DISPATCHES

Robinson

After Dave and I climbed our two pitches yesterday, I looked up and guessed that we had two more days of climbing. I thought I remembered seeing the feature we were in from the ground and that it was pretty close to the top. Looking up, the occasional birds I saw seemed to be flying over the tower, not idly traversing it like the black birds we see every day. That evening, Zahid agreed with my guess over the radio. "Maybe tomorrow difficult, two pitches, next day, success." This home that I've been taking for granted for the last week, this home that seems so comfortable, so much more so than base camp, may be just a memory in several days time. So will Pakistan, for that matter. Before I know it, I'll be instructing mountaineering courses for the North Carolina Outward Bound School in Chile again, and all this will just be a distant memory.

So, I'll live in the present and enjoy it while it's here. Our climbing exploits have received a lot of attention lately, which is natural, since we are climbing. But there are many other things I'll remember about this place. From our wall camp, we can see the comings and goings of the villagers of Khorkondo. Nearly every day a fleet of women walk down the road below us, returning in an hour or two with baskets full of grass or little shrubs they use for fuel. You can tell they're women because the men never carry baskets. Little dots sometimes follow along. Judging by the way they travel in hectic little spurts, chasing each other around while the women maintain a steady pace, they must be children. Our base camp floods with onlookers every afternoon. A bunch of dark specks collect in the center of our camp, presumably around the spotting scope. Hopefully Zahid steers them away when we're answering the call of nature! Other men lay out on a big rock near camp, like tiny dark lizards warming themselves in the afternoon sun.

While we all respect and admire the hearty Baltis, I have to say that, on the whole, we prefer them at this distance. Our status as local celebrities and curiosities can get a little old. One day the women rushed to Steph's tent and ripped open the door while she was sleeping before Zahid could react. Steph closed the flap and they ripped it open again. Their intentions are good, but their customs and perception of privacy (or lack thereof) are different from ours. We've made a few visits to their village, and while we're generally greeted warmly, our presence seems to cause a bit too much excitement. I doubt we're dearly missed on the ground.

The occasional visits we received from the Pakistani military in base camp were very warm. A captain from the Pakistani special forces has taken quite an interest in us — at this moment his Pakistani flag flies from my portaledge. He sometimes leaves us cookies and bottles of soda. Another visiting officer left us two cases of fresh mangoes. And of course, Brigadier Tahir came to our base camp two days ago. Others pass through, seeking pictures and information about these crazy foreigners who want to spend all this time climbing a mountain nobody has ever heard of. Most don't seem to believe that that's the point. We have the Pakistani Army to thank for the road below us, and their presence insures the occasional morning or evening report of artillery fire. Other than that, there is little to remind us that we're in a war zone.

The views from our wall camp are fantastic. Now we're high enough to look into the side valleys of the Kondus. While before they contained unknown climbing potential, now we can see that were any one of them located in the States, they would be one of the most popular climbing destinations. Huge towers loom here and there, some covered with snow, some located on glaciers, some not. Luckily, our increasingly clear views have only strengthened our conviction that Tahir Tower was indeed THE wall climbing plum of the area. We can see the high mountains that separate us from the Indians on the other side. When I asked the captain when they would be open for climbing, he laughed and said my grandchildren might have a chance. Grandchildren.

Directly across from us, the other side of the Kondus Valley rises steeply for 1000 feet. Above these sheer cliffs, a talus slope continues up to what appears to be a height similar to Tahir Tower, which we currently guess to be about 14,000 feet, or 3600 feet above the valley floor. The slope is criss-crossed with tiny paths and some patches of bare rock, some patches of green. Every night, two fires flicker dimly on the slope, always in the same place, near each other. It must be a shepherd's camp. Sometimes during the day, we can see the many specks of their "Dzo" (something between a yak and a cow). Usually they're invisible until nightfall. Some nights I'll lay awake, wondering about their camp. Who was that that just stepped in front of the fire? How many of them are there? Are they grown men, or are they children, sent up to the hills for long periods of time, camping out with the livestock? What do they talk about at night? And what do they think of our post-dusk activities? Lately, they would have seen two sets of lights, flashing this way and that, descending to another pair far below. Two climbers rappelling in the dark surely must be quite a spectacle. We are worlds apart, yet we share these high valley walls for the time being. While my musings are available to anyone with a computer with Net access, their impressions of us remain across the valley, silent; probably as uninformed as mine are of them.

They must think we're crazy, in any case. But we're not. And I can think of few things better than munching a chocolate bar and wondering at this wonderful valley from a high perch on Tahir Tower while Jimmy and Steph fix line silently above, carrying us that much closer to the summit. A rock just whizzed by, ripping the air at terminal velocity. That's the only sign of activity we get down here. Luckily our camp is out of the way of such dangerous missiles. Steph got hit in the face with a small flake yesterday as she was reading in the ledge. It was a fluke, perhaps a loose flake on the wall that finally lost the battle with gravity. Steph is fine, save for a little scratch, but it's a little reminder that things are indeed different at a wall camp, no matter how peaceful it may appear.

Jimmy and Steph should be back soon. I'll treat Jimmy to a dehydrated meal fortified with Maggi noodles and maybe a bit of tuna or cheese. Dave will wake up and do the same for Steph. They'll tell us of the day's adventures. Dave and I will listen with interest, asking about the next pitches, how much further it is to the top. And then tomorrow it's our turn. Life is simple, for now. We've put in a lot of work and made many not so simple arrangements to get here, but now that we're here, it's ours to enjoy.

— Brady Robinson, MountainZone.com Correspondent

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