Negotiations with the local Tourist Committee began shortly after we arrived in Shimshal village. Over cups of tea, Bruce produced a document that outlined the logistical fees and porter charges as outlined by the Pakistani Ministry of Tourism. The Committee then presented their own document, a 3 page laminated letter detailing the local fees and charges at, of course, a rather inflated rate. Further discussion ensued as to which document was more legitimate. I felt as if I were witnessing old Scottish clans arguing over ancient claims, each demanding recognition of their governing scrolls. Perhaps this was simply due to Bruce’s interjecting Highland brogue, and perhaps because I’ve seen the movie “Braveheart” one too many times.

Nevertheless, at some point during the argument it was suggested that the laminated document be honored, simply because it was laminated, the plastic-coated version usurping any non-coated claims. The Committee also iterated that the document’s terms were nonnegotiable, as they were obligated to represent the interests of the Village People.

“The who?” I asked.

“The Village People.”, the committee chair responded.

It was all I could do to keep my chuckle inside. My imagination led me astray (as usual) and I immediately envisioned the entire scenario: The original “YMCA” boys had finally hung up the disreputable disco towel and were now secretly hiding out in this remote Pakistani outpost. Still clad in their ridiculous-if-not-slightly-effeminate working-man’s garb, the former musicians had now reverted to the international tourism trade, demanding exorbitant fees from visiting adventurers in order to finance their retirement fund. The whole “Committee” thing was simply a front…

Oddly enough, it was at this very point the conversation officially reached stalemate status, with each party retreating to their respective corner for the night.



In the morning, conversations with the Committee resumed. Bruce again took the lead, displaying an impressive balance of patience and negotiating skills. By mid morning an agreement was reached, but one that can hardly be deemed a fair compromise. We were in the Shimshali’s pocket, and they new it, acquiescing only a few rupees in the final deal.

By noon we were on our way, with 35 porter loads in total. The porters themselves had little if nothing to do with negotiations, and were characteristically lighthearted and friendly with us. The entire group walked together beyond the village terraces and up the barren river valley toward our first camp, only 3 hours away.

The next morning we climbed the moraine just above camp, setting out across the foot of the glistening Yazghil glacier. We encountered very few crevasses, none substantial in size, but the ice fins made the traverse precarious for the porters shouldering heavy loads. I cut steps in the ice wherever possible, and in 2 hours we were on the opposite side. After a short tea break, we picked our way along the eastern glacial edge, moving south across towering stacks of loose debris. It was amazing to be traveling over ground with no visible path, adding to the overall sense of remoteness.



Beyond a small lake our entourage reached a shallow valley below the moraine, guarded by steep canyon walls on the left and a huge scree slope on the right. As we approached the center of the valley, the first of the porters dumped their loads, exclaiming we had reached base camp. I looked at my watch. It was 1:10pm. This can’t be it, I thought. I looked around for a water source, but found only a single chocolate-brown colored stream cascading down the scree, originating from the blackened glacial ice perched above the slope.

“No water here.” I said to the porters. “We need to keep going”.

I traipsed up the end of the valley, turning right and out onto the moraine, well ahead of the rest of the group. After 20 minutes of searching I located a great spot for a base camp. It was near the edge of the white glacial ice where we could get clean water. If we were going to stop here, it may as well be near good drinking water. I radioed back to the valley, and a half hour later Bruce joined me out on the moraine- but the porters all stayed put. An hour passed. No porters arrived. Finally, two porter representatives came up, stating that the others would go no further. This was clearly a breach of our agreement made with the Committee, as we were still miles from the agreed upon base camp location. Surely the porters would go 20 minutes more in lieu of making the entire journey. Their representatives said “No”.

I saw red.

After all of the pressure and cornering we received from the Committee, the porter’s refusal to move any further drew the last straw out of my patience box. I stormed off the moraine and down the valley, throwing down my pack and trekking pole as I closed in on the huddle of porters. Without really thinking about what I should say, I pointed at the entire group, accusing them (sans expletive) of being dishonest for stopping short of the agreed upon base camp. My remark was then translated. My remark was not well received…

Needless to say, all 35 porters immediately descended upon me, at least two of them wielding walking sticks in full aggression. The yelling and pushing and arguing got even more heated as I openly furthered my case- but I was now wishing that I hadn’t left my three partners at the top of the valley.

A few of the porters spoke English quite fluently, and asked me why I was so emotional, while the others tried to calm down the most aggressive of the bunch- some of  whom were still waving sticks in my direction. I continued with my point, that the group had stopped well short of our agreed upon objective. Just then, another member of the group approached me, communicating that they had gone as far as the Committee had said they were required to. I began to think that this was true, and now understood why they became so angry at my accusations.

As things calmed down a little, another English speaking man approached me, stating that the porters would continue on to our suggested base camp- but only if we pay them twice the present fee if the Committee determined that they (the porters) were in the right. I laughed at the prospect, knowing that there was no way the Committee would take our side. Once again, we were in their pocket.



Bruce arrived, saying nary a word, but the look on his face said it all; negotiations were over. He produced a huge wad of rupees and handed it over to the porter sirdar, who had remained silent the whole time, standing in the background during the mini riot. He counted the money openly while one porter worked out the math by writing on his forearm. While they counted, I asked one of the English speaking porters to tell the group that, although I still think they should continue on, I could have handled the situation better by not getting so openly angry with them. He translated my apology, which by general nods and smiles appeared to be well accepted. After the counting was finished, the entire group stood up, smiling of all things, each one of them approaching me to shake my hand. The porters had gone as far as they were instructed to. They were feeling sure they had completed the job, and had now been paid accordingly.



We watched as the group disappeared down the valley, leaving us to our waterless wasteland of a base camp located nowhere near our intended destination. They left us standing amongst a pile of gear quickly gathering dust. They left us wearing the very same smiles they started out with.

Next Dispatch…Brown water in = brown water out.

This story ran a few days ago in the British newspaper, The Independent. Jonathan Brown describes the effort of 17 climbers to rescue Inaki Ochoa, and suggests the attempt "has redeemed a sport once known for its selfishness". In the article, Sir Chris Bonington is quoted: "This was the community of mountaineers – the world's serious climbers – who have a terrific common spirit ... everyone did everything in their power to help and this is something we would like to see everywhere."

Over the last few weeks I've endured some of the most challenging moments of my life. My repeated attempts to sufficiently articulate myself in words have mostly ended with the delete key, typing the opening lines of this dispatch over and over- but I've finally managed to get out a few thoughts...

 

First, I am deeply saddened by Inaki's death on Annapurna. Inaki's accomplishments in the high mountains of the world were beyond impressive, and he leaves very large footprints to fill for those chasing the highest summits. He will be missed by many. My thoughts these days are with the friends and family he left behind, and my prayers are that they would be comforted in this difficult time.

 

I also frequently think of Nancy, Inaki's girlfriend, who stayed throughout the entire ordeal at base camp, often coordinating rescue efforts herself, and then having to endure departing the mountain without Inaki by her side. The courage and strength she showed throughout those impossibly challenging days was extraordinary.

 

My heart also goes out to Horia, my former partner on the expedition, who stayed with Inaki until the very last moment possible. Endangering his own life, he had to be convinced to come down, unwilling to leave until help had arrived. Such loyalty is uncommon these days.

 

Ueli and Simon, the two Swiss climbers who immediately went up to help, had no knowledge of the route or way through the glaciers and left their camp in the darkness of night- with no high altitude equipment (theirs was stashed on another route)- to bring medicine to Inaki in Camp 4. Ueli's display of strength and courage, climbing alone in extremely poor and dangerous conditions was, plainly stated, beyond heroic.

 

Dennis Urubko and I started climbing from near Machppucharre Base Camp to Camp 2 immediately after the helicopter dropped us there mid morning of the 23rd. Two different helicopters had tried in vain to place us as higher on the mountain, but thick cloud cover repelled earlier efforts. We would have to start the climb from even lower than base camp. Climbing through new snow and poor visibility, we reached Camp 2 after a 7 hour slog. Alexei Bolotov met us in the tent, surprising Dennis and I with his intention of ascending back up to the ridge with us. After 1 or 2 hours of sleep, the three of us began climbing the wall. Early that morning we met Simon and Horia descending near the bottom of the steeper slopes. Ueli had convinced him to leave and was now making his way along the ridge toward Inaki. Horia was weak from his extended stay at altitude, but had improved with the thicker air at 6200 meters. (and a dose of dexamethasone, which Ueli had administered up on the ridge).

 

The snow was soft and deep. Simon and Horia's down-tracks had all but disappeared under the fresh snow of spindrift avalanches. One avalanche in particular split in 3, with the major portions sliding behind, between, and in front of Dennis and I, who were about 10 meters apart when it hit. When the snow cloud cleared, Dennis turned and looked down at me, asking me if I was alive. My simple response was "Yup", and we continued up the wall, saying nothing more about the event. Despite the soft conditions, we climbed as fast as we could, reaching Camp 3 a few hours later and taking a short break to re-hydrate and rest for half an hour. But just before we began up the steep slopes above the tent, Ueli's voice came franticly over the radio, announcing Inaki had stopped breathing.  Standing on the narrow ledge at 7000 meters, we both cried...

 

Since the helicopter flew us out of base camp on the 25th, I've spent my days soaking in the relative comforts of Pokhara, the small city nestled in the jungle foothills below the Annapurna Sanctuary. Monsoon has almost arrived, and as the afternoon thunderstorms wash away the debris in the streets, so the rain also seems to have some therapeutic affect on my heart, which has been so saddened these last few weeks- first, with Inaki's death, then my grandmother who, unbeknownst to me at the time, had passed only a few hours later. Then, when I opened my emails back in Pokhara, I learned of the death of my friend Gianni Goltz on Everest.

 

Enduring such adversity and challenges while being so far removed from my friends and family during this time has been extremely difficult, yet, I feel your strength even now. Your prayers, encouraging emails, and messages have been my strength through such adversity, and at some point I hope to thank every one of you for you support. It continues to be made clear to me that my strengths come from the cords of many.

 

In a few days I depart for my next expedition, which I intend to announce upon arrival in country. More to follow soon...