The three days from Manang to High Camp were characterized by a series of relatively short treks, punctuated by long periods of inactivity at our destinations. While the “rule of threes” prescribed an ascent of no more than 300 metres a day, the contour interval between settlements made adherence to this tricky. Fortunately, trekking time was now truncated to no more than 5 hours a day (at worst) though in places the physical exertion was even higher than it had been on day two. I found negotiating suspension bridges a particular challenge. Setting a rhythm on the trail proved relatively easy – a simple plod stabilised by ones trekking poles ensured minimum expenditure of energy. But bridges were another matter. For one thing, they had a tendency to sway just enough to knock one off one’s rhythm. For another, the “downhill” part of the traverse was soon followed by a curiously taxing incline that sapped the lungs and made the muscles smart. Invariably, the exits to suspension bridges were bottlenecked by heaving pelotons of huffing, puffing trekkers.
At lunchtime of Day 8 we arrived at Thorung Phedi, Nepalese for “The foot of Throung Mountain”. This remote base clings to the edge of a lonely but spectacular gorge containing the Kone River. The river was a mere trickle at this time of the year but judging from the high water markings had the potential to be a thundering behemoth in spring. To get to Thorung Phedi we had to negotiate a tricky landslide belt through which the ribbon like path intersected towering, flinty screes. A fall here might not have been fatal but it would have put an end to one’s trek. Indeed, one of Sandra’s ward mates in Kathmandu was an Australian who’d fallen while taking a pee one night.
The dining room at Throung Phedi was a hive of activity. Because there was little else to do (and the bedrooms were spartanly furnished and cold to boot), complete strangers came together over endless games of cards and chess as well as discussions about reading material, philosophy and politics. From about lunchtime to 10 o’clock at night, there was no rest for the long-suffering kitchen staff who ferried a constant stream of steaming meals and hot beverages to hungry trekkers. I was impressed at their efficiency in spite of the most rudimentary kitchenware. While not fine dining, meals were completely wholesome and mostly delicious. Anything containing pasta, tuna, rice or potatoes was in high demand and noodle soup was ladled up by the gallon.
This, for me, was the real Himalaya and I was exhilarated to be up this high. Though I may never climb to the treacherous heights of an eight-thousander I felt for the first time that I’d earned a small place in the great mountaineering stories I used to devour as a kid.
Typical dwelling of the Manang area - wood is piled up on the roof in anticipation of winter. Such piles are an outward sign of wealth, prestige and status in the community
Travelling above the tree line, we now beheld a form of alpine desert where the rocky ground sustained little more than a species of coarse grass (upon which the Yaks and Musk Deer graze) and a ubiquitous thorny scrub called Seabuck Thorn. The plant bears a perennial orange berry that is said to contain the highest concentration of vitamin C and Lycopene in the plant kingdom. This fruit is painstakingly picked, mashed to a pulp and strained by hand to distil a bright orange juice. The splendid beverage is served hot to thirsty trekkers and is the closest I’ve seen to magic potion. Three days later after the harrowing descent from the Thorung La to Muktinath I sampled a cup and felt the life returning with almost every sip. My only regret is that I didn’t discover its life giving properties sooner.
Men churning Nak milk
Yak Meadow near Gudrung
Tea break with Gangapurna in the background
Dutch trekker Sander and his guide Tilak
Another memory of this leg was the increasingly spartan nature of the villages we encountered. Lodges were increasingly exposed to the elements and we quickly layered up against the escalating cold. Upon arrival, we would eat lunch and then rest up on our beds, reading and chatting. Though the morning weather was invariably pristine, afternoon activities might be curtailed by low-lying cloud, high winds, sleet and in places, light snow. The enveloping cloud had a distorting and spooky effect on sound too. The soporific clanging of bells announced the occasional passing of yak, pony or donkey trains and occasionally the mournful cry of a Yak grazing high up amidst the gloom jerked one from one’s slumber.
Whiling away the time
Men and Ladies Toilets - denoted by the skulls over the doorway
Entering the Landslide belt at Thorung Phedi - it took an hour to walk to the point where the path disappears in the distance
The barren outpost of Thorung Phedi
The owner of the place struck me as a fairly urbane fellow having installed an advanced sound system in the dining room which, linked to his iPod, played such artists as Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones and Eddie Vedder. He also owned a dog of non-descript breed that he lovingly referred to as “Puppy”. The dog is one of the most photographed and videoed animals in the region and thanks to YouTube, I knew all about him months before leaving home. Though 15 years old now, “Puppy” is famous for accompanying trekkers over the pass and staying with them as far down the other side as Muktinath. In his old age, his fur is terribly matted and a veritable treasure trove of burrs and Seabuck berries. Still, he seems content and is universally loved by trekkers.
Mountain Dog
The main topic of conversation between trekkers however, was on the best strategy to traverse the Thorung La. Was it better to climb the 1000 metres to the summit in a single day, followed by the 1500m descent to Muktinath? Or was the more prudent option to ascend 850 metres to High Camp, sleep there and then attack the pass? Surrounded by hundreds of opinions from people who’d never done the trek before, I discovered quickly that there was no right answer. What helped swing it for us was the fact that option 1 is generally regarded as an 8-hour walk. Take our persistent defiance of gazetted walking times, couple that with the effects of the cold and altitude – throw in the fact that at least half of our team was the walking wounded - and it would be quite possible that the journey from Thorung Phedi to Muktinath would become a grim fourteen hour route march. There was no choice but to stay at High Camp.
Next morning, the real climb began in earnest. On a straight line, the distance from Thorung Pedi to High Camp is probably no more than a kilometer. But in the Himalaya, only a debutante measures distances in kilometres. Though the climb was only meant to take 45 minutes, we took plenty of water breaks and did it in 90. We were also blessed with a sighting of a herd of musk deer, an increasingly rare sight in these hills. The weather turned early that day and we arrived in the dining room of High Camp just as it began snowing. As was the case in Thorung Phedi, we spent most of the day socializing in the dining room over hot drinks and food. Early that afternoon, I joined Raj and an American trekker named Fred on an acclimatization climb to a nearby viewpoint. From the top, we looked down a full vertical kilometer to the lodge we’d slept in the night before. By now there was no greenery at all – High Camp, a forlorn pinprick in a moonscape of bald, serrated hills, snow-clad mountains and frigid glaciers.
The dining room
Next morning, the real climb began in earnest. On a straight line, the distance from Thorung Pedi to High Camp is probably no more than a kilometer. But in the Himalaya, only a debutante measures distances in kilometres. Though the climb was only meant to take 45 minutes, we took plenty of water breaks and did it in 90. We were also blessed with a sighting of a herd of musk deer, an increasingly rare sight in these hills. The weather turned early that day and we arrived in the dining room of High Camp just as it began snowing. As was the case in Thorung Phedi, we spent most of the day socializing in the dining room over hot drinks and food. Early that afternoon, I joined Raj and an American trekker named Fred on an acclimatization climb to a nearby viewpoint. From the top, we looked down a full vertical kilometer to the lodge we’d slept in the night before. By now there was no greenery at all – High Camp, a forlorn pinprick in a moonscape of bald, serrated hills, snow-clad mountains and frigid glaciers.
Thorung Phedi from High Camp - 400 metres below
It was cold - High Camp far below
*
I woke up to the muffled clanging of horse bells outside my room. The door creaked open as Martin returned from a trip to the toilet. I looked at my watch: 3 o’clock. Time to get up. Our bags were mostly packed so getting ready was merely a question of stowing our sleeping bags – (we’d slept in our clothes to avoid the fuss of dressing)
“It is very cold tomorrow” Kisna had prophesied in his broken English when he said goodnight the previous evening. And he wasn’t wrong. In fact, it was already snowing. After a nervous breakfast of oats porridge, we adjusted our headlamps, said a quick prayer and began the march to the summit.
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