Descent

by Roland Smith

  “I think it was a hot springs snake,” Josh said. “Thermophis baileyi. Heat snake. They live near hot springs and eat fish and amphibians.”

  I was always surprised at the things that Josh knew. It was even more surprising after he admitted on Hkakabo Razi that he couldn’t read or write. I got up and went back to the trickle of water.

  “It’s warmer than the river water,” I said.

  “You should know,” Zopa said, laughing.

  Funny monk.

  Captain Yama had given us a pile of gear for our trek, including two machetes from the supplies he was hauling up to Butong. He’d had an entire crate of them.

  “Climb or cut?” I asked.

  “Cut,” Zopa said. “But a small hole, so no one knows we were here. If Shek gets reinforcements, they will probably come upriver by boat right past here.”

  We started cutting, taking turns, because there wasn’t enough room for more than one of us to hack away at a time. The water was coming through a fissure in the rock a couple of feet wide, running all the way up to the top of the wall, where we could see a little light coming through. We squeezed inside and discussed climbing to the top using the chimney technique, but Zopa thought we should follow the trickle and see where it led.

  After an hour of walking, the end of the fissure was nowhere in sight. Sometimes it widened enough for two of us to walk side by side. Other times it got so narrow that we had to wiggle through one at a time with me going first to scout because I was the smallest, then Zopa because he was the stockiest, followed by Josh so he could help if Zopa got stuck. And he did get stuck a couple of times, but we managed to pop him loose.

  “It’s getting hot in here,” Josh said.

  He was right. It was like walking through a long, narrow steam bath. The trickle had turned into a small stream, which we could not avoid. My boots were as wet as my clothes. And there were snakes. A lot of them. None more than two feet long. Most of them were only a few inches in length. Babies. I guess the fissure was a breeding ground.

  “A hotbed for hot spring snakes,” Josh said. “Hot spring snakes are pretty rare. If herpetologists knew about this place, they’d be crawling all over here.”

  If they could find it, I thought. I hadn’t seen any footprints, which didn’t surprise me—the path was solid rock and water. Even so, it had a well-trodden feel to it, as if people used it on a regular basis. We hadn’t really had to cut much away to get through the opening, and what we had cut away looked like new growth. Things grow fast here.

  At the end of the fissure was a twenty-foot waterfall emptying into a wide pool. The flow wasn’t significant, but the wall was slick with algae. I volunteered to climb a side wall, crab over to the top of the falls, and drop a rope. It was too wide to chimney up, so I had to free climb. It was the most difficult climb I’d done in weeks. The rock was soft with very few holds. It always amazes me how the simple-looking climbs are often the most complicated. If I fell, I wouldn’t die, but I could break something, and that would be a disaster out here. I failed twice and had to jump back down. Josh and Zopa weighed in on alternative routes, and my wrong moves, which did not offend me. They had a much better perspective from below than I did while I was climbing. I made it up on the third try. Barely. I was grateful to get out of the sweltering fissure.

  Feeding the waterfall was a short stream flowing from the back side of a good-size pond completely sheltered by trees. I tied a rope around one of the trees and tossed it over the edge. I looked around while I waited for Josh and Zopa to clamber up. It was a beautiful spot. The pond was deep, crystal clear, and warm. There was a bath in my near future.

  Zopa’s bald head popped up first. I ran over and gave him a hand up. Josh was next. I pulled up our packs and re-coiled the rope. We all stripped out of our clothes and jumped into the water.

  We were sitting on the rocks drying in the sun when two monks showed up on the other side of the pond. They looked at us. We looked at them. They had nothing with them but their orange robes. Zopa stood and gave them a bow. Josh and I followed suit. I’m not sure if they had ever gotten a bow from three naked men before, but they returned the bow and started around to our side. By the time they got there we were semi-dressed: Josh in his bloodstained shirt, me in a fresh pair of jeans, and Zopa in his robe. As Zopa and the monks were talking, a third man appeared on the other side of the pond. He was not wearing a robe. He was carrying a gigantic pack on his back.

  “Yash!” I jumped back into the water and swam over to meet him.

  The Intwinsible

  Yash gave me a big smile.

  “What are you doing here? Where’s Yogi? Is Jack with you? How did you get here?”

  “I will answer all questions. But for everyone. At the same time. That will save words.”

  “Let me take your pack.”

  “It would make you fall over backwards like a turtle.”

  I followed him over to the others. Josh was shocked to see him too. Zopa was clearly not the least bit surprised.

  “I’ll make tea,”  Yash said, sloughing his heavy pack.

  Once a Sherpa always a Sherpa. Yash wasn’t going to say a word until he took care of us. I helped gather some wood for a fire. While Yash got the fire going, Josh and I took a walk around the pond.

  “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” I asked.

  “I picked up a little of the monk talk, but only a little. From what I understood the two monks were expecting Zopa.”

  “How’s that possible? We didn’t know we were going to be here until the helicopter showed up.”

  “The key word is we, meaning you and I. Zopa is not part of we.”

  “You’re starting to sound like Zopa.”

  Josh laughed. “I guess you’re right. What did  Yash say?”

  “He said he would tell us all at the same time.”

  “After tea.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Well, I’m glad he’s here, regardless of the circumstances. He’s a good guy to have around in a bad situation. Strong as a bull. Steady as an old oak. Yogi is a carbon copy. On the mountain we call them the Intwinsibles.”

  “What do you call Zopa on the mountain?”

  “Ha. We call him Zopa. He’s risen above nicknames.”

  We joined the others sitting around the fire. I waited until I’d taken three sips of tea before asking  Yash what was going on.

  He said that they had made good time to Lhasa. That the bus had actually stopped at the airport before it got into town. Jack insisted that he was feeling better and thought he could make it to Kathmandu without a problem. While the brothers and Jack were waiting for their flight, a monk approached them with a message from Zopa. He needed one of the brothers to stay behind.

  “We flipped a coin,”  Yash said, smiling. “I won. I chose to stay. Yogi was very mad.”

  The monk took Yash to a monastery in Lhasa where he was to wait until someone contacted him.

  “I waited almost two days. Very bad food. Late one night these two monks came into my room and said we needed to leave. We traveled by truck and boat, then we walked over terrible land for days, then we ended up here.”

  That was not the greatest explanation, but I was certain that was exactly what had happened. Yash knew as much as we did about why we were at the hot springs. In other words, nothing. I looked at Zopa. He remained silent. I thought we were going to let it go like we always do, hoping for the best, which so far had worked out pretty well. But Josh surprised me by being a little more direct.

  “Okay, Zopa. It’s time to tell us what’s going on. We should be heading west toward Nepal, not east toward mainland China. I know you have something in mind. If we’re going with you, we need to know what it is.”

  I would have asked a little less harshly. Zopa didn’t appear to be offended, but he did take some time before he answered.

  “We will not get anywhere near mainland China. I am taking you to a Buddhist monastery that the Chin
ese have somehow missed in their various purges. You will hide there until we can find safe passage out of the country. My two friends here are from the monastery. They will guide us there.”

  The two monks were in their early twenties, and fit-looking.

  “You haven’t been there?” Josh asked.

  Zopa shook his head. “It is a hidden monastery. A rumored monastery. Pemako.”

  “The hidden lotus land,” I said. “The Tibetan goddess Dorje Pagmo.”

  “Yes.”

  “You said it was in the Tsangpo gorge.”

  “I said it is thought to be in the gorge, which is not too distant from here. I told you once that you can never tell who the mountain will allow and who it will not.”

  “I remember. It was on Everest.”

  Zopa nodded. “As I told you, this is my third attempt. Perhaps this time I will succeed. Perhaps I will not. It is not up to me. We will camp here tonight and leave early tomorrow morning.”

  “I have gifts,” Yash said. He pulled Ethan’s sat phone out of his pack. “We charged it while we waited at the airport. And these . . .” He pulled out our GPS watches. “I also brought rope and hardware. I didn’t know what we would run across out here.”

  We were back in business as far as gear went. I turned on the sat phone. There was no signal, but this didn’t surprise me with all the tree limbs in the way. The GPS on the watch didn’t work either, but at least I knew the correct time. Zopa and the two monks went over to the rock where we had dried ourselves, to meditate. Josh rolled out one of the spare sleeping bags  Yash had brought and fell asleep.

  While Yash made dinner, I told him about our adventures in Bāyī. He was very interested in the building rescue and had me repeat the story twice.

  “Good thing you know how to climb buildings,” he said as he poured rice into the boiling water. “It would have been very funny to see Shek’s face the next morning when Josh was gone. Very funny. Of course, this means he will pursue you to the ends of the earth.”

  “This place looks like the end of the earth.”

  Yash nodded.

  “So, you just came here because Zopa asked you to come.”

  “Yes. Just like Yogi and I went to Hkakabo Razi to climb with you.”

  Zopa and the two monks didn’t join us for dinner, but Josh, Yash, and I ate enough for the six of us. By the time we finished, it was dark. I rinsed the dishes off in the stream above the waterfall. When I got back to camp, Josh and Yash were sound asleep. I took out my journal . . .

  Insects buzzing, frogs croaking, birds calling, and three monks quietly chanting, which blends in perfectly with the night sounds as if it is part of nature. The moon is full. If it weren’t for the trees, I’d be able to write without my headlamp. I’ve tried the sat phone a couple of times with no luck. The GPS on my watch isn’t working either.

  I’m not sure if this is Pemako or not, but it is stunning. If Shek wasn’t after us, I’d stay here for a month. Alessia would love it. Ethan would like it too, but after a couple of days he’d want to move on. Too placid for him. Not a breath of adrenaline in the humid air. He’s not a paradise kind of guy. I may not be either. A month of peace might be pushing it for me. I guess I’m like Josh in that way, missing chaos during peace, missing peace during chaos. Must be genetic. Mom is that way too. She gave up climbing to raise me and the Peas (and because she fell off a wall and broke several bones, which she hasn’t yet recovered from, and probably never will).

  The wind picks up. A beam of moonlight finds its way through the thick canopy. I can see the silhouettes of the three monks clearly now, sitting on the flat rock above the pond, still chanting . . .

  The insects, frogs, birds, and chanting stopped. The sudden silence was as startling as a shout. I stopped writing and looked over at the rock above the pond. The jungle canopy had blocked the moonlight once again. I was tempted to use my headlamp to spot the monks, but I didn’t want to disturb them. There was a chill in the air that hadn’t been there moments before, then the ground began to shake . . . no, not shake, but roll, undulate like a sea swell, and along with it was a deep, roaring vibration. I steadied myself with my hands even though I was sitting on the ground. It was over almost before it started. The concert of insects, frogs, and birds resumed. The chants did not.

  “Earthquake,” Zopa said.

  I hadn’t seen him walk up.

  He looked over at Josh and Yash. “Ha. Tomorrow you can tell them they slept through an earthquake. They are common here. Is there any rice?”

  I stood up. “Plenty. Enough for all of you.”

  “Just me,” Zopa said. “Our friends will not be eating.”

  I stirred the coals and put the rice pot back on. When it was hot, Zopa pulled out his begging bowl, filled it, then shoveled the contents into his mouth with chopsticks like he was starving.

  “Yash makes good rice. I am very tired.”

  With that he curled up on the ground and fell asleep.

  * * *

  I was the last one up the following morning.

  “Just in time to do the dishes,”  Yash said as I joined him at the fire.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Zopa and the monks have already left. Josh is swimming. I was joking with you about the dishes.”

  “I’m happy to wash them.” After I finished eating, I grabbed the dishes and walked down to the stream above the falls.

  Except there were no falls.

  At first, I thought I had followed the wrong stream, but this was the only stream coming off the big pond, and our footprints were all over the muddy bank from the day before. The falls were not the only thing missing. The fissure we had come through was also gone. Not completely, but it had shrunk down to a narrow crack that a rabbit would have a hard time squeezing through. I was staring at the former fissure in dumb shock as Josh came up behind me wearing a pair of my shorts and drying his hair with one of my T-shirts.

  “What’s keeping you?” he asked. “Yash wants to get outta here. The monks move quickly and tread lightly. He’s afraid we won’t be able to find them if they get too far ahead.”

  If we couldn’t find them, I had no doubt that Zopa would find us. I pointed at the fissure.

  Josh walked over to it as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “This is where we came through yesterday?”

  “Yeah. The stream is now draining through a seam at the bottom of the wall.”

  “Guess we’re lucky it didn’t close up on us yesterday when we were squirming through.”

  “You didn’t feel the earthquake last night?”

  “What earthquake?”

  “I guess you didn’t feel it, then.”

  Josh pointed at the wall. “Pretty weird. One good thing, though. Shek isn’t going to be able to follow us this way.”

  “I’m sure he’ll find another way,” I said.

  Josh helped me wash the dishes.

  The Present Intense

  Three days since we left the pond. Difficult going. Up and down, up and down . . . it’s like walking the bellows of a giant green accordion. We sleep on the ridges at night. I was able to pick up a sat signal last night, but by the time I decided who I should call, the signal was gone and it hasn’t returned.

  The good news is that our packs are getting lighter. The bad news is that this is because we have eaten most of our food. Yash thinks we are going to have to start hunting if we don’t reach our destination, wherever that is, soon. Water is not a problem. There are streams at the bottom of almost every ravine.

  The two young monks are freaks of nature. They don’t talk, they don’t get tired, they don’t sweat, they hardly eat, and they move up the steep slopes like ballet dancers leaping across a flat stage. Keeping up with them is impossible, but they are polite and wait for us on the ridge tops before bounding down the slope like a couple of Tibetan deer.

  We’ve heard a helicopter four times in the past two days, but we haven’t seen it because of the tree cove
r. If we can’t spot the helicopter, it can’t spot us, but Josh and I are worried about it. Zopa, Yash, and the two monks, not so much. We think Shek has set up camp not too far from here. The helicopter has to have some place to land and refuel. That means men and supplies. Perhaps Shek didn’t believe Yama’s story about dropping us off downriver, or worse, he had beat the truth out of Yama, or threatened his family. Josh thinks they must have found the little beach and the fissure, which may not have closed up on the river side.

  “Shek was a climber when he was young,” Josh explained. “If he found the fissure he would think that we chimneyed our way to the top, which is exactly what we wanted to do until Zopa changed our minds. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already found the hot springs and set up camp. Knock down a few trees and there would be plenty of room to set up a landing zone. They’re probably soaking in that soothing pond right now. I wish I was soaking in it myself.”

  Josh shared this theory with me yesterday evening when we got to this ridge, and it kept me up most of the night. I finally gave up on trying to sleep, and here I am waiting for another sunrise . . .

  * * *

  Zopa sat down next to me. “You cannot walk if you do not sleep.”

  “I slept enough. And we’re not really walking, we’re climbing a jungle gym.”

  “Jungle gym?”

  “It’s a playground toy in the States.”

  “We are not playing out here.”

  “I know. But here’s what concerns me . . . what kept me from sleeping last night. You say that this hidden monastery has managed to avoid destruction.”

  Zopa nodded. “It is more rumor than reality. It has been here for centuries, but not even local people can lead you to it or verify its existence.”

  “But aren’t we leading the PLA to it?”