Kathmandu Airport at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m. is in utter confusion, with rucksacks and duffel bags strewn around as trekkers, summiteers and their organisers try to make sense of bookings and boarding passes. We are on our way to Lukla, on a 15-day trek to Sagarmatha or “Goddess of the Sky”, as Everest is locally known. The 100-mile round trip follows the traditional trading route to Tibet made famous by Hillary and Tenzing in 1953. We embark on a humbler mission; to climb an 18,200 ft. black rock-mountain, Kala Patthar, and look down on the notorious Khumbu Icefall, the Everest Base Camp, and the awesome peaks of the Everest region.
I am with a group of eight middle-aged Delhiwallas, besides Sujoy our team leader. High on testosterone, this rowdy, half-bald bunch of adolescents are in buddy mode; back-slapping, and guffawing their way across Nepal, making exasperating demands: bottled water, portable oxygen, massages, better rooms, better bathrooms, chicken for dinner. It’s endless. Altitude sickness and the drug Diamox consumed with childlike trust is the hot topic of conversation, as is tummy ache, headache, fatigue, lack of sleep, low energy, you name it. For sure, not all of us will make it!
Lukla Airport considered the most dangerous in the world, is famous for its short hillside runway built on a steep 12-degree incline. The small 16-seater plane bobs and weaves through a maze of snow-capped peaks as it flies low over the hills. Everyone gets to sit by a window and you photograph to your heart’s content. You negotiate several layers of cloud, and descend so steeply that landing is over in less than 10 seconds. The take-off is even more astonishing. Race down the sloping runway to get enough lift, then whoosh, you’re over the cliff as the runway disappears into the valley.
Teahouses, a dozen a dime, offer food and lodging and are cheaper and more convenient than camping. The rooms are basic, the baths and toilets are shared, some surprisingly clean, others unusable. Running water is unavailable and must be bought. A flask of hot water could set you back by over 300 Nepali Rupees, and with each trekker being told to drink six litres of this ‘liquid gold a day’, it’s a scam. A stove burns in the dining rooms every evening, and Sherpas and trekkers stream in to get out of the cold, eat an early dinner and make friends. These are noisy, cheerful places; English, Chinglish, Swinglish, you’ll hear it all. By 8 p.m. the day is over.
The trail winds along the Dudh Kosi River, crossing it at the mighty Larja Dhoban, an amazing steel suspension bridge weighed down by fluttering prayer flags high above a massive gorge. Because of its incredible height and strong winds, the bridge sways and bounces as trekkers cross in droves, a thrilling experience. And then, the steep three to four-hour trek to Namche Bazaar, the capital of the Khumbu region. Ears popping, feet dragging, we complete this monster of a climb to 11,200 ft. for our first amphitheatre views of Everest and the surrounding peaks. To the left, Everest peeps over the Lhotse-Nuptse ridge. Lhotse (27,900 ft.), Ama Dablam (22,400 ft.), Kusum Kanguru, and Kwangde, the baby brothers and sisters of the Everest family, appear around us. I think of yesterday’s struggle and wonder if ‘Peeping Tom’ is worth it, but everyone else is so delighted I keep my peace. The beautiful Ama Dablam flaunting a left shoulder is the show-stopper, and will continue to amaze with her many changing faces as we climb further north.
Beyond Namche, through forests of rhododendrons in glorious bloom, we have another hard climb to Tengboche with its sacred meadow, magnificent morning views and the famous monastery twice destroyed and rebuilt. Thereafter, the path gets more rugged, the air thinner and the terrain more hostile. Comfortable treks give way to threadlike trails as villages morph into tiny settlements, no more than a couple of lodges. Above the tree line yesterday’s flowers and chattering crowds seem far behind as we battle the cold and altitude. At a height of 17,000 ft. we climb the Dugla Pass, walk past memorials to dead Everest summiteers, and trek a rough path high above the Khumbu Glacier to Gorak Shep, our final destination. It’s tough making our way through a wilderness of huge boulders, moraines, crevasses and glacial lakes, but we are in the home stretch. By noon, we have reached our lodge at the edge of a dry riverbed surrounded by the great peaks of the Everest range. We sit outside soaking in the sun, sipping ginger tea and looking at Kala Patthar, now within striking distance.
Post lunch, we ready ourselves for arctic temperatures and our final ascent of Kala Patthar (18,300 ft.). Trekker traffic is really heavy and, why not, it’s going to be full moon tonight. Oxygen levels are at 52 per cent and we move at a funeral pace; 10 huddled penguins, shuffling along, heads down, stopping ever so often to gasp for breath and sip our pricey water. With each step, more and more of Everest reveals himself. This should have been encouragement, but instead a satanic little voice in my head tells me “take a good look and then turn back.” Thankfully all of us are suffering hugely. Even the Delhi desperados have run out of breath and are fighting their own demons. After a 21/2 hour walk in hell, exhausted to the bone, with tangled legs and dead brains we all finally make it.
The sky is crystal clear, the views staggering in scale. Everest is no great looker and stripped of snow by lethal winds, he’s a clumsy, bald, huge rock-hunk, but why grouse we are encircled by the finest mountain scenery bathed in a golden-orange-sunset glow. After days of walking and suffering the cold and the filthy toilets, it’s over. Wow!
That isn’t all. As the sun sinks like a stone in the western sky, the moon rises like a glittering crystal ball from behind Everest. A hundred heads turn and an audible gasp emanates from the crowd. There’s almost no talking, just the sound of snapping shutters. We spend such a long time taking pictures we have to descend under star-studded skies, a trekker-train snaking our way down in pitch darkness with only our headlamps lighting the way. Dangerous but, who cares, victorious.
What we did in 10 days we will undo in five. We are descending at a frenetic pace, with villages flying past in a blaze of exhausted impressions, desperate to get to clean rooms, hot baths, and running water. Oh to flop into a warm bed like a contented, baby seal and sleep like the dead!
