Wallow-me-Elmo

It's been a week since I departed Pakistan, and I'm now feeling rested and revitalized, assimilating back into western culture and snacking on the odd french fry or two...ok, maybe more than two. I'll be in Europe for the next week, arriving back in the States near the end of March.

On February 25th, it was made public on the HiMountain website that our expedition was over. We had tried for 70 days to surpass our high point of Camp 3 at 7000 meters, but constant winds had battered the camps into flapping nylon, and our supplies in base camp were dwindling. On the 24th, Amin, Ali and I again made a push for Camp 3, attempting to make the climb there and back in a single day. Secretly I hoped that a weather window would open on the 25th and 26th, and our last foray up the mountain would turn into a fast summit push. But the forecast on the 23rd told us to expect the typical high winds, making our final climb a clean-up mission and to bring down the gear depots.

On the final climb our fast ascent pace had taken it's toll on Amin by Camp 2, so he stayed at that elevation, deconstructing the broken tents and packing as much gear as he could carry. Ali and I carried on to Camp 3 - but not without agreeing first that we'd turn around if conditions were too bad - suffering frostbite now was not an option. Above Camp 2 the winds were astonishingly high, and due to 3 days of snowfall. visibility was at times zero. On the boiler-plate ice slopes below Camp 3, we paused every 20 meters or so to warm our hands, and I was really worried that Ali would suffer frostbite in these conditions.


Boiler-Plate Ice Slopes from Calpinist.com on Vimeo.

Every 10 minutes I stopped and turned around to see Ali, and during the gaps in blowing snow I'd give him a 'thumbs up', waiting for a returned gesture. Eventually we reached Camp 3, where we found our depot literally hanging by a thin chord of 4mm rope over the edge of the abyss. The winds had blown the 60kg "gear burrito" 30 meters from where we had left it, and only a short piece of fixed line had prevented it from being blown into oblivion. In the raging winds we quickly stuffed our packs with as much as they could hold, then began the longs series of rappels toward base camp. Near dark we stumbled into base camp, tired from our marathon climb and descent, but happy with our effort to get stuff off the mountain.

Before I left for Broad Peak in early December, I knew that when the expedition was over a helicopter ride out from base camp may not be possible - but what I didn't expect is that we'd have to make the trek home without porters, carrying all we could manage with us. By the time my pack was loaded with computers, video equipment, cameras, some electronics, 5 days of food, cooking fuel, stoves, sleeping bag, and a few clothes, it weighed in at 30kg. I ditched everything that I could stomach leaving on the glacier, carrying only the most valuable or essential items. In May, the porters would be able to make it up to base camp and bring out all our gear, but for now it would have to stay, locked in drums on the moraine.

After packing up the rest of base camp on the 25th, we finally started the trek out on February 26th.

As I shouldered my massively-loaded pack, I thought to myself, "This is going to be epic." Over the last few years I've made the long trek up and down the Baltoro 3 times - in summer - but now a blanket of fresh snow would turn the already difficult journey into a nearly impossible one. The prior week's storm had deposited a fresh layer of 20-30cm on top of a base of a few meters in places. Around base camp the winds had scoured the moraine nearly clean, but down the glacier where winds were lower the snow had accumulated into deep drifts and unstable layers, and I knew that a post-hole-ing, "wallow-me-Elmo" nightmare was to follow.

Five minutes after leaving base camp, I stepped down onto a drift- which turned out not a to be a drift but rather a meter-high rift of glacial ice dusted with snow - and subsequently fell hard onto the rocks under the heavy weight of my pack. Uttering various uncreative expletives, I picked myself up from the short fall, only to discover a severe pain in my right knee. On top of everything else, I'd now have to make the trip with a deeply sprained ligament. Talk about adding insult to injury - or rather the inverse.

On the way to Concordia, Amin, Ali, Taqi, Robert, and I would take turns breaking trail and slogging our loads, with our poor cook, Didar, playing caboose the entire time.

Didar had been sitting in front of a stove for 2 months, and was now completely out of shape. I felt bad for the poor guy and waited patiently for him when he fell too far behind - but I wasn't exactly speedy myself as my knee grew progressively more painful.

After Concordia we stumbled upon the most unlikely but welcoming thing: a trail in the snow - and with this our progress increased significantly. The Pakistani army had recently moved soldiers up to the post near Gasherbrum 2, and their footsteps had trampled a harder path, turning our post-hole party into a semi-post-hole party. After 12 hours of tough going in the snow, we set up camp near Goro 2, under a chilly, clear sky, cramming into painfully small assault tents, but content with our progress so far.

Next dispatch tomorrow- Snow Leopards, Snow Blindness, and Pakistani Hospitality