After 8 days of hard walking from Jiri, we reach our first rest stop, a large village called Namche. It is situated at the confluence of the two major rivers in the area, the Bhote Kosi and the Dudh Kosi. Namche also marks our official entry into "high altitude", residing at 3,500 meters (about 11,500 feet) above sea level. Here we will take a day off, washing some clothes and allowing our bodies to recuperate from the long journey. The day off will also give our respiratory systems some additional time to adjust to the thinner air.
Namche has served as a stopping point for many trekking parties before us, and the western influence is evident everywhere: German bakeries with the finest cakes and pies, western-style pubs with climbing memorabilia on the walls, pizza parlors, and even an Internet cafe. After living a more-or-less traditional Himalayan lifestyle for so long, Namche for me is a total spin-out. I feel the tension accumulated during the walk from Jiri disappearing and thoroughly enjoy the opportunity to relax over a beer with fellow travelers. The pub turns out to be an excellent place to meet people, as trekkers congregate there to share their experiences and bask in the glory of their accomplishments.
Unfortunately, though, the pub conversations are not all entirely pleasant. Some climbers seem to possess an attitude that the mountains are there to be "conquered", and that summits are to be collected like trophies and displayed for all to see. In this way, climbers are reflective of a more general attitude within the western world, whereby nature itself is meant to be subjugated to our will, to serve our needs. Instead of taking what was given to us and living within nature, as did many of the world's earlier civilizations such as the American Indian and the Australian Aboriginal, we have come to believe that we can, indeed should, modify nature to better suit our needs. As a result, we live in a world today where the human race has flourished and spread to all corners of the globe, with comforts and conveniences that enable many to lead rich full lives free of physical discomfort and disease. However, in the process we have lost our connection to, and our reverence for, the natural world. Our actions have devastated many of our most important natural resources and created an imbalance in the distribution of wealth that bestows unimaginable riches on a select few while millions are allowed to starve. If some may call this progress, I would argue that we still have a long way to go, and that some of the answers may be found by looking back instead of forward, rediscovering what we used to know but have forgotten.
Above Namche, we enter the high country and enjoy our first up-close view of Everest. On this trek, instead of walking up to Everest Base Camp, Dennis and I will be exploring a nearby river valley that contains the Ngojumba Glacier, one of the largest in the region, as well as a number of high-altitude lakes. The valley was formed by the upper Bhote Kosi, and the peaks in the area serve as the river's primary watershed. Soon after starting up the valley we rise above the treeline, and from that point onward the only vegetation is small shrubs and grasses. Our destination is the village of Gokyo, located on the shores of a small lake called Dudh Pokhari. From here we are able to explore the glacier and climb Gokyo Ri, a nearby peak about 5500 meters above sea level (about 18,000 feet), where most the high peaks of the area come into view: Everest, Lhotse, Cho Oyo, Cholotse, Kangtaiga, Thamserku. Standing at the top of Gokyo Ri and soaking in the spectacular views, I again marvel at the scale of the landscape in this region. For example, at this altitude, I am higher that I have ever been in my life and higher than I will probably ever be again, but at the same time I am over 3000 meters (nearly two miles) below the peak of Mt. Everest.
On our way down the valley, the weather becomes increasingly colder to the point where our water bottles freeze up at night. I realise how tired I am of being cold, of constantly battling to stay warm, eating dinner while huddling around the yak-dung fires or crouching in a sleeping bag. The bone-cracking cold, along with the lack of oxygen and the treacherous terrain, serve to remind me once again of the power of nature, of the knife-edge between life and death in this region. At any time, the headaches and shortness of breath could deteriorate into something much more dangerous, where survival is dependent on descending to lower altitudes as quickly as possible. Or your next step could start a rock slide, twisting an ankle or breaking a limb. The light dusting of snowflakes could become a blizzard, burying the trail and stranding you for days or weeks. Constantly dealing with these conditions not only wears on you physically, but also takes a psychological toll. One week is more like a month, and a cold night seems to last forever. Upon our return to Namche, I am more than happy to indulge myself in some western creature comforts.
Our final adventure on this trip is our return flight from Lukla to Kathmandu. Lukla is about a day's walk from Namche, and the direct flight from there to Kathmandu is a good way to cut down your travel time on the return trip. In Edmund Hillary's time, the Lukla airport did not exist and aspiring climbers walked both in and out. These days trekkers generally fly either into or out of Lukla, sparing themselves one leg of the trip, although increasingly Lukla is being used as a round trip, allowing people to avoid the Jiri walk completely. This saves time, but also introduces a new brand of trekker to the high country - the weekend warrior who is either unwilling or unable to allocate enough time to do the trek properly and instead chooses to buy their way in via a round-trip ticket. Not only do people of this ilk suffer more acute altitude sickness and create more than their share of problems on the trail, but in my opinion they also miss an important part of the total experience. Many of the trip's special moments occurred on the walk in from Jiri, and many friendships were forged in the small lodges along the way. For all of us, reaching Namche and getting our first up-close look at Everest was no small feat, and the sense of accomplishment we felt was one of the high points of the journey.
The airfield at Lukla was carved out of a cattle field on a high mountain ledge surrounded by sharp cliffs, and supports the landing of small 12 or 18-seat propeller planes. The landing strip hardly seems long enough, but is sloped upward to enable the pilots to brake sufficiently without crashing into the mountainside. On takeoff, the downward slope allows the pilots to get up enough speed to take off without pitching over the cliff. As we prepare to take off, Dennis admits that he does not like flying, and in these conditions I can't say I blame him. He jokes around and attempts to make light of the situation as always, but when the pilot guns his engines and we pitch and heave down the gravel runway, I can see Dennis gripping the seat in front of him and muttering to himself.
Except for some minor turbulence, though, our flight is rather uneventful, and we land an hour later at Tribhuvan Airport after enjoying a spectacular mountain sunset from the air. On the way back to Thamel, the central tourist area of Kathmandu, our cab gets stuck in traffic and I decide to shoulder my pack and walk into town. After all we have been through in the last few weeks, I don't mind at all.
©1999 Mark J. Van Ryzin