The Frozen River by James Crowden

The Frozen River by James Crowden

Author:James Crowden
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2019-11-26T19:53:14+00:00


Frozen beauty

Day four. Living in a canyon was an unusual experience. After Kilima Bao we lived on borrowed time in the narrow, twisting corridor of rock. Every bend opened up new possibilities. At one point there was a hundred-foot waterfall frozen solid with cylindrical organ pipes of ice, fluted and beautiful, and a lone juniper tree clung to the side of the gorge on its left-hand side. The ice danced in front of us, then reared up once more, slabs three feet thick riding this way and that, twisted and frozen again. Chaos and harmony. Solidity in slow motion, like the mountains themselves.

More avalanche cones, and then one enormous one that we had to climb over like a cornice. It took time, one after another. Then another rock ledge along which we shuffled, fifty then a hundred feet up, after which back down to ice. A roller coaster. Ridge by ridge the mountains unfolded. Even when we stopped for five minutes we were still moving, although we leant on sticks. Our minds kept going. Then off again, body and mind synchronised.

The rock became a friend – we clung on, we clambered, we rested our packs against it, we slept under it, we marvelled at its changes in colour. Under boulders we found twigs and small branches trapped like driftwood from summer’s meltwater. We resorted to feeling under the rocks to extricate these precious, weathered gems that were gathered and piled together to make a fire. Within half an hour we had a good supply.

The real rest was at midday when the sun shone and briefly touched our backs. To stop in the shade would be almost unthinkable but at times it had to happen. And when the fire was lit and lunch was ready, the warm steaming dough balls looked inviting because of their size, although they rested heavily on the stomach. Energy for the next few hours.

In some places the ice was completely clear and transparent like plate glass. This was rather alarming, for despite being thick and safe, it seemed as though we were walking on water. The bottom of the river, ten or fifteen feet beneath us, was as clear as the river with a slight pale green tinge, and we could pick out the individual stones.

Sometimes the ice was solid for a mile or more, flat, pale, opaque and fast. We got up quite a speed, like ice hockey players. But it didn’t last long – Tashi fell over again in peals of laughter and the clatter of his kettle, which was still tied to the top of his pack. More than once the spout got bent. We helped each other up. Sticks broke but were not discarded, kept for the evening fire, and others were cut on the way.

We made good progress. One or two miles were very fast, then there was a major hold-up and a bottleneck to get round an obstacle, or else the ice ran out. Sometimes this happened where other smaller rivers joined, creating turbulence not just at the junction but downstream as well.



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