Three Men and a Gun

It is always the odd situations that stick in your head. The unusual, unexpected, difficult, physically and/or mentally scarring incidents that shouldn’t have happened but somehow happened anyway. And high altitude adventures on any mountain offers some of the best environs for such incidents.

And what happened in Africa over the New Year was a tad unnerving even for Yours Truly.

Let me start from the start. Since 2012 it’s been a tradition for me to escape form Dubai and stand on top of a reasonably tall piece of rock on 1st January. 2012 was Mt Kenya. 2013 was Gokyo Ri in Nepal. 2014 was Jebel Jais in the UAE. This year I’d initially planned Mera Peak in Nepal (6,500 m) but picked Ras Dejen in the Simien Mountains in Northern Ethiopia instead. The reason shall remain confidential.

I flew to Addis Ababa on 26th December 2015.  I was travelling solo- I’d invited about a dozen friends to join me and all had politely declined. Christmas, New Year, family, babies (new and on the way) et al were far more important. As a friend said: “Binod this sounds very exciting. But comes at a very short notice to a married man with kids and a busy job. Big family gathering in Dubai for Christmas. They won’t leave before the 29. And Madam won’t appreciate me spending New Year with another skinny, crazy, middle aged likeminded man on a summit of a mountain in Africa”. In other words, NO.

Addis is an exciting city- at night. Keen to sample the nightlife, me and my local guide Alex and his dreadlocked, Rastafarian buddy Yohannes skipped merrily from nightclub to nightclub in their Land Cruiser till 3am. Trying to follow the loud music in the clubs was futile, not the least because it was all in Amharic, a local tongue. But there was rhythm and the women at these joints were a sight indeed. Ethiopian girls are stunningly, naturally beautiful. Tall, with flawless skin, long legs, thin lips, straight noses, light skinned and with sparkling white teeth (to mention just a few attractive features), they appear to be a heaven made fusion of African, Arab and Indian. And Ethiopians are generally friendly and helpful. The cumulative effect was that many a time I did seriously flirt with the revolutionary idea of dumping the tedious trek up the 4,540 meter high mountain and staying at balmier altitudes. I mean, who would know. Download a few pics from the Internet and….

However, insanity prevailed and so the 28th saw a Hiker regretfully saying goodbye to my party mates and boarding an Ethiopian Airlines Bombardier 400 for Gondar. Four hours later and the aforesaid Hiker was being swiftly transported in a Land Cruiser to the hike start point.

My constant company for the trek were Abel, the Guide and Amro, the armed Scout, and the last named stuck to my side me like a human limpet throughout the hike. The Scout is a peculiar component of Ethiopian treks, for the country is relatively safe from bandits, kidnappers, rebels and other such ungodly elements. I concluded that the only reason was to provide employment to a band of armed men who, if unemployed, could easily become restive. Along the way, I quizzed the 52 year old Amro and discovered he’d fought for Mengistu Haile Mariam (aka Menge) and his People’s Democratic Republic of Ethiopia (read tyrannical communist dictatorship). Menge had ruled Ethiopia with an Iron fist and headed the Red Terror from 1978 to 1990, which is another fascinating story that I can tell later-When you grow up in Africa you learn many things. Amro was a big supporter of Menge and while I had diametrically opposite views, I wisely kept them to myself. Arguing politics with an ex-soldier who was armed with a fully loaded gun in remotest Africa isn’t a very bright idea.

Fast forward to the night of 31st December, the day before the summit attempt. We were at Ambiko, at 3,200 meters above sea level, the de facto base camp for Ras Dejen.  It was then that I had the brilliant idea of summiting at sunrise. What great face book pictures I imagined, Moi and the mountain silhouetted against the rising sun? This meant we had to leave Ambiko at midnight as toddling up the mountain took six hours.

My companions were not similarly motivated and the following exchange ensued with Abel after dinner:

Me (Smilingly confident): “Hey we leave for the summit at Midnight. I want to be on the top before sunrise”

Guide (surprised): “Err… Binod no hiker leaves at Midnight for summit! Usually for Ras Dejen we start at 4am and summit at 10am. So that’s our plan as well”

Me (testily):”No it isn’t. Just because it hasn’t been done before doesn’t mean we can’t do it. We leave at Midnight. I need to see the sunrise!”

Guide:” Binod as you can see even with the moonlight it’s dark and also very cold. So…”

Me:” All of us have torches and I’m ready for the cold with 3 layers. And I’m used to midnight summit attempts- Kilimanjaro, Stok Kangri, Gokyo Ri and Mt Kenya were all started at Midnight. We leave at Midnight” (Please note the persistence)

Guide (Completely not getting the hint):” it’s already 8pm now and to go at Midnight you’ll get less than 4 hours sleep. This is not good for the long trek- remember it’s 13km up and 13km down so total of 26 km and…”

Me: ” I’ve gone up higher and harder mountains with less sleep. Lack of sleep is not an issue- the adrenaline usually keeps me going. We leave at Midnight”

Guide (desperately using the wild card):” Err… I also spoke to the Scout and he’s unhappy. He says there could be dangerous men high on the mountains at that time. He says he can’t accept the risk if you leave before 4am”

Me: “Really? I’ve checked with other Guides and Scouts just a while ago and there’s no danger. Plus the Scout is carrying a gun. Tell the scout to be ready. I’m going to try and sleep now and please wake me at 1130pm. We leave at Midnight and the target is to summit by sunrise”

(Long silence)

Guide (sighing);” Ok Mr. Binod. As you wish”

Me (Smiling): “Good! Great! Fantastic!! Let’s do this!!”

Internally I grinned hugely and patted myself on the back at how easily I had crushed the opposition that had dared to block Moi on the road to Glory.

Fast forward to eight hours later and I wasn’t smirking anymore. In fact, the de smirking was sudden and sharp.

You see, at about 4am local time, three hours into the hike, and at approx. 4,000 meters above sea level, as we three were trudging up in the bitter cold on the dirt track enrooted to the summit, Amro reported hearing voices. I froze. We were the only hikers on the mountain. That meant one of three things; a) Amro was feeling the effects of high altitude or b) Amro had been having one too many or c) we were shortly going to be attacked, robbed and/or mercilessly slaughtered by a band of heavily armed and marauding Bandits (We Geminis often verge on the dramatic).

My companions got worried and suggested that we hide for a while. I resisted weakly- “resisted” as I didn’t want to lose time and “weakly” as self-preservation is a basic human trait and priority. But I did argue.

Me (to Abel): “Why hide? Amro has a fully loaded gun!!!”

Abel (after conferring with Amro): “Yes but he says what’s one man against many men?”

I may be many things but I am not stupid or reckless, especially if a battle hardened ex- soldier says he is scared. All three men ran for cover and tried to be invisible behind a laughably small rock, Moi wedged in between the two Ethiopians. The icy wind was merciless and soon my body and glove clad hands were shivering like a leaf. We went quiet, except for my chattering teeth which I thought they could hear in Addis Ababa. I thought of my wallet in my backpack, with my credit and ATM cards, fantasized about my life savings disappearing and got even gloomier and quieter. 26 minutes. That’s all I could take before my two escorts felt pity for the frozen Firangi and cautiously decided to continue the trek, in silence and frequently looking over our backs and peering into the darkness. Three very scared men very high up on a mountain and very alone.

Three Men and a Gun.

But where is the Gun you ask eagerly. Why so coy you ask. Fear not, I will reveal all. You, the reader, are in luck, since I am… drum rolls please… not only an experienced high altitude trekker but also a military hardware addict.

Amro’s weapon was a Russian PPS-42 submachinegun made in 1944. Let me deviate a little (in Jerome K Jerome style) to talk about this Gun. The PPS-42 is a low-cost weapon made during WWII. Unlike modern selective fire automatic weapons, this ancient Gizmo worked only in fully automatic mode which meant all the 35 7.62mm bullets housed in the curved 35-round magazine could spit out of the barrel in a few seconds! It has an odd looking barrel- the rifled barrel is mounted in a perforated sheet metal heat guard and is equipped with a crude muzzle brake, consisting of a strip of steel bent into a U-shape. A folding stock is attached to the receiver. The Gun has a pistol grip but is not provided with a forward grip as the magazine is intended to fulfil this role. It looked somewhat like the half breed child of a hurried liaison between the German Schmeisser MP 40 submachine gun and the British Sten Gun. Crude, cheap and simple but reliable and effective, like most Soviet-era weapons.

How the hell did this piece of antiquity get into Ethiopia? Well, the Soviets made about 2 million pieces. And there was so much surplus after WWII. And in true cold war style, the Soviets loyally supported Menge’s brutal regime so….

And Ras Dejen, the object of this noble enterprise? Well the rest of the trek went off smoothly and we made the summit just after sunrise. Turned out that all that haste was wasted- the sun was frustratingly obscured by bloody clouds. No amazing silhouette, no great picture.

But perhaps I shouldn’t quibble- a peak is a peak after all, especially if it is one of Africa’s highest. And the next time I may be more inclined to take the Guide’s advice.