The trip hadn't started with the best of spirits. My last exam at LUMS
was on the 10th of July, a friend was visiting on the same day, I hadn't
even started packing, I hadn't had enough sleep and by the time we got
onto the Daewoo bus the next morning, we had forgotten a set of batteries,
a tripod and a few other basic essentials. I have to admit at this point
that preparing for the trek was about a third of the fun. I had bought
new shoes, new extreme weather gear and gotten together a lot of camera
film to try my hand at amateur photography. Apart from this, I had spent
a few hours a week in training for what was to come.
We left for Skardu on the morning of the 12th; not knowing until the last
minute whether or not the weather would clear up and we would be able
to fly. We did fly in the end and arrived in Skardu after about a couple
of hours. A completely new place to me, Skardu was definitely not what
I thought it would be like. Our hotel didn't have the nicest of views,
but I had other things on my mind. This was going to be my toughest and
definitely my longest trek and admittedly, I was rather nervous. While
we spent the next three days lazing around in Skardu, Sadpara Lake and
the Deosai Plains, I couldn't shake off the thoughts that were going through
my head: Would I be able to manage fourteen days of walking? Would I be
able to carry my load?
A time from Skardu to Thongol seems to be a haze in my mind. All I remember
is that my feelings were a blend of anxiety, excitement, fear and awe.
I found the first day quite depressing being that I was exhausted by the
time we reached Korophone and quite disheartened by the first day's walk.
The trek had been nothing like I imagined it. I can't say that it was
better or worse than I thought it would be, it was just very different
from what I expected. As I sat in the mess tent at around four o'clock,
writing my journal, which I have now lost, I promised myself that I would
eat all the chocolates and drink all the ORS as soon as I could. This
would definitely lighten my load and maybe even improve my pace I thought.
The process of learning had begun with me from the outset. At Thongol,
I had the chance to chat with two soldiers of the Pakistan army who had
been posted on the Baltoro Glacier. Both, originally from Gilgit, could
not comprehend why people like us would come to the mountains and ?suffer'
at the hands of Mother Nature. Their morale was low and they missed their
respective homes. This however, was not my only interaction with the people
on my first day. As I ran back to retrieve my hat from an army check-post
that I had left behind ten minutes ago, I was stopped by a local porter
who obviously noticed the my panic stricken strides (a hat is essential,
I would have had second or maybe even third degree burns if I hadn't worn
one), stopped me and asked me what was wrong in a confused mixture of
Urdu and sign language. I pointed to my head and signaled that I had misplaced
my headgear. His response left me speechless. He simply smiled, pulled
out a sweet from his pocket, handed it to me and patted me on the shoulder.
I concluded my first evening by learning a few basic words in Balti and
receiving an extremely valuable lecture on the lack of respect for human
life (supported by Quranic verses) by an elderly porter. I also found
out that Korophone meant a big bowl and the campsite was named so because
it resembled a soup bowl.
The second day was no less eventful. After about three hours of walking,
we reached a campsite called Jhola. Initially scheduled as a midway stop,
we ended up spending a rather enjoyable two hours at the beautiful campsite.
Somehow, all of us were quite unable to tear ourselves away from such
tranquility. Hasan Karrar and Atif Paracha, among others, are my witnesses
to this fact. Another important lesson was learnt on the second day. I
would never again ask anyone to buy me trekking shoes. I realized that
if the shoe is not a perfect fit, blisters caused by it could not only
be painful, but also very distressing. Our stop at Baldumar on the second
day was extremely tiring. I reached the campsite near ?Magrib' time. It
is also worth noticing at this point in time that the watch I had so carefully
chosen for the trek had already given up on me. The walk to Paiyu was
a rather leisurely one. I met a group of guides from Hunza who were not
only very encouraging, but also offered to share their lunch with me while
I waited for my feet to dry after crossing a stream. Paiyu, although slightly
crowded, was a lovely campsite, arguably one of the most agreeable sites
I saw on the trek. Not only did I wash my hair and socks that day, but
I also got a gorgeous view of the Baltoro Glacier for the first time.
Hasan also pointed out to a rather strange looking peak called Uli Biaho.
Little did I know the close association that I was to have with this name.
What followed the next day, I can classify as the worst day of my life.
It all began with the news that Wasif, Khizer and myself were to take
charge of the tail. I wasn't extremely uncomfortable with the idea initially,
however as we encountered the blazing afternoon sun and a rather unpleasant
can of tuna, I began to regret being at the end of the group. We had walked
for several hours and still gotten nowhere. It was extremely tiresome
for us not to walk at our own pace with the weight that we were carrying.
Nevertheless, just as I thought that things couldn't possibly get worse
- they did. We had run out of water while Wasif and Sajjad had managed
to trail behind out of sight and were nowhere to be seen on the glacier.
Khizer was almost completely dehydrated and the girls didn't seem to be
doing much better. I wasn't well either. The long walk and lack of water
had taken everything out of me. I remember a rather unpleasant incident
of throwing up ORS, getting a considerable amount on Rabia and falling
on my face onto the ground. My recovery that day I owe to Rabia.
Our problem was clear from that day. We had a weak tail and the faster
ones would have to slow their pace from that day onwards to keep the group
together. The next day's trek was hardly considerable. It took me about
two hours to get from Khobutse to Urdukas. Urdukas was again a place that,
with my limited grasp of the English Language, I am unable to explain
the beauty of. Perched above the Baltoro at just over 4000 meters, we
had an exquisite view of the Trango Towers, Great Trango and Nameless
Tower. It took us another three eventful days for us to reach Concordia.
I then realized something that had been lingering at the back of my mind
for a very long time. Some relationships cannot really be given a name.
My relationship, however superficial and short with the mountains is much
the same and for this very reason, I cannot explain why I keep going back.
All I know is that each time I go there, I leave behind a piece of me
that I must return for. The Concordia trek, much like all the other treks
that I have been on, taught me something. Something that is not so vivid
within city limits but becomes extremely apparent in the wilderness. Having
heard a lot about Concordia, read a lot of literature on the trek and
seen countless documentaries, I had sketched a mental picture of the area.
I imagined that all of a sudden I would be surrounded by mountains, five
of which turn heads when named among a group of mountaineers. I imagined
Gasherbrum IV in the East, Gasherbrum I and II to its right, Broad Peak
towards North East and finally the mighty K2 towards the north. But that
was not be all. I would also see Mitre, Chogolisa, Gasherbrum III and
the Trango Towers in the far distance behind me. However, the reality
was much different. It was terribly cold, having reached about 4700 meters
I was out of breath and I was sweating under the many layers that I was
wearing. Absolutely nothing was visible and it had only been about thirty
minutes since I'd reached Concordia when it began to rain.
To add to the misery of exhaustion and the cold, setting up our tent on
the Baltoro was by no means an easy task. We had to look for a flat area
on the rocks and then set flat rocks in such a way that we were above
the level of water and the ground was relatively smooth. I was disheartened
but by no means upset. I knew that K2 would show itself at some point.
After all, this was our eighth day of walking and lady luck wasn't about
to let me down, I had done too much to be on Concordia. The subsequent
days gave me a chance to reflect on what had happened to me in the past
week. I had already given up writing my journal due to the lack of originality
of the idea. Even though I had managed to reach an altitude of 4700 meters
without but once a sense of regret, I never actually thought that one
day, I would be standing in one of the most beautiful valleys in the world.
However, the sense of vanity drifted slowly as news of death approached
us. We learnt that a Korean climber and plunged to his death from camp
IV on K2, a French climber had suffered a fatal attack of cerebral edema
and that a Belgian climber had died half was up on G2. Above all though,
things were not all too well at our camp either. Our trek leader, Hasan,
had stayed behind with one of our weaker members and somehow managed to
get her to Concordia in a semi-unconscious state. She suffered from severe
exhaustion and probable hypothermia.
I was overcome with a sense of humility at this point. After all, it was
only 4 days ago when I had been in a similar situation, put in my place
as it were, by nature. Respect is a key factor on a trek, and I am reminded
of this each time I embark on a journey. Absolutely nothing can and should
be taken for granted. Many have not been so lucky as we had been so far.
We had escaped with only minor injuries where death would have been certain.
This was not only true for our Concordia expedition but also for most
of the treks since the beginning of LAS. I find it rather just, as well
as interesting, how the mountains have a way of giving one a sense of
insignificance. The terrain commands respect and punishes those who take
it for granted. Surrounding natures system of justice is the humanity
that is so clearly visible in the local people. Possibly one of the few
characteristics that keeps this nation within a nation alive. They have
little else to offer except their kindness. It is this kindness that seems
to have fueled the prevalent eco-system in Baltistan in the past centuries
and dare I say it will for many more centuries to come.