DISPATCHES

Robinson

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Captain Abdula of the Pakistani Special Forces came over to my tent late morning. "Mr. Brady, are you there?" We've gotten to know each other during his three visits over the last week. I got dressed and soon Dave, Jimmy, and I were doing NOLS style climbing classes for him and his men — fixed line ascension, rappelling, knot passes, anchor systems. They were exceptional students, obviously experienced in much of what we taught. They really seemed to like the double loop figure eight knot, though. We snapped pictures of each other, marveling at what we were doing. Teaching Pakistani soldiers rock skills! As we said our goodbyes they shook our hands warmly. I think we've made some good friends.

Today couldn't have contrasted more with yesterday. We woke, ate breakfast, and began packing for our first day of hauling. I spent most of the morning outfitting a small barrel with a webbing harness which we'll use to haul much of our water. Steph's fan club, a group of about 35 women who show up every day hoping to see Steph climb, were disappointed at our late start. They demanded we begin climbing, shouting in friendly but adamant bursts. Steph smiled, but unfortunately didn't start ascending until most of the women left to work in the fields.

We're the local doctors here it seems. A week ago a man came to us with severe abdominal pain. We sent him off to the nearest army hospital in the jeep we'd rented, since he didn't have the money to pay the fare himself. We later heard that he'd just made it. Had he arrived six hours later he may have died. The specifics of his condition were lost in translation, but it was nice to feel we'd helped a bit. Today I took time out to observe an infected boil on an old man's belly. Through Zahid, I told the old man to soak his boil several times a day with a rag and soapy, hot water. I returned to duct taping the water barrel.

By early afternoon, Jimmy had already started ascending our 1300ft of fixed line. Jimmy strengthened the anchors while Dave, Steph, and I began the arduous process of hauling climbing gear and 32 gallons of water up the ropes. Our system was simple. The haul rope went from the load, up to a pulley, and back down to the three of us. But just using our weight wasn't enough to get the bags to move; we had to pull with our hands and push with our feet.

Obviously Jimmy's job was extremely important. The anchors had to be (and were, thanks to Jimmy) unquestionably dependable. I spent much of the day upside down, pulling myself down the rope with my hands, bracing my feet on the wall above my head. "One, two, three, PULL!" The bags move one foot. "One, two, three, PULL!" The bags move a little more. On the next pull I lose my grip, so Steph and Dave pull to no effect. And so on.

Days spent hauling have been some of the worst in my life, or at least some of the most frustrating. Looking up at 1000ft more to haul, pulling for all you're worth to get the little train of two bags and one barrel to move another few feet, everything begins to look pretty hopeless. The absurdity of wall climbing strikes you at such moments. What am I doing here?

The bags got stuck under a roof, so Dave and I waited while Steph went down to wrestle the bags, AKA the "pigs." As I moved squirmed around in my harness, searching for a position that didn't squeeze my rubbed-raw hips, I questioned our tactics. Maybe we should try to climb something light and fast. Maybe my old hand injury will flare up, and the others will have to haul for me. Why is it I never liked golf?

We continued to haul. By 9pm it was dark and we had less than 300ft left. After a short discussion, we decided to continue. We did one more haul, this time using all four of us, then fixed a line and carried the gear the final distance to the ledge we've chosen for our first camp. Steph went up with a skirt of 15 water bottles clipped to her harness. Dave carried a heavy load in a pack. I ascended the line with the water barrel dragging between my legs, Jimmy pushing and shoving beneath me.

But finally we were there, at the top, with all of our gear and water. I sat down on the barrel and smiled at the night, enjoying the rain and the stars fading in and out of the clouds. It had been a hard day, but the worst was over. And because of all our hard work, we would be able to call the wall home for seven, maybe 12 days. We joked about just being "extreme campers."

I waited while the others rappelled down, following Dave after I heard a faint, "Off Rappel!" Ask I dropped over the overhanging headwall, I saw the little lights of my three friends spread out below me. Looks like Steph is down, Jimmy's on the slabs, Dave just finished the headwall.

The cook tent below glowed green. I knew there was a tasty approximation of pizza waiting below. Several hours before I'd been cursing our loads. With the smooth, rugged feeling of nylon rope running over my leather gloves, taking me down, down, down, I was once again contented, happy with the state of things. We gathered in the cook tent, told Zahid to go to bed (it was nearly midnight), and chatted as we ate chapatti pizzas. It was a good day.

— Brady Robinson, MountainZone.com Correspondent

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