The first time crossing the hanging bridge near Passu in Pakistan’s Karakorum mountains. A stressful experience looking at the water rushing below. And then this grandmother just trotted through, like a breeze. Humbled.
In July 1999, at the impressionable age of 25, my girlfriend and I left New York with a one-way ticket to Pakistan. We headed for the mountains and couldn’t get enough of them. We opened up new passes, learned the language, went into the wild. Karakoram, Hindu Kush, Pamir, year after year, we must have trekked over 3000 kilometres.
Format: Archival print, printed with pigment ink on acid free Hahnemühle paper.
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