After all the hype over how dangerous it is to climb K2, it may seem rather audacious and even smug to describe the experience as "fun"- but the truth is, after 6 days of working our new route, "fun" is exactly what we are having. I liken the whole experience to the first time I flirted with a girl and finally received a positive response; to my absolute surprise (and contrary to the outcome of 137 previous attempts) Jody Moore, the cutest girl in my 4th grade classroom, shocked me by reacting favorably to my gesture as she smiled and confidently grabbed my hand. I felt sick to my stomach and ran away...

The thing about K2 is, if you want to simply touch it you can literally walk up to the base, stretch your arm out, and put your finger on it. The monstrous peak rises straight out of the glacial ice like a New York skyscraper does the sidewalk. As a matter of fact, when we depart for the route from our tents at ABC we first walk over to a small outcrop of rock, sit down to put our crampons on, and three steps later are literally gaining vertical ground.

The first obstacle encountered on the way from ABC to the bottom of the route is to negotiate a safe way across three massive avalanche chutes. The third and widest of these chutes is a 300 yard gap requiring constant vigilance of the snow slopes above. Major slides rake the chute often, thundering down the entire 8000 foot length of the face. The safest path across the chute splits the difference between the lesser of two evils: 1) the steepening avalanche slope above and 2) the crevasse slots across the flatter glacier below. The trick is to remain low enough in the chute where one can still run like heck-fire in the event of a slide, without creeping too low in the chute as to get swallowed by a hidden crevasse. Meanwhile, rocks dislodged from the Black Pyramid, more than a vertical mile above, periodically bomb the lower sections of the chute, adding to the overall gauntlet feel. Falling a vertical mile provides more than ample time for the rocks to reach terminal velocity (and then some), and every so often a rock the size and weight of a 1980's microwave oven crash-lands nearby, initiating periodic undergarment checks. 

Once the avalanche chutes are safely negotiated, the base of the rock rib is achieved and the "real" climbing starts. From here, moderately steep ice and snow slopes wind their way through a series of dark rock towers, some of them over100 feet tall. In a most odd way, our route seems to almost magically unfold before us, opening up in small sections, each new turn giving way to reveal the next amazing passage. Rock features at every exposed corner or crest are earmarked with wildly contorted ice sculptures, each bent into shape by the fierce winds cutting across the slopes. Some of the passages are narrow and steep, but climbing through them it is impossible to dismiss how beautiful and exciting the terrain truly is.

After a few thousand feet of winding through the ridges and towers, a short steep headwall exits to a small platform at the base of another rock tower. From here we must wait for each other, as the final pitch before camp is littered with extraordinarily loose rocks. The lower tower provides a nice bunker to shelter us from any objects inadvertently kicked off by anyone ascending the final length of rope to Camp 1. 

In over 15 years of climbing, I don't recall staying in a tent spot nearly as picturesque as our Camp 1 on K2. Pitched on a ledge hacked out of the 50-degree ice slope, our Sierra Designs tent is veritably embraced by a shallow rock overhang, completely sheltered by rockfall and avalanches. From our tent the views of Broad Peak and the surrounding mountains can only be described with words lacking justice or sufficient descriptive power, but I'll try anyhow: Majestic. Astonishing. Immense. Humbling.

Yet through our appreciation of the grandeur around us, the elements and the wind always have a way of reminding us that we are still attempting to climb our way up uncharted territory on the world's burliest escarpment. This is K2, after all, fun or not. As Chris and I departed Camp 1 to push the route further up the rib the other day, I stuck my head around the corner to see if Chris had cleared the first rope- and was greeted by a softball-sized rock which whizzed past my head and crashed into a rock spire 40 feet below me. I buzzed Chris on the radio, asking him where the missile had come from, to which he replied, panting, "I don't know. Somewhere way above us." Before I stepped around the corner, I made sure my helmet was buckled, but I couldn't help but think that wearing my helmet under these circumstances is like wearing water wings whilst canoeing over Niagara Falls.

Above Camp 1, through a break in the mists and the clouds, our route reveals itself. The rib ascends another 2200 feet to the Black Towers, where camp two should be. So far, our ropes stretch up the rib to a small rock outcropping a few hundred feet below the towers- our highest point of climbing. In swirling spindrift and howling winds Chris and I established this high point last week, squeezing in the last few meters during the waning end of a good weather spell.

In two more days, when the next weather window begins, we should be able to ascend to the Black Towers and establish Camp 2. In two more days, our flirting with K2 resumes. 

Sorry, Jody. This is definitely better than 4th grade.

Don Bowie