Tianshan Hike Day 1: 天山徒步旅行开始

Tuesday, August 17th, 2010 in: News

When I asked Dan why we stopped before the quarry, he had a historical reason to be wary. “For years, people weren’t allowed to move freely in China; you were put where you were needed and that’s where you stayed. Even though that’s changed nowadays, that sentiment still runs strong in the collective consciousness. When you’re wandering around in a place you don’t have expressed permission to be, you’re better off not encountering people who are ‘officially’ supposed to be there. Odds are they just won’t understand, and will give you grief for your intrusion.” It was sound advice, but shortly after we circumvented the quarry we ran up against several fenced fields. It seemed that we were trespassing more by avoiding the roadway than walking along it, and we made our way back to the pavement. It seems our paranoia was unnecessary–the steady stream of trucks running up the mountains to collect stones were filled with smiles and waves. Some would point questioningly at the mountains, to which we’d nod and point, soliciting broader smiles and a thumbs-up. The longer we walked, the more relaxed we felt about our chosen path.

The road continued for another 15 kilometers beyond our drop-off, a steady rise in elevation gave us an increasingly impressive view of the valley behind us and the mountains ahead. We’d often spin around and remark at how far we’d come, dampened only by the remaining hike looming ahead. Suddenly, a deafening boom echoed throughout the valley–dynamite used to loosen limestone from the cliff faces. The winding pavement gave way to a dirt track which wound its way all the way up into the high peaks on our left. I marveled at the steep incline at which these 50 ton trucks confidently trundled up and down. Before we knew it, the road sharply turned, forcing us off the established trail. We’d arrived at the base of the first of many large hills leading up to the upper valley. The easy hike had ended.

The hills were steep and unforgiving, but in the distance I could see where they flattened out mercifully, offering us a place to set up camp. By this point we had already climbed over 1,000 meters in altitude over about 7 miles, and we could taste the air thinning. Dan started to feel a headache and some nausea, but we soldiered on as much as we could. Rounding the first hill, we descended into a slight depression and forded a river. The second hill was far steeper and more challenging, and halfway up Dan had to throw in the towel. I was halfway grateful for the break, but bummed that we couldn’t quite make it to the plateau that teased us, just beyond our reach.

I left my pack behind and bounded up the mountainside to get a better view. In 15 seconds I realized what a bad idea that was, as I collapsed against a rock, my heart beating against my eyelids. I paced myself more carefully and plodding to the top of the ridge. Another river cut deeply into the hills, like a tight seam in a fluffy pillow. I climbed to a higher point to get a better view, and when I saw the pass I realized just how far away it still was, and given the difficulties the last mile of hiking presented, I had strong doubts we would make it there at all. I wanted to get to the plateau for a better survey of the landscape, but the sun had already set, sending crimson fingers across the sky. I didn’t want to be caught in the dark with no light, so I hurried back to the camp Dan had set up against a pair of boulders. He had the tent set up and was eating a cup of instant noodles listlessly, still very bothered by his altitude sickness. I made a joke about the effectiveness of the Chinese medicine we took to “envigorate our energy and enrich the blood,” but he wasn’t in a state to laugh. He ate about half the cup and crawled into his sleeping bag, dragging the dog dish we’d brought with him. “Are you going to need that?” I asked. “I hope not.”

I climbed into my bag and immediately slid to the bottom of the tent. Although we’d chosen a relatively flat spot, it was still at a rather intense incline, which made for a poor sleeping surface. Tortured by visions of our tent stakes giving out and sliding back down the mountainside, I awoke with a desert in my mouth and struggled with my backpack to free a bottle of water. Dan awoke, still clearly suffering, and with a complex look on his face, turned over and started vomiting into the dog bowl. It was a good thing we had brought it, as it was the largest container we had and he literally filled it to the brim, coming dangerously close to soiling his sleeping bag and mat. I stepped out of the tent and took the bowl, disposing of its contents downhill from our camp. Dan immediately felt better, but we were both feeling quite defeated at that point. We’d already agreed that it was probably not in the cards for us to make it to Heaven Lake. Our lack of a map, proper medicine and time all conspired against us. We slipped into uncomfortable dreams, tortured by our own unpreparedness.

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