Thieves, Liars and Mountaineers: On the 8000 Metre Peak Circus in Pakistan's Karakoram Mountains by Mark Horrell Page A
Authors: Mark Horrell
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putting great strain on my calf muscles. Poor Arian, descending immediately below me, has the additional hazard of expecting any moment to get a crampon in his head as the idiot above him loses his grip and takes another tumble.
My third fall I put down to sheer exhaustion. I'm near the bottom of the slope when I simply lack the strength to keep a toehold with my crampons. The slope is very steep now, and I let go of my ice axe and let it dangle on my harness so that I can grab the rope with both hands and haul myself back up to regain a toehold.
“Right, that's it,” I say, partly to Arian but mainly to myself. “F--- what Phil says, from now on I'm abseiling.”
But now a Polish climber immediately behind me is getting fed up with my incompetence. As I wait for Arian to clear the rope below me so I can abseil, he gets impatient with me.
“Please, this is the last rope. Can we climb down?”
“OK,” I reply. “I was going to abseil, but I'll try.”
I manage to descend the next rope without falling, but it turns out not to be the last one. Exhausted now, and seeing that Arian has vacated the rope below, I attach my figure-of-eight and slide down to the bottom of the ridge. Here it turns a corner on a new rope. I try to abseil down this one, but have difficulty swinging round the corner in my tired state. By now the Polish climber has caught up with me again and is shaking his head.
“No, it's easy. Easy path!” he says.
I look down and see that he's right. Sheepishly I let him pass, detach my figure-of-eight and follow him down the slope to a flatter area where I unhitch my rucksack and flop exhausted into the snow.
The remainder of the descent to Camp 1 is easier and less nerve-wracking, but the danger of slipping has not been reduced. All of us are having problems with our crampons balling up with snow, and the benefits of wearing them are debatable in these soft, powdery snow conditions. Some people even take theirs off, but this doesn't appear to make it any easier for them, either. Constantly I find myself banging the snow off my boots with my ice axe, only to find great football-sized chunks have built up again just a few paces later. Everyone is sliding around on their backsides, and at one point I hear a cry behind me and turn around to see Tarke come flying past. He makes no attempt to arrest himself with his axe, and simply sits back and toboggans down. Within seconds he's at the bottom of the slope while the rest of us struggle on down. It's oddly reassuring to discover that a man who's climbed six 8000 metre peaks finds it no easier to keep his footing than I do, though perhaps Tarke has merely taken the sensible option. Meanwhile, all of us walk past members of the Jagged Globe team, who have chosen to abseil down even this gentler section of the slope.
I limp into Camp 1 at about 2.30. Here we have a short rest and leave most of our things for next time we come up here. None of us relishes the thought of a fifth trip through the icefall.
At 3.15 we leave to continue down to Base Camp. I share a rope with Michael and Ian again, and decide not to wear my crampons until the intricate section, so useless had they become in the freshly fallen snow. Michael is leading this time, and finds a bit of role reversal in operation. He sets off very slowly, so I tell him to speed up a little if he prefers, as I'm usually the slowest member of the team. But a few minutes later Ian, at the back of the rope again, shouts for him to slow down. What's going on? It's usually the other way round, but then I notice that Ian is carrying a big rucksack full of equipment and I remember. He needs to carry all of his equipment back to Base Camp because he's due back in the UK by the end of the month. His expedition is now over, but first he needs to get down safely. Towards the bottom of the icefall he puts his leg through a snow hole. This is a common occurrence in the icefall, and Michael and I wait patiently for him
My third fall I put down to sheer exhaustion. I'm near the bottom of the slope when I simply lack the strength to keep a toehold with my crampons. The slope is very steep now, and I let go of my ice axe and let it dangle on my harness so that I can grab the rope with both hands and haul myself back up to regain a toehold.
“Right, that's it,” I say, partly to Arian but mainly to myself. “F--- what Phil says, from now on I'm abseiling.”
But now a Polish climber immediately behind me is getting fed up with my incompetence. As I wait for Arian to clear the rope below me so I can abseil, he gets impatient with me.
“Please, this is the last rope. Can we climb down?”
“OK,” I reply. “I was going to abseil, but I'll try.”
I manage to descend the next rope without falling, but it turns out not to be the last one. Exhausted now, and seeing that Arian has vacated the rope below, I attach my figure-of-eight and slide down to the bottom of the ridge. Here it turns a corner on a new rope. I try to abseil down this one, but have difficulty swinging round the corner in my tired state. By now the Polish climber has caught up with me again and is shaking his head.
“No, it's easy. Easy path!” he says.
I look down and see that he's right. Sheepishly I let him pass, detach my figure-of-eight and follow him down the slope to a flatter area where I unhitch my rucksack and flop exhausted into the snow.
The remainder of the descent to Camp 1 is easier and less nerve-wracking, but the danger of slipping has not been reduced. All of us are having problems with our crampons balling up with snow, and the benefits of wearing them are debatable in these soft, powdery snow conditions. Some people even take theirs off, but this doesn't appear to make it any easier for them, either. Constantly I find myself banging the snow off my boots with my ice axe, only to find great football-sized chunks have built up again just a few paces later. Everyone is sliding around on their backsides, and at one point I hear a cry behind me and turn around to see Tarke come flying past. He makes no attempt to arrest himself with his axe, and simply sits back and toboggans down. Within seconds he's at the bottom of the slope while the rest of us struggle on down. It's oddly reassuring to discover that a man who's climbed six 8000 metre peaks finds it no easier to keep his footing than I do, though perhaps Tarke has merely taken the sensible option. Meanwhile, all of us walk past members of the Jagged Globe team, who have chosen to abseil down even this gentler section of the slope.
I limp into Camp 1 at about 2.30. Here we have a short rest and leave most of our things for next time we come up here. None of us relishes the thought of a fifth trip through the icefall.
At 3.15 we leave to continue down to Base Camp. I share a rope with Michael and Ian again, and decide not to wear my crampons until the intricate section, so useless had they become in the freshly fallen snow. Michael is leading this time, and finds a bit of role reversal in operation. He sets off very slowly, so I tell him to speed up a little if he prefers, as I'm usually the slowest member of the team. But a few minutes later Ian, at the back of the rope again, shouts for him to slow down. What's going on? It's usually the other way round, but then I notice that Ian is carrying a big rucksack full of equipment and I remember. He needs to carry all of his equipment back to Base Camp because he's due back in the UK by the end of the month. His expedition is now over, but first he needs to get down safely. Towards the bottom of the icefall he puts his leg through a snow hole. This is a common occurrence in the icefall, and Michael and I wait patiently for him
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