IMG Gurla Mandhata 2006 Expedition

We snuck it in...

It was one of the toughest days I've had in the mountains...any mountain, anywhere. Gurla Mandhata is, simply, not an easy peak!

We awoke at 1:00 AM on the 26th. Our plan was to begin climbing immediately if the weather was calm, or wait if it was windy. No sense in expending too much energy if the day would not work for us. Fortunately, the night air was relatively warm (-5F or so) and calm. Logic would say that heating up some water for a cup of Java Juice (the best stuff on earth, by the way!), eating a bit of breakfast, putting on boots, and tying into a rope would not take more than 30 minutes or so. But, as I mentioned before, at altitude things take longer. So, it was not until 2:45 that we began walking out of our high camp at roughly 22,500 feet.

Our route proceeded up the seemingly endless Chaglung'mlungha Glacier, with benign icefalls on our left and the sweeping wall of the West Ridge to our right. As we climbed, eerie sounds continually emanated from the slab snow beneath our feet. Panuru and I discussed the conditions several times, both fearful of setting off an avalanche. We decided to bank left and gently traverse to higher, more wind-swept ground where we knew the hazards would be lessened.

By dawn, we had crested the final rise and entered the final valley of the Chaglung'mlungha. To the left, the forehead of the North Face of Gurla Mandhata rose like Yosemite's Half Dome, while the sweeping crest of the peak's east, south, and southwest ridges formed barriers in all other directions. As the sun rose, so did the wind, which had been pleasantly absent up to that point. Suddenly, angry gusts would come from nowhere, picking up pellets of ice and thrashing them against our faces. Granted, we all need a good exfoliation, but at 24,000 feet....? Anyway, despite the wind, we kept moving upward, across the vast stretches of glacial terrain.

The snow had deepened significantly, its windblown mass now waist-deep in places. Panuru, who had been in front breaking trail for most of the day, relinquished the deep-snow lead for the young bucks - Karma Rita and Mingma. But, trail breaking did not make it simple for everyone behind. The wind, carrying all the snow it could up, down, and across the glacier, would maliciously fill in each step once a foot was removed. By our calculations, this is how it worked out: The leader had waist-deep snow; the next 2 people struggled through thigh-deep snow; #4, which was often me, had about knee deep snow to work with; Stu and Kirk, toward the back of the line, still had shin-to-knee deep snow. So, we all got a workout!

Upward we plodded, pushing higher and burning our summit window. I was getting nervous: we were so close, the summit was just ahead, and yet desperate snow conditions were making us move horribly slow. I had decided that, given the conditions (it would be a slow descent), we needed to be on the summit by 11:00 AM. Panuru agreed, and as time ticked away the top seemed to remain distant.

But, finally, after climbing two steep rolls of about 60 degrees (we put fixed line on these pitches), I could see Panuru laying out prayer flags he brought from Kathmandu and took on the Kailash kora. We were at the summit! The views, in all directions, were spectacular: to the north, the stunning hallmarks of Kailash, Raksas, and Mansarovar; to the east and west, the barren plains of the Plateau aglow with their auburn hues; and, to the south, a jumbled, jagged mass of peaks, one atop another, glaciers, faces, cliffs, valleys, rivers...most unclimbed, many unnamed, the anonymous battalions of the Nepal Himalaya. It was, simply put, breathtaking.

We allowed ourselves only a bout 20 minutes on top before beginning our descent - it is a long way back down. But, Kirk and Stu, as always, were strong and stalwart, and kept plodding downhill with determination. After a brief stop at our high camp we continued down to Camp I. Panuru, Mingma, and Karma were headed down to ABC and blasted past us, determined to make it to ABC by tea time. The three of us, less strong and more fatigued, moved slowly, but finally made Camp I by 2:30 PM. As we thought about it, as good as our mountain food was, we decided Pemba and Bal Bahadur's dinner would be far more satisfying, and we again packed our backpacks and began the 3 hour walk down to ABC. It was not easy, and definitely came with lots of grunts and groans under heavy packs...But, at 6:30 PM, we stumbled into ABC, tired, happy, and ready for a good dinner.

As usual, Pemba and Bal did not disappoint, stuffing us with pizza, pasta, salad, fried, and a big cake for dessert. And, to top it off, Pemba pulled out a special bottle of Chinese red wine (Great Wall brand - the best in the region!) and a handful of Lhasa beers - the last thing we needed in our dehydrated state, but one of the first things we wanted! And, with that, we celebrated our climb with the entire team: David, Cynthia, Pemba, Bal, Stu, Kirk, Panuru, Mingma, and Karma. And, then, a good night's sleep, one that comes from awaking at 22,500', climbing to 25,500', and descending that day to 16,700'.

Tomorrow, we begin our drive across the Plateau and on to Kathmandu which, with luck, we'll hit on the 1st. We are all happy, and feeling lucky to have squeaked in the summit. Gurla is a mighty mountain, a tough peak, and one which we succeeded on only with great fortune and help from many. And, so far as we know, we were the first American team to make the top!

Before I sign off, I want to give a special thanks to David and Cynthia, who, as we climbed, faithfully monitored the radios, kept in touch, and David even made real time dispatches to his blog as we climbed. His efforts are greatly appreciated by us and by those who followed the climb. I wish David could have been there with us on the final summit push; he was there in spirit, certainly. Dhanyabhad, David-dajou!

OK, time to pack - I'll be in touch again soon...

The bid begins...

Climbing in the Himalaya is always, without exception, a juggling act. You've got to balance acclimatization with storms and the jet stream. Since we arrived on the mountain, this juggling act has been going on inside my head. Optimally, we would have just raced up the mountain on day one when the weather was pretty good. But, of course, to do that would have spelled death from altitude for probably all of us. We needed to acclimate, which takes time.

But, there are also weather phenomenon to be aware of. The monsoon, while retreating slowly south, is by no means done for the season. And, its evil twin, the jet stream, is lurking in the north, waiting for the opportunity to rake the mountains with 150 mph winds. Thanks to Michael Fagin and www.everestweather.com, we know a bit about the weather and trends in the Everest/Cho Oyu region. A large storm has been dumping snow on Cho Oyu, and the jet stream is slowly creeping southward. Good things to know...but, we are about 200 miles west and 50 miles north of Cho Oyu, so it is hard to know with any degree of certainty when these weather trends will become realities for us.

As a result, I have been thinking a great deal about schedules, timing, and options. Given the reality of a major storm coming our way soon, we need to make a bid for the top. While we have a strong team, we are alone on the mountain; a 2 foot snowstorm would potentially end our trip cold. So, it is time to make a go for the summit...and keep our fingers crossed that the weather holds.

Sadly, David will not be joining us on our summit push. He has been having a tough time with the altitude this trip, and cannot seem to maintain a good pace while climbing. It is yet another example of the fickle nature of altitude: I have climbed with David in the past, and he has always been strong. He has climbed McKinley, Vinson, Cotapaxi, Chimborazo, and countless other peaks worldwide. But, for some reason, the altitude is getting the best of him this time around.

While we will miss David a lot on the summit push, my hat is off to him for the noble decision he has made. It is easy to ignore a problem and keep pushing toward a goal until disaster strikes...all you need is ego. But, to acknowledge a problem, to drop the ego and make a decision that is the best for the entire team...well, that takes guts, that takes humility, that takes courage. David has all of those, and I am proud beyond words at his decision; I know it was not an easy one.

We are off to Camp I tomorrow morning. I will try to call in audio dispatches from Camp II and elsewhere as battery and time permit, and I hope you all can listen to them!

Namaste...

Altitude and solitude

We're all back down safely from our acclimatization round on the slopes of Gurla. Yesterday, we made the long trek up to Camp I, picking up our cache of equipment we had left two days before. From the cache, we climbed a steep, 100 meter gully up to 20,000 foot Camp I. For Stu, Kirk, and David, it was the highest night they had ever spent, and a new set of experiences: cooking in the tent, dragging bags of chipped ice to melt into water, and generally trying to survive as comfortably as possible.

We awoke this morning to both a spectacular view coupled with a biting Himalayan wind. To the southwest, we could see the jagged peaks of the Api and Saipal Himal which towered above us weeks ago in Humla. Due west, the barren, brown hues of the Tibetan Plateau stretched out to Tholing and Guge. And, to the north, those same brown hues ended abruptly at the vivid, surreal blues of Raksas and Mansarovar. We all commented that the scene looked like an unbelievable backdrop to some B-grade spaghetti Western movie for the '50's...It just could not be real, but, there we were, gazing out at it.

From Camp I, the mighty Chaglung'mlungha Glacier winds its way upward toward the summit of Gurla Mandhata. While Panuru, Mingma, and Karma Rita had been to Camp II two days before, the winds and snow had already all but erased the tracks upward save for the tomato stakes topped with red duct tape I brought from the USA to mark the route. We loaded our packs with high altitude necessities - down suits, heavy gloves, balaclava, extra food, etc. - tied into the rope, and began walking. While heavily glaciated, the route from Camp I to II is quite nice, and relatively benign: Huge, gaping crevasses open their mouths off to the south, but with the right eye you can pick your way through them, finding snow bridges which allow access from one side to the next. As a result, the route becomes a tad circuitous, winding along the glacier while make steady and deliberate progress.

Despite the fresh, windblown snow, the going was quite nice; I only had to break trail through significant (shin to knee deep) snow on a couple of occasions. After about 3 hours, we crested a steep knoll north of a large icefall and, off in the distance, was the cache of gear for Camp II at roughly 21,500 feet. We dug a pit to store our gear, and began our descent to Camp I and then on to ABC. At Camp I, we met our stellar climbing Sherpa, who are sleeping at Camp II tonight and will scout the route to Camp III tomorrow.

I was struck by a couple of things on this acclimatization foray. First, I was reminded about the rigors and challenges of altitude. I have been fortunate enough (or just dumb enough!) to go on many Himalayan expeditions, and thus the realities of life at high altitude have become somewhat normal for me. But, the reality is that even the simplest of tasks takes a huge amount of effort. Dragging a 20 pound bag of snow to the tent at home would not be a big deal, while at 20,000 feet it requires heavy breathing and labored walking, and perhaps even a rest break before the tent. If you have to get out of the tent at night for a call of nature, you reach naturally into the vestibule, pull on your boots, close the Velcro gaiters, and then sit and pant for 30 seconds to catch your breath. Even eating becomes a challenge as you fight between swallowing food and taking in oxygen.

Altitude - and its effects on the body - is a fickle thing. I am one of the fortunate ones: my body seems (knock on wood) to adjust quickly and effectively to the rarified air of high altitude, and I rarely suffer from headaches and other altitude related issues. But, many others are not so lucky. Many people, when spending time at high altitude, will have headaches, nausea, lethargy, and general malaise, referred to as AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness). Some will come down with more severe altitude ailments such as HACE (High Altitude Cerebral Edema) and HAPE (High Altitude Pulmonary Edema), which are both fatal if not treated immediately. There are other strange symptoms of altitude as well, such as Cheyne-Stokes breathing, where the body, while asleep, will actually stop breathing for 2-20 seconds, and then try to make a rapid recovery with gasping breaths, waking the person from their slumber in a most disquieting way. Combine all of this with the cold and hard work of a Himalayan expedition, and it makes you wonder why anyone would do such a thing...

But, as we climbed up and down these past few days, the reason we climb, and the reason we are climbing Gurla Mandhata specifically, was not lost on any member of the team. It is rare these days to go to a mountain and have it all to yourself. This season, Cho Oyu, the world's 6th highest peak, has some 25 expeditions on it. (Cho Oyu is a wonderful peak, and is guided by International Mountain Guides.) Everest averages probably 15 expeditions on the north and south sides each spring. It is difficult to go for 30 minutes on those peaks without seeing members of another expedition.

Conversely, here on Gurla, we can count all the people on the mountain on two hands: Pemba, Panuru, Mingma, Karma, Bal Bahadur, Stu, Kirk, David, Cynthia, and me. The nearest other people are our liaison officers, Norbu and Aping, and driver, Dorje, who are some 5 miles down valley. The mountain is ours, in all its grandeur and magnificence. Camps are new, with no signs of previous expeditions. (Well, not quite - the French team left behind quite a bit of garbage at ABC which we will haul away for them.) And, one of the most remarkable things: we have been filling our water bottles en route to Camp I from the rivulet coming out of the Chaglung'mlungha Glacier...and drinking it down without iodine or any treatment. I cannot remember the last time I was in a place so clean, so pristine, that I could drink right from a stream. It is quite a unique experience, and one of the many things that makes Gurla Mandhata such a special place and a wonderful climb.

Tomorrow, we will rest at ABC, and, weather permitting, begin our summit push on the 24th!

Flexibility...The name of the game...

Not many things in the mountains are certain. Altitudes are somewhat defined, the mountain does not move too quickly, and you are bound to feel pretty bad above 7500 meters. But, other than those few things, most of existence in the mountains is uncertain. Things change. Weather blows in. Camps get trashed. Glaciers move and seracs tumble. As a result, flexibility must always be built into one's thinking in the mountains.

Sure, we always have a plan - without a plan to begin with, nothing would ever be accomplished. But, that plan must be flexible, able to accommodate the inevitable changes thrown out by the mountains. You've gotta learn to go with the flow, to adapt and change and reevaluate.

Thus far on this expedition, we have had little change in our plans. A few delays here and there that were out of our control, but nothing significant. Yesterday, however, as we moved to Advanced Basecamp (ABC), we had our first big one. The journey was supposed to be 4 hours, and to take us to 17,400 feet at the base of the Changa'mlungha Glacier. To my surprise, however, I crested a small ridge at 16,500' and found all our yaks unloaded and the yak men preparing to descend. Pemba and Panuru had already argued with the yak men, insisting that ABC was 2 hours further uphill. I added to the argument by offering a generous financial bonus if they would continue. But, alas, it was to no avail; the men would not budge, the yaks would go no further, and thus our ABC is at 16,500 feet.

What this means for us is an additional 2 hours on each journey from ABC to Camp I, which sits on a col at 20,000 feet. Not exactly what we wanted, but, again, flexibility...Since the day was shorter than anticipated, we had time to build a nice chorten for our expedition puja, which we held yesterday afternoon. Mingma, one of our climbing Sherpa, was a monk at Thyangboche Monastery in Nepal for 6 years before beginning climbing with IMG in 2001 on Everest, and thus he conducted our puja. (Puja is a Sanskrit word meaning offerings, in this case offerings to the mountain deities.) It is always a marvelous ceremony, at once solemn and festive, somber and jubilant. We blessed our climbing gear, made offerings to the mountain gods, and then spread tsampa - or buckwheat flour - on each other’s right shoulder and face for good luck and a long life. Always a good time!

We awoke this morning to a snowstorm, our first noticeable precipitation of the expedition. By breakfast, about 3 inches had fallen, covering the tents and camp with a heavy white blanket. Not knowing if the storm would dissipate or worsen, we held back our departure for Camp I for an hour before moving uphill and seeing what the day would bring. Fortunately, the clouds lifted and the skies cleared...within an hour we were walking under a brilliant blue Himalayan sky. Our climbing Sherpa - Panuru, Mingma, and Karma Rita - had already moved uphill, carrying the first loads to Camp I. As always, they more than impressed us with their speed and skill in the high mountains, making the 3500 foot, 8 mile one-way trip in 4 hours!

We, too, carried heavy loads, carting our high altitude gear (clothing, down suits, climbing hardwear, etc.) up the mountain. Again, things are often uncertain. Sometimes you have good days, sometimes bad ones. We weren't moving as quickly as we had hoped today, grinding away under a blazing sun and heavy packs, and I made the decision about 1.5 hours from Camp I to cache our gear and finish the carry another day. Had we stuck stubbornly with our plan, we would have descended to ABC after dark, tired and miserable. Instead, our team is now resting in the quiet Tibetan night and getting ready for more climbing in the days to come. A slight change, but no loss.

To compensate for more tired members of the team, we'll take a rest day tomorrow, and move to Camp I on the 21st for our acclimatization round. With luck, we'll spend a night at Camp II before descending to ABC for a rest...and then, a shot at the summit!

So far, the least predictable, most transient element of the mountains - the weather - has treated us kindly. But, it is autumn in the Himalaya. The monsoon is making its journey south, which means the jet stream, lurking far north of us at the moment, will soon begin its southern journey as well, finding a winter home atop the high Himalaya. This is something we cannot control, but fortunately we have a friend who is giving us insight - Michael Fagin, of www.everestweather.com is sending us updates on the monsoon, jet stream, and detailed weather forecasts so we can add that to our plans...and continue to be flexible!

It is now 10:00 PM, and all is quiet at ABC. A slight breeze is ruffling the tent, and the massif of Gurla Mandhata rises ghostly some 9,000 feet above camp. Tomorrow we rest, and then move up again. All is indeed quite well.

MacGyver of Tibet

You all remember it...the cheesy show where the main character, MacGyver, is locked in a secret dungeon on a deserted island in the South Pacific. All he has with him is some duct tape, chewing gum, and his own bodily effluvia, and he somehow escapes, fashions a raft, and manages to sail across the Pacific a la Kon Tiki. Well, we have a Tibetan MacGyver in our midst...maybe not quite as dramatic as the scenes in the classic show, but still impressive nonetheless.

We left the canyon country two days ago, rising steadily from the labyrinth onto the Plateau. Snowy peaks - indicative of a monsoon that is hesitant to exit stage left - rose in the background, wiht snowline coming down to about 16,000 feet. We continued our bouncing along, following dirt roads that crisscross Tibet like a child's scribble...a switchback here, a shortcut there, a random road to nowhere every once in a while.

Massive lorries ply the roads here, bringing goods to faraway cities like Ali and Kashgar. As they approach, a game of chicken is always played - Who will apply the brakes and slide to the side of the road first. Logic would say we, the small Landcruiser, should give in first, but no truck driver wants to be responsible for sending a load of tourists down a cliff...so usually we win the game, passing with a wave and a cloud of dust. But suddenly a truck approached that did not know our rules of the Tibetan road. He did not budge. At the last possible minute, our driver, Dorje, realized our impending peril and swerved right onto the rough, jagged rocks lining the side of the road. Seconds later, we could feel and hear something unnatural on the left rear tire. Sure enough, it was shredded - a nasty sidewall puncture right through the steel belts. But, fortunately, Dorje had our spare fixed in Tholing (it had punctured a day before), and we had it on and were moving again in good time.

Things went well for the next three hours. Stu, Kirk, Dave, Cynthia, and I were listening to tunes on our mp3 players (love the technology!) and enjoying the scenery as we cruised up and over a 16,500 foot pass dusted with snow and splashed with red, green, maroon and dusty hues. Finally, when we were all about to our limit of bumpy roads, we rejoined the new dirt road, which was smooth as silk compared to the ones we had been on. Confidently, Dorje pushed the envelope...The speedometer crept up to 80 KpH - quite a speed for Tibet! But, within minutes, there was a loud hissing from the left rear tire followed by a familiar thwump-whack sound. Sure enough, that same tire was gone again. Hmmmm...our spare was flat. The second Landcruiser - the nice one - had passed us several mintes before and was already out of sight. Not the best of situations, especially at 4:30 PM at 15,000 feet in Tibet. We got the newly flattened tire off and, minutes later, our big truck, bearer of all our equipment as well as Panuru and Bal Bahadur, emerged from the dusts down valley.

Smiling, the driver, Pasang, lept out to see if he could help. Like a whirling dervish, he set to work, whispering orders in Tibetan to Dorje who seemed at a loss for what to do. Out came two tire irons rigged from old pry bars. Using them, a couple of rocks, and his white, patent leather shoes, Pasang popped the tire from the rim and pulled out the tube that had been inserted to "fix" our previous flat. Interesting technique! Pasang looked at the 18" tear in the tube, mumbled something in Tibetan, and moved confidently back to his truck. Tools clanged and bonked, and soon he emerged with a new tube, a five foot plumbing lead, and a massive bowie knife. In minutes, our Tibetan MacGyver had the new tube in and re-seated with his rocks and pry bars. Pulling out the knife, he gingerly hacked the end off the plumbling line and popped the Schraeder valve out of the new tube. The cut end of the plumbing was attached to the flat tire and the other to a lead coming off the underside of the truck. Smiling, MacGyver hopped into the driver's seat and began pumping the air brakes frantically...and I saw the light. He was building pressure to in turn bleed the brake air into the flat tire, inflating it. Sure enough, after 30 pumps of the brakes, he ordered Dorje to hold tight onto the makeshift valve, fired up the truck, and opened the bleed valve for the air brakes. Within minutes, our tire was inflated, remounted, and we were off...this time with Pasang and his skills close by.

We made camp last night again on the banks of the Satlej River. Today another 5 hours of bumpy roads took us past Kailash, between sacred Manasarovar and Raksas Lakes, and, at long last, to Gurla Mandhata Basecamp. And, finally, the mountain is not being bashful...she rises above us, a towering mass of rock and ice some 10,000 feet above us. I impressive, exciting, and a bit intimidating, as any mountain should be.

As I sat in my tent this afternoon, I had my own MacGyver moment as well...but not as impressive as Pasang's. Three days ago, as I duck-waddled through the narrow passageways of Guge, I managed to tear the crotch of my jeans. As I have many times before, I pulled out my Speedy Stitcher to make a quick repair. But, this time, a flood of memory, ironic in its timing and significance, rushed forward. It was 1997, in a room in the Annapurna Hotel. Quinn and Soren and Tom had just returned to Kathmandu. Soren tossed me his Speedy Stitcher, saying that, given his injuries on Gurla, he would not be needing it anymore.

Soren, thanks for the Stitcher. It has been useful once again...If you ever want it back, I know you can put it to good use and I'd be happy to return it to you.

The Canyons of Guge

We all enjoyed the beauty and drama of our Kailash kora...There is little that can beat the beauty of a trek through thin, crisp, clear air with a spectacular peak watching above. And, it is safe to say that none of us was looking forward to the 11 hours of bumpy, dusty driving we had in front of us, heading into the hinterlands of West Tibet. But, we had heard great things about the lost kingdom of Guge, and hoped the drive would be worth it.

It was...and then some...

Roughly 5 hours west of Thirtapuri, after bouncing over two 16,000 foot passes, changing one flat tire, and spending some time with a drokpa (nomad) mother and daughter in the middle of nowhere, we crested a minor rise and entered southern Utah...Well, not really, but it sure looked like it. For a hundred miles in all directions, canyons spread like tendrils through the dusty Tibetan landscape. The mightly Satlej River, coursing its way down to the Indian Subcontinent for centuries had dutifully carved channels through the semi-solid sandy soil of the region.

From our perch at 14,000 feet, we descended into the chasm, dropping to 12,000 in a few miles. Hoodoos and towering walls of mud soared above our truck, twisted and rutted from millenia of wind and rain and runoff. It is, without a doubt, the most captivating, magical landscape I have ever seen.

After visiting the 10th Century monastery of Tholing - which was mostly destroyed during the Cultural Revolution by the voracious Red Guards - we made camp under a towering canyon wall next to a trickling tributary of the Satlej. As always, our Sherpa team regaled us with their food and care - we feasted on Pemba's pizza, mountains of dal bhat, fresh salad, green beans, and Bal Bahadur plopped a cut watermelon on the table for dessert...Amazing.

Today we drove a bit further west - much further and we'd be in Himachal Pradesh, India! - to the ancient kingdom of Guge (pronounced "goo-gey") and the lost city of Tsaparang. Like the churches of Cappadocia, Turkey, the Anasazi ruins of the desert southwest, and the great Jaisalmer Fort in India, the hilltop castle and cave dwellings of Guge defy reality. Built into a ridgecrest rising some 700 feet, the Guge city once housed over 10,000 people. A sprawling network of caves, pathways, and staircases leads you past ancient gompas and small shrines upward to the mighty castle and fort atop the hill.

In its heyday, the Guge was a powerful kingdom, with influence stretching from Kashmir and Ladakh in the West to Assam in the East. Evidence of this strength can be seen in the gilded gompas and sprawling infrastructure of the ruined kingdom. Fortunately, Guge was overthrown by the Ladakhis in the mid- 1600's and was subsequently forgotten to a large extent. Thus, many of its ancient frescoes and Buddhist artworks survived the carnage of the Cultural Revolution, as did the remarkable architecture of its buildings featuring intricate woodworking by both Nepali and Kashmiri artisans.

We spent about 4 hours scrambling around the ancient kingdom, exploring dark passageways, dusty tunnels, and grand palaces before returning to our creekside camp near Tholing to celebrate Kirk's birthday. As I write in my tent, a gentle rain is falling outside, carving more intricacies into the canyon country...and hopefully keeping down some of the dust for our drive east tomorrow, back toward Gurla Mandhata.

The third phase of our adventure - the climb - will soon begin. We are all excited, feeling good, and ready to move forward!

Kora Kompleted...Enlightenment Undetermined...

Thirtapuri Gompa, 14,685 feet, Ngari, West Tibet

Hello everyone from the Thirtapuri Gompa, the third and final part of the Kailash kora. We had an amazing few days making our way around the sacred mountain, listening to Tibetan pilgrims chant "Om Mani Padme Hum" quietly while Indian pilgrims blurted "Aum Nom Shiva!" at every single opportunity. As for us, we were too busy breathing in the thin air of the Drolma La to say much of anything. But, we climbed up to 18,000 feet and down again...Great acclimatization at the very least.

It was quite a humbling journey all in all, and it is obvious why Mount Kailash is considered a sacred pilgrimage site by over a billion people. (Hindus, Buddhists, and Bonpo all see it as their most sacred peak.) For me, finally visiting Kailash felt quite similar to visiting the Taj Mahal last December. I had heard for years of the glory of the Taj, and, like a movie everyone is talking about, thought that actually seeing it in person would be somewhat of a letdown. The reality could not possibly live up to the reputation. Quite the opposite was what I found in Agra: The Taj was more impressive, more glorious than anyone's descriptions.

Three days ago, as we strolled up the Lha Chu valley on the west side of Kailash, those same feelings came flooding back. We all were wide eyed, stunned by the dramatic beauty surrounding us. Two thousand foot walls of ruddy-colored conglomerate stone soared skyward; each one with a significance to the pilgrims plodding along. This one was Padmasambhava's (Guru Rinpoche's) torma (a ritual cake made of tsampa, or buckwheat flour), the next wall a protector diety being pulled to the bowels of hell by evil demons. Every step along the kora has a meaning, and every step is grander and more dramatic than the last. As we exited the Lha Chu and headed along the north face of Kailash, the dramatic walls of conglomerate transitioned into sweeping faces of granite. To the north, a gompa (monastery) appeared, dwarfed by the peaks above. It was Ditrul Phuk, the north side gompa, a holy place where both Padmasmbhava and Milarepa stopped to meditate centuries before. We made camp on a grassy plain below the watchful wall of Kailash.

Yesterday took us over the Drolma La and through the east valleys of Kailash. We shared the trail with elderly women from Korea, more Indian pilgrims from Rajasthan, Hyderabad, and Delhi, and a group of prostrating pilgrims from Kham, some 800 miles to the northeast. Again, the topography changed with the valleys, and the granite of the north switched to basalts and metamorphic jumbles strewn along crumbling hillsides. We made camp in yet another stunning, grassy plain, this time below the east side gompa of Zitrul Phuk, where Guru Rinpoche lifted the ceiling of a meditation cave to better fit his height. Perhaps a myth, but one that certainly captured the faith of the dozens of pilrgims prostrating at the cave's mouth.

Today's walk took us out of the kora and back to the plains of Tibet, which defy reality in their size. As far as the eye can see, low tundra stretches to the horizon. Snow capped peaks jut above the clouds of an ebbing monsoon, reflecting in the azure waters of Mansarovar and Raksas. And, all of this takes place at 14,500 feet or more - well above antyhing in the continental USA!

As we drove westward toward Tirthapuri and our awaited visit to the ancient Guge Kingdom, I watched Gurla Mandhata fade quietly into the dust of the Tibetan Plateau. I could not help but think of the climb to come, the excitement of being on a high, solitary peak far from anything and anyone, and with a great group of people.

And then, as it has done for weeks and weeks, my mind drifted back 9 years to the autumn of 1997. My (and Stuart's) good friend Quinn, his father Tom, and friend Soren, and their epic of survival on the slopes of Gurla's North Face. It is a story that puts most mountaineering epics to shame, and an aftermath of recovery which humbles me anytime I think of it or spend time with Quinn. I will not tell it here, as it is their story, not mine, and thus not mine to tell. As I watched Gurla disappear out of the Land Cruiser's window, I could see Quinn's face in my mind, his ready smile and zest for life as real as the mountains around me. If I can ever muster 1/2 the determination, tenacity, and courage Quinn has shown in the past 9 years, I will be a happy man.

Quinn, if you're reading this, you're one of my heroes. We'll be thinking of you every step...Let's go climbing...

Maoists, tapeworms, and Tibet...

I'll keep this brief - we've had a long few days, and I'm not really supposed to be using this system right now. But, lots of fun stories to report.

After a great evening in Thado Dhunga, we continued our journey north along the Karnali. Within hours, we left the forested hillsides of Humla and entered the drier, more barren terrain of the Tibetan Plateau. We hit our first big pass on the 7th, the Nara La, which at 14,400 feet is nearly as high as anything in the continental US! From there, a sharp descent led us to the harsh border town of Hilsa.

We had been in Maoist country since arriving in Simikot, but now it was real. Hilsa is completely controlled by the Maoists...Men in camoflage fatigues stroll through town and the ubiquitous hammer and sickle is painted on nearly every rock and structure. A massive new suspension bridge, courtesy of the Chinese, spans the Karnali. On one end flies the Chinese flag, on the other, the Maoist one. No Nepali government to be found in this border area.

As we suspected, we were visited by the Regional Commander of the Maoists on the evening of the 7th. A slight, polite, and well spoken man, he kindly asked me for our team's tax for the Maoist revolution: $100 per foreign member, and 5000 rupees for Pemba, our cook. I paid the money, and was issued a receipt with a smile and polite "dhanyabhad" - thank you in Nepali. That was it.

This morning we said a sad goodbye to our friends from Humla, the horse, donkey, and yak drivers who accompanied us and our piles of equipment from Simikot. They had purchased salt and rice in Hilsa to bring back down valley, the continuation of a centuries old trade between Nepal and Tibet. It was now time to wait for our liaison officer to arrive in Sher on the Tibet side of the border, which ended up taking some 6 hours. But, during that time, I had the opportunity to play my new role as resident Humla physician, diagnosing all sorts of maladies from severe hangovers to tendonitis, pink eye to food poisoning...and dispensing appropriate medication.

While we sat, waiting to hear that we could cross the border, a familiar face wandered to our camp. It was the Regional Commander of the Maoists. He wanted to speak with me, saying he needed ausadhi, or medicine. I began asking questions, and soon found out that, in addition to suffering from diahorrea for 3
days, he also disposed of a 2 foot tapeworm the day before. Hmmmm, quite an interesting situation. I was quite tempted to offer medication for his condition for the low, low cost of $500, but finally decided to take the better path and help solve his condition with medication I had in my kit. The karmic wheel spins round and round, and it is always best to stay on the positive side of things.

After hours of waiting in Hilsa, we finally got word that we could cross into Tibet. After clearing customs, we drove northward to Burang (Taklakot), the district headquarters of Ngari prefecture. On the way, we could see the snowy sentinels of Api, Saipal, Firnkopf, and Lama rising in the distance. And, suddenly, to our right, a massive snowy ridge materialized, partially masked in cloud. It was Gurla Mandhata, and it was quite a sight, thousands of feet of snow, ice and rock rising stalwartly from the brown hues of the Plateau.

But, more adventure lies between us and the mountain. Tomorrow, we drive to Lake Mansarovar and on to Darchen to begin our kora of Mount Kailash. We are all excited, doing well, and looking forward to our continuing adventure in this remote part of the Himalaya.

Stay tuned for more!!

Thumkot Khola

Greetings from the sunny banks of the Karnali River and a small village called Thumkot Khola. As I mentioned in my voice dispatch last night, we have been having a wonderful time, enjoying the spectacular scenery, friendly people, and good walking under clear skies...We've gotten lucky!

Let me take a little time to fill you in on the happenings since Kathmandu. As planned, we flew on the 1st from Kathmandu to Nepalgunj in the heart of the Terai - the southern jungle region of Nepal. I thought I knew what hot and humid meant after visiting Bangkok and other Southeast Asian places...But, nothing in my experience compares to the oppressive heat of the Terai. A remarkable beauty, however, percolates through the haze. We stayed the night at the Hotel Batika, a beautiful place with a much welcomed amenity: air conditioning. We all took some time out to walk the streets of the city and get a feel for its character, which is one of peace and tranquility often found in the tropics. But, time was scarce, and the next morning we headed to the airport early for our flight to Simikot.

As with many mountain flights in Nepal, the short hop to Simikot aboard a Twin Otter can test your nerves a bit. While the pilots are excellent and accidents rare, the civil aviation standards of Nepal catch you by surprise if it is your first time: broken seatbelts, cockpit door open to see the pilot reading today's Gorkapatra, emergency exit not quite fully closed, smoking man pumping aviation fuel into the plane...all of this grabs and holds your attention. But, once airborne, most fears fade into the distance as the stunning countryside of Nepal opens up below. Lush green carpets of rice paddies transition into the jagged, forested hills of the Mahabarat (Middle Hills) Range and, behind, the sparkling white massifs of the Great Himalaya jut skyward. Gazing at that view, it is easy to understand the thinking behind the Vedic saying: "In a hundred thousand ages of the gods, I cannot tell you of the glory of the Himalaya. As the dew is dried up by the morning sun, so are the sins of man at the sight of the Himalaya."

OK, enough rambling: Simikot. A small dirt airstrip, tilted uphill ever so slightly, surrounded by mountains leading to valleys leading to mountains. Simikot is the gateway to Humla, and an important trading center on the route between Nepal and Tibet. Once we landed, organized our gear, and were treated to a wonderful lunch by our Sherpa team, we began our first day's walk into the hills. (Our Sherpa team, by the way, made the ultimate sacrifice by spending 6 days stranded in Nepalgunj waiting to fly to Simikot. Panuru and Karma Rita, not wanting to be bored, bought a badminton set and have been playing religiously on the trail every day!) We followed a gentle trail up the Karnali River valley past glowing fields of vivid yellow mustard seed and small villages perched above the raging river, making camp after 3 hours at Darapari.

On the morning of the 3rd, we awoke to another beautiful day and a short walk up valley to Danda Kermi. While the walk was short, we had a welcome surprise above town: an amazing sulfur hot spring. Now, I have seen lots of hot springs in the Southwest, the Himalaya, and elsewhere, but nothing ever like this. Spring in this case is a misnomer: The Kermi Hot Springs are more of a river than anything else. Steaming water courses down the mountainside, slowing slightly in small pools built by the locals, and leaving a vivid coloring on all rock it touches. But, easy to get to? No. We had to fight through the most evil stinging nettle bushes in the hot, humid, post-monsoon afternoon. But, it was well worth it. The springs were just the right temperature, soothing our feet and offering spectacular views of the Humla region.

Yesterday was another relatively short day from Danda Kermi to Yalbang. While the walking was beautiful and entertaining, we also found ourselves eyeing the myriad of giant boulders dotting the surrounding hillsides, and Kirk, Stuart, and I could not resist the temptation. We all had a great time finding fun routes on virgin problems along the mighty Karnali, the best of which was a 60 foot overhanging traverse culminating in dusty, manky, guano covered rock that crumbled in your hands. Fortunately, David and Cynthia had more sense that the three of us, and refrained from our bouldering escapades.

As always, the Karnali has been our friend and an irresistible temptation for all concerned. It is still hot and humid in Humla, the monsoon heat fighting stubbornly against the coming autumn. So, each day, covered in sweat and dust, we find quiet pools along the turquoise river and soak our heads and feet in the cooling waters. And, if someone is brave enough, a full dunk au naturel is a shocking although refreshing event.

Today we awoke early at Yalbang to visit the Yalbang Gompa, the largest gompa (monastery) in Humla - home to 80 monks - in the hopes of seeing the morning puja. Panuru and his younger brother, Mingma, accompanied us. Panuru had a bag full of prayer flags for our expedition puja, and Mingma was there as our resident expert on the icons and symbols and history of what we would see: Mingma was a monk for 5 years at Thyangboche Monastery in Khumbu before becoming a climbing Sherpa in 2001. But, alas, the puja was not to happen: the head of the monastery, Pema, informed us that it was picnic day for the monks, which meant they spent the night before watching TV until 1:00 AM and today were sleeping in before playing volleyball and badminton. Kind of monk recess, I guess! Hey, everyone needs a break, even on the road to enlightenment. And, while we missed the puja, we were happy to see vermillion robed monks spiking volleyballs like Holly McPeak.

When we returned to Yalbang to head up valley, we were greeted by the local school teacher, a kind man with a deferential demeanor and a wide smile. He invited us into the school, an impressive one for this poor region of Nepal. Unfortunately, however, the Maoists have been using the Yalbang school as a regional headquarters for several years, taking most of the supplies and completely disrupting classes. And, to make it worse, the government knew they were there and would launch attacks against the Maoists, creating intense firefights in this beautiful place. It was hard to believe as we gazed out on the tranquil surroundings with nothing but a smile to be seen for miles. I can only hope and wish with all my heart that the fragile ceasefire holds and peace holds in Nepal.

I am now writing from Thumkot Khola and a beautiful meadow camp. Yak trains pass by regularly, bringing rice and grain north to Tibet or returning with salt for trade in the lowlands. It is a true clashing of centuries...the stone age to the 21st century...I am sitting, writing on my Compaq laptop after downloading today's shots from my Nikon while a wrinkled, elderly Tibetan gazes in wonder. I can only imagine what he sees and thinks. Our worlds are centuries apart, and yet have come together on the banks of this river. I smile at him, and he smiles back. "Namaste" I say, hands clasped together. "I salute the god which dwells within you." Maybe we aren't that different after all...