I slept better that I'd expected under the circumstances and when we were woken with bad tea at 4am, I was surprisingly chipper. My headache of the night before had gone, as had the cramps. The later-than-expected wake up time (we'd been told 3:30) was pleasing as it meant we were unlikely to be heading out before 5am, an infinitely more sensible time than the 3:45am starting time which Vivek had initially suggested and to which I'd been whole-heartedly opposed (on the grounds that it would be too cold and dark). I'm only realising now that I didn't even feel daunted by the prospect ahead of us. The past nine days had been building up to this and now we were about to go, I was excited. A quick breakfast, where we exchanged encouraging words with some of our friends from the night before, and we were off.
Although not as cold as last night, it was still absolutely bitter, I reckon somewhere in the -20 to -25 degrees centigrade range, plus windchill. Even in thermal underwear, sweater, fleece, down jacket, hat, scarf and two pairs of gloves, plus nifedipine (a medication a take to improve my circulation and keep warm), I was still as cold as I ever recall being in my life. My lips were shivering.
The first half hour was absolutely miserable. My hands were so cold that I could barely hold my walking sticks. I was having terrible trouble breathing and had to stop every few steps. I couldn't find any rhythm. Also, it was still pretty dark. Not a great combination of factors. I was glad, at least, that we'd made it to High Camp the night before.
By 5:30am the situation had much improved. It was getting lighter and the glow on the mountains was indescribably magical. (Unfortunately I didn't take any photos; it was still to cold to stop and take my gloves off. Anyway, no photo I could have taken could possibly capture the feeling of being there.) From then on, every minute was better than the last as it was getting progressively warmer and every step was taking up closer to Thorung La. Henry and Vivek were soon way ahead, but Dil was solidly by my side and Ram stuck with Maria. The 'slowly, slowly' adage ('bistarai, bistarai' in Nepali) served us well. I drank as much as I could, which probably wasn't as much as I should, and kept myself energised with trail mix, granola bars and the Kendall Mint Cake that I'd been saving since Christmas for an ocassion such as this. That combination did me well.
We'd been told that a fit, well-acclimatised person could make it from High Camp to the pass in 2-3 hours, so we were expecting it to take us 4-5, given how slowly we'd been walking at altitude. But we were in no rush. There were, after all, magnificent views to be enjoyed. I know I'd been saying this for days, but now we were really in the peaks. One snow-capped beauty that seemed almost close enough to touch, was about 6000m, only about 600m higher than where we were heading.
And then, unexpectedly, I saw Vivek bouncing back towards me and Dil to tell us that we were only about ten minutes from the Thorung La. I couldn't quite believe it but soon I was there. It had taken me 2 hours and 45 minutes.
Once at the pass there was a great deal of hugging and high-fiving with all the people we knew who were already up there, and more as other made it. I was very happy. We spent about half an hour chatting, celebrating (my reward was a cinnamon roll), taking photos and posing for them:
Whilst undoubtedly impressive, it wasn't quite the mind blowing panorama that I'd been lead to expect. Here's the 360 degree view from the top:It's customary to write a message on a prayer flag up there. Since it was Dad's birthday, a write a happy birthday note to him, leaving the the sentiments to make their way to him on the wind.
After half an hour I started to feel a headache coming on and was ready to start heading down. The first step off the pass was also the first moment I could stop worrying about AMS, so that was a great relief.
The first part of the downhill was easy and fun. It wasn't too steep and I was on a total high from having crossed the pass. After an hour and a half or so, it got really tough. Steep followed by more steep. By now it was getting pretty warm but also windy and I couldn't figure out the right clothing combination. I lost could of how many times I switched between my wool hat and my baseball cap. The path was also taking its toll on my knees. Even with knee support grips and my walking sticks I could feel every step there. At least there was the view, which changed pretty rapidly as things I felt we hadn't seen in days came back into view - shrubs, running water.
The downhill was interminable. After about three hours of it we reached Charbu and stopped for tea. By this time Henry and Vivek were well ahead of us again. We'd been told it was only three hours to Muktinath from Thorung La, so it was somewhat disappointing after that time to still have at least an hour to go.
The caffine refreshment gave me a boost and I just wanted to get there, so I set out at quite a pace from Charbu. It was such a relief to be moving freely and quickly after so many days of sluggishness at altitude. Thankfully, the last hour into Muktinath was less steep.
Overall, the walk to the pass was much better than expected and the walk down much worse (though all reports I'd heard suggested that this would be the case). In particular, of all the things that I'd heard could be a problem on the way up, none actually happened: the path was easy to follow, there was almost no snow on the ground, it took less long than expected and I wasn't fooled by the 20-odd false summits, the weather was perfect, the sky blue and not a cloud in sight and the winds failed to materialise, at least as long as we were on the way up.
The last few minutes into Muktinath was like a jolt back into reality. We saw the first motorised vehichle, a motorbike, since we'd began trekking. We were also back in a Hindu area after days in Buddhist land. Our lodge, the Bob Marley, was a definite change of pace from anywhere else we'd stayed; a pool table, reggae on the stereo (much to Maria's delight), an interesting menu, tiled bathrooms with sit down loos and a properly really hot shower.
Maria and I arrived about 12:30. It seemed strange to have had such a long day and yet for it to be only lunchtime. We hung out on the rooftop restaurant with Henry and Simon where I enjoyed a well-deserved beer and a yak burger (my first meat in over a week). I wanted to send Dad a happy birthday text (a more reliable way to get him the message than the prayer flag) and was pleasantly surprised to find I had reception (at over 3700m!), and we delighted when he called me back, which I hadn't expected at all. Although we didn't talk long, it was great to speak with both him and Mum, catch up briefly on their news and let them know that I was OK. It put me in an even better mood than I was already in.
For me, the best part staying at the Bob Marley was finding a number of our new trekking friends already there; cute Maria, Jolie and Paul, the Israeli hippies. Even Rabbi Dan and Gord (a cool Canadian guy we'd first met on Day 4), who weren't actually staying there, came to hang out, discuss the morning's achievement and eat apple pie. So passed a happy afternoon.
It happened to be a Friday and Eyal (one of the Isreali hippies) had suggested I joined them in bringing in Shabbat, but at the appropriate time they were nowhere to be seen. Instead, I suggested that Rabbi Dan came over to lead a short service (he'd been planning to mark it on his own). And so began the oddest kiddush I've ever taken part in. Dan had candles but, wine and challah being in short supply in Muktinath, I ordered the next best I could, seabuck thorn juice and chapati, which Dad took to pronoucing with a hard 'ch', much to my amusement. There were about ten of us present, though only three of us are Jewish, but everyone took part. I didn't find it to be a particularly moving or spiritual occasion, but I loved it for its novely - I wonder if kiddush has ever been said over reggae background music before - and also for the remarkably good luck of being in the company of a rabbi on Shabbat in the mountains, especially on a day that was already remarkable for having crossed the pass.
The rest of the evening passed without much event; a yummy dinner of fresh ravioli with spinach and ricotta, playing cards and then calling it a night at 8:30pm. It had, after all, been a long day.
After half an hour I started to feel a headache coming on and was ready to start heading down. The first step off the pass was also the first moment I could stop worrying about AMS, so that was a great relief.
The first part of the downhill was easy and fun. It wasn't too steep and I was on a total high from having crossed the pass. After an hour and a half or so, it got really tough. Steep followed by more steep. By now it was getting pretty warm but also windy and I couldn't figure out the right clothing combination. I lost could of how many times I switched between my wool hat and my baseball cap. The path was also taking its toll on my knees. Even with knee support grips and my walking sticks I could feel every step there. At least there was the view, which changed pretty rapidly as things I felt we hadn't seen in days came back into view - shrubs, running water.
The downhill was interminable. After about three hours of it we reached Charbu and stopped for tea. By this time Henry and Vivek were well ahead of us again. We'd been told it was only three hours to Muktinath from Thorung La, so it was somewhat disappointing after that time to still have at least an hour to go.
The caffine refreshment gave me a boost and I just wanted to get there, so I set out at quite a pace from Charbu. It was such a relief to be moving freely and quickly after so many days of sluggishness at altitude. Thankfully, the last hour into Muktinath was less steep.
Overall, the walk to the pass was much better than expected and the walk down much worse (though all reports I'd heard suggested that this would be the case). In particular, of all the things that I'd heard could be a problem on the way up, none actually happened: the path was easy to follow, there was almost no snow on the ground, it took less long than expected and I wasn't fooled by the 20-odd false summits, the weather was perfect, the sky blue and not a cloud in sight and the winds failed to materialise, at least as long as we were on the way up.
The last few minutes into Muktinath was like a jolt back into reality. We saw the first motorised vehichle, a motorbike, since we'd began trekking. We were also back in a Hindu area after days in Buddhist land. Our lodge, the Bob Marley, was a definite change of pace from anywhere else we'd stayed; a pool table, reggae on the stereo (much to Maria's delight), an interesting menu, tiled bathrooms with sit down loos and a properly really hot shower.
Maria and I arrived about 12:30. It seemed strange to have had such a long day and yet for it to be only lunchtime. We hung out on the rooftop restaurant with Henry and Simon where I enjoyed a well-deserved beer and a yak burger (my first meat in over a week). I wanted to send Dad a happy birthday text (a more reliable way to get him the message than the prayer flag) and was pleasantly surprised to find I had reception (at over 3700m!), and we delighted when he called me back, which I hadn't expected at all. Although we didn't talk long, it was great to speak with both him and Mum, catch up briefly on their news and let them know that I was OK. It put me in an even better mood than I was already in.
For me, the best part staying at the Bob Marley was finding a number of our new trekking friends already there; cute Maria, Jolie and Paul, the Israeli hippies. Even Rabbi Dan and Gord (a cool Canadian guy we'd first met on Day 4), who weren't actually staying there, came to hang out, discuss the morning's achievement and eat apple pie. So passed a happy afternoon.
It happened to be a Friday and Eyal (one of the Isreali hippies) had suggested I joined them in bringing in Shabbat, but at the appropriate time they were nowhere to be seen. Instead, I suggested that Rabbi Dan came over to lead a short service (he'd been planning to mark it on his own). And so began the oddest kiddush I've ever taken part in. Dan had candles but, wine and challah being in short supply in Muktinath, I ordered the next best I could, seabuck thorn juice and chapati, which Dad took to pronoucing with a hard 'ch', much to my amusement. There were about ten of us present, though only three of us are Jewish, but everyone took part. I didn't find it to be a particularly moving or spiritual occasion, but I loved it for its novely - I wonder if kiddush has ever been said over reggae background music before - and also for the remarkably good luck of being in the company of a rabbi on Shabbat in the mountains, especially on a day that was already remarkable for having crossed the pass.
The rest of the evening passed without much event; a yummy dinner of fresh ravioli with spinach and ricotta, playing cards and then calling it a night at 8:30pm. It had, after all, been a long day.
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