#literally the mummery.......... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

waitingforwinterwinds · 2 years ago

Text

Game of Thrones - 58 EDDARD XV (pages 604-613)

After an unknown length of time in sensory deprivation prison, Ned gets a visit from Varys who catches him up on the state of things, and reminds Ned he still has people to protect or not.

The reader, having spent far too long trying to estimate the size of a courtyard with asymmetric garden beds from pictures that were all in isometric views and is thus quite grumpy, is being perhaps a little unkind to the characters tonight.

Cracks ran down his face, fissures opening in his flesh, and he reached up and ripped the mask away. It was not Robert at all; it was Littlefinger, grinning, mocking him. When he opened his mouth to speak, his lies turned into pale grey moths and took wing.

Petyr wishes he looked as cool as Gandalf doing that (and he's not even real.

ewwww, that's disturbing

I still kinda wish that had made it into the show. They cut out such good mental health update moments!!!

Not surprised Ned's going through the mental wringer though, between the pre-existing mental exhaustion, the pain from his leg, what ever coming of milk of the poppy is doing and the full on sensory deprivation of this cell? Ick. Like seriously ick, this is like the black magic recipe for near instant mental breakdown.

Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty laurel in Lyanna's lap. He could see it still: a crown of winter roses, blue as frost. Ned Stark reached out his hand to grasp the flowery crown, but beneath the pale blue petals the thorns lay hidden. He felt them clawing at his skin, sharp and cruel, saw the slow trickle of blood run down his fingers, and woke, trembling, in the dark.

I feel like that is such a good metaphor for that whole thing. A large chunk (not necessarily the majority, but certainly not a small number from my observations) tend to think Lyanna and Rhaegar were romantic (I blame the show, just as a default maneuver because it saves time) but he was a married man and she was a literal child. She died giving birth at sixteen. Which means she had to have been with Rhaegar since closer to at least fifteen, but almost certainly younger. If this happened in the modern era, we'd be disgusted. Or maybe the 'but it's so romantic true love, secret marriage UwU' crew would do a flip and join the 'this young girl clearly seduced this married man with her feminine wiles' brigade. Goodness knows the bullshit in Hollywood proves that's a real reaction people have.

But back to the metaphor.

Because part of the narrative, especially the one driven by the show, really tried to dress it up like it was supposed to be romantic, this 'love' that dragged an entire country to bloody war, but underneath, once you start to actually look, if you start to feel it out, it's nasty and full of pain.

But also: how heavy must the weight of this gotten for Ned? The guilt for not saving her, for not keeping his promise perfectly, for the harm trying to keep that promise caused, intentional or not? And he has this weird "Even now, he was a Stark of Winterfell, and his grief and rage froze hard inside him." thing going on.

I am prescribing this entire family to therapy.

"- They taught me that each man has a role to play, in life as well as in mummery. So it is at court. The King's Justice must be fearsome, the master of coin must be frugal, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard must be valiant... and the master of whispers must be sly and obsequious and without scruple. A courageous informer is as useless as a cowardly knight." ... "Your own ends. What ends are those, Lord Varys?" "Peace," Varys replied without hesitation. ... "I want you to serve the realm," Varys said. ... "- Tell me, Lord Varys, who do you truly serve?" Varys smiled thinly. "Why, the realm, my good lord, how could you ever doubt that? -"

Is that how you sleep at night Varys? By telling yourself 'it's just your job, what could you possibly do to help people?' Is that how you justify yourself? Everything you do is for the people, it's all for the peace. Then why not stop Jon Arryn's murder? Why not stop Littlefinger sewing the seeds that started this farce? Or did your information somehow miss that when you seemingly know everything else?

Either you know everything, and you allowed this all to happen, or you don't know as much as you claim. Which is it, Varys?

You disparage Ned's honour and the court for playing the game of thrones in much the same breath. Did it never occur to you, that the reason the game of thrones goes on, is because corruption is allowed to fester within the establishment of power, because any time someone with honour or a sense of actual justice tries to do anything to better the government, they get cut down and left to rot in a ditch.

"Or are you in league with Littelfinger?" That seemed to amuse the eunuch. "I would sooner wed the Black Goat of Qohor. -"

Now I'm just imagining Littelfinger and Varys playing little league baseball, complete with uniforms. "Black Goat of Qohor" hmm? hang on a tic... ... Not sure if Satan or Christmas (Gävle) Goat.

Awww, Rhaenys' kitten was called Balerion, that's so cute.

This world is so cruel. It shouldn't be, but the people who would say "it's not fair, so I'll make it fair" either never have the power to do so, or don't have the power to do so long enough to actually do so.

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones #got #a chapter a day reading #ned stark #eddard stark

8 notes · View notes

weirwoodking · 4 years ago

Text

roose, not as an actual literal other, but as a representation of the cold inhumanity of the others. stannis, not as the actual literal lightbringer, but as the one who will fight a battle against this metaphorical other. stannis proclaiming himself king, though his claim is simply a claim, roose striving to be king in the north, though this is built on lies and manipulation. the falseness... the mock battle of ice vs fire... the mummery...

#shut UPPP i’m having massive brain movements get out of the way #asoiaf #stannis baratheon #roose bolton

259 notes · View notes

nomanwalksalone · 4 years ago

Photo

RECKONING

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

It was time. Like some death cart from Daniel Defoe’s A Journal of the Plague Year, which my morbid ass had reread at the beginning of confinement, I made the rounds, from room to room, over and over, slowly, wrenchingly, prising out each single condemned charge one by one from its temporary resting place in closets, under beds, at the back of drawers. Each had entered my world as a little piece of hope, a scrap of new identity. Heaped up together, ungainly, their legacy is not so much failure as reckoning with changed circumstances.

Most prominent among the departing: a host of broadcloth button-front shirts, most of them with years behind them before they succumbed to my inexorable cull. I had accumulated them, often through a providential sale where they poked up like rare truffles among the detritus brick and mortar retail was shedding, in days when they represented a particular fantasy. What was that fantasy? Where I could play the part of elegantly British-shirted professional in those rather lovely cotton checks, some with the perfect English spread collar, a fantasy that would call for me to be in a role where that sort of mummery would matter.

If it ever did, it sure as hell doesn’t now. I’m planing down my accretion disk of ready-to-wear haberdashery, all of these fantasies I thought I could shrink down to fit (being off the rack and made to fit the most generously proportioned among us). Each and every one of us from the old days of #menswear social media had Gatsby’s heaping piles of shirts behind his eyelids as he blinked at his hauls from the sales. Now, those are pre-confinement frivolities, non-essentials… with their passing out of my earthly dwelling they cycle back through sartorial samsāra, through what I might as well call confinement consignment.

Because I’ve realized that with confinement and working from home not only have I changed what I wear for practical reasons, I have new priorities in how I wear it. When I confessed to a shirtmaker friend that in the last nine-months I had worn a button-front shirt literally once, he told me that I disgust him. But my weekly uniform is no longer the workday enchanted armor of a suit, buttoned shirt and tie. It’s more casual but no less freighted for me. Each day of the work week for the last nine months I’ve worn a soft, comfortable, polo shirt, its flimsy collar a passport to the flimsy formality of videoconferences. Soft cottons in the summer, cashmere-silk mixes the rest of the year, or a rollneck when things actually get cold. And jeans only on weekends; instead trousers in wool or linen based on those that Marc de Luca cut for me… a strange flourish in exuberant colors that I’ve shared with readers before. I guess that vividness is a desperate grab at flamboyance (and, yes, my mentioning him is a desperate flex) that only those I live with need to bear. After all, the old chestnut is that videoconference meeting participants don’t even need to wear pants since nobody remote will see them. I do draw the line before pantslessness, choosing instead the line Marc drew to elide my decidedly inelegant proportions.

Polos and pants are not exactly revelatory choices. The main interest of my choice is what it replaces: ironing replaced by the forgiveness of jersey knits, and the comfort of stretchy warmth. Can we expect another cycling after things change again to a new, unconfined normal? Simon Crompton of Permanent Style posited that post-confinement, people would pivot to aggressively formal dressing: wearing not just suits, but structured, shaped suits instead of the drapey, soft tailoring that had been fashionable for the last 15 years. Frankly, I kind of doubt it. Fashion’s pendulum had already begun to swing away, not just from soft suits but from the idea of the suit itself. I don’t really care, I’ll wear what I want, disgusted shirtmakers and all, hoping to remember to look outwards instead inwards on constantly cycling steez fantasies. Outwards and outside, to mauve skies at sunset, to a moment of reflection and gratitude for what surrounds me, not possessions, but family and environs, and the enormous luck and accidents of fate that I should never take for granted.

#rjman #reginaldjeromedemans #features

18 notes · View notes

nitewrighter · 5 years ago

Text

Of Blades and Broomsticks, Part XXII

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

Read it on AO3 Here

------

What was it about night air that made scents and sensations sharper? Was it the darkness? Was it the cold? Sombra’s body was heavy in her arms. Pharah looked out to the center of the village, where people were gradually beginning to edge out, torchlights illuminating the space as she hung back in shadow, her own will, distant and dreamlike.

“What are you waiting for?” Moira’s voice echoed through the blackness of Pharah’s consciousness, “They need to understand what happened, and you’re going to tell them.”

Pharah was trying to will her arms to drop Sombra. Trying to will her legs to run. How much distance could she put between them before she could turn and shoot this creature? Maybe she could get the villagers to help? Her eyes flicked to the group gathering under their torches, assessing the damages to their cottages and fences, assessing dead livestock. They didn’t see her. Cry out to them, she thought, helplessly.

“Nnh-” A raw sound throbbed in her throat, her mouth not quite willing to sound the vowels, “Nnhh--”

“Gods above and below, you are stubborn,” Moira said with an eye-roll, “Fine.”

Moira dissolved into a wisp of purple smoke and spiraled around Pharah before plunging through her mouth and nostrils. Pharah could feel her in her throat and lungs, feel her as an ache at the back of her eyes. She could feel Moira blink her eyes for her.

“Ahem,” Moira cleared Pharah’s throat, “Hello? Hello. Hello. Oh you have a lovely voice.”

Somehow hearing Moira’s words in her own voice made something snap in Pharah. Moira controlling her body? Horrible, certainly, but Moira controlling her voice seemed to be on a level of blasphemy she could not articulate. She literally could not articulate.

I will kill you, thought Pharah, I will kill you. I will kill you. I will burn any memory of you from this earth and raise any semblance of you as an example that deserves only complete and utter hatred and destruction.

“Let’s give your fellow humans a show, you all do love spectacle,” Pharah heard Moira’s words in her voice as her feet moved forward. She could pick out words from the soft nervous thrum of the crowd. “Wolf.” “Demon.” “Adlersbrunn.” Moira resisted letting a smile play on Pharah’s features as she puppeted her. The seeds of panic and violence had already been planted in this village in the tavern earlier that evening. The hyper-alertness of the group, still shaken from all they had witnessed, made them aware to her presence with more quickness than she usually gave humans credit for as she closed the distance between herself and them. Torches in hand swung to illuminate her, and she stood.

“What--what’s that?” one voice rose up from the group.

“Is that a body?”

“A woman--”

“Did the wolf kill her?”

“I am Pharah,” she spoke, her voice clear, confident, too confident, Pharah could feel the rich pleasure Moira was taking in her voice, “I have witnessed the devastation at Adlersbrunn and sworn my sword against all monsters. The comtesse’s spymaster is dead by my hand,” as she spoke she gently bent to one knee and laid Sombra’s body on the ground with solemnity, “No longer will she control you with her lies and whispers. No longer are you livestock to the comtesse.”

There was a flittering of leathery wings and Moira-As-Pharah’s eyes flicked upward to see two bats desperately flapping off in the direction of the Comtesse’s chateau.

Yes, thought Moira, Go tell your mistress what has happened here.

“What about the wolf?” someone called from the back of the crowd.

“The demon!” another person cried.

Suddenly a boy in a blue hood burst to the front of the crowd, “The spymaster was fighting the wolf! She was trying to protect me!”

“I know the demon is a catspaw of the witch of Adlersbrunn,” said Moira-as-Pharah, “I believe the wolf must be a catspaw to your comtesse. Mummery to make you believe you needed her protection. As well as a defense against the Witch’s attack.”

“It ate my goat...” the boy in the blue hood said quietly.

“Two forces of evil are vying for power,” Moira-as-Pharah raised her voice, addressing the crowd of the village, “The Witch and the Comtesse. Be glad it only ate your goat. The horror you saw tonight is only a trace of what’s to come, and you must start preparing for the coming darkness.”

A murmur crested through the crowd.

“You’ve fought these things before,” one of the villagers piped up, “What do we do?”

Moira-as-Pharah tilted her head and smiled, “That is the wisest thing you lot have said all night.”

Pharah was screaming in the void.

----

The Witch and her company stood awkwardly about their wagon. Mercy had a small lick of flame hovering over her palm to illuminate the scene, but with her attention constantly shifting between her still-recovering allies and Genji, the light was passing around the scene in such a manic way as to induce motion sickness just by virtue of its shifting shadows.

“What happened?” said Genji. He held up his bracelet-bearing wrist, “You called me---” His eyes flicked to Baptiste, wiping blood from his mouth with a kerchief, and a furious alertness flared through Genji.

“It... it was Reyes. The Witch Hunter,” Mercy’s words pulled him from his focus on Baptiste and he looked at her neck before her eyes but could see no blood or marks, but then her words snapped him back into the moment.

“Did you say Reyes?” he said.

“Yep. Just missed him, mate,” said Junkenstein with a grunt, taking ahold of his creation’s thick arm and helping pull the beast to an upright sitting position on the ground.

“But--that can’t--that shouldn’t---I cut his head off,” said Genji, gesturing with his free arm.

“Well, he’s got a pumpkin now,” said Junkenstein, as if that made sense.

“A what?”

“Are you going to explain the naked fellow on your shoulder?” said Baptiste, tilting his head.

“Oh--” Genji unceremoniously dropped the former wolf-man to the ground, who flopped face-down into the dirt, “He was attacking the village up ahead. But what about Reyes--?”

“...a naked man was attacking the village up ahead,” said Baptiste.

“Well he was a wolf at the time but---” Genji cut himself off as Baptiste dropped to a squat next to the naked man and noted several wounds on his body, What are you doing?”

“This was the wolf--?” Baptiste brushed his thumb against one of the still-bleeding wounds in the man’s shoulder and smudged blood on his thumb.

“Oi--” Junkenstein started but Baptiste licked his thumb and immediately spat in the dirt right next to the naked man’s head, “Rue and rowan--” his eyes lit up and then he quickly sprang to his feet, looking at Genji, “Was there a woman there? Short in stature, sharp-tongued, clad in black, and bearing a crossbow?”

“Yes--” Genji started and Baptiste gave a sharp clap of his hands and a joyful, chest-rumbling chuckle.

“Yes! The Spymaster!” he said, white fangs flashing in his grin, “If anyone can fix this, she can! Where is she?”

“...Dead,” said Genji.

Baptiste’s face dropped. “What?”

“...I only saw her briefly before I took my true form to fight the wolf,” said Genji.

“True form to fight the--!” Mercy blurted out, “I thought we were keeping a low profile!”

“You said I should help people!” said Genji.

“Well, I know, but---Oh god...” Mercy pressed her fingertips to her forehead and started pacing around, but Baptiste was shaking his head in disbelief.

“No--” Baptiste was saying, “No--are you sure?”

“She smelled of death last I saw her,” said Genji, “...she was being carried by the Guard captain of Adlersbrunn.”

“What?!” said Mercy.

“...Shit,” said Junkenstein.

“Guard captain?” said Baptiste.

“...she was the one who helped Reyes capture Gramercy,” said Junkenstein a bit sullenly, “Never thought she’d be stupid enough to follow us--I don’t even know how she would follow us if we were going through all that portal whatnot!”

“...so your enemy followed you here and killed our spymaster,” said Baptiste, turning a blood-red glare at Mercy.

“I didn’t know she was following me!” said Mercy.

“But I don’t understand it,” said Genji, folding his arms, “Why would the guard captain kill her? I can only assume she pursues us out of vengeance for Adlersbrunn, but the spymaster was fighting the wolf before I came in! Why would the guard captain see the spymaster as an enemy if, reasonably, they would both be against the wolf?”

“Nnh...” the naked man grunted from the ground, his voice muffled into the dirt. Everyone froze.

“Pharah--?” the naked man stammered up from the ground, lifting his lolling head from the dirt deliriously, his eyes not even focusing, “Pharah... run... they’re gonna...”

His face flopped back into the dirt with exhaustion and the five of them stood around him awkwardly.

“...He said ‘Pharah,’“ said Junkenstein, after a few beats, “That’s the guard captain!”

“We need to get him conscious again,” said Baptiste, “Find out what he knows. Find out why he was attacking the village.”

“Not to be prudish, but is there the slightest a chance we could get pants on him before we do that?” said Mercy, glancing off as the light turned purple-gray with the approaching dawn.

-----

Two bats fluttered in the purple-gray light that hovered between night and morning. Not dawn, not yet, but stars were fading. The chateau of the comtesse lay before them, an ornate fortress, but a fortress all the same. Surrounded on virtually all sides by a lake, the crystalline windows and baroque facades belied arrow slits and numerous murder-holes. The bats fluttered into a lonely tower and retook their human shapes in panting tumbles.

“You’re back from your patrol early,” one of the guards spoke, but the former bat took ahold of their uniform, desperately and tearfully.

“We need to speak to the comtesse,” said the former bat-spy, “Now!”

“Whatever you must tell the Comtesse,” said the guard, “You should tell us first. See if it’s important.”

“...The spymaster is dead,” The spy’s voice was thick, “Killed... by a human.”

The guard’s face dropped instantly. A ripple seemed to shift through both the guard and his compatriot at this new knowledge, and some deep, furious, primal fire seemed to be lit at the very core of their being. The spymaster? Their spymaster?

“Come with me,” said the guard, and immediately both guards and both spies began walking. In their movement through the chateau, the two spies nervously exchanged glances as they were lead past paintings of the Comtesse and her first Lord husband, then portraits of the comtesse donning black, then portraits of the comtesse donning knightly armor filigreed with roses and bat wings, one particularly grisly portrait of the Comtesse in a re-enactment of the tale of Judith beheading Holofernes, then a series of portraits of the Comtesse and her spymaster in varying illustrative scenes. There was a portrait of the two of them sharing a swing in a spring scene, a portrait of them in grecian clothing, languishing in repose in what may have been a re-enactment of the women of Amphissa, and a very official looking portrait of the comtesse knighting her spymaster. With each portrait, the spies’ dread deepened.

The two spies were lead down a dizzying series of staircases until they were lead to a deep chamber with two guards standing at its door. They noted the guards escorting the two spies, gave a nod, and opened the heavy oaken doors to the tomb.

Low, slow breaths echoed off of the walls of the chamber, deep and slightly rasping. The two spies exchanged nervous glances before they approached the great Merovingian stone casket. Their movements were slow, tentative, despite the solitariness of their position as spies they found themselves drawing close to each other in fear.

“C-Comtesse?” one of them spoke, “Would--would you have audience with us?”

The slow sleeping breaths cut short with a raspy draw of breath, and for a brief few seconds, everything was terrifyingly still, then, a whispery voice thrummed from the stone of the room.

“Are you sworn to me,” the comtesse’s voice rasped from within the stone casket, “In blood and word?”

“Y-yes comtesse,” said the spies, clinging close to each other.

“Do you know it is in your best interest to keep me pleased?” rumbled the comtesse’s voice.

“Yes, Comtesse,” they responded, their voices hushed.

“Then why,” spoke the comtesse from within the casket, “Have you disturbed your lady’s slumber?”

Both the spies exchanged nervous glances, a brief flicker of ‘You say it first’ passing through terrified eye contact before one of them swallowed hard and blurted out, “The spymaster is dead.”

The low, rasping breath of the Comtesse’s slumber caught and then quickened, growing ragged. Both spies clutched each other even tighter as blood started seeping out from beneath the lid of the casket, running in thick rivulets over the engravings of the stone.

“Is this deception?” the voice rasped, “I will eat your hearts and let the sun claim you to ash if you speak falsehood.”

“N-no,” the other spy spoke, “She was killed by the guard captain who calls herself ‘Pharah.’ A human from Adlersbrunn who has sworn her sword against all monsters--she--she claimed she had freed the village from you, Comtesse.”

“How,” the Comtsse’s voice was nearly a sigh, “How?”

“It... it would seem Pharah deceived her. Made her believe they were allies and then... stabbed her,” said the other spy.

“What do we do, Comtesse?” said the first spy, in a clear panic, “The humans trusted us because of the spymaster! If she’s gone--”

The word ‘gone’ seemed to trigger something. The spies felt the ground rumble underneath them, then vibrate, as if there were thousands and thousands of sounds bubbling up from below the Chateau. Another deep, earthen rumble sounded, and then sharpened as deep fissures cracked through the casket.

“Humans...” the comtesse’s voice rumbled throughout the entire chateau, making the glass windows turn ice white with cracks as the entire building shook. “HUMANS!” the word thrummed out from the stone, as something deeper than primal, something older than earth, something as old as hunting and hunger itself, an auditory force that made her ancient merovingian casket shatter and explode in a spray of stone and blood with a deafening, wailing, roar, causing both her spies to shrink and cover each other in the spray. There was a high pitched crystalline sound that could only be the sound of every glazed window in the chateau shattering. The wail receded back to ragged breaths and there were a few brief seconds where both spies, vampires and fearsome creatures of the night in their own right, hesitated to open their eyes.

“Comtesse...?” the first spy looked up from where they were cowering on the floor. The comtesse was standing upon the stone dais where stone chunks of her casket lay strewn about her feet. Her black hair was loose down her back and her shoulders were heaving up and down with furious breath.

“My lady...” the other spy spoke, still cowering against their compatriot.

“We will scour the earth of them for what they have done,” the Comtesse’s hand whipped into a fist at her side as she sung her head around to look at them, “My children, you will feed as you have never fed before.”

The spies could only clutch each other close at the petrifying ruby-red glint in their mistress’s eyes. They were gripped by fear of their mistress’s wrath, true, but the parting of her lips and the new aura that seemed to emanate off of her awakened something they had been keeping down for a very long time:

Hunger.

#gency #witch mercy AU #Team Witch Plays Hot Potato with the Group's Collective braincell

13 notes · View notes

kforourke · 4 years ago

Text

A Little Goes a Long Way

My daughter recently began going to a new nursery school here in Philly, and because The Big Backyard is a co-op each family was asked to pick a job before the start of the school year. Which is how I ended up, happily!, as Vice Chair of the BBY board, helping with the school’s COVID-19-related work.

So far the work has been straightforward enough—I keep an eye on COVID-19 data, read over the school’s COVID protocols—and it barely feels like work, because I already look at COVID data all of the time, both for pieces I’m working on and, if I’m being honest, out of pandemic habit. If the last two years have given us anything, it’s been data.

To be more specific, COVID-19 has given us lots of publicly available data. The pandemic has also certainly increased our comfort with data, or at least the degree to which data—even pretty raw data—is now a part of our everyday lives. Just look at this bar from the front page of the NYTimes website, which now lives just below the lead story of the day:

And it’s funny: I can remember a time when I might have found this overwhelming (given that I was once a numbers-averse youth!) and/or depressing. Because health data can be quite a bummer: each number making up the bars in the stacked chart below—which shows positive tests in Philly—is a person, likely coughing and feverish, likely worried.

But I also like to think that data, and the increased understanding of what’s going on in the world the broadly available data can convey, will be the way we get out of this thing. And maybe it’ll be the way we figure out the other big challenge literally looming on the horizon, climate change. Et cetera; if there’s a day for optimism, it’s Friday.

To close, here are the first few stanzas of Timothy Donnelly’s “Unlimited Soup and Salad,” from The Problem of the Many, a book I cannot recommend often & vigorously enough.

A little goes a long way when when it comes to reality and the question of whether we can know it directly

rather than just through the gauze of our experience (not that it makes much of a difference

when you’re right in the thick of it, as when performing a bank heist, or competitive mummery among

family and friends, in which case your trust that the world is as it appears is more or less inviolate

if unself-reflecting, the way a honeybee trusts nectar inhabits the petunia, or that her venom sac or

gland or whatever it is will continue pumping its venom long after the stinger anchors in the forearm

...

Header image via Wikimedia Commons. Infection data image via the City of Philadelphia’s COVID-19 data page.

#COVID-19 #data #timothy donnelly #poetry #reality

1 note · View note

crackspinewornpages · 4 years ago

Text

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court 31/46 -Mark Twain

The king wanted to immediately go disguised as a peasant with Hank, but he reminded him his queen was here, (I see why Guenever would look at other men) but so was Launcelot, and Guenever only fretted over him. (so their relationship is an open secret to everyone but Arthur) anyway, the king talked to the clergy and there was a hermit tending to the sick, about eight hundred, some only thought something was wrong with them, others wanted to see the king or get a coin for coming. The hermit saw patients and if they were sick, passed them to the king who declared he could heal by touch, “Any mummery will cure if the patient's faith is strong in it.”p.188 Hank didn’t initially believe it but did when he saw results (power of placebo) but after three hours he was bored.

His boredom was cured when he bought a paper from a newsboy but was shocked to see the flippancy of tone over everything that happened in the valley. (and all the spelling and grammar mistakes I hope) It was a good start to journalism but he was still disappointed in the monotone, Clarence’s way was direct and business like, but not the best way. It was still good enough and he couldn’t fault their grammar as much as his own. “and one mustn’t criticize other people on grounds where he can’t stand perpendicular himself.”p.192

He wanted to read it all but the monks wanted his attention asking questions on the paper. He explains to them what a public journal is and read it to them to their astonishment. They examined the paper very carefully and Hank felt like a mother with a new baby.

Hank cut Arthur’s hair like a peasant (literally put a bowl over his head and gave him a bowl cut) and got common clothes to wear and they left an hour before dawn. Later, when Hank went to get water he hears voices from a traveling train and he shoots off to the king before the people could get there. He tries to get Arthur to stand up for them and reminds him he’s pretending to be a peasant with a humble attitude. (Undercover Boss royal edition) Hank took a whip lash meant for Arthur and reminds him to also keep his mouth shut as they’re unarmed.

The king kept his cool but barely and Hank thought they’re like a mischievous child and anxious mother. He thinks he should have said no and it would have been better handling a menagerie and the king hardly improved in time. On the second day Arthur reveals he brought a dirk and Hank reminds him people in their position aren't allowed weapons and persuades him to toss it. Hanks asks how he can know what he is thinking, Arthur says prophecy is greater than magic. “There are two kinds of prophecy. One is the gift to foretell things that are a little way off, the other is the gift to foretell things that are whole ages and centuries away.”p.198 Arthur says the latter is better as Merlin foretold of his birth and kingship for twenty years ahead. (so it’s so far ahead the people he told it to wont live to see it)

Hank declares all prophets have their limit, most of a hundred years, two have four hundred and six and seven hundred and twenty nothing compared to him. “My liege as clear as the vision of an eagle does fly my prophetic eye penetrates and lay bare the future of this world for nearly thirteen centuries and a half.”p.198 (and you’ll use this information to make profit) Remember the talk of him coming to the valley two days before he arrived and now Hank had a new trade and plenty of business with the king’s questions.

Everyday a knight came along and knowing the king wouldn’t keep up the façade in front of them Hank lead him away. On the third day, while resting from the whip lash, he digs in his sack, there was dynamite in case they needed a miracle, he wouldn’t trust the king to carry it. (I wouldn’t either he’s like a toddler) Then some knights came along and the king forgot himself assuming they would stand aside and Hank wondered if he ever thought it to himself. The knight ignores and almost ran him over sending Arthur into a fury, when they turned their attention to them Hank insulted them sending them to charge with their lances. Hank responded by tossing the dynamite at them leaving a crater and explained to Arthur it is a rare miracle because he has none left.

On the fourth day Hank figured the king has to be drilled or they won't pass in any dwelling for a peasant. Two paragraphs of calling the king too confident and showing him how to be downtrodden. (like a Monty Python skit) Now play act at being in a hut which he fails at. Hank even teaches him how to walk and what won’t or will be expected in the house, after all the training he looked little like a king. Hank went on drilling him in the lives of all sufferers and misfortunates. “But Lord, it was only just words, words-they meant nothing in the world to him,”-”words realize nothing, vivify nothing to you, unless you have suffered in your own person then thing which the words try to describe.”p.204 (so the privileged won’t care unless they also experience seriously it’s like they constantly try to cut welfare or school lunch) Others try to describe the working class and how intellectuals deserve a bigger pay when they haven't tried the other, the law of work seems fair and nothing can change it. (most people now are going into trade schools because they can’t afford college and also fuck the intellectual elite)

They arrive at a hut that has no sign of life, when they knock and go in a woman cries out that there is nothing left. They say they are not priests or lords and the woman tells them to run from the cursed place under the Church’s ban. Hank warns Arthur to leave as the woman is suffering from a disease that struck Camelot two years ago, but he wants to stay and help. He’s about to check upstairs when he sees the woman's husband on the floor and she tells them he’s already dead. The king comes back down with her teenage daughter also dying of smallpox.

The woman holds her and forbids Hank from saving her as the rest of the family is gone, what does she have to live for. The king tells her her sister is dead too and the woman says it’s a happy day as she’ll join them. Arthur starts to cry and the woman believes he has a wife at home and knows what poverty is. “and the daily insults of your betters, and the heavy hand of the Church and the king.”p.209

The king winced under this but kept quiet and Hank retrieves the other dead child and lays them by her. The woman shares her tale, how all the bad things happened at once, everything they have belongs to the lord and their three sons were blamed for cutting his fruit trees and rot in the dungeon. The four of them had to harvest his crop leaving theirs to rot and constantly fined and penniless, they starved. In her delirium she blamed the Church and they all got sick and have been shunned, as she finished her tale her daughter gives a death rattle. (see how the systemic stranglehold put this family in this position then blamed them for it and did nothing to help remind you of anything in our time) 30

At night they covered the four corpses with rags and left them in their home since they couldn’t be buried in sacred ground. Hank hears steps and has them hide in the back half of the house when the three sons come home. Hanks gets Arthur to leave to not listen to them wail so close. Hank believes the boys escaped the dungeon and Arthur is troubled by his conscious since it’s duty to capture and return them. “There it was again. He could see only one side of it. He was born so, educated so,”p.213 Hank tries to change the subject and spots a fire a way off, he was also starting an insurance business and fire engines.

They went down towards it through a forest and Hank knocks into the body of a hanged man. The weather turned into a lightning storm and the king pointed out two others in the trees. In the next mile they found six more and started to hear men’s voices as they run by. (WTF are you doing get out of this forest of death) Then they found the light of the fire, a manor ablaze, and men chasing others, so they hide back in the woods watching the mob.

In the morning it quieted down and they ventured out several miles before stopping at a hut for food. The king offers to buy the house for the night and she agrees and they sleep until noon. The woman told them what happened at Abblasoure (actual name) the manor had burst into flames and people hurried to save the family except the master who was found stabbed to death. Suspicion was on the baron and that was all that was needed for the mob to kill eighteen people (that’s mob violence for you can’t find a target make one) and thirteen prisoners were lost to the fire at Abblasoure. Hank asks if the family was saved why not them and Arthur says three did escape, they were the ones that murdered the master.

Hank expected him to say that, the couple asked questions but only Hank knew they had no intention of spreading the word, so he changed the subject. “The painful thing observable about all this business was the alacrity with which this oppressed community had turned their cruel hands against their own class in the interest of the common oppressor.”p.218 (again so much can be attributed even now) the couple even seemed it right to fight the master’s fight for him without question and didn’t seem guilty for it last night. (insert your war of choice) It reminded Hank of the white southerners in his time, who only had their own condition because of slavery and still sided with their slave holders, “and did also finally shoulder their muskets and pour out their lives in an effort to prevent the destruction of that very institution which degraded them.”p.219 the only redeeming feature was they secretly did detest the slave holder, (have you seen Texas text books they describe the slave trade as immigration) it being there was enough and these people are just like them.

Arthur still wanted to chase the brothers, the couple turned white and will show them the way they think they went. Quietly Hank asks their relation to the brothers and claims it’s his duty, they let them get away since they did a righteous deed, to gain their trust. He tells them it was devil’s work last night and the baron got what he deserved. The man assumes he’s a spy, he did hang his neighbors to preserve his own life from lack of zeal and is glad the master is dead. There was proof of what Hank thought, enough to make a republic of even the most degraded people like the Russians and Germans (this was written before the 1900s I’m sure Twain would write a whole nother book if he knew what was coming) if one could force it out of timidness to overthrow the throne. “We should see certain things yet, let us hope and believe.”p.221 first to modify the monarchy until Arthur dies then abolish nobility introduce them to trade and democracy, (universal suffrage) yes, he could still have his dream.

#a connecticut yankee in king arthur's court #mark twain #books #book summaries #humor #satire #alternate history #science fiction

1 note · View note

ravewulf · 2 years ago

Text

The OP has disabled reblogs but I would like to point out that they are spreading misinformation. The ToS here is standard boilerplate language used by EVERY SINGLE WEBSITE that allows you to post or otherwise upload content. There is nothing special about this language. Tumblr uses it, AO3 uses it, literally everyone.

What it means is websites can resize images, create thumbnails, re-flow text to fit on a screen, store the content on their servers, transmit copies of the content to end users, adapt for mobile screens vs desktop screens, replace special characters with HTML entities for proper HTML encoding, translating to other languages, re-save images to remove camera metadata, etc. All very basic stuff. And, yes, they do have to be that anal about it for legal reasons.

TLDR: OP is making a stink about nothing

#Twitter #Tumblr #misinformation #Terms of Service #ToS

1 note · View note

theunofficialchurchofsatan · 8 years ago

Text

What, The Devil? (Essay by High Preist Peter H Gilmore)

Satanism is not Devil worship. That comes as a shock to many who haven’t explored our philosophy and it is the prime misconception outsiders have regarding the Church of Satan. Our founder Anton Szandor LaVey asserted this stance from the beginning. Over the years, individuals with the need to feel embraced by a deity have claimed that Dr. LaVey somehow came to believe in a literal Satan. If we examine his work, it is clear that he never changed his mind about this, nor was belief in the Devil ever some secret “inner circle” practice of the Church of Satan.

We Satanists understand that both truth and fantasy are needed by the human animal. It is a step towards wisdom when one knows with certainty which is which. Man relies on symbolism and metaphor when building a personal conceptual framework for understanding the universe in which he lives. He has always invented his own gods using his carnal brain. From The Satanic Bible: “Man has always created his gods, rather than his gods creating him.” However, this act of creation is usually denied. History shows that the founders of religions claimed personal contact with the deity fabricated through their imaginations, and legions of followers bolstered that fiction. There is nothing wrong with fantasy, so long as an individual knows he is using this controlled self-delusion as a tool for dealing with existence. For we skeptical, pragmatic Satanists, it is wielded in the ritual chamber. Reliance on fantastic constructs becomes dangerous when the believers in spiritual religions dogmatically insist that their personal or collective fantasies are real in the world at large, that they are the only absolute truth, and then wait for the myth to guide them or try to force others to share this delusion. That has been the source for countless wars, as any student of history can see.

Dr. LaVey’s seminal book, The Satanic Bible published in 1969 lays out some basic principles:

The Satanist realizes that man, and the action and reaction of the universe, is responsible for everything, and doesn’t mislead himself into thinking that someone cares.

Is it not more sensible to worship a god that he, himself, has created, in accordance with his own emotional needs—one that best represents the very carnal and physical being that has the idea-power to invent a god in the first place?

From a 1986 interview with Walter Harrington of The Washington Post:

“Satan is a symbol, nothing more,” LaVey says. “Satan signifies our love of the worldly and our rejection of the pallid, ineffectual image of Christ on the cross.”

Accepting the axiomatic premise that no gods exist as independent supernatural entities means that Satanists are de facto atheists. We know that the objective universe is indifferent to us. Since our philosophy is self-centered, each Satanist sees himself as the most important person in his life. Each individual thus generates his own hierarchy of values and judges everything based on his own standards. Therefore, we Satanists appoint ourselves as the “Gods” in our subjective universes. That doesn’t mean we think we have the powers of a mythological deity, but it does mean that we revere the creative capacity in our species. So to distinguish ourselves from the atheists who simply reject God as non-existent, we call ourselves “I-theists,” with our own healthy ego as the center of our perspective. This is truly a blasphemous concept that flies in the face of just about every other religion, and it is why Satan serves us well as a symbol. He was described as the prideful one, refusing to bow to Jehovah. He is the one who questions authority, seeking liberty beyond the stultifying realm of Heaven. He is the figure championed by the likes of Mark Twain, Milton, and Byron as the independent critic who heroically stands on his own.

Dr. LaVey made his most detailed presentation of his concept for how Satan functions in his philosophy in the following monologue that appeared in Jack Fritscher’s book Popular Witchcraft, published in 1973.

I don’t feel that raising the devil in an anthropomorphic sense is quite as feasible as theologians or metaphysicians would like to think. I have felt His presence but only as an exteriorized extension of my own potential, as an alter-ego or evolved concept that I have been able to exteriorize. With a full awareness, I can communicate with this semblance, this creature, this demon, this personification that I see in the eyes of the symbol of Satan—the goat of Mendes—as I commune with it before the altar. None of these is anything more than a mirror image of that potential I perceive in myself.

I have this awareness that the objectification is in accord with my own ego. I’m not deluding myself that I’m calling something that is disassociated or exteriorized from myself the godhead. This Force is not a controlling factor that I have no control over. The Satanic principle is that man willfully controls his destiny; if he doesn’t, some other man—a lot smarter than he is—will. Satan is, therefore, an extension of one’s psyche or volitional essence, so that that extension can sometimes converse and give directives through the self in a way that thinking of the self as a single unit cannot. In this way it does help to depict in an externalized way the Devil per se. The purpose is to have something of an idolatrous, objective nature to commune with. However, man has connection, contact, control. This notion of an exteriorized God-Satan is not new.

The approach outlined here, of consciously creating an exteriorization of the self with which one communes solely in ritual, is a revolutionary religious concept of LaVey’s Satanism, and it is a “third side” approach which proves elusive to many to whom it does not come naturally. It is a psychological sleight-of-mind, not a form of faith. It establishes that to the Satanist in ritual, he is Satan.

To be fair, people attending workings of LaVey’s bombastic and theatrical rites might not be able to separate the shouting of “Hail Satan!” while in the ritual chamber with the disbelief in any external gods outside of the chamber. But then, Satanism isn’t meant for everybody. When asked if there is an upcoming volume Satanism for Dummies, we reply: “Satanism is NOT intended for dummies.” As he said in The Satanic Bible and often in interviews: “Satanism demands study—NOT worship.” The capacity to think is expected of Satanists. So LaVey expected those who embraced his philosophy to understand where to draw the line between the fantastic and the real. He proclaimed that he was a showman, and felt that his Satanists would not be rubes, mistaking the mummery for reality. As a carnie, he knew how to entertain, to draw attention so that he could then present more serious ideas. Some might sneer at his methodology, dismissing his deeper cogitations because of the circus-like elements. However, I believe a case can be made that all religions are in the “show business,” but the Church of Satan is the only one honest enough to admit it.

In an interview released on an LP called The Occult Explosion from 1973, Dr. LaVey explained how the Church of Satan deals with different concepts of Satan:

“Satan” is, to us, a symbol rather than an anthropomorphic being, although many members of the Church of Satan who are mystically inclined would prefer to think of Satan in a very real, anthropomorphic way. Of course, we do not discourage this, because we realize that to many individuals a picture, a well-wrought picture of their mentor or their tutelary divinity is very important for them to conceptualize ritualistically. However, Satan symbolically is the teacher: the informer of the whys and the wherefores of the world. And in answer to those who would label us “Devil worshippers” or be very quick to assume us to be Satan worshippers, I must say that Satan demands study, not worship, in its truest symbology.

We do not grovel; we do not get down on our knees, genuflect, and worship Satan. We do not plead, we do not implore that Satan give us what we wish. We feel that anyone who is going to be blessed by any god of his choice is going to have to show that god that he is capable of taking care of the blessings that are received.

Thus he advocates creating a god-symbol based on one’s own needs and aesthetic choices. Creative fantasy is employed for emotional fulfillment, experienced in the context of the ritual chamber. Satanists see Satan as their proper symbol to fulfill those needs, a magnification of the best within each of us.

Additionally, LaVey speculated on the idea that when attempting Greater Magic, it may be that the operator is tapping into a force that is part of nature to magnify his “Will.” This force is hidden, unknown, and thus “dark.” But LaVey did not view the force as a supernatural entity. In The Satanic Bible he originally explained “the Satanist simply accepts the definition (of God) which suits him best.” He closely follows that with the definition he uses:

To the Satanist “God”—by what-ever name he is called, or by no name at all—is seen as the balancing factor in nature, and not as being concerned with suffering. This powerful force which permeates and balances the universe is far too impersonal to care about the happiness or misery of flesh-and-blood creatures on this ball of dirt upon which we live.

LaVey clearly posits a disinterested, remote force—not a personality or entity—that balances the universe. He sees it as indifferent to life forms, much as any other force such as gravity would be. It is a mechanism, not a personage. It does not merit obeisance, appeasement, or worship. It can be named or not. It operates without awareness of conscious beings. He spoke of this to Burton Wolfe who wrote in the introduction to The Satanic Bible:

Of course LaVey pointed out to anyone who would listen that the Devil to him and his followers was not the stereotyped fellow cloaked in red garb, with horns, tail and pitchfork, but rather the dark forces in nature that human beings are just beginning to fathom. How did LaVey square that explanation with his own appearance at times in black cowl with horns? He replied: “People need ritual, with symbols such as those you find in baseball games or church services or wars, as vehicles for expending emotions they can’t release or even understand on their own.”

So LaVey accepted that there may be currently unexplained elements of the universe that are part of its fabric, but these are not supernatural. He suggests that Man’s inquiring mind may eventually come to understand how they function. The implications of these ideas offer great freedom. Since there is no actual deity watching over or mandating the behavior of our species, men are free to imagine whatever sort of God they choose to satisfy their own needs, however they should not forget that such fantasies are only that—nothing more.

In that same passage, he also addressed the prime reason for engaging in ritual, which he defined as Greater Magic: it serves as a means for releasing pent-up emotions that people may not even fully understand. Hence ritual has a psychological purpose; it is clearly not meant as a means for worship of some supernatural entity. Ritual is demonstrably part of human culture. LaVey knew that it served a value for people over the millennia, even if it was done for reasons that didn’t square with reality. It made people feel better than they did beforehand. So, as he continued in The Satanic Bible when addressing the search for a proper religion: “If he accepts himself, but recognizes that ritual and ceremony are the important devices that his invented religions have utilized to sustain his faith in a lie, then it is the SAME FORM OF RITUAL that will sustain his faith in the truth—the primitive pageantry that will give his awareness of his own majestic being added substance.” Thus the device of ritual, which he explained as “controlled self delusion,” can be of practical use for the well being of one’s state of mind. The truth referred to above is that all gods are an invention of the creative beast called Man.

To summarize a typical individual’s journey from observing reality to declaring himself a Satanist, let us list several assertions:

Nature encompasses all that exists. There is nothing supernatural in Nature.

The spiritual is an illusion. I am utterly carnal.

Reason is my tool for cognition making faith anathema. I question all things. I am a skeptic.

I do not accept false dichotomies, finding instead the “third side” which brings me closest to understanding the mysteries of existence.

The universe is neither benevolent nor malevolent; it is indifferent.

There are no Gods. I am an atheist.

There is no intrinsic purpose to life beyond biological imperatives. I thus determine my own life’s meaning.

I decide what is of value. I am my own highest value therefore I am my own God. I am an I-theist.

Good is that which benefits me and promotes that which I hold in esteem.

Evil is that which harms me and hinders that which I cherish.

I live to maximize the Good for myself and those I value. At all times I remain in control of my pursuit of pleasure. I am an Epicurean.

Merit determines my criteria for the judgment of myself and others. I judge and am prepared to be judged.

I seek a just outcome in my exchanges with those around me. I thus will do unto others as I would prefer they do unto me. However, if they treat me poorly, I shall return that behavior in like degree.

I grasp the human need for symbols as a means for distillation of complex thought structures.

The symbol that best exemplifies my nature as an aware beast is Satan, the avatar of carnality, justice, and self-determination.

I see myself reflected in the philosophy created by Anton Szandor LaVey.

I am proud to call myself a Satanist.

These ideas fundamental to Satanists serve as an earthy foundation that we find deeply liberating and a welcome acceptance of ourselves as human animals. For the type of person who feels the need for an external supernatural parental figure, the responsibility for self-determination explicit in this path would be terrifying. For the Satanist, belief in any actual God or Devil to which one would be beholden is repugnant and stultifying. We “agree to disagree” with those who are spiritually oriented concerning our different approaches to living, hence our advocacy of pluralism in society. We Satanists know that our way is not for everyone. We simply ask that others follow their own path and allow us to be as we are.

But please, all of you believers, understand that we are not simply your “flip side.” We are not Devil-worshippers. We are simply carnal self-worshippers looking to enjoy our lives to the fullest. May you find bliss in your serving of your chosen deity. We certainly will!

#satanist #the church of satan #satanism #satan #leviathan #lucifer #belial #peggynadramia #peter h gilmore #blanchebarton #antonlavey

333 notes · View notes

weirwoodking · 4 years ago

Text

the way that Varys literally used the crossbow just to copy Tyrion. he didn’t have to, he just really liked the thematic vibes that using it would give off. the THEATRE of it all. the MUMMERY

#‘i thought the crossbow fitting. you shared so much with lord tywin why not that’ DAMN #he didn’t have to but he did it anyway #asoiaf #varys

105 notes · View notes

ibta-alexia · 8 years ago

Text

Mummenschanz

A play with masks and coincidence, Mummenschanz, translates from German to mummery the grey area between mask, mime and puppetry. Jacque Lecoq influenced both Mummenschanz and Complicite (English Theatre Company), while he did not create a theatre style as oppose to test the boundaries of mask work.

Devising:

They start with objects the material and literal world and take it to the abstract and devise around that.

No thematic connection between the short plays within the performance

May modify the acts they have done before

Adapting older acts, such as the slinky tubes

Le jours;

The joy of playing

Mummenschanz reflect Lecoq’s attitude, which can be traced through these practices

A consistent preoccupation with creating a theatre vocabulary based upon movement, masks and the manipulation of objects

A commitment to play as the motor of creativity

An unapologestic affirmation of popular theatre forms

A willingness to invoke a belief in the possibility of creating universal theatre languages that transcend differences of class, culture and race

#Year1 #Mummenschanz

3 notes · View notes

trekkinginpakistan · 7 years ago

Text

New Post has been published on Trekking in Pakistan

New Post has been published on http://bit.ly/2sjcLx6

Mazeno La

Duration 8 days Distance 74.5km Standard extreme, technical Season Mid-June-mid-September Start Tarashing Finish Bunar Zone and Permit open, no permit Public Transport yes Summary This glaciated pass brings trekkers close to the Mazeno Peaks in a traverse of the southern flanks of the Nanga Parbat massif.

Mazeno La (5399m) is a technical glaciated pass over Nanga Parbat’s Mazeno ridge, with its challenging unclimbed summits of Mazeno Peak (7100m) and four subsidiary 7000m Peaks. The trek skirts the southern half of the Nanga Parbat massif from the Rupal Gah to Diamir Gah. From Zangot in Diamir Gah, the standard route descends the Bunar Valleys to KKH. An Alternative, more strenuous, six- day route continues north- east from Zangot, crossing two more passes en route to Fairy Meadow. Experienced guides say most trekkers don’t succeed in crossing the pass. Only fit and experienced trekkers with basic mountaineering skills should attempt this route.

PLANNING

WHAT to Bring

Mountaineering equipment necessary to travel in roped teams and fix rope is required, depending on snow conditions (see mountaineering equipment,); wearing a climbing helmet is prudent. Heavy early- season snow pack favours the time between early August and the third week of September when less snow is present and more rock is exposed. The descent from the pass can be tricky at this time, though may require as little as 10m fixed rope. Descent is easier earlier in the season when more snow is present, but requires as much as 300m fixed rope.

Maps

The US AMS 1:250,000 topographic map Gilgit (NI 43-2) covers the entire trek, whereas the Deutscher Alpenverein (DAV) 1:50,000 topographic map Nanga Parbat Gruppe covers the route except Diamir and Bunar. The U502 map labels Karu Sagar as Kachal Gali and Kutagali as Kachal. Khusto Pass between North Jalipur and South Jalipur Peaks isn’t named on maps, but the DAV map marks it as 4837m.

Guides and Porters

Hiring an experienced Shina- speaking guide from Chilas who knows the route and can manage the complex porter logistics is strongly recommended. It’s necessary to change porters as you pass through different valleys. The first group of porters, usually hired in Tarashing, go only to the top of the Mazeno La literally. Here these porters are replaced by ones from Bunar. To coordinate this change of porters, make arrangements with the shopkeeper in Bunar before your trek, telling him how many porters you need on what date. He then organizes porters to meet you either on top of the Mazeno La or the Bunar porters may walk without loads up the Rupal Gah. Bunar porters then either take you to the KKH or to Shaichi depending upon your route. Bunar porters may extort camping fees in Diamir Gah. When continuing to Shaichi, Gunar porters replace the Bunar porters. Small parties, however, can usually get by without changing porters. Regardless, be prepared to change porters and be prepared for the financial consequence. Each group of porters gets wapasi, making this an expensive route! Porters ask for a flat rate of Rs 200 per stage, including payment for food rations.

Stages

It’s 11 stages total From Tarashing: (1) Herrligkoffer Base camp; (2) Latobah; (3) Shaigiri; (4) Mazeno Base Camp; (5) Mazeno High Camp; (6) Mazeno La; (7) Upper Loibah Meadow; (8) Loibah Meadow; (9) Zangot; (10) Halaley Bridge; and (11) Bunar.

The alternative route to Fairy Meadow from Tarashing totals 18 stages (1-9) nine stages between Tarashing and Zangot; (10) Kutagali; (11) Karu Sagar Pass; (12) Shaichi; (13) Gutum Sagar; (14) Jalipur High Camp; (15) Beyal; (16) Fairy Meadow; (17) Jhel; and (18) Raikot Bridge.

GETTING TO/FROM THE TREK

To the Start

For information on transport to the trailhead, see the Rupal trek (p).

From the Finish

From Bunar, transport is readily available east to Chilas or up the KKH to Gilgit. Prearranging Halaley- Bunar special hires, which cost Rs 1600, shortens the trek by one day.

The Trek

Days 1-2 : Tarashing to Shaigiri

2 days, 18.5km, 744m ascent

From Tarashing (2911m), camp at either Herrligkoffer Base Camp or Latobah en route to Shaigiri (3655m). (See Days 1-2 of the Rupal trek,).

Day 3 : Shaigiri to Mazeno Base Camp

3- 5 hours, 6.5km, 395m ascent

The trail follows the Toshain (Rupal) Glacier’s north margin and crosses several streams before it reaches Mazeno Base Camp (4050m), which is below the Mazeno Glacier’s terminus.

Day 4 : Mazeno Base Camp to Mazeno High Camp

4- 6 hours, 5.5km, 650m ascent

The route turns Sharply north and then climbs steeply to Mazeno High Camp (4700m), which Lies along the glacier’s east margin.

Day 5 : Mazeno High Camp to Upper Loibah Meadow

6- 8 hours, 12km, 699m ascent, 1199m descent

Ascend along the glacier’s north- east margin, crossing it higher up, and reach Mazeno La (5399m) in three hours. The descent on the north side of the pass is very steep, has rock- fall danger, and is technical for 300m to the Upper Loibah Glacier. Continue down the glacier to Upper Loibah Meadow (4200m).

Day 6 : Upper Loibah Meadow to Zangot

5- 6 hours, 10km, 1400m descent

Descend the valley passing through Loibah Meadow to Zangot (2800m).

Day 7 : Zangot to Halaley Bridge

3- 4 hours, 10km, 1000m descent

Descend north- west down the Diamir Gah to its confluence with the Bunar Gah and camp near Halaley Bridge (1800m). This area was first explored by British climbers AF Mummery, G Hastings and J Norman Collie, in 1895.

Day 8 : Halaley Bridge to Bunar

3- 4 hours, 12km, 600m descent

Descend the Bunar Gah to Bunar (1200m) on the KKH.

Alternative Finish : Zangot to Jhel

You can continue via two passes to Fairy Meadow in six additional days. Those interested in a complete circumambulation of Nanga Parbat can then continue from Fairy Meadow to Astor via the Muthat Pass (see Other Treks, for details of this route).

Alternative Day 7 : Zangot to Kutagali

3- 4 hours, 4km, 300m ascent

Climb along the stream to the summer settlement at Kutagali (3100m). From Kutagali, a side trip several hours upvalley to the Diamir Glacier offers closer views of Nanga Parbat’s west face.

Alternative Day 8 : Kutagali to Shaichi

5- 6 hours, 10km, 1300m ascent, 1800m descent

Climb steadily to the Karu Sagar Pass (4400m) and descend just as steeply to Shaichi (Shaichi means ‘field’ in Shina) in Patro Gah (2600m).

Alternative Day 9 : Shaichi to Gutum Sagar

5- 6 hours, 5km, 900m ascent

Head up Patro Gah through forest, crossing side streams for a few hours to the Gunar villagers’ pastures. Ganalo (6606m) dominates the view. Continue upvalley to Gutum Sagar (3500m).

Alternative Day 10 : Gutum Sagar to Jalipur High Camp

4- 6 hours, 5.5km, 900m ascent

Ascend along a stream through the meadows of the bowl below the Jalipur peaks to Jalipur High Camp (4400m). It’s possible to climb the nontechnical South Jalipur Peak (5206m) in one day from this high camp (see the climb’s description in the Fairy Meadow trek,).

Alternative Day 11 : Jalipur High camp to Beyal

4- 5 hours, 6km, 437m ascent, 1237m descent

Climb steeply east towards the east- west Khusto Pass (4837m), between North Jalipur Peak (5215m) and South Jalipur Peak. Ascend on a steep talus slope one to two hours and emerge near a snowfield. The descent from the pass is also steep and on loose talus one hour. Continue to meadows leading past willows and forest into Raikot Gah and Beyal (3500m), reaching Beyal two hours from the pass.

Alternative Day 12 : Beyal to Jhel

2- 2½ hours, 10.5km, 834m descent

On the final day, enjoy the easy walk down to Fairy Meadow and on to Jhel (see the Fairy Meadow trek,).

Other Treks

The following treks are all in an open zone.

BAGROT

Sinakkar to Dainyor

An easy three- day trek links Sinakkar village in the Bagrot Valley with Dainyor on the KKH east of Gilgit. The route is usually snow- free mid-June to mid- September, through it’s best to go when herders are in the pastures late June to late August. Hire Sinakkar villagers who work as local guides/porters since the route isn’t shown on maps. On Day 1, go from Sinakkar to Walo, the pasture for Sinakkar herders, in four to five hours. On Day 2 cross the 4000m ridge with views of Nanga Parbat and descend to Munugah, the pasture for Dainyor villagers, in five or six hours. On Day 3, descend to Dainyor in four or five hours. Suzukis (Rs 10) go regularly from Dainyor to Gilgit.

Hopey to Bilchar

An easy day trek begins in Bagrot Valley’s Hopey village and heads south- east over a 3100m ridge to Bilchar village (2300m) in Bilchar Gah. Trekkers meet herders and have fine views of Bilchar Dobani (6134m). It takes three to four hours to reach Taisot and another hour to descend to Bilchar.

HARAMOSH

Kutwal Lake

Kutwal Lake (3260m), at the head of Haramosh Valley, nestles along the Mani Glacier’s north margin, surrounded by meadows and pine and birch forest, with views of Mani (6685m), Haramosh, and Malubiting’s south face. The easy six- day trek to Kutwal Lake is best done between mid-June and September. It’s often done after crossing Rakhan Gali (see the Rakhan Gali trek,).

On Day 1, follow the jeep road, which turns north off the Gilgit- Skardu road by the bridge over the Phuparash River, north from Sassi 2km along the Phuparash River, to Dassu (marked as Dache on maps) on the bluffs above the river’s east side. On Day 2, the trail stays along the true left bank, first climbing steeply and then continuing to Iskere (2500m). Dassu villagers graze livestock and cut timber here May to December. One kilometer above Iskere is a good camp site near the Mani Glacier’s snout with views up the Baska Glacier of Malubiting and Laila. On Day 3, cross the river on a footbridge to Gure, a south- facing pasture, and continue east crossing the Baska Glacier’s outwash stream to the summer village to Kutwal. Day 4 takes you along the Mani Glacier’s north margin to Kutwal Lake. Beyond Kutwal Lake, a route continues to Haramosh La (see p). Retrace your steps, reaching Sassi on Day 6.

Sassi is on the Gilgit- Skardu road 1½ hours from Gilgit. Daily Gilgit- Skardu NATCO and Mashabrum Tours buses pass through. Most vehicles get fuel at Sassi’s petrol pump. A restaurant is nearby. A Daily wagon (Rs 40) goes to Sassi in mid- afternoon from Shaheed-e- Millat Rd near Gilgit’s Jamat Khana Bazaar, and returns from Sassi around 7am the next day.

It’s eight stages total round trip from Sassi: (1) Dassu; (2) Iskere; (3) Kutwal; (4) Kutwal Lake; and (5-8) four stages to return via the same route.

Haramosh Base Camp

The easy approach to Haramosh Base Camp starts from Sassi village, crosses the Chonga ridge (3300m), then descends to Ishkapal village (2740m). From Ishkapal, it’s a short walk up the Ishkapal Glacier’s south margin to Bariyabu (3600m), beneath Haramosh’s south- west face.

Phuparash Glacier

Attractive Phuparash (6574m) is visible from this trek’s start. From Sassi, head upvalley to Dassu. Beyond Dassu cross the river and follow the Phuparash River’s true left (east) bank to Phuparash pastures. The easy trek is usually done in two days. Miar, the Phuparash peaks, and Malubiting (7458m) form a very imposing, steep corniced wall above the glacier.

DIAMIR

Rama Lake

Rama Lake (3482m) lies along the Sachen Glacier’s south margin above Rama 6km west of Astor village (2345m) in Astor Valley. An easy two- or three- day visit to the lake (Sango Sar See on the DAV map) and the surrounding area takes you through flower- filled meadows and pine, fir, cedar and juniper forests with views of the Chongra peaks.

Gilgit- Astor jeeps (Rs 100) go all day from Gilgit’s Domyal link Rd. Gilgit- Astor special hires cost Rs 1200- 1500. A jeep road goes from Astor to Rama, 1200m above Astor, so unless you want to walk, organize a Special hire (Rs 600).

Muthat Pass

After successfully crossing the Mazeno La from the Rupal Gah and continuing to Fairy Meadow in Raikot Gah (see the Mazeno La trek,), a circumambulation of Nanga Parbat is possible by continuing clockwise from Fairy Meadow to the Astor Valley over the Muthat Pass. Meat Contractors supplying goats to the army reportedly use this very demanding route.

From Fairy Meadow, descend towards Tato (2475m) to cross the footbridge over Raikot Gah. Ascend north- east over a ridge (3362m) and descend to stream, then cross the Buldar River to reach Muthat Village (3000m). Follow the Buldar Glacier’s snout- east margin to 4000m. Then ascend a more difficult route along an ablation valley to Muthat Pass (4965m). (The DAV map shows a glacier west of the pass that is no longer present on this route). Descend steeply to the Lotang Glacier, following its north margin to a point where you can cross to its south side. The route over the ridge separating the Lotang and Sachen glaciers isn’t obvious. Descend to Rama and Astor villages in the Astor Valley. An experienced local guide who knows the route is helpful.

Bezar Gali

Bezar Gali (4062m) is an infrequently used pass linking Raikot Gah and Jalipur Gah. From Fairy Meadow, a moderate three- day trek over the pass leads to Gunar on the KKH, 30km from Chilas. Head north- west and cross Bezar Gali, descending to camp the first night at Bezar in the Jalipur Gah and the next day at Khusto.

KAGHAN

The 160km- long Kaghan Valley, south of Diamir in North- west Frontier Province’s (NWFP) Hazara District, is renowned for its vast meadows, pine forests and sparkling alpine lakes nestled among western Himalayan 4000m to 5000m peaks. Formed by the Kunhar River, perhaps Pakistan’s finest trout streams, the valley takes its name from Kaghan village. The local Language is Hindko, similar to Punjabi, with Pushtu and Urdu also widely spoken. The upland meadows attract Gujars, nomadic herders who bring their flocks each spring in a colourful migration. Naran is the staging point for trips upvalley, a one- day drive from Islamabad via Mansehra.

Lake Saiful Mulk

Most visitors to Kaghan between mid- June and September make the day trip from Naran to Lake Saiful Mulk (3200m). The turquoise lake lies amid flower- filled meadows, surrounded by glacier- clad peaks. Above its far shore rises Malika Parbat (5290m), Queen of the Mountains, Kaghan’s highest peak. Legend has it that fairies would gather at the lake to dance on moonlit nights. A young prince caught a glimpse of them and fell in love with the fairy princess. The illicit love between the fairy and the mortal human ended tragically, and the lake is named for the prince, Saif- ul- Mulk. This fairy realm has lately become spoiled by human visitors, who thoughtlessly leave trash. A small rest house and several tea stalls mark the spot.

From Naran, follow the 10km- long road through forest three hours to the lake. Walk an hour around the lake to a camp site in the meadows below the Saiful Mulk Glacier. It’s Possible to cross the ridge (4191m) at the valley’s south- west end and descend steeply into the upper Manur Valley, which joins the Kaghan Valley at Mahandri, 37km south of Naran.

Babusar Pass

Babusar Pass (4175m) at the Kaghan Valley’s head, is really an alpine plateau marking NWFP’s border with the Northern Areas. An infrequently used jeep road, once the only road linking Gilgit with down- country Pakistan, runs the Kaghan Valley’s length and crosses the pass to meet the Indus River at Chilas to the north. Every year a few trekkers opt to walk along the road between mid- June and September as an alternative to travelling the KKH. The 130km walk between Naran to Chilas takes from four to six days. It’s possible to jump on any vehicle (Rs 50) the last 39km between Babusar village and Chilas. At the time of writing, a project to improve the road across Babusar was underway.

Eastern Kaghan

A five- day trek between Burawai and Lulusar Lake crosses four easy passes as it dips into Azad Jammu and Kashmir, visiting the high lakes south of Babusar Pass and east of the road. A local guide from Naran is essential. Start from Burawai, 26km north- east of Naran. Follow the good trail south- east up the Jora Valley, passing the stone huts of Jora, and camp in the meadows six to eight hours from Burawai. On Day 2, cross Ratti Gali (4115m), a pass leading south- east into the upper Dhorian Valley and marking the NWFP and Azad Jammu and Kashmir border. Follow the stream down from the pass. At its confluence with another stream, turn north and follow the stream 5km to the gentle Nuri Nar Gali (4115m). Cross north into the upper Nuri Valley and camp in meadows along the stream four to five hours from Jora. On Day 3, follow the stream down to the main valley, which flows east towards the Neelum River. A trail leads north- west over a pass to Jalkhand River and back to the Kunhar River. Instead, follow the north- east fork as it bends around to the east past a small lake and then north over Saral Gal (4191m) into the upper Saral Valley and camp near Saral Lake, five to six hours from the upper Nuri Valley. On Day 4, walk a short way downstream, then turn west and follow a stream up 2km to a fork in the trail. The west fork leads shortly to Saral-di- Gali (4488m), a pass to Jalkhand Valley and back to the road. Follow the north fork and cross Jor-di- Gali (4450m), re- entering NWFP, and descend to Dudibach Lake (3962m), four to five hours from Saral Lake. On Day 5, walk six to seven hours west down Purbi Valley to the road at Besal, followed by an easy 2km walk on the road to Lulusar Lake.

Alternative, from Dudibach Lake, head 4km west down the Purbi Valley, then north across a ridge into the Kabalbashi Valley. Camp in the upper valley and the next day continue downvalley to Gittidas. Gittidas, although south of Babusar Pass, is a Chilasi summer settlement where it’s best to avoid camping.

#8 days #August #extreme #July #June #September #technical

0 notes

jackblankhsh · 8 years ago

Text

New Year Same Ol’ Shit

Old spymasters used to whisper about intentional sacrifices, low level info catchers killed for Kali in the hope she spared the world. And spurious reasoning seemed to prove them right. For every Bond wannabe bleeding to death in a Moroccan alley, drowning in Venetian streets, murdered mid-sex, the world lived another day.

Such thoughts come to mind considering the night ahead. At my buddy Sid’s, the neighbors have painted their faces into colorful calavera, while they kill chickens for the orishas. I offer them a bottle of rum from the freezer. They take it gladly, and I wish them the best of luck.

“Which rum you give them?” Sid asks.

I shrug, “Does it matter?”

Sid says, “Yeah, if you want the offering to mean anything.”

He checks the freezer for what’s missing. Nodding he says, “That’ll do.”

“Since when do you believe in gods?”

He sighs, “Since we need all the help we can get.”

The sentiment seems shared by all this evening. On the stroll to Mr. G’s we pass wild mummeries. The street lamps have all been shot out. Lighting the way are burning pyres covered in various birds. Exsanguinations of goats run red rivers down the gutter. Revelers in phantasmagorical maquillage dance to music blasting out of cars, houses, and nearby bars, a chaotic cacophony of mixed styles blending into a delightful mess. The noise is meant to get the attention of the heavens; and some assist the effort by wearing ornate accoutrements: decorative plastic eyewear, ridiculous elaborate hats, and fake flower leis. Whatever may glance down from above will surely get an eye snagged on the sight below.

A yellow muscle car comes screaming around a corner, the “driver” seated on the roof wearing Viking horns. He opens his mouth to shout something, but the vehicle drifts into a parked pickup. As the two cars disintegrate the “driver” is flung out into the darkness. Everyone cheers. No one checks on him, though a keen ear may’ve detected the sound of snapping branches… or bones. Either he survived, or he belongs to the gods. One more sacrifice to earn us a better tomorrow.

We stepped into Mr. G’s, and joined the worldwide effort, contributing our own sacrificial brain cells, aiming for a global googolplex.

For whatever reason, the owner of Mr. G’s decided to hire a DJ, a young Puerto Rican with a neck tattoo, who plugged his laptop into the stereo system, and proceeded to run a playlist. Sid, unable to stomach electronic music for more than thirty seconds, did his best to remain calm, but forty seconds in started lobbing empty shot glasses at the DJ. The practice caught on, and Regulars eventually rained glasses at the DJ until he fled. I took his laptop, appraised its value, but decided it would be safer to smash it out of existence lest he return.

Without prompting Reilly starts a story:

“Someone’s talkin’ like, ‘No one really knows when a new year starts.’ ’nd I’m like, ‘Okay, that’s interesting.’ Noddin’ Ima sippin’ muh beer, I realize ‘s a cup of piss. Literal piss.”

“Literally,” I correct him. Why I have no idea.

“You wanna finish my story?”

Shake my head, “Nope.”

“Right. So liter-rally piss. Happy?”

“Not typically.”

“I’m fucking telling a story,” Reilly says.

“Then finish it,” signaling for a round of shots.

Reilly takes a minute to remember his place, “So this jackhole is yammering about are-bit-tarry , dates.”

I suspect he meant arbitrary, however, I let that one slide. GG pours us a few artillery shells, while Sid finishes rolling a joint. She flashes a playful frown that says, “Really? All out in the open?” to which Sid replies by blowing her kiss. She catches it with one hand, rubs her vagina, and sashays to another waiting customer.

Reilly continues, “Sos he’s talkin’, while I’m like why I got dis piss? Fogs is clearin’, but not fast enough. I mean I might not’ve needed to be holding it for fuck’s sake. Then I ‘member Fake Dave was in the bathroom.”

“The Fake Dave?” I ask, “The real Fake Dave?”

“The one and only,” Reilly nods.

Sid taps me on the shoulder. Laws being what they are, it’s necessary to go outside to smoke.

I say, “Hold that thought Reilly.”

“For a beer I might.”

Oddly enough, I don’t feel a need to buy the end of the story. On the way out I can hear Reilly wrapping things up. Tossing words to any ear willing to hear he sits basically talking to himself.

Pool balls collide, cracking like thunder. The jukebox sings as if the seventies are alive and well; that era of rock still reigns supreme. A delivery boy arrives carrying several pizzas, and is promptly hogtied, and thrown in the basement – no one feels like paying. Several of the senior lady-regulars slip off to have their way with him, while the rest of us pound beers, and gorge on greasy pizza. A few folks sing along with the jukebox, though they can’t quite remember the lyrics:

“A dull lesson sent pumps into a vat With a boulder for a shoulder Feeling kind and colder, I tripped that Mary go down With her cock teasing, wheezing, and sneezing {indecipherable} She was! Blinded by the light, wrapped up like a douche In the middle of the fight. Blinded by the right, warped up like a douche In the riddle of the night...”

And they keep singing even after the song is over. Bobby and Jennifer decide now is as good a time as any to go over the details of their custody battle, while their kids desperately focus on the television showing New York’s countdown. No illusion about their future, I buy the kids thimbles of whiskey. Sid disappears with GG, and a half hour later the two come back wearing each other’s t-shirts, her tits turning the Motörhead logo into something three double d; only I know better than to make stupid jokes. Mainly because they think no one’s ever seen the two vanish to her battered GTO for a quickie. The secrecy is part of the romance.

Ol’ Davy shouts, “Let the booze flow like blood refilling soldiers in the war against sobriety.”

A few cheer the old poet, “Sláinte, Davy.” He’ll never finish the piece, though he’ll cover a bar napkin in inky murmurs.

It could be any Friday, Saturday, or Tuesday. The only difference is that at midnight silence descends. The septuagenarians emerge from their basement orgy with the bewildered delivery boy. The jukebox karaoke crowd halts their performance. Bob and Jennifer cease fire. Their kids start the countdown, and soon the whole bar is one voice, “Five, four, three, two…” and as the new year approaches I walk outside with a pint. A brief ovation comes muffled through the door.

Lighting a cigarette I can see the sacrificial pyres are now just embers. The red rivers no longer flow, though the stains remain. Even the wreckage from the ghost driven car/catapult vanished at some point. The revelers though, they still dot the streets, shooting fireworks into the sky, adding temporary stars to the night. Brief constellations made of Roman candle ammo offer a new astrology – the promise of a new day. And shuffling out of the dark is a figure in a horned Viking hat. He looks dazed, but not confused. His eyes are set on the door to Mr. G’s. What didn’t kill him made him thirsty, a taste of madness is never enough – it’s time to glut on insanity.

Holding the door open I say, “Glad to see you made it.”

“Me too.”

So a new year begins.

#writing #weird #holiday #new year's eve #fiction #satire #honestyisnotcontagious #suburbansurrealism #comedy #sliceoflife

0 notes

trekkinginpakistan · 8 years ago

Text

New Post has been published on Trekking in Pakistan

New Post has been published on http://bit.ly/2Fpwzln

Mazeno La

PLANNING

WHAT to Bring

Maps

Guides and Porters

Stages

GETTING TO/FROM THE TREK

To the Start

For information on transport to the trailhead, see the Rupal trek.

From the Finish

From Bunar, transport is readily available east to Chilas or up the KKH to Gilgit. Prearranging Halaley- Bunar special hires shortens the trek by one day.

The Trek

Days 1-2 : Tarashing to Shaigiri

2 days, 18.5km, 744m ascent

From Tarashing (2911m), camp at either Herrligkoffer Base Camp or Latobah en route to Shaigiri (3655m). (See Days 1-2 of the Rupal trek,).

Day 3 : Shaigiri to Mazeno Base Camp

3- 5 hours, 6.5km, 395m ascent

The trail follows the Toshain (Rupal) Glacier’s north margin and crosses several streams before it reaches Mazeno Base Camp (4050m), which is below the Mazeno Glacier’s terminus.

Day 4 : Mazeno Base Camp to Mazeno High Camp

4- 6 hours, 5.5km, 650m ascent

The route turns Sharply north and then climbs steeply to Mazeno High Camp (4700m), which Lies along the glacier’s east margin.

Day 5 : Mazeno High Camp to Upper Loibah Meadow

6- 8 hours, 12km, 699m ascent, 1199m descent

Day 6 : Upper Loibah Meadow to Zangot

5- 6 hours, 10km, 1400m descent

Descend the valley passing through Loibah Meadow to Zangot (2800m).

Day 7 : Zangot to Halaley Bridge

3- 4 hours, 10km, 1000m descent

Day 8 : Halaley Bridge to Bunar

3- 4 hours, 12km, 600m descent

Descend the Bunar Gah to Bunar (1200m) on the KKH.

Alternative Finish : Zangot to Jhel

Alternative Day 7 : Zangot to Kutagali

3- 4 hours, 4km, 300m ascent

Climb along the stream to the summer settlement at Kutagali (3100m). From Kutagali, a side trip several hours upvalley to the Diamir Glacier offers closer views of Nanga Parbat’s west face.

Alternative Day 8 : Kutagali to Shaichi

5- 6 hours, 10km, 1300m ascent, 1800m descent

Climb steadily to the Karu Sagar Pass (4400m) and descend just as steeply to Shaichi (Shaichi means ‘field’ in Shina) in Patro Gah (2600m).

Alternative Day 9 : Shaichi to Gutum Sagar

5- 6 hours, 5km, 900m ascent

Head up Patro Gah through forest, crossing side streams for a few hours to the Gunar villagers’ pastures. Ganalo (6606m) dominates the view. Continue upvalley to Gutum Sagar (3500m).

Alternative Day 10 : Gutum Sagar to Jalipur High Camp

4- 6 hours, 5.5km, 900m ascent

Alternative Day 11 : Jalipur High camp to Beyal

4- 5 hours, 6km, 437m ascent, 1237m descent

Alternative Day 12 : Beyal to Jhel

2- 2½ hours, 10.5km, 834m descent

On the final day, enjoy the easy walk down to Fairy Meadow and on to Jhel (see the Fairy Meadow trek).

#8 Days #August #Extreme #July #June #September #Technical

0 notes

trekkinginpakistan · 8 years ago

Text

New Post has been published on Trekking in Pakistan

New Post has been published on http://bit.ly/2Fpwzln

Mazeno La

PLANNING

WHAT to Bring

Maps

Guides and Porters

Stages

GETTING TO/FROM THE TREK

To the Start

For information on transport to the trailhead, see the Rupal trek.

From the Finish

From Bunar, transport is readily available east to Chilas or up the KKH to Gilgit. Prearranging Halaley- Bunar special hires shortens the trek by one day.

The Trek

Days 1-2 : Tarashing to Shaigiri

2 days, 18.5km, 744m ascent

From Tarashing (2911m), camp at either Herrligkoffer Base Camp or Latobah en route to Shaigiri (3655m). (See Days 1-2 of the Rupal trek,).

Day 3 : Shaigiri to Mazeno Base Camp

3- 5 hours, 6.5km, 395m ascent

The trail follows the Toshain (Rupal) Glacier’s north margin and crosses several streams before it reaches Mazeno Base Camp (4050m), which is below the Mazeno Glacier’s terminus.

Day 4 : Mazeno Base Camp to Mazeno High Camp

4- 6 hours, 5.5km, 650m ascent

The route turns Sharply north and then climbs steeply to Mazeno High Camp (4700m), which Lies along the glacier’s east margin.

Day 5 : Mazeno High Camp to Upper Loibah Meadow

6- 8 hours, 12km, 699m ascent, 1199m descent

Day 6 : Upper Loibah Meadow to Zangot

5- 6 hours, 10km, 1400m descent

Descend the valley passing through Loibah Meadow to Zangot (2800m).

Day 7 : Zangot to Halaley Bridge

3- 4 hours, 10km, 1000m descent

Day 8 : Halaley Bridge to Bunar

3- 4 hours, 12km, 600m descent

Descend the Bunar Gah to Bunar (1200m) on the KKH.

Alternative Finish : Zangot to Jhel

Alternative Day 7 : Zangot to Kutagali

3- 4 hours, 4km, 300m ascent

Climb along the stream to the summer settlement at Kutagali (3100m). From Kutagali, a side trip several hours upvalley to the Diamir Glacier offers closer views of Nanga Parbat’s west face.

Alternative Day 8 : Kutagali to Shaichi

5- 6 hours, 10km, 1300m ascent, 1800m descent

Climb steadily to the Karu Sagar Pass (4400m) and descend just as steeply to Shaichi (Shaichi means ‘field’ in Shina) in Patro Gah (2600m).

Alternative Day 9 : Shaichi to Gutum Sagar

5- 6 hours, 5km, 900m ascent

Head up Patro Gah through forest, crossing side streams for a few hours to the Gunar villagers’ pastures. Ganalo (6606m) dominates the view. Continue upvalley to Gutum Sagar (3500m).

Alternative Day 10 : Gutum Sagar to Jalipur High Camp

4- 6 hours, 5.5km, 900m ascent

Alternative Day 11 : Jalipur High camp to Beyal

4- 5 hours, 6km, 437m ascent, 1237m descent

Alternative Day 12 : Beyal to Jhel

2- 2½ hours, 10.5km, 834m descent

On the final day, enjoy the easy walk down to Fairy Meadow and on to Jhel (see the Fairy Meadow trek).

#8 Days #August #Extreme #July #June #September #Technical

0 notes