Part II: The Major League

(Following on from Part I: the Journeymans Journey)

The pitter-patter of rain pulls us gently from our slumber. Wearied bodies revolt at our brains suggestion that shelter be sought. Pulling out the tent we push our two-man sleeping bag into our tent fly. A sliver of moonlight watches us continue spooning through the night, as the weather sets in. Only three pitches up, we resign to the fact of the matter, the forecast was wrong.

Having arrived at the head of the Trango Glacier we settled into the meadow that would be home for the next month. Still feeling ill from the walk in, I struggled to eat much and a crippling headache kept me on my back. After a few days we used our sat phone to make some phone calls home. With a forecast that predicted a week of good weather it was time to saddle up and get on the wall, regardless of if I felt a bit shitty.

“Anybody who say’s they got in a good night’s sleep before a big-wall climb is either lying or insane.”

Packing our bags we felt the anxious nerves always experienced before setting off onto a big-wall adventure. Naked ambition drove us out of our sleeping bags, long before the sun would rise for his morning coffee. Crossing the glacier for the first time, we picked our way through the maze of debris and ice. The sun made his way into the sky as we were nearing the base of the mighty Shipton Spire.

First glimpse of the wall.

Rising out of the glacier into the thin air, we got our first close up look of the face. Much more featured than we envisioned, we traced lines from our meager topo. We started hearing the whirr of a falling rock, sounding like a mortar exploding into the ground. We ducked for cover as the missile exploded onto the scree field, some distance away. Reminding us of the dangers these walls can hide.

We delicately picked our way through the cut up glacier. Forced into making some abseils into crevasse’, just so we could climb out the other side. All the while loose stones crashing into the base of the wall, having gone toe to toe with gravity and lost. Soon we found ourselves at the base of the long scree gulley to the base of our route. Scree, that more closely resembled kitty litter.

The base of the wall, scary place.

Slogging our guts out we fully felt how un-acclimatized we were. Standing at the base of our route, Ship of Fools (VI 5.11 A2 WI6 1300m), we tried to piece together where the line went. We only had a distant topo picture and an article about the first ascent to guide us up the wall.

Racking up beneath the first pitch, we packed our freshly collected melt-water into the small haulbag. I head up the first pitch, making about 10m before I pulled on the first camming device past a wet section. A loose, shaly ledge lets me pull the rope tight as I reach the belay. Matt battles his way up, jugging the lead rope. Hauling proved a nightmare, the haulbag getting stuck on the loose flakey pitch. Everytime, Matt had to work hard to free it. As we would find on many pitches, seconding with a pack on often proved more physical than any of the climbing.

As I’m hauling the second pitch I hear a terrifying sound. My lungs bellow a warning down to Matt, telling him what he already knows. A cavalcade of ice crashes off the walls all around us. Once it subsides I yell down, seeing if matt is ok. He makes his way to the belay, nerves frayed from a close encounter. We look at the cricket ball sized dent in his helmet, and cut the gnarly core-shot from our haul line, losing five meters in the process.

As the day draws to an end, Matt cheekily runs up the next pitch, fixing a rope to save time for the next day. we do some minor landscaping on our ledge, trying to find a lovely flat spot to sleep on. With something fairly close to flat, we settle in for the night. We don’t set up the tent as it’s a fine night out.

settling in for the night.

That decision comes back to bite us when we feel the first few small drops of rain. We get into the tent as the rain starts to turn into snow.

The morning wakes us to the sight of snow setting in. knowing that if we want to climb such a giant peak with so little gear, the weather needs to be perfect. We bail. I jug the fixed line to get it back before we start abseiling towards base-camp.

Navigating our way back across the glacier, we arrive back to safety a few hours later. To our amazement Jamie and Duncan are still on their chosen line on Cats Ear Spire. We pull out the binoculars and see them moving slowly through the wind and rain over wet rock. Putting in a huge effort, obviously loving the suffering.

They finally concede a few days later and join us in going insane in basecamp. Reading books, talking shit and smoking the local delicacy is how time was passed. One by one the books fall to my boredom before we get a hint that another weather window might be coming our way.

The hunger to be up high burns deep within all of us now. Having sat about for too long gives us all the energy to leap back onto our climbing objective. For Matt and I we ready for shipton, Jamie and Duncan pack for a crack at The Eternal Flame on Nameless Tower.

Knowing the way across the glacier means we reach the base of our route after only a few hours.

Once again we rack up, cruising up the first four familiar pitches. Collecting our bags on the way. We come to a crossroads, a piton out right, but easier looking ground out left. We follow our nose and ferret-leg* out left, Matt barely making the belay with all 60m of our rope. I gingerly jug past some massive loose flakes. With the odd trundle for fun, I’m soon passing the rack over to Matt for him to continue his block.

Matt leads out on pitch 4

Shuffling his way up a wide crack, he aid-climbs a thin crack to by-pass a large roof. In a large chimney system, he continues up, running it out to the next double bolt belay. We follow our nose upwards, hoping to find Fantasy Island, a large ledge mentioned by the first ascent party. The odd piece of fixed gear lets us know other people have passed up these vertical pathways before.

Some short pitches of scrambling lead us up onto what can only be the large ledge we were searching for. Wishing we had a portaledge, we again start hacking into the dirt and rock to fashion a flat sleeping platform. A pair of curious black-birds circle for a short time, unsure about these weird creatures invading their home.

Setting up the snuggle-dome

We set up our tent and tuck in to some of our tasty freeze dried meals. Eating time is definitely me favorite part of big-wall climbing. Lying back with our feet up, we stare out at the amazing scene in front of us. Clouds dance through an amazing sunset, lighting up the magnificent peaks and rock-towers rising up out of the glacier all around us. Small birds flit about on the winds, chirping their goodnight song our way. We settle into our two-man sleeping bags as two very content monkeys. Having found the beauty in adventure we had set out to capture.

Waking to our second day on the wall I put the stove on. Matt fishes out the coffee to get us charging for the day to come. Dave and Scott at Yellow Bernard, a rad little café in Hobart, were kind enough to supply us with some of their amazingly delicious coffee to see us through our exploits.

Firing up a rocket!

Packing away the mandatory big-wall clusterf%k we are soon ready to start climbing again. I rack up beneath a beautiful, golden granite splitter. Its not long before I’m pulling on gear, just wanting to get up this thing as fast as possible! A full sixty meter pitch saw me find the belay.

Golden splitters...

After Matt battled his way up, I continued up. Now having to fight my way in an awkward wide crack. This continued for a few pitches before we found ourselves on a spacious ledge.

battle in the trench

Matt sneaks a peek up the next pitch as I pass him the rack. It’s an iced up chimney, with a fixed rope visible through patches of the ice. Pulling on whatever was available, he made his way up the pitch, with little in the way of great protection. Soon I’m jugging the pitch behind him, slip-sliding about on all the ice. Another few pitches lead us to a point where we can nearly see the Notch. The place we hope to reach that night.

Matt models the seconds pack

Matt makes his way up a splitter crack onto a blank looking face. Finding multiple dead ends he’s forced to make some wild pendulums leftwards to link up with another crack. Digging his way up an overgrown crack, he fights to find somewhere to belay. I second the pitch, having to lower out off a shitty, wobbly wire while looking at an epic swing. With the dark cold of night looming we tuck tail and head back down to our gear on the ledge below.

Once more we settle into a night of Karakorum magic. As the sun takes up its resting place we do too. A sleep well earned after a hard day toiling and fighting against gravity. We had hoped to reach the Notch that day, but ended up four pitches below it in the end.

Another glorious day of splitter weather welcomed us into the new day. Graciously we sucked down a hot coffee and got ready for the pitches above. We quickly regain our high point, and Matt sets off into unchartered waters. We would find out on the way down we had actually missed the turnoff for our intended route. And that we probably climbed some new pitches, explaining all the loose rock!

Matt starts nearing the end off his tether, literally. I call out theres not much rope left, but he continues upwards. Using every trick I can I get the most length out of our rope. I high-step the top piece of the anchor, I undo my knot, I end up with a jumar clipped to the very end on a long sling so I don’t lose it. Finally Matt calls out ‘Off belay’.

We now had a couple of low angled pitches to the Notch above us. Matt sprints up the pitch above, this time leading with the seconds pack. We couldn’t haul, so I started up with the haul bag on my bag. Sucking hard for air I slog my guts up a grade 12 slab in mountain boots. I work harder than I ever have climbing, just to stay on. Getting to the notch is my reward, we stare up the ridge above us. Now the route takes on a completely different character, its an alpine thing.

Nearing the gully leading to the Notch

We stop to catch our breath and put on a brew. Chopping a ledge into the solid ice allows us to unpack and set up where we are going to stay for the night. After I short while I rack up to fix a line on the ridge above. Feeling free and light, not having to bring all the big-wall baggage. I find easy crack systems, floating up them. Suddenly I hit my stride, looking all about at the abundant beauty I find a peaceful happiness. This feeling, I think to myself, is exactly why we come to places like this. My sense of mastery of the moment is overwhelmingly rad. I hammer home a belay and make my way back to our temporary home, happy as can be.

Savoring the ridge above the Notch

Happiness makes optimists of us all. I look around at all the cirrus clouds, and the others forming, thinking it’ll be fine. Its just a few clouds about the valley. We pack our bags for our summit-push the next day. In 24 hours, hopefully we’d return to this ledge having been to the top of one amazing piece of rock.

As they say, the best laid plans of mice and monkeys…

We wake to the sound of wind and rain. Well not really wake, as the cold, cramped ledge wasn’t too comfy. Listening to the weather set in we knew we should have seen it coming. Optimism not a good substitute for realism. We shivered away through the night, praying to any god that would listen, for it to clear in the morning.

No luck. We wake to weather that’s here to stay. We look through our meagre rations, one days food left and consider our options. After a few hours tip-toeing around the hard decision, we decide to head down. Experience had shown us that a system like this would stay around for days at least, and would be leaving the above ridge in dangerous conditions.

Matt retrieves our fixed line and we start retreating down the 18 pitches that had led us to the notch. Cold, wet and tired, we pay extra caution to how we handle our ropes, one having a nick in the halfway mark, and the other a big core-shot. Slowly we make our way back down.

retreating into the gloom

Walking across the glacier through the rain we cast our minds back across the last few days. With a small amount of gear we had made good ground over a Karakorum big-wall. We both had content smiles on our face, knowing that we wouldn’t have done anything different.

The next few weeks see us mostly moping about base camp. A short window lets us make one mad dash up a massive snow gully leading towards Trango II. We climb all night under a full moon. Without head torches or a rope, we move quickly move upwards. Every man in a quiet, reflective mood. We wish Duncan could have joined us, unfortunately some frost-nip on Nameless tower meant he was out. We did what I do best, nearly got to the summit then turned around beforehand. It was still an amazing 24 hours, climbing 2000m up a mountain to see into the biggest mountain range in the world.

Karakorum magic

A few days playing tourist after we walked out saw us ready to get on a plane and go home. We had reached that point of satiation, the point when you have reached a sensory overload for new experience.

Although the trip was a failure, in that we didn’t stand on any piles of rocks, it was an unforgettable experience. One forgets the horrible smells, stomach bugs and anarchy. The perspective remains. Perspective of a rich westerner with too many ‘things’ being confronted face to face with raw poverty. Helping remind what’s really important, the only thing that really matters in this life, relationships. How you deal with people goes on to define the world we ‘know’. Helping remind we’re probably not as important as we think we are that no one gets out alive. Helping remind me that smiling is a good thing.

Desire