On the road up to the Braldu, my heart slowed, sad and quiet. We crossed the Indus and kept driving. It was a long day, made longer by the rushing waves of the river at roadside. In the isolated hamlet we sit. Cold tired, beated kayakers.
The Braldu rushes from K2, in our minds a ball of knots and confusion. 12 months previously almost to the day, we were on the Dudh Kosi. It was in the footsteps of Mike Jones that we walked, silence and tender steps. Now on the eve of my return to the Dudh Kosi I have looked again to Mike and his pioneering spirit.
We are lucky to be in a sport that has pioneers like this. Perhaps Walt or Rob, Shaun or Jim. Mentors, should they want to be or not.