Thieves, Liars and Mountaineers: On the 8000 Metre Peak Circus in Pakistan's Karakoram Mountains by Mark Horrell
Authors: Mark Horrell
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their tents began packing at the same time.
At the top of the Banana Ridge looking down
This is the second time I've found myself descending the Banana Ridge in horrible powdery snow conditions, and the presence of so many people makes it far more traumatic than last time, when the ropes were clear and I was able to abseil pretty much all the way down without a care in the world. We trudge the few steps up to the horizontal ridge in a whiteout and painfully slowly. On the narrow ridge the reason for this is revealed: an elderly German climber has lost his nerve and instead of coming back down to easier terrain to let the queue of people behind him past, he cowers on the ridge as one-by-one we try and get round him, Ian first, then Arian, then me. Each of us has to hold onto the rucksack of the person in front as they detach themselves from the fixed rope, step down into the snow beneath the ridge to reach around the German climber, and reattach their carabiners to the rope before stepping back up onto the ridge. It's a nerve-wracking operation, and all the while a chill wind cuts across us.
At the top of the Banana Ridge the person in front of Ian is abseiling off the first rope, so he has to wait until the rope is clear. In the powdery snow conditions abseiling is much the safest way to descend, but there are now people queuing up on the horizontal ridge behind us, and Phil shouts for Ian to drop down the Banana Ridge as quickly as possible so that everybody can get out of the wind. So, again, I begin the painstaking descent, facing into the slope and edging the front points of my crampons down step-by-step, feeling for a stable foothold and praying that the powdery snow doesn't give way beneath. I yearn to be able to abseil down, but I know this means nobody above me would be able to share the rope with me, and I would have to keep the queues of people waiting behind me until I reached the bottom of my rope. This is fine when the ropes are clear, but with so many people waiting in precarious footholds it would be selfish and dangerous to keep them waiting. Yet I know to front-point all the way down the 200 metres of the ridge I will find extremely difficult, if not impossible.
But if I'm still thinking of abseiling to the annoyance of people behind me, Phil soon gives me reason to change my mind in his customary no-nonsense manner. The person in front of Ian is abseiling all the way down, and doing it very slowly.
“These people shouldn't be on the mountain,” Phil shouts down. “They should learn to f---ing climb before they come here. Even on Everest people are better than this.”
I know where he's coming from, but I have doubts whether I'm a good enough climber myself to downclimb the entire ridge in these conditions. To speed us up, he shouts down to us to do a “forward rappel”, but I don't know what one of these is.
“What's a forward rappel?” I shout back up.
Gordon is next but one behind me and replies on Phil's behalf. “Put your ice axe away and face outwards from the slope, and walk down using the rope as a handrail, but don't put all your weight onto it.”
This is easier said than done, as my crampons keep balling up with fresh snow, losing any grip I once had, and with my ice axe tucked away inside my harness I'm unable to bang it against my boots to dislodge the snow. Three times I fall during the descent, and would be a-goner but for the fixed ropes. The first two occasions are when I'm trying to forward rappel, which I find impossible and simply lose my footing. On the second of these I find myself swinging embarrassingly in a wide arc across the face for several metres before I'm able to find any purchase with my crampons and inch my way back onto the ridge. After this I abandon the forward rappel, face back into the slope and resume front-pointing with my ice axe in hand, but I find it very hard work, both mentally and physically, as I tip-toe down with no safe places to stop,
At the top of the Banana Ridge looking down
This is the second time I've found myself descending the Banana Ridge in horrible powdery snow conditions, and the presence of so many people makes it far more traumatic than last time, when the ropes were clear and I was able to abseil pretty much all the way down without a care in the world. We trudge the few steps up to the horizontal ridge in a whiteout and painfully slowly. On the narrow ridge the reason for this is revealed: an elderly German climber has lost his nerve and instead of coming back down to easier terrain to let the queue of people behind him past, he cowers on the ridge as one-by-one we try and get round him, Ian first, then Arian, then me. Each of us has to hold onto the rucksack of the person in front as they detach themselves from the fixed rope, step down into the snow beneath the ridge to reach around the German climber, and reattach their carabiners to the rope before stepping back up onto the ridge. It's a nerve-wracking operation, and all the while a chill wind cuts across us.
At the top of the Banana Ridge the person in front of Ian is abseiling off the first rope, so he has to wait until the rope is clear. In the powdery snow conditions abseiling is much the safest way to descend, but there are now people queuing up on the horizontal ridge behind us, and Phil shouts for Ian to drop down the Banana Ridge as quickly as possible so that everybody can get out of the wind. So, again, I begin the painstaking descent, facing into the slope and edging the front points of my crampons down step-by-step, feeling for a stable foothold and praying that the powdery snow doesn't give way beneath. I yearn to be able to abseil down, but I know this means nobody above me would be able to share the rope with me, and I would have to keep the queues of people waiting behind me until I reached the bottom of my rope. This is fine when the ropes are clear, but with so many people waiting in precarious footholds it would be selfish and dangerous to keep them waiting. Yet I know to front-point all the way down the 200 metres of the ridge I will find extremely difficult, if not impossible.
But if I'm still thinking of abseiling to the annoyance of people behind me, Phil soon gives me reason to change my mind in his customary no-nonsense manner. The person in front of Ian is abseiling all the way down, and doing it very slowly.
“These people shouldn't be on the mountain,” Phil shouts down. “They should learn to f---ing climb before they come here. Even on Everest people are better than this.”
I know where he's coming from, but I have doubts whether I'm a good enough climber myself to downclimb the entire ridge in these conditions. To speed us up, he shouts down to us to do a “forward rappel”, but I don't know what one of these is.
“What's a forward rappel?” I shout back up.
Gordon is next but one behind me and replies on Phil's behalf. “Put your ice axe away and face outwards from the slope, and walk down using the rope as a handrail, but don't put all your weight onto it.”
This is easier said than done, as my crampons keep balling up with fresh snow, losing any grip I once had, and with my ice axe tucked away inside my harness I'm unable to bang it against my boots to dislodge the snow. Three times I fall during the descent, and would be a-goner but for the fixed ropes. The first two occasions are when I'm trying to forward rappel, which I find impossible and simply lose my footing. On the second of these I find myself swinging embarrassingly in a wide arc across the face for several metres before I'm able to find any purchase with my crampons and inch my way back onto the ridge. After this I abandon the forward rappel, face back into the slope and resume front-pointing with my ice axe in hand, but I find it very hard work, both mentally and physically, as I tip-toe down with no safe places to stop,
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