Advertisement
Published: February 28th 2016
Edit Blog Post
The first solo ascent of Patau Sar in Upper Dir Upper Dir, a mountainous district lying in the northwest of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, bounded by Swat to the east, Afghanistan to the west, Chitral to the north and Lower Dir to the south, is inhabited by Yousafzai Pashtuns. The terrain here is mostly rocky, alpine and hilly. The narrow valleys at the foot of the mountains, wherever water and terraced fields are available, are settled in by people. Panchkora River, rising high in Kohistan and draining the whole Dir valley, runs the whole length of the vale. Streams, issuing off side valleys, merge into the river at various points. Having a vast catchment area, the river never dry up, and steadily streaming down the valley. While having the potential for hydropower, it's yet to put to use. Upper Dir is one of the few districts in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa which is forested. Kohistan, and the areas abutting on the Swat district, are mostly wooded, hilly and having several alpine lakes, notably among them is Saidgai Danda to the northeast.
To the west, across the Panchkora River, towering mountains form a magnificent skyline stretching from Lowari Pass down
onward to Lower Dir. In the same direction, further off the river, Patau Sar, one of the highest mountains in the district, looming over the entire valley. Its height is more than 14,000 feet above sea level. Every morning, the first sight I gawk at from my house, is Patau Sar, basking in the morning sun. It's a mountain of huge magnitude, awesomeness, awe and wonder. The main summit, soaring on its two small shoulder, and two further larger ones, is accessible via two different routes – the long ridge on the right side, and a direct route up to the summit from Nagrail, a village lying in the lap of the mountain. From Sahib Abad, main town in the area on Dir-Chitral road, an unmetalled road branches off for the villages of Serai, Nagrail, Patau and Batlai.
Across the river, the whole valley is known as Sultan Khel Dara. Being the highest mountain in the locality, throwing down the gauntlet, I made my mind to scale it. It was April 22, 2008 when I set out on an adventure I had never thought of until the last few days when the mountain lured me.
The long ridge leading to the summit, seemed out to me a feasible route to assault the mountain. It was a solo and alpine style ascent, and even without climbing or trekking gears.
Setting off at 10:00 am from Sahib Abad bazaar, I crossed the bridge on Panchkora River and followed a track to Jogha Banj, a small village lying across the river. Here, a steep ascent begins up to a saddle higher above the village. After a steep climb of an hour, I made it to the saddle hiding the main summit. Therefrom, the climb up to the summit via the ridge, becomes progressively less-demanding offering magnificent views of the mountains of Hindu Kush to the northeast. Hundred metres down the first summit in the long ridge, I met a shepherd coming down the slope. Being thirsty, I asked him about water. He pointed towards a distant snowy slope, and told out that there is a spring of sweet water. Beyond the summit, I came across a larger group of local people came up for hiking and sightseeing.
At 2 pm, I reached the spring gushing out off the ground and hedged in
by pine forest. Here, I slaked out my thirst, offered afternoon prayer, and rested for a while. As I resumed climbing the slope, someone yelled at me from the rear. I turned around, and saw three guys sitting at a ridge high up the slope in opposite direction. They were telling that higher above the ridge, the snow is deep and not negotiable at all. I waved off my hand towards them, and resumed climbing the slope.
When I reached the shoulder, a jackal or maybe a fox, hared off the slope down. I checked its footprints in the snow, but couldn't get what animal it was. I carried on climbing a long shoulder that was easily negotiable, but sometime, I would trudge the way up.
It was 4:30 pm, when I pushed for the main summit off the end of the shoulder. Donned a light jacket, put on Italian shoes and laced them up, I comfortably negotiated the first pitch. The shoes, which I doubted before climbing the mountain, proved very reliable, comfortable, and suitable to the slopes I was making my way through.
The summit was now within striking
range, a stone's throw away from where I was moving up. I inched up the last few metres very slowly, and at last, at 5 pm, made it to the summit. I was very happy, and elated at making it to the highest peak putting my mettle to the test everyday. Maybe it was the first solo ascent of the peak too, though I'm not sure about it.
Perched high on the summit, facing-east, I could gaze at the snow-capped mountains to the north and northwest. The majestic mountains of Hindu Kush to the north, were surprisingly beautiful, thrusting upward wonderfully. The scene was stunning, and for a while engrossed all my attention. Wallowing in the pleasure off a scene I pined for years, now eying off that imposing scenic view, was rather difficult, but, unfortunately, time was running out, and I was to make off.
It was 5:15 pm, when I had to descend the mountain straightly down to the main town of Sahib Abad. The route, I had got through up to the summit, was long and tedious; and therefore, on the way back, I chose an alternative route descended directly in
to the valley.
As I was trudging down the slope in a knee-deep snow, that all of a sudden, one of the hidden crevasses, pulled in my left leg up to thigh. My leg pained as it gulped down in the snow. Now I was to let out my leg off the crevasse, otherwise I would late as the dusk was falling rapidly. I tugged off my leg, and before long, freed it from the snow. Fatigued, I laid on a rock face writhing in pain to regain strength, and to get down safely in time. What's more, I took off my boots and wriggled my toes which were chilled to the bone.
Afterward, I pressed on climbing down the slope though that time more cautiously. Toiling down the slope through slush was punishing, laborious and therewithal, taxing on my knees. My leg was really giving me gyp on the way down. Several times I had to make my way across the rushing streams, racing down the slopes roaringly. The April sun had just speeded up the thawing process, and the days were becoming longer and steadily heating up.
At last,
I turned up at the small village of Batlai, the last human settlement below the soaring Patau Sar. It had already dusked when I set about trekking down a beaten track. A while later, I met up with a guy whom I asked whether transport for Sahib Abad will be readily available at that time or not. He nodded his head in the negative, and insisted on that I should stay with him for the night; though I wanted to carry on walking down. His name was Izhar ul Haq. He wanted to be obliged, and being tuckered out and late, so I did.
In the morning, Izhar showed me the way down to a village where I could get on to a hiace-coach travelling to Sahib Abad. I arrived in time to get on to the coach that was just leaving down. Thus, I successfully accomplished what seemed to me extremely difficult before I essayed out the mountain. It was a thrilling adventure, and of course, off-the-beaten-track experience for a tyro like me. At times high on the mountain, my spirits soared when taking on the second pitch just above the lower section off the shoulder.
Now finishing up, and sitting at the balcony of my house giving onto the mountain I scaled eight years ago; it's only a wallow in nostalgia that drives me to take down this write-up about an adventure that still takes my breath away that how I pulled off.
For further information please contact:
arshad8611@gmail.com
Advertisement
Tot: 0.083s; Tpl: 0.011s; cc: 10; qc: 47; dbt: 0.0442s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb