4. Wild Horses

I was up early; I tend to get pretty anxious about things. Matt, Jamie, and Dan soon followed. Unable to sit idle while awaiting the outcome of Sasha’s quest for horses, we decided to break into two teams: Matt and I would head up to the Djangart Pass to assess the possibility of carrying the loads ourselves while Dan and Jamie would head up the southwest fork of the Kaichi Valley to getting a closer look at some potential objectives, should we be stuck in the Kaichi. Each team took a radio and we figured we’d be back around lunchtime. We left a radio outside Chris’ tent; he was still sound asleep.

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.

The Djangart valley from the Djangart pass.

We hunkered down on the north side of the pass to escape the wind that was strafing the very top. We sat for a few moments, engaging our mind with possibilities. We snapped some photographs and used Matt’s scope to check things out, but cold from the wind we retreated quickly. About three-quarters of the way down, we radioed Dan and Jamie:

“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.

The view of Pt 5048 that first captured our imagination.

About four hours after departing the Kaichi, we crested a small hill and saw familiar tents pitched on a flat grassy bench above the Djangart River. At last, eight days after arriving in Bishkek, basecamp.

Oh, and how could I forget, Jamie celebrated his 22nd birthday that evening by eating an orange. Yep, an orange.

Mike

3. Over the mountains and through the woods…

The sat phone was dead. I mean really, completely, totally dead. Coming back to the apartment late the night before departure, we saw it hadn’t charged and wouldn’t even turn on. Problem. The next morning, the morning of our departure, Asel sent two more chargers with Sasha, our driver, who parked the strangely-out-of-place Comanche truck in the tiny alley outside our apartment. We tried to charge the phone as much as we could, but the apartment owner was excessively pushy, and scowled at us as we lingered with our last few bags, hoping to eke out a few more minutes of charging time.

The cigarette lighter in the truck was also broken, so through phone calls with Asel and garbled gesturing, we informed Sasha that we had to go to the ITMC office. While Sasha set out to fix the cigarette lighter (the man is a MASTER mechanic), we charged the phone. We also realized we had no way to charge the phone with the solar panel. After trying several adapters at ITMC with no luck, Dan and I set off for some stores that might have the adapter we needed and Matt came along to go to the ATM (we had forgotten this the day before - luckily we remembered, it would really save us). A couple hours later, we returned without an adapter but with a few miscellaneous parts. Dan expertly rigged up an adapter, splicing together pieces, and we all cheered when it worked. Now about four hours late, we were finally on our way, cruising the streets of Bishkek in our monster truck.

Not an hour into our journey and we were pulled off the side of the road. Ugh. Something (a hose?) had broken. Thankfully, with Sasha’s skill, we were back on the road in about 20 minutes, although we were a bit concerned about how many times we’d be stopping to fix the antique Russian vehicle that very well may have been used in Afghanistan.

About five hours later and still plodding along like a giant tortoise, we stopped at a tiny restaurant on the shore of the beautiful Lake Issyk-Kul. Abdybek helped us order a delicious local dish called Manti, dumplings filled with chopped onion and mutton. We’d spend the rest of the trip dreaming about a big plate of Manti waiting for us on our return.

It was late in the evening as we turned off the main road and headed up Barskoon Gorge. We were awe-struck by the beautiful mountainscape: towering evergreens, gushing river, lush grass. We gained elevation slowly, but soon stopped by some old abandoned buildings, unable to go further for the night as the pass above was covered in dense clouds. Chris, Dan, and I set up camp as Sasha laughed at Matt and Jamie rolling out their sleeping bags under the truck.

The Comanche truck, our ride to the Djangart, parked at our campsite in Barksoon Gorge.

We still had a long way to go and were up and out just after 6 a.m. the next morning. We gained the pass through 30-something switchbacks on a well-graded road, then spent several hours moving across a high plateau. We eventually left the main road - it continues on to the Kumtor Gold Mine - and utilized the truck’s full 6WD capabilities as we bypassed washed out bridges and ducked in and out of washes. The rugged power of the truck also meant one seriously bumpy ride – there was no type of suspension system meaning we were tossed about like rag dolls. Sleeping or reading was a tedious task; thankfully, there was a beautiful landscape at which to stare.

By about 11 a.m. we made it to the first border post, Kara-Say. We hopped out of the vehicle and handed our documents (border permit and passport) to two soldiers who staffed a gate. They gave them a look, and handed them back. That was easy. We gave them a bottle of vodka and some cigarettes, having been informed that they are quite happy to receive these gifts at their remote location.

We didn’t get far before stopping again, this time at the main outpost. Sasha and Abdybek went inside to talk to the chief while we waited outside. We were greeted by a handful of friendly soldiers. Dan traded his PSU hat for a military one and we gave them more Vodka and cigarettes. They didn’t want it just for themselves though, and soon we found ourselves passing around teacups full of Vodka (all except for Matt who expertly seemed to dodge the potent spirit). Everything seemed fine as we jumped back in the truck.

Kara-Say

Back on our way, we travelled northeast along the barely recognizable “main road” that heads northeast, paralleling the Kyrgyz-China border. As we stopped for a late lunch, we found that a jar of pasta sauce and a jar of Nutella had busted open in Dan’s pack thanks to the lurching and jostling of the truck. It made a huge mess that we cleaned as best we could. Those were the second and third casualties after we found our bananas looking more like baby food. As we were cleaning, we were approached by two soldiers on horseback. They checked our documents and had a friendly chat with Sasha, seemingly giving him directions to our next destination, the military outpost near Ak-Shyyrak that we believe is actually called Uch-Koshkon. Somehow, Dan convinced them to let him ride their horse, and he went for a little trot. Only Dan could pull that off.

Dan in his freshly traded hat with the horse patrol.

By late afternoon we rolled up to the gate at Uch-Koshkok. Like we had done previously, we produced our documents. This time, however, there was a problem. They told us the Abdybek couldn’t go any further.

“What?”
“Him (points) – nyet.”
“What?”

Abdybek, 17, is an intern with the Alpine Fund. The Alpine Fund offers jobs facilitating the outings to selected kids who go through their programs. When we first got involved with the Alpine Fund we inquired about hiring someone to come along and act as a translator. We soon had hired Abdybek to come along as a cook (he loves to cook), translator, porter, and camp companion. Unfortunately, Abdybek didn’t have his identification document with him, which is required along with the border permit (we don’t know if he forgot it or doesn’t have it). We pleaded with the soldiers at Uch-Koshkon, but they wouldn’t budge. At Kara-Say, Abdybek had come running back out to the truck and grabbed our last bottle of Vodka to give to the chief - we didn’t realize until later that it must have been a bit of a bribe. We frantically gestured, but got nowhere. We couldn’t believe it. Dejected, we dug in our bags for a few cigars and two packs of cigarettes that had been left. We took them back out to the soldiers, although the chief had already gone back inside. Amazingly, the mood seemed to shift. Suddenly, a man jumped in the front of the truck, Abdybek got in with us, and we were off. In his broken English, Abdybek joked that there must have been a call from the president. We all laughed. All was well.

Or so we thought. We made our way up the Kaichi Valley, the next valley system over from the Djangart, our destination. Sasha had managed to communicate earlier that he probably couldn’t get over the pass, but we held out hope. As the late afternoon sun bathed the peaks in warm light, we stared, awe-struck. The mighty Comanche powered through the Kaichi River several times, much to our delight. We passed a herd of cows and a herd of horses, then some shacks, although we saw nobody. The Russians who visited the area in 2008 had arranged horses in this valley. We thought maybe the guy in the front cab with Sasha was the man who had helped them. We were wrong.

The truck pulled off the road a couple miles from where it crests the pass. The road looked fine, but Sasha indicated that he couldn’t go any further. We tossed our bags out of the truck, not pleased. When we tried to talk about going over the pass with horses, the guy with Sasha was confused. After a lengthy session of gesturing, we realized he was just there to get a ride back to Bishkek and that Abdybek had to go too. Ahh! Frantic phone calls to Asel who translated to Sasha.

Our drop-off location in the Kaichi.

In the end, the truck left with us sitting there incredulous. Sasha would try to find and arrange for horses to meet us on his way out, but there were no guarantees. If they were coming, they’d be there by 2:00 the next day. If they didn’t, we’d be in for a major change of plans. Let the nervous waiting begin.

Mike

2. Sister for Sale

It was just one of those things. You’re the volunteer, but you walk away having gained much more than you had to offer. That’s the best way I can describe our weekend with the Alpine Fund.

We stumbled upon the Alpine Fund’s webpage early in the expedition’s planning stages while searching for information on mountains in Kyrgyzstan. We instantly wanted to help. We got in contact, and although we couldn’t offer a long term commitment (though we would have loved to), we agreed to help run a weekend climbing adventure at Chon-Kurchak, a local sport climbing crag just outside Bishkek in Ala-Archa National Park.

Chon-Kurchak

In their own words, "The Alpine Fund is a small, locally based, non-profit, non-governmental, secular organization that uses the incredible mountain resources of Kyrgyzstan to help the country’s most vulnerable youth challenge themselves for future success. We offer children and young adults from orphanages and street markets the chance to escape the confines of their daily surroundings and challenge themselves in a mountain environment. Through hikes, climbs, education programs, individual mentoring, and college scholarships we seek to gain the trust of these youth and work with them to brighten their future through education and mountain adventure." I can’t say it much better. It’s an outstanding organization full of outstanding people with an outstanding mission.

Besides the weekend clinic, we wanted to use our manpower resources and expedition press to help raise awareness and funds. Through the generosity of our friends, family, and complete strangers, we managed to raise over $2000, donated 10 sleeping mats, a new rope (justropes.com), and a set of 10 quickdraws (DMM). Because many of the donations were made directly to the Alpine Fund online, many of you remain anonymous to us (as does the actual total of our fundraising efforts). To both the anonymous donors and all of you whom sent us checks or gear: THANK YOU. In our fundraising letter, we expressed our sincerest belief in the mission of the Alpine Fund. After spending time with them and the kids, this belief is even stronger.

Now back to the story.

After sending our gear ahead in the Alpine Fund van, we took a taxi to the Alpine Fund office. There we met Abdybek, one of the Alpine Fund interns who we also hired to come along during our expedition as a translator and expedition cook. We jumped into an empty mini-bus, not quite sure what to expect. There was some nervous energy among the team, but this weekend was something we’d been anticipating for a long time. Soon, a group of 10 rambunctious kids streamed into the bus along with five Alpine Fund volunteers (Gaetan, Nargiza, Frieder, Anoeshka, and Maik) and two Alpine Fund Interns (Salavat and Abdybek). The mini-bus was packed full, with a few of the volunteers sitting in the aisle as we slowly made our way out of Bishkek and into the mountains. Although none of us speak Russian or Kyrgyz, we enjoyed observing the inquisitive and nervous chatter of the kids as they scoped us out. The kids came from both CPC-Osh and CPC-Dordoi, so they were getting to know each other too. Much thanks to the volunteers and interns who translated for us throughout the weekend!

After some confusion finding the right roads, we made it to Chon-Kurchak where we met up with Arianna, the Alpine Fund’s director, and later Dave, another volunteer. We learned that the area had previously been a mostly pristine end-of-the-road location, but the recent construction of a resort changed the feel a bit. It was still a beautiful place.

After a brief discussion of the rules, the group broke into teams. We were in charge of setting up topropes while another group set up tents and a third group gathered firewood. The difference in liability/paperwork between what we’d have to deal with at home and the 5 minute discussion we had that morning was intriguing. We were essentially four strangers to these people, yet we were responsible for the climbing safety of the group. In a way, it was refreshing.

Matt belayed Jamie while Chris got a belay from Gaetan. Somehow, I was left with one of the kids, Elgegit (spelling?), as a belayer. Leading with a very inexperience belayer isn’t confidence inspiring, but neither is climbing on a static rope. I essentially considered my two climbs free solos, of which I am not a fan. Thankfully the terrain was moderate. Note: the Alpine Fund would LOVE some new ropes, like the one donated by justropes.com. The four they had previously included a half rope, a static rope, a ragged old rope, and one acceptable rope. If anyone out there can help, please get in touch.

By lunch, we had five topropes set up on routes of varying difficulty. After a delicious meal prepared by the interns, the weekend truly began. In a rush of energy, the kids were giving the climbing all they had. The routes weren’t exactly easy, ranging from maybe 5.5 to 5.10, but youthful energy is relentless. We belayed for a couple hours, learning a few words from the other volunteers to help guide the novice climbers. A few of the kids were naturals, taking to the rock like experienced veterans. Others found it more difficult. Regardless, big grins were compulsory. There’s nothing like seeing the smile when someone completes a route for the first time.

Climbing action!

I won’t pretend that I was able to learn the names of all ten kids when I don’t even know then Russian or Kyrgyz words, but at least a few stories are worth sharing. There was a girl who we affectionately called Lynn Hill (a famous rockclimber). She’s shy; I don’t think she spoke more than five words the entire trip (at least to us). On her first go, she didn’t get very far up the easiest route and didn’t seem all that interested. By the end of the weekend, she’d worn us out. With a look of steely determination, she’d go up and down a route, getting a little further than the time before until she could climb the whole thing. It was amazing.

Kyrgyzstan's "Lynn Hill," always focused.

There were a couple of the boys who were quite good climbers, even tackling some of the tougher routes, although we had to beg them not to grab the bolts! One of them moved with the precision and technique of a seasoned veteran. I remember one time when I watched this kid scramble up to a ledge near the start of the route and help his friend work through the crux move. It was so cool. But what’s really amazing is that they were just simply having fun. They enjoyed the pure essence of being outside, away from the city. They didn’t care about grades, style, or expensive gear. They weren’t in it for the onsight, redpoint, or to send their project. They just climbed up and down the rock because it was fun.

Just having fun!

I’d be remiss if I finished this blog post without mentioning my new favorite t-shirt: “Sister for Sale, (Will take any offer)”. Better yet, the young man wearing it probably had no idea what it meant!

What a shirt.

Most of the kids took a break in the afternoon to explore a waterfall up the canyon, but after a delicious dinner of plov, a traditional Kyrgyz dish, they were back at it for round two. As the day wore on, the kids became more comfortable with us, borrowing our gear, stealing our water, and generally doing the things kids do. Belaying endlessly was exhausting work, but it was also the most fun I’ve had in a while.

That night we sat around a campfire. Even with the language barrier, everyone enjoyed themselves. We sang songs for each other, enjoyed quirky talents, and chatted about our favorite part of the day. For both us and for the kids, it was inspiring to see such an international group, with at least half a dozen countries represented. It was soon time to go to bed, but if we needed a reminder we were hanging with a bunch of fun-loving kids, it came as our tents were pelted by flying shoes. Never a dull moment.

Sunday entailed more climbing and by the early afternoon, everyone was worn out. Before we left, we played a game requiring quick recall of everyone’s name. If it had been survivor, the four of us would have been voted out immediately.

The bus ride back was a bit subdued, mostly due to the high frequency of naps. We all parted ways back at the Alpine Fund office, with the difficult goodbye a reminder of how fast bonds can form. We were just a blip in their life and them in ours, but I hope we had some impact on them because I know the weekend affected us. More than ever, I can see just how much a mountain adventure can change a young adult. Just as we are deeply affected by our climbing adventures, these kids are creating memories, building confidence, and learning all kinds of lessons that can be applied to everyday life, but that can’t be learned from a textbook.

We hope to continue supporting the Alpine Fund when we get back home, and maybe return someday to volunteer. If anyone is looking for a cause to support, the Alpine Fund is as good as any. Especially if you’re a climber, you know the power of an outdoor adventure.

Mike

1. Bishkek

[Note: This is the first of 11 posts that will chronicle our trip. Some of them will be more exciting than others, but this is as much for me to record the trip as it is to share our experiences with you. More photos are available via our Facebook page which is linked from our expedition home page (http://www.kyrgyzstan2010.com/).]

Whenever I told people I was going to Kyrgyzstan for a climbing expedition, I almost immediately got a slightly confused look, “Where’s that?”. After explaining that it’s west of China, north of Tajikistan, east of Uzbekistan, and south of Kazakhstan, the look rarely changed. At least I tried. Sometimes I got the follow up, “Is that safe?” if the person was up on the news. I would assure people that we were monitoring the situation closely and had contingency plans.

Bishkek, the capitol of Kyrgyzstan, is a modern city of 1 million people with Soviet roots. It was also the jumping off point for our expedition. We found the city with a few scars from the recent violence, but there seemed to be little change in the daily patterns of life. We were greeted by extremely friendly people and thoroughly enjoyed our stay.

The main square in Bishkek.

After 14 hours of flying time and a 10 hour layover in Moscow, Chris and I touched down at Manas International Aiport at 5 a.m., drained from the lengthy trip. We were to meet Matt and Jamie in the terminal; it couldn’t be too hard to find our teammates, right? Well, the thing is, we’d never seen them before. The team had come together over the internet, with Steve Beckwith and I having climbed a route together in Peru in 2009. Steve, unfortunately, had to take a job in Australia at the last minute and leave the team, breaking the transatlantic link. To non-climbers, going on an expedition with people you’ve never met seems insane. To climbers, that’s sort of just how things work.

Chris and I made our way through the passport control, got our bags, and wandered into a throng of people waiting at the door. We pushed our way through; we didn’t need a ride. We pushed our way right on to the doors with no sign of Matt or Jamie. Uh Oh. They were supposed to be there with our ride (courtesy of the Alpine Fund – Thank You!).

One of the taxi drivers kept pestering us, but we insisted we had a ride. He kept at it though, and eventually we were using his cell phone to call Arianna, our contact at the Alpine Fund. No answer. We decided to take another look around and luckily, spotted Matt and Jamie outside. They also had Arianna’s husband (sorry, I’m horrible at remembering names), who had brought a van to take us to Bishkek. There was an eager energy rolling through us as we made the 45 minute trip to Bishkek. It was good to be together, finally.

After getting a bit lost and wandering the backstreets of Bishkek, we found the hostel where we had arranged rooms. It was underwhelming, but we dumped our bags and headed out into the city, stomachs empty after the long journey. Looking at the map in Matt’s guidebook, the city center didn’t look far away. We soon found out that a block in Bishkek is BIG. We walked for hours, also learning that Bishkek is a late-rising city. As we walked down the main street, Chui, around 8:30, we finally found a place the appeared to just be opening. After massive language-barrier-induced confusion, we each had a weird dumpling on our plate. Hmm, not the best choice for a restaurant, but it would get better. For the most part we had great food, although most of the restaurants in Bishkek, at least the ones we frequented, offer international cuisine.

We wandered around for several more hours, eventually making our way to the ITMC Tien-Shan office where we met Asel, our logistics coordinator. We took care of some details and she arranged an apartment for us so we could get out of the tiny bunkroom that was far too small to allow us to sort all our gear. We spent the afternoon moving our gear into the apartment, amused to be so living in a Soviet apartment tower. We ate dinner at a delicious Korean restaurant before falling victim to an early, jet-lag induced sleep.

Up early the next morning (Friday), we had lots to do: more payment and logistics details to work out with ITMC, gear purchases for the Alpine Fund, and food shopping for the expedition. The first two were easy, but food shopping for three weeks for six people with no refrigeration possible, now that’s a task. We made our way to Osh Bazaar, an open-air market and one of the more popular shopping venues in the city. Having taken a sneak peak the day before, we knew what to expect. We bought 25 kilos of pasta, about 10 kilos of nuts, 5 kilos of dried fruit, some sausage, a hunk of cheese, and some other miscellaneous items. It seemed like so much as we were carrying huge backpacks through the market, but when we got back to the apartment, we realized it was almost nothing. Going by the estimate of 1 kilo/person/day for a total of about 175 kilos, we had a very long way to go.

We spent Saturday and Sunday climbing at Chon-Kurchak, a crag in nearby Ala-Archa national park, with the Alpine Fund. The complete description of the weekend can be found in the next section. Anyway, early Monday morning Arianna dropped off late-arriving (who could blame him, he had two-weeks’ notice of the expedition after Steve had to change plans) Dan at the apartment. With the team complete, we headed back to Osh Bazaar. After the taxi dropped us off, we noticed all the gates were closed. Maybe it was too early? After wandering around for a bit and buying some potatoes from a vendor set up outside the main area, we asked (more of a hand gesture/charade) a girl about the closed gates. She informed us the Bazaar wouldn’t be opening. Crap. We had 150 kilos of food to buy and were supposed to leave the next morning!

We made another run to ITMC to get more details taken care of - there are too many little things to consider when you’re heading to an infrequently visited area. Asel told us a different bazaar, Alamedin, should be open. We taxied it across the city and make quick work of getting 125 kilos of food: rice, beans, flour, ramen, fresh veggies, bread, oranges, bananas, spices, Nutella, tomato sauce, oil, butter, salt, more salt that we thought was sugar, soy sauce, ketchup, mayo, more mayo we thought was olive spread, tea, drink mix, jam, sweets, cookies, chocolate bars, more nuts, more fruit, more sausage, and more cheese, among some less memorable items. Loaded to the max (Matt’s backpack, full of potatoes, actually broke), we took a taxi back to the apartment and dumped our goods. After some debate, we calculated that we still needed more (it takes a lot of food!). Matt, Dan, and I headed back to the market, getting the rest of the things on the list just as the stalls were closing – we literally had to scramble to get out of the gate they were shutting. Chris and Jamie headed to a supermarket to get some things that weren’t available in the market: cereal, trash bags, good batteries, lighters, and some other things I can’t remember now.

It was quite a day’s work and we spent thousands and thousands of som (1$ = 46 som). At first we tried to keep track of what we spent, but it soon became too hectic as we rushed around. We later learned, as we sat around bored in the basecamp tent, that most of the food was expired, some of it by several months. Oh well, we had to eat.

If you read this far, you’re a dedicated follower.  The posts do get more exciting, I swear.

Mike

Melancholy Satisfaction

It’s a strange cocktail of reminders that let me know I was just on a lengthy expedition: not enough holes in my belt, empty cupboards, the stench of filthy clothes, extreme jet-lag. Mostly though, it’s the empty feeling where a huge goal used to sit. It’s bittersweet to sit on my comfortable couch, sleep in my warm bed, and take a warm shower.

For eight months, I worked tirelessly to apply for grants, plan logistics, sort equipment, and scour photos for objectives. Every day I was motivated to work a bit harder, anticipating an amazing trip. That eagerness is now gone, replaced with the satisfaction that a lot of hard work has paid off: I climbed three beautiful virgin peaks. To me, first ascents exemplify the highest level of climbing achievement because you are following in nobody’s footsteps. With no prior knowledge of the climb, you must make all the right decisions to succeed.

My sense of melancholy satisfaction is pervasive both physically and mentally. It has lingered since the day I woke up in basecamp after returning from our final climb. Matt and I talked about it that morning, neither of us able to completely capture the feeling in words. It lingered with me as we spent the final days packing up base camp and hauling gear back over the Djangart Pass to our pickup location in the Kaichi valley. It struck deep as I lay awake at 3 a.m. in the warm bed provided to us at Uch-Koshkon when we finally made it out of the mountains. I still get subtle reminders of accomplishment when my achy muscles, still battered from intense toil in an unforgiving environment, twinge as I walk up a flight of stairs.

Soon, these empty feelings will fade, replaced be a renewed desire to seek adventure, to really live. Soon, I’ll be eagerly planning my next expedition; the remnants of 2010 Djangart Expedition – photos, blogs, memories – will sit on the digital shelf, awaiting a rainy day in the future when it’s time to reminisce and perhaps bring back some of that melancholy satisfaction.

Thanks for reading,
Mike

Bon Voyage

Farewell comfortable bed, hot showers, clean clothes, and fresh meals. It's time for an adventure. It's time to really LIVE.

What will it take to get there? 1 mile walk, High Speed Rail, Subway, Light Rail 1, Light Rail 2, Car Ride, Flight, Van Ride, Ural Truck Ride, and (maybe) horses/more walking. And then we climb. Easy.

Next update from Kyrgyzstan.

Expedition first aid kit

After speaking with a range of medically trained individuals and reviewing literature such as the UIAA's medical advice sheets (http://www.thebmc.co.uk/Feature.aspx?id=3158) we have compiled our expedition's first aid kit. As we are heading to a location that is particularly remote, we felt it was important to be as self-reliant as possible.

In assembling the kit, two critical questions were considered:

1.) What do we realistically need in the first aid kit? Yes, you could bring the Health and Safety Culture to the mountains, but that would probably involve choppering in a crate of paperwork and slow us down considerably.

2. What injuries and illnesses are we capable of dealing with? For example, there's no point bringing a suture kit if we lack the capabilities to stitch a wound when we have items like the hemostatic HemCon bandages and painkillers that will stabilise an injury sufficiently.

The list below is merely our own choice and it is only designed to be a point of reference. We have provided the UK names first and the US names second, a long with a short description of its purpose.

Matt

Medications (antibiotic)

Co-Amoxyclav aka Augmentin - chest infections, spreading skin infection, animal bites, UTI
Ciprofloxacilin aka Cipro - severe gastroenteritis
Flucloxacilin aka Clotrimazole - skin infection
Chloramphenicol Eye Drops - conjunctivitis/eye drops
Ciprofloxacin Eye Drops - eye infection, prophylactic
Otsporin - ear infection

Medications (pain)

IbuProfin aka Advil
Paracetamol / Acetaminophen aka Tylenol
Co-codamol/diclofenac Codeine aka Tylenol-3
Aspirin aka Bayer
Hydrocodone aka Vicodin

Medications (Altitude)

Acetazolomide aka Diamox - AMS
Nifedipene aka Adalat - HAPE
Dexamethasone - HACE

Medications (Gastrointestinal)

Loperamide aka Immodium - diarrhea
Simethicone aka Gas-X - gas, pressure, bloating
Bismuth Subsalicylate aka Pepto-Bismol - nausea, heartburn, indigestion, diarrhea

Medications (allergy)

Piriton aka Chlorophenamine - allergy relief
Diphenhydramine hydrochloride aka Benadryl - antihistamine

Medications (illness)

Cough Drops/Sweets
Oral Rehydration Salts
Cold Medicine

Tools
Small 'Paramedic' scissors -
Cotton wool sticks
Safety pins
Gloves
Electrical Tape
Duct Tape
Athletic Tape, 1.5" Zinc Oxide Tape
Thermometer, disposable
Scalpel
Tweezers
Sterile needle kit
Nail Clippers

Bandages

Tubi grip Ace bandage
Triangular bandage
HemCon Bandage
HemCon Bandage
HemCon Bandage
ChitoGauze
GuardaCare
HemCon Strip
Small Bandages
Medium Bandages
Guaze Pads
Crepe Bandage
Non-Adherent Dressing
Roll of Plaster
Severe Injury
Selection of elastoplast plasters
Quikclot
Sam Slpint
Steri Strips
Trauma Pad
Dental
Eugenol
Zinc Oxide powder
Clove oil
Small spare floss
Small spare tooth paste
Mini toothbrush
Cotton swabs
Orajel
Sanitation
Betadine Iodine
Saline Solution
Triple Antibiotic Ointment Neosporin
Antiseptic wipes
Alchohol wipes
Alchohol hand gel, large
Alchohol hand gel
Other
Insect Repellant, 100% DEET
Burn Ointment / Lidocaine
Cortisone Cream, 1%
Glutose Paste
Lubricating Eye Ointment ReNu Multiplus