The trick to staying healthy on any expedition to Pakistan is really threefold: 1) be judicious about washing your hands 2) don't eat uncooked vegetables en masse 3) never brush your teeth with tap water. Before leaving the K2 Hotel in Skardu last Friday, Bruce was kind enough to demonstrate the results of ignoring rules 2 and 3; while the team was having a planning meeting over dinner in the restaurant, Bruce suddenly turned ashen, then slinked off his chair and flopped prostrate onto the dining room carpet. Shocked, I knelt down at his side and asked him what the problem was. Bruce only responded in murmuring, semi-conscious gibberish- interspersed with bouts of vomiting. When he finally gained enough composure, we propped him to his feet and escorted him to his room. I spent the next few minutes reassuring the kitchen staff that, although Bruce IS Scottish, his illness was definitely not due to drinking alcohol. A few Cipro and a day of rest later, Bruce fully recovered.

The rocky road from Skardu to Askole is literally carved into the ancient walls that tower thousands of feet above the torrid Braldu River. Loaded with gear, porters, and ourselves, the jeep train managed to avoid the constant rock fall along the drive- but we did need to get out and push the vehicles through several rough spots where huge amounts of avalanche debris had buried the road. Earlier we had heard that the road ahead had been blocked by a massive slide only a few miles from Askole. Thankfully, the locals had cleared the way by the time we arrived, relieving us from the extra burden of having to carry the gear the final distance.

  In Askole, we divided up the equipment into loads for the porters to carry. For the next 7 days these porters and the towering rock pillars above the Baltoro will be our only companions. The strength of these porters always amazes me. Their enthusiasm for schlepping 30 kg (70 lbs.) loads for miles and miles up the broken, freezing glacier rivals that of Tony Robbins- minus the shiny white teeth, of course.

Just before Jola we crossed a churning, silt-laden river via a rudimentary cable car constructed by the military. Suspended from a disconcertingly frayed steel cable hung a rickety wood basket (which Chris volunteered me to test drive). The device loosely resembled a half rotten peach crate made out of just slightly less wood than could actually float if the whole contraption were to collapse into the drink. Fortunately, the thing worked well, and we crossed the rather unnerving span without incident.

After spending today (a mandatory rest day for the porters) in Paiju, we depart in the morning for Urdukas- the last bastion of real soil on the journey to K2 base camp. For the next two months the team will not even see a blade of grass, camping entirely on the glacial spines of the upper Karakoram region.

I secretly packed a small plastic bag of dirt to take to K2 base camp, just to remind me...

Don Bowie