Dead Lucky (4 page)

Lukla must be one of the most exciting commercial airstrips to land at in the world. The aircraft appears to be flying directly into the side of a mountain, and only in the last minutes does it become apparent that there is a sloping shelf on the mountainside where the airstrip sits. Rather than looking ahead between the two pilots at the narrow runway rushing toward us, I watched the faces of Barbara and the boys. All three of them were grinning wildly, but Barbara with less conviction. Only for the final seconds before the wheels touched down did I look forward, when it seemed inevitable that the Twin Otter would slam into the rock cliff at the end of the runway. But as on every other time I had landed here, the steep uphill slope allowed the plane to decelerate quickly, and suddenly it was all over.

With us on the flight was Rudra Thapa, one of the Windhorse Trekking team. We drank cups of sweet milky tea in the courtyard of the lodge next to the airport building while Rudra organized two porters to carry our gear. A friend of Rudra's, Beeba Sherpa, would help him to cook for and manage our small team.

Lukla is at an altitude of 9,000 feet, which is certainly high enough for people to experience mild forms of altitude sickness. Luckily, the first day's trek is all downhill, with the trail cutting across the mountainside to the banks of the Dudh Kosi River. It was an easy start to the trek, and we delighted in the fresh mountain air after the dust, noise, and crazy traffic of Kathmandu. That night we stayed in the village of Phakding, which we reached by crossing a long swing bridge that was decorated with prayer flags. For the next day and a half we hiked up the Dudh Kosi gorge until we reached another swing bridge high above a narrow canyon, which compressed the entire river. As the river smashed against the vertical cliffs, a heavy mist rose on the turbulent air to the level of the swing bridge, where we stood and marveled at the scene. Many of the rough planks on the bridge were broken or missing. The gaps were covered by flat rocks that had been dragged from the paths on either side. This kind of repair made Barbara wonder if any of the bridge was safe to walk upon. She found it to be sturdier than it appeared but still took comfort from the prayer flags.

Beyond the bridge we faced a continuous climb up to the Sherpa village of Namche Bazaar. Two-thirds of the way up the hill we caught our first glimpse of Everest. All but the tip of the mountain's summit was obscured by the walls of the gorge and the pine trees in front of us. Our boys were pleased to see the great peak but disappointed with how little of it was visible. They felt better when I told them that, over the decades, thousands of trekkers would have slogged up this hill, heads down watching their feet, without realizing they had missed their first chance to glimpse the world's highest mountain.

I paused to look at Everest and wondered whether I would ever return to its slopes. During the months since Michael Dillon's first call, I had thought about the possibility a great deal. My place on the expedition had been confirmed, provided we could raise the necessary financial backing. However, it did not look like funding was going to happen in the short term. With the expedition at least a year away, I was happy to be here among the mountains again, taking in a good dose of the Himalaya before we took up our lives again in Australia.

I looked up the trail and saw that Barbara was approaching a switchback that would take her out of sight. The boys had already rounded it, having rushed ahead, full of youthful energy. The main path consisted of continuous zigzags, angled gently to suit yaks carrying heavy loads, but I knew of a shortcut. From the lookout point where I stood there was a rough track up the steep spur formed by the forested hillside meeting the wall of the gorge. If I didn't waste time, I would emerge onto the main trail much higher than Dylan and Dorje. It was the kind of game a father likes to play with his sons.

IN NAMCHE BAZAAR we arrived at our lodge, which was owned by one of Ang Karma's relatives. When we sat on the porch to eat a late lunch, there was heat in the sunshine, but the air was much cooler. All of us were slowed down by the lower levels of oxygen, which was to be expected at 11,500 feet. It was Christmas Eve, so we declared Christmas Day an acclimatization day. Among our small presents to the boys in the morning were German Christmas sweets that Barbara had bought in Singapore, where the festival is celebrated with immense commercial zest. It was a very different scene in Buddhist Namche.

We gave the boys a wad of rupees to spend in one of the village's three Internet cafés. Dorje checked his e-mails and chatted on MSN to friends in Singapore and Australia. Dylan had been out of touch with his gaming clan for over a week. When he logged in, he learned that an American faction within his clan had accused him of funding a climb of Everest with money earned from the clan's tournament winnings. Dylan thought the accusation was hilarious in its naiveté about what a climb of Everest involved, but he appreciated the need to take the issue seriously. He typed furiously, arguing his case and turning the tide of opinion.

Our next day of trekking involved a spectacular and enjoyable hike. After lunching by the river at a tiny village with the endearing name of Punke Tenke, we climbed steeply through conifer forest. It was an unrelenting climb, drawing us closer to the mountains. The pine trees gave way to huge rhododendrons as the angle eased and we traversed the hillside. The climb ended abruptly with a short steep section that led to the crest of a ridge. Suddenly, there was a view of the famous Thyangboche Monastery, perched on the highest knoll of the ridge, surrounded by green pastures and a 360-degree panorama of glorious Himalayan peaks. Mount Everest was among them, although obscured by its subpeaks Lhotse and Nuptse.

That night in our lodge our bedroom windows were frosted with ice, a silent welcome to winter in the Khumbu. Dorje had picked up a stomach bug at Punke Tenke, which affected his appetite that evening. Although still off-color the next morning, he wanted to keep trekking. However, by the time we reached the village of Pangboche, it was obvious that he needed to rest and recuperate. We soon found a comfortable lodge, and I spent a day hiking to fetch some medicine for him from the Khumjung Hospital above Namche. Dylan filled the day with a hike up to Ama Dablam Base Camp with Beeba. This proved to be the highlight of the trip for him, indicating that not all the best Himalayan experiences involve Everest.

Another afternoon Dylan and I took advantage of the perfect weather to head up the steep grassy slopes above the village. At first we climbed up a thousand feet to admire the view, but then I noticed silhouetted prayer flags on a rocky ridge another thousand feet higher, and this became our destination. The ridge continued up to Taweche Peak, its icy mass tempting us to go farther. The shadows were lengthening, but before heading down we sat among the prayer flags and looked up the valley to the Everest massif. I gave Dylan my camera, and while he busily snapped photos, I gazed at the mountains. Now that we were 2,000 feet above Pangboche, less of Mount Everest was obscured by the vast mountain wall formed by Lhotse and Nuptse. The most dramatic mountain in view was the closest one, Ama Dablam.

Although I had visited Everest Base Camp several times before 1981, I felt that my relationship with the world's highest mountain began in that year with my climb of Ama Dablam, which was 6,500 feet lower. The easiest route of ascent of this chisel-shaped peak was up a ridge that faced Dylan and me. In 1981 our expedition had tackled the steeper Northeast Ridge on the opposite side of the mountain, which meant the summit of Mount Everest was always in view, rising above the Lhotse-Nuptse wall. The higher we climbed, the more we saw of Mount Everest, but as we saw more of the mountain, we saw less of our teammates. So forbidding was the steepness and the difficulty of the route that all the climbers except Tim, Andy, and I packed up and went home.

Our base camp had been very close to the bottom of Ama Dablam's North Ridge. This proximity meant that from the lower reaches of the climb we were within shouting distance of camp. On the day we came down from the mountain, it was well after dark as we carefully rappelled the last of the ropes. We had drunk very little during our long descent from the summit, so Tim called out for drinks in the hope that our Nepalese base camp crew might hear his request. We gingerly descended the steep grass slope in the dark until we saw a small light bobbing up toward us. We did not know whether it was Mingma, Tenzing, or Narayan who was bringing us a thermos of tea, until we recognized Mingma's voice as he approached us.

Our 1981 expedition to Ama Dablam was one of my most enjoyable Himalayan adventures, partly because of the superb climbing offered by the North Ridge but also because of the great friendships that we developed with our Nepalese crew. Mingma and Narayan followed Tim and me on a climb of Trisul in India the next year, then Narayan and Tenzing played vital support roles during our climbs of Annapurna II in 1983 and Everest in 1984. The attitude to life held by these three men set me on the path of Buddhism, although it was a dozen more years before I embraced the Buddhist creed religiously.

The values held by Sherpas certainly work well in the mountains, where being aware of the fullness of the present moment minimizes the inattentive lapses that lead to fatal accidents. I also learned from them that this same attitude—of simply getting on with what has to be done—is the best way to deal with uncomfortable situations. I remember arriving one afternoon at a clearing on a forested mountain ridge during gentle but continuous rain. We had stumbled upon an unexpected camp site, grass-covered and level, the perfect escape from the weather, so I called it an early day. The members of my trekking group huddled under a tree, not complaining but looking miserable while they eagerly waited for the Sherpas to finish pitching the tents. I was out in the clearing with the Sherpas, who were working busily as if the rain was not there. Suddenly the drizzle became a torrential downpour. Water ran down into my sleeve as I held up a tent pole. I cursed while the Sherpas laughed and shouted at each other, stimulated by the force of nature and not annoyed by it. Half an hour later I was in my tent when the flap was unzipped by two kitchen boys, who offered me tea and biscuits. They were still soaking wet but still laughing, this time at the waterlogged biscuits on the tray.

Many people who visit Nepal are deeply inspired by the Nepalese attitude to life and vow to find pleasure in the simplest of things. However, after a week or two back in a modern city, with the cut and thrust of office politics and not enough time at home to do the many apparently important tasks, it is easy to overlook a promised subscription to the values and priorities of the people of Nepal. For me it was much easier, as I was working with deeply religious Buddhists and Hindus and at the same time climbing mountains—both powerfully centering influences.

I came to realize that the common ground of both climbing and spiritual practice is the state of being “in the here and now.” Essentially, this is a focus of mind, which offers a simpler but somehow deeper and clearer appreciation of reality. During the most intense passages of climbing, the “here and now” keeps you alive. There is no analysis of what is happening, no judgments, and no plans of what to do next. You are kept alive by the awareness of ever-present danger, which focuses all your faculties on the decisions and actions directed entirely to your survival.

AFTER THREE DAYS of rest at Pangboche, Dorje was in good shape. It seemed that the medicine had worked for him. Not far above Pangboche, the valley opened out, typical of those above 13,000 feet. We spent one night at Dingboche, which on my first visit in 1979 had been a small yak-herders' village but now catered more to trekkers' needs than those of yaks. The next morning it was easy walking along the edge of an ancient lateral moraine as we headed westward below the huge Lhotse-Nuptse wall. The boys entertained themselves by skating in their trekking boots on patches of old snow which had melted and refrozen as ice. The sky was overcast and it looked as though a storm was on its way. Sure enough, not long after we had finished lunch at Dughla, the first few snowflakes fell. We followed yak trails across the slope until a side-valley forced us down to the main trail not far from Lobuche, a settlement of trekking lodges at 16,000 feet, which is big enough to be described as the last village before Everest Base Camp.

That night we discussed our options. Whichever day-walk we chose from Lobuche, we needed a dawn start. If the weather was good, I was keen to head up the steep grass slopes to the rocky knoll of Kala Patar, 1,300 feet above the Khumbu Glacier, because it offers a much better view of Everest than is available from Base Camp. However, bad conditions would not make too much difference to the Base Camp experience, because even on a good day the upper reaches of Everest are obscured by the mountain's massive West Shoulder. Base Camp is an iconic place that marks the absolute limit beyond which only climbers can go. It is, in effect, the finish line, whereas Kala Patar is the equivalent of the best seats in the grandstand.

The winter days were short, so we got up in the dark, had breakfast, and left our lodge at eight A.M. We made good time along the wide moraine trough that parallels the wide Khumbu Glacier. From the dry, sandy lake-bed of Gorak Shep, the slopes of Kala Patar disappeared into the cloud. With the entire sky heavily overcast, Base Camp was now our best option. We followed the crest of the moraine until the narrow ridge ended suddenly at a cliff. At the end of the ridge we ate our lunch, sheltering from the wind among the boulders.

From here the path dropped down the unstable moraine wall to the rough-and-tumble surface of the glacier. Barbara was concerned that she would not make it back to Lobuche before darkness fell, so she and Rudra began to retrace their steps, while Dorje, Dylan, and I continued with Beeba. I warned the boys that the moraine wall was constantly being undermined by the down-valley movement of the glacier and so the slope could be unstable. Once we had dropped down to the glacier, the track was well trodden, but it weaved up, around, and over various ice obstacles. All but the steepest ice surfaces were covered with shards of rock, splintered by glacial movement and the weathering power of ice, which made for good traction.