Hey man, it's there!
The whole spring trip to the Nepalese Himalayas reminded me of a mouse in a running wheel. You just run, and when you stop, you fall down on the nose. Then, the subsequent rotation of the wheel shoots you mercilessly out. You're just out of the game and that’s it. In short, timing had almost no reserves, including experience, which lost any right to vote at the time of departure from home. The assumption was that everything had to fit right on the first try, as background on a pot. And not only it did fit but we succeeded on both fronts at every single point. But let's go a few days back to the place of my last report. Respectively, to the point when I symbolically waved to the “extra league whistles” Pavel and Luky at Lukla Airport. I deliberately use light abstractions because their departure delayed by three days due to bad weather when a helicopter flashed them graciously closer to Kathmandu. From there, they had to use a jeep for a while, so that a huge “frrr” could bring them home to sweet Europe. However, this I learned later. Nevertheless, we finished a wonderful three-week walk from valley to valley, during which we overcame high saddles and eventually added a six-and-a-half-thousand cherry to top up an already sweet cake. One was good: due to this I had a warmed-up body of a marathon runner and a brilliant acclimatization in my blood at the same time. However, to myself, I looked like a dried cod with bulging eyes. The psyche itself flinched in the darkness, looking for help in vain, to kick the engine again and to rush voluntarily towards even a worse devastation adventure. The only fixed point was Hook, or Zdeněk Hák, who was already running as an unbridled bull across pasture lands somewhere near Lunden and waited for me to come. I honestly looked forward to him. However, the hard climbing that was to follow, was oppressing my mind, and I knew very well why. Hook had two days of walking ahead of me, but also zero acclimatization. This made the score equal. I was done of the total wear and he tottered like a drunk of lack of oxygen. The advancing time was supposed to equal everything, and in the meantime, my steps were cutting the distance to the meeting point. So, what one normally goes four days and over twenty hours of the total time, my own feet made in two days and in total in less than nine hours of Indian running. I eventually flew as mad against the fatigue up the hills. As the distance was shortening, the joyfully irritating taste was paradoxically growing, to measure the strength with the giant that rose over the tiny Lunden settlement in the form of a fang. At the same time take into consideration this picturesque date with Hook at the end of the world. That's what I'm calling romance.
“Lapse of reason”
The whole story started, rewound over a finger sometime in the winter a year ago. The first push came from Martin Otta, when he showed me a symmetrical shield in a photograph, instantly delighting my eye. “What is it?” I ask. “That is, my boy, Kyajo Ri and its western and eastern walls, which no one has ever penetrated”, says Martin. And when I look at you, throw away your tastes and let it go off your mind, he adds. In this way he deliberately and slyly sawed the seed, which further grew wilfully. The result was reflected already in the departure with Ján Smoleň in the spring of 2017. Our mini expedition, composed of two climbers, set out on the run. We climbed through a steep couloir, without any major problems, up to the horizon ridge. There was a bivouac eagle's nest, which provided some smidgen of peace in a desolate wall, and there was nothing to indicate what was to come. The next morning everything was upside down. Ján began to vomit, and his brain reeled. The only reasonable option was to run away. Well, it's easy to say, but hanging seven hundred meters above the terrain, especially when one of you is feeling bad, is really a tough nut. How to solve it? We finally descended but there was no more power for another attempt. That was the end to my first attempt, and Martin’s mocking words: “forget it in advance” sounded in my ears. Heck and doggone one more time! The truth remains, when it does not work by force, use more power and add vehemence. They say that a wind does not move with a mountain, that's a blah blah and a fart in addition. It must only blow a lot and then it works.
Thus, my return was clear, but it had one hook and that was the partner. So, I called immediately to the source of the problem, to Zdeněk Hook Háček. As always, he scratched the stubble on his chin and answered within three seconds: “Why not, let's go.” The truth is that problems with certainty come and there is no reason to look for them upfront. We would not get away with it anywhere. So, we get to the point when Hook after our stormy meeting in Lunden starts just to the wall. I afford myself an extra day of acclimatization. I use the rest, when I get pampered by “Didi”, the boss of the loggia, and her culinary bluffs. The next day I put on the straps, and in the early hours I'm walking the slope behind Zdenouš. The camp under the western wall is, on one side, a magical place with a would-be sandy beach at a tarn and, on the other side, a freezing spectacle on a rocky wall rising up into the clouds. Looking at the wall groomed with tiny snow capillaries, Hook named it “F..k that's Mord Wand”. The prosaic question, where we have the chance to get unseen up. The original route from the previous year was inaccessible, as the snow conditions were completely different. The one above just did not snow enough. What to do with it at the beginning and what then, where it was not really visible. The choice was simple, we make a valid attempt, as the visible answers were not enough. Those who are afraid defecate in the hall. As Hook says: "I have never had fright and money." During the dawn, around at four o’clock in the following morning, when we were getting up to leave to the wall, his words had a light paraphrase “I do not have money and I'm starting to be afraid”. I did not comment because it was clear and completely useless to add anything. The rocks at the start were a torture, because everything moved like on the sand dune. Just to make sure something does not fall off the top floors. Fortunately, the frost has imprisoned all the movement for now. That's what we're saying in the form of placebo, otherwise we would be paralyzed by the horror of what would crush us earlier, whether a falling ice or a boulder. The choice of ascent eventually dropped on the groove in the left part of the pyramid. Some bits of snow connection were missing but choose from even more misery. The very first length of the rocky corner with a noodle like piece of ice that someone stole at the end gave a clear statement of what was ahead of us. Simply fight for every move. We were still awaited by other twelve hundred meters, and please not climbing meters, as these were many more but elevation meters. The day went on and the terrain did not change. Only the slope has stabilized and the hole underfoot has become scarier. Around at four we come along a sharp ridge to the place, which I have marked as the Eagle's Nest last year. It is a small plateau and in the ever-present slopes at the same time a small miracle. Since the edge cutting the western from the eastern wall reminds of a scalpel, onto which when you sit, you are split into two pieces. We have enough. The form left us years ago, only the appetite and despair remained. There’s nothing else left than to make do with it. With the twilight coming, the clouds around us are torn apart and the sharp shields bathe in the last rays of the dying sun. All the following night hours I fight to be the winner in coughing. I am convinced, even though nobody was against me that I won. One rule says, if you do not suffer, you've never been in the mountains. I suffered as an animal, and the worse still had to come. Fortunately, Hook, as a graduated hotel magician, prepared a Chinese soup in the morning and hot water in the bottle. Still, I was for the little of it, incredibly grateful. Meanwhile, behind the tent canvas, a fight of a growing cloud against the sun was taking place. Whoever grabs his dominant part lays in the next time. We crawl out and we sort the tools. Today is the password "who of whom". I feel Zdenál is a little nervous and I read subconsciously from his sarcastic words: "What are you going to do in that top head?" Unsaid lying prickle. Well, I set myself into a super-positive mood, with a lightly fabricated euphemism, I say, "It's going to work, brother." Without fear and blame, I jump into the first problems of today. The slope of the terrain is cruel. Firn varies with a broken and sometimes overhanging rock, a thin glaze of ice, and sometimes air, which we had to overcome quickly. One place sent me a nice spray of cold sweat into the back groove. I was climbing away of Zdenda and the belay – zero. Not at first sight dramatic corner of the rock, somewhat falling over to our heads, at the top changing to firn. Then to somewhere. But it did not have to worry me yet. The fact that the mind was already so comatose, when the sensors of fear are twisted twice behind the normal limit, a lightning impulse passed through my body: “Match the fate, fart”. There is nothing to wait for, at least not here. The crampons howled their squeaking screech on the granite, the axes were hooked behind my neck. The gloved hands on the rock, over which water was running down, were desperately trying to catch. Everything that I grabbed or stamped on, flew into the valley. Theoretically, I should not have stayed where I was moving. How come I do not fall or do I already fly? Let’s not look for absolution to the “why” questions, when a tow is burning under the ass, and rather run. I felt in the parable of Mickey Mouse, who above the abyss, keeps swinging his feet and still hangs in the air. The umbilical cord between me and Zdenda freely flickered with a 15-meter sag. Zdenda, in principle, flew a human kite. A few endless minutes and I seize the first ice-ax into the white matter. It holds and I let the accumulated air from my lungs go. We go on. The exposition underfoot and around us increases with every meter. The very essence of our existence, in something so steep, and why we are passing through here, does not make a rational sense. Where is the compulsion which always pulls out the green card and says without words: “Upwards”. Perhaps the innumerable hordes of the most powerful experiences, whether good or bad, eventually form the pink cushion of the intensity of living. Therefore, it is worth to undergo all adversity and done… With the coming early evening, we cut the last meters on the ridge, which, without a visible passage, has escaped from the perpendicular slopes. A sharp and raw panorama of the mountains spreads around us. By this the next page in the history of alpinism is completed, and the new route onto the six-thousand-two-hundred-meter hill, bears a Czech trace with the working title “Lapse of reason”. Simply a spring bomb in the Nepalese Himalayas!
Hurrah, Mára Holeček a Zdeněk Hák
Where: Nepal central Himalayas
What: Kyajo Ri 6186 start from W face and finish E through the summit head
Difficulty: elevation 1200 m and 1600 of climbing m, Alpine style, M6, WI 4+, 3+UIAA, ED+
Who: Zdeněk Hák and Mára Holeček
Hey man, it's there!