Everest Base Camp, Pt. I: Twin Otters and Earthquakes.

It used to be called Peak XV, and the Nepalese and Tibetans both have their own names for it; whatever you chose to call it, Mt. Everest is a pain in the ass to get to, and I’m assuming even more of a pain in the ass to climb. I’d say that I’ve wanted to trek the Everest Base Camp for a “while”. I’m not sure when or how the idea really materialized, or why for that matter. I know that it wasn’t until I started becoming involved with Free & Easy in 2007 that I realized that hiking to EBC was something that one could, in fact, just “do”, assuming an appropriate amount of money and effort was applied (I’ll thank some of my colleagues: Miles, Bertus, and Chris Sherry (in order of their treks) for helping me with this realization). Having found myself with a completed degree, and therefore ample self-travel time, and realizing that it was impossible to obtain a Russian visa outside of Canada (thus my Trans-Siberian dreams have been shelved for another year), Nepal and Everest seemed the logical addition to an already planned trip to India. As fate would have it, my coworker and good friend Justin (co founder of the illustrious J.A.M. (Justin & Madison) Gang) was planning a similar trip, so we joined forces somewhere around New Delhi and got in contact with the guide Chris Sherry had used the season before, the wonderful Krishna Man, and off we went to Katmandu.

 

I had heard a few stories from travelers that Katmandu was “intense”, but after a few weeks in India, it seemed quite tame by comparison. The touts retained a very “Indian-esque” level of aggressiveness, like the one fellow at the airport who managed, in a single sentence: “Hello, you have hotel booking already, I rebook for you, your hotel is closed, burned down”. Fuck you too pal; poor sales technique. As it happened, after years of being the “guide” that picks up the bleary-eyed travelers from the airport, I was now happily on the other side of the railing, as I spotted Krishna Man with our “Madison + Justin” sign, and a big smile on his face. We set off for Thamel, the backpacker Mecca of KTM, where knock off North Face gear is cheap and plentiful. Aside from the choking pollution (KTM is located in a valley, and all the exhaust just sort of hovers there) and the greasy weasels constantly trying to sell you hash (there are various ways to deal with these clowns, one of my favorites is to bark loudly, like a Rottweiler), Thamel was a pretty chilled out area, and we spent a couple days there prepping before we set off for Lukla, and the trek.

 

Or wait…. no we didn’t….. we just sat in the Katmandu airport and then went back to the hotel.  The Lukla airport, famous for being one of the most dangerous in the world, is also notorious for clouding over and stranding flights. It’s not uncommon to have to wait a few days to get in or out, and we were no exception. Undaunted, we tried again that next morning, and after a brief 30 min flight (my first ever in a Twin Otter), we arrived in Lukla. I can see now why they say that it’s dangerous. The runway (06-24 for my pilot buddies) is perched quite precariously on the only flat stretch of land around: one end is a mountain; the other is a cliff. As such, planes can only land and depart one way, and there is no option for a missed approach; ever. You land, or you crash, as, unfortunately, planes have done in the past. Luckily we landed without incident, and, after a quick breakfast and some pre trek coffees, we set off: Justin, Krishna Man, and me.

 

The EBC trek generally takes about two weeks, owing to the fact that you must ascend very slowly to avoid altitude sickness, which kills a few trekkers, and stops short more than a few treks each year. Day one we took it slow, meandering through the prayer flags and suspension bridges of the lower lying areas of the trek, which bear a striking resemblance to Kananaskis country. We learned quickly to stay on the upside of the trail when passing yaks (a frequent occurrence), as they have been known to crowd out hikers, and inadvertently (or intentionally? Mean old yaks) push them off a cliff. Everything from Lukla up has to be carted in by either human, or yak, which makes sundries considerably more expensive than elsewhere in the world. To alleviate some of the costs, Justin and I drank stream water which we purified with chlorine drops, and no, we didn’t get sick (this also saves dozens of plastic bottles). As another precaution against sickness, we (at Krishna’s advice) avoided meat for the duration of the trek (animals are not allowed to be killed in the Everest region, so all meat must be “yak’d” in, leading to questionable hygiene standards). Having just come from India, I was used to the vegetarian lifestyle (as used to it as one can be I suppose), and didn’t really miss it too much.

 

The first night we stayed in a village called Manjo, and, despite Krishna’s constant reminders that the food and rooms would be “very basic”, we both slept and ate well. To be honest, both the food and accommodation during the trek were of very high standards, especially to someone who has already been backpacking for several months. Krishna said that his customers often complained about one or the other, or both, so hopefully Justin and I brought him some relief (the rooms at Gorek Shep (5100M) were quite a lot nicer than some of the “prison cells” I’ve stayed in over the years).

 

The next morning we set out for Namache Bazzar, where we would spend two nights to acclimatize to the higher altitudes. The trek up was not as difficult as I expected, although some of the steep climbs were still enough to leave you rubbery legged at the top (often precariously close to a cliff’s edge). I was thankful for the limited amount of conditioning I had done prior to the trek, and cursed myself for not doing more (and to my dad, who often says that the only weights I lift “come in brown bottles”, I DID TOO train for this trek….. a little. lol). Namache is a city in its own right, set on a natural amphitheatre in the middle of the Himalayas, it’s the last major stop on the trek, with all the modern conveniences (like internet and hot water) on offer at inflated prices. Krishna Man told us that people tend to sleep poorly at this altitude and higher, and for that reason we were forbidden to nap during the day. For anyone who knows me (and if you’re reading this, I’ll assume you do), you’ll understand why this was perhaps the hardest part of the trek for me.

 

We spent our acclimatization day walking around the village, and up to the Sherpa museum where we caught our first glimpses of Everest way off in the distance (it’s really quite an ugly mountain, as mountains go). The Sherpa museum was very informative, and to dispel a common misconception, Sherpa is not another word for “porter”, or “guide”, but rather, for a group of people, originally from Tibet, who migrated to Nepal from Tibet(Sherpa literally means “from the East”) in the earlier part of the 20^th century. The Sherpa’s excel in mountaineering, having lived in the high altitudes of Nepal and Tibet for generations. They are the most sought after guides for Everest and the surrounding peaks, with one Sherpa (his name escapes me) having summated Everest no less than 20 times.

 

While we acclimatized in Namache, Justin and I decided to begin a crib tournament which would last the duration of the trek, the loser having to buy a bottle of Jack Daniel’s for the winner (when you get drunk, everyone wins). Our second night in Namache, as we sat playing cards, we felt and heard noises from the second level of the lodge. As the walls of the lodge started to sway from side to side, some Americans who were sitting nearby informed us prairie boys, who had never experienced such an event, that we were in an earthquake, and should kindly “get the hell outside NOW”. So out we went into the night, just as the sirens from the nearby army base began to wail. The earthquake, which had its epicenter near the Indian border, was 6.5 in magnitude, and, according to Krishna, the first they had had in the Everest region in over 15 years. With Nepali house not being made for such natural disasters, a few did collapse, but fortunately, no one in Namache was injured (in KTM the wall of the British Embassy collapsed, killing three people). For the most part, we just sat outside with our new American friends (who, being from San Francisco were earthquake experts), drinking the delightful 12 year single malt that they provided, waiting for the aftershocks that never came.

 

The earthquake had wrought some destruction back down towards Lukla, although we wouldn’t know about it until about a week later when we were descending back down. Until next blog, Namaste.