Before every trip to the mountains, everyone seems to be the authority
on trekking and contemplates how the trip will turn out. This one to Concordia,
the heart of the Karakoram, was to be a trek of a lifetime. People started
talking about it many weeks before it actually started and there was speculation
about who would be fit enough and who wouldn't. Preparations were in full
swing: a menu, food supplies, number of porters and money matters were
being decided over a mailing list. People were being told what to bring
and how much weight to carry. Supposedly, night temperatures on the Baltoro
glacier can reach minus 20 degrees Celsius. Concordia was the place from
where we would see K2. Then we were to cross the Gondogro La pass at 5600m,
an altitude many seasoned trekkers find hard to bear. The whole trek was
scheduled and planned for 14 days. Surfing the web to view pictures of
Concordia and K2 was a regular occurrence. Descriptions of treks over
the Baltoro and back down into the Hushe valley over Gondogro La were
read for almost a whole night with utmost concentration, while a final
exam was scheduled the next day. The trip had become an obsession for
some of us. Everything was very uncertain. Difficulties in convincing
my parents to let me go, finding warm waterproof boots for the trek, getting
equipment in order and meeting deadlines for initial payments were just
some of the pre-trek tasks that made me wonder whether I really wanted
to test my stamina (I jogged a grand total of 4 times before the trip)
and mental strength up there. I decided to go for it. I had just graduated
and wanted to go for one last trip (until god knows when) to the mountains
with my South Side pals. Last minute backpack adjustments and a couple
of goodbyes later, Wasif, Jeff, Sajjad and I boarded the Daewoo bus from
Lahore to Islamabad on an early July morning. Excitement was at its highest
level despite the fact that three of us had been up all night; the trip
had started. No amount of discussion, brain wrenching thoughts or premeditation
about this trip could come even remotely near to what I was to experience
in the following weeks.
Islamabad and Skardu
Before proceeding, let me just briefly mention the group that went on
this trip. Most of us were LUMS students or alumni, with the exception
of a couple of teachers and a few non-LUMS friends. I apologize in advance
for mentioning unknown names randomly throughout this write-up, but it
had to be done; the people made up an integral part of the trip's success.
Our time in Islamabad went by fast, too fast for my liking. After all,
the comforts of life were going to be missed out on for at least two weeks
and I wanted to relax as much as I could before the trek. We met up with
some of our friends at our always hospitable and shaky pal Saqib's place.
The following night we reached Maheen's house and got our first glimpse
of LP, her younger brother. Okay, for many of you, he is Ali Piracha.
But the name LP stuck to him like a fly on a piece of cow dung for reasons
that I shall refrain from discussing here. We were there to help Maheen
out in packing all the food and supplies for the porters to carry. As
I entered the guest room I realized just how big this trip was. Food for
25 people (cook included) took the shape of numerous cans, packets, jars,
sachets, sacks - you name it, and it was spread out on the bed and around
the floor leaving very little space for one to sit down or walk around
freely. Rabia and Faiza were picked by Mamoo (who unfortunately didn't
go with us on the trip) from the Daewoo station and they were at Maheens
soon after we arrived. Moscow arrived early next day and after wrestling
with the flour sacks and barrel lids, most of the food was packed. Nine
people out of the group were ready to fly to Skardu that morning, the
12th of August, while the rest, some of whom were still in Karachi or
Lahore or wherever, were to take the flight on the 14th. Atif, president
of the LUMS Adventure Society and a licensed guide by now, was supposed
to be with us but couldn't make it due to some Ministry of Tourism briefings
(Cassandra, an American colleague of Yasir's, was part of the group) at
the time of the flight. And much to his chagrin, the weather was on our
side; we took off for Skardu.
Skardu was hot. And by hot I mean really hot. As we made our way out of
the airport and then to the hotel by jeep, I realized that this wasn't
one of Pakistan's typically beautiful Northern Area destinations. The
town itself is extremely dusty with not many places to see, but the surrounding
hills and peaks sort of made up for that and the lack of beauty. The manager
at the Indus motel wasn't very welcoming and my first impression of the
people of Baltistan was a bad one. I was to find out later exactly how
hospitable and friendly they are. The ladies, Rabia and Faiza, got a room
to themselves. Wasif, Jeff, Sajjad, and I took up one room and were later
subject to state-of-the-art swearing by Ali Moscow for abandoning him
in another room with LP. So we decided to have a toss to determine which
one of us would be shifting in with them, with the result that Wasif would
do the honors. Very stupid and rude of us, I must say, as we were only
staying there for three days and two people in one room and four in another
didn't make much sense. However, with the arrival of Shafiq bhai, our
cook, the toss was declared void and Shafiq bhai was thrown in with them.
With two days to go till the rest of the group arrived we had to do something
or the other to keep us busy. In the lobby/dining area of the motel we
met two British climbers, Mark and Michael, who were joining a French
expedition to Broad Peak. They gave good company, with discussions on
a variety of issues, ranging from mountaineering to Mark's company's online
sales to religion and culture in Pakistan. It felt great to clear up some
of the most absurd misconceptions the Western world has about Pakistan
and its people. They left after 2 days; numbers and e-mails were exchanged
and plans were made to meet them at Broad Peak base camp, something that
never materialized.
The walk to Satpara Lake and back was a good test of one's stamina and
the lake, which is the main source of water for the inhabitants of Skardu,
was a beautiful sight. When we got back, we found Hasan and Yasir at the
motel entrance; they had just returned from a trek in Shimshal and the
evening was spent in the company of chappali kebabs and their stories
of near death experiences. Hasan insisted we go and explore the Deosai
plains by jeep the next day. And boy was the visit worth it; if I start
writing about it here, it would take up too much of my time and space.
In short, they were stunning with their serenity, greenery, surrounding
peaks, cloud shadows and a picture perfect sky. After a short session
of photography and video making we made our way back to the motel and
found the rest of the group members there. The unfortunate second batch
of 14 people could not fly out to Skardu because of bad weather and had
to take the Karakoram highway. Not only was their journey long, they also
faced the problem of crossing around a broken section of the highway.
Yes, it was one tired bunch.
All hell broke loose the day before our jeep ride to Askole, from where
we were to start our trek. Last minute preparations included talking to
the porter sardars and deciding how many porters to take. Atif gave me
the responsibility of buying kerosene supplies and food for the 44 porters
we were taking with us. Everyone was making frantic trips to the bazaar
to buy equipment they thought they might need. While some went and bought
useless pieces of junk, more efficient people like Faiza and Rabia thought
of buying things like sunglasses and a backpack on the last day. At the
motel, the upstairs corridor was filled with people doing all sorts of
things: porter loads were being made; ordered equipment was being distributed
to everyone; people were packing their own things; a weighing scale was
passed around so people could weigh their packs; intense discussions ensued
about how heavy the packs had become, reducing weight was another problem;
medical kits were being sort - the usually dull Indus Motel was the scene
of intense excitement and commotion caused by our group. After things
had settled down, Hasan and Atif gathered everyone on the roof of the
motel late at night for a small pre-trek group meeting. Some very needed
information and instructions were given by Hasan, Yasir, and Atif about
the risks involved and other trekking matters such as handling the slower
people and cooperation between group members. By the time a slight drizzle
finally disrupted the meeting, I had it clear in my head - decisions made
by Hasan and Atif would be final. Not because they were taking so many
pains in organizing a 14-day trek for 24 people but that they were the
most experienced trekkers in the group.
The Trek
Day 1 (Skardu to Thongol) The jeep ride was wonderful. Almost all of us
were standing most of the way to Thongol, but the spectacular views of
the peaks in Shigar valley left very little to complain about. Ducking
under trees, screaming, singing and shouting along the way made the jeep
ride feel short, and we found ourselves at Thongol instead of Askole (the
jeep track to Askole was blocked), setting up camp and lazing around afterwards.
The rest of the porters were picked up from here. The surroundings were
green and water was abundant; no one could wait for the next day.
Day 2 (Thongol to Korophone) The actual trek started the next day; as
soon as people were done with the morning chores, one by one everyone
set out towards Askole, which was our first stop. On reaching Askole within
a couple of hours, I was out of breath and I had this uneasy feeling that
the following days would be horrible. A couple of cigs later we made our
way towards Korophone, our next campsite. The trek that day didn't turn
out as bad as it had started for me. We crossed a relatively flat area
with humongous boulders scattered all over the place until we came along
to a rocky stretch full of ups and downs. There was an easy bridge crossing,
some inclined areas to be crossed, and that was it. On reaching Korophone,
Hasan's remark summed it all up, ?This place is a fish market?. There
was another large German trekking group camped there with tents and equipment
spread out everywhere. The afternoon and evening were spent in the mess
tent, with cards and music. The porters made their own music which went
on till late in the night. We were camped almost at the snout of the Biafo
Hispar glacier and a stream from the glacier ran beside the camp; needless
to say it was one chilly night.
Day3 (Korophone to Bardumal) The following morning, the trek went smoothly,
walking on rocky terrain with the Braldu river flowing down on our left.
The inclines and declines, however took a toll on my legs. After several
stops for water and cigarettes we came to the cable bridge at Jola. Everyone
was sitting on the opposite side and we decided to have lunch there and
just spend some time relaxing, eating and ?drinking'. The surrounding
views and the gushing river made this the perfect place to sit and fool
around, and fool around we did for almost 2 hours, as the next campsite
was supposedly close. Following the river, our path turned towards the
left; trudging along the now sandy terrain and then crossing over narrow
and rocky stretches, we reached a place we named the ?naked German' camp.
No prizes for guessing why; we stumbled upon a German trekker in the middle
of his shower. Not that he seemed to mind too much. With the girls going
red and the guys laughing their heads off, we made our way ten minutes
further on where we found Zakaria, Hina and Mannan waiting for the rest
of the group to catch up. I was under the impression that this was to
be our camp but soon I realized that our porters were nowhere to be seen.
They had probably gone on and with Fooki's shoulder causing some problems
and the tail behind us not yet in sight, we had reason to worry. Not to
be bogged down by circumstances, everyone just repeated Jola until Atif
arrived a while later. He came and went ahead to check out what was going
on. In an hours time we were walking towards the next camp, most people
without their packs as the porters had come back to get them. Yasir, Wasif,
Jeff, and I offered to carry other people's packs along with the porters;
in fact Yasir was so excited that he tried to carry two at one go - that
is just about what he did ? he tried. After about another hour we walked
into the Bardumal campsite, tired and hungry. Sadaf was being treated
for a bad knee in one of the female tents. Fooki was feeling only slightly
better; most people opted to hit the sack early. The second day had been
tough indeed.
Day 4 (Bardumal to Paiyu) By now an early morning pattern had set in;
breakfast was either porridge or paratha; people were assigned to take
care of the tail (in case you don't know what this term means, it's used
for the slowest people in the group - and I mean slow) and once the tents
and equipment were packed, one by one people started to leave. Making
my way along the path with Wasif, I started noticing a change in our surroundings.
Things became less ?sandy' now, the terrain seemed ?rockier' and a change
in the weather was obvious. We were gaining altitude and inclines seemed
tougher than ever before. The faster people had also been established
by now, if the lead would get to a camp in say three hours, then it would
take the tail six. The best part I remember from this day's trek was crossing
the stream flowing down between two peaks and into the Braldu. The porters
had advised us to get there as early as possible since it became wider
and faster flowing as the day went by. It was great. With my cargoes rolled
up, I had to literally pull off some sort of a balancing act on the stones
beneath the gushing knee-deep water. How Wasif managed to make a video
while crossing it is something that I still don't comprehend. Going on,
we managed to get on to the wrong path, and after correcting our course
we continued along an almost non-existent path with some areas that hardly
had any place for our feet. Paiyu, our next campsite was supposed to be
an hour away according to the porters, but it took us a good two hours.
I suspect the term ?porter standard time' was coined sometime around this
day. As we approached paiyu, we could see the rising snout of the Baltoro
glacier in the distance, a grayish-black mound rising out of the earth.
Paiyu was one of our best campsites. Situated in a peaceful grove of trees,
it seemed full of life with expedition tents dotting the whole area. Everyone
was in camp by three in the afternoon and we had plenty of time to spare.
Atif, Hasan, Zakaria and Yasir were in high spirits (no pun intended),
cards and music (a couple of us even started dancing with music on earphones)
were being played everywhere, and the tuck shop provided some people the
opportunity to buy over-priced coke and cigarettes before venturing onwards
the next day. The shower that Fooki, Wasif and I took down in the stream
is also one I'll never forget. I'm glad Fooki made us take a dip into
the ice-cold glacier water, a strange mixture of emotions followed: loud
screams of pain and the luxurious feeling of being clean after four days
of walking and sweating. Dinner as usual in the mess tent followed with
the non-smokers secretly cursing smokers to get the hell out of the tent
to smoke. The porters were at the peak of their creativity, belting out
the latest Balti numbers and qawwalis to everyone around camp. It can
become slightly annoying though when one is trying to sleep. I slept late
that night, the clear sky and millions of stars kept me up for quite some
time outside our tent.
Day5 (Paiyu to Khobutse) The next morning Wasif, Jeff and I were given
the responsibility of handling the tail. This day was going to be one
I'll never forget. It started off on a good note. Bilal and Sajjad decided
to stay with us for company and we found ourselves lazing around under
the early morning sun for 20 minutes at a time after spurts of ten minute
trekking; we would let the tail go ahead and then catch up with them.
By the time we crossed a narrow path, which led up to the start of the
Baltoro glacier, it was just eleven in the morning and the tail was already
busy tucking into their packed lunches; I started feeling uneasy as to
the slow pace we were proceeding at. Getting onto the glacier, we slowly
made our way over the twisting and turning path to our right; the left
one apparently went towards the base of the Trango Towers. This was my
first time on a glacier after a long time, the last being on the trek
to the South Side of Nanga Parbat two years ago. It was going to be different
as the Baltoro stretches for over 60 km till Concordia. Stopping at a
much welcome shaded area under a large overhanging rock, we started gobbling
away at our parathas and canned tuna. Looking back we could still see
the trees surrounding Paiyu; it had been five hours since we started out.
Several porters passed by and left laughing after hearing how long we
had taken to get to this point from Paiyu. ?We do this in 45 minutes?
and ?you will reach next camp by 10 in the night hopefully? were hardly
phrases that made any of us feel better. As I said, this day was going
to be one I will never forget. During the course of the trek, I was alone
for about an hour's time with Sajjad and Wasif behind me and nowhere in
sight, and the rest of the tail ahead. My stomach rejected the tuna soon
after I had had it; I vomited at least 4-5 times and any sort of liquid
I tried taking would just come out. With the afternoon sun beating heavily
on me, nausea took complete control over me and I was dehydrated beyond
belief. What was alarming me the most was the level of weakness I was
feeling. I was literally on my knees, almost on all fours, each time I
puked and the 15 kg pack seemed like a 100kg one at every step along the
icy path. The fact that I was alone did not help either. I was out of
breath every five minutes and the more I stopped for breaks, the harder
it got to get up and start going again. There came a point when I almost
gave up, thinking that someone would come and get me; my common sense
got the better of me and I continued in agonizing mental and physical
pain until I saw Jeff with the tail - they were just getting off the glacier
onto a path which ran across the side of a mountain on our right. I guess
seeing someone at that time after being alone for what seemed like forever
was the biggest energy boost I could ask for. Catching up with them quickly,
I related what I had gone through and we took another rest while waiting
for Wasif and Sajjad to catch up. To make matters worse, we could not
find water anywhere. Before the day ended, we trekked for two more hours
before we got access to water, Jeff also vomited and passed out after
going ahead to get water while I stayed with the tail; Rabia felt sick
as well because of the tuna; Sajjad hurt his knee in a bad slip (that's
why Wasif and him were way behind me), and a rescue operation was carried
out by Fooki and Rehma to get water to us as quickly as possible. The
tuna combined with slow pace, afternoon sun and lack of water had taken
its toll against all of us in some way or the other. Some porters then
came back to the spot under the rock where Rehma had been resting all
day (where Jeff had passed out and the rest were relaxing) to carry our
packs to the camp of Khobutse. We reached camp after 7 in the evening,
exactly 12 hours after we had started off. I felt fine by then as I greeted
an angry yet worried Hasan asking me what had gone wrong. Everything had
gone wrong, nothing seemed to have worked for us that day, but whenever
I look back, I thank god for not letting it get worse. Anything could
have resulted out of the circumstances that afternoon, disasters much
worse than what we went through could have occurred. As they say, all's
well that ends well.
Day6 (Khobutse to Urdukas) Next day we set out for Urdukas, a camp situated
at a vantage point where one can gaze around at the beauty of the Karakoram
peaks. The trek till Urdukas took hardly 2 or 3 hours and everyone, after
the previous day's trek, welcomed the small distance. An army camp is
set up below the camp and I was quite appalled by the amount of pollution
it had caused in the area. Urdukas is where one finds the last remnants
of greenery and flowers on the way to Concordia and the view from here
is phenomenal. In the distance I could see the Trango Towers and the Uli
Biaho Towers jutting out of the earth like thick needles. Glaciers that
separated each tower flowed into the Baltoro, creating a breathtaking
mosaic of ice and rock. Photography sessions went on throughout the day,
music was being played in the mess tent as usual and I spent a lot of
the day just staring at the enormous snowy and rocky cones rising out
in the horizon; shining in mind-blowing splendor under the afternoon sun.
The Baltoro glacier itself is as beautiful as a glacier can get. With
numerous crevasses that seem like they've been designed intricately by
hand, countless ice walls, and clear streams, the Baltoro is a delight
to trek on. At night we noticed light being flashed somewhere in the middle
of the right face of the Trango Towers and then at the base. Obviously
someone was attempting to climb the towers; the flashes were signals.
I tried imagining what it would be like to sleep hanging in midair with
your life supported by a few ropes - you must really be in love with the
mountain to do something like that; or be simply really crazy.
Day 7 (Urdukas to Biango) Well over 4000m by now, we set out the next
day towards Goro II, but ended up reaching a place called Biango, situated
between Goro I and II. We decided to camp here, as there were no signs
of the tail catching up with us any time soon. We received some bad news,
Maheen was having trouble walking and was suffering from altitude sickness;
she had turned back towards Urdukas. Yasser Hashmi and LP stayed with
her while Atif and Hasan decided on heading back to Urdukas the next day
to bring her back later when she felt better. Seeing some ice walls around
the area, Hasan decided on doing some ice climbing as we had the whole
day to spare. The session went on brilliantly with people waiting patiently
for their turns. Rehma in a hurry decided to climb the wall from another
side (without ropes) while people like Moscow went on climbing till almost
dark. On the right side of the camp, the snow-covered Masherbrum provided
to content the photographers later in the afternoon; it looked stunning
with the clouds around it glowing in the setting sun. The night was unbearably
cold as this was our first camp on top of the glacier itself. Khobutse
and Urdukas were on land just off the glacier. But here we were literally
sleeping on ice and combined with the icy winds coming down from Masherbrum's
Yermenandu glacier, the cold seemed to creep into my bones no matter how
much I tried keeping myself warm.
Day 8 (Biango to Goro II) We set out the next day (Atif and Hasan in the
opposite direction) not deciding where to camp; the porters told us that
Concordia would be a long but doable trek and Goro II would be close and
a good spot to camp at. We found ourselves at the latter site after another
small walk, probably the shortest trek of the trip. Yasser, Atif and LP
met up with us late in the evening with the good news that maheen was
feeling better; Hasan was still with her at Urdukas. The weather wasn't
particularly pleasant, looking back at where we had come from; I saw a
massive buildup of dark clouds. After some time we were hit by strong
winds and rain for a brief while. Despite the cold, the clouds and the
rain, our surroundings were getting better in terms of views; Mitre was
visible in the distance along with some of the other peaks surrounding
Concordia. K2, however, was still hidden.
Days 9 (to Concordia) 10,11 (Concordia) The weather had cleared up considerably
by the next morning, but as we trudged towards Concordia it started raining
again and I wondered if the weather would ever permit us to get a good
view of K2. The trek to Concordia was interesting; longer than any of
the last three days while the path took us over hundreds of inclines,
twists and turns under a drizzling sky. I met a foreigner on the way who
was carrying a small rucksack with skis fastened to the sides. He asked
me whether I was going to cross Gondogro La and after answering with a
yes, I asked him whether he was just trekking or was part of a climbing
expedition. ?I just summited K2,? came the answer. ?I'm going back now.
Bye.? Talk about straight to the point, someone who can talk so calmly
about just reaching the top of the second highest mountain in the world
and then walk off as if he is strolling around in his garden would impress
anyone. I hardly had the time to congratulate him properly; I was just
too amazed to react. I found out later that he was Hans Kammerlander,
a famous Italian climber who has climbed a zillion peaks with the likes
of mountaineers such as Reinhold Messner. He had also just attempted to
ski down K2 after reaching the top but stopped when he saw a Korean fall
to his death. I lumbered on in awe and after about 20 minutes, I spotted
familiar poncho-clad figures and tents in the distance, this was it; I
had reached Concordia.
From the descriptions and discussions earlier, I had gathered that Concordia
was known as the throne of the mountain gods. Now I could see why. As
I passed by an army camp and into our own, I noticed how this place resembled
a bowl, covered on all sides by mountains characterized by gigantic proportions
and awe-inspiring beauty. I couldn't figure out where K2 was, someone
told me it's on my right and so I peered towards my right. To my disappointment,
it was covered with clouds and I could hardly make out the base of the
mountain in the dim light caused by cloudy and over-cast weather. When
I arrived at Concordia I poked fun at Wasif and Jeff, looking utterly
stupid in their ponchos - 15 minutes later I was looking utterly stupid
myself. The weather was horrible, it was drizzling continuously and it
seemed that god had saved all the cold for the day that we were to reach
Concordia; a poncho seemed like one of life's necessities. The altitude
took over me for the first time, I felt dizzy and experienced light- headedness
for a while during the first day. Thankfully, that was all I felt. Soon
after the rest of the group had arrived, we set about the task of getting
the tents up. Our tent's position was chosen quickly, with a good view
of k2 (if the clouds ever budged) and on a relatively flat area. First
toiling with the surface by covering it with flat stones and removing
all the jagged ones, we did everything we could to keep the rain out.
Stones were placed on all sides of the tent to keep the water out and
we dumped all our stuff inside to prevent it from getting soaked. To my
horror at night, my sleeping bag was drenched all the way to the inside
padding and I ended up sleeping in the mess tent after Atif gave me a
relatively dryer (but still wet) sleeping bag. Hasan and Maheen arrived
later in the day, towards the evening in fact, with Maheen apparently
suffering from hypothermia and Hasan extremely tired; they had walked
the whole stretch from Urdukas to Concordia in one day. After a little
rescue action by Moscow and Atif, Maheen was brought to camp and was made
to rest in front of the gas stove in the kitchen tent for some time. Moods
in the camp were solemn but as soon as she recovered, everyone was back
to their cheerful selves again. The two days at Concordia were like a
dream. I mean, here I am camped at 4800m, in the heart of the Karakoram,
with people whose company I enjoy, what more could I ask for? The days
were mostly spent gazing at the mountains. From Concordia one can see
the majestic K2, Broad peak, Gasherbrums I, III and IV, Chogolisa, and
Mitre peak among the main ones. Mitre is my favorite after K2, with its
jagged edge features and being almost black in color, it resembles a mad
scientist's castle.
It was at Concordia that the mess tent culture in its true form came into
being. Cards were played almost all the time, with a whole range of different
games being played by almost everybody. Yasir's speaker was very useful.
Music, which somehow always sounds better in the mountains, was played
all afternoon each of the three days, with requests ranging from Nusrat
Fateh Ali and Junoon to Pink Floyd and U2. The ?Khizer-Mannan' bathroom
tent was set up with ingenious engineering, but failed as far as the flushing
system was concerned. Shafiq bhai treated us to some of the finest cooking
at breakfast, lunch and dinner. I say finest because the man actually
made tinned and canned food taste nice, and kudos to him for putting up
with impatient shouts of ?Shafiq bhai?foood!?. Bilal went on an overnight
trip to G2 base camp to see some of his friends who were there with an
expedition. On his return, he treated us to 1/20th of a slice of pizza
each, a couple of sips of Pepsi and some pudding that he had taken from
his gang at G2. The same day was spent ice-climbing on a nearby ice wall
and although I didn't go, I could feel the amount of fun the climbers
had had on seeing their satisfied and smiling faces when they returned.
We were visited by two army officers who were delighted by the fact that
a Pakistani trekking group had made its way up there. Normally, not many
Pakistanis trek in the Karakoram; they are missing out on one of the greatest
opportunities in their own country to see places which foreigners pay
thousands of dollars to visit. Photography sessions took place whenever
the weather permitted. Actually, speaking of weather, let me just briefly
mention how nature played havoc with us during our stay. It hardly ever
stopped drizzling and even the times the sun decided to say hi (the rain
and sun gave us one of the best sights on Concordia, a rainbow), the cloud
cover would never permit us to get a good view of K2. We did, however,
see all of it in parts, but never the whole thing all at once. The peak
seemed to be playing hide and seek with the thick wisps of clouds coming
in with the wind from lower Baltoro; war cries by Zakaria, Mannan and
Rehma greeted the summit whenever it peered down on us at Concordia. No
picture of K2 can do justice to what meets the naked eye when standing
at this junction of the Godwin Austin and Baltoro glaciers; this massive
beauty stands aloof from the rest of its neighboring peaks. The first
obvious striking feature is its size, its sheer enormity is overwhelming
and the colossal slopes on the sides of the mountain come together to
form an almost perfect cone; the perfect shape is made not-so-perfect
because of the famous shoulder on the right side. Rehma pointed out its
clear silhouette under the moon one night when I ran out of the mess tent
to answer the call of nature. I felt that the shoulder gives K2 a lot
of character; the mountain seems to exude some sort of arrogance, attitude
and style with it standing high and proud above everything else, yet slouching
to one side in a calm and casual manner. From a distance, the rugged features
are a delightful treat for the eye; with my earphones stuck firmly to
the sides of my head, I spent many moments admiring and enjoying what
has to be one of the greatest sights nature has to offer.
Day 12 (Concordia to Biango) The group was to make a decision at Concordia,
whether we were going to cross the Gondogro la or not. It was obvious,
given the events so far, that some people were most likely not going to
make it over the 5600m pass unless they were prepared to go through agonizing
pain. At the same time, slow people were likely to pose a danger to the
other members of the group as the pass has to be crossed in a limited
amount of time at night before the sun rises and the ice on the La starts
melting. Hasan and Atif, whom everyone turned to as unofficial leaders
of the group, were to make a decision based on the weather on the day
we were to leave Concordia. The 3rd day dawned and we found ice covering
the tents; it had snowed slightly the night before. So that was that,
we weren't going. Only Bilal and some porters belonging to the Hushe valley
were going to cross the La; Bilal had to get off the Karakoram and back
to Islamabad as early as possible to meet admission deadlines. As things
were being packed, some people changed their minds; they wanted to cross
G La. I was one of them initially, but on the last moment decided on a
hunch not to go. The weather was worrying me and I wanted to be part of
the larger group; ?the more the merrier' seemed appropriate as I made
the split second decision and started off back down the Baltoro. The plan
was to try and camp at Goro I or if possible at Urdukas. On the way we
stopped at the army camp at Goro II, being treated to much needed hot
cups of tea and some stale biscuits. On reaching Biango, we set camp as
the tail was apparently quite far away behind us; the prospect of reaching
Urdukas after dark didn't seem too promising. In fact this trend continued
over the next two days, plan for Paiyu cut short to Khobutse and plan
for Bardumal cut short to Paiyu, it was only on the fourth day that people
were made to reach the planned destination of Korophone.
Day 13 (Biango to Khobutse) Next day, we made our way past the familiar
surroundings, no less beautiful than when we went up the Baltoro, on towards
Khobutse. It was this day that I lost my way. I was following a porter
and he obviously deviated from the path on some sort of short cut. For
almost an hour I was trying to keep up with him while at the same time
walking on slippery ice, I fell a couple of times and then came onto an
area which was covered with boulders. As the porter played hop-scotch
on the bulky stones, I had a difficult time balancing myself, trying not
to fall to a definite death and went on cursing myself for following the
porter who had by now disappeared. The paths on the Baltoro change as
the glacier melts and freezes and melts again day after day but even if
a path disappears for a while, there is always some sort of indication
(usually a few small stones piled up by porters) about which way to go
and one is bound to stumble upon the path again after a short time. And
here I was for two hours looking for a path or an indication that I thought
I would never find. Eventually I did, and looking back at where it was
coming from, I noticed that I had been a good 2-300 yards to the left
of the actual path all this while. I trudged down a ridge on the side
of another unnamed mountain to reach Khobutse, where I related my experience
to Moscow, Jeff and Hasan. No wonder some of these porters seemed to move
at lightening speed, probably strolling over short cuts that ordinary
trekkers would find difficult to tread on. But these porters are definitely
some of the fittest people I have met in my life. Carrying 25kg loads
on their backs, they are known to cover the whole distance from Concordia
to Askole within two days. The way they sleep on the glacier, inside makeshift
stone structures a couple of feet high and with just a tarpaulin covering
on top is testimony of the high degree of endurance they possess. And
to top it all off, they do it with smiles on their faces! Our porter sardars,
Ali Hasan and Ali Muhammad were extremely hospitable and helpful. Listening
to their stories on both climbing and trekking expeditions was an experience
in itself. It's amazing how these humble people are so content making
a living out of guiding people around Baltistan and taking care of them
at the same time. That's all there is to life for the - and they are happy
with it. At Khobutse we met a foreign trekking group led by a friend of
Atif's from Karavan Lahore (a company that organizes tours and treks around
northern Pakistan, Bilal is part of the company). We were thrilled when
they offered us French fries, mangos and dry fruit; apparently they had
with them goats, chickens and something like 75kg of mangoes. They even
had solar heated showers - and I thought we were trekking in luxury.
Day 14 (Khobutse to Paiyu) The next day we crossed the last bit of the
Baltoro en route to Bardumal. We got a scare very early into the trek;
most of the group was crossing a rocky section in one line when someone
realized that we were right under a slope that was very obviously a landslide
area. Very calmly but nervously we made our way across while keeping an
even more nervous eye on the rocks and boulders above us, we didn't turn
back since we had already traversed more than half the dangerous path.
The relief on everyone's face was written in capital letters, as we gathered
our nerves and went on ahead on the glacier. We were caught in a mad sand
storm just as we were getting off the glacier and marched into Paiyu to
wait for the tail to catch up. As I looked back at the Baltoro, a dozen
thoughts crossed my head. I was already missing walking on the slippery
and rocky paths it has to offer, jumping over gaping crevasses, the stupendous
views of the surrounding mountains and the unpredictable weather. It had
undeniably been a great experience to walk up and down the 62 km long
glacier. As had happened the day before, we had to cut short the planned
trek for the day and camp at Paiyu. The trek from Khobutse to Paiyu is
long and exhausting; it was reasonable to stop where we were instead of
heading further even though Bardumal wasn't too far off. Smokers were
thankful to god for reaching Paiyu for another reason. Cigarettes were
available at the shop here and the fact that the price of a pack of gold
leaf was twice the normal price hardly mattered. During the trek, some
people must have smoked at least six or seven different brands as most
ran out of cigarettes by the time we started back from Concordia and started
borrowing fags from the porters. Rather unfortunately, we could not camp
at the spot where we initially had on our way up; there were just too
many trekking groups and most of the space had been taken up. We found
a spot just outside the patch of trees beside flat ground that has been
turned into a volleyball court of sorts. Setting up the mess tent here
involved a lot of manpower, the strong winds seemed to punch the tent
down whenever it was put up and in the end at least three dozen heavy
stones were put on the sides and insides of the tent to keep it from falling.
Even then it seemed as if the tent would be blown away; it was as if someone
had placed 1000 pedestal fans on high speed all around the tent. Everyone
then just collapsed into the tent, into the familiar coziness of mess
tent culture. By now the routine was set. Set up the mess tent, lay the
mattresses inside, put all the backpacks on the sides to be used as pillows
in the night and then get the sleeping bags out. Everyone more or less
had a ?spot' inside the tent and after getting comfortable; the most active
of all souls would make a 360-degree turn to laziness of the highest order.
As Jeff pointed out, ?handy' was a very common term used in the tent.
Most people would not bother moving even a few inches to get something
they needed. ?Have u got this handy?, ?Have u got that handy? etc. were
phrases I heard till the last camp every day at least ten times. The mess
tent was the scene of intense discussions and arguments as well as mindless
?taking' sessions (the best one unarguably being the coooonkie series).
And everyone seemed to be doing their own thing, whether people were writing
their daily dear diary bulls#!t or playing cards or listening to music
or just plain relaxing; it was all done under one roof. Dinner would be
served inside the tent and as soon as everyone had eaten, lights off,
sweet dreams. Without a doubt, the mess tent played an important role
in the interaction of people with each other, developing the needed sense
of comradeship in the group.
Day 15 (Paiyu to Korophone) My sleep was disturbed the next morning by
the shrilling sound of a whistle. Startled, I looked at my watch and discovered
that it was earlier than usual to be getting up but we had to this day.
We were supposed to reach as far as Korophone, at least, and it was being
made sure that people leave early to achieve that target. Coming from
a higher altitude, I seldom found myself out of breath during this day's
trek, except of course on killer inclines, and hiked along the rough path
with relative ease. As the day went by, a lot of people were met with
a tragedy of a different kind. The parathas we had eaten earlier for breakfast
staged a battle with some stomach linings and emerged victorious; the
runs took over and many stopped numerous times during the day to relieve
themselves. Poor Rabia had problems of her own, her lowers were smiling
from behind (read torn at the seam) for almost the whole morning before
she realized it and displaced some resting porters from a relatively covered
spot to change. On the way we stopped once in between at yet another army
camp to wait for Maheen, apparently she was missing and Moscow and Atif
were frantically running back and forth between the lead and the tail
to figure out where she was. Thankfully, they found her. The army people
offered us some sherbet; very hospitable these guys I must say, and like
I said before, they are delighted to meet Pakistanis in the region. But
it can get irritating as well when the poor guys start whining, ?I vaant
ta go to laaore?. Can't blame them really, spending 3-6 months at a stretch
in the company of donkeys would drive anyone mad. We had lunch at Jola
and before letting anyone get too lazy, Hasan made us start off again.
Making our way back along the Braldu river, we reached Korophone a couple
of hours before dark and set up what was to be our last camp of the trip.
Sajjad was in bad shape, his leg had been giving him a lot of trouble
all the while since his slip on the glacier. His extra warm army boots
added to the sorry state of affairs as he showed me the shriveled soles
of his feet; the poor guy's trip had almost turned into a nightmare. On
reaching Lahore after the trip his doctor informed him that he had torn
a ligament. Physical pain had been common throughout. First came Sadaf's
knee and Fooki's shoulder. Then Jeff and I had suffered from dehydration
on that unforgettable day from Paiyu to Khobutse. Maheen went through
what people said was hypothermia and Rabia suffered from severe stomach
cramps on one of the days on the way back. On the last day as I hiked
with Atif, he mentioned a twisted ankle and I admitted to him how much
my back had been hurting the last couple of days. Almost everyone had
painful blisters on their feet; the trip went well but not without the
injuries.
Day 16 (Korophone to Thongol and then Skardu) Next day we dashed from
Korophone to Thongol to get the jeeps as early as possible. The trek seemed
trouble-free and I could sense that my stamina had improved tremendously
after so many days of walking long distances; Atif and I were literally
jogging by the end of the 4-hour trek. The valleys had turned green with
streams flowing all over the landscape and I stopped several times to
look back and marvel at the surroundings that god knows when I'll ever
see again. As we rounded a last bend and trod up a small incline, we entered
Thongol where we found a waiting and smiling Hasan sitting under a tree
sucking contentedly at a cigarette. As soon as the rest of the bunch arrived,
we stocked up on rations for the jeep ride back to Skardu and took some
victory photographs; the thought of chapli kebabs and a hot shower was
going to turn into reality in a few hours. God knows how 15 of us managed
to stuff into that jeep for the ride back, the way some of us twisted
and turned our bodies to fit in would have turned any acrobat green with
envy. The ride back to civilization passed by even faster than the ride
to Thongol 15 days earlier; songs were not being sung but screamed with
joy and the town of Skardu witnessed a noisy and jubilant bunch of trekkers
pass by Yadgar Chowk (with a brief stop to order 50 kebabs) and halt in
front of Indus motel just after dark. In the lobby we met 3 people from
the G La gang, the rest had gone off to Hunza earlier in the morning.
Everything had gone well and everyone had done well, except for Rehma
who had apparently been carried on a stretcher for more than 10 hours.
Although we had to catch an early coaster to Gilgit, most people were
up till the wee hours of the morning discussing the trek. As I went to
bed that night, a sense of emptiness came over me. There was no sleeping
bag to snuggle into. We were supposed to get up early not for a trek but
to get onto a coaster. There was going to be no weight on my back and
no mess tent. There was going to be no stopping and gazing at peaks and
admiring their beauty. Yes sir, the last two weeks had been unbelievable.
The last little bit
The coaster ride was around 6-8 hours long, the road from Skardu first
hits the Karakoram Highway and then once on the KKH, we headed towards
Gilgit. By the time we reached there, Fooki had convinced everyone not
to go to Hunza as had been planned initially. Like dominos, one after
another, everyone fell prey to a strong desire to get home quickly. Only
some people were going to Islamabad initially but now most were. Hiring
another coaster, we set out on the KKH at mid-afternoon towards Rawalpindi.
I stared at Nanga Parbat in the setting sun as it passed by along with
several other peaks; I was already deciding when my next visit to the
north would be. Dinner at Chilas and then a long and terrible drive (the
driver insisted on playing the cheapest of cheap Indian songs at full
blast) through the night found us at Rawalpindi in the morning where I
was immediately reminded of the sad state of urban Pakistan; the noise
and pollution was almost unbearable after so much peace and quiet in the
mountains. We went and crashed at old Saqib's, had two trip dinners with
other members of the group before people finally started heading home
towards their respective cities in a couple of days. The trip of a lifetime
had ended.