Puncak Trikora 2010 (Aus3Peaks)

Expedition Diary

Day 1 - 27th November:

It was another early start and the check-in queue at the Trigana Air counter gave me goose bumps – it reminded me of the check-in desks for local flights at Khartoum Airport in Sudan. However, I soon realised that, unlike in Sudan, there was some order behind the chaos. When I checked in, I was told me my flight would start boarding in 10 minutes, which was 1 hour 45 minutes ahead of schedule – luckily my biggest fear in life is missing a flight so I'm always at the airport in good time and I made it on OK.

The flight into Wamena is incredible – the plane has to pass through an opening in the mountains and suddenly the whole Baliem valley opens up in front you. The Baliem Valley was only discovered in 1936 by coincidence by a mail aircraft and had a self-supporting agricultural system of high standard, despite having had no previous contact with the civilized world. These days, Wamena is home to 10,000 people but due to the lack of transport infrastructure all goods have to be flown in, which pushes prices up and makes life expensive for the local residents.

I had been advised by my PR Alex that if I could seek out a Japanese man called Fuji he could organise my trip to Trikora. I never found the café where he was supposedly based but I found another café and was amazed to discover a wireless internet connection. I decided to try to phone both of the guides that I had previously been in contact with now that I was in Wamena and had my travel permit, to see if they would be willing to negotiate.

The first guy I called had come highly recommended on several internet forums, but when I tried his number it didn't connect. The second guide answered and I arranged for him to come to the cafe to discuss a trip. He spoke really good English and over a cup of tea (and several cigarettes for him) he explained that he had been sponsored by a missionary priest through school (which is how he had learned such good English), that he had 7 children, including 6 daughters and that each time one of his daughters marries he receives pigs as a gift from her husband's family. It really pays to have daughters in Papua. The local population come from the Dani tribe and he explained that very few people now live the traditional way.

Then, we started to negotiate. I explained my position that I didn't have a large budget and that I wanted to be as quick (while staying safe) and as lightweight as possible. Over email his lowest price had been $1,750 but his opening price was this time was $3,000 and I immediately told him that if he didn't give me a serious price I would simply fly back to Jayapura the next day. I don't actually have access to lots of cash in Papua so I told him my limit was $1,000 and eventually we settled on a price of $1,200, which I was relatively happy with. I know that the most expensive part of the trip was renting a 4WD vehicle for the 2.5 hour drive to Lake Habbema and back. The cost of fuel in Wamena is prohibitive since, like all other goods, it has to be flown in from Jayapura.


28th November - Puncak Trikora Day 2: Lake Habbema to Wakikama

I woke early (05:30) just to make sure that my kit was packed and to try to grab a quick breakfast before the scheduled 7 am pick up from the hotel. Outside the hotel, the vehicle was already waiting with my Indonesian driver and I was pleased to see it was in good condition. I wasn't sure what state the road would be in but was glad that at least the first part of my 'budget' trip would be trouble-free. After 20 minutes I texted the local agent to ask where he was. During my previous expedition in Indonesia in 1994, I had experienced the phenomenon known locally as 'rubber time' so I wasn't too upset to learn that the guide was still buying food. He eventually turned up after 45 minutes with the guide/cook and 2 porters, one of whom looked rather old and frail. The arrangement was that there would be 3 porters; the 3rd porter was planned to be an acquaintance of the elderly porter but he hadn't shown up so instead we left the elderly porter and jumped in the car to find a friend of the guide/cook who lived near the local market. It didn't take him long to agree to earn a bit of spending money and after a quick stop to buy more provisions we sped off West on the road into the mountains.

Initially, the road was in good condition and was passable by 2WD. We drove past smallholdings and schools that, although traditionally built, were in good order and the Indonesian flag was prominently displayed. After about 15 minutes of driving out of Wamena, we stopped at an Army checkpoint; despite my concerns about being denied access, the soldier manning the checkpoint was happy with my Surat Jalan and my permit from the Forestry Office and we were allowed to proceed. By now, the driver, his friend and the guide and porters must already have smoked about 5 cigarettes each – lung disease rates in Indonesia in general and Papua in particular must be among the highest in the world.

The road surface soon became much rougher and although it was a graded road, it would have been impossible for a 2WD vehicle to progress. Luckily it was dry; otherwise it would have been very difficult even for a 4WD vehicle to ascend. As we climbed up the winding road into the mountains, we passed small groups of Papuans walking either towards or out of Wamena. There were several small settlements hidden by the vegetation, but which were identifiable by the breaks in vegetation that allowed villagers access. There were several small logging camps by the roadside, where a few Papuans brandishing chainsaws were busy sawing logs into planks. It was clear that most of the forest around Wamena had already been denuded and it really felt like I was travelling through a frontier. Papua feels like it's on the brink of something big, either for better or worse. So far, the only traditional dress I had seen was an old man in Wamena selling tourist trinkets – every other person was wearing Western clothes in different gaudy combinations.

We stopped at a viewpoint where the forest opened up and there was an incredible vista across the broad, flat Baliem Valley, where I stopped to take a few photos. It felt really exciting to know I was the only Westerner making my way through this frontier and into an area that was really off-limits to tourists. The fact that I was going with a ragtag bunch of Papuans increased the sense of adventure. The reality was that no Indonesian official knew I was headed so if someone decided that I should disappear then only my daily contact with Iain Mackay, who knew my co-ordinates and plans in details, could help get me out.

After about an hour and a half of progress up into the mountains, I started to get good views of the Snow Mountains to the south. This far into the mountains, there were no real forestry operations. In actual fact, we were now deep into the Lorentz National Park, hence why I had to apply for a forestry permit to access Lake Habbema. Officially, deforestation is illegal in this Park, which is a World Heritage Site that stretches for over 150 kilometers (km), from the central cordillera mountains in the north to the Arafura Sea in the south.

In the distance, I caught my first glimpse of Lake Habbema, which sits in a broad alpine valley. To be honest, it was a bit disappointing, but that's not surprising when you consider that I'm from Scotland, which boasts many incredibly beautiful lochs. I think the fact that the landscape was scarred by the white sand of the road (which soon splits and runs all the way to either Timika or Tiom) spoiled my impression.

We soon stopped on the road when the guide was happy that we were at the right spot. As it turned out, we were in the wrong spot and as the vehicle sped off back to Wamena I had a sinking feeling that things might not go as smoothly as planned. The 'guide' (Wameak, which means Little Pig in Dani) and one of the porters headed west down the road to find the path, while the other porter headed east. My agent had assured me that the guide, who was in actual fact a cook, had been to Trikora many times before. This was stretching the truth more than a little.

Meanwhile, I sat down on my pack and waited while they hooted and hollered at each other from a distance before they decided the porter to the East had found a suitable path. As I trudged slowly uphill in the morning sun, I found myself breathing quite heavily. Habbema sits at an altitude of 3,400m and the effect of the lower oxygen pressure on my physiology was obvious. I was also carrying my big pack (around 20 kgs) because I wanted to build up a base of mountain fitness on this first leg of the expedition, having had precious little chance to train while working in Sudan. One thing I was not wearing at this point, however, was sun-cream, which I was later to regret.

We trudged slowly down the steep slope that ran south from the lake to a broad, boggy plain. To the south was a scrubby forest, beyond which were a series of rocky ridges ridges, and beyond those ridges Puncak Trikora was shrouded in cloud. The porters pace was initially slow. Two of them wore flip-flops and the third walked barefoot. The flip-flops were discarded whenever we crossed really slippery ground, to be replaced by...er...nothing – they preferred to go barefoot and as I followed in their footsteps I could see that the big toe was slightly splayed compared to my own foot, which helped balance on e.g. tree roots. We seemed to be heading slightly to the West of Puncak Trikora, which seemed strange to me, and Wameak seemed unsure of himself but obviously didn't want to lose face so early in the trip. So we continued to walk in the same direction and I already started to lose my faith in his guiding abilities and his judgement.

After a while, we reached the forest at the other side of the plain and started to ascend through the shrubby trees. There were visible footprints so it was obvious that people used this route, however it was clearly heading too far West. At this point Wameak decided that we had veered slightly off course and decided to change direction. We had been heading up into the mountains to a village called Brumu, which was under rebel OPM control. The Free Papua Movement (Indonesian: Organisasi Papua Merdeka, abbreviated OPM) is an indigenous organisation established in 1965 to promote self-determination and secession of West Papua from the Republic of Indonesia. The movement is outlawed in Indonesia, and raising the Morning Star flag and speaking in support of OPM goals are similarly outlawed.

Wameak also decided that the forest was too thick to walk through (it wasn't), so instead we walked back the way we had come for half an hour and then spent another hour walking East to meet the actual path that we should have taken all along. It was really infuriating to know that I had been under the equatorial sun for an hour and a half for no reason, and that I had used up energy walking with a heavy pack to boot. Once we hit the right path it was easy to follow up through the forest and about halfway up a shallow slope we hit a heathery open area with many tree stumps – in the centre of this area was a raised, flat, grassy mound with a traditional A-frame shelter built from branches with space for a small tent adjacent. We had reached Wakikama (3,301m).We had walked for 4.5 hours and arrived at camp at 3 p.m.

As I pitched my wee GoLite tent above the shelter, the porters collected wood for the cooking fire (hence the many tree stumps). I had brought with me from the UK a selection of freeze-dried meals, which required me to simply add boiling water to the pouch, stir, and then wait for 10 minutes. My food included a selection of breakfasts and main meals and I had only requested Wameak to provide me with some lunch. Once the fire was going, my water had been boiled and I was tucking into my bland, rehydrated food, Wameak unveiled his wok with a flourish and in no time at all was cooking up freshly boiled and egg-fried rice and noodles with garlic, sardines and cabbage. It smelled and looked amazing, but I stubbornly refused to eat it as I chewed down hard on my stodgy foil-packed dinner. In that one moment of extreme clarity, I knew that Wameak's true calling was as a cook and not as a guide, and I resolved to only eat his freshly cooked food from them on, starting with breakfast the next morning. I also resolved to ignore every navigational decision he made henceforth.

I made one huge mistake while we were having dinner and while the porters smoked another 20 cigarettes each. I had brought with me into the shelter my new Montane softshell, which was one of the items that Montane had very generously donated. Wameak stared at it with his beady eyes and then asked if he could borrow it as it would be very cold at night. As a humanitarian aid worker I had no choice but to accede to this request. I said goodbye to this shiny new bit of kit with a heavy heart. I retired to my tent and had the first opportunity to test my satcomms in the field. I set up my laptop and BGAN in my one-man tent and was able to check emails and update the expedition facebook page. Simply amazing!

I settled down in my waterproof goosedown sleeping bag and waited to drift off with the sound of the porters jabbering away in the background. Two hours later, when they finally shut up, I was also able to grab some sleep, but woke up cold in the middle of the night. I had to add some layers – 3,400m, whether in the tropics or not, is not a warm place to be once the sun drops below the horizon.

29th November – Puncak Trikora Day 3 - Wakikama to Semalak (Cave) Camp

Today, we were walking to Semalak (Cave) Camp, from where I would make my attempt to climb Puncak Trikora. We woke at 06:30 and Wameak produced a delicious breakfast, which looked suspiciously similar to the dinner he had prepared the previous night; nevertheless, it was a big improvement on my freeze-dried fare and I devoured breakfast with two cups of sweet tea. The camp had a very small stream running close by but the water was standing and brown and I didn't really want to drink it, either purified using my water purifier or with iodine.

It looked like it would be another clear and hot day. Wameak told me it would be a very long walk today, and I tried to put my sunburned neck (which had kept me awake most of the night) and my almost empty water bottle to the back of my mind.

We climbed south out of the forest for about 15 minutes before the porters decided it was already time for a break at the top of the ridge. Having such a serious nicotine addiction is not conducive to trekking long distances. After a 10-minute break, we progressed onto a series of ridges the ran generally south but we occasionally had to descend a ridge into a short, steep valley and climb up to another ridge to continue our southerly progress. It was clear that we were making good progress and we could see Puncak Trikora in the distance, hovering above a broad valley that was accessible by a break in the mountain wall, down which a small river flowed. One of my porters (Junus, who was the 'substitute' porter) was the strongest in the party and I followed him – Wameak the guide set a slower pace and as I no longer trusted his path-finding ability, I was happy to stick close to Junus to find the best path.

After 3 hours walking under the hot sun, we stopped at a small waterfall in a wooded valley to fill up my waterbottles and to have a rest stop. Wameak produced a pack of digestive biscuits, which we all ate hungrily. I scoffed 10 biscuits and started to feel like a Papuan! What I was already finding remarkable was just how much food the Papuans could consume at one sitting – having read Marks Anstice's book 'First Contact' to prepare for the expedition, I was aware that I needed to be careful with food and to make sure that porters didn't consume all their food and help them plan ahead. . However, last night and this morning I was stunned by the heaped platefuls they ate (at least twice as much as me) and when Wameak confirmed that all the biscuits were now finished (he had only bought two packets), I began to worry slightly about having enough lunch for the remaining days.

We spotted some fresh bootprints heading south on the small path. Although I was surprised to see that there would be tourists climbing Trikora (which is still rarely climbed), I was a bit relieved to know that we could ask detailed questions about the route. We climbed over a small rise and Wameak pointed out a small cave in an escarpment in the distance. We headed slightly downhill towards it and could soon see a tent wedged in the left-hand end of the cave and a tarpaulin flapping in the wind to the right, supported by wooden stakes. Smoke was issuing from behind the tarpaulin so we knew there would be porters sheltering from the wind behind the screen.

We climbed up a short, steep slope into the cave, which was about 50 feet wide, 8 feet high and 12 feet deep. The roof of the cave, which was caked black with the smoke of hundreds of fires, sloped back sharply, so that as you entered you had to crouch lower and lower to reach the back of the cave. The floor was spread with grass to make it more comfortable. Although the cave would provide excellent shelter from the rain, because it was effectively open to the front, it funnelled the wind that blew down the valley, hence why the incumbent porters had erected a tarpaulin for shelter. As I sat wearily down on my pack, my Dani team introduced themselves to the two others, who were from the Lani tribe and appeared much younger than my porters. The Lani porters explained that one Indonesian tourist was climbing Trikora with one guide and one other porter. They had set off at 5 am and were expected back late in the afternoon
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Soon, Wameak was doing what he did best – cooking up a storm. As I was pitching my tent the Indonesian tourist returned from his climb, and although we acknowledged each other briefly, he immediately entered his tent to rest. I decided that was a splendid idea so I did the same. Wameak and I had discussed the possibility of walking up towards Trikora in the afternoon to try to identify the best access route. I thought this was a great idea, but as the afternoon wore on, it became clear that this would remain an idea and would not be put into practice as we were both exhausted from a long, hot walk. I consoled myself with the knowledge that he would interrogate the other guide and porter for vital navigational information that would help us the next day. Unfortunately, I forgot to consider Papuan male pride, which meant that under no circumstances would a Papuan male ever show a sign of weakness (such as admitting he didn't know the path to the mountain), even if that sign of weakness could help save his or his client's life.

I had brought with me a rough sketch map drawn by one of my email correspondents, who had visited both Puncak Trikora and Puncak Mandala 20 years before. I had tried to find any reliable mapping of the three mountains for several months but had come up with almost nothing. I had visited the Library of the Royal Geographical Society in London in January and made copies of what was available, but these consisted mainly of old maps from expeditions in the 1950s that had no contour lines and very little in the way of detail. Therefore, I was relying heavily on local knowledge to help me find a safe route up the mountains.

Late in the afternoon, the Indonesian tourist re-appeared from his tent and he explained that he was a mountain guide who had guided on Carstensz a few times and he was surveying Trikora with a view to running commercial trips. After Trikora, he was planning to walk for a week down to the Asmat region in the south, where the tribes still lived relatively traditional lives. I showed him my sketch map and asked him some questions about the route onto the mountain. The sketch map didn't bear much resemblance to the physical geography that I could see with my own eyes and he confirmed that he had some difficulty finding a way up to the summit ridge. He also confirmed that there was a lot of scrambling once on the ridge and at least some sections that required technical climbing. He wasn't exactly sure which of the several rocky high points on the ridge was the actual summit. My worst fears were confirmed. He had taken 10.5 hours to ascend and descend with a guide who had apparently been strong and fit and who did in theory know the mountain and had been there before.

My situation, on the other hand, was less advantageous. I didn't have my mountain legs, my guide was unsure of the way and I would have to try to ascend alone. My discussion with him seemed to confirm that we should skirt West along the base of the mountain to find a path up to the summit ridge and then follow the ridge East. I spent a very restless night worrying about whether the easiest of the three summits I would attempt (in theory at least) would even be possible.


30th November - Puncak Trikora Day 4 - All Hope Gone

I rose next morning at 04:45 and could barely eat any breakfast. Whether this was down to altitude (we were now at 3,700m), nerves or lack of sleep I couldn't be sure, but I couldn't face much food in the morning and was keen to get moving. Wameak and Junus were going to accompany me to an unspecified point, after which I would continue alone.

We followed a clear path heading south-west from the cave along a valley. After an hour of gentle ascent that kept Trikora to our left-hand side, Wameak spotted a break in the first escarpment and headed off the path over some boggy ground to try to find a path. I could still see boot marks heading south west on the actual path, but the language barrier prevented us from really understanding each other. My frustration with the situation began to grow and after Wameak had been gone for about 45 minutes with no sign of finding a path, I gestured to Junus that I had had enough. I asked him to bring me the lunch food and gestured to indicate that I would continue along the path and try to skirt round a subsidiary peak that protected Trikora's north-facing buttress to look for a safe way up. I thought I could see path up to the summit ridge high up behind this subsidiary peak. I felt like the time wasted so far would be fatal to my attempts to even get on the mountain and I preferred moving positively to sitting around and waiting for the guide to identify the path. I was sure if he found a path it would most probably be the wrong one anyway.

I set off to skirt round the minor peak over grassy ground that got steeper and steeper. As I traversed, I realised that the ground ahead was becoming steeper and steeper and so I decided I may as well climb to the top of the minor peak to at least gain a good vantage point to survey the ground ahead. The porter had shouted across to Wameak and they followed me at some distance. It was hot, sweaty work to plod slowly up this waterlogged peak, which was riven with many narrow but deep fissures that I had to cross with care. Eventually, I reached the crest and was joined some time later by the two others.

My hopes of spotting an obvious break in the buttresses ahead were dashed – I really couldn't see any feasible way to get on this mountain! Ahead and slightly to the right was a steep, 100m high grass-covered rampart and Wameak identified this as the route I should take to gain the summit ridge. He explained that two Japanese climbers had climbed this way using ropes and climbing gear. Although the route got less steep near the top, it looked atrocious and would have been incredibly risky, especially in the wet. I decided to call this Plan B and explained that I wanted to explore all other options before committing to this.

Therefore, we continued to skirt West and South along the base of Trikora's flank. We were now off the path and had to cover broken ground where every footstep had to be placed with care. It sapped a huge amount of mental energy, knowing that every footstep could lead to a plunge into an unseen hole. We walked like this for two hours and as we progressed slowly, I always expected to see round the next corner a break in the wall that would allow easy access to the summit ridge. I identified a col where we should be able to see down into a valley that ran south and from where I hoped to identify an accessible route. As we sat on the col, I looked south and saw that Trikora's buttresses seemed to run unbroken into the distance. It was clear that it would take too long to reach a ridge at the bottom of the valley that may have given me good access to Trikora's ridge. I was completely despondent. We had walked for four hours, it was increasingly hot and now we would have to retrace our footsteps with no prospect of getting on Trikora today. I had been desperately scanning the wall to my left for any possible access routes and could see that even if I managed to climb up some of the steep and exposed corners, I would still have faced an unknown but steep route above to gain the summit ridge.

We trudged back to the rampart that Wameak had identified and I began to feel weaker and weaker. I explained that there was no way I would be able to attempt that route today. We had already walked for four and a half hours across difficult ground, I was feeling weak and my breathing was very rapid. My heart rate was 120 bpm and I was not going to risk being stuck halfway up Trikora when I had no clear exit strategy. I was starting to feel nauseous and was now struggling to keep pace with the two others. We had decided to walk East, this time keeping Trikora to our right-hand side, to recce a path for the next day.

Although this sounded good in principle, my physical condition was not good and I was starting to run low on water. From my previous experiences at altitude I knew how easy it was to become dehydrated and how badly this could affect my performance.

I tried hard to keep pace with the others and became frustrated and angry with Wameak. I began to feel more nauseous and finally knelt down and threw up. I explained that I was going to head immediately back down to the cave – I should have told the others to accompany me but I also wanted to make sure I had some possibility to get on the mountain the next day, so I allowed them to continue on with their search for the right path. I wanted to find the place where Wameak had gone off the path earlier in the day, because I thought if I found that boggy ground where he had explored then I would just head East to hit the path. However, I didn't want to have to climb back up the energy-sapping subsidiary peak that I had climbed earlier. I made my second big mistake and made my way down to the edge of the escarpment to find a way down to the boggy ground.

The ground below was steep and I wasn't sure what I would face after the initial easy descent. I crept my way down beside a small stream through thick bush. I was grabbing handfuls of bush, tree and grass to cover the steep ground and realised soon that I had made a serious error. I was on my own, with no way to contact the others; I was weak, dehydrated and I had no idea what lay below me as the ground dropped off sharply. However, my adrenaline was kicking in and I had to trust in my own abilities. Most of the trees and tree stumps were dead, and therefore brittle, so I grasped clumps of grass and bush for safety. At one point, I had to swing out over the stream 20 feet below and this was the worst moment of all – I was only holding on to two clumps of grass and as I gingerly found a foothold below to make it on to relatively safe ground I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I followed the ravine down for another fifty feet and then saw the welcome sight of a more gentle slope that ran down to the boggy ground below. At this point I started to both relax and curse myself for my own stupidity. It was a stark reminder of how easily one bad decision can snowball and lead to a very dangerous situation.

Once I was on the boggy ground I had to make my way back uphill to reach an exit route from the escarpment. It was soul-destroying having to trudge back uphill in my physical condition, but eventually I spotted the path and knew that I just had to stumble along it and it would eventually take me back to the cave. I finally reached the cave one and a half hours later to find all the others asleep. I crashed out, and only rose when I heard Wameak asking if I wanted tea. I was annoyed that he had not boiled any water so that I could rehydrate. I had lost a huge amount of fluid both from sweating and from water vapour in my breath. The Papuan porters didn't sweat and drank infrequently and couldn't seem to appreciate how important it was for me as a Westerner to have access to copious amounts of fresh water. But I was too tired to fight with them so I quietly drank my tea, refused any offer of food and sank back into my tent.

As I lay in my tent, I began to convince myself that it was now impossible for me to get up this mountain. I was still feeling sick, dehydrated and tremendously weak. I decided that I would make a token attempt on the sketchy climb up the rampart in the morning (depending how I felt) and that I would fail, head back to the cave, pack up and get the hell out to Wakikama. It seemed like the only option. After some snatched sleep, I made up a diluted Oral Rehydration Solution (ORS) drink, took half a Diamox tablet (a prescription diuretic that prevents and reduces the symptoms of Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS)) and managed to eat some fried noodles. It was now 17:30 and my improving mood was helped further when Wameak explained that they had identified the correct path to get on the mountain. Although I still wasn't completely convinced that I could get on the mountain, my black mood was lightening and I resolved to at least try. I had come this far and overcome so many obstacles already to be in this remote and beautiful part of the world and the mountain was right there in front of me. When I checked my emails there were so many messages of support that I knew I couldn't concede defeat just yet. Now, I just had to get on with the part that I had spent over a year preparing for – actually climbing the mountain!


1st December - Puncak Trikora - Summit Day

I lay in my sleeping bag and looked at my watch – 04:00, then 04:30 and I still couldn't force myself outside. Despite my earplugs, I could hear the porters preparing breakfast but it was 05:50 before I forced myself out of my cocoon to face today's challenge. I had asked that the porters boil some water the night before because I wanted 3 fresh litres to take onto the mountain, but they hadn't done this. We wasted some time boiling fresh water, which was annoying on several levels, but the clear skies and pink-tinged clouds quickly banished my negativity. My appetite had returned and I ate a huge portion of rice and noodles. Somehow, whether the Diamox was taking effect (I'm sure it was because I felt pins and needles in my hands and forearms, one of the side-effects) or not, I felt immeasurably stronger. Perhaps it was just that I had resolved myself to giving it everything today.

We set off late (06:40), but I had my headtorch and enough warm kit to see out a night on the mountain if necessary. Instead of following the path southwest in the next valley as we had yesterday, today we forked off the path directly towards the mountain. Boot prints in the mud convinced me that we were now on the right path, which boosted my confidence further. We were trekking towards the scrubby forest again and soon we were ascending steeply through mud and tree roots. At the top of this short climb (4,100m (04 15.224 S, 138 40.115 E)) there was a firepit where porters had obviously been keeping themselves warm on earlier climbs. This was followed by another short forest section and then we came to the first buttresses on the mountain itself. From a distance this looked suicidal - from up close it just looked plain stupid. I was faced with a steep 50m – 60m grass-covered, near-vertical slope. It was a really uncomfortable experience and required me to grab handfuls of wet grass to ascend, which was not an enjoyable experience after yesterday's debacle. I prayed it wouldn't rain today, otherwise the descent would be a nightmare.

I slowly followed the guide and porter up and gladly reached the top of the climb and safe ground (approx. 4,200m (04 15.310 S, 138 40.157 E)). From the top of this slope, the views northwards back past the cave and towards Lake Habbema were sensational. It was possible to see from this height where historic ice flows had carved and shaped the earth. From the top of the grassy slope, the path meandered left to the foot of a buttress into a small valley that ran south from Trikora. It was one of several parallel valleys but this most easterly valley allowed the only easy access to Trikora's upper reaches. The path led up through some rocky ground and then as the ground became boggier we passed a boulder, on top of which sat the propeller shaft from an AMA aircraft that had crashed several years previously on the mountain, killing the missionary pilot and a local woman. This marked the end of the small valley and now we turned right (West) along a larger valley that ran parallel to Trikora's summit ridge, which was now high up to our left.

The valley climbed and narrowed in the distance and as we ascended it became more rocky. We walked for about 40 minutes and my confidence increased with every step. I still wasn't sure how I would gain the actual summit ridge but the sun had stayed behind some light cloud and I was feeling strong and knew that we had made good progress. We reached a point where two large boulders stood guard at the foot of a steep scree slope top our left that led to a steep chimney, and up to the ridge itself. We made our way up the scree slope and started to ascend the chimney for about 25m. It was a bit dicey but at least I had my boots to provide grip on the rock; in contrast the guide and porter went up barefoot. (04 15.704 S, 138 39.907E, altitude 4,467m.) Again, I kept my fingers crossed that the rain would stay off because I didn't want to descend that chimney tired and wet.

As we gained the summit ridge and the guide and porter stopped for the inevitable rest, I checked my watch. We had made it this far in only two hours from the cave and I had a feeling that I was going to make the first of my three summits. Wameak and Junus would go no further. The sharp limestone would have been too much even for their feet. Wameak started complaining of a headache and I agreed that he should descend immediately with Junus. He told me he would descend the chimney and walk down the valley we had just come up to a small cave, where he would rest and see if his headache improved. I didn't want to take any chances with the altitude so had no choice but to send him down. It left me somewhat exposed up on the ridge, but I felt there wasn't much they could have done for me up on the ridge. Had I fallen and broken a bone, it would have been very difficult for them to extract me and they would probably just have made their way to the nearest missionary station to alert the authorities, In any event, I had my satphone and could have given my co-ordinates immediately to Iain Mackay in the UK who would have contacted my insurance company and Helimission to arrange extraction by helicopter.

I estimated that I could move rapidly along the summit ridge and expected to reach the summit in about one hour. I still wasn't sure which of the two rocky summits was higher, but based on my discussion with the Indonesian climber the previous day (he had told me to stay just off and behind the ridge to make it easier), I felt like there must be a route that would allow me to reach both summits and take GPS readings to determine which was higher. Just to the West was another summit that looked relatively straightforward to climb but I dismissed this as it looked significantly lower than the rocky summits in the distance to the East, which would occasionally float behind the clouds that were slowly building.

As I made my way carefully along it, the summit ridge itself was initially broad, grassy and rocky After 15 minutes, the ridge then started to narrow and for the next 20 minutes involved lots of rock-hopping with some scrambly moves, then started to become quite exposed. The exposure then increased and the ridge started to become very narrow and required some difficult down-climbing over quite exposed terrain to pass obstacles. Being up on the knife-edge ridge alone in the clouds was exhilarating, but the sense of vertigo could not be ignored. I took time to route-find and started to question my sanity. There were some cairns on the ridge that did help with navigation round obstacles, but typically I only spotted them after I had already decided which route to follow round obstacles. The terrain reminded me of the Cuillin Ridge on Skye, with dark exposed rock and huge drop-offs to either side. Although the very sharp limestone gave good holds, it was tough on my fingers and hands.

As the distance to the first rocky spire decreased and I began to see just how exposed it was, from about 250m distance, I began to have major doubts about whether I could or should continue. I took 5 minutes to sit down and remind myself that I had faced other more difficult challenges in the past and overcome them. And I kept telling myself that things normally looked better once they were right in front of you. The mental aspect of climbing mountains or undertaking expeditions is the toughest thing for me to manage. I know from my own experiences that it's incredibly easy to talk yourself out of trying something difficult or beyond your normal comfort zone and I've had to fight against those feelings of self-doubt for most of my life. I feel lucky to now know that I can push myself further than my own thought patterns try to convince me of, but I still have to go through that mental process and to remind myself each time that I have to try. I wish other people could understand that their main limiting factor is fear of failure. For me, it's so much more liberating to try something and fail than to always wonder what I could have achieved if my fears hadn't held me back.

As I got closer to the base of the rocky spire over increasingly difficult ground, I estimated that the spire was probably about 30m high. I was now well beyond my comfort zone and the exposure on that spire was horrific. When I got to the foot of the spire I decided to carefully think through my options – I came to the conclusion that, although I may be able to get up (horrifically exposed as it was), it would have been absolutely hellish to get back down and any slip would have been fatal as I would have fallen hundreds of feet. For me, the risk of attempting to climb it solo was too high. The spire was connected to the next peak on the far side by another horrendously exposed ridge. I was already tired from the concentration required to get to this point. If I had a climbing partner and some technical equipment I would definitely have tried to summit; as it was, I decided that I had reached my limit. I was quietly satisfied with my efforts. After a terrible day the day before, I had found my confidence and fitness, and although I had missed out on the summit, I felt like it was the right decision in the circumstances. I took a GPS reading at my high point (04 15.778 S, 138 40.511 E, altitude 4,638m), took a few photos and then started to descend.

Scientists have known that the ice cap on Trikora disappeared sometime between 1939 and 1962. That gives some indication of just how infrequently this mountain was climbed during this period. Snow does fall on the mountain but the warming of the Earth's troposphere ensures that this snow cover is only transient.

As I started to descend, it began to rain lightly. I tried to move as quickly as possible because I was aware that the two difficult down climbs (one on rock at the chimney and the other down the steep grassy slope) would be much more challenging in the wet. I had a bit of trouble following the route around obstacles again on my way back along the ridge, and was conscious of where I was placing my feet due to the long drop-off behind the ridge itself. Soon enough, I was past the difficult ground and back to stepping from rock to rock and could get into an easy rhythm. After about one hour, I had made it back to the broader, grassy ridge and was heading towards the lower peak that lay West of the chimney. At the foot of this peak, I spotted a small cairn that marked the start of the chimney and I started to make my way carefully down.

On the first short section that was less steep, I made my way down facing out, feet first and half-slid, half-climbed down the slope. It then became steeper and I had to down-climb, facing into the rock. Although there was a scree slope beneath that ran out to the small valley below, I was still careful because any fall here would not be fatal but any broken bone would be a massive issue in this remote location. About five metres from the bottom of the chimney, I had to move over to the left-hand side to find the easier ground. As I was reaching to move my left hand up and across to a good handhold, the rock that I was holding with my right hand broke free and I felt myself falling backwards. Instantly, I grasped at another rock with my right hand and as I did so, I also managed to grab onto something with the outstretched left hand and managed to hold myself against the fall. Not good. I carefully picked my way down the last few moves to the scree slopes and, using my trekking poles as supports, I made my way quickly down into the small valley that I had earlier walked up.

As I made my way down the valley, I looked for the cave where Wameak had said he would wait, but couldn't identify it. I shouted but there was no response. I walked down the valley for about thirty minutes, looking for anything that would jog my memory. I felt certain that the propeller shaft would be visible from this valley but there were so many small ravines off to my left and they all looked the same. I explored a couple of them to try to identify a path but they all ended in steep drops to the North. I was becoming tired and frustrated again that the guide and porter had left me alone on the mountain. Finally, I explored the second-to-last ravine, then realised that it was the wrong one. I climbed up a small ridge and looked down into the last valley, expecting to be disappointed, when I caught sight of the propeller shaft sitting on a rock. Excellent! I had found the route get down.

I followed the path down the initially grassy and boggy ground, then into a rocky path that lay close to the mountain wall. It ended abruptly at a grassy ledge and as I looked down into the forest 50 m below I saw Wameak next to the firepit and Junus collecting firewood. I shouted and gesticulated to him – I was now at the top of the steep grassy climb and was not impressed that they had gone down this and had not waited for me. I wasn't exactly sure where the route started and I frantically tried to ask Wameak whether I needed to move left or right to start the down climb. His response was that I was at the correct starting point and I should just come down. With my blood boiling, I removed my rucksack and launched it over the edge, aiming at a small ledge 20 feet below. I didn't want the extra weight to potentially drag me off or the bulk to put me off-balance. My rucksack cartwheeled well beyond the ledge and stuck in a bush halfway down the slope. I really didn't care – I knew we could retrieve the rucksack later and I was more interested in getting down safely.

I inched forward to the edge of the slope and peered over, trying to identify any safe footholds. It was a horrible experience – again, I had to grab handfuls of grass to gently lower myself over the edge and hope that they would take my weight. I immediately realised that I was a few metres too far to the right and couldn't believe my guide had left me in this position. I inched carefully over to the spot I had climbed up earlier and then very cautiously made my way down, grabbing handfuls of grass with each move. When I finally reached the bottom , I hurried through the forest and up to the small hill where Wameak was warming himself at the fire. Although he probably understood very little of what I screamed at him, he was left in no doubt that I wasn't happy with him and hopefully he learned a few good Scottish swearwords as a bonus.

I was pretty subdued for the rest of the walk down the mountain – the clouds had closed in and it had started to rain steadily so I was quite cold and just wanted to get down to the cave to get a hot brew and some food. We made quick progress down the mountain and turned the corner into Camp at about 1.45 p.m. It had taken me seven hours or so to get up and down – it was hard to compare with the Indonesian's ascent the previous day because I don't know how far along the summit ridge he climbed, but I felt we had set a good pace. The plan now was to leave early next morning to make our way back to Lake Habbema – I asked Wameak what time we should expect to arrive at Habbema and he said 3 pm, so I texted the agent on my satphone to request pickup for that time. When we tried to figure out timings I was sure he was overestimating how long it would take us but I didn't want to underestimate so followed his advice.

During the afternoon we ate noodles, rice and cabbage and drank tea and Wameak recounted the story of a 20-year old Indonesian climber (with no travel permit) who had been climbing Trikora using technical equipment. One of his climbing nuts (used to wedge into cracks in the rock, thus protecting the climber form a fall) had failed and he had fallen badly. His Lani guide had made his way to the nearest mission station to report the accident, leaving the climber lying badly injured on the mountain. The Army dispatched a helicopter to the site and he was later flown to hospital in Jakarta. No doubt he would also have been heavily punished for not having the correct papers to be there!

2nd December - Puncak Trikora - Lake Habbema - Wamena

We set off from Semalak at 7 am sharp. I had plenty of water and was keen to make good progress to get back to Wamena as soon as humanly possible. I wanted to get clean, have a Coke and get back to Jayapura to prepare to meet the Carstensz team on 6th December. I needed to clean my clothing (especially the softshell that Wameak was still wearing for the fourth night and day in a row!) and kit, book my flight to wherever I would meet the Carstensz team and I also wanted to bring my diary and blog up to date. One of the aims of the WCMT Fellowships is to share my journey with as many people as possible and I had the opportunity to do that.

I felt pretty sure that we could cover the ground back to Wakikama pretty quickly. My idea was that when we got there I could then call the local agent to ask him to dispatch the driver and vehicle to save us hanging around. With lighter loads (we'd eaten almost all the food) and with our mountain legs, we raced down the valley, over, down and up the series of ridges and soon we were descending into the forest towards Wakikama. We arrived just after 9 am. I fired up the satphone to see if Justinus had acknowledged any of my messages; he hadn't. I then tried to call him on the number I had stored, but it wouldn't connect. I decided to check the number against the number that Wameak had stored in his mobile, but because he had left his phone switched on during the entire trip, his battery was flat. This had the potential to become a very difficult situation. If I had no way to contact Justinus and if he had never received any of my messages, we could be stranded at Lake Habbema with little food and no way to get back to Wamena other than on foot.

I checked my own mobile and although it had been playing up for a couple of weeks (mysteriously switching itself off and on) it thankfully fired up and I was able to check the number I had stored for Justinus. I realised that I had made a mistake when adding his details to my satphone and was really annoyed with myself for this stupid mistake. I quickly dialled his number and after a long delay he answered. I tried to explain as quickly as I could our location and likely time of arrival at Habbema (12 noon). He told me that, having not received any word from me, he had sent the vehicle and driver that morning to Habbema in the expectation that we would have spent the night at Wakikama – the driver had been waiting since 8 a.m. I tasked Junus with the job of getting to Habbema as quickly as possible to try to find the driver, since we were taking a different (i.e. the correct) route back. At least I knew that if we made it safely to Habbema and found the driver that we should be back in Wamena in the mid-afternoon. I also asked Justinus if he could arrange to bring my flight back to Jayapura forward one day from 4th to 3rd December, so that I could get settled in my hotel and get myself organised.

Junus set off in front of us but we followed closely behind at a steady pace. We were all keen to get back, for different reasons. The guide and porters had wives and children; my motivation was just to get to the next mountain. We had to cross a boggy, flat valley to reach the foot of a steep, tree-clad ravine. It took us about 45 minutes to cross the valley and at the foot of the ravine ran a broad, shallow and slow-moving river. It was quite picturesque and although I would normally have tried to find the shallowest part to keep my feet as dry as possible, I plunged straight in and waded through the water, since I felt we were so close to the end of the trek. The path up the ravine initially followed a small stream that fell sharply from the valley in which Lake Habbema sat. With the sun beating down on my neck again it was hot work to follow the narrow, steep path, which soon turned sharply away from the left hand bank of the stream to climb a series of narrow, switchback turns that took about 25 minutes of exhausting and hot work to ascend.

I felt certain that Habbema would be in sight once we reached the crest of the valley, which was coming closer and closer as the ground became less steep. Wameak would climb for just a few steps, then stop suddenly. I found this incredibly frustrating because it would spoil my rhythm. I prefer to keep going at a steady pace and find my mind wandering off into different directions. This ability to take my mind off whatever my body was doing was being constantly interrupted and made the final climb much less bearable than it needed to be. As we breached the crest, instead of the welcome sight of Habbema in the distance and the road back to Wamena, I looked down into another boggy plain that I estimated would take another hour of fast marching to cover. At this point, my contempt for my guide reached a zenith. I quietly fumed while we plodded through the mud and every utterance from Wameak was met by stony silence. I started to believe that whenever he was faced with a decision between 2 paths, he would always choose the more difficult path. The porter, on the other hand, seemed to take the easier path, so I started following him instead, because I trusted him more.

Finally, just when I started to despair of ever reaching the road, I caught sight in the near distance of the sandy ribbon that would deliver me back to Wamena. It was a huge relief. As I slumped onto my rucksack at the side of the road and removed my wet boots and socks, I wondered where the porter who had gone ahead, Junes, had got to. Wameak started to light a fire and was hollering into the distance, but no reply was heard. We waited by the roadside for half an hour, then in the distance we could see sand being kicked up by a vehicle and before long a 4WD pulled up beside us. There were about 10 or 12 local tribespeople in the back of the pickup and it took me a few seconds to register the Indonesian driver and then recognise Junus's smiling face in the front seat. It was our vehicle! They had picked up some villagers who were making their way down the road into Wamena, which would take them 2 or 3 days walking. I noticed that a few of the tribespeople were armed; two of them carried rifles and others had parangs, but thought nothing of it. The villagers disembarked and as we started loading our kit into the back, the driver explained politely, but with a tangible sense of exasperation, that he had been waiting here since 7 a.m. Ouch. I felt sorry for him but what could I do? We had got there as quickly as humanly possible and it had taken us less than 4.5 hours to walk from the Cave back to Lake Habbema.

We jumped into the truck and started driving. After about 10 minutes, we stopped at a makeshift shelter by the side of the road – the driver and his friend (who was also in the vehicle, for safety, I guessed) hadn't eaten since very early morning and we had a small amount of food left. Therefore, we let them prepare a hot meal of noodles and cabbage and as they cooked and ate, the villagers started to pass us and make their way up the steep road ahead. Once the drivers had eaten their fill (about 40 minutes later), we jumped back in the car. The driver seemed determined to make up for lost time. He was going flat out but seemed to know the road well enough, so I never felt particularly unsafe. Having worked in the field in South Darfur, I was used to covering very rough ground at relatively high speeds. We soon caught up with the group of villagers again and a few of them started flagging us down. It would have been impossible for us to take them all in the truck now and as we passed one of the villagers on the left hand side, the driver seemed to slow down as though he was going to stop. The man began to gesticulate and shout angrily and this persuaded the driver to pick up speed again as we passed him. I could see the villager’s face flashing with anger as we passed and then I watched in the wing mirror as he threw his parang with all his strength at the back of the vehicle as we accelerated past. It was a terrifying moment for me. If we were to break down now or further up the road we could have found ourselves in a very serious situation.

As I sat in the car trying to collect my thoughts, my first thought was that these were OPM rebels, which would explain the weapons and the aggressive attitude. I was really glad that we were moving at high speed away from the mountains. I began to rationalise a bit more and instead came to the conclusion that they were most probably just villagers who really didn't fancy walking all the way to Wamena and had missed the chance of a free ride. However, before my brain had fully processed the incident, we had to pass quite a few other groups of Papuans on the road and each time I caught sight of them a little chill would run down my spine until we were safely past. It was with a huge sense of relief that I finally reached the Baliem Pilamo Hotel at 2pm. The driver had done a great job of getting me back safely in good time.

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