Broad Peak 2005: Another attempt
Our story so far...We've spent the past few days in Rawalpindi and Islamabad, waiting for things to happen. Actually all is on schedule. We are on a permit with Czech, Italian, Polish, and other American climbers (the latter two groups are not here yet). Don and I have been hanging out with the Field Touring Broad Peak crowd, and their names may crop up as we cross paths with them in the future.
Here's an example of one of our days in the big city:
June 20. It was 116 degrees in Rawalpindi today. It sounds better in Celsius-47 degrees. We’re staying at the Shalimar Hotel (whose slogan is "luxury coupled with economy") in Pindi, the old city. The newer city of Islamabad has the government offices, embassies, and major businesses. The heat and sun, combined with endless exhaust fumes, car horns, dust, and occasional whiffs of garbage kept me inside for most of the afternoon. I went for a walk this morning with Jim Sparks, and between our two faulty memories we discovered the shopping district nearest our hotel (maybe a mile away at most). I didn't buy anything, but did locate the Kentucky Fried Chicken and Subway (not that I plan on eating there). This afternoon, like yesterday, saw jet lag snare me. The urge to sleep was overwhelming, though it seems strange that it hits about 4 PM (which is 6 AM at home).
We're all tired of buffet meals already (a serious disadvantage since that’s what we get for the next 7 weeks), so we went to the Pearl Continental Hotel for dinner in their cafe. The PC is supposedly $250 per night and is a real classy joint. They have a pianist who earnestly plays in the lobby while recorded music spills out of the sound system at the same time, an aural contradiction that seems appropriate in Pakistan. After dinner we walked out into the darkness with the heat wrapped around us, much more enjoyable without the sun beating down from above.
We leave for Skardu tomorrow (June 23). As our official leader (a Czech) will not be here for ten days, our Liason Officer, Major Anwar, asked that I serve as official 'leader' for the time being. It felt like a scene from The Wizard of Oz ("...In view of your ability to speak English, and your experience here in the past, I hereby bestow upon you the title of Expedition Leader, with all the privledges blah blah blah..."). This means, in reality, nothing other than I arrange the tips for staff and try and communicate with the climbers who speak little or no English so they know when we're moving during the trek. Each group is totally independent on the mountain.
June 25. In Skardu, after the two day drive. Tomorrow we head for Askole by jeep, then the trek.
The trip so far has reinforced several fundamental themes of travel in Pakistan. These can be generalized to other Asian countries (and maybe to other developing regions, such as, say, Kentucky or Alaska). First, Inshallah ('if God wills it') is not a spiritual law but a physical one. So many things that determine your destiny are out of your control; it's healthier just to sit back and let things happen.
Second, a miss is as good as a mile is another basic tenet of society. Pakistani drivers perform amazing feats of applied multivariable calculus every few seconds, determining the trajectories of multiple intersecting vehicles and pedestrians so as to allow them to miss each other by a hand's breadth. I've twice felt the brush of a car mirror as I walked along the road.
Third, even the smallest decision requires a committee meeting that would make any bureaucrat proud, though there's a lot more shouting than normal. Finally, the people are far more friendly that I'd see in a similar situation in the USA (although our liaison officer found Americans very friendly and open during his visits there).
On the way to Askole (click)
What about the climb? We are on a permit with climbers from Italy, the Czech Republic, and maybe later some Poles and other Americans. There's lots of snow in the mountains, lots of sun melting it, lots of water trying to wash out the road to Askole, and not enough porters. Apparently, increasing education has made the life of a porter less appealing, ergo there are fewer men willing to carry loads. Imagine that! In a few years, helicopters will likely replace humans as load carriers and an old tradition will be lost.
Today we pack loads, finish shopping, and relax (I hope) before the 4 AM departure for Askole. Several kidney-pounding hours on the jeep will finally, Inshallah, get us to the start of the trek.
A few days later. The morning of our rest day at Paiju, Deigo (ITA) was stretching outside the mess tent before breakfast. I walked over and he showed me a horseshoe that he'd found. I explained that in the USA, you mount the shoe on your wall with the open end up and it will fill with good luck. We decided to take it to Base Camp and put it in the mess tent.
At Paiju (click)
The next day we headed for Urdokas, the longest day of the trek to base camp. We finally got onto the Baltoro Glacier and hiked up and down the moraines along the true left bank. Grasses, sedums, and various legumes dotted the landscape. We arrived in Liligo and ate lunch with the Trango group going in and out of the clouds.
The trail to Urdokas hugs the side of Liligo Peak and other unnamed peaks. We we walking along, digesting lunch when the roar of a rockslide filled our ears. We looked up in horror to see a dust cloud erupt about 600 meters up the slabs above the trail and about 500 meters in front of us. Microwave-sized blocks bounced and blasted the slabs, finally strafing the trail. There were literally hundreds walking the trail that day, and we were certain that somebody had to be in the area pelted by the rocks.
I hiked on, afraid of what we would see. I arrived and found a number of our group huddled around somebody. It was Diego, with a small but nasty tear on the outside of the knee where a large rock had grazed him. He and Max (ITA) were the only two in the rockfall zone. They had scrambled for cover as the rocks flew past them. It was still dangerous so we got Diego up and moving into a safer area. He eventually hiked slowly to Urdokas, where Don prepared to examine and treat his wound.
Nazir, our guide, came in and said that there was a doctor in camp. Don went to check it out and came back with a whole herd of doctors! Turns out a National Geographic team was in the area, and they had a dozen or more doctors, medics, etc. and they just happened to be at Urdokas. Quicker than you can say "3-0 silk" they put four stitches in his skin, and no permanent damage was done. I think Diego drained all of the luck out of the horsehoe that day!
The next day we continued our walk to our first camp on the glacier, named Goro 2. At one point Don appears, yelling for our L.O. We rush ahead and find a porter with an apparent serious case of HAPE (High Altitude Pulmonary Edema). This life-threatening illness can strike anyone in the mountains, and the porter had the classic signs--crackling sounds in the chest and fast respiration.
Don immediately went into 'stablize, package, and transport' mode as we would do in the USA. But helicopters don't come for porters (unless you're willing to fork over $9000 cash). The porter said that somebody else gave him medication earlier in the day, but we didn't know what. One dose of the right meds could save him, but two could kill him. The best we could do is send a note to the docs in Urdokas (several hours down the glacier) and have the porter carried by his comrades. Did he make it? We don't know. Note: he did survive, but only because of the NatGeo medical team.
July 13. The Karakoram weather is up to its usual tricks. July 2 we arrived in Base Camp and sat through bad weather until July 9. The sun finally came out and the avalanches were spectacular. On July 10 there was a mass migration up the hill, pent-up testosterone finally going to good use. The initial approach gully seemed somewhat easier than last year, but that may have been due to my foresight in bringing a second ice tool. There was actually less snow and more water ice than I expected.
Starting up to C1 (click)
After climbing the initial gully I exited onto some avalanche debris and looked down to see my left crampon dangling from my boot. It didn't just fall off, the heel and toe sections had separated completely. I had re-installed a device that allows rapid size adjustment for the crampons and apparently this wasn't holding properly. I taped it together and climbed more slowly than I wanted. Luckily, the other crampon waited until after the final water ice section to fall apart. Rodrigo (MEX) helped me reassemble the thing and reshod me like a mule while we were on some 40 degree snow.
I spent a night at 'half camp' (5300m) and at Camp I (5700m), while Don stayed two nights at CI. Don carried a load of rope to CII and sat for hours, waiting for the avalanche risk to subside. He had a sporty downclimb on rotten ice, in the dark. Eventually fixed ropes will run all the way to CII.
We both decided to go down and pick up another load. Also the weather was moving in, so descent looked like a good option. Well, it's July 13 and it's rained and snowed continuously at Base Camp for the last 24 hours. The good conditions on the hill have been replaced by avalanches and rockfall. We're stuck for at least a couple of days.
Lower Camp 1 (click)
July 16. The weather still is too lousy to do any real climbing. Down at BC it ranges from cold rain to nice sun. On the 14th I jogged down to Concordia (the massive glacier junction--see the map on the background page), picked up a tent, and walked back. Yesterday I went up to K2 Base Camp and spent an enjoyable couple of hours talking 'American' with a K2 team and the medical staff. It was a relief not to speak pidgin English for a while.
July 25. No summits, but everyone's down alive.
Take a lot of bad weather, lots of ambition (without matching skills), and a small window of good weather and what do you get? Just what happened over the last few days on Broad Peak.
Typical rope anchor (click)
July 21. I was a day behind the main summit push (which included about everybody else on the mountain). Don and I were at Camp 2 (6300m). Don, Chris, and Dao (USA) all attempted the summit from C2. Don started feeling funny at 7600m and turned around--one of the few instances of good sense shown that day.
That evening, Don was monitoring the Polish radio frequency and heard of an accident. This started almost 48 hrs of uncertainty about who was hurt (or even alive). The Poles (with some help) spend almost all night getting Artur, who had a broken leg, back to C3.
July 22. The first thing we heardin the morning was that a Czech and an Italian were dead. We knew the Poles were descending so Don and I went up and fixed another 300+ m of fixed rope above Camp 2. The rest of the climbers were descending as we tried to fix the ropes. Most climbers were in pretty rugged shape.
Artur being lowered to C2 (click)
As the day progressed, the reports of fatalities were replaced by reports of one missing Italian climber. At the end of the day the Poles arrived at C2, quite exhausted. Artur was his usual jovial self, despite the broken leg. Chris Warner (USA) and Dao returned from a bivy in a snow hole at 7900m without reaching the top due to high winds.
July 23. At this point we had no info about the missing Italian (Max). I decided to head down to Base, find out the situation, and try to organize for possible multiple rescues. Nobody was doing the job down there. In three hours I was at BC, and found out that Gionni (SWI) had found Max at 7600m, clearly a victim of cerebral edema (HACE). They were descending from C3.
I then headed up to K2 BC to try to find a stretcher. The worst part of the descent was ahead for Artur--the traverse across the glacier from the bottom of the fixed ropes. (Just for comparison, it took me 1:40 to descend the 1300m from C2 to the bottom of the ropes, and 1:30 to cross the glacier).
I brought back a couple of plastic sleds (which worked great). It still took them over 5-6 hours to cross the glacier, ending at 9:45 pm. Max and Jonny made it down earlier that day. Everyone's back!
Many people reached was is known as the 'rocky summit' which is a point along the ridge leading to the true summit. It's over 8000m but is 20m or so lower than the true summit, about a kilometer away. Last year I reached a point just below this outcrop. They reached the rocky summit at a criminally late hour of 3:30 pm or later.
So no summits, though many claim to have reached 'the summit.'
Typical weather in 2005 (click)
July 25. We're sitting around trying to decide what to do. Many are leaving, some of us want to stay and make another attempt. The weather is unsettled, and many uncertainties exist. So who knows?
We're wrung out emotionally and (in some cases) physically. The helicopter showed up at took Arthur away this morning, and the weather has gotten a bit worse again. I'm feeling fine and really haven't had a chance yet to see what will happen when I go high.
July 28. I'm sitting alone in our mess tent. To the left are my portable speakers, playing Starship Troopers by Yes, to my right a piece of pork sausage and a can of Pringles. About 10m towards K2, everything I own is laying on the rock-covered glacier to dry before packing in the barrels. Both K2 and Broad Peak are wrapped in clouds and wind. It's time for us to come home.
There was one last summit attempt. After the summit attempt of July 21, virtually everyone gave up. The weather forecasts gave us some hope of a mediocre (but feasible) weather window July 26-28. So we mustered a small group that, though not united on tactics, at least had the desire to go high once again.
I left Base Camp on July 26, bound for C2. As I reached to base of the fixed ropes, I found one climber turning back due to diarrhea and vomiting. The 'Field Touring Curse' had struck again (the result of a cook who really didn't care to be there).
At C2, illness and lack of motivation meant that there was nobody for me to climb with. So I headed down. July 27 meant a grueling trip down to Base with a big pack (28kg/62lbs). I carried down everything I brought up, including all garbage. This was not done by other expeditions, including French, Spanish, and Field Touring Alpine. I reached the bottom of the ropes in a little over 90 minutes, but it took almost 3 hours to cross the glacier! I was very sleepy, thirsty, and walking on loose rock with my Frankenstein boots and a 60 lb. pack was sorely trying.
Trekking out (click)
A tiring and wet walk out led me back to the USA on August 10.