Pik Pobeda and Broad Peak – these mountains do have something in common. Both have a thrilling summit ridge you can fall off into China. And that's not all. In my eyes, both are broad-hipped matrons. To me they represent the feminine. And each has its masculine counterpart close by. Pik Pobeda gazes at the Lord of the Heavens – Khan Tengri. And Broad Peak stands beside K2 – the King of the Karakoram. I'd only suggest a little grammatical tweak: from now on, let's say SHE for Broad Peak and HE for K2. It feels more fitting. Maybe they're drawn to each other at night – just like another beautiful female mountain, Gurla Mandhata, and the sacred Mount Kailash. The Tibetans believe it, and so do I.
The news that Karolína Grohová was looking for a climbing partner only reached me at the last minute. To go, or not to go? I decide under the influence of current events – grab what you can before the world finally falls apart. These are relentless times. What you put off, you may never get to do. And who knows what Pakistan will look like in a year? There's really nothing to think about. Karolína seems like a great partner – even though we've never met.
Still, I wonder whether you can hop up an eight-thousander on one leg. The calf muscle I tore in a botched leap onto the Starosta tower in Adršpach at the start of the season can hardly be called healed. The day before departure I'm still limping. I desperately ask the doctor what on earth I'm supposed to do about it. And he says: "Stay calm! You can more or less walk on it. Just don't run."
Luckily, Karolína promises me we won't be running up.
We buy plane tickets to Islamabad, change in Istanbul, switch to a jeep in Skardu and set off on an all-girl expedition into the heart of the Karakoram. "Bescht of luck," the warm-hearted Pakistanis wish us. And they pray for us: Allaaahu Akbar. We walk to base camp up the Baltoro Glacier on our own two feet. We have to earn it, step by step. We'll suffer in the mountains and devote ourselves to asceticism. I'm looking forward to that. Like the Buddha of Madyan, we'll have hunger gnawing a hole in our stomachs.
We'll climb without oxygen, without high-altitude porters or Sherpas. Without anyone telling us what to do. The stylish duo Kateřina & Karolína – 2K. Shame we're not climbing K2. Everyone knows that one. But some eight-thousander called Brouk Peak or whatever – nobody's heard of that.
Men react oddly when they find out it's just the two of us girls. "Ooh, you're off to the Himalaya! That's brilliant! And who are you going with?" – With Karolína. – "Oh dear, well then you'll die a miserable death up there."
But the world has changed and this year the Karakoram is full of princesses. Only one real princess, mind you – the Qatari princess Sheikha Asma Al Thani. But she's brought her friends along. The noble Karma from Bangladesh, adorned with a beautiful gold nose ring, even at Camp 2. And Stefi Troguet from Andorra, with her bold lipstick, looking stunning regardless of altitude. And then there are aces like the Norwegian Kristin Harila, who wants – like Nirmal Purja – to climb all the eight-thousanders in one season. Or the "small girl" – sixteen-year-old Pakistani Isha, who introduces herself to me as the Future star of Pakistan and points out that adventure has no age limit.
Base camp is also home to Marta from Poland, Lina from Spain, Marie from Estonia and plenty of other beautiful, free-spirited climbers with ambitions to bag summits. It's like a club of women left behind.
The trend is to climb fast. As fast as possible, in fact! Young Frenchman Benjamin Védrines ran from base camp to the summit of Broad Peak in seven and a half hours, setting a world record. He set the bar very high. What's more, he had a paraglider waiting at the top. He launched straight from the summit, spread his wing, waved to Karolína and twenty minutes later was back at base camp. The famous high-altitude snow leopard Denis Urubko also rose to the occasion – reaching the summit in fifteen hours is a seriously impressive feat. Karolína caught on to the trend and held up brilliantly. She broke away from C3 for the summit with practically no acclimatisation. I mildly protested. In my view, two nights at C1 isn't enough for anyone to be heading for the summit of an eight-thousander, but the decision was made.
Kája made it to the Rocky Summit at 8,000 metres. Out of caution, I only went as far as the col at 7,800. And that's where we hung up our boots – well, our little bootees. Given the circumstances, we pushed ourselves to our limits. But we had a lovely climb. So we declared it a success, even if not a phenomenal one. Just Brouk Pytlík – a bit of a damp squib.
