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"Humankind is the only creature that refuses to be what it is"
-Camus
Winter never seems to last very long. No matter how many days we get out in the cold, there never seems to be enough hours spent on frozen water of some sort. The more one becomes informed about and examines the finite crystals that fall from the sky, the more it becomes clear that snow is basically a miracle. This year saw less of these miracles falling on the Sierra but it did not prevent the making of some epic days.
Sunrise to the beat of a pounding heart, long skin tracks scribe a human line in a wilderness of white. Tools sink into supple ice, soft as plastic, rare as gold in the state of eternal sun. Blue hardwax grips but barely, then releases us to glide with the skill of a hundred generations. One little step on the key spot sends acres falling with the force of bombs; humbled, instantly. Winter as connection.
This time at home gave us a nice, long opportunity to plan without creating so much disruption to our everyday lives in what is essentially one of
the worlds great paradises. Visas ammassed, gear procured, embassies lose passports, bikes assembled, packs sewn, passports found and returned, plane tickets bought.. Gulp. Then one day there is nothing left to do but throw it all in a rental car, drive down the East Side, crank one last boulder, and hop on a plane.
Long flights to the other side of the world are never the healthiest of activities but this time presented with a special challenge. The cold I had been battling prior to the departure had basically resolved when we boarded at LAX but the agar plate in my body had other ideas and three days later I was in Bishkek with a fever and the worst case of pharyngitis I could remember. Even getting a look at the back of my throat was a chore of prying a swollen tongue with a depressor while trying to sneak a peak. Luckily, things were sensitive to Azithromycin and three days later we were clear to ride.
Truthfully, Bishkek surprised us with its clean streets, good food, easy layout, and friendly vibe. Locals have been very receptive to our novice Russian skills and the attitude here in the
north is decidedly friendlier than other places we have traversed in the old Soviet Bloc. To sweeten things further, the mosque near to our guesthouse in Bishkek featured a vocalist of great skill. We have come to appreciate the call to prayer over the years but we also tend to associate it with a combination of pubescent vocal skills and crackly speakers. This guy could have cut an album and other guests, as well as the Japanese owner (with, humourously enough, even lowlier Russian skills then ours) seemed to muse at the sweet sound of his beckoning prayers.
We rode out of the city at dawn to avoid the full brunt of morning traffic. Our first destination was Karakol but bike touring always quickly reminds us that the only possible destination cotangent with sanity is wherever we happen to be at the moment. Our first nights out brought us into many close, warm encounters with local farmers who all seemed to share a certain glow that we associate with the high steppe. Another standard feature of the Central Asian would seem to be a worldliness that far exceeds their means. Those in the west who could not locate Kyrgyzstan
on a map despite years of formal education might be interested to know that Kyrgyz people herding goats at 3000 meters have an in depth knowledge of geographical subjects both phycical and human and are a wealth of critical thoughts that follow such information. A wise professor once said: "the aquisition of knowledge is second only to its use" and random nomads that ride up on their horses as we make camp in the evening are as much a living example of this as any academic. We are pleased to have even the most mediocre language skills so as to have an exchange with these bright eyed descendants of the Khanate.
After 4 and a half days of leisurly riding we pulled into the dusty town of Karakol. Following a few days of camping and riding along the shores of massive Lake Issyk Kul, the bustling town environment did not exactly please our senses. This is one of those little cities that has oddly fallen into the halls of Lonely Planet fame. Places like this, while benign in the sunlight, have a way of turning seedy after dark and a handgun would make a confidence-inspiring addition to pocket change.
Alcohol has a strange effect on Central Asians and night is a good time to, well, sleep. This, however, did not stop us from getting dragged into a wild disco party at a local restaurant where (aside from being the only foreigners most of these folks had ever met) we were some of the only people under the disco ball who were not fully geriatric! Dancing your ass off is a fine way to digest a shashlik and the DJ thanked us for having the guts to show off our moves. Really, we were just hungry and every time we tried to leave, two babushki blocked the door!
Our research on climate in the region had convinced us that climbing anything of any size in the Central Tien Shan at this time of year would be foolish to say the least. This winter dropped quite a bit of snow and the rapid warming mixed with rain has a way of turning even sheepish terrain into an avalanche nightmare. The bulk of our climbing plans revolved around our time down south where we plan to volunteer with Community Based Tourism for a month and explore routes in the sunny Fergana
Vivat
The man wearing Chad's helmet makes the best vodka in Kyrgyzstan - Vivat - smooth and deliciousrange. CBT offered to cart our alpine gear, for free, all over Kyrgyzstan and save us the hassle of posting it ahead of us or carrying it on our bikes so we decided to go against standard knowledge and try to work a route or two here as well. When we picked up our bags at the Karakol CBT office we were warned to avoid all steep terrain right now, especially where such terrain was overhung with snow. When we described our seemingly modest climbing plans to the local director he expressed sincere concern for our safety and said that he "hoped to see us again". In a place so foreign it is difficult to ascertain from what level of understanding such sentiments eminate but we felt warned by a man who was clearly no idiot and decided to approach with tact. A local tourism pioneer named Valentin offered to put us up in his famously delapidated guesthouse in the nearby Arashan Valley and we were happy to find a quick way to the mountains. He encouraged us to travel light and spend a day scoping the situation before packing up a ton of gear and going at it. We
thought this seemed reasonable and the next day we loaded up in a Uaz van with a handful of young students from the local Guide school and headed up to his alpine paradise. It was everything the posters in Valentin's office promised and we soon found ourselves surrounded by inquisitive young guys downing bowls of mountain goat stew. By six the next morning the two of us were headed up a steep ridge en route to a peak that Valentin had recommeded for its commanding view of the local mountains. It was nice to be up alone on a lovely mountain with nice third class stone to scramble on. When we topped out in late morning the Central Tien Shan stretched out before us with Issyk Kul to our backs. It was perfect weather and we took an hour or two to scope things with a monocular Valentin had given us and shoot photos. It was 12:00 when we headed down another series of rocky spines on a southwest aspect and it was then that we got our first taste of rotten continental snow. Crusts were undermined by a meter or more of sugar, probably the result of a thin,
Frozen Chicken
"Product of USA for export to Russia" cold, deeply faceted pack that had been subject to rapid rewarming and a recent load. Traversing the rocks above the snow was the only way to get down without taking a big ride until we reached the firm patches of melting avalanche debris on the lower slopes. There we sat on our packs and rode them down to the grassy meadows of the valley, past streams and tall pines, to hot bowls of Valentin's marmot borsh, apricot plov, and a hot soak in the onsen. We then ran the three hours down to town to prepare our gear for bigger game and catch the Sunday livestock market.
The weekly Mal Bazari in Karakol is a pretty intense sight. Folks from all the neighboring villages show up to trade, sell and buy everything from Ladas to fat-assed sheep. We inspected the rump fat on several specimens and priced a Lada Niva or two before setting down for some chai and samsa (like samosa) with some herders and talking worldly affairs. The whole scene was like a throw back to a mid eighties Amish market in Pennsylvania but with way more vodka, and
way more booty... on the sheep that is.
We snagged a few images, resisted the urge to buy a sheep and give it to Valentin, and headed back to our tent spot at the hostel to flake out gear.
Two days later we were back in Altyn Arashan with the help of Kolia the van driver. Kolia is a character in that he uses an English vernacular of about thirty words to express countless tales of comic woe. He is a classic Russian character, straight out of a Dostoyevsky novel, and to make matters worse, he has a twin brother with a twin van! His sentences go something like this: "Valentin, smoking smoking, many many, he very very money money, I no smoking, leetle leetle money money!" To which Valentin might reply: "Yes I smoke many you idiot, every day I have stress, you have no stress, shut up Kolia!" Again we should mention that we love Russians with all our hearts. It gets to the point after a few dozen Kolia stories and a few dozen cigarettes for Valentin that people get fed up with the conversation and many many start speaking speaking, for Kolia Kolia to stop talking talking. But the man is true to
form, a pure tragedy, a pure comedy, a good Russian. Of Valentin it must be said that the man has some stress as his old school business gets surpassed by fancy companies owned by Bishkek entities. For needier, more demanding tourists with limited experience in Russian culture, the whole scene can be a bit to unprofessional to handle and this has won him an unfavorable rating with many guidebook toting tourists. However it does not change the fact that he runs a big business and has been doing it since the collapse of the USSR. He is a survivor and his awesome hospitality mixed with the true local character of his scene make him a great value for those with more rural sensibilities and the ability to haggle a bit and "grab the jeep by the wheel".
We used Valentin's place as our base for cooking and drying gear and pitched our tent down by the Arashan river. The lousy snow conditions up valley were not passable without lots of annoyance and exposure to subjective hazards. A winter's avalanche activity was far from over and large trees had been pushed out into the valleys. We took the first opportunity
to push a gear cache up to the first crux of our planned route just below a large gendarme. We could see quite a bit of hanging snow above us but the rocks leading to the high ridge looked
fairly clean, though composed of a crumbly, sedimentary type of rock. We scoped what we could before carefully making our way back down to the valley to rest up and soak in the beautiful hot pools that Valentin has constructed. In the morning we cooked a quick breakfast and got an early start. We reached our cache in less than two hours and roped up a hundred meters higher. After passing the gendarme, the high ridge loomed just above us with only a few small patches of steep snow separating easy fifth class rock bands. Our experience with climbing snow has been mostly maritime with only minimal experience in thin, continental packs. This was evidenced by the pickets we were carrying, a purely amateur move in such junky snow. As we traversed the first snowband just below a large, loose wall of rocks a large chunk of snow broke loose and triggered a fairly large slide. We watched with the usual
mix of amazement and horror as it entrained an ever broadening flank and plummeted over multiple benches to the valley floor a thousand meters below with a deep roar. This was probably the time to bail but instead we pushed on through several rockbands that were loosly composed of stones and frozen mud before we triggered another large slide which roared down the same path we had ascended earlier that morning. This collapse left the leader hanging by a small cam in a pile of stones and was enough to shake us back to the ever present reality that living is more important than summiting. Given our small rack and concern for the large patches of snow above us, we decided to downclimb while the downclimbing was good, lest we dispose of our whole kit in the form of rap anchors above.... if we were lucky enough to find anchors amongst the placements we were inventing.
On descent we kicked off yet another slide that ran deep and wide. [Geek Note: These were essentially large point releases that ran to a depth of 70-100 cm on frozen alpine grass at 50-70 degrees. They started with the collapse of human
Forest Ranger on Horse
In Soviet times he captured snow leopards and sold them to zoos sized blocks of consolidated snow and ice at the bases of large rocks and widened to 50 meters plus in the main path. An estimation of severity would put them in the d2-d3 category as they could have easily uprooted small trees (had any such vegitation existed) and any small structures would have sustained severe damage. It is important to note that these high, thin packs can be faceted to nearly full depth and these bonds become even weaker when exposed to rapid warming. All of that, mixed with an ideal bed surface of frozen grasses and slabs made the perfect scenario for long, derstructive slides to rip out and run long.] We headed for the flanks near the gendarme where we rested, reasonably assured that we were out of the way, and ate Snickers bars with liters of water. The rest of the walk down was actually quite tricky with a lot of ice just under the surface of the steep grass. We were relieved to get back down to the forests and walk through patches of deep moss to the river. We steried water and jumped into the first hot spring we came to. It felt like heaven and when we emerged our buddy Stanislav (Stas) was waiting with tea and borsh.
Altyn Arashan is a great place to hang out. The climbing potential is awesome and the contingency plan involves hot springs and cold vodka. The rain came the next day, then more snow down to the river banks. A little trail running provided entertainment as the cement soaked everything in sight. Given our options, and the events of the previous days we simply shrugged, soaked in some more hot water, drank some more vodka, and played ping pong with Stas. Mountain life is good life and mountain people are good people.
Now that our bags are safely in the hands of CBT and our blisters are healing, we are riding out tomorrow for the next leg of the trip. This ride will take us back around the south side of Issyk Kul and along a circuitous route to the southern regions of Kyrgyzstan. There we plan to volunteer with local hero Hayat Tarikov for a few weeks while we climb in the Fergana and wander around in a 16000 hectare food forest. We will probably be back here some day as we have made connections and the alpine potential is truly great. For now, it feels good to be rolling and the big world road is calling us back to another simple life, of a different flavor.
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Helga
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Thank you for sharing
So happy to hear from you, awesome experiences that most of us will never come even close to. You two are some tough hombres. Looking forward to every morsel that you care to share and good luck and health for the next portion of your adventure.