We began the climb out of Gokyo at 12 noon. The sun was shining and the weather was warm, and I had dressed for the occasion. We negotiated some steep, slippery snowy rises before heading down onto the Ngozumba Glacier, a river of ice running from north to south, beginning further north up near Cho Oyu Base Camp. Far down the valley clouds were rapidly forming, and began to race each other towards where we were standing. I unpacked my camera and snapped a few pictures of the glacier, which was actually pretty damn ugly. The ice was dirty, and vast, vast quantities of moraine were scattered around, giving the area an almost lunar appearance. By the time I’d returned my camera to the safety of my bag, the clouds were upon us. They were moving that fast, and it had begun to snow ever so lightly. After ten minutes of scrambling over rocks, boulders and icy bits, the snow was really beginning to come down. I’m talking blizzard-esque.
The route was marked by small stones being piled on top of each other, and were clearly visible every 50 metres or so. However, we were now hiking in a cloud that was hell bent on burying us with snow and visibility was way less than 50 metres. I paused for a moment and considered my surroundings. It was so easy to follow a guide and I pretended for a second that Subash wasn’t there, wondering which direction I would take. I scanned around, but there was no sign of stone piles. The heavy snow had even wiped out any trace of Subash’s footprints, and he was standing only 10 metres in front of me.
‘Jesus, I’d hate to be doing this trek today without a guide,’ I called above the howl of the wind.
‘Why you think peoples are going missing every year?’ he called back.
We followed a bizarre route along the glacier and I stopped in my tracks every now and again to listen to the glacier creak and groan under my feet, a real reminder that we were treading on a moving river. Rocks perched high up on the steep slopes above us occasionally fell around us, sometimes a little too close for comfort. After about an hour and a half, we began a steep and tiring climb over loose scree, which saw us emerge onto some level ground.
‘We are no longer on the glacier,’ Subash said, and I did a little happy dance. I didn’t really like it that much. The idea that we could fall into a hidden crevasse at any time, especially with visibility being so low, worried me slightly.
It was then only a 20-or-so minute stroll to the sleepy little town of Tagnag, which was essentially just a small collection of lodges built to service the track heading over the Cho La Pass. The snow was really coming down now, and by the time we arrived in Tagnag, I was a walking snowman.
‘You is looking like the Yeti,’ Subash said.
‘Speak for yourself!’
We stood outside the lodge while Subash went inside to get a broom - the same one they sweep the floor with - came back outside and frantically started brooming the snow off me and Nima. I tried to swat him away but he was relentless. We then dived inside the warmth of the dining room and ordered many, many cups of tea.
I noticed with despair that the same, noisy group of Koreans from Namche Bazaar were in a corner playing some weird Korean board game, which involved the women grabbing the men’s hands, holding them still, and then beating the shit out of them while they all noisily laughed. Even the men getting their hands belted were in hysterics. They were a strange people. I just hoped they were going to wear themselves out. I passed the afternoon drinking tea, wizzing heaps and having a chat with a pleasant Irishman that I had met in Nunthala, the night before I woke up sick. I had seen him again in Bupsa before he steamed off ahead.
The snow was relentless. Just before it got dark I went for a wander outside and noticed with a touch of apprehension that there was at least a foot of fresh snow on the ground. That was at 4700m and I wondered what it might look like at the Cho La Pass at a dizzying height of 5420 metres (17780ft).
I dined on a terribly bland version of Dal Bhat, reasoning that every single ingredient to make it had to be carried here on the back of a porter or yak. I called it a night at 8pm. Half of the Koreans were still making copious amounts of noise in the dining room, while the other half were clattering around upstairs. I put my headphones in and let the melodic voice of Jimmy Cliff send me to sleep.
Well the album only went for just over an hour. As soon as it went silent, the noise of the Koreans came into play. A symphony of slamming doors rudely pulled me from a deep slumber in which I was crossing lush, warm rivers in tropical places. What is wrong with these people? They did not have one considerate bone in their entire bodies. The man in the room next to me had cranked up a noisy, portable gas stove that hissed away without regulation, while his roommate was singing a Korean pop song so hideous that I began to wish I was hearing impaired. The lady across from me unlocked her door, opened it, slammed it, stomped down to the toilet door, opened it, slammed it, before repeating the process on the return trip.
I am not exaggerating here. This happened continuously until around 11pm, when the noise finally died down. However, because they ate and drank so much at dinner (no shit…they had five or six courses) they were up all night going to the toilet with the usual accompaniment of slammed doors and stomping feet. I just don’t understand it. I had this conversation days ago with Juliet and Michael, and we were talking up the extent of our own consideration. We unlock our doors as gently as possible, make sure the doors don’t slam, and then tip-toe down the wooden corridors to minimalize any form of noise. I even gently let one rip in the night lest it disturb the neighbours. Not these Koreans. They fart and carry on as if it is a competition. Bastards.
Then they all woke up at 3.30am. I thought they were going to tackle the pass early, but they were in fact still clattering around at 6.30am when everyone else left. They didn’t wake up at 3.30am and think: You know what, I bet that because it is 3.30am everyone else staying in this lodge is still sleeping, and so I will go about my business as quietly as possible. Au contraire! More like: I am a Korean wanker, and because I am awake, everyone must also be awake too!
I entered the dining hall knowing that I looked ridiculously tired. The Koreans were all gathered around, having a nine-course meal. They all looked fresh and ready to tackle the pass. I could think of nothing I’d rather do less than wander into dangerously thin air across a pass more difficult than the first one. A pass I’d only just managed to cross after a rest day. This one was a bit higher too, and it had been snowing for 10 hours the previous night.
‘Morning man, you sleep well?’ asked Subash as he entered the dining room.
‘Does it look like I slept well?’
‘Maybe nots.’
‘Subash, we are not staying in the same place as those damn Koreans again,’ I said, loud enough for the whole room to hear, although I don’t believe they understood a word of English.
‘Those damn Koreans!’ said the Irishman as he walked into the hall, loud enough for the whole room to here. We were pissed off people. ‘I barely slept a wink all night.’
I gave him a look that cried understanding, before going back to poking my rancid vegetable omelette around my plate with a fork. The Irishman had big plans on getting to Gokyo and exploring the sacred lakes, but he was so tired he was just looking forward to getting to Gokyo so he could have a lazy day.
Chapter Fifteen
Tackling the Cho La Pass
It was bitterly cold when we left the lodge, a little after 6.30am. My poor little toes felt as though they were frozen to the inside of my boots. We let the Koreans go first so that they could break a trail through the fresh snow, punishment for being such a bunch of dick-heads. The track climbed steadily up along a pristine v-shaped valley, formed by a stream that somehow managed to flow despite the temperature being around the -10°C mark.
There was very little in the way of vegetation, but the fresh snow gave the air a clean, untouched feeling. As clear as only mountain air can be.
‘What is wrong with you today?’ asked Subash as he stopped for the fortieth time in half an hour to wait for me.
�
�What do you mean? Am I going slow?’
‘I mean you are counting your steps today.’
I realised he was right. I was so tired and not in the right frame of mind for tackling one of the passes.
‘I am exhausted man. I didn’t sleep because of those damn Koreans.’
‘Ok man no problems, just keep moving.’
We went up for a long time, although the gradient wasn’t too ridiculous. The people that had set off before me had left decent tracks in the snow that acted as steps for my exhausted feet. As we rounded the top of a hill, Cho La came into sight for the first time. It looked daunting. And frustrating. We had dragged our arses up to 5200 metres above sea-level, but now we had to painfully surrender some of that precious altitude by heading back down into a wide, snow-filled gulley.
The pace-setters had all chosen this spot for a rest, so I plonked myself down and gorged on some chocolate, willing the sugar to give me something. Anything. Two of the porters began to play fight about 10-or-so metres away from me. Then they began to wrestle in the snow while the others egged them on, laughing and cheering wildly. Eventually one of them trapped the other’s arm and put him in a submission hold, while the porter with his face in the snow began tapping the ground wildly. The winner looked at me as if for approval, as though I was a professional wrestler. It was all fun and games, but at this altitude it was very silly. On his way down the next slope, the winner fell heavily and slid down the icy slope for a good few metres. It took him a long time to get up, and then an even longer time to regather his load. He was the only porter I saw fall to such an extent in Nepal. He was clearly spent from the fight.
We went down and waded through waist-deep snow at the base of the gully, before heading back up. This time we were heading up to the pass. Then the ascent really began over loose rocks that moved underneath deep snow. Vertical walls of rock and ice rose all around us. Boulders the size of footballs dislodged themselves from unknown heights above us and entered free fall, landing with an almighty cracking sound – the sound of high-speed rock on rock. It was most disconcerting.
Then we hit a steep section, which perfectly coincided with the path turning to one solely of ice. It was very slippery and on a few occasions I would have been unable to climb higher unless Subash had pulled me up. God he was strong for a little fella. I negotiated the steep ice, but I was utterly buggered. I had a system, though. Just five steps. Then you can have a rest. Just take five steps. I’d take the five steps and gasp for breath while my thighs weakened and plotted against me. Ok, five steps were too much. Just take four steps this time, then you can have a rest. I was literally counting my steps now, but it was all I had. At least it kept me moving.
I knew how hard it was going to be this time. However, I thought I may have been slightly better acclimatised to this altitude after crossing the Renjo La, but it wasn’t the case. I was locked in exactly the same epic battle of willpower with myself as I was a few days before.
I saw some people coming the other way. They had crossed the pass and were now on their way down, but there was something very unnatural in their movements. As they scrambled closer, I realised that two or three men were dragging someone down the slope. Closer still I realised it was a Caucasian man, perhaps only 20 years old. He looked at me as they dragged him past. His head bounced off rocks, his face pealed as it scraped over ice, and his eyes lolled somewhere to the back of his head.
‘We must keep moving!’ Subash said anxiously, snapping me instantly from a state of utter confusion. I could hear something in his voice that I had not heard before. Was it panic? I knew I had been sitting in one spot for an abnormally long amount of time, but I simply did not have the strength to continue. ‘Man this is a very dangerous places. You see all these rocks that are falling?’
‘I see them, Subash, but there is nothing I can do. Sorry. I am too tired. I need to rest. Was that boy ok?’
‘He has the altitude sickness. He will be ok if they get him down to a lower altitude in quick enough times. From Tagnag they will go to Gokyo and then call for helicopter. Come, I take your bag.’
‘Ok, thanks mate. How far to top?’
‘For me, seven minutes. For you maybe half-hour.’
I struggled upwards. Every breath became a war. It is not that there are actually fewer oxygen molecules at this altitude, but rather that the air pressure is so much less that the molecules are more thoroughly dispersed. Imagine at sea level there is an ocean of air above you, the weight of which compresses the oxygen molecules into a very dense structure, so there is far more oxygen to breathe in. Whatever the science, I just could not get enough of that vital essence.
I was now down to two-step rests. I put my head down and refused to look up at the pass. I didn’t want to see it until I was there. My agony was directly proportionate to my determination to get to the top. The harder it became, the more I wanted to succeed. If I had to turn around, it was a long, long way back to Tagnag, and then to Gokyo, where we would have to wave white flags and stumble back to the Khumbu Highway via a different and far easier track.
‘Oh Mr Gorong! Say “cheese”!’ I heard Subash call. His voice was close. I looked up and he was sitting on a boulder only 20 metres higher than me, and began furiously snapping photos of me with my camera.
‘Subash, is that the pass?’ I gasped.
‘Yes, is pass.’
‘Don’t bullshit me Subash. When I get to you, is there any more up?’
‘Maybe only 5 metres of up.’
‘Is the view good?’
‘No. No good view from Cho La Pass.’
‘What you mean no good view? You mean it is cloudy?’
‘No. I is meaning you can’t see a things from the Cho La. It is not like the Renjo La.’
I laughed out loud, paused to suck in some sparse oxygen molecules, then laughed again.
‘Then why the hell did we come all the way up here?’ I asked him.
‘You tell me where you want to go, and I is guiding you there,’ he answered simply and irrefutably. I laughed again, elated that I was almost there. One step, rest. One step, rest. Every inch I climbed took a monumental effort. It really is hard to fathom if you haven’t been to that altitude before. Every step I took, Subash snapped a photo of me.
‘Subash you’re putting me off!’ I cried.
‘No,’ he answered simply without removing his eye from the scope of my camera.
‘Yes, you are!’
‘Just come up man, and I stop.’
‘You better hope you’re not there when I get there,’ I mumbled inaudibly and then carried on. I passed Subash who turned the camera around while I made my way ever-so slowly up the final 5 metres of rock. Then I simply collapsed, slumping onto the stone cairn dressed in prayer flags, while Subash was there to capture the moment immortally in the form of a very good photo. I was at 5420m, or 17782 feet for all you backward folk. I didn’t stay on the pass too long. I didn’t want to end up like that poor boy being dragged down.
A large amphitheatre-shaped cirque announced the beginning of the next valley, where snow accumulated in abundance, leading to the formation of an immense sheet of hard, blue ice. We climbed down a near-vertical section of rock and snow and then joined the path into the Khumbu region. Then I slipped and began sliding towards a gaping crevasse, but luckily I executed a spectacular starfish technique to arrest my fall. I slid for perhaps a metre and had Subash diving to grab my back. I was never really in danger due to the spectacular starfish technique, but had I gained speed on that ridiculously steep slope I may have disappeared without a trace into the guts of the mountain.
‘Come on man, you want to fall into a crevasse?’ Subash asked me as he helped drag me to my feet.
‘Not really, didn’t you see my technique?’
‘I see you sliding towards a crevasse.’
Subash photographing me in my struggle to the pass...
I laughed, just relieved that I was still above ground. The
path was perilous. It was less than a foot wide with a steep drop down onto the glacier on one side, the other a vertical wall housing a multitude of unstable-looking boulders. It would have been scary enough with fresh legs, let alone mine, which were weary and shaking. It was so narrow that you had to assume a tight-rope walker impression. We were late to the pass, and so clouds were beginning to swirl around the highest peaks, shielding the view. But it mattered not, for my eyes were firmly focused on the most dangerous and challenging part of the trek so far.
For about half an hour I slid and skidded in the deep snow, each time holding my breath and praying that I would not start sliding out of control. Then I’d pay for having held my breath and my lungs would begin to scream for air. I’d stand there in a state of hyperventilation until my body absorbed enough oxygen and my head began to clear. Slowly, the deep snow made way to a combination of snow and rocks large enough to protrude through to the surface.
I looked up and stared in wonder. There was Ama Dablam, cloaked in white, rising the highest of all the hundreds of peaks in the vicinity. It wasn’t the traditional view of the mountain, the famous view in all the postcards, but was from an entirely different angle.
I had circumnavigated the mountain through a host of different valleys and gullies and now I was staring straight at the western wall of this grand monolith. An eagle soared high above, then swooped down and began circling us. He’s waiting for me to ‘carc it’ (from ‘carcass’, meaning to die!), I thought, and then snapped some beautiful pictures of this beautiful mountain. It was miles and miles away, but also right there. Almost near enough to touch. I sat down, exhausted. Nima thrust a packet of chocolate biscuits into my hand and I ate one before trying to give it back to him. He was having none of it.
‘Eat, sir,’ was all he said. Subash similarly would not accept them, so I ate a few more and put the rest in my pocket.
The Nepali Flat Page 11