At the end of 2005, a team of climbers including Marmot / ZeroG sponsored athlete, Neil Mawson, headed out on a 3 week expedition to explore what bouldering opportunities exist in the Himalaya. Below are the words and images of professional photographer, Tim Glasby who went along to record the event.

 
I didn’t think it was going to be this hot. How hot can it be in late September? Well in Delhi about 100 degrees. It wasn’t the heat really though, it was the humidity. Straight off a 6 hour, air conditioned flight from London, into an air conditioned airport in Delhi, change a few rupee’s and walk out through the automatic sliding doors and into a sauna! A sauna full of slightly dodgy young men wanting to carry your luggage the hundred yards to the transport, a couple of nicely turned out Jeeps. You think these guys are some kind of official “bag carrier” until they start to demand money in a slightly menacing way!

Eight of us into two jeeps, plus the drivers seemed to work quite well. I climbed into the back seat, a previous visit had lodged in my brain and I knew what the eight hour journey had in store for us and there was no way I was going in the front seat to face it “head-on”. I could scream just as loud from the safety of my backseat, thank you very much. So, as the jeeps pulled out into the frenetic pace of driving “A la Delhi” style I had time to reflect on how I’d ended up in a jeep with two total strangers, a mate and just behind us team “Mountain-works”…

….When I finally answered the phone it was Hugh Harris from Mountain-works.

“Hi Tim, just got an idea I want to run past you” over the next 10 minutes he outlined his idea, and what an idea! A bouldering trip to India. Huge Granite boulders nestling on a grassy meadow called Tapovan, with the magnificent North Face of Shivling (6,543m) as a backdrop. Fast forward just over a year and the white knuckle ride was only just beginning.

The journey

Delhi to Rishakesh, 8hrs of bedlam momentarily broken by the best Tika Paneer I’ve ever had. A night in a hotel (up for about 22 hrs at this point) another 6,  arse numbing hours to Uttarkashi, a free day to explore, before climbing aboard another jeep for a final 5hrs to Gangotri, where thankfully the road finishes and our feet take-over for the final 25km to base camp.

Gangotri is a pretty cool place. It’s full of westerners trying to discover or even rediscover themselves, their new “life coach” an old “buba” wearing orange robes. It’s a  place full of shops selling beads and baubles and dodgy shell suits, but with a certain charm that say’s ”go on, I dare you, buy me” and you almost do, because somehow you wouldn’t feel out of place wearing an 80’s “Kappa” imitation. It’s a place of worship, at the temples and shrines and for many, at the yoga schools. It’s why a lot of westerners come here. The other reason is the trekking.

We spend three days here, acclimatising, and believe me we all needed it. I’m not in the best condition of my life, but I don’t usually get out of breath climbing into bed. On arrival I had to stop twice climbing up the 15 or so steps to our hotel in the rarefied air.

Gangotri, was where the trip first started to feel like an adventure, rather than an Indian version of the much hyped Gumball Rally. It was here we picked up our Cook and his help, our porters were chosen for the trek in and we got to know our head porter, a giant of a man called Behalli and our local guide and “fixer” extraordinaire Bishan.

The Trek

Only 25k’s to basecamp! It doesn’t sound that far does it? Four tea, or chai stops later and the first half of the trek brings  us to Bhojbasa, where without warning things start to get interesting in the shape of some projectile vomiting from one of our team. Kind of gross.  Unless of course, you’re a slightly skinny looking donkey that’s just passing at that moment. He thought all his Xmas’s had arrived at once and tucked into the treat with gusto! Bhojbasa is a kind of Indian shanty town or half way house, between Gangotri and our base camp at Tapovan. This part of the trek is undertaken by thousands of pilgrims each year. From Bhojbasa it’s just a few more “clicks” to the Gaumukh glacier, the source of the Ganges, a very holy place of the highest order.

The Bouldering

We finally arrived in the heat of the mid-afternoon sun. The last part of the trek up a steep winding track leading from the Glacier to Tapovan had pretty much knocked any surplus energy I might have had out of me. Coupled, with a “bit of a headache” I collapsed and graciously allowed “cookie” to make me a cup of Chai. Several cups later it was time to put the tents up and go exploring. An hour later the tent was up, but the closest I’d come to exploring the great granite boulders we’d travelled  miles  to climb, was to take a “leak” behind the closest of them.They were everywhere, just visible in the rapidly receding light. Huge lurking shadows, hiding untold delights!

The next morning we were all up at 7. Not because we were particularly keen, but because the sunlight was streaming into the tent and everything started to warm up, which was good, because I think we’d all been shivering awake for hours. I was bloody freezing! After a hearty breakfast of porridge, eggs, chapattis and chocolate, more Chai and half a litre of fresh mountain stream water it was time to climb. Or rather time to sort out cameras, film, flash cards and all the other bits that I needed for a day out. Finally I headed out in search of the “posse” who left 45mins ago. I didn’t have to walk far, like the great explorers they are they started on the first of the Granite Goliath’s, about 100yards from camp.

The bouldering is pretty awesome. Every conceivable size of boulder, from what the discerning Estate Agent would term “Bijou” sized lumps,  all the way through to “three storey detached” monsters. The landings in most cases are flat and probably have more grass than a typical problem in the Peak. Pads are recommended, you really wouldn’t want to break anything up here, you’d have to crawl down to the main tourist path, before you could hitch a ride on a Donkey, or maybe if your lucky the local Military might  be able to fly a Helicopter into 4400m, it might cost you a few quid though!

The actual climbing is, to use a much hyped phrase “world class” and given the location, actually quite popular (we saw several climbers “pad carrying” on our way up) and you wont find any contrived “No, miss the obvious jug out. Don’t use the two footholds or the flake. Now jump out left to the shit sloper, but ignore that really good crimp right next to it” eliminates here. You could make a few up, but what’s the point. Whether it’s a finger straining straight up, or 30ft of nearly passing out traverse, it’s all brilliant. Tiny crimps, open handed “grit like” slopers, totally out there arêtes, O so delicate grooves, Dyno’s and even slabs.    

Everyone climbed everything, or at least tried to. Kids in a Candy store would be an apt description. Then we saw it, about 100 yards up the scree slope, sitting tall, basking in the early afternoon light. Twenty feet of burnished gold rock. Its right arête a slab, but kicking into the vertical, for the last half. Delicate footwork and a long reach.

The left, overhanging. Big holds, between big locks. Perfect flat landing, a couple of pads, and a spotter.

Neil’s up first and style’s his way to the top. Clint pulls on, walks up the slab, pinches the arête with his right, works his feet high and goes for the long reach to a good edge. He’s almost there, an inch at most, when he starts to “Barn-door”, whoa! Somehow he manages to recover and scrambles up the rounded finish. Si watches, with a slightly bemused look on his face, he’s next. He makes it all look easy, a perfect V3.

I knew a little bit about this bouldering Mecca before I arrived. I’d heard the American alpinist, Pete Takeda had bouldered there while he was waiting for the “weather” over on Meru. Ben Moon had made a visit and left with a few good ticks and one big headache. John Dunne had passed some time there while on an expedition, as had Johnny Dawes, who pretty-much “cleaned” up all the best lines and of course Stevie Haston, who bolted a grotesquely overhanging arête on the biggest boulder and announced to the world it was the “hardest route ever climbed at altitude” it weighed in at F8a. It’s seen some action since, been repeated by at least one of the Huber brothers and a host of other capable climbers over the years. Our own Neil “Awsome” Mawson, dispatched it on his 3^rd try and thought it somewhat over-graded, Ouch! 

We’d been up here for about 5 days now, pretty much ticked the place apart from a rather futuristic hanging groove and a couple of highball E6 type arêtes  and everyone’s finger tips were starting to wear thin. Especially the first finger of my right hand, my “trigger finger” its hard work taking 3000 photo’s! More to the point Neil was knackered and his “tips” were looking decidedly worn and he still had some unfinished business with a rather long V8 traverse and a new sit start to and old problem, that would probably link in at about V9/10 and tomorrow we were packing up and heading back to Delhi!

So we headed over to the long, sloping traverse. Get that out of the way first. It was hard. Not technically hard, although it had English 6b moves on it. But it was just so damn long. Halfway into it and it wasn’t your forearms screaming, but your lungs. Then the crux sequence where you fall off and lie on the ground unable to move gasping for air!

Neil pulls on the crimpy start for the umpteenth time. A quick snatch brings the big sloping rail into reach, both hands share, body hanging low underneath. Throw the right heel on and hope it sticks. Altogether now, Hands – feet, Hands – Feet. Lungs starting to burn suck in some more of the rarefied air. Need to chalk, but can’t stop. Now the crux, move the left hand, shuffle the feet, match with the right. Hold’s getting smaller. Arm’s getting weaker, running on empty.

Neil’s climbing well, he gets to the crux quickly, but the strenuous moves are obviously taking there toll. He throws for a distant sloping edge, momentarily catching and hanging it, before gradually his fingers start to sliiiiiiide, he tries to readjust, for a fraction of a second I think he’s got away with it and then, gracefully arcs backward and lands with a “Wummpp” on the pad. He looks pissed, but smile’s almost straight away.

Ah well, you can’t climb everything. We head over to the biggest of the boulders, right in the middle of Shivling Basecamp; home to Neil’s other bit of unfinished business.      

Camp is pretty empty, the Japanese and Slovenian teams are somewhere up behind us on the immense face. A small group of Cooks and liaison officers turn up to watch the “stupid English with the small mattresses” turns out one of them went to Leeds Uni. Who’s stupid!

Si and Clint turn up having polished off all the problems they had on their “wish list”, there both buzzing.

Neil’s trying to link a sit start to an existing V8. A V8 he did a few days ago. He tried the sit start yesterday, almost “nailed” it once, and held the crux throw for what seemed an eternity, before popping off.

It’s like climbing the underbelly of a whale, or perhaps the prow of a ship. Pull on using a good sloping edge for the left and a poor, flat rib for the right. Immediately throw the left heel up next to your left hand. Right foot flagging. Left hand up onto the next sloping hold, leave your feet where they are. Coil up like a spring and throw with everything you’ve got. Right hand snakes out, up and right about a meter, to a small edge.

We settle into a routine. Neil pulls on, Simon films him, I take Photo’s and Clint spots. Neil almost makes it through the crux. He keeps catching that faraway edge, but not well enough to hold the swing once his feet rip-off. Simon gets some great footage. Boulder pads get booted into oblivion, tempers fray and fists get punched into the ground. The temperature’s dropping and in-between attempts t-shirts disappear under Duvets and sore fingers get thrust into pockets and then that all-important rest.

Bouldering seems to consist of 10 seconds of Oomph, followed by 10, more like 20 minutes of rest, unfair somehow. The ritual repeats itself, two, three I loose count. A couple of small red holes appear in Neil’s finger ends. He’s tired, but above all else he a stubborn fucker. He won’t give up, not until his finger ends are bleeding and its pitch black.

It almost is dark. One last go. Sit down, squeak the boots, chalk the hands, compose yourself. A few deep breaths, paste the feet, hands on the holds. One last distant glance at that crux. Focus.

Neil pulls back on for what will probably be his last go. Everyone’s up close. Clint’s right underneath him spotting. Simon starts videoing, he gives me a sideways glance and pulls a face. We all know it’s just a piece of rock, but somehow it really matters. And even though it’s Neil doing the climbing, everyone is going through the moves mentally with him. Willing him on, cheering when he makes a move, offering a collective encouragement in their different languages.

He latches the sloping crimp, “COME ON NEIL” I yell. He adjusts his body, matches and finally reaches the starting holds of the “stand-up” all that effort and he’s still only six feet off the deck!

Time to stop. Take stock, and calm down, before attempting the final tricky moves. The shouting subsides, everyone’s quite now. Clint moves the pads back a few feet and raises his hands up in anticipation. To the untrained eye it looks like he’s praying, for all I know he could be, because climbing is after all, to many of us, a religion.