Brightest of Silver Linings: Climbing Carstensz Pyramid In Papua At Age 65. Carol Masheter
with the kids. I was relieved, when we retreated from the merciless heat and dirty streets into the Grand Tembaga, but I was glad I had tagged along with Carina and had met some of the local people. After paddling around in the pool to cool off, I felt even better.
March 10, 2012. This morning after breakfast Franky told us he had found another helicopter. However, the only available pilot had never flown as high as 14,000 feet elevation and was not comfortable doing so. We would not fly today. Resigned to another day in Timika, Carina and I made another foray outside the hotel to buy more bottled water. Carina’s relaxed attitude helped distract me from my frustration about our repeated delays.
Dennis and Carina had found enough in common to joke and laugh together. However, when I tried to talk with Dennis, he avoided my gaze and ignored my questions. After breakfast Kevin had us practice setting up one of our Marmot Trango tents in the upstairs hallway between our hotel rooms. When I tried to work with Dennis, he brushed me off with a terse, “I’ve got this. I’ve got this.” What’s up with this guy? I wondered, feeling rebuffed for reasons I did not understand. Qobin seemed to be more interested in his laptop than preparing for our climb. Unlike most of my previous mountaineering trips, this group did not seem to be coming together as a team. I tried to convince myself, the delays and uncertainties are frustrating for all of us, perhaps explaining our lack of cohesiveness. Still, I felt uneasy.
Kevin and Franky arranged for us to visit a country club. The drive through the countryside was a nice break from the noise and dirt of Timika. Lunch was not ready when we arrived, so I suggested a walk around the spacious grounds. Kevin nodded OK, but he and the others stayed inside.
I wandered outside in the humid heat on paths along expansive mowed lawns and thick patches of jungle. The jungle was intimidating yet intriguing. I felt a deep respect for the earlier explorers who had hacked their way through what looked like impenetrable walls of strange plants and giant trees. I had mixed feeling about flying to Base Camp – guilt about not earning the summit by hiking through the jungle mixed with relief about avoiding the jungle’s rumored dangers.
I walked past huge bromeliads with stalks bent into graceful arcs of red and yellow flowers. Towering trees flaunted fin-like buttresses and draperies of vines and epiphytes. Exotic bird calls filtered through the thick canopy overhead. I looked up and tried to spot the songsters, but they remained hidden. A strange sound rose and fell repeatedly, like an electric motor winding up and then winding down. Some kind of cicada? I wondered. The air had a moldy yet alive scent. Intrigued, I tried to imagine what new curiosities we would find nearer the peak.
Looking across one of the spacious, well-groomed lawns, I could see people in the distance playing golf, probably highly paid executives from the Freeport Mine. The contrast between the luxurious golf course and the gritty poverty of Timika was jarring. Sweating from the heat, I went back inside the cavernous dining room. Near the entrance was a small library of worn books. While waiting for lunch, I leafed through them. Most were old novels in English and Dutch, echoes of colonialism or reminders of home for today’s foreign visitors.
At last lunch was ready. We filled our plates from an even wider offering of delicacies than we had enjoyed in Denpasar. We were the only guests at a feast that could have fed dozens of people. Had Kevin and Franky arranged this especially for us? I tried to appreciate this colonial-style luxury, but part of me disapproved of such extravagance in a poor country like Papua. Also, I felt as though I were being appeased with luxuries I did not want. I had come here to climb, not to eat rich food. Each day Franky had told us, “helicopter tomorrow, I guarantee,” but when the next day had come, he had a new reason why we could not fly. The days were slipping by, and we were no closer to Carstensz Pyramid. On past mountaineering trips waiting and uncertainty had been part of the experience. Today, reminding myself of this did not make it easier.
The others were also frustrated by the delays. Dennis said he hated being at the Grand Tembaga. He wanted to fly back to Denpasar and stay at the Sheraton Hotel there. Carina also wanted return to Denpasar to be with her new husband. Qobin was spending more time on his laptop. The group was on the verge of flying apart – literally and figuratively.
That evening at the Grand Tembaga we met again with Franky. He talked animatedly about Indonesia’s five different districts and people who live high in trees. He avoided our questions about when we would leave Timika. Apparently nothing had changed; we still had no helicopter access to Base Camp.
Winging It
Gradually the conversation shifted to the logistics of hiking through the jungle. Franky said that we could fly by small plane to a dirt runway near the village of Sugapa (pronounced SooGAHpah). From there we would hike for five days to Base Camp, spend a day climbing the mountain, then hike back to Sugapa in four days. Each day in the jungle would take 10 to 12 hours of strenuous hiking over rugged, thickly forested terrain. Summit day would require an even longer day of 12 to 25 hours, possibly in heavy rain in temperatures near freezing. If we left Timika tomorrow and had no more delays, we would return to Timika on March 22, after our trip was scheduled to end. Kevin would have to cancel one of his other guiding commitments, something he was reluctant to do, but he was willing, if our group wanted to hike to Base Camp.
After Franky left, Kevin described the jungle’s challenges in more detail. We would need to hire about ten Papuan porters. Because tribal warfare could flare up at any time, the porters would bring their wives and children. We would have to pay the porters and buy enough food to feed them and their families as well as ourselves. Local tribes could demand payment from us to cross their lands. The porters could strike for more money or abandon us in the middle of the jungle. Being kidnapped by hostile tribesmen was a possibility. We would be in a remote region. If any of us were kidnapped, injured or sick, we would need to self-rescue. Kevin had not done the jungle hike before. Perhaps he was simply giving us his guide company’s standard caveats, but he seemed very pessimistic. I felt as though I were watching a TV ad about a new drug that promised miracle cures yet warned of countless life-threatening side effects.
The hike sounded dangerous and scary. Even so, I was tired of being jerked around by the on-again, off-again guarantees of helicopter access. I was ready to give the jungle hike a go. The other team members slouched in their seats, eyes downcast. Their body language told me, they were not keen on the hike, before any of them spoke. Then Qobin reminded us that his wife was 36 weeks pregnant. Carina repeated that her mother had pancreatic cancer. Both she and Qobin did not want to be inaccessible should anything go sideways with their family members. Dennis was not keen on the hike, because he was concerned about problems with his knee. I seemed to be the only one who was interested in trying the hike.
Qobin claimed that his boss was very influential and could get us helicopter access. I was skeptical. Also, I wondered how Franky would react to Qobin taking over part of his job as local operator. However, when Franky rejoined us later in the hotel lobby, he seemed delighted. “Qobin has done a good thing! You fly to Base Camp in military helicopter!” Franky said excitedly. Fine, I thought, if it could really happen, I was on board. My hope soared again. I ran up the stairs to Carina’s and my room to prepare.
After several hours of private meetings among Franky, Qobin, and someone Franky called “the commander,” Kevin told us that helicopter access was no longer an option. Qobin had already left the expedition. Kevin said the rest of us could hike to Base Camp or end the expedition now. Earlier today Dennis and Carina had seemed against the jungle hike. This trip is over, I thought. My heart sank. To my surprise, Dennis and Carina said they would do the hike. My spirits rocketed from despair to joy. I ran upstairs to prepare for an early departure the next morning.
In the dark hallway, as I was unlocking the door to Carina’s and my room, I glanced to my right. Several doors down, I could see Kevin’s silhouette, as he was unlocking the door to his own room. Head down, shoulders rounded, his posture was the epitome of dejection. A warning bell went off inside my head. Kevin did not want to do the jungle hike. I tried to convince myself that he was just tired like the rest of us, tired of all the delays, tired because it was nearly 11 p.m., but the warning bell still rang.
March 11, 2012. “No planes fly today, because it’s Sunday,” Franky told us this morning at breakfast.