Why you should swap overwhelmed Everest base camp for the near-spiritual beauty of K2

Avoiding the crowds and commercialisation of Everest, Kate Eshelby navigates the rugged terrain of northern Pakistan for a truly untamed wilderness adventure

Nov 23, 2024 - 21:01

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Why you should swap overwhelmed Everest base camp for the near-spiritual beauty of K2

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After a bone-shaking ride through the saw-toothed peaks of northern Pakistan, we find that floodwaters have wiped away the road ahead. Fortunately, Rashid, our driver, spots another Jeep across the roaring river, which swirls and leaps like a tempestuous sea.

Quickly we transfer our dusty bags and hurry over a rickety footbridge before the ferocious glacial waters devour it too. And this is just the beginning. My husband, Mark, and I are on our way to Askole, the gateway to K2 base camp – and the start of one of the world’s most remote and challenging treks.

Until the 1980s, the journey to this frontier village was only possible on foot, extending what today is a two-week trek. The construction of a dirt track connecting Skardu, the town we flew into from the capital, Islamabad, to Askole, shortened the distance, but the route remains rugged.

Crossing one of the rickety bridges on the way to Askole on four wheels

Crossing one of the rickety bridges on the way to Askole on four wheels (Kate Eshelby)

Askole sits in the region of Baltistan: home to five of the world’s 14 peaks above 8,000 metres and more than 100 surpassing 7,000 metres. K2, the second-tallest mountain on Earth, is the poster child of the Karakoram range, which was thrown up millions of years ago when the Indian and Eurasian tectonic plates smashed together.

Trekking to K2’s base camp gives an alternative to the more commercialised Everest route in nearby Nepal, which sees 40,000 hikers annually compared to just 1,000 visitors here. While K2’s numbers are growing, Everest base camp is still more crowded with tea houses and lodges along the way, whereas K2 offers no such comforts – only rock, ice and wilderness. Recent images of Everest show climbers lined up like ants to reach the summit, yet K2 is far more technical, reserved only for the most experienced.

On our first day, we leave the pin-bright, emerald-green terraces of Askole – our last glimpse of civilisation – and head onto a vast, stony plateau. Our gear is carried by a colourful caravan of mules and eight porters with homemade rucksacks; one has a cage of live chickens strapped to the top, and another leads a goat on a rope, both destined to become our future meals. Again, the path in front is washed away; we watch another group attempt a river crossing, only to lose a mule and tents to the current.

Sufi Hussain, the group’s head porter, and Ibrahim, another porter, crossing a bridge at Jhola across the Dumordo River with the mule

Sufi Hussain, the group’s head porter, and Ibrahim, another porter, crossing a bridge at Jhola across the Dumordo River with the mule (Kate Eshelby)

Instead, we press on to a further footbridge, a couple of hours away, under stormy skies. “We used to walk across Dumordo River. Now it’s so fast and furious because of global warming,” Bashir, our guide, says. It becomes a recurring theme, Bashir, urging us to move fast before the rising waters consume the flimsy bridges.

After three days, we reach the 39-mile-long Baltoro Glacier – cracked with unseen crevasses – which we’ll traverse over the next few days. Pakistan boasts more glaciers than any other country outside the polar regions. The glacier’s jagged jaws resemble a dragon, with icy black fangs firing out a torrent of water-like flames. The river’s waves surge like a battalion of raging stallions, rearing up over big rocky boulders in a frenzied dance.

Concordia, Throne Room of the Mountain Gods, where K2 can be seen (centre left) with another mountain, Broad Peak, on the right

Concordia, Throne Room of the Mountain Gods, where K2 can be seen (centre left) with another mountain, Broad Peak, on the right (Kate Eshelby)

Aside from guiding, Bashir is a gem miner – these mountains are as spectacular inside as out, with amethyst, rubies and aquamarine glittering below. “After 9/11, I was like a fish on dry ground,” Bashir says, explaining why he added another job to guiding. That evening, following a hot, shadeless walk, we camp at Liligo, where even the “long drop” loo has magnificent views, surrounded by mythical Tolkienesque towers and spires shawled in sparkling snow.

The landscape continues to surprise as we venture deeper. Despite the altitude, candy-pink asters and purple gentians gleam unexpectedly in the rocky terrain. In places, the glacier gapes like opening clams to reveal brilliant turquoise ice inside. We step onto an expanse of white sand dunes, dazzling amongst a constellation of peaks.

As we approach Khuburse, our next campsite, with its stone terraces cut into the rock, mist suddenly swallows the mountains. “This country’s politics is like the weather on Baltoro, it changes every minute,” Bashir laughs.

A lunch stop on the Baltoro Glacier

A lunch stop on the Baltoro Glacier (Kate Eshelby)

Even exhausted, I’m moved by the drama of the landscape – waterfalls tumble down, rivers carve under the glacier and rocks crash into blue glacial pools. At the campsite we meet fellow trekkers from Switzerland, and I comment on their home country’s mountains. “Nothing compares to the grandeur of these mountains,” they reply.

Then, for miles, we hike between giant ice arches, domes, and pyramids, which lift from the glacier like raised eyebrows. That night, wrapped in puffer jackets and thermals, we camp directly on the ice, the darkness punctuated with shooting stars. Morning finds the porters huddled together in a makeshift longhouse, built from stones and a tarpaulin, drinking Balti tea. “It’s made from butter, salt, and green tea, and gives us power,” says Mohammed Ali, one of the porters.

Power is what we need for today’s tough, uphill climb. Scattered kerosene canisters near an army post are a reminder that we’re near the disputed Indian border. Then, suddenly, we see K2 – other mountains jostle for space, yet K2 stands majestically alone. This trek feels like a pilgrimage for a peak, and here it is, in front of us.

The team on the trek

Tea time: The team on the trek (Kate Eshelby)

As I marvel, a Korean trekker pulls out his phone, and another begins preening for photos against K2. The sight is jarring – mobiles, though useful, especially for climbers, make these far-flung places seem more accessible, stripping away their magic.

We’re camping at Concordia, often called the Throne Room of the Mountain Gods, as it was once proclaimed by a renowned photographer. The scenery is almost otherworldly but rather than solitude, there’s a festival-like feel with all the tents. I think back to treks I’ve made in Mongolia and Chad – places of equal, if not greater, beauty, yet untouched by tourism. There’s something, however, about man’s need to conquer the big names, like K2 and Everest, akin to planting flags throughout history, as symbols of victory.

While we settle in, I notice that sadly vivid yellow loo cabins rise in front of K2, unused dustbins lie toppled, and litter is evident everywhere. Despite the Central Karakoram National Park (CKNP) being paid to clear the rubbish, the government service falls short. An ethical dilemma looms: if the numbers to K2 keep increasing, and the waste continues to pile up, should we reconsider our presence here?

Askole, the last village before the wilderness of the K2 base camp trek begins

Askole, the last village before the wilderness of the K2 base camp trek begins (Kate Eshelby)

On our final day before we turn around to return to Askole (there’s an alternative, yet more technical, route out, over the Gondogoro La pass), we make our way towards K2 base camp. We walk along the Godwin-Austen Glacier, a long sherbet-white tail leading from K2, glittering with ice and pearlised channels of crystal-clear water snaking down its sides. As the evening light daggers in like searchlights, a rose armoury is cast over the mountains and I’m convinced this is a holy, inviolable land: mysterious, volatile and alluring. You only have to look at the many plaques to those who have lost their lives to know who has the upper hand.

Travel essentials

Getting there

Waljis (waljis.com), Pakistan’s first and longest-serving travel company, offers an 18-day K2 base camp trek from £2,295 per person including all camping, a guide, porters, mules, meals prepared by a chef and cooking staff, and transfers with a car and driver from Shigar to Askole. Also included are two nights in the Serena Shigar either side of the trek, a return internal flight from Skardu to Islamabad (daily flights, weather dependent) and two nights in Islamabad. British nationals require a visa to enter Pakistan.