Gasherbrum 3, at 7952m (26088ft), and Gasherbrum 4, at 7925m (26000ft) are respectively the world's 15th- and 17th-highest peaks. Completely overlooked in the rush to the 14 8000m peaks, G3 has had only 2 ascents, both by the same route, which put 7 people on its summit; G4 is rather better known for its singular elegance and for its extreme difficulty, as a result of which its true summit has still seen only 9 pairs of feet (on 4 expeditions between 1958 and 1997). The aim of the 2009 International Gasherbrum 3 and 4 Expedition is to climb both of these summits by new routes, specifically the SW Ridge of G3 and the E Face of G4.
Phone dispatch from Don: "We left Friday morning (PKT) for our summit push and all of us here managed to reach Camp 2 with no ill effects even though the winds were very high. Taqi had to turn back and is now safe in base camp. We had left two tents at Camp 2, but one was destroyed, so six of us had to sleep in one tent last night. It was rather a cramped night!! The winds have carried into this morning and are still very high (Saturday PKT). We are having something to drink right now and are trying to dry out some of our gear since it was a very damp night. We are just waiting now, hoping the winds will drop so that we can continue on."
Our team is in good health and in good spirits, except for David who has been suffering from some sinus issues, but is now beginning to feel better.
Despite the bad weather in the Karakoram, we have continued to work hard for the past five days. Getting closer to our goal: Gasherbrum III and/or IV is our objective. First of all, we're in the process of establishing our next camp at 6000 meters in the vicinity of G2 (G2 Camp 1). We are feeling strong and have most of our gear there and will probably require just one more carry. Future activities will be launched out of this camp.
Secondly, we managed to venture beyond G2 Camp 1 to approximately 6300 meters, making our way up towards the col between G3 & G4 into the icefall at the end of the glacier to the foot of G4. So far we have made it about ¼ of the way up. We stopped at 6300 meters to study the icefall in an attempt to determine the best way to make it into the cwm. This will be our next step before actually trying to climb.
To give you a better picture: There is this huge valley in between G3 & G4. Out of this valley is a vast and very complicated icefall that guards the cwm between G3 & G4. Trying to find our way through this icefall will enable us to get ourselves into the cwm so that we can assess which are the best routes according to the conditions and then position ourselves to began climbing the peaks of G3 and/or G4.
We are in base camp now and after a few days rest we will press on.
It's been a week since I departed Pakistan, and I'm now feeling rested and revitalized, assimilating back into western culture and snacking on the odd french fry or two...ok, maybe more than two. I'll be in Europe for the next week, arriving back in the States near the end of March.
On February 25th, it was made public on the HiMountain website that our expedition was over. We had tried for 70 days to surpass our high point of Camp 3 at 7000 meters, but constant winds had battered the camps into flapping nylon, and our supplies in base camp were dwindling. On the 24th, Amin, Ali and I again made a push for Camp 3, attempting to make the climb there and back in a single day. Secretly I hoped that a weather window would open on the 25th and 26th, and our last foray up the mountain would turn into a fast summit push. But the forecast on the 23rd told us to expect the typical high winds, making our final climb a clean-up mission and to bring down the gear depots.
On the final climb our fast ascent pace had taken it's toll on Amin by Camp 2, so he stayed at that elevation, deconstructing the broken tents and packing as much gear as he could carry. Ali and I carried on to Camp 3 - but not without agreeing first that we'd turn around if conditions were too bad - suffering frostbite now was not an option. Above Camp 2 the winds were astonishingly high, and due to 3 days of snowfall. visibility was at times zero. On the boiler-plate ice slopes below Camp 3, we paused every 20 meters or so to warm our hands, and I was really worried that Ali would suffer frostbite in these conditions.
Every 10 minutes I stopped and turned around to see Ali, and during the gaps in blowing snow I'd give him a 'thumbs up', waiting for a returned gesture. Eventually we reached Camp 3, where we found our depot literally hanging by a thin chord of 4mm rope over the edge of the abyss. The winds had blown the 60kg "gear burrito" 30 meters from where we had left it, and only a short piece of fixed line had prevented it from being blown into oblivion. In the raging winds we quickly stuffed our packs with as much as they could hold, then began the longs series of rappels toward base camp. Near dark we stumbled into base camp, tired from our marathon climb and descent, but happy with our effort to get stuff off the mountain.
Before I left for Broad Peak in early December, I knew that when the expedition was over a helicopter ride out from base camp may not be possible - but what I didn't expect is that we'd have to make the trek home without porters, carrying all we could manage with us. By the time my pack was loaded with computers, video equipment, cameras, some electronics, 5 days of food, cooking fuel, stoves, sleeping bag, and a few clothes, it weighed in at 30kg. I ditched everything that I could stomach leaving on the glacier, carrying only the most valuable or essential items. In May, the porters would be able to make it up to base camp and bring out all our gear, but for now it would have to stay, locked in drums on the moraine.
After packing up the rest of base camp on the 25th, we finally started the trek out on February 26th.
As I shouldered my massively-loaded pack, I thought to myself, "This is going to be epic." Over the last few years I've made the long trek up and down the Baltoro 3 times - in summer - but now a blanket of fresh snow would turn the already difficult journey into a nearly impossible one. The prior week's storm had deposited a fresh layer of 20-30cm on top of a base of a few meters in places. Around base camp the winds had scoured the moraine nearly clean, but down the glacier where winds were lower the snow had accumulated into deep drifts and unstable layers, and I knew that a post-hole-ing, "wallow-me-Elmo" nightmare was to follow.
Five minutes after leaving base camp, I stepped down onto a drift- which turned out not a to be a drift but rather a meter-high rift of glacial ice dusted with snow - and subsequently fell hard onto the rocks under the heavy weight of my pack. Uttering various uncreative expletives, I picked myself up from the short fall, only to discover a severe pain in my right knee. On top of everything else, I'd now have to make the trip with a deeply sprained ligament. Talk about adding insult to injury - or rather the inverse.
On the way to Concordia, Amin, Ali, Taqi, Robert, and I would take turns breaking trail and slogging our loads, with our poor cook, Didar, playing caboose the entire time.
Didar had been sitting in front of a stove for 2 months, and was now completely out of shape. I felt bad for the poor guy and waited patiently for him when he fell too far behind - but I wasn't exactly speedy myself as my knee grew progressively more painful.
After Concordia we stumbled upon the most unlikely but welcoming thing: a trail in the snow - and with this our progress increased significantly. The Pakistani army had recently moved soldiers up to the post near Gasherbrum 2, and their footsteps had trampled a harder path, turning our post-hole party into a semi-post-hole party. After 12 hours of tough going in the snow, we set up camp near Goro 2, under a chilly, clear sky, cramming into painfully small assault tents, but content with our progress so far.
Next dispatch tomorrow- Snow Leopards, Snow Blindness, and Pakistani Hospitality
On Sunday, February 15th, our huddle in Camp 2 awoke to the wind still battering the tent. Sometime during the night Artur had received a SMS (or phone call, I can't remember) with a weather update stating some possibility of lower summit winds on Tuesday the 17th. As we were already in the thick of things, I also decided that we might as well try, day-by-day from this point, to see if the winds would in fact decrease a little - that a decent window might somehow appear.
Artura left the tent first, followed by Robert perhaps 45 minutes later. Ali, who spent the night alone in the Vaude tent was next to leave, followed by myself about an hour later. Qadrat would wait in Camp 2 for Amin, who was in "superhero mode" somewhere above Camp 1, on his way up from Base Camp.
The winds were noticeably lower than two days prior, and the intermittent sunshine provided some welcome warmth, despite the cold bitter squall. Above the rock pinnacles at apox. 6500 meters, I caught up behind Ali, Artur, and Robert, and the four of us would continue in queue behind Robert up to the final pitch below Camp 3. Here the winds increased significant; the temperature noticeably dropped, and visibility began to diminish under blowing snow and clouds. By the time we reached the final rope, I could see Amin and Qadrat below us, gaining ground - but the weather was seriously deteriorating.
I watched Ali top out over the final ridge, followed by Robert, Artur and I. As I crested the Camp 3 ridge, I was greeted by even higher winds and blowing snow. "It's going to be a little tough to set up the tent in this," I thought to myself. But we managed - barely. In the waning light, the tent was finally pitched, but one third of it hung rather precariously over the void. Once inside, I began to warm my frozen feet over the stove - until the radio call came in from the Pakistani tent, informing us that Qadrat had suffered some frostbite while they were setting up their tent. I put my boots on and climbed out of the crammed tent, then down the rock slabs in the dark to the other tent. After a brief conversation and inspecting Qadrat's fingers, I returned to our tent to get the emergency oxygen bottle we had stashed in Camp 3 a few weeks prior, and filled a bag of snow for the Pakistanis to melt for drinks. (Oxygen therapy immediately after frostbite limits some tissue damage.)
Back in our tent, the night was cramped, cold, and windy, but despite my weird body position and face full of frozen nylon, I slept pretty well - perhaps too well. Maybe it's because Amin had brought us a bag of pre-cooked chicken from base camp, which we boiled and ate for supper, drinking the pot -glop for a nice soup. Rarely does one get to eat so well, so high in elevation.
I awoke around 8am to the tent being absolutely battered by gusts of wind. "If this gets any stronger, we're gonna get blown off the mountain," I thought, and immediately put my boots on and started packing my things. Artur made a quick brew, but just as we were getting ready to exit the tent, the inevitable occurred. I just happened to be filming at the time:
(You were supposed to view a video here, but Don is having problems sending it through his Thuraya Satellite phone. Hopefully we will see it soon!!!)
After we got the tent semi-under-control from the inside, I quickly jumped outside to hold on from there. Shortly after, Robert and Artur exited, and we began a desperate attempt to dismantle the tent. Halfway through, it was obvious that the high winds would not allow us to organize things and properly stash any of our gear. Every 30-40 seconds we each had to stop and take breaks to warm our hands, pulling our fingers inside our mitts. We finally flipped the tent over and wrapped the entire thing into a sorta nylon burrito, tied with rope as tight as we could get it. After it was secure (mostly), we threw the depot gear bag on top and clipped it to the rope. It was at this time that I realized my climbing harness was still inside the burrito. Somehow, it did not get thrown out with my pack. It was far too cold and things were getting desperate, making the option of untying the whole ordeal and searching for it out of the question. Instead, I unclipped a short piece of webbing from my pack and clipped it around my waist with a carabineer borrowed from Artur. I would have to do the "hand-wrap-rappel" decent all the way to the glacier. I put on my pack, climbed to the edge of the ridge, wrapped my right hand around the 4mm rope, and stepped over the ridge. I didn't say a prayer first. I said a prayer the whole way down.
