Wow...so much awesome here. Work = boring...story = good.
My trip to Nepal and Mount Everest Base Camp
- Thread starter Polandspring88
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Glad you made the right decision.
But i definitely have to hate you now.
But i definitely have to hate you now.
Monday March 19, 2012
I woke up to Nicky banging on the tent flap saying, “You guys have to get out here, now.” Wiping the sleepies out of my eyes, I put on my boots and stepped out of the tent to find the clouds unveiling the mountains it had hidden the prior afternoon. It was incredible. Namche is carved into the face of a mountain and looms in the shadows of bigger ones. No matter which direction you looked in the rocky crags poked out of the clouds, still wearing their winter whites.
I quickly grabbed my camera and ran around franticly trying to capture the scene as it unfolded before my eyes. Conditions changed by the minute as the clouds slowly evaporated.
Even the bathroom contained picturesque views. It probably seemed odd to anyone watching, but I brought my camera into the bathroom with me. What a joy it was to take care of my morning business looking out to my right at this.
At some point during this time the kitchen boys came out as they always would with a cup of hot tea to enjoy the morning with. I sat there drinking in the beauty with my hot tea and good company to keep me warm. After a brief toast to the mountains I got back to work behind the camera as the first rays of light beamed from behind a peak.
The sunrise was gorgeous and basked my sore body in its rejuvenating glow. I watched it paint the tips of the higher peaks, slowly creeping down their steep slopes.
At last, the sun cleared the top of the peak. The girls crawled out of their tents, blissfully unaware of what had transpired. We all spent some time organizing our things in preparations for the days acclimatization hike to higher elevation. After a typical breakfast of oatmeal with peanut butter and honey, tea, and eggs, we gathered near the tents to prepare for departure.
The idea was that we would hike to higher ground today but come back and spend the night at the same elevation to give our bodies a chance to adjust. A few of us got headaches at the end of the prior day, a signal that the elevation was finally getting to us. The path upward was steep and brought us past a mini stoupa lined with prayer wheels. I slowed down to make sure I spun every one, after all, in the land of yetis I could never have too much good luck. Switchback after switchback, we slowly gained ground, eventually emerging onto the top of a plateau. It was pretty barren up there with nothing but scrub brush and stunted trees. We did however get an unadulterated 360 degree. I asked someone to take my picture before we went on our way.
The Sherpas made sure to point out one mountain to us as a holy mountain. While the majority of Himilayan peaks see some traffic from climbers and mountaineers, there are several that are designated as holy and only for the Sherpa people. To climb it would be to desecrate it and upset the balance of nature.
We came upon the Syangboche airport which was nothing more than a flat strip of dirt high up on a hill. It is the closest airport to Everest, primarily serving helicopters and small planes that would drop off supplies in Namche. It is also the highest point that people can safely fly into due to the altitude. Our guide regaled us with stories of the many shenanigans that that airport had been the sight of, including the time when there was an episode of Real World Nepal filmed there. After having the contestants shuttled to Nepal for a week of unknowns, they helicoptered them all up to this airport so they could continue up to the Everest View Hotel. Being unaccustomed to the altitude one girl passed out and the rest of the afternoon dissolved into the typical bickering and bitching.
Our vantage point also entitled us to a clear view out towards the hotel and to Everest beyond that.
For being the tallest mountain the world, Everest displays little prominence over the surrounding peaks. In that picture it is the small pyramid a third of the way over on the right. I was surprised, I had always envisioned a domineering, cold hard bitch of a mountain thrusting its tip high above the rest. Not one to complain, after all, who could complain about this, continued on our merry way to the hotel.
We made it!
I woke up to Nicky banging on the tent flap saying, “You guys have to get out here, now.” Wiping the sleepies out of my eyes, I put on my boots and stepped out of the tent to find the clouds unveiling the mountains it had hidden the prior afternoon. It was incredible. Namche is carved into the face of a mountain and looms in the shadows of bigger ones. No matter which direction you looked in the rocky crags poked out of the clouds, still wearing their winter whites.
I quickly grabbed my camera and ran around franticly trying to capture the scene as it unfolded before my eyes. Conditions changed by the minute as the clouds slowly evaporated.
Even the bathroom contained picturesque views. It probably seemed odd to anyone watching, but I brought my camera into the bathroom with me. What a joy it was to take care of my morning business looking out to my right at this.
At some point during this time the kitchen boys came out as they always would with a cup of hot tea to enjoy the morning with. I sat there drinking in the beauty with my hot tea and good company to keep me warm. After a brief toast to the mountains I got back to work behind the camera as the first rays of light beamed from behind a peak.
The sunrise was gorgeous and basked my sore body in its rejuvenating glow. I watched it paint the tips of the higher peaks, slowly creeping down their steep slopes.
At last, the sun cleared the top of the peak. The girls crawled out of their tents, blissfully unaware of what had transpired. We all spent some time organizing our things in preparations for the days acclimatization hike to higher elevation. After a typical breakfast of oatmeal with peanut butter and honey, tea, and eggs, we gathered near the tents to prepare for departure.
The idea was that we would hike to higher ground today but come back and spend the night at the same elevation to give our bodies a chance to adjust. A few of us got headaches at the end of the prior day, a signal that the elevation was finally getting to us. The path upward was steep and brought us past a mini stoupa lined with prayer wheels. I slowed down to make sure I spun every one, after all, in the land of yetis I could never have too much good luck. Switchback after switchback, we slowly gained ground, eventually emerging onto the top of a plateau. It was pretty barren up there with nothing but scrub brush and stunted trees. We did however get an unadulterated 360 degree. I asked someone to take my picture before we went on our way.
The Sherpas made sure to point out one mountain to us as a holy mountain. While the majority of Himilayan peaks see some traffic from climbers and mountaineers, there are several that are designated as holy and only for the Sherpa people. To climb it would be to desecrate it and upset the balance of nature.
We came upon the Syangboche airport which was nothing more than a flat strip of dirt high up on a hill. It is the closest airport to Everest, primarily serving helicopters and small planes that would drop off supplies in Namche. It is also the highest point that people can safely fly into due to the altitude. Our guide regaled us with stories of the many shenanigans that that airport had been the sight of, including the time when there was an episode of Real World Nepal filmed there. After having the contestants shuttled to Nepal for a week of unknowns, they helicoptered them all up to this airport so they could continue up to the Everest View Hotel. Being unaccustomed to the altitude one girl passed out and the rest of the afternoon dissolved into the typical bickering and bitching.
Our vantage point also entitled us to a clear view out towards the hotel and to Everest beyond that.
For being the tallest mountain the world, Everest displays little prominence over the surrounding peaks. In that picture it is the small pyramid a third of the way over on the right. I was surprised, I had always envisioned a domineering, cold hard bitch of a mountain thrusting its tip high above the rest. Not one to complain, after all, who could complain about this, continued on our merry way to the hotel.
We made it!
My wife has a college ECOEE friend whos' hubby has cerebral palsy and "climbed" to teh same place...interesting story.
http://www.cbsnews.com/2100-18559_162-54176.html
http://www.isu.edu/cwhog/kumboo/Personalities/KylePacker/kylepacker.html
http://www.cbsnews.com/2100-18559_162-54176.html
http://www.isu.edu/cwhog/kumboo/Personalities/KylePacker/kylepacker.html
please sir may i have some moar!
Great thread. Reminds of the Mitch Headberg joke where he talks about how he just want to got to base camp and hang out. When asked when he would go to the top he would answer "sooon"
saw this on pink bike and though it had to be posted with this thread
http://www.pinkbike.com/video/254305
http://www.pinkbike.com/video/254305
Inside the hotel was a picture window with a very picturesque view.
We sat down at the outdoor patio for some tea and refreshments to enjoy the view and allow our bodies to experience the height. I was pretty famished at this point and got a Fanta and steak sandwich. Amazing what a little food can do sometimes, it was an instant spirit booster.
The big name peaks were all visible from the outside patio. We saw Everest, Nuptse, Lhotse, and my personal favorite, Ama Dablam. While not the largest, Ama Dablam is still a significant milestone to climb and it has a unique profile against the sky. I came to know it quite well as it dominated the horizon most days until we camped in its shadow.
One of my companions was kind enough to take a picture of me up top. I just ate a steak sandwich, what’s not to smile about?
I’ll tell you. Stomach problems. In retrospect I probably should have stayed away from that steak sandwich as it started to catch up with me on the way down. Coincidentally, so did the altitude. It started as a mild headache leaving the hotel, not surprising given the level of exertion, dry conditions, and a blazing sun. As I started to descend it grew worse and eventually my head would throb every time my boot hit the ground. It was an unpleasant descent and I put the camera away so I could focus on just making it back. I took probably 5 pictures on the way down, this being one of them.
When we got back down to Namche I popped a few Advil (absolutely key to keep like a Costco sized bottle of these things with you) and drank some water. My head started to feel a little bit better after a few hours, so I set aside the little bit of malaise and went with the head guide for a tour of his boyhood home.
The head Sherpa guide was a unique fellow. He had the pleasure of growing up in Namche and had witnessed it change and develop over the years due to the influence of trekkers. It went from being a small town to being the major destination along the trek, providing lodging and supplies to expeditions on their way through. As a young man he decided to become a monk and enrolled in the local monastery. It was there that he honed his painting skills and is an accomplished artist. He was kind enough to take us into his prayer room which was beautifully painted, all by himself of course, with religious depictions. The colors were vivid and jumped out at you, regardless of which direction you looked there was something else to marvel at.
He also had the pleasure of introducing us to his family history. His father had also been a trekking guide and had served some of the earlier climbing expeditions as they made their attempts at Mount Everest. In 1963 (I think it was 1963), his father was part of a team that rescued 2 Americans from their untimely deaths on the mountain. For his heroics, he was flown to the United States and was awarded the National Geographic Society's Hubbard Medal.
It was only with the death of his father in 1995 that our head guide was able to leave the monastery to provide for his mother. He took up the family business of guiding treks, as had his brother, and began working with his wife’s brother guiding groups like ours on a tour of the region he called home.
After leaving his house we all dispersed into town for a little bit of shopping and stocking up on supplies before departing the next day. I picked up a few carved pieces as well as some necklaces to bring back home and after a quick email went up for dinner. The next day was going to be a challenging one and involved 1700` of elevation gain and 500’ of descent over ~6 miles. Given that my headache had returned with a vengeance, the head guide suggested I begin taking the Diamox to help alleviate the effects. From here until we began descending, that would become my twice a day routine. Clutching a Nalgene full of boiled water, I crawled into my sleeping bag and drifted off to sleep.
We sat down at the outdoor patio for some tea and refreshments to enjoy the view and allow our bodies to experience the height. I was pretty famished at this point and got a Fanta and steak sandwich. Amazing what a little food can do sometimes, it was an instant spirit booster.
The big name peaks were all visible from the outside patio. We saw Everest, Nuptse, Lhotse, and my personal favorite, Ama Dablam. While not the largest, Ama Dablam is still a significant milestone to climb and it has a unique profile against the sky. I came to know it quite well as it dominated the horizon most days until we camped in its shadow.
One of my companions was kind enough to take a picture of me up top. I just ate a steak sandwich, what’s not to smile about?
I’ll tell you. Stomach problems. In retrospect I probably should have stayed away from that steak sandwich as it started to catch up with me on the way down. Coincidentally, so did the altitude. It started as a mild headache leaving the hotel, not surprising given the level of exertion, dry conditions, and a blazing sun. As I started to descend it grew worse and eventually my head would throb every time my boot hit the ground. It was an unpleasant descent and I put the camera away so I could focus on just making it back. I took probably 5 pictures on the way down, this being one of them.
When we got back down to Namche I popped a few Advil (absolutely key to keep like a Costco sized bottle of these things with you) and drank some water. My head started to feel a little bit better after a few hours, so I set aside the little bit of malaise and went with the head guide for a tour of his boyhood home.
The head Sherpa guide was a unique fellow. He had the pleasure of growing up in Namche and had witnessed it change and develop over the years due to the influence of trekkers. It went from being a small town to being the major destination along the trek, providing lodging and supplies to expeditions on their way through. As a young man he decided to become a monk and enrolled in the local monastery. It was there that he honed his painting skills and is an accomplished artist. He was kind enough to take us into his prayer room which was beautifully painted, all by himself of course, with religious depictions. The colors were vivid and jumped out at you, regardless of which direction you looked there was something else to marvel at.
He also had the pleasure of introducing us to his family history. His father had also been a trekking guide and had served some of the earlier climbing expeditions as they made their attempts at Mount Everest. In 1963 (I think it was 1963), his father was part of a team that rescued 2 Americans from their untimely deaths on the mountain. For his heroics, he was flown to the United States and was awarded the National Geographic Society's Hubbard Medal.
It was only with the death of his father in 1995 that our head guide was able to leave the monastery to provide for his mother. He took up the family business of guiding treks, as had his brother, and began working with his wife’s brother guiding groups like ours on a tour of the region he called home.
After leaving his house we all dispersed into town for a little bit of shopping and stocking up on supplies before departing the next day. I picked up a few carved pieces as well as some necklaces to bring back home and after a quick email went up for dinner. The next day was going to be a challenging one and involved 1700` of elevation gain and 500’ of descent over ~6 miles. Given that my headache had returned with a vengeance, the head guide suggested I begin taking the Diamox to help alleviate the effects. From here until we began descending, that would become my twice a day routine. Clutching a Nalgene full of boiled water, I crawled into my sleeping bag and drifted off to sleep.
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Friggin awesome. I've been following this with great interest, keep 'em coming. And I don't want to be a grammar nazi but in the second to last paragraph I think you meant to say "provide for his family" or something other than what you wrote.
Tuesday March 20, 2012
I woke up the next morning and immediately knew something was off. The grumbling in my stomach the night before had not settled down through the night and it was really beginning to churn. I’m not sure if it was the steak sandwich I had at the Everest View Hotel, or the prior nights dinner, but whatever it was, it did not agree. Unfortunately there was no time to sit down and wait until I felt better, we had a trek to do!
We set off from Namche following a different path than we did the previous day. This one was more gradual and was cut into the sides of the mountain.
I quickly fell to the back of the pack, like most days, to spend my time ambling along taking pictures and enjoying the views. I also did my best to have a conversation with each of the Sherpa guides, they all had interesting stories to share and somehow remained extremely jovial throughout the whole experience. I don’t know if that is a job requirement, or if they are all just very happy people, but it was refreshing. It was hard not to have a great time when you are hiking along with what feels like a bunch of old friends.
As big as some of these mountains are, they would disappear behind others as we followed the path only to reemerge as we rounded a corner.
It was funny to see them slowly growing bigger, yet at the same time, Everest grew smaller. The tip of the behemoth we had seen before was now drifting below the ridges of Nuptse as we got closer. Perspective is a funny thing like that.
Unfortunately at one point along the way our once hearty videographer Paul began to falter. His health rapidly deteriorated as quick onset altitude sickness gripped him. He was given Diamox and electrolytes to help combat the illness but at that point there was little that could be done. After briefly huddling up as a group, Thupten made the decision to send him back down to lower elevations for the evening to try and recover.
In a testament to the incredible physical fitness of the Sherpas, Nuri ran ahead to catch the zokyo train that was way out of sight to fetch Paul’s bag. As Paul received an escort down, we hiked on feeling as if we were slightly broken as a team. Losing someone dealt an odd psychological blow and reminded us of the delicate nature of hiking at such elevations.
The trail seemed to stretch on forever, meandering for miles through the hillsides. I watched as the once distance villages that started off as small, barely discernable dots became towns teeming with people excited to see the first waves of trekkers arrive.
We stopped for lunch in one of these villages, taking the opportunity to take a load off and relax for a little bit. Our meal was interrupted by a pair of women, German I think, who came stumbling in. How they made it that far I have no idea. One of them was obese, sweating profusely, and eventually broke into sobs while the other one tried to comfort her. Clearly having over-estimated their abilities, they were way over their head and consulted Thupten about the easiest way back down to lower elevations. It was a baffling conversation to witness, as the woman doing the talking made their intentions clear, she began arguing with Thupten that the path he deemed too difficult for even Sherpas was a perfectly valid choice. He eventually gave up, his many years of experience were wasted on this woman.
Shortly after their arrival some Japanese folks came in for lunch as well. They had an older woman with them, I would guess that she was probably in her 70s. She had a laceration on her face from having slipped and fallen, but she was all smiles regardless and was having a great time. Unfortunately we couldn’t talk to one another, so we had to rely upon the little Japanese Thupten spoke. Seeing someone her age out there was a reminder that it’s never too late. She was an inspiration.
Like clockwork, the afternoon fog started to roll in as we departed, cloaking once vast views in its milky haze. It brought colder temperatures with it and we began the descent the descent on stiff legs. Time had done nothing to calm my stomach and the situation was becoming more dire with every passing hour. With everything shrouded white, the diffused light created silhouettes in every direction. Innocent trees became haunting ghosts.
It was slightly deflating to see all of the elevation we had struggled to gain the past few days melt away in the span of a few hours. We continued descending, eventually reaching the river that had seemed so far away only that morning. The canyon made a spectacular view as every new cloud unveiled or shrouded hidden ridges.
The climb up the other side was brutal. My stomach situation had gone from dire to emergency and all I could focus on was reaching camp and having a one on one with the happy room. It was with a determined focus that I slogged up that hill, ignoring the burning in my quads and calves, with thoughts of the happy tent dancing in my head.
Then I heard it. It was faint, but there was no mistaking the odd call piercing through the fog, its origins hidden from sight. It grew louder as we moved higher and finally we caught a glimpse of the Danphe, the national bird of Nepal. The unmistakable plumage of the male shone brightly through the haze and we stood there watching as they hopped along the ground and made their way into the trees. I was unable to get any good pictures of one, but think of the bird Kevin from the movie Up. We watched them play for a little bit before, much to my relief, continuing on.
I like to think that at this point I went into a meditative state in which I was able to control every facet of my bodily functions, but the truth is that I just plain did not want to sh!t my pants. My regular gait took on a hitch and I limped my way through the village. I almost cried when I spied the yellow and blue of our tents, threw my pack on the ground, and went to unleash the demons gripping my abdominals. I’ll spare you the details, but all I have to say is, sweet relief.
To that point it was by far the hardest day and I was worn down physically and mentally. I more or less sat in the lodge until after dinner, unable to do much more. I marveled at the pictures tacked to the walls, the son of the lodge owner was depicted high up on Everest as an expedition Sherpa. I learned that this village was famous for the high percentage of residents who served in such roles. I was also fascinated to hear a little bit of the business side of things, it never really crossed my mind how people so lacking in material possessions were able to scrape together enough money to buy the thousands of dollars in equipment necessary to take on such endeavors.
Dinner came, went, and I ate very little. The altitude had murdered my appetite and I had all I could do to choke down what little I could. Despite this my stomach had not settled down. Upon suggestion of Thupten I took a hot water bottle to bed with me and cuddled with it like it was my most valuable possession in the world, all the while praying it would bring me the peace I so much needed. I took a self portrait in the tent that night to remind myself of the misery of that day/night.
My eyes flicked open. I held back the fart that wasn’t as I fumbled with the zippers on my sleeping bag, slapped on a pair of shoes, tore my way through the tent zipper, then the vestibule zipper, and emerged half blind into the night. It was cold, but I didn’t realize how cold until there I was on the toilet, bare ass dangling in the night air. I sat there praying for the end as my bowels rid themselves of whatever had taken a hold of my stomach. After a while things went numb and then it was over. I contemplated giving up at this point, the day was so miserable I didn’t know if I could go on. I crawled back into my sleeping bag knowing that I couldn’t stand many more days of that, it was going to break my spirits. I drifted off into a fitful sleep hoping for better prospects in the morning…
I woke up the next morning and immediately knew something was off. The grumbling in my stomach the night before had not settled down through the night and it was really beginning to churn. I’m not sure if it was the steak sandwich I had at the Everest View Hotel, or the prior nights dinner, but whatever it was, it did not agree. Unfortunately there was no time to sit down and wait until I felt better, we had a trek to do!
We set off from Namche following a different path than we did the previous day. This one was more gradual and was cut into the sides of the mountain.
I quickly fell to the back of the pack, like most days, to spend my time ambling along taking pictures and enjoying the views. I also did my best to have a conversation with each of the Sherpa guides, they all had interesting stories to share and somehow remained extremely jovial throughout the whole experience. I don’t know if that is a job requirement, or if they are all just very happy people, but it was refreshing. It was hard not to have a great time when you are hiking along with what feels like a bunch of old friends.
As big as some of these mountains are, they would disappear behind others as we followed the path only to reemerge as we rounded a corner.
It was funny to see them slowly growing bigger, yet at the same time, Everest grew smaller. The tip of the behemoth we had seen before was now drifting below the ridges of Nuptse as we got closer. Perspective is a funny thing like that.
Unfortunately at one point along the way our once hearty videographer Paul began to falter. His health rapidly deteriorated as quick onset altitude sickness gripped him. He was given Diamox and electrolytes to help combat the illness but at that point there was little that could be done. After briefly huddling up as a group, Thupten made the decision to send him back down to lower elevations for the evening to try and recover.
In a testament to the incredible physical fitness of the Sherpas, Nuri ran ahead to catch the zokyo train that was way out of sight to fetch Paul’s bag. As Paul received an escort down, we hiked on feeling as if we were slightly broken as a team. Losing someone dealt an odd psychological blow and reminded us of the delicate nature of hiking at such elevations.
The trail seemed to stretch on forever, meandering for miles through the hillsides. I watched as the once distance villages that started off as small, barely discernable dots became towns teeming with people excited to see the first waves of trekkers arrive.
We stopped for lunch in one of these villages, taking the opportunity to take a load off and relax for a little bit. Our meal was interrupted by a pair of women, German I think, who came stumbling in. How they made it that far I have no idea. One of them was obese, sweating profusely, and eventually broke into sobs while the other one tried to comfort her. Clearly having over-estimated their abilities, they were way over their head and consulted Thupten about the easiest way back down to lower elevations. It was a baffling conversation to witness, as the woman doing the talking made their intentions clear, she began arguing with Thupten that the path he deemed too difficult for even Sherpas was a perfectly valid choice. He eventually gave up, his many years of experience were wasted on this woman.
Shortly after their arrival some Japanese folks came in for lunch as well. They had an older woman with them, I would guess that she was probably in her 70s. She had a laceration on her face from having slipped and fallen, but she was all smiles regardless and was having a great time. Unfortunately we couldn’t talk to one another, so we had to rely upon the little Japanese Thupten spoke. Seeing someone her age out there was a reminder that it’s never too late. She was an inspiration.
Like clockwork, the afternoon fog started to roll in as we departed, cloaking once vast views in its milky haze. It brought colder temperatures with it and we began the descent the descent on stiff legs. Time had done nothing to calm my stomach and the situation was becoming more dire with every passing hour. With everything shrouded white, the diffused light created silhouettes in every direction. Innocent trees became haunting ghosts.
It was slightly deflating to see all of the elevation we had struggled to gain the past few days melt away in the span of a few hours. We continued descending, eventually reaching the river that had seemed so far away only that morning. The canyon made a spectacular view as every new cloud unveiled or shrouded hidden ridges.
The climb up the other side was brutal. My stomach situation had gone from dire to emergency and all I could focus on was reaching camp and having a one on one with the happy room. It was with a determined focus that I slogged up that hill, ignoring the burning in my quads and calves, with thoughts of the happy tent dancing in my head.
Then I heard it. It was faint, but there was no mistaking the odd call piercing through the fog, its origins hidden from sight. It grew louder as we moved higher and finally we caught a glimpse of the Danphe, the national bird of Nepal. The unmistakable plumage of the male shone brightly through the haze and we stood there watching as they hopped along the ground and made their way into the trees. I was unable to get any good pictures of one, but think of the bird Kevin from the movie Up. We watched them play for a little bit before, much to my relief, continuing on.
I like to think that at this point I went into a meditative state in which I was able to control every facet of my bodily functions, but the truth is that I just plain did not want to sh!t my pants. My regular gait took on a hitch and I limped my way through the village. I almost cried when I spied the yellow and blue of our tents, threw my pack on the ground, and went to unleash the demons gripping my abdominals. I’ll spare you the details, but all I have to say is, sweet relief.
To that point it was by far the hardest day and I was worn down physically and mentally. I more or less sat in the lodge until after dinner, unable to do much more. I marveled at the pictures tacked to the walls, the son of the lodge owner was depicted high up on Everest as an expedition Sherpa. I learned that this village was famous for the high percentage of residents who served in such roles. I was also fascinated to hear a little bit of the business side of things, it never really crossed my mind how people so lacking in material possessions were able to scrape together enough money to buy the thousands of dollars in equipment necessary to take on such endeavors.
Dinner came, went, and I ate very little. The altitude had murdered my appetite and I had all I could do to choke down what little I could. Despite this my stomach had not settled down. Upon suggestion of Thupten I took a hot water bottle to bed with me and cuddled with it like it was my most valuable possession in the world, all the while praying it would bring me the peace I so much needed. I took a self portrait in the tent that night to remind myself of the misery of that day/night.
My eyes flicked open. I held back the fart that wasn’t as I fumbled with the zippers on my sleeping bag, slapped on a pair of shoes, tore my way through the tent zipper, then the vestibule zipper, and emerged half blind into the night. It was cold, but I didn’t realize how cold until there I was on the toilet, bare ass dangling in the night air. I sat there praying for the end as my bowels rid themselves of whatever had taken a hold of my stomach. After a while things went numb and then it was over. I contemplated giving up at this point, the day was so miserable I didn’t know if I could go on. I crawled back into my sleeping bag knowing that I couldn’t stand many more days of that, it was going to break my spirits. I drifted off into a fitful sleep hoping for better prospects in the morning…
Righto! Thanks for spotting that.
Wednesday March 21, 2012
I woke the next morning to find my sleeping bag covered with wetness from condensation. I waited for my stomach to awaken but in its place was a dull ache. Breathing a sigh of relief, I opened the tent flap to find the mountains stretched out before me. The scene glistened with the morning frost which was slowly melting as the morning sun crested the ridge behind us.
I peeked over at the scene of the crime with a sly little smile on my face.
After a leisurely breakfast we donned our packs and were just kicking around watching the zokyo train leave before we departed. Today was a leisurely half day hike to recover. We were only heading up another 400’ or so over the course of 2.5 to 3 miles as we left Phortse for Pangboche.
The path was relatively level by Sherpa standards and made for pretty quick walking. As always, I hung around at the back to take pictures and use the slow pace as an excuse to recover. With the exception of Tim, I’m not sure anyone knew the extent to which I had experienced troubles yesterday. Either way, it was a new day with fresh beginning, and I was determined to make the most of them.
It was along the path today that we got to see our first yaks. This particular crew was on their way back from base camp where they had already dropped off a load of goods. Word on the trails was it was a load of equipment for Russell Brice’s operation. It was exciting to finally start seeing some evidence of base camp, even though we were still many days off from actually reaching it.
Along the way we continued to see trains of yaks pass by and even saw the baby yaks grazing on the hillsides.
The trek to camp was fairly uneventful and we got in a little bit after noon. Given that we had the entire afternoon off, and it was a pretty warm and sunny day, the entire crew decided to wash their hair in the washing bowls. It was like a bunch of kids, everyone was laughing and giggling as the dirt and grime melted away, leaving a bunch of refreshed trekkers. To say we were rejuvenated would be an understatement.
That’s also when we learned that a lot of the Sherpa people do not regularly bathe for fear of coming down with a cold. It is not uncommon for them to go a year in between baths and in the case of some of the older generation, they had not bathed in their lives. It was hard to tell of course, their jet black hair never appeared greasy nor did they smell in the least. It was too bad that with the exception of the hair, I could not say the same for myself.
That afternoon we all took a walk to visit the Pangboche monastery, the oldest in the Everest region. The monastery was a beacon of color in the middle of the town and it immediately drew your eyes to it. It is occupied by a single monk who is in charge of the place. He opened the doors to the main prayer room and we stepped into the darkness, unaware of what awaited us on the other side. When my eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, ghastly faces peered back at me. There were masks on the walls and up against the walls with some dressed up as evil spirits.
The inside of the monastery was an extension of Thupten’s prayer room and almost every surface, save for the floor, was ornately painted with scenes from Buddha’s life. It was alive with color and offered a stark contrast to the masked spirits standing guard. On display they had a yeti skull and hands, a testament to their belief in the presence of the mythical yeti. The originals had been stolen at some point, so a pair of replicas stood in their place. We spent a few minutes taking a tour of the relatively small monastery before stepping out into the courtyard to find that the clouds had parted. It was a brief reprieve from the afternoon fog which had blanketed most everything else.
It started on the way back. The group started to separate as we returned to camp and Nicky got the bright idea to hide in the bushes and scare the crap out of the stragglers. It was damn near perfect, no one was expecting a thing. Jane and Tim got the brunt of it as Nicky leapt out yelling, “I’m a bush!!!” The group sirdar, Mr. K found this exceedingly funny, so much so that he was slapping his leg at their expense. It would become a running joke for the rest of the trip; he was doing his damndest to scare Nicky using the same tactics to little avail. It was only towards the end where he enjoyed sweet success.
We came back to dinner and relaxed afterward with some hot tea and conversation. We stayed up until the late hour of ~9pm before retiring to the tents for the night.
I woke the next morning to find my sleeping bag covered with wetness from condensation. I waited for my stomach to awaken but in its place was a dull ache. Breathing a sigh of relief, I opened the tent flap to find the mountains stretched out before me. The scene glistened with the morning frost which was slowly melting as the morning sun crested the ridge behind us.
I peeked over at the scene of the crime with a sly little smile on my face.
After a leisurely breakfast we donned our packs and were just kicking around watching the zokyo train leave before we departed. Today was a leisurely half day hike to recover. We were only heading up another 400’ or so over the course of 2.5 to 3 miles as we left Phortse for Pangboche.
The path was relatively level by Sherpa standards and made for pretty quick walking. As always, I hung around at the back to take pictures and use the slow pace as an excuse to recover. With the exception of Tim, I’m not sure anyone knew the extent to which I had experienced troubles yesterday. Either way, it was a new day with fresh beginning, and I was determined to make the most of them.
It was along the path today that we got to see our first yaks. This particular crew was on their way back from base camp where they had already dropped off a load of goods. Word on the trails was it was a load of equipment for Russell Brice’s operation. It was exciting to finally start seeing some evidence of base camp, even though we were still many days off from actually reaching it.
Along the way we continued to see trains of yaks pass by and even saw the baby yaks grazing on the hillsides.
The trek to camp was fairly uneventful and we got in a little bit after noon. Given that we had the entire afternoon off, and it was a pretty warm and sunny day, the entire crew decided to wash their hair in the washing bowls. It was like a bunch of kids, everyone was laughing and giggling as the dirt and grime melted away, leaving a bunch of refreshed trekkers. To say we were rejuvenated would be an understatement.
That’s also when we learned that a lot of the Sherpa people do not regularly bathe for fear of coming down with a cold. It is not uncommon for them to go a year in between baths and in the case of some of the older generation, they had not bathed in their lives. It was hard to tell of course, their jet black hair never appeared greasy nor did they smell in the least. It was too bad that with the exception of the hair, I could not say the same for myself.
That afternoon we all took a walk to visit the Pangboche monastery, the oldest in the Everest region. The monastery was a beacon of color in the middle of the town and it immediately drew your eyes to it. It is occupied by a single monk who is in charge of the place. He opened the doors to the main prayer room and we stepped into the darkness, unaware of what awaited us on the other side. When my eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, ghastly faces peered back at me. There were masks on the walls and up against the walls with some dressed up as evil spirits.
The inside of the monastery was an extension of Thupten’s prayer room and almost every surface, save for the floor, was ornately painted with scenes from Buddha’s life. It was alive with color and offered a stark contrast to the masked spirits standing guard. On display they had a yeti skull and hands, a testament to their belief in the presence of the mythical yeti. The originals had been stolen at some point, so a pair of replicas stood in their place. We spent a few minutes taking a tour of the relatively small monastery before stepping out into the courtyard to find that the clouds had parted. It was a brief reprieve from the afternoon fog which had blanketed most everything else.
It started on the way back. The group started to separate as we returned to camp and Nicky got the bright idea to hide in the bushes and scare the crap out of the stragglers. It was damn near perfect, no one was expecting a thing. Jane and Tim got the brunt of it as Nicky leapt out yelling, “I’m a bush!!!” The group sirdar, Mr. K found this exceedingly funny, so much so that he was slapping his leg at their expense. It would become a running joke for the rest of the trip; he was doing his damndest to scare Nicky using the same tactics to little avail. It was only towards the end where he enjoyed sweet success.
We came back to dinner and relaxed afterward with some hot tea and conversation. We stayed up until the late hour of ~9pm before retiring to the tents for the night.
Thursday March 22, 2012
Another day, another beautiful sunrise. We had been lucky thus far, with the exception of light sprinkles on the first day we had seen nothing but sunshine and clear skies for the duration of the trip. Today was no different, and let me tell you, it was a glorious way to wake up. There is nothing like getting handed a cup of warm tea and emerging from our nylon cocoons to a view like this one. A guy could get used to such amenities.
We took our breakfast in the dining tent, one of the few times we dined in a tent as opposed to one of the lodges. No complaints from anyone in the crew, we got to stare around at the sunrise as the kitchen crew served up yet another delicious meal.
Wouldn’t you know it, the baby yaks that had been inhabiting the field our tents were now pitched in were quite curious. Funny little guys that they were, they had little fear of humans the majority of the time and generally did not seem to understand how much bigger they were. All it took was pretending to throw a stone at them and they would bolt.
A couple of them came a little too close to the table, hoping to snag a few scraps of whatever we would toss our way. They inched closer and closer, probably thinking they were being quite sneaky, when in reality it’s hard to try and blend in when you are a 200 pound cow. Thupten shooed them off, but being the persistent little buggers they waited until he disappeared before trying their hand again. Too bad they were too late for food, but not too late to get in an elusive petting session. We did not dare do much other than pat the haunches of the bigger ones; there was no way I was going to get near those horns. The babies on the other hand were a different story. Tim going in for the head pet…
After we ate we had the opportunity to watch the yak master round up the crew and throw on the saddles for carrying our bags. I would have paid a few bucks to watch this show. It usually went something like this: Yak master yells at yaks and tries gather them up. They scatter. He runs over to one to try and grab the rope around their horns. They resist. Feebly. He ties one to another. They butt heads and stumble around the field like two yaks whose heads are tied together. Yak master tries to saddle them up. They try to run him over.
This game went on and on until all of the yaks had been saddled and the bags were strapped tight. They took off ahead and we followed shortly thereafter, off to Dingboche! At this point we were nearing the highest year round settlements in the Everest region, somewhere around 14,000 feet. It was interesting to see the various ways the people have had to adapt to survive up here. There is relatively little agriculture; the environment is conducive to only potatoes and barley. They will usually alternate year after year, but in the mean time, all of the harvested potatoes get buried in holes. Like a makeshift refrigerator this keeps them fresh and preserved throughout the year.
As we passed by the monastery we entered into a 400 year old juniper tree forest. In a region that was relatively devoid of much vegetation beyond scrub brushes, it was surprising to find an intact grove of trees. They were gnarled and weathered, a testament to the harsh climate they have to endure.
It was puzzling at first to look at the hillsides. They were all lined with tiny little paths, too small to be the result of human foot traffic and oddly enough, most of the time a near perfect cross hatch pattern. It was the handy work of the grazing yaks and there was no hillside too steep or precarious for them to reach. I was fascinated by how they were able to generate such perfect patterns, an impromptu geometry lesson courteousy of the yaks.
And on we marched. Through the rocks, over the hills, and up stone stair cases we went, our bodies having somewhat coped with the lack of oxygen available to them. We began to see the evidence of the great glaciers that had carved out this valley millions of years ago, the marks of their icy fingers still visible in the slopes that had been sheared away. We also started to notice the presence of large rocks placed seemingly in the middle of nowhere, another remnant of the long gone glaciers that had once blanketed this area under their smothering weight.
And just when you think you have escaped the influence of humanity you are pulled back in by a seemingly random graffiti artists work. Despite the notoriety of graffiti in more developed areas, this mural was oddly enough not out of place. In a land adorned with stoupas and prayer flags it was almost fitting to find Buddha emblazoned on some rocks along the way.
Being a avid photographer, it was often difficult at times to move on from the scenes that revealed themselves along the way. Honestly, it was a good thing the Sherpas were there to gently nudge us along or I would have wandered away in search of the perfect picture. Not that there was a perfect picture per say, there were millions of them. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought so.
We ran into a group of school children on their way home as we trekked past, all laughing and having what seemed like the time of their lives. I have no idea where their school was, or how long it could possibly take to reach it, but I could only hazard a guess that it was miles and many feet of elevation away. These kids have no school buses to drive them the quarter mile to school and go regardless of the weather, makes us Americans look like a bundle of babies comparatively. As we passed they were blowing up and popping balloons, covertly of course which was much to our surprise and their entertainment. It was a riot.
At times it appeared to be a futile effort; we were like a small army of ants marching towards the unknown. We were not the first to follow these fabled paths, they had seen the boots of some of the most famous people in the annals of mountaineering. Years of abuse had beaten the ground into submission, a myriad foot paths were carved into the hillside like tributaries feeding a larger river.
Along the way we got a little bit of encouragement from a pile of rocks.
Maybe not as the crow flies, or even by the number of miles left, but was left was brutal. To whomever wrote that, you, sir, are a liar.
We rolled into town a little after mid-day. Welcome to Dingboche!
We had the pleasure of wandering through town during the afternoon. I found an internet café and grabbed a computer for a few minutes to fire off a few emails. I had the pleasure of sitting next to a gentleman who had what sounded nice a nasty case of the Khumbu cough. I was pretty sure he was going to start hacking up internal organs at one point and said a little prayer that I did not get whatever he had.
The loss of appetite really started to hit me in Dingboche. I had been feeling weak the past few days, so I scrapped together the last of my big bills and grabbed as many Snickers as I could from a local convenience store. I’d like to give a big thank you from whoever decided it was a good idea to stock Snickers, despite them beyond well beyond their expiration. They were a lifesaver.
That afternoon we saw our first avalanche. This mountain let loose a torrent of snow that rumbled down the steep slopes, harmlessly depositing itself in a ravine that had looked like it had borne the brunt of a several recent slides.
We all lounged around for the rest of that afternoon just relaxing, writing in our journals, and enjoying some cookies and tea. That night was also the first night I can recall participating in the melee of a card game called Dumbal. It was very popular amongst the Nepali’s and after a brief period of learning things got heated and there was a lot of laughing and yelling. I retired early from the mayhem and fell asleep to the shouting still coming from the lodge…
Another day, another beautiful sunrise. We had been lucky thus far, with the exception of light sprinkles on the first day we had seen nothing but sunshine and clear skies for the duration of the trip. Today was no different, and let me tell you, it was a glorious way to wake up. There is nothing like getting handed a cup of warm tea and emerging from our nylon cocoons to a view like this one. A guy could get used to such amenities.
We took our breakfast in the dining tent, one of the few times we dined in a tent as opposed to one of the lodges. No complaints from anyone in the crew, we got to stare around at the sunrise as the kitchen crew served up yet another delicious meal.
Wouldn’t you know it, the baby yaks that had been inhabiting the field our tents were now pitched in were quite curious. Funny little guys that they were, they had little fear of humans the majority of the time and generally did not seem to understand how much bigger they were. All it took was pretending to throw a stone at them and they would bolt.
A couple of them came a little too close to the table, hoping to snag a few scraps of whatever we would toss our way. They inched closer and closer, probably thinking they were being quite sneaky, when in reality it’s hard to try and blend in when you are a 200 pound cow. Thupten shooed them off, but being the persistent little buggers they waited until he disappeared before trying their hand again. Too bad they were too late for food, but not too late to get in an elusive petting session. We did not dare do much other than pat the haunches of the bigger ones; there was no way I was going to get near those horns. The babies on the other hand were a different story. Tim going in for the head pet…
After we ate we had the opportunity to watch the yak master round up the crew and throw on the saddles for carrying our bags. I would have paid a few bucks to watch this show. It usually went something like this: Yak master yells at yaks and tries gather them up. They scatter. He runs over to one to try and grab the rope around their horns. They resist. Feebly. He ties one to another. They butt heads and stumble around the field like two yaks whose heads are tied together. Yak master tries to saddle them up. They try to run him over.
This game went on and on until all of the yaks had been saddled and the bags were strapped tight. They took off ahead and we followed shortly thereafter, off to Dingboche! At this point we were nearing the highest year round settlements in the Everest region, somewhere around 14,000 feet. It was interesting to see the various ways the people have had to adapt to survive up here. There is relatively little agriculture; the environment is conducive to only potatoes and barley. They will usually alternate year after year, but in the mean time, all of the harvested potatoes get buried in holes. Like a makeshift refrigerator this keeps them fresh and preserved throughout the year.
As we passed by the monastery we entered into a 400 year old juniper tree forest. In a region that was relatively devoid of much vegetation beyond scrub brushes, it was surprising to find an intact grove of trees. They were gnarled and weathered, a testament to the harsh climate they have to endure.
It was puzzling at first to look at the hillsides. They were all lined with tiny little paths, too small to be the result of human foot traffic and oddly enough, most of the time a near perfect cross hatch pattern. It was the handy work of the grazing yaks and there was no hillside too steep or precarious for them to reach. I was fascinated by how they were able to generate such perfect patterns, an impromptu geometry lesson courteousy of the yaks.
And on we marched. Through the rocks, over the hills, and up stone stair cases we went, our bodies having somewhat coped with the lack of oxygen available to them. We began to see the evidence of the great glaciers that had carved out this valley millions of years ago, the marks of their icy fingers still visible in the slopes that had been sheared away. We also started to notice the presence of large rocks placed seemingly in the middle of nowhere, another remnant of the long gone glaciers that had once blanketed this area under their smothering weight.
And just when you think you have escaped the influence of humanity you are pulled back in by a seemingly random graffiti artists work. Despite the notoriety of graffiti in more developed areas, this mural was oddly enough not out of place. In a land adorned with stoupas and prayer flags it was almost fitting to find Buddha emblazoned on some rocks along the way.
Being a avid photographer, it was often difficult at times to move on from the scenes that revealed themselves along the way. Honestly, it was a good thing the Sherpas were there to gently nudge us along or I would have wandered away in search of the perfect picture. Not that there was a perfect picture per say, there were millions of them. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought so.
We ran into a group of school children on their way home as we trekked past, all laughing and having what seemed like the time of their lives. I have no idea where their school was, or how long it could possibly take to reach it, but I could only hazard a guess that it was miles and many feet of elevation away. These kids have no school buses to drive them the quarter mile to school and go regardless of the weather, makes us Americans look like a bundle of babies comparatively. As we passed they were blowing up and popping balloons, covertly of course which was much to our surprise and their entertainment. It was a riot.
At times it appeared to be a futile effort; we were like a small army of ants marching towards the unknown. We were not the first to follow these fabled paths, they had seen the boots of some of the most famous people in the annals of mountaineering. Years of abuse had beaten the ground into submission, a myriad foot paths were carved into the hillside like tributaries feeding a larger river.
Along the way we got a little bit of encouragement from a pile of rocks.
Maybe not as the crow flies, or even by the number of miles left, but was left was brutal. To whomever wrote that, you, sir, are a liar.
We rolled into town a little after mid-day. Welcome to Dingboche!
We had the pleasure of wandering through town during the afternoon. I found an internet café and grabbed a computer for a few minutes to fire off a few emails. I had the pleasure of sitting next to a gentleman who had what sounded nice a nasty case of the Khumbu cough. I was pretty sure he was going to start hacking up internal organs at one point and said a little prayer that I did not get whatever he had.
The loss of appetite really started to hit me in Dingboche. I had been feeling weak the past few days, so I scrapped together the last of my big bills and grabbed as many Snickers as I could from a local convenience store. I’d like to give a big thank you from whoever decided it was a good idea to stock Snickers, despite them beyond well beyond their expiration. They were a lifesaver.
That afternoon we saw our first avalanche. This mountain let loose a torrent of snow that rumbled down the steep slopes, harmlessly depositing itself in a ravine that had looked like it had borne the brunt of a several recent slides.
We all lounged around for the rest of that afternoon just relaxing, writing in our journals, and enjoying some cookies and tea. That night was also the first night I can recall participating in the melee of a card game called Dumbal. It was very popular amongst the Nepali’s and after a brief period of learning things got heated and there was a lot of laughing and yelling. I retired early from the mayhem and fell asleep to the shouting still coming from the lodge…
did you try yak's milk?
No milk. Though we did get a yak steak one night. After eating veggies for damn near the entire trip a little meat was like a slice of heaven.
i would've milked a yak
So much rep to spread. Amazing! That's not the end though, is it?!
You write and photograph beautifully
You write and photograph beautifully
Thank you for the compliments.So much rep to spread. Amazing! That's not the end though, is it?!
You write and photograph beautifully
.There is plenty more to come, we haven't even reached base camp yet!
Friday March 23, 2012
Today was perhaps the last easy day for the rest of the trek. Given that we had ascended 5,000 since we first began the trek, another acclimatization day was necessary before making the push to base camp. The plan was to gain ~1,500 feet of elevation as we hiked high up on the hillsides above Dingboche to view the memorials perched on the hillside and glimpse views of some of the other great, but more remote peaks.
The hike started with a trip down the main path where we saw all of the shops opening up for the day and the village coming to life. The myriad of convenience stores flung open their doors to offer us chocolatey treats and carbonated soft drinks. It brought mixed emotions, I was happy to see a reminder of home halfway around the world but sad to see that of all the things that could have made it, junk food was the one. Apparently it is becoming a problem in Nepal, the younger generation is slowly adapting to a more sedentary lifestyle as they do not face the same challenges that their parents did. As such, the population is slowly growing fatter. It was hard to see this as the majority of people were still significantly smaller than the average American, but I’ll take the word from the people who have witnessed the transformation first hand.
Walking the rocky path up the hillside felt like being on the moon. The trail was dry and dusty with no vegetation greater than knee high present. What little grass there was brown and brittle, victim to the bright sun and lack of precipitation.
As we crested the top of the ridge and began to walk along its spine we were able to truly appreciate the scale of what lay before us. The once distant mountains were now stoic giants, arching over and burying us in their immenseness. Their white caps were slowly replenishing themselves as the frequent avalanches ravaged the hillsides and sent boulders down into the glacial crevasses beneath.
It was counterintuitive, but our guides told us that the peak snowfall actually occurs during the summer. Winter does not bring as much precipitation as the summer does, and as the rainy season comes so does the snow. Regardless of the season, conditions in the upper reaches are cold enough year round to support the snow and the majority remains snow covered permanently.
Reaching the peak of our travels, we all sat down to admired the beauty. The hillside was dotted with impromptu stoupas constructed from piles of stones, like cairns leading the way for prayers to be channeled into the heavens. We did our part to help out and added some stones to the existing ones.
Being up here was a reminder of how small we truly are. In a place as undeveloped as this, the impact of the human species is minimized and the wonders of nature make themselves apparent. The permanence of the mountains, occupying this place of beauty for millions of years have withstood the tests of time. They rose from the earth before we walked the planet and will still be here for millions of years after we are gone. Our species is just a blink of the eye in the lifetime of the planet.
Once again I would like to offer a sincere thank you to all of the folks at REI who helped make this dream a reality. They were tireless in their efforts to make the entire trip, from the stateside planning and Q&A sessions to the nitty, grittiest of details during the trek, a pleasure. And it was, the whole thing was unbelievable. This one is for you folks.
After a quick game of guess what’s in my hand, a rock or a piece of candy, we began to descend. The descent was no less spectacular. The vistas we had once enjoyed, including the far off tips of Makalu and Cho Oyu began to fade below the horizon. I looked down and spied a kata pinned beneath a rock. Who it belonged to I have no idea, I can only hope that the blessings it provided have followed them wherever they may be.
The village grew closer as the elevation melted away, the patchwork quilt of fields revealing themselves as churned up soil ready for planting.
Arrival at the lodge brought food and comfort, another delicious meal followed by an afternoon to ourselves. We all spread out and picked up some last minute supplies, fired off an email to loved ones, perhaps wrote in our journals or in Jane’s case, did some yoga.
It was on this afternoon that we had our first taste of how cold and unforgiving these mountains can be. It can be easy to take your health for granted. The elevation is like a volcano that acts up a little bit every now and then to remind you that it is there. A headache here, perhaps out of breath or loss of appetite there. Until one day it blows up. As I stood out by the tents the unmistakable sounds of a helicopter rotor grew louder and louder and I saw the bird descend from the sky and land in the field adjacent to our tents. Two Sherpa’s came hustling from between the buildings with an obviously disoriented man draped between their shoulders. He had an oxygen mask on his face and was loaded into the chopper and shipped off to lower elevations. And it was gone. The whole ordeal could not have taken longer than five minutes. Five minutes was all it took to remind me that we are guests up here and at some point; the mountains can revoke our invitation.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully and I headed to bed early after a filling dinner. We had a long day ahead of us, the itinerary called for our legs to move us up to Lobuche. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep under a curtain of stars.
Today was perhaps the last easy day for the rest of the trek. Given that we had ascended 5,000 since we first began the trek, another acclimatization day was necessary before making the push to base camp. The plan was to gain ~1,500 feet of elevation as we hiked high up on the hillsides above Dingboche to view the memorials perched on the hillside and glimpse views of some of the other great, but more remote peaks.
The hike started with a trip down the main path where we saw all of the shops opening up for the day and the village coming to life. The myriad of convenience stores flung open their doors to offer us chocolatey treats and carbonated soft drinks. It brought mixed emotions, I was happy to see a reminder of home halfway around the world but sad to see that of all the things that could have made it, junk food was the one. Apparently it is becoming a problem in Nepal, the younger generation is slowly adapting to a more sedentary lifestyle as they do not face the same challenges that their parents did. As such, the population is slowly growing fatter. It was hard to see this as the majority of people were still significantly smaller than the average American, but I’ll take the word from the people who have witnessed the transformation first hand.
Walking the rocky path up the hillside felt like being on the moon. The trail was dry and dusty with no vegetation greater than knee high present. What little grass there was brown and brittle, victim to the bright sun and lack of precipitation.
As we crested the top of the ridge and began to walk along its spine we were able to truly appreciate the scale of what lay before us. The once distant mountains were now stoic giants, arching over and burying us in their immenseness. Their white caps were slowly replenishing themselves as the frequent avalanches ravaged the hillsides and sent boulders down into the glacial crevasses beneath.
It was counterintuitive, but our guides told us that the peak snowfall actually occurs during the summer. Winter does not bring as much precipitation as the summer does, and as the rainy season comes so does the snow. Regardless of the season, conditions in the upper reaches are cold enough year round to support the snow and the majority remains snow covered permanently.
Reaching the peak of our travels, we all sat down to admired the beauty. The hillside was dotted with impromptu stoupas constructed from piles of stones, like cairns leading the way for prayers to be channeled into the heavens. We did our part to help out and added some stones to the existing ones.
Being up here was a reminder of how small we truly are. In a place as undeveloped as this, the impact of the human species is minimized and the wonders of nature make themselves apparent. The permanence of the mountains, occupying this place of beauty for millions of years have withstood the tests of time. They rose from the earth before we walked the planet and will still be here for millions of years after we are gone. Our species is just a blink of the eye in the lifetime of the planet.
Once again I would like to offer a sincere thank you to all of the folks at REI who helped make this dream a reality. They were tireless in their efforts to make the entire trip, from the stateside planning and Q&A sessions to the nitty, grittiest of details during the trek, a pleasure. And it was, the whole thing was unbelievable. This one is for you folks.
After a quick game of guess what’s in my hand, a rock or a piece of candy, we began to descend. The descent was no less spectacular. The vistas we had once enjoyed, including the far off tips of Makalu and Cho Oyu began to fade below the horizon. I looked down and spied a kata pinned beneath a rock. Who it belonged to I have no idea, I can only hope that the blessings it provided have followed them wherever they may be.
The village grew closer as the elevation melted away, the patchwork quilt of fields revealing themselves as churned up soil ready for planting.
Arrival at the lodge brought food and comfort, another delicious meal followed by an afternoon to ourselves. We all spread out and picked up some last minute supplies, fired off an email to loved ones, perhaps wrote in our journals or in Jane’s case, did some yoga.
It was on this afternoon that we had our first taste of how cold and unforgiving these mountains can be. It can be easy to take your health for granted. The elevation is like a volcano that acts up a little bit every now and then to remind you that it is there. A headache here, perhaps out of breath or loss of appetite there. Until one day it blows up. As I stood out by the tents the unmistakable sounds of a helicopter rotor grew louder and louder and I saw the bird descend from the sky and land in the field adjacent to our tents. Two Sherpa’s came hustling from between the buildings with an obviously disoriented man draped between their shoulders. He had an oxygen mask on his face and was loaded into the chopper and shipped off to lower elevations. And it was gone. The whole ordeal could not have taken longer than five minutes. Five minutes was all it took to remind me that we are guests up here and at some point; the mountains can revoke our invitation.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully and I headed to bed early after a filling dinner. We had a long day ahead of us, the itinerary called for our legs to move us up to Lobuche. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep under a curtain of stars.
I must take a small hiatus now folks, got a two week vacation in Europe upcoming. 
, I know, tough life I lead. I do promise more however upon my return!
, I know, tough life I lead. I do promise more however upon my return!
Where in Europe?I must take a small hiatus now folks, got a two week vacation in Europe upcoming.
Just did a 5 day stint in Paris and got into Munich this morning.the plan is to spend a few days here before heading to fussen, Meeesburg, titisee, and Baden Baden respectively before headin back to Munich to fly out. Paris was a blast, it should be even more fun trying to figure out Germany since neither of us speak more than a word or two of German.
I'm back! Time to continue our story shall we?
Saturday March 24, 2012 – Dingboche to Lobuche
I woke up the next morning to hot tea being thrust through the door of the tent. Boy was that welcome, as we climbed higher and higher the temperature was starting to plummet, despite the arrival of warmer temperatures during the day.
As we sat down to breakfast, an overwhelming feeling of anticipation loomed over the group. We didn’t dare discuss it at this point as we were so close to Base Camp. The long awaited pinnacle of the trip that would validate us as trekkers, it was always the ultimate goal. It was two days away, two long days through Lobuche and Gorak Shep.
The day’s trek began much the same as the prior day’s acclimatization trek. We had to traverse the same ridge but took a different route over to cut out some of the elevation. We crested the ridge and descended a little into a bit of a valley. Once over the hill I was immersed in a landscape dissimilar to any we had experienced during the trip. Signs of human existence were nearly devoid as we gazed off across the lunar landscape carefully placed before us. It was like the work of a cruel artist, boulders were randomly strewn around, dropped by ancient glaciers that had carved their way through this land millions of years ago. The vista was devoid of vegetation, a splash of crusty brown grass and cold grey rock against a backdrop of ultra-blue skies.
As we hiked along in awe the ground to my left slowly peeled away, revealing a hidden valley. The first signs of civilization!
It was the small town of Pheriche, home of the Himilayan Rescue Association. We would be spending the night there on our way back.
We traversed the plain at a pretty good clip, taking advantage of the flat terrain while playing leap frog with a group of British trekkers. Reaching the end of the plain we descended into a small gulley that marked the beginning of the infamous Khumbu glacier. From here on out we would be following along its edge, but for now we passed over its outer reaches.
The elevation started to make itself known as we scrambled over onto the other side. Vast boulder fields and steep hillsides greeted us to the Khumbu and we picked our way through it. After what seemed like a short eternity we spotted a small outpost perched on a little hill overlooking what we had just come from.
It was a queer place to have lunch, but in a land of oddities it seemed perfectly fitting. Once again a testament to the culinary mastery of our chef, he somehow managed to pull together a meal that was rejuvenating. Little did we know at the time but we would need every modicum of the energy delivered by that meal to deliver us to Lobuche.
Oddly enough, as we were sitting down to lunch a stray dog came trotting up. He was a mangy fella and clearly a veteran of the area. Thupten said he was a beggar and not to feed him or else he would continue to follow us, probably how he got here in the first place. Telling us not to feed him was almost an invitation to, but the cook take care of that by luring him around the building with a little smile and plate of food. It was a heartwarming. It was also an omen of things to come…
After lunch we slogged up a dry, dusty, seemingly vertical hill. It was only once we reached the top that the meaning of this place came to us. It was a Himilayan graveyard, a memorial to climbers and sherpas alike. The hillside was dotted with the stoupas of fallen mountaineers, a tribute to the tragedies that have taken place in these mountains. We wandered around aimlessly, taking in the multitude of tombstones, all with their personal touches. The fallen were from all around the world, young and old, both household names and unknowns.
It was a somber and emotional place and one could not help but feel the sorrow of loved ones lost. After paying a few minutes of reverence, we continued on our way, the words on those plaques a haunting reminder.
As we hiked our way through the afternoon we spotted some additional tributes along the way, their final resting places prominently displayed. A cross and a name was all that the families had to hold on to with a number of these bodies still lost up on the mountain.
We passed through the memorial grounds and crested a small hill we were treated to a full view of the Himilayan Mountains. The Khumbu glacier was now fully visible, tracing our path to basecamp like a cold grey snake. We quietly moved along, too busy looking at the sights and lost in our own personal thoughts to do much conversing. The challenge was now laid out before us, we just had to have the courage to finish it off.
We descended onto the surface of the glacier itself and spent the new few hours walking along its banks. As we approached the village of Lobuche I sat down for a moment to appreciate all that had transpired that day. As difficult as the trek was, it is hard not to be overwhelmed with the vast beauty surrounding us. It is truly hard to appreciate where you are going without giving due to where you have been.
And then we were there. Lobuche; our home for the next night and a welcome sight. We shed our packs and took to the tiny village, some of us disappearing into the couple of internet cafes, others relaxing in the lodge. I took the third option and wandered around to take pictures. The place was a trip, the zokyos were roaming up in the hillsides while the afternoon clouds rolled in. Despite what the lodges advertised, we were not above the clouds.
They soon blanketed us and I was buried in a white fog. I too retreated to the lodge and after dinner and a riveting game of dumbul headed back to the tent. I was frozen in my tracks, and not by the fact that it was probably 0 degrees out at that point. The valley was bathed in darkness but the tips of the mountains were illuminated by the moon. I snapped a few pictures and retired to the tent, anxiously awaiting the arrival at Mount Everest base camp the next day.
I woke up the next morning to hot tea being thrust through the door of the tent. Boy was that welcome, as we climbed higher and higher the temperature was starting to plummet, despite the arrival of warmer temperatures during the day.
As we sat down to breakfast, an overwhelming feeling of anticipation loomed over the group. We didn’t dare discuss it at this point as we were so close to Base Camp. The long awaited pinnacle of the trip that would validate us as trekkers, it was always the ultimate goal. It was two days away, two long days through Lobuche and Gorak Shep.
The day’s trek began much the same as the prior day’s acclimatization trek. We had to traverse the same ridge but took a different route over to cut out some of the elevation. We crested the ridge and descended a little into a bit of a valley. Once over the hill I was immersed in a landscape dissimilar to any we had experienced during the trip. Signs of human existence were nearly devoid as we gazed off across the lunar landscape carefully placed before us. It was like the work of a cruel artist, boulders were randomly strewn around, dropped by ancient glaciers that had carved their way through this land millions of years ago. The vista was devoid of vegetation, a splash of crusty brown grass and cold grey rock against a backdrop of ultra-blue skies.
As we hiked along in awe the ground to my left slowly peeled away, revealing a hidden valley. The first signs of civilization!
It was the small town of Pheriche, home of the Himilayan Rescue Association. We would be spending the night there on our way back.
We traversed the plain at a pretty good clip, taking advantage of the flat terrain while playing leap frog with a group of British trekkers. Reaching the end of the plain we descended into a small gulley that marked the beginning of the infamous Khumbu glacier. From here on out we would be following along its edge, but for now we passed over its outer reaches.
The elevation started to make itself known as we scrambled over onto the other side. Vast boulder fields and steep hillsides greeted us to the Khumbu and we picked our way through it. After what seemed like a short eternity we spotted a small outpost perched on a little hill overlooking what we had just come from.
It was a queer place to have lunch, but in a land of oddities it seemed perfectly fitting. Once again a testament to the culinary mastery of our chef, he somehow managed to pull together a meal that was rejuvenating. Little did we know at the time but we would need every modicum of the energy delivered by that meal to deliver us to Lobuche.
Oddly enough, as we were sitting down to lunch a stray dog came trotting up. He was a mangy fella and clearly a veteran of the area. Thupten said he was a beggar and not to feed him or else he would continue to follow us, probably how he got here in the first place. Telling us not to feed him was almost an invitation to, but the cook take care of that by luring him around the building with a little smile and plate of food. It was a heartwarming. It was also an omen of things to come…
After lunch we slogged up a dry, dusty, seemingly vertical hill. It was only once we reached the top that the meaning of this place came to us. It was a Himilayan graveyard, a memorial to climbers and sherpas alike. The hillside was dotted with the stoupas of fallen mountaineers, a tribute to the tragedies that have taken place in these mountains. We wandered around aimlessly, taking in the multitude of tombstones, all with their personal touches. The fallen were from all around the world, young and old, both household names and unknowns.
It was a somber and emotional place and one could not help but feel the sorrow of loved ones lost. After paying a few minutes of reverence, we continued on our way, the words on those plaques a haunting reminder.
As we hiked our way through the afternoon we spotted some additional tributes along the way, their final resting places prominently displayed. A cross and a name was all that the families had to hold on to with a number of these bodies still lost up on the mountain.
We passed through the memorial grounds and crested a small hill we were treated to a full view of the Himilayan Mountains. The Khumbu glacier was now fully visible, tracing our path to basecamp like a cold grey snake. We quietly moved along, too busy looking at the sights and lost in our own personal thoughts to do much conversing. The challenge was now laid out before us, we just had to have the courage to finish it off.
We descended onto the surface of the glacier itself and spent the new few hours walking along its banks. As we approached the village of Lobuche I sat down for a moment to appreciate all that had transpired that day. As difficult as the trek was, it is hard not to be overwhelmed with the vast beauty surrounding us. It is truly hard to appreciate where you are going without giving due to where you have been.
And then we were there. Lobuche; our home for the next night and a welcome sight. We shed our packs and took to the tiny village, some of us disappearing into the couple of internet cafes, others relaxing in the lodge. I took the third option and wandered around to take pictures. The place was a trip, the zokyos were roaming up in the hillsides while the afternoon clouds rolled in. Despite what the lodges advertised, we were not above the clouds.
They soon blanketed us and I was buried in a white fog. I too retreated to the lodge and after dinner and a riveting game of dumbul headed back to the tent. I was frozen in my tracks, and not by the fact that it was probably 0 degrees out at that point. The valley was bathed in darkness but the tips of the mountains were illuminated by the moon. I snapped a few pictures and retired to the tent, anxiously awaiting the arrival at Mount Everest base camp the next day.
Sunday March 25, 2012 – Lobuche to Everest Base Camp to Gorak Shep
5:30 a.m. – *Rustle…rustle rustle rustle*. My eyes pop open and through the grogginess I slowly process what is happening. I pull the hood of my sleeping bag up over my head hoping to hide from it but to no avail. OT (Old Tim) has gotten up to use the bathroom and there’s no way I’m going to be able to fall asleep again. I wipe the frozen drool from my cheek and snuggle the once warm water bottles for comfort. He slides back into the tent and zips the vestibule shut, settling back into his sleeping bag for a few extra minutes of sleep before wake up time. *Rustle rustle*…um…what? Why is the vestibule rustling?
Tim peeks his head out into the vestibule and wouldn’t you know it, he has re-appeared. The mangy dog we had encountered at lunch the prior day had followed us all the way up to Lobuche and decided to settle into our vestibule to take refuge from the frigid temperatures outside. He starts giggling and taking pictures of the dog that is dead to the world.
After chuckling about it for a few minutes we realize that the guys who serve tea would get one hell of a surprise when they open up our tent to find the stray dog laying there. Tim starts trying to rouse Nicky to action to no avail, Nicky is ignoring us. Luckily Mr. K and Nuri come to the rescue, opening up the vestibule and yelling in Nepali at the dog. He wakes up with a start and starts baying like he was being severely beat. This goes on for a couple of minutes until Nuri throws a first shoe, then a second shoe in the vicinity of the dog to scare him. This finally does the trick and he trots away in defeat. Good morning to you too!
We step out of the tent into the frigid morning air and donn an extra jacket to wander around before breakfast. Come to find out, the mercury dropped into the negatives last night, -10* according to Jane’s thermometer. No wonder it seemed so cold.
We broke down what had happened that morning and all got a good chuckle as Thupten re-iterated his advice not to feed the dog. He must have been right, nobody else fed the dog after that and that was the last we saw of him.
Today’s trek was going to be a long tough day with around 1500’ of vertical gain over 7-8 miles. We start off promptly after breakfast, warm jackets warding off the intruding cold.
The trail was a continuation of yesterday, more like a giant boulder field than a hiking path. The landscape was devoid of color with the exception of the bluest skies you have ever seen. I guess a lack of atmosphere and air pollution will do that for you.
We shed the extra layers as the day began to develop and the sun warmed the landscape. Before we knew it the sun was high in the sky, guiding us on the way up to Gorak Shep. We scrambled up hills and down into small gorges, shuffling across icy patches and stepping off to the side to let the yak trains through. Up until this point the trail was fairly un-trafficked as it was the beginning of the trekking/climbing season and the crowds had yet to arrive. That however was starting to change as the major expeditions were assembling their tents at base camp, hauling everything from bottles of propane to kitchen sinks up on the backs of porters and yaks alike.
As an aside, the loads the porters were hauling were incredible. While the yaks are able to carry up to ~100lbs effectively the majority of the large items are hauled up by porters. With anywhere from 80-300 lbs on their backs these guys make the 38 mile, 8000’ climb from Lukla to Base Camp in anywhere from 5-6 days. Struggling up the little hills at elevation left me bewildered as guys with tables on their backs padded by in a pair of sandals, a cigarette in their mouth and engaged in conversation with a pal carrying a kitchen sink. For real.
After several hours of trekking we crested a small ridge and saw the collection of brightly colored roofs that marked Gorak Shep, rough translation: Dry lake. It is the last major outpost before you reach basecamp and often acts as a hub in the region. The dry lake bed serves as a makeshift helicopter pad to fly in supplies and fly out trekkers or climbers experiencing distress. It was buzzing with activity, while most of the prior villages had multiple lodges to host the trekking groups Gorak Shep was limited in its accommodations.
We shed our backpacks and took a seat in the dining hall for a much needed break and some lunch before we made our afternoon push. I was surprised to see a bit of wildlife outside of the lodge, up on a little knoll was a little showoff of a bird that resembles a pheasant. Apparently these little guys get quite friendly with the trekkers and are big fans of any spare food scraps.
It seemed like a short eternity sitting there eating lunch with the anticipation slowly rising. This was it, in a few short hours we would be there. Fueled by a hearty lunch and a healthy dose of adrenaline, we struck out trying to beat some of the afternoon crowds. Off across the dry lake bed we go!
After crossing the dry lake bed we climbed up onto the ridge overlooking the Khumbu glacier. It was an amazing sight to see, for as far as the eye could see the icy ripples cut a path to the base of Mount Everest. It is very fitting that the tallest mountain on the planet has such a daunting gateway to its slopes, a constant reminder that death is never too far away.
As the temperature began to hit the day’s high, the glacier started talking. At first it was just a few faint reports, some creaks and groans to let you know it was waking. Too slow to see its movement, this was the only indication we got that the glacier was alive. It was also an indication of the challenges of accessing Everest as the Khumbu traverse changes every few days as the tons of ice shift and re-arrange themselves. It proves to be one of the more challenging obstacles and requires the utmost care in addition to an early morning start. According to Thupten the routes are established by an experienced team of Sherpa’s dubbed the “Ice Doctors”. Every few days they will reset the path through the icefall for the climbers. They have an astounding safety record owing to their unconventional technique of climbing down into crevasses and scaling the other side. Incredible.
Off to our left we saw several paths snaking their way up a steep brown hillside, an omen of things to come. They were the paths to the summit of Kala Pathar, an 18,200’ “hill” that provides an undisturbed 360 degree view of the mountains. We pushed on without stopping to contemplate, that was for tomorrow.
We made small talk amongst ourselves to pass the time, all peeking around every corner expecting to see the tent city indicating that we had made it. After about the 10th peek we settled down into a steady rhythm. And then we saw it, a few yellow tents in a sea of white.
It was base camp! Our spirtit’s were lifted and our pace rose to meet it. We began to cruise over the terrain, overtaking the British squad and making it our mission to get there before them with plenty of time to allow a bit of time alone before it was swarmed.
Before descending down onto the Khumbu glacier itself to make the last pass across the ice bridge separating us from the landmark end of our trek, I took a look back at the path we had followed for the past week and a half. It was not over yet, we still had to conquer that same track of land on the way down, but damn was it a journey. It was one of the most physically and mentally demanding accomplishments in my life. It had been a tale of discovery, camaraderie, achievement and loss. An unforgettable journey.
Oddly enough my pace slowed as I crossed that last ice bridge. After spending all of that time dreaming about this moment it was finally here, mine for the taking. And yet I wanted to savor every last minute, embed those images in my mind. The way the glacier felt beneath my feet, the sharp wind stinging my face, my face drinking whatever warmth the sun had to offer. I took a deep breath and took the last few steps...
To be continued!
5:30 a.m. – *Rustle…rustle rustle rustle*. My eyes pop open and through the grogginess I slowly process what is happening. I pull the hood of my sleeping bag up over my head hoping to hide from it but to no avail. OT (Old Tim) has gotten up to use the bathroom and there’s no way I’m going to be able to fall asleep again. I wipe the frozen drool from my cheek and snuggle the once warm water bottles for comfort. He slides back into the tent and zips the vestibule shut, settling back into his sleeping bag for a few extra minutes of sleep before wake up time. *Rustle rustle*…um…what? Why is the vestibule rustling?
Tim peeks his head out into the vestibule and wouldn’t you know it, he has re-appeared. The mangy dog we had encountered at lunch the prior day had followed us all the way up to Lobuche and decided to settle into our vestibule to take refuge from the frigid temperatures outside. He starts giggling and taking pictures of the dog that is dead to the world.
After chuckling about it for a few minutes we realize that the guys who serve tea would get one hell of a surprise when they open up our tent to find the stray dog laying there. Tim starts trying to rouse Nicky to action to no avail, Nicky is ignoring us. Luckily Mr. K and Nuri come to the rescue, opening up the vestibule and yelling in Nepali at the dog. He wakes up with a start and starts baying like he was being severely beat. This goes on for a couple of minutes until Nuri throws a first shoe, then a second shoe in the vicinity of the dog to scare him. This finally does the trick and he trots away in defeat. Good morning to you too!
We step out of the tent into the frigid morning air and donn an extra jacket to wander around before breakfast. Come to find out, the mercury dropped into the negatives last night, -10* according to Jane’s thermometer. No wonder it seemed so cold.
We broke down what had happened that morning and all got a good chuckle as Thupten re-iterated his advice not to feed the dog. He must have been right, nobody else fed the dog after that and that was the last we saw of him.
Today’s trek was going to be a long tough day with around 1500’ of vertical gain over 7-8 miles. We start off promptly after breakfast, warm jackets warding off the intruding cold.
The trail was a continuation of yesterday, more like a giant boulder field than a hiking path. The landscape was devoid of color with the exception of the bluest skies you have ever seen. I guess a lack of atmosphere and air pollution will do that for you.
We shed the extra layers as the day began to develop and the sun warmed the landscape. Before we knew it the sun was high in the sky, guiding us on the way up to Gorak Shep. We scrambled up hills and down into small gorges, shuffling across icy patches and stepping off to the side to let the yak trains through. Up until this point the trail was fairly un-trafficked as it was the beginning of the trekking/climbing season and the crowds had yet to arrive. That however was starting to change as the major expeditions were assembling their tents at base camp, hauling everything from bottles of propane to kitchen sinks up on the backs of porters and yaks alike.
As an aside, the loads the porters were hauling were incredible. While the yaks are able to carry up to ~100lbs effectively the majority of the large items are hauled up by porters. With anywhere from 80-300 lbs on their backs these guys make the 38 mile, 8000’ climb from Lukla to Base Camp in anywhere from 5-6 days. Struggling up the little hills at elevation left me bewildered as guys with tables on their backs padded by in a pair of sandals, a cigarette in their mouth and engaged in conversation with a pal carrying a kitchen sink. For real.
After several hours of trekking we crested a small ridge and saw the collection of brightly colored roofs that marked Gorak Shep, rough translation: Dry lake. It is the last major outpost before you reach basecamp and often acts as a hub in the region. The dry lake bed serves as a makeshift helicopter pad to fly in supplies and fly out trekkers or climbers experiencing distress. It was buzzing with activity, while most of the prior villages had multiple lodges to host the trekking groups Gorak Shep was limited in its accommodations.
We shed our backpacks and took a seat in the dining hall for a much needed break and some lunch before we made our afternoon push. I was surprised to see a bit of wildlife outside of the lodge, up on a little knoll was a little showoff of a bird that resembles a pheasant. Apparently these little guys get quite friendly with the trekkers and are big fans of any spare food scraps.
It seemed like a short eternity sitting there eating lunch with the anticipation slowly rising. This was it, in a few short hours we would be there. Fueled by a hearty lunch and a healthy dose of adrenaline, we struck out trying to beat some of the afternoon crowds. Off across the dry lake bed we go!
After crossing the dry lake bed we climbed up onto the ridge overlooking the Khumbu glacier. It was an amazing sight to see, for as far as the eye could see the icy ripples cut a path to the base of Mount Everest. It is very fitting that the tallest mountain on the planet has such a daunting gateway to its slopes, a constant reminder that death is never too far away.
As the temperature began to hit the day’s high, the glacier started talking. At first it was just a few faint reports, some creaks and groans to let you know it was waking. Too slow to see its movement, this was the only indication we got that the glacier was alive. It was also an indication of the challenges of accessing Everest as the Khumbu traverse changes every few days as the tons of ice shift and re-arrange themselves. It proves to be one of the more challenging obstacles and requires the utmost care in addition to an early morning start. According to Thupten the routes are established by an experienced team of Sherpa’s dubbed the “Ice Doctors”. Every few days they will reset the path through the icefall for the climbers. They have an astounding safety record owing to their unconventional technique of climbing down into crevasses and scaling the other side. Incredible.
Off to our left we saw several paths snaking their way up a steep brown hillside, an omen of things to come. They were the paths to the summit of Kala Pathar, an 18,200’ “hill” that provides an undisturbed 360 degree view of the mountains. We pushed on without stopping to contemplate, that was for tomorrow.
We made small talk amongst ourselves to pass the time, all peeking around every corner expecting to see the tent city indicating that we had made it. After about the 10th peek we settled down into a steady rhythm. And then we saw it, a few yellow tents in a sea of white.
It was base camp! Our spirtit’s were lifted and our pace rose to meet it. We began to cruise over the terrain, overtaking the British squad and making it our mission to get there before them with plenty of time to allow a bit of time alone before it was swarmed.
Before descending down onto the Khumbu glacier itself to make the last pass across the ice bridge separating us from the landmark end of our trek, I took a look back at the path we had followed for the past week and a half. It was not over yet, we still had to conquer that same track of land on the way down, but damn was it a journey. It was one of the most physically and mentally demanding accomplishments in my life. It had been a tale of discovery, camaraderie, achievement and loss. An unforgettable journey.
Oddly enough my pace slowed as I crossed that last ice bridge. After spending all of that time dreaming about this moment it was finally here, mine for the taking. And yet I wanted to savor every last minute, embed those images in my mind. The way the glacier felt beneath my feet, the sharp wind stinging my face, my face drinking whatever warmth the sun had to offer. I took a deep breath and took the last few steps...
To be continued!
Welcome to Base Camp! This rock signified our arrival and was dotted with the scribbles and tokens of those who had come before us. We hung around for a while high fiving and exchanging congratulations while taking pictures and just having a good time in general.
We huddled in close for a picture with our fearless leader and offer him and the rest of the Sherpas a sincere thank you for all of their hard work. Their tireless patience, accommodating attitudes, and general aura since we arrived was nothing short of incredible. They had managed to take a group of relative strangers with little in common and foster a deep unbreakable bond over the course of a week and a half, giving encouragement where needed and pushing us to achieve more than we knew we could. It is damn hard to thank someone for doing all that but I certainly tried.
Base camp is typically closed during the climbing season and trekkers do not have the opportunity to wander down into it. To do that you need a climbing permit, and short of each of us coughing up $10,000 a piece we were not going to get one. But being the climbing pre-season, we had the special opportunity to get a little bit closer and give the operations a once over.
I used to wonder what it was like to be at base camp for months and months preparing to climb, living in small tents the entire time and having little to do but test your mental fortitude. Boy was I wrong, the set-up they had going on down there was downright posh. The tents were large and cozy with heating to stave off any cold induced illnesses. For some of the larger expeditions there was also a command tent where climbing members could relax amongst TVs, satellite communications, hardwood floors and a bar. Yes, a bar.
We had a unique opportunity while we were there to meet Phurba Tashi, Thupten’s cousin and one of the most famous Sherpas in Everest history. Some of you may recognize Phurba from the TV show Everest: Beyond the Limits. He has currently tied the record for having climbed 28 8000m peaks and has achieved some incredible accomplishments. We all gathered around for pictures and exchanged a little bit of chit chat, he was a busy man trying to get camp ready for the climbers arrival.
Before we knew it it was time to head back to Gorak Shep. I took one last look at everything; taking a few mental pictures to remind myself what it felt like to be there. And we were off.
It was clear from the beginning that it was going to be a slog back, the exhaustion and effects of the altitude were apparent. It wasn’t clear how exhausted some of the group really was until Nicky started swaying on his feet and more or less collapsed onto a boulder. He had expended himself too much on the way back and was having a hard time finding his legs. After a short break he was ready to leave again but didn’t make it much further before taking a seat again. At the urging of the Sherpas we went on ahead leaving him to Thupten.
It was another blow to the group dynamics having already lost Paul. It is hard phsychologically to deal with something like that, a seemingly tireless member of your group unable to press it. It puts thoughts of doubt in your head.
With the anticipation of base camp out of the way I had a chance to admire the raw beauty of the area, and raw it was. Craggy, snow dotted spires thrust their way from the ground like ladders to the God, their peaks lost in the clouds. The wind-swept terrain was devoid of vegetation and strewn with rocks crushed and tossed around by the glaciers. Clouds roiled off of the surrounding mountains and gave the entire scene a somewhat sinister appearance.
It seemed like we walked forever, yet as I found myself crossing the dry lake bed and up the little hill into the outpost it was just a blink of the eye. I turned around and looked out over everything, chance are I will never be back her, but just to have had the privilege was an honor.
No matter how tired we were, Tim and I waited at the top of that hill. We weren’t going to leave Nicky behind, he was part of our journey too. At last we saw him picking his way through the boulders at the far end of the lake, head hung like a man with no mission except to put one foot in front of the other. And that’s what he did, one foot in front of the other until there was no more distance left to cover. We gave him a big hug and pat on the back, to push on like that was a testament to his willpower to go on. It was clear that he was gone at this point and he went back to his room in the lodge to crawl into his sleeping bag. We stayed with him a little bit before he went to sleep, too tired to stay up for dinner and too weak to do much more.
And then it was five.
Dinner was eaten more out of necessity than hunger, the next day we were going to scale Kala Pathar at some ungodly hour of the morning before heading back down. The mood wasn’t upbeat that evening, though not due to the Sherpa’s attitudes. You could tell that they were proud of us, just like I’m sure they are proud of all of us rookies who spend two weeks living their way of life.
As we got up to head to bed Deborah announced that she wasn’t feeling well and was bowing out of Kala Pathar tomorrow. She had been fighting a cold and the past two days had been particularly tough. I went to sleep knowing that our little group was now fragmented and tomorrow’s trek would require each one of us to draw from our own strength. My eyes closed and waited for the light shaking that would mark 4:30am and the start of the next day.
And then there were four.
Monday March 26, 2012 – Gorak Shep to Kala Pathar to Pheriche
A shake to the shoulder roused me from my deep sleep and forced me to reality. I wanted to pretend I was asleep, to drift away for a few more hours and let my body heal the ache that I felt all over. Alas, that was not in the cards. I had come all the way up here and I’d be damned if I was going to miss a single moment of it. I slid out of my sleeping bag and marveled at how cold it was in the lodge, knowing that it was even colder outside. We only had a few minutes to get ready, the journey to the summit of Kala Pathar started at 5:00am. Tossing on my warmest clothes I donned my pack and stepped reluctantly out into the morning air.
Wow. Talk about taking your breath away. It was so incredibly cold, perhaps even colder than the previous night. Every breath stung the lungs and froze my nose hairs together, the warmth slowly ebbing out of my extremities. I can’t say that I was well prepared for such cold conditions as I only had a lighter pair of windblocking fleece gloves. Even with the chemical handwarmers tucked inside them they lost feeling within the first few minutes and ached as we fired up our headlamps for the journey back across the frozen lake bed. It was a small group, Ellen, Tim, Jane, Mr. K, Nuri and myself. We set off with the headlamps weaving through the darkness ahead of us as our guide.
The prior days hike had taken its toll. I struggled up the steep slope, one foot after another like those videos you see of the guys on the summit of Everest. I guess this was my Everest. Jane and I stuck together drawing inspiration from each other to take one more step. There were several points where I didn’t want to go any further, I was completely beat. To quit would be to fail myself and I was not having any of that. Luckily Mr. K stuck back with us and talk about lighting up our small world. That man was a bundle of joy and cheered us up with songs and encouragement as we needed it. As the sun started to make its presence known we cleared a false summit and picked our way up the last parts of the slope. With one foot after another, heads down in concentration, we finally reached the summit. And oh was it glorious.
I was too mesmerized by the panorama in front of us that I was too distracted to really take too many pictures. I just looked around and marveled. I wasn’t the only one, our usually talkative group was pretty quiet while we all admired the sunrise cresting Everest and the Khumbu. We exchanged hugs sharing in the glory of reaching the pinnacle of our trip. We shared the crag with the other folks who braved the frigid morning and were surprised with a hot cup of tea and some crackers. Yes, you read that right. Nuri had lugged a thermos the entire way up and Mr. K had brought the crackers. To say I was grateful would be an understatement. After gnawing on my frozen Snickers like a dog bone the entire way up I had made little progress and done little to appease the growling in my stomach. I wolfed the crackers down enjoying every last morsel, even the ones that toppled into the rocks around me.
Taking the requisite pictures we began the descent with the power of reaching the summit proving a rejuvenating force. The downhill was a breeze by comparison and we took our sweet time making our way back to the lodge at Gorak Shep. We came back to a ghost town, all the trekkers had either began their trip to base camp or had headed back down. We packed up our belongings, set the zokyos on their way, and sat down to a small breakfast. It was the usual fare but for some reason seemed extra delicious this morning. Perhaps it could be chocked up to our recent accomplishment, or maybe bodies severely starved of nutrients, it went down easy. We cleaned our plates, it was a long ways down to Lobuche and even further down to get to our ultimate destination, Pheriche.
Oddly enough the descent was like traversing a completely different path than when ascending. Looking backward, or forward as our path was leading us now, provided a view just as beautiful as behind us. It was funny seeing the tips of mountains that only a week ago loomed above us are just beyond our reach now.
We walked and walked and walked some more racking up several miles and hundreds of feet descended. The immediate goal in our minds was lunch, despite a healthy breakfast I could feel the hunger rising up through me. That section of trail was much like the morning’s summit, a struggle mitigated by the humor and good nature of our guides. It was hard not to have your spirits lifted hearing Mr. K sing songs and Nuri smile at you with that genuinely happy expression. We pushed on through the dust and the rocks with the clouds churning above our heads like great big balls of cotton candy.
At last we reached Lobuche. It was a sight for sore eyes (not to mention bodies). To think that we had been here the prior day was a trip, all of the stuff that had occurred since then seemed like it couldn’t have possible fit with the short span of time that we had spent away. Collapsing in the lodge we were treated to lunch, four care packages that Madu had left behind for us. Opening up those peanut butter sandwiches was like receiving the greatest gift one could ever receive. The first bite was ecstasy, as was every one after that. The hardboiled egg was the same, an explosion of flavor on the palate that was too good not to savor. We had a good laugh as Tim curiously opened a little ball of paper included in the sack and sprinkled it on his peanut butter sandwich. Why I don’t know, but it was salt intended for the egg and definitely made his sandwich “special.”
We didn’t have a chance to rest too long as there was still a ways to go before we reached camp. In fact, it was approximately equivalent to what we had trekked in a single day before, so to condense a similar trek into an afternoon was a testament to our willpower to get down.
The clouds had whipped themselves into a little bit of a frenzy and had become black and swollen with precipitation. Through that afternoon it grew steadily worse and we spent the first part of it walking through intermittent areas of fog and drizzle.
And down we went. Past the memorials and past the place where we had eaten lunch and been bright eyed not two days ago. It was a slightly more somber event this time around and we all took on a pace of our own, spreading out between the guides and getting some much needed alone time. I took that time to reflect on the experience. It was overwhelming to think of the generosity and sacrifice that many folks were making on our behalves to put me where I was standing today.
I guess it was fitting that the stormy clouds had finally descended and enveloped us in their shroud. The first drops of precipitation began to fall, rain at first, then sleet, then small bits of hail. Through it all we pushed ahead, our bodies telling us to stop but our minds telling us to go.
The storm clouds were dense and provided limited visibility, often blocking our views more than several hundred yards ahead of us and making the journey seem endless. The milky fog swirled around us and for an instant lifted, providing a view towards the summit of Ama Dablam. It was like a window cut perfect out of the clouds, accentuating the shape of the knife ridge and making nothing by the mountain itself visible. A departing gift.
The village sneaked up on us from out of the haze, a safe haven from the hail and snow that engulfed our tiny group. Heading into the main lodge we dropped our packs and headed for the stove in the middle only stopping when we realized that we had found the rest of our group. Paul had soldiered back from the dead and met us as far up as he had the time and energy to do, and Nicky and Deborah had managed to make their way down as well. We exchanged trail stories marveling at each other’s accomplishments.
The afternoon Paul was sent down he was ordered to try and get some rest, to eat up and refuel his body to meet us the next day. Unfortunately, things don’t go as planned. While trying to force some food down, including garlic soup to help with the altitude, he developed a case of food poisoning. His theory was that it was due to the water used to make the soup; he had a sneaking suspicion that it was not properly treated before preparation. He still managed to eat it all given that the ultimatum was finish your food or don’t continue on. Desperately wanting to continue he gulped it down and spent the next few days fighting the resulting dehydration and gastrointestinal issues. He was finally able to convince them that he was good enough (even though he wasn’t) to push on. He did his damndest but in the end only had the time to meet up with us in Pheriche. No matter, it was a pleasure to meet up with him again.
Nicky and Deborah had their struggles too that morning as they descended from Gorak Shep. Nicky was still spent from the day before and stumbled his way along for a while before it was clear he wasn’t going to be making much progress by himself. They were forced to hire a horse. Deborah fared better as the cold did not entirely impede her ability to trek; it just served as a minor inconvenience.
After dropping my last 80 bucks (Nepali dollars) for 4 minutes of internet, we sat down and ate dinner. Tomorrow we would descend quite a bit more, and this time, it would be as a whole again.
A shake to the shoulder roused me from my deep sleep and forced me to reality. I wanted to pretend I was asleep, to drift away for a few more hours and let my body heal the ache that I felt all over. Alas, that was not in the cards. I had come all the way up here and I’d be damned if I was going to miss a single moment of it. I slid out of my sleeping bag and marveled at how cold it was in the lodge, knowing that it was even colder outside. We only had a few minutes to get ready, the journey to the summit of Kala Pathar started at 5:00am. Tossing on my warmest clothes I donned my pack and stepped reluctantly out into the morning air.
Wow. Talk about taking your breath away. It was so incredibly cold, perhaps even colder than the previous night. Every breath stung the lungs and froze my nose hairs together, the warmth slowly ebbing out of my extremities. I can’t say that I was well prepared for such cold conditions as I only had a lighter pair of windblocking fleece gloves. Even with the chemical handwarmers tucked inside them they lost feeling within the first few minutes and ached as we fired up our headlamps for the journey back across the frozen lake bed. It was a small group, Ellen, Tim, Jane, Mr. K, Nuri and myself. We set off with the headlamps weaving through the darkness ahead of us as our guide.
The prior days hike had taken its toll. I struggled up the steep slope, one foot after another like those videos you see of the guys on the summit of Everest. I guess this was my Everest. Jane and I stuck together drawing inspiration from each other to take one more step. There were several points where I didn’t want to go any further, I was completely beat. To quit would be to fail myself and I was not having any of that. Luckily Mr. K stuck back with us and talk about lighting up our small world. That man was a bundle of joy and cheered us up with songs and encouragement as we needed it. As the sun started to make its presence known we cleared a false summit and picked our way up the last parts of the slope. With one foot after another, heads down in concentration, we finally reached the summit. And oh was it glorious.
I was too mesmerized by the panorama in front of us that I was too distracted to really take too many pictures. I just looked around and marveled. I wasn’t the only one, our usually talkative group was pretty quiet while we all admired the sunrise cresting Everest and the Khumbu. We exchanged hugs sharing in the glory of reaching the pinnacle of our trip. We shared the crag with the other folks who braved the frigid morning and were surprised with a hot cup of tea and some crackers. Yes, you read that right. Nuri had lugged a thermos the entire way up and Mr. K had brought the crackers. To say I was grateful would be an understatement. After gnawing on my frozen Snickers like a dog bone the entire way up I had made little progress and done little to appease the growling in my stomach. I wolfed the crackers down enjoying every last morsel, even the ones that toppled into the rocks around me.
Taking the requisite pictures we began the descent with the power of reaching the summit proving a rejuvenating force. The downhill was a breeze by comparison and we took our sweet time making our way back to the lodge at Gorak Shep. We came back to a ghost town, all the trekkers had either began their trip to base camp or had headed back down. We packed up our belongings, set the zokyos on their way, and sat down to a small breakfast. It was the usual fare but for some reason seemed extra delicious this morning. Perhaps it could be chocked up to our recent accomplishment, or maybe bodies severely starved of nutrients, it went down easy. We cleaned our plates, it was a long ways down to Lobuche and even further down to get to our ultimate destination, Pheriche.
Oddly enough the descent was like traversing a completely different path than when ascending. Looking backward, or forward as our path was leading us now, provided a view just as beautiful as behind us. It was funny seeing the tips of mountains that only a week ago loomed above us are just beyond our reach now.
We walked and walked and walked some more racking up several miles and hundreds of feet descended. The immediate goal in our minds was lunch, despite a healthy breakfast I could feel the hunger rising up through me. That section of trail was much like the morning’s summit, a struggle mitigated by the humor and good nature of our guides. It was hard not to have your spirits lifted hearing Mr. K sing songs and Nuri smile at you with that genuinely happy expression. We pushed on through the dust and the rocks with the clouds churning above our heads like great big balls of cotton candy.
At last we reached Lobuche. It was a sight for sore eyes (not to mention bodies). To think that we had been here the prior day was a trip, all of the stuff that had occurred since then seemed like it couldn’t have possible fit with the short span of time that we had spent away. Collapsing in the lodge we were treated to lunch, four care packages that Madu had left behind for us. Opening up those peanut butter sandwiches was like receiving the greatest gift one could ever receive. The first bite was ecstasy, as was every one after that. The hardboiled egg was the same, an explosion of flavor on the palate that was too good not to savor. We had a good laugh as Tim curiously opened a little ball of paper included in the sack and sprinkled it on his peanut butter sandwich. Why I don’t know, but it was salt intended for the egg and definitely made his sandwich “special.”
We didn’t have a chance to rest too long as there was still a ways to go before we reached camp. In fact, it was approximately equivalent to what we had trekked in a single day before, so to condense a similar trek into an afternoon was a testament to our willpower to get down.
The clouds had whipped themselves into a little bit of a frenzy and had become black and swollen with precipitation. Through that afternoon it grew steadily worse and we spent the first part of it walking through intermittent areas of fog and drizzle.
And down we went. Past the memorials and past the place where we had eaten lunch and been bright eyed not two days ago. It was a slightly more somber event this time around and we all took on a pace of our own, spreading out between the guides and getting some much needed alone time. I took that time to reflect on the experience. It was overwhelming to think of the generosity and sacrifice that many folks were making on our behalves to put me where I was standing today.
I guess it was fitting that the stormy clouds had finally descended and enveloped us in their shroud. The first drops of precipitation began to fall, rain at first, then sleet, then small bits of hail. Through it all we pushed ahead, our bodies telling us to stop but our minds telling us to go.
The storm clouds were dense and provided limited visibility, often blocking our views more than several hundred yards ahead of us and making the journey seem endless. The milky fog swirled around us and for an instant lifted, providing a view towards the summit of Ama Dablam. It was like a window cut perfect out of the clouds, accentuating the shape of the knife ridge and making nothing by the mountain itself visible. A departing gift.
The village sneaked up on us from out of the haze, a safe haven from the hail and snow that engulfed our tiny group. Heading into the main lodge we dropped our packs and headed for the stove in the middle only stopping when we realized that we had found the rest of our group. Paul had soldiered back from the dead and met us as far up as he had the time and energy to do, and Nicky and Deborah had managed to make their way down as well. We exchanged trail stories marveling at each other’s accomplishments.
The afternoon Paul was sent down he was ordered to try and get some rest, to eat up and refuel his body to meet us the next day. Unfortunately, things don’t go as planned. While trying to force some food down, including garlic soup to help with the altitude, he developed a case of food poisoning. His theory was that it was due to the water used to make the soup; he had a sneaking suspicion that it was not properly treated before preparation. He still managed to eat it all given that the ultimatum was finish your food or don’t continue on. Desperately wanting to continue he gulped it down and spent the next few days fighting the resulting dehydration and gastrointestinal issues. He was finally able to convince them that he was good enough (even though he wasn’t) to push on. He did his damndest but in the end only had the time to meet up with us in Pheriche. No matter, it was a pleasure to meet up with him again.
Nicky and Deborah had their struggles too that morning as they descended from Gorak Shep. Nicky was still spent from the day before and stumbled his way along for a while before it was clear he wasn’t going to be making much progress by himself. They were forced to hire a horse. Deborah fared better as the cold did not entirely impede her ability to trek; it just served as a minor inconvenience.
After dropping my last 80 bucks (Nepali dollars) for 4 minutes of internet, we sat down and ate dinner. Tomorrow we would descend quite a bit more, and this time, it would be as a whole again.
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Tuesday March 27, 2012 – Pheriche to Deboche
The night in the lodge had done a bundle of good for my body as I woke up feeling refreshed and ready to hit the trails. We went through the usual routine of packing up our gear while sipping hot tea as we prepared for the day. Assembling in dining hall it was a sight for sore eyes to see the whole group together again, laughing and joking as if we had never been separated. Everyone was pretty relaxed, compared to the last few days today’s trek would be pretty easy.
It was only then that we learned about a tragedy that had unfolded only a short time before we had arrived at base camp. A Polish guide and his girlfriend had taken a group of trekkers up to Base Camp only a week earlier with disastrous consequences. He ascended too fast and had not given his body a chance to properly acclimate before pushing forward. After a brief stay at Gorak Shep he was transported down, unable to carry himself under his own power. He succumbed to the sickness and was the first death of 2012, a sad reminder that your life can cease to exist at any moment.
After breakfast we stopped at the Himalayan Mountain Rescue Clinic for a tour to admire the work that they do. For many of the local villagers it is the only source of healthcare that is readily accessible and cheap enough that it is not prohibitive. The costs are subsidized by the fees paid by the climbers and trekkers who receive treatment every year for routine and life threatening afflictions. The clinic is staffed by volunteers who come in every year to donate their time to a great cause.
Just outside the clinic was the official memorial recording the death toll for all those who have perished attempting to climb Mount Everest. It was a queer sight, a polished silver cone split down the middle with a register of names on there, a true look into the international appeal of the tallest mountain in the world. Death on Everest is fairly regular, most years featured at least one if not more, with 1996 being the most tragic year the mountain has seen. I took a moment to read through all those names marveling at the diverse crowd represented and wondering if it was worth it.
The morning air was crisp and the views beautiful. Last night’s snow/sleet had left a shimmering sheet of glass on the ground that sparkled like diamonds as the rising sun illuminated it. We drank it all in, in a matter of hours this would all cease to exist.
We traversed the Pheriche valley as a team, making sure to keep a more relaxed pace as to not tax the individuals who were still feeling the effects of our high altitude soirée. We stopped a few times along the way to indulge Paul’s wishes, afterall, he was there to video document our journey and it was the least we could do. For someone who is curious, if not passionate about photo/video it was pretty damn cool to see him work. During the trek I had the pleasure of conversing with him about art and his philosophy behind his creations. Everyone’s path and outlook on their creations is different and understanding the motivations behind their artistic eye goes a ways towards understanding that person. It was enlightening and helped to pass the time on the trail.
Personally, it was slightly sombering trekking back down; to see the mountains that were once your only focus now retreating behind you as we made our way back towards Lukla and eventually our lives that had been put on hold created a mix of internal emotions. On one hand we had experienced something incredible, something I will forever be grateful to the gracious people I met along the way as well as the generosity of a company to which I had ceased to become just another customer. On the other hand I was admittedly homesick. Not so much for the luxuries we are afforded but because of my girlfriend. This was the longest we had ever been separated and while leaving was difficult, staying away was even harder. The novelty of being a bachelor had worn off long ago.
I looked back before we dropped out of the Pheriche valley as a farewell to the place that had been our home for the night.
Just as our journey was coming to its eventual end we were always getting reminders that for some it had only begun. Trains of yaks and porters regularly relegated us to the side of the trail as they passed by carrying staggering loads. These folks were base camp bound, the human supply chain through which the mountaineering community stays alive.
The descent in itself held a few marvels. Although we were only up there a short time it was clear that spring had arrived. Although it wouldn’t be until we had descended several thousand feet more that the transformation was dramatic, up here the air was different. It held the promise of warmer temperatures and the severing of the stronghold of winter.
That days trek was fairly uneventful, well, at least as uneventful as trekking through the Himalayas can be. Our path deviated from our ascent as we crossed the river on our way towards the Tengboche monastery, the largest in the Khumbu region.
As the clock rolled past noon and that day’s lunch had been consumed, an angry army of clouds rolled in threatening to unleash their torrents upon us. We pulled into camp, had a chance to take baby wipe baths and change before the mists came. Nothing heavy mind you, just enough to lend scraggly rhododendron forests an eerie look.
Gathered around the stove in the lodge we killed a few hours talking and writing in our journals. Before we knew it dinner was upon us and little did we know that a treat was in store. I think Thupten had been quietly listening to our fantasizing over big juicy steaks the whole time as we were treated to one that night, a sizzling yak steak on our plate, the first piece of meat we had eaten in days and a welcome sight. Each bite was like a swallow of ambrosia. I had all I could do to keep the drooling under control as I devoured it, savoring every bite. To tell you the truth, I remember little else about that meal other than that tasty, succulent piece of meat.
After a few raucous rounds of dumbal I was ready for bed. Sadly, I cradled my hot water bottle like it was my most precious possession as this would be the last night we would get them. I drifted off to sleep knowing that tomorrow brought promises of greatness.
The night in the lodge had done a bundle of good for my body as I woke up feeling refreshed and ready to hit the trails. We went through the usual routine of packing up our gear while sipping hot tea as we prepared for the day. Assembling in dining hall it was a sight for sore eyes to see the whole group together again, laughing and joking as if we had never been separated. Everyone was pretty relaxed, compared to the last few days today’s trek would be pretty easy.
It was only then that we learned about a tragedy that had unfolded only a short time before we had arrived at base camp. A Polish guide and his girlfriend had taken a group of trekkers up to Base Camp only a week earlier with disastrous consequences. He ascended too fast and had not given his body a chance to properly acclimate before pushing forward. After a brief stay at Gorak Shep he was transported down, unable to carry himself under his own power. He succumbed to the sickness and was the first death of 2012, a sad reminder that your life can cease to exist at any moment.
After breakfast we stopped at the Himalayan Mountain Rescue Clinic for a tour to admire the work that they do. For many of the local villagers it is the only source of healthcare that is readily accessible and cheap enough that it is not prohibitive. The costs are subsidized by the fees paid by the climbers and trekkers who receive treatment every year for routine and life threatening afflictions. The clinic is staffed by volunteers who come in every year to donate their time to a great cause.
Just outside the clinic was the official memorial recording the death toll for all those who have perished attempting to climb Mount Everest. It was a queer sight, a polished silver cone split down the middle with a register of names on there, a true look into the international appeal of the tallest mountain in the world. Death on Everest is fairly regular, most years featured at least one if not more, with 1996 being the most tragic year the mountain has seen. I took a moment to read through all those names marveling at the diverse crowd represented and wondering if it was worth it.
The morning air was crisp and the views beautiful. Last night’s snow/sleet had left a shimmering sheet of glass on the ground that sparkled like diamonds as the rising sun illuminated it. We drank it all in, in a matter of hours this would all cease to exist.
We traversed the Pheriche valley as a team, making sure to keep a more relaxed pace as to not tax the individuals who were still feeling the effects of our high altitude soirée. We stopped a few times along the way to indulge Paul’s wishes, afterall, he was there to video document our journey and it was the least we could do. For someone who is curious, if not passionate about photo/video it was pretty damn cool to see him work. During the trek I had the pleasure of conversing with him about art and his philosophy behind his creations. Everyone’s path and outlook on their creations is different and understanding the motivations behind their artistic eye goes a ways towards understanding that person. It was enlightening and helped to pass the time on the trail.
Personally, it was slightly sombering trekking back down; to see the mountains that were once your only focus now retreating behind you as we made our way back towards Lukla and eventually our lives that had been put on hold created a mix of internal emotions. On one hand we had experienced something incredible, something I will forever be grateful to the gracious people I met along the way as well as the generosity of a company to which I had ceased to become just another customer. On the other hand I was admittedly homesick. Not so much for the luxuries we are afforded but because of my girlfriend. This was the longest we had ever been separated and while leaving was difficult, staying away was even harder. The novelty of being a bachelor had worn off long ago.
I looked back before we dropped out of the Pheriche valley as a farewell to the place that had been our home for the night.
Just as our journey was coming to its eventual end we were always getting reminders that for some it had only begun. Trains of yaks and porters regularly relegated us to the side of the trail as they passed by carrying staggering loads. These folks were base camp bound, the human supply chain through which the mountaineering community stays alive.
The descent in itself held a few marvels. Although we were only up there a short time it was clear that spring had arrived. Although it wouldn’t be until we had descended several thousand feet more that the transformation was dramatic, up here the air was different. It held the promise of warmer temperatures and the severing of the stronghold of winter.
That days trek was fairly uneventful, well, at least as uneventful as trekking through the Himalayas can be. Our path deviated from our ascent as we crossed the river on our way towards the Tengboche monastery, the largest in the Khumbu region.
As the clock rolled past noon and that day’s lunch had been consumed, an angry army of clouds rolled in threatening to unleash their torrents upon us. We pulled into camp, had a chance to take baby wipe baths and change before the mists came. Nothing heavy mind you, just enough to lend scraggly rhododendron forests an eerie look.
Gathered around the stove in the lodge we killed a few hours talking and writing in our journals. Before we knew it dinner was upon us and little did we know that a treat was in store. I think Thupten had been quietly listening to our fantasizing over big juicy steaks the whole time as we were treated to one that night, a sizzling yak steak on our plate, the first piece of meat we had eaten in days and a welcome sight. Each bite was like a swallow of ambrosia. I had all I could do to keep the drooling under control as I devoured it, savoring every bite. To tell you the truth, I remember little else about that meal other than that tasty, succulent piece of meat.
After a few raucous rounds of dumbal I was ready for bed. Sadly, I cradled my hot water bottle like it was my most precious possession as this would be the last night we would get them. I drifted off to sleep knowing that tomorrow brought promises of greatness.
amazing pictures. l like wal-mart
And the rest of the story................
As you ask!
Wednesday March 28, 2012 - Deboche to Namchee Bazaar
After waking up this morning I was pretty convinced that the Himalayas do not have bad sunrises. Seriously. I don't think a single morning that we woke up wasn't sunny with the morning clouds burning off in a dramatic fashion. This one was no different and we caught some of our last peeks of the big mountains today as we trekked further downhill into the much more lung friendly air. The itinerary called for 5-6 miles of trekking today that was "Sherpa flat" as they called it. Translation: Your ultimate destination is approximately the same elevation as the beginning, however, in between things get wild.
Nothing spectacular happened at breakfast, we all fueled up for the day with our newfound appetites. Oh yea, did I mention that mine had come back in spectacular fashion? The lower elevations certainly helped, although I could no longer stomach the peanut butter melted in oatmeal like I could before. Even thinking about it now 4 months after the fact makes my stomach churn.
We finished up breakfast and looked out the window with glee as the zokyo master did his best to round up the fiesty beasts. And fiesty they were this morning, intent on fighting every direction he gave as well as each other. Then something funny happened. They started to go a little bonkers. The closest word I have to describe their behavior is a frenzy. Stomping their feet, running around. Finally they broke loose as the faint *thump thump* that had once been a distant helicopter flew right over the lodge. When I say right over I mean right over, they were landing in the spot that not 15 minutes ago our tents stood. As they zokyos headed for the hills, the helicopter touched down, its rotor wash scattering our belongings. Across the field an elderly Japanese man was escorted out of their lodge and placed in the helicopter. Within 5 minutes it was off to lower elevations.
Even though I help design the engines on these birds for a living, it never ceases to amaze me seeing one in action. It really gives perspective how critical they are in environments like that when on an every day basis us paper pushers have no idea.
We all dispersed like our belongings in the wind and gathered 5 minutes later for the trek uphill to the Tengboche monastery. The Tengboche monastery had special significance to one member of our group in particular, the trip leader Thupten. He had served there for over 10 years as a monk before leaving due to unforseen circumstances. While he manages to pass through here several times per year as part of these treks, it is always emotional to come back to the place he once called home.
To get there no was no easy task. We began that mornings trek with a brutal uphill climb through the forest. Despite the claims that things get a little bit easier on the body as the air gets more oxygen rich, I was still huffing and puffing my way around. Perhaps the fact that we were still over 12,000' had something to do with it. After a fair amount of hiking the path leveled out and we broke out of the forest into the small village of Tengboche.
As the trees faded and our views once again became unobstructed the mornings beauty revealed itself. Clouds clouds clouds, in dramatic fashion, highlighting the tips of the snowy peaks like little fluffy hats.
The monastery itself was a spectacular sight. Clearly the center piece of the village, its massive arch framed the picturesque entrance. The Nepali's mastery of wood carving and painting was on display as dragons and faces adored all surfaces. We stopped for a bit to shed some layers as the sun was peaking over the mountains, shining its rejuvenating (and really hot) beams on us. After dropping our packs we descended into the interior of the monastery itself, taking care not to be disrespectful in this place of holiness. Thupten naturally acted as our negotiator and was able to get them to open the place up for us to visit. Normally reserved for the monks, we were venturing into the prayer room where they spend a great deal of their time. We hit a little snag however with Paul. Given Thupten's past as a monk here, filming the interior was crucial to telling the story. Large cameras are not allowed on the monastery. After some quick negotiation, they two parties decided upon a price that was mutually agreeable and things were back on track. We marveled at the inside, the rows of benches with the carefully placed cloaks and teapots. While worshipping the monks do not wear clothing other than their ceremonial robe. In the winter months they hunker down under these cloaks and constantly sip tea to keep warm. How they do it I have no idea, with as hot as it was outside it must have been close to 45 degrees in that building. I can only imagine how cold it gets during the winter.
We had free reign of the place for a bit and took advantage of the opportunity to drink in the sights, smells, and textures of the place.
And the man at the center of it all, Buddha himself.
They were kind enough to bestow upon us rope necklaces intended to promote prosperity and long life. In ceremonial fashion, we bowed before the monks who would tie it around our necks, taking time to thank them for their good wishes. Afterward we all sat outside drinking an incredible blend of tea. One thing is for certain, Nepali's love their tea hot and sugary.
We donned our boots once more (we did have to take them off before going inside of course) and hit the trail. There was still a long horizontal distance, and an even greater vertical distance, to go before we got to Namchee. The trail started down, and down some more, and it kept going down in fact. Through the dust and dirt and clouds kicked up by exhausted zokyos we descended over 2000' feet to the river below.
As everyone familiar with the laws of hiking knows, what goes down must come up. And come up we did, paying a hefty price for descending the prior few hours. The trail continued up at a surprisingly steep grade, turning conversations into a series of sputters amongst heaving chests. Despite this we may pretty good time, the previous few weeks of trekking was good practice.
Making our way into a small village we stopped to eat lunch. As always, delicious. Scrumptious. Exactly what the doctor ordered. However you want to describe it, each meal from then on out was like a little taste of heaven. I wolfed mine down and was ready to hit the trail again. Namchee represented a new world of opportunity, a place where dreams come true, a world with candy bars.
We continued on the way, across rickety bridges and up the hillside. As the hours melted away, the afternoon clouds rolled over the mountain tops and began their descent.
Before long we found ourselves in the same hazy fog as with almost every afternoon below 15,000' feet and soon enough, the path once again became familiar as we re-traced our footsteps back into Namchee. What a welcome sight its bright roof tops were. Apparently we all had similar thoughts on our minds as the packs came off and people started disappearing into the village. I was at least decent enough to take a baby wipe shower before making a public appearance. My hair was a ball of grease and digusting, but hey, its the little things that count right?
The village brought a whole new set of possibilities and we made sure to take advantage of it. I changed over some more money and used my newfound wealth to hit up the internet cafe to send an update back home. That completed, I descended into the myriad of stores in search of souveniers and chocolatey goodness stuffed with caramel, peanuts, and a fluffy nougat. Before I knew it four candy bar wrappers were in my pocket and I had 0 motivation to eat dinner. Quite alright with me. I eventually made my way back to the lodge to swap stories about our day on the town. Everyone else had done much the same except for Tim and Nicky who went to the bar.
Dinner came and went and as the evening's round of dumbal winded down I had the chance to reflect on the journey. The inevitable end was approaching, we had but two days left in the trek before flying back to Kathmandu and the real world. I snuggled into my sleeping bag, clutching the hot water bottles tightly, before drifting off to sleep...
Wednesday March 28, 2012 - Deboche to Namchee Bazaar
After waking up this morning I was pretty convinced that the Himalayas do not have bad sunrises. Seriously. I don't think a single morning that we woke up wasn't sunny with the morning clouds burning off in a dramatic fashion. This one was no different and we caught some of our last peeks of the big mountains today as we trekked further downhill into the much more lung friendly air. The itinerary called for 5-6 miles of trekking today that was "Sherpa flat" as they called it. Translation: Your ultimate destination is approximately the same elevation as the beginning, however, in between things get wild.
Nothing spectacular happened at breakfast, we all fueled up for the day with our newfound appetites. Oh yea, did I mention that mine had come back in spectacular fashion? The lower elevations certainly helped, although I could no longer stomach the peanut butter melted in oatmeal like I could before. Even thinking about it now 4 months after the fact makes my stomach churn.
We finished up breakfast and looked out the window with glee as the zokyo master did his best to round up the fiesty beasts. And fiesty they were this morning, intent on fighting every direction he gave as well as each other. Then something funny happened. They started to go a little bonkers. The closest word I have to describe their behavior is a frenzy. Stomping their feet, running around. Finally they broke loose as the faint *thump thump* that had once been a distant helicopter flew right over the lodge. When I say right over I mean right over, they were landing in the spot that not 15 minutes ago our tents stood. As they zokyos headed for the hills, the helicopter touched down, its rotor wash scattering our belongings. Across the field an elderly Japanese man was escorted out of their lodge and placed in the helicopter. Within 5 minutes it was off to lower elevations.
Even though I help design the engines on these birds for a living, it never ceases to amaze me seeing one in action. It really gives perspective how critical they are in environments like that when on an every day basis us paper pushers have no idea.
We all dispersed like our belongings in the wind and gathered 5 minutes later for the trek uphill to the Tengboche monastery. The Tengboche monastery had special significance to one member of our group in particular, the trip leader Thupten. He had served there for over 10 years as a monk before leaving due to unforseen circumstances. While he manages to pass through here several times per year as part of these treks, it is always emotional to come back to the place he once called home.
To get there no was no easy task. We began that mornings trek with a brutal uphill climb through the forest. Despite the claims that things get a little bit easier on the body as the air gets more oxygen rich, I was still huffing and puffing my way around. Perhaps the fact that we were still over 12,000' had something to do with it. After a fair amount of hiking the path leveled out and we broke out of the forest into the small village of Tengboche.
As the trees faded and our views once again became unobstructed the mornings beauty revealed itself. Clouds clouds clouds, in dramatic fashion, highlighting the tips of the snowy peaks like little fluffy hats.
The monastery itself was a spectacular sight. Clearly the center piece of the village, its massive arch framed the picturesque entrance. The Nepali's mastery of wood carving and painting was on display as dragons and faces adored all surfaces. We stopped for a bit to shed some layers as the sun was peaking over the mountains, shining its rejuvenating (and really hot) beams on us. After dropping our packs we descended into the interior of the monastery itself, taking care not to be disrespectful in this place of holiness. Thupten naturally acted as our negotiator and was able to get them to open the place up for us to visit. Normally reserved for the monks, we were venturing into the prayer room where they spend a great deal of their time. We hit a little snag however with Paul. Given Thupten's past as a monk here, filming the interior was crucial to telling the story. Large cameras are not allowed on the monastery. After some quick negotiation, they two parties decided upon a price that was mutually agreeable and things were back on track. We marveled at the inside, the rows of benches with the carefully placed cloaks and teapots. While worshipping the monks do not wear clothing other than their ceremonial robe. In the winter months they hunker down under these cloaks and constantly sip tea to keep warm. How they do it I have no idea, with as hot as it was outside it must have been close to 45 degrees in that building. I can only imagine how cold it gets during the winter.
We had free reign of the place for a bit and took advantage of the opportunity to drink in the sights, smells, and textures of the place.
And the man at the center of it all, Buddha himself.
They were kind enough to bestow upon us rope necklaces intended to promote prosperity and long life. In ceremonial fashion, we bowed before the monks who would tie it around our necks, taking time to thank them for their good wishes. Afterward we all sat outside drinking an incredible blend of tea. One thing is for certain, Nepali's love their tea hot and sugary.
We donned our boots once more (we did have to take them off before going inside of course) and hit the trail. There was still a long horizontal distance, and an even greater vertical distance, to go before we got to Namchee. The trail started down, and down some more, and it kept going down in fact. Through the dust and dirt and clouds kicked up by exhausted zokyos we descended over 2000' feet to the river below.
As everyone familiar with the laws of hiking knows, what goes down must come up. And come up we did, paying a hefty price for descending the prior few hours. The trail continued up at a surprisingly steep grade, turning conversations into a series of sputters amongst heaving chests. Despite this we may pretty good time, the previous few weeks of trekking was good practice.
Making our way into a small village we stopped to eat lunch. As always, delicious. Scrumptious. Exactly what the doctor ordered. However you want to describe it, each meal from then on out was like a little taste of heaven. I wolfed mine down and was ready to hit the trail again. Namchee represented a new world of opportunity, a place where dreams come true, a world with candy bars.
We continued on the way, across rickety bridges and up the hillside. As the hours melted away, the afternoon clouds rolled over the mountain tops and began their descent.
Before long we found ourselves in the same hazy fog as with almost every afternoon below 15,000' feet and soon enough, the path once again became familiar as we re-traced our footsteps back into Namchee. What a welcome sight its bright roof tops were. Apparently we all had similar thoughts on our minds as the packs came off and people started disappearing into the village. I was at least decent enough to take a baby wipe shower before making a public appearance. My hair was a ball of grease and digusting, but hey, its the little things that count right?
The village brought a whole new set of possibilities and we made sure to take advantage of it. I changed over some more money and used my newfound wealth to hit up the internet cafe to send an update back home. That completed, I descended into the myriad of stores in search of souveniers and chocolatey goodness stuffed with caramel, peanuts, and a fluffy nougat. Before I knew it four candy bar wrappers were in my pocket and I had 0 motivation to eat dinner. Quite alright with me. I eventually made my way back to the lodge to swap stories about our day on the town. Everyone else had done much the same except for Tim and Nicky who went to the bar.
Dinner came and went and as the evening's round of dumbal winded down I had the chance to reflect on the journey. The inevitable end was approaching, we had but two days left in the trek before flying back to Kathmandu and the real world. I snuggled into my sleeping bag, clutching the hot water bottles tightly, before drifting off to sleep...
The next installment!
Thursday March 29, 2012 – Namche Bazaar to Phak Ding
I awoke to yet another picture perfect sunrise. The warmer temperatures and the (supposed) abundance of oxygen did the body good. I had slept well, helping to erase some of the prior aches and pains I had acquired along the way. On the agenda was another long day on the trail, descending quite a few feet and spending the night at Phak Ding. It would be interesting to see how things changed in the couple of weeks since we had spent our first night there.
I packed up my gear and hustled down through the lodge, I had some time to burn before breakfast was served and I wanted to make sure I had time to take care of some necessaries in the village. Another visit to the internet café was interrupted by a power outage that left Tim and I to wander the streets. It was a funny scene, the early morning brought the animals into the streets and I got to witness a parade of zokyos walking through main street. There were dogs and horses and men and children milling about, making for an interesting scene.
I did take a second to appreciate Nepali innovation, nothing like strapping a cut out soccer ball to the head of a horse to take the place of a trough.
With the return of the power I made my way back to my favorite internet café and fired off a quick email to loved ones, paid the bill, and headed back up the rickety makeshift hill/staircase to join my fellow trekkers at breakfast.
What a glorious thing the return of an appetite can be. It’s like I was eating for the first time. I savored every bite, the texture, the tastes. The food was no longer just a means to an end, a necessary activity to fuel my body for the strenuous days. It was a pleasure. I gobbled down my breakfast, donned my pack, and headed down the path out of Namche. Someone must have been smiling down on me as I was granted a last visual token to remind me of the days I spent here.
As we rounded the corner and the *tink tink* of the stone masons hammers faded, I could only smile on the time I had spent there. It was a time of great reflection, the kind that one does not usually get during our every day, hectic lives.
The descent was a dry and dusty one. The several weeks without rain had turned the trail into a powder beach and it puffed up with every step. With Buffs over our faces, we put one foot in front of another, marveling at how the trail could keep going down and down and down. To think we had climbed up all of this was amusing in itself, if only the people we passed hiking up knew what they were in for. Time and conversation floated amongst our group, our spirits were up and there was no reason not to love life on this day.
We pulled over at the same stopping point we had rested up on the way up and peeked through the trees to see our last looks at Everest. After this point it would slide below the horizon and become only a memory. With a small nod goodbye, I turned around and continued down, taking a mental picture of that image to add to a photo album jam packed with all that I had seen and done in the past 2 weeks.
Soon enough we traversed the Hillary bridge, laughing about how it didn’t seem very intimidating after some of the bridge we had crossed on the way up. I dare say that I had found my bridge legs, no longer did a sway or bounce stir the butterflies in my stomach.
Getting to the bottom of the bridge footing, we pulled over to the side to strip off a few layers. It had gotten noticeably warmer since we first started, a testament to the spring that had arrived while we were away. Ellen, Tim and I had a good laugh at the expense of a couple walking by. Judging by their facial expressions and frenzied conversation, they had obviously had some sort of disagreement. It was followed by them both storming off not saying a word to each other.
There is little I can say about the trek the rest of that day. We saw increasing signs of life that had sprouted, green farmers fields, blossoming flowers, birds chirping. Everything was the same yet seemed a little bit different coming the other direction. Perhaps it was the sense of accomplishment, we were no longer the bright faced trail rookies making their way up in droves, but the grizzled veterans who had been there and done that. Either way, I did what I could to socialize with our Sherpas, we only had one more day left with most of them before we left to head back to the city.
After a break for lunch we noticed the first puffs of smoke signaling a raging forest fire in its infancy. Growing exponentially the flames licked at the dry trees. I was glad that we were on the other side of the river, and fortunately for most of the nearby residents, they were too. We all marveled for a little bit before continuing on our way. The little villages went by in a blur, as did the great arch signifying the entrance to Sagamartha National Park, the official entrance to the Khumbu region.
We arrived at Phak Ding mid-afternoon, just in time to see the clouds roll in and treat us to a little light show at the expense of the sun.
The rest of the afternoon was fairly uneventful; we just milled about for the most part relaxing and washing any clothes. Why I don’t know, they had spent the past two weeks drenched in dust and sweat, a little bit of water wasn’t going to do a whole lot. The lodge we were staying next to had obviously been hard at work while we were away, no longer was the hole in the ground toilet there, in its place was a real porcelain throne. The humorous part is that it was set so low to the ground that even as short as I was, my knees were up at head level. We all had a good laugh about that one.
As a celebration before the celebration, Paul, Ellen, Tim, Nicky, and myself headed into the lodge next door to grab a frosty Everest beer. It was surprisingly desolate in there and we all enjoyed each other’s company for those few minutes. It is amazing how the world fades away when life is devoid of responsibility and we are only left to live in the moment.
Dinner came, went, and soon enough it was time to crawl into our sleeping bags. This would be our last night in the tents; tomorrow night had real beds at the lodge. Real bed or not, there was no way to avoid the fatigue that would roll over my body like a steamroller. I can’t recall how the contest was coming along, but it was safe to say that Tim and I were out like lights in a few minutes. The next day would bring our last trail miles and with it a glorious end to our Himalayan adventure.
Thursday March 29, 2012 – Namche Bazaar to Phak Ding
I awoke to yet another picture perfect sunrise. The warmer temperatures and the (supposed) abundance of oxygen did the body good. I had slept well, helping to erase some of the prior aches and pains I had acquired along the way. On the agenda was another long day on the trail, descending quite a few feet and spending the night at Phak Ding. It would be interesting to see how things changed in the couple of weeks since we had spent our first night there.
I packed up my gear and hustled down through the lodge, I had some time to burn before breakfast was served and I wanted to make sure I had time to take care of some necessaries in the village. Another visit to the internet café was interrupted by a power outage that left Tim and I to wander the streets. It was a funny scene, the early morning brought the animals into the streets and I got to witness a parade of zokyos walking through main street. There were dogs and horses and men and children milling about, making for an interesting scene.
I did take a second to appreciate Nepali innovation, nothing like strapping a cut out soccer ball to the head of a horse to take the place of a trough.
With the return of the power I made my way back to my favorite internet café and fired off a quick email to loved ones, paid the bill, and headed back up the rickety makeshift hill/staircase to join my fellow trekkers at breakfast.
What a glorious thing the return of an appetite can be. It’s like I was eating for the first time. I savored every bite, the texture, the tastes. The food was no longer just a means to an end, a necessary activity to fuel my body for the strenuous days. It was a pleasure. I gobbled down my breakfast, donned my pack, and headed down the path out of Namche. Someone must have been smiling down on me as I was granted a last visual token to remind me of the days I spent here.
As we rounded the corner and the *tink tink* of the stone masons hammers faded, I could only smile on the time I had spent there. It was a time of great reflection, the kind that one does not usually get during our every day, hectic lives.
The descent was a dry and dusty one. The several weeks without rain had turned the trail into a powder beach and it puffed up with every step. With Buffs over our faces, we put one foot in front of another, marveling at how the trail could keep going down and down and down. To think we had climbed up all of this was amusing in itself, if only the people we passed hiking up knew what they were in for. Time and conversation floated amongst our group, our spirits were up and there was no reason not to love life on this day.
We pulled over at the same stopping point we had rested up on the way up and peeked through the trees to see our last looks at Everest. After this point it would slide below the horizon and become only a memory. With a small nod goodbye, I turned around and continued down, taking a mental picture of that image to add to a photo album jam packed with all that I had seen and done in the past 2 weeks.
Soon enough we traversed the Hillary bridge, laughing about how it didn’t seem very intimidating after some of the bridge we had crossed on the way up. I dare say that I had found my bridge legs, no longer did a sway or bounce stir the butterflies in my stomach.
Getting to the bottom of the bridge footing, we pulled over to the side to strip off a few layers. It had gotten noticeably warmer since we first started, a testament to the spring that had arrived while we were away. Ellen, Tim and I had a good laugh at the expense of a couple walking by. Judging by their facial expressions and frenzied conversation, they had obviously had some sort of disagreement. It was followed by them both storming off not saying a word to each other.
There is little I can say about the trek the rest of that day. We saw increasing signs of life that had sprouted, green farmers fields, blossoming flowers, birds chirping. Everything was the same yet seemed a little bit different coming the other direction. Perhaps it was the sense of accomplishment, we were no longer the bright faced trail rookies making their way up in droves, but the grizzled veterans who had been there and done that. Either way, I did what I could to socialize with our Sherpas, we only had one more day left with most of them before we left to head back to the city.
After a break for lunch we noticed the first puffs of smoke signaling a raging forest fire in its infancy. Growing exponentially the flames licked at the dry trees. I was glad that we were on the other side of the river, and fortunately for most of the nearby residents, they were too. We all marveled for a little bit before continuing on our way. The little villages went by in a blur, as did the great arch signifying the entrance to Sagamartha National Park, the official entrance to the Khumbu region.
We arrived at Phak Ding mid-afternoon, just in time to see the clouds roll in and treat us to a little light show at the expense of the sun.
The rest of the afternoon was fairly uneventful; we just milled about for the most part relaxing and washing any clothes. Why I don’t know, they had spent the past two weeks drenched in dust and sweat, a little bit of water wasn’t going to do a whole lot. The lodge we were staying next to had obviously been hard at work while we were away, no longer was the hole in the ground toilet there, in its place was a real porcelain throne. The humorous part is that it was set so low to the ground that even as short as I was, my knees were up at head level. We all had a good laugh about that one.
As a celebration before the celebration, Paul, Ellen, Tim, Nicky, and myself headed into the lodge next door to grab a frosty Everest beer. It was surprisingly desolate in there and we all enjoyed each other’s company for those few minutes. It is amazing how the world fades away when life is devoid of responsibility and we are only left to live in the moment.
Dinner came, went, and soon enough it was time to crawl into our sleeping bags. This would be our last night in the tents; tomorrow night had real beds at the lodge. Real bed or not, there was no way to avoid the fatigue that would roll over my body like a steamroller. I can’t recall how the contest was coming along, but it was safe to say that Tim and I were out like lights in a few minutes. The next day would bring our last trail miles and with it a glorious end to our Himalayan adventure.
Friday March 30, 2012 - Phak Ding to Lukla
As anyone familiar with physics knows, what goes up must come down. Having been to the apex of our journey, there was only one place to go. It was a somber feeling, knowing that we were only a half days trek away from rejoining the real world. The past two weeks had crawled, yet at the same time, they flew by. It is hard to describe the feeling, struggling every day with your ultimate destination not only being visible, but the only landmarks you had to figure out where it was seemingly never moving. And then, one blink of the eyes and we were at base camp, high fiving and marveling that a bunch of low landers had managed to find our way up here.
And so it went for that half day trek back to Lukla. Sometimes, we have to put down the camera. To stop living life from behind the lens, taking that opportunity to stop and smell the roses, as cliche as it may be. What wonderful sights we were treated to. The crisp morning air gave way to the mid-day heat, the smell of spring dancing in the air as flowers bloomed and animals frolicked. All that had been brown was now a lush green, a small token from the rain clouds that had eluded us the whole time.
Not being a Godly fellow myself, observing the devotion Nepali people to their respective religions was a sight to behold. One look down the trail was all that was needed for an outsider to see the rocks adorned with religions symbols and totems. But it was more than that, it was the subtle way with which they moved, always to the left of the rocks and flag poles, giving the prayer wheel a quick spin and always preserving reverence towards their Gods. It was understated yet perfectly appropriate. I did not feel left out, if anything, I found myself mimicking our Sherpa guides. While I'm sure most everyone who walks these same steps has a journey of personal discovery, each of ours is different, and so was mine.
Walking that final incline through the arch marking the beginning of our journey was bittersweet. We all took a moment to give our thanks before moving on in a single file line through the village. Being part of the early crowd, there was a much higher volume of traffic heading the other way. We re-traced our steps and ended up at the same lodge that we gathered at the very first day, two weeks ago. Our journey was over.
To say that a celebration was in order is an understatement. Us guys decided to hit the town and visit some of the bars we had scoped by on our first walk through town. Given that the consumption of beer on the way up was discouraged due to the altitude, we had little restrictions now. We hit up the first of three bars in town, little more than a counter in the basement of a coffee shop where a 14 year old girl poured us a few beers. We each had a pint or two and played pool on a rickety table with curved cues and had a ball the whole time. We left after that, after all, no bar crawl would be complete without visiting the the other two bars.
Next door we found this little gem.
The neon lights added a sweet ambiance to the place. Once again, a pint and some pool was all that we stayed for. The bartender was kind enough to lend us a Sharpie so we could scrawl our names on the ceiling. So, if you are ever in Lukla and find yourself in the one Irish bar in town, head over to the pool table and take a look up, you'll see my name.
I won't bore you with the details, but after a stop at bar three, then a move back to bar two, we were pretty drunk. We even grabbed a couple of the kitchen boys and a Sherpa who were out looking for us and convinced them to have a beer with us. Thorously liquored up, we stumbled our way back to the lodge, miraculously never falling the whole way despite a steep downhill littered with loose rock. It was a drunken feat of dexterity.
One delicious dinner later, in which I decided to eat the traditional Nepali way, with my hands, and I was pretty stuffed. Of course it was time for drinking and celebration to follow including a nearly all male dance party. After sampling two Nepali liquors, one served out of an anti-freeze bottle and the other a gas can, we danced around the fireplace to traditional music with drums and clapping. It was like a flash back to college, a 20 person party with 3 chicks. No matter, I danced my hammered tail off for a while before getting the sleepies. It was time to get to bed, we had to be up early the next morning to catch the next flight out. One pre-bed candy bar later and I was snuggled into my sleeping bag...on the bed, and ready for sleep. It felt funny to sleep in a real bed again, and with the assistance of the beer, I was asleep in no more than a minute. Back to the real world.
As anyone familiar with physics knows, what goes up must come down. Having been to the apex of our journey, there was only one place to go. It was a somber feeling, knowing that we were only a half days trek away from rejoining the real world. The past two weeks had crawled, yet at the same time, they flew by. It is hard to describe the feeling, struggling every day with your ultimate destination not only being visible, but the only landmarks you had to figure out where it was seemingly never moving. And then, one blink of the eyes and we were at base camp, high fiving and marveling that a bunch of low landers had managed to find our way up here.
And so it went for that half day trek back to Lukla. Sometimes, we have to put down the camera. To stop living life from behind the lens, taking that opportunity to stop and smell the roses, as cliche as it may be. What wonderful sights we were treated to. The crisp morning air gave way to the mid-day heat, the smell of spring dancing in the air as flowers bloomed and animals frolicked. All that had been brown was now a lush green, a small token from the rain clouds that had eluded us the whole time.
Not being a Godly fellow myself, observing the devotion Nepali people to their respective religions was a sight to behold. One look down the trail was all that was needed for an outsider to see the rocks adorned with religions symbols and totems. But it was more than that, it was the subtle way with which they moved, always to the left of the rocks and flag poles, giving the prayer wheel a quick spin and always preserving reverence towards their Gods. It was understated yet perfectly appropriate. I did not feel left out, if anything, I found myself mimicking our Sherpa guides. While I'm sure most everyone who walks these same steps has a journey of personal discovery, each of ours is different, and so was mine.
Walking that final incline through the arch marking the beginning of our journey was bittersweet. We all took a moment to give our thanks before moving on in a single file line through the village. Being part of the early crowd, there was a much higher volume of traffic heading the other way. We re-traced our steps and ended up at the same lodge that we gathered at the very first day, two weeks ago. Our journey was over.
To say that a celebration was in order is an understatement. Us guys decided to hit the town and visit some of the bars we had scoped by on our first walk through town. Given that the consumption of beer on the way up was discouraged due to the altitude, we had little restrictions now. We hit up the first of three bars in town, little more than a counter in the basement of a coffee shop where a 14 year old girl poured us a few beers. We each had a pint or two and played pool on a rickety table with curved cues and had a ball the whole time. We left after that, after all, no bar crawl would be complete without visiting the the other two bars.
Next door we found this little gem.
The neon lights added a sweet ambiance to the place. Once again, a pint and some pool was all that we stayed for. The bartender was kind enough to lend us a Sharpie so we could scrawl our names on the ceiling. So, if you are ever in Lukla and find yourself in the one Irish bar in town, head over to the pool table and take a look up, you'll see my name.
I won't bore you with the details, but after a stop at bar three, then a move back to bar two, we were pretty drunk. We even grabbed a couple of the kitchen boys and a Sherpa who were out looking for us and convinced them to have a beer with us. Thorously liquored up, we stumbled our way back to the lodge, miraculously never falling the whole way despite a steep downhill littered with loose rock. It was a drunken feat of dexterity.
One delicious dinner later, in which I decided to eat the traditional Nepali way, with my hands, and I was pretty stuffed. Of course it was time for drinking and celebration to follow including a nearly all male dance party. After sampling two Nepali liquors, one served out of an anti-freeze bottle and the other a gas can, we danced around the fireplace to traditional music with drums and clapping. It was like a flash back to college, a 20 person party with 3 chicks. No matter, I danced my hammered tail off for a while before getting the sleepies. It was time to get to bed, we had to be up early the next morning to catch the next flight out. One pre-bed candy bar later and I was snuggled into my sleeping bag...on the bed, and ready for sleep. It felt funny to sleep in a real bed again, and with the assistance of the beer, I was asleep in no more than a minute. Back to the real world.
...you have a real talent, you should publish your photos and writings. Very well done! Thanks for sharing!
Thanks! It's comments like yours that keep me continuing. I'd love to get this published, if only I had an in or knew where to submit.
Saturday March 31, 2012 – Lukla to Kathmandu (2 days)
Another day, another early wake up. We quickly packed and had a bite to eat as we were off to the airport to catch an early flight. It was just a short trek up to the terminal where a first come first serve line was forming for each of the airlines. It was humorous going through security; compared to the high tech X-ray terminals found in most large airports security here consisted of a metal detector and someone looking through your bag. After a quick screen, we sat in the waiting area for the planes to arrive. Given how early in the season it was, I was surprised at how many people were flying back. Never the less, it was a short wait before we boarded the creaky aircraft and began taxing down the unique runway. It was slightly unnerving looking through the windshield and seeing the mountain in front of you growing as the aircraft picked up speed. And then we lifted from the ground and were in the sky. The Himalayas appeared out the window and slowly faded as we descended out of the mountains. Civilization, here we come!
We had the pleasure of spending the next few days in Kathmandu, seeing the sights and visiting some of the places we did not have a chance to before the trek. The schedule initially had us staying 3 days in Kathmandu, but for Tim, Jane and I, that was 1 day too long. We hoofed it down to the local airline office and got our flights changed to the following evening. Even at $275 (ouch) it was worth it to get home a day early. Highlights of the short trip included playing frogger in what could only be described as free for all intersections, almost getting hit by a car, and seeing a girl projectile vomit out of a moving van with 15 people in it. Just another day in the city.
The bulk of the two days were spent drinking beer, eating good food, hanging out with new-old friends, and seeing the sights.
We had the opportunity to visit another one of the old cities where we were wowed by the wood and stone carving, a festival where everyone was giving food, the local pot makers, and the crematory. It gave us a great insight into how the locals live, and it appeared to be a humble, yet fulfulling lifestyle.
It all flew by in a blur, and before we knew it, the three of us were packed up and in the courtyard of the hotel exchanging goodbyes with the rest of the crew. I found myself a little choked up; I had spent the past three weeks with these people, sharing our lives and going on one hell of a journey. One dark, bumpy ride later and we were on our way to the airport, off to Doha and then home.
We said goodbye to Jane at Doha and the journey ended just as it began. Tim and I spent the 11 hour layover in the airport lounge and hopped on the flight to DC together. 13 hours later we were back on US soil and making our way through customs. Little scrutiny was paid to us, I have a feeling that the beards and stench validated our trekking to Mount Everest base camp story. We exchanged a hug and a handshake and went our separate ways. I hopped my flight up to Boston, and that was the end of my adventure.
Another day, another early wake up. We quickly packed and had a bite to eat as we were off to the airport to catch an early flight. It was just a short trek up to the terminal where a first come first serve line was forming for each of the airlines. It was humorous going through security; compared to the high tech X-ray terminals found in most large airports security here consisted of a metal detector and someone looking through your bag. After a quick screen, we sat in the waiting area for the planes to arrive. Given how early in the season it was, I was surprised at how many people were flying back. Never the less, it was a short wait before we boarded the creaky aircraft and began taxing down the unique runway. It was slightly unnerving looking through the windshield and seeing the mountain in front of you growing as the aircraft picked up speed. And then we lifted from the ground and were in the sky. The Himalayas appeared out the window and slowly faded as we descended out of the mountains. Civilization, here we come!
We had the pleasure of spending the next few days in Kathmandu, seeing the sights and visiting some of the places we did not have a chance to before the trek. The schedule initially had us staying 3 days in Kathmandu, but for Tim, Jane and I, that was 1 day too long. We hoofed it down to the local airline office and got our flights changed to the following evening. Even at $275 (ouch) it was worth it to get home a day early. Highlights of the short trip included playing frogger in what could only be described as free for all intersections, almost getting hit by a car, and seeing a girl projectile vomit out of a moving van with 15 people in it. Just another day in the city.
The bulk of the two days were spent drinking beer, eating good food, hanging out with new-old friends, and seeing the sights.
We had the opportunity to visit another one of the old cities where we were wowed by the wood and stone carving, a festival where everyone was giving food, the local pot makers, and the crematory. It gave us a great insight into how the locals live, and it appeared to be a humble, yet fulfulling lifestyle.
It all flew by in a blur, and before we knew it, the three of us were packed up and in the courtyard of the hotel exchanging goodbyes with the rest of the crew. I found myself a little choked up; I had spent the past three weeks with these people, sharing our lives and going on one hell of a journey. One dark, bumpy ride later and we were on our way to the airport, off to Doha and then home.
We said goodbye to Jane at Doha and the journey ended just as it began. Tim and I spent the 11 hour layover in the airport lounge and hopped on the flight to DC together. 13 hours later we were back on US soil and making our way through customs. Little scrutiny was paid to us, I have a feeling that the beards and stench validated our trekking to Mount Everest base camp story. We exchanged a hug and a handshake and went our separate ways. I hopped my flight up to Boston, and that was the end of my adventure.