The call of Everest
- Oct 23, 2016
- 4 min read
Date: 10th October 2016
As I woke, slightly out of breath, I remembered that I was at 5200m at Gorak Shep. Immediately a stream of thoughts flooded into my head. Mallory and Irvine, Hillary and Tenzing, Boardman and Pertemba, Haston and Scott, Mick Burke, the second step, the Norton Couloir, the Western Cwm, the South Col, the Hillary Step, the list went on and on. The elements of Everest folklore are many, and over the years I'd read the books, thrilled at the exploits, marvelled at the feats of super-human endurance, and dreamed one day of coming face-to-face with the theatre where it had all played out.
Today we were due to climb Kalar Patthar, across the valley from Everest, in the hope of the iconic views. I think it's fair to say, I had a lot invested in the day ahead.
Alarmingly the omens were not good. We were now about ten days into our trek and clear skies had not been forthcoming. We'd done all we could, we'd pored over online weather forecasts willing a settled clear spell to appear, we'd switched our itinerary around to push this day further back in our schedule, and we'd consoled those we'd met descending who'd seen nothing in the hope that our sympathy would generate some good karma for us. Surely the clouds will lift, we'd told ourselves time and time again. But they'd remained stubbornly low and now our options were exhausted, this was it, we needed clear skies today or our chance was gone.
Thankfully, if there's one thing we Brits can claim mastery of it's remaining stoic in the face of weather disappointments. I've spent many a day in the UK hills with friends and family and what we've learnt is that if you allow yourself to be discouraged by a dodgy forecast then you'd hardly ever go out at all. Often the most magical days are when things come good in last-minute and unexpected circumstances. Above all, if you want the chance to capture those priceless unexpected moments you have to be ready to risk the hit and put yourself out there.
So it was in a pre-dawn frost that we set off on the climb. Our goal was the 5600m viewpoint at Kala Patthar. It was going to be a new altitude record for many of us, and without doubt, a tough day.
After a steep start the path began to ease back to a more comfortable angle. My usual routine of counting steps, or humming a tune in a loop in my head, was beginning to pay dividends and altitude was slowly gained. Funnily, the darkness was a comfort. A head down, steady plod was clearly the way to go and the lack of any sense of the distance ahead was most definitely a bonus.
A few people had shared our optimism and some were further ahead on the path. It was they who offered the first palpable frisson of hope. As the sun hit the higher slopes ahead of us a few, almost silent gasps rolled down the hill. We turned to see an almost spectral vision of the imposing Nuptse face across the valley. The summit was vaguely visible, back-lit, and surrounded by feathery cloud. Could it be clearing? Was it going to be our day after all?
I now had a different problem. As soon as you have hope, you have scope for anxiety. What if the time window for clear Everest views was to be just half an hour? I wanted to make damn sure I was at the summit to make the most of it. And as yet, my progress was slow and that summit was a long way away.
There was nothing for it but to persevere. I felt both uncomfortable and in a kind of comfort zone. While I was clearly lethargic, I also believed that this was something I could overcome. Count steps, hum that tune in a loop "How I wish, how I wish you were here. We're just two lost souls living in a fishbowl, year after year. Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here". The words in a loop provided the comfort of rhythm. They defined bite sized chunks to be ticked off one by one.
Suddenly a loud cheer from up the path ahead disturbed my almost trance like routine. We turned to look across the valley and saw our first uninterrupted views of Everest. We fumbled for our cameras and grabbed quick shots, fearful that this may be that one best chance.
Such fears were unfounded, however, and from then on it just got better and better. The skies cleared and as we slowly ascended the vista opened out into incredible awe inspiring proportions. My earlier thoughts of Everest folklore came flooding back as I picked out the features on the mountain that I'd grown to know so well.
The summit viewpoint attained we sat back in silence and just drank it all in. Once again, the willingness to persevere despite an unpromising start had paid off. And what a pay off! All thoughts of thin air were banished. It was truly a spell-binding experience and one I'll remember for years to come.
Hugs and embraces were exchanged as we all began to realise that this was really something quite special to have shared. The only difficulty left was to tear ourselves away. But there was one compensation. From this point on it was all downhill with memories in the bank to treasure.
With thanks to Pink Floyd, our guide Ang Phurba Sherpa, and summit buddies, Dan, Nige, and Rod.
Comments