Words and Images, Sandra Herd 

The outside of my poncho was wet from the rain. The inside of my poncho was saturated from my own sweat. My calves and thighs burned. Muscles I never even knew I had were making themselves known in an agonising fashion; both knees seemed to be having some sort of dysfunctional spasm and we still had a long, long way to go.

And so it was that I found myself on day three of our trek through Nepal’s Everest Region. Standing on the side of a mountain wondering if the blasted grey clouds surrounding us would ever part so that we could see the spectacular Himalayan mountain scenery that had been promised to us in the brochure. I was also wondering why ON EARTH I’d thought this would be a good idea. I’d always had a kind of hankering to get to base camp; it’s one of the things on my ‘to do’ list. This trek was not even going to Base Camp, this was a ‘let’s just go and see if we like it’ trek. I’d never trekked a day before in my life: I’ve never even walked up Bluff Knoll. I don’t even walk to the local shop to get milk – I drive! So why, out of all the places on the planet, had I chosen the Himalayas to try out my brand new trekking poles?

We’d flown from Kathmandu to Phaplu a week ago. Our tour group (15 intrepid travellers with an average age of fifty and fitness levels that would put most people in their thirties, including myself, to shame) stayed in tents near the tiny village of Junbesi to do a few days of Community Project work at their local Health Clinic. A few days later, and already in desperate need of a shower, we began our trek through the Solu Khumbu region of North-East Nepal.

The region is mostly home to the Sherpa people. The Sherpa’s originally came from Eastern Tibet and the word ‘Sherpa’ literally means ‘People from the East’. Their religion is Buddhism and their prayer flags, carved Mani walls and chortens only add to the beauty of the picturesque countryside. We’d already met plenty of locals in Junbesi and instantly liked every one of them. Ang, our guide was originally from a nearby village and was also the President of the Kushudebu Health Mission. The local people were hardy and seemed to be always happy. The children were friendly and inquisitive and, as we moved through small settlements on our first trek day, every child greeted every trekker with a smile, hands joined as if in prayer and a cheerful greeting of ‘Namaste’ (hello). The ones who were photographed delighted in seeing their digital image in the back of the camera, giggling and pointing at their own faces staring back at them through the display screen.

At the end of our first day of trekking we camped at a little village called Nunthala. At an elevation of just 2330m, we were starting out low so that we had plenty of time to acclimatise to the altitude as the trek went on. We had stopped at a teahouse earlier in the day called Everest View Teahouse. From there we were meant to have had our very first views of Everest but the clouds were so thick around us that all we could see was a grey expanse of ‘nothing’ in every direction. It seemed that Mt Everest or Sagarmatha (as she’s known by the Nepali’s) was not yet ready to make an appearance. The rain set in that afternoon but eased when we reached Nunthala. The next morning we were able to see a few mountains off in the distance before the grey mass enveloped us once again.

We descended steeply until we could hear the roar of the mighty Dudh Kosi (Milk River), a raging river which can only be crossed via the many and precarious looking suspension bridges hanging high up from the valley floor. After a long day of steep highs and slippery wet lows, our second night was spent in a damp tent. The porters had done a great job of trying to keep everything dry but they seemed to be fighting a losing battle. Each morning they packed up the tents and kit bags and lugged them to the next camp site where they were set up again waiting for our arrival. It had rained all afternoon and the tents were still damp from the previous night.

About as far removed from a five star resort as you could possibly be, these bright orange, two man tents were to be our accommodation for most of the trek. Our loo facilities consisted of two tiny toilet tents at camp. Inside the first was just a hole in the ground for squatting – ‘when in Rome’ and all that! Inside the second was a toilet seat supported by four metal legs above a hole in the ground...very civilised. By the end of each day, my legs were so shaky and sore that there was little hope of my thigh muscles supporting me whilst I hovered my derriere over an already much used hole. Add to that the logistics of holding loo-roll in one hand and keeping a scarf wrapped over my nose and mouth with the other (the tent could get a bit whiffy), I could see the potential disaster play out in my mind and chose the tent with the toilet seat every time.

By day three our clothes, tents and spirits were dampened. The first three trekking days had been long and hard and because the afternoons were so wet there was no way of getting anything dry at camp. The novelty of ‘trekking in the Himalaya’ was wearing off. The Cornish couple in our group agreed that we may as well have been trekking through a forest in the Lake District. The weather was certainly the same and although the scenery of the forest around us was pleasant, we could’ve been in any forest, anywhere. Ang took pity on us and on the third night we rejected the tents and spent an unscheduled ‘luxury’ night in a little lodge in Surkhe.

The lodges in the smaller villages are very basic but usually warm. Our room had no light bulb so we popped into the other rooms hoping to pinch one...it turned out that none of the rooms had light bulbs except the kitchen/dining area. We were happy to hang out there with a warm stove burning and a warm (no fridges) but well earned beer in hand. The group enjoyed the evening meal...happy to finally be dry. It was our last night with our guide Ang. The following day he would trade places with the guide from a second tour group. Ang would take them back to Junbesi to help at the Health Clinic and we would continue on with Rupan...our new guide. Although Ang had to go, we were pleased that we kept our team of cooks, porters and ‘Sherpa boys’.

Over the past week we’d all become very attached to our four Sherpa’s. It was their job to serve the meals, bring washing water in the morning (and on arrival at camp) and to help out on the trek and guide us in the right direction. They were also our alarm clocks, serving hot tea to our tents at 6am and filling our water bottles with boiling, clean water at each evening meal. They were helpful, jovial and kind and teased the biggest member of our group (Chris from Cornwall) relentlessly, nicknaming him ‘Tato Dudh’ (hot milk) because that’s what he demanded in his thick Cornish accent each morning. We would also miss Ang’s ‘fibs’. Telling us that the weather would be fine and the trail would be fairly flat. What he actually meant was the weather would do what it damn well pleased and the trail would be ‘Nepali Flat’...a little bit up, a little bit down.

The next day we crossed and re-crossed the thundering Dudh Kosi and trekked through more pine forest. Looking down we could see the cleared terraced fields spanning across the valley, planted with millet and corn and vegetables. According to our itinerary we should have been seeing our first large peaks but the cloud had started to gather again. At lunchtime we met up with the other group and swapped guides. They raved about the beauty of the mountains and scenery and gloated that they had seen Everest. We were starting to think Everest didn’t actually exist. We wished them all a safe trip and asked Ang to take the rain back to Junbesi with him. As we trekked on after lunch we passed many Many walls and many prayer wheels. Every time we came upon a prayer wheel I spun it wishing for good weather and a safe flight out of Lukla...surely that wasn’t too much to ask.

The next day my prayer wheels were answered! We awoke early to our first clear mountain view in days. The sun was just touching the peak, lighting up the snow covered mountain. We were going to be trekking to Namche and we knew if the weather held out, we would be walking towards some spectacular scenery. The path to Namche took us across the longest and scariest suspension bridge yet. The side of the bridge was covered with prayer flags flapping and flailing in the wind, sending their Mantras to Buddha. It was on the other side of this bridge that our very steep ascent to the gate of Sagarmatha National Park began. Up and up we climbed, pausing every few minutes to catch our breath and to make way for the porters who seemed to walk up effortlessly behind us. The porters were heavily laden with huge baskets which were strapped to their backs with a strap also around their heads to help bare the load. Many of them wore flimsy sandals or flip flops and steadied themselves using a wooden staff with a ‘t’ shaped handle that doubled as a seat when they needed a rest. As they rushed past me I thought to myself “ha! I’d like to see them do that at sea level!” Petty I know, but it did make me feel better. At the gates to the National Park we took a very welcome rest while waiting for our park entrance permits to be processed. We mopped our sweaty brows and chowed down sweets and chocolates in the hope of finding some extra energy for the last steep trail to our lodge at Namche.

Namche Bazaar is the main trading centre for the Khumbu region and is the main gateway to the Everest Region for most trekkers. It was the busiest place we had seen: a huge horse shoe of colourful houses and lodges nestled on the side of a mountain. It was a welcome hub of relative hustle and bustle and a meeting point for trekkers and mountaineers alike. Of course, our lodge was right at the top end of Namche which meant even more uphill walking through steep rocky streets. We had trekked to an elevation of 3440m...our highest point so far. Limbs ached and breathing was strenuous (partly from the uphill climb and partly from the altitude) but as we neared our lodge, the light clouds slightly parted and we were surrounded by huge, towering mountains. It was definitely worth the effort! The lodge was superb with a large communal dining hall abuzz with chatter from many trekking groups from far flung places. We’d made it there in time for lunch and joined the other diners at long tables with long bench seats. Greeted with hot cordial and soup, we scoffed lunch down and headed back down the hillside to explore Namche and send a long overdue email to family and friends.

I awoke at 5.30am the next morning. Clean from a hot shower the night before and refreshed from a great night’s sleep. I grabbed my camera and headed downstairs to see if the skies were clear. As soon as I stepped out I was surrounded by a clear deep blue sky, face to face with the beautiful peaks of Kongde Ri. I snapped away in a mad frenzy knowing that the clouds could appear at any moment and ruin the spectacular view. The Cornish couple from our group were already up and were on their way back from a lookout point further up the hill. They told me to get up there with my camera immediately. It took ten minutes to get to the lookout. I huffed and puffed my way up the steep path, desperate to get to the lookout before the clouds rolled in. Finally, in the coveted position I got my first fleeting glimpse of the highest mountain on the planet, Mt. Everest. Rising 8848m into the sky and mostly hidden behind the fourth highest mountain Lhotse, the illusive tip of Everest was right there, peaking out through a gap of encircling cloud.

And it only got better.

The trek that day took us to the second highest point we would reach on our expedition, to Thyangboche at 3870m. Our itinerary described the trek there as ‘one of the most spectacular trekking days in Nepal’. This is true if you have the weather for it...and we did. After another steep and difficult walk we were rewarded at the top with fabulous mountain views of Everest (8848m), Lhotse (8511m), Nuptse (7896m) and my personal favourite, the very distinctive, Ama Dablam (6856m).

From that point on, Ama Dablam seemed to be everywhere. That evening when all the other mountains had been enveloped by cloud, Ama Dablam stood proud towering over the campsite with her white peaks glowing in the moonlight. On our way to the village of Khumjung we passed back through Thyangboche to visit the Monastery. Rebuilt twice, the monastery was damaged in an earthquake in 1934 and then completely destroyed by fire in 1989. In 1993, the consecration and inauguration ceremony of the rebuilt monastery took place with many distinguished guests attending. Including Sir Edmund Hillary whose Himalayan Trust helped the local Sherpa community rebuild this important place of worship.

Our next destination was the village of Khumjung, the place where Sir Edmund Hillary built his ‘Schoolhouse in the Clouds’. The village was very different from the others we had seen. There were stone walls around designated farming plots of land, yaks wandering around and thousands of flat yak poo patties drying out on sections of stonewall. We’d seen this before along the trek but nowhere near as much as this. The dried yak dung is used as fuel for their fires. An ingenious yet somewhat stinky solution to the problems of disposing of yak dung and fuelling the cooking fire.

We bid our final farewell to Everest the following morning from The Everest View Hotel. Reportedly at 3880m we were delighted to be 10 metres higher than we’d been in Thyangboche. After a short twenty minute hike from Khumjung (uphill of course) we found ourselves standing on a balcony, hot cup of tea in hand, staring out at the top of the world. What a feeling. The hotel itself is in the Guinness Book of Records for being the highest placed hotel in the world. There is an airstrip about 45 minutes away but flying in to such heights can leave passengers feeling the effects of the sudden change in altitude. Besides....it’s kind of cheating. Standing on that balcony with our group that we had come to know so well over the past few weeks, an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction came from the knowledge that we had all earned the privilege of viewing the most majestic mountain scenery on the planet.

From this point on it was all downhill, relatively speaking. Heading down meant going a little bit up to go a little bit down. We had one more night of camping before heading to Lukla to fly back to the crazy, dirty, chaotic hustle and bustle of Kathmandu. At our very last campsite the cook prepared a chocolate cake complete with frosting and a message from the porters and Sherpa’s. In perfectly iced letters the message on the cake read, ‘No more ups, no more downs. Namaste.’ The evening meal was followed by the entire team singing and dancing under the Himalayan night sky as a final farewell to our trekking party.

So, is Base Camp still on my list after enduring the freezing mornings, the steep ascents and the knee crunching descents, the aching limbs and weary bones and the dreaded toilet tent?

Absolutely!