Glacier Hike

Central Asia is not exactly the standard "Tourist's Paradise." The visa situation makes international travel frustrating, sleeping arrangements are not always up to international standards, nothing can be done on-line, and there really aren't many museums, historical sites, or other standard attractions of note. And then there's the fact that it's 11 hours and half the world away (ok, only 6 hours and a 1/4 of the world for Europe/Africa).

But the one thing Central Aisa has going for it - and Kyrgyzstan more than any other republic - is "Eco Tourism." While I find this term a little convenient, being of great feel-good appeal to the liberal-minded backpacker set, it more accurately refers to "Environmental Tourism." In other words, there's great things to see/do, but they are the result of a lack of human effort, rather than impressive human history, artistry, etc.

Camping, hiking, horse riding, mountain climbing, etc. etc. Don't expect room service (or toilets - flushing, sitting, or otherwise), but the views will be breath-taking.

Having been in Bishkek almost 2 months, I've still spent almost all of my time in Bishkek. I can literally see the mountains every night and morning from my apartment, but with the exception of my short excursion to the foothills within my first week, and my recent tourist hike in Tajikistan, I hadn't yet really embraced the mountainscape that covers 90% of the Kyrgyz Republic.

So when my compadre Kara - a fullbright scholar in Bishkek studying the effect of US-Russia relations on NGO operations - offered to bring me along on one of her bi-monthly weekend day hikes, I was rarin' to go.

as a younger fellow, I did a good deal of hiking, and though I haven't been much of an outdoorsman since heading off to college 9 years ago, I've maintained a self-image as a capable guy on the trail. What few rugged experiences I've had since have generally borne this out.

This has created a sense of confidence bordering on blustry, which, to date, has not been shaken, and thus I volunteered to join Kara, who has been hiking the Kyrgyz mountains twice a month for the past year - including the winter, for "whatever she wanted."

There were apparently 3 options, but I never made it past her description of the first. After she uttered the magic word, "glacier," I was hooked, and no amount of her cautions about it being "intense" phased me in the slightest.

It's interesting that the Eagle Scout patch doesn't better reflect the effect it has on one's brains-to-balls ratio in matters of wilderness acumen. I picture a shrunken voodoo-skull and the tail feathers barely masking some Texas-sized truck-nutz.

(by the way, my grandmother reads this blog, so for the record - Sorry).

Kara and I met up on a Saturday morning at a local mega-grocery store to stock up on supplies. This was only going to be a day hike, so I grabbed a 1 L bottle of water - "nyet gaz" - and then snagged a Snickers. The day's first sign of my impending doom - which I'm proud to say I did recognize at the time - was when Kara instinctively shovelled 2 2.5L water bottles, 2 packs of nuts, a couple pastries, and a giant bag of M&Ms into her basket. I hadn't even realized I would need a basket. I did a quick mimic, and blundered (arms full) to the check out register. Since this is Kyrgyzstan, the full 15 lb. load cost a whopping $5.

We next made our way to a taxi, and after some negotiation (I am SO jealous of my Russian-speaking friends on this point), were headed South - into the mountains - to Ala-Archa.

Officially, this state park 20 minutes south of Bishkek prohibits camping, campfires, hunting, fishing, sheep herding, and mountain biking, but as Kara noted, "we're likely to see them all." In addition to being a favorite jumping-off point for serious trekkers, Ala-Archa base camp is also a friendly rally point for many Kyrgyz to get out of Bishkek and spend a weekend cooking Shashlyk (kebabs) and drinking beer - with or without the wife & kids.

In addition to the word "intense," which was repeated several more times as she described the trail to me on our drive, Kara told me that I could expect the hike to proceed in 4 phases: Steep, Level, Steep, and Steeper. As a demonstration, she confessed that the last time she did this trail was in March (winter) and at one point actually had to dig her way UP through a snowbank.

To my credit, I only remained giddy about such a challenge until we were 1/2 way through phase 1. Thereafter, I settled into an attitude that was enthusiastically upbeat, but considerably more sober.

By the time we reached Phase 2: Level, I was exceedingly glad for the break, but increasingly concerned about what I'd gotten myself into. From about 3 km away, we could see a distant waterfall (center of this pic) cascading down from 30m above the ridgeline we'd hiked up to. We were meant to not only hike to this waterfall, but then to go up and over it; only then would we start Phase 3. In truth, this was a lovely segment. A gentlegreen slope rose to our left before suddenly terminating in vertical rock outcroppings, and to our right was the boulder-strewn river valley we climbed out of in phase 1. I tried to keep my eyes moving, but the approaching waterfall was enchanting with its siren's call and ominous challenge.

Once atop the waterfall - no small achievement, but pale in comparison with what was to come - we rounded a corner to view a long grey ridge that stretched like a dinosaur spine - ever upwards and slightly to the right, out of view. It was dusty and rock-strewn, with pebbles constantly scattering downhill like schools of fish. I had thus far only drained 1 of my 3.5 Litres, so it was time to get serious about hydration. This incline wasn't fooling around, and we adjusted our pace and break schedule to accomodate it. This also allowed an opportunity for some light banter on the common subjects of Politics, Americana, and the Daily Show.

After a few more bends, and no let-up in the grade, Phase 3: Steep ended at no uncertain point. The water path again leapt upwards, falling by a series of trickles down an almost-sheer rock face. The thin pounded dirt that signified our trail stopped suspiciously at the rock a few meters from the water stream. If this were a James Bond movie, one of the small bushes nearby would house a lever or button to open the secret entrance which could make such a termination rational. For Kara & I, it just meant "up."

The nice thing about traveling almost totally vertically is that you put on a lot of altitude in a hurry. And you get to use your hands! Mercifully, the 80% grade didn't last long, and was soon replaced above this water feature by a more reasonable, but still brutal, 60+. It was as if Jack got suckered into using the Giant's Stairmaster. Hands remained necessary allies, and knees became the target of hungry rock outcroppings.

Of the trip's total 1000m ascent, the majority was achieved in the mere 2.1 km of phases 3 and 4. It became comically ridiculous how many times we'd come around a bend to see the trail mocking us - ground already at eye-level a few feet in front of our face. But the nice thing about cartographic distances is that they are fixed. So long as you keep moving - one foot in front of the other - they must eventually end. At the risk of being insensative, I would suggest that the Bhutan Death March would have been much more brutal if it were the Bhutan Death Loop.

Eventually, the incline faded - more like it finally acquiesced to our silent please than that it actually ended. The grade reduced, but stubbornly refused to drop below 10%. We were rewarded with a quite valley of vibrant green moss and radiant purple flowers along the now adorably small, but ice-cold, stream. At sight of the next 20 m waterfall - which we did not have to hike over - we were done. "Rukat Hut" - base camp (at right). After 4 hours on the trail, we took a hard-earned snack break.

But where was the glacier?

"Over the hill or Around the bend."

We compromised by hiking up the hill, then along the ridgeline to its turn. There the glacier sat, hunkering between lifeless sheer rock cliffs and flopping its girth over a valley of small boulders. It was difficult to gauge how far off the actual glacial mass was, or what exactly the terrain leading up to it might entail, but I hadn't come this afar to leave with a mere kodak interation with my first real-life glacier. Like the unfortunate Bear Man, I wouldn't be happy until I got close enough to touch it.

As it turned out, the distance to the glacier wasn't so far - probably about 1 km - but the network of valleys and ridges to be crossed, and their composition exclusively of loose small boulders, added tremendously to the effort. Though quite morbid, the best analogy I could think of was the effort to traverse piles of skulls and bones. Dry, brittle, loose, unbalanced, and often shifting by the dozens as weight was put on them. Going up was at times like climbing the wrong escalators (I know Weber boys aren't the only ones to try this), and going down reminded me of rollerblading

staircases.

Adding to the difficulty was the "hidden glacier" underneath it all. While the magnificent and fierce white blob was quite obviously a chunk of menacing ice and snow, the entire valley surrouding it was actually glacial with varying thicknesses of loose rocks on top. This contributed to the rocks' lack of stability, and meant that if you made it to the bottom - no more loose rocks - you were rewarded with all the traction of walking on black ice.

It was rough going, and I could tell Kara's patience and good humor were starting to wear thin in the face of my adolescent exuberance. This was farther than she'd come before, and for good reason. Who really needs to Touch a glacier, anyway?

After an hour of scrambling and sliding, sore ankles and nicked knees, we took an entire 5 minutes to soak it in, take a few photos, and turn back around. It was 4:30 pm; we'd taken 5.5 hours to tag the glacier, and had only 3.5 hours left until dark. Perhaps a good reason why many people hike to Rukat Hut, spend the night, and hike back out the next day.

But Gravity can be a wonderful thing, and the prospect of being "homeward bound" doesn't hurt either. What hurts are knees.

Without being too pompous, I can assert that on the way up, I was able to keep up, or even outpace, my partner. In total fairness, she was operating with an incredible handicap, having been out drinking and clubbing until 5 am that morning. Thank god. Nonetheless, for the downward leg, she was smoking me.

My left ankle felt tight, and the whole leg started shaking anytime I stopped (forgot to bring a banana, I guess). My right side was even worse - the knee was screaming with every jarring impact as we back-traced the Giant's Stairmaster. My otherwise reliable Keen hiking shoes had already seen a fair amount of use, but by this point they'd been virtually de-treaded, and slid effortlessly over loose gravel or smooth stones alike.

After jack-hammering my way down phases 3 and 4, I tried to savor the relative flatness of the green valley hike. I hadn't even noticed it on the way out, but this phase wasn't so level afterall. A minor incline had snuck past my attention, and now this small but constant downhill angle palgued my battered bones and ligaments.

Kara, it seemed, was having no such problems, and would hold up every now and again to check if I was OK. The fact that my knee really did hurt too much for me to notice the tenderness of a bruised ego was another saving grace, I suppose.

Phase 1 (round 2) was by far the worst. I didn't remember most of this path from so much earlier in the morning, but I was pretty sure it used to be shorter. Do rivers really dig valleys this fast?

More sliding, knee slamming, jaw clenching, and eventually, relief. We reached Ala-Archa base camp at 7 pm, 8 hours after we left and just 2.5 hours since we touched the glacier. We made good time on the way down, mostly because we essentially never stopped. A Rolling Stone gathers no swelling (unless you're referring to the band).

I don't speak Knee-ish, but I'm pretty sure mine was cursing by this point, and counting down the days until its bionic replacement would arrive. Maybe I can even get the Steve Austin sound effect.

Kara & I hitched a ride back to Bishkek with a young family leaving the park, stopped off for a big chinese food dinner, then split ways to go hose off and gelatinize in our repsective apartments. Kata's late night was (finally) having an obvious effect, and I had clearly over-reached my own threashold.

But I did make it to the glacier.

And I even made it back on my own power.

Whenever my new knee arrives in the mail, I'll be happy to blindly set out on another insane hike with a fit, experienced, young 20-something. It may make my body hurt, but it makes this 28-year-old feel even a bit younger, and certainly "intense."

Weber (on the lamb)