I shoveled the last few spoonfuls of porridge into my mouth and took a sip of water to wash down a cocktail of multi-vitamins and half the daily dose of the mountain sickness drug Diamox.
“It’s time we made a start,” I said to Martin, looking at clock on the wall behind me. “We can’t wait for the others”
“You can start but move slowly,” said Raj the guide. “I will wait for the others and we’ll catch up with you in Ledar - but wait for us there”
We shouldered our packs, made a few adjustments to our trekking poles and gazed up the street towards the trail, still heavily shrouded in mist and the shadows of the surrounding peaks.
Though this was supposed to be one of the high points of our journey I felt despondent and a bit anxious.
For one thing, it was considerably colder this morning than it had been in Manang, the town one day’s walk behind us in which we’d spent two nights and enjoyed a full rest day. For another, though there’d been enough water for a shower, none of it was hot enough to bathe in and it would likely be days before we smelled decent again.
Moreover, neither Martin nor I had slept well, each complaining that the other had snored. A mouse had found it’s way into my bag and had spent the night gorging itself on a packet of Future Life cereal.
I felt a bit lonely too I suppose. Late the previous afternoon, Sander – a Dutch traveller with whom I’d gotten pretty friendly during the last 5 days - had raced through Yak Kharka with his talkative guide Tilak saying he needed to make more ground before nightfall. The last time we’d chatted was over tea earlier that morning on the roof of a spectacular mountain facing tea shop in Ledar. Sander was now headed for the higher reaches of the trail at either Thorung Pedi or Thorung High Camp. I thought he was silly but, with hindsight, it was a slight feeling of sadness in seeing him go. I waved a friendly goodbye nonetheless. It would be the last time we’d see him on the Circuit.
As Martin and I headed out of Yak Kharka (Nepalese for “the Yak Meadow”) – I looked down at a stone-walled field where the previous day, a Brazilian named Andre and I had gone to get a photograph of a magnificent jet black Yak bull. Andre had come to Nepal hoping to walk to Everest Base Camp but, after the Lukla bound plane went down the previous Friday killing all 19 people aboard, authorities had closed the flight paths into the Everest region indefinitely and he was forced to change his plans. At the last moment, the Brazilian fell in with a trio of Israeli youngsters who had just completed their military service and were looking to stretch their legs beyond the borders of their troubled homeland.
The Yak in situ promised to be the perfect shot – a mountain backdrop complete with iconic Himalayan beast of burden in the foreground. All went smoothly until Andre decided that the best way to get a head-on view of the beast was to pelt it with stones. Oh Andre got his picture all right…but things rapidly deteriorated from there. Reflecting on the event later, Andre would say that anything was better than wasting time with his Israeli companions who he said only wanted to sleep, play cards and smoke the hookah.
To cheer myself up, I plugged in my earphones and listened to Matt Redman’s “10 000 Reasons” from start to finish. The words seemed all the more significant out here in this exposed environment. For a while I walked in a contemplative bubble, focusing only on the lyrics and on the hypnotic rise and fall of Martin’s boots.
But the cold and shadows persisted, a reminder of the heights to which we had already come and the 1500 meters we still had to ascend if we were to successfully cross the Thorung La.
Not for the first time I felt a rising tide of guilt. Our initial itinerary had us flying into Jomsom (2700m) and taking a leisurely (and tamer) trek downhill, turning off at Birethanti to visit Annapurna Base Camp. Several weeks before leaving however, I’d heard from various sources that this side of the circuit had been heavily compromised by a new road and besides, was not nearly as scenically impressive as the northern sector. I’d thus pushed most heavily (and successfully) for a switch of itineraries that would skim the cream off the circuit - the leg from Besi Sahar to Jomsom followed by a bus trip to Birethanti where we would turn off and spend the last 6 days climbing to Annapurna Base Camp.
I’d naively overlooked the fact that the northern sector is the far tougher and more isolated sector. I’d minimized the effects of the altitude and physical demands of crossing the Thorung La (at 5400 m, nearly as high as Kilimanjaro). I’d made light of the fact that Martin was not only too old to get special insurance cover for this journey (he is 74) but that he’d had knee surgery just 3 months before coming. (In fact martin only made his final decision to come 9 days before we travelled). In reality, though a veteran of 7 Kilimanjaro ascents and a trek to Everest Base Camp 4 years ago, this was always going to be a tough outing for him – a week earlier I’d watched him limp uncomfortably onto the plane in Durban and wondered how he’d ever get through the next 21 days in one piece.
Then there was the fact that few members of our team had ever climbed under their own steam to 3000 metres and that few had done any serious strength training for the walk.
Lastly, there was Sandra who had been battling with flu symptoms and a pounding headache for nearly 3 days. In the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, a British doctor in Manang had given her the all clear to move up the trail provided she did so slowly.
The guilt had first surfaced 3 days earlier in Pisang but had intensified as we climbed higher. Now as we moved deeper into the shadows of the great Thorung and Chulu Peaks, it threatened to overwhelm.
As I packed away the iPod, a familiar pins and needles sensation returned to my toes and fingers, a condition the locals refer to as the Djhum Djhums. They were a side effect of the Diamox pill I’d taken an hour or so earlier. While a completely harmless sensation, it was intense enough to be un-nerving.
I’d read in Lonely Planet that reports of high altitude sickness on the Thorung La were “greatly exaggerated” and that the majority of people successfully avoided it (or at least experience only mild symptoms). While this may be so, the fact remained that Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) was affecting people all around us. In the past few days we had passed a number of patients being rushed to lower altitudes on horseback, clinging for dear life to either mane or saddle while a tribesman ran alongside, $120 the richer for his exertions. Daily helicopter sorties hinted at more serious cases. A talk by a world expert on AMS named “Dr Tom” at the Ramshackle Himalayan Rescue Institute in Manang had highlighted the risks, clarified the symptoms and scared most people witless.
As a team we were nothing if not careful - surely we’d be fine?
As a team we were nothing if not careful - surely we’d be fine?
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