The thin air stung our un-acclimated lungs as we labored up the steep switchbacks heading out of camp. We paused for frequent breaks, both to rest our weary bodies and to admire our surroundings. We watched as Dan and Jamie, little specks in a vast wilderness, disappeared behind a hillside. We kept in frequent radio contact, more sounding off with little jabs than anything serious.
Matt and I reached the pass just before noon, about two hours after leaving camp. The straight-line distance isn’t far, maybe 3 km, but switchbacks and a healthy 800 m of elevation gain meant ferrying loads up and over the pass – requiring maybe four or five trips each – was out of the question. We’d have spent far too many days in the process.
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| The Djangart valley from the Djangart pass. |
“How’s it going? We’re almost back at camp.”
“Dan’s cut his wrist.”
“What?”
“Dan fell and cut his wrist, he needs help.”
We had expected Dan and Jamie to be back in camp already, and figured they were joking around. We gave a little laugh and went on our way. Soon though, we realized it wasn’t a joke at all.
Somehow, the radio managed to rouse Chris, and he started off towards Dan and Jamie with a medical kit. He didn’t know where they’d gone and didn’t take the radio with him, so he was soon far off course. Matt and I stayed in contact, keeping a watchful eye from the hillside above camp. As we saw Dan emerging from the tributary valley and making his way across the braided channels of the main Kaichi River, I ran down to meet him with our other medical kit. Dan isn’t much of a whiner, so I knew it had to be pretty serious.
Dan unwrapped Jamie’s handkerchief and at first, it didn’t look too bad. When I got a closer look though, there were two nasty gashes right on the underside of Dan’s wrist. Luckily they weren’t quite deep enough to hit the veins. I poured on some iodine as Dan writhed with the stinging pain. By the time we had it smeared with antiseptic cream and bandaged up with gauze and athletic tape, the rest of the team had arrived. We sat by the river for a few minutes, thankful that it wasn’t any worse but cognizant that Dan would have to be careful; it was painful for Dan as he flexed his wrist, not exactly conducive to climbing. It was about 1:30, so we decided to make our way back up to our camp in case the horses showed up. Nothing.
We sat on the grassy hillside a bit bewildered; this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Always the planner, I was probably the most dejected. I had said earlier that I’d give the horses a 2% chance of showing up, but in the back of my mind I still had hope. 2:00 came and went as we sat discussing our options. The previous day, amidst the confusion, the guy getting a ride to Bishkek had possibly said that someone, a local hunter who we presumed managed the herds we had seen in the lower valley, would be coming back in six days. Not wanting to completely abandon the Djangart, we decided that we’d spend the first 10 or so days in the Kaichi, climbing what we could and possibly meeting this mystery horseman. Then, with less food, we could attempt to ferry loads over to the Djangart for the last week if nobody showed up. It was a reasonable plan, but I still felt a little let down. When we had walked the road to the pass that morning it was in fair shape, with just one major obstacle about two-thirds of the way up. Why couldn’t Sasha have at least tried? Oh, to be able to speak Russian.
2:21 p.m. As we stood up to go about the chores of setting up a basecamp, four horses sauntered over the hilltop. Saved! In a frantic rush, we started packing, negotiated prices, cooking food, and somehow determined that there was too much stuff to take everything in one trip. It wouldn’t be cheap (the horses cost us 18,000 som, or about $360), but at least we were getting to where we wanted to go.
It took a long time to get things packed up and loaded onto the horses. At 4:30, Dan, Jamie and Chris set off over the pass, hoping to get as far down the other side as possible. We wanted our basecamp to be at the outflow of the N2 and N1 glaciers, but realizing the late time, we conceded that we couldn’t get that far and settled for the outflow of the Akoguz. Matt and I stayed behind with the rest of the gear.
The horses returned just after 9:30 the next morning. Proving that sarcasm is universal, one of the horsemen joked that they had to go back down, leaving us there. Amused by the alarmed look on are faces, he busted out laughing. We loaded up the horses and set off for our second boring walk up to the pass. I was given the responsibility of leading one of the horses that was heavily burdened, giving it a head start while the others were still being loaded. It went well for a while as I plodded along, listening to my iPod, but he soon became stubborn and I found myself tugging on the cord more than moving. Luckily, the horsemen caught up and took over.
Along the route, as we descended in the Djangart, we got magnificent views of the peaks along the Djangartynbashi glacier, the easternmost of the four valleys that run perpendicular to the Djangart Valley. Of particular note was Pt 5048. We’d seen it before – it’s the logo on our webpage – but seeing it in person was majestic.
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| The view of Pt 5048 that first captured our imagination. |
Oh, and how could I forget, Jamie celebrated his 22nd birthday that evening by eating an orange. Yep, an orange.
Mike
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