Masters of Manaslu

"We have taken Manaslu."

Picked up by radio in Katmandu, the brief message was rushed to Nepal's new King, Mahendra. While the invading Japanese still struggled toward his Himalayan capital down the dangerous, snow-covered slopes of their triumph last week, Mahendra ordered his subjects to prepare a proper reception. Not since the collapse of their "Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere" had any Japanese been greeted as conquerors. But now three of them had become the first to top Manaslu, world's ninth tallest mountain (26,658 ft.) and one of the toughest to climb.

Though Asia is scarred with the earth's most challenging peaks, few Asians consider climbing a sport. To them, the exploits of such men as Sir Edmund Hillary are part of an outlandish philosophy; they would never climb Everest simply "because it is there." Often enough in the high Himalayas, devout Buddhists scramble and scratch their way to the top of middling high peaks--but for a perfectly practical reason: those who make such a pilgrimage earn unlimited credit in the eyes of their gods.

Barley for Horses. In all the Orient the Japanese are the only mountaineering exceptions. At the turn of the century Japanese army officers were poling around the rugged terrain of Korea and Manchuria, even Siberia, picking up information for their military maps. In 1941, with war just ahead, the Japanese had a large expedition climbing the Himalayas of India's Punjab, hunting hardy wild mountain barley for the horses and men of their cavalry, and at home the sport of mountaineering kept abreast of political and military needs. The Japanese alps crawled with amateur climbers. Biggest goal of civilian climbers has always been to scale a major Himalayan peak.

In the winter of 1952 an exploratory expedition tackled Manaslu, but the Japanese had a tough time even reaching the base of the mountain, because the Indians were reluctant to let foreigners get close to sensitive Tibet and its Red Chinese visitors. By spring, though, the advance guard had chosen the north col near the Sherpa village of Sama as the only possible route, and the first climbers started upward. Monsoons slowed them and they finally quit, their supplies exhausted. In the spring of 1954 the Japanese returned. They had doubled their supplies but this time their opposition was tougher. Outside Sama, angry villagers threatened them with a barrage of yak dung and stones. Manaslu, the village headman explained, was Sama's "sacred mountain," and by trying to climb it, the Japanese had angered Sama's gods. That winter, as punishment, the gods had sent an avalanche to level a 300-year-old monastery and had killed three lamas. Then had come a drought and a smallpox epidemic. Worst of all, none of the Sherpa guides or the porters the Japanese had hired were Sama people. When the expedition tried to push ahead, the villagers sharpened their kukris (curved knives) and fingered their piles of yak dung. The Japanese quit, climbed a couple of nearby peaks to save face, then went home.

Careful Coincidence. This year Japanese climbers brought along a Nepalese military escort, a large collection of Buddhist books, cases of smallpox vaccine and a $550 contribution for the ruined monastery. Even so, Sama's citizens prepared to do battle. Then the Japanese played their ace. They introduced their leader, Yuko Maki, 62, a Tokyo manure dealer, who happened, by careful coincidence, to be just as devout a Buddhist as the Samians. Maki passed on all the gifts and made his pitch: as a Buddhist, his trek up Manaslu would be a pilgrimage, not a desecration. What's more, he was prepared to hire some porters right there in Sama. The expedition was permitted to proceed.

Worried lest the weather beat him again, Maki sent his men scurrying upward before early monsoons. They made a base camp at 24,000 ft. and rested for their predawn assault. Near the summit the air was dead calm, and the climbers hacked steps that took them up the final 2,658 ft. in a scant six hours. On the sun-drenched summit they stayed long enough to take pictures and offer Buddhist prayers. Two days later, a second team climbed the peak.

Maki's men were still picking their way back to Katmandu when news of their success drifted back to New Delhi. There, veteran climbers were frankly envious and just a little sad to see another peak conquered. Said Ram Rahul, climbing companion of U.S. Supreme Court Justice Douglas: "The big conquests are all but over. Before we know it. American Express will be running tourists up to the top of every Himalayan peak just to have a look."

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