Descent from Kala Pattar

We are en route back down now. I think the last time I blogged was a week ago, at a cyber cafe in Dingboche, the one powered by a Honda generator. Our poor little computer has been dead for a week—too little charge even to start up. This afternoon we are in Pangboche, less than 4,000m, retracing our ascent itinerary, and recharging batteries of all sorts. Hopefully, tomorrow I will post this from the cyber cafe in Tengboche. From there we will go to Kumjung and then the sherpa village of Thame, notable for its relatively unspoiled nature, for being the home of Tenzing Norgay Sherpa, and for being the terminus of the Nangpa La, the traditional (and still used) route from Tibet to Nepal. (The Chinese evidently look the other way). Then back to Namche Bazar, with a day's rest (showers! wash! warmth!); then back to Thakding, Lukla, and the flight back to Kathmandu on the 30th.

The past week has been filled with too many sights, sounds, smells, experiences, conversations to even mention. From Dingboche we walked to Thugla, then Loboche, then finally our goal, the end of the “road,” Gorak Shep. Each day took us about a thousand feet higher, into more stark and barren places, where everything is difficult. At Thugla we were at 15,000 feet, higher than either of us had even been on foot. But the acclimatization program works, and every day were were ready for another. At Gorak Shep we were at 17,000 feet, higher than I'd ever imagined I'd be.

The point of all this is that from Kala Pattar, a hill rising from Gorak Shep (actually a buttress of Pumori), and only from Kala Pattar, can a mere trekker finally see Everest close-up. It is obscured by it high neighbors, Lohtse and Nuptse virtually all the way from Tengboche. But then, at about 17,300, on Kala Pattar, it reappears, perhaps 5km away, and more unfolds as one ascends. I was reminded, just a bit, of the Gates of the Mountains phenomenon near Helena, which was observed by Lewis and Clark and everyone else who has taken the relevant boat ride on the Missouri.

We trudged up Kala Pattar, rest-stepping, gasping, pep-talking. I finally established my personal ceiling—5,460m, about 18,000ft I guess. Mingma said the view would not improve with more height, and I could not have gone much further anyway. Vicki, to her credit, was plugging away when I stopped, and probably could have summited at 18,500 had she wanted to. As it was, we took photos, planted the prayer flags she had carried from Namche, took in the views—utterly remarkable and overwhelming, and began trudging back down.

Did I mention the wind and the cold? It was 1 (one) degree celsius when we left the guest house in Gorak Shep for Kala Pattar. The wind in these parts can be formidable, and despite the clear weather, it got colder as we climbed. We were wearing every ounce of polar tech, gortex and down we could don. For the better part of a week, we have slept similarly. When the sun goes down here (alpen-glow promply at 5:15, dark at 6:00; last call at 7:30), it really gets cold. The rooms are unheated, the community space (“restaurants”) at the guest-houses barely so, briefly, from maybe 5:30-8:00.At Loboche, the inns were full, benches and floor space all rented, and we felt very lucky to sleep in a tent, in a corral with half a dozen yaks and their bells ringing through the night.

The scores of people were have met and broken bread with in the guest-houses over these past two weeks have been wonderful. We have learned so much about their homes and perspectives. Nepalese, Russian, German, Dutch, English, Australians, Indian, New Zealanders, Swiss, French, even a (very) few Americans, mostly very young. All mountain aesthetes, evidently. I'll especially remember a French group at Loboche, perhaps ten or twelve, very mixed in age and gender, the younger crowd playing that international card game, Uno (we saw it again and again). Meals are served painfully early here, but the French had an image to uphold. First came out a bottle of Ricard, and pastiche at 16,000 feet, accompanied by a wonderful sausage and cheeses. Next was house-fare soup, then the main (starchy) dish, followed by a box of chocolates, a white burgundy, then coffee and cognac. And lastly, cigarettes, outside. All this before 8PM. I was so impressed, I had to ask them for a photo, and they obliged, rearranging the table for effect and rewarding me with a slice of the best sausage I have ever tasted. At least at 16,000 feet and after a week or more of unimaginative vegetarian dishes.

I'll write more about the trek—it's hardly over—about Mr. T's Yak Inn, about guest-houses generally, about the trails, about Vicki's horse evacuation from Loboche to Thugli (she's better now), about life without cars or trucks or wheels of any kind save water-driven prayer wheels, about plumbing and electricity or the lack thereof, about the challenges of life at these altitudes, about Sherpas. Later. Mark

Vicki adds:

October 22-- We did it!

I was never very sure that we could get to and climb Kala Pattar, the small peak from which you can get the only close up view of Everest without climbing it. But we did it. We didn't quite reach the south summit as Mark hit his altitude limit at the plateau just 200 ft. below it. We were right at 18,000 ft. However our guide assured us that the view of Everest was the same and the summit, which is quite small, had dozens of people on it. We could clearly see Everest Base Camp, the ice fall wall and the expanse of the Kumbu glacier that is fed by Everest and several other 25,000 and up peaks. We had decided several days earlier not to walk to base camp as it is across the glacier so there is no set path and is a morass of boulders, gravel and other fun stuff. When you get there you can't even see Everest and it is very cold.

Speaking of cold—for the last six days daytime temps have been about 40 (for about 2 hours) and below freezing in our rooms at night. I have been sleeping in long johns, my last clean pair of trousers, knee high socks, second pair socks, woolen Sherpa slippers and then a jacket zipped around my thighs and butt. On top, long underwear, polypro tshirt, long sleeve shirt, polartec jacket, down jacket. On head baclava, polar tec hat, down hood of jacket and two pair of gloves. All this with a hot water bottle inside a down mummy bag with extra liner and hood. Just like snowmobiling only no place to get warm. They only heat the dining area from about 5 to 9 pm with 1 stove fed by yak patties or at the highest lodges, kerosene. When the heat was on, unless you sat by the stove, it would warm up to at least 50.

I had my worst day on Monday, the day after we climbed Kallar Pattar. I woke up throwing up, but felt I could walk as we didn't want to spend another night in the coldest possible place. By noon, I knew I couldn't walk another 4 hours, so our guide went ahead but there was no space of any kind available at the intermediate point; they had even sold out the dining hall floors. By this time my malady had moved downward and I spent ½ hour in a squatter trying to decide whether to throw up or other. It was after 2 and a 4 hr walk to the lodge we had booked—it is dark here at 5. So for a mere $100 USA cash we rented a horse and handler. I haven't ridden in about 30 yrs and there was no pommel. The worst part was that the stirrups were permanently mounted for someone about 5 ft tall so my poor knees were screaming all the way. Most of the path was fairly flat until right at the end where you drop over the edge of the moraine of the Kumbu glacier. At that point, the horse knew where we were headed, and refused to go. The handler tried 5-6 different approaches until the horse started bucking and shying and I finally said—just get me off. Mingma had come with me and Mark was following behind. It was now near dark, very windy and cold—especially since I hadn't been moving much for the last couple of hours. Mingma went back with the horse to find Mark and I started down the escarpment—and might I mention that 1 of my hiking poles wouldn't lock so I was not doing well at all. Luckily, Mark wasn't very far back and they caught up with me in about 30 minutes. It then took about 45 minutes at dusk for Mingma to pull me down the trail. Truly not a good day.

We are now 2 days further down the trail and there is actual oxygen to breathe. It is still very cold, but the days have been beautifully clear and sunny with stunning mountain views. Last night we also went outside to see the stars and Milky Way—what a difference several thousand feet of atmosphere can make. Has it been worth it---yes, absolutely. Would I do it again—never