So where were we? Oh yes... Everest Base Camp, how could I forget!
We had intentions of returning back via a different route - crossing the Cho La Pass, descending into the village of Gokyo and climbing Gokyo Ri. After the efforts and deprivations involved in getting ourselves to Base Camp we reconsidered. Damien had spent a couple of days fighting off dysentry - the doctor at the awesome Himalayan Medical Hospital at Pheriche told us that most hikers reaching these dizzying heights contract either gastroenteritis or the Khumbu cough - so his constitution was not at its strongest, and of course, the frequent toilet stops in the "squatty potties" in those remote villages gave somewhat greater impetus to the desire to be back amongst civilisation as we know it.
From our earliest planning days I had my fingers quietly crossed for the quickest and easiest route back from Base Camp, so when Damien suggested we do the morning ascent of Kala Pattar then hightail it back to Namche Bazaar by retracing our route, I couldn't have been happier.
When we first hiked into Gorak Shep I remember looking up at Kala Pattar's rounded peak and thinking to myself that it would be a simple hike up. It was surprising just how exhausting it was to get up there. Way more taxing than the relatively flat walk to Base Camp the previous afternoon. I nearly turned back three or four times, even with frequent rest stops I was constantly out of breath and my thighs were like jelly. But Damien was determined he would press on, and I figured that if he could do it in his condition, then I (in full good health) had no excuse for giving in.
It was so worth it. We reached the summit soon after the sun rose over the tops of Everest and Nuptse. And in an instant the temperature jumped from near freezing to almost uncomfortably warm. We had a spotless morning, the sky such an incredibly deep blue behind the mass of prayer flags fluttering gently in the breeze. I added my prayers for our wonderful family and friends, and one of thanks for our safe arrival and for our return home.
From the summit we had the most incredible 360 degree panorama - our first substantial view of the mass of Everest standing proud alongside Nuptse, Lhotse, PumoRi, Cholatse, and a plethora of other incredible peaks. We were able to see the south summit of Everest and the Hillary step and I spent a while pondering in awe the efforts of those who've managed to reach that highest of all earthly heights.
We found our journey to Base Camp and up Kala Pattar gruelling and exhausting. For those who go on to summit the 8000+ metre mountains around here it must take almost super-human determination and endurance. I know I don't have that sort of grit.
With our two main goals now under our belt we turned southward and set our course for civilisation. We covered three days worth of hiking, returning through the evening mist and low cloud to Pheriche. I was so relieved to not be struggling across the Cho La pass that I was happy to just walk until there was no more daylight, spurred on by visions of luxuries like toilet paper, breathing oxygen-filled air, flushing toilets, running water.
Back in the cosy dining room of our Pheriche Lodge we heard rumours of backlogs at Lukla Airport. Apparently poor weather further down in the valley had caused flights to be cancelled for 2, 3 or 5 days depending on whose conversation you listened in to. We didn't give it much thought.
And keen to once again indulge in the awesome Apple Pie at Kyengjuma, we backed up for another long hike the next day, dropping down hundreds of (knee grinding, thigh quivering) metres from Tengboche, crossing the river and rising up the (butt aching, back breaking) endless steep incline from Phunki Thenga on the other side. The weather had clouded in, confining our visibility to the track and the nearby vegetation but as I rounded a bend on a particularly arduous uphill section I encountered a scene reminiscent of a kingdom in the sky - a veritable Shangri La. The clouds had parted in the distance revealing the snowy peak of Ama Dablam. It was just like a scene from a fairy tale. Seconds later it disappeared, covered once more by milky cloud.
At Kyengjuma, the rehumanising process began. Lodge owners, Tashi and Derek took us under their wing and made us feel like part of their family. Damien and I had our first showers for eight (yes 8!) days and the apple pie was as good as we remembered.
We arrived back at our starting point, Lukla, earlier than we had expected to, joyfully walking under the arrival archway that marked the end of our Base Camp dream mid-afternoon on November 18. To mark the occasion a light rain started to fall - the first wet weather we had encountered during our entire trek.
The only topic of conversation buzzing around the bustling airport village township of Lukla was the disastrous flight backlog. Each tale was worse than the previous, some people had been waiting for more than a week to get out, as day after day flights had been cancelled due to bad weather.
Our return flight tickets were dated November 22. Like our Canadian friends Rob and Dan, we had thought the gossip about the Lukla backlog was just scuttle-butt and had hightailed it back there as soon as we could with (delusional) hopes of getting on an earlier flight to Kathmandu.
The cobblestone mainstreet of Lukla crawled with backpackers gleefully sharing the bad news that we probably wouldn't get a room in a lodge either because by now the whole village was full. After our six hour hike from Namche Bazaar Damien kindly deposited me in a coffee shop and hunted down a matchbox sized room for us.
We made the best of our Lukla lay-over, drinking the locally fermented rice wine, Rakshii, with our Canadian friends Dan and Rob at their porter Mona's family residence. The spirit was potent and foul smelling and impossible to decline given that the entire family sat opposite us, watching our expressions as we sampled it and figured possible alternative ways of disposing of it (there was no alternative... we had to drink it... we survived).
On the 19th of November, still stuck in Lukla with no likely departure prospects, we celebrated Damien's birthday. Joining our Canadian/Australian group for the occasion was Rich, the young Pom. He had returned via the Cho La Pass and Gokyo Ri, the route that we had originally intended to return on.
We learned that his return had been quite eventful - the day after we encountered him atop Kala Pattar he had set out at 7am to cross the Cho La Pass, but lost the trail in the snow during the day. He spent hours desperately ploughing through thigh-deep snow trying to regain the track. With light fading quickly, almost overcome by exhaustion and carrying only a small bag of peanuts for sustenance, he spied what appeared to be prayer flags up on a ridge high above. In near darkness he slogged his way uphill discovering to his great relief that he was back on the pass. He admitted he almost cried at that point, but still had to keep going to find lodging for the night. He was already scouting for a suitable sized rock to offer him protection in the event that he would have to bivouac there for the night, fortunately though he reached the lodge at Dragna before having to take such a drastic step. Hearing him recount his day's misadventure, I was greatly relieved that we had made the decision to return the easier way, via the trail we were already familiar with.
Our Canadian friends were single-minded in their mission to get themselves out of Lukla at the first available opportunity. Friday had come and gone with barely a plane flight or two making it into and out of Lukla, worsening the departure prospects. Word around the village was that if money was no object you could pay your way out on one of the small helicopters that were still able to come and go. Dan and Rob buzzed around the cafes gleaning information - the prices changed with every person they spoke to - "today it's $750 a head, but they're saying it will be $1000 a head tomorrow". It was certainly a seller's market and we heard the ka-ching! or rather the whoop, whoop, whoop of choppers arriving and departing throughout the day. We weren't able to justify that sort of money but Dan and Rob managed to book themselves on a helicopter for the following morning. It was a leap of faith for them because there were also stories of confirmed seats on planes and helicopters being scalped at last minute to higher bidders.
Damien and I decided we'd hope for a change in the weather in the next day or two before making a decision as expensive as that one.
Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny. We had moved into a lodge with a window over the landing strip and we were woken at 6am by the beautiful roar of a Twin Otter's reverse thruster. Over the next hour we witnessed outside our window a non-stop airshow as flight after flight came in and promptly turned around beginning the emptying out of Lukla. The next awesome sound was the tap-tap at our door. It was Dan, bringing us the good news that the Nepalese Army was stepping in and evacuating foreigners stuck in Lukla. And for the bargain price of $350 per seat.
With military drill speed and efficiency we set into action. Damien set off to get the low down from the General himself, then off to the bank to get the US Dollars that would secure our freedom. I packed the bags and we were stumbling our way across the airstrip to meet the Russian built Mi17 as it touched down with all the drama of the last days of Saigon. We crushed in bags and all with 30 others, and were transported to a Nepalese military base - it was like stepping into an episode of M*A*S*H with the camouflage tents blowing about under the gusts of wind and dust churned up by each incoming flight. We were more blown away though by witnessing the Mi17s being refuelled by bucket! Yes the Nepalese soldiers roll the drums of Avgas over to the arriving helicopters and planes then do a bucket run by hand to fill them up.
We touched down into Kathmandu Airport that afternoon and walked out into the noisy mass of humanity that is the Nepalese capital. What a change it was to go from the Base Camp trail where no vehicles go, to the choked snaking traffic of Kathmandu.
With our bodies recovered from the labours of the past fortnight, we both were pretty chuffed with the journey we'd undertaken. It was everything I had hoped for, a little more well-trodden a trail than we would have liked.... but it is Everest after all and everyone wants to go there. The Himalaya is a vast and gob-smackingly beautiful region. Next time we'll go somewhere that's off the tourist trail. We'll find a more remote valley to stroll along. The Nepalese people are wonderful - peaceful, graceful, ever-patient, even in the face of demanding foreigners. I'd love to encounter the villagers in the mountain regions that haven't been taken over by tourism. That would be a great privilege to see.
We had intentions of returning back via a different route - crossing the Cho La Pass, descending into the village of Gokyo and climbing Gokyo Ri. After the efforts and deprivations involved in getting ourselves to Base Camp we reconsidered. Damien had spent a couple of days fighting off dysentry - the doctor at the awesome Himalayan Medical Hospital at Pheriche told us that most hikers reaching these dizzying heights contract either gastroenteritis or the Khumbu cough - so his constitution was not at its strongest, and of course, the frequent toilet stops in the "squatty potties" in those remote villages gave somewhat greater impetus to the desire to be back amongst civilisation as we know it.
From our earliest planning days I had my fingers quietly crossed for the quickest and easiest route back from Base Camp, so when Damien suggested we do the morning ascent of Kala Pattar then hightail it back to Namche Bazaar by retracing our route, I couldn't have been happier.
When we first hiked into Gorak Shep I remember looking up at Kala Pattar's rounded peak and thinking to myself that it would be a simple hike up. It was surprising just how exhausting it was to get up there. Way more taxing than the relatively flat walk to Base Camp the previous afternoon. I nearly turned back three or four times, even with frequent rest stops I was constantly out of breath and my thighs were like jelly. But Damien was determined he would press on, and I figured that if he could do it in his condition, then I (in full good health) had no excuse for giving in.
It was so worth it. We reached the summit soon after the sun rose over the tops of Everest and Nuptse. And in an instant the temperature jumped from near freezing to almost uncomfortably warm. We had a spotless morning, the sky such an incredibly deep blue behind the mass of prayer flags fluttering gently in the breeze. I added my prayers for our wonderful family and friends, and one of thanks for our safe arrival and for our return home.
From the summit we had the most incredible 360 degree panorama - our first substantial view of the mass of Everest standing proud alongside Nuptse, Lhotse, PumoRi, Cholatse, and a plethora of other incredible peaks. We were able to see the south summit of Everest and the Hillary step and I spent a while pondering in awe the efforts of those who've managed to reach that highest of all earthly heights.
We found our journey to Base Camp and up Kala Pattar gruelling and exhausting. For those who go on to summit the 8000+ metre mountains around here it must take almost super-human determination and endurance. I know I don't have that sort of grit.
With our two main goals now under our belt we turned southward and set our course for civilisation. We covered three days worth of hiking, returning through the evening mist and low cloud to Pheriche. I was so relieved to not be struggling across the Cho La pass that I was happy to just walk until there was no more daylight, spurred on by visions of luxuries like toilet paper, breathing oxygen-filled air, flushing toilets, running water.
Back in the cosy dining room of our Pheriche Lodge we heard rumours of backlogs at Lukla Airport. Apparently poor weather further down in the valley had caused flights to be cancelled for 2, 3 or 5 days depending on whose conversation you listened in to. We didn't give it much thought.
And keen to once again indulge in the awesome Apple Pie at Kyengjuma, we backed up for another long hike the next day, dropping down hundreds of (knee grinding, thigh quivering) metres from Tengboche, crossing the river and rising up the (butt aching, back breaking) endless steep incline from Phunki Thenga on the other side. The weather had clouded in, confining our visibility to the track and the nearby vegetation but as I rounded a bend on a particularly arduous uphill section I encountered a scene reminiscent of a kingdom in the sky - a veritable Shangri La. The clouds had parted in the distance revealing the snowy peak of Ama Dablam. It was just like a scene from a fairy tale. Seconds later it disappeared, covered once more by milky cloud.
At Kyengjuma, the rehumanising process began. Lodge owners, Tashi and Derek took us under their wing and made us feel like part of their family. Damien and I had our first showers for eight (yes 8!) days and the apple pie was as good as we remembered.
We arrived back at our starting point, Lukla, earlier than we had expected to, joyfully walking under the arrival archway that marked the end of our Base Camp dream mid-afternoon on November 18. To mark the occasion a light rain started to fall - the first wet weather we had encountered during our entire trek.
The only topic of conversation buzzing around the bustling airport village township of Lukla was the disastrous flight backlog. Each tale was worse than the previous, some people had been waiting for more than a week to get out, as day after day flights had been cancelled due to bad weather.
Our return flight tickets were dated November 22. Like our Canadian friends Rob and Dan, we had thought the gossip about the Lukla backlog was just scuttle-butt and had hightailed it back there as soon as we could with (delusional) hopes of getting on an earlier flight to Kathmandu.
The cobblestone mainstreet of Lukla crawled with backpackers gleefully sharing the bad news that we probably wouldn't get a room in a lodge either because by now the whole village was full. After our six hour hike from Namche Bazaar Damien kindly deposited me in a coffee shop and hunted down a matchbox sized room for us.
We made the best of our Lukla lay-over, drinking the locally fermented rice wine, Rakshii, with our Canadian friends Dan and Rob at their porter Mona's family residence. The spirit was potent and foul smelling and impossible to decline given that the entire family sat opposite us, watching our expressions as we sampled it and figured possible alternative ways of disposing of it (there was no alternative... we had to drink it... we survived).
On the 19th of November, still stuck in Lukla with no likely departure prospects, we celebrated Damien's birthday. Joining our Canadian/Australian group for the occasion was Rich, the young Pom. He had returned via the Cho La Pass and Gokyo Ri, the route that we had originally intended to return on.
We learned that his return had been quite eventful - the day after we encountered him atop Kala Pattar he had set out at 7am to cross the Cho La Pass, but lost the trail in the snow during the day. He spent hours desperately ploughing through thigh-deep snow trying to regain the track. With light fading quickly, almost overcome by exhaustion and carrying only a small bag of peanuts for sustenance, he spied what appeared to be prayer flags up on a ridge high above. In near darkness he slogged his way uphill discovering to his great relief that he was back on the pass. He admitted he almost cried at that point, but still had to keep going to find lodging for the night. He was already scouting for a suitable sized rock to offer him protection in the event that he would have to bivouac there for the night, fortunately though he reached the lodge at Dragna before having to take such a drastic step. Hearing him recount his day's misadventure, I was greatly relieved that we had made the decision to return the easier way, via the trail we were already familiar with.
Our Canadian friends were single-minded in their mission to get themselves out of Lukla at the first available opportunity. Friday had come and gone with barely a plane flight or two making it into and out of Lukla, worsening the departure prospects. Word around the village was that if money was no object you could pay your way out on one of the small helicopters that were still able to come and go. Dan and Rob buzzed around the cafes gleaning information - the prices changed with every person they spoke to - "today it's $750 a head, but they're saying it will be $1000 a head tomorrow". It was certainly a seller's market and we heard the ka-ching! or rather the whoop, whoop, whoop of choppers arriving and departing throughout the day. We weren't able to justify that sort of money but Dan and Rob managed to book themselves on a helicopter for the following morning. It was a leap of faith for them because there were also stories of confirmed seats on planes and helicopters being scalped at last minute to higher bidders.
Damien and I decided we'd hope for a change in the weather in the next day or two before making a decision as expensive as that one.
Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny. We had moved into a lodge with a window over the landing strip and we were woken at 6am by the beautiful roar of a Twin Otter's reverse thruster. Over the next hour we witnessed outside our window a non-stop airshow as flight after flight came in and promptly turned around beginning the emptying out of Lukla. The next awesome sound was the tap-tap at our door. It was Dan, bringing us the good news that the Nepalese Army was stepping in and evacuating foreigners stuck in Lukla. And for the bargain price of $350 per seat.
With military drill speed and efficiency we set into action. Damien set off to get the low down from the General himself, then off to the bank to get the US Dollars that would secure our freedom. I packed the bags and we were stumbling our way across the airstrip to meet the Russian built Mi17 as it touched down with all the drama of the last days of Saigon. We crushed in bags and all with 30 others, and were transported to a Nepalese military base - it was like stepping into an episode of M*A*S*H with the camouflage tents blowing about under the gusts of wind and dust churned up by each incoming flight. We were more blown away though by witnessing the Mi17s being refuelled by bucket! Yes the Nepalese soldiers roll the drums of Avgas over to the arriving helicopters and planes then do a bucket run by hand to fill them up.
We touched down into Kathmandu Airport that afternoon and walked out into the noisy mass of humanity that is the Nepalese capital. What a change it was to go from the Base Camp trail where no vehicles go, to the choked snaking traffic of Kathmandu.
With our bodies recovered from the labours of the past fortnight, we both were pretty chuffed with the journey we'd undertaken. It was everything I had hoped for, a little more well-trodden a trail than we would have liked.... but it is Everest after all and everyone wants to go there. The Himalaya is a vast and gob-smackingly beautiful region. Next time we'll go somewhere that's off the tourist trail. We'll find a more remote valley to stroll along. The Nepalese people are wonderful - peaceful, graceful, ever-patient, even in the face of demanding foreigners. I'd love to encounter the villagers in the mountain regions that haven't been taken over by tourism. That would be a great privilege to see.