Hunza

On October 5 I went on my second field trip, deep into the Hunza valley on the KKH towards China to a town 10km south of Sost, the virtual border town on the KKH (the Kunjerab pass on the Chinese border is another 100 km or so away). The day was perfectly clear and so all the big mountains along the way would be visible.

As we started out from Gilgit and turned north into the Hunza valley, through a town called Danyore, I tried to remember everything about the road that I could. My last trip up the valley corresponds to my last trip south on the KKH. It's been a while. And things have changed, too. And I had forgotten how big all the mountains are. The day before leaving Islamabad, I bumped into Isobel Shaw's traveling companion, Ruth. She had come back to ISB early and was flying out in the next few days. Her impression of the Karakorum and Himalaya had been the shear size of the mountains. The ridges visible on along the KKH through Hunza are probably 10-15,000 ft high on average. And the big mountains visible from the road, Rakaposhi, Ultar & Passu, are all above 7000m.

The village up near Sost has a micro-hydel that is no longer used, though it is operational. I wasn't sure why it was suggested that I go up there, but the ride was nice and each visit to a site gives me a better understanding of how this technology works. The second visit, back along the road, in central Hunza, however, really demonstrated the skill and determination and ingenuity required on the part of the village organization to actually build a micro-hydel.

The second village was Ahmedabad. Along the road to Karimabad you turn off onto a jeep track that winds its way along a vertical cliff, 3 or 400 ft above the Hunza river for 8 km. The road in and of itself is a remarkable feat of the mountain engineering. We stopped at the site of the powerhouse. Three villagers were working, one filtering larger stones out of a pile of sand and the others worked on the dry stone masonry to surround the powerhouse. I saw a green nylon rope stretching off up the hill, the path that the penstock will take. One of the village activists agreed to take me up to the site of the forebay, 400 vertical feet above us and out of sight.

I adjusted my aluminum, shock-absorbing, Austrian-made trekking poles to length and started up behind him. He reached out and broke off a poplar branch to assist his walk up the hill. I don't think he really needed it. Slowly we wound our way up through the arrow-straight poplars typical of the valley now turning a brilliant yellow, dramatic against barren, vertical rock faces and the snow-capped peaks behind them. At one point we came close to the edge of a gorge we were following and I realized that on our right, the ridge we were following dropped vertically some 200ft to the glacial stream below, the source of the power channel we were approaching. Things got a little scarier as we reached the powerhouse site. A crude staircase of flat stones had been built the last 50 feet to the the forebay site, balancing over the edge of the gorge with little in the way of security.

The forebay is currently a hole blasted into the vertical rock face of the gorge, 200ft above the stream bed. A wall is being built on one side of the hole and gravel fill to line the reservoir is brought in from the stream bed by wheelbarrow along the irrigation channel, which my guide and I proceeded along. The channel is also blasted out of the shear rock. Fortunately, the water irrigates the gorge side of the channel and dense thistles grow along the edge giving on a false, but necessary sense of security. My trekking poles also helped ease my mind.

Far below, a wooden footbrigde crossed the stream. "The glacier used to come down to the bridge," my guide said. He remembered that from when he was very young, maybe 50 years ago. At the end of the channel where water was diverted from the glacial stream, the view opened up to two towering rock faces, maybe 2000ft higher than the point where we stood and close. The scene was rather breathtaking. And the understanding of the determination and courage required to build such a channel was equally impressive.

I kept taking photos, perhaps to the annoyance of my guide, but I didn't know if I'd be back there.

Soon we were back to the forebay. My legs felt a little more steady as we picked our way down, back to the jeep track.

As we headed south on the KKH, the sun was setting, highlighting the Eastern side of the valley. We stopped for supper at the point on the road where you can look from the point where you're standing all the way to the summit of Rakaposhi. The site is over-run by tourist-trapping tack, but the view is unadulterated. The perspective looses some of the immensity of the scene, but it's impressive non-the-less. The sun set. Rakaposhi's southwest shoulder glowed brilliantly pink and orange and then went dull white.

The near full moon made the mountains glow. Across the valley, as we drove back to Gilgit, lights blinked, testaments to the determination of these people to survive in these dramatic, isolated places of the world.
___________

It took a while to actually post the above because of this skittish internet connection, hopefully things will improve in that department.

Thanks for your comments, those you have posted on my blog and those you have e-mailed. They encourage me to keep writing. Again, if you have any questions, let me know.