Pakistan 2021

 

What the hell are you gonna do with a canoe in Islamabad? 

A fair and poignant question from the Turkish airlines employee in the Atlanta airport as our teams invaluable Bernie Engelmen attempted to get his "canoe" to Pakistan. Despite her skepticism, she let him slide and Bernie, along with the rest of the American tough guys, were on our way to a 1 am reunion in the Islamabad baggage claim. 

Our team was comprised of TL Ben "Big Daddy" Luck, Cody "Weak Link" Beach, Bernie "Sauce Boss" Engelmen, and myself-- Louis "Baby Eugggg" Norris. With solid nicknames in place, we felt that we were ready to take on anything, even the Indus. 

A few key statistics from our trip: 

Number of soiled underwear: 4.5 

Number of drivers named Amos: 2 

Number of drivers named Amos who knew what they were doing: 1 

Amount of Chai tea consumed: n+1 

Number of Urdu words learned by the crew: 2.5 

Games of Chess lost by Ben Luck: 0 

Number of portages: Who cares? 

However, the Indus is more than a numbers game, and mere statics cannot hope to encompass the broad array of experiences and emotions we had out there. The river was one fraught with emotion. As I sit at work attempting to transcribe some of the memories, I find my mind working sporadically; images and feelings spiraling in and out of focus, making it difficult to render a clear image of our time in Pakistan. 

This is likely, in part, due to the level of preparation that went into the Indus. I have never worked so hard or deliberately for any objective throughout my kayaking career. As the objective fades from the present to the past, so too does emotional labor of preparation. All that remains is the assemblage of moments that the river produced. 

We arrived in Skardu a quick 3 days after leaving the States. Once in Pakistan, our travel was littered with logistical snafus. Still, optimism--aided by movies downloaded off of Netflix-- prevailed and we made it to our destination in good spirits. We spent a day doing last minute preparations and padding the upper Indus-- a fantastic boogie run with one stout that left us wide eyed after routing behind Big Daddy. 

Ben dialing in his whip. Thanks to all the bois for the boats spons.

From there, we had a lovely nights sleep safe from the grasp of Asian Voldemort and then departed for the big dog that is the Rhondu gorge. 

At the bridge (we got to put in at a bridge!) we were greeted by an entourage of friendly locals, all of whom seemed pretty unperturbed by 4 westerners in colorful outfits. As is typical for white people, we had a lovely interaction with the police, whose main duties, it seemed, were to take as many selfies as possible with us, the tourists. After waving our friends farewell, we pushed off in anticipation of the giants that awaited us downstream. 

Some typical boogie

The power and size of the Indus made itself known within minutes of the put in. After a quick portage around that one huge riverwide hold, we arrived at our first scout. This rapid was humbling. As I was ferrying into the current, I watched Ben get back endered back into the main feature. I was somehow able to make it through and eddied out against the shore, gaining a front row seat to Ben's thrashing. Being the savage that he is, Ben worked it out no problem and we continued downstream. Routing, scouting, and huge rapids continued as we made efficient downstream progress. We pulled into what would be our takeout for the day, and after showing a nice local by the river how to work Bernie's camera, we took a group photo and headed up to our 5 star accommodations. We lived luxuriously at camp that night, complete with hot chai, a personal chef and a nice cow that was "probably just sleeping" but turned out to be dead. 

Group photo after the first day. Photo credit to one of the very nice locals.

After a good nights sleep and much groaning about morning aches from resident old man Cody Beach, we were back on the water. Day 2 comprised of 21 miles of mostly read and run. That shit was, in my humble opinion, as good as it gets. Minimal scouting, plenty of hole dodging, and some wonderful Grand Canyon wave trains found us many miles downstream staring out over a massive multipart rapid. Ben, who had woke up feeling more sick than the rest of us realized, was ready to get to camp and announced "well I'm going to run it and I don't want to look at it anymore so who's coming with me?" After many "no after you good sir" and "no, no, really I insist" between me and Cody, I found myself in my boat above the rapid peeling out behind Ben into what was one of my favorite rapids from the trip. We now affectionately refer to that rapid as "Whos coming with me". 

Who's coming with me? 

Stoke was high but health was low as we rolled into camp. Knowing that one would likely dissipate far more quickly than the other, we took a kayaking rest day but a eating pomegranates and playing chess rally day. 

That night it was my turn to experience consequences of our the weak western GI system. I still felt weak by the time we got on the water, but quickly recovered by routing the team into some of the bigger holes we ran blind mere moments after asserting that "we need to scout more". Apart from some much needed self care, our rest day allowed us to road scout a gorge we had agreed was "good to go". This turned out to false and was a sobering reminder of the importance of making independent decisions in the moment rather than solely relying on information from previous descents. 

Thankfully, we were spared a long and arduous portage around this gorge by simply hiking out to the road and getting a lift from our fantastic local guides. In so much of the discourse about Western adventure in the Himalayas, these hard working and knowledgeable local guides are tragically undervalued. Our expedition to the Indus-- and all those that came before us-- was largely made possible by the generosity, kindness and expertise of these wonderful men. They enabled us to move around a complex and politically unstable country safely and efficiently, freeing up our energy to focus on making a successful descent of the river. I am forever grateful for Solomon, Hussein, Amos, Ali, and all the other guides at Golden Peaks who enabled us to enjoy their wonderful country. 

Decent scenery

The next few days was comprised of some of the most memorable and challenging kayaking I have done. Our team was deep into our rhythm at this point, working together seamlessly. We all had moments of fire, taking the charge and propelling the group downstream. We also all had moments of doubt and fear in which we relied on the others to provide an infusion of psych. Hard expeditions are a game of momentum, and I am grateful that we were able to each rise to the occasion in moments of doubt. 

Our momentum carried us through many of the Indus' largest rapids, sometimes in the water and sometimes on shore. At the end of our 5th day, we arrived at "Stooksberry's Rapid", an epic torrent of water finishing in a massive sloping hole. Ben and I didn't think much of it and immediately began to portage on river left while Bernie and Cody gave it a quick look from the right. While Ben and I waited for the other two to portage, we ate some snacks and took some photos, lamenting how easy it is to say that a rapids not that bad half way through portaging it. Though we were still far from finished, this rapid signifies the final part of the run, and as we hiked out that night we experienced all the emotions that come near the end of something big; relief, sadness, anxiety and gratitude. 

Ben had fire in his eyes the next day. We got back to our boats early and after a long scout Ben decided that he was feeling up to riding the dragon. After a team conversation about the safety plan he hiked his boat back to the top of the rapid and slid in. His entrance line was smooth and after launching a huge boof into the bottom hole and getting surfed in the boil for 20 seconds he rolled up. Words can do no justice to the size of this rapid and his demeanor, approach and execution were inspiring, to say the least.  In classic Ben Luck style, he pulled into the eddy below the rapid, nodded a couple of times, cracked a smile, and continued moving efficiently downstream, all before 8 am. 

Ben contemplating a very big hole.

We spent the next several hours putting together the last puzzle pieces of the Indus. The very last rapid turned out to be a delightful 20 foot tall wavetrain that looked intimidating but was good to go down the middle. A fitting end to an outstanding river. 

Pakistan is a place of extremes; the rivers are humbling and hard, the mountains are big, the people are generous, the social contract they live by is strict. Only a month later, the whole experience feels like some other dimensional dream, so disconnected and different from everyday life. It was deeply humbling, euphoric, fun and expansive; I took so much away from the country, the river and the people. Pakistan has ignited a fire that I hope continues to burn inside of me. 

My deepest thanks to Ben, Bernie, Cody, Solomon, Hussein, Amos x2, Ali and everyone else who made this trip possible.