Subash hit a rock with his makeshift bamboo walking stick, which brought me back out of an oxygen-deprived trance. I got to my feet slowly and then began an even slower plod up the steep slope. My progress was glacial. I just could not believe that I could see the pass right there, and yet, as time moved mechanically onwards, I was not getting any closer. Every minute was agony. Every step was like playing an entire game of rugby. After another hour I was only halfway up from the lake. I collapsed on a rock and just sat there, dumbfounded by the difficulty of the task. My head felt as though it was about to explode and I had zero strength remaining.
I looked down the face of the cliff and I saw that Steve, Rob and the two poms were now walking together. Their progress was even slower than mine. I simply could not fathom that they were so far behind. They looked like little ants from way up here. They had left just after me, but were still at least 50 minutes behind. I carried on, utterly exhausted. We got to a point where I just collapsed in the snow and sat there stupefied, staring at Subash.
‘Come on man, give me your bag,’ he said.
‘No way, you’re not carrying mine as well.’
‘No problem for me.’
‘No way, I can do it,’ I said defiantly.
‘When I first start my working as porter, I carry 55kg of chickens on my back.’
I tried to imagine what that might look like, but couldn’t. He broke into a smile and skipped down the 15-or-so metre distance that separated us, and before my brain could even find time to protest again, he had wrenched my bag from my weak grip, shouldered it, and began to climb again. Feeling a little bit useless, I got up, considerably lighter, and carried on once more. We zigzagged our way up, climbing through areas of deep, melting snow, over stone staircases and loose scree. I looked up and saw Nima hop over the last of the stairs. He had made the pass, but I had a long way to go.
An hour and a half after leaving the frozen lake, I hit the main wall of the pass, and just had one, agonising ascent to go. I sat down, again, for what might’ve been the 400th time. I looked down and saw the group below sitting in the same spot as they were about 20 minutes beforehand. I saw Steve and Rob stand up, shoulder their packs, and then carry on the wrong way. They were going back, just 100 metres shy of the pass. That’s how hard the going was. Subash called down the mountain, issuing encouragement, but the firefighters just hung their heads and headed all the way back to Lungden. Juliet and Michael stood up, and we anxiously watched to see which way they would turn.
‘Which way?’ I asked Subash.
‘They go up,’ he said.
They seemed to stand there for ages, as if summoning strength, and then they continued to climb. We cheered for them, loudly, and we hoped that it spurred them onwards. It was now time for us to continue our own battle. I rubbed my head furiously, willing the pain away.
‘If gets worse we go back,’ Subash said.
‘No way. I can see the pass. We continue.’
I’d needed a wee for a while now, but hadn’t the energy to do so. However it was becoming unbearable, so I let Subash know my intention and cornered myself into the cliff-wall. I looked down and was utterly horrified to find that I was turning the snow an orangey-brown colour. I was dangerously, dangerously dehydrated. I grabbed my water bottle and sipped at it. Shaking it revealed I only had half-a-litre to last me the rest of the day. This wasn’t good.
Step by step we continued, resting more than we moved. Nima came striding down the slope. Subash uttered something quickly to my porter, who happily nodded. The time was getting away from us. This time of year in the Himalaya, the mornings are almost always crystal-clear, but around late morning to early lunchtime the clouds begin to roll in and cloak the highest peaks.
‘The pass is still clear,’ said Subash. ‘Only a little cloud around Lhotse.’
Without a word, Nima grabbed my day-pack from Subash, looked at me solemnly and nodded in encouragement before he turned and seemed to jog back up to the pass.
‘Just three more minutes,’ Subash encouraged.
Suddenly the wall on our right ended and I had nothing to lean on. At the top of about eight more stairs stood an untidy cairn wrapped in prayer flags that flapped furiously in the breeze. It was the Renjo La. I had made it.
I took the final stairs as though a weight had been lifted from me. Suddenly I became one of those sure-footed porters. I put my head down, so as not to see the view until I could see it in its entirety. I raised my head slowly, eyes open, and took in perhaps the greatest view in the world. A wall of mountains, boasting four 8000m peaks, loomed suddenly in front of me. Mountain after mountain, peak after peak, there stood the greatest wall, the greatest barrier I had ever seen, or will ever see again. Cho Oyo, Mount Everest, Lhotse and Makalu dominated the picture – four mountains in the top ten - were spread across the entire horizon, and in between these peaks that were among the greatest on earth were hundreds of other peaks; impressive, but dwarfed.
The view from Renjo La. Cho Oyu on the left, Everest in the middle, Lhotse slightly off to the right and Makalu (Nima's region) dominating the back right of the shot...
Take anyone of those smaller peaks and move them to any other mountain range on earth, and they would be famous; but here they were children, servants that bowed down at the feet of their masters. Looking down into the valley was a great, frozen lake, one of the great spiritual lakes of Nepalese Buddhism, and further still, the icy settlement of Gokyo, where we would be heading that afternoon.
Glaciers crunched their way down icy slopes, churning up vast deposits of lateral moraine that provided trekkers with formidable barriers to overcome.
Subash and Nima rushed across and embraced me in the biggest, warmest hug I’d ever experienced. We locked arms in a small three-man circle and began dancing around and around in happiness.
‘Sit, sit!’ I heard Subash saying, and I obliged, parking myself on a rock ledge that had been built for this purpose. I was absolutely gobsmacked. I could not take my eyes off the view I front of me. It is the single greatest view a person can get of Mount Everest. Even from Kala Pathar, where most people climb to see the greatest mountain on earth, you can only see a bit of the face and summit, whereas here, we saw the mountain rise from Gokyo at 4800m to its summit more than 4km higher.
As I sat on the wall, a camera was shoved into my hands. My camera. In the other hand a dry, stale piece of Tibetan bread. I tried to chew, but my mouth was far too dry. I put the bread down, and began taking photos, desperately trying to capture a picture that would do justice to what was standing before me. It felt as though I had been invited to the table to dine with the gods, and I did not want to upset them.
I reached for my water bottle and dribbled the last few drops into my already-barren mouth.
‘How long down to Gokyo?’ I asked Subash.
‘Two hours maximum.’
‘We better go mate, I’m already dehydrated and now I’m out of water.’
‘Yes jam jam (let’s go),’ he agreed.
I stood, regained control of my pack, and on exhausted legs we began the descent down a perilously steep path. It wasn’t really a path, it was more like a few footprints in very deep snow. We were going down, but I was mimicking a free-diver that had just returned to the surface following a lengthy spell underwater. It was slippery and dangerous and I fell on numerous occasions. For an hour we made our way through the deep snow. If I strayed from the path even a millimetre, my leg would plunge down and I’d find myself waist deep in snow. The energy required to pull myself out was diminishing every time it happened.
We rested frequently despite the descent. As we came out of the deep snow, we entered a minefield of dangerously positioned rocks on steep slopes, none of which were sturdy. Subash looked down and muttered something in disgust. He later told me this wasn’t the actual path. The path traced the bottom of the valley, but was in fact covered in about 10 feet of snow. So we scrambled over loose scree and dirt, falling freq
uently and taking the skin off my arms and legs.
I cursed often. Subash had never seen this side of me before. If I was fully rested and functioning properly, this still would have been a tall ask, but on oxygen-deprived and fatigued legs, this was dangerous. On several occasions I’d step on a rock that was just waiting for an invitation to be plunged into the valley below, and I’d oblige. The rock would begin its freefall, while I would be scrambling with my hands desperately trying to avoid the same fate.
Subash was very patient, realising the extent of my exhaustion. He was hungry and thirsty, too, and while my boots were Gore-Tex and waterproof, the fabric of his had absorbed the freezing-cold snow melt, and I could tell he was uncomfortable. I’d fall and just sit there for ages, staring as the clouds began to rapidly envelope the surrounding mountains. It was beginning to get cold.
‘Come man, I take your bag again,’ Subash said.
We had much the same argument that resulted in much the same outcome. I was just so thirsty, while my headache continued to get worse and worse. I took my water bottle and filled it with snow, hoping that it would melt to give me some reprieve. I fell again and again, and each time it was getting harder and harder to get up. My pants were beginning to rip. I rested often, usually after I had fallen on the ground, and didn’t have the strength to get back up.
I came across Subash, who was sitting on a rock with a worried expression on his face. I carried on past him, entering a really steep section that was made up of just loose dirt that I slid down out of control. I lost about 50 metres of altitude in a few seconds and screamed out a word I’d rather not repeat, before getting up and falling over again. It was hell.
The snow began to melt in my bottle, but teasingly so, giving me only a drop at a time. My fortunes, however, began to change. We had lost a lot of altitude, and the path became a lot easier. It was now pretty much flat ground to walk over, with the occasional section of deep snow sitting in a sheltered area. The snow began to melt more in my bottle, and I really noticed the difference in my body with every sip of water. I even noticed the air begin to thicken and breathing became a lot easier. You know the oxygen is scarce when you descend to 4800 metres and the world suddenly seems to be positively teeming with air molecules.
We wandered over a well-worn trail and it was obvious that we had joined the route to Gokyo Ri, a popular viewpoint of Everest. We rounded a final hill and there was Gokyo, shimmering like a mirage at the end of a frozen lake. We came to a set of rock steps that were submerged to form a type of bridge over a section of water between two lakes, and I stepped over these with a great deal of care. Subash had gone ahead to organise a room, and we found him at the lodge.
‘You made it man!’ he cried out loud. I put my hand out to shake his and he slapped it away and gave me a hug.
‘You are the very best Nepali Himalaya guide,’ I said to him.
‘Me? No! Maybe,’ he answered and we both laughed.
‘Thank you, Subash,’ I said.
‘No problem man, it’s my job.’
‘Well you’re a guide and carrying my bag is not your job. So thank you. I won’t forget it. I would not have been able to do that without you guys.’
‘Listen,’ he said, a little more seriously. ‘I tell you something now. Like a little analyse of the day. You make it over the pass and other two Australian guys didn’t. I tell you why. One, you made a good choices man. You walk in from the Jiri, so you fit and acclimatise much nicer than them. They is getting sick and going all the ways back, but they fly into Lukla at 2800 metres. This is no good. Second things is, you notice they is talking way too much. No oxygen is there, but they is talking anyway. This is a very tiring things man.
‘I ask you Teksa? And you is saying to me: Teksa. Nothing else. Too much a talking at these altitudes tiring them out too much. Another things man, yesterday you is telling me now they is wanting the porters. But only for the pass. No porters just wanting job for one days going over the passes. You hire me and Nima, and this is a very good things for you. These are the differences man, and that is why tonight you is in Gokyo, and they go back to Lungden.’
There was no denying he was right. If I could go back and do the trip all again I would not have done it any other way (except maybe avoid the dhal bat from Nunthala). I’d found a very good guide and porter, both of whom were fast becoming my friends.
They ushered me into a very basic room made of glass and wood. I walked inside and it was instantly 10 degrees warmer than outside. It was a Gokyo sunroom. I ordered two bottles of water and a noodle and garlic soup. The owner of the lodge came down to meet me personally after hearing I was exhausted from crossing the pass, and he took my order and welcomed me to Gokyo and his lodge. It was all very nice. I smashed a litre of water in minutes and annihilated the garlic and noodle soup, which was delicious. I went up to my room to put on more clothes.
I was hydrated, my headache was slowly dissipating, I was warm, my room was large and comfortable and afforded brilliant views over the frozen lake, and I was about to get dinner and Wi-Fi. Was this heaven? I dined on a delicious vegetable curry, rich with chick peas, lentils, beans and spicy potatoes, let everyone in the outside world know that I was still kicking, then went to bed a contented man at about 7pm. I don’t believe I moved a muscle for 11 hours.
Chapter Fourteen
Gokyo and traversing the Ngozumba Glacier
I woke up at 6am, glanced at my thermometer and was horrified to read -9°C. The only thing exposed to the air was my nose, and I grabbed it worryingly, making sure it wasn’t frozen solid. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was warm and runny. I made a quick movement to grab my iPod and then disappeared under the covers again. I listened to an entire reggae album, Clinton Fearon’s Me and Mi Guitar, before I even considered moving again.
When the album had finished, I slowly moved the sleeping bag downwards and I could see glorious morning sunshine seeping in through the slits in the curtains. Another glance at the thermometer revealed it was -2.5 degrees. That will have to do I’m afraid. I threw off the sleeping bag, the exertion of which left me out of breath. I quickly layered up and then went to the dining room for some breakfast and ginger and lemon tea.
Somehow I was fully recovered from the day before. I wasn’t sore or tired, I felt fit and ready to go. But I knew that after only two days I would be going through the same ordeal again, so I did absolutely nothing this day, and it was epic. I caught up on some writing. I watched with pity as people struggled up the huge lookout hill, Gokyo Ri. I’d asked Subash if it was worth climbing up and having a look, but he assured me the view from the Renjo La was very similar, but far more spectacular. I watched with interest as two French girls walked for 20 seconds before resting for 20 minutes. I knew how it felt, but they’d only just joined the bottom of the hill and had a long, long way to go. I sat in the dining room, put my photos onto my laptop, and then looked at them over and over again in awe. Did I really experience that view yesterday?
I ordered an early lunch of garlic soup and some kind of spaghetti with sauce that was pretty good, but not exceptional. I barely moved all day. I fetched my book, The Snow Leopard, an account of an expedition across Nepal and into Tibet to view the blue sheep in its natural habitat. It was a wild adventure, crammed with philosophy and religious teachings. Like the spaghetti, it was worth a go, without being a masterpiece. I know I earlier called it ‘an atrocious piece of literature’, but I was coming to the end now and looking forward to moving on to my next book (written in coherent English).
As night began to fall the temperature plummeted, but the giant steel heater in the middle of the room kept the place toasty. The Namaste Lodge was busy, and the room was almost completely full of people, adding to the warmth. It was so busy that unfortunately the porters were all kicked out to the adjacent room where there was no heating, but as people slowly trickled off to bed, the porters made their way back into the warmth, which added to the evening atmosphere.
Subash and a couple of the guides rounded up a pack of cards and brought them over to my table, and they began to do some magic tricks. Subash nailed one impressive trick the first time, but should have quit while he was ahead, because the second time he made an absolute meal of it. Hearing the commotion from the first time he did it, he now had a huge audience for the second time, comprising all the staff of the lodge and a large group of Korean trekkers. Needless to say he crumbled under the pressure and had everyone in stitches.
It was approaching 8pm. The sun had been gone for two hours now, and it was almost time for bed. I glanced at the outside thermometer on my way to bed, only -5 degrees. I climbed the stairs and dived into my sleeping bag. The first 10 seconds were torture, but by the time it had warmed up I was already asleep.
*
I awoke again, this time slightly confused. I looked up at the ceiling and saw a thousand panda bears surrounded by the Olympic rings. The words ‘Beijing 2008’ were sprawled everywhere. Ah yes, the décor for my little room in Gokyo. I was still in the Himalaya’s, 4800m above sea level. The sun was already up; it was time I did the same. We were having a lazy morning and then going glacier walking. Should be interesting.
I dined on vegetable noodle soup for lunch, which was in fact instant two-minute noodles with some dried vegetables thrown in. I was then ready to check out of the Namaste Lodge, so I asked for my bill, and almost had a fit when told I had to pay US $120. The Wi-Fi service cost $10 a day and was so slow that most of the time I couldn’t even use it. I charged my laptop twice and that cost me $15. What really concerned me, however, was that I had a good seven days left of trekking and there was no ATM or currency exchange place before I got back to Namche Bazaar. I’d have to be a bit more responsible.
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