We didn’t wait long before the cavalry arrived back but this time brought with them a medic who was tasked to check our health one by one, writing down all the details. They had also brought us some rice and chicken that seemed a couple of days old, but I was starving and it tasted delicious to me. After our meagre breakfast and check-up we were left alone once more, in the strange scenario of being left without a guard but having nowhere to go. An hour later another vehicle arrived, this time it contained two white faces, which smiled at us as they opened their doors and said, ‘G’day guys, what are you lot doing here?’ What were the chances of running into two Australian tradesman in a place like this? They were workers at the mine and were having a lazy day driving around the back roads of the mine and accidentally found us. The drivers names were Tony and Lance and they were blown away by our story, while filling us in on the missing information that the guards weren’t telling us.
The entire mine was currently under a labour strike that had turned violent. Roads down to Timika were blocked with boulders and burning cars and a few miners had been killed. The Free Papua Movement had combined forces with the strike to blockade the airport in Timika and mine management were on high alert to a full-frontal attack by the free Papua militia. They told us we couldn’t have picked a worse time to try and enter the mine and this new information sunk the team’s morale to an all-time low. The two Aussies had to leave, fearing for themselves if they got involved in our situation, but they did take numbers and emails of our family and friends in order to send them word that we were alive and well. I handed Lance Mum’s email and shook his hand saying, ‘Don’t forget about us!’ before they drove away.
We stayed in and around the container most of the day. Mr Nolti returned to try to force us once again to go back into the jungle. We refused to go and he wouldn’t listen to our pleas for help. He got into his vehicle to drive away and leave us but Dean jumped in front of his vehicle, with the rest of us following quickly behind him. We encircled him, blocking his departure as he revved the engine and mock charged us before braking suddenly. He wasn’t going to run us down, he just radioed for the hired guns, who arrived minutes later. This time fifteen soldiers forced us off the road and threw us back into the container, where the metallic click signalled the end to another stressful day. The team was tense, morale was low and with nothing but uncertainty ahead of us, it was hard to keep positive. I always think about worst-case scenarios in situations like that. I was young, freshly out of the military, and the worst case for me was to seize one of the F88 rifles and take off into the jungle, as a last resort. I was sure I could get to the coast and over a couple of weeks make my way to safety. Perhaps I was naive, but while in the container my far-fetched back-up plan kept my spirits up.
Day three of detention began with the opening of the container for bodily functions and the departure of our guard. Lance dropped by mid-morning with a box full of noodles and junk food for us and some more news. He had emailed Mum who replied instantly, thanking him for his email and asking him to pass on her message to me that she was calling the embassy and pressuring them to help get us out. He told us that management has been made aware that we were there as up until the night before they had no idea we had even arrived. Apparently the hierarchy had no control over the security forces and information was never readily shared between the two. The bad news was that management were unable to assist us at that time and told us to sit tight and not to do anything to aggravate the soldiers. Apologising he couldn’t do more, Lance said goodbye, promising to return with any new information and more supplies very soon.
The day ticked by with the team breaking off into smaller groups to go over all the ‘what if’ scenarios, the kind of talk that usually does more harm than good to overall morale. Every now and again I’d see one of the team crying, letting the pressure of the situation get to them. I busied myself writing in my journal, making video blogs or playing around with a fire I had started to keep us warm. I wasn’t going to crack, no matter how hard our situation became. The guards dropped off some more chicken and rice, which a few of the team couldn’t stomach, leaving ample supply of the nasty combo for myself. I knew that maintaining my strength was essential if my worst-case scenario ever eventuated. Early evening we had a visit from an American named Alec, who was the engineering manager at the mine and a friend of the general manager. He was asked by the GM to come and see how we were all doing and report back to him that night. He was a great guy who fully understood the situation but was limited in his ability to help us. He told us the strike was getting more violent and evacuations were being planned just in case the mine was overrun by the militia. He promised to pass on everything to the boss before driving away, leaving us to our little container on the edge of the jungle.
Alec returned the following day and offered to take one of us up to his office to use the phone and computers to contact family and embassies. Dean was nominated and after collecting emails and numbers from all of us drove away with Alec into the pit. This was to become routine over the following days, Dean travelling off to use phones to try to secure our own rescue, returning late with no new information and nothing to keep the team from spiralling into despair. I kept myself occupied as best I could, actually making friends with one of the soldiers who delivered our daily portion of food. He was a young Indonesian guy who spoke decent English and we found common ground as we talked about the Army and the weapons we’d used. He even let me pose with him for a photo, our smiling faces betraying our emotions and the situation. We had been in the container a week and the strike had escalated to 12,000 people with five murders committed. Apparently a violent group of 3000 people were parading a dead body around in the street in front of the Timika airport, the very spot we needed to get to if we were ever going to get out of this place.
During late afternoon on day seven our luck changed at last. Alec arrived to tell us that the General Manager wanted us out of the mine. The constant calls from embassies and loved ones must have done the job and he was worried we could be caught and killed in the violence, causing an international incident. Alec was tasked with our evacuation and he had to do it covertly – the security forces weren’t to find out about it as it was their jurisdiction and I think they were hoping to bribe huge amounts of money for our release. He only had room for six of us in his vehicle so two of the team plus Dean and I offered to wait behind for one more night while the others were evacuated. After the vehicle departed and it was just the four of us I felt lonely. Ten of us crammed into that small space had offered comfort and a security of sorts and I now felt nervous and vulnerable. The soldiers checked on us sporadically and when they did Dean would jump to his feet and meet them at the door or window to distract them from discovering that half of us were gone. None of us slept and as the hours ticked on towards dawn I grew even more nervous. A vehicle approached the container at 3 am and we didn’t know if it was a returning soldier or Alec until we heard, ‘It’s me guys, let’s go.’
We exploded to our feet cramming our few possessions into our backpacks and throwing them into the back of his vehicle. He gave us fluorescent mining jackets and hard hats to wear with the plan to get us through all the checkpoints dressed as western workers coming off shift. It had worked for the others, now it was our turn. He told us, ‘Just pretend to be asleep and don’t talk.’ We drove off down the winding road and into the mine. We were stopped and questioned several times by security, who shone their torches over all of us pretending to be asleep. My heart was pounding out of my chest during these moments as I fought the urge to open my eyes and stare at the light. It was the longest three-hour journey of my life before we finally arrived at a group of small, cinder block homes that made up the mining village, where Alec lived alone in a small house. He ushered us inside and as we opened the door and entered his living room there was the rest of our team, freshly showered and smiling. Their weathered faces showing their stress but also relief at our safe arrival.
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Alec’s home sat opposite the airfield with the helicopters’ rotors being easily heard as the sun crept over the horizon. Alec told us we were scheduled to fly out via helicopter after the first few loads of miners were flown out to Timika. He didn’t want to have too many eyes seeing us as we departed. We had time for a shower and a fresh meal while listening to the choppers ferry workers from the mine then it was time for us to head to the helipad. We loaded up into two vehicles and drove two minutes down the road into the makeshift airport. We all gave Alec big hugs and thanked him for the risk he took to help a group of strangers before we were ushered through security by Alec’s people, who were waiting for us. We were loaded onto the helicopter and I was expecting to see the security forces roll up at any minute to demand we get off, and crush our hopes of escape. It wasn’t until I felt lift-off that I dropped my head and thought to myself, ‘Thank you.’ We were airborne and finally being carried to safety.
We flew up out of the mine and down towards the small town of Timika. I could see the burnt vehicles pouring with smoke around the airport as we descended and landed on the tarmac fifteen minutes later. We transferred to a domestic airline and within six hours we had gone from being trapped and scared in a shipping container to having an air hostess offer us ice water and peanuts. The reality took a few moments to sink in and as I looked around at the rest of the team I gave a nod and a smile to those who made eye contact. I let the tension in my body fall away as I placed my glass of ice water against my skin and relaxed for the first time in almost two weeks. I took a long drink of the cold fluid and swallowed the taste of freedom before turning to look out of the window and noticing my dishevelled appearance reflecting back at me in the morning light. I gave a nod to the guy in the window, who nodded in return and smiled back happily.
CHAPTER 10
MOUNT ELBRUS, RUSSIA
…
The nausea and fever hit me like a Mike Tyson body shot as I was hunched over in my cramped domestic airline seat bound for Russia. I must have picked up a bug in Sydney during my short time home or it could have been something I had acquired in the jungles of Papua that had laid dormant until now. I rushed to the toilet shutting the awkward door with haste and only just managed to pull down my pants before the gates of hell swung open. I stayed in there for what seemed like hours sweating and rubbing my belly to soothe the pain. Normally I’d be paranoid about the other passengers and what they were going to experience when I opened the door but I was in such agony it never entered my mind. I would return to that toilet many times during my long-haul flight to Moscow, until my face was gaunt with dehydration and my skin took on a yellowish hue.
This was the start of my expedition to climb Mount Elbrus, a dormant volcano 5642 metres tall, which forms part of the Caucasus mountain range in southern Russia. Elbrus is one of the seven summits and is the tallest peak in Europe, and though it is considered a non-technical peak it still claims on average thirty lives per year. These death toll statistics seem to be a recurring theme on mountains that are considered ‘easy’ and able to be climbed by anyone with trekking poles. I have witnessed first-hand the power of Mother Nature and good climbers with well-planned expeditions always prepare for worst-case scenarios. In my eyes, no mountain is worth dying for, especially one considered easy.
My flight connected in Hong Kong where I had a six-hour layover, and as I was shuffling through the terminal, feeling like I had been beaten with a cricket bat, two airport staff pulled me aside and sat me down. I had unknowingly walked through their body temperature scanner and had lit it up like a Christmas tree. They told me I was 39 degrees, 2 above normal, and asked if I was feeling okay. Afraid I could be detained I lied and said, ‘I’m fine, just a little head cold.’ They told me, ‘You must see the nurse, we cannot let you go,’ before checking my boarding pass and seeing that I was just transferring through and not staying in China. Upon realising this they told me ‘Oh you can go, you not stay in China, thank you sir.’ I guess if the plague I was carrying was destined for Russia they didn’t care, so off I shuffled to find the nearest toilet and then lay shaking on the terminal floor until my next flight.
I arrived in Moscow totally exhausted and still suffering from cramps and vomiting. I barely scraped through immigration without being quarantined for carrying an infectious disease. It was tough getting approval to travel through Russia and I was only given a short-term visa for my expedition. I had organised all the logistics, permits and visa myself because I was trying to save costs on this trip to put towards Antarctica and Everest, which were going to cost a small fortune. I picked up my bags at the carousel before spending some time in the airport toilet. I was hoping to see the Red Square and other tourist attractions in Moscow while I was in town and had booked a small hotel in the city centre. To get there it was going to take a bus and two trains, which in my condition at the time was not going to happen without a serious incident. I crawled into a beat-up taxi at the front of the airport, an ancient vehicle out of the Cold War era, and gave my driver the address.
My stomach began to cramp shortly after departing the terminal and as the beads of sweat started to form on my face I hoped we were not travelling too far. One hour forty-five minutes and $120 later I crashed through my hotel door scrambling for the toilet and then collapsed on the floor in exhaustion. I guzzled water from the bathroom sink and then crept into bed mid-morning and pulled the blankets over my head as my body began to shake with fever. I woke up at 2 am the next day dehydrated, exhausted but feeling like the fever had broken. I had no more cramps but my body was stiff and sore from the vomiting and the lack of food. I picked up the hotel phone and ordered a large pizza, 4 litres of purified water, one Coca Cola, one chocolate cake and two cups of tea. I knew I had to get my strength back quick to be ready for the mountain so I ate, drank and slept as much as I could until I had to make my way back to the airport in the afternoon. I didn’t see anything outside of my hotel room. I would have to return another time to see the famous sites.
I was feeling a lot better as I boarded a domestic flight to Mineralnye Vody, a small town close to the mountains and my starting point for the expedition. I had arranged logistical support through a local company who had a driver waiting for me as I exited the airport. He spoke no English and I had no Russian so we played a game of charades trying to communicate as we weaved through the small town, which has a population of 70,000 people and was occupied by Nazi Germany for six months during World War II. I was dropped off at a hotel built during a time when concrete and squares were all the rage and I’d spend one night here with a truck scheduled to drive me into the mountains the following morning. I spent the afternoon and evening eating everything in sight and doing my best to rehydrate. I checked over my expedition gear back in my hotel room, making sure I wasn’t missing anything, before getting to bed early for some much-needed sleep.
I was up early after a solid sleep, feeling almost fully recovered, starving for food and needing water. The hotel breakfast was great and after I had consumed my body weight in eggs, toast, coffee and water I was standing at the front of the hotel waiting for my ride. A battered truck covered in rust and missing large sections of paint rolled up and came to a stop in front of me. I had doubts about its safety and reliability but in comparison to the other vehicles on the road it was a Rolls Royce. The Russian driver jumped down with a smoke between his lips, grabbed my bag while giving me a nod and threw it into the storage lockers underneath. He gestured towards the back saying ‘Elbrus’, which I guessed was my cue to climb aboard. As I pulled myself into the back there was already a group of climbers inside, all wearing multicoloured layers of Gore-Tex ready for the mountains. It was an Adventure Consultants expedition starting their trip on the same day as me and they were all in great spirits.
We journeyed together through the back streets of Mineralnye Vody and into the lower hills outside of the town, slowly ascending into the Caucasus mountains. We had been winding and bounci
ng along the mountain roads for six hours before I saw the shiny summit of Mount Elbrus appear, snow and ice covered its peak with the bottom remaining free of snow in the summer months, showing fields of grass and rocky outcrops. I love the first approach of an expedition whether it’s in the back of a beat-up truck or walking in with donkeys, the first glimpse of the peaks always takes my breath away and I felt grateful every time for the opportunity to climb. The truck pulled up at the end of the dirt road where it had been washed out by rain and was now a mud field blocking our way. The guide from the Adventure Consultants team told me we had to hike from there but that base camp was only ninety minutes away over a small outcrop in the distance. The driver was vigorously unloading our packs as I hopped down from the back and he was already climbing back into his cab as I pulled my pack on and stood to the side of the road. I gave him a wave as he turned the prehistoric lorry around and with a nod and a point in the direction we had to walk he was gone.
I hiked along the muddy trail taking in my surroundings, breathing in the fresh mountain air and chatting to the other climbers. While I told stories and got lost in conversation time flew by and it wasn’t until I saw the group of tents gathered together in the small grassy valley up ahead that I realised we had arrived. Base camp was a halfway home set up by local Russian adventure operators for anyone who was climbing Elbrus to use. I walked over to the biggest tent, assuming this would be the cook/ camp operators’ hangout, and it was. Victor was a Russian mountaineer and had been a guide his entire life after discharging from the military in his youth. He now provided logistical support to western companies or solo warriors like myself, who came to climb Mount Elbrus. He was a tall, well-built man who was in his late fifties, had a handshake of steel and looked fighting fit.
One Life One Chance Page 19