14th April 2002 - 12.25
GMT
Screwed on the KKH
The
KKH, connecting Pakistan with China, was constructed between
1966 and 1978 and cost the lives of more than 500 Chinese
and Pakistani workers. The highway runs along the river Indus
and later continues to Gilgit and Hunza valleys . The KKH
is definitely a "must-have" for every serious biker. A mystic
road, that gives an insight in a non-European culture and
a wild, almost violent landscape. At the end of KKH waits
the world's highest border pass, the Khunjerab with 4733 m
and is then followed by a downhill towards famous Kashgar,
considered the most spectacular market in whole central Asia.
Long time the access was restricted due to its importance
to the military. Only in the late 80s or early 90 it was opened
to common tourists. Biking from Islamabad Airport was rather
uneventful. Enormous heat, some heavy rain, mostly nice people
and mad truck drivers. So when I reached Balakot at the beginning
of the KKH, I thought it a good idea to escape from heat and
traffic and switched to a dirt track entering Kaghan Valley.
In Naran it was time for some rest and acclimatisation. I
left my stuff in the hotel room and rode to Saif-ul-Muluk
Lake (+/- 3150 m). The lake is quiet popular and so there
was a lot of jeep traffic on the sandy and stony path leading
up to the lake. Really scary to see jeeps packed with people
slip and slide over snow into blind corners. The next days
offered more wild landscape; long valleys, ice-cold streams
and lakes, few vegetation and only a handful of armed local
men. Two days later I reached Babusar pass (4100 m) with the
first view of distant Nanga Parbat.
People
had warned me, that I rather be careful with the people from
Babausar valley. They called them "bad". Was that just envy
or some old rivalry between tribes ? The descent from the
pass was long, it became very cold and the track continued
to be in terrible conditions. It was already dark, when I
reached Babusar village. From everywhere came the barking
of the dogs, hopefully chained to something. I entered the
local grocery store and to my astonishment I found, in the
middle of 10 or 20 local, a canadian biker called Joe, I've
already met a few days earlier. Later that night, the local
police took hold of our passports, checked us in into a guest
house a closed the door behind us. A strange place indeed.
The next morning we were eager to leave as soon as possible,
had to descent over gravel, pebbles and rocks, sometimes chased
by dogs or stone throwing kids, and were impressed by all
the weapons the men were wearing.
|
KKH with Nanga
Parbat and Shangri-La Inn |
In
the afternoon we arrived in Chilas, overlooking the Indus
valley. We had dinner on a rooftop, the usual Dal, with an
incredible view to a moonlit Nanga Parbat. The next morning
we counted 35 flea bites on my belly. Next time we might choose
a classier place. After the pleasant temperature we had in
last days around Babusar, we were now roasted in the heat
of the narrow valley and to get some clean water was always
a problematical issue. We managed to get pass the crossing
to Skardu and made camp somewhere between rocks. Another night
of terror began. Too hot to sleep in the sleeping back and
too many mosquitoes not to sleep outside the sleeping back.
We tried to kill some time, and it became a little fresher.
In Gilgit we booked into a nice hotel, what a relief to have
a clean bed, and a shower. Here we could also get some supplies,
pick up some letters form the central post office and send
a telegram home.
The
valley became even narrower, colder and more depressive. To
both side just sheer walls of stone with very little light
to ever touch the bottom. We were wondering what these people
were doing through the long winter months, when they were
isolated from the outer world. Joe suggested, it would probably
be only "smoke" and sex. But soon the scene became more spectacular,
from the shadowed valley we could see the first glimpse of
mighty Rakaposhi. Then the valley opened and after some twisted
turns the beauty of Hunza Valley unfolded before our eyes.
Every possible square meter of the valley is used to grow
something, mainly apricots and other fruits, which are dried
later in the sun. On flat roofs, on the streets, everywhere.
In Karimabad we found a nice place to stay. Joe caught up
some diarrhoea so I had two days of opportunity to explore
with no equipment on the bike the near valleys. After three
days of more narrow valleys, the fantastic "Golden Peak Range"
and only light uphill, we arrived in Sost (Khuda' abad) the
Pakistan Immigration and Customs Check and entry point for
Xinjiang, China.
|
Hunza Valley and Rakaposhi |
|
Hunza Valley and Rakaposhi |
An
exciting time in an exotic place. We exchanged al lot of stories
with people coming from China, reading entries in the guest
books of our hotel, changed cash and expectations were building
up. Most of the comments were like "glad to be back in Pakistan,
Chinese or just terrible". And we know, that we had some serious
climbing in front of us. Only 86 km were missing to Khunjerab
and we were just around 2.500 m, half the altitude of Khunjerab
pass. We filled up our supplies and got the pakistani exit
stamp in our passports. It was already cloudy the whole morning,
then a light snowfall set in and all of a sudden Joe told
me, that he wouldn't continue. He wasn't prepared for winter,
he didn't even had closed shoes or a fleece jacket. He would
go back to Hunza a buy some stuff and then try it again. There
were no arguments against it, so we had to split up. It continued
snowing the whole day and in the late afternoon I was extremely
lucky to find an abandoned cow stable. It smelled urine and
shit and half of the roof had already collapsed, but at least
it was wind and snow protected. The night was very uncomfortable
with noisy landslides on the other side of the river.
|
Golden Peak
Range near Passu |
The
next morning I found the whole landscape under 5 cm of snow
and it took some additional effort to reach the last checkpoint
only some km up the road. Perhaps ten tents, some just for
two people, others were much bigger tents with beds and a
stove. At an altitude of 4000 m, everything was covered with
a new layer of snow, close by was the construction site of
the new customs building. I entered the warm tent of the officer,
which was stuffed with men. They were all very well humoured
and I was a bit worried, if the guys were drunken and had
smoked too much. I felt uncomfortable and preferred to get
back on the road and make the last 17 km and 800 m of altitude
to the Khunjerab, before there would be too much snow. So
I got back in the freezing cold and started biking. There
was no traffic, so I had to make my own tracks in 10 or 15
cm of new, soft snow. The road, by now rather steep, became
so slippery, that I lost traction and had wheelspin. Snowing
increased even more and I felt terrible cold. No wonder, I
had only basketball shoes and plastic motorcycle gloves. Snow
glued wheels, chain and chainwheel and it made no sense to
continue in these conditions. After only two km I knew I had
to go back to the check point. The situation had turned into
a "white out", there was no more "up" or "down" or "left"
or "right". Several times I missed the road and almost slipped
down into the valley. I felt very relieved, when I got back
to the officer's tent and could warm up my aching hands and
feet. I think, the guys were also happy to see me still alive.
They gave me a place in their best tent, two people moved
there stuff out and fired up the stove. I should stay here
for two very uncomfortable days. I was occupying the officer's
tent, burning their last fuel and eating their last food (Dal,
mixed with sand). The days were sunny, but there was too much
snow to be melted away in a short period of time. Every few
hours I walked up the road, but it improved only slightly.
And the border was closed, so no truck or other car could
carve for me a track in the heavy, virgin snow. With so much
free time on my hand and nothing to do I passed hours and
hours over my maps and diary. I felt bad because I lived on
the expense of hosts, time was passing, I was running on low
supplies and soon would not have enough to reach the next
village in China. I decided to roll back the 170 km to Gilgit
and re-supply, try to visit Skardu, and then come back to
Khunjerab in 1 week again.
Soon
after departure I realised the destructive force of the bad
weather days earlier. What I experienced as a snowstorm, must
have been a terrible down pour in lower altitudes. First just
some minor mudslides on the road, more amusing then a serious
threat. But mud turned into piles of rocks and I really started
to worry, what might lie ahead in the narrow valleys. Obviously
there was no traffic at all, just once in a while people on
foot. Information was spare and not very conclusive. There
seemed to be a real big landslide short before Sost. And stones
were still falling down, as one older man confirmed. He gave
me an important advice: I should cross the landslide very
early in the morning, before the sun could warm up the rocks.
With the last daylight I reached a group of abandoned mini
buses and jeeps, they were stuck between two landslides and
parked in a rather safe place. I entered one of the busses
through a window and went to sleep. To get up early the next
day would be crucial. The following morning I was very nervous,
ate nothing and just prepared my protection gear. Bike helmet,
put on most of my clothes, filled my backpack with all valuable
belongings and documents and put on top of the backpack my
sleeping mattress as a shock absorber. I passed the last turn
and then I saw this huge roadblock. Perhaps 100 m of road
were completely covered with a 45, 50º-degree slope and loose
rocks and pebbles. The slope ended abruptly and dropped into
the river, another 10 or 15 m below. My knees started to soften
and I felt the need to go to the bathroom and never come out
again. I was frightened. But there were no options. I had
very little food and no water.
|
Khunjerab Pass
- I should never reach it |
I
watched the walls above the slope to discover the fall line
of rocks, the sun was already kissing and warming up the top
of the mountain. Utmost time to go. But should I go only once,
carrying all my stuff and moving slowly ? Or would a lighter,
more flexible approach be safer ? "Lighter and safer" sounded
good to me. I knew, that I could be surprised from one second
to another by some rock fall, so I tried to identify some
places which could provide some shelter in the middle of the
landslide. Then I split my gear into 3 bundles: Essential
equipment, bike, and other stuff. Each bundle could be carried
with just one hand, leaving the other hand free for balancing
myself on the rocks. I carried the two bundles and the bike
up the slope and got ready to move. Eyes on the ground to
watch the next step and eyes above to see any rocks coming.
I carried the first bundle around 15 m, left it there behind
a big bolder and went back to get the bike. When I reached
the bolder for the second time, it was time to panic. A shit
load of boulders were on its way ! Some were big. Coming into
my direction. To my surprise, I stayed relatively calm. I
put the bike down and took cover behind the boulder. I took
a last look to what was coming and hoped that I wouldn't be
victim. First some small rocks, the size of an orange or a
football, but fast enough to smash a leg. One touched my helmet,
two others hit the bike and I thought it would slide into
the river. Then two or three bigger ones. I heard them bounce
near me and then saw them flying over my head. Then it was
calm again. How long did it take ? No idea. With trembling
legs I grabbed my stuff and sprinted to my starting point.
There in safety I had a look at the bike. Spokes broken, the
frame received also a hit and was damaged. But nothing beyond
repair. I was glad to be alive and unhurt and to be surrounded
with all my stuff. But I lost courage to cross the landslide
again. Shortly after two groups arrived: One from Sost and
one from the chinese side. The landslide became rather crowded,
and while still confused, it encouraged me. After some short
words with some of the guys, I grabbed bundle #1 and headed
to the other side without problem. There was a jeep, already
waiting to get back to Sost. In the whole chaos I thought
it was the best to drive with them and to come back the next
day, when there would be less rock falls. But back in Sost,
I got fever and diarrhoea and couldn't leave bed or bathroom
for 3 or 4 days. When I finally recovered, I headed back to
the landslide, but bicycle and bundle #3 were gone. Stolen,
covered by more rocks or swept into the river ? I will never
know.
The
next 3 weeks were less eventful. I hiked back to Hunza, where
I met Joe again. He had still all his stuff in Sost. I then
continued to Rawalpindi, got me a visa for India and spent
there the rest of my trip.
Landscape pictures
from http://www.heritage.gov.pk
http://www.tourism.gov.pk
|