FEATURED POST

Hesitation and fear rose in my mind as I crossed the bergschrund early in the grey morning. Soloing is real, I reminded myself. A thousand feet of 60-70 degree ice and snow passed under me. The cyclic rhythm of kick-kick swing-swing dissolved all my apprehension. Several mixed rock steps sparked a deeper focus that being entirely alone complimented nicely. Another 500 feet and I stood on top of snowy peak Djigit. To the east the mighty Tien Shan mountains formed the border with China; they were my next destination, but would not be easy to get to.
Eight days out the Uch-Kul valley

Climbing has been part of my life for long enough now that when fear rises within me, which it still does, I typically know how to manage and suppress the emotion. The Uch-Kul valley scared the shit out me! But, that said, I wasn’t climbing. Water has for a long time been a great fear for many climbers. We like to hold onto things, have control over ourselves and our surroundings, letting go and letting gravity take over means failure. Water activities, such as kayaking, are completely the opposite. One must flow with gravity, learn how to let go, and simply ride it out, or so I’ve been told.

I followed a very old soviet era mining road out to and through the Uch-Kul. At one time the dirt road had connected the two towns of Inylchek and Ak-Shirak. Both sites were abandoned after the collapse of the Soviet Union, and the nearly 10,000 people that lived between the two towns didn’t do much to clean up after themselves. Riding through the condemned and disintegrating town, past vacant apartment buildings, sagging and rusty cable lifts that once took miners to the sites high on the steep mountainside. There were once chugging smelters that now sat in silence. And at the edge of town a cemetery with collapsed dirt and rock head stones. Inylchek’s remoteness and void of life, a blatant reminder of humanity’s fragility, was a spooky indicator of the self-dependency that lay ahead.

It was greatly apparent from my first day on the ‘road’ that it had been many years since it was in use. Only two faint tire tracks remained under the bushy overgrowth and rocky surface. Flashfloods had wiped out many cross-sections of the road and required double, and sometimes triple carries of bicycle, trailer, and equipment. Sometimes the road disappeared completely and I chose my direction ahead based on the steepness of the canyon walls and a faint line that resembled the road much further in the distance.

Then there were the river crossings. Bridges had either been blown up or taken out by the river’s swell. I grew accustomed to approaching a side valley with the expectation that I would have to cross a river. I could usually spot the guts of a former bridge. Twisted remains of concrete and heavy steel rods protruding from the opposite riverbank usually produced a deep sigh and heavy amounts of uncertainty. I would then look for a calmer spot where I could possibly cross the often-swift moving water. I know it is not recommended to use a rope and an anchor to assist with river crossings but I saw it as the only way to get my bicycle, trailer, and 70lbs of equipment across. Twice I used my 60mx7mm rope. I’d build an anchor, typically with driftwood and heavy rocks, and pendulum-belayed myself across one side of the river. Then I’d build another anchor on the opposite side, pull the rope as tight as possible, then using a carabiner and sling I clipped my stuff to the rope and ferried loads one load at a time.

The crossings that scared me the most usually took several attempts to get across. Belly button high water pushed hard against my naked body and I pushed back equally hard. Then a boulder under my foot would roll, I’d loose my footing, and go for a frightening swim back to shore. After 4 failed attempts at one particular crossing I resorted to carrying bike and possessions nearly 2 miles up and around a steep and rocky hillside in order to reach a point where I could access the road again. Doubt about my abilities to make it up the Uch-Kul wavered along with the condition of the road. Some days I would travel only 1 or 2 miles. And the river crossings always terrified me. My satellite phone offered an escape, maybe, but I wasn’t ready to call just yet. I pushed on.

Alone with ibex, Marco Polo sheep, eagles, wolves, and bears I eventually crested the barren 12,342 ft Uch-Kul pass after eight days of fear and constant insecurity. The other side of the pass looked promising, at least more so than the side that I had just ascended, it looked like the other side was maybe in use a little more frequently, like people had driven to the top of the pass and avoided descending down into the Uch-Kul because they already knew what I had just experienced. I descended down the other side and quickly found what appeared to be a seldom-used dirt road that would take me into Ak-Shirak and further onto the military checkpoint and resupply point of Kara-Say. Kara-Say offered some comfort in the form of a few military folks, some warm shots of vodka, and a bed. However groceries were scarce and so I pushed on for another human-less four days until reaching the city of Naryn. For another three weeks afterwards I explored by bicycle and did some climbing in western Kyrgyzstan near to the border with China. Eventually crossing the border into China and making my way to Pakistan. My pace those weeks had slowed, I found a tempo with the universe that felt right, and I felt free.

Solace

Something happens to the human soul after prolonged engagement with solitude, with the unknown, and faced with difficult challenges. The residue of more chaotic times eventually fades, much like the light just after a brilliant sunset. I noticed my shoulders hung more loosely from my chest after the Uch-Kul. I felt greater composure during my remaining three weeks on the bike and in the mountains of Kyrgyzstan. Life felt more flowing, it wasn’t that I had gained control over the chaos, it was that I just accepted it as it comes, like the sun’s light in the morning sky.

Check back in early 2012 for the second part of Kyle’s story set in the mountains of Pakistan.

« Back