Nar Phu Trek - 2005
Colorful women's necklaces in Kathmandu
In 2005, John Balha and Jim Belanger trekked in the Nar Phu area which had recently opened for trekkers.
“The Grand Adventure”
The 27 day tent trekking adventure (including flight time to and from the States) was put together by my good friends at Crystal Mountain Treks. Jwalant Gurung planned it before moving on to the west coast of the United States to pursue his MBA at the University of Washington. His older sister, Jenny, acted as hostess doing a remarkable job of entertaining us and looking after our every need. Ram Rai, our guide, did an outstanding job of choosing a superb staff to support us. Jim and I believe he is nearly without peer in his ability to look after us and the staff. (Jim had trekked a decade ago with Ram in India).
In December 2002, the Nepali government opened the Nar-Phu region in the north-central portion of the country near the Tibetan boarder to outsiders for the first time. These valleys (a mere 10,000 to 16,000 feet high) have been known as the “lost valleys” since they have been largely untouched by outsiders. We’ll be experiencing cultures as they have existed for thousands of years.
This trek was set up for two paying clients, me and another American, Jim Belanger. We had a support staff of eight including a guide, cook, two kitchen boys and four porters. The support staff looked out for our welfare and every need. We were just along for the adventure of being there.
Jim is a very interesting guy who is smart, widely read, a good fellow, a gracious and amiable companion, and a hell of an adventure junkie. Jim has climbed many of the peaks in South America and East Asia; he was taken hostage by Ecuadorian rebels and escaped; finished a career in intelligence and nuclear security; and sky dives when he can’t otherwise get the adrenalin going. Within minutes of meeting Jim, I also discovered another important bonding point…Jim has two basset hounds. For those that know me and my wife, Ann, they know that we’ve had bassets for decades.
As our date approached to go to Nepal, Iraqi terrorists were doing terrible things with hostages and our State Department issued a travel warning against going to Nepal because of similar concerns about what the local Maoists might do to Americans. Why did I know that Jim would call me and tell me that “it’s OK if I didn’t want to go (he knew by this time that I was a retired Marine officer) citing family welfare etc. Great psychology Jim…of course, I would go!
Of the 27 days, about six are lost to flights and time spent in Kathmandu on either end of the trip. That time is essential to de-compress from the flight and separate from new friends on the other end. The remaining three weeks is “out there” adventure with someone else to cook, do the dishes, and wake you up in the morning…oh, and by the way, carry your really heavy stuff up the sides of the mountains.
The Nar Phu (pronounced phoo) area is in north central Nepal just below the border with Tibet. The plan is to avoid the Maoists by flying from Kathmandu to Pokhara and then further north by helicopter to the main Annapurna circuit landing at a remote airstrip at Hongde.
Once we clear security at Hongde, the plan is to hike with a small staff for several days to Koto where we’ll pick up the other six members of our staff. From there, we’ll drop off the normal tourist track and proceed north towards Tibet through the lost valleys. These trails and their villages have only been open to outsiders in the last couple of years. In this part of the trip, we’ll be remote seeing few other trekkers. We’ll spend a little over a week in the lost valleys leaving by going over the Kang La Pass (17,000 plus feet) and then back onto the main Annapurna trekking trails.
We’ll spend another ten days moving northwest through Manang, a higher Thorung La Pass, down into Muktinath and then on to Kagbeni and finally Jomsom before flying back out to Pokhara.
The monsoons should be over and we’ll hope to see mainly clear days and nights with day time temperatures in the 40’s and 50’s and night time as low as 20 below. Veteran Himalayan climbers and trekkers appreciate that the winds normally come up at mid-morning and can be strong through late afternoon dropping the apparent temperature considerably.
The early portion of the trek will be very alpine at altitudes of 10,000 to 12,000 feet but by the second day of the lost valleys portion of the trek, we’ll begin to consistently gain altitude spending a fair amount of time between 14,000 and 16,000 feet and move through two high passes in excess of 17,000 feet before the adventure is over.
The hand drawn map of the adventure on the following page gives the reader a fair idea of the terrain, distances traveled, and some of the high points of the adventure.
So…with great anticipation for yet another wonderful adventure in Nepal, I finished packing my bags and checking my lists on Sunday night, October 3, 2004 and dropped off to sleep.
October 4, 2004
Monday
The day started out really well with both Matt and Taylor coming into the bedroom before school (each on their own) giving me a hug and letting me know that they loved me and wanted me to be safe. I was surprised and glad.
Headed to the credit union in the Triumph TR8 only to have a hydraulic leak in the clutch master cylinder. Called Ann and AAA and headed out again in a different car. On to the credit union getting $2,600 in cash and travelers checks and also went by Barnes and Noble getting the Da Vinci Code and Tommy Franks’ American Soldier .
Nice lunch at home out by the pool with Ann and then made a trip out to the Base to ensure that had plenty of specialized batteries for cameras etc. When I returned, Ann and I kicked back around 3:00 out by the pool enjoying both the warm, sunny day and a nice glass of wine.
We headed out for the San Diego airport about 5:00 in light traffic. Called my good friend, Roger Olney, on the cell phone about 5:30 to check on how his surgery (had torn his shoulder loose several months before) had gone. Not surprisingly, Roger, the old bull, declared it no big deal and wished me a safe and enjoyable trip.
Arrived at the airport and got an especially passionate kiss from Ann. That small gesture put me in good space and the right frame of mind to enjoy myself.
Was able to take the 6:05 commuter flight to Los Angeles and got talked into checking my bags all the way through to Kathmandu (a decision that I would later regret). Arrived in Los Angeles about 40 minutes later without incident and wandered over to the international terminal via the bus. Just horsed around a while …people watching etc.
Finally, about 8:00 got into the Cathay Pacific line to check in noting how different most of the passengers in line already looked. All went amazingly well including security which I zipped right through and walked out to the gate.
Read the Da Vinci Code for about an hour when Jim Belanger (French pronounced Be-longe-aye) wandered into the terminal. We had exchanged pictures by email and both recognized each other right away.
We boarded the flight around mid-night and enjoyed an uneventful flight to Hong Kong. Watched Fahrenheit 911, drank some wine, snoozed some and next thing I knew, Hong Kong.
October 5, 2004
Tuesday
Crossed the international date line during the night so a lost day.
October 6, 2004
Wednesday
We arrived in Hong Kong around 6:00 A.M. and knew the airport like an old pro this time. The weather was clear and warm with temperatures already in the low 70’s. Jim and I made our way to the Thai International check-in and got booked for Bangkok and just hung out for while. Our flight was within the hour.
The flight to Bangkok went well to include both a breakfast and nice lunch…bulking up for the trek! Read a couple hundred pages of the Da Vinci Code . Changed planes in Bangkok and found ourselves landing in Kathmandu several hours later. The weather was cloudy and intermittently wet.
We purchased our visas and moved through customs quickly. Went downstairs to claim our luggage. I spotted one of my bags within the first 20 minutes but alas, that was all that Jim and I were to see of our bags at least for today. We filled out the paper work and hoped for the best.
As we walked outside, I spotted the Crystal Mountain office manager from last year holding a sign with my name on it. Got the greetings and pleasantries out of the way and headed for the Hotel Tibet. Kathmandu looked about the same; no signs of the kinds of things that our State Department warnings might have suggested.
The Hotel Tibet is unchanged from a year ago. It looks just like it sounds that it might. A five-story structure about 10 years old with lots of carved wooden moldings and furniture covered in Tibetan fabrics. It has a comfortable but secure “other-world” feel to it.
Jenny Gurung met us there. A pleasant, bright young lady of about 30...I learn later from Jwalant that she’s late thirties; congratulations Jenny on looking so great. We sat down in the comfortable lounge of the hotel and finish the paper work to pay for the trek. We gave Jenny the paper work for the missing bags which she promised to chase down. Jenny covered the plans for the next couple of days and then left us to finish checking in promising to pick us up at 6:30 for dinner at the Gurung residence.
Just as this is going on, we met two very interesting Crystal Mountain clients, Randy and Mary, who have just completed a trip to Tibet. We later learn that they are Nashville, Tennessee DJs and own their own recording business (I think). Anyhow, real honest to goodness characters that are fascinating to talk to and be with.
Jim and I get up to our third floor room and shower and change; it’s quickly clear that we’ve been up for a long time and both of us are beginning to fade. Nonetheless, we go out and exchange some dollars for rupees so that we’ll have the small denominations to tip the staff at the end of the trek.
Dinesh Gurung, the family patriarch, arrives promptly at 6:30. I had not had a chance to meet him last year so this was a real pleasure especially since he had been instrumental in getting me out of the Nepal with my torn heart valve problem last year without any hassle. Randy and Mary joined us for the trip to the Gurung home about 15 minutes away. Dinesh’s wife is sick and unable to join us as is his mother who is in intensive care.
The Gurungs put on a very impressive Nepali dinner and the conversation is particularly enjoyable in that Mary and Randy have strong opinions on most things and Jim and I aren’t exactly wall-flowers either. Jenny proves fully capable of holding her own on a variety of subjects reinforcing the initial impression of her. My allergies are killing me and the lack of sleep is catching up. Around 10:00 we declare an end to the fun and Jenny drives us back to the Hotel Tibet.
October 7, 2004
Thursday
Much to my surprise, I sleep through the night waking up between 6:00 and 7:00 local time. Jim heads out to do some shopping and I go downstairs for the American breakfast at the Hotel Tibet.
Just before 9:00 Jenny shows up and we meet Binay Rana who will be our guide for the days around Kathmandu. Binay probably speaks better English than Jim and me. He has a masters degree in sociology and is nearing completion on a second masters in Buddhism. The plan for the day is to show Jim and I three traditional villages in the Kathmandu Valley and allow us to do some carpet shopping at the Tibetan Refugee Center.
Jenny promises to meet us later in the afternoon so Jim, Binaye, and I and the driver head out in the Crystal Mountain Trekking Toyota van. Our first stop comes in about half an hour as we enter the small rural village of Bungamati.
As I get out of the van, I’m truly awed by what I see. Most of the buildings are old and made of local, traditional brick. They’ve harvested their primary crops of barley and corn that are drying everywhere. The ears of corn are tied up and hanging from the windows like bunches of bananas, the barley and hot peppers are drying on mats in the streets. Goats are tethered near the doors of some dwellings and as we move down the small streets we see and hear various crafts people making beautiful wooden objects, working metal, and weaving wool into rugs, sweaters, and gloves.
Jim and Binaye in the village of Bungamati in the Kathmandu Valley
One of the few things that I really need for the trek is a good pair of wool gloves. The high tech gloves from REI last year proved to be nearly worthless. We round a corner and see just the shop.
Also thought about this sweater for Ann…good thing I didn’t buy it since she said no way upon seeing the picture.
By late morning we finish up with Bungamati and move up the road to the village of Khokhana. We see a lot of artisans here; metal and stone workers as well as more woolen goods. Like Bungamati, they have just finished the barley harvest and it’s drying everywhere.
Barley drying in the village square of Khokana
We take in the rest of the village as well as a beautiful Buddhist shrine before calling it enough and head back towards Kathmandu to grab lunch in a western style restaurant where the food is served by deaf and dumb waiters. I do burgers and a milk shake while Jim does something more adventure-some.
After lunch, we head out towards the Tibetan Refugee Compound where they make delightful rugs of all shapes, colors, and sizes. These are real works of art coming in 40, 60, 80, and 100 knots per inch with a choice of wool combinations. This is not some backwater operation. These rugs are world renowned and selling at great prices. Between Jim and I, we buy ten rugs for starters of varying sizes. Ahh…these capitalists!
Having put a dent in our credit cards, Binaye leads us to the final village of Kirtipur for the day. Another village full of interesting sites including women weaving raw wool into yarn on the street while others bathe openly in the street…I try not to watch but nonetheless marvel at how well all this goes for the village. The street urchins are everywhere and frequently underfoot.
Three cutes that dogged us
After about an hour in the village, Jim and I pose in front of another Buddhist shrine before heading back to the Hotel Tibet.
Not bad for being jet lagged.
We load up our treasures and head back to the Hotel Tibet in the van. Jenny and Crystal Mountain have not been wasting their time. They have recovered our gear from the airlines. We look inside of our bags and discover that our bags never made it beyond Los Angeles without being searched and then sent on to us two days later.
We clean up some and rest until about 6:00 P.M. Jenny shows up at 6:30 and drives us in her car to the Thamel region of Kathmandu. Jenny parks the car in close quarters and we head into the Café Mitra, a converted three story Nepali home. We go up a narrow, steep stairway to the third floor. We find ourselves in a small, comfortable loft. Pleasant conversation and drinks follow.
We order dinner from the loft. I decide to risk the steak and am not disappointed when we descend to the second floor for a truly outstanding dinner and more enjoyable conversation. The combination of Jim and Jenny make for good company and a relaxed atmosphere.
We make our way back to the car amid the local bustle of night life in this part of Kathmandu. We complete the 15 minute drive back to the hotel and say goodnight to Jenny. Tomorrow we’ll begin the business end of the trek.
Still jet lagged, Jim and I get our gear ready for the next three weeks and have no problem falling asleep.
October 8, 2004
Friday
Another great night’s sleep…probably the recognition that we will be sleeping on the frozen ground for the better part of the next three weeks. Jim and I are up around seven. We go downstairs and have breakfast.
I initially sit down near another American that I briefly met coming into the Hotel Tibet yesterday. Another one of Jenny’s clients who had been doing the Kumbu adventure and gotten some sort of stomach ailment about a week out and had to pack it in.
Happily Jim showed up from some early morning shopping and finished breakfast with him. By the way, the Hotel Tibet serves great food in a wonderful open-air atmosphere that is almost worth the trip in itself. Picture a Technicolor scene from Casa Blanca.
After this leisurely breakfast, back up to the room for some last minute re-packing and loading film in cameras. We hauled all of our stuff downstairs and lock up the bags and things not going on the trek. We check out of the hotel and position our packs in the lobby.
About 11:00 A.M. Dinesh shows up with the van. Within minutes, we meet our guide for the adventure, Ram Rai. Jim had trekked with Ram a decade earlier so they exchange pleasantries. Ram is a tall, thin, quiet spoken gentleman in his mid to late-forties.
We get to the domestic side of the Kathmandu airport in about 20 minutes. Dinesh handles the tickets and Jim and I move on to go through a security check where they go through the packs and ask all the right questions. Typical of third world countries, the planes are never on time. We wait around for a while and about 12:30 our little two engine plane shows up and we load up about 20 people for the 40 minute flight to Pokhara which I’m guessing is a couple of hundred miles southwest of Kathmandu.
The flight is short and without incident. We bank to come into the Pokhara airport and see a beautiful lake and green valley below. In addition to being a beautiful tourist area this is also the heart of Maoist territory. Rather than subject us to the hassle and some danger of taking a bus ride from Kathmandu to Pokhara and hence north to the trail head the next day, Crystal Mountain has arranged flights for both days.
We pile into several cabs and head off across town to the Fairmont Hotel. By the standards of the villages we have just visited in the Kathmandu valley, Pokhara is relatively modern.
Our view from the front sidewalk of the Fairmont Hotel
We settle into our room, which is clean and modern for Nepal. None of the ambience of the Hotel Tibet, but more than adequate.
We go downstairs and around front to the open-air restaurant and have lunch. The plan is to take a taxi out to the edge of town to the International Mountain Museum which has just recently been finished and still in a state of establishing the various displays. Dinesh is the Director of the Museum and promises a good tour.
As we arrive at the museum, it begins to rain so we put off the picture taking that would have normally gone on. Dinesh hooks us up with an older gentleman that speaks English with a heavy accent and is sometimes hard to understand. Jim, Ram and I spend most of the afternoon walking through the displays within the main building and touring the grounds.
Around five we give up and take a taxi back to the Hotel Fairmount in the rain. We clean up a bit and catch another short power nap (the jet lag you know). A little after 6:00 we head downstairs for dinner and meet the first of two kitchen boys, Bieruman.
Bieruman is quite a site. A wiry gentleman in his early fifties weighing somewhere around 120 pounds. As I understand it, he will be one of two kitchen boys that will carry all of our food, the stove, fuel, and cooking and eating utensils for the next three weeks. As Bieruman lights up one of his trademark cigarettes, I wonder if this guy will be up to the task. Ram assures me that he has known Bieruman for years and will be no problem. Bieruman proves to be absolutely fearless, a stud and has the energy of the energizer bunny. Over the next three weeks, I often refer to him in my conversations with Jim and Ram as “John Wayne”. I’ll have much more to say about our friend as he will grow to play a prominent role in our adventures.
Jim and I proceed into the restaurant and after some discussion order up the chicken. This is probably the only bad meal that I have in Nepal. As we try to chew through the tough old birds, we wonder aloud if they are week old road kill.
I see where they have beer and a local rum on the menu. I make the mistake of speculating about having some in front of Ram who sternly advises me that alcohol and altitude do not mix and we’ll be helicoptering into a site a little over 10,000 feet in the morning. Clearly Jenny has advised Ram that I had to be med-evaced out the previous year and he’s taking his task of safe guarding me pretty seriously. At the time, I have mixed feelings about this but over the course of the next three weeks, both Jim and I grow to appreciate his paternal habits.
Dinesh comes back from checking on the status of the helicopter and let’s us know that we should be ready to go in the morning by 6:00 but also warns us to expect the worst since air travel within Nepal is subject to the weather and other priorities (like rescuing climbers and trekkers).
We call it a night and head back up to our room where I, at least, settle in for what will probably be the last comfortable bed that I’ll be in for the next three weeks. Little did I fully appreciate what lay ahead.
October 9, 2004
Saturday
Up at 6:00 and downstairs for a breakfast of eggs and beans. The helicopter is a “no show”. We hang around for about a half an hour generally grousing and decide to go back to the room and catch the Presidential debates (Bush and Kerry). Good to be entertained even in a foreign country.
Ram knocks on the door about 9:00 telling us that our helicopter is inbound for the Pokhara airport. We all load into two cabs (they only need bullet holes in them to be perfect props for the movie, the Killing Fields) and head for the airport wedged between various bags in the old cars.
Upon arrival, we go through the same drill as in Kathmandu the previous day. Security is thorough but polite. We go into the lounge (a room with plastic chairs and a view of the airstrip) and begin the wait. I meet a young French woman who also speaks good English. She’s here to trek up to Phu where her Australian boy-friend has been running a medical clinic (believe he’s a nurse). She’s traveling with an Indian guide in his twenties who appears a bit shifty. I wonder about her safety en-route to Phu.
We go through a number of false departures as several helicopters come and go. We’re finally told to walk out to a waiting helicopter that has just landed. I notice that the French woman and her guide will be traveling with us…how cozy.
Upon reaching the helicopter, we’re told to wait. They’re off loading a tall gentleman in what looks to be his late 70’s on a make shift litter with his wife looking on. They’re apparently French as well and he’s suffered some sort of mishap…probably some form of acute mountain sickness…hard down and in obvious pain.
I can assure you that the helicopter is small (looks like a huey) but nonetheless Jim, Ram, Bieruman, myself, the French woman and her guide all board the bird with our packs. It quickly occurs to me that someone in the party may not have bathed recently and I detect a slight odor of processed beans over the reek of the aviation fuel. Oh well…you pay for an adventure…you get one!
My attitude has changed instantly from boredom to high anticipation. I’m in the element that I love. The adventure has begun.
The fifty-kilometer flight to Hungde is beautiful. We fly initially over terraced rice fields that quickly give way to dramatic, wild looking green hills whose faces fall off vertically exposing more and more granite rock. After about 15 minutes of flight, no more signs of civilization. We are constantly gaining altitude. Bieruman is next to me on the outer most part of the front seat. He doesn’t look comfortable. I wonder if this is his first helicopter flight.
After about half an hour’s flight, several remote looking buildings appear as we fly over a ridge and move up a draw. We begin to descend landing on a piece of dirt strip about 200 feet from the local customs/police station at Hungde. We all pile out of the helicopter and head for the police station where Ram handles the paper work …most importantly the permits to be in this part of Nepal.
We move out onto the trail that runs through Hundge (about 25 buildings). The scene hits me like a bolt of lightening. Buddhist prayer flags ripple in the wind; we walk past about a hundred prayer wheels; small horses move past us carrying both riders and cargo; gleaming white snow covered peaks surround us; smoke rises from fires in the buildings; goats wander the trail; the wind is blowing; the sky is a deep, dark blue; it smells different here! Damm…I’m glad to be here; every fiber of my being is happy…I love this place! “Beam me up Scottie…I’m in good space”.
Looking east in Hundge towards Lower Pisang, our destination for this evening
With Ram and Bieruman carrying the heavy packs, we walk to the eastern end of town and stop for lunch at one of the local lodges (that means they have a make shift table and benches). Lemon tea all around and a great noodle and vegetable soup. We all take the time to adjust packs, boot laces and other things that will make the two to three hour trek ahead of us easier.
Finally, about 2:30 we head east on the trail towards Pisang. We are at the upper edge of the timberline. We’re hiking through alpine forests which from time to time provide magnificent views of the snow capped peaks and azure blue sky. The colors at eye level are a full pallet. The poplars are blowing in the wind with their bright yellow leaves, the ferns beneath the trees are a deep healthy green, the peaks are draped in dark brown and gray granite, and there is an assortment of dark red shrubs that are unknown to me in the sunny spots.
We crest the top of a rise and see Annapurna IV
We continue to hike about seven kilometers with as much down as up ending up in Pisang just before 5:00 P.M. We come up over a little rise just south of the main trekking trail into Lower Pisang a settlement of several dozen buildings. Small goats move around everywhere. The temperature is beginning to fall and Ram checks us into the Trekker’s Inn.
Jim and I go upstairs above a common courtyard and find a small but comfortable room about six by seven feet. Just room enough for our packs, us, and two beds that at least are not the cold ground. All things considered, pretty damn nice.
The outside temperature is low 50’s/high 40’s but I go for the shower anyhow under the pretext that it is heated. Anyhow, that’s what the sign said. They meant…”it’s heated by the sun and on a warm day if you’re lucky, it may be warm”. The water was cold but I felt clean at least.
About 6:30 (now dark) we go downstairs through the courtyard and up the hill to the inn’s restaurant…closest thing we’ll encounter for two weeks until we get to Manang. They bring large thermoses of lemon tea to the table and have some heat source other than burning yak dung…I’m most grateful.
Jim and I settle in to get better acquainted along the way encountering and talking to folks from western Europe and the U.S. although I do not recall meeting anyone else from the U.S. until we return to Kathmandu.
After about half an hour, Ram joins us and we begin the delight of getting to know him. His English is excellent and as we’ll discover over the next three weeks he has plenty to talk about including a great sense of humor (or maybe not as some of the subsequent tales may reflect…e.g. “the mother of all turds”).
A superb dinner of fried rice and fresh baked apple pie arrive making for the end of a great first day in the boondocks. The apples are in season and are abundant at the lower altitudes.
It’s now properly cold out and Jim and I wander down to our room by flashlight. We stumble around for five or ten minutes getting more organized (largely getting the first aid kits available for whatever demons may attack us…both of us are seasoned travelers and anticipate the worst). A creature of comfort, I fluff up my high tech fleece pillow and unzip that North Face bag and wham…I’m sound asleep!
Sunday
October 10, 2004
Ram rousts us out about 6:00 A.M. We go downstairs and clean up in cold water which is diverted from the local stream and snow melt. As I suspected, Jim was plagued by cramps, jet lag, and the adjustment to the new environment.
We head up to the dining room and have a great breakfast of just about whatever you want. We briefly see the American party again…two dads and two sons on some sort of missionary trip to this part of the world.
A little after 7:00 and we’re on the trail headed for Chame and then Koto a distance of about 13 kilometers. We head downward back into an alpine forest with occasional glimpses of snow-covered peaks. Within the first couple of hours we cross a long suspension bridge.
We walk about half a mile along a forested path and come out on the edge of a river where we walk about 50 feet above it on a narrow trail.
Narrow trail above the river
The trail is a little narrow but really no challenge. The temperature is in the low 60’s and pleasant but somehow I’m anticipating a long day. After another 40 minutes, we enter the small village of Bratang and fully appreciate how much we are on the main Annapurna trekking trail. The trail and route 66 have a lot in common. We see French trekking parties everywhere along with their Nepali staffs.
We stop and adjust everything. Staff eats some of the local apples and we generally take a break. Back on the trail, we undulate up and down finally coming to a handful of white washed buildings…we’ve arrived at Thaleku. It’s a warm sunny day and we’re glad to go inside for lunch. The building is primitive but clean. I sit here and watch the sun coming through the door reflecting off the dust in the air…very peaceful. More vegetable soup and lemon tea.
About 1:00 we’re back on the trail moving up and down through green alpine forest. Within an hour, we come into Chame and wait to pass through a security checkpoint.
Ram and Jim approach the security checkpoint at Chame
We’re actually hung up at the checkpoint for almost half an hour. We have a crowd of perhaps 20 people waiting to clear permits. Most are either French or Israeli; not much small talk…everyone wants to move on with their treks.
Jim’s expression says it all…”let’s get moving”.
We clear the checkpoint and move on towards Koto another three or four kilometers ahead.
About mid-afternoon the winds have come up a bit and it’s beginning to look and feel like rain. We come to the western end of Koto which for some reason seems very Tibetan. Most of the buildings are now stone masonry with a lot of unpainted timber porches. The trail through Koto alternates between a gray mud and large slabs of gray granite. Small Tibetan horses again move past us with heavy loads of commerce going towards Tibet. Ram again pauses to clear our permits with local security while we wait outside.
It has begun to mist and the temperature continues to fall. Jim and I are both tired and ready for this day to end in camp. As fate would have it, our lodging is about a kilometer east of Koto…what could almost pass for an older, mid-western small farmhouse and out building.
The four of us move across the front yard populated with apple trees. As we move around towards the out building, we see the balance of our staff…cook, four porters, and the other kitchen boy. Ram sort of makes introductions but they’re all working at setting things up and cleaning kitchen gear. The names are mostly a blur at this point but remember the cook’s name, “Kamie”. Ram shares that he has known Kamie and Bieruman for a very long time and I believe they all come from the same village.
I simply sit down to take it all in for a while. A number of the local women are gathering apples off the ground while some older children are shucking corn. Brings back memories of my own youth in Indiana on a farm. I also notice that our new staff members (all in their late teens or early twenties) are keeping an eye on us to get our measure.
About this time, our tent, a very solid, two person military style tent goes up. Good thing because we continue to get a wet mist and the temperature is now in the forties. Jim and I undo our packs that Ram and Bieruman have been carrying and inflate our air mattresses and toss sleeping bags on top of them in the tent.
As tired as I am, I’m also pretty dirty and have not tried to wash my hair since the Hotel Tibet in Kathmandu; it feels oily and matted. To the wonder of all, I ask for a dishpan full of warm water and standing in the drizzle proceed to wash my hair and grab a shave. In any event, it makes a world of difference in how I feel and head for the tent where I catch about a 40 minute nap before what will become another daily ritual…tea time. One of the kitchen boys appears at our tent flap a little before 5:00 and serves up tea and cookies. I could get used to this…and indeed do.
Ram comes by about 5:30 and suggests that we adjourn to the mess tent to discuss the plans for tomorrow and then have dinner. The mess tent is a rather large nylon tent that allows people to stand up in if they choose. I figure out later, that this is also the sleeping quarters for all the staff except our guide, Ram who has his own tent.
One of the frustrations that becomes apparent the first evening is that all evening meals will be romantic…served only by candle light and I don’t mean a big one either. This situation cuts both ways obscuring what the hell you’re about to stick in your mouth. As it turns out, most of which is pretty tasty. So, we sit there on camp stools with dinner on our laps with the temperature now close to freezing trying to decide whether or not we’re having fun. It finally occurs to me that I’m paying for this so decide that I’m having fun and make the best of it.
Ram lays out the next day but for the most part, I’m now tired, jet lagged, and modestly cold. So when he gets to the part about “any questions”, Jim and are pretty quick on the uptake and head for our tent to crash. Without a lot of discussion, I peel down to my long underwear, fluff up my pillow and bury myself in my zero degree North Face bag. Good luck on waking me up in the morning.
Monday
October 11, 2004
I wake up about 2:00 with the sound of rain on the tent. Lie there momentarily wondering what sort of a day this will bring with the wet weather. I speculate only for
seconds and back to sleep. The kitchen boys wake us up about 5:30 with tea, coffee, and cookies.
The rain is coming down now only as a light mist; the temperature is in the 40’s and the sky is overcast. Jim and I pack up our gear and set our packs out for the porters. Ram comes by and suggests that we breakfast in the dining room of the lodge so that all the tents can come down and get moving up the trail ahead of us.
My guess would be that Jim slept ok last night!
Breakfast is pretty terrific with eggs, toast, jam and hot coffee. We linger a while trying to see what the weather is going to do. About 7:30 Ram decides that we need to get going and we head back west towards Koto with the mist still coming down.
We trek about a half-kilometer west of Koto and Ram leads us down what hardly seems a path at all on a wet slipper slope. Somehow this seems very fitting as the entrance to our “lost valleys” portion of the trek.
We shift immediately to a narrow path cut in the face of the rock. I wonder aloud to Jim what it must have taken over years, decades… to hand hew this trail out of the bare rock above the fast running water. We’re not in Kansas anymore as the saying goes.
Kamie, our cook, and Jim move towards the Lost Valleys along a narrow trail above the fast moving water
We’ll alternately be on either side of this fast moving stream all day on a trail that’s like a roller coaster undulating between 100 and perhaps 4,000 feet above the water. Koto sits at about 9,500 feet as a point of reference.
The trail is amazing. We gain 500 or 1,000 feet only to loose it over the next section of the trail. The altitude is only about 10,000 to 12,000 all day but even with our light loads, Jim and I look pretty weary quickly. The trail remains narrow, wet, slippery and sometimes partially overgrown by ferns. It gradually will gain several thousand feet over the course of the day.
Each time that we catch up with our porters and kitchen boys I am awed by the heavy loads that they carry almost effortlessly. There are frequent stretches of trail that is steep and slippery. Staff primarily are wearing sneakers or rubber shower shoes but move on in a steady, sure footed manner.
It’s autumn in Nepal. We see various hews of brown, yellow, red and green. Most of the trees are conifers although the scattered lighter green bamboo and emerald green ferns present us with a beautiful color pallet all day.
We round a turn in the trail and come upon the young French woman and her guide from several days ago making their way toward Phu. We visit briefly and move on.
Kami and Jim preparing to move on up the trail (note the outline of a lumber operation behind Jim)
We quickly come upon a full-scale lumber mill. Ram explains that these men cut and square the trees and then carry them up the mountain to use in the high villages. The trails are steep, narrow and sometimes dangerous and the logs heavy. The self-reliance is beyond my imagination. Like… “suck it up pilgrim”!
Careful inspection reveals a second man in the pit; they’re squaring a tree with a buck saw
Around 10:30 we cross the water to the eastern side and come into an improved campsite where we get our first taste of lunch prepared on the trail. Kamie and the two kitchen boys, Gyan (a handsome, personable lad in his early 20s) and our old friend John Wayne (Bieruman) create a fire and get something hot going for the porters.
I can’t believe what gets served up. We have lemon tea, soup, some sort of fried bread and yams followed up with a fruit cocktail. The only way it could have been better would have been to have served up a nice Chablis…but then Ram would have been all over our case about demon booze and altitude (little did I appreciate at this point that Ram would have enjoyed the beverage equally as much as Jim and me).
After a nice long break, the porters moved out followed by us with the kitchen staff left behind to clean up.
No two ways about it. We covered about 13 kilometers over steep, wet terrain and were pretty tired the last couple of hours on the trail. It was stunning in its beauty. We frequently saw the running water far below and the soaring granite gray and brown of the peaks we were moving up through. As the trail swooped back down towards the water it was not uncommon to move past caves and cascading waterfalls.
The wind came up about 2:00 in the afternoon and dropped the temperature into the 30s and 40s. Jim and I quickly layered up with undershirts, shirts, and sweaters. On the steep “ups” the sweaters came off but quickly back on when we stopped to rest. About 4:00 we came up over a steep rise and walked into our destination for the day…Dharamshala…three stone and wooden buildings and space to camp.
Jim’s got it right…it’s colder than a well digger’s ass in January
Ram quickly spurs the staff to setting up camp for the night. Kamie and the kitchen boys get dinner going on the lower level of the building where Jim is attempting to thaw out. The porters go about setting up our tent while Ram sets up his own.
Ram spreads our tent out near our French hiking companion, her boy friend and guide
We hook up with our French lady again and meet the Aussie boy friend who turns out to be very personable. He’s finished a paperback up in Phu which he’s ready to dump so I take it on as reading material…a futuristic science fiction star wars plot which proves to be entertaining and not very heavy to carry.
By this time it’s gone from cold and unpleasant to really cold. The tents are up so Jim and I crash for a much needed hour power nap before dinner.
Our normal tea time gets passed up in favor of a longer nap and then we walk over to the building where dinner has been cooking. It’s cold, windy and dark as a coal mine. Glad we have flashlights. What’s serving as the kitchen is just a dirt floor and the wind is blowing in through the window and doorframe. Everyone looks cold and tired although staff always puts on a “game face” in our presence. I wonder if this is going to be what it’s gonna be like for the next two and a half weeks.
I can’t remember what was for dinner but do remember not having much of an appetite. Chatted with Jim and Ram for a few minutes and then headed out for a good long pee.
This is the first night that we started taking Diamox, a diuretic, that helps the blood absorb and tie up more oxygen than would otherwise be possible at altitude. As one moves from sea level to about 19,000 feet, the body’s ability to absorb oxygen falls from about 95 percent to about 60 percent. At about 75 to 80 absorption most folks start acting a little goofy so the Diamox makes sense.
The Diamox also acts as a sleeping pill, so one would think…what’s not to like about it? Well…the answer is that you have to pee like a racehorse several times a night unless you’re like me and spent many years in the Marines where you develop a pretty fair sized bladder from drinking all that beer. This served as a source of some entertainment as Jim, who only spent a few years in the Army, didn’t develop the same capacity as “yours truly” and normally had to go out in the cold several times a night to create yellow icicles.
Tuesday
October 12, 2004
I wake up briefly to the sounds of rain about 4:00 A.M. but go back to sleep. The wind has continued through part of the night and I can hear and feel the tent blowing. Jim and I are greeted about 6:00 by Gyan with hot beverages, toast and jam.
I’m vaguely aware that Jim had gotten up several times but didn’t bother my rest. I understand where Jim is coming from since we had had a hard day on Monday and the weather stayed pretty miserable throughout the night. I figure that this is temporary and will pass. Besides, we’re way the hell out in nowheresville at least a three day hike from anything reasonable. I resist my normal temptation to cut loose with a sarcastic quip and try to look sympathetic.
The French woman’s guide and Ram discuss options for the day given the rainy weather
Around 7:00 Ram announces that we’re only going a short way today to Meta. The weather stays cold, windy, and overcast. Staff gathers up the gear and the porters move out ahead of us. We saw our goodbyes to the French woman and her boy friend.
We move northward with the trail loosing altitude briefly, then becoming flat and finally rising sharply without relief. It begins to rain a little which quickly turns to intermittent ice pelting our faces and occasional snow. The wind’s blowing hard now and we’re feeling the cold. We stop to pull another layer of clothes out of our daypacks and apply them.
The distance from Dharamshala to Meta (maybe two kilometers) isn’t far but we need to gain several thousand feet or more in nasty weather. We quickly rise above the last of the timberline and are treated to unobstructed views of the peaks around us for the first time. We move slowly dealing with the steep terrain, cold windy weather, and new high altitudes for this trip (Meta sits at 14,000 feet plus or minus). I check my heart rate monitor several times and see that I’m in the high 80 to mid 90s range; Ram is doing a terrific job of looking out for us.
We’ve passed the porters at this point since our loads are very modest and theirs are staggering, especially in these conditions.
As we come up a rise I get my first glimpse of Meta through the overcast and blowing snow. I could not have asked for more.
I see what could pass for a medieval fortress peaking at us through the mist. The stone buildings are put together in a very workman like manner not dissimilar to what I’ve seen in Western Europe. Most of the structures are single story although a handful is two storeyed. Doorways and windows are framed in hand hewn timbers hauled up from below. The roofs are timber framed as well and then covered with flat slates and small rocks. Covering all of this is a layer of sod and then the forage for the animals along with what’s left of last summer’s food crops are hanging from the roofs.
The place is deserted; all the sensible people have gone elsewhere this time of the year where it isn’t so damm cold. Ram tucks us into a vestibule area while he goes off to scout up the best place to pitch the tents and I suspect check on the progress of the rest of the staff. Jim and I stand around making small talk (like …what the hell are we doing here?) in the blowing wind and snow kicking the frozen yak piles that lay about everywhere.
Eventually the patterns come into focus and I figure the place out. The two storey structures are where the people live on the second floor above the animals. The single storey dwellings and the first floors are shelters for the animals (sheep and yak) hence all the dung on the ground in the buildings.
About 11:00 A.M. the weather breaks a bit and the modest accumulation of snow disappears but not the bone chilling wind. Staff quickly erects the tents and lunch is served in the mess tent around noon. The food is always good and plentiful but the altitude and the conditions of the morning have put a damper on our appetites. We pick at our food but the hot lemon tea always warms our insides as does the soup.
A great view of Meta, our camp, snow covered peaks and Ram setting up his own tent near the mess tent.
After lunch, the staff sets up the rest of the camp and at least in theory, we’re ready for whatever else may come our way.
Our full camp shortly after lunch with the privy in the foreground followed by our tent and Ram’s
Shortly after 1:00 P.M. the snow returns and this time with staying power. The wind increases its speed gusting from time to time making the tents rock and roll. Jim and I decide to make this a leisurely afternoon (as if we had a choice!) and organize the inside of the tent. The Thermarest mattresses are down and our sleeping bags now have their external liners on them adding another 30 degrees of warmth. You’d be surprised at how warm a tent under these conditions can be especially with two old guys huffing and puffing trying to stay warm.
We alternately read the books that we’ve brought along and catch some sleep. The tent is comfortable and compared to the outside weather is a tropical paradise…well, almost.
Ram comes by a couple of times to knock the snow off the tent and we finally see Gyan about 5:00 P.M. with instant coffee and cookies. Hey! We’re living like kings as long as we don’t have to go outside to take a pee or worse.
Around 6:00 P.M. we pull our boots on and walk the short distance to the mess tent for dinner. One of the best recommendations that Jwalant made the previous year was to bring fleece lined thermal booties for around camp. The regular mountain boots freeze up like a brick under the outer flap of the tent and are a pain in the butt to put on. Those little fleece jobs just slip right on and life goes on.
Jim and I pounded down some tasty dinner in the dark (one flickering candle) and chatted a few minutes with Ram. We gulp down a couple of Diamox tablets and head back out in the snow and wind to pee for all its worth and then back to the sleeping bags.
It’s plenty cold outside and the tent isn’t exactly warm either. I peel down to my long underwear and pull on a fleece cap and zip up the sleeping bag and the outer liner. Within a minute or two I’m nice and warm and the Thermarest mattress is a good imitation of home. I sleep like a baby waking up only long enough to hear Ram brushing the snow off the tent a couple of times and to make a few snide remarks to Jim as he heads out twice to take a pee.
Wednesday
October 13, 2004
I hear the staff clearing the snow off our tent about 4:30 A.M. I don’t move an inch just lying there in the cold tent but warm in my dual sleeping bags not wanting to get up. I wonder how much snow has come down and how much more to expect. Will we be able to travel or are we snowed in?
About an hour later, John Wayne shows up with something hot to drink followed a little while later with warm “washie” water. I poke my nose outside to see what things look like. We’ve got two or three inches of snow on the ground and the mixture of snow and rain has made all the tents brittle.
It remains cold but as the sun begins to come up, I can see that at least the initial part of the day is going to be clear and sunny.
As the first rays of sunlight find the upper peaks, the scene is breathtakingly beautiful!
The outside temperature, at best, is in the teens but the wind is gone. As I wash and attempt to shave, I notice that the water on my face is forming a light coat of ice. Are we having fun yet? The sun’s rays are spreading now and the site is unbelievable.
Yesterday’s brown and gray peaks are now a blinding white
By this point, Jim and I are both up and about cleaning up and getting our packs ready for the trail.
Clearly, the sun hasn’t found us yet and the ice buildup on the tents is obvious
Over breakfast, Ram decides that it’s safe to travel. He’ll stay back with several of the porters to wait for the sun to get the ice off the tents so that they can be taken down and packed without fear of damage. A moment’s reflection validates the wisdom of Ram’s judgment…we’d be in serious jeopardy without secure shelter.
Around 7:00 we head out on what should be the trail (who can tell for sure) with Kami in the lead and supported by Gyan and one of the porters. Everywhere we look, the scene is worth many times over the small prices that we have paid the past several days. I’m in good space again and wouldn’t trade this for anything. It truly is a once in a lifetime experience. The temperature is still below freezing but the wind is nowhere to be found and the sun is warm and comforting on us.
A lonely chorten about half an hour’s trek from Meta
The mix of colors everywhere and the crisp, clean air make for a memorable morning. We temporarily drift back down four or five hundred feet in altitude and move through a clump of cedars.
Kami and Jim pause in the cedar grove near a bright red bush
We exit the cedars and see for the first time what “really’ lies ahead for us today enroute to Kayang (Con). We’ll drop down another five or six hundred feet past the chortens
and then circle around to the right of the peak in the foreground only to go over another peak behind it of similar height.
The sun is higher now and the snow in the open begins to disappear leaving the trail wet and slippery. Where the snow remains on the trail, especially going up and down, it’s hard to keep your footing.
Gyan and one of the porters move down towards a fast moving stream
As we round a turn in the trail, our challenges for the day become apparent ahead. We’ll
bottom out in the gorge ahead, move up through the draw and finally go over the peak directly ahead in the picture before descending into Kayang. Well…okie dokie!
We get down through the gorge, crossing a fast moving stream on a rickety wooden bridge, and come back up through the rocks on the other side. I find myself short of breath and can feel my heart racing. I look down at the heart rate monitor and note a reading of 138.
I moderate my pace, not saying anything to anyone, and see Jim moving ahead at a steady pace. With doing this for 15 or 20 minutes and I begin to sweat even with the temperature in the high 40s and carrying only a light load.
Kami calls out that this looks like a good place to stop for lunch. John Wayne and Ram have caught up with us at this point along with the other porters. Bieruman takes one of the plastic five gallon buckets and walks about 10 minutes back down to the stream and quickly brings it back up to our position…when was the last time you carried five gallons of water at 13,000 feet up the side of a mountain? Hey…John Wayne…how about another one of those Camel cigarettes?
This is pretty typical for lunch on the trail
Within minutes we’re chowing down on hot British black tea, Indian curry soup, beans and yak cheese. This is my first experience with the yak cheese. Staff cuts it off in big slabs about the size of your hand and about half an inch thick. It’s a creamy color, fairly sharp to the taste, and fast acting.
Good ole Ram…he knew that we had to go over these two big honking peaks before Kayang so his plan was to “float” us on hot air over them. From that day forth, Jim and I learned that if lunch was beans and yak cheese, it was best to keep a safe interval from your trekking buddy especially if you were down wind. Yes…I know…too much information! Just sharing helpful hints of high altitude trekking.
We get back on the trail with the full crew about 2:00 P.M. The trail is initially sharply up leaving my heart pounding and me short of breath. We go through an up and down drill for the next couple of hours with the up taking its toll on both Jim and I. The landscape, however, is magnificent.
With each descent in the trail, I cannot believe how steep the ascent is on the other side. I don’t communicate it to anyone, but feel like this day is really kicking my butt. We finally crest yet another high ridge (I’m guessing 14,000 feet by looking at the topographical map) and Kyang swings into view about 700 feet below.
We see Kyang 700 feet below in a valley of sorts; the trail to Phu lies just beyond the buildings
At this point the porters and kitchen staff are well behind us as we begin the descent into Kyang. As we descend into the Kyang valley, I note how steep the trail is and what we have just come over.
We’re descending the massive rock mass that dominates the left side of the picture
A little after 4:00 we reach the valley floor (guessing about 13,300 feet) and find a beautiful flat piece of land in the high Himalayas that the locals use to pasture their livestock in more hospitable weather. Another beautiful moment.
Jim standing in front of a chorten at the end of a prayer wall; we’ve just come down the peak on the left
This is one of those wonderful moments in life when everything is just right. The scene on every quarter of the compass is a beautiful mosaic of color and texture with a sense of other worldliness.
There is a compound of sorts here that is perfect to set up a camp. As we approach, I see a half dozen people going into the compound to establish their camp. I wonder if there is room for their party and ours. Ram begins to communicate with the headman. This is not a trekking party of tourists…these are natives and have a hard look about them. They don’t seem threatening but clearly are living in the elements and are hard and business like in their demeanor. I see a large knife in one of their belts.
Ram finishes his conversation with them and let’s us know that we’ll be setting up our camp several hundred meters away in a more exposed area. As we begin to move off, the guy with the large knife speaks to Jim and I in broken English. He’s a trader, making his livelihood however he can. This trip, they’re coming down from Tibet. Glad for the communication; they’re as curious as us. (That does not mean friendly in the western sense).
The balance of the staff comes into our area in about half an hour and sets about creating our camp. As quickly as our tent goes up, Jim and I lay out our gear and settle in for the daily power nap. Don’t kid yourself, we’re whipped.
In short order, it’s tea time and we relax with hot tea and something good to eat. As we sit at the door of the tent, the sun begins to go down and with it, the icebox door opens.
Jim and I are amused part way through tea time as we hear Ram doing a good imitation of a Marine Corps Sergeant Major. It appears that the victim, as it often is, is Bieruman. Don’t know what his crime is but sure as hell catching holy hell for it.
About 6:30 we go over to the mess tent and have an excellent meal but rest assured that it’s probably below freezing in the mess tent and here we sit with our lone candle contemplating each other. Probably another one of those moments where you ask yourself what the hell you’re doing here.
Ram comes in towards the end of the meal and we talk about tomorrow. We’ve reached one of the benchmarks in the trip. Tomorrow we’ll be traveling about seven kilometers each way to and from Phu, a remote village seldom scene by outsiders. The trip involves trekking along a dangerous rocky path above the fast flowing water below often at heights of 1,000 feet or more above the water. I’ve seen pictures of the village and am looking forward to seeing it in person.
Because it will be a long, somewhat difficult trip, Ram wants us up early. The plan is an early breakfast in camp, leave most of the staff behind, and take Bieruman with us packing a substantial lunch since we may be stranded by circumstance or return to our camp after dark.
Jim and I head for our tent in the cold; it’s already well below zero as we demonstrate with our nightly pee break. Our criteria has become…”if it doesn’t freeze in mid-stream, it ain’t that cold”!
We’ve got the liners on the sleeping bags tonight and wearing several layers of underwear. Once in the bags on top of the theramarest mattresses, it’s easy to fall asleep after an arduous day. I have no recollection of anything (although this is about to change in very significant ways) other than a great night’s sleep.
Thursday
October 14, 2004
Even with the liner on the sleeping bag, it was cold enough in the tent that I woke up several times when my fleece cap had worked itself off and needed to find it in the dark and put it back in its proper place.
Gyan appears at our tent flap around 5:00 with the usual wakeup. We layer up and get outside in the still cold morning taking time to wash up. Brushing the teeth is a bit of a challenge since the water bottles in the tent are mostly ice but enough slush to get the job done.
We do an abbreviated breakfast with Ram, check our gear (we’ve got a little extra along since we may be gone a while in what can be stormy conditions) and head out towards the buildings of Kyang.
As we move towards the buildings, I see several small yak grazing on the dried forage ahead of us. Our travelers from yesterday are gone …probably sometime during the night.
We stop briefly to explore the buildings. We quickly find the same situation as in Meta. Looks like the primary differences are the freshness of the yak dung and I’m surprised to find three or four empty bottles of what appears to be Russian vodka…those cold winter nights!
Our round trip today should cover a dozen kilometers.
We pick up a foot trail on the far side of Kyang and are quickly treated to a wonderful view of the fast moving water several thousand feet below us. The trail is initially reasonably wide but the footing uneven.
Less than 100 meters beyond Kyang, Ram and Jim head out onto the rocky ledge that will be the trail to Phu
Our morning quickly changes in two significant ways. While the morning had been cold, it had been clear and sunny. Storm clouds begin to appear ahead of us. The trail which had been uneven and containing a fair amount of loose debris went from five or six feet wide to stretches where we lost half that width and sometimes a little more. None of this is in itself dangerous unless you contemplate a mis-step or slip in which case you’ll fall a hell of a long way…probably not impacting anything for at least several hundred feet.
Let’s just say that I focused on what I was doing more than usual and didn’t see anyone else skipping down the ledge either.
I think it’s worthy to note that other than the traders back at Kyang, we hadn’t seen anyone since Dharamshala several days before. About an hour out of Kyang we saw our next human being…a young boy of perhaps 10 years old leading a young yak up the trail towards Kyang…I presume to pasture. This says a lot about the culture and way of life back here. The trail is very narrow and loose. At this point, the water is still maybe 500-700 feet below us. Nonetheless, this youngster is, without supervision, moving part of the family property along this dangerous trail. Yep…we’re not in Kansas Dorothy!
This is also the first time that I’ve seen the locally crafted woolen clothing. He’s wearing what appears to be a heavy gray coat that extends almost to his shoes closed only with a body wrap. The wool cap is brightly colored…I assume a Tibetan “North Face” knock off.
About an hour out, the trail begins to roller coaster up and down bringing us to within a hundred feet of the water and then gaining five or six hundred feet. I can feel the altitude and watch the trail (especially those segments that pitch downward at eight or ten degrees towards the edge) carefully.
We’re making good time but the weather is beginning to close in on us. The sky now is becoming a dark gray and we’re losing site of some of the surrounding peaks and seeing the snow blowing horizontally off others. The wind is blowing cold off the water. We pause to layer up a bit.
We now move steadily down to the water reaching its banks which are large stones and boulders rounded by the fast moving water. At this point the water is only about a dozen feet across and one or two feet deep. Ram is looking for a way across. He sees a potential path across where eight or ten rocks extend an inch or two above the running water. They’re wet with maybe just a touch of ice.
Ram, the mature guide, tests the path and quickly moves to the other bank. After my experience in 2003 of being medivaced, I decide to exercise full caution. Instead of simply walking across the wet rocks, I use my trekking poles to anchor myself in the fast moving stream stepping carefully from rock to rock. The effect is like a skier using poles to accelerate downhill.
Near the far bank, my boot slips on a wet rock and I launch myself head first into a large sharp rock…the rock wins.
I sit on the far bank…dazed. I open my eyes and can’t see. Blood is everywhere. I can taste it on my lips and the smell of it is everywhere. My hands and sweater are sticky with it.
Ram and Jim are quickly at my side. I can hear the concern in their voices. I know that I need to project a calm demeanor so ask them if they can tell where the blood is coming from. Jim quickly indicates that everything is so bloody that he can’t tell.
Jim moves into action and gets paper napkins from Biruman to act as a compress so he can see where the wound is and how serious. These prove worthless since they are immediately saturated in blood and fall apart.
Ram has been coughing into a large blue handkerchief for most of the trip. One of them uses it as a compress and Jim is able to tell me that I have a two-inch gash just below my hairline about half an inch wide.
About this time I begin to notice that my legs are going numb; remember, I can’t see because of all the blood on my face that continues to flow. At about the time that I begin to remark on this to Jim, my vision clears enough to see the source of the problem. Our friend, Bieruman, ever the practical fellow, is drenching my trousers with water from the stream because they are blood soaked and will be ruined. All things considered, I hold my tongue and let everyone help.
Jim and Ram find half dozen small band-aids in our packs and attempt to apply them but without success. The three of them size up what needs to be done and do it. Ram’s handkerchief (has he been blowing his nose in this for the past week too?) is temporarily placed over the open gusher but quickly replaced with Jim’s wool cap. Over that, a small brown tablecloth comes into service as a turban. I feel and look like Lawrence of Nepal (was that the scene where the Turks had taken him prisoner and beat the hell out of him?).
The good and bad news about head wounds is that they bleed like crazy but there is little feeling in the skull so I feel ok but concerned that it will become infected and my head will turn green and rot off. Since that would be a lot of paperwork to inflect on my companions and ruin the whole trip, I figure that we’d better deal with this.
We talk things over and decide that we need to return to Kyang and clean the wound and do all we can to disinfect it. Besides that’s where the first aid kit is…right?? I remember Jim and I having a conversation about whether or not I can walk back since we allow that there are stretches of the trail where it would be nearly impossible to carry a body. I’m thinking…hey, good thing I didn’t really crap-out back here. Ya know what I mean?
It remains cold and the sky tries to clear only to spit rain and snow in short spurts. I take the lead going back I suppose to set the pace for the others. We make the hour and a half trek back to Kyang in good order with the sky temporarily clearing as we come into camp. Despite Bieruman’s best efforts to freeze me to death, my clothing is blood covered and I attract the full attention of our curious staff. I can only imagine what they’re saying.
Ram quickly talks me out of my blood soaked clothes giving them to Bieruman and Gyan to wash. This is followed by the large blue plastic tarp being laid out on the ground and a communal blanket to cover me.
So…we put our heads together and decide to cut a piece out of my white towel and boil it for a while and then use it as the basis to get whatever gravel and sand is still hanging around in there out. I’ve got a good-sized bottle of tincture of iodine to purify water in my pack along with Neosporin, large sterile gauze pads, and some antibiotics for ear infections.
Everyone does a great job and the boiled towel appears on the scene which Jim uses to good advantage to remove the really big chunks of crap much aided by the body’s natural desire to bleed like hell. Jim uses the now, cooler boiled water for a good washing of the wound followed by a good bath of tincture of iodine. All those nerves in the head that I declared didn’t really sense pain came alive with the tincture which caused me to levitate about five feet off the tarp…maybe one at least!
Despite all these efforts, the wound was still bleeding at a good pace so we decided to saturate a sterile gauze pad with Neosporin and hold it in place with the brown tablecloth. I gulped down a couple of aspirin and antibiotics and didn’t feel any the worse for wear although disappointed that we missed Phu.
About this time, it started to snow so we retreated to the tents.
It snowed all day so Jim and I took our meals in the tent, read books, and napped. We talked about next steps. I made it clear that I felt fine and short of signs of an infection wanted to continue the trip. We agreed that if my head turned green and got rotten we’d have to do something different. Oh yeah…like what? We’re four or five days away from anything over difficult terrain, it’s snowing and no communications. So…like get over it.
I slept well through another cold night waking up a couple of times to discover that the turban has slipped off my head and the bloody gauze was stuck to my pillow. Got pretty good at finding the turban in the dark (you cannot believe how dark it is in a tent on these treks; it’s total) and easing it back into place.
Friday
October 15, 2004
Woke up about 5:00 and actually feel pretty good. We had planned to change the dressing on the wound in the morning but both agreed that we thought it would start bleeding again so perhaps we should leave well enough alone for a while. I have erythromycin with breakfast to ward off an infection (I hope).
Breakfast is our normal excellent faire which we take the time to enjoy. It’s stopped snowing but everything has a couple of inches dusting of snow. As quickly as breakfast is over, we tear down the camp and the porters move out ahead of us.
As we head down slope to Khane, the view is again striking and beautiful. The buildings and surrounding terrain are covered in snow.
About 20 minutes out of our camp, we find ourselves in the lea of the sunshine and get to cross a rickety bridge with 2-3 inches of snow.
So…which one of you guys wants to go first? Just get over it and go!
From Khane, we retrace part of our route finding ourselves generally descending in altitude most of the morning. As we come down towards the settlement of Upper Chyako, I remember how hard it was to come up this trail two days previously.
Within a few steps of taking this picture, Ram and the kitchen staff get pretty excited. There is a slow but steady stream of blood trickling its way down the right side of my face. We stop briefly, take a general counsel on things, and tighten up the tablecloth on my head hoping that it won’t pop like a big green pimple. Up here …you take your entertainment where you find it.
I believe that the beige pressure bandage is Ram’s scarf...many thanks.
Since it’s bleeding anyhow, we change the three inch square sterile dressing on the trail but plan to have a lunch break as soon as possible to allow the blood to coagulate. I realize that we’re days from anything and anybody. I’d sure like to have the reassurance of a good visit to the ER to be told that all is well.
We crest a small rise and break for lunch. It’s about 45 degrees out and sunny. The views on all sides are stunning. Ram’s keeping a careful eye on me. Jim, Ram and I talk for a while and decide that we’ll extend the lunch a bit to allow me to heal up in the sun and rest. The plan is to trek another 2-3 hours after lunch.
Jim and Ram enjoying the sunshine and lunch.
I finish lunch and stretch out in the sun in the full patient mode only to hear someone coming up the trail towards us. Mind you, the last person that we saw was the young boy and the yak on the trail from Phu moving towards Khane several days ago. In moments, there are four Europeans and their staff standing next to us. They’re French and Belgium.
They want to know if we’ve been to Phu. “No, we had an injury in route and got caught in bad weather”. They ask if anyone has any wounds or broken limbs. “Well, yes…took a whack in the head”. “Lucky you, we’re surgeons”. (Hey…how about that prayer group back in California).
They look me over, change the dressing, and declare that everything looks just fine. I ask if we should stitch it up (it’s a little over two and a half inches). “No, at this point it’s already begun to heal and we’d just make it worse leaving a really nasty scar”. They provide me with half dozen sterile dressings and a tube of benedine before heading off. Life is good; much assured.
After lunch we cover a lot of terrain…most of it steeply up. We move upwards at about 25 degrees for about 45 minutes.
We’ve been moving on the ridge above us for the last 45 minutes and have just dropped down the slide in the center of the picture and are now taking a break before continuing down.
After taking a break, we see what’s ahead. We need to drop about 500 feet on the side of a gorge sloped at about 70 degrees. The slope is strewn with scree and loose sand which shifts under our boots constantly. We’re heading for a couple of bridges below; the gorge looks to drop another 400 feet below the bridges. We pick our way carefully down the shifting debris field towards the bridges. No big deal but certainly at risk in that one false step would send us plunging to the bottom.
As we near the bridges, we see a gompa compound (remote buildings inhabited by Buddhist monks) across the chasm.
We finally descend the last steep reach ending up on more or less level ground and travel another 100 meters to the bridges across the chasm.
The one in the center is for photographing and bragging about. We cross the more modern one right corner.
As we reach the bridgehead, there is some discussion about who has hair on their chest and not. Since I barely have hair on my head after the last two days, I gladly walk across the more modern bridge followed by Jim and Ram. Kami, our cook, walks across the older bridge…guess we know who has hair and not.
In the next half an hour, we ascend about 400 feet to a lovely plateau overlooking a wide panorama of the Himalayas. We could not have asked for a more picturesque spot. As our crew comes into camp, I sit on the ground for maybe 20 minutes watching the snow blowing off the various peaks taking in the remoteness of this scene.
By this time, it’s beyond 4:00 in the afternoon and the wind has come up blowing down the draw picking up the cold from the water below and the snow all around us. It quickly becomes bitterly cold and unpleasant to be working outdoors. Still the tents need to go up and dinner needs to be prepared.
As quickly as the mess tent goes up, we confer with Ram and decide that our crew needs shelter quickly so forego dinner in the dining room. We note that staff is preparing for a cold night and duck into our own tent to read and enjoy tea and cookies.
A little after 6:00 dinner is served in bed. Even in the tent, it’s cold. Jim and I double bag the sleeping bags. We quickly go through the nightly ritual of emptying bladders and taking another Dimox which also acts as a sleeping pill.
Once in the sleeping bags, it’s quickly warm and comfortable again. I lay in bed briefly going over the blessings of the day and the wonderful opportunity to be part of this grand adventure. I quickly fall asleep to the sounds of the tent flapping in the wind. I could not be happier.
Saturday
October 16, 2004
We’re greeted by the morning ritual about 6:00 with Gyan providing toast, jam and hot coffee. The sun quickly comes up and we’re treated to magnificent views on what promises to be a clear, sunny day. I take the time to clean up and examine the head wound. Nothing out of the ordinary. Seems to be healing up ok but with some minor bleeding if I flex my face.
Don’t really seem any the worse for wear.
Staff tears down the camp and we’re underway about 7:30. We’re going to ascend another 1,200 feet most of which rises at an angle of 60 to 70 degrees; I’d guess that we’re already at about 12,500 feet. Having moved up about 800 or 900 feet in altitude, we come up over a ridge into a high pasture. Perhaps a quarter of a mile away, we see what appears to be about 100 yak moving slowly down the pasture.
Before long we see several herdsmen moving the yak by throwing stones at them. At first they merely begin to amble along, then the herd begins to break into a canter, and then they’re moving pretty fast towards us. Ram quickly instructs Jim and I to stand on some isolated high boulders…and stay there. We do!
These are big animals…the ground is literally shaking under our boulders.
As the animals near the edge of the pasture and the trail that we’ve just climbed up, the herdsmen guide them onto the steep trail for the journey down to lower altitudes.
They seem to know what’s ahead as they queue up to go down the steep trail.
As we turn to head up towards Nar, I can’t resist one more picture that captures the terrain that we have just traversed to reach this pasture.
This is about those 60 to 70 degree slopes that I was telling you about.
As I stand here gasping for air at what now has to be in excess of 13,000 feet, my overpowering feeling is gratitude for the wonderful adventure that we’re having. I can’t wait to come around the next turn or over the next rise to see what else awaits us.
Our staff is well behind us carrying their heavy loads up the steep trail which will now be blocked by the yak moving downward. Jim, Ram and I resume our movement up. The slope is not as steep as before but hard going nonetheless at 13,000 feet. I can feel every step that we take.
Having gained another 300 or 400 feet we come upon another high pasture populated by yak as well. I later learn that these animals are part of the Nar livestock. We literally reach a walled pasture built of rocks, stones, and timbers which we cross with some exertion at this altitude. On the other side of the wall we resume our upward journey among the yak.
We have now nearly crested the peak in front of us and come upon a dozen large chortens.
Somehow in this high, isolated place, I’m struck by the commitment and tenacity of the Buddhist religion as well as the magical beauty of this place. Jim and I rest here for a few minutes taking considerable video footage and just trying to recover from the events of the last two hours.
Ram moves us forward which I do with some difficulty. My back is killing me. From time to time, since I was in my thirties, when I move the wrong way and pinch a nerve in the lumbar region of my back, it leaves me in very acute pain until it decides to free itself. I hope for the best and keep it to myself.
Another half an hour up the trail we round a bend and see Nar 500 feet below us. Nar sits up on a ridge overlooking a high valley that is completely cultivated. Ram tells me that the crops are a combination of potatoes and barley. Nar consists of an older section of multi-story buildings dating back many hundreds of years and a less densely populated newer section. The newer area consists of a school (mostly burned out), an area to thresh and store crops, and the local hotel (a two story affair with a fire on the ground serving as kitchen with a couple of rooms above for the big spenders).
The last kilometer of trail into Nar falls off sharply leaving the careless traveler to fall several hundred feet with a mis-step.
We enter Nar through a medieval looking stone gate…is this like what you pictured Shangri-La?
I’m immediately mesmerized by what I behold. The yak wander everywhere. We occasionally see Tibetan riders on their small horses with brightly colored saddle blankets. The villagers (maybe 60 people) have already put in a long day by late morning having harvested the barley from the fields below and carried it up to the village. They wear an odd assortment of clothes…many of them clearly handmade of local wool. This is especially true of the young children.
The odors are pungent…yak dung, freshly cut barley, burning firewood and the smell of the dust blowing about in the mountain wind. All of this is set in the tapestry of the dark blue of high altitude sky, rugged snow covered peaks, and the dark browns and reds of the harvested fields below. Even the sounds are different …somehow clearer and crisper in the clean, cold mountain air free of the “static” of the modern world.
We arrive at the Hotel Karma (not sure whether this will be good or bad karma but with a footprint of about 25 by 25 feet) and drop our packs and sit on wooden benches outside. Ram orders tea for Jim and me. As we sit in the 45 degree sunshine with the wind forming blowing dust bowls in front of us, the tea arrives. The Tibetan woman that brings the tea appears to be in her late twenties or early thirties…it’s difficult to tell because the environment is so harsh. She is absolutely stunning with high cheek bones, a noble carriage, and soft black hair against skin almost the color of tanned leather.
Within another 20 minutes, the rest of the staff joins us and without missing a beat starts fixing lunch and setting up the tents near the hotel. I find a small wooden stool (about four inches off the ground) to sit on and rest my sore back against the side of the hotel. The village children (maybe two to six years old) are curious about us and press ever closer to check us out and find out if we have that great English thing…candy? They hit me up for the few pieces of hard candy in my pockets and then I just sit in the sunshine and watch the village.
From head to toes, these young children are dressed in locally made warm clothes.
Kami serves up lunch which we eat outdoors on a dirty wooden table next to the kitchen of the Hotel Karma. It’s cool with the wind blowing gently across us. Our boots absorb the half inch or so of water and mud under the table. Kami’s hot soup and tea are welcome.
As we sit eating lunch, the sounds of the local threshing begin. The cut barley is thrown onto the hard packed ground and two lines of half dozen men face each other. They each have what appears to be a woven bamboo paddle about 5 by 30 inches tethered to a pole. Each line of men swings the paddles over their shoulders striking the barley freeing the grain. The sounds of the two lines of men produce an eerie, rhythmic echoing cadence in the mountain air that has a surreal affect on me. I know that I’m experiencing a community ritual that is essential to the survival of the village and is centuries old.
Four men in the foreground threshing barley; a larger group behind them.
Ram explains the significance of what’s going on. The barley is the major food source for both man and beast. The grain is made into a variety of unappealing foods that are the mainstay of the community to say nothing of the value of the grain as the basis for the local beer (chang). The fodder is what the livestock will live on over the winter and is being stacked atop all the buildings in the older part of Nar.
The threshing goes on in three phases. First, the grain heads are separated from the stalks with the stalks being bound and placed atop the buildings for use later. The grain heads are then threshed separating the fodder from the grain. Finally, and this seems to be the job of the older women, the grain and fodder are tossed into the air from a larger wicker plate separating the heavier grain from the fodder which passes through to the ground to later be collected for the livestock.
Once the sounds of the threshing begin (late morning), they will not stop until all the barley has been threshed (after mid-night). The barley, once cut, will quickly deteriorate if not threshed. Everyone including the very young and very old is playing a role in ensuring the survival of this village and its resources. We’re way the hell out in nowhere; they either pull together and survive or fail.
A little of this goes a long way. We have Ram ask if we can take pictures and meet with mixed reaction. We take what pictures seem to be within the comfort zone of the village and leave it go at that.
This older woman is gathering the fodder for the livestock; her wicker plate is in the upper left. The leather strap to the right of the basket is the halter to carry the fodder…no slack for grandma!
We decide to take the balance of the afternoon to see downtown Nar. We step down off the plateau where the grain is being threshed and immediately find ourselves boot top high in a black mud suitable for a number of Olympic sports whose common feature is falling on your ass. Goats, sheep, horses and yak roam about freely. All that appears black and slippery is not mud as I watch the local animals relieving themselves. I wonder about sanitation and community health.
As we move about the village, the living arrangement becomes clear. The animals inhabit the first floor and the people live on the second and third floors under Spartan conditions. From what I can tell, no sewer system or running water. This is simply a way of life completely foreign to anything that we know in the West.
Occasionally, we see a monk moving about or young children peering at us from their rooftops. Those that are able, are taking care of the village’s food supply.
Fairly typical of the older part of Nar. The French created a small hydroelectric project several years earlier on the water below Nar…hence, looks like New York City. It ain’t!
We came down a hillside of black mud and rounded a corner only to find this fellow staring at us from just a few feet away. I don’t believe he’s going anywhere fast.
How’s you like to have this baby parked in your driveway?
We wander about the older buildings a while longer and figure that it’s about time for our afternoon snooze and then a little tea and cookies. Oh, what spoiled creatures of habit we have become! Well…but of course, we’re on vacation…don’t you know?
Just a great picture of a way of life completely different from what we know.
As we head back up towards the Hotel Karma, I sneak a picture of one of the Tibetan rider and his horse.
The ever-watchful Ram (right side of picture) is getting a close inspection from this bull.
Upon our arrival back at the tent, the small children (the word is out about who’s got the candy) overwhelm us. They all want candy. Their faces are dirty and noses run with gray and green snot; their tiny hands are red and cracked from the cold. But their eyes are the sharp, clear sparkling black of an adventurous, hardy people and their manner is friendly and mischievous. While I’m ready for the afternoon nap, I ensure that they all get some candy and then Ram chases the second and third timers away.
Jim and I read a while and I dozed off a while although the threshing continued less than 100 feet from our tent. Around five, tea and cookies show up. Jim and I sit there in the tent trying to hold a conversation over the cadence of the threshing. I think I actually heard some of what Jim said.
Kami and the crew have an excellent dinner whipped together which we enjoy at the same outside table as lunch but this time by candle light. It’s cold out (upper thirties or low forties) and the wind is blowing just enough to reinforce the falling temperature. I gulp down a Dimox with dessert and around 7:00 head off to bed after a good pee.
Jim and Ram assure me the next morning that the threshing went on til nearly mid-night. I slept the blissful sleep of the righteous until about 3:00 A.M.
I told Jim that I was pretty harmless and must have been feeling my age. I explained that I had told my wife, Ann, that when I got too old to live at home anymore (you know …old guys start getting lost, can’t remember the conversation, peeing on the rug and drooling etc.) that she should pin a hundred dollar bill on my shirt and take me to the local cat house and instruct them to give the old fella anything he wants. Well…that time had apparently come and I wasn’t satisfied with my options. Blame it on the Dimox or threshing…I don’t know.
Sunday
October 17, 2004
By mutual agreement, we all sleep in until 7:00 A.M. Between the whacking outside of the tent and me yelling inside, needed our beauty rest.
We breakfast at the table next to the Karma Hotel again. It’s a bright sunny morning and beginning to warm up by the time we sit down. A mother, who looks to be about 30 years old appears with her daughter who has a badly swollen neck. Ram handles the translation. The mother is concerned about the daughter (maybe nine or ten years old). It looks like mumps but also recall reading that there’s a lot of problems up here with goiters. I feel the child’s head and can tell she’s running a temperature. I guess mumps.
If I wasn’t taking the ampicillin (have three tablets left) to prevent an infection of my head wound, would have given that to the child to make things easier as nature runs its course. Through Ram, we give her a week’s supply of aspirin with instructions to have the child rest, drink lots of hot tea and take two pills a day. Hope this works. Don’t believe it can hurt and is what I would have done with my own daughter under the circumstances.
The mother then shows us her hands. The skin is badly split down to the muscle in a number of places and is obviously painful. She asks if we have anything. Jim has some sort of Swedish ointment …a lip balm in a tin that he gives her. As she applies it, the relief from the constant pain is instantaneous. Jim and I exchange glances…each can see the compassion for these people in the eyes of the other. For the time, this is all we can do. I promise myself to try and help as soon as possible.
More of the Sunday morning breakfast crowd.
While all this is going on, staff has the camp broken down and as we finish breakfast, they pack the last of the kitchen for departure.
Ram lets us know that this will be a short easy day. Over three or four hours, we’ll ascend another maybe 1,500 feet to Kangla Phedi and setup a base camp so that we may move through the Kangla Pass early the next morning. This will entail the ascent of 3,000 feet in about three hours over steep, ice-laden terrain. The high point of the pass is about 17,300 feet.
We move out of Nar at a slow easy pace. It never gets warm really; the temperature comes up to the high 40 degree mark with the winds coming up off the snow making it feel pretty cold.
We stop a number of times to rest. Staff seems to be just fine with this routine after yesterday. By this time, we’ve come to know them better and in broken English and with various facial gestures we kid with them.
The terrain, as we move towards Kangla Phedi, rises at five to ten degrees and has all the appearance of a glacial moraine. After three hours of trekking, we reach an area where the landscape moves sharply up at 50 to 60 degrees and Ram announces that this is Kangla Phedi; you could have fooled me.
As I look around, I see a frozen pair of blue jeans sticking up out of the mud and rocks and a few food wrappers blowing about. This is the only place in two treks into the Himalayas that I’ve seen trash and debris.
It’s about lunchtime so the arrival is fortuitous; staff sets up the camp and begins fixing lunch.
The change in terrain from the flat moraine is obvious behind the tents.
After lunch, we pull the sleeping pads out into the sun and enjoy the warmer weather (now in the mid-50’s). I finish reading the Da Vinci Code.
About mid afternoon, we run out of other entertaining things to do so Jim and Ram agree to try to clean my head wound. We boil up a piece of torn towel again and they disinfect their hands. The verdict is that it looks nice and healthy but is very open indeed running two and a half inches in length and open about a quarter of an inch along its length. At this point, it’s no longer bleeding, so they fill the opening with Neosporin and place a clean dressing over it. The small tablecloth, which we’ve been using as a pressure bandage, goes back on.
We have dinner a little after 5:00 since the plan is to get up about 4:00 in the morning to move up through the pass. In addition to the 3,000 foot ascent, we’ll want to crest the pass as early as possible to avoid melting snow and ice, potential avalanche, and the very strong wind that often comes up about mid-morning.
Sometime during the night, I’m visited by mysterious spirits again and begin cursing loudly. Jim, I think more amused than anything else at this point, wants to hear the story of what’s going on. With great clarity, I tell Jim that I’m really ticked. In my dream, Ann has taken up with a young rodeo cowboy. You gotta be kidding me…a rodeo cowboy?? What the hell is this about? I’m too tired to try to figure out the symbolism in this dream so try to go back to sleep. About the time that I think I should be falling back to sleep, Gyan is outside of our tent with hot tea and “washie water”.
Monday
October 18, 2006
We’ve polished off breakfast and broken down the camp before 5:00 A.M. Ram advises us that the trip up and then down the other side will be pretty much straight up and then straight down. Ram reminds us that we’ll want to have completed the down portion on the other side before 11:00.
As we head out, we begin the ascent of the Kangla Pass immediately. Everything seems to have a thin layer of ice on it…about a quarter to half an inch thick. Some of the grade is running 50 to 60 degrees. We step very carefully with Ram keeping a close eye on Jim and me. It’s still dark out.
In the back of my mind, I know that I’ll be moving towards the altitude where I tore the mytial valve in my heart last year. I take it easy and keep an eye peeled on my heart rate monitor which never goes above 110…pretty tame.
As I continue to worry about ME, I begin to watch our porters and the kitchen staff. Puts things in perspective really fast and I shift my focus to watching them climb with us. I’m impressed. A hard way to make a few dollars!
As the sun comes up, I continue to watch the ice under my boots. A little moisture begins to move under the ice but we still basically have ice.
While hard to appreciate from this angle, the slope is about 60 degrees and that’s ice.
As we move higher, the ice and snow are slippery and we begin to encounter loose shale and debris. We move back and forth trying to find good purchase under our boots. I’m using my trekking poles now to steady myself as we pick our way upward. There are a number of times where our rubber-soled boots don’t get good footing and we have to work to maintain our balance.
The sun is really bright now reflecting off the snow and ice. The snow has gotten deeper now sometimes at mid-calf and occasionally knee deep. Without crampons, we all begin to slip and slide a little more in the snow. The secret is to step in the boot prints ahead of you. Occasionally, the debris under the snow shifts and you have to re-adjust your balance.
The views everywhere are stunning. While we’re moving very slowly up through the Pass, I can really feel the altitude. I wonder at every little ache and pain in my chest. I don’t want a repeat of last year’s medical evacuation. On the other hand, this is really high adventure for me. I am absolutely happy…this is where I want to be!
Finally, about a 1,000 feet into the Pass, we stop and take a break. Kami and the kitchen crew come up from below and join us in the rest. Kami and Bieurman have decent boots on but the rest are moving up in wet running shoes. Their loads are not only heavy but cumbersome dwarfing them as they shoulder them.
We take the opportunity to hydrate and eat an energy bar.
From left to right…Bieruman, our porters, Gyan and Kami at about 15,500 feet.
As we move higher, the snow gets deeper and the views more striking. The loose material under our boots becomes less of a concern. We stop frequently to catch our breath. My chest is pounding but the heart rate stays below 125.
No sign yet of the wind that Ram has expressed concern about. We begin to peel back some of the layers of clothes on the rest breaks. Not what you’d call a warm day but the layers of wool and nylon are making me perspire.
Jim isn’t particularly talkative today. Perhaps adapting to the altitude in his own way. I see him stopping from time to time to take more pictures.
The last 500 to 700 feet rises steeply at about 65 to 70 degrees. We climb in increments of 20 to 30 feet and then stop to catch our breath. At this elevation, we can see glistening snow covered peaks as far as the eye can see.
About 9:00, we finally move up through the last couple of hundred feet of the pass. We’ve had this trip all to ourselves. No other footprints in the snow. As we round the last boulder, we see the traditional Buddhist prayer flags marking the top of the pass. Ram and Kami stop and light up the Camels.
The snow covered eastern face of the Kangla Pass.
I finally move up beyond Ram and Kami to catch up with Jim and see how our porters fared. I’m absolutely surprised by what I see. There is no snow at all on the western face of the pass and the descending trail is strewn with shale and loose gravel and is very steep.
While sunny, it’s still cold; our young friend is blowing on his hand to restore feeling.
We pause at the top for about 15 minutes catching our breath, taking pictures and adjusting the loads. Our descent will be very steep with poor footing as you can see in the preceding picture.
As we move down the Manang side of the pass, my shins feel every step because of the sharp angle of our descent. The loose shale beneath our feet shifts with every step. Even the porters and kitchen staff are moving cautiously. Small rocks, gravel and shale break loose and bounce down the trail constantly.
We’ve moving through a moon like landscape; nothing grows and everything looks dry and barren. We descend something between 1,500 and 2,000 feet before we come to the first relatively flat plateau.
Looking back over our shoulders, this is the Manang side of the Kangla Pass which we’ve just descended.
Our party is pretty spread out coming down the Pass... in part to keep from getting clobbered by the loose debris. Jim has moved out in front a hundred meters or so. I’m moving slowly but steadily. I see Jim stop and rest a couple of times but don’t think too much about it.
Even coming down hill at this elevation, I can feel the exertion of every step. The temperature remains in the low to mid-40’s range and the wind has just begun to blow.
Around 10:00 or 10:30 we reach the first plateau. It feels good to be out of the worst of the debris field. I catch up with Jim and Ram calls for a break. Jim shares with me that he has both head and chest pains. He indicates that he’s really in bad shape.
Our first plateau with a magnificent view of the Annapurna range; those are Jim’s boots in lower left corner.
I became pretty familiar with heart issues in 2003 after my experience in the Kumbu region. Before I left on this trip, I did a fair amount of reading about various health issues at altitude…and downloaded half dozen short articles off the internet that I thought might become the basis of a useful diagnosis.
We can’t go back over the Pass…nowhere to go there. The planned end of our day is the village of Ngawal which with a normal pace is another three or four hours ahead. This is not a good place for us to camp either since there is no substantial water source nearby other than melting snow.
We move on another 45 minutes to an hour moving through a grassy area with a series of stepped plateaus. Ram calls a break for lunch. Everyone needs the break. It was a short night last night and we’ve gone through a cumulative altitude change of about 5,000 feet in about seven hours over difficult terrain above 17,000 feet.
The picture speaks for itself…they’re tired, cold and a ways to go before the next camp setup.
We quickly move out of the grassy area and return to the steep, rubble field of the moraine sweeping down into the Manang Valley. The trail is loose, uneven, icy and in one short, north facing stretch covered in snow with only a narrow snow packed path; Ram uses his ice ax to cut footsteps. The drop is less than 100 feet but this is no place to get injured.
Beyond the snowy path episode, we move down another maybe 500 feet through loose gravel and stones and with the lower elevations, now move through mud as we descend. About this time, the wind that Ram had been promising, has caught up with us blowing steadily between what I’d guess to be 30 to 40 miles an hour. We’re cold, tired, sore and I begin to notice that my legs ache with each downward step now on a very steep stretch of trail …as much as 75 degrees in a few places.
We were going to camp in an open field near Ngawal but Ram wisely senses that everyone needs a break. We descend the last two or three hundred feet into Ngawal where Ram checks us in to a local lodge for the night.
Jim and I take some time to clean up and catch maybe a 20 minute nap before tea time in the dining room of the lodge. Amidst a long conversation about getting to the Mountain Rescue Clinic in Manang tomorrow to check out Jim’s condition, we meet a fellow climber in the dining room. He turns out to be an Australian farmer on his sixth trip to this part of the world. Jim quickly finds common ground with him discovering that they had climbed some of the same peaks in South America.
We finish off a good meal and quickly head up to our six-foot square plywood room and crawl into the sleeping bags. No oracles tonight. We both sleep soundly.
Tuesday
October 19, 2004
Ram allows us to sleep in until 6:30; I think the whole staff needed that after yesterday. As I talk to Jim, I discover that he has not slept well. We’re still pretty much out in the boondocks and he’s anxious over the chest and headaches of yesterday. I take this very seriously knowing Jim’s history with all sorts of adventures that I won’t even consider.
We’re on the second story of the lodge and have a good view of the Southern Annapurnas. We take advantage of this by having breakfast there which is very pleasant.
Our Australian climber from last night joins us on the porch for breakfast. Around 8:00 we say our goodbyes and head out towards Hungde on a very steep trail. We’re moving through wooded terrain again with wonderful alpine views.
After about an hour and a half, we can see the main Annapurna trekking trail ahead. There’s a lot of yak and sheep grazing in fairly traditional looking farms.
The Annapurna circuit trail lies ahead of us at the base of the wooded mountains.
At this lower altitude, we are enjoying a beautifully warm sunny day with stunning contrasts of color and texture everywhere. It’s already in the high 50’s.
As we move along, Jim is growing more pessimistic about whether or not he can go forward. Ram, Jim and I caucus several times before reaching the main trail. We decide that this needs to be Jim’s decision and will support whatever he chooses to do.
In another half an hour, we reach Hungde and move slowly up the trail without putting undue pressure on Jim to make a decision.
By this point, we’ve moved beyond the airstrip (a packed dirt strip of about an eighth of a mile) and are nearly at the end of town.
Jim decides to move along further towards Manang and see how things go. I suggest that Jim carry and use my pulse-oximeter to see what his vitals are doing. We compare vitals a number of times over the next hour with similar oxygen absorption levels but my heart rate is slower than his which I attribute to the heart medication that I’m on.
About 10:30 we stop at Kresang…literally a wide spot on the trail to give Jim a rest and think about lunch.
Jim looks pretty damm miserable…starting to think this may be more than yak cheese at altitude
The decision for Jim to pack in the trek or not is not one made easily. Chest pains when you’re days away from any kind of reasonable rescue can literally be a life and death decision. When they persist into a second day, that’s cause for pause.
Ram wisely allows plenty of time at Kresang for Jim to mull things over and complete his own calculus. Several large parties of French and Israeli trekkers stop for lunch giving us the opportunity to make light conversation. We’ve been in the woods a long time!
In the end, Jim makes a gutsy call and decides to continue to proceed on towards Manang.
We’re back down around 10,000 feet and the weather is warmer down here. The afternoon is clear and in the mid-60’s. The trail rises only modestly more flat than not. We move along slowly enjoying the experience and comparing vital signs as we move.
Within less than an hour, we’re moving through a small settlement (Munje) of half dozen stone dwellings. We routinely see trekkers now moving back and forth on the main Annapurna circuit trail.
A half hour later we arrive at Braga, a very old settlement of perhaps 40 dwellings similar to what we saw at Nar. There’s a new settlement of perhaps a dozen buildings on the main trail and then northeast lies the 500 year old plus village of Braga. We’ve simply stopped and are resting (Ram giving Jim another opportunity to make decisions). We watch the 40 feet across the trail to the steps of an upscale lodge (everything is relative) seeing a group of perhaps 10 Israeli college age trekkers. They are the ugly Americans of their nation acting out in outrageous ways at least for this culture.
We hear the bugles and drums from behind us and see a religious procession moving from the Gompa. The local lama has died and a Buddhist funeral is being held.
Without saying anything, Ram gives us the look that says that it would be bad karma to photograph the procession so we don’t but enjoy its richness nonetheless.
We finally head on from Braga towards Manang. I have no idea of what to expect.
This is October and we’re in the middle of the festival of Dasain…the season of slaughter. This is a blood festival that entails the slaughter of animals and the religious marking of things with the blood. As we are moving towards Manang, a number of yak are being slaughtered near the trail…too close. I have Vietnam flashbacks and again say nothing but look the other way. My stomach gets queasy…I can smell the blood and don’t want to. We move on and my weak stomach is better until we’re passed by a local carrying the rear quarter of yak on the trail to Manang.
I can now see Manang rising on our right on a modest plateau perhaps 400 feet above the valley that we’ve been trekking in most of the day. We’re well acclimated now and easily move up through a large white stuccoed gate into Manang. The village is large by local standards…there’s a small new section of perhaps 20 to 25 buildings followed by the older portion of another 30 to 40 buildings.
Within two or three minutes of entering the village, we see signs for the Himalayan Mountain Rescue Clinic. Ram instructs the staff to go on and set up camp at a prearranged location. Ram, Jim, and I head for the Rescue Clinic. We move past one of the nicest building in town, a coffee house with real Danish pastries and glass windows. We haven’t died and gone to heaven but after two weeks in the boondocks, this is really nice.
We move through a stonewalled courtyard and enter the Clinic. We quickly meet Mike, one of two Canadian doctors that have been here in Nepal for all of a couple of weeks. Jim begins to tell Mike his story and we’re quickly joined by his female partner in crime, Wendy. I mention that I gashed my head open about four days ago and they say something about getting over it and begin to examine Jim.
They take about half an hour to examine Jim and conclude that he appears to be pretty normal now but make it clear that it’s his decision about trekking or not.
Finally, they pull off my turban and check out the head wound. “Looks just fine…healing nicely…yea, get over it”. They do a sterile wipe, load me up with some more Neosporin, and a fresh gauze dressing along with a week’s supply of clean dressings.
We tell Mike and Wendy about the medical conditions back in Nar suggesting that they could desperately use a brief intervention. Mike and Wendy, newcomers that they are, get right into the spirit of things and declare that they’ll hike back over there and do a clinic.
We join Ram after all this missionary work. Ram doesn’t comment on Jim’s decision but seems relieved that we’re back into a predictable routine. We move up through the newer part of the village and find our tents already up in a small stock enclosure next to what appears to be a large lodge.
A village yes…but with as many animals as people.
We spend about an hour getting settled in our new home finding time for a bath in a pan and a shave. Seeing that the day is still young…not tea time yet, we head out and do a little shopping buying much needed batteries and beginning to get a feel for the cost of local souvenirs.
It’s great to be partially clean again and walking on relatively flat ground. Jim is in better spirits and we enjoy taking in the local sites which are diverse. As much as anything, I’m just enjoying sitting on a rock beside the trail watching the locals work the trekking crowd.
As teatime comes and goes, the wind comes up and the sun begins to fade. It’s quickly getting cold here but not near as bad as some of the temperatures that we’ve seen in the boondocks.
As we head back towards our end of town, we come across what appears to be a pretty old gentleman with a great assortment of local handmade stuff…jewelry, yak bells, yak harnesses etc.
So…we were kind of curious, how old are you?
We begin to talk with him quickly finding out that his English is probably better than ours. I ask if I can take his picture. “Sure, go ahead” he says “as long as you tell your wife that I’m more handsome than you”. We compare ages…we’re both 62.
We wander off into the old section of town just as the sun is beginning to set.
Be not confused…this is a different planet.
Jim and I get back to camp before dark and enjoy a great meal of fresh chicken. The lower altitude feels good after our experiences of the past two weeks.
Around 7:00 it’s gotten good and dark so we turn in. We’re just zippering up the bags when the local Buddhist Gompa tunes up their bugles and drums for Dasain. We find this interesting and quaint for the first hour. Beyond that…I mean way beyond that, I could do without the concert.
Much to Jim’s disappointment, we do not hear from the oracle of Manang (that would be me) and don’t have a clue about how things turned out between Ann and the rodeo cowboy. Such is life!
Wednesday
October 20, 2004
By pre-arrangement, Ram has promised to allow us to sleep in until 7:00. Gyan shows up at 6:45 with coffee and toast; oh well.
Jim has had a difficult night suffering from the last of whatever his condition was coming through the Pass.
It’s a warm, sunny morning. I take time to clean up and shave before breakfast. We dine about 7:30 on fresh eggs and the balance of a great breakfast. Kami tries to serve up some sliced Spam with the eggs. Kitchen staff quickly learns that Spam is a good deal since neither Jim nor I is fond of it.
The plan for the day is to wander the 40 minutes back down the trail to Braga. By 8:30 were moving back out of Manang heading for Braga.
As we move back down towards Braga, Ram points out that the locals have slaughtered another handful of yak and are leading more to this harsh end. Ram asks if we’d like to get closer for a better look. I quickly answer “no” for both of us and quietly say a prayer to spare the balance of these animals.
When we arrive at Braga, we quickly ascend up a steep slope of perhaps 200 or 300 feet to an ancient Gompa. We pass a makeshift lean-to with local goods for sale manned by two young teenagers. I make a note to stop back here on the way out. It’s got to be nearly 70 degrees out and the air feels wet and heavy with the smells of burning incense and the animal odors from below.
The Buddhist custodian (Konyer) is perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties. The Gompa is about 900 years old and beautiful inside lined with dusty, brightly colored silk fabrics and over 100 terra cotta statues. This is one of the depositories of Buddhist writings with stack upon stack of books dating back a long time…my first understanding is several thousand years. I think that I’m getting this wrong so ask again. Yes…more than two thousand years old. Still not sure that I’ve got this right. I ask, “why here”. Ram and the custodian try to make me understand. I think it has to do with the environment allowing the old manuscripts to survive.
Jim and I make a contribution of rupees and receive in return special prayer necklaces to protect us for the rest of our trek. Based on our track record so far, we judge this to be money will spent. I don’t know about Jim, but mine came off when I was back in California. Just covering all the bases.
As we exit the Gompa we return to the souvenir lean-to and its young entrepreneurs. The goods are the real deal. I buy Taylor a traditional Tibetan necklace made of jade, coral and silver. As we talk, Ram educates us about local gemstones. This part of the world is rich in a variety of precious gems which are mined and cut by cheap labor. I’m amazed at the craftsmanship and the small price that I pay. I dump about twenty-five dollars worth of rupees in exchange for two or three items.
We pause a while to enjoy the warm sunny day. Directly below us is a large French tent trekking party with half dozen or more tents. This is a rest day for them too. They’re doing laundry and airing out their gear. The odors of their camp drift upwards towards us as does the slow rhythm of the French conversations 200 feet below us…such are the acoustics of this space. Within a 100 feet of their camp another dozen or so yak are grazing. I wonder about their near-term fate.
The village of Braga is very old and looks a lot like Meta and Nar. The dwellings are made of stone with more timber framing than was used at higher elevations. Amazingly, the roofs are stacked with several layers of heavy stones and then covered in mud and straw. I wonder at how the load holds up under rain and snow. The apparent answer is “just fine” since it is more than 500 years old. Go figure all you engineers.
As we descend the slope from the Gompa, I get some pictures of the village at more of an eyeball level.
While more than 500 years old, this is still home to the local people.
As we continue to stand in the sun taking all this in, I notice the ladders between floors in the houses. They are amazing things. They are simply local trees about a foot to maybe fifteen inches wide and the steps, such as they are, have been notched out of one side. The ladders, as you can tell in the picture, stand at 70 to 75 degrees to the floor, yet the locals go up and down them as if they were flat sidewalks.
It’s late morning now and we move back towards Manang. No sign of the yak business that we saw several hours earlier. Just fine with me.
As we move back through the main gate into Manang, Jim and I see our older vendor friend from yesterday (the one that allowed me to take his picture as long as I told Ann that he was more handsome). His English is perfect. His goods are mostly Tibetan. Both Jim and I part with more rupees but get good value in return. As much as anything, we’re enjoying the discourse with him and the insights gained about local culture and how he makes his living (I suspect a very good one).
Ram has gone ahead of us back to camp to stir up the kitchen staff.
We finish our exploits moving in and out of several local shops but buying little other than to restock batteries and other essentials.
As we get back to our camp, I’m reminded of the good sense of the French trekkers and realize that we’re just as rank as they were. I pull out all my dirty clothing and get Gyan to bring me a pan of hot water and setout to wash what I can. Just as I rinse it, the late morning winds come up and its difficult to get socks and underwear to stay put. The combination of sun, wind, and high tech fabrics makes short work of laundry day and everything is quickly dry. The sleeping bag and wool garments also get a good airing out.
Jim and I knock down lunch and settle into a lazy routine of just hanging out napping and reading. The sun feels good but the wind is now a steady 20 to 30 miles an hour. I’ve found a spot more out of the wind than not and sit reading A Soldier’s Story and watching the wind pick things up and blow them around. Dust funnels blow across the camp and down the main trekking trail.
About mid-afternoon, Jim and I have become bored so head out into the village again looking for something to eat and drink besides “Kami fare”.
We re-find the coffee shop near the Rescue Clinic and go inside. There’s a real wooden floor inside and the local tables and chairs have a glossy lacquer finish. There’s an Israeli couple sharing a Danish pastry drinking coffee and playing a guitar. They’re joined by another half dozen Israelis… all in their early twenties. We order coffee and a Danish. The coffee is real coffee…not that instant crap that we’ve been drinking gladly for two weeks. The couple plays the guitar and the Israelis sing folk songs. Where’s Bob Dylan?
We look outside at the blowing wind through real glass windows and the whole thing seems disconnected and surreal. I wonder where the hell I am as I peer outside at the starkly beautiful Annapurna range of mountains listening to the singing and sipping my coffee. Is this a dream…is this a dream about a dream? For a moment, I can’t sort this out. Wherever the hell I am, I’m tickled pink to be here. We snap out of our trance about 5:00 and wander back into the old part of Manang.
A peaceful, tranquil spot protected from the wind.
This older part of the village is protected by high walls and its many twists and turns provide peaceful places to be secure in the raw beauty of the place. I wonder what it would be like to live in this world.
As darkness approaches, the wind disappears as we walk back into our camp. We let Ram know that they’ll be no tea time today and catch a pre-dinner nap.
Kami must be feeling the pressure to compete with the coffee house. We have pizza and fresh potatoes and carrots.
Dark now for about an hour, the temperature is falling and we head off to the comfort of our sleeping bags. No festival noises tonight although several local dogs decide to sing us to sleep. I’m aware of things for about 20 seconds before I’m sound asleep.
Thursday
October 21, 2004
We’re up around 6:00…a long day ahead of us across some demanding terrain. We clean up and finish a great breakfast.
I see that staff is breaking down the camp so quickly head to the privy for one final shot at taking care of business. Really, a pretty decent arrangement. Staff digs a small cat hole about a foot wide and about 18 inches deep and the whole thing is covered in a little blue tent where you can stand and then squat over the hole and batta-bing, batta-boom. Well, a couple of Westerners getting used to altitude and eating strange food, don’t exactly fill the hole up. So I’ve grown accustomed to a certain level of not very impressive deposits.
So, just before batta-bing, batta-boom, I glance down casually between my legs into the hole and nearly jump out of the tent. It looks like someone’s arm; I don’t mean just the forearm…I mean a whole damm arm. This thing is amazing!
This is not the kind of thing that one can keep to oneself so I quickly find Jim and ask him if he’s responsible for the “mother of all turds”. Jim denies ownership of this conversation piece so for the moment we let it drop.
We stand around for a while enjoying another cup of coffee and watching staff pack up the last of the camp.
There’s plenty to watch since we’re camped just feet off the main trekking trail. We watch several parties moving west towards the older portion of Manang. Many are young European trekkers in the early twenties carrying substantial backpacks. I’m just fine with our more civilized arrangement of porters.
There’s a large group directly across the trail from us loading mules with heavy loads. I take them to be a Tibetan group with trade goods.
Note the colorful Tibetan bridles on the three mules right front.
About 7:30 the last buddle of our camp is in a basket and we head up through the old part of Manang.
As we head upwards through the old part of Manang, I can’t resist the opportunity to bring up the “mother of all turds”.
Our tradition so far in the trek is that the little blue privy is for the paying clients…me and Jim. Clearly some interloper has taken advantage of our good will and made a deposit in our privy.
Ram, Jim and I are walking together and well out of earshot of the rest of the staff. As I bring up the dimensions of the beast, Ram makes no comment only giving me a passing glance that let’s me know that this isn’t the kind of conversation that we have in Nepal on one of his treks. I add two and two and exchange a glance with Jim that says that we know the probable source of the “mother”. Jim grins back in affirmation.
We continue to head steeply up for about 90 minutes until we reach a small Gompa that provides an excellent view of Manang, its valley and the Southern Annapurna range.
You’d think that we run out of breathtakingly beautiful views but here’s another.
As we come to the end of the valley, having gained something short of I suspect about 1,000 feet, the terrain turns stark providing only various hews of brown, gray, and green.
We continue on for another four and a half hours of steadily uphill grind through bleak landscape. We continue to gain altitude and we’re feeling it. We pause frequently to just catch our breadth. The wind has come up and is biting at us. It feels colder than it is. Close to noon we crest a rise in the trail and come upon a lodge of sorts with a nearby water source.
The sky remains a deep blue and if you can get out of the wind, the sun feels good. We sit on a wooden lounge of sorts behind what someday will become a stone lodge and enjoy the warmth of the sun and Kami’s warm lunch.
We’re on the edge of a small, high meadow and are joined by a group of Israeli trekkers who keep their distance at the other side. We take our time here spending nearly an hour resting and enjoying lunch.
It’s finally time to move back onto the trail. Back in the wind, it’s really cold and getting colder. The trail disappears and we move ahead across a moonscape. I thought the area, a year ago, below the Kumbu glacier was remote and barren but this is just as stark but in a different way. It’s more flat than the pockmarked glacier moraine. Nothing seems to live here. I’d guess that we’re near 15,000 feet.
Several hours out, we cross one of the longest suspension bridges I’ve ever seen in a remote spot. As soon as we get to the other side, we come upon several stone lodges. I’m tired and cold and hope that this is where Ram plans to stop for the day. There’s just enough weathered timber exposed that it looks like a scene out of “Gunsmoke”.
Without comment, we move on beyond. My hopes for warmth and a lazy afternoon disappear. We continue to move on through desolate landscapes moving modestly upward again. We crest yet another rise and round a bend in the trail seeing several stone buildings looking like old Mexico.
This sure as hell is not Kansas City but the dog in the center of the picture looks like Benji.
Ram ducks inside one of the buildings to parley and Jim and I find a warm spot in the sun out of the wind. We relax and contemplate the day for about 15 minutes waiting for Ram’s return.
Ram leads us about 100 feet back up the trail to a high yak pasture. This is where we’ll camp tonight. Ram assures us that the yak have gone down below this time of the year, but I recognize that as frozen as the yak chips are, they’re pretty fresh.
The wind is downright unpleasant at this point. We help Ram and the others boot the worst of the yak chips out of the way so that we can set up the tents. I’m thinking that Motel 6 would be immensely better than this but just want to get warm and off my feet.
We have just time to get warm in our double bagged sleeping bags when Gyan and Bieurman show up for tea time. The hot tea is comforting. We reminisce about the day’s activities for a while until Ram tells us that it’s time for dinner down in the lodge.
We cross the threshold (dirt to dirt) into the interior of the lodge which is dark and smoke filled. It’s difficult to see clearly to its other end less than 30 feet away.
As a welcome change, we’re served popcorn as an appetizer. We’re quickly joined by the owners’ young son (perhaps four or five years old). He’s all over the place and very mischievous. We play “kid” games with him…rocks, scissors, paper etc. Benji, the dog, joins us. We had noticed him earlier rolling in yak dung and doing what dogs do.
Benji wants in on the action and is quickly walking around and sitting on top of the table. I anticipate that this will be an interesting dinner…perhaps some extra protein.
The sun is down now and it’s like a cave in the lodge. We have one lone candle on our table and the light from the kitchen fire 20 feet away.
Kami puts on a hell of a feed. After the popcorn, we have vegetable soup, pasta and canned peaches for dessert. There’s probably little brown and black specs all over the table but you can’t really see them in the dark so we get over it and enjoy the warmth of being inside…well…sort of.
At some point during the meal, we’re joined by two French climbers who look pretty hungry and tired. We offer them some of ours but they wait (proves to be a big mistake for them) and they play cards instead. I don’t understand what they’re saying but get the jest of it from their gestures and expressions. Jim speaks fluent French but keeps it to himself.
About 7:30 we go back outside into the cold and by flashlight head up to our tent. By this time the wind has subsided but its serious cold out. We go through the nightly ritual of Dimox, a good pee, and get in those sleeping bags.
Sometime during the night, I hear the bells clanging of returning yak to our pasture. Not long afterward, I hear low guttural moans coming from Jim’s side of the tent. I try to assure Jim that the big fellow outside his side of the tent probably just wants to get to know him better. I’m pretty sure Jim’s awake but don’t recall him responding to my comforting words.
Friday
October 22, 2004
We awake about 7:00 with hot tea from Gyan. It’s still cold. The washcloth that I had used late yesterday afternoon and laid out over my pack inside the tent is frozen. Gyan has a metal bowl of warm water, which does the trick, and soon feel reasonably clean. As Jim and I begin to move about outside of the tent, there’s no sign of last night’s visitors.
Our morning ritual takes about half an hour to get going. The hot beverages are essential to getting awake. This normally brings on an urgent call of nature thanks to the Dimox. It depends upon how cold it is outside as to how urgent the second round is. The hygiene end of things goes pretty quickly with a good wash, brushing of teeth, and taking whatever pills old guys take.
What follows is a little more adventuresome. While we’re trekking for more than three weeks, there’s a limited amount of clothing …some sort of clean, some dirty, and some really ripe. Depending upon the weather and expected activities of the day, it takes a little sorting out to decide what gets worn, what we carry in our smaller packs, and what goes in the larger packs that the porters carry.
Especially if the weather outside is rotten, two guys inside a small tent trying to sort through all this can be pretty entertaining. Finally, sleeping bags need to get stuffed into packs as well as sleeping pads. The rules are that the porters will be by about thirty minutes after tea first arrives to begin breaking camp so you do have to get with it.
A little after 7:30, we head over to the inn for breakfast.
The sunlight coming in through the window gives you an idea of how smoky it is in here. Jim’s wearing that mountain parka for a good reason.
The picture tells a lot about the construction of these remote buildings. Windows and doors get framed in roughhewn timber. The walls are quarried stone chinked and stuccoed with yak dung and whatever grows that acts as a binder. The ceilings are small timbers followed by flat stones covered in debris.
The usual suspects are here…junior and Benji. We go through more of what transpired last night. Benji limits his activities to our laps today.
Kami comes to the rescue with a great breakfast of coffee, toast, oatmeal and fresh omelets.
Jim and I discuss the pros and cons of having animal heads mounted on the wall of the dining room (see picture above) concluding that they do provide an ambiance of sorts. Somehow, I forget to ask Jim about how things turned out with the yak on his side of the tent last night. Just as well.
Our destination today will be an advanced base camp below the Thorong-La Pass (17,600 feet). The trip won’t be long (about three hours) but incessantly up. True to expectation, we grind on up and down for about three hours with the last 40 minutes just continuously up at about 45-50 degrees. Makes me think of the story of the three little pigs and the big bad wolf that huffed and puffed…we huffed and puffed.
Great view of the “huffed and puffed” trail leading to the Thorong Phedi base camp.
A few more minutes on the trail and we arrive at Thorong Phedii base camp.
That’s Kami in the lower right enjoying a well deserved rest.
We had seen “some” other trekkers on the trail but there’s quite a gaggle of people here at the base camp. The answer is that there’s a fairly substantial lodge both here and further up in the pass. Both of which serve as places to rest, recover, and acclimate to the higher altitude overnight before making the climb. Because of the winds later in day and the snow conditions further up, many will begin their climbs at 2:00 or 3:00 A.M.
We decide to stay a few minutes and take in the sights and chit-chat with others. I’m struck by the zest for adventure that many of the Europeans and Australians have. Many are young although plenty are in their forties and fifties. I suspect that these are rites of passage that they take to assert their independence and intention to live in and deal with the world…whatever it serves up. They all seem pumped and glad to be here.
An interesting mix of Europeans and their Nepali staffs.
Being with this group again reminds me that we have not seen Americans back here since the beginning of the trip. Our State Department’s travel warnings have taken their toll.
At this point, the temperature is probably in the upper forties and the wind hasn’t come on the scene yet. We sit around warming ourselves in the sunshine and taking in the beautiful views all around us.
I talk with several different groups getting bits and pieces of their stories and then generally just settle into listening to what’s going on around me. Strangely, it feels good to be around a mix of other people again. While I love our remote adventure, I realize that I need a little of this too to bring balance to the experience.
As we begin to talk about moving back up another seven or eight hundred feet to the advanced base camp, I see one of our porters grinning at us.
It takes us the better part of another 45 minutes to move from the base camp to the advanced base camp…I’m guessing at about 15,600 feet. There are a handful of filthy stone buildings here. Ram quickly has the tents going up.
The yak have been here too. Those would be yak paddies behind Ram and next to the tent.
It’s amazing how quickly our staff gets things going. As soon as the tents are up, Kami has prepared lunch and we’re being served in out of the wind in one of the buildings. We load up on hot tea, baked beans, and curried potatoes. The strategy for getting us up over the pass in the morning is obvious. What’s that about “blazing saddles”?
As I finish lunch, I find a rock as a backrest and sit in the sun reading a book. My attention turns to several parties heading up higher into the pass…I suspect to the lodge further up.
Our plan is to be up at 4:30 in the morning attempting to crest the top of the Pass by 10:30 or 11:00. While this seems like a long time to gain 2,200 feet, the going is slow for everyone given the altitude and sometimes difficult conditions on the trail.
I spend a good part of the afternoon just propped against this rock reading and taking in the sights. The snow covered peaks all around us are awesome.
By early afternoon the winds have returned and the apparent temperature has dropped considerably. Jim and I retreat to the tent to read and catch the ever wonderful afternoon nap at altitude. You’d be surprised at how tranquil it can be to lie warmly in a flapping tent with sun beating through on a cold day. Just make sure to kick those frozen yak paddies well down wind.
Five o’clock brings tea time followed at 6:00 with dinner in the same filthy little room which is at least out of the wind but dark as hell with only a single flickering candle between us.
Around 7:00 we’re back in the tent and trying to get some sleep. Early wakeups screw me up and I usually don’t sleep well. This was no exception. While I was plenty warm in the double bags, the water in my water bottle partially froze.
Part of the sleeping poorly was due to the anticipation that tomorrow would mark the highest point on the trek and I had some concern about how my heart would perform at that altitude. Jim had similar concerns given his Kang La Pass ordeal.
This leaves just time for a Dimox, a quick pee, a little washie washie and wham into the sleeping bag. I doubt that I was still awake when my head hit the pillow.
Saturday
October 23, 2004
We’re up right on time…about 4:30. It’s just plain cold everywhere. Jim and I have laid out what we’ll need and fairly quickly pack the rest of our gear up in the larger packs for the porters. Gyan signals that it’s time for breakfast. Jim and I head over to the dirty hovel where we had dinner. I have a good appetite but Jim can only force down some toast and hot chocolate.
We’re on the trail a little after 5:00. By mutual agreement, we move slowly putting one foot in front of the other. The trail is loose and relatively steep but our pace makes it reasonable. I’m feeling surprisingly good and confident but Jim isn’t feeling well. Ram, Jim and I are trying to move together. Jim is lagging behind about 100 meters followed by the staff with their heavy loads even further back.
As the sun begins to come up so does the wind. It’s blowing sharply in our faces and is modestly painful. While I wouldn’t say we had a crowd, we do see and are passed by and pass other trekkers.
I keep an eye on the heart rate monitor. Apparently we’re doing things just right with the monitor hanging in there between 105 and 110. My normal running heart rate is 125 to 140 so feel comfortable with these numbers.
The lower part of the trail is pretty diverse. We run into patches of snow and ice occasionally on the north side of things and in the lea of large rock outcroppings. The footing is just ok. Many travelers and animals have passed this way and everything is loose. The higher we move, the more the wind has a shot at us. Everyone is layered up for the experience.
My load is not heavy but my shoulders and back are sore from the cold and my lack of sleep. I imagine the camp staff, with their heavier loads and lighter clothing, would like to see this day behind them.
Despite all of this, I’m like a kid on a big adventure. I’m moving up through a high Himalayan pass with people that I like and respect. Every part of the experience including the cold and thin air is just one more part of the adventure.
About 6:30 we reach a high tea house and stop for a break. A good opportunity to meet one of the local residents. I wonder if he eats beer cans?
Had no way to test the beer can theory but can assure you that he’ll eat anything else.
This is definitely this old fox’s corner and he’s systematically working it.
After a short break, we move on again. Our pace continues to be slow. We finally come to the high lodge and pause a few minutes taking on water and not making much conversation. This high lodge has the small Tibetan horses for women and non-hackers. I briefly rationalize about my torn heart valve and then picture my potential bragging rights forever gone. I glance back at Jim and hope he’s not thinking about riding a horse to the top. We’re real men…aren’t we??
Around 8:00 we reach a point in the pass that looked like it must be close to the top.
A Sherpa…not one of ours, carrying a heavy load up through the pass.
We’ve just come around a northern exposure wide bend in the trail walking through drifted packed snow and ice. We’re back in the sun again with dry footing, but realize that the top of the pass really is far ahead beyond the obvious pass on the right hand side of the picture.
The last 45 minutes to an hour is a steady up through packed snow under slippery conditions. Not dangerous but we can feel the strain of the altitude and the cold wind that continues to haunt us. We move slowly often stopping to regain our wind.
As we approach the top of the pass, we have become spread out. Ram and I are up front followed by Jim and Kami about 100 meters behind. The rest of the staff trails further behind with their heavy loads. We’re moving at about the same pace as everyone else coming up through the pass. We’re passed several times by hardy native men leading horses with riders on board up through the slippery snow.
Ram and I finally reach a small stone tea house at the top of the pass. It’s about 9:00. I’m glad that I made it to the top without incident. Jim and Kami join us and Ram orders up hot lemon tea. Good man! Jim and I converse briefly and decide to get in on the picture taking at the top.
Kami, me and Ram at the top of the Thorong La Pass.
Jim, Kami, and me…are we having fun yet?
Think I kidded Jim about needing a smiling picture of him at the top so took one more.
“Yes Dorothy”, there’s a good reason these men are wearing their snowsuits!
As we look down the other side, it’s the Kang La Pass all over again. Snow and ice on one side and a desert scape on the other.
This pass marks the transition from the Manang to the Mustang region of Nepal.
The transition is even more stark than the last one. What lies ahead could be the desert southwest of the United States.
I can see that this will be even a bigger challenge than the descent of the Kang La…same conditions but more of it. Our descent is marked by stone rubble, loose shale, snow, ice, mud and running water. The first third of the descent is steep and then as we move through the bottom half, there are a series of plateaus often covered in snow, mud and trickling water making for slippery going.
Around 11:00 we reach the first of the plateaus and stop for lunch.
You think it might be a little chilly out here? Three of our awesome, good natured porters.
After lunch, we encounter more snow and ice on the trail in impractical places. Bieurman (aka. John Wayne) simply tots his basket of food, pots, pans, and stove across like no big deal. Gyan tries to follow and Ram quietly moves ahead and carves footsteps with his ice ax and no more is said.
The descent seems never ending. We continue to slide through mud and trickling water staying focused so as not to fall. At some point, it dawns on me that I’m getting tired and its more from the mental focus of not doing something stupid than anything else.
Our descent continues to grind on. I begin to watch the staff and how they handle the slippery footing with their heavy loads and modest footwear. They’re all sure footed and never show what must be the strain of the loads. I’m amazed at how cheerful they are despite the long day. Something for all of us in the West to consider.
After about nine hours, Ram points to an area below us and says that this is our destination. I don’t see anything but more moonscape. Nonetheless, glad to know that the day is about over.
We cruise down another 20 minutes and spot some lodges below with corrugated metal roofs. Another 10 minutes brings us to the lodge which is packed with trekkers. It’s pretty dirty even by normal adventure standards. The one saving grace is a large flat stone patio where they’re serving dinner.
Jim and I stand outside on the patio conversing with some of the other trekking party from Holland and taking in the view. Ram finally joins us and points to a nearby yak pasture with more than its fair share of yak dung. “This will be our camp tonight”.
This would be the one time that Jim and I push back at Ram suggesting that we move back up the hill a hundred meters to a flat spot and pitch the camp there. Ram points out, correctly, that this is further for the kitchen staff to carry water. We camp further up on the hill.
Once decisions are made, the camp goes up quickly and we all settle into our routine. It’s cold and the wind continues to be a source of discomfort. We agree that staff should enjoy the shelter of the mess tent so take our dinner in our tent.
At 6:00 Bieurman and Gyan arrive with fried rice, noodles, corn, green beans and fruit cocktail. By this time in the trek, we’re well acclimated and eat like pigs.
This leaves just time for a Dimox, a quick pee, a little washie washie and wham into the sleeping bag. I doubt that I was still awake when my head hit the pillow.
Sunday
October 24, 2004
Another cold night in the Himalayas; at least the water bottles didn’t freeze. The kitchen staff gets us up at 7:00…I know…like the middle of the day. I stand outside drinking a cup of coffee and take in the journey ahead of us to Muktinath. Our destination is famous for its large Buddhist and Hindus Sangdo gompa… a major pilgrimage destination.
Our camp above the lodge (out of sight) overlooking today’s trek.
By 8:30 staff has the camp packed up and we’re moving down the trail in better spirits than yesterday. We’re fresh after a good night’s sleep at lower altitude and move along easily.
Ram is chatty today. Somehow the subject of bandits comes up and Ram shares some local stories with Jim and me. He tells several stories of lone trekkers that disappear and bodies are found much later. One entails a German guide trekking on his own and an altercation in a lodge. I note that I believe I’ll continue to move around the country in the company of others.
We come to a very long suspension bridge. Regret that I didn’t take a picture. You have to step up onto a concrete platform maybe four feet off the ground. Steel cables are embedded in the concrete and run the 150 feet or so to the other side with a similar arrangement. Most of these bridges have a wire mesh along both sides providing a reassuring comfort that if you slip, all will be ok. This one has four cables and no mesh safety net on the sides. A steel mesh floor is suspended above two of them and the other two parallel the bottom two about three feet higher. Perfectly safe but provides an eerie feeling as you traverse the distance. Just as happy to be on the other side.
Shortly after crossing the bridge, we get a glimpse of the gompa and Muktinath ahead.
Muktinath appears as a series of red buildings behind the white Chumig Gyatsa gompa.
In less than half an hour, we reach the entrance to the gompa.
A peaceful place nestled in among the popular trees.
Ram, Jim and I go in through a large heavy gate. The rest of the staff goes on to Muktinath to set up the camp. Jim goes inside one of the main shrines; for whatever reason, I lay back and enjoy the warm day that we’re having.
Ram near one of the main shrines in the compound.
We move about the compound for less than an hour taking in the Buddhist culture. While I enjoy this, my heart is really in the wild and rugged country we’ve just left.
This is really an amazing site. Water is pouring out of several hundred bores’ heads at the top of a “U” shaped wall. We see several pilgrims washing themselves in this water.
Many Hindus come here from India…so many that there’s a helicopter pad nearby. I long for the raw beauty and adventure of what we’ve just left behind.
We leave a little after 10:30 arriving in Muktinath around 11:00. My first impression upon seeing the place is to wonder where Matt Dillion and Chester are.
The sign reads, “Police Check Post”…Muktinath sits at a little over 13,000 feet.
We park our packs on the ledge in front of the police check point and Ram goes in to show our permits. While still cool (maybe lower 50’s) the sun feels good and we soak it in.
Our camp is at the end of the street with a left turn in front of the last red building. We find ourselves just off the main trail in a stone enclosure maybe 200 feet square. The camp is already setup so kick back and relax a little. Gyan brings a metal bowl of hot water and take the time to clean up. I immediately feel more civilized. I take the time to check out my head wound and see that it’s beginning to mend together and hasn’t turned green on me.
We see a handful of trekkers go by from time to time. Generally we soak up the sun and read books.
Just as the winds begin to come up, Gyan and Bieurman serve up lunch which we enjoy in the mess tent out of the wind. The sun feels warm bleeding through the blue nylon of the mess tent. I can smell the food and the blowing powdery soil vividly. This looks like a great rest day after our exertions of yesterday.
After lunch Jim and I head out to the village to see if we can find some native stuff to bring back for the family and friends.
The streets are now populated by vendors making and selling their goods, dogs sleeping in the sun and chickens hammering away at the small pebbles in the road.
I’m fascinated by the crude looms that the women weave beautiful woolen goods on.
We spend several hours looking over the local goods venturing into several small dusty shops (reminds me of Thomas Wolfe’s descriptions in Look Homeward Angel). In the end, we buy little.
I don’t believe that I’d like to encounter this damsel in a dark alley.
We’re back in camp in plenty of time for afternoon tea followed by dinner. I note that we haven’t seen Ram in some time. It seems that while we were out shopping, Ram had hooked up with an old friend and downed a couple of whiskeys.
Ram joins us after dinner in the mess tent and pretty much has verbal diarrhea. I think that both Jim and I enjoyed his stories.
Jim and I head for the tent at what has become an early hour and settle in for the night. The temperature is only moderately cold.
Within a couple of hours of sleeping we spend most of the remainder of the night listening to the dogs cornering food and killing it. At one point, several large dogs are inside our little compound. Taking a pee was clearly not an option. Just another adventure.
Monday
October 25, 2004
After what seems like a sleepless night, up about 7:00. It’s a mild morning with clear skies. We enjoy a comfortable breakfast in the mess tent before heading out. We’re going to Kagbeni via Jharkot, another large monastery.
As we head out, the trail gently winds downward; we’ll be giving up nearly 2,000 feet of elevation today.
We’re moving down now towards the timberline and begin to see beautiful autumn colors again.
Within an hour of our departure, we’re in the high 40 degree range and continue to move down through easy descents. Poplar trees become a commonplace experience.
By 8:30, Jharkot comes into view. We approach and enter the village through a picturesque narrow path across a wet area causing us to choose the stones we walk across carefully.
We barely step into Jharkot before we are moving out the other side. The peaceful solitude and narrow streets momentarily remind me of some of the old English villages near Dover, England.
Back on the trail again, the terrain becomes increasingly desolate. We occasionally see homespun goods for sale along the trail.
The only other buildings between us and Kagbeni is a single lodge (Khingar). It sits in the trees with a commanding view. One of the cleanest places I’ve seen in Nepal. We’re trekking with Ram now with the staff well ahead of us moving towards Kagbeni. We take a leisurely 20 minute break to rest and enjoy the views.
We resume our journey and quickly come upon a very old, weathered looking lady selling local apples beside the road. Her skin is like saddle leather. She sports just a trace of a white goatee. The history of this land seems to be written on her face and in her eyes.
I’d love to have a picture of her…such a character study. Before she sees me, I quickly snap a picture of her in profile. I ask Ram to see if I can take her picture. Nothing doing. I again ask Ram to inquire if we could get a picture of us buying apples from her. Still, no deal. Good for her.
Ram with our apple vendor.
We’ve moved out of the timber now and begin a much steeper descent. The surface under our feet is now loose and our ankles begin to twist back and forth as we move towards our destination.
Coming around a bend in the trail, we see Kagbeni for the first time set in a cultivated valley. The Mustang region is dramatically different from what we’ve come accustomed to the last three weeks.
That’s our trail in the left lower corner of the picture.
We move down the loose and sometimes narrow trail being careful to keep our footing. The wind has begun to come up down and is blowing pretty hard. As we move down closer to Kagbeni, the harvested barley fields and the apple orchards beyond become prominent as does the deep trench of the Kali Gandaki River beyond.
“Ok…you two old farts…stop the whining and get the lead out”.
The lower quarter of the descent becomes a series of switchbacks. As we make one of our alternating switch rights, a series of white-beige single story buildings appear behind a tall hedge. We round the corner onto one of two or three streets that constitute Kagbeni. Yak and cattle move freely through the street and chickens (a good sign) scamper underfoot. Gee, I wonder what’s for dinner?
Ram quickly takes us through the open door of the second building on the left. We pass through several dirty rooms (I later figure out that the last one will be our kitchen) and step out into an open courtyard. Our staff have the camp setup and have begun to do their laundry.
Jim and I throw our gear into our tent and begin to appreciate that the wind is howling through Kagbeni at a pretty good clip now. It almost feels like someone has just pulled the clothes out of the dryer and is cracking them in the air to get the wrinkles out. It’s in the 50’s but the wind is coming off the snow and is refreshing in small doses.
We sit in the sun in shorts and T-shirts but quickly learn to find the protection of the lea of a wall or something to block the wind.
Everyone is taking the opportunity to have a rest day and cleanup.
We have lunch in the mess tent because of the wind. After just laying around for about an hour sorting our gear and reading, we decide to explore Kagbeni.
It’s an amazing place in a river valley and on another trade route with Tibet. Most of the buildings and streets are quarried stone. Because of the proximity to the river, willow trees abound.
A bridge over one of the many streams that run through the village.
Jim and I have not completed our souvenir shopping yet for the folks back home. We keep hoping that there will be shops or roadside vendors but we don’t find much of a selection of either.
Giving up on the shopping idea, we make the best of the situation and just enjoy being tourists in this little village. The whole experience is very pleasant. The wind is cool and refreshing blowing through the trees. The sunlight dapples down through the trees. The air is moist and full of the sounds of water running everywhere. Various animals roam freely and we frequently encounter young children at play.
It’s’ easy to become complacent with Kagbeni. Streets, buildings, glass windows, running water and even hydro-electric in some places. And yet…all this exists in the absence of roads and vehicles. We’re still in the boondocks. All of this got here on the backs of animals including men.
We come to the end of another street and are held up by two things. Coming across the wooden bridge ahead of us must be 30 laden mules from Tibet carrying goods into Nepal. They all have brightly colored bridles and accessories and are being moved by lean, hard looking men that spend their lives moving through high passes under challenging circumstances. In ways I envy and respect them.
The other impasse comes from local tree trimmers that are cleaning up the willow trees.
I miss getting pictures of the mule train but do catch one of the Tibetan horse tied up outside of “Miss Kitty’s” place.
As we move back towards our camp, we grab one last picture of the local women doing laundry in one of the village’s streams. Looks like Benji is here too.
We get back to camp and gather up the laundry and read until tea time. We speculate about what’s for dinner and are not disappointed. Kami and the gang have made chicken with what tastes like a beef gravy. In any event, one of our best meals.
Ram joined us for desert and again is in a talkative mood. We enjoyed stories all around finally crashing about an hour after dark. It’s not lost on us that this will be the last night in the tent. Tomorrow, Jomsom and a real bed in a real lodge. The moment is bittersweet.
Tuesday
October 26, 2004
The night was pleasant and without event resulting in a good night’s sleep. We’re up early since Ram has warned us that the winds will howl down the riverbed which we’ll follow and blowing sand may become a real issue. An early breakfast in our hovel of a kitchen.
Everyone takes their time to enjoy breakfast. Spirits are running high. This is the end of the trek for staff and they see the light at the end of the tunnel.
The porters breakdown the camp and head out soon after breakfast for our destination, Jomson, two or three hours ahead down a long roller coaster trail that parallels the Kali Gandaki River. During the monsoon season, the river is a roaring torrent but now is largely a dry bed of blowing sand, rocks, and debris with occasional wet spots.
Around 7:00 we head out following at some distance the porters with the kitchen staff remaining behind to breakdown the kitchen.
The trail, initially does some steep ups and downs with a lot of loose material underfoot. The trail rises and falls between 50 and a 100 feet with each undulation for the first mile.
Within the first hour, we come across our first and only encounter with any sign of civilization, a small stone compound.
Welcome to “Nowheresville”!
We pause, rest a while, take a leak and hydrate. The trail isn’t difficult especially in comparison to some of the more adventuresome days of the recent past; we’re all looking forward to getting to Jomson…maybe a hot shower.
We’re down in the riverbed now and moving across wet areas sometimes several feet deep. The customary crossing is a combination of slippery logs laid side by side across the ford. At this point, we don’t desire any more banged heads, broken bones, or cold swims so we move carefully across the logs.
In less than three hours, we get our first glimpse of Jomson, a series of low, white washed buildings and power lines. It’s primary claim to fame is this is the airhead for the Mustang region of Nepal.
Jomson is surprisingly large…maybe a 1,000 people. Once we hit the outskirts, it takes us another 15 minutes of walking to arrive at the local police checkpoint.
Once Ram clears our papers, we move on again past the local Nepal Army fortifications. This place is right out of Vietnam. I recognize the 1960’s layout of the camp with its multiple layers of fence, mines and interlocking bands of fire. The sandbagged bunkers
all look familiar. Hey …I’ve been here before. One of those times where you wonder momentarily whether the reality is 1968 and 2004 is a dream or vice-a-versa. Just as quickly I realize how fortunate I am to have these memories to draw on to make the comparison. My life has not been boring …amen!
We move on beyond the Army garrison and onto what is apparently “hotel row”.
My initial impression is not very favorable. We step into what appears to be a small shop selling tea, crackers etc. This is the “Moonlight guest house” and where we’ll be spending the night. I momentarily reconsider my options of another night in the tent.
Ram handles the check-in and we step through the backdoor of the shop into a very nice open-air vestibule area with large plants growing. This reveals another much nicer gray stone building behind. We move through double doors into a very clean and modern looking lounge area. I glance up the stairs which appear to be nicely finished white oak to the second story containing the dining room and bar. Clean, modern looking and like a dream come true.
Ram motions to the guest rooms at the other end of the second floor. He tells us to choose one. We opt for a large corner room. There’s real carpet on the floor. The beds are comfortable and have fresh linen. And then, we discover the attached bathroom. This could be downtown San Diego. Modern appliances and very clean. Jim wins the coin toss for first shower.
When it’s finally my turn for a shower, it’s cold as was Jim’s (the solar heater you know). I stand under the cold water and soap down repeatedly. I can’t believe how hard it is to get the layers and layers of dirt and dead skin off. Talk about ring around the tub! I finish off with a shave and feel pretty human again.
We spend some time sorting through all the stuff we brought from the States and deciding what to give the staff and what to save for another trip. The pile for the staff turns out to be pretty big.
We knock down an excellent lunch that Kami has prepared behind the lodge in their camp but dine in the lodge in grand style.
By prearrangement, we all meet out behind the lodge in the staff camp to take final pictures.
Our four porters, Jim, Ram, Kami, Gyan, and Bieruman.
As I’m taking the picture, I notice that Gyan’s face is looking much better at this point. Remember that a little over a week earlier, he had burned his face badly with hot cooking oil. That Neosporin really does the trick.
We mill around and make jokes and decide to take some more pictures.
Finally, Ram takes the camera and photographs the rest of the party. I think it was a good trek all the way around and we ended on a happy note.
After the picture taking session, Jim and I wander out onto the street for some serious shopping for the folks back home. As you’ll remember, we already loaded up on rugs in Kathmandu and bought a few items in Manang and Braga.
We get no further than the shop next to the Blue Moon and we’re in Tibetan shoppers heaven. The place is loaded with all sorts of real artifacts and we’re in a buying mood. I buy a large, worn yak bell for Ann for starters. The owners are interesting, shrewd Tibetans who have bargained with the likes of us for a long time.
We hit a number of other shops on the same street buying a few things here and there. I find a beautiful Buddhist paint box for Matt made of cast metal with individual compartments for different colors of paint. The monks use these to paint the finely crafted Thankas that are so prized from this part of the world.
All things considered, we spend a delightful afternoon in various shops conversing with the owners, bargaining, and buying the last of our treasures to bring home. About 5:00, as we step back into the streets, the weather appears ominous with the clouds rolling in. Will we be able to fly out tomorrow?
Maybe we leave tomorrow…maybe not!
We spend a little time enjoying the comfort of real beds catching a short catnap before dinner. Ram gets us about 6:30 and we head downstairs for the final meal with out staff.
We sit down at a large wooden table with the whole party. Kami serves up his normal excellent faire. I had not fully appreciated the appetites that our staff have until I had the chance to dine with them. They may be small in stature but have no problem pounding down enormous helpings of food.
After the apple pie, Ram broke out a fresh bottle (probably just brewed that afternoon) of apple brandy pouring everyone a generous slug. I’ve never drank kerosene but imagine the taste would be similar to the brandy…didn’t seem to bother anyone including me.
Ram passed out the gratuity envelopes to the staff and all seemed satisfied. Jim made a nice thank you speech to the staff with Ram translating. Sufficiently emboldened with the apple brandy, I had Ram translate a takeoff of the Marine Corps “brothers in adversity” spiel assuring everyone that they all were our life long buddies and that I was mighty impressed with them.
As we left to go upstairs, Jim made a smart-ass comment about how he thought I was going to enlist the whole crew and send them off to Afghanistan. Good idea Jim…why didn’t I think of that? I guess you get the picture.
Wednesday
October 27, 2004
No side affects of the apple brandy so up early and over to the dining room to enjoy a good breakfast. Around 8:00 we move outside and take in the early morning equivalent of the farmers’ market.
.
The air is cool without being cold and the sunny sky a welcome site after last night. We watch the horses and their riders move up and down the street stopping occasionally to make a purchase of the local harvest. I easily transport myself back in time nearly 60 years and picture myself standing in a similar setting…the farmers’ market in South Bend, Indiana with my grandfather in 1946 or 1947. The memory and the experience here reinforce each other to make this another lasting memory.
We spend about 20 minutes enjoying the sun and the sights. Our Tibetan vendor from yesterday appears on the scene again and wants to make one or two more great deals with Jim and me. We listen but decline.
Around 8:30, it’s time to make the short walk down the street to the airport and see what’s going to happen. Broadly speaking, our plane is expected sometime today…maybe even this morning…we’ll see.
Ram makes the decision to release the staff for their long trek south (several days) to catch a bus back to the Kathmandu valley.
Jim and the Kathmandu bound gang of seven.
We process through the various levels of security and are finally seated in the lounge area of the airport (more plastic chairs). Several planes land and folks board but not our plane. Finally, about 10:30 a dual engine plane with a capacity of about 30 passengers lands and Ram signals that this is ours. By this time, Jim and I are rather docile and pretty much do whatever Ram asks of us…the story of my life in my sixties.
The flight to Pokhara is only about 40 minutes and we quickly find ourselves landing in familiar territory. I’m already having regrets about the end of this adventure. I’d love for this to go on a while longer.
We easily get our bags and move them through to the next flight with Ram handling things so that we just sort of stay out of the way and let him make it happen. The flight to Kathmandu is supposed to leave a little after noon so we head up to the observation deck and catch a poor imitation of lunch (a coke and a candy bar).
Our flight actually leaves about half an hour early and we find ourselves descending into Kathmandu about 12:30. At this point, I’m really longing to be back in some pass that I’ve never seen before, wondering what the hell will happen next but alas, here we are! I can’t believe what a great adventure this has been.
We get our gear and move out front hoping to see Jenny or someone from Crystal Mountain…not to be. Ram makes a quick phone call and we head for a taxi. Somehow we get the three of us and all our packs and gear into a very small, old car and head for the Hotel Tibet.
Kathmandu is exactly as we left it…crowded and crazy feeling, much like the Danang, Vietnam of 35 years ago. I drink it all in and let the various memories wash over me in silence enjoying both experiences.
In less than an hour, we arrive back at the Hotel Tibet which looks downright plush after the last three plus weeks. The doorman salutes us and we’re welcomed by the staff. We get our room keys and haul things upstairs only to return to the lobby to wait for Jenny and buy a round of drinks. Ram and I enjoy a good stiff rum and coke which is mighty damm good.
Jenny joins us shortly and wants to hear about the trip and of course eagerly inspects my newly acquired facial decoration. While sad to see an end to the adventure, all glad that it was a success and ultimately, all were safe.
Jenny promises to get us about six for dinner. Jim and I shower up again just to make sure and head over to the Radison Hotel barber shop for a good shearing. Haircuts in Asia are always a great experience involving a haircut, shave, and a good rub of whatever needs rubbing. Trust me… a heck of a good deal! I toyed with the idea of getting a pedicure too but didn’t figure I could handle two really great rubbings. Old age I guess.
Promptly at 6:00 Jenny picked us up and we headed off to an Irish steak house, Kilroy’s. After all this time in the boondocks, the onion soup with cheese, the rum and cokes, the steak and German chocolate cake were very welcome. Jenny was a great hostess and after nearly a month with Jim, conversation was pretty easy and fun. Welcome back to Kathmandu guys!
Thursday
October 28, 2004
A big day is planned. Binaye, our guide from a month ago is taking us to see more of the Kathmandu valley. We’re going to hit a number of interesting places.
We’ll begin with the Namo Buddhist complex about two hours south of Kathmandu. According to the Buddhists traditions, this is where Buddha sacrificed himself to a tiger and her starving cubs. We’ll also see the Buddhist monastery here famous for the monks that perpetuate this country’s religious traditions.
From there we’ll see Bhaktapur, one of three ancient Kingdoms in the Kathmandu valley. Bhaktapur is known as the “city of culture”. It’s famous for its elegant art, culture, wooden handicrafts, ancient buildings, and Newar lifestyle.
As if this were not enough, Jenny and Binaye plan to take us to a final Nepali dinner in the Nepali Cultural Center, a renovated patrician house in the heart of Kathmandu. I’d say, all in all, not too shabby.
After two successive nights of rest in real beds and three or four showers, Jim and I appear for breakfast about 8:00 in the outdoor dinning room of the Hotel Tibet. Jim’s already been negotiating for a beautiful tonka out in the “vil” while I slept in.
Jenny and Binaye show up punctually at 9:00 and we sit in the comfortable lobby of the Hotel Tibet reviewing the day’s planned itinerary. We’re in Binaye’s capable hands until cocktail hour (I self declare 5:00 PM as my outer limit).
Our driver heads south out of Kathmandu. It seems like a scene out of the movie of about 20 years ago, The Killing Fields. Everywhere we see abject poverty. As we move down the road, most of what we see are under-nourished, tired people trying to get through another day of life. Somehow, the fundamental dignity and spirit of the Nepali people shine through the misery of their daily lives.
The road is lined with dilapidated shops and lean-tos everywhere. As we move further south and into the countryside, we see a number of small buses over laden with people inside, on the front and on top. I remark about how dangerous this looks to Binaye. It is and he quickly shares stories of wrecks where many have been killed as buses careen off the road and flip over in the ditches and fields beside the road. After several journeys to Nepal, my affection for these wonderful, gentle people has grown and I begin to share the despair of their difficult lives.
We’re moving through more middle class terrain now with many of the buildings made of brick. As I begin to remark on this, I see tall brick chimneys beside the road in fields and learn that these are the stacks of local kills where these red bricks are formed up out of the local clay and then fired. As we continue south, the brick yards of unused inventory become frequent parts of the landscape.
We’re well south of Kathmandu at this point and moving through the sparsely populated countryside. Our driver pulls into the local Castrol gas station, the Ganesh Oil Store.
We continue our southern journey gradually gaining altitude until we come to a fork in the road moving now steeply up on a dirt road with gigantic holes (no kidding…we bottom out from time to time driving about 10 miles an hour). This is an interesting road that winds up the mountain providing both splendid views of the countryside below and the local homes a few feet away complete with their tethered livestock, vegetable gardens and playful children…not infrequently in the road.
Occasionally another vehicle meets us head on and someone has to give way. I’m lucky enough to capture a picture of one of the local buses coming down laden with travelers.
After about 20 minutes of this, we arrive at what is the trailhead for the Namo Buddhist site. The walk up to the temples is short (about 10 minutes) but steep. I would have thought that after all that time trekking, that this would be no big deal especially without pack and accessories. Not so…I felt every step of it.
As we arrive at the top, we’re treated to the smells of burning incense, flapping prayer flags, Buddhist monks, and throngs of pilgrims.
The whole experience is a rich assault on the senses. In addition to the foregoing, the monks chant prayers, drums are beaten, horns blown and an occasional cymbal punctuates the proceedings. And then, there are monks and pilgrims climbing up on top of the temples to adjust flags and paint. By our standards, pretty dramatic.
We proceed further up the mountain moving to its opposite side and encounter a large, modern Buddhist monastery. By tradition, many Nepali families send the oldest son to become a monk and we see nearly 100 of them here undergoing various stages of training. Much of the complex is still under construction (although there has been a monastery at this site for a long time) reflecting a wonderful balance and harmony with the site.
The surrounding countryside is terraced vegetable gardens and conifer forests.
We return to the vehicle from the monastery by a more gentle route and head back down the rock-n-roll road. Twenty minutes later we find ourselves back on the paved road and drive less than five miles back north towards Kathmandu. Our destination is the Dhulosil