How I cheated death on the trek of a lifetime I
am a trekker with my fair share of treks. The list includes Tirich Mir, Nanga Parbat, Makra and many high lakes and road trips in Pakistan. In July, 2018, our small group traversed the Biafo and Hispar glaciers in the Karakoram Mountains of Northern Pakistan. For the uninitiated, the two glaciers are connected by the 5,128-metre Hispar Pass.
The key part of our journey was from Skardu Valley towards the Askole Village. This is the last human settlement before trekking up to Baltoro glacier, Biafo glacier and Chogtai glacier.
Mostly people stay in Askole for a night to arrange for porters. However I was very desperate to get on with this trek because I had been planning it for months. To reach Snow Lake we had to cross seven base camps. The distances between each camp is 6-7 hours. Next day, we were on the mighty Biafo — a 67-kilometre long glacier. Care is the operative word in these surreal places.
Over the next few days we walked and rested and attempted to wrap our heads around the abundance of nature around us.
On the sixth night, as night fell in Karphogoro, I retired to my sleeping bag. That night I had a strange dream: I saw my late father in it, standing in a dark place. He was sobbing. I don’t know what brought about this vision. Was it my long walks in the wilderness, far from the maddening crowds or was it the sheer exhaustion overcoming me? I couldn’t tell.
Finally D-Day was here. We were on route to our last destination. I was finally going to see Snow Lake. After five hours of walking on thin ice, with ropes tying us to each other, we were trundling up to 5,000 metres above sea level.
When its frost cools, Snow Lake freezes everything around. There, I had ticked the summit of my dreams. Snow Lake. It was one of the happiest moments of my life.
When things went wrong
Returning home, they say, is the most difficult part of long-distance hiking. You have grown outside the puzzle and your piece no longer fits. A senior teammate decided to walk along, but he was going fast. I told him I wanted to rest for few minutes. After taking a short break, when I stood up, I had lost him. I shouted out his name, but he was nowhere in sight. I kept walking and didn’t wait for others. This confusion led me to a wrong direction.
In my distraction and fear, I jumped on the wrong side of a yawning crevasse and fell in. The depth was about five metres or more. My hands were bleeding and my hip bone hurt. I thought my right leg was broken. It was 10am and, deep inside the ice crack, I had nowhere to go. Summoning all my courage, I tried to lift myself by putting pressure on my backpack and on my legs. After scaling approximately three metres, my feet were unable to reach the mouth of the crevasse (my height is 163cm) and I fell down again. I tried again and again. Was there a reason my beloved, departed father appeared in my dream? I wondered if anyone was going to find my body? With my nerves fraying and my spirit breaking apart, I decided to recite the shahada, the creed of my faith.
And faith sure can move mountains. I noticed my trekking stick and grabbed it. Determined, I made one final push and climbed again, reaching the edge of the crevasse’s mouth. It was a push that I shall remember for the rest of my life. Literally at the fag end of my energy, with each cell of my body militating against my spirit, I yanked myself out of that crevasse.
After an hour, I spotted my team. They were looking for me. The porters had confidently told them that I would be dead by now.
Someone from my team asked: Where have you been? Having a battle royale with the angels of death on the world’s most panoramic fields, I simply replied.
■ Muhammad Haider Ali is a Dubai-based artist. He is an avid trekker