"What do you think, Jenn? Is that the top?" I ask, looking toward the highest granite point in our view.
"I don't know," she mutters slowly. "It'd better be."
From the mountain's base, Jenn Flemming, Mikey Church and I notice several false summits leading toward the main, but we can't tell where we are on this unnamed, unclimbed peak. All we know is that we are breathing hard at nearly 16,000 feet on the western edge of the Pamir Mountains in eastern Tajikistan.
When Mikey reaches our belay, I ask him the same question."Yeah," he says, convinced. "Looks like the top!" Mikey, a relatively new climber (and badass all-around athlete), has the enthusiasm and positive attitude that Jenn and I had a week ago -- before our two failed new route attempts. Before we expected another defeat.
The Pamir Mountains stretch from Kyrgyzstan and China in the north, down through Tajikistan and Afghanistan, to Pakistan in the south. At 24,590 feet, the Pamirs top out nearly 2,000 feet higher than any peak in the Western hemisphere, yet they're rarely visited by Western climbers. In a brief conversation before leaving the U.S., our teammate Bo White, an American who has lived and worked in Tajikistan for the past 10 months, had said, "We'll be the only climbers in the entire country."
Three days earlier, Jenn and I failed a second time on a peak we called "The Tooth," a 1,000-foot tall granite incisor whose vertical east face is an alluring climbing challenge. (We were stormed off our first attempt two days prior). After re-climbing the first several pitches, we slowly navigated 50 feet of aid climbing that appeared to be the route's crux, then intersected the main crack system that led to the top. We thought it was in the bag.
But the Tooth held a few surprises, in the form of ginormous, needle-covered trees lurking in the cracks. The spines were as thick as IV needles and so sharp they drew blood before pain.
One of these arboreal nightmares inhabited the solitary crack just above me. I tried to work left, but blank rock stopped me cold. The wall to my right was smooth and overhung. The only possibility was straight up, so I faced the sucker head-on.
"Watch me!" I yelled down to Jenn, belaying. I cursed the tree, then grabbed its spine-covered roots, wincing as my hands became pin cushions. Nervous sweat dripped into my eyes. I felt like I was going to puke. I gained several feet in as many excruciating minutes. It felt like progress until I became completely wedged in the tree monster. In 23 years of climbing I'd never encountered a situation quite like it: I was suspended in a colossal cactus 400 feet off the deck, limbs outstretched yet unable to touch the rock.
I like to think I laughed, but I'm pretty sure I sobbed.
I shoved a cam in the crack with my fingertips, knowing it wasn't any good. But it was all I could do. I pulled on it for balance, and just as I could almost grab the rock the cam ripped out of the crack and sent me flying backward. I screamed as I fell 15 feet into space. I was stopped by a cam the size of my pinky.
My battle was over. I was exhausted, and we bailed. Again.
Now, one valley to the east and several thousand feet higher, Jenn, Mikey and I pause before the final ropelength to whichever summit lies above us. I lead a short section of iced-up 5.8, then a razor arete to the top. I anchor myself, then bring Jenn and Mikey up to my stance.
There's nothing above us but blue sky! We're on the tippy-top of the mountain, where no one has ever been before.
It was the perfect challenge: a return to my alpine climbing roots on a mountain that's probably higher than any unclimbed peak in North America. As for Jenn and Mikey, they experienced their hardest, most satisfying day in the mountains.
And three weeks later, my body has expunged the last of the spines from my sumo match with the cactus-thing.
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