It’s almost two weeks ago that I arrived home after a gruelling stretch of travelling halfway around the world with a horrible stomach bug. Hobart feels more like home than it ever has. Driving down the hill from Alex’s house after a good training session gives me a second to ponder how stoked I am to have some things falling into place. A good job that will provide the future I want. A new pad in the best suburb in the world that’s feeling more like home every day. A head full of tangible goals that deeply motivate me for the next adventure.
But hang on a sec, I only just got back from an unforgettable adventure, thats what you wanna hear about!
Those phone conversations spread across so many warm summer nights in Battery Point seemed like a lifetime ago. Watching Matt descend our wet, core-shot ropes I beat my hands, desperately trying to get some sensation back into them. Snow blew about us both, my mind struggling to grasp this scene is my reality. Clipping into our only two ropes I start down the 20 pitches we had climbed over the previous three days, my heart breaking at the realisation that this dream wouldn’t come true….
Calling the airline company I begged to be told wether or not my flight had been grounded. I needed to be on this flight. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be able to meet up with the fellas in Sydney to get our international flights. A computer answered my next call, with that annoying, patronising cheerful voice. If I wanted to fly I had better start flapping, no planes flying means I’m going nowhere.
Another hour of desperate phone-calls with my amazing travel agent, Ric, Thai Air are gracious enough to let me give them a stack of cash to change my flight. That bloody ash cloud meant I was two days behind the other three guys. Hoping to meet in Islamabad before heading north.
Travelling by myself sucked all the usual balls it always does. Finally a wave of hot, humid air assaulted my face. I stepped of the tarmac into the arrival hall and was greeted by a chaotic scene of disorganised mayhem, a view I’d soon come to expect in this part of the world. Holding my passport out I got a stamp, marking my entry into a country that the Australian government recommends all its citizens should leave if possible. Not exactly a trip to Bali…
Following a random Pakistani that knew my name, I got into his cab, he must be the right guy. The silence between us was deafening as I grabbed my seat every time we nearly clipped a truck. Ducking and weaving through the traffic, I was educated on how to drive when you want to get somewhere quickly.
Arriving in the hotel lobby, I was hit by how tired I was, how long I’d been travelling for. A bleary-eyed Matt came down to let me into our hotel room. I had finally caught the guys up, after they had to suffer through a few extra days in Islamabad. I set an early alarm and settled into a deep sleep.
I woke to a wave of panic before I realised where I was, and what was going on. We had to start driving, early. We had a long way to go today. After a forced breakfast we slowly made our way through the outskirts of the city. Slowly the road started rising higher into the hills. All over the sides of the road was pot, growing freely without anybody caring. We were blown away, wondering how it would go down with the locals if we picked a few bagfuls.
The usual colorful truck negotiates a washed out corner on the KKH
Everyone who’s heard about Pakistan has probably heard about the Karakoram Highway(KKH). The amazing engineering feat of running a highway up the imposing Indus River gorge has a justified reputation. It’s a road carved into a steep hill, its sides nearly shear in some places. Before long, every turn we made gave us the chance to see how far we would go if the driver lost control. The lack of any kind of barrier didn’t do anything to deter our driver from hurling us into every blind corner.
After a massive 14-hour day sitting in the car we finally slumped gratefully into our beds at the Shangri La Hotel after a dinner of curry We had started getting our first glimpses of a typical third world scene, with a Pakistani twist. Toothless grins, hesitant at first, needed to be coaxed to become smiles. The locals were happy to see us passing through when they knew we were climbers.
Another day stuck in the car meant more death defying roads, many corners having had large sections washed to the violent river below. Every corner provided us with better views of bigger mountains. It was crazy to think that these crazy hills were exactly that, the small foot-hills of the mountain range we were going to go climbing in.
A couple of military checkpoints reminded us how tenuous relations were between the neighbouring India over Kashmir. The soldiers were all friendly and indulged us in a game of volleyball, a welcome stretch of the legs.
Soon we were watching the steep sides of the gorge ease off as we made our way into a flat basin. We saw the town of Skardu ahead in the distance. Many large, snow-capped peaks were now starting to take over the skyline. We settled into a curry for dinner, with our guide, Aishaq (pronounced ee-sok). With him we made plans on how we would continue from here.
The next day saw us sitting through our ‘briefing’ at the toursim office. It wasn’t very brief, and they barely said a word to us, just needing piles of paperwork signed by the various members of the expedition. We were soon squeezing into the jeep that would take us six hours deeper into the mountains, to our trailhead.
Relaxing at Askole, the gateway to the Baltoro Glacier
Askole is the end of the road. It’s the gateway to the Baltoro Glacier, home of some of the worlds biggest giants. Many of the hardest 8000m peaks call this place home. A memorable dinner of curry filled our belly’s before we crashed into our fartsacks.
The porters in Pakistan must drink a lot of coffee. They were eager beavers, desperate to get their share of the work. We knew there were more porters than there were loads, luckily we our Sirdar was on top of things up got some sense of organization out of the chaos in front of us.
We started walking early. We knew the sun would beat down hard during the middle of the day so we hurried. The sun found us pretty close to our final destination. Taking up shelter underneath a small crag with the porters, we were able to escape the sun’s fiery stare.
Crossing the Braldu River, Day 1
That night in our campsite, porter after porter came and asked “Dr Jamie” for various drugs or patching’s for wounds sustained. To watch the porters toil all day without complaint was truly humbling. With a heavy load carried by a crude, home-made frame, they often made the hard treks with little more than sandals on their feet.
The second day of the walk in saw most of us shitting through the eye of a needle. My stomach was turning and the sight of most food made me feel ill. Battling on I was unable to eat anything due to nausea. When the going gets tough, the weak turn up their iPod. My favourite hip-hop mix helped me finish off a day that should have been a piece of cake, if I could have eaten anything at all.
Ripping the top off the Nutella jar I was psyched to be eating something, even this lonely looking chapatti. My poor body needed some kind of breakfast, I could already feel kilo’s dropping away. Forget Jenny-Craig, stomach bugs combined with a little bit of altitude while walking all day in the sun is the secret to rapid weight loss.
The long walk in...
During the third day we glimpsed some of the BIG, bad-arse looking hills, such as Broad Peak and the Gasherbrums. Taking a left turn we made our way up onto the Trango Glacier, where the fun begins. The frustrating up and downs of weaving our way up the glacier where outweighed by the ice’s soothing, cooling effect.
Slowly around us bits of granite were rocketing up into the thin air. Great Trango’s mighty profile saw us all standing there with jaws dropped. Nameless Tower came into view next. Slowly we picked our way up the valley, our eyes moving from one imposing peak to the next, bigger more impressive peak.
Blasting up the last moraine wall we were greeted by a beautifully lush, grassy meadow that would be our home for the next four weeks. I pulled out my headphones and looked up. Catching my first look at a huge granite wall only a few kilometres away, rising some 1400m out of the glacier to the summit. With my breath literally having been taken away by the altitude, I mouthed two words:
Shipton Spire….
Shipton Spire (approx 5900m)
Chronicles of the Flying Monkey 