Last year I climbed Koh-e-Baba-Tangi (6515m) with my sister Christine, and despite some trepidation on leaving New Zealand, our trip went extremely smoothly. There is a general lack of bureaucracy involved in climbing in Afghanistan- no long meetings with authorities to suffer through; no peak fees or environment bonds to pay; no large rescue deposits to front up with.  Central Government has its hand full with more pressing matters, and the occasional foreigner heading into the mountains of the remote north east corner of the country is too trivial for notice.

This year Paul Knott and I intend to try Rahozon-Zom (6535m) which lies on the Pakistan/Afghan border  in the Upper Eshan Glacier, about 40km due west of Koh-e-Baba-Tangi. The mountain was climbed in 1969 from the Chitral region of Pakistan but has never had an ascent from Afghanistan. The last time a party was in the Eshan Valley was in 1976, when a team of Poles tried the NE Ridge of Rahozon Zom, retreating after encountering “extreme ice and mixed climbing.” Paul and I would like to try the NE Ridge if it looks a good bet.

In this photo, the NE Ridge is the obviously line dropping from  Pt 399 to the glacier.

Apart from a short paragraph by the Poles on their attempt, and this small grainy photo from the expedition, there doesn’t seem to be any information on the mountain. Well….that is if you don’t count Google Earth, which is just too tempting not to look at. This picture shows the NE Ridge, the North Summit and the South(true) summit with actually lies in Pakistan.

Accompanying us will be my friend Maryrose Fowlie, who is a climber of some note, but she only wants to come to basecamp. And  also my brother Bill. Bill did a beginner mountaineering course about 25 years ago and was addicted to cragging for a few years. Now he runs the family sheep farm and is an aerial crop dusting pilot and step father to three teenagers. He says,  “When people ask me where I went for my holidays this year, I want to say I was in Afghanistan! Not Fiji!”. Bill and Maryrose will cruise around the glacier and up some of the smaller summits and try and get a peek over the divide into Pakistan.

Our itinerary will be much the same as last year: A long haul from New Zealand to Tajikistan via Western China; a day’s shopping in Dushanbe followed by a three day 4WD south to the Afghan border. Another  day’s drive  up the Wakhan Corridor and, we estimate, three days walk with porters into basecamp. Then we’ll be on our own until the porters return in three weeks time.

I am REALLY looking forward to this trip! Now that I’ve already done Afghanistan once, the organisation seems less of an issue, and the other unknowns ….well! They are no longer unknowns!

Here is a picture of the start of walk-in- where the Eshan Valley meets the main Wakhan Corridor.

Sir Ed made the first ascent of the South Ridge in 1948, He was guided by Harry Ayres. “Should the ridge be named after Hillary when in actual fact Ayres guided him,” went the argument. Would Sir Ed have wanted the ridge named after him anyway? Probaby not. Shouldn’t it just stay as the South Ridge? Probably. Back and forward went the debate for quite a few months. Eventually it was decided to honour Sir Ed by changing the name to Hillary Ridge…and so it stands.

The Hillary Ridge was one of the two routes I had left to climb on Aoraki Mt Cook and I’d been making plans to do it for some time. But for one reason or the other the plans had always fallen through. But I decided it was this summer or bust, before my arthritic knees and ankles got the better of me. I enlisted an unsuspecting Canadian friend over on an academic sabbatical, and we headed off up the Hooker Glacier on a lovely fine day just after New Year. After eight hours of stumbling up the moraine we reached our bivi site at the base of the West Ridge, where the Noelene Icefall comes down to meet the Hooker. I could tell Rob wasn’t that impressed with the days jaunt, but he kept his mouth shut.

We were away at 1am, me out in front trying to negotiate a way through the icefall. We stumbled round in the dark trying to fathom the crevasses until 7am, when we miraculously reached the base of Endeavour Col, the start of the ridge proper.

“Jeez, these Noo Zealan glaeciers ain’t like the ones at home!” Rob said. To my increasing embarrassment, several rocks just missed our heads as we climbed the narrow couloir up the Col. We reached the Col at 9am, many hours behind schedule. The sun was up and blazing.

Surprisingly, we climbed the ridge itself in good time. Ice conditions were great as we traversed out over the Caroline Face for the first section of the climb. We negotiated the rock towers easily, and there wasn’t a breath of wind on the long slog up the summit ice field to the low peak of Cook. We put the rope on for a few pitches but mostly climbed ropeless within a few meters of each other. From the top, Rob thought the views west to the coast and east out over the McKenzie Country were amazing. At 4.30pm we started the decent down the Nor’West Couloir back to our bivi site.

Descending the couloir is a bitch. If you abseil, it takes hours. If you down climb, you run the risk of being knocked off by rockfall, and it’s a killer on the calves. We down climbed, but I could tell Rob wasn’t happy. Half way down I stopped to take a photo, pulling off my nice Berghaus gloves to use Rob’s camera. One of my nice Berghaus gloves slipped out of my hands, I made a lung for it, almost fell, and in the process (my God) dropped Rob’s camera, which leapt off down the slope, in increasingly wild bounds. I was very despondent- I now owed Rob a camera, plus my favourite glove lay in some crevasse way below me.

We reached the bottom of the Nor’West Couloir at 8.30pm, and were forced to do a 60m abseil off a snow bollard to cross the enormous bergschrund guarding the exit. Rob had never seen, let alone used a snow bollard before, and his face was a picture of doubt. “No way,” he said. But he had no choice. Then one hundred meters from the bergschund we came across a very deep overhanging crevasse that was just too far to jump. We stood at the edge dithering and psyching for awhile, then resorted to abseiling into the gloomy (and dangerous) abyss where the crevasse ran out against the rock.  By now it was dark and I could tell Rob had about had enough. Fortunately nothing more untoward happened and we were back at our bivi site at 11pm.

Back home, I was very pleased, I had my tick. And to my surprise, Rob rang a few days later to say it was the best days climbing he had ever had. Funny how you forget the bad bits!

Our Afghanistan expedition was (dare I say, unexpectedly) fabulous! Koh-e-Baba-Tangi (6515m) is a beautiful mountain and we climbed a new route, making only the second ascent. To cap it off, I did it with my sister. The expedition was long in the organising… but I’m now an Afghan expert! Next year’s return trip to the Wakhan, scheduled for July/August 2012, will be invariably easier. The mountain is chosen, the team selected and planning is underway. I can’t wait!

The book! It’s been a long road from when I started writing in September 2009 to seeing it on the shelves two years later. I’m actually quite pleased I managed to pull it off while holding down a full time job, taking part in the Vasuki Parbat expedition in 2010 and then Koh-e-Baba- Tangi in 2011. Perhaps I’m not the time waster I’ve always assumed I was! Read reviews of the book at : www.patdeavoll.co.nz

Wind from a Distant Summit is available from Chessler Books and Craig Patton

(Photo: KBT)

In her first TV interview since her epic summit she talks about what inspired her to take to the mountains and discusses her new book “Wind from a Distant Summit”.

You can watch Pat’s Interview here.

You can also read an review of Pat’s “Wind from a Distant Summit” book here.

You can also order Pat’s ‘Wind from a Distant Summit’ book here.

We also walked to the base of our chosen route (the NW ridge) to scope the line as best we could. The route would begin with a 500m ice face of 60-80deg, and then progress into a narrow ice gully. From there we weren’t sure what would happen, but hoped a few days of climbing would bring us onto the summit plateau, and then the summit. We would either V-thread our way back down the route, or traverse over the mountain and come down the West Ridge. Those were the plans. In the meantime, Satya proclaimed himself camp cook, and we enjoyed some great Indian cuisine rustled up from our very limited supplies.

By early August there was little more we could do to acclimatize or prepare for the climb. Now the real work would begin. But to our dismay, Satya, who had been suffering an injury (from training with 5kg weights round his ankles!) decided not to accompany us on the climb. It would be just Christine and I! Could we do it by ourselves? Confidence somewhat dampened we knew we had to come up with a plan for dealing with our pack-loads, should we not be able to carry them on the steep terrain. I would do the leading, we decided, while Christine would jumar the rope with the heavier ‘seconds’ pack. If this proved too strenuous we would haul. On August 4th we waved goodbye to Satya, who promised to raise the alarm if we hadn’t returned in 10 days, and headed up the glacier to an Advanced Base Camp under the ice face. That night we camped under a crystal clear sky, with beautiful views of Tajikistan and the Pamir Mountains to the north.

The next day the ice face went surprisingly well.

The bergschrund proved no problem and after seven pitches we were perched beneath a ‘bulge’ of about 80deg ice. “Time to try out our plan,” we deliberated, and I passed my pack to Christine, who then attached hers to the end of one of our double ropes. Off I went and it didn’t seem too long before I’d dispatched the pitch and Christine was seconding towards me. The pack, dangling 60m beneath us, duly followed. Another couple of pitches of lesser angle, and we reached a small col that offered a good camp for the night. I set about chopping a platform from the ice while Christine melted water. We were on a high- the day had gone well and we were on our way!

The next morning we were up at 3am in an effort to be packed up and away by five. We knew we had the narrow ice gully to climb but weren’t sure where the gully would exit, and wanted to give ourselves plenty of time for hauling the packs. Things went slightly array when I climbed the wrong way on the first pitch, but we soon had ourselves back on track and Christine led quickly out beneath a large ice cliff and into the base of the gully, where we discovered to ice to be rotten and fragile. But after a few moves it improved and I quickly started to enjoy myself. Here I was, climbing good steep ice, on a mountain in Afghanistan! How lucky I was! I felt confident and happy and knew that, if the weather stayed settled and if we broke the mountain down into sections and dealt with each as they presented themselves…we would climb Koh-e-Baba-Tangi.

After the first pitch the gully relented in angle and widened. Above, it was ringed by a cornice that, even though it was small, would prove hard to climb through, so I began to lead out to the right, hoping to breach it where a buttress of rock butted against the ice. Not such a good move, as once Christine reached me and we began hauling, the pack swung into the rock and lodged there. We yanked and tugged and jiggled to no avail, and in the end Christine abseiled back down and freed it. By now the day was done, and we chopped out a ledge at the apex of the ridge and settled in for another fine night.

Day 3 also resulted in an early start and we were hoping for the same fine weather that had been gracing the expedition from the start. But once the sun rose we could see a series of dark clouds was marring the western sky, and although we weren’t that concerned, we did wander what they would bring. Now that we’d exited the ice gully we were confronted with a large rock buttress, and deciding to try and get around it on the left hand (northern) side, we set off trudging in deep snow. We were soon hot and bothered. Rounding the ridge, we could see ahead of us another steep ice slope, fringed by a nasty looking bergschrund.

I tried my hardest to climb across this but couldn’t find any purchase in the rotten snow, and kept falling in a heap on the ground. Then I dragged the rope out to the right for 30m, climbed across a bridge and started a rather nasty traverse back across the top of the schrund, worrying that with the ice so fragile and unconsolidated Christine would have a hard time jumaring. I was glad to get to the left hand end and start climbing upward, where the ice improved dramatically. Above me was a steep ice slope with no indication of where I’d be able to exit. I ran out the full rope length and built a belay. As predicted Christine had an awful time crossing the schrund and teetering along the traverse – the pitch must have taken us a good three hours. In the meantime the sky was darkening.

Sometime mid-afternoon is started to snow and the temperature dropped. At this stage we’d reached the spot on the ridge adjacent to the summit plateau, and ran around looking for somewhere to camp. We settled on a sloping ledge and settled in for a rather uncomfortable night of cooking and melting in the tent. At 4.30am it was still snowing, and we gratefully settled back into our sleeping bags, but by 8am it had started to clear so we upped, and set about trudging through deep snow to the western side of the plateau. At 4pm we stumbled across a perfect camp site at approximately 6000m- flat and sheltered from what was now a persistent wind. We pitched the tent and set about preparing for a 600m climb the next day that would take us to the summit. After four days climbing we were starting for feel jaded and it was good to assume there would only be one more day of ascent.

Next morning we were away at 4.30am and climbing mixed ice and snow slopes towards the summit ridge. It was bitterly cold and the wind hadn’t let up- hence we were both wearing every stitch of clothing we had with us.

At nine we were beneath what we thought was the summit and I led off up  a moderate ice pitch, only to discover to our disappointment that the ridge went on up…and up. But an hour later, after traversing  beneath a largecornice, suddenly there was the true summit ahead…and then I was there! Christine followed and we stood on top, looking west into Pakistan, north into Tajikistan and east into China. We took lots of photos. It was a magic moment, only marred by the bitter cold, and it wasn’t long before we were heading down and back to our camp. We were very happy.

Back at camp mid afternoon we collapsed in a heap- we were very tired. The next day, we decided, we would start down the West Ridge (the route of the original ascent) in the hope of being back at basecamp in two days. It would be a nice touch to do a traverse of the mountain. At six the next morning we were standing at the edge of the plateau wondering which way to go. Below us was a large granite buttress and there seemed nothing for it but to abseil over the edge. Which we duly did, very aware that if our ropes jammed we would have a hard time dealing with them in our depleted state.

But things went well and  five abseils later we were  at the left hand end of a long snow/ice traverse that would take us to the top of the West Ridge proper. Here we found cairns and an old camp site of the original ascentionist, complete with firewood. We began a scrambling descent down the 1500m rocky spur. At the end of the afternoon, by good fortune as there were few flat areas, we came across another cleared campsite and decided to stop for the night- our seventh on the mountain. We were down to the last of our food- exhausted, hungry and keen to be down. But it was a beautiful evening, and we didn’t bother pitching the tent- lying instead under the stars.

Next morning we completed the descent and elated, arrived on the glacier. We were so excited- we’d made it! Then Christine spied a figure in the distance. There was Satya, coming up the glacier to meet us!

From there it was just a matter of making the long journey home- we’d completed what we’d come to do. Two days later, during which we ate continuously, our porters returned to collect us; the next day we were driving back down the Wakhan Corridor to Ishkashim. Satya had some trouble with a recalcitrant immigration official as we crossed back into Tajikistan but managed to extricate himself; then it was the long 4WD journey back to Dushanbe. The leg across China? Well! Its something we can notch up to experience. Hopefully there’s nothing in our passports that will stop us returning to what must be one of the wildest and most unexplored mountain areas on earth. But with the US military pulling out  next year, and the NGO Aid Agencies starting to loose heart and going home, who knows how long the north of Afghanistan will remain secure enough for climbers to visit. I certainly wont be leaving it long before my next visit.

Berghaus athlete Pat Deavoll is based in New Zealand and recently travelled to Afghanistan to attempt to climb the NW Ridge of Koh-e-Baba-Tangi (6515m).  Here’s how she got on in her own words:

Forty-eight hours supervised incarceration in a military compound in Western China leaves one with plenty of time for contemplation, and that’s just what my sister Christine and I did while awaiting deportation back to New Zealand in late August this year. We were on our way home from Afghanistan, after successfully summiting Koh-e-Baba-Tangi via a new route, making us only the second people to ever climb the mountain, and the first in 48 years. We were on a high, but keen to get home as the travel and the climbing had taken its toll- we were tired. But the Chinese immigration officials in Urumqi had other plans for us. “You need a visa to transit,” we were told. “You need to organise another flight out of China, and in the meantime, you are staying here.” Safely home a few days later we could laugh about it, but at the time we felt in a serious bind and a long way from New Zealand.

Plans for our trip to climb in the Wakhan Corridor in NE Afghanistan had begun back in 2010. For a lifetime I’d wanted to mountaineer there, but with one war or another, the country had been out of bounds to climbers for more than 30 years. Then in the late 2000’s a trickle began to return. “Now’s my chance,” I determined and set about coercing Christine and Indian friend and renown climber Satyabrata Dam from Delhi  into coming with me. For the next twelve months we battled with embassies for visas, applied for financial grants and appealed for sponsorship for our expedition.  We (supposedly) organised an Afghan company named Wakhan Tourism to help with internal permits, 4WD transport and local porters. In mid July we flew out of New Zealand bound for Dushanbe, the capital of Tajikistan, where we would meet Satya. We were finally on our way.

Arriving in Dushanbe we were surprised to find a lovely uncongested city of elegant buildings, wide boulevards and numerous fountains –apparently the showpiece of Central Asia. There was not a scrap of rubbish anywhere. But the temperature was in the 40’s, so it was good to be on the road after a day spent organising final permits and shopping in the bazaar for the luxuries we obviously weren’t going to find in Afghanistan. We’d pre-booked a 4WD vehicle via the internet with Pamir Silk Travel, and our large Nissan (or was it a Range Rover or a Hi-lux) promptly arrived at our hotel at 10am on the morning of departure, driven by a cheerful Tajik named Gordo, who spoke not a word of English. We roared out of town, but after 10km were reduced to a top speed of 20km hour by the state of the roads, and retained this speed for the next three days as we inched slowly closer to the Afghan border.

We stopped in the small university town of Khorog at the end of the second days drive, and arrived at the Afghan border the next morning. Gordo bundled us and our bags out of the car at a large gate that fronted a bridge across the Panj River. It was about 50deg.  In the middle of the wide dusty river bed were two small buildings- the Tajik immigration post and the Afghan immigration post. Two smiling soldier let us through the gate and we struggled up to the first post with our entire luggage, at risk of expiring. The formalities went smoothly… but where was the representative from Wakhan Tourism who was supposed to meet us? He eventually turned up, claimed he was very ill, accompanied us up the road to the small village of Ishkashim, and then disappeared off to hospital. That was the last we saw of him.

When no replacement was sent it became obvious we would have to do our own organising, and this turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as we saved ourselves quite a sum of money. Wandering into the middle of Ishkashim (no more than a dirt crossroads around a rough bazaar but charming in its simplicity) Satya and I shopped successfully for the remainder of our food, purchased a pressure cooker, two 5kg gas cylinders for cooking at basecamp and organised a 4WD to take us 120km up the Wakhan Valley to the village of Kret from where we would start our walk into the base of the mountain. We also met the locals who were a very friendly and helpful lot and not averse to having their photos taken (unfortunately it’s not de rigueur to smile for the camera in Afghanistan). There were plenty of women and girls in the colorful Wakhi dress on the street. The odd burkha.

We were befriended by a young man named Adab who marched us round to see the regional governor and the local and border police to obtain the required bits of paper to enter the Wakhan. Inside the border police compound, the men had laid down their AK47’s and were playing chess at a large table in the sun. We spent two nights in an excellent guest house with a smattering of other western travelers. It was fun.  Then it was on the road again.Driving to up the Wakhan Corridor to the village of Kret I was reminded of the overland travel I’d done in the 80’s- no internet , no mobile or satellite phone, not contact with the outside world. We were our own, incommunicado for almost a month; we had cut loose.  The scenery was unworldly – vast arid mountains with brief glimpses of glaciers and snow and ice capped mountains up the side valleys. Remote villages of mud houses and all the while the vast Panj River barricaded us from Tajikistan and the Pamir mountains on the far side. Our driver was an elderly Afghan who cheerfully dealt with a puncture and at one point backed over a huge rock. The vehicle had to be jacked up and off the rock before we could continue…but inshallah! These things happen. We arrived in Kret late in the afternoon and were invited to stay in the village guest house. The next day I was ill with a stomach complaint, but Satya and Christine met with the village community leader and our porters were organised. We left the next morning for our base camp- ourselves, eight porters and a dog! Our adventure had really begun!

The climb up onto the glacier where we’d establish our base camp was steep. On the first day we climbed 1000m, a great effort by our porters who were all lumping 25kg plus. They were a delightful team- funny kind and generous, sharing their tea, rice and naan with us and making sure that Christine and I especially, could follow the faint trail. One had bought his dog with him. We spent the first night at the toe of the glacier after climbing a steep incline all afternoon, then next day moved on up to the  place the Italian team had used as basecamp three years ago. This team had tried the West Ridge (line of the original ascent) but given up at 6000m. It wasn’t the most salubrious spot for a camp- on the white ice with a smattering of moraine over top, but it was the best there was; everywhere else was too steep. After a final cup of tea  the porters headed back to Kret, with a promise to return in three weeks time. We waved them off, then set about making ourselves as comfortable as possible.

We are busy packing, endlessly discussing what we can and cant take dependent on our limited baggage allowance, what we can get away without and what we can possibly get a-hold of in either Tajikistan or Afghanistan. Emails fly back and forward between New Zealand and India, New Zealand and Afghanistan, New Zealand and Tajikistan full of food lists, gear lists, visa and permit requirements, and security updates.

It occurs to me I have been planning and organizing this expedition for a year now. I was even planning this before my last trip to India to try Vasuki Parbat. Choosing a peak, choosing climbing partners, organizing permits and visas, transport, accompanying local guides, porters, basecamp equipment and funds – this has all taken hundred and hundreds of hours. But i know it will be worth it once the expedition is on the road.

Christine and I will be accompanied by Satya Dam, an internationally renown Indian mountaineer who has summited Everest three times, plus a number of other 8000m peaks, done the Seven Summits and trekked to both poles (see his website on my homepage). Until recently he was a commander of a submarine in the Indian Navy. We are very lucky to have a climber of his capabilities with us.

One last hiccup! Our passports are yet to arrive back from the Afghan Embassy in Canberra. For Christine and I, getting our visas has been a long drawn out 6 week drama, with endless forms to be filled out and letters of recommendation and invitation supplied. We can only hope the passports arrive back within the next four days….or we are hooped!

But they will arrive! Of course they will! We fly to Shanghai, on to Urumchi, then to Dushanbe (capital of Talikistan). Then its a three day 4WD journey to the border, a two day 4WD trip up the Wakhan Corridor, 2/3 day walk with porters or yaks to our basecamp on the glacier….then its just a simple matter of climbing Koh-e-Baba-Tangi!

What could be easier!

Who is Pat Deavoll

The first is the Greg Mortenson exposé. Greg was something of a cult hero to many, including myself, due to his work as the Director of the Central Asia Institute building schools in rural Pakistan and Afghanistan. He has written two books; Three Cups of Tea and Stones for Schools- both have become world wide bestsellers. Greg is now accused of dealing fraudulently with the money donated to the CAI, of fabricating the number of schools built by the organisation and also fabricating some of the details in his books. Overnight his hero status has been stripped from him.

But regardless of whether these claims are true or false (and more and more it seems they are true) Greg has done an enormous amount of good for these desperately poor mountain regions. But will this be enough to see the CAI rise from the ashes? If it’s the Institute’s death knell, this could also have a detrimental and far reaching effect on other charitable aid organisation relying on donations from patrons who may no longer be so trusting.

The other matter is the revelation of Osama Bin Laden’s hidey-hole and his subsequent death. I am flabbergasted! Abbatobad is just up the road from Islamabad, on the main road north to China (the Karakoram Highway) and is the centre of all things military in Pakistan. It is a very nice town- lots of trees, military-manicured lawns and neat barracks behind white picket fences. It’s been de rigueur on my recent climbing expeditions to Pakistan to stop in Abbatobad for an early morning cup of tea at a little stall under a big leafy tree before succumbing to the heat and bumps of the drive ahead. By my calculations this tree is no more than 500m from the Bin Laden residence! Probably the closest I’ve ever been to a really famous person!

In the meantime the Afghanistan Expedition is falling into place quite quickly now thanks to Ahmed Gyasi of Wakhan Expeditions and David and Anjurad James (Mountain Unity). The countdown is on!

Pat Deavoll’s Blog

At four minutes past one our table leapt in the air and we were tossed off our seats onto the floor and shaken viciously back and forward. A bunch of cakes and muffins from the counter showered down on us. A plate glass window a meter away exploded into millions of sparkling shards. People screamed and there was a horrible roaring from deep in the ground. Twenty seconds passed during which we were powerless to do anything but hang on….then all was still.

Everyone in the café scrambled to their feet and rushed outside, leaving behind handbags, brief cases, laptops, newspapers. Down the street towards us rushed an enormous cloud of red dust and others were running toward our crowd- it was like a scene from nine/eleven. Panicked everyone rushed back into the café, but someone screamed “get out get out” and we all rushed out again.

I ran down the street and on top of the RSA building was the most enormous boulder, the size of a house. It had fallen out of the 200 foot cliff of volcanic rock behind. All I could think was “there must be someone under that,” and with another person (I don’t know who) ran up the debris towards the remains of the building. Then there was another violent shake and a smaller boulder bounced from the cliff and landed on a blue car, completely flattening it.  The stranger and I ran for the footpath.

I must get home, home, I thought, and ran to my car. My friend had disappeared and I discovered later she’d ran to the school to find her children. I began to drive. The road was jammed, the traffic dodging the boulders, cracks and upheavals obstructing the road. On either side were houses demolished by boulders landslides, some on fire.

In the long line of traffic I reached a destroyed bridge. “I need to find another way,” I thought and drove to the top of the hill with the intention of taking a high route back to my suburb. But the road was blocked by landslides. I tried to drive east into the port town of Lyttelton but was told by a policeman Lyttelton had been destroyed, so I drove back down in Sumner. Try and get through the back roads of Heathcote the policeman had told me.

Two hours later I made it home after tail gating a distraught line of traffic for miles. Mud bubbled from the ground and burst sewers and water mains flooded the route. On the radio I heard that Christchurch had been hit by a 6.3 earthquake, particularly violent because it was centred only 10 kilometers from the city. The Central Business District was decimated and many buildings destroyed with people inside. Even Christchurch’s Anglican Cathedral, the icon around which the city had been built was gone. I arrived home in shock, to no power, water or phone. It was like the end of the world had come.

Saturday 19^th March: I’m sitting on the top of Mt Edgar-Thompson after a 6000ft ascent. Not a technical ascent, just long and I’m not fit .The clouds have cleared away, the sky is pristine blue and its beautiful, with views of the main divide and Mt’s Cook and Sefton in the distance.

It’s a month since the earthquake and this is my first venture out of town. A month of chaos and dismay as it dawns on the whole Christchurch population that’s its going to be a long long road back to normality. Over half the buildings in the CBD are destroyed and 50,000 people are out of work, not to mention the 200 people who have died.  I’ve been one of the lucky ones in that my power, water and sewage has been restored and I still have a job and work place to go to.

And I have other things to look forward to. I’ve finished the first draft of my book and it’s with my ‘editor.’ I’m nervously awaiting some word from them. Will I have to rewrite the whole thing?

And our expedition to Afghanistan in July is still ‘all go!’ The logistics are slowly coming together. After a lot of searching I think I’ve located the mountain on Google Earth- that’s always a good sign!

Pat Deavoll – Experienced Mountaineer, find out more here.