Gashebrum 1 - The Hidden Peak

1981 had been an uneventful year. With the university studies ended, life had suddenly become listless and monotonous. A year earlier, during the summer break, we had jogged the hills of Margalla and Murree in preparation for a long trek from Dir to Chitral. The basic inspiration had come from the exploits of Captain Fayyaz Hussain of Pakistan Army who had conquered the summit of Gashebrum-2 in 1979. He had told us that all we needed was determination, endurance and mountain sense. Though he appeared like any ordinary individual, he had an eternally smiling face with few words. That evening he was the darling of everyone at the Alpine Club ceremony. Most mountaineers have an element of impatience, bravado and self projection about them. The best ones that I have known are prone to be selfish when it comes to ‘who will reach the summit first’. Fayyaz, like Joe Tasker and Peter Boardman appeared to be from the humanist, workmanlike class. To every definition, Fayyaz appeared a team man who would always put others before self.

The foot hike from Dir onwards had been a wonderful experience of natural beauty and human endurance. At top of the Lowari pass it was still windy and chilly. We visited Darosh, Ayun, Arandu and all the Kafir valleys surrounded by unblemished natural beauty. Towards the end of the trek, we walked the last leg from Rambhor to Chitral on a compass bearing across 14,000 feet high mountains for fifteen consecutive hours. While my colleagues hit the bed in the Chitral Scouts Mess, I had left alone to their amusement looking for mangoes. The trek had been educative and convinced me of my talents to take up big time mountaineering.

After the university, I was fortunate to get a good job with an NGO working with Afghan refugees and moved to Quetta. I was happy both with the challenges of my workplace as well as the arid mountains around me. Protruding on the fault lines of the Artic and the Asian tectonic plates, these mountains are dry, loose and stony. Some like the Takatu and Mach tower above 10,000 feet i.e. just below Mont Blanc, the highest mountain of Europe. Moving in the couloirs and re-entrants, reminded me that once upon a time these hills were green with gushing springs and fauna all over. In odd spring ponds, one still comes across fresh water crabs and strangely, shrimps. It is now known that Cro Mognan man once inhabited these regions and left behind traces in the caves around Dera Bughti and Dhanasar, Zhob. These archaeological wonders induced in me a flair for archaeology and anthropology; but I wanted more outdoor adventure. Having traversed all of them, I had an urge to move on. Mountaineering began to appear a bright prospect to break the monotonous cycle and fight life on the edge.

I got in touch with some French friends in the Alps and volunteered to be a member of their expedition. They were more than excited to have a Pakistani colleague. The next two months were spent in getting custom-designed high altitude mountaineering gear. I made it routine to climb the Murdar Summit of Quetta at least four times a week, carrying a thirty kilogram load. The remaining two days were spent in climbing and descending steep faces with the help of ropes in the Kuchlag and Mach Range. I had to acclimatise well as I had no previous experience of extremely high altitude.

Back home my mother set my marriage date and I got married in April 1982. Though I told my wife that I would soon be leaving for a mountaineering expedition, she had no clue what dangers I was up against. The expedition was set to arrive in Pakistan in June 1982. I took time off from my job and spent our honeymoon living in Rawal Hotel in Rawalpindi waiting for the expedition to arrive. There were fears that lurked my mind of the fate of my young bride if I met an accident during the climb. Would I leave her like the fate of my mother when my father passed away and she had to contend alone with eight children? But equally strong was my commitment to the expedition and I was determined to honour it. In any case, it was now too late to back off. I thought it worth the risk and left the rest to God.

All expedition members were excited to see my young wife and honoured us with a dinner. Next evening I saw her off at the Islamabad airport for Lahore. Just before entering the boarding area, she gave me a last glance and fought desperately to hold back her tears. Then she broke and despite the cultural taboo gave me a hug and left. Did she know the risks I was venturing into, even at the cost of my life?

The same night, we left for Skardu on the meandering Korakoram Highway along river Indus. At Abbotabad, we stopped at the telegraph office to make our last calls to our homes. My wife was very excited to hear from me. My mother said a long prayer. There was sadness in the air as well as an excitement of adventure. We all had to marry up quickly to trustfully leave our lives in the hands of each other for the next few months. In those days it was an adventure to travel on this newly made highway. The Corps of Engineers of Pakistan Army had accomplished an equivalent of Panama Canal without the advantages of the advanced technology. It is said that for every kilometre of the road, the army lost five lives which included officers and men. After a long seventeen hours drive in which the driver frequently dosed off and I had to take the wheel, we finally reached our first destination the next evening.

After completing the formalities of hiring porters and distributing loads according to packs we set out on foot from Shigar for the Duke of Abruzzi Glacier, the base of Gashebrum I. It is an 8064 meters towering peak, third highest in Pakistan and ninth in the world. For a long time it was accessible from Leh across Siachin Glacier and the Conway saddle. Having now become part of Pakistan, we had to walk from Shighar to Biano, Askole, Paiju and then the Great Baltoro Glacier. After Concordia, the base camp of K-2, we had to walk two more days to reach our base camp at about 4,700 meters. Each of us carried a twenty five kilogram load and from here on we were all expected to work and cooperate as one team. Our team leader was a Swiss with four French and one Swede colleagues. The co-leader was a female. The leader planned to ski down the summit and set a new world record in high altitude skiing.

As Baltoro came to an end, we turned left towards the Abruzzi Glacier. Immediately the towering Golden Throne to our right welcomed us. Though the sun had set on the base, the spectre of the jagged and long summit of Baltoro Kangri that shone like glittering gold was spell binding. To our left shone, detached and all by itself, the pyramid of Gashebrum II that Fayyaz had conquered three years ago. Soon we were at the base setting the camp before the temperatures fell menacingly below zero.

Enroute, we met Maurice Barret and his wife who were returning after scaling the Broad Peak. We shared the Base Camp with Rienold Messner and an Austrian Team mourning the loss of two colleagues who had disappeared on the Hidden Peak the same day. Later we were to discover their frozen bodies high up on the mountain and push them into a crevasse. Apparently they had made the summit but died of cold, exhaustion and disorientation. Their cameras and diaries were brought back and handed to their embassy.

It was bad weather for the first one week and besides reconnoitring camp 1, we had nothing much to do other than acclimatise. A few days later, while we were setting camp 2 in a snow cave, I, along with a high altitude porter moved down to Camp 1 to carry up provisions. We had a nice sleep at the base of the Conway saddle and woke up late. It was around midday when the earthquake struck. We felt the tremors and saw balls of avalanches rolling down from the directions of camp 2, Sia Kangri, Saddle and the Golden Throne. Our amusement was short lived and overcome by fear when all the four snowballs began to converge on us. We immediately pulled the monkey caps over our faces and jumped into a shallow crevasse that we used for dumping our supplies.

It hit us very hard but seemed to roll over. The sound was more than a hundred jets breaking the sound barrier. We did not have the feeling of being carried away. Slowly the noise subsided and all was quiet. I opened my eyes into a strange luminous darkness. I shouted for Muhammad Ali whose response seemed to come from a distance. Being an experienced high altitude porter, he faintly shouted at me to remain still for some time so that the loose snow and rocks could settle. We could still hear odd rumblings and another avalanche could strike any time. After what seemed an eternity we decided to wade out of the snow. Our feet were still on hard rock and with a little effort were above the snow. Soon Ali appeared a few feet from me. He seemed far away as the snow had muffled our voices. We were relieved to see a clear sky above us. The landscape around us had totally changed. Naked and jagged rocks which hitherto were covered by snow appeared all over. There was no camp I. It appeared that the avalanches had rolled over us and moved towards our base camp; was everything ok? I was also worried about our team at camp 2 and the fate of two guides who had left scouting for camp 3. We began to recover all that we could from the debris like fixed ropes, crampons, D rings and ascenders etc. We were lucky for we recovered more than we expected.

It later transpired that the entire team of climbers at camp 2 had decided to assemble on a small pinnacle to see the route to camp 3 and beyond. It was precisely this time when the earth quake had struck. Though there were powerful avalanches all over, they remained in safety with full view of camp 1. Chevallier, the cameraman had filmed the entire scene of the avalanche hitting the camp with the hope that he could capture our figures for the subsequent rescue. They had given us up for dead. That evening when the team returned to camp1, everyone was in tears of happiness and emotions. Who says that men do not weep? We had a lovely feast that night. I cooked the equivalent of pea’s polou and we made our own cocktail and called it Chogolisa Cocktail named after a peak on which Bull, a German mountaineer par excellence had fallen to death.

The climb to camp 2 was with fixed ropes on the steep and loose slope. I was relieved to reach the camp which was inside a snow cave that had survived the earthquake. The next morning was Eid ur Fitr and I celebrated the Chand Raat with the porters late into the night. No matter which song we sang, it always ended up in,
“Guzhra huwa zamana
Aata nahi dubarah
Hafiz khuda Tumarah.
The porters later told me that the entire village sings this song when they leave for expeditions because many do not return. I was reminded of those strong fishermen of Spain who set out on boats for fishing Tuna in the Antarctic to the wailing of their women. They return six months later with their prized catch. In my Choir, Muhammad Hussein was the most jovial and best vocalist. He was to die two days later due to pulmonary edema on his descent to camp I, at a time we were attempting the summit.

From Camp 3 onwards, we were to traverse a very high plateau nine kilometres long at a staggering altitude of 7,500 meters. It is the world’s highest plateau. The leader had chosen it because he was to ski on it. As for us, we wore racquet like attachments to our boots to prevent us from sinking. Around night, we set our camp close to a ridge that extended from close to the summit at an altitude of 7,900 meters. This altitude is known as the killer zone and staying around for more than 24 hours can kill. The air is thin, atmospheric pressure very low. The water boils at around 50 degrees Celsius. All thin tissues of the body like the lining of the nose, throat and haemorrhoids ooze blood. I was in the second team while the first team had moved up a further distance to shorten the time to the summit the next day. That night we could hardly sleep due to the thin air and kept melting snow to brew coffee.

Three in numbers, we left the camp around 3 a.m. and began traversing along a very steep face roped into each other towards the summit. We kept lower than the pinnacles to avoid damage to our crampons that were crucial to our climb on the ice wall and descent. The ice at places was glaciated and very slippery. It was extremely taxing to dig footholds with our ice axes and move step by step. In any case the lack of oxygen made it difficult to take more than three paces at a time. Every few steps, we took turns to take the lead as breaking the route was very difficult. Finally we turned the couloir to the right and there appeared the summit right before us. It truly is a Hidden Peak and no one sees it unless very close. To the right of the summit there was a small re-entrant that we had to traverse before reaching the main face. Dangerously, it was heavily glaciated and full of crevasses.

The final climb to the summit involved a straight ice wall. It was indeed very difficult but finally we were across. To our West was the pyramid of Gashebrum 2 and beyond it the majestic K 2. The elusive summit was clearly visible, surrounded by a dense cloud, the area of the spider ridge, location of the last camp before climbers leave before dawn to risk the last climb to the top of the Killer Mountain. The climb is technically very difficult. The summit has the reputation that those who summit it have a tendency to hang around for too long. About 30% never return alive as they get delirious and disorientated due to the extremely thin air and low pressure. Then night and these clouds move in for the final kill. I had this elusive peak as my next challenge.

In front of us lay the People’s Republic of China and far to the right the Rimo range that is now occupied by the Indians. It was a bewildering moment to see the top of the Golden Throne. Though splendour to sight, the loose formation of seracs and packed ice would be a nightmare for mountaineers. We kissed and hugged each other in emotion and joy of achievement. Muhammad Ali recited the Surah Fatheh and erected the Pakistani flag. While the ski team stayed behind to get ready and make a movie of the surroundings, Chevallier, Oppenhiem and myself descended with ropes on our way back to our assault camp, six hours away. Chevallier had started vomiting and was getting delirious. It was important to reach the camp of the ski team and provide him liquids and oxygen before it was too late. So I asked Oppenhiem to continue towards the camp while I attended to the sick colleague. I was taking a risk and it was worth it. As Oppenhiem clumsily descended towards camp 5, I meandered on the tracks made by the first team towards their camp. I quickly brewed coffee for him and filled his flask. I gave him aspirins and put him on oxygen. Having said a prayer, I bade him farewell hoping to see him alive the next day.

The route back with sun shinning on it was now dangerous and snow very loose. It was a traverse on a steep slope one step, one axe, and one ice hammer at a time. I was all alone in the huge whiteness of snow and tended to drift into thoughts. It was a strange fulfilling feeling in which I some times felt like floating. I realised that the high altitude was catching on me and that I had to descend faster to reach richer air. So I increased my pace and then disaster struck!

I slipped and went tumbling down the 80 degree slope. Frantically I kept trying to dig my ice axe tied to my right wrist. Time did not seem to stop. I thought of my mother and the young bride. I had time to say the Lord’s Prayer and began waiting for the inevitable. Then I realised that I was moving no more. I felt as if I was afloat. It was the same feeling as being delirious. Slowly I opened my eyes to see a very bright light. Having read ‘Life after Death’, I knew I was in the tunnel of Death. Then I felt a pain in my right wrist and elbow. I looked around and saw a very steep fall below me, the shinny Golden Throne above me and the sun right into my eyes. I was suspended on a ledge with my ice axe anchored in the snow above. My legs were left dangling in the air. God had miraculously saved me and it was now up to me to rescue myself. With my left hand I reached out for my ice hammer tied on top of my knapsack. I put the grip rope around by wrist with the help of my teeth and tried to take a full turn. The ice axe could give way any time but I had to risk it. Another prayer answered, I had the hammer anchored in the ice. With all my determination and strength, I pulled myself up. I looked around. The fall had been so hard that the complete ice axe had gone into the snow. An inch further, and I would have fallen to death with no one knowing what happened. Slowly, I started a vertical climb on the gully made by my fall. Soon I was back on the trail. Just when I could see the lights in the camp, a snow storm struck. It was dark and the blizzard was getting stronger. I brisked my paces just before it was a whiteout. In side the tent, Oppenheim seemed to least notice me. He was struggling with his own high altitude sickness. We were stuck in the killer zone.

In the tent as I began to remove my crampons before moving into the sleeping bag, I noticed that I had a crampon missing. Tomorrow was indeed going to be a tough day of descent with one crampon only. If God had saved me then, he will surely save me in the future too. I do not know when I dosed off.

The blizzard blew the whole night and the next day. We remained confined to our tent occasionally extending our hands out to get snow for melting water. At the same time we were aware that we were to exercise economy in the use of gas lest we ran out of it. Time and again, we shook out tent to shake away snow lest we got buried. It was around midday that I took off my monkey cap. Sewn to the inside was a paper with some writing. I opened it to see Psalm: 23, written in the beautiful hand of by wife;
The Lord is my Shepherd,
There is nothing I shall want,
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil,
For though art with me;

Next day, tired, drained and delirious, we made a slow descent towards the base as the leader whizzed past us on his skis. The route from camp 2 downwards was very steep. As night fell, the soft snow glaciated and my missing crampon made the descent tough. The only comfortable patches came when we had to abseil. Had it not been for the support of Oppenheim and Ali; I would have had to stay alone at camp 2 till the porters brought me new crampons the next morning. One of the slips had been so dangerous that only the rope tied to both of them saved me. The impact however was so strong that it dislocated Ali’s ankle. It was around dawn that we reached the base camp. To honour Hussein, there were no celebrations.

Next morning we got back to recover the body of Hussein. We buried him on the base of Hidden Peak, atop a ledge. The funeral prayers were led by our cook Mushtaq. I inscribed his name on the wall. Then it was time to move back home.

Mountaineering is a tough sport. Many friends that I had, are no more. Muhammad Ali died on K II in 1986 after reaching the summit. Fayyaz along with a team of young inexperienced mountaineers of Pakistan army plummeted to death on the slopes of Hidden Peak in 1987. A year later, Maurice Barret and his wife died on K II. The same year Joe Tasker and Peter Boardmen fell to death from the pinnacles of Everest.

I dedicate this article to all those wonderful men and women, who sacrificed their lives, testing the extremes of human endurance and exhaustion to discover new frontiers.