9. Rain Shadow

After Dan and Jamie left, it rained for the next day and a half. Fitting. Finally, on the morning of July 23, it was clear enough to wash both body and clothes in the river. The next day, Chris, Matt, and I would set out for some unfinished business: Pt 5048. It was the one objective that could leave us disappointed if we didn’t at least give it a go.

Both to get some extra recovery time and to break up the approach, we used our typical strategy and left camp late in the afternoon, heading for the Djangartynbashi Glacier. Still feeling the malaise of basecamp and lingering effects of the divided team, I didn’t try to move too fast. Thanks to the knowledge gained on our previous trip, we took an alternate approach route, using a snow patch to cross the river and gaining a grassy hill on the east side of the valley. Just as I crested the hill, I startled a large herd of ibex that quickly scrambled 500 m up the adjacent scree slope. Oh, to be able to ascend with such ease. We set up our camp just in time to jump in our tents as rain fell. It relented briefly and we sat staring at 5048, shrouded mysteriously in a cloud. As we went to sleep, the rain began again. It wouldn’t stop for 18 hours.

We took a photo to kill some time while tentbound.

Sitting, or rather laying, in Matt’s tiny two-man (probably more of a 1.5 man) tent isn’t fun; there’s not really enough room to sit up. Chris didn’t have it much better in his bivy. We let out sighs of frustration as the patter of rain on the tent held steady. At 2:00 p.m., it finally subsided and we crawled out to stretch our legs. Estimating the rest of the approach to be about six hours, we decided to stay put for the day and continue in the morning. If we had gone, it would have made an alpine start unfeasible.

Matt and I played some rock jenga while Chris laid in his bivy and read. It remained clear until dinner, but as soon as we started cooking, another storm rolled in. Luckily it was short lived and we went to bed with relatively stable weather and high hopes for the next day. By morning, it was back to overcast. Go figure.

We were out of camp around 9:00 a.m., quickly reaching the toe of the glacier and making rapid progress up the dry glacier under a light rain/sleet. Unlike the N2, the lower reaches of the Djangartynbashi are crevasse free, allowing easy access. By noon we had reached our previous campsite and were optimistic we could make it to the base of the route we had scoped out on 5048 in just another hour or two. That turned out to be just a bit off. Six and a half hours of vicious, oftentimes waist-deep postholing later, and we finally reached camp. During that effort, both Chris and I had splashed into streams under the snow that filled our boots with water. As we cooked, we desperately tried to dry our boots. Up until that night I hadn’t been wholeheartedly into the climb, but seeing 5048 bask in the post-storm alpenglow lit my fire.

Postholing our way up the glacier towards Pt 5048.

It was a chilly night with my boots drying on my feet. Already having dropped any excess body fat during the previous two excursions, I could do little to keep myself warm even with my nice sleeping bag. I didn’t even need the alarm to go off at 2:00 a.m., I’d been awake most of the night. Matt and I jostled about in the tiny tent, getting our clothes on and boiling a pot of water. Chris put on his boots, but decided his feet were too cold and gave up on his last chance to climb during the trip.

Matt and I packed our bags and left camp at 3:15 a.m. We made quick progress and by sunrise had gained the north ridge that projects out towards the glacier, needing only one short pitch of belayed climbing. Amazingly, after days of overcast skies and rain, it was finally clear and gentle wisps of high cirrus clouds indicated fair weather would last for some time. We swapped leads up the exposed, photogenic knife-edge ridge. To avoid pockets of deep snow that hampered progress, we escaped to the northeast face, which would lead us all the way to the summit ridge on gentle 55-degree slopes. A few battles with pockets of deep snow were the only obstacles, and we were standing on the summit by 2:15 p.m. All smiles.

The north ridge of Pt 5048.

The only disappointing moment of the day came when I crested the final summit ridge and saw, much to my astonishment, that a second, higher summit existed to the east. Without topos we couldn’t be sure, but we have since concluded that the higher summit is indeed in China and is unmarked as a point elevation on the Soviet map. Slightly worried about crossing the border, mentally not prepared for more climbing, but mostly just unwilling to commit to a treacherous traverse to this summit – it appeared to be dangerously difficult powder snow pockets over a very compact conglomerate rock – we dropped our gear and called our route complete. Enjoying the rare opportunity provided by the fair weather, we snapped lots of photos, took a moment to record a video thank you for our sponsors, and snacked on some dried fruit before beginning the descent.

Summit shot!

The moderate steepness and soft snow conditions allowed me to downclimb the whole route, cleaning all the pickets that Matt used to make quick rappels. We were pleased that we didn’t leave a single piece of gear on the route. We rolled into camp around 7:45 p.m. and Chris, a new uncle, had water waiting for us. We cooked up some ramen, packed some gear, and for once had time for a full night of post-climb sleep. We had time, I didn’t say we slept well. Matt and I both had another fitful night before rising early to (hopefully) avoid some of the postholing on the glacier. As it ended up, we were still cursing while dropping thigh deep into the ice crusted snow, but we made it all the way back to basecamp by 4:45 p.m., walking the last few miles in a daze.

Once again we couldn’t come up with a route name or a peak name, although we graded the route AD+, 650 m. Subsequently we have coined the route “Postcard for the Chief” in honor of the friendly, hospitable soldiers at Uch-Koshkon, with a slightly deeper personal meaning for me. We propose the name Peak of Illumination to commemorate the rare weather.

Pik Osveshchenie (5048) -- "Postcard for the Chief"

After a third and final successful outing, I felt a calm come over me as I slept in basecamp that night. Alpine climbing is a blast: the beauty, the intensity, the endurance, the freedom. At the same time, it is a tremendous amount of hard work. I was physically and mentally drained - it’s like running a marathon in three consecutive weeks with only a marginal diet to refuel your body. I could tell I had lost my edge physically, with only the adrenaline of the pursuit keeping me pushing forward during the last climb. Still, as I lay in the tent that night, aching all over, it somehow felt good.

Mike