Monday 29th June
June 30th, 2009 by Jake
V-gel For Sale
Zebeta No Prescription
Buy Lariam No Prescription
Buy Online Pletal
Buy Actoss Online
Acticin For Sale
Atarax No Prescription
Buy Lotrisone No Prescription
Buy Online Danazol
Buy Tentex Forte Online
Nizoral For Sale
Antabuse No Prescription
Buy Cyklokapron No Prescription
Buy Online Flagyl Er
Buy Geodon Online
Geriforte For Sale
Famvir No Prescription
Buy Mevacor No Prescription
Buy Online Sumycin
Buy Rimonabant Online
Buspar For Sale
Lamisil No Prescription
Buy Sarafem No Prescription
Buy Online Leukeran
Buy Flagyl Er Online
This morning we finally got the chance to head back up the hill, this time to sleep at Camp 1. We three Brits, and two HAPs (High Altitude Porters - they need the acclimatisation as much as we do) left BC at about 6.30am, and having reached the gear stash and put our crampons and harnesses on started climbing up the lower slopes of the route at about 7.30am. Our first surprise of the day was to see a team of 5 climbers (who are a mix of nationalities, but will henceforth be known as the Spanish team), bimbling straight across the very obvious avalanche debris right across the bottom of the route, completely oblivious to the danger. We of course take a much longer, yet safer route circumventing this danger area through the centre of the glacier. Now this team are already in our bad books, because we know that they are planning to use our fixed ropes, and yet have made no effort to come and discuss terms with us. Now, this might seem like a very old fashioned thing to do, but it basically is common courtesy. This isn't Everest, where one team fixes the ropes and everyone else pays them to use them. Our ropes are for us. If other's want to use them, then an agreement must be made, which either ensures that they supply rope, carry kit, or make a financial contribution towards our cost of rigging the route. If this is done, then there is usually no problem, but (and having been given several warnings and opportunities to do so), they haven't even tried to sort anything out with us. At the moment it looks as though they just want to make use of our ropes and do nothing in return
Anyhow - back to the mountain...
So once we'd all made some pretty obvious remarks to the Spanish team about their route over towards the hill (something along the lines of 'if that avalanches whilst you are poncing about underneath it, then don't expect us to come out there to help...'), we then asked them about the rope situation, to which they replied that they had sorted something out with Fabrizio - of course we later found out that this was not the case. Nevertheless, we had more important things to worry about then tittle-tattle, and all of this could be dealt with later.
So we plugged on up the hill, onto the fixed ropes, across the traverse, up the steep sections to the col and then finally into C1. The HAPs had got there first, and they were clearing the platforms for the other two tents (one was already up from a couple of nights before). Now, to be honest, it's very difficult to convey the size and situation of C1 without a photo to show you. C1 on Everest at the North Col wasn't exactly huge, but could fit about 40 tents in, between the serac wall and the crevasse. C1 here on K2 (on the Cezen) is a little different. It is located right on a rocky ridge line, with enough room for two and a half tents. Yes, I do mean two 'and a half'. The normal platforms for the two tents are literally about 7x5 foot - only just big enough for a 2 man tent. I had drawn the short straw and won the luxury penthouse suite - a narrow rock ledge about 6x3 foot. On one side of me I had a rock wall, on the other side a snow slope that ran 3000ft straight back down to where we'd started that morning. I was sleeping in a single skin high-altitude tent which can be best described as having the internal size and features of a coffin. It took me about 1 hour to carefully yet securely lash my coffin to the side of the mountain. I certainly didn't want to roll over in the middle of the night, and continue all the way down the glacier at the bottom. Once we'd all set up our tents and secured them as well as we could with the rope and tat that we had, it was time to get a brew on. This is where my stay in my luxury accommodation started to go down hill. Not only did my pan have a hole in it, my coffin's lack of sheltered vestibule meant that my gas stove wouldn't stay lit, in the wind (which was steadily increasing in strength throughout the afternoon). Damn. Never mind, not the end of the world, I'll go down and squeeze myself into my team-mates tent in order to use their stove to make a hot drink. Once that was dealt with, and we'd had a good old (albeit cramped) natter, I felt the call of nature. Now going for a pee up here isn't too much of a problem, just use your pee bottle in your tent.... However unnatural it may seem, peeing into a waterbottle, it's much more convenient and safer than trying to go outside (especially when the wind seems to be coming from every direction, and you'll no doubt end up soaking yourself). So that is the process of peeing. Doing a poo is a very similar process, although my upbringing did make it all the more unnatural, and despite every voice in your head screaming that 'you just can't do this like that', you have to override them and get on and do it. In a camp as small as C1, there just isn't the space to start filling up what little free real-estate with giant steamy heapies. It just isn't the done thing. So we all have a pocket full of poo-bags. Now without wanting to draw you a picture, you squat inside your tent and do your business in the bag, put the used loo roll in as well, tie up the top, open the door, and do your best olympic hammer throwing impression to get rid of it down the side of the mountain. Usually this goes without a hitch, however, as I release on my gold medal winning throw, the wind caught my projectile and nearly sent it sailing straight into the vestibule of the other tent. Luckily, my Fedex delivery just missed them, and fortunately slid past their door and over into the abyss. Phew - that could have been a difficult one to explain!
I nipped back over to my neighbours to once again use their stove to make my supper - very delicious fish and potato in parsley sauce, followed by custard and apple for desert (I neglected to tell them of their close call earlier - I didn't want to put them off their food!). I then said goodnight, and climbed (being the operative word) back up to my room with a view.
That night, the gentle squall took a turn for the worse and before you could say 'Ten Thousand Thundering Typhoons', we were caught in the thick of it...
Zebeta No Prescription
Buy Lariam No Prescription
Buy Online Pletal
Buy Actoss Online
Acticin For Sale
Atarax No Prescription
Buy Lotrisone No Prescription
Buy Online Danazol
Buy Tentex Forte Online
Nizoral For Sale
Antabuse No Prescription
Buy Cyklokapron No Prescription
Buy Online Flagyl Er
Buy Geodon Online
Geriforte For Sale
Famvir No Prescription
Buy Mevacor No Prescription
Buy Online Sumycin
Buy Rimonabant Online
Buspar For Sale
Lamisil No Prescription
Buy Sarafem No Prescription
Buy Online Leukeran
Buy Flagyl Er Online
This morning we finally got the chance to head back up the hill, this time to sleep at Camp 1. We three Brits, and two HAPs (High Altitude Porters - they need the acclimatisation as much as we do) left BC at about 6.30am, and having reached the gear stash and put our crampons and harnesses on started climbing up the lower slopes of the route at about 7.30am. Our first surprise of the day was to see a team of 5 climbers (who are a mix of nationalities, but will henceforth be known as the Spanish team), bimbling straight across the very obvious avalanche debris right across the bottom of the route, completely oblivious to the danger. We of course take a much longer, yet safer route circumventing this danger area through the centre of the glacier. Now this team are already in our bad books, because we know that they are planning to use our fixed ropes, and yet have made no effort to come and discuss terms with us. Now, this might seem like a very old fashioned thing to do, but it basically is common courtesy. This isn't Everest, where one team fixes the ropes and everyone else pays them to use them. Our ropes are for us. If other's want to use them, then an agreement must be made, which either ensures that they supply rope, carry kit, or make a financial contribution towards our cost of rigging the route. If this is done, then there is usually no problem, but (and having been given several warnings and opportunities to do so), they haven't even tried to sort anything out with us. At the moment it looks as though they just want to make use of our ropes and do nothing in return
Anyhow - back to the mountain...
So once we'd all made some pretty obvious remarks to the Spanish team about their route over towards the hill (something along the lines of 'if that avalanches whilst you are poncing about underneath it, then don't expect us to come out there to help...'), we then asked them about the rope situation, to which they replied that they had sorted something out with Fabrizio - of course we later found out that this was not the case. Nevertheless, we had more important things to worry about then tittle-tattle, and all of this could be dealt with later.
So we plugged on up the hill, onto the fixed ropes, across the traverse, up the steep sections to the col and then finally into C1. The HAPs had got there first, and they were clearing the platforms for the other two tents (one was already up from a couple of nights before). Now, to be honest, it's very difficult to convey the size and situation of C1 without a photo to show you. C1 on Everest at the North Col wasn't exactly huge, but could fit about 40 tents in, between the serac wall and the crevasse. C1 here on K2 (on the Cezen) is a little different. It is located right on a rocky ridge line, with enough room for two and a half tents. Yes, I do mean two 'and a half'. The normal platforms for the two tents are literally about 7x5 foot - only just big enough for a 2 man tent. I had drawn the short straw and won the luxury penthouse suite - a narrow rock ledge about 6x3 foot. On one side of me I had a rock wall, on the other side a snow slope that ran 3000ft straight back down to where we'd started that morning. I was sleeping in a single skin high-altitude tent which can be best described as having the internal size and features of a coffin. It took me about 1 hour to carefully yet securely lash my coffin to the side of the mountain. I certainly didn't want to roll over in the middle of the night, and continue all the way down the glacier at the bottom. Once we'd all set up our tents and secured them as well as we could with the rope and tat that we had, it was time to get a brew on. This is where my stay in my luxury accommodation started to go down hill. Not only did my pan have a hole in it, my coffin's lack of sheltered vestibule meant that my gas stove wouldn't stay lit, in the wind (which was steadily increasing in strength throughout the afternoon). Damn. Never mind, not the end of the world, I'll go down and squeeze myself into my team-mates tent in order to use their stove to make a hot drink. Once that was dealt with, and we'd had a good old (albeit cramped) natter, I felt the call of nature. Now going for a pee up here isn't too much of a problem, just use your pee bottle in your tent.... However unnatural it may seem, peeing into a waterbottle, it's much more convenient and safer than trying to go outside (especially when the wind seems to be coming from every direction, and you'll no doubt end up soaking yourself). So that is the process of peeing. Doing a poo is a very similar process, although my upbringing did make it all the more unnatural, and despite every voice in your head screaming that 'you just can't do this like that', you have to override them and get on and do it. In a camp as small as C1, there just isn't the space to start filling up what little free real-estate with giant steamy heapies. It just isn't the done thing. So we all have a pocket full of poo-bags. Now without wanting to draw you a picture, you squat inside your tent and do your business in the bag, put the used loo roll in as well, tie up the top, open the door, and do your best olympic hammer throwing impression to get rid of it down the side of the mountain. Usually this goes without a hitch, however, as I release on my gold medal winning throw, the wind caught my projectile and nearly sent it sailing straight into the vestibule of the other tent. Luckily, my Fedex delivery just missed them, and fortunately slid past their door and over into the abyss. Phew - that could have been a difficult one to explain!
I nipped back over to my neighbours to once again use their stove to make my supper - very delicious fish and potato in parsley sauce, followed by custard and apple for desert (I neglected to tell them of their close call earlier - I didn't want to put them off their food!). I then said goodnight, and climbed (being the operative word) back up to my room with a view.
That night, the gentle squall took a turn for the worse and before you could say 'Ten Thousand Thundering Typhoons', we were caught in the thick of it...
