The Great Gunny Bag Descent

Will: I can’t imagine anyone having as much fun as we did today as we sledged 1000m down an Afghan mountain. My friend had mentioned this idea to me four years ago and I’d been looking forward to it ever since. However, we were first invited to an election breakfast by the new ambassador to Afghanistan. We shared a cooked breakfast with diplomats and soldiers as the final results began to come through on a big screen. Cameron won the Witney seat comfortably despite quite a good protest as pranksters (whom Lucy initially thought may have been ex-pupils!) climbed onto the roof of Spelsbury village hall and unfurled a banner saying, “Britons! Know your place. Vote Eton. Vote Conservative.” We lost no time in excusing ourselves and raced to Paghman, a town to the west of Kabul once known for its royal holiday resorts and long known as a Friday picnic spot for Kabulis.

We drove up the valley into the mountains beyond Paghman in two landrovers, negotiating several rivers and an extensive boulder field. There had been heavy rain the night before and the narrow track had collapsed in several places. We decided to the leave the landrovers for fear of the weather and track deteriorating further and blocking our exit. We walked for five hours, following the valley at first, and then zig-zagging up the mountainside. We were loosely following a track that had been laid by Ahmed Shah Massoud to bring munitions and men to bear against the Soviets in the 1980s and were reminded of this when we came across the tail fin of a large rocket half buried in the snow and saw the remains of a truck in the valley below. After two hours we were following the steps that those in front had kicked in the snow. After three hours, the altitude was beginning to tell, as Lucy fumbled with her zip and my head pounded.

The summit announced itself abruptly as the cloud parted just enough to reveal a small cornice 20 metres above us. We kicked our way up to the ridge and found ourselves standing on the summit above cloud for the first time in five hours. The views to the south-west and another peak of 4000m were wild and spectacular. The ridge ran away from us in both directions and the wavy white cornice made a surreal scene, one moment framed against blue sky, the next by dirty white cloud. This was a far more satisfying moment than reaching Annapurna base camp a few weeks ago. We watched as dark storm clouds gathered above another mountain on the horizon and decided to make our way down.

We had brought large rice sacks with us and spent the next hour sledging down giant snow chutes back to the landrovers. We had just completed our first run when there was a large clap of thunder above us and we began to be pelted with hail. I felt the fizz of a momentary electrical charge on my forehead, perhaps static from the rice sack. Seconds later and the skies were set ablaze by lightening. We heard the roar of an avalanche. Somehow, the fact that we were sledging on rice sacks made everything ok and we continued our merry way down the mountain. By the time we had perfected our technique, the snow chute ran out and we clambered over slippery boulders realizing that our bottoms were numb and that were completely soaked through. The clothes that had allowed us to mix undisturbed with diplomats over breakfast now clung to our bodies, sodden and cold and by the time we got into the bath we were shaking!

SOUL–CLEFT SPRINGS

Settled not are these soul-cleft springs of inner self
Where beauty and barrel-bottom bog hang in uncertain suspension.
Rarely at rest these waters lap long _
Demanding experiences each more special than the last.

Listen, though, as the ebb tide subsides and the lapping lessens.
Look, and see, a rusting old casket slimy and submerged.
Leave it, protected, preserved, and personal.
For this is Inner Mystery, weed-wrapped, encrusted and everlasting.

Like a drunkard who wants more but get less
We exhibitionists show and tell, our stories and secrets_
Unfurled to the world and our last hand played,
There must be something here that will awaken love.

Wave upon wave wash and foam around piers of hope and joy.
Gentleness glimmers and beauty beckons and togetherness makes its play.
But fear and loneliness lie anchored to the deep
Unmoved by all but the Great Spring Tide.

The Gentle Fearless can be found in Inner Sanctuary, leaving illusions outside.
But buoyant you will be with billowed sail
As the gifts-of-others become your horizon.
Settled now are these soul-cleft springs: source of life and beauty.