Sonia Peak: Our attempt to tire the mountain My father would tell me:

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Sonia Peak: Our attempt to tire the mountain

My father would tell me: Don’t tire yourself, tire the mountain with your patience.

Osman Ehtisham Anwar

Mountains are not stadiums where I satisfy my ambition to achieve, they are the cathedrals where I practice my religion.— Anatoli Boukreev

People of all leanings have been drawn to the mountains for centuries, some for spiritual reasons, some to experience the solitude and beauty, others to test out their own physical and mental abilities, to chart new routes, and others still perhaps mistakenly with the ambition of conquering the mountains.

Barring the latter, I had a mix of all the persuasions at varying degrees drawing me once again to the majestic peaks of Pakistan.

On a trek in these remote ranges you may not encounter another soul for days, a luxury perhaps very few places in the world can boast nowadays. The bad press Pakistan gets seems to have allowed nature time to recover in Gilgit-Baltistan and reclaim its territory.

Day 1: Trek out of Shimshal.


My trip to Deosai Plains, Rama Lake, Eagle’s Nest and Irshad Pass bordering the Wakhan in 2015 had only increased my desire to explore and experience more of the pristine nature this area has been endowed with.

This time, however, I decided to follow my father’s footsteps and attempt a mountaineering expedition — essentially a more cumbersome form of trekking, at a higher altitude with lower oxygen and usually involving an attempt to summit.

Planning an expedition can be a challenge. They can be fairly costly due to the remoteness of the peaks and the logistics involved.

The first step in planning your first expedition is getting a team together. And when no one you know fancies the idea, you coax your brother into it! The next step is narrowing down the region and the mountain you want to climb.

Perhaps the most important step is finding a reliable mountain guide with local knowledge. Ideally, this is someone who has climbed that peak before and is aware of the risks, terrain and the technicalities.

Day 1: Crossing the footbridge over Shimshal River.


A brief Google search for mountains within the 6,000-6,500 metre range yielded quite a few peaks that had been climbed.

One of the most prominent and beautiful looking ones, Laila Peak, caught my immediate attention.

As steep and beautiful as the mountain looked, a little bit of research and a few quick calls to some local guides forced common sense to prevail — the mountain was well beyond our zero-experience league.

No Pakistani, porter or guide had climbed Laila Peak before (would be delighted to know that I am wrong here though).

Day 1: We arrive at Zartgorbin (4,068m).


Sonia Peak seemed like the best possible choice given our experience.

With an altitude of around 6,100m, it lies at the northern reaches of the Karakoram Range inside Khunjerab National Park close to the Chinese border.

It had been climbed a few times before, with the first summit credited to Rahmat Ullah Baig from Shimshal, who climbed it from the Chafchingol Pass side — the eastern face — in 1993.

We decided to attempt the summit via the northwestern face — the Thugeen side. To my knowledge it had been climbed only once before from that side in 2008.

Fortunately, we managed to track down a guide, Niamat, who had climbed it on that very expedition led by Fazal Ali, an eminent mountaineer also from Shimshal just as Niamat and Rahmat.

The base camp of the mountain, Dhee, is a solid four days’ trek from Shimshal.

Once we had agreed on the expedition cost and logistical details, I booked my flights and set out to purchase all the equipment needed.

I had agreed with Niamat that he will organise all the food and logistics from Shimshal onwards, which left me to procure equipment of a personal nature only — crampons, ice axe, down jacket, sleeping bag for sub-zero temperatures, crampon compatible boots and so on.

I flew from London on the morning of September 15, 2017, had a brief layover in Istanbul and reached Islamabad at 4:30am the next day.

Taimoor, my brother, was waiting for me at the check-in counter for the Islamabad to Gilgit flight, accompanied with arguably the most experienced member of our nascent expedition — an ancient looking rucksack that predated the first Indiana Jones movie.

The most experienced member of our expedition, an ancient rucksack.


It had my father’s name printed on it, along with the two expeditions it had previously been on: a joint Pak-Japanese Services Expedition in 1978 that was credited with the first summit of Passu Sar (~7,478m) and a Pak-Polish Rakaposhi (~7,788m) Expedition the following year.

My father had dug out this rucksack from a long-forgotten trunk in the basement, had it repaired, washed and printed my brother’s name on it, ready for our expedition (still wonder why my name wasn’t on it, but that’s a family score to be settled later).

The flight to Gilgit was on time and landed around 8am. We had already organised a jeep ride to Shimshal. After a quick and hearty breakfast, we were on our way to Aliabad to meet Niamat.

Saad, the third member of our expedition and a late but great addition by Niamat, was also there.

Being more experienced than Taimoor and myself, Saad knew exactly what to pack for survival at high altitude — home-cooked biryani, seekh kebabs, shami kebabs and beef pasanday, all in tightly-sealed food bags.

So far so good. However, in Aliabad we were told our No Objection Certificate (NOC) still hadn’t arrived.

After a few frantic calls back and forth to avoid any further delays, we were finally allowed to go ahead on the condition that Niamat's brother would pick up the NOC in Aliabad the next day and fax it to us in Shimshal.

We procured some remaining food items (as you can tell by now food featured high up on our priority list) and fuel and within two hours we were on our way.

Shimshal is a beautiful valley nestled between the mountains on the banks of the Shimshal River and home to some of the famous mountaineers from Pakistan.

Navigating the treacherous and winding jeep road, that branches off from the Karakoram Highway towards Shimshal, took us a good few hours and we arrived there late in the evening around 8pm.

Day 2: Breakfast at Shapodeen (4,500m).


This was as far as motorised transportation would take us. From here on, our expedition was on foot.

Our team grew exponentially over the course of the next few hours with the valuable additions of a cook, five porters, a yak and two donkeys with two young sucklings in tow.

We weighed all the gear and food and distributed it across our contingent, with a hefty 45kgs going to the yak.

I had been travelling non-stop for over 24 hours, but we opted unwisely to trek onwards to Zartgorbin (~4,068m) in the morning instead of taking a day to rest and acclimatise in Shimshal (~3,100m), thinking that we’d keep a few buffer days for the summit attempt in case we were hit by inclement weather or other unforeseen delays.

However, trekking up to Zartgorbin, an increase of ~1,000m in elevation without having properly rested or acclimatised was to result in a painful night with an acute headache (symptomatic of altitude sickness) and a bloated stomach.

Yes, gobbling down parathas and a few eggs the morning before a long and arduous trek is a bad idea. Thankfully, throwing up a little gave my stomach some respite and the rest of the night was spent in peace.

 

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Day 2: One-tip cricket at Shapodeen (4,500m).
From here on, I decided to follow my father’s advice, “don’t tire yourself, tire the mountain with your patience” — patience that I had clearly lacked.

On day two, we started late and trekked for only about five hours and camped at Shapodeen at 4,500m. All three of us (myself, Taimoor and Saad) at this stage were hit by mild altitude sickness of varying degrees.

We could tell our bodies were slowly acclimatising though. One-tip cricket brought some amusement and distraction from the nagging headaches that had begun to grow.

Day 3: After the snowfall overnight at Shapodeen.

Day 3: Baba Ghundi's footprint at Mindikshalagh (~4,140m).

Day 3: Mindikshalagh.


On the third day we stepped out of the tent onto a white canvas. It had snowed overnight as the temperatures had dropped well below zero.

The donkeys in our convoy seemed unfazed by the snow and were going about their business in a leisurely manner. The humans on the other hand, those who had dared not to pitch a tent and bivvy it out — the weather-hardy porters — had to scupper for shelter in the middle of the night.

We made sure every night to pitch our tent where herders’ makeshift shelters were present. These are used by Shimshalis on their long marches to the higher and lusher pastures, where they leave their stock to fatten in the summer months, before gathering and herding them back to the villages before winter.

We started early on the third morning and after a good nine-hour hike, crossing the scenic Boisam Pass (~5,000m) where we were greeted by some of the most spectacular views, we reached Mindikshalagh (~4,140m).

Mindikshalagh is perched at the junction where Boisam Valley meets Gujerab River. Here we caught our first glimpse of the summit of Sonia Peak.

It shone like a golden pyramid under the daze of the setting sun.

Day 3: Standing on top of Boisam Pass (5,000m).

Day 3: Yak leading the way down from Boisam Pass onwards to Mindikshalagh.


Our arrival coincided with the arrival of a few hundred sheep that had been grazing in the pastures nearby. One of these was going to be our meal for tonight and for the next few days of the expedition.

Not long after an ideal candidate had been spotted, Karimud Din “Kassai” Baig was on it and slaughtered and skinned the animal in 15 minutes tops.

I walked around Mindikshalagh to discover that it had a revered footprint, which after some inquiries, I was told was of Baba Ghundi, from Ghund in Tajikistan.

I had come across Baba Ghundi’s shrine in Chapursan Valley, but hadn’t known that this saint had walked all the way to Mindikshalagh as well.

As Ibn Battutah or Ibn Jubayr would have remarked, 'Allah knows best about the authenticity of this.'

Day 4: Gujerab River and the spot where we took a dip.

Day 4: The snowy summit of Thugeen Sar (Sonia Peak) in the distance.

Our route from Gilgit to Shimshal.


On the fourth day we suffered a setback. Saad had to turn back due to a family emergency while we were only a day shy of Dhee, our base camp.

We bid farewell to Saad, packed up our camp and started our descent to Dhee (~3,700m) — which comes with its own fair share of ascents, as is the norm in the mountains.

From Mindikshalagh, Dhee is a nine-hour up and down trek along the Gujerab River, where we finally had the luxury of a refreshing and much-needed bath.

We reached Dhee around 4pm and set up our base camp on the west bank of the river, opposite Thugeen with the summit of Sonia Peak peering down at us.

Taimoor and I decided to rest and sleep longer that night — but early in the morning our peaceful slumber was disturbed by the ground shaking beneath us.



Osman Ehtisham Anwar is a wanderer, in the footsteps of the legendary traveller Ibn Battuta. Read more about his wanderings at A Wandering Within.
He tweets at @OEAnwar

 

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Sonia Peak: Our attempt to tire the mountain — Part II

Osman Ehtisham Anwar

"If it were not for the Divine Beauty everything that lay before my eyes would vanish in an instant."


This is part two of a travelogue of a mountaineering expedition to summit Sonia Peak in the Karakoram Range.

Afew dozen yaks were racing down the valley towards Dhee, as I peered out of the tent, dead straight in the direction of our base camp.

Dhee is at the head of the Dhee Dasth Valley where yaks are left to graze over the summer. Two of the porters who had came with us had the task of herding them back.

Male yaks, when they are brought together after having roamed freely for a few months, tend to be very aggressive. That aggression is directed towards yaks alone, to the relief of us humans lingering in the area.

Within minutes, most of them had their horns locked and were hurling each other in a vicious merry-go-round. Some ended up bruised before peace ensued.

Day 5: Yaks with their horns locked having descended from Dhee Dasth in the backdrop.—All photos by the author


Our real challenge was to begin now. So far, we had only trekked upon well-trodden paths and slopes. The mountain itself, however, seemed to lend no easy way up.

After consultation with Niamat, and estimating the 2,400m climb that remained, we decided to set up an Advanced Base Camp (ABC) and a High Camp before attempting to summit.

It was decided that Taimoor, Niamat, Jaffer ‘Jeff the chef’, Javaid ‘Bolt’ (for his lightning speed at climbing with more than 15kgs in his pack), Tafat (fondly called Chacha gee, the oldest member of our team and Niamat uncle) and I would go forward to the ABC for the summit bid.

Two of the strongest yaks were harnessed, a process that required utmost skill and tact to pin down the beast before getting the rope through his nostrils to control him, and haul some of the load up to the ABC at 4,500m.

Adult male yaks can go upto 5,000m altitude, I’m told.

Day 5: Yaks helping to cross the river rapids.

Day 5: Taimoor sifting out the gear we will need for the summit attempt at Dhee base camp.

Day 5: A view of Dhee from Thugeen after crossing the Gujerab River.


Our party left late in the morning after a hearty breakfast and arrived at the site where we decided to set up our ABC with two hours of daylight still remaining.

Niamat, Javaid and Jeff showed remarkable skill when, in no time, they flattened and cleared a circular area of about 2-3m in circumference and got busy hauling big boulders to solidify the perimeter of our shelter.

Taimoor and I joined and, in less than 20 minutes, we had a solid and semi-windproof shelter with a transparent plastic-sheet roof ready.

The real appeal of this magnificent shelter dawned on us when the heavenly stars dazzled the night sky as we gazed up through the transparent roof, while the cooking cylinder kept the interior of our morcha(bunker) cosy.

Day 5: Advanced Base Camp at 4,556m.

Day 6: Tea on the way to High Camp at 4,803m.

Day 6: Setting up our High Camp at 5,315m.

Day 6: Inside the High Camp.


The next morning, it was a hard push onwards from the ABC. Our progress was slow as the terrain was steep with numerous scree slopes, along with a section where we had to set up a protective rope for a grade 4+ rock climb.

We set up our High Camp at 5,300m after a full day of climbing, just a few hundred metres short of the ridge line from where we had planned to attempt the summit.

Javaid had an excellent eye for spotting the camp sites. Melting snow and ice had formed a small stream nearby that trickled down the mountain, making it a ideal spot.

A huge boulder had also made its mark on the 35-40 degree inclined slope. Flat ground was nowhere in sight at this altitude and the boulder seemed like a safe back rest against the gravitational pull.

We busied ourselves in levelling the area right in front of it using our hands, ice axes and the wooden sticks some of us had. It took us under 45 minutes to have our bunker ready.

With no spot to pitch a tent nor feeling like it was a safe option, we all decided to huddle together in our boulder-fortress for the night.

The excitement of the summit lying just a few hundred metres above us, along with the night sky glimmering through the transparent roof-sheet, kept us awake in our sleeping bags till midnight.

 

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Day 7: A steep and rocky section just before the summit.


It was 6am by the time we had breakfast, packed up our High Camp and switched into our gear for the summit attempt.

That morning was terribly cold. The wind swept down the north-west face, cooled by the snow and ice, and pierced through the multiple layers of our clothing.

As we stared the ascent, we could feel the heaviness in our breathing. One step and three breaths was the regimen. While we had almost emptied our backpacks at the High Camp, it still required a lot more effort at that altitude to climb with the thinning oxygen in the air..

We had acclimatised well but the challenge of high altitude climbing was becoming all the more evident with the thinning of oxygen in the air.

We had managed to avoid the snow and ice till now, however, at 5,600m, we hit the snowy ridge line from where we roped up and put our crampons and ice axes on.

The first few metres were relatively easy but then the gradient took a sharp ascent. Crampons provided a solid footing at that angle as the virgin snow crushed under our weight.

The fear of not knowing enough about avalanche conditions and what triggers one started to play on our minds. Thankfully, Niamat and Chacha seemed to have enough knowledge about the terrain to allay our concerns.

The last seven days we had been on the mountains, it had snowed only on one night, with clear blue skies and the glorious sunshine on all other days. However, as we approached the summit, dark and grey clouds closed in on us from all directions.

We knew we had a short window to summit before the winds would pick up followed by snowfall. We had to move fast and tactfully so as not to disturb the packed snow and trigger any unintended avalanches.

Day 7: At the summit of Thugeen Sar (Sonia Peak).

Day 7: As the clouds closed in on us, we took a quick customary selfie on the summit before descending all the way down to Dhee in the backdrop.

Day 7: A sigh of relief as we descend from the summit to cross the snow line back onto the rocky terrain.


At 11:42am, we reached the summit, almost six hours after we had set out from our High Camp. The sweeping winds had formed a huge serac close to the summit.

After taking in the breathtaking views — the surrounding summits of jagged peaks appeared like menacing shark jaws — and a few customary selfies and team photos, we immediately started our descent.

On a clear day from the summit of Thugeen Sar, you can see K-2 jutting out on the eastern horizon.

Fourteen hours after we had left the High Camp, we reached all the way back down to Dhee, the base camp that we had left three days earlier, where we were greeted by the rest of our team.

My body had been sapped of all the energy and after some celebration and a lot of food, we settled down for the revitalising mountain tea that had featured as a prominent source of nourishment for us in the last four days. .

This tea is made from a flower called bozlunge that we handpicked on the way to Dhee thanks to Chacha who, despite approaching his late 60s, still has a sharp eye and a wealth of knowledge about the area’s flora and fauna.

Bozlunge is meant to have therapeutic properties and is supposed to be good for people who suffer from high blood pressure and obesity. I bet a hike up alone — a good few hundred metres that is — to collect these flowers will cure anyone of obesity. Not to mention the fresh air, stunning landscape and being surrounded by nature is a remedy for most spiritual and physical ailments.

Day 8: Team photo at Zartgorbin.

Ibex horns. Trophy hunting licenses should be banned altogether with the ever-declining population of ibex, markhors and blue sheep in Gilgit-Baltistan.


Every day, as I was greeted by the mountains and virgin nature that surrounded us, I was reminded of the saying of one of the most profound and prolific writers of our century, Shaykh Abu Bakr Sirajdin (Dr Martin Lings):

“Once in a setting of unsurpassable grandeur one of the Shaikh’s disciples said to me, with a movement of his hand towards mountains towering with pine-forested slopes and summits white with snow, and blue sky with white clouds and half hidden sunlight; ‘God is like that;’ and I understood in that moment with far more than mere mental understanding, that if it were not for the Divine Beauty everything that lay before my eyes would vanish in an instant.”

Base camp to summit route.