Up On A Mountain

No amount of training would have prepared me for hiking Kala Patthar with the flu.

Kala Patthar is a “hill” in the Everest region of the Himalayas. Its ascent from the settlement of Gorakshep (the original basecamp for Mount Everest) is only a few hundred meters, but said ascent begins at ~17,000 feet AMSL.

Truly, I considered skipping Kala Patthar to spend a few more hours comfortably asleep; I was still emotionally scarred from the recent drama of climbing over Kongma La Pass and then crossing the Khumbu glacier while feverish. Being utterly depleted on the highest glacier in the world (while water burst forth and engulfed the original path to safety) and realizing that a helicopter could not physically land to rescue me was horrifying. (Another post later.)

Ultimately, I decided I hadn’t traveled across the world to “not do the thing”, because I usually regret stuff I haven’t done more than stuff I have. With 20/20 hindsight, this was the correct choice, but the climb was far from enjoyable.

This lesson began surreptitiously as Giri (my wonderful guide**) and I jaunted across some flat ground to the base of the hill. It was alright until I tried to power walk. That lasted for about five steps. Call me humbled.

I was thankful for the darkness, as few witnessed my pathetic trudging besides some other trekkers (most of who were hunched 90 degrees at the waist, clinging to their poles for dear life, pausing every few steps to wheeze and reconsider their task). Wallowing in discouragement, I considered turning back as I became overwhelmed with how high the top remained and how many steps – each requiring mammoth levels of effort – I still had to go.

After 2+ hours, we beheld the sunrise over Mount Everest, with basecamp and the Khumbu icefall visible in the distance. But even in reaching the top and knowing that this experience was beyond special, my soul was troubled. Frost accumulated on my backpack and I began to lose sensation in my extremities. The catharsis I expected wasn’t there, and I didn’t care because I felt like I was dying. I both longed for and dreaded the descent. It’s a long way down.

(Mount Everest is the black peak slightly left of center – it looks smaller because it is farther away than the center peak. This picture was taken at roughly 18,300 feet AMSL. The Khumbu icefall is in the bottom left, appearing like a white river.)

Intuitive beyond my understanding, Giri perceived that hurtling down the side of the mountain was the necessary course. This had not been the plan. I was supposed to be sure of my footing, use my trekking poles, take my time, and do it just right. And I was sick. I wasn’t fit. I wasn’t ready. This hike was supposed to go a certain way that did not look like this.

I knew our speed was unusual as locals stared or cheered when we flew by, sliding and stumbling on the dynamic mountainside. Conceding to momentum meant that each leap was in good faith that my next step would manifest itself in a clear and timely fashion. Each time this happened, I felt a spark of delight, and my heart grew three sizes that day.

During the 30-40 minute descent (typically 60-90 minutes), I had to surrender every extraneous notion of control over my life and focus solely on jumping well. I became alone with the mountain; what had previously defined me or influenced my plans was dead. I was just a girl on a trajectory. In the midst of that chaos, and despite the risk, my mind was clear and my heart unencumbered because I completely let myself do what I needed. I didn’t know such liberty was possible.

How freeing it was to not live “my” story that day, simply letting it unfold while doing my best. Shedding my burden of preconception allowed me to fly.

(For some idea of scale, the lake at my feet is hundreds of meters below, and the icefall is several kilometers away. The black mountain at center is Everest.)

**Many people think that all Himalayan mountaineering guides are called “Sherpas”, but that term actually only refers to a group of people from a specific village/region in the Himalayas. “Sherpa” is not a title that is earned. My guide was incredibly knowledgable, strong, astute, and an example of integrity and professionalism that inspires me to this day. Thanks to Giri, I am not dead in a crevasse somewhere, because getting the flu in the Himalayas is serious business.