Each successful bounce away from the window would bring a
smile to my face, as would the thought of how much the travel to Jomsom had
changed in just the three years since I last made the journey. It used to be even more uncomfortable and
lengthy. There used to be a requirement
that all travelers switch vehicles in a little town called Ghasa. The road north of Ghasa was controlled by a
little mafia, and the ticket price for foreigners traveling north would
jump. The buses north of Ghasa were
always late and were generally more packed.
Now, there is a jeep directly from the bustling tourist town of Pokhara
to Jomsom, and the price for foreigners and Nepalis is the same. The “jeeps” are not actually Jeeps, but are
one of several varieties of SUVs from India.
They are all similar in size to a mid-sized SUV you might find in North
America. Invariably, the tires are bald
and undersized, the shocks are shot, and there is rarely four-wheel-drive. Most Nepalis seem vehemently opposed to using
four-wheel-drive even when it is available.
Our driver was not afraid of punishing that car, which
appeared to have already done a life sentence.
The last six hours of the drive are on a road that would be considered a
four-wheel-drive road in North America.
There are large rocks, stream crossings, steep grades, exposed shelf
roads, and there is constant traffic creates never ending dust. The last six hours I had plenty of time to
perfect my sitting technique, and the driver had plenty of time to rally us off
a cliff, which thankfully he did not.
Around dusk we sped into Jomsom, where I spent the
night. Jomsom is a truck stop of
sorts. It’s dusty, windy, and thrums
with the constant noise of motorcycle, jeep, bus and plane engines. It’s close to the gateway to the Upper
Mustang Valley, and all transportation bound for the special permit area of the
upper valley or for the holy city of Muktinath starts in Jomsom. There’s an airport, and it’s the end of the
line for transportation coming from Pokhara or other towns to the south.
The next morning I went to the bus station and spent two
restful hours waiting for the bus going to Muktinath to fill. I had no real desire to spend much time in
Jomsom, and wanted to be on the way to the main objective: a solo ascent of
Thorung Peak. This wasn’t my initial
intent when I arrived in Nepal, but I had nothing truly set, and all of my
potential climbing partners were not able to climb when I wanted to go. I did some searching, and decided that a peak
that is near an established trekking route with a high pass would be
ideal. Thorung La (Pass) is one of the
easiest passes to reach, with a number of peaks nearby. This strategy would allow me to use the
teahouses to acclimatize, so I would not have to carry much food or fuel. I would just bring enough food and fuel for a
few days of the actual climb. I heard
from guide friends that Thorung Peak was a relatively straightforward peak, so
opted for that.
At the time, sitting and waiting for the bus, I was quite
anxious. Despite having been to Jomsom
many times, I had not climbed up to Thorung La.
I had not seen the peak, I did not know what kind of areas there would
be to camp, I didn’t know if there was a water source or if I would be melting
snow, which requires a lot more fuel. Of
course, there are plentiful guide services that will take you up many peaks in
Nepal, and simple peaks such as Thorung Peak run around $5,000. I am definitely a budget climber, plus I have
plentiful experience in mountains and Nepal. I did not want to be dragged to the top on
fixed lines. I like testing myself, and
relying on my own skill and power to reach the top. A lot could go wrong.
A lot did. Before the
end of the trip, I would climb Thorung La three times, I’d lose some of my food
and clothing to a hungry critter, and I’d be part of a mad dash down the pass
one snowy night to save the life of a dying man.
The first half of the bus ride to Muktinath is bumpy with
plenty of stream crossings. A highway is
being built towards the border with China, so there are a number of
half-finished bridges with rebar tentacles sticking out of the dust like
monuments to humanity in a post-apocalyptic world. Each diversion road around the construction areas
seemed to be solely made of terrifying switchbacks. The last 10 km of the road towards Muktinath
is paved! That section went much faster
than the rest.
I found a hotel, and spent the rest of the afternoon
exploring the temples of Muktinath. I
enjoyed watching the pious pilgrims immerse themselves in the icy-but-holy
mountain water. Many of the temples are
works of art themselves, and there are numerous Buddha statues and monuments on
the hills above the city. Most of the
local residents are Buddhist, but the main temples are a holy site for
Hindus. Muktinath is an ancient city
nested in the foothills of the Himalayas at 3,800m. There is a striking dichotomy between the
ancient temples, monasteries, and nunneries and the hustle bustle of the packed
hotels, tour operators, and trinket hawkers.
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| A Hindu temple in a cluster of temples at Muktinath |
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| A Buddhist temple high in the mountains |
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| It was fall in Muktinath. I enjoyed the changing leaves. |
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| A very large monument to Buddha |
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| The same Buddha as above, but looking at if from a distance |
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| Holy Water. The truly pious will run under these streams of mountain water. There are 108 mouths. |
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| An enormous statue of Buddha |
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| Burning things in prayer |
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| One of the many monasteries of Muktinath |
Day three of the trip started with a short walk up to a
little cluster of guest houses called Phedi at 4,100m. I took my climbing gear with plans to drop it
at a guest house and return to Muktinath.
The hike up took about an hour, and the first guest house I stopped at
was staffed by some very friendly folks.
I chatted with them while they gave me some apples, and
then stashed my gear in one of their rooms.
A French climbing team was staying there for the night, and I took a
short walk up to a ridge at 4,400m with one of their team members. Then I returned to Muktinath, had some lunch,
and spent the afternoon checking out some more temples and a nunnery as well as
the Ranipauwa. The Ranipauwa was built
by the Queen of Nepal over 200 years ago to give folks going to the temple a
place to stay. It’s now a police post
with a gigantic tree in the inner courtyard towering over the roof.
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| Another monastery |
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| A nunnery |
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| A pleasant pond with a temple. Just follow the gurgling stream from the nunnery, and take a left at the horse. |
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| The residential district of Muktinath with Dhaulagiri in the distance. |
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| Ranipaiwa |
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| The view from just above Muktinath |
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| Dhaulagiri. I spent two years staring at the other side of this mountain. Such a cool peak. |
Day five started with a four hour slog to Thorung La at
5,400m with a pack full of climbing gear.
There is a little teashop right at the pass. I chatted with the owner for a bit, and
arranged for my climbing gear to be left in a corner of the shop in an
inconspicuous green duffel bag. That
evening, back at Phedi, was a repeat of unasked for tea and thick, lung-burning
smoke. That evening was punctuated by a
nice chat with a nearly unintelligible Scottish couple. Based on what I could understand, they were
quite nice, and had done quite a bit of adventuring in Nepal. Typically, in the guest houses in Nepal, as
in most places around the world, everything has a cost, but when I went to
settle my bill with the guest house in Phedi, they refused money for the
tea. They hadn’t even kept track of what
I had eaten, which they normally do.
They just asked what I ate, and then asked for less money than it should
have been. I paid the correct amount
minus most of the tea because they really wouldn’t hear of taking money for
something for which I hadn’t asked.
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| The top of Thorung La the first time. |
The sixth day was supposed to consist of relaxing
acclimatization, but turned into the longest and most tiring day of the
trip. After crossing Thorung La, most
people reach the closest guest house and collapse into a chair for a good long
rest. That was my plan as well,
especially since I was climbing the pass the “wrong way.” The “correct way” is to start on the other
side near Manang because there are nicely spaced guest houses about every 300m
in elevation until 4,800m. The side from
Muktinath has guest houses at 4,100m and then nothing until the pass is
crossed. Many people climbing from the
Muktinath side will spend a night camping before crossing. I had done a number of acclimatization hikes,
and while on a faster acclimatization schedule than is recommended; I’d been to
elevation before and was feeling great.
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| A critter spotted on the pass |
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| Funny little critters (Himalayan Snowcock) |
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| Starting down the other side of the pass. |
I reached the top of the pass for the second time in as many
days, and continued down to High Camp (name of the lodge) at 4,800m. Once there, I started my relaxation program
by drinking tea, reading, and sprinkling in the occasional light chat with
other trekkers. Around 5 PM I got up to
use the restroom. Light was just
starting to fade, and the gentle snow was starting to pick up. As I walked out of the outhouse, I heard a
guy yelling, “Alex! Alex!” A group of
people had clustered around a man lying face down in the mud. One man rushed over and dumped some icy water
on the collapsed man’s head.
“Oh boy,” I
thought, and then went over and told them to stop dumping freezing water on the
guy in the sub-freezing temperatures.
Another person and I got one of Alex’s arms around our shoulders, dragged
him indoors, and sat him up on the floor.
A little Nepali guy, who turned out to be his guide, was speaking French, “Alex,
tu m’entends? Tu m’entends?” (Do you hear me?)
“Oui,” mumbled Alex, though I guess he could have said
anything. It really was more of an
“Unh.” His eyes were not focused, and he
was drooling a bit.
By this time, Alex’s French companions had arrived and
started babbling French at him. One
young lady elevated his feet. Very
strange, maybe she saw it in a movie.
The guide was cradling Alex’s upper body with shaking hands. He was clearly getting generous doses of
adrenaline, and telling someone to get Alex a Coke.
Someone else said in Nepali, “He needs garlic
soup.”
“Hey, hey,” I kept saying repeatedly while tapping the
guides arm. He finally looked at me.
“Tapai usko guide ho?” I asked. (Are you his guide?)
“Hajur,” he replied. (Yes.)
“Ani usko tauko dukhyo?” (And does his head hurt?) Our conversation continued in Nepali.
“His head hurt this morning down in Yak Kharka (around
4,100m), so he took a horse up to High Camp.
He slept most of the day, and when I went to get him up for dinner this
happened. But only his head hurt, his
stomach was fine.”
Obviously, my eyebrows were trying to climb off the top of
my head in astonishment. Every choice in
the above statement was the wrong choice, and a guide should have known better.
This was almost certainly High Altitude Cerebral Edema (HACE), and this guy was
in serious trouble. The guide started
feeding Alex some Coke, and discussing whether he should have tea or soup.
I told the guide, “This is dangerous. He needs to go down. Now. Tea and soup will do nothing. He needs to go down.” Since my Nepali is far
better than my French, I told the guide to ask Alex if he is breathing okay. He was.
I didn’t hear any gurgling in the lungs, so likely there was no pulmonary
edema as well.
The guide said, “We have a horse.”
“Well, get your horse,” I said.
At this point, I looked around and saw one of Alex’s friends
standing there shaking. I realized my
hands were shaking. This was scary. I nodded to the lady holding Alex’s legs up,
and motioned to put the legs down. “It’s
okay.”
She complied, and then looked at me as if to ask, “What
next?”
While I was thinking, the horse handler came and said, “It’s
snowing too hard. It’s too slippery for
the horse with a heavy load.”
“Okay, what is here that we can use to carry him,” I asked. “Are there some pieces of wood and a sheet?
Or anything?”
“Oh, we have a stretcher,” someone said almost as an afterthought.
“Get it!” I said. “He
needs to go down quickly. He needs
oxygen.”
“This place has some little oxygen bottles,” the lodge
manager put in.
My God. What else do
they have that is exactly what Alex needs?
Do they have a hospital stashed in here somewhere?
“Get one,” said the guide.
“They’re 2,000 rupees each.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’ll pay,” the guide snapped.
Someone grabbed this oxygen bottle that was about twice the
size of two coke cans stacked on top of one another. It was white with blue writing that said
“Oxygen” in English, and the rest was covered in Chinese characters. I grabbed it and took the plastic wrapping
off. The top had a nice plastic fitting
to go over the nose and mouth of a person.
There was a small button that released what I assumed oxygen when pressed.
I fitted the can over Alex’s nose and mouth. “Respirez,” his guide said. I watched to see when he was breathing
in. It was fairly difficult to time the
release of the oxygen, but some oxygen went in.
Later, I worked out a system where I would say, “Ready?” Alex would nod. Then I would take a deep breath with him watching
me while I pressed the button. This way
he would follow my breathing pattern, and maximize the use of the oxygen. When I breathed out, he would breathe out,
and I would remove the bottle. Then I’d
say “Ready?” and repeat the process.
The stretcher arrived, and we laid Alex down. A few people got their hands under him. “One, two, three,” I said, and we lifted him
onto the stretcher. “Zip up his
jacket. He needs a blanket,” I said.
“I have an emergency blanket,” said one by-stander.
“So do I,” said the guide, and he barked an order to his
porter to get the blanket, his backpack, and Alex’s backpack.
By this time I realized that I should go with the stretcher, so I
laced up my boots. Other helpful people
got Alex wrapped in the space blanket and someone found some straps to tie him
to the stretcher. Good thinking,
that. I hadn’t thought of it, but they
were very necessary on the treacherous trail down. Four local folks got Alex lifted up, and I
asked the guide, “Do you want me to come?” I already knew the answer.
“Yes.”
“Okay, I need to grab some things, and I’ll meet you.”
I ran to my room, which I was sharing with an older German
gentleman. I grabbed a shell and some
gloves, while managing to forget my headlamp.
I ran to catch up with the group about 20m down the trail. I took up a spot in the middle of one side of
the stretcher. We were a team of six,
four Nepalis and two foreigners, plus the guide and the porter carrying
gear. The trail was narrow, steep,
slippery, and had plenty of tricky switchbacks.
I was basically slipping my way down, as we were moving quite fast.
“Slowly, slowly,” I said to the Nepalis. The other foreigner was opposite my position,
and I kept catching his eye as we walked down.
About five minutes in, the Nepalis stopped, and we put the
stretcher down.
“Okay. Let’s discuss
how much we’re getting paid.”
I was flabbergasted, but after thinking about it, it does
sort of make sense. These local guys
probably see some idiot foreigner sick every month or so, and their lives are
hard enough without having to volunteer to carry someone down the pass in the
dark.
The guide says, “Money is nothing. How much do you want?”
“15,000 rupees (about $150) each.”
“Okay.”
Then we picked up the stretcher and continued on. Every time someone got tired, we set the
stretcher down, and I gave Alex some oxygen.
“Ready?” Deep breath in while releasing oxygen, breath
out. Repeat. Each time the oxygen was given the effect was
instantaneous. Alex’s eyes cleared up,
and he said, in very clear French, something like, “I feel better.” A minute later, he was back to dull eyes, and
barely mumbling “Oui” when someone asked “Alex, ça va?”
A little ways down the pass, I looked at the other foreigner
and asked his name.
“Guy.”
“Ethan, where are you from?”
“The States, Illinois.”
I had assumed he was one of Alex’s friends from France, but
it turned out that none of his friends came along. Just after this, we reached the next guest
house. Guy rushed in to ask for a bottle
of water, since neither of us had brought one.
One of the managers was a lady from the U.K. who was dating the son of
the owner. She came out and asked if we
have any “dexy” (dexamethasone), a powerful steroid that helps reduce swelling
in the brain.
“No, do you?”
“Yeah, I’ll go get it.”
We gave Alex the “dexy” orally, and continued on our
way. As we headed down, various Nepali
folks came out of the dark with lights.
Some helped carry for a bit, and others just gave us lights. Stretches of the trail were very narrow, with
precipitous drops into the river on one side.
At these sections we set Alex down very carefully, and only two people
would carry the stretcher through the narrow spot. The Nepalis were so sure footed!
Around 8 pm, after dropping 700m we reached a town. We decided that we needed something to eat,
or as the local guys said, “It’s time for some biscuits and alcohol.” (The guide talked them out of the latter
until they had taken Alex further down).
We carried Alex into one of the guesthouses, and the entrance felt like
we were in an old Western movie.
Everybody got quiet, and turned to look at us… the guy playing a western
tune on the piano missed a key and stopped playing (not really). Everyone was craning their necks to see what
was up with the guy in the stretcher. As
we went about getting some food, word circulated about what happened, and the
worry became palpable. It tasted like garlic soup.
We got Alex out of his stretcher and got him seated so he
could have some hot soup. He looked a
lot better. Guy and I ate something and
had a quiet chat, and realized that the guide was going to need some
convincing. He was thinking about
stopping in this town, but Guy argued that there is no real reason to
stop. It would be best to get Alex below
3,000m, if possible, and why wouldn’t the guide continue? Yes, Alex looks better, but it could be the
drugs working. He is still in
danger. The guide was convinced. He negotiated the price to a lower town with
the local guys, which turned out to be another 15,000 rupees each. Guy and I decided we didn’t need to continue
on. Alex was doing better, the guide was
convinced to continue on to a safer elevation, I had shown him my technique for
giving oxygen, and we were exhausted. I
had climbed from 4,100m on the other side of the 5,400m pass, and was now at the
elevation from which I had started.
Bed didn’t bring sleep very quickly. The evening’s events just kept replaying
through my mind. The guide paid for our
rooms and meal, as we hadn’t brought any money.
I really dislike sleeping in my contacts.
The next morning we had breakfast, and the worry from the
night before had spilled over into a constant barrage of silly questions. I had become the resident doctor. One Nepali group came to me and told me their
friend couldn’t stop shivering last night.
“Can you have a look at him?”
I walked into the room, “Do you have a headache?”
“No.”
“Okay, well you might want to rest here until you feel
better.”
They ultimately ended up cancelling their trip. Several guides and other trekkers asked me
what to do because somebody in their group had a headache. My advice was the same as all the signs (literally 20) in
the area: “If you have a headache, stop.
If it doesn’t get better, go down.”
Some groups continued up anyways.
After breakfast, the guesthouse owner was grumpy because someone
brought us tea for which the guide hadn’t paid.
We hadn’t asked for it either.
Well, okay, many guesthouses on the major trekking routes in Nepal lack
hospitality, and this one was no exception.
We asked for a bottle of water for our hike up, but because we got free
tea, he angrily refused, and off we went.
We got to the place that gave us the dexy around 10 AM, and went inside
to say thanks. This guesthouse is one of
the exceptions to the lack of hospitality rule on the trekking routes. The owner’s son has long dreadlocks, and
manages the hotel. He thought it was
great that we helped that guy out, so gave us free bread just out of the
oven. Guy ran into a friend he
backpacked with in the States, and we all started chatting.
I asked Guy how he ended up helping with Alex. I helped because I have medical training, and
speak Nepali. He had neither of those
things. He said that he took a
psychology course in college, and one of the things that stuck with him is
disaster by indecision. In times of
crises people often just assume someone else is taking care of the problems and
so decide to do nothing, with bad consequences.
He decided that if he was ever in a tough spot, he would ask if any help
was needed. That’s what he did. They said, “Yes,” so he grabbed the
stretcher, and started walking. He also
provided a cool head, and a calming presence, which was very helpful for
everyone.
That afternoon, we found ourselves back in High Camp. I finally got my rest day, with two nights at
4,800m. As I was packing for the next
day, I discovered that a critter had entered my pack and eaten some of the food
I had packed as well as chewed a hole in my down pants. I can’t blame it; down is warm.
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| Looking toward the pass from High Camp. The diagonal black line near the top of the moraine is a cluster of people. |
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| The morning view from High Camp looking towards Gangapurna. |
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| Early morning light on Thorung Peak from near High Camp |
Day nine was intended for climbing back up to the pass and establishing
a camp. The day dawned beautifully;
there were no clouds. The previous few
days had come with some snow, but this one seemed pretty clear. Most people get moving very early on the day
they need to cross the pass. Some start
out as early as 3 AM. The guides I
chatted with said that the wind really picks up after some unspecified time,
but I suspect it is to make sure even their slowest clients can make it down
the other side before it gets dark. I
took my time, had breakfast around 6:30, and then hit the trail around
7:30. By 9, I was at the top of the
pass. I felt good, but had the beginning
stages of a cold with a scratchy throat and weird sinuses. I knew the next day would be worse, as colds
have a fairly predictable progression, especially with a cold night at
5,400m. The day was so nice, and I truly
felt good and energized after resting for a full day. After some hemming and hawing, I decided that
I would just go for the summit that day.
I grabbed the bag I had stashed at the pass, changed clothes and boots, repacked my
pack with necessary items, and told the tea shop guy that I should be back
around 3 or 4 PM. I thought I could
summit in about three or four hours, and downclimb in a few hours.
I was on the way by 9:20, and almost exactly four hours
later, I was on the top. To get there, I
crossed some rocky moraines, and then climbed some slick slabs of rock, which
required a bit of exciting dry-tooling.
On the way down, I discovered a much easier and less sketchy gully to
descend through this section. Then came
the slog: A fairly steep snow slope for at least 100 miles. Step, breath, “1,” step, breath, “2”………….
step, breath, “100.” Every 100 steps, I
would look up and take a short break, then start again. Step, breath, “1,” step, breath, “2…” This was mostly zone out time, but I did keep
my eye out for changing snow conditions.
It was all fairly consistent for the whole climb to the first bench. Crevasses and snow bridges were few, and easy
to go around. I made my way for the rock
wall at the upper end of the first bench.
The lip of the bergschrund here provided a nice pace to rest.
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| A panorama from a bergshrund |
I continued up the next slope, which was about 45 degrees
with a peculiar ice sprinkled throughout to keep the climb a bit exciting. It appeared that water had melted on the
surface of the snow, and then re-froze.
The result was an inch or two blobby layer of clear ice on top of the
snow in various spots. The climb would
go from easy climbing on hard snow to “you’d-better-pay-attention” climbing on
blobby ice. I was happy to have two ice
tools for these ice sections. Climbing
back down this section was a bit spicy, but still quite secure.
The top of this slope yielded another low angle bench. Walking across this bench was painfully
slow. The altitude was really
noticeable. I was still feeling well,
had no headache, but would run out of breath very quickly. I knew I just had to keep plodding along, and
I’d get there, eventually. I kept my
eyes peeled for snow bridges and made my way up to another short, steep
section. I navigated around a few
yawning crevasses, made the short climb, and was on the summit. After two previous attempts of similar peaks,
which required immense effort and time, I had finally reached a Himalayan
summit. I was literally overcome with
joy. Tears started coming down my face,
and I screamed “Yeeeesssss!!!!!” at the top of my lungs.
The summit of Thorung Peak is a wide, flat area, and is
almost a shoulder of another peak, Katung Kang.
Climbed by itself it is its own summit, but if were climbed as part of
Katung Kang, it would probably not count as a separate summit. The way to the summit of Katung Kang is only
300m vertically, but is laced with plenty of hazards and would require steep
snow climbing. It is a beautiful summit
with a beautiful route, but not one (for me, at least), to do alone.
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| Katung Kang |
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| Looking east from the top |
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| Gangapurna |
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| My photo stitcher isn't working, but this is a neat section of Gangapurna. |
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| Looking down towards the valley where High Camp sits |
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| Looking north into dry Upper Mustang Valley. |
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| A picture of me, Yakawakang in the background |
My altimeter read 6,162m (20,215ft). That was a solid accomplishment for me, and
about as technical as I would be comfortable with as a solo climber. The day was still beautiful, so I took a lot
of pictures, had a snack, and started back down. Going down was fast! Except for the icy slope, I was able to
plunge step all the way back down to the moraines near the top of the
pass. I reached the pass at 3:30,
repacked my bags, chatted with the guy who runs the tea house, and then started
down the pass towards Muktinath with all of my gear.
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| Moon rise as I descend the pass in the late afternoon. Yakawakang's summit is still in the sun. |
I reached the little hotel I had stayed at on the way up
about half an hour before dark. They
made a call to Muktinath, and it seemed unlikely there would be rooms in that
town. I stayed the night, again being
plied with tea, then went to Muktinath in the morning and hitched a ride to
Marpha with an Australian couple in a jeep.
Marpha is one of my favorite places in the world. Its ancient main street is made from paving
stones and has no vehicle traffic (except the occasional motorcycle). The
town in surrounded by apple orchards and 7,000m peaks, and most of the hotels
have great apple pie. Needless to say, I
stayed a few days.
It dawned on me while I was sitting in the sun one morning
in Marpha that part of my success on this solo trip was because of the peace of
mind offered by being near the trekking route.
It was less scary than being by myself bushwhacked a day or two away
from a town as on my previous trip, so I was able to focus on the task at
hand. While it wasn’t a "classic" mountaineering experience, I had climbed to over 6,000m without spending a single
night in a tent.
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