Walking with Giants — Ascending
Posted Monday 8th November 2021
Contents
- Will We Ever Get There?
- The Walking Begins
- The Climbing Begins.
- A Day of Rest and Acclimatisation
- On Our Way Again
This story started in Kathmandu in November 2003. After a few days of cultural acclimatisation, we flew to Lukla (on the third attempt) and then started walking. Altitude acclimatisation demanded a fairly cautious ascent into the high mountain valleys and passes. We took four days to gain around 1000 metres (3,300 ft) in elevation, abiding by the recommended 300 m per day.
Will We Ever Get There?
I had a rather restless last night in Kathmandu, brought on by pre trek excitement, internal grumbles and the clock dogs — dogs that engaged in dog fights on the hour every hour during the night. A very early breakfast had been ordered and everyone made it on time and in alarmingly high spirits, although of course it was around 09·00 back in eastern Oz. Apart from Martin II with a cold, and John with a case of the runs, everyone seemed to be in good condition.
The party consisted of Martin I (organiser) from Canberra, Martin II and Christine from Brisbane, Jill, Judith and John from Sydney, Paul and Glenda from Canberra and Max from Adelaide. Six made it to the end — Jill only had time to do the first half and Christine, along with Martin II, had to be evacuated part way as a result of a most unfortunate disabling injury.
Shree Ram’s mini-bus served to take us and our trekking baggage through the early dawn streets to a very third world Kathmandu domestic airport by around 06·00. By dint of a degree of patience and a dose of chaos we slowly proceeded through check in and security with loss of matches being the only casualty. Initially there was no action at all — the ground mist apparently holding all the domestic aircraft firmly on the ground (or was it that they might not get back if they had to turn around once airborne?).
Seats in the waiting lounge were at a premium by the time the first flights for the day, which were not going anywhere near Lukla, were called. As with all things, patience is rewarded and around 08·30 we were called, although in the confusing way that things happen here it was Min (our Sherpa, although he is a Gurung!) who called us. We proceeded through yet another rather cursory body search and into a double sided mini-bus with a group of Frenchmen (or is that now Frenchpersons?). The bus backed out ready to head to our plane but before we went anywhere, we were re-called and returned to the waiting room. Apparently Lukla did not stay open long enough for us to actually get airborne. Barely an hour later we were again called through the same cursory body search, only this time we made it to the plane — a twin otter 9N-AET, which explains the ‘T’ on our boarding passes. We were all suitably stuffed into the not particularly large interior, but then waited with bated breath for five minutes or so until the all clear was given.
We took off to the south, climbing through reasonably persistent smog above the brickworks and agricultural terraces while we took up an easterly heading. As we climbed the great vista of snow-capped peaks slowly came into view off our port side, progressively getting closer and more dramatic. There was a palpable excitement as the peaks loomed larger, with some fairly creative photography being attempted by those on the wrong side of the plane. In time we looped around to the north, presumably on a course to Lukla, only to find the turn continuing for a further 90 degrees as we pointed back toward Kathmandu. Subsidence in the excitement was almost instantaneous. Having retraced our steps to Kathmandu the pilot pulled a sharp left descending turn to plop down on the runway in true bush pilot fashion. The bus delivered us back to the waiting lounge, now bereft of many of its earlier passengers, where we resumed our vigil.
Two and a half hours later we were again rounded up, body searched and bussed to the same waiting plane. The Frenchpersons obviously had their excitement factors turned up to high and they literally charged the plane to get their preferred seats. The flight followed the same pattern as before only this time the last 90 degrees of turn were missing and we flew up into the valley running off the now very obvious mountains.
Periodically we disappeared inside a cloud, but not before observing the proximity of over-towering peaks on both sides. Despite this the flight had all that rather scary but increasing magnificence that seems to typify flights into Nepalese Himalayan airstrips. In time (not long in clock time) we pulled a sharp right turn and flew straight into the Lukla runway on its steep upgrade; something like landing on a sinking aircraft carrier.
The passengers, Europeans and Antipodeans alike, broke into spontaneous applause when we landed although whether it was for finally arriving at our destination or that we were still in one piece was unclear. Power was kept on in order to get us onto the basketball court at the top of the runway that acts as the terminal apron. A five minute turnaround was all that was required to empty us (with baggage) out and fully reload before the plane was on its way back to Kathmandu again.
We had a very late lunch in the mess tent behind the Paradise Lodge at 15·00 followed by sorting of tents, baggage and sleeping bags prior to a suggested local stroll. I had been feeling off colour since breakfast time and stayed in the Lodge lounge to the accompaniment of a couple of quite competent guitarist/trekkers as the ‘churning’ progressively got worse. Inevitably, it finished up with a violent attack of throwing up and runs such that I spent the rest of the day (apart from urgent forays to the bottom of the garden) in my tent. Min, bless his heart, was very caring which made the whole thing a bit more bearable. Intestinal peace returned mid evening (was there anything left to throw or run?) after which I had a reasonable night punctuated by the bell that tolled the hour … and half hour all night. All thoughts of some strange monastic ritual were dispelled in the morning when it turned out to be nothing more exciting than the army doing their rounds.
The Walking Begins
I woke before arrival of the morning cup of tea with a headache but otherwise feeling almost normal. Breakfast did not do anything untoward so I presumed last night to be one of those 24-hour wonders. We set off through Lukla (elevation 2830 metres / 9290 ft) at 07·20 while the sun was a long way from penetrating the valley and there was a distinct chill in the air.
The track trended downhill for a while then followed the Dudh Kosi upstream but generally well above the river. We stopped for ‘half way tea’ but even so arrived at Phakding by a bit after 10·30. In fact, the warm cordial and lunch routine was all done with by 11·30, allowing time to lay about like lizards soaking up the sun.
A gentle introduction to camping — our Phakding camp site long before the tents arrived.
In the fullness our Leader suggested an exploratory walk up to the Pema Cholang Monastery visible on the hillside well above us. Five took up the challenge — Martin I, Christine, Judith, Paul and me — which entailed a reasonably steep climb on a track up the hillside. It was hard going but since we had hardly got into trekking mode and were already well above the altitude of Kosciuszko that was to be expected. Even at this early stage the ambient air pressure was only 75% of that at normal sea level.
The Monastery was the site of some substantial building works being carried out, in the main, by monks against a backdrop of distant snow-capped mountains. How very Nepalese!
Build your own monastery — Cholang Monastery at work.
From the Monastery we contoured south to a small village and gompa before finding a way back to camp. By the time we arrived back the yaks had arrived with the tents which were in the process of being set up. Since the sun had already ‘set’ behind the ridge behind us we chose to retreat to the sun lounge of the Sunrise Lodge for afternoon tea and subsequently dinner. Min provided us with a full list of the staff and porters, although the seven yaks remained nameless.
The Climbing Begins.
Yesterday was a mere doddle — today the real climbing begins, starting at 2640 metres (8660 ft) and finishing at 3522m (11,555 ft). At least I woke feeling fully recovered and fit. Once again, we set out at around 07·20 for the first section along the Dudh Kosi, although it still managed a surprising number of ups and down to cross side gullies and take short cuts over outlying knobs.
We were confronted by a number of runners competing in another of those lunatic mountain races, some looking really cool and some bordering on desperate. There were three crossings of the river and at the second some of us met a ‘yak’ train on the suspension bridge, which rather tested the lateral dimensions and stability of that structure.
Confronted by a rather daunting prospect high above the Dudh Kosi.
We took the opportunity to have a ‘photo run past’ of a following yak team as a sort of photographic reprise of our earlier adventure. The third of these (high level) bridges remained more or less unused while an alternative low level bridge provided easier and shorter cross river access.
Lunch was again early, starting before 11·00, on the fan delta of a side stream. While we lounged on the rocks and ate lunch a number of yak trains and expeditions went past, including a group of Japanese we had overtaken earlier in the day. It highlighted that we were indeed on the main highway in these parts.
After lunch came the hard bit. There was a bit of riverside walking, then a strange mix of ups and downs to get across the main stream on a high bridge, followed by a continuous climb right up to the middle of Namche. The lower part of the climb involved a fair amount of zig zagging and twice allowed us distant views of Everest.
Our first view of the distant but unmistakable giants of the Himalayas.
Out past the end of one of the zigs a large tahr stood grandly on a rocky promontory that projected out into space. We overtook the Japanese group a couple of times, but they caught up at photo and rest stops. Their group displayed a curious ambiguity to preservation of the environment — their party members cheerfully dropped lolly wrappers all over the place which their sherpa collected for proper disposal, but where the view of Everest was part obscured by trees the same sherpa made a futile attempt to lop the obstructing greenery with a kukuri.
The second half of the ascent seemed steeper than the first and I finished up somewhere behind Martin II, Christine and Jill, who at this point started to display what a fine pair of heels they each had. Time cures all things, so eventually the military check point then soon after the lower edge of Namche eventually hove into view more or less flagging an end to the hard work.
But was it? After a cup of tea at the far end of town we were confronted with a further quite steep climb, past the gompa, which requested ‘no urinating or stooling’, to the top of the ridge above the town. The camp site in the yard of the Hotel Sherwa Kangba and adjacent to the Sherpa Culture Museum was our home for the next two nights, and arrival there was a very welcome event.
Everest looms 5300 metres above our camp at Namche Bazaar — that is the same as 2½ Kosciusko’s.
All day there had been odd glimpses of high snow capped peaks and as we climbed more and more came into view. At Namche there were soaring ridges on both sides separated from where we were by dark bottomless gorges. As the afternoon mist swirled in, the high peaks remained sunstruck, and continued to intermittently shine through the otherwise rather bleak cloud.
The almost unbelievable ‘finger in the sky’ of Ama Dablam dominates the immediate view at Namche.
A Day of Rest and Acclimatisation
Since this was a rest day, or more properly an acclimatisation day, we were given an extra half hour before the morning tea round began. This coupled with a reasonably early arrival of real sunshine helped to offset the effects of a heavy frost. Early activities included washing clothes and walking the short distance to a point behind the army camp for a grand view of Everest, Lhotse and the mysterious spire of Ama Dablam, with a very small Thyangboche lurking on a ridge midway to infinity. Inspirational stuff!
Our camp at upper Namche Bazaar warms in the morning sun.
Most of us then went down to Namche proper, some to shop, some to send e-mails or phone home (or both) and some to just scout around. Quite tolerable coffee was available as were reasonable pastries, no doubt in deference to the number of Westerners who frequent the trail hereabouts. Walking back uphill to the camp site for lunch was easier than it had been the previous day.
Impossibly steep mountains surrounding Namche. You could just about shave on those ridge lines!!
After lunch another excursion was made to the village. Glenda in her maroon chuba attracted the attention of the nuns from Thame as well as creating an interesting photo opportunity. Lower down, at the top edge of town, the markets were being set up on a trio of terraces above the track that we came up yesterday. Yaks and zopkes were everywhere adding to the apparent chaos that prevailed.
Snow plastered and ice capped detail of a nearby mountain.
Yaks passing through the narrow main street of Namche were something of a hazard, partly from their sheer size and partly from the rocks that the yak drivers tended to throw at their leading beasts. One such animal caused a degree of chaos when it snatched and ate a cardboard box from a nearby stall, leaving a trail of scattered clothing in its wake. This time I returned to camp via a track that went to the west of the town then sidled around to come out somewhere near the ever-patient nuns.
On Our Way Again
This day started much the same as the day before; a later than normal wake up, a visit to the lookout behind the army camp, then a visit to the village. The latter was greatly enlivened by the Saturday market — essentially a regular trading affair for the locals.
Walking down to the village there was little if any difference to the day before until, when rounding a building, we were confronted by terraces absolutely swarming with humanity and produce. The meat market on the top terrace consisted of a line of buffalo (?) parts laid out on plastic sheets. The next terrace had two rows of produce and goods of all sorts, both consumables and durables, which terminated in an array of delightfully colourful and aromatic spices and herbs.
A portion of the Saturday Market at Namche in full flight.
Even just working a way through the throng was quite eventful and time consuming. The relatively few westerners stood out like lamp posts among the predominantly sherpa crowd. Min and Purna made good use of the market to stock up on essentials for the trekking kitchen, while a group of young monks were also enjoying their morning out. In due course the market was left behind in favour of another coffee and pastry stop, coupled with a bit more quick e-mailing), and then a by now easy trudge back up to the camp.
Lunch was at a tad before midday, after which the yaks and kitchen crew made a quick exit, followed by the trekkers around 12·30. Paul actually left a bit earlier, so his bright yellow pack cover acted a bit like a navigation beacon for the rest of us. The track took a twisting and quite eroded route straight up the ridge line above our camp, to arrive in due course near the eastern end of the rather rudimentary Syangboche air strip.
Having gathered the group together again at that point we then followed a reasonably easy line over the hilltops and around contours to arrive at the monumental but largely futile Everest View Hotel at around 3870 m (12,700 ft). There were several other people here, but it seemed as if most, if not all, were like us and merely passing through.
Descending down to Kumjung and our camp for the night.
The premium, fly in, Japanese market that it was intended to serve found not infrequently that the high-altitude hotel was their last earthly contact, a fact which significantly inhibited future premium travellers. Plodders such as us had of course acclimatised by the time we arrived at the hotel and in any case, we were not inclined to be part of the premium market.
Everest peeps over the ridge while bottomless depths make up the foreground.
A beer stop and photo shoot provided an enjoyable half hour in the lowering sun before we wended our way down to Kumjung and the camp for the evening. This was the first place where the toilet tent had seen duty; the alternative concealed behind a Hessian screen was best left concealed.
Afternoon cloud build up was common, both concealing the view and dropping the already low temperature.
Paddy’s Bar, a regular evening event except at highest altitudes, involved best Nepal whisky (produced by Seagrams!), followed by dinner of dahl baht, curry and vegetable mix which went down very well. Martin I introduced us to ‘Oh Shit’ as an alternative to the game of 500 that had occupied most previous evenings. We went to sleep that night in the certain knowledge that for the next week we would increasingly be doing high and hard.
