Now that we were approaching the Haramosh Valley on the river, we knew it was time for our anticipated visit to the school. Roland and Chris had visited the previous day and read two English books owned by the school, but our whole group was warmly welcomed by the principle.

School was just starting as we arrived, so they went through morning assembly, including a beautiful rendition of the Pakistan National Anthem. Most Shiite schools in Pakistan teach girls and boys, unfortunately in the more conservative Sunni districts, woman’s education is uncommon.

Three Cups of Tea covers Pakistan’s education problems in depth, and is a wonderful read. Peace Through Education

We were only too glad to give a little time to the school, and I personally felt hypocritical while talking about the importance of a multilingual education, something still overlooked in the United States, at least where I grew up.

On the river we were welcomed with a large rapid to start the day off. Phil Boyer opted to go first and probe the beast, and although he wasn’t able to make the move to the left as planned he went big down the middle and sorted it out with no problems.
From the scout I had liked the left line, a little more technical to start out with, but a gimmie once the top move was made.

Hiking back up I took plenty of time to scout my entrance move, noting a wave hole that would serve as a marker for me to start my drive left, and once in my boat I quickly peeled out. Coming down the initial wave train I was glad for time spent scouting this move in depth. Visibility was limited due to wave height, but as I passed the wave hole I put the heat on and scurried left of the rock; whew, glad the hard move was past.

Now just to finish up down the left Now where exactly was I going? Dismissing the bottom move I had made a large mistake, in a river of this size small holes are larger than named holes than most rivers. I came down the left side not really sure where I wanted to be, semi-confident that it didn’t really matter. As I dropped over a wide but seemingly benign hole, I back endered into it and started getting my surf on.

No big deal I told myself, it didn’t look too bad so I should flush pretty quickly. I rolled up only to still be in it, and proceeded to get a few ends and surf more, starting to get short on breath and more than a little concerned about the situation. An attempted blast out the side got me nowhere, and I was pulled back into the maw to flip again. I decided to wait upside down a little longer this time to make sure I would flush, and as I felt the current get less chaotic I rolled up, confident that I would be moving downstream.

My concern about the situation skyrocketed once I had rolled up and the hole pulled me back in from over a boat length away. I couldn’t help but think that this might not end well as the hole pulled me back into the meat and a quick series of enders. Rolling up again, I was very surprised to be clear of the hole and still in my boat, not really sure how I had gotten away with that one.

Insult to injury followed with another brief surf in a downstream hole, then I was clear of the rapid, glad to have that one behind me.

Ben followed, cleaning it with no problems down the center too, and we pushed on to a true monster.

It had looked big on the drive up, but someone in the team and proclaimed that it would get run. Standing at the lip we weren’t so sure about that claim.

The lead in was a stout enough rapid on its own, but the final plunge into the hole was something that I am not articulate enough to give justice to. My stomach turned over just contemplating the power.

Suffice to say if it was a warm sunny day, and you were as fired up as can be, then just maybe you would consider running it. Or, if it’s just above freezing, you’re in a third world country half-way around the world from home, hours from any kind of help and you name is Ben Stookesberry, you’d fire it up. Not that Ben was reckless in his attempt, he gave it a thorough scout from both sides of the river before giving the nod. I believe the photographs of the hole speak for themselves…but let me say we all held our breath as Ben dropped into the gut of the hole, and exhaled in relief as he resurfaced and rolled up clear of the backwash.

Several more large rapids followed and then the sun went over the ridge.
Grouped in an eddy we conversed about camp options. On a plateau there were a few sandy spots mixed into a boulder field, or we could gamble and push downstream further. The deciding factor was an abundant supply of driftwood, we couldn’t turn down a campfire opportunity as the temperatures dropped quickly.

As we warmed up by the fire, the topic of discussion was both our previous ten days on the river, and the following. Surly this was one, if not the best river any of us had ever been on. Consistent rapids every day, class V almost all day, every day. What loomed even larger was the promise of making to the confluence the next day. I for one always look forward to take out; warm cloths, plenty of food, external heat and rest, and that’s after just one day on the river! After ten days of cold, challenging whitewater, I hoped the confluence would be attainable in one more day.

Rain started to drizzle down. Was in late in the night, or early in the morning? Either way it didn’t matter, I had gone light and had no shelter. During the evening I had scouted out an alcove in the boulders, and was glad I had scoped it out. Under the dim light of my headlamp I squeezed through the entrance and went back to sleep safe from precipitation.

Waking up in the morning, we were stoked to be greeted by beautiful blue skies a rare treat on our trip!

With a strong desire to make the confluence, we wasted no time putting on and some brief calm water led us to an extended scout over sculpted bedrock.

The rapid was tempting, but any mistake, or simply having a wave break at the wrong time, would land the paddler in a pocket where the situation would turn dire. Having made it safely so many kilometers we deemed it prudent to make quick work of it and portage.

During the portage we had made contact with Roland via radio, and he warned of us of a very long rapid downstream. This perked our interest, at this point we knew that a rapid called “very long” must indeed fulfill that description.

From the top it was indeed long, and Ben led the group down a half kilometer class III lead in. Once out of our boats we were all in awe at the length of the rapid. Including the lead in, it was a true kilometer long beast.

Extensive scouting revealed several entrance moves, followed by, surprise, a large hole. I was daunted by simply the challenge of memorizing the amount of moves needed to even get the hole, let alone the drive left needed to skirt the Goliath of hydraulics. Along with the rest of the group, I opted to sneak down the left side of the rapid, staying in my boat and making easy progress. Living up to the legend, Ben decided he would mainline the lengthy cascade.

Ben came down the middle looking strong, making move after move, but on the final lead into the hole a boil moved him to the right side of the river, and from behind the lens I could tell that his drive left wasn’t going well, and he was going to hit the hole.

Quickly surfing to the right side of the hole, Ben proceeded to throw down with a quick succession of ends. Often he wasn’t visible, but we could tell he was getting air, then he resurfaced on top of the pile and drove back into the pit and disappeared, resurfacing downstream of the boil. The video should do this justice!

After our wide eyed moment, one or two quick rapids and we were out for one more long walk. A rowdy lead in and a few big wave holes, but nothing too sticky. If we had all been wishing for a finale worthy of scouting but good to go, we couldn’t have dreamed anything better. We all fired away at the best with no mishaps, and psyched ourselves up for more downstream.

With yet another large rapid behind us, we pushed downstream expecting more scouts and possibly a portage or two. As the Indus neared confluence with the Gilgit, gradient tapered off and we were able to stay in our boats, run some big wave trains and soak in what we had just accomplished.

As we paddled through splashy wave trains we were all relieved to have one-hundred kilometers of big water class V behind us. Emerging with no swims and the most complete descent of the Indus behind us, we were in awe of the river’s power and might. Certainly nothing had been tamed, and we felt fortunate to have survived the dynamic force of the Indus, and reveled a the splendid glory of its sights. Respect to all those who came first to the Lion River.

Due to political unfriendliness downstream, our police escort advised taking our above the next town, so we took out at an abandoned bridge a kilometer below the confluence.

Our return tickets left us flying out in a few days, and weighing our options we decided to make the relatively short drive to Kunjareb Pass, the Worlds highest international border.

While a recent Time Magazine called Pakistan “The most dangerous place in the world” our experience was the opposite. Like anywhere in the world, Pakistan has dangerous areas. So does the United States and every other country in the world. Traveling with a good guide and using common sense, the most dangerous part of Pakistan is the driving. Get a good driver, it’s well worth the money. We used Shani Tours.

Thanks to:

Everyone who supplied gear: Jackson Kayaks, Kokatat, Sawyer Paddles, Snapdragon Design, and Greg Garrison of Integral Designs.

The readers who motivated me to write this terribly long winded summary of our trip.

Special thanks go out to Roland Stevenson, the motivator, organizer and logistical master without whom this trip would never have been possible.

Most of all thanks to our drivers and the wonderful people of Pakistan, who made us feel at home and went our of their way to extend a warm welcome to their incredible country.

Look for this trip in Clear H2O Film’s upcoming release: Hotel Charley IV. Hopefully the video can do big water justice, because my words and photos can’t do justice to the size and power of this amazing river!

Darin McQuoid

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