Carstensz Pyramid
![[Doug goes native, 4 kb]](/images/t/2309.jpg)
Doug goes native Photo: © Janet Pickett
| Report Name | Carstensz Pyramid - 4 to 19 August 2001 |
| Team Member | David Newman |
| Date added | 21-Nov-02 |
A group of climbers attempt to ascend the highest mountain in Australasia: the Carstensz Pyramid in the Indonesian Province of Irian Jaya. However, it is not the difficulty of the climbing that provides the greatest barrier to success.
The highest mountain in Australasia, and therefore one of the ‘Seven Summits’, is the Carstensz Pyramid (4884 metres) on the island of New Guinea. Named after the Dutch explorer Jan Carstensz it rises from one of the world’s largest rain forests, and is perhaps one of the most mysterious and least visited of the Seven Summits. Since the mountain lies in the Indonesian half of New Guinea (the province called Irian Jaya) you reach it by flying via Indonesia’s capital, Jakarta.
My personal quest to climb this mountain began some two years before I eventually stood on the summit. I undertook two courses in rock climbing in North Wales, a sport totally new to me. However it was not just a desire to indulge in technical climbing, or tick off the Seven Summits, which drew me to Carstensz. I was more interested in seeing a part of the world unique in terms of scenery, vegetation and people. Little did I realise how much of an adventure it would turn out to be.
I first set out for Irian Jaya in November 2000 with a small group led by Jagged Globe, including fellow climber John Prosser. The plan was to reach the interior of New Guinea by air, and then hike for six days to the foot of the mountain. We flew by jet to the island of Biak, close to Irian Jaya, with its military runway, then by twin engined light aircraft to the mosquito-ridden coastal town of Nabire. Our internal flight to the interior of Irian Jaya was supposed to be the next day, but in the Indonesian tradition there were problems. After another day of waiting we boarded a Twin Otter, crammed in with everything from crates of eggs to a generator to keep the Governor of our destination happy.
The flight was an uneventful cruise over uninhabited rain forest; our eyes more on the pilot indulging in a few cigarettes as he casually positioned for the approach to the sloping runway of Ilaga village. As soon as we taxied to a halt the local people, keen to earn money by portering, crowded around, and the cabin was immediately invaded by a Dani tribesman of impressive physique, clothed in only a penis gourd, who jumped aboard to carry off our luggage.
Ilaga village turned out to be enchanting: no souvenir stalls, no litter, a mixture of traditional Dani huts and modern wooden homes, partly reflecting Jakarta’s policy of mass migration from overcrowded Java. A mosque broadcast the call to prayer at 4:50am, next to a Christian church and a bank. Some locals were keen to maintain their privacy, and guard the Dani way of life: men and women occupy separate huts, the women sharing with their prized animals, the pigs. Other inhabitants were more open. We played volleyball with local children, and attracted such attention that half the village came to a halt when we did a morning of climbing practice on some nearby trees.
Unfortunately there was a darker side to the Ilaga area. After waiting a couple of days to start our trek we were told by our local agents, Adventure Indonesia, that the trip was being curtailed due to the threat of terrorist activity by the local West Papuan Independence Movement. Rumours circulated of violence at the local army garrison, and we did not argue as we were ushered onto a chartered aircraft for a tactical withdrawal to the coast. However, our expedition was finished, and we spent the rest of the holiday snorkelling, climbing a volcano in Java, and admiring the dragons (three metre long giant lizards) of Komodo Island.
Eight months later, miraculously, we were back in Irian Jaya! With Jagged Globe’s support, John and myself joined an Adventure Indonesia international expedition. Two Americans, two Australians and one Japanese subject joined us. This time we planned a more direct approach to the mountain from the coast, thus avoiding the politically sensitive areas.
The coastal town of Timika seemed a fairly rough, drab, colourless place, and its streets were uninviting after dark. It exists to service the huge Freeport open cast copper and gold mine, a great feat of engineering. The walk-in to the mountain started about 70 km further inland at a local settlement called Zebra Wall. This is so named because a distinctively striped overhanging rock face dominates it.
After two days of adjusting to the 3800 metre altitude we moved up to the Base Camp, only a couple of hours walk away. The path ascends past a chain of small lakes, hemmed in by steep limestone peaks which could be a rock climber’s paradise if only the region were more accessible. Alpine plants and the odd stunted tree littered the route. Dani women acted as porters, some coming from Ilaga. If only we had brought last year’s photos! Eventually we caught our first glimpse of the laid-back rock slab that is Carstensz, and on the opposite side of the valley a shelf supporting snowfields and small glaciers. Some say that in a few decades global warming will destroy the glaciers.
It rained for up to eighteen hours per day, though if you chose the right time to travel, and carried an umbrella, you could miss the worst. Accompanying us were two soldiers, who were there in case of political unrest. They blended into the background, except for one morning when they indulged in target practice with their rifles. I went around camp picking up the spent cartridges, in case the next group got the wrong impression!
An immediate assault on the mountain was precluded by snowfall down to Base Camp level, but we nevertheless walked to an adjacent valley to inspect the route. Adventure Indonesia have installed about thirteen sections of fixed rope on Carstensz - some would say a violation of the mountain’s wilderness quality in the name of convenience - but a measure which I for one would ultimately appreciate.
The next day brought at last a stroke of luck with the weather: a whole day without rain. At 2 am we rose and forced salty boiled noodles into empty stomachs. By 4:30 we were jumaring up the first cliff into an inky blackness. A mixture of fixed rope climbing and scrambling up a line of weakness brought us to the summit ridge by 9 am. The mountain strongly resembled the Cuillins of Skye in terms of appearance and the roughness of the rock, except we could gaze at glaciers and had to gasp for breath. The two Americans, one of which was an experienced guide, went on ahead, and completed the ascent and descent in eleven hours. Three Adventure Indonesia staff led the rest of us. Although they were extremely fit, polite, enthusiastic and focused on success, they lacked the training of western mountaineering instructors. A lot of the climbing was very exposed, and in icy conditions, and one of the party commented: "It’s all so amateurish; they are risking their necks…so are we." Looking back on the experience, I would strongly recommend accompaniment by a qualified UK guide.
The crux of the climb is a twelve metre deep gap on the summit ridge, normally bridged using a Tyrolean rope traverse. But our guides had us abseil down and jumar up the overhanging cliff on the other side, a process which some team members found physically very demanding at nearly five thousand metres. More scrambling ended in the summit tower, twelve hours after leaving camp. One member of the party became the first Australian to complete the Seven Summits including Carstensz. For the rest of us the elation of summitting was dampened by the knowledge that our slow progress meant a very long, arduous, nocturnal descent.
As darkness fell we returned to the infamous gap. One member fell a few metres whilst jumaring out of it, but as the gods were clearly smiling on us, escaped with no major injuries. We had all brought crampons to Irian Jaya, and had then been advised not to bother taking them up Carstensz. As the temperature dropped the ridge became icy, the only sources of light being our head torches and the distant glow of the Freeport mine. We were therefore quite nervous for this short traverse. Craving for sleep I clipped into the fixed rope to start my abseil into the valley. I elected to down climb one rope section rather than abseil because part of it was frayed. Two members of the group called a halt to abseiling in the dark at 2 am, and wisely chose to spend the night on the mountain. As I staggered across the valley to the campsite their torches still twinkled half way up the black obelisk. Thankfully they got down safely the next day. For me it had been a twenty-three hour summit day.
On our return to Timika we were immediately rushed to the airport due to fresh concerns about our safety in Irian Jaya. The expedition was over and fate had benefitted us in that in two separate holidays we had witnessed all aspects of this mountain and this fascinating region. Despite some shortcomings in expertise we had all reached the summit, and had forged strong bonds through mutual support on the mountain. I wrote in my journal: "The greatest adventure I have ever experienced. All’s well that ends well!" What next?« Previous report | Next report »