Day
1 from shimshal, we walked the entire day from morning till sunset, the
highlight of the day not being the torturous two climbs that we had done,
quite literally scaling two hills, but rather, the fact that we had run
out of water. The only stream that we encountered on the way had dried
up. We dug around the place, searching for water and found a millimeter
deep pool of mud from which I sucked up two drops of water from the surface.
The sun was hot and the trail kept getting steeper and longer. It had
begun to get a little dark as we had gone around a mountain, Mahdi offered
to come back later for our backpacks and I duly and without shame dropped
mine at the very spot I stood. I dug into it and conjured up a can of
chopped pineapples. I remembered they had some sort of liquid in them.
Not bothering to find a can opener, I hammered a hole through it with
my ice axe. Hasan perched slightly ahead of me on a rock looked down at
and rather casually remarked 'this is the most beautiful place I have
ever seen'. I thought he had gone insane, here we were nearly dying of
thirst and he had the gall to comment on the scenery. Later, I thought
it was a brave remark in such odd circumstances. When we reached Farzeen,
the sight of the stream running along it was one of the happiest moments
of my life. Not so surprisingly, Hasan and myself agreed to call this
the worst day of our lives.
Shimshal
became a lybrinth of emotions thereafter. That fateful first day programmed
our city minds to a less busy, less concerned state of affairs. We stopped
wondering how long the path would be, when we would get there and wether
the route was easy or tough. We walked, and walked and walked till the
day got dark, Mahdi or Zafar would then comment that we had reached camp.
A cauldron of tea would be drained in celebration followed by food and
a sleep, sometimes restful, sometimes restless. It was one restless night
on the 3rd of July we found ourselves at the foot of the highest mountain
in the Pamirs; Minglik Sar. Two things dawned upon me, one, I was going
to turn 23 in a few hours, second, I will be climbing my first mountain,
and it was staring right at our flimsy tent right now. Would it let us
climb it, I wondered? It must be a strong emotion because I remember I
unzipped my sleeping bag in that cold, found my sandals and had the gal
to take a stroll outside. It was cold and windy and very, very lonely.
I felt free yet small, the mountain looked high and calm. Brimming with
emotion I returned to the tent and slept.
A
cauldron of tea and can of Heinz Beans greeted the next overcast morning.
We started climbing a misty and hidden minglik sar. The mountain was shying
from me on my birthday while I secretly begged for it to become my birthday
present. 4 hours of hiking to the base of its snowcovered dome, she became
adamant and called upon clouds to snow down upon us. Resilient we thought
ourselves to be when we waited on its shoulders for two hours, only having
to return all the way down. The storm did not feel as it would let up
and gusts of wind carried us down. At three, the same afternoon, a clear
blue sky greeted the summit of minglik sar. Hasan was being racked with
altitude sickness headaches and me, with frustration. Both of us would
only be cured by walking down, away from it all. And that is what we did
the following day. Walking down to Arbopreen, we looked back fantastically
to Minglik Sar and the lush pamirs. Once more in the company of red earth
and brown rock, Shimshal had returned in its grandeur.
Stranger things started happening from here on. We met a French man with
bleeding feet who was here on his first ever trek. He was advised to return
immediately and try Fairy Meadows instead. I hope he took our suggestion
as he seemed an enthusiast of outdoors and had been mistakenly thrown
into one of the not-so-gentle treks this land had to offer.
The date was 5th July and we were surmising about our days ahead. The
11th of July kept coming up in our conversation, it was prince Aga Khan's
birthday and Hunza would be lit up. There would be celebration in this
favorite town of ours, people would be dancing, there would be music in
the air and we could taste the flavor of freshly barbequed meat in our
parched mouths. It seemed like a good idea to get to Hunza on the 11th.
But, there was a catch. We would have to either fly, or try to do two
days in one. So, it was decided. Arbopreen, to Mai Dur, to the top of
Shpodeen pass and down. One long day. Heck, we had done tough days before.
Remember that day on snowlake we walked for so long and so forth? Ofcourse
we'd do it.
By the time we were able to see the summit; I was not feeling much, neither
physically nor mentally. It had gotten dark and my world was reduced to
a two foot pale yellow pool of light. It scanned over thick, slippery
ice and all I could hear was the crunch of ice under my tired, tired feet.
These were the only two sensations I recall feeling that night we were
climbing Shpoden pass in Shimshal valley. Having walked for 16 hours,
Hasan and I were two wasted bodies climbing a pass that seemed endless.
Our two guardian angels and companions from the village of Shimshal, Zafar
and Mahdi had long before climbed and returned to take our loads from
us. Mahdi had decided to shepherd us up while Zafar had moved on. At this
point I was alone up ahead with no clue to where the summit was. My senses
attuned to yellow pools of light would occasionally see Hasan's headlamp
twenty minutes below bobbing up and down, and I would heave another tired
breath and step one foot closer to the top. Having lost my sense of reasoning
or feeling the last of my intelligence repeated the breathing and climbing
actions. I still do not recall how long it took me to reach the top, the
top I figured only because I saw Zafar's load lying there. I sat beside
it and looked back at Hasan. I didn't see his head lamp glowing, but I
knew the reason why. He too was looking at the sight behind us. The moon
was rising from behind the Pamirs, a moon so big and so pale it sent me
across worlds and onto a planet I didn't recognize. I felt alone. I yelled
out to Hasan, who only turned towards me. I heard nothing from him. He
made it up in the same timelessness that engulfed us at this moment. We
decided to attempt a descent in the dark. I stumbled off the knife edge
that made up the summit of shpoden pass, following Zafar and Hasan in
lead. I have never stepped on land so broken that with every step I took
created a small rock fall that fell into nothingness. The steepness didn't
help. Ice and loose rock all around I voiced my concern to Hasan. We tried
locating space to pitch a tent but where there was hardly a ledge to stand,
tent space was going to be impossible. Another while passed and we dug
out space enough for four people to sit the night out on. Yasir found
a twix bar and broke it 4 ways, dinner was served. At 5100m on Shpoden
pass, scores of kilometers inside the Shimshal valley, we waited for the
sun to rise.
I now look back to that moment, perched on the ledge of a mountain that
has stood for millions of years, looking at the sun rise from behind us
and the moon setting in front of us, I feel the transience of our existence.
Of how this magical act of nature is so perfect and so fleeting. I think
back to our decision to sit the night out and realize it was a statement
that we knew we had reached our limits and knew we must stop. An important
lesson I've applied time again to my life after that day.
Once
we managed to get down the pass the following morning, lunch was quickly
followed by our 'afternoon naps', but the true highlight of the affair
came that evening when we reached somewhere after Boisempeer pass. We
actually, truly had good food. Two cans of tuna light meals and chapatti.
Not to forget the cauldron of tea. Me and Hasan, we felt so good. One,
we were alive, two, we were not hungry nor cold. We could spread our legs
while sleeping. We felt like smiling and we slept smiling. The world could
be such a happy place? I had not known such happiness.