Prayer wheels disappeared some time after Namche without my noticing (because I was thinking more about breathing, I guess?), but whatever prayers we sent up before must have been answered, because the clouds had broken by the time we got up this morning, and the mountains were smiling down upon us.
Today’s practice hike was meant to take us halfway up Nangkartsang Peak (5,084m, 16,676 feet). I looked up the mountain to where Surya indicated we would stop. A pole decked with prayer flags was dimly visible on a rise of the mountain behind us.
It didn’t look so far.
“What if we go all the way to the top?” I had proposed yesterday, at least half serious.
Surya had given me an impressive side-eye.
“We can see,” he’d said. “We’ll wait for tomorrow. It depends on the weather, and how we feel.”
Fair enough.
The thing was, it just didn’t look like we’d be going very high. Going twice that high, to the peak at 5,616m (18,420 feet) would really be something. Why not try now, while we were feeling so good? Then I’d know for absolute sure that I had what it took to cross all these passes, and visit my beloved Everest with confidence.
Oh, hubris, thy name is “you have no idea what elevations this high do to perspective.”
We plodded cheerfully if slowly up the side of the mountain. We started above 14,000 feet, where it is not noticeably more difficult to breathe, but you can feel it in any exertion you make. It’s like your body just won’t respond as fully as you expect.
We reached the first set of prayer flags and stopped for a rest. Clouds danced merrily around Tabuche and Cholatse behind us, giving us occasional, tantalizing peeks of their 6300m (20,600-foot), snow-dusted peaks. Cloud-cover on Thamserku, Kangtega, and Ama Dablam across the valley from us was more complete, but I felt optimistic.
Onward and upward.
“We’re at 14,928 feet,” Dustin noted at what felt like it might be our final set of stacked rocks and prayer flags. “We should at least go up another 70 feet.”
“We’re not there yet,” I said, nodding toward the next-highest flag-festooned knob, which must actually be our final destination. The top of Nangkartsang was shrouded in clouds, so I assumed my proposal to reach the summit would be a no-go.
Up and slowly up, to the ridge that took us over 15,000 feet for the first time ever. The clouds across the valley parted and AMA Dablam – closest and tallest of the nearby 6,000+ meter peaks shined down upon us in all her glory. There was much “oooh”ing and picture-taking.
“So this is 5,000 meters?” I asked Surya, feeling at least proud of that accomplishment, even if the stretch goal was out of reach. Getting here had hardly been difficult at all!
Surya shook his head with an, “oh, you cute little tourist” smile.
“Up there,” he said, gesturing farther up the mountain. Much farther.
We weren’t even halfway to our original destination elevation yet.
“Oh,” I said, as if this revelation hadn’t caused a little part of me to crumple.
“We’ll rest here for half an hour, then we’ll go to the next flags,” Surya said. “Then we’ll go down.”
“Not all the way to 5,000 meters?” I asked, uncertain what I wanted the answer to be.
Surya shrugged. “We’ll see. Same views.”
We rested and took a million more photos, then trudged slowly up to our next (or last) designated stop.
“We’ll rest here, maybe an hour, then go down, okay?” Surya said. I gazed up the side of the mountain. A line of backpack-wearing trekkers wound up the steep path, appearing like ants as they marched toward the 5,000-meter marker. It was so much higher than we already were. I’d thought that was how much higher I would have to go to reach the summit. The summit was actually as far as we’d climbed already times three.
“He will go with us up to 5,000 if we want to go,” I said. “Should we at least do that? That’s what we’re supposed to do today. To practice.”
Dustin followed my gaze along the trail of ant-people to the next ridge.
“I could go either way,” he concluded.
We settled in on comfy rocks and basked in the mountains around us. Surya pulled out a pipe and played a lilting melody, a prayer to the gods or the winds that the clouds would clear more fully.
“I could keep going,” I eventually mused. “I feel good. I could do it, but it would be very slow.”
“I feel like I could hike right up there, no problem,” Dustin said. “But I feel a little… I don’t know. Off. Strange. Not bad, just not normal. Loping up the rest of this mountain probably wouldn’t be healthy.”
“But going slowly?” I prodded.
“I could,” he agreed. “But I don’t feel like I need to.”
We returned to musing and not making decisions.
“I’m not here to prove anything,” I finally said. “I’m here to do this: lounge on nice rocks and admire these mountains. If I have to hike a little to get to admire them, I’m willing to do that, but if Surya doesn’t think we need to go higher today to stay healthy, I’m happy to go back now.”
And so we did.
- Starting location: Dingboche, 4,323m (14,468 feet)
- Max elevation: part way up Nangkartsang, 4,664m (15,304 feet)
- Ending location: Dingboche, 4,323m (14,468 feet)
- Total gain: 342m (1,123 feet)
- Average pace: 59’50” per mile
- Slowest mile: 1:04’10”
- Oxygen: 92/92
And then I spent the rest of the evening worrying that I should have gone up to get that first visit to 5,000 meters (16,400 feet) under my belt before trying 5,500 meters (18,040 feet) the day after tomorrow.
But our oxygen clocked in at 92 again this evening, and we continue to feel really good. The last 400 meters we’d skipped out on today would not be what will make or break our big hike in a couple days.
A few more pretty photos that didn’t have a place in the narrative:
As a post note, I would like to observe that there are many spectacular, even glorious ways to die in the Himalayas: you can fall off a mountain attempting some mad new record; you can get swept away by an avalanche; you can call your helecopter evac too late to save you from altitude sickness; you can get trampled by a herd of yaks (and from my observations, this is the most likely way for tourists to go), but let me tell you: falling off a mountain because you slipped on a giant, steaming pile of yak poo is not on the list. (I’m fine. I was caught by a very comfortable juniper bush.)
Thither & Yon 