Honolulu Star-Advertiser © Susan Scott
July 20, 1998
TWO weeks ago, I was hiking in the Karakoram Range of northeast Pakistan. While exploring these towering mountains, home of the second-highest peak on Earth, K2, it was easy to think I was as far from the ocean as a person could get.
But I was closer than I thought. Time after time, often when I least suspected it, some sign of the marine world would pop up right under my nose.
One of my favorite moments was during a visit to an ancient archaeological site called Taxila.
“Taxila,” my guidebook said, “is the site of an ancient Buddhist civilization, flourishing from about 600 B.C. to 400 A.D. The name was originally Takshasila, but was changed to Taxila by the Greeks.”
Greeks? I wondered. What Greeks? Then I visited the museum and learned that Alexander the Great conquered Taxila (and changed its name) in 326 B.C. Among the artifacts unearthed at the dig site were coins and jewelry from Alexander’s world.
Most of the ornaments on exhibit were beads of semi-precious stones, but in one corner of the cabinet, I found my personal favorites: tiny seashells, drilled with holes to make bracelets and necklaces. Most visitors breezed by these displays, but for me, finding ancient Mediterranean shells here was a highlight of the day.
Another time, while camped at 15,000 feet near K2 base camp, I was reading a book about local wild goats and sheep. (This area is the home of Alpine ibex, Himalayan tahr and the rare Marco Polo sheep.) In one chapter the author digressed from his study of goats and sheep to explain the remarkable geological history of these mountains.
About 100 million years ago, the Himalayan region was the Tethys Sea with Eurasia to the north and India to the south. But since Earth’s tectonic plates are always on the move, this layout gradually changed. The Indian plate advanced north and eventually ran into the Eurasian plate.
The subsequent rise in land drained the sea and eventually created Earth’s tallest and most spectacular mountains. Thus, the Himalayas, of which Pakistan’s Karakoram Range is the far western end, were formed.
The Indian plate is still pushing, meaning these mountains are still growing. Nanga Parbat, the massive Pakistan mountain that is the prow of the Indian plate, grows about 1/4-inch taller each year.
Once I learned that my trekking area had once been an ancient sea floor, I asked my hiking companions to keep an eye out for fossils. Everyone searched diligently, and although we found lots of limestone, which is rock made of accumulated shells and corals, we found no recognizable fossils in them.
If there had been plants and animals in the limestone here, they’d likely been squashed flat or melted during the violent meeting of the two continents.
Weeks later, back in Islamabad, a friend motioned for me to come look at a set of dishes sitting on a shop shelf. There on display was an entire set of goblets, plates and bowls carved out of rock jam-packed with marine animal fossils.
“Fossils,” the shopkeeper told me, waving his hand to the north. “From mountains.”
I guess you had to know where to look.
I didn’t buy the fragile dishes, but later, when I spotted a pair of lapis lazuli earrings carved in the shape of fish, I couldn’t resist. “Only 300 rupees,” the shopkeeper purred, waiting for me to begin the bargaining process.
Instead, I dug into my pocket for the money. Five dollars seemed fair for these lovely blue fish.
The surprised man happily took the money. “She like fish?” he said to my friend.
My friend smiled. “If you only knew.”