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Himalayas
Our Himalayan walking group was a typical bunch, the sort you would expect to find on these organised trips all around the world. Four Aussies, three Brits, two from greater Europe and of course, the only two sane ones amongst them, two Kiwis.
Our guide Dawa, woke us early on the morning of our departure. At 5.00am we were sitting at Kathmandu airport, hoping a gap in the weather would allow us to fly to the remote Himalayan airport of Lukla. Originally built by Sir Edmund Hilary, Tensing Hilary Airport is now the gateway to Mt Everest. During the time of construction, Sir Ed didn't think the runway surface was flat enough. With an abundance of the local brew, he held a two day party on the runway. Knowing the dynamic nature of the traditional dance of the area, it was all it took to roll out and flatten the runway.
We were loaded into a Watties can with wings and we set off down the runway. I told myself that I should take heart in the seemingly excessive amount of rivets holding our plane together, as we lurched into the sky. In our position at the very rear of the aircraft, Krissy and I watched with great interest at all the various k*** and levers that the pilots were playing with. It was a picture perfect morning to fly, once the local morning smog had moved on. We were soon treated to our first panoramic views of the Himalayas. Deep valleys and mighty peaks passed us by, at times only meters from the tips of our wings. I was glad I was not seated a few inches further forward at the front of the plane; one of my group members informed me later, that the 'terrain warning' light flashed for the majority of the trip.
Passing through a gap between two hill tops, I saw our destination. Our pilot levelled our plane with an airstrip that appeared to be painted onto the side of a steep slope. I was told by an ever helpful Aussie to my right that he had seen this airport feature on a TV show about the 10 most deadly airports in the world. The landing was very smooth and when stepping out of the plane the first thing that strikes you is the gradient of the airstrip, a 60m difference from top to bottom. The uphill allows planes to stop before meeting the mountain; the down hill prevents a convention with the valley floor on takeoff.
Lukla was our first experience of remote mountain living. It would be fair to say we were disappointed when we walked past Starbucks, an Irish pub as well as a number of other Western chains. However, I have never had to push through herds of yaks to walk past these establishments before, so that was unique. We had a quick breakfast at a teahouse and then hit the track for a pretty easy four hour walk to end our first day. The track we were walking on was a highway for goods, being carried by yaks, donkeys and Sherpa alike. The tracks wound around the sides of hills and crossed frosty rivers. I was struck by just how similar the terrain was to the Southern Alps of New Zealand. The main difference being that the mountain peaks that loomed over us were all in excess of 6000m above sea level! The easy nature of the walking allowed us a great chance to look at the scene surrounding us. We had to stop every twenty minuets or so to allow yak and donkey trains to pass, much to Krissy's delight; though she would scold and Sherpa whose physical encouragement of the animals surpassed what she deemed acceptable.
We passed through small villages where the locals would be going about their daily routines. Each came standard with bright eyed children, hungry dogs dosing in the sun and mountain views which would be a challenge to equal. The teahouse where we spent our first night was in one of these small villages called Phakding. It was also the first night I had to be vegetarian. As good as a yak steak sounded, I was told that everything above Lukla had to be carried and this was done so in open baskets on the backs of Sherpa, often for days at a time. It was a recipe for disaster. So I resigned myself to a meatless existence for at least two weeks. Another thing we learnt that evening was there was a severe lack of fuel for anything other than cooking, in the Himalayas. So therefore the teahouses, whilst comfortable, were bitterly cold at night, when the temperatures both inside and out dropped well below zero. Teahouses dot the Himalayan landscape and are used by tourists and yak herders alike. They offer modest facilities but sure beat two weeks sleeping in a tent!
Day two, we were to walk six hours to the last sizable village that we would come across on our trip, Namche Bazar. At a height of 3441m above sea level, we knew from the outset that we would have an 800m climb ahead of us. This wouldn't be too much of a task at sea level, but when at this height there is only 64% oxygen, every step becomes that much harder. It was another spectacular day of weather and the walking for the most part was not too difficult. That was until we got closer to Namche Bazar and realised that the 800m climb was to be scaled in a painful, zigzagged assent at the very end of day two. This task was made worthwhile when half way up we were treated to our first glimpse of Mount Everest and companion Lhotse. These two gigantic peaks dwarfed the surrounding pretenders and it was hard not to imagine what the feeling of standing on the top of them would be like.
Greeting us at the top of the climb was a quaint village shaped as an amphitheatre and impressively balanced on the top of a ridge, surrounded by deep valleys. Namche was a busy little village and the last chance for climbers to stock up on the essentials, namely chocolate and water purifying tablets. It would also be the location of our first rest day, to give our bodies a chance to get used to the 12% decrease in oxygen. Tasks that are normally very easy, for example walking up a flight of stairs, became a real chore and left you gasping for air. Day three, our rest day, started with a compulsory three hour walk up to Sengboche, a tiny village perched above Namche. This was all in the name of acclimatisation according to our guide. Once again it was an odd feeling as we strained and puffed our way up a hill that would very easily be jogged up at home. The previous night Krissy had begun to suffer from stomach cramps, no doubt brought on by the local food or water and it made this assent even more difficult for her. Our efforts were rewarded with panoramic views of Everest, Lhotse, Ama Dablam and other giants teetering over us. We stopped and took the obligatory snaps before the wind chill forced us back down to Namche.
Our fourth day dawned and Krissy was not fairing any better. Having eaten very little the night before and having had a broken sleep, the six hour trek to Tengboche was going to be very difficult. Tengboche sits at just under 4000m, however to get there we had to leave our ridge top and push down to a river before climbing back up to our destination. From the outset Krissy's pace was laboured and she worked hard to make it to our lunch stop. I was heartened by the amount of water that she was able to consume, but when lunch consisted of half an apple I began to worry that she would not have the fuel for the climb ahead.
We reached the bottom of the 5-600m climb about an hour after lunch. At this stage Krissy was struggling to put one foot in front of the other, but stubbornly insisted that she was fine and could keep going. I hoped that if we could make it to Tengboche at the top of this hill, we could see how she went over night and make a decision the next morning if we would continue on or not. As it would happen Krissy would unwittingly make this decision for me. About 200 vertical meters from the top of the hill, just short of 4000m above sea level, Krissy started to exhibit the symptoms of altitude sickness. She complained of headaches and dizziness. It was almost impossible for her to get her breath back, even when seated and she had vomited up the little she had eaten over the last 24hrs. Still she insisted that she was able to make it to the top of the hill. I was walking less than half a pace behind, when her bodied finally gave up and she stumbled backwards into my arms in a half conscious state.
After a quick discussion with our guide we both agreed that we needed to get Krissy to lower altitude. It was decided that we would get her back down the mountain to a teahouse that we had passed at the beginning of our climb, a few hours ago. With a porter under one arm and me under the other, we carried the half conscious Krissy back down the way we had come. Despite her bad state, Krissy was mumbling that all she needed was a break and then we could push on up to the top, as we continued to drag her down. Luckily we reached the bottom of the valley as the light snowfall turned heavy. Getting Krissy warm in the bottom of the frozen valley was a real issue. One sleeping bag, four blankets, almost every item of her clothing and a bottle filled with boiling water, still wouldn't do the trick. I lay with her for about an hour on the tiny single bed until she warmed up enough that she drifted off to sleep.
I went into the small blackened kitchen of our tea house, one that you would not find in a tourist guide book, and talked to our guide who was anxious to get up the hill to the rest of the group. He had produced some paper work which he had me sign stating that I was optionally leaving the tour group and that Gap Adventures took no responsibility for us anymore. He assured me that if I signed that he would leave one porter to help me get our gear and Krissy back, the three days, to Lukla. With the swish of a pen he disappeared into the fading light. I went back to Krissy's room and sat and watched her sleep, the events of the day rushing through my head. I started to think of all of the 'what ifs' and worst case scenarios. I can't begin to describe the feeling of loneliness that came over me, stuck there in the horrid little tea house at the bottom of a frozen valley, at least a days walk from any form of rescue. I knew very little about altitude sickness, but what knowledge I had was that it is not to be taken lightly.
I continued to watch Krissy sleep. I listen to her breathing. I had no way to gauge how severe her condition was. I knew, even if there was a way to get in contact with some form of rescue, there was no way it would arrive until well after sunrise the next day. Every hour I woke her up and much to her confusion asked her silly questions like "what is my name"; it was all I could think of to do. I also forced her to eat some peanut M&Ms and drink water. I was happy when none of it came back up and after a few hours of repeating this process I decided it was safe to let her sleep. I continued to watch her, for what would prove to be a very long and cold night. The four water bottles in the room froze solid. During that night I decided that tomorrow I was going to get her out of that frozen hellhole.
When she woke, she seemed a little better for the sleep. Forcing down a few more M&Ms and getting boots on, we headed out into the icy morning. The track rose sharply from the outset. Getting to lower altitude yesterday was the best decision at the time, but it had left us with a 600m climb ahead of us today. Krissy couldn't manage more than a handful of steps at a time before being overcome with dizziness and needing to sit down. Our progress was painfully slow but despite her condition, I found it was me who was forcing her to rest! Not the other way around. I have a great respect for the effort she put in on that frozen morning. With next to no fuel in the tank and still in some precarious form of consciousness, she stubbornly pushed upwards. Still, I knew the distance we needed to travel and at this speed we would not make it to flat ground by nightfall.
I finally acknowledged the concerned looks of our porter and asked him to push ahead and find a yak or a horse that we could use to ferry Krissy to Namche. He hastily disappeared and it was not long before he returned saying he had procured us a horse in a nearby hillside village. Twenty minutes later Krissy was atop an old grey horse being led by an even older and greyer Sherpani. But not before Krissy had climbed the better part of 400 vertical meters up that hill.
For me the pace went from too slow to too fast. The little old lady hit Sherpa speed and both the horse and I struggled to keep up. We were making great time however as I puffed my way in pursuit of the rescue party, consisting of our porter, Frank the horse, the old lady and her daughter. We knocked off the final four hours to Namche in about three. It was great to be up in the sun knowing that if worst came to worse a helicopter was only a telephone call away. I soon had Krissy tucked up in a much more comfortable teahouse in Namche. That night, despite ongoing stomach pain, Krissy ate her first real food in almost three days. We spent another rest day in Namche as Krissy's strength steadily returned.
It was an easy two day walk from Namche to get back to Lukla and our ticket to warmer climates. However at Krissy's request, we knocked those two days off in one long hard day. Yet another example of her stubborn determination and I also suspect her way of showing me that our failed attempt to reach Everest had nothing to do with any weakness on her part. Something she certainly never needed to prove to me.
Back at Lukla, it took five long frustrating days before we were able to get a flight back to Kathmandu. A combination of weather and an airline that only flew if it had enough passengers at both ends to make it economically viable (despite having already paid for our seats) delayed our return. We were both happy when we landed and returned to our oasis at Dwarika's Hotel for our first real shower in over twelve days and meat! Glorious meat!
With the exception of the obvious, I had an amazing experience in the Himalayas. Part of this was due to a feeling of pilgrimage. Everywhere we went it was hard not to feel the presence of Sir Ed. Not only being in the shadow of Everest, but also seeing his many years of hard work in the form of schools, clean water projects and tree nurseries. Mentioning our place of birth would always bring big smiles from the locals and made us feel very proud to be Kiwi. The chance to see the 'roof of the world' filled me with a feeling I am yet to understand, but it is somewhere between privilege and awe. I was invited to experience a tribal way of life, by a people who are truly spectacular in their generosity and ability to make a life in such an inhabitable part of the world.
Before we set out on our adventure, I was worried that seeing these mountains would fill me with a desire to top them. Thankfully this was not the case; however I strongly believe I will return to this place. The Himalayas is a truly magical place and I will recommend it to anyone who will listen. This is simply my point of view though; you may have to ask Krissy for hers ;)
A quick note from me: (Krissy) Despite the feeling of embarrassment, defeat and disappointment of not making it to Everest Base Camp, I feel most for Richard who was perfectly fit and well to continue on. But because of his lack of selfishness he sacrificed a once in a life time opportunity to make sure I was okay. One recommendation I do have for this trek is not to do it in a group. If something does happen, you can recoup in the nearest village and carry on at your own pace.
- comments
biggeek Hey guys. I'm glad you headed back, very sensible thing to do. I am sure you will be back there one day and little geek it only defeated you this time around...you were just testing it out. It better watch out for you next time - bring it on !!!!