DISPATCHES

Robinson

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But we couldn't waste time. Dave and Steph had to transfer jeeps due to a roadblock to the south. Jimmy and I would have to carry our baggage over a footbridge on our way to Hushe. Jeep transfers take time and are best done in daylight, so we waved them off and then quickly loaded our own jeep.

As soon as we left the trees sheltering the village of Khapulu, we were hit by a sandstorm. Jimmy and I wore bandanas over our faces as we rode atop our luggage. I think we felt pretty cool sitting there with our sunglasses, our exotic looking bandanas slung above our noses, bandit style, as we bounced along the narrow road.

We came to a stop at the Indus River. The 670-foot suspension bridge just 10 minutes outside of the village was swaying impressively. Occasionally spray from the river blew over the cables, reminiscent of a ship at sea during a storm. Guy cables on either side went slack and then came violently tight. Some hapless pedestrian clung on for dear life in the middle. If the wind didn't blow the jeep off the bridge outright, the extra weight might have been enough to cause the cables to break. So we waited.

About that time I asked for my camera from Jimmy, and he handed me Dave's camera. Dave hadn't intended to leave us his camera. Ali had found it near our jeep and took it along when we left. Since things didn't seem to be going too well, we decided to return to Khapulu for some french fries.

When we returned to our hotel, Dave had already been back, conducted a search, and left in despair. We made some phone calls, got something to eat, and left the camera at the hotel to be picked up by someone going to Skardu early the next day.

The wind had died down, so we crossed the bridge without mishap. We rode on the jeep, enjoying the views, waving to villagers, plucking apricots from low hanging branches as we drove by. We caught sight of Masherbrum in the distance. Jimmy and I spent over two months in the area last year, so it felt like coming home.

It also felt pretty tame. No military check posts. No remote police underlings trying to assert their power. The villagers were all used to seeing westerners go by. Children cried, "Hello! Hello! One pen!" We were back on the beaten track, relatively speaking.

We arrived in Kande village in the dark. A river runs on the far side of the village. Every few years it slides with catastrophic results. A torrent of water, mud, and rocks wiped out many homes and fields three years ago. But there was one good result of the slide — it took out the jeep bridge too. The bridge is repaired on occasion, but always seems to conveniently fall apart.

Since the bridge is out, all travelers must stop in Kande. Travelers pay a toll for crossing the makeshift footbridge and must hire a jeep trapped on the other side. Needless to say, the jeep on the far side has a corner on the market. Porters are required to carry equipment across. All in all, the village is far better off without the jeep bridge.

The jeep on the far side was already gone, so we were forced to spend the night. We entered the K6 motel and ran into some Canadians and Americans eating in the dining area. We chatted for a bit, then Voytek Kurtyka strolled in. We'd met the famous alpinist on the Karakoram Highway over a month ago, and here he was again!

He'd gotten sick of waiting out the storms under K2, bailed on his plan to climb a new route alpine style, and was wandering around, checking out the rock climbing possibilities in the Hushe area. He was very excited to hear our stories. He pulled out a map and Jimmy and I told him everything we knew about the Kondus area, proud to have information Voytek would find interesting.

It was a wonderful evening. Jimmy and I came away with the impression that Voytek was more than just one of the world's greatest alpinists. He's a genuinely nice guy who's fun to hang out with.

Jimmy and I had just been talking about him an hour before we reached Kande. "How do you think Voytek funds all his expeditions?" I had wondered aloud. When I asked him the same question, he mentioned something about lady's garments. Jimmy and I both assumed he was making an off color joke that was somehow obscured by his English, but he was serious. He imports clothes to Poland from India. In other words, Voytek has a job. This wasn't the answer we had hoped for.

We left early this morning and arrived in Hushe. Just after we arrived, we met yet another group of Americans and Canadians climbing in a nearby valley. We exchanged information and stories. We're not sure what we'll do next— probably do some exploring of nearby valleys. Maybe a longer stay and another big objective. For now, we're both terribly happy just to be here and relax.

Tonight, Mr. Hussein, village nurse and founder of a fund raising organization for local humanitarian projects, is having us over for dinner. I'll take a stroll this afternoon in the wheat fields and snap some pictures. I'm ready to enjoy a bit of quiet village life— quiet village life with a computer and satellite phone, that is.

— Brady Robinson, MountainZone.com Correspondent

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