boy duly noted on the drive to Skardu.
Now that we were approaching the Haramosh Valley on the
river, we knew
it was time for our anticipated visit to the school. Roland and Chris
had visited the previous day and read two English books owned by the
just starting as we arrived, so they went through morning
assembly, including a beautiful rendition of the Pakistan National
Anthem. Most Shiite schools in Pakistan teach girls and boys,
unfortunately in the more conservative Sunni districts, woman's
education is uncommon.
Cups of Tea
Pakistan's education problems in depth, and is a wonderful read. Peace
Through Education. We were only too glad to give a little time to the
school, and I
personally felt hypocritical while talking about the importance of a
multilingual education, something still overlooked in the United States.
The Haramosh Valley School.
After we all gave a brief talk, the school resumed it's
and we got out of their way, and on the river.
One more glance back...
Big time rapid, and we would have no
warm up, because we had taken out
above this beast. And to think at one point we thought it just looked
like a wave train.
Yet another long boulder scramble to see what the rapid
had to offer,
and it had plenty. It appeared initially the right side was easier, but
would require a big move to make it far to the left at the bottom. The
other option was a harder initial move left, followed by some boogie
down the left to finish.
Phil Boyer probes down the right.
Phil getting a little tipsy on the
Rolling up quickly, Phil was already
too far downstream to make it
left, so he lines up for the meat of the rapid.
Phil emerged unscathed, and we felt some relief about the
perhaps too much. From the scout I had liked the left line, a little
more technical to start out with, but a gimme once the top move was
made. Hiking back up I took plenty of time to scout my entrance move,
a wave hole that would serve as a marker for me to start my drive left,
and once in my boat I quickly peeled out. Coming down the initial wave
train I was glad for time spent scouting this move in depth. Visibility
was limited due to wave height, but as I passed the wave hole I put the
heat on and scurried left of the rock; whew, glad the hard move was
past. Now just to finish up down the left Now where exactly was I
Dismissing the bottom move I had made a large mistake, in a river of
this size small holes are larger than named holes than most rivers. I
came down the left side not really sure where I wanted to be,
semi-confident that it didn't really matter. As I dropped over a wide
but seemingly benign hole, I back endered into it and started getting
my surf on.
No big deal I told myself, it didn't look too bad so I
pretty quickly. I rolled up only to still be in it, and proceeded to
get a few ends and surf more, starting to get short on breath and more
than a little concerned about the situation. An attempted blast out the
side got me nowhere, and I was pulled back into the maw to flip again.
I decided to wait upside down a little longer this time to make sure I
would flush, and as I felt the current get less chaotic I rolled up,
confident that I would be moving downstream. My concern about the
situation skyrocketed once I had rolled up and the
hole pulled me back in from over a boat length away. I couldn't help
but think that this might not end well as the hole pulled me back into
the meat and a quick series of enders. Rolling up again, I was very
surprised to be clear of the hole and still in my boat, not really sure
how I had gotten away with that one.
to injury followed with another brief surf in a downstream hole,
then I was clear of the rapid, glad to have that one behind me.
Unfazed by my plight, Ben Stookesberry
works to the left.
Now that we had that behind us it was just a few hundred
yards down to
perhaps the single largest hole in the river. It had looked big on the
drive up, but someone in the team and proclaimed that it would get run.
Standing at the lip we weren't so sure about that claim.
Ben Stookesberry scouts the entrance
to the large hydraulic.
The lead in was a stout enough rapid on its own, but the final
into the hole was something that I am not articulate enough to give
justice to. My stomach turned over just contemplating the power.
Suffice to say if it was a warm sunny day, and you were as fired up as
can be, then just maybe you would consider running it. Or, if it's just
above freezing, you're in a third world country half-way around the
world from home, hours from any kind of help and you name is Ben
Stookesberry, you'd fire it up.
Ben Stookesberry "taming the Lion",
beautiful shot by Roland Stevenson.
"It felt like running a big waterfall."
Everyone held their breath as he
melted into the hole and submerged
deep into the flow. Smiles all round as Ben resurfaced and rolled up.
Magnificent sculpted rocks showcase
the rivers beauty in the run-out.
Ready to get out mileage on, or should
I say kilometerage. Either way,
we were ready to make some downstream progress.
A quick shore scout and Phil Boyer probes another Indus gem.
Swell forecast on the Indus - overhead
to double overhead.
Ben Stookesberry nearly lost in the
Rounding the corner we were greeted
with celebrity status by the
students of the Haramosh Valley School. We pulled over to talk with
them for several minutes before heading on.
Deep in the canyon, the sun would drop over the horizon in
a matter of
minutes, sending us scrambling to find a camp site remote enough for
privacy, or a trail to the road. With the sun over the horizon Ben
Stookesberry cleans up a representative hole filled rapid.
In the eddy below the rapid we conversed about camp
options. On a
plateau there were a few sandy spots mixed into a boulder field, or we
could gamble and push downstream further. The deciding factor was an
abundant supply of driftwood, we couldn't turn down a campfire
opportunity as the temperatures dropped quickly.
Minutes into setting up camp we were
greeted by a large convoy of
Chris Korbulic enjoys some post paddling sustenance.
We quickly gathered around a glorious
fire as clouds rolled in
overhead, promising a strong chance of rain, rare this time of year in
the high desert setting.
No television needed.
As we warmed up by the fire, the topic of discussion was
previous ten days on the river, and the following. Surly this was one,
if not the best river any of us had ever been on. Consistent rapids
every day, class V almost all day, every day. What loomed even larger
was the promise of making to the confluence the next day. I for one
always look forward to take out; warm cloths, plenty of food, external
heat and rest, and that's after just one day on the river! After ten
days of cold, challenging whitewater, I hoped the confluence would be
attainable in one more day.