One Life One Chance Read online

  …

  I was awake early after a solid sleep and had a very stiff body; my legs were sore and I was fairly battered after all of my falls the day before. It was a cold night and a chilly morning as I contemplated the day ahead. The rain had stopped for a while and I could hear the porters talking among themselves in the old cabin a few metres away. I crawled out of my tent and went through the bone-numbing process of pulling on my wet pants and shirt, praying the sun stayed out so they could dry off. I walked over to the cabin, keen to see how all forty-six of our entourage slept in there. They had fires lit early in the night but now it was just smoke pouring out of the structure’s many openings. I entered through the old doorway and was hit in the face by a wall of thick smoke that burnt my eyes and scorched my lungs as I took a breath. I dropped down trying to get below it and opened my eyes again but still the smoke was too strong for me. I could make out human shapes in the dark interior but had to turn around and exit before I was overwhelmed.

  Somehow the locals had grown accustomed to the smoke and it didn’t seem to bother them, it actually kept them warm and fought off the mosquitos and other creepy crawlies inhabiting the jungle. The team sat down together for a breakfast of fried chicken, noodles and snails, all washed down with a ‘three-in-one’ coffee, which is a small ready to mix packet of coffee, milk powder and loads of sugar. While a few of the team shied away from the snails, I thought they were actually quite nice and polished off my plate. We were ready to start our trek after breakfast but the porters hadn’t budged from the cabin. Meldi entered into another round of negotiations with them and without too much delay a deal was struck and we were off again. I had tightened a pair of gaiters over my gumboots, which is a piece of canvas that covers the top of the boot to stop water or mud from getting inside. It was fortunate that I had because ten minutes after departure I sank knee deep into mud and had to drag myself clear using my trekking poles as leverage.

  The trail was in worse condition than the day before and mud patches replaced the path where landslides had torn away the trees, leaving bare earth and rocks. Two hours further on we came across a river that was a raging torrent of white water spanning 15 metres across. Apparently there was supposed to be a bridge here from last season but it was plain to see that the floods had torn it out and carried it off down the river. The porters gestured for us all to take a seat as they dropped all of our baggage in one place and ran off to inspect some trees close to the bank. I didn’t immediately understand what they were doing but as they pulled out two small axes and started to chop into a big, tall tree standing close to the river edge I realised what they were up to and couldn’t believe it.

  The porters took turns chopping the bottom of the tree and within thirty-five minutes they had carved it down to a precariously thin base and then took smaller more precise chops at the side facing the river. The sound of splintering timber sent the porters running for cover as the big tree trembled and hung in the air for a split second as if suspended in time. It then began to fall, slowly at first, and then building up speed it fell across the river and shook the ground under our feet as it struck the earth and settled deep into the muddy bank on the other side. I was looking at a man-made tree bridge, half a metre wide and stretching the entire length over the river. A porter scrambled across first and behind him he dragged a few lengths of a vine. The vines were twisted together and tied off at waist height across the span of the bridge to act as a handrail.

  This resourceful scene made me think about the West Papuans’ close neighbours in Papua New Guinea. Similarly to our porters, they could adapt and overcome any obstacle the jungle would throw at them. In 1942 during the Japanese campaign for the Pacific the local tribes of New Guinea saved countless Australian soldiers’ lives on the Kokoda Track. They evacuated our injured soldiers on stretchers across seemingly impassable jungle and obstacles and never left a patient’s side until they were delivered to safety.

  I climbed up on top of the fallen tree and tentatively made my way across, smiling at our porters who beamed with pride and smiled back. I was offered a helping hand on the other side, which I took, and once down I stood back to watch the rest of the team make the crossing without incident. Once we were all across and before we got too cold from standing idle, the march started and we were off.

  We stopped for lunch at a small clearing and the porters lit fires for us to keep warm. We were all soaked to the bone and the cold temperature that day was adding to the risk of hypothermia. I stood inches away from the smoking fire as we rested. The sun came out for a short time before the clouds closed again and the sizzling splatter of rain began to fall on our fires. After a short break, long enough to eat some snacks and guzzle some water, we were off again, but not for long. We hadn’t gotten far when the porters decided they had worked enough for the day and wanted to camp. We didn’t have much choice in the matter but to be honest I wasn’t too upset about the early end to the day. It had been a gruelling six hours of mud, vines and rain and I was happy to set up my tent, peel off my wet clothes again and crawl inside to get warm. The porters had performed well, and even though we halted two hours earlier than planned, there wasn’t much protest from the team; we were all battered and needed the rest.

  I awoke on day three to blue skies and a slightly warmer morning. The rain had stopped halfway through the night and hadn’t started again by the time breakfast came around – another delicious meal of fried chicken and noodles washed down with some of the sweetest coffee I’d ever tasted. With no protest from the porters we were off early and breaking trail into the jungle. We managed three hours of sun before the clouds closed in and the heavens opened up, dumping torrential rain on us and leaving me soaked to the bone yet again. The jungle we passed through was the thickest and muddiest of the expedition; it was unforgiving. Knee-deep slop full of branches, vines and leaves mixed with countless inclines made it physically and mentally frustrating. Every few minutes I’d hear a member of the team either fall over or curse out loud as they were caught up on vines. I was trying my best to not get overly frustrated but as the hours ticked by and the terrain remained extremely challenging I was on the edge.

  At one point we came to a section where the earth had eroded leaving a few metres of exposed roots from the enormous trees above. The roots were covered in a light green moss and small jungle flowers. We had to descend into the roots and pick our way through the damp labyrinth like a scene out of the Lord of the Rings. It was a beautiful moment and I had to stop and take a picture of the amazing root formations, knowing I’d probably never see something like it ever again. The day came to an end eight hours after beginning and we had covered the most distance so far – we had gained 700 metres in elevation through some bad-arse jungle and seen some incredible nature. I was ready for bed immediately following a hot meal. My legs were stiff and sore but I could feel my body slowly starting to adapt. I had only fallen over a handful of times throughout the day and I was determined to remain standing from sun-up to sundown the following day.

  By 10 am on day four the rain was pelting down again and the environment had changed drastically. We had crossed from the thick jungle to muddy marsh land where grass and shrubs densely covered the ground. Every step forward was a struggle; the terrain was draining us of our energy as we were sinking shin deep into the marsh. We were all finding it difficult and the progress throughout the day was slow. By early afternoon we had a break in the weather and the clouds were beginning to clear. As they parted, up ahead on the horizon I could make out some grey jagged cliffs of a mountain range, and as they cleared I made out the tallest, most imposing peak: it was Carstensz Pyramid. The excitement of seeing the mountain for the first time gave me a surge of energy as we trudged onwards. I was continually stumbling while trying to keep my eyes on the summit for the remainder of the day.

  We decided to camp after only six hours due to how tough it was going through the marsh land. The porters erected themselves a log shelter with s
ome tarps over the top and then lit their smoky fires underneath for warmth. We set up our tents and sat down to an early dinner with the mountains still visible on the horizon. The peaks were still two days’ hike away and I knew we were a long way from the summit, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the view. The sharp edges of the rocky summit stood proud with the fading sun casting light onto the steep grey slopes leading to the top. I was daydreaming about climbing those ridges and was starting to shiver from the cold by the time I pulled myself away from the horizon and crawled into my tent. Vitidnan was already curled up snoring and as my head lay down on my small inflatable pillow I joined him within seconds.

  Day five felt like groundhog day with endless marsh land and slow progress towards the mountains in the distance. Vitidnan asked me to do some filming for him so after a quick lesson in filmmaking I trekked beside him most of the day, trying to get the right angles and get some good footage. He hoped to make a documentary of his seven summits to inspire the people of Thailand to go out and have adventures. The more time I was spending with him the more I liked him. He was a humble and genuine guy who never complained; even when I noticed him hobbling with an obvious sore knee he simply replied ‘It’s no problem at all.’ It was an eight-hour day of rain, swamp and frustration but every time the clouds cleared enough to see the mountains the frustration disappeared and I was grateful to be there suffering through the mud.

  The porters didn’t want to move an inch on the morning of day six. Clouds had descended onto the mountains and they told us it was a sign that the mountain gods didn’t want us to go up that day. I think it could also have been because it was bone-chilling cold and they wanted a sleep-in for a few hours! Either way, after a round of negotiations and a ritual prayer to the gods we were on our way. The sun stayed with us for the morning but around lunchtime the rain began to fall and it didn’t quit. We were ascending into rocky outcrops at the start of the mountain range, and following some exposed ridges, found a lovely cave to shelter us from the weather for lunch. I was trekking with Vitidnan again and it was late afternoon when we came over the top of a ridge and saw the mighty north face of Carstensz rising up from a small turquoise lake, next to which we would be setting up our base camp.

  Upon laying eyes on the lake Vitidnan started to cry. He is a very spiritual man and he told me that as we were walking together he had been performing silent meditations. During one of his meditations he said he had seen a vision and heard a voice. He said the mountain had spoken to him saying, ‘You will do this for your King,’ and also that he and I would do something big together one day. Vitidnan carried a picture of his king to the top of Everest and the other mountains he summited and took these visions very seriously, so as we descended into base camp he was crying happy tears, while I walked beside him feeling slightly awkward offering up my Aussie words of comfort, ‘We will be sweet mate.’

  …

  Our base camp was erected 20 metres from the lake on a flat, rocky surface and surrounded by exposed rock walls on all sides. The only place to go from where we were at 4330 metres was to start our climb up to the summit, or back down the mountain range to the jungle. The porters dropped off all of our bags and quickly descended to a big cave a couple of hours back down the valley where it was warmer, to wait for us to summit.

  The team was feeling strong and we shared a hot meal together, congratulating ourselves on successfully finishing stage one. We decided to have a rest day the following day but be up at midnight for a 2 am departure. We would leave early to begin the climb in the dark during calm weather conditions, and hopefully be back down before the afternoon rain storms and clouds blanketed the area. Meldi told us there should be minimal ice on the route and that we would need to climb in gloves to fend off the cold. Climbing in gloves, especially on a technical rock-climbing route, isn’t my favourite thing to do. To combat this I had modified my gloves by cutting off the tips of two fingers and my thumb to allow me to feel the rock better but also keep the majority of my hand warm. This was something we used to do in the Army when we needed to be able to feel the trigger pressures in cold climates.

  We all slept late on our designated rest day and during the middle of the afternoon we came together to go over rope safety procedures and using the ascender in a similar fashion as we did on Denali. Everyone was on the same page after a couple of hours of practice drills, then we were told to rest and prepare our equipment for the early departure. Meldi told us that at one point on the climb there was a cable traverse that we needed to negotiate. This was a steel cable between two high ridges with a few thousand feet of air below that we must clip onto and pull ourselves across. I hadn’t done a traverse like that before and I was excited to try it. I was going to climb light, knowing that every extra kilogram of weight added huge amounts of effort the more vertical it was and the higher we went. I planned to only take 2 litres of water, some snacks, a warm jacket and a spare pair of gloves. Light and easy instead of heavy and hard was my plan and as I settled into my sleeping bag for a few restless hours of sleep I pictured the climb in my mind and practised everything I needed to do to get back down safely.

  Vitidnan’s head torch burst to life and it felt like I had just closed my eyes; I thought it couldn’t possibly be midnight, but it was. I could hear the others rustling around in their tents getting ready and as I watched my breath transform to fog in front of my face I knew it was going to be a cold start. It took us two hours to get dressed, eat some food, fill our water bottles and be ready to move off together by 2 am.

  It was bitterly cold as we started our walk towards the base of the cliff – I decided to leave my big jacket on until I warmed up. At the bottom of the sloping face we organised our gear, packing away jackets and securing head torches for the first part of the climb that was still in darkness. When I first laid hands on the rock it was cold yet grippy to the touch and as I started to ascend behind Meldi I quickly fell into a smooth rhythm of climbing. Good footholds and handholds were abundant, making it an enjoyable scramble up the first cliff. My fingers were cold and going numb from the rock, forcing me to stop every ten minutes and shove them into my pants to warm them up between my legs.

  Looking down I could see a trail of head torches following up behind me and in the windless morning all that could be heard was heavy breathing, the occasional clink of a carabiner against the cliff and the sound of shoes scaling rock. I was in the zone with acute climbing focus as the first light of dawn began to break on the horizon. We all came together at the top of the first ridge for a drink and a snack after three hours of solid effort. There were smiles on everyone’s faces as we rested and watched Meldi lead the next steeper section of the climb, requiring a fixed rope for safety. Similar to Denali when we used the fixed lines up the head wall, I clipped into the rope with my ascender on a short lanyard and had a second lanyard with a carabiner clipped in as a back-up. The ascender also doubled as a handle I could pull on if I was unable to find good handholds on the more technical sections.

  I really enjoyed the steeper section and I didn’t need to use the ascender as a handle at any stage, finding decent hand positions as I went. It was a harder section to climb but the sun was up and it opened up my field of vision to plenty of possible footholds and handholds, and there were also good rest spots along the way. At certain points I found myself on fingertips and tippy toes with adrenaline surging into my blood. The fear of falling flashed to the surface and I had to control my emotions or it would lead to shaking, freezing in position and possibly falling. When I found myself in those positions I took a deep, slow breath, gripped with my fingers as if my life depended on it and forced myself to move. Freezing and not making a move is when things go wrong. It didn’t matter if the move I made was the right one or not, I just needed to keep calm and keep moving and it almost always worked out okay.

  The top of the fixed lines arrived at the top of the ridge, the same sharp grey ridge that I was staring at from two days away as we
made our way through the jungle. While standing on its razor edge, facing up towards the summit ridge of Carstensz, I looked down thousands of feet to my right and thousands to my left. The formations of rock we were standing on were intimidating yet incredibly beautiful. Clouds that were surely to bring the afternoon showers were still many kilometres away in the distance, leaving clear skies and dry rock basking in the mid-morning sun. The temperature was warming up and I was climbing in my windbreaker, beanie and gloves, putting the extra layers away in my pack.

  We scrambled along the ridge making steady progress towards the top. It was an easy traverse allowing some free-flowing conversation among the team. As we moved around a particularly jagged section of the ridge it came to an abrupt end where the cliff fell away beneath us exposing 1000 metres of rock face straight down.

  We had arrived at the traverse Meldi had mentioned the day before, a fixed steel cable stretching 10 metres across between two high points of the ridge. This was our last big obstacle before the summit and it was going to take some time for us to navigate across it safely. We had to complete the crossing one at a time so we didn’t overload the anchors of the cable. I wasn’t feeling nervous or afraid as I stepped up but as I clipped my carabiner onto the cable and sat down in my harness letting it take my full weight, I was instantly anxious. I came from an old-school way of thinking that for something to be strong it needs to be big and tough so when I’m sitting on a lanyard that’s 3 millimetres thick and 10 millimetres wide I instantly have doubts. I knew the science and I told myself the small lanyard could easily hold a truck but I still gripped the cable ready for it to fail at any moment. I eased back into my harness and took my first pull across the line, feeling my feet fall away from the edge and hanging in the void with a 1000-metre drop below me.