Everest Circuit Rerouted: A Reflection

Before ever I disembarked my plane and stood (not so) tall in Nepal in my expensive hiking boots, I had drawn parallels between my trek through that beautiful land and my thirties as I expected I would come to know them in due course. Ironic that we should be rerouted from our original planned trek of the Everest Circuit due to closure of the Cho La Pass following unseasonable heavy snow. The very Pass on which I was to celebrate my birthday. Instead I found myself turning thirty not where I had anticipated but under the shadow of the most beautiful of mountains, Ama Dablam. So was it true of my life. The journey that I had plotted for myself, younger and less burdened by cares, is a far cry from the course that I have stumbled down. Very fitting that on my first great adventure alone in half a lifetime it should be my trek to be so affected by the snow, for ever have I been the subject of the most curious misfortunes.

My last hoorah as a twenty-something was spent much as I anticipate the next 7 months will be spent: researching my upcoming adventure and training for it. I read books and scoured blogs trying to get a sense of the enormity and the enigma trekking the Himalayas seemed to present. I was half terrified and half confident in my training preparations. I felt myself intimidated by the sheer size of it all. Eighteen days of hiking with people that I did not know. Would my legs withstand that much UP? Would I fare well enough trying to maintain conversation with strangers once fatigue kicked in and so too the vagueness and quiet that accompanies it? What about altitude sickness, would I get it and my trek be ruined? All the while trying to get an appointment with my cardiologist to be cleared to even be allowed to join the tour group.

Now, it should probably be said that I consider myself somewhat of a coward or a wuss. It is the cause of my self-attributed social ineptitude where I straddle the hemispheres of talk too much and not enough. The impassioned me can fall into monologue or lecture yet I cannot generate conversation where it will not flow of its own accord, I do not possess the skills to do so. The tired me does not even have energy enough to participate and I find myself withdrawn. This yellow streak also applies to a host of other such bothersome things, including a fear of falling (but not necessarily of heights) and of the unknown in general. Once I was incapable of using the phone to order takeaway, ridiculous as it seems now, and hardly looked up when I walked alone. Yet even as a cripplingly shy adolescent, rock climbing and abseiling gave me a thrill and ever was I drawn to travel and a life that was generally nothing like my own. I am a walking contradiction.

I dealt with my fears in obsessive research. Nothing that I read could ever convey the true experience of the author. I could feel the great hollows between their sentences, the language lacking in the subtly and nuances of senses and emotions that feed our experience entire. But reading the general experiences of others did more to bolster my confidence in the training that I had done than anything short of trekking it myself could have done.

For that reason I am going to share my experiences trekking Nepal, that others may reassure themselves also. My trek journal was heavily geared toward the observations I made of the Himalayas and the Nepalese that we encountered. I describe the trail and how long it took to hike between camps. I compare and, dare I say appraise, the preparation the other trekkers completed prior to our trek.

What my journal fails to convey is perhaps how slowly we seemed to go, shuffling shallow steps, zigzagging from one side of the trail to the other to lessen the incline traveled (the increased distance over a lesser incline helping to keep the heart rate down to avoid the overexertion that brings on altitude sickness). Nor does it address the sickening sensation of trying to pass trekkers going in the opposite direction on a narrow, jigging suspension bridge almost 100m over water (I'm certain that was the height of the last bridge we crossed before Namche Bazaar) or turning around on one of those bridges because a caravan of mules did not stop as they were supposed to in wait of their driver on the other side of the bridge to allow people to exit the shifting wire structure before they got on. (See below for photos of offending mules and suspension bridges over the Dudh Kosi aka Milk River). Certainly with all the snow and rerouting, mine was not the standard experience for the Everest Circuit in the peak season of October but perhaps it will provide some insight to those that want it and search so desperately for the experiences of others as I so did. I certainly hope so.

There were quite a few entries so it will take some to post them all.