We stood leaning on our poles, gasping for breath in the cold morning air at the top of the steep hill directly behind the lodge, right at the start of the trek from Dingboche to Lobuche.
"How high have we climbed now?" asked Lise, in between gasps for oxygen that just wasn't there.
I checked my watch.
"10 metres," I panted, "only 390 to go..."
"Al..." she replied, "....don't do that."
The mornings were becoming increasingly hard, as Lise's panic breathing (Cheyne-Stokes Respiration, apparently) was getting worse, the temperature was dropping and the air was getting thinner. To start the day with a hill like that on top of everything else, just seemed malicious.
Once over the brow, we had a long section of gentle ascent, with spectacular views of Thobuche and Cholatse just the other side of the small Pheriche valley. We started to defrost as the sun hit our backs, and the morning became quite pleasant.
After a couple of hours, we stopped at the small village of Thukla for a tea break at the appropriately named Yak Lodge, where Lise tried to make friends with the yaks in the field, to no avail and to Bagbir's obvious consternation. We sat in the sun, chuckling at the fact that we were drinking tea in the sunshine at almost the height of Mont Blanc. Then we set off upwards.
The guidebook had said "...the hill immediately behind Thukla can be tough..." so I was prepared for a slog. What I wasn't prepared for, however, was the wind. As we struggled in the altitude just to put one foot in front of the other, the biting, icy wind seemed to cut right through all of our carefully layered clothing and make a complete joke of my midweight gloves. The hill seemed so steep and relentless, the air so thin and cold, the wind so vicious, we were having to dig deep into our reserves of will to keep going.
"I can't feel my fingers!" Lise gasped.
"Me neither," I replied, "...or my toes!"
Bagbir looked concerned. "Please brother, every time we stop, make like this," he started punching his fists together, wiggling his fingers in-between punches. We followed, and managed to get just about enough sensation in our fingers to realise how cold they really were.
Onwards and upwards we trudged, stopping every few metres to catch our breath and shake our hands, starting to think that if we couldn't rewarm soon, then frostbite was becoming a very real possibility.
At long last we reached the top of the hill, but still the wind blew. As we stumbled across the plateau into the field of Everest memorials, I was struck by the sight of so many piles of stones, each one for someone who'd gone to climb the mountain and not returned. The cold, the exhaustion and the feel of so many lives lost all piled on top of me, and I choked back the tears as I leant on my poles.
On the other side of the field the path began to descend slightly, and we were at last out of the wind. Before too long we saw the welcome sight of the blue-roofed lodges of Lobuche. Exhausted, frozen, and dizzy with the altitude, we flopped on the benches in our lodges dining room, and two bowls of tomato and garlic soup appeared in front of us. We ate in a shell-shocked daze.
After soup, we had the energy to head up to the room and sort out our packs. On our return, we saw a familiar face in the dining room:
"Bruce! How are you?"
It was comforting to see a familiar face, and to be able to chat freely in English. Lise and Bruce nattered for ages, I read my book and joined in now and again whenever I could shake the altitude stupor.
After dinner, we got out the travel Backgammon set again. I was determined to improve my abysmal record against Lise since we'd picked up the game for the first time a couple of nights ago - won 1, lost 6, a fact which gave Lise some repeated amusement. After the first game, however, Bagbir came over looking interested.
"Would you like to play?" we asked.
"Yes!" He nodded.
There followed an hour long session of increasing deviousness and undisguised joy at "blotting" each other off the board, at the end of which I was 2-1 up. Lise chatted to Bruce about altitude problems and her panic breathing.
We figured it was a good time to call it a night, as the next day was going to be hard work. Just as he left, Bruce handed us four Diamox, saying, "as I say, never take medical advice from some bloke you just met in a lodge, but if this helps you get a decent night's sleep... well, the worst it's going to do is not work, put it that way."
It worked. Lise got a decent nights sleep at last.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Everest Base Camp trek day 12 - Rest Day in Dingboche
"Human beings just aren't meant to be at this height," said Lise, sitting in front of our room at the Hotel Family, Dingboche, and gazing up at Yet Another Stunning View Of Ama Dablam.
She'd had a bad night, waking up several times in a panic, convinced that she couldn't breathe - a common effect of altitude.
Today's rest day was therefore agreed to be a genuine rest. A gentle 2hr amble up the valley in the morning took us to 4600m, where we scrambled up the start of the huge moraines leading up to Ama Dablam. Another effect of altitude, of course, is that everything looks closer in the thinner air, and though the mountain had looked close enough to touch, we could see that it would be several hours more before reaching the rock. We returned for lunch.
A peaceful afternoon followed, with lots of reading and sorting gear out for the ascent to Lobuche (4950m) the next day. There would be no more hot showers until we returned back to Namche, so we made do with wet wipes.
She'd had a bad night, waking up several times in a panic, convinced that she couldn't breathe - a common effect of altitude.
Today's rest day was therefore agreed to be a genuine rest. A gentle 2hr amble up the valley in the morning took us to 4600m, where we scrambled up the start of the huge moraines leading up to Ama Dablam. Another effect of altitude, of course, is that everything looks closer in the thinner air, and though the mountain had looked close enough to touch, we could see that it would be several hours more before reaching the rock. We returned for lunch.
A peaceful afternoon followed, with lots of reading and sorting gear out for the ascent to Lobuche (4950m) the next day. There would be no more hot showers until we returned back to Namche, so we made do with wet wipes.
Everest Base Camp trek day 11 - Carry On Up The Khumbu
A cold start, with all of our water bottles partly frozen and ice covering the window.
"What kind of nutters," asked Lise, pacing around the dining room to keep warm, "come to the Himalayas in January? I mean, seriously..."
"Seemed like a good idea at the time...." I shuddered.
"You know it's minus four in here?" The wall thermometer said as much.
"Well according to my watch it's a nice balmy 14 degrees"
My watch - a snazzy Suunto job with compass, gps, altimeter, barometer and all the works, was great at everything except the temperature. It had told me it was 18 degrees in the middle of a Cairngorm winter blizzard, and was something of a running joke. In the middle of the night, however, I had checked it just to see, and it had said -2. Draw your own conclusions about the true temperature...
We ate our bowls of porridge hungrily, eager just to get started and stop freezing our nadgers off. I asked the lodge owner for some hot water, ruefully offering my nalgene flask with its half-litre of solid ice in the bottom.
In a slight daze, we set off for Dingboche, our fingers and toes chilled in the early gloom, desperately waiting for the sun to hit our valley. Songs began to play in my head, acoustic power ballads by Frank Turner - the kind Lise refers to as "dog on a string music" - and I began to feel strangely emotional.
The early part of the hike was easy enough, but by 10 o'clock the steady ascent was starting to take its toll. As we entered Pangboche, a pretty, laid-back village in a flat part of the valley, I was feeling dizzy, achy, and sick. I had to sit down.
"Please brother, rest," said Bagbir, his eyes once again studying me for signs of AMS. "I think, if you are not feeling good, maybe we stay here tonight?"
I knew that would put paid to our hopes of reaching Base Camp and ascending Kala Pattar. We would have to cut one of them, or - dangerously - our one remaining rest day.
"I'm OK, just a little light-headed," I said. "In terms of general co-ordination, I'm fine - look!" I danced a little jig, knowing that if I showed signs of becoming uncoordinated Bagbir would probably insist on taking us back down - and he'd be right.
I finished with the classic Bruce Forsyth slap-and-step-forward-with-a-grin. Lise and Bagbir looked at me in silence for a painfully long second.
"I think," said Bagbir, very slowly, "maybe we try one more hour....?"
So on we went, taking lunch in Solame seemingly right at the foot of Ama Dablam. Bagbir had told is that a Korean team had summitted it just a couple of days ago, and just below the top I could see what looked like tracks. Unfortunately neither the camera nor the binoculars could get quite enough zoom to be sure. Bagbir said they climbed on the other side anyway.
As we continued our relentless plod up the Khumbu valley, we found ourselves in a broad flat plain at around 4100m surrounded on all sides by mammoth peaks. Lhotse looked all the more frighteningly huge from this closer distance. We could see Everest's yellow band over the Lhotse-Nuptse wall, Thobuche to the left, with Pumori just visible in between.
"It feels more like we're properly in the mountains now," I said to Lise.
"Yeah," she agreed, "this place is amazing!"
Eventually, we began another gruelling ascent up the final 250m to Dingboche, with the huge scree heaps leading to Ama Dablam on our right. As we topped out, Dingboche appeared to us, plenty of lodges spread out through dusty fields.
We checked in to the Hotel Family, and immediately liked what we saw - a large-but-cozy dining room, a twin room with space, comfy mattresses, and even a private toilet. OK, so it was an Asian squat-style toilet, but I'd been practising my aim, and hell, compared to the last place, this was like the Hilton.
I changed up to clothing level 2 - fresh, thick, Patagonia base layer tights and winter-lined Craghopper trousers. Lise, meanwhile, had well and truly nested, a defiant cheeky grin poking out from behind layer upon layer of fluff - fleece, hat, sleeping bag, blanket, nearly all of it at least partly pink.
"I'm happy," she announced, "I'm not moving!"
Later, as the light began to fade, we moved into the dining room to order dinner. Bagbir took our order.
"How are you feeling now, brother?"
"Good, thankyou!"
"For dinner?"
This was a big test. I'd been pining for potatoes for the last few days, but since I'd got sick, every time I'd ordered them he'd politely suggested that plain rice "maybe better" - sometimes politely suggesting several times until I got the message.
I took a deep breath. "I'd like... the fried potatoes with vegetables and cheese!"
His eyes met mine, again searching for signs of my condition.
The universe held its breath.
"OK"
It was my turn to be happy.
We sat around the stove in the center of the room, warming our hands, swapping small talk with the others - an amiable mix of trekkers and their guides all swapping tales. At one point, a sudden loud bang from the stove made us all scatter with assorted expletives, as a piece of fuel - dried yak dung - exploded in the heat.
We talked to a young sherpa, guiding a solo Japanese client, who was worried about his ascent up to Lobuche (4950m) tomorrow without the usual rest day here. "My boss, he not have time," he said, "he say no."
We felt a little concerned for their safety. It was a sobering reminder that the sherpas put themselves at just as much risk as their clients, and if a client was insistent on ignoring the standard acclimatization schedule, what could they do?
As the evening drew to a close, we turned to bed. Chastened by the previous teeth-chattering night at Deboche, we'd worked out a plan. Before turning in, we filled our Nalgene flasks with hot water drum the kitchen and wrapped them in Lisas thick socks.
I wore my thick base layers and fleece, pulled my microfleece sleeping bag liner around me, climbed into the sleeping bag, wrapped my down jacket around the feet, pulled the provided blanket over the lot, and topped it off with my midweight gloves and beanie.
I woke up several times in the night to take layers off. Still, high class problems and all that.
"What kind of nutters," asked Lise, pacing around the dining room to keep warm, "come to the Himalayas in January? I mean, seriously..."
"Seemed like a good idea at the time...." I shuddered.
"You know it's minus four in here?" The wall thermometer said as much.
"Well according to my watch it's a nice balmy 14 degrees"
My watch - a snazzy Suunto job with compass, gps, altimeter, barometer and all the works, was great at everything except the temperature. It had told me it was 18 degrees in the middle of a Cairngorm winter blizzard, and was something of a running joke. In the middle of the night, however, I had checked it just to see, and it had said -2. Draw your own conclusions about the true temperature...
We ate our bowls of porridge hungrily, eager just to get started and stop freezing our nadgers off. I asked the lodge owner for some hot water, ruefully offering my nalgene flask with its half-litre of solid ice in the bottom.
In a slight daze, we set off for Dingboche, our fingers and toes chilled in the early gloom, desperately waiting for the sun to hit our valley. Songs began to play in my head, acoustic power ballads by Frank Turner - the kind Lise refers to as "dog on a string music" - and I began to feel strangely emotional.
The early part of the hike was easy enough, but by 10 o'clock the steady ascent was starting to take its toll. As we entered Pangboche, a pretty, laid-back village in a flat part of the valley, I was feeling dizzy, achy, and sick. I had to sit down.
"Please brother, rest," said Bagbir, his eyes once again studying me for signs of AMS. "I think, if you are not feeling good, maybe we stay here tonight?"
I knew that would put paid to our hopes of reaching Base Camp and ascending Kala Pattar. We would have to cut one of them, or - dangerously - our one remaining rest day.
"I'm OK, just a little light-headed," I said. "In terms of general co-ordination, I'm fine - look!" I danced a little jig, knowing that if I showed signs of becoming uncoordinated Bagbir would probably insist on taking us back down - and he'd be right.
I finished with the classic Bruce Forsyth slap-and-step-forward-with-a-grin. Lise and Bagbir looked at me in silence for a painfully long second.
"I think," said Bagbir, very slowly, "maybe we try one more hour....?"
So on we went, taking lunch in Solame seemingly right at the foot of Ama Dablam. Bagbir had told is that a Korean team had summitted it just a couple of days ago, and just below the top I could see what looked like tracks. Unfortunately neither the camera nor the binoculars could get quite enough zoom to be sure. Bagbir said they climbed on the other side anyway.
As we continued our relentless plod up the Khumbu valley, we found ourselves in a broad flat plain at around 4100m surrounded on all sides by mammoth peaks. Lhotse looked all the more frighteningly huge from this closer distance. We could see Everest's yellow band over the Lhotse-Nuptse wall, Thobuche to the left, with Pumori just visible in between.
"It feels more like we're properly in the mountains now," I said to Lise.
"Yeah," she agreed, "this place is amazing!"
Eventually, we began another gruelling ascent up the final 250m to Dingboche, with the huge scree heaps leading to Ama Dablam on our right. As we topped out, Dingboche appeared to us, plenty of lodges spread out through dusty fields.
We checked in to the Hotel Family, and immediately liked what we saw - a large-but-cozy dining room, a twin room with space, comfy mattresses, and even a private toilet. OK, so it was an Asian squat-style toilet, but I'd been practising my aim, and hell, compared to the last place, this was like the Hilton.
I changed up to clothing level 2 - fresh, thick, Patagonia base layer tights and winter-lined Craghopper trousers. Lise, meanwhile, had well and truly nested, a defiant cheeky grin poking out from behind layer upon layer of fluff - fleece, hat, sleeping bag, blanket, nearly all of it at least partly pink.
"I'm happy," she announced, "I'm not moving!"
Later, as the light began to fade, we moved into the dining room to order dinner. Bagbir took our order.
"How are you feeling now, brother?"
"Good, thankyou!"
"For dinner?"
This was a big test. I'd been pining for potatoes for the last few days, but since I'd got sick, every time I'd ordered them he'd politely suggested that plain rice "maybe better" - sometimes politely suggesting several times until I got the message.
I took a deep breath. "I'd like... the fried potatoes with vegetables and cheese!"
His eyes met mine, again searching for signs of my condition.
The universe held its breath.
"OK"
It was my turn to be happy.
We sat around the stove in the center of the room, warming our hands, swapping small talk with the others - an amiable mix of trekkers and their guides all swapping tales. At one point, a sudden loud bang from the stove made us all scatter with assorted expletives, as a piece of fuel - dried yak dung - exploded in the heat.
We talked to a young sherpa, guiding a solo Japanese client, who was worried about his ascent up to Lobuche (4950m) tomorrow without the usual rest day here. "My boss, he not have time," he said, "he say no."
We felt a little concerned for their safety. It was a sobering reminder that the sherpas put themselves at just as much risk as their clients, and if a client was insistent on ignoring the standard acclimatization schedule, what could they do?
As the evening drew to a close, we turned to bed. Chastened by the previous teeth-chattering night at Deboche, we'd worked out a plan. Before turning in, we filled our Nalgene flasks with hot water drum the kitchen and wrapped them in Lisas thick socks.
I wore my thick base layers and fleece, pulled my microfleece sleeping bag liner around me, climbed into the sleeping bag, wrapped my down jacket around the feet, pulled the provided blanket over the lot, and topped it off with my midweight gloves and beanie.
I woke up several times in the night to take layers off. Still, high class problems and all that.
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