Sagar laid on the horn as he zipped through the chaotic streets. At one point during the drive, he turned around and gave each of us a local cell phone with a stack of scratch-off phone cards that we would use to recharge the SIM cards. Finally we made our way through a back alley to Hotel Yak & Yeti. Bill and I carried our gear upstairs to the room we were sharing. As I hefted my two 50-pound expedition duffel bags, I thought about the contents.
It had been hard to prepare for every situation while staying within the 50-pound limit. First, there was my climbing gear, which consisted of various layers to accommodate both the warmer, low-altitude areas and the ultrafreezing weather at higher elevations. I’d brought along a hard-shell GORE-TEX jacket, a light down jacket, and a full down suit, plus three types of gloves (thin trekking gloves, heavy guide gloves, and down expedition mitts), four pairs of socks, and a spare pair of underwear.
Then there was all my climbing gear, which took up a lot of space and didn’t always fold up neatly. I brought along an ice axe, a climbing harness, a helmet, crampons, several carabiners, a jumar, a figure-eight, a knife, and various safety devices and ropes.
I had managed to cram in two sleeping bags—one for –20-degree weather and one for –40 degrees—an expedition backpack, goggles, and two pairs of sunglasses. On top of that, I had to fit in all my technological equipment: a camera with extra memory and batteries, a solar battery pack with solar panels, and a mini-laptop with 3G capabilities, which I’d preloaded with movies and pictures of my family. I also had lots of quick-energy foods: fruit snacks, Pop-Tarts, trail mix, freeze-dried fruit, mints, drink mixes, cookies, Reese’s peanut butter cups, and a case of Snickers bars. And not least of all, I had the gifts for the orphanage.
I hoped I hadn’t forgotten anything.
As soon as I got settled, I made a quick phone call to JoAnna. She answered with a high-pitched “Hi!”
I knew she’d been waiting anxiously for my call. Since I didn’t have many minutes, we kept things brief. I filled her in on how my travels had gone and what we planned to do in Kathmandu. The kids were in school, so I asked her to pass on my love to them.
“Tell them I made it there safely, okay?” I said. “And remind them that their daddy misses them.”
•
I rearranged the gear in my duffel bag so the Sherpa porters carrying it ahead to base camp would have the appropriate load. When getting your gear ready for an expedition, it’s not just important to know what to pack; it’s also critical to know how to pack it. If the weight in your bag leans to one side, it’ll throw the carrier off balance or end up hurting his back after a while. The goal is to keep the bulk of the weight at the small of the back and then stack up the rest of the supplies evenly from there.
Once I made sure my first bag was evenly loaded, I focused my attention on my second duffel. This one would be carried by another porter, who would head with us to base camp, so I kept anything I’d need prior to base camp in that bag.
One of the important parts of a climb takes place during staging—before you even begin the climb. You don’t want to carry high-altitude items with you for several weeks as you make your way to base camp, as that would mean expending a lot of energy unnecessarily. But you also don’t want to wish you had certain gear that is now 30 miles and a week ahead of you.
Many people don’t realize that climbing Everest isn’t just about going straight up the mountain. It’s more like a long cycle of climbing and then waiting while the body acclimatizes—and then climbing and waiting some more. If climbers ascend too rapidly, they experience the potentially life-threatening effects of altitude sickness.
During the periods of waiting, climbers stay at camps located at various elevations. The lowest camp is base camp, a rudimentary campsite at 17,598 feet. The next camp, Camp I, sits above the Khumbu Icefall at 19,700 feet. Camp II is situated at 21,300 feet, at the base of Lhotse Face, the fourth-highest mountain in the world. Camp III (23,700 feet) sits about halfway up Lhotse Face on what is basically a wall of glacial blue ice. Camp IV, or high camp (26,300 feet), is the highest camp in the world and is located in the death zone.
When we went down to the lobby of the hotel, we met up with the other trekkers who would accompany us to Everest base camp. Dawn was from Kentucky and had been to the Khumbu Valley on a previous trekking expedition. She was down to earth and full of good questions, wanting to ensure she got the most out of her experience. Carlos, a dessert chef from Texas, was born in Spain. He had a perpetual smile on his face, and he was always ready with a story about his family. Sam was in his 60s and from the Midwest. He had lots of previous climbing experience and quickly became the father figure for the group. Veronique lived in Quebec and primarily spoke French, but since her English was much better than our French, we stuck with English. She was in her mid-30s and was the only other one of the group who was also attempting Everest independent of a large climbing team.
That night we walked through Kathmandu to get pizza at the Fire and Ice Pizzeria. I took a deep breath of the night air, which was a dense mix of smog, dust, and gasoline. That certainly didn’t feel like the right combination to be breathing prior to climbing Everest, and I wondered how it affected the people who lived there. The streets were bustling with cars and motorcycles as drivers laid on their horns and maneuvered into any potential gap they could squeeze into. When we crossed the street, it felt like we were playing a strategic game of Frogger, looking carefully in both directions and then running with all our might. I didn’t know much about the rules of the road in Nepal, but I was pretty sure pedestrians didn’t have the right-of-way.
After dinner I had to hurry to get back to the hotel to do a dry run with the video equipment for the next morning. Tomorrow would be a big day—but not because of anything related to climbing. I’d be going to an orphanage on the outskirts of Kathmandu.
In all my climbs so far, I’d arranged to visit local orphanages to distribute gifts and toys to the children there. For this trip I was working with the Cisco Systems philanthropic group to set up a live high-definition video call using Cisco equipment. The children at the orphanage would be connected to other children in various locations worldwide, and they’d all participate in a science project via live video. A scientist would be on the call, instructing the children on how to make musical instruments out of Popsicle sticks and rubber bands. We’d sent the Popsicle sticks and rubber band kits to the locations ahead of time, and I was eager to see the faces of the children, many of whom had never had their own toy before.
Back at Hotel Yak & Yeti, I connected my integrated services router, my wireless access point, and my tablet via Nepal’s 3G network and successfully made a high-definition video call to San Jose. All was looking good for the next day.
In the morning Chris and I had a driver take us across town for the orphanage event. All the streets looked the same, and most of them had no signs at all, so I was grateful to have a driver. On the ride over, Chris and I talked through the plans for the event—at least the parts we could control. Due to electrical shortages in Kathmandu, the power was turned off in certain sections of the city for blocks of time throughout the day. These blackouts weren’t scheduled ahead of time, so I didn’t find out until that morning that this area of the city would be affected. But what else could I do? “I guess we’ll have to plug and pray,” I told Chris with a smile.
After getting lost a few times, we found the orphanage. Pushpa Basnet, who ran the Early Childhood Development Center, came out to greet us and give us a tour.
“In Nepal, when people go to jail, they bring their children with them,” she told us. “There isn’t a structured foster-care system available, so the kids end up behind prison walls for crimes they didn’t commit.”
The Early Childhood Development Center houses and educates the children until their parents get out of jail. They are taught life skills and are brought to visit their parents a few times a month. After seeing all that this organization was do
ing for these children, I wasn’t surprised to learn that Pushpa had been named CNN’s Hero of the Year in 2012.
As we walked across the main area of the gated community, the children, ranging from 3 to 16 years old, stared at us. Out of respect for local customs, I took off my shoes when I went inside. I was led to an open room upstairs, where I was to set up my infrastructure for the event. I had a solar-charged battery pack, which provided power to my equipment, but the 3G towers were down, meaning I couldn’t connect to the other locations. I was able to use my local cell phone to dial in to and talk to kids in Singapore, Hong Kong, and the United States—including JoAnna and the kids, who were in the Bellevue, Washington, office.
It wasn’t ideal since the goal was to have the Nepalese children see the kids in the other countries, but they still seemed to enjoy it. I told the kids on the phone about my plan to climb Mount Everest, and then they were full of questions for me.
“What is the mountain like?” one boy from Singapore asked.
“What will you eat?” This question came from a girl in Washington.
“Where will you sleep?” another little girl asked.
And then came the question I got every time I talked to a group of children, no matter where they were in the world: “Where do you go to the bathroom?”
After the call, Chris and I went outside to meet the local kids and distribute the bag of toys I’d brought. I’d filled a single compression sack—a nylon bag with straps that compress the contents to conserve space. I crammed as many stuffed animals in there as I could, and the kids’ eyes lit up when they saw what I’d brought. They lined up from shortest to tallest, and Pushpa made sure each child thanked me after receiving the gift. I left wishing I could have brought more.
•
We spent the rest of the day exploring the city. At one point we walked across a primitive cement bridge with a narrow river running beneath it. Immediately I noticed the strong stench of garbage fermenting in the humid air. I looked below the bridge and saw trash and waste scattered for miles in the water.
I turned to one of the local men who was giving us a tour of the city, trying to hold my breath. “Why is there so much garbage in the river?”
“Don’t worry,” he told me. “It will all get washed away during the monsoons.”
“Washed away?” I responded. “To where?”
He gave me a blank stare and shrugged his shoulders. We kept walking.
Later that day we took a van up a steep, windy road to Swayambhunath, a Buddhist site at the top of a hill in the Kathmandu Valley. It is also called the Monkey Temple, after the “holy monkeys” that live on the grounds. Only about 11 percent of the Nepalese population practices Buddhism (most people identify themselves as Hindu), but almost every aspect of Nepalese culture is influenced by Buddhism. Swayambhunath is considered the most sacred Buddhist site in the Himalayas, and people from all over the world make pilgrimages there.
The van revved and sputtered in the heat, barely making it to the top of the hill. The complex had several stupas—dome-shaped shrines with prayer flags strung around them—and Buddhist prayer wheels at every corner. It wasn’t long before I saw the “holy monkeys” the site was famous for.
“Don’t make eye contact with them,” the locals warned us. “The monkeys take it as a challenge.”
Challenge accepted! I took a picture of a row of monkeys sitting on a ledge (which the people there called a monkey train). There was no response, but I was wearing sunglasses. I decided to test the theory by tipping my sunglasses down and winking at one of the monkeys. Before I even had a chance to put away my camera, the monkey was charging straight at me! Fortunately it stopped before I had to defend myself; otherwise I probably would have screamed like a girl and started swinging my camera. This was one story about my trip I knew Jordan would love to hear.
That evening we returned to Hotel Yak & Yeti to stage our gear and prepare for an early morning flight to Lukla. Our expedition was about to officially begin.
As excited as we were to get our journey started, we knew it was important to eat, especially since this would be one of our last real meals for the next two months. We went to the famous Rum Doodle restaurant, located in the Thamel district. This restaurant is famous for giving a free meal to those who summit Mount Everest, and even more significantly, for having climbers who have successfully summited sign their names on the wooden plaques that cover the walls.
As we waited for a table, I read through some of the names, dates, and messages people had left over the years. It was inspiring to see the list of those who had previously walked the difficult steps I was about to embark on myself.
On April 3 we woke up at 3:30 a.m. and got ready for our 5 a.m. flight to Lukla. Tenzing-Hillary Airport has the shortest runway in the world, which makes it one of the top 10 most dangerous airports in the world. If you don’t take off or land the plane quickly enough, you crash into the mountain.
The Kathmandu airport was surprisingly busy for so early in the morning. As I looked around at my fellow travelers, I wondered what had brought them there. I figured that some were local Nepalese residents, some were doing one of the various treks in the Khumbu Valley or up to Everest base camp, and others were climbing smaller peaks like Ama Dablam or Lobuche. And a few were climbing the big one.
We were loaded down with expedition gear, and I was grateful for the assistance of our local Sherpa team. The Sherpa, a people group from the high slopes of the Himalayas in Nepal, are frequently employed as guides and porters for treks and climbs. They are known for their strength, endurance, climbing expertise, and ability to handle high altitudes.
Our climbing expedition had hired Sherpa porters, who carried our heavier gear to the villages ahead, as well as Sherpa trekking guides to lead the Everest base camp trekkers. When we arrived at base camp and Camp II, we would have specialized Sherpa cooks who would provide the food and then prepare it using portable gas stoves. Bill and I also had climbing Sherpas who would assist us for the actual ascent of Mount Everest. They would be there to guide us through the route and carry additional oxygen for higher camps.
The moment Pasang, one of our climbing Sherpas, entered the airport, I could tell immediately he wasn’t just a local traveler or a casual climber. He was decked out in designer jeans, a light brown 1970s-style leather jacket, and aviator sunglasses. I took one look at him and said, “That’s my kind of climbing Sherpa!”
Close behind him was Pumba, our trekking guide. Despite his short stature, he was obviously strong. He told us he had a family in the lower regions of Nepal, and he’d have to be away from them for weeks at a time to lead climbing groups. But he was proud that this job enabled him to earn enough money to send his children to the university in Kathmandu.
Our Nepalese logistics folks proved their worth, as they managed to get us on the early flight. I breathed a sigh of relief as we received our tickets at the counter. I was glad I didn’t have to wonder if we’d be sitting in the airport all day or if we’d have to come back the following day.
Bill and I rode out to the Yeti Airlines Twin Otter plane on a standing-only bus. To my surprise, we boarded based on weight—heavier people in the front, lighter people in back. As I headed to the back of the plane, I tried not to think too much about the delicate balance needed to get this craft off the ground with all the gear and personnel. The plane was pretty archaic looking, with pleather seats that folded down. The seat belts were frayed, and I wondered if they were there more for peace of mind than for actual safety purposes. I glanced out the window at the jagged mountains we’d be flying through and tightened my seat belt.
The flight attendant handed us a couple of cotton swabs for our ears and a piece of hard candy as the in-flight snack. I put the cotton in my pocket and pulled out a set of yellow foam earplugs from my bag. I closed my eyes, listening to the muffled sound of the engine turning over before the propellers finally growled to life. As the plane took off, we circled Kathmand
u a few times to gain enough altitude to get over the mountains surrounding the city.
As we climbed higher, the Himalayan range came into view, but I had to look straight up out of my dirty, scratched window to see them. With their blue-gray color, the mountains blended into the sky, and it was almost impossible to tell where the rocky surface ended and atmosphere began. At one point we briefly saw the summit of Mount Everest peering through the range. A surge of fear and excitement coursed through my body. This is really happening! I thought.
I was so busy looking at the majestic view outside the window that it took me a while to notice that the pilot had put the plane on autopilot and was reading the newspaper. I guess he’d flown that route a few times, but even so, I would have appreciated a little more attention at the wheel. Almost as soon as the flight started, it was ending and we were preparing to land.
I looked out the window and saw a thin strip of runway about 1,500 feet long. There was a time it might have terrified me to see a runway built into the side of the mountain like that, but it didn’t faze me as much after landing on numerous mountainous surfaces during Navy combat search-and-rescue training missions.
The pilot dropped the yoke and forced the tires to the ground. The engine revved as the plane came to a quick stop and then made a sharp turn to the right. My stomach flipped inside me, and in that moment I was grateful that the in-flight snack hadn’t been more substantial.
Exhaling with relief, we stepped off the aircraft and made our way through Lukla to an open area across town to meet our Sherpa porters and trekking guides. At 9,383 feet above sea level, Lukla is the first town in the Khumbu area. It has a total population of about 200 people, most of whom are Sherpas. Pasang was a rock star in the community, having made three successful Everest summits in the past. His first climb had been in 2010 with Leif Whittaker, the son of Jim Whittaker (the first American to summit Everest in 1963). Pasang had summited again that year with Eric Larsen, a polar explorer, marking the first fall summit in many years.
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