precisely the full visual evidence of the text in
the new policy.”THE
MOUNTAINEER
I first heard of the Siachen Glacier from a climb-
ing buddy who said it held some of the most
desirable unclimbed mountains in the world.
“It’s near the border with Pakistan,” he told
me. “They won’t let anyone in there to climb.”
The summer after my wife and I got married,
we traveled to India in search of first ascents in
the Nubra Valley, just outside the Indian Army’s
militarized zone surrounding the Siachen. We—
along with all the other mountaineers who’ve
come to this region over the last 40 years—were
following in the footsteps of Bull Kumar.
Standing just under five feet six inches tall,
with swooping gray eyebrows and a deep, guttural
laugh, Narinder “Bull” Kumar, 87, packed numer-
ous adventures into a storied military career.
Despite losing four toes to frostbite, Kumar led
several ambitious mountaineering expeditions
throughout the 1960s and 1970s, including an
attempt on Mount Everest. Along the way he
rose to the rank of colonel in the Indian Army and
became something of a celebrity, meeting Prime
Minister Indira Gandhi and forging a friendship
with Tenzing Norgay, who, with Edmund Hillary,
was first to summit Everest.
Before Kumar died last December, I visited
him in New Delhi to hear about his encounter
with two German adventurers who approached
him in 1977 with a plan to make the first descent
of the Nubra River, a chalky deluge that drains
from the Siachen. Kumar would later write in
his memoirs that when one of the Germans
unfolded a map to explain their plan, “I looked
at the map and my eyes got stuck.” He asked the
German where he got his map and was told it
was a U.S. map, used all over the world.
Kumar said nothing but soon recognized theboundaries which will not offend the host gov-
ernment and yet not compromise established
American positions,” it began.
Then in crisp, authoritative language, Hodg-
son laid out his guidance for how to show the
1948 cease-fire line on all official U.S. maps.
But then he added: “Finally, the cease-fire line
should be extended to the Karakorum [sic] Pass
so that both states are ‘closed off.’ ”
In a single sentence, Hodgson created a
straight line traversing snow-clad mountains
and high desert in a northeasterly direction to
link NJ9842 to the Karakoram Pass, an ancient
Silk Road byway on the Chinese border.
Why Hodgson did this remains unknown. He
offered no explanation in the letter, and no notes
have been found relating to the decision. But
from his office on C Street, he must have seen
obvious practical reasons.
In 1963 Pakistan and China had signed a
bilateral agreement establishing the southeast-
ern end of their shared Kashmir border at the
Karakoram Pass, so many observers assumed
that would be the logical end point for an
Indian-Pakistani border as well. But since India
had nothing to do with that treaty, Linthicum
says, “it was invalid.”
Linthicum suspects a mapmaker’s fastidious
desire to resolve ambiguity may have played a
role. “Some people have the completeness syn-
drome—or completeness obsession—where you
have to fill in the gaps.” If both countries were to
be “closed off ” by the cease-fire line, as Hodgson
wrote, the line would need to reach China to form
a complete boundary—and the Karakoram Pass
was the most identifiable point on the divide.
Yet Hodgson also seemed to understand that
his boundary adjustments would be controver-
sial. In a letter to the CIA, he urged maximum
discretion. “We would prefer that the change take
place gradually so as to reduce to a minimum pos-
sible international complications,” he wrote.
Hodgson’s hope to conceal the policy changes
may have been wishful thinking. “After all, he
should have considered the obvious,” Linthi-
cum says, “that map after map would soon be
published, many released to the public, withments found to date reveal that such
nsiderations influenced the Office
rapher. By 1968 Hodgson had been
many sensitive boundary issues. “He
ation,” said Bob Smith, whom Hodg-
o join the office in 1975. “Hodgson
aking to the Greeks and telling them
y that their position was untenable,
l the Turks the same thing. He told
.”
was one other crucial problem with
re line through Kashmir: It didn’t
e India and Pakistan. Instead, at
te point, designated during the
on process as NJ9842, the line
pped nearly 40 miles from the Chi-
r. This dead-end line is unique in
aphy.
eying team had good reason not to
hose last 40 miles cut through the
t of the Karakoram. It contained no
populations to protect, no known
urces to exploit, and no easy access
tary infrastructure. Instead of provid-
ive line, the final treaty documents
y vague guidance for the section
8 42: “ ... thence north to the glaciers.”
here were many glaciers north of
t the largest and most strategically
ial was the Siachen, an immense,
er of ice that cuts through the east-
am. “Back then it was something of
on the map,” Linthicum says. “The
s terrain would be worth fighting over
struck all parties as absurd in 1949.”
e fervid summer of 1968, as the U.S.
h the Vietnam War and political tur-
me, Hodgson consulted with other
e the State Department to determine
w the cease-fire line—including the
of the roughly 40-mile gap.
mber 17, nearly three months after
Weathersby’s airgram, Hodgson
response in a letter that remained
until 2014. “The Department has
ized the difficulties involved in the
of a map of Indian international
CE OF THE GEOGRAPHER,
SSUES IN KASHMIR WERE A ‘CARTOGRAPHIC NIGHTMARE.’A LINE IN THE MOUNTAINS 113