The north facing couloirs of the huge central rock island between camp 1 and camp 2 feature the most demanding technical terrain so far. Although only a few short pitches, the climbing is ultra delicate, with only a thin veneer of rotten ice sparsely smeared to downward angling rock slabs. The glass-smooth slabs are around 70 degrees steep in places, and any purchase with ice tools or crampons is tenuous at best. As I ascended the pitch for the first time (after Inaki led and fixed a rope) I felt both grateful and envious; grateful that I didn't have to lead this section, and envious that I didn't get to lead it. We climbers are a confused bunch.

 

 

 

About midway up the second pitch, I caught a glimpse of something moving just below my sketching frontpoints. As I peered between my feet, I was utterly amazing to see a small, black, furry face looking up at me. It was Mustard, the Wonder Mutt, showing off her "frontpawing" technique. The little dog was even waging her tail, despite rope-soloing incredibly heinous mixed terrain at 5600 meters. I yelled at her to go down, but every time I spoke, she simply wagged her tail harder, apparently confident with her precarious stance.

 

Mustard the Wonder Mutt first picked up our trail after a lunch break in the small lodge huddle of Dovan. During the hike in, Dan Stensland, Daniel Baas, and I, stopped at Dovan for some fried noodles, of which Dan Stensland found his portion to be completely unpalatable. After a few forkfulls, Dan surrendered the bulk of his noodles over to a supremely relaxed dog lounging nearby. The happy dog quickly gobbled up the Asian fare, and has been licking clean our plates ever since. Prior to our meeting, the mostly black dog was at some time anointed with yellow paint on her forehead, and also sported a few licks of the pigment on her ears and back. Hence our new nickname for her, "Mustard".

 

Mustard. Our cute, loveable-but-flee-infested, expedition mascot.

 

That was 6 weeks ago. Now she is, for reasons obvious, Mustard the free-soloing Wonder Mutt, and I had to get her to go down somehow.

"Mustard! Go down!"

Wag. Wag.

"Oh ya", I thought, "I bet she only responds to Nepali commands."

 "Tolah. Tolah-zani, you crazy mutt!"

More tail-wagging, and now, the "puppy-dog eyes". Crap.

Finally, I grabbed I big wad of snow and hucked it at her. I felt bad for doing it, but I didn't want her to follow any higher- partly because I was afraid for her safety, and partly because I wasn't so thrilled that a cute little dog was cruising the climb and making me look bad. The snow-wad discouraged her enough that she turned and galloped down the steep slope, then stuck the landing on a 45 degree snow ramp about 20 meters below me. Convinced she would stay, I continued up, scratching away and breathing like I had half a lung.

 

A few minutes later I pulled over the lip of the couloir, leaving the steepest ground for the long, left-angling snow slope up the spine of the rock island. As I climbed farther away from the couloir I could hear below me someone shouting in Russian, then Romanian, then Russian again, the others trying to discourage Mustard the Wonder Mutt from flashing the pitch- despite all the negative beta. Personally, I think she wants to ropegun. Maybe we should let her.

 

The top of the rock island is crowned by a short 10 meter ice serac, with two 65 degree chutes accessing the top. I managed to catch up to Inaki and we swapped leads past our previous high point at 5800 meters, then broke new ground up and into the bottom of the right-hand chute. The snow across the traverse was deep but stable, and despite looking like one of the most perfect avalanche slopes I have ever seen, we safely boroughed our way to the top. The snow in the chute had hardened into ice halfway up, and Inaki fixed a short section of rope while I crested the serac to survey the terrain above.

 

Above the gap the glacier was almost perfectly flat, with huge crevasses and snow bridges winding back and forth- huge enough that no little slots should be present. We continued, unroped, crossing two massive snow bridges, and after 200 meters or so of horizontal snow field, found a slight depression to set up Camp 2. Horia had now joined us, and the three of us pitched our tent at 6000 meters, then spent a few moments snapping some pictures and preparing to descend all the way back down to base camp.

 

At 5pm we arrived at the lodges of ABC, almost 2000 meters lower, tired but content with the day's efforts. As typical, Mustard arrived a few minutes ahead of us. Show off.