FROM TOP TO BOTTOM; KALAPATHAR (5,550M) TO KATHMANDU (1,400M)

We set out into the snowfields surrounding Gorak Shep before sunrise, my head torch lighting up Carlos’ heels as Larma Sherpa led the route. Kalapathar; the perfect place to see the sunrise over the Himalayan vista, a 300 meter climb to the peak at an altitude of 5,550m.

We reached the first plateau, around a third of the way to the summit, in pretty good time. Trusting our crampons over the gravelly, icy snow. Looking back, a narrow trail of head torches bobbed along from Gorak Shep, and I was glad we left as early as we had. Carlos, Larma and I were at the head of the procession of trekkers, all eager for a glimpse of Himalayan perfection. It struck me as surprising that some had left it so late to begin.

I tugged the zipper of my thick grey down jacket closer to my chin. Despite the ascent, the temperature stubbornly refused to increase. Usually after an hour of trekking, I’d be shedding layers for fun, but here, I had five layers on top, and three layers over my legs, along with thermal socks, and I still felt the cold creeping in. We couldn’t stop for longer than it took to catch our breath in the cold morning air.

We climbed higher. The recent, persistent snowfall had stopped, but the higher we climbed, the more often we found ourselves battling against the fresh fall. We followed Larma as best we could, sticking to protruding rocks where possible, but often hauling ourselves up through the knee deep snowfall, resting to catch our breath every few hundred yards, sweat exasperating the cold.

I halted for yet another rest around two thirds of the way to the summit, breathing heavily. A fellow climber, not from our group, stopped alongside me. We discussed the route for a moment, and he headed off. Thankful for somebody to follow, I watched his progress for a time, and seeing that he’d picked out a relatively solid line, I decided to stick to his footprints as much as possible.

Just below the summit, we came upon a boulder strewn patch, only the tips visible above the snow. Seeing the leader sat at the summit, which suddenly seemed very close, I stuck resolutely to his path, skirting the worst of the boulders. I watched as Carlos attempted a more direct route, and quickly encountered chest deep snow. Smiling to myself, I continued, prodding the snow with my poles, pausing to help some following climbers by pointing out the solid patches. The boulders must have been fairly large, judging by the depth of the snow around them, although only the tops of them were visible, along which we scrambled to the summit.

I sat there awhile, feeling slightly unsteady at first, getting used to the narrow ledge of protruding rock that was the top of Kalapathar. Behind us, a sheer drop of a few hundred meters to the plateau below. Prayer flags and antennas leaned and fluttered in the wind. The strange blue light of the Himalayan false dawn cast a surreal glow over the astounding view before us. The great Himalayan range of the Everest region laid out, postcard perfect in the slow sunrise. Everest, Lhotse, Ama Dablam, Nuptse; the famous roll call of giants went on and on, all perfectly outlined against the reddening sky. The small group at the summit, by this time maybe six people, sat in silence, the only sound was the cameras clicking and of heavy breathing. I took one or two pictures before the cold sapped the batteries in both my camera and phone, then simply sat and stared as the rising sun set the tallest peaks in the world on fire in front of my eyes.

Luckily, Carlos had though to bring a spare battery for his camera, and I’ll be ever grateful to him for sending the images he captured that morning (see attached to this post). My feet by this point were painfully numb, and stamping was having little effect. I gestured to Larma, and we snapped off some hurried group pictures before leaving Carlos to it, hurriedly descending past the trail of exhausted climbers on their way up. There were less people than I had seen in the early morning darkness, and I later learned that the majority had turned back at the halfway point. It was much more difficult than I’d expected, but reaching the summit for that sunrise was something I’ll never forget. We reached the tea-house about an hour and a half later, sliding and slipping down the mountain side. I ordered a lemon tea, and with a happy smile let the bitter sweet steam wash over my salty, sweat streaked face.

After a well-earned breakfast, we began the three day race back to Lukla. In high spirits, Carlos and I barrelled ahead, our heads clearing and pace quickening with each meter of altitude lost. We re-traced our steps back to Lobuche, and from there to the Everest memorial stones, matching our paces and marvelling at our speed of descent.

At the foot of the steep descent from the silent clearing, we veered off on the path to Periche. Trusting our crampons once more, we slid down a snow patched mud slope to the valley floor. Before us lay around three to four kilometres of scrubland, hemmed in by 6000 foot peaks on one side and the imposing valley wall dropping off from the yak pastures on the other. The narrow strip of land stretched almost endlessly ahead, dotted with farming buildings and clustered yaks, crisscrossed by streams and rivulets caused by the melting snows.

Periche lay in the distance, at the far end of the strip. We decided that we could reach in in around an hour, and raced off. I took the lead, and soon my competitive nature saw passing trekkers and herders as the opposition, to be overtaken before that stream, to catch before they cross that dry stone wall. In this fashion, we barged ahead and made great time. I had long given up on looking up towards Periche, which obstinately remaining in the far off distance, but suddenly, the open land gave way to the outskirts of the village, and we strode into our tea house with a confident flourish.

Periche is home to a Himalayan Rescue Association outpost (HRA), which specialises in altitude sickness. The small hospital with adjoining helicopter pad is maintained and staffed by volunteer doctors and medics from all over the world. We attended a seminar on the symptoms and treatments of various altitude related ailments, thankfully none of which we had endured. It was a different story for one unfortunate Australian girl.

Our paths had crossed a few times in the last week. She was a member of a large group of Australians trekking in aid of World Vision. Their itinerary was only a day out from ours, so we’d often encounter them on rest days. We were surprised to find two members of that group at Periche. One of them explained that they’d been feeling the effects of altitude, so had come down to Periche the previous day, before reaching Lobuche. Their plan was to rest up at the outpost before meeting their group the following day. Despite their concerns, they seemed healthy and happy to us, if a little tired.

After the seminar ended, the medics tested our oxygen and heart rates for signs of altitude sickness. The usual oxygen level for that altitude is around 70-80%, which was the level myself and Carlos were at. The Australian girl’s oxygen level was closer to 30%. It was discovered that she was suffering from HAPE (High Altitude Pulmonary Edema) which causes fluid to build up on your lungs. Pretty soon after the diagnosis, Tek and Richard caught up with us, and Tek sprang into action. The girl was by this time in the small hospital breathing through an oxygen mask. Tek saw that she was safe, and began to organise the logistics of extracting her ASAP. The helicopter would arrive the next morning, and carry her to Kathmandu Hospital, about 2 hours away. The scale of isolation became apparent as we watched Tek. It’s easy to forget that things can go terribly wrong, and do every year, in the Everest Himalayas; even to trekkers in large groups.

On hearing the news, a guide from the Australian group had turned around before base camp, and walked back to Periche, arriving at around 10pm. By this time, Tek had arranged everything, and shrugged off the guide’s thanks with a modest smile. It was irrelevant that she wasn’t in his group, the way Tek saw it, anyone who needed to get off the mountain was his responsibility. The next morning, the helicopter descended to the hospital with a crescendo of spinning blades that cut through the cold silence and scattered the local yaks.

From Periche, we descended to Kangboche, beyond Tengboche monastery but about an hour’s walk from Namche. Tek explained that he enjoyed staying there rather than at Namche as the food was excellent, and the owners friendly. As usual, he was proved right.

The previous night, Richard had developed diarrhoea which kept him up most of the night. Thus, we proceeded slowly on the way down from Periche. I stuck with Tek, who gave me a fascinating history lesson about the Sherpa people and the Maoist conflict as we passed below the tree line once again. We stopped for the usual lemon tea break around mid-afternoon, and from here I went ahead with Carlos, leaving Richard to grab an hour’s sleep before continuing. We lunched at Tengboche, keeping a watchful eye out for Tek and Richard through the binoculars, spotting them from the excellent viewpoint about two hours behind us.

We set off again, racing each other and fellow trekkers down the steep slope from Tengboche monastery, through the blossoming rhododendrons and dark green forests. We arrived at our resting place for the evening, and settled in to watch “Into Thin Air”. After Tek and Richard arrived we played some chess and turned in, each of us slowly winding down after 12 days of trekking.

We stopped off at Namche for a few hours the next day, and on the way Carlos discovered to his delight a tripod part that had lain there gathering dust since our passage up over a week ago. At Namche, we feasted on the offerings at the excellent Everest Bakery, and did some final souvenir shopping.

Here I decided to buy Tek a chess set, so that he’d have one for future treks, rather than relying on the tea-lodges. I found a brilliant set for around $20 dollars, and split the cost with Richard and Carlos. It was a fine stone set, with a marble inlaid wooden board. I wrapped in safely in some soft clothes, and hid it in my daysack.

We each sent some postcards, unsure if they’d ever reach their destination, before climbing all the way down to the valley floor once more. We spent a quiet last night on the trail at a small tea house in a tiny hamlet (the name of which I forget), and made the final climb back up to Lukla in around four hours the next day. We spent the night at Lukla, celebrated with some pool and beer, and boarded the second flight of the morning from the tiny airstrip. The take-off wasn’t nearly as nerve tingling as the landing had been, although I think we were all too tired to worry too much. As we left the snow blasted mountains standing tall behind us, a melancholy swept over me. I looked back one last time, and watched the stone white giants fade from view into the hazy morning air.

Back at Kathmandu, we recovered with a shower at the hotel, and spent the rest of the day relaxing. We visted Durbar Square and the monkey temple, and later Tek met us for a last meal at Rum Doodles later that night, which happened to be my birthday. We ate some great steak, and were each presented with a silk scarf by Tek. He had also arranged a birthday cake, which was delicious. I was humbled by this, and happily handed over the chess set. Tek’s eyes lit up, but he’d already guessed what it was. Nevertheless, I think he appreciated it. We were given a blank wooden footprint to decorate and add to the hundreds adorning the walls, and passed the evening with a number of beers and a lot of nostalgic reminiscing. It seemed strange to think that we’d only been together for 15 days, and that tomorrow we would all head our separate way. I would stay in Kathmandu, Carlos would head back to the US, while Richard would fly to the UK. Tek was looking forwards to his week off, before heading back to Everest base camp with the next group of Himalayan hopefuls. It was as good a birthday as I can remember.

As I write this, the death toll of the Earthquake which struck Nepal in late April is steadily rising, and showing no signs of stopping. My thoughts are with all of the wonderfully kind hearted people who I encountered on my travels, and I hope with all my heart they and theirs are safe. It breaks my heart that such a thing could happen to such a beautiful country. The dangers of Himalayan trekking are easily forgotten in the age of package tourism, but at times like this you get a real sense of how isolated the country is, and not necessarily just the mountainous regions.

Charities that are expecting donations directly for this disaster are numerous, and desperate. I wont list them here; a simple google search will come up with more names than I could.

I also want to thank Carlos, who’s camera has captured a lot of memories that I would have otherwise let slip – owing to a battery malfunction/loss of cable which I found out about at Namche Bazar. He’s kindly shared most of the below pictures with me, and I’ll be forever grateful for his efforts.