‘Sir, sir,’ said Nima. ‘Taking ice axe crampons but gimble gongle mountain black rock.’
Nima burst out laughing and I joined in. The Israeli had no crampon or ice-axe experience, but was going to rent both from the lodge anyway, even though the lodge owner, a former porter and mountain climber had told him it was unnecessary. Now we could see the peak and there wasn’t a single ice cube on it.
‘It’s people like him that get mountain sickness,’ Steve said, and I had to agree.
*
I woke up with glorious sunshine radiating through the window and warming the room completely. I shoved off the sleeping bag and just lay there absorbing its warmth. I must have laid there for a good 20 minutes before I summoned the strength to move. I felt hung-over. It wasn’t fair. I had been drinking nothing but tea choc-full of goodness, had a nutritious meal in dhal bhat and I’d had a record amount of sleep, but still felt worse for wear. Clearly it was the altitude.
Subash had forced me to eat a bowl of garlic soup for breakfast, which was delicious and good for high altitude adaptation, but it repeated on me all morning and was a monumental error in judgement. I vowed to keep eating garlic soup, but perhaps just before bed time. We left Thame at about 9am, a late start by our standards, and were soon gasping for breath on the ascent out of the town. We paused regularly, but we probably would have done that anyway due to the spectacular view presenting itself all around us. We gained the top after 5 or 10 minutes, before entering some gradually undulating terrain.
We spent the day following the river up along the bottom of the valley, which was quite small by Himalayan standards. Hills rose on either side of us, but the maximum width of the valley couldn’t have been more than 2 kilometres. We were entering a real barren looking place. The hills were brown and seemingly lifeless, and erosion was prevalent with vast quantities of hillside simply disappearing onto the valley floor. The presence of the occasional juniper tree was hardly enough to bind this soil together. The view was brown and white. It looked like a desert.
After climbing gradually up for about half an hour, we came across a large herd of yaks being taken up into the mountains. There were probably 30 of them in total. We approached them on a narrow ledge and had to match their grinding pace until the path widened out onto the valley floor. It was good to watch. Everyone – guides, porters and trekkers – suddenly became yak herders. We’d passed an Englishman named Michael and his daughter Juliet just moments earlier, and I noticed Juliet getting involved, shouting ‘Yaahh’ and waving her arms at a slow yak. It was fun.
At some point during the stroll we ascended past the 4000m mark, and we congratulated ourselves. At midday the tiny town of Marulung came into sight and it presented a welcome tea break. A sign informed us that we had ascended to an altitude of 4200m. I’d earned myself a snickers bar. I sat there for perhaps 20 minutes talking with Michael and Juliet, before they decided to press on to the destination, Lungden, for lunch. I had a lot of clothes on, but I was beginning to feel dangerously cold.
‘Subash I’m leaving!’ I called inside the only lodge in town, grabbed my bag and actually began jogging along the path. In about two and a half seconds I was out of breath, and so I continued on at a normal pace. The next town presented a height gain of only 150m, but what a difference it made. I soon rounded up Michael and Juliet even though they had left about 10 minutes earlier than me. They were struggling whereas before they were skipping up the valley.
My head became light, and I had that surreal feeling back; the one I had experienced when I was sick all those days ago. It didn’t worry me too much. I did a quick are-you-drunk test like you see in American movies, and after coming to the conclusion that I still had my coordination, I carried on. My legs again felt like they didn’t belong to me, but they were light and pain free. I got my breathing into a good, steady rhythm and then just plodded on for Lungden.
By the time we arrived, my head was light and I felt like I’d just come from an opium den. It was the first time I had really noticed the effects of the altitude. I had a slight headache. We were now at 4350m, and had ascended 1000m in two days. We were already above the recommended acclimatisation line. Subash wanted to hit the Renjo La Pass the next day at 5300m, before descending down to Gokyo to sleep, which sits at 4800m, a height gain of 1400m in three days.
I knew we were now hard-pressed for time, but I didn’t want to risk my health in the high Himalaya. We had already stretched our limits and I could feel it. Going up again the next day would have been a terrible idea, and gone against every single bit of literature I had read on AMS up until that point. We were due to have a rest day in Gokyo as there is a great deal to see and do there, but I was concerned I would already be way too high above my acclimatisation line. Everyone else attempting the pass, Michael, Juliet, Steve and Rob were staying in Lungden for an acclimatisation day.
We sat in the lodge in Lungden and I tried my best to seem normal, even though my head was swimming. There were only two lodges in a town consisting of only four-or-so buildings, and only one of which was open. A lifeless yak-dung stove sat in the middle of the room, on top of which sat a pot of water that had frozen over completely.
Subash brought out my small pot of lemon and ginger tea and then unfolded a large map of the region out on the table.
‘Today we are here,’ he said, pointing to Lungden on the map. ‘Tomorrow we go over the Renjo La Pass here, before going downs to Gokyo. We are spendings the two nights there.’
‘What about…’ I said slowly, knowing that he wasn’t going to like this. ‘If we don’t spend two nights in Gokyo, but instead spend two nights here to acclimatise.’
‘Here man? There is a nothings here.’
‘Yeah I know but I can already feel the effects of altitude, what happens if I go up another 400 metres and it gets worse?’
The best thing about the argument that ensued was that he knew I was right. I had an argument based on science, while he had a schedule to keep. I’m happy to report that common sense prevailed and we scheduled the extra day.
*
I woke at 6am and it took a concentrated effort to crawl out of my sleeping bag. I fumbled around in my backpack for my little thermometer, switched it on and was horrified to read -12°C. I shivered (more to do with the thought of it being that cold than anything else), chucked on every bit of clothing I could find, and then made for the toilet. I had a leak (took me a good few minutes to find it), then realised the water for flushing, sitting in a bucket to the side of the toilet, was completely frozen. So I gingerly left the bathroom hoping that no one would see me exit. I crawled back into bed to continue to read my book, The Snow Leopard by Peter Matthiessen, although I can honestly say I thought it was an atrocious piece of literature.
I was the first up in the morning and soon found the lady of the house pottering around in the kitchen. I ordered a small pot (about 5-6 cups) of ginger and lemon tea, along with a vegetable omelette with chapatti bread. I felt pretty damn good. It didn’t take long for the place to fill up. First Juliet came through followed by Michael, then a German couple surfaced that very much kept to themselves. The firefighters were the last to emerge, and my breakfast was done and dusted by the time they had ordered.
‘What about that time in station 29 when all that chocolate rocked up?’ said Rob.
‘Oh yeah, that time!’ said an enthused Steve.
‘What happened?’ Juliet asked, and I could have taken my shoe off and thrown it at her.
‘Oh you see, as we’re emergency services, we get chocolate at discount prices,’ Rob began, but I’d had enough of these clowns and it was barely 7am. I knew everyone was essentially planning to walk together this morning for our acclimatisation climb so I pestered Subash, asking if he’d finished his breakfast yet.
‘Today the Nima will be the guide,’ he informed me. ‘Today I is resting so the Nima will show you the ways.’
Well it was immediately taxing – the steepest clim
b that I had yet encountered. There was no path, so we made our own, and it was straight up. It would have been a lung-buster at sea level, let alone here at 4350m (14271ft) above it. Up and up we went until after barely a few minutes the little community of Lungden had taken the form of a few little red and blue dots. I’m not going to lie, I was pretty pissed off.
‘Nima this is meant to be a rest day,’ I said
‘Yes sir, rest day.’
‘Yes but this isn’t resting man, this is bloody exhausting. I am meant to be going over a 5300 metre pass tomorrow, and you choose this opportune moment to unleash the steepest, most dangerous part of the trail in two weeks?’
‘Ah sir, resting no good sir. On day this chunga bunga walking some is better sir.’
The ligaments in my ankles were sore. It was so steep that even standing in a stationary position, catching my breath, still managed to put all the strain on my muscles and ligaments. Every ounce of my strength was spent hanging precariously to the side of that steep hill.
‘Sir little bit a more and top and very good a view sir.’
‘Ok I believe you,’ I said, while thinking: Wait til I see you Subash. I am going to kill you. We get to Namche Bazaar and Nima has a rest day while we go gallivanting up some massive steep mountain. The view was pretty good though. Now I want nothing more than a rest day and instead you give me the hardest day of the trek so far, while you sit on your arse and send Nima off to guide me instead. I’m going to give you a piece of my mind Subash Gurung. Holy shit, stop whinging. What’s wrong with you?
Then I just kind of stopped whinging. I felt better. I carried on climbing. I slowed down the pace and entered Gordon’s special plodding mode. Immediately I was out of breath, but at least I began to find a little of that rhythm that was impossible to find when I was angry. We joined this kind of gully area that was laced with large, unstable looking boulders, but we continued to climb them nonetheless and they held strong. After a good 10 minutes the slope began to ease off, although the same could not be said for my breathing, which carried on like the clappers. Only a few more steps to go I thought, and before I knew it there was nowhere else to climb.
I stood immobilised by the sight in front of me. Rising in front of me was one, two, three, four, five jagged peaks, too steep for the accumulation of snow, while a couple of the less-vertical rises were laced with deep snow and ice. Slowly I turned around. Mountain upon mountain rose sharply from the depths of the valley floor. Mount Numbur peaked its beautiful head over the top of an unusually low ridgeline. We had another 360-degree panorama of the most formidable, astonishing beauty; and once again, save for my little Sherpa friend, the view belonged to me alone. The sound of silence was almost deafening.
Nima had taken a slightly different path and was snapping a few photos on his phone. I burst out into the laughter of a crazy person. We were now at about 4600m above sea level, and if Mont Blanc was somehow moved here and placed next to us, the summit would almost be in reach. I had 20 snow-capped peaks greater than 6000m right in front of me, almost close enough to touch, and it was all mine. I sat on the only rock big enough to protrude the surface of the snow, and just lapped it all up. Nima joined me, and we began a frenzy of photo snaps. I just could not get over the fact that it was only us there. The brilliant blue of the sky was not disrespected by one single cloud. Not one. We climbed over the top of the flat hill and made our way carefully across 100 metres of soft, deep, melting snow. I followed Nima’s footsteps exactly, but where he remained on the surface, I always broke through, sometimes to knee depth. You little bloody elf! I thought to myself.
We were going downhill now, but my heavy breathing rate returned within seconds. Having climbed off the snow, we rounded a little bend, and Lungden reappeared back into sight, but it was impossibly far away. How had we come that distance? My head began spinning with the accumulative expenditure of energy, just as it had done the day before. It was time to get back and really rest. It didn’t take long to descend. We walked through a farmer’s field and came across the biggest pile of yak shit I had ever seen. Scrap that, it was the biggest pile of any kind of shit I have ever seen. I saw Subash and didn’t give him a piece of my mind. I was elated.
I grabbed a Snickers Bar and almost swallowed it whole, grabbed my laptop and a bottle of water, and went outside to enjoy the last of the sunshine. The clouds were beginning to form around the highest peaks and I knew it wouldn’t be long until it was absolutely bloody freezing again. I found a perfect leaning rock on a gentle slope, with patches of snow on either side of me, and plonked myself down in front of the best view I had ever seen in my life. I had it all to myself. I then began to write on a screen that I couldn’t see from all the glare, and wondered exactly how many spelling mistakes I would have to correct. I put my earphones in and began to play Clinton Fearon’s epic song Feelin’ The Same:
‘On top of the mountain enjoying the morning sun
On top of a mountain having so much fun
On top of a mountain til the evening comes
On top of a mountain where pleasure’s never done.
I’m feeling the freedom all around me,
And I hope, I hope, I hope that you’re feeling the same!’
Chapter Thirteen
Attempting the Renjo La pass
We were awake at 4am on the 16th of March. It was a day that I was looking forward to, but at the same time I was nervous beyond belief. We were going to attempt the 5360m Renjo La Pass.
I forced down a huge breakfast of turmeric-fried potatoes with an omelette on top, knowing I would need every ounce of energy I could obtain. I washed it down with about a litre of lemon and ginger tea, finished packing my things, and we were ready to trek a little before 5am. It was pitch black, so we mounted our head torches and walked out the door.
It was bitterly cold. We walked out of Lungden over flat ground for perhaps only five minutes before the ascent began, and would not finish until we reached the pass in about a vertical kilometre’s time. It was steep, walking over terrain similar to that of the acclimatisation trek the previous day. It did not take long for our eyes to adjust to the darkness, and after perhaps just 20 minutes into the walk we had all turned our head torches off.
The sun kissed the tops of the highest peaks behind us, which brought about a spectacular sunrise, but did little to ease the cold that had already seeped into our bones. The two firefighters had set a ferocious pace. At first I had tried to keep up with them, but I realised that it was going to be a long day and so I eased off and let them have it. My mouth had dried out due to the speed of my breathing and my tongue was beginning to stick to the roof of my mouth. I dropped my pack and reached for my bottle of water, opened the lid and tilted it, but nothing came out. I burst out laughing. The bottle had frozen solid. I’m glad I had seen the funny side of it otherwise I would have been pretty pissed off. I shoved the bottle inside my jacket, remounted my pack, and continued the steep climb.
The morning was absolutely stunning. A clearer, bluer sky I don’t believe I have ever seen. The contrast created by the snow-capped peaks and the blue of the sky was magnificent. Subash pointed out a piece of poo on the ground and said that it belonged to the snow leopard. I was dubious - he was a trekking guide and not a biologist after all - but I nonetheless alerted myself to the possibility of spotting one of the rarest creatures on our planet.
By 7am we climbed over the top of a rounded ridge before entering a new world. It was still the ice age up there. The ground flattened off and the snow deepened to just below my knee. Over to my right a frozen lake glinted with a brilliant colour of turquoise while still more jagged peaks rose impossibly high above me. My poor neck copped a flogging in those days, always craning upwards to view the distant summits.
I had caught the two firies now. As I climbed over a stone wall, wondering who on earth had built it all the way up here, I caught sight of them and heard them in deep conversation. I wondered how on earth they could be talki
ng in this rarefied atmosphere, where oxygen availability was rapidly approaching 50%. Far down below I could see Juliet and Michael just entering the flat section, where they flopped onto the ground for a much deserved rest. I walked with Steve and Rob now, who were blabbering on about all things work, so once again I just dropped off the pace a bit and let them have it.
It was still bitterly cold, despite the exertion required. I had icicles in my beard. Literally.
We climbed through a bit of snow around a blind blend and then saw a man below in the snowfields unpacking his tent. He had camped the night just short of 5000 metres above sea level. Brave man. We passed him and carried on up a gradually rising path. We climbed up probably 50m of steep slope over a mixture of rock, ice and snow, before being greeted by a frozen lake.
Subash informed me of the new milestone. We were 5000 metres above sea level. That is 16404 feet. It was time for a photo and a well-earned rest. There were plenty of boulders strewn around the place, so I perched myself there, ate two Snickers Bars and drank up the newly melted water. We were sitting in a magnificent basin with sharp arêtes making up about 300 degrees of the view, the other 60 being from where we had come; back down to the valley below. We could see Renjo La now. It looked awfully steep and far away. We were joined by Michael and Juliet, who were ecstatic they had caught up with the boys. It was short-lived though. They arrived and I got up and left.
At this altitude the going was incredibly tough. My breathing went back to normal at rest, but halfway through my first step I was gasping for air. I felt heavy. I weigh about 110kg and was carrying another 10 on my back, but it felt as though I was dragging a one-tonne slab of concrete with me up to the pass. I’d take five steps and pause for 30 seconds before taking five more. The going was agonisingly slow. It had been 10 minutes since I’d left the frozen lake. I collapsed on a rock for another 10 to rest. I was beginning to develop a serious headache that lined the top of my skull.
The Nepali Flat Page 9