We're not buried in snow", I thought to myself as I decided that it was time I gave up on sleep. It felt as if it was morning - I could feel the haze outside. I called out to the rest and got assuring grunts back. I unzipped the tent wall and in a fit of sensitivity took out my camera to capture my first-sight-from-camp-after-the-night-atop-Hisper - an ice axe posed in my foreground with the persistent haze hiding Snowlake. We nourished ourselves with energile and two mouthfuls of spaghetti each and set out for Khanibasa, the first camp below Hisper.
Atif had spotted the trekking parties go down about an hour towards Hisper.
He had mentioned reaching a point where the porters were unsure as where
to go, and we ran into the same dilemma as we reached a fork in the path
an hour later. One path led us off the edge of the serac we were standing
on. The other path seemed to snake into what was an icefall. Either way
it didn't sound too good but a choice had to be made so instead of jumping
off, we decided to take the icefall route.
The world for the next 2 hours took on the shape of a frozen, unmerciful beast that heaved and sighed under our feet. A twisted, haphazard and chaotic landscape that threatened to swallow us with a single wrong step. The footsteps of the previous parties had misled us to a route left of center down the pass, and this was a notoriously treacherous area. The descent though not steep, was littered with hidden crevices and seracs. It is impossible to tell when you are standing on what is an unsupported overhang of ice - even the slightest disturbance is enough to make them collapse and taken with them whatever they carry into the depths of the glacier below. It was an uneasy feeling being there, we didn't exchange many words either. Perhaps we should have put in ice screws and tried a technical descent, but we all assumed that it would not take us much longer to get through it.
What we had imagined would take no more then 30 minutes lasted two hours.
It ended with us landing into a frozen glacial pool. The thin crust of
ice crunched threateningly under our feet as me and Kami especially slipped
over this terrain aggravating Hasan in lead. Technically we should have
roped out, however, the psychological advantage of being roped makes up
for a hammering heart. Another hour of walking over frozen water thinking
I'd be swallowed by this frozen world, we could make out a camp on the
moraine. Bajwa seemed to be standing next to that, waving wildly.
We were greeted with hugs and warm cups of tea all around as well as the shocking news of Bajwa's crevice fall. In the midst of the ice field we have come across a particularly nasty crevice that had certainly been opened recently. There were marks all around that segment of a scuffle, however there were footsteps at both ends of the crevice certifying that it had been crossed and was indeed the way forward. Bajwa had had the misfortune (or honor) of being the one to fall and open this crevice, and sinking up till to his chin. His backpack had held the fall with Khurram diving from the rear and pulling him out. Shaken, we all took a communal sigh of relief for getting through without injury.
The next few days witnessed us zoom over the Hisper moraine. Though this
was very much a part of our trek, mentally it felt as if the trek had
finished the day we had crossed Hisper. I too felt as if this was the
"home run" and it did prove itself to be a "run".
We would start early and walk till the sun set over the horizon. The terrain
had gotten somewhat simpler with most of the walk either over moraine
or the ablation valley. It took us three days to make it down to Bitenmall
where we celebrated the end of this saga.
That night, we lit a fire fueled on cow dung so lovingly gathered by Khurram. In it we added the last of our cooking stove kerosene and the last of our empty cartons of cookies, noodles and eatables. The last can of fruit was opened and shared with our companions and the last batteries were exhausted in our 'stereo system'. That last night, we danced around a fire singing Balti songs we didn't understand, beating on an empty drum that would serve us no more. It was a magical night and so filling we slept right beside that fire. I can still sometimes recall that night in its full and those are times I think to myself that Snowlake was indeed very special.
The next day we woke up feeling the tug of Punjab Sindh on us. A restaurant
in Karimabad, it had been the epicenter of our thoughts for weeks now
and there was nothing more on my mind then sinking my teeth in well cooked
meat, washing it down with coke and tapering it off with a fresh cigarette.
There was no doubt in my mind that we must reach Hisper today, else we
would starve. We started the day with the last of the porridge packets
sweetened with the only edible item left; Strawberry jam. Sickly sweet,
we mixed it with porridge and added it to our tea. It did taste as bad
as it sounded but we had no choice. The walk to Hisper was long, we walked
like possessed men. 8 hours later, we were in Hisper village being chased
by the village's entire under-10 population. Karimabad was still 4 hours
away by jeep, and we had none waiting for us. I took in the scenery thinking
of the remoteness and beauty of this village, I could have been in the
middle ages, having arrived through the mountains as a foreigner. I was
pulled back by the thought of returning to hot meals and clean showers,
which was only possible if we had a jeep.
A jeep would cost no less then three thousand rupees from here if one existed, Adam Smith's world had come back with a vengeance where money was worth a lot more then the fire starter we were thinking of using it as. All pooled in, we had 2,500 on us yet even that would not bring a jeep. We had almost started walking the next 14 bitter hours of trail towards Karimabad, when out of nowhere a jeep came up the trail. The driver had come up to visit some relatives from the American expedition camped below. I saw no jeep but I saw a royal carriage from heaven, we begged and pleaded the man who agreed to take us all the way in the money we had. The six of us piled into it, the driver plugged in his music and I drunkenly smiled to myself as Jugni Jugni blasted through my ears.
We proudly marched into Hilltops Hotel, Karimabad looked so weather-beaten a local tourist stopped us to take pictures. He couldn't imagine Pakistani's could a) look so ugly, and/or b) do something so crazy. But I was proud while he was amazed. Already we were thinking what to do next year and if anything, those ideas promised to amaze a little more.