My friend and climbing partner, Jonathan Copp, and I, had come to the Indian Himalaya with the intention of climbing the Scottish Pillar on Bhagirathi III, then immediately striking off to the north, to attempt the south faces of Bhagirathi IV, and Bhagirathi II via new routes over remote, exposed, and unclimbed ground. We valued our objective because it lent a newer twist on an old game. By focusing our strategy on climbing as light and fast as possible, we were hoping to cut down the usual ascent time of BIII (usually around a week) to just a couple of days, thus allowing us to strike off on the rest of our adventure with fresher minds and lighter packs. Unfortunately, the ever-present uncertainty of mountain weather was the deciding factor. The monsoon lingered late over these mountains, and winter called early. Nevertheless, we enjoyed some good climbing, great friendship, and fantastic bouldering during our six week stay at Nandanvan.

We had arrived in Delhi towards the end of August. Jonny and I were joined by our friends Mick Follari and Jared Coburn, who would be sharing our base camp and heading out on climbing objectives of their own. The route from India’s crowded and polluted capital city to base camp in the Gharwal is a long and circuitous one – both literally and figuratively. Once Bureaucratic obstacles were negotiated at the IMF (Indian Mountaineering Federation), we piled into a chartered bus and were almost immediately mired in rush-hour traffic. Rickshaw drivers, cabs, cows, and elephants all jockeyed for position on Delhi’s crowded streets. After six hours of frightening highway driving, we had made it to Rishikesh, a town of significant religious significance located along the Ganges river.

After a night in Rishikesh, we entered the lush foothills of the Himalaya, and ascended steeply until we reached the small but crowded town of Uttarkashi. Most travelers would consider this the last of “Civilization” as they make their way towards the high peaks. From Uttarkashi, the driving becomes steep, slow, and downright dangerous. The horn is honked constantly. Rumor has it that Indian drivers honk their horns as often as once every 100 meters just to “test” them. The road dropped off steeply below us straight down into the tumultuous brown Ganges. It is comforting to notice that there are no wrecked cars or buses strewn across the slopes below the road until one realizes that, due to the steepness, a falling bus would plunge smoothly into the river, leaving no trace of its passage.

Eventually we reached a recent landslide that had been triggered by heavy late monsoon rains. It had wiped out at least 100 meters of road, and all vehicles on the upstream side were “trapped” so to speak. These trapped vehicles were charged with shuttling tourists and pilgrims from the landslide to the trailhead village of Gangotri. We unloaded our bus, and joined local porters in shuttling our mass of expedition supplies across the fresh, oozing (and sometimes still flowing) landslide debris.

Several hours after reaching the buses on the other side, we arrived in the holy village of Gangotri, gateway to the abode of the gods. The cool, thin air at 10,000 feet was a stark contrast to the hot, sticky soup that we had been breathing in Delhi just two days prior. This was our final accommodation with running water but I don’t think any of us showered. On the eve of thirty days of sweat and grime, what’s the point? We weighed our bags into 25 kilo loads for the porters, and went to sleep.

In the morning, we hiked through Himalayan Pine, relishing the cool mountain air. Our first views of the peaks drained by the Gangotri Glacier were stunning. Tea houses dotted the trail along the way. I forced myself to stop occasionally and soak it all in. Hours later, we arrived at the pilgrim site of Bhojbasa and spent the night. Hundreds of Hindu pilgrims either camp or simply pass through here annually as they hike to the holy site of the Gaumukh, the cow’s mouth. This is the place where the Ganges River issues forth from the bowels of the Gangotri Glacier. From the terminus of the glacier, which has receded almost a mile over the last century, the trail climbs up onto the talus-strewn glacier. We were astonished by the agility and tenacity of these seasoned porters, sometimes carrying double loads (50+kilos) suspended by a strap on their foreheads – all while hopping from rock to ice in their well worn flip-flops.

We arrived in Nandanvan Base camp along with many of the porters. They cheerfully unloaded our baggage, laughed, smoked cigarettes, and then eagerly ran back down the glacier towards Gangotri.

We began the process of settling into our base camp. Once our cooks, Shankar and Ghan, and our Liason Officer, Dawa Tsering (D.T.) Sherpa had everything under control, we began exploring our surroundings. We found excellent bouldering, just minutes from camp. We installed a slackline between two boulders over an idyllic grassy landing a stones throw from our kitchen tent.

The weeks after our arrival began to blend together. The weather had gotten worse since our arrival, and it was only during brief spells of clear weather, that we were able to explore the approach to Bhagirathi III and study the route. We installed a crude Advanced Base Camp, which was really just a gear cache near the base of the route. Bad weather ended our efforts for another week, and we entertained ourselves with books, scrabble, cards, and the occasional bouldering session.

Finally, around September 20th, the skies cleared and the southwest pillar of Bhagirathi III appeared to be dry and ice-free. Jonny and I launched from base camp, collected our gear at our ABC, and climbed the initial rotten pitches leading up to the true base of the route, at a place called the brown tower. We spent one night here, savoring the last of flowing water. From this point on, we hoped to climb fast enough not to deplete our four-day supply of fuel and food.

The climbing went well on our first day. We covered well over half of the granite pitches, but still had 3000 feet to go to the summit – mostly frightening metamorphic choss and steep snow. After a restless night spent in our one shared sleeping bag at the “Disappointment bivy”, we began climbing early the next morning. As the sun rose, we could see Shivling, Meru, and Thalay Sagar. We made progress for several pitches until we became unsure of the route direction. I led too far to the right into an area with frequent snow and ice fall, and we lost precious time backtracking to the buttress. Once I began climbing again, the skies had suddenly filled with clouds, and graupel began to fall. We were still fighting for upward progress, but the weather continued to deteriorate. Eventually, upward progress became so slow that it wasn’t worth forcing it anymore.

I fixed our rope and we rappelled two pitches to a ledge we had passed, which had been named by previous ascensionists, “Good Ledge”. It was just good enough to set up our Bibler. Only part of the tent overhung the ledge, and there was a small extension on one end of the ledge that allowed us to set up the stove. We crawled inside, brewed up, and commenced the waiting game. If the storm followed the recent pattern, it would blow over quickly. Unfortunately, the next morning, the storm was still raging and the face around us was plastered in snow and ice. Ice bombs would be falling once the sun hit the rock. There was little clearing that day, and we grew concerned about our fuel supply. Sitting in at tent for several days was not part of our plan for a fast and light ascent. We needed consistently good weather conditions in order to make our planned traverse a reality. Time spent waiting out storms takes more food and fuel, which adds up to more weight, which leads to slower climbing. We rationed, keeping hope alive that when the storm cleared, we would be able to continue up to and over the summit quickly. We had climbed to this point far faster than expected. At our pace the day before, we potentially could have reached the summit on our second day.

Immobilized by the storm, we told jokes, we counted squares in the nylon grid, and we told the same old stories again and again. Our backs ached from not standing up. Spindrift piled up between the wall and tent. Jonny’s side of the tent began to shrink. He was pushed closer and closer to me, and we bickered over our personal space. We beat the snow with our fists, but it just made room for more snow to take its place. It was a trial to maintain patience with the weather, with the tent, and with ourselves. Something needed to change. On the third morning, we woke to relatively calm weather. Unzipping the tent, we could still see plenty of snow and ice coating the route and ropes. The temperature was bitter cold. We made the decision to throw in the towel. I could feel my body deteriorating at 19,500, from the lack of air, but mainly from the lack of food and water.

As Jonny stuffed the frozen tent and our other belongings into the pack, I began jumaring our fixed lines wearing everything I had. My fingers and toes were numb within minutes. I was surprised at the amount of effort it took just to jug the two lines. The cams we had left for anchors were so frozen, they had to be cleaned like stoppers. After searching for secure enough anchors to bail from, I rappelled to the ledge, where Jonny had all the gear prepared for our descent. Ten hours later, we stumbled into base camp, where Shankar had just prepared a fresh feast. Mick and Jared were awaiting our arrival, after watching part of the descent through binoculars. Their expedition was over, due to a severe thumb and hand injury that Jared had sustained on loose terrain.

Our plan had been to recover, then try again when the weather improved. During our rest days in camp, we found the weather to be significantly cooler than it had been. It seemed autumn and winter were fast approaching. Near the beginning of October, a spell of clear weather led us to make our last attempt. Our fit and acclimatized bodies were able to quickly ascend to our gear cache at the Brown Tower. Our tent remained intact at the base of the first pitch. We crawled inside for the night and started preparing dinner. Our stove malfunctioned before we could ignite it. An hour later the stove was fired up, but it died shortly after - before we had a pot of snow melted. After more frantic repairs, we had a marginally effective stove. This didn’t bode well for the climbing above but we decided to sleep on it.

High winds could be heard overnight. Occasionally, wind gusts up high were able to dislodge small stones, sending them careening down until they hit our tent. None were big enough to do any damage, but the sound of them smacking the tent made it nearly impossible to sleep. We awoke before dawn, and peeked at the weather. It was extremely windy, and there were ominous clouds building over Shivling, and moving across the valley towards Bhagirathi. Our sense of helplessness was frustrating. We had a few days left before we would have to leave base camp. What could we do? A return to base camp to dig up another stove would cost us the day, maybe two if we wanted to be rested. As we shivered in the wind and considered our options, a decision was made. We were out of here.

Naturally, our return to base camp was bittersweet; we had not succeeded in our objective, but we were alive and healthy, and in the presence of our friends - as well as some of the most spectacular mountains we had ever seen. Porters were notified of our return, and within two days, our base camp had become an alpine meadow once again, devoid of signs of human presence save for our footprints and balanced stone towers built in honor of the mountains surrounding our camp. Our thanks to Polartec® for valuable support and excellent equipment.