Summer 2012 Wrapup and Photos
I made it back to the US without much of a hitch, but almost immediately went right back out into the field. So at last, here are full photo galleries and trip reports from Mongolia, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. I'll start with photos and narratives from the Gobi and the Altai:Very Best of Mongolia After paleoclimate research in Mongolia, I headed to the Snow Leopard Peaks of the Pamir. First up was Lenin Peak in southern Kyrgyzstan.Complete photos from Kyrgyzstan:Very Best of Kyrgyzstan For narratives of my experience there, see:BishkekInnocence Lost on LeninFrom Lenin, I crossed over Karamyk Pass into Tajikistan.Complete Photos:Very Best of Tajikistan And trip reports:TajikistanMoskvin Glacier and AcclimatizationKorzhenevskaya in a Day SoloPik Kommunizma: Too Heavy
Dushanbe
Thankfully, the weather cooperated and we were able to get the helicopter back to Jergatol on the 18th. We then made the day's drive to Dushanbe. The heat and humidity were welcome for everyone's frostnipped digits. Cuts can finally heal after weeks of stagnation up high. I'm thoroughly ready to head home. Dushanbe is beautiful, if not oppressively hot, but things here are as dysfunctional as ever and everyone is trying to rip us off. Nonetheless, there's a wonderful group of climbers from all over the world down here and we're all enjoying some relaxation together before our flight tomorrow.
____________________________________________________________________Thanks to everyone who followed this summer's trip. A few specific thank yous:Mike Mellenthin for so much help with the websiteDragos, Gregg and everyone at ASC:
The American Alpine Club for support:
Pik Kommunizma: Too Heavy
I set off Tuesday morning for Somoni, formerly Peak Communism, the highest in the former Soviet Union. After breakfast, my friend Laurent from Luxembourg and I hiked a couple miles along the Walter glacier to advanced base camp. The way, much better worn than when I climbed Vorobiova a few weeks back, is still tricky…mostly rubble-hopping. Laurent then accompanied me part of the way across the glacier towards the infamous “Ramp,” a hanging glacier threatened by seracs above. We parted ways and I quickly put my crampons on and raced across to the base of a rotten rock buttress marking the bottom of the Borodkin spur.
I climbed steadily through the rotten rock, which at times became steep and fun scrambling. By early afternoon, I’d reached camp two, at 17,400 ft. From here, the route followed steady snow up a meandering ridge to 20,500 ft. Unfortunately, tracks from the large previous group were obscured, and fixed ropes were mostly buried. I plodded up variable snow, sometimes providing purchase, sometimes leaving me to plunge through. Though I was feeling relatively good, I knew the snow conditions weren’t going to allow me to reach the plateau at the top of the buttress, so I started hurrying to the 5800m (19,000 ft) camp before darkness fell. I made it to camp and quickly stomped out a tent platform before getting started melting snow and drying my boots.
The next day was surprisingly warm. By the time I finished packing up and boiling water, I was in just my base layer. Progress began impossibly slowly. I traversed to the right of some seracs, and had an incredibly frustrating time climbing a steeper section of absolutely bottomless snow. A few meters above, I reached the endless gentle slopes leading to the plateau. Unfortunately, the snow conditions were even worse. I took out the GPS and realized that I’d spent over two hours covering just 100m. After a few breaks, and some futile traverses across the broad rib looking for better snow, I decided to descend. I only had two more full days before I needed to be back in base camp, and the task ahead simply wasn’t a one-man job. I was just below 6000m. The route above meant crossing the almost certainly untracked and soft plateau, then the brutal slopes of Peak Dushanbe and the final stretch to the summit 1500m above. A huge team of over 10 had been thrashing up the mountain for nearly a week before me still without success. With little fanfare, I started back down the Borodkin.
_________________________________________________________________________BOOM! My head jerked to the right, expecting to see one of the huge seracs avalanching over the ramp. It really sounded like an explosion, but I knew better. Instantly, my other senses confirmed the obvious: several tons of ice and I were in free fall. The fall seemed to last forever. Every few meters, we would hit something, then continue collapsing. With each bump, I reassessed and changed strategy, somehow managing to stay mostly upright as I plunged deeper and deeper into darkness. Near the end of the ride, things took a big turn for the worse. Microwave-sized blocks of ice closed in on me, crushing first my legs and back, and then, my head. As we fell together, I fought, punching upwards with all my might. After an eternity, the motion stopped, and the ice closed in.
I opened my eyes and was able to make out my right arm buried in the ice. I thrashed and yelled, clearing ice blocks away from my head. Remarkably, I wasn’t in any pain, though at this point, I wasn’t sure how much the adrenaline was masking. I worked more methodically to unbury my torso and legs. Only then could I grasp the scene. Above were two enormous patches of sky surrounded by overhanging ice. Quickly, senses returned. Still covered in wet snow, I began to shiver, and desperately scrambled to get the down mittens on. I picked up my glacier glasses, knocked free during the fall, and dug out a trekking pole from underneath a block of ice. I climbed the blocky ramp to the nearest ice hole, but turned back after seeing the fairly technical exit I slowly and cautiously traversed back into the depths of the crevasse, aware that things could still give out at any time. A simple ice ramp led out, and I quickly frontpointed up into the sunshine.
A few meters from the edge, I took my pack off and assessed the scene. I’d been unbelievably lucky. An enormous gash swept across the face. Another giant hole opened up to the left of a pathetic remnant snow bridge. My tracks led sickeningly into the void. In all, I’d survived a sixty to seventy foot fall, unroped, solo and helmetless without a scratch. Managing to unbury myself and climb out only adds to the miraculous nature of the accident.
I swiftly descended more awful snow to the top of the rock buttress. There, I was able to raise base camp on the radio for the 1PM emergency check-in. I let them know of the situation and that I was descending. I’m not sure Igor grasped the severity of what happened: “OK, understand.” I descended the rock section methodically, and took a quick break at the top of the dreadful ramp. The thought of crossing it alone in the heat of the day was sickening. Rockfall near the start was almost constant. The snow bridges were rotten and awful. I traversed avalanche debris ever closer to the base of the wall to avoid the worst of the crevasses. I ran across the ramp in 18 minutes, and didn’t really feel at rest until I’d reached ABC on the other side of the Walter.
I briskly boulder-hopped back to base camp in an uneventful hour. At camp, I dropped my pack and met Alex, my French friend who’d seen the whole thing. Several climbers in base camp had been monitoring my progress, and they saw the plume of snow and crevasse open. As I gazed back up the Borodkin, my new gash smirked back as if to say, “It should have been.”
I’ve been climbing quite a while and I’ve never had an accident. Or should I say I’ve had one. Just to set a few things into place: I was climbing unroped on a section where this was common practice. Being alone didn’t make me fall into the crevasse but it certainly did have implications. The helmet was in my pack because I’d bypassed the areas threatened by rock and icefall.I think this may have been the hottest day of the season. The same heat that made the snow conditions terrible for my ascent likely contributed to the unusual breaking of such an enormous snow bridge. In all, I sense that the Pamir may be more dangerous than normal this year. There was a tremendous amount of snow last winter, and it continues to snow quite a bit this summer.I consider myself fairly safety conscious, and I’ve never taken a fall on snow or a lead fall on rock. The mountains involve many calculated risks, but I’ve never been so caught by surprise. It’s quite premature for me to discuss risk in mountaineering, but I’ll put a few thoughts down. I love the mountains. I’m not willing to die for a summit, but also unwilling to insulate myself from adventure, uncertainty and physical challenge. Mountains provide a particularly potent dose of reality from time to time, but those dangerous moments are always there even if we’re frequently kept in the dark about them. Walking back from lunch in Ann Arbor in April, a gust of wind knocked over a street light that shattered in my path. Urban life often conceals the true precariousness of life. No one says mountaineering isn’t dangerous. I’m very much aware that I may have a love for something that doesn’t love me back. Perhaps soloing 7000m peaks is a particularly committing and reckless way to explore, and it’s not something I necessarily intended to continue. I feel like I’m risking getting a bit defensive, and things are so fresh in my mind I don’t know if it’s worth it to say more. For the time being, I’m just going to enjoy what I have here, work a bit on my manuscript, and wait for the helicopter in a few days. My Pamir trip is over. It was a wild and wonderful ride.Take care,Hari
Korzhenevskaya. 23,311 ft. 23 hours. Solo-ish.
At last, I’m climbing the world's greatest mountains in my own style. I'd been meticulously planning on a dayclimb of Korzhenevskaya for over a year (mostly in secret from those who care about me most). I've assembled all the pieces necessary to have a great time in the mountains and leave the heavy pack behind. My acclimatization trip last week was also to scout and prep the route for yesterday’s big day. After waiting out a week of snow, and with all the pieces in place, I pounced. Things went quite well, although there were some significant changes to my plan.I pitched a tent on the other side of the Moskvin Glacier from base camp. I didn’t want to waste a bunch of time wandering the convoluted, crevassed rubble pile in the middle of the night. The gravel and sand over the ice has quite a knack for making even the most graceful climbers look like complete novices. One section on my acclimatization climb was shin deep and had the consistency of wet concrete. Furthermore, I’d stashed my boots and crampons up at camp one, so I’d be starting the climb in an old, beat-up pair of 5 oz road racing flats (Stanford team issued Katana Racers for those of you in the know).
The night before there was quite a bit of drama around the kitchen. The food here has been pretty rough…most in base camp have been sick and some people have been nothing but sick. I’ve even been hassled for days about asking for clean drinking water (it usually has a strong taste of soot as it’s boiled with wood). Anyhow, I learned that some others had complained much more seriously, and mentioned things on behalf of the few of us vegetarians, as our food is usually cooked with meat. This ended with me passive-aggressively being served a plate of plain burnt rice nearly an hour late. So much for crossing the glacier in daylight. I made quick work of the section to my tent and actually had quite little trouble routefinding. My shoes got a little wet, but I had three other pairs of socks for the summit day.
11:45 PM. The alarm went off viciously early. I only had about two hours of sleep, but sprung into action, quickly polishing off a gel and a handful of pretzels for breakfast and throwing the last few items into my pack. The route to camp one at 5100m (16,800 ft) is kind’ve a mess of use trails, moraine and talus. I’d really worked on memorizing the route, but I only had eyes on the trail once before. My visualization of unique rocks from multiple sides paid off, and I quickly made it to the 15,400 ft saddle without missing any of the critical ledge traverses. The route from there traverses more ledges and narrow dirt paths before dropping down to a few streams at the toe of a huge glacier. I kept my distance from the glacier, which constantly avalanches rock, and headed up the use trail on its left without event. I was practically running, reaching camp one in about an hour. There, I quickly found my gear cache, put on fresh socks and my climbing boots while eating and drinking a bit more. I carried my crampons a few hundred meters before strapping them on and setting off up the rotten couloir up to the 5300m camp. I was pleasantly surprised that the recent snowfall had made the route quite a bit more straightforward, and I crunched up the perfect early morning neve. Above 5300m, I opted to try a more direct route than I’d tried before, going to 5600m and then climbing directly up the face to 6100m. Unfortunately, upon reaching the 5600m camp, I missed the track to the base of the route, and was sent wandering across the face to the 5800m (19,000 ft) camp. Even more unfortunate was that no one had traversed back across the face to 6100m (20,200 ft), leaving me the unpleasant task of plunging through waist-deep snow alone in the dark. I eventually made it to the track at the base of Korzhenevskaya’s rock wall, and climbed steadily up to the 20,200 ft camp marking the base of the summit ridge.
I made great time and hit the camp just at the very welcome sunrise. I removed my boots to massage my frozen toes and put on fresh socks. Things started to get bogged down when I looked for my gear cache, which I’d left well-secured a week earlier. After an hour of shoveling and probing with my axe, I’m fairly sure that a lot of my essential climbing equipment has been stolen. We’ll see what happens in the coming days, but I really would have liked my food, stove (for water) and down jacket. Quite a bit else is missing too, most of which I can borrow if I try Communism. Anyhow, this left me with about a liter and a half of water and some crackers. I turned my attention to the cliff above camp, climbing the mixed rock and snow (without my harness and gear…stolen) with relative ease. Quite quickly, I reached the 6400m (21,000 ft) high camp that nearly everyone uses for their summit bid. There, I met some members of the Russian 7 Summits Club team, and said hi to a friend, their guide Dimitri. We ended up sticking relatively close for the first few hundred meters, and I briefly roped up with Dimitri so we could check a route around a crevasse. For this reason, I hesitate to call my climb a solo. Even though I traveled independently throughout and was alone below 21,000 ft, there were certainly others along the route.
The summit ridge of Korzhenevskaya is quite beautiful. The surroundings are absolutely breathtaking, and the ridge winds up over several prominent snow towers before reaching the rocky summit. I could see a large group ahead making painstakingly slow progress on the first tower, my summit hopes plummeted. I simply didn’t have the time or energy to contribute much to this painstaking work. I couldn’t risk a night out, especially without the gear from my high cache. I took what I figured was a reasonable, if not selfish, action: I laid down and rested. Towards the end of the summit day, I managed to close the gap again in an attempt to help break trail, but by that point, the conditions had improved and the large group, including friends Boris, Laurent (Lux), Achim (Ger), Olga (Rus) topped out just before me.
Approaching the summit of 7000m peaks, in my limited experience, really highlights the differences of these extreme altitudes. Operating up to 6000m (20,000 ft) can be difficult, but is quite manageable when acclimatized. I felt fantastic and was really cruising up to 20,000 on Korzhenevskaya. But up over 21-22,000 ft, it’s just so easy to get out of control with your breathing. Effort skyrockets. Putting together a series of steps is quite an ordeal. And it’s amazing, upon descent, energy and normality return as quickly as they left. I’ve quite a few done huge days like this in the Sierra, but this was my first time climbing over 9000 ft of vertical at such high elevations. I found the return of energy as the day went on quite unusual, but I simply had more oxygen available. I made it down to 6100m in a couple hours, where I met my French and French Canadian friends who forced delicious tea, fruit and cheesy mashed potatoes on me. Perfect dinner timing! This time, I found the way down to 5600m without too much trouble, and descended the fixed lines down the steep ice face with a few arm wraps as darkness fell. I slogged out to the 5300 and eventually the 5100m camp, where I reached my lower gear cache and had a handful of snacks and the last of my water before heading down.
By this point, sleep deprivation was starting to set in. The funny flickers of light that are the onset of hallucinations started becoming more and more vivid. At one point, I mistook a small rock for a critter. Spotting the cairns marking the faint trail became more and more difficult. I promptly lost the trail and found myself descending awful loose rock over ice into oblivion. I find these situations extremely challenging, and I've had a few of these experiences during 22-26ish hour climbs in the Sierra. They’re not good because you just want to sleep and you can still get hurt. My sense of balance was downright poor. After quite a while, I reached the toe of the glacier…ok, simple trail back to the pass and down the other side to the tent. I must have overshot the crossing, but I wisened up to the fact that I was simply descending a steepening drainage late in the night with a weakening headlamp battery and less than half a moon to help out. I stopped by the creek, drank some unfiltered water, had a snack and contemplated my options. I seriously considered bivying even though my tent was only an hour’s walk away if I could just find the trail. After some slow, pathetic reasoning, I realized that if I ascended the drainage, I’d certainly arrive at the glacier. “Because that’s the way it works,” I slurred out loud. I re-ascended a very painful few hundred meters before spotting the trail. After the cliffs on the other side of the pass, I lost the trail again, but this time, the navigation was much easier and I just beelined it for the last creek crossing. I imagined that the reflective tape of my tent was another climber’s headlamp and promptly passed out inside.
This morning I hastily packed and made the quick glacier crossing back to base camp in time for breakfast. Camp is basically deserted, with a huge team of 15 or so on Peak Communism and nearly everyone else on Korzhenevskaya. I’ll rest for a bit and contemplate my options. I’m healthy, and a little sleepy, but not really sore or tired after my climb…just the way it should be.
Moskvin Glacier and Acclimatization
Hey everyone,We actually get some shaky internet and occasional Russian coverage of the Olympics here in base camp. It's a funny mixture of luxury and chaos. Most of the camp has had a pretty nasty stomach illness go around from bad food at base camp. Hopefully my bout a few days ago will be the last.A few days back, I went up Korzhenevskaya to scout the lower part of the route and acclimatize. On the first day, I climbed to about 16,800 over awful loose rock, moraine and glacier to camp one. The next day, went up rotten ice and deep, wet snow to a camp at around 19,000 ft. Yesterday, I climbed to the corner at the base of the summit ridge at 20,200 ft and descended to base camp, caching some gear along the way. I'm pleased that after my time on Lenin, things here appear to be going more smoothly with regards to the altitude, and I should be ready to go higher after resting a bit.Take care,Hari
Tajikistan
Innocence Lost on Lenin
Note: The past week has mostly been a hypoxic haze, but I’m eager to write before the violence of this experience gets whitewashed and fades into the ether. I just reread Mark Twlight’s Kiss or Kill before the trip, so my attempt at dark and blunt language and certainly the musical quotes are an ode to his writing.I’m still relatively new to the high altitude game, and even a brief glance at mountaineering literature will reveal that it’s a cruel one. Starting off with expeditions to Nepal and the Tien Shan, I felt obligated to follow the established system to avoid becoming a statistic. This summer, I was ready for autonomy, and to establish my own rules of engagement. In poetic fashion, I was swiftly put in my place by the one true rule of the alpine: the mountain decides.BackstoryI showed up to Lenin more or less emotionless. I was happy to get started this summer, but I was never that excited about Lenin. It’s something of an awful thing to say, but I never really cared that much about what happened here. Overrun with hundreds tourists and climbers aiming for the world’s “easiest 7000m peak,” it’s a somewhat chaotic and commercial scene. I’d managed to snag a spot on Lenin in order to make the dates for my whole summer work…our fieldwork wrapped up in Mongolia a few weeks earlier than I’d originally planned, and the first chopper to Korzhenevskaya and Communism would be a while later. I conveniently decided, “why not climb all three of the Pamir’s seven thousanders?” and this summer’s expedition was born.Round OneBoris and I spent the day flying from Bishkek to Osh, then bouncing in an unbearably hot bus for the eight-ish hour ride to base camp. I was definitely happy to get to Achik Tash, mainly because the cool fresh air felt familiar and signified the start to the summer’s climbs. Base camp is pretty posh, with electricity and hot showers every now and then. The next morning, we saddled enormous packs and hit the trail towards camp 1.My original plans were to spend three or four days shuttling loads and acclimatizing to camp 1, essentially an advanced base camp on the Lenin Glacier. Boris came in with nine days of prior acclimatization near Bishkek, so he was ready to charge up the mountain. “Ok, a little compromise never hurt anyone,” I thought. During my past few big international trips, I’ve been working on a particular style of “Asian apathy” wherein I essentially drop my objectives down a notch and just say screw it when things don’t work out for a few days. This is pretty essential in Nepal and Mongolia, where sticking to an American sense of purpose is useless.The hike up to camp 1 was challenging, perhaps ten miles, up and over the high “Traveller’s Pass”, then skirting steep slopes and moraines along the Lenin Glacier to the 14,500 ft camp. Soon after Traveller’s Pass, we were hit with our first storm of the trip, which would become a regular occurrence. This is early season in the Pamir, which is to say, unpredictable and unforgiving. After battling through freezing rain and snow, the sun came out again, but my back was giving out. Right from the start, I’d bitten off too big a slice of pain cake, and was going to pay the price. Just minutes from the camp, as I shouldered my pack for the last time, the major muscles of my back seized. Upon arriving breathless in camp, I was too exasperated to do much more than lie horizontally and put hot water bottles on my back.Boris, still in the driver’s seat, had booked us a 3:30 AM breakfast before an excessively early carry to camp 2. I’ll take slightly softer snow for a full night’s sleep thank you very much. It felt like the summit bid already! The night before, I knew there was no way my back would give me another hard day’s work. Still, we awoke and dressed, ate the damn breakfast, then went back to sleep after I nixed our plans. Later that morning, we took a gentle walk up a 15,500 ft hill near camp, and I was pleased to feel my back returning to normal. The next morning, we had another predawn breakfast, and started up the glacier shortly before sunrise. A relatively long, nearly two-mile approach to the bottom of the route started things off. Our first trip up the glacier was a bit of a challenge, with relatively big packs, essentially no acclimatization for me, and by the time we reached the upper portions, brutal heat in the so-called “Frying Pan.” In a cruel aspect of mountaineering, these cold places also reflect tremendous amounts of bright sun, sapping your energy and fluids in a heartbeat.Upon reaching the 17,500 ft camp 2, I soon realized that I’d have my work cut out for me to stay healthy this high only 3.5 days into the trip. I tried to hydrate and eat the best I could, but soon, the vaguely familiar light altitude headache crept in. I rested, then made myself a tasty meal of palak paneer and bread. That night, I battled headache and light dizziness before nausea finally got the best of me at five the next morning. “Ok, maybe it is reasonable that we don’t go upstairs today,” Boris said after I’d hardly finished vomiting. No kidding. I wanted out, and I knew that the off switch to altitude hell was just a few hours down the glacier. We discussed, off and on, our plans until nearly two PM. I even climbed up the headwall to about 18,000 ft to get the blood circulating a bit more. At this point, I was getting a little pissed. “You should do what you want to do but I’m going down.” I quickly packed my things and raced down to camp 1 in a little under two hours.I needed to head down to get a few more things for the summit push anyhow, so the next day, I rolled down to base camp, feeling energetic, free and finally unencumbered by plans. No more bending to the will of others. All wounds from here would be self-inflicted.BlitzkriegAfter a glorious night at base camp, I realized I was actually enormously pleased with the first part of the trip. Sure, I’d suffered at camp 2, but my body was following all the rules and I’d managed to gain some pretty nice acclimatization in a short period of time. I still had about a week and a half to put a summit attempt together. In base camp, I met Ismail and Rufat, two strong and experienced climbers from Azerbaijan who were heading up to the summit. We decided to head up together, with me planning on going to at least camp 3 for acclimatization, and perhaps the summit. I was now feeling really strong on the lower mountain, and even up to camp 2, I was beginning to hit my stride. That evening, after dinner, a Russian guide named Slava and I ran down the glacier to help an exhausted Dutch climber lying in the snow. After helping him to camp, I started to feel my own discomfort creep in. I probably overate with Rufat and Ismail, and vomited my meal and fluids that evening. The night was hell. I writhed in discomfort. Insult to injury was that I shared a tent with Frank, the Dutch climber, and people would repeatedly come by to check on him, exhausted but content as could be in his sleeping bag, while I suffered. In the early morning, I vomited more, losing the last of my fluids. I slept in, and by the time I was ready to boil water in the morning, it was already beginning to swelter. I made a small amount of water, and hardly able to eat or drink, I shouldered my relatively heavy pack and headed towards camp three in the heat of the day. By the time I reached the top of the headwall, I was completely dehydrated and exhausted. Heat instantly changed to whiteout, and I dragged ass the last few hours to camp three in a storm.That evening, I had a gel and a few swigs of water for dinner before passing out in an altitude-induced haze. Heavy snows came and went during the evening, and at one point, I remember thanking Slava immensely for un-burying my tent from the increasing load of snow. During a break in the storm, I vomited my pathetic dinner and handful of worthless Russian drugs. No point in self-pity...this was all my own doing.At four, I awoke to clear and calm skies. My flawed logic was that it would ultimately be easier to “knock the bastard off” as Hillary would say, than to regroup and try again later. Acclimatization vs. weather, the classic alpine tradeoff. Lately, I’ve sprung at these opportunities with success, plus, I’ve always been confident in my ability to put in an epic climbing day with inadequate preparation.Summit day started wonderfully. Though dehydrated, I moved at a steady and gentle pace, opting to ease into the difficult day. Half a dozen of us wandered up the broad lower portions of the summit ridge. Sunrise warmed us but I was already becoming concerned about my fluids. I put in my headphones to stay conscious and to somehow remain connected to humanity.“I’m makin’ short term goals when the weather folds”A bank of clouds lapped up against Lenin’s flanks thousands of feet below. Only a few peaks in the Tajik Pamir poked out like islands. The world that we call home was impossibly far below and out of sight. Life above 6000m consists mainly of the swish of nylon and gasping for air. Music faded in and out of my narrow consciousness.“I gotta get away from this day to day runnin’ around, everybody knows this is nowhere”We finally crested the first buttress and got a clear view ahead. A broad rocky ridge led to a steep constriction in the distance. I could tell the summit day would be just as long as advertised. I stopped for a brief break and chat with Ismail and two Polish climbers.“Murder was the case that they gave me. Dear God, I wonder can you save me?”I felt bad for mooching a swig of Ismail’s sports drink at the last stop, but I was already down to little over half a liter and I started the day by vomiting bile. My O2 saturation the night before was in the 50s, well into ICU territory. This was the closest I’d ever cut it physiologically.“Gotta find a new world where the people understand, how to treat one another throughout the land, everybody pack up and go with me”Alongside came a Russian skier. Out ahead, breaking trail we could see Slava gaining distance despite the skis and shovel on his pack. Slava is truly a character. He wore a t-shirt, flip flops and shorts in camp 2, and this winter went 59 days with just water just to see what would happen. I envied his acclimatization.“We don’t never get a piece of the pie, work 50 years, retire then die, stay po.’ Rich folks is the criminal”Black nationalist hip hop pounded, but the music was now as distant as the world below. We approached the Knife, the technical crux of the climb. It started gentle enough, but soon the world dropped away for thousands of feet on both sides. One Polish man was feeling strong, and went ahead leaving Ismail and I to suffer alone up the slope. I kicked and thrashed up the knee to thigh deep snow, bypassing the pathetic and poorly placed fixed rope ostensibly protecting the final pitch. With snow this soft, it wasn’t necessary anyhow.“We’ve been through some things together, with trunks of memories still to come. We found things to do in stormy weather, long may you run”My toes had been freezing since the start, despite a new technique I was sure would be better than last year’s freeze fest on Khan Tengri. I slowly and deliberately removed each inner boot, then ripped off the pathetic chemical warmers and took off my liner sock to make some wiggle room. I rubbed my toes before reversing the process. Any action too fast was quickly disciplined by a fit of panting in the thin air.“Well I stand up next to a mountain, and I chop it down with the edge of my hand”By now, Ismail and the Polish duo were long ahead, leaving me to struggle alone. I opted for a shortcut around a rock buttress, for which I was rewarded with unbearably deep snow. It was here that I noticed that my left crampon was detached, but frozen stiff. At least I’m past the crux, I thought. I marched on, my left foot hobbled. And besides, I was nearing the summit or so I thought.“Only fox that I love is a red one, only black man that Fox love is in jail or a dead one”I crested the next buttress in deteriorating weather. The wind picked up and visibility dropped. Snow began to sting the back of my neck. I gained on Ismail and the Polish across a vast white plateau. It was impossible to judge distance and pace in the vast white plain of ever softening snow.“But something is happening here and you don’t know what it is, do you Mr. Jones?”The three in front of me ground to a halt. Snow conditions were now desperate and we knew that climbing independently was out of the question. The stronger Pole laid down the law, “Twenty steps, then switch,” he shouted. I stepped as gingerly as I could into the lead, but with each pace I plunged inevitably to my knee or worse. It was a flat out race effort, and even there, I couldn’t manage more than a few steps at a time without doubling over. After our turn breaking trail, we each collapsed to the side of the track, the other three continuing on. This lasted hours.“It’s better to burn out than to fade away, my my hey hey”At last, in a clearing of the storm, I saw a figure standing on a distant point. Slava must be on the summit. With renewed energy, the others picked up the pace leaving me in the dust. I knew my dehydration and exhaustion afforded me no opportunity to increase the pace. Ismail yelled at me a couple times to pick it up, but I was no match for the new tempo. I was past pulling my weight. Reclassified as a straggler.I didn’t even get my hopes up the last few meters below the summit. Only when I saw the cross did I know that my trial was somewhat complete. Too tired for a hero shot, I knelt on the summit, the hardest of my life. I smiled at the dark thought that Lenin must do this to a lot of people, taking vengeance on its title as “easiest 7000er.” Like many other popular and commercial mountains, it makes up for the lack of technical difficulty with a convoluted and impossibly long normal route. I’ll take the “technicality” of Khan any day.“I’m just a Virginia boy, she dug the boys from Kentucky and Tennessee”Twenty-three thousand four hundred and six feet. I took the last sip of my water and put it in my pack. At least I have no need for breaks now. I collected a rock sample for Adventurers and Scientists for Conservation. I hope this works for Dragos. I’ve sampled in 110 degree Utah heat, running with a heavy pack for miles across the desert. In terms of hardest science I’ve ever done, it’s not even close. I plunge stepped down the deep snow back to the plateau. Already I was descending too fast, and had to stop and take breaks just to slow down my breathing. Too soon, we reached the first of several uphill sections on the descent. This ridge must have been designed by an evil genius. The climb simply wouldn’t give up. My left crampon finally completely detatched. Still frozen, I had Ismail strap it to my pack. I would downclimb the Knife with one crampon and no axe.“I’m from where they overthrow democratic leaders, not for the people but for the Wall Street Journal readers”We met Dasha, a ridiculously fit guide who participates in 6-day trail races. She was in good spirits, and I shamelessly asked for water. She had none, so I stuffed some snow in my mouth, just to tease myself with the moisture. The Pole wanted to break, but I pressed on, no need to stop and get more tired. We’d now been on the move for over twelve hours. As we neared the end of the final plateau before descending the buttress to camp, the weather whirled in.“I’ve been down on the endless highway, I passed on the solid line. Now at last I’m home to you, I feel like makin’ up for lost time”I caught up to a Kyrgyz guide and his client. Still nearly at 22,000 feet, our visibility dropped to nothing. I screamed over the wind, “You know how to get down?” My GPS tucked into my pants pocket, he pulled out his, and started walking a line and deliberately plunging through the ever deepening snow. Our tracks from the ascent were long gone. I could feel my nose freezing and pulled my balaclava tight across my face and tightened my hood. Unfortunately, we were moving too fast for the client, and I had no choice but to press on as the guide stopped. I led the Pole into the maelstrom. We reached a cairn marking the top of the buttress and stepped onto the ever-steepening face. We were now only 700m from camp, but the mountain would not let up.Judging slope, stability and scale were simply impossible. The sky blended into the slope. Rocks I thought were hundreds of meters in the distance proved to be just a few steps away. I repeatedly triggered small wind slab avalanches that rolled down into Tajikistan. The Pole screamed over the wind that he was worried about descending past camp. Hell, I was too, but the GPS was all we had. One hundred fifty meters to go. The Pole yelled and gestured to the right. I traversed across a fifty-degree face to an arête, then continued my descent. In the distance below, roundish rocks appeared. I looked for ages but couldn’t tell if they were tents. Finally, just feet from camp, I realized I’d made it. I yelled for Andrei and Graham, the Kyrgyz guide and his client.Camp three was a ghost town. But soon enough, I heard a zipper and Andrei appeared, holding a juice bottle for me. I took a few swigs, shoveled out my buried tent, and dove into my sleeping bag. At least there was no need to cook dinner with my stomach problem. That night, I inevitably vomited more bile and bloody mucus. Without a drop of water, I settled back into my altitude-induced slumber and waited for morning.You’re not done ‘til you’re downI awoke to sunshine and boiled a cup of water and set about packing my things. I knew there was no point in a leisurely morning, I wouldn’t be able to eat anyway. A half hour struggle with my frozen boots left me exasperated and in a familiar panting fit. I ascended Razdelnaya with a heavy pack, reminiscent of my brutal slog up Chapaev after last year’s Khan Tengri climb. The snow was just as soft as ever. An overly cheerful Brit was intent on congratulating me and chatting all about the route. Dude, all I want is water and to get the hell out of here.I plunged down the Razdelnaya headwall and made it back to camp 2 in remarkable time. There, I met a still cheerful Dasha, whose client this time hooked me up with some tea and chocolate. I felt bad about mooching, but I knew I was running on fumes and needed to make it to camp one before will power ran out. I stashed my stove in a tent for Boris and gathered the last of my things including books and rock samples. WHY?!?In the heat of the day, I plunged across the Frying Pan, thankfully for the last time, and met Boris setting off for his summit bid. We had a really nice chat and I continued down towards the glacier. I hopped the crevasses, wary for melting snow bridges this late in the day. At last, I reached the flat portion of the glacier, but the heat was unprecedented. It was by far the warmest day of the season so far. I dunked my hat in glacial meltwater, but could hardly cool off in the stagnant air. After over an hour of walking and resting every few paces across the interminable glacier and moraine, I caught sight of our camp. Just then a wave of nausea crossed me and I dry heaved. So much for a hero’s return. But before long, I marched into camp, dropped my pack and was cheerfully greeted enthusiastically with, “Felicitaciones” and “Que tal?” from my Spanish friends, the ordeal finally behind me.AfterwordUpon return to base camp the next day, I learned I’d lost nearly twenty pounds during my ten day trial on the mountain. In base camp, the staff baked a lovely cake and had a little ceremony for Rufat, Ismail and I, who were the second party to summit this season and the first from our organization. It’s been a little strange to get such praise after the summit. The same happened last year on Khan. Everyone swarms you and wants route information, emails and photos. The increased attention from the Iranians is most intense. Personally, I feel like I’m moving past the materialistic consumption of summits, and I’m experiencing mostly relief after my so-called success on Lenin. I’ve spent the past few days in base camp resting, eating, repairing gear, washing clothes, hanging out with new British, Spanish, Azerbaijani, Iranian and Russian friends, and trying to work on a manuscript for my PhD. The stomach issue cleared up as soon as I descended, and I’m finally feeling fully recovered.It’s extremely beautiful here, sitting in a meadow of alpine wildflowers. Through all of the discomfort of last week, I was always still blown away by the natural beauty, and that aspect of this adventure has been amazing since the trip began in Mongolia. I ended up collecting nine samples from a range of elevations for Dragos Zaharescu at the University of Arizona and Biosphere 2 through Adventurers and Scientists for Conservation. I hope these will contribute to our understanding of microbial life at extreme elevations and their role in shaping the high altitude landscape.I’m planning on going for a run or climb before I leave for Tajikistan on the 26th. We’ll drive to Djirgital, then take Tajikistan’s only helicopter to base camp on the 27th. I have no word yet on Boris’ summit attempt, but he’s due back in base camp later today or tomorrow, so we’ll catch up soon. Just in the past day or two did I get some renewed excitement about my upcoming alpine adventures. I still have some tricks up my sleeve.Stay tuned,Hari
Bishkek
After 24 hours of flights and layovers, I landed/bounced and skidded into Bishkek Manas Airport/massive US Air Force Base. Bishkek is very pretty and reminds me quite a bit of Almaty, Kazakhstan which I visited last summer, but with more trees, less glitz and high fashion, and more laid back. I was happy to have instantly better infrastructure and fresher air than Ulaanbaatar.
The backdrop of the city is the spectacular Ala-Too Range, part of the Tien Shan, which rise higher than the Alps. Kyrgyzstan is ridiculously mountainous, with 94% of the country mountains, 40% of the country is over 10,000 ft and 30% of the entire country is permanant snow or glaciers! The UN forecasts that of the 8200 glaciers currently in Kyrgyzstan, fewer than 150 will remain in 2050.
I've been put up in a self-proclaimed 5-star hotel, which mixes the ridiculously swank with confusing Central Asian reality. My room has a huge living room, full kitchen, two balconies, but lacked soap, hot water, or internet and I got locked in the building.
I spent the day running errands, meeting the nice people at my travel outfitters, and exploring the city. I even carried my first big load of the expedition...all six weeks of food about three miles uphill back to the hotel.
Tomorrow, I have a morning flight to Osh, in southern Kyrgyzstan, followed by the 8-10 hour drive to base camp. I'm looking forward to being in one place for a bit. I haven't stayed in the same place for more than two days in the last month, so my 16 days on Lenin will be perfect. I'm on vacation!
Liftoff!
Mountains are not stadiums where I satisfy my ambition to achieve, they are the cathedrals where I practice my religion...I go to them as humans go to worship. From their lofty summits I view my past, dream of the future and, with an unusual acuity, am allowed to experience the present moment...my vision cleared, my strength renewed. In the mountains I celebrate creation. On each journey I am reborn. -Anatoli Boukreev
Pamir Expedition Breakdown: Korzhenevskaya and Ismoil Somoni
Following Lenin Peak, I travel to the icy heart of the Pamir. Located in Gorno-Badakhshan, an autonomous province bordered to the east by China and the Kunlun Shan, and to the south by Afghanistan’s narrow Wakhan Corridor, the Pamir are known as the Roof of the World.Getting to NowhereFrom Lenin Peak, I will travel overland to the Kyrgyz-Tajik border at Karamyk Pass. This is probably one of the most difficult ways to enter Tajikistan, which is already the world’s 3rd least visited country with only 4000 tourists per year. Traveling with a few other climbers who are attempting the same trip (at this point, I think it’s just me, a Russian, an Austrian and a team of Kazakhs), we’ll drive down the Vakhsh River to the small town of Djirgital on July 26th. On the 27th we hope to fly (on Tajikistan’s only helicopter!) to the Moskvin Glacier at the base of Peak Korzhenevskaya (7105m, 23,311 ft) and Peak Ismoil Somoni (formerly Peak Communism, 7495m, 24,590 ft), the world’s 50th highest mountain. Located in the Academy of Sciences Range, these peaks rise over 10,000 ft above the surrounding glaciers, including the 90-km long Fedchenko. These remarkable places are sadly facing critical threats from climate change and it will be an incredible opportunity to see the home of the snow leopard while these glaciers still exist. The Fedchenko, the longest glacier in the world outside the polar regions, is shrinking at a rate of 15-20m per year, and it is estimated that 30% of Tajikistan’s glaciers could disappear by 2050.KorzhenevskayaAs I’ll arrive with the enormous benefit of prior acclimatization on Lenin Peak, I’ll have ample time in my 21-day climbing window for Korzhenevskaya and Communism. Korzhenevskaya is certainly the easier of the two. The route is fairly direct, ascending rock and gentle snow slopes past a series of camps to the popular 5800m (19,000 ft) camp located on a well-protected snow ledge beneath a rock overhang. From there, the route traverses snow slopes before reaching the crux, a 50m vertical rock band protected by fixed line. Following the rock cliff, the route follows the moderate meandering snow ridge past two camps to the summit. The upper mountain is famous for its spectacular views of Peak Communism and the neighboring peaks.
Ismoil SomoniNow named for the Tajik national hero, Peak Ismoil Somoni is a giant. The normal route to the summit, the Borodkin Spur, presents few major technical difficulties, but it’s a huge, committing and complex. Ascents often last 6-7 days. The route begins from the Walter Glacier and can be threatened by serac fall from a hanging glacier thousands of feet above. Typically, this short section is climbed quickly in the middle of the night. The route then ascends some steep rock sections and moderate crevassed snow slopes to the enormous Pamir Firn Plateau at approximately 6000m (20,000 ft). The route then crosses the broad, blank white expanse before ascending a rib of Peak Dushanbe, a 23,000 ft shoulder. Finally, steep snow slopes and a knife-edge ridge lead up the last 1500 ft to the highest point in the former Soviet Union.
Petit Griffon and Crystal Crag
It’s hard to beat the High Sierra in June. A bunch of earth science folks had wanted to squeeze in one last trip before we took off for the summer. On Friday, we headed out and camped near Tioga Pass to acclimatize. By 6:30 the next morning Brad, Zach and I, fresh off an ascent of the East Arete of Mount Humphreys a few weeks ago, started hiking up from Mosquito Flat. Our objective was the Petit Griffon, a small, seldom-climbed spire next to Mount Abbot. We made quick work of the beautiful approach.
In sharp contrast to most climbs in the High Sierra, the approaches in this region start from a high trailhead (over 10,000 ft) and aren’t usually longer than 4 or 5 miles. By the time we hit the couloir marking the base of the route, the snow had softened up considerably, but we weren’t postholing.
Upon reaching the Sierra crest, we racked up and got ready for the rock finish. Zach opted to take the leads as he wasn’t planning on climbing Sunday as well. Two stout 5.9 pitches set the tone…the Petit Griffon wasn’t going to let us off that easy! I’m not ashamed to say that after sinking my feet pretty deep in snow and freezing my hands on the first pitch I pulled on a prussik to get past a move. On the second, a handhold broke and I took a few tries getting up a headwall before a short airy traverse.
Brad led the fun 30 foot finish to the summit which was just big enough to let the three of us enjoy some lunch and check out the view. Upon viewing the summit register, we noted that the Petit Griffon is climbed only about once a year. For such a spectacular route in a relatively accessible spot, it’s wonderful to know that there are still plenty of wild places.
After a delicious dinner and soak at some hot springs, we crashed in the woods near Mammoth. Over a late breakfast, Brad and I decided to climb the classic North Arete on Crystal Crag. It’s in a beautiful setting and has a wild, alpine feel, but is very accessible above Mammoth Lakes. With our systems dialed from the day before, Brad and I charged up and down in a few hours, meeting up with our friends at Crystal Lake for the hike out. This was one of the most enjoyable routes I’ve done in a while. The ridge and quartz vein near the top were spectacular. What a way to wrap up training for this summer's Pamir expedition!Complete photo gallery here:Petit Griffon and Crystal Crag
Pamir expedition receives American Alpine Club support!
I'm extremely excited to report that the upcoming Pamir expedition has won one of five highly competitive Live Your Dream grants from the American Alpine Club's Southwest section. The AAC is a leading organization that provides conservation and advocacy for our wild places as well as knowledge, inspiration and community to those who love them. Thanks so much to the AAC for their support.
Pamir Snow Leopard Peaks Expedition Breakdown: Lenin Peak
First off, I’d like to make a sales pitch for climbing and traveling in Central Asia. It’s a spectacularly beautiful part of the world, and the logistical difficulties aren’t quite as imposing as one would imagine. There are very professional tour operators, and I’ll be traveling under the care of a company that will handle all of my logistics and support up to the base camps.Kyrgyzstan is a remarkably mountainous country—nearly the entire country is inhabited by major peaks. In the north stands the Tien Shan and to the south, the Alai and Pamir Mountains. Just to the north of the Alai Mountains lies the ancient city of Osh and the fertile and politically volatile Fergana Valley of Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan.
Ibn Sina Peak, more commonly known as Lenin, is located on the Kyrgyz/Tajik border in the Trans-Alai Range. The Trans-Alai is a stunning ridge of snowcapped peaks which rise out of the broad grassy Alai Valley marking the northern extent of the Pamir.Lenin PeakLenin is considered perhaps the easiest 7000m (23,000 ft) peak in the world. Of course, this is a relative term, and climbing anything of this size presents some pretty serious physical, mental, and logistical challenges. For me, Lenin itself is a perfect way to start the expedition. One of the things I’m trying to do this trip is to gain some experience with running my own expedition. A wise climbing axiom is to never change too many variables at once. In this sense, my trip to Lenin will give me complete autonomy over my decision-making and style on the upper mountain, while the elevation and technical demand of the route are well within my limits.I’ll arrive in Bishkek on July 9th. I’ll need to buy food and supplies for the entire course of the expedition, as re-stocking in Djirgital, Tajkistan (the only town I’ll visit during the climbing period) is just as difficult as it sounds. The next morning, I’ll fly to Osh, a city older than Rome in the Fergana Valley of southern Kyrgyzstan and make the rugged 8-10 hour drive to Lenin’s Achik Tash base camp at about 3400m (11,000 ft).
Once at base camp, I’ll have a relatively short 16-day window for climbing. I’ll spend the first few days shuttling loads up to advanced base camp at 4400m (14,400 ft) and acclimatizing. Acclimatization is probably the most important component of high altitude climbing. It can be tricky to provide both the stimulus of high altitude and the rest necessary to grow the red blood cells required to function with so little atmospheric oxygen available. Atmospheric pressure at the 7134m (23,406 ft) summit is only 40% of that at sea level, and adaptation takes weeks.After approximately 4 days, I’ll be ready to begin establishing camps on the upper mountain and sleeping higher. The precise schedule will certainly vary with mountain conditions, weather and my acclimatization. The route itself will place constraints however. Above ABC, there is an easy slope followed by a crevassed section of the glacier leading to camp 1 at 5300m (17,400 ft). I will make one or two trips through this section when acclimatizing and establishing camps. From camp 1 to camp 2, the route travels up a long snowy ridge to Razdelnaya, a subsidiary peak of Lenin at 6148m (20,171 ft). Camp 2 is located on a saddle on the windy summit ridge at approximately 6100m (20,000 ft). I would like to spend at most one night at this extreme location and may consider a summit attempt from lower on the mountain. I’ll need to budget adequate time after the summit push to return to ABC and shuttle my loads back to base camp before leaving on July 26th for Tajikistan and the second portion of the expedition.OK, enough of the details. Some awesome things about this portion of the trip: it has a spectacularly beautiful base camp, with lakes, marmots, wildflowers and local nomads living in yurts. Lenin Peak is the highest point on the northern flanks of the Pamir, and the Alay Valley lying just to the north adjacent to base camp is spectacularly beautiful. On a clear day from high on the mountain, I’ll be able to see well into China, Afghanistan and, of course, the rest of the Pamir.
Microbe CollectionOn the climbing portion of this expedition, I’ll assist geoscientists working on weathering and nutrient cycling by high altitude microbial communities. This work is part of a partnership between the nonprofit Adventurers and Scientists for Conservation, of which I’m a member, and the University of Arizona's Biosphere 2. By understanding how climate change will affect the production of living matter in these extreme environments, we can better contextualize the impacts of global environmental change. I’ll sample rocks from a series of altitudes on each of the peaks I climb this summer.
Introducing the Piggyback: Fieldwork and Mount Humphreys
Time for a confession: I get paid to camp. And not just that, but my research takes me to sedimentary basins near mountain belts, so I can usually find a way to squeeze in some climbing after I’m done. This cunning strategy has already allowed worked in Colorado, the Alps, the Tetons and the Tien Shan. Last week was no exception. Our research group traveled to Owens Valley and Fish Lake Valley in eastern California and Nevada. We’re working on a project to record the last eight million years of climate in these regions and document the topographic development of the Sierra Nevada during this time. We had a fantastic week collecting ancient lake and stream sediments for stable isotope analysis. On their way back to campus, the guys dropped me off in Bishop, a mecca for bouldering and alpine climbing.
In Bishop, I met up with friends Anthony, Brad and Zach from the Stanford Alpine Club for a spectacular weekend of climbing. Our main objective for the weekend was Mount Humphreys, which dominates the Bishop skyline. Just 14 feet shy of 14,000 feet, Humphreys is one of the most stunning peaks in the range, and has no easy route to its pointy summit. We chose to attempt the East Arete, one of the classic alpine rock climbs of the range.After a long and BUMPY ride to the trailhead, we started up the trail, quickly heading off it in favor of heading straight for a headwall. A loose gully took us to the broad plateau below Humphreys, and soon we were at the col marking the start of the complete East Arete. After some discussion over the route choice, we split into two teams, with Brad and I climbing the arête proper, while Zach and Anthony scouted routes to the left. We met up at a notch below the first big pinnacle. We scrambled up to the sweet little summit before traversing a technical portion to the notch below the upper mountain. At this point it was getting late, and we’d already had quite a nice day. Adding to the altitude was lack of sleep for the other guys who’d driven out the day before. Following some discussion, Brad and I continued on while Anthony and Zach tagged a nearby pinnacle before descending.
Brad and I definitely clicked on this trip. I was pretty pumped up to have such a solid partner and we moved well together. We powered through some deep snow and low 5th class, simulclimbing most of the route. I led what ended up being the crux, while Brad got some really fun pitches including a very fun finish. The upper mountain was absolutely spectacular, and views to the Humphreys Basin were incredible. We could see practically the whole range, from Whitney to north of Yosemite.
We chose to descend to the north, and opted for two rappels down a gully. After the first, we had the only minor nervous moment of the day where it took some finesse to retrieve our ropes. We then quickly switched into crampons and started downclimbing the North Couloir which was very pretty. Part way down we encountered a short rock and ice section, but soon thereafter we were back to easy plungestepping to the glacier. Some postholing and glissading later and we arrived at beautiful little Longley Reservoir and make quick work of the trail back to the car. What a day!
The next day, we were all a little bit tired, so we slept in, took some awesome geology stops, swam in the Tuolumne River and scrambled around a bit on Stately Pleasure Dome near Tenaya Lake. What a nice way to cap off a great trip!Full pictures here:Spring Fieldwork and Humphreys
Summer 2012 Part 2: Pamir Snow Leopard Peaks Expedition
The Pamir, known as the Roof of the World, stand at the center of many of the world’s great ranges. To the Northeast are the Tien Shan, to the south and east stand the Kunlun Shan, the Himalaya and the Karakoram, and to the south and west rise the Hindu Kush. In the former Soviet Union, there are five peaks over 7000m (23,000 ft). Those who have climbed all five receive the prestigious Snow Leopard award. To date, only two Americans have achieved this elite peak-bagger status. Two of the Snow Leopard Peaks stand in the Tien Shan Mountains of Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan: Pobeda (At 24,406 ft, certainly the most difficult and dangerous of the Snow Leopards) and Khan Tengri, which I climbed last summer (click here for my expedition report on Khan Tengri). This summer, I’ll attempt the three Snow Leopard Peaks of the Pamir Mountains. Following my fieldwork in Mongolia, I will travel to Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan. After a day buying food and supplies for the upcoming five week expedition, I will travel to Osh, in southern Kyrgyzstan, and then make the rough 8-10 hour drive to the base camp for Lenin Peak (23,406 ft). I have allotted a 16-day window on Lenin Peak, which is a relatively short time to acclimatize, carry loads up the mountain to establish camps, rest and wait for the weather window for a summit bid. I will be alone on Lenin, or as alone as one can be on the standard route of large commercial peaks.
Following Lenin Peak, I will travel overland, crossing the Kyrgyz/Tajik border at Karamyk Pass. This is a seldom traveled route, and I will likely be the only American crossing it this year. After arriving in Djirgital, Tajikistan in the heart of the Pamir, I will fly via the only helicopter in Tajikistan to the base camp for Peak Korzhenevskaya (23,310 ft) and Peak Ismoil Somoni (At 24,590 ft, the highest peak in the former Soviet Union). Here I will join three elite Russian climbers who I met and climbed with on Khan Tengri last summer. These guys are pretty amazing, having climbed extensively in the great ranges of Asia, including big walls in Kyrgyzstan, 8000m peaks, even a new route on K2’s West Face in 2007. I have 21 days on the Moskvin Glacier at the base of these peaks. With the benefit of my prior acclimatization on Lenin Peak, I hope to make fast single-push style ascents of these two peaks. On each of these climbs, I will also be collecting rock samples for a project with the University of Arizona/Biosphere 2 and the Adventurers and Scientists for Conservation.
Need to brush up on your central Asian geography? I did too. Here’s a Google map of my Pamir Snow Leopard Peaks Expedition:View Pamir 7000ers Expedition in a larger mapMany more details on the process, style, equipment and strategy necessary to pull this trip off will follow. But for the time being, I’ll say this: mountains have captivated me from a young age. It’s easy to get caught up in the details, perceived danger, or strangeness of this trip…after all I’m new to central Asia too. But on all of my trips, I have been consistently blown away by the richness of the local culture, the stunning scenery and the adventure. I’m just a grad student living the dream. It's gonna be awesome.
Introducing Summer 2012: Part 1, Mongolia Fieldwork
Armchair mountaineering has fully entered the digital age. Slow and cumbersome updates from wild places are now a thing of the past now that blogging and satellite communications have entered the mainstream. So, if you’re looking to travel vicariously to some wild places this summer, you’ve come to the right place.
Part 1: Mongolia Paleoclimate Field Research
This summer, I will return to Mongolia for three and a half weeks for part of my PhD research to develop records of central Asian climate over the past 70 million years. Along with researchers from Stanford University and Rocky Mountain College, I will collect carbonate and clay minerals from sedimentary rocks. These minerals contain oxygen and hydrogen whose oxygen and hydrogen isotopic compositions reflect ancient climate. With samples from the Gobi Desert of southern Mongolia and Khovd Province in the far western part of the country, we can reconstruct climatic and topographic change in central Asia.A Google map of our proposed trip is below. For more on this project and other components of my PhD, visit the Research section of this site.
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