The sound of snow falling on my tent is soft and soothing. It feels good to be snug inside my sleeping bag - this feathered zeppelin - at the end of each day. I usually get Didar (our cook) to fill up one of my Nalgene bottles with boiling water, which I stuff into my sleeping bag - at least until it gets a little too hot. That's right, I said a little too hot. I can thank my Feathered Friends -60C Snowy Owl sleeping bag for that. Still, despite this short period of nightly comfort, even inside my tent the thermometer reads minus -25C and falling; and unlike the -25C in Minnesota, there's nowhere except a sleeping bag to get warm. Nowhere! And when we're on the mountain...well...

Many people would hate all this winter climbing stuff: cold hands and feet, biting wind, no refuge, plus the icy, windblown slopes of our objective looming above...waiting. The winds have been howling now for over two weeks straight, the constant roar through the clouds reminds us that base camp is the only survivable place right now. Our skin is dry and cracked around our fingernails. Our clothes are dirty and stinky. Everything is covered with ice. Yet somehow I find comfort here, feeling relaxed and appreciative, despite all the discomforts. At home I can satiate my discomfort easily; with the flick of a switch a heater comes on, the push of a button and the room lights up. Heck, I could KILL a Big Mac right now, which, at least in North America, at any time and place I am only 3 minutes from getting -  if I were so inclined...;).

Some years ago I embarked upon my first major expedition to an extremely remote place - a 1500 meter high unclimbed tower in the Canadian Arctic, rising straight out of the frozen sea ice. I would attempt to ascend the huge, granite monolith, with a climbing partner from California, Brandon. Even then we had a small solar panel and a satellite phone - but it didn't work very well. My girlfriend at the time had a cow the entire time we were gone...but I guess some of the circumstances behind said "cow" were understandable: You see, one of the only times I actually managed to get the stupid satellite phone to work just happened to coincide with a few polar bears waltzing into camp. In the arctic, polar bears were our worst fear, as they were almost as common as rabbits in California, and wouldn't hesitate to eat one of us as an afternoon snack. So, just as the bears came towards camp, the satellite phone went dead, which just so happened to be during the very brief phone call with my ex. I think the last words I spoke to my ex-girlfriend were something like, "Oh, gotta go. Oh, no. Polar bears are..........."

Thing is, the satellite phone didn't work again for THREE WEEKS. In the meantime, all manner of nightmarish thoughts were going through my ex-girlfriend's head; one being that her boyfriend was now reduced to small, brown, steaming poop-piles, scattered across miles of frozen sea ice. (Before I left the States I tried to calm her fears by telling her that she didn't have to worry, because, while I knew that I couldn't outrun a polar bear, I could outrun Brandon - which was all I'd have to do. Somehow that didn't help her?) Anyhow, it just so happened that my ex's well-to-do family was very connected in big business, politics, and the upper echelons of the US Military. In fact, her uncle was a former Chief of Staff at one of the prestigious military schools in America. So after our extended silence following the polar-bear satellite call, her uncle made a few phone calls, and soon (to my understanding) something of an entire division of US Air National Guard troops were ramping up to assist the Canadian Army in their search for us - or at least for some steaming poop-piles in the remote Canadian Arctic.

About a month prior to this whole fiasco, my partner and I tried to hire 2 Inuit hunters to pack up a few dogsleds with our supplies and take us to this point on the map. They refused, saying it was too far for the dogs and that people never go to this place. We insisted, and after a few more dollars thrown into the mix, they agreed to take us. But instead of dogs pulling the dogsleds, they would use snowmobiles because of the extreme distance. One of the sleds was then loaded with fuel drums just for the snowmobiles. We didn't disapprove of this plan, thinking that it would be a little faster trip, which it was - but, also MUCH colder. I remember sitting on the loaded haul bags tied to the dogsled, traversing over the broken sea ice, shaking with cold, my goggles completely frosted over, my toes and fingers completely numb. Every 4 or 5 seconds the sled would slam into ice bulges. Each time it did, we were literally rag-dolled on and off the sleds, along with the rest of our gear, slamming into this and banging into that - all the while absolutely freezing my butt off in the -45C temperatures...for 5 days...nearly 400 kilometers. This was (and still remains) pretty much the worst period of physical suffering I have ever experienced in my life...ahem...at least until the ride home, when only ONE snowmobile and sled showed up to take us back to the village - which, when finally loaded, looked like the "Grinch Who Stole Christmas" sled after robbing Whoville. And, if it were possible, the trip back was even more uncomfortable, due to the frozen polar bear meat we had to sit on the entire way.

It has been said of some people, that the only time these individuals see any moderation in their lives, is when they pass it by on their way from one extreme to another. At times, this adage deeply resonates with me; although, even at the extremes there is joy to be found, contentment to be embraced. Many times in my life I have chosen endeavors where, for long periods of time, I have been either cold, hungry, hurt, tired, lonely, frustrated, or all of the above. But, it is not enough for me to merely endure these experiences, or, that they point me away to my life at home, and remind me of the "good" things - like the warm, fed, comfortable, rested, content times spent with family and friends. If this were the only benefit of enduring hard times, to remind us of the good, explorers and adventurers such as myself might be best described as those affected with a most severe form of Attention Deficit Disorder, or at very least, slow learners. (No comment.) I believe that it is in the explorer's nature to not merely endure or survive, but also to thrive. I think that we all possess a measure of this "thrivability," and most people have more of it than they will ever know, or will perhaps come close to finding out.

Here, on another expedition, I find myself on another adventure, rife with its own brand of suffering, but I count myself among the fortunate who are able to test their "thrivabilty."

To thrive in our hearts, when we can't feel our hands....

(....hence, the sloppy typing and spelling errors.)

Brought to you in part by:

 

 

 

(Posted 01/20/09, 1:32 pm Pakistan time)
Hoping to take advantage of a few hours of storm reprieve, Qadrat and I left mid-morning yesterday (Jan 19th) for Camp 1. My plan was to stay the night there and then climb to Camp 2 today, sleeping one night there and carrying my share of the summit push supplies, then returning to Base Camp to wait out the next spell of bad weather. During our ascent to Camp 1, Qadrat and I spent much time and energy digging and pulling out the ropes buried under 3 feet of deep, hard, Styrofoam-y, snow - a strenuous process that left both of us a little sore in the shoulders.

The final few meters below Camp 1 consist of loose, low-angled scree - but you don't want to drop something, fall, or kick off any rocks here, for any such bombs end up showering the lower slopes. But yesterday we used little caution on these slopes, since we were the only ones on the mountain; Artur, Robert, Amin, Ali, and Taqi, would follow up the next day carrying their supplies to Camp 2 and returning to base camp that same day (today).

Yesterday, as we approached Camp 1 on these loose slopes, Qadrat picked up a piece of silver tent pole and showed it to me. "Rats," I said. A few steps later, another bent and broken tent pole was found. Then another. By the time we reached Camp 1, we had a handful of broken tent poles and pieces, and could now see why - our tent had been destroyed by the wind. Fortunately, most of our gear and supplies were safely and neatly stashed in canvas bags and left beside the tent. The depot bags were still there, with all the contents inside. My plan to spend the night was now defunct, so we produced another canvas bag which we had just carried up from base camp, filled it with the loads on our backs, and headed down.

I've just heard from Amin via radio from Camp 2 that the tent there is fine. In the wise but simple words of Forrest Gump, "Good. Just one less thing."

Keep a watch on next week's weather...today is the first day of sunshine in 12 days.

Don

Basecamp Boredom 1.1 from Calpinist.com on Vimeo.

Back from Camp 3 at 7000 meters, we are all now resting in base camp, waiting for a spell of good weather to try for...dare I say.

In 18 days since our arrival, we have spent 10 days of activity on the mountain - a remarkable feat for even a summer expedition. We take our fast progress in stride, committed to the long haul, knowing that long spells of bad weather and other challenges lay ahead. Personaly, I feel content, but most of all, I feel thankful - simply grateful - to be on another expedition in the high mountains, feeling humbled by the elements and the great giants surrounding us. 

This is one of many winter trips for me, but my first expedition to the big mountains in the cold season. Some things are different than climbing in the Karakoram in summer, others are the same. The most obvious differences are the cold and the remoteness. It is both amazing and daunting to have the Baltoro all to ourselves, with only the birds, a few hearty pikas, and a lonely fox to keep us company.

Keep in mind that although I now live most of my time in the USA, I was born and raised in Canada, spending much of my youth in the frigid, barren plains of Alberta. Having spent many a winter morn walking to school in the dark and -35C temps (and lower), I find my DNA has not forgotten how to manage the cold. Of course, cold temperatures at 5000+ meters elevation are much different than at 500 meters in elevation. The altitude factors significantly into feeling cold. The higher in altitude one goes, the more hypoxic (look it up) one becomes. At extreme altitudes, one of the human body's psychological responses is to shunt blood to the core, bringing oxygen rich blood to feed the organs. In doing so our bodies can, at extremes, sacrifice our own extremities (fingers and toes) in order to preserve the more vital functioning organs. In essence, for the human body, it IS colder at altitude, and more difficult to keep warm.

Climbing between the higher camps, I find that my fingers and toes go numb quite frequently, losing sensation sometimes for an hour or more. I constantly try to move my toes in my boots and make fists inside my mitts to keep feeling in my fingers - but, I am not climbing using my warmest gear. Yet.

Between base camp and Camp 2, I manage to move in only fleece and my eVent shells, using gloved hands instead of mitts. As long as I keep moving, the cold remains at bay. Above Camp 2 (6200 meters) I must use my down gear, but still climb in only my Feathered Friends Front Point jacket and pants- which are freakin warm, but still nowhere near as warm as my down suit - which I'm saving for the next push to the summit. The wind bites immediately at any exposed skin, and I've already suffered a little black line of frost nip on my cheek and nose - which should peel off in a few days. Call it my yearly exfoliation, if not a low-class spa treatment. Ahh, the measures we go to for good skin.

 

One of the oddest things I have experienced on this winter expedition is the phenomenon of relative comfort, and how this changes with the immediate environment. After being spat out of the hovering MI-17 (helicopter) on December 23rd, I remember looking at the desolate, windblown, frozen moraine and thinking, "Wow! This is home for a few months. Yeesh!"

But after a few weeks of climbing, I now peer down from thousands of feet above, onto that very same spot which our base camp now inhabits, and think, "Hmmm. It would be nice to be in cozy base camp right now." Cozy base camp? Who in their right mind would look at this place and think "cozy."

 

We now face the first long spell of stormy weather - a time for rest, replenishment, and some base camp musings and ridiculousness - so expect a few of these over the next week or two. But before I finish this dispatch, I want to make more clear just exactly who "we" are. Most of our images and videos have contained only a portion of the team, for we are not 3, we are 8. Duties on the mountain have been split between 2 or 3 groups at a time, with Artur, Robert, and I climbing together - hence the photos and videos of us. But here are the other team members, whose contributions match or exceed any task our team of 3 has performed. These men, as part of the team, carry loads and establish the route as our equals. They are strong, experienced, and keen to succeed. We consider these men our partners:

Qadrat Ali, from Shimshal, age 39
Amin Ullah, from Shimshal, age 36
Muhammad Ali, from Sadpara, age 32
Muhammad Taqi, from Hushe, age 28
and Didar Cook Extraordinaire, from Hunza, age 30