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Mountain High- An Ascent of Khan Tengri click here for a quick jump to info about climbing in Central Tien Shan Looking up, the mist swirls, dervish like, through the gullies and crags above us. I watch as Jo, a reassuring splash of Macpac yellow in a black and white world, struggles to gain altitude on the crux rock step. Beyond, enormous and dark, the brooding headwalls scowl down on us, emerging from the mist to shower us indifferently with loose snow avalanches. The cold starkness of the place seems to have an iron grip on my lungs and another attack of breathlessness hits, leaving me hunched in the snow coughing and heaving for air like an aged chain smoker. Jo battles on and as he slowly disappears from view a foreboding sense of our insignificance settles deep in my stomach. Reality seems best denied with action. I drop my head and continue my lethargic efforts to move upwards toward the summit. A stunningly beautiful, picture-book mountain, Khan Tengri has been the subject of our hopes, dreams and aspirations for the past twelve months. An enormous lump of ancient ocean sediment, its summit has been thrust seven kilometers into the atmosphere by the same colossal tectonic forces that have formed the Himalaya not far to the south. Situated in the central Tien Shan range in Krygyzstan, this old piece of seabed now lies as far from the ocean waves as you can possibly get, smack bang in the middle of Central Asia Krygyzstan was invented by geographers in the 1920's and 30's to become a republic of the Soviet Union. Bordered to the north by the flat steppes of Kazakstan and to the south by endless mountains from the Pamirs down to the Himalaya this small state has witnessed the sweep of history from the invasions of Genghis Khan through the cultural melting pots of the silk road to the more recent rise and fall of communism. A pawn in the grand policies of the Soviet Union, Krygyzstan was abandoned to its ill prepared for independence in 1991 and has struggled desperately ever since. A glimmer of hope in the economic mire that results from few natural resources and even less infrastructure is the incredible beauty of the landscape and the tourist dollars that this may attract. Presently no-one seems more interested in Krygyzstan's outstanding natural features than mountaineers. There is something for every kind of climber. In the south the enormous granite walls of the Ak-Su range rival those in Yosemite, in the east are the high altitude peaks of the central Tien Shan while closer to the capital city, Bishkek, the Ala Archa area sports lower altitude alpine climbing similar to our own Southern Alps. Flying into Bishkek, our expedition began a week of serious training. Cosmopolitan and beautiful, in a somewhat run down, Soviet kind of way, Bishkek has hundreds of bars and cafes. As some of the very few tourists around we felt duty bound to sample the local culture at each one of them in a hedonistic orgy of eating and drinking. Totally organised and completely honed we finally staggered out of Bishkek and, dodging the Ladas, headed for the hills. In July the foothills of the Tien Shan are cloaked in wildflowers and dotted occasionally with the felted wool tents of the Krygyz nomads who graze sheep and goats and, more exotically, ride their huge horses with legendary élan around this 'Sound of Music' like scene. Krygyzstan, however, is a land of contrast and paradox, and driving south through this beautiful landscape we suddenly arrived in a scene from Apocalypse Now. The twisted, windswept mining town of Inylchek lay totally abandoned in the middle of a large desolate valley. As if someone has vapourised the workers and families that must have lived and laughed here, the town has been left to creak in the wind and slowly rust away. It seemed to poignantly reflect the fortunes of the country. Several days later, stepping out of a colossal ML 8 helicopter, we were deposited in a landscape that is as uplifting as the mining town had been depressing, the mountains and glaciers of the central Tien Shan. Flying into the mountains from the lowlands is always gobsmacking and as the decrepit helicopter creaked and groaned its way back down the glacier we stood and gawped at the huge peaks and soaring ridges around our basecamp. The area around Khan Tengri (7000m) and the nearby forbidding giant, Pik Pobeda (7439m), has had a long and chequered climbing history. In good Soviet fashion, enormous expeditions attempted to subdue these peaks with heroic success and epic disasters. It is said that eighty men died during attempts to make the first winter ascent of Pik Pobeda, and in a separate incident nineteen were killed in a single avalanche. Nowadays the area attracts many expeditions from the cash strapped countries of eastern Europe and, increasingly, from the west. Although there are new routes galore to be had and a few prize first ascents left, most parties come to climb the famed Khan Tengri.
------------------ Two weeks later we have put the hard yards in and are established in camp three at 6000m, ready for a summit attempt. Our tiny tent, perched between an icicle festooned ice cliff and an enormous, bottomless crevasse, seems to grow smaller and less comfortable by the day. Inside, only one of us can move at a time amongst the piles of down and the fetid hanging socks. Outside however is a different story. High above the claustrophobic confines of the valley below, our world has opened up to reveal an endless array of peaks glittering in the sporadic sun like a sea of diamonds. Above us rears the steep, intimidating west ridge of Khan Tengri, praying on our minds as we engage in a battle of the wills with the fickle weather gods.. High winds and streaming cloud have stopped us leaving for the past few mornings only to clear into beautiful still afternoons. Frustrated, we finally call the weathers bluff and at two a.m., despite the smattering of blown snow against the tent and the moan of wind across the saddle above us, we begin the tortuous, rime-ice showered process of getting ready. By ten o'clock I have followed Jo up the crux rock step, teetering on crampon points and obsessively testing every hand hold. A string of hopelessly old and broken fixed ropes left by Russian expeditions of yesteryear provide our only security. At home I wouldn't trust these ropes to floss my teeth with but here they are all we have. We climb as if soloing. The fun of the climbing on the lower ridge, when the dawn bathed our wild surroundings in an ethereal glow, has gone. Now it is just desperate hard work, putting one foot in front of the other as many times as possible before hunching in the snow, heaving for unavailable oxygen. A steep gully of deep snow leads us onto a sharp ridge exposed to the full force of the wind. Leaning sideways off a tenuously hooked ice axe gets us through the last tricky rock section and onto the final slopes. Irrationally cursing the crusty, crudy snow and struggling to keep balance in the rising gusts, the final one hundred meters takes a soul destroying eternity, but finally there is no higher ground and we stagger onto the summit. Far from the elation of success after months of planning and dreaming, we are happy only that we can now go down. The warm glow of satisfaction will be ours tomorrow but for now the prospect of the descent nags at us. We are only half way. For the first time in days the weather hasn't cleared and you can almost hear the cackling of the weather gods. There is no view, only the impersonal grey of the racing cloud and the ever-present whine of the wind. After five minutes we head slowly off. -------------------- Back at basecamp I pull the drawcord tight. Through the tunnel of sleep inducing down I watch as the light fades in the spacious cocoon of my Mineret. I could roll around in here if I was so inclined, the tent is luxuriously all mine. My stomach is full, a newly returned appetite satiated and Spearhead are weaving their musical magic in my ears. I am blissfully comfortable and content. Memories of fear and gasping for air are fading as the seductive lure of the mountains begins again to spin its web. The siren call of unclimbed peaks begins in the distance. I drift off to sleep. Seven days later Jo and I stumble onto the previously unclimbed summit of Pik Shipilova (6200m). This time, at a lower altitude, better aclimatised and with an easier descent ahead, a tremendous sense of happiness grabs us and we whoop it up. This climb has been a total adventure. Heading up the gigantic Inylchek glacier a few days ago we had no idea if there was even a climbable route on the mountain. With only a sketch map and a view of the top hundred meters from Khan Tengri, the peak had slowly revealed its secrets during a hauntingly beautiful moonlit approach. The north face looked relatively easy and with one camp and a few waist deep snow wades ours are the first footsteps on the summit. It feels great. Heading down the slopes that have taken so long to come up, the weather begins to deteriorate again. We pack up the camp and make an attempt at the longest bum slide ever, weaving between giant seracs down a huge avalanche runnel. Cooking dinner, the evening alpenglow bathes us in pink as the worries and stress that any climb brings fade away. One could spend a lifetime climbing here but we have had our fill. It is time to head out to green grass and the cafes of Bishkek. Jo Kippax and Sean Waters would like to extend a huge vote of thanks to the following organisations without whose support the trip would never have happened;
SEASON The normal season is pretty short, limited mainly by the helicopter flying season. They begin flying in early to mid july and stop at the end of August. If you don't mind a four day moraine bash you could walk in. There seems to be no history of porters of pack horses etc so carrying all your gear for an expedition would be a major problem. WEATHER Seems to be reasonably unstable by and large. Regularly clags in and snows in the afternoon. It stayed reasonably warm while we were there and we did have good weather windows. GETTING THERE Fly to either Bishkek or Almaty (Kazakstan). Flights weekly from London (British Airways) or ,and maybe cheaper, Amsterdam. Visas etc need to be arranged through a trekking company eg ITMC or Dostuk trekking, these are also the best people to arrange getting into the mountains with.
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