Post-monsoon in the Indian Himalaya was the venue for my summer holidays in 1996. The steep granite walls of the Scottish Route on Bhagirathi III were the objective of our mission. Here is my account.

Bhagirathi III The Scottish Route takes the ridge just R of shade

We arrived from separate parts of the globe at Delhi airport, a bustling mass of foreign colours, sounds and peoples.
We had been keen to leave Delhi the next day, rather optimistically I thought in view of the reputed bureaucracy of the Indian Mountaineering Foundation. In fact, our Peak Adventures representative and trek guide Agni had done a great job in persuading the IMF colonel to attend to our needs and dispatch us on our way with the minimum of fuss. Some duty-free cigarettes were gratefully accepted by the Colonel. Agni was a meticulous but fussy gentleman who was dubbed "Auntie" from his idiosyncratic but charming approach to organisation. It took three days of pot-holed roads for our bus to reach its destination of Gangotri Village at 10,000ft. On the way the towns of Rishikesh and Uttarkashi had provided colourful and noisy interludes. The path up to base camp was a pleasant two day walk on the well-trodden pilgrim trail to to Gaumukh, the glacial source of the holy River Ganges.

	Text and photos by Andy Scrase

Base camp at Nandanban was a beautiful meadow, lush with Alpine flowers. Our arrival was greeted by rain, wind, and snow, and had turned back several teams from their climbs. When the weather cleared, our jaws dropped at the awesome sight of Shivling and the Bhagirathi mountains. Unfortunately, the bad weather had left them plastered in snow, and in the days that followed this did not melt back quickly.

Our first foray towards Bhagirathi III was just a load carrying and acclimatisation trip. The initial two hour trek across alpine meadows and sandy flats was deceptively easy. Our bodies were soon toiling under heavy loads as we climbed 600m up to our advance base camp site on the moraine slopes below the walls of the Bhagirathi cirque. It was a truly awesome amphitheatre of sheer granite walls and ridges, each liberally plastered with snow and ice. The sun barely penetrated some of the darker recesses

The team comprised Bob Koen, Graham Rowbotham (Canada) Andy Scrase (NZ) and Tony Hunter (Aus) on BIII. Helen Habgood & Helen Weiss (BII). Bill Koen and Clare Brooks, trekkers.

On the way down from the Scottish route was an American party of two. Our hearts sank as they told stories of desperate climbing on iced granite with crampons and axes, terrain which would normally succumb to the gentler tread of rock boots.

We deposited our loads and returned to base camp as planned. We considered the options carefully. The Scottish route looked pretty hopeless at the time. The nearby Bhagirathi II offered an alternative climb which would provide us with valuable training. Though an easy snow climb, it would get us to beyond 6500m and help us acclimatise.

Load carrying to Advanced Base

The two Helens had planned this climb all along, but without a permit had attempted to sneak up the mountain without anyone noticing. With several Indian expeditions to the peak established in the area, the chances of this were not very likely. They got accosted by an angry Indian army officer who sent them back and demanded that they pay the $700US necessary to climb the peak.

That they did was fortuitous for the rest of us, who were able to use the permit as well. We all set off up the valley, leapfrogging past the multitude of Indian camps who were attempting to siege this mountain into submission by whatever means. Our second camp on the hill was also our summit camp. 1000 metres of ascent up avalanche-prone slopes and through some rather suspect fixed roped led us to the summit by mid afternoon. The views were obscured by the usual afternoon build-up which robbed us of the sight of the granite walls where we had been camped a few days previously. We called Bill at Base Camp on our radios with the good news.

Our decent to the valley was greeted by the Indians with a rather embarassing heroes' welcome, though the mugs of hot chi were very welcome. We talked mountains and cricket, and planned some matches with the groups that had gathered down at Nandanban.

Base camp life was a luxurious treat after the cramped tents and cold early mornings on the mountains. Wake up call was with a bowl of hot water for washing and a relaxed breakfast, served by the ever cheerful Til, our cook. Some reading was interspersed with the odd game of lung-straining cricket against an increasingly keen group of Indian opponents.

The high spot of our cricket series was against a full team of Calcuttans whose enthusiasm and skill left our team somewhat lacking. Facing the last crucial ball, I managed a chip into a corner where the fielder had been momentarily distracted by Bill's conversation. Winning the match provided a brief moment of glory, and we were invited to the Indian yurt (a large double-walled tent) for supper and an evening of singing and dancing.

After waiting for so long for the snow to clear off the Scottish route, we finally made up our mind to go for it. We had already established a gear and food cache at advanced base camp. Our plan now was to move on up to the foot of the route and start climbing in earnest.
The first part of the climb was a scramble up scree and shale to the start of the good granite. This was frustrating and hard work with our large sacks. Some of the airy traverses that we balanced across in our unwieldly plastic boots felt very insecure. Tony & I camped near the foot of the granite while Bob & Graham started on the initial tricky pitches.

Jumaring below the Steppes

When Tony & I started on these pitches, Bob & Graham had only arrived at the Steppes, and had decided to set up camp there. The climbing had gone slower than expected on mixed free and aid climbing, and jumaring with our huge sacks had proven to be very hard work.
When Tony & I left our comfortable perch in the morning, we grunted up the same pitches to the Steppes campsite at 5300m.
The next day we climbed several pitches to reach the Terraces camp site at 5500m. When got as far as the bottom of the Flake Pillar, the crux of the route, and could see that conditions were still far from optimal. Ice and snow still plastered the steep rock, and little sun penetrated this dark corner.

The airy campsite at the Steppes

We established two cramped camp sites for our tiny two-man tents by excavating and levelling the loose rocks. It was just as well that we made a good job as this was to be our home for a few days.
The next morning, Tony and I jumared up to the high spot established by Graham the previous day. Though not a very great distance had been achieved, each foot had been hard won. The steep snow and ice covered rocks had slowly succumbed to a mixture of aid climbing and cunning moves with ice axes and crampons. Our next attempt to advance the climb did not proceed any easier. Even if the rock seemed clear of snow from a distance, the cracks which were crucial placement of our aid equipment were choked with ice.

Graham hangs out in the afternoon snow

We continued with this slow and painful progress for two whole days, returning to our tiny perches in the evenings for much needed food and sleep.
During this time Bob became sick. He was suffering from high-altitude bronchitis, and made the difficult decision to return to base camp. This, unfortunately, left us not only short of one team member, but also of two ropes, since these were required for Bob's descent.
The remaining three now had to combine as one team and try to push on through from our high spot on the ropes through to the next bivouac. We did not have enough rope to 'fix' all the way through, so we had to proceed 'Alpine Style' and get to the 'Disappointment Bivouac ledge' before darkness.
We passed a difficult section, the so-called 'aid-pitch', with relative ease.

Tony Hunter, after the descent

We thought that we had the climb in the bag now. We couldn't be more wrong. The pitches that followed proved every bit as hard as the previous on the pillar. In fact, the higher we got on the route, the more shady the pillar became, and hence more snow and ice filled.
Light was now fading fast as we battled with huge sacks. I found myself perched on a ledge the size of a tea tray, thousands of feet up, with my sleeping bag at the bottom of the sack and not much hope of getting it out without spilling the contents all over the Gangotri Glacier. I volunteered to climb on by torchlight, rather than shiver on the ledge.
Placing yet more tentative aid placements in the dark, I was getting worn down by the ordeal. We were supposed to be on easy ground now, but shining my light around me all I could see were steep and exposed snow-covered slabs. I was beginning to hope I would wake from this nightmare.
In desperation and frustration I lowered back to the ledge. We all knew in our hearts that the mountain had beaten us, but no one wanted to admit it. Now we faced another epic, descending the flake pillar in the dark. This was a dangerous period. We were all exhausted and it was dark. Any tiny misjudgement could have been fatal.

Graham retreating second day

Below my perch, Graham was preparing the first abseil. Suddenly, an awful clatter and yelp came from below. Graham had fallen off the ledge. A peg that he had been leaning on had pulled. Ten feet below, Graham dangled from the prussik loop that he had tied around my rope for safety. His camera was not so lucky, bouncing out into the dark void.
We now were super-charged on adrenalin. Easing our weight onto the ropes as we prepared for each abseil was a sickening moment of dread, despite checking and double-checking each anchor. To make things worse, our sacks were so heavy that they were tipping us backwards, and almost asphyxiating us.
Dawn was just breaking as we reached our excavated ledges. Exhausted and dreadfully disappointed, we were also intensely relieved to be safely back down. We slept like kings until late in the day.
Descent back to Base Camp was easier. From our camp we managed to descend in a day. Our loads were eased by help from Narindar, our cook Til, and a healthier Bob.
Resting up at base camp was a real pleasure after the hardships on the mountain. It had become noticibly colder since we had last been at base camp, and it seemed Gangotri was heading for an early winter.
As we awoke on what would have been our summit day, the tents were weighed down by a foot of fresh snow.

Mountain goats grazing with Bhagirathi III, in background. This would have been summit day

The mountains around were liberally plastered, and the valley was frequented with the rumble of avalanches. We could only imagine what further epics we would have encountered if we had carried on.
A few days later, we paid our last tributes to this special place, and humbly trekked out towards the village of Gangotri.


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