

it was an easy walk from Dingboche. As Hari and I took time to climb up from 4360m to

4700m to acclimatise, Robin set off to try and find the path and look for the memorial cairn.

As we viewed Ama Dablam across the valley I realised we were looking into the wrong

corrie, and needed to trek further north around the spur of Amphu Gyabjen and into the

northern side. Poor Robin had a wasted journey, although I think he was pleased to have had

a chance to walk into an area he had never visited before.

The modern traditional climbing route for Ama Dablam is the south western side, from the

corrie above the Mingbo Glacier. It was this ridge that was dubbed „Gregory‟s ridge‟ by the

expedition, as Alfred Gregory had attempted the summit via this route the previous year.

George had commented that „it certainly looks feasible‟. Later when they reached the base

camp for what became known as the „North East Spur‟ and examined the difficulties of the

route to the ice ridge at the summit, George commented „Gregory‟s ridge would still seem to

have it for me‟. In fact, although Ama Dablam was first successfully summited in 1961 by a

Mike Ward in a New Zealand party via the SW Ridge, it was not until 1979 that the north

ridge was fully explored. This French expedition saw signs of the camps established by the

1959 expedition but no signs of the missing climbers. The spur and ridge pioneered by

George and his companions is rarely used to ascend the mountain.

Having established our route, Hari and Robin took a day to carry provisions into base camp

while I explored the Dingboche local area. They came back with grins on their faces, like

naughty school boys, and showed me a photo taken on Robins‟ mobile phone. It was the

memorial stone. They had found it.

We now had a change in weather which had a real risk of threatening our plans.

Temperatures had plummeted over night, and were well below 0 degrees C, and during the

day it was snowing. I was concerned that our tents were not suitable for any heavy snow

storms, and with little experience of the area could not predict if this weather was likely to

result in building storms or just showers. Hari told me it could set in for days, even weeks,

and although it was only a couple of cm‟s at 4360m, I was experienced enough to know that

climbing a further 600m or so could give us very different weather conditions. We were not

19

carrying any mountaineering equipment, such as ice axes or crampons, and I was not

prepared to take two, by British standards, ill equipped and inexperienced Nepalis into the

mountains without the security of back up from Mountain Rescue if we encountered

problems.

The expedition had snow too while they were at base camp, and George noted that „the white

rocks with cloud down might be anywhere‟. As we trekked on to Chukkung further up the

valley at 4730m which would give me the final chance of acclimatising before base camp, the

snow fell quietly and for moments I imagined I was at home in the Cairngorms rather than

the Himalayas.

While at base camp the difficulties with altitude and the lack of acclimatisation became very

apparent. George records „a hellish day – feeling feverish and sick – could keep even liquid

down for more than a few minutes.‟ Eventually he descended to just above Dingboche,

which we walked through on our route to Chukkung; this is still an area with little more than

a small (now teahouse) croft and a herd of yaks. He climbed a small peak of about 5151m on

the western side of the valley, one of a group of peaks which they had called the Dingboche

Cuillin. Unfortunately it already had a cairn on the summit, so even this was not a first

ascent. He then spent several days at a slightly lower altitude working with „vampire‟

Jackson, as the Doctor took blood samples from the local population, before ascending again

to base camp.

For us the snow finally stopped and on a clear sunny morning, we took the final trail covered

in several inches of snow, from Chukkung eastwards towards the terminal moraine at the

northern side of Ambu Gyabjen. Crossing a small heavily frozen burn, we climbed slowly up

through heath vegetation, following a small trail marked by a few cairns. Were any of these

ones that George had built 50 years ago? Signs of yak dung from animals grazing during the

warmer months, and spraint left by wilder beasts, possibly even snow leopard Hari told me,

were the only other signs of inhabitation. As we traversed the slope of Ambu Gyabjen, Ama

Dablam came into view towering above. And as I climbed up finally to the flat sheltered

area, with large boulders and a high lateral moraine creating a natural amphitheatre, I realised

we were there. And there was the memorial stone, on a large, flat boulder. The cairn had

altered over the years, the original stone having been used to build a small shelter, but the

carved memorial slab still sitting there. „In Memorium. Mike Harris. George Fraser. 21

May 1959.‟

With the difficulty in acclimatising, and some frustration with weather, the expedition was

slow to start to climb, gradually exploring the route and setting up ladders and ropes to carry

loads up to camps. Georges last entry in his diary was 15th May, by which time they had

been at base camp for 27 days, and had established 3 camps along the ascent. The final entry

reads „This book gets left here for the return‟.

That day, George set off to Camp I and then on the next day to Camp II. The following day,

he joined Mike Harris and Ted at Camp II, and on the 18th May George and Mike set off

taking a lightweight tent and food for 5 days. They were watched from the base camp, and

seen to make a temporary Camp IV at about 6300m. The next day they were off again, and

disappeared at mid day, probably setting up Camp V much higher up. From this they

established a route to the summit of an ice pyramid, then returned to their Camp. On the

morning of the 21st May they were last seen making what was assumed the bid for the 6812m

summit, only about 300m from it. The cloud descended and even though Nea climbed Ambu

20

Gyabjen to try and get a better view, they were not seen again. The weather held for a further

couple of days, then broke and the support party that had waited at Camp III descended.

We set up camp and spent the day exploring the camping area, as it began to snow again that

afternoon. It cleared overnight and temperatures dropped to about -15 degrees C. As I

climbed out of my sleeping bag that night to undertake the regular relief that is necessary

when taking diamox, the near full moon created an eerie glow around the glacial ice and rock

dominated landscape. Lhotse, Nuptse and Everest were clear in the half-light to the west of

this wonderful camp spot. I had spent several hours that day scanning the route with my

binoculars, examining every step and notch mentioned in George‟s diary, retracing and

imagining their steps. How dreadful it must have been for the party remaining at base camp

waiting in hope that the climbers would return. They stayed for over a week, until after

carving the memorial stone using a screwdriver, and as the monsoon was setting in, they

turned and started the long weary and very depressing trek back to Kathmandu.

We cleaned the memorial stone, and I left a few personal mementoes. It will never be known

if they reached the summit, and if it was on their descent that an accident happened, but that

is what the remaining expedition members, and I would like to think; certainly no sign was

seen by the team at the summit in 1961. I said my goodbye to my Uncle, still somewhere on

the mountain watched over by Chomolungma herself, and with the weather too unsettled to

risk spending any more time at this altitude, we too turned and headed for home.

Hari, Robin and myself at the memorial cairn 2009.