North Face

by Matt Dickinson

  ‘It’s too much,’ Tashi complained. ‘It’s no wonder so many of them go lame.’

  ‘They have to earn their living,’ her father told her sharply. ‘Just like us.’

  The loads were dangerous for the yaks but the rate of pay for the family was excellent, each day giving them the equivalent of what they could earn in a week anywhere else on the plateau.

  ‘We’re going to be rich!’ Karma said.

  Tashi put her fingers to her lips. She was more superstitious than her brother and didn’t like to tempt fate.

  They set off, their father walking the first few kilometres alongside them.

  On that first journey Karma showed Tashi the route to Advance Base Camp, a demanding trek of twenty-five kilometres along two different glacier systems. The journey was never entirely safe; the slopes above the pathways were unstable and prone to sudden rockfall. The clattering thud-thud-thud of cascading boulders was a constant hazard.

  On Tashi’s very first journey a yak belonging to another family was killed in front of her eyes. A huge boulder came down from above, caught the creature broadside, hurling it into a deep crevasse. The young boy in charge of the yak escaped by the skin of his teeth, leaping to one side at the last moment.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Tashi and Karma hobbled their own animals and ran to his aid.

  The boy nodded and the young Tibetans stepped cautiously to the edge of the crevasse. Deep in the bowels of the glacier they could see a hint of dark fur, hear the lowing of the dying beast.

  Then the creature fell silent.

  Later Tashi heard that two Western climbers had abseiled down into the crevasse to retrieve the climbing equipment. The yak was sealed for ever in that frozen tomb.

  Every night on the glacier was an adventure, pitching their tent in the midst of the wildest possible conditions. Karma didn’t seem to have learned all the tricks of camping, Tashi began to realise – probably because he had always slept in tents put up by expeditions he was working for – and they made some early mistakes which cost them sleepless nights.

  On one occasion they pitched the tent far too close to one of the fast-flowing channels of meltwater that run like veins across the surface of the glaciers. At three o’clock in the morning they had to move in a hurry when they discovered the banks of the channel had eroded towards them. In just a few hours the route of the raging torrent had shifted almost ten metres.

  ‘We could have drowned tonight,’ Tashi told Karma.

  If the tent had fallen into the channel it would have been the end of them.

  One night there was a sudden storm. Tashi and Karma were alone and they hadn’t secured the tent very well. The glacier ice was too hard to penetrate with pegs so they had tied the guy ropes to small stones and left it at that.

  It wasn’t enough. The wind sprang up suddenly in the early hours and whipped the anchors out in seconds. Tashi and Karma woke with the flapping of the canvas as the tent threatened to blow away into the night. Freezing sleet beat against them as they stumbled out to try and pin it back down.

  Within seconds they were soaked to the skin. Then Karma dropped and broke their only torch. A guy rope lashed against Tashi’s face, catching her painfully in the eye. Their three yaks had broken free of their ties. Now they were panicked by the storm’s lightning, lumbering this way and that, dark shapes with glittering, fearful eyes.

  ‘We have to catch them!’ Tashi had yelled at Karma. ‘Find some rope!’

  A lethal chase kicked off, running to and fro across the slippery surface of the glacier as the storm raged. The yaks were in a dangerous mood, kicking out when Tashi or her brother got close. Two of the animals had a full head of horns and at one point Karma was almost gored in the belly.

  It took a very long time to pacify the yaks and bring the exhausted animals back to a safe spot where they could be tied.

  The storm took another three hours to blow itself out. Tashi and Karma huddled together to share their body warmth, wrapped in the remains of their tent. Tashi had never been so cold. By the time a grey sheen of light crept across the dawn sky she could hardly feel her hands and feet.

  ‘We’ll have to go back,’ Karma said. ‘The yaks will get sick if we keep going to the camp at the col.’

  ‘We finish the job,’ Tashi said firmly. ‘If we don’t get these barrels to the camp we won’t get paid.’

  Twenty-four hours later they arrived at the foot of the North Col, children and animals utterly exhausted. Tashi knew she had taken a risk to push the yaks so hard but she reasoned she had only done what her father would have instructed her to do.

  They were paid three hundred dollars for the load carry and a fifty-dollar note each as a tip. Things had worked out. But only just. Tashi knew that she and Karma could not afford to mess up again.

  Every decision up here was a potential matter of life or death.

  By the middle of June all of the serious climbing expeditions were gone and the summer trekking groups began.

  The monsoon clouds would gather every day, laden with tropical moisture from the Indian Ocean. The yaks had lighter loads and the days were warm, even though snow often fell.

  When there was no carrying to be done, Tashi sometimes got work helping out in other ways. She would prepare food for the trekkers, put up endless rows of tents, use a foot pump to blow up the inflatable mattresses; anything to earn some extra cash.

  ‘Winter will be on us before we know it,’ her father often reminded her. ‘We need savings to survive.’

  Tashi got other interesting opportunities with the trekking groups. Opportunities to go high.

  Six thousand five hundred metres had been her previous altitude record. But now, having got friendly with some of the leaders, she was invited to climb with the teams on their most challenging days.

  She carried the medical kit, or a couple of tanks of oxygen in case of a medical emergency.

  The climbs were on ‘trekking peaks’, Himalayan mountains which were non-technical but high enough to be serious.

  Seven thousand metres. Seven thousand three hundred.

  Tashi got used to wearing crampons clipped to her boots, the sharpened steel spikes giving her the freedom to move where she wanted.

  ‘I’ll teach you how to use an ice axe,’ one of the leaders promised her after a trek.

  Tashi spent a couple of exciting days learning ice-axe techniques on the glacier. She got a taste for it, and began to wonder if one day she might get an opportunity to go even higher.

  The frosts began in September, the ground freezing as hard as iron. A disturbing rumour started to spread amongst the yak herders, news of an atrocity in which Tibetan pilgrims had been fired on by Chinese troops as they crossed the Nangpa La, a well-known trekking route into Nepal.

  Several Tibetans had been shot, Tashi heard, and one nun killed. It was disturbing to think of such things happening so close to Base Camp.

  The authorities denied it had ever happened.

  Work dried up. The bitter temperatures kept tourists and expeditions away. Many of the yak drivers moved their animals down to lower altitudes, quitting Base Camp with little regret.

  ‘Why don’t we follow them?’ Karma asked. ‘Give the yaks a break and us as well.’

  ‘We stay here,’ their mother said. ‘We can’t afford to travel.’

  They all knew the real reason why. Travelling would mean checkpoints, the danger that their forged identity cards might be challenged.

  Winter seemed to last for ever. Tashi ached for longer days and warmer times. Her previous home on the plateau had been a full thousand metres lower, in a comparatively mellow zone of Tibet, blessed by long hours of sunlight and mild winds.

  By the end of March the grasslands where she grew up would be alive with spring flowers and the sounds of crickets and birds. Rivers ran free. Animals emerged c
autiously from their long period of sleep and hibernation.

  At Everest Base Camp winter just went on. And on. Even at the end of April the rivers could be totally frozen, not a flower or bird to be seen.

  In this deep-freeze environment finding nutritious food for the yaks was a constant battle. They needed plenty of fodder to sustain them on the long treks and there was virtually no useful grazing at such extreme altitude.

  Hundreds of sacks of grass and hay were transported up to Base Camp in trucks. The price was extortionate but the yak herders were forced to pay. The only other choice was the starvation of their animals.

  Human food was also brought in by road. Not even barley would grow properly at the altitude of Base Camp. Tomatoes and onions came in from the lower regions of Tibet. Fruit was shipped up from Nepal. Everything was costly, at least twice the price of the same produce in nearby towns.

  Again there was no choice. It was pay. Or starve.

  Tashi was glad when the expedition season came round again. There were lots of familiar faces, and many of the leaders asked for the services of Tashi and Karma.

  Sometimes the expeditions just wanted their barrels of equipment to be shifted as fast as possible up to Advance Base Camp.

  They paid a bonus for a quick delivery.

  Tashi and Karma had plenty of energy. Occasionally they did a five-day round trip up the glacier with fully laden yaks then returned to Base Camp for a couple of hours to load up again and set off straight away for another job.

  It was a punishing routine; one that many of the older men couldn’t match. They needed a few days’ rest between journeys, liked the comfort of their warm tents and their glasses of rice wine after the freezing nights on the glacier.

  Tashi and Karma quickly became known as the hardest working yak drivers at Base Camp.

  Dealing with the international members of the expeditions was an almost daily event. There was interaction when the yaks were loaded, the coming and going as blue barrels and kit bags were weighed and tied tightly in place on the backs of the animals.

  Then there were the long treks up to Advance Base Camp.

  The foreigners were open and friendly with Tashi and her English quickly improved. Goading the heavily laden yaks up the glacier was hard work but it was common for the expeditioners to walk alongside the yak chains and Tashi was good at making friends. She loved it when the climbers chatted about their home lives, their families back in Australia, America or Spain.

  ‘Tell me about your country,’ she would ask. ‘Are there mountains? What animals do you keep?’

  In this way Tashi learned much about the world.

  One day an American climber showed Tashi some holiday photographs of his children. They were standing in front of the pyramids of Giza in Egypt.

  It seemed incredible to Tashi that children had such opportunities. Flying halfway round the world to experience the wonders of an ancient civilisation. It was unthinkable that a Tibetan child would own a passport and even a Tibetan adult would have to wait years with no guarantee of getting one.

  Sometimes the foreigners would make throwaway comments about inviting her to their homes.

  ‘One day they will take you to America,’ her father said.

  Tashi laughed. Her father’s remark seemed utterly crazy. And yet it fired a thought in the young Tibetan girl.

  Were the climbers serious about their invitations? Could she somehow get hold of a passport? Fly in an airplane? See the places that the climbers had described to her?

  It was an impossible dream. Besides, Tashi knew she could never leave her family. What if her father got even sicker than he already was? Or one of their animals died?

  Fate had been kind to them since arriving at Everest. But that could quickly change.

  One thing never failed to amaze Tashi: the amount of photographs the foreigners took. Dozens every day. She was always happy to smile for their shots and secretly she longed for a chance to take a few photographs herself. Cameras fascinated her.

  Then, one day, a Polish woman climber handed Tashi her Canon to take a portrait posing in front of Everest. Holding the camera in her hand was a revelation to Tashi. It felt so right.

  The plastic body was so perfectly shaped to her hand. The way her fingers curled around the moulded shape felt like the object had been designed for her and her alone. Raising the viewfinder to her eye came as naturally as breathing. The tiny screen seemed like a window into another world.

  ‘Smile please!’ Tashi pressed the shutter release.

  The exposure time was one thousandth of a second but that blink of a mechanical eye was enough to give Tashi the desire for more. Much more.

  Tashi worked for the same Polish lady six weeks later, hauling her tents and equipment back to Base Camp. The woman was in a jubilant mood after a successful expedition and she wanted to share her joy with Tashi.

  ‘Tell me about summit day,’ Tashi begged.

  ‘I can’t remember much,’ the climber told her with a smile. ‘Just a mixture of tiredness and pain. It was worth it though for the view. Just incredible!’

  Tashi tried to imagine how special it would be to see the Himalaya from the highest point on earth. All her life she had loved to be amongst mountains. They chatted for hours as they descended the glacier.

  At Base Camp Tashi got a surprise.

  ‘I want you to have this,’ the Polish lady told her. ‘I can see how much you love to take photos.’

  She handed Tashi her Canon digital SLR.

  Tashi was astounded. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. She turned the camera in her hands, not quite sure what to do or say. Then she made to hand it back.

  ‘It is too much,’ she said shyly. ‘But thank you anyway.’

  But the climber was insistent.

  ‘I have two other cameras,’ she said with a smile. ‘And I want this one to be a souvenir of our happy times on the glacier.’

  She embraced Tashi warmly and insisted she accept the gift.

  From that moment there was rarely a time when Tashi did not have the camera close to hand. There was no instruction manual but the Polish climber had left her with a small solar-powered battery charger and a couple of spare memory cards.

  Tashi got plenty of help with her new hobby. There were usually two or three keen photographers amongst every team and sometimes she even got a chance to show her pictures to a professional. She took every opportunity to learn, and every opportunity to shoot.

  In six months she mastered the complicated functions of the camera, building a stunning collection of photographs which documented the life of the Everest yak herders in wonderful detail.

  Then something unexpected happened. The editor of an American wilderness magazine came out on an Everest trek and got talking with Tashi. As soon as he saw her portfolio of photographs he made a surprising offer.

  ‘I want to publish these,’ he told her. ‘I can put them in the August edition.’

  The article was titled; ‘Shooting on the Roof of the World’ and it used seven of Tashi’s best shots. The text described Tashi’s life.

  Tashi was sent a single copy of the magazine and it became one of her most treasured possessions. It was locked in the family strongbox in the tent and kept in pristine condition. Whenever she felt in need of a boost Tashi would bring out the magazine and stare in wonder at the images. It was magical to see her pictures in print and she yearned to do more.

  Tashi was paid fifteen hundred dollars for the spread; everything in her world was going so well.

  She should have known that it was all too good to be true.

  One day a convoy of army jeeps pulled in to Base Camp. Tashi was tending to the yaks on a rare day off so she witnessed the arrival of the very last person on the planet that she wanted to see.

  Chen.

  Tashi ducke
d down behind one of the yaks as he climbed from his vehicle. She was close enough to see the scowl of displeasure on his face as he looked around the organised shambles that is Base Camp.

  ‘This place is a stinking mess,’ he snapped to his subordinate. ‘Get these Tibetans to take their yaks further away from the camping area.’

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ Tashi asked a friend.

  ‘Haven’t you heard? He’s the new Base Camp commander.’

  Tashi ran to the family and told them the news.

  There was a stunned silence for a few moments then Karma sprang up and drove his fist hard against the wooden pole in the centre of the tent.

  ‘I hate him!’ he cried. ‘We’re happy here. Why can’t he leave us alone?’

  ‘We mustn’t panic!’ their father urged. ‘He doesn’t know we’re here. Not yet at least.’

  Karma sank down on to the cushions, his head in his hands.

  ‘I’m not going to go on the run again,’ he told the family. ‘I had a year away from you and it was the worst time of my life.’

  Tashi reached for her brother’s hand.

  ‘Karma’s right,’ Tashi’s mother said emotionally. ‘From now on we stick together, whatever happens.’

  The family went quiet. Tashi looked to the small shrine which sat in the corner of the tent. Had their gods abandoned them, she wondered?

  ‘I should do some sort of protest,’ Karma said. ‘There’s plenty of journalists around here who’d be interested in my story.’

  Tashi felt a familiar spasm of fear. She had always had a hollow feeling that her brother’s impulsive streak might lead him into even greater trouble.

  ‘That’s not so smart,’ their father said. ‘It’ll just inflame the situation.’

  ‘Or maybe Chen just won’t find out I’m here,’ Karma said. ‘There’s hundreds of us yak herders after all.’

  ‘There are spies everywhere,’ their mother reminded him. ‘Once Chen finds out we are here it will only be a matter of time before he gets you.’

  ‘There’s only one option left to us,’ their father announced.

  The family sat in silence. No one wanted to say the word.