THE CLIMB

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We had arrived in Islamabad on June 23 from various directions — dictated by our varying frequent flier loyalties or budgets. Four of us met in New Delhi to make the short hop to Lahore and then on to Islamabad. We had no difficulties despite the elevated level of rhetoric following the atomic bomb tests by India and Pakistan. We were met at the Islamabad airport by a grinning Manuel Lugli of Focus World Services, who handled our logistics in Pakistan. It was hot, and we were in a jet-lagged haze, so we mostly stuck around the weakly air-conditioned hotel. Our fifth member arrived the next morning from Bangkok. There we were, the 1998 California Ordinary Guys Expedition to GII.

"I drew a breath and felt and heard a distinct gurgling in my lungs. That was that. I knew immediately that I had HAPE (High Altitude Pulmonary Edema)..."

We were John Hancock, 34, a civil engineer, Eric Leitner, 38, an attorney, Bill Zachary, 50, a college professor, Bill Zaumen, 53, a computer engineer, and me, Karl Gerdes, 49, an oil company engineer. Our individual and collective goal was to have a go at an 8000-meter peak — a first for all of us.

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After the governmental formalities, we bounced in a bus through the spectacular gorge of the Indus for two days to reach Skardu and the legendary K2 Motel. Our ride confirmed that "this sure didn't look like Kansas, Toto." Both the driver and a Pakistani passenger who rode next to him were carrying sidearms. The reason the highway even exists is reinforced at every bridge, where Pakistani army soldiers stand watch to ensure that tourists don't take pictures. Our liaison officer explained that if one does take a picture of a bridge, they don't confiscate the film. They do however insist you send them a copy.

"We finally made it across only to discover, a ways farther up, a larger slide had closed the road completely..."

Bill Zachary had memorized the mountain literature of the area, so he pointed out the "porter wall" and other local landmarks at the K2 Motel. We sorted out our porter loads on the same patio used by the legends. We also got acquainted with our three companions who made up the balance of the "1998 Italian GII Expedition" — two Italians, Angelo Giovannetti and Flavio Facchinetti, and a Romanian, Mihai Cioroiana. Angelo had climbed Gasherbrum I, and Mihai had climbed Nanga Parbat in 1997, so we looked forward to picking their brains about life at 8000 meters.

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The drive to the trailhead, near Askole, was interrupted by the ubiquitous landslide. We watched, with some bemusement, as a crew shoveled furiously, while dodging more dirt and rocks which continued to tumble down the hill. We finally made it across only to discover, a ways farther up, a larger slide had closed the road completely. The several-hour hike was bearable, as jeeps trapped uphill from the slide shuttled all the loads. The potential seriousness of our endeavor was brought home by the simple metal plaque on the roadside which memorialized Alison Hargreaves. The camp had the well-worn look of many, many visitors.

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The next morning we were treated to the loading out of the porters. There were about 200, as our GII group was hiking in with another Focus group bound for Broad Peak. The two liaison officers, both captains in the Pakistani Army, were as different as night and day. Cpt. Majeed, a voluble, bearded fellow, was with the Broad Peak group. Our officer, Cpt. Amin, was quite formal and soft-spoken.

The day one hike wandered up through the village of Askole. This collection of mud brick houses surrounded by terraced, irrigated fields, is the last substantial civilization to be seen while traveling up the gigantic valley of the Biaho River. I was surprised to find that the kids were very photo-shy, running screaming when a camera was pointed at them.

Toward late afternoon we came to the crossing of the Dumordo River, which comes pouring in from the north. The cable crossing had been moved upstream from its low-water location, which necessitated our caravan to turn left and out of the main valley.

"Paiju was overcrowded, with a couple of trekking groups in addition to us, and the famous 'field of turds' covered the hillside above the concrete toilet enclosure..."

The trail switchbacked up the steep side of a buttress that stood hard against the Dumordo. Ahead of me, the porters moved as a wave — not wanting to be caught by a panting flatlander. At what appeared to be the top, the trail moved uncertainly out and around a blind corner of the rock, supported by wedged tree limbs and rocks over the raging torrent below. As I squirmed around the corner, trying to appear cool, I was surprised to find a steep rock slab and a number of porters scrambling up above me.

I was even more nonplussed when I surmounted that obstacle to look down on a dodgy, 300-foot cliff covered with porters heading down. These guys in plastic shoes with 50-pound plastic barrels tied on their backs were balancing down the rock with walking sticks. They all made it okay, much to my amazement, given the hand waving, cursing and fearful looks of some of the less-experienced ones.

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A few miles upstream was the infamous cable crossing. A huge line of porters waited as the car was pulled back and forth across the river. It was getting dark as I crossed. We ended up at camp with loads spread on both sides of the river, so it was a fairly rudimentary first night out...in the rain. At least the tents made it. The next morning, we returned to the main valley of the Biaho and resumed our march towards Concordia.

The week long trek went by quickly. Paiju was overcrowded, with a couple of trekking groups in addition to us, and the famous "field of turds" covered the hillside above the concrete toilet enclosure. I saw no porters using the toilet. We took the traditional rest day there as practically enshrined now in every contracting arrangement for porters. We scrubbed a few days' dust away in the frigid, chocolate-colored river. The cow that had somehow made the journey that far became the ceremonial dinner. The Trango Towers provided spectacular sunset entertainment.

"Much to our amazement, many of the European climbers blitzed through the icefall unroped..."

The Baltoro glacier was a series of slogs along lateral moraine material, interspersed by occasional, hair-raising river crossings and the detritus of the Pakistani Army camps, which were located periodically along the route. It is a tiring hike, and Bill Zaumen took ill with bronchitis. Unfortunately, he had to turn back and returned home. There were also signs left behind on the glacier by the early arrivals this season, in the form of aluminum ladders and fixed ropes at some obstacles that had been covered by snow a month before our arrival.

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At Concordia, K2 played peek-a-boo with us through the clouds and the massive wall of Gasherbrum IV dominated. After turning south on the Upper Baltoro Glacier, the lovely ridge of Chogolisa floated above the clouds. And finally, on July 7, we arrived at Gasherbrum Base, on the medial moraine of the Abruzzi Glacier, below the icefall of the South Gasherbrum Glacier at about 17,400 feet.

— By Karl Gerdes, Mountain Zone Correspondent

THE CLIMB