Teachings from a Hill Part 2

August 8, 2013

Note: The Internet is Leh is very unreliable. I'm in a rush to post this, as I'm heading to the even more isolated Spiti Valley, a 4-5 ride from Leh. I havenèt had time to proof read this one last time, and I expect there will be errors. 

When morning sunlight rapidly transformed my from tent from ice-box to sweat-box, I crawled outside as said good morning to Base Camp, at Stok Kangri. It had been a sleepless night; my body was achy, and I was gasping for breath in the thin atmosphere. I figured I’d have all day to rest, acclimatize, and possibly nap before beginning the hike to the summit at midnight. Dominik, who was far more experienced with trekking and climbing than either Tarin or I, had other plans.

Over an early breakfast, he informed me that we’d soon depart on a 2 hour hike to the glacier. Once there we’d put on our crampons, and practice various maneuvers with our ice picks. I had trekked as far as the bathroom earlier in the morning, and that was challenging enough. As far as I was concerned, I had done plenty of activity for the day. I could hang out around the beautiful base camp for the next two days for all I cared.I had achieved enough.

What I love most about long climbs is watching the kinds of doubts which arise. More often than not, they are merely phantoms which quickly come and go. However, they can be completely convincing. The mind constructs very convincing stories about the situation, and then tells the owner what he really wants to do – which generally does not include the pointless labor of climbing a mountain.However, the story can either be believed the truth, or the truth can be put to the test. Usually, the safety mechanism of ‘The Doubting Story’kicks in near the summit of a climb when the climber is exhausted, and the is brain low on vital nutrients.My head was full of such stories long before the journey to the summit began, which allowed them ample time to seem increasingly real.

I protested the days hike a little, proffering the logic of my fatigue and a sleepless night. Both Dominik and Tarin disagreed, and without too much more whining I consented to join them. Tarin and I strapped on our ridiculous snow boots, and off we went to ABC – which is what those in the know call Advanced Base Camp. The rigidness of the boots provided excellent arch support, for which I was grateful. Still, their blocky design, and unnecessary weight made them cumbersome. Most people coming down from the summit usually made a passing effort to mock them, regardless how exhausted they seemed.

“What are you doing, trekking in those?” They wheezed. “Those are ridiculous.” Others added.

Had I the energy to generate emotions, I might have felt insulted or annoyed. However, the curious inability to process feelings was in full effect. I simply forced a smile, and drooled on myself as I struggled to walk by them.

We reached the glacier in just over two hours of slow-placed walking, climbing to an elevation 5400 meters. Dominik and Tarin kept me in very good spirits as none of us took anything too seriously. Both internally and externally I think I was by far the biggest curmudgeon of the group, but neither of them called me on it.Their presence and composure was my greatest source of energy, and I fed on their genuine, friendly nature. We marched around on the glacier for a while, and ran mock drills on how to stop a fall using our ice picks. It was all pretty basic, and this particular glacier, we were told, presented no real danger.

The air was as fresh as air gets. While it was dusty and arid elsewhere, tramping around on the glacier was like standing on a giant, soothing lozenge. We drank freshly melted glacial water, and Tarin attempted to start the revolution with a snowball fight – her first! Dominik coached us in the most efficient ways of not-dying, and I kept things light by playing the part of rodeo clown. I had borrowed a medium brimmed cowboy hat for the hike, and I thought it suited mewell enough. Being the only American present, I attempted to converse in my most authentic southern drawl. I made boisterous proclamations about the unparalleled greatness of ‘Merica, and told of my plans to ensure the safety of my imaginary children by including Glock-9’s, and various semi-automatics in their pack lunches. Such exaggerated stereotypes never fail to get a resounding laugh when travelling with non-American Westerners. I even have a whole routine about my insatiable love of peanut butter, which I naturally shout-talk to people, displaying my two most sincere and unrelenting signs of having grown up in an enigmatic America. 

In total we spent over an hour on the glacier itself; faffing about, telling jokes, practicing a bit, but most importantly we were acclimatizing. I was exhausted, and had a mounting headache when we decided it was time to start heading back for lunch. I took some time to look around and embrace the magic of being on my first glacier. It was a comparatively tiny glacier, which lives in a similarly small valley. It is bisected by a narrow channel of rapidly moving, ruddy water that had picked up its color from the stones above. Towards the fringe of the ice-sheet is the rubble of stones which had tumbled down the valley walls long ago. The larger stones were closer to the edge, gradually fading to tiny, broken pebbles further up the valley incline. There were occasional large boulders which look like golf-balls, teed up on thin pillars of snow which refused to melt in the shadow cast by the imposing rock above. The sun shone doubly bright on the snow, and above was a sky so saturated with blue that it looked like a freshly painted wall.

Returning to base camp walking their normal pace, my companions quickly pulled out of sight. Disconnected from their energy, doubts began to creep back in. I couldn’t shake the thought that I just wanted to be back at base camp, eating and resting. I was highly irritated that society had yet to invent teleportation. I sent projections of rage to the editors of Scientific American, and Discover magazines for making me think that such advances are just around the corner. I began composing my speech to Tarin and Dominik about how I would not be joining them at midnight to attempt a summit.

I trundled back to base camp with the speed and agility of a tortoise, fueled only by the distraction provided by two episodes of one of my favorite podcasts: This American Life. The soothing and quirky voice of Ira Glass, coupled with a half-dozen or so zany stories kept my contempt for Nature at bay. My perception shifted from thinking Nature was magical, to condemning it as maniacal. I sneered at the hot and dry desert which surrounded me, and I cursed my enfeebled body. My legs ached, my head was pounding, and my stomach felt like it was trying to digest plutonium. I couldn’t wait to waive the white flag of defeat. I had done enough. What was I even doing up there?

I made it back to camp nearly two hours after Dominik and Tarin. They had cooked lunch, and had saved me some, but I was forced to decline on account of my upset stomach. Not wanting to disappoint them with the news that I wouldn’t be joining them, I went inside the base camp’s common tent. Upsetting as it was, my mind was made up. Although I had enjoyed myself as much as possible, I was content to sit out the midnight climb to the summit. We were nine hours away from departure, and I felt more like I was coming down with the flu than prepared for a grueling trek.

I went inside and ordered some bottles of water. I unlaced my bulky boots, and found a comfortable place to collapse. The guys who ran the café, like everyone else, pointed out that snow boots were not necessary this time of year; that I should climb in my hiking boots. For the umpteenth time I was forced to reveal my incompetence. I told them that the only alternative to snow boots I had were flip-flips, and although I had managed to hike up to base camp wearing them I didn’t think they work with my crampons. They chuckled a bit, but were genuinely sympathetic to my plight. Seeking a solution, they asked what size shoe I needed. When I told them I needed a size US 11,one of the workers instantly kicked off his boots.

“Here, take these. They are US size 11.” Said Suraj, the cook, as he casually handed them to me.

To accurately portray the improbability of this event would require an award winning ‘TED Talk’ on the average size of feet in the developing world, and the rarity of shoe outlets above 5000 meters. Just yesterday I went to buy new trekking boots in the city of Leh (I’ve learned my lesson), and was told by several stores that I wouldn’t be able to find a size eleven in all of Leh; that Delhi would be my best bet.

The shoes Suraj lent me fit like a dream, and he smiled like it was no big deal. They had been donated the guys who run the café a few weeks prior, and Suraj was happy to let me borrow them for a day. My spirits were slightly renewed. If I were to try and hike to the top, it would be a whole lot easier. I hadn’t told them of my desire to quit, and they continued to help me out. For the better part of an hour, they diligently sorted through their massive pile spare crampons trying to find a pair that would fit my new boots. My optimism rose with every passing moment. My appetite returned mightily, and my headache disappeared. Clarity replaced my day-long mental fog, and I became aware of the numerous empty water bottles strewn about my feet. They were all mine. I had downed almost five liters of water of since returning to base camp.

I laughed at my growing list of oversights, and flirting with dehydration was now one of them. Mostly though, I could only think about how great I now felt. Thanks to the addition of a water, my perception of the situation changed completely. I felt more like having a laugh and climbing a 20,000 ft. mountain at midnight; less like whining about how lousy I felt, and giving up. I downed a huge lunch, and walked briskly over to Dominik and Train’s tent without becoming winded. I was all smiles, inside and out, and told them the good news about new hiking boots. I began looking forward to that nights climb, and had no doubt that I would make it.

We went to rest in our tents around 6 pm, and Dominik and Tarin said they’d wake me up around 11 pm to begin getting ready. I went to bed full of energy and urine, which does not make for a good night’s sleep, particularly when camping. I didn’t mind though. Between bathroom breaks, I lay contentedly in my tent – toasty warm thanks to an additional sleeping bag I had borrowed. For some unknown reason, my body refused to shut down and let me drift off to sleep. I listened to more pod casts, relaxed; happy to be where I was.

I watched the scheduled wake-up time come and go. I began to suspect that I had the wake-up time confused with the departure time. At fifteen minutes to midnight, I gently woke Dominik and Tarin who were fast asleep in their tent. I had the time right, but their alarm clock had run out of batteries. Fortunately, we still had plenty of time. We had packed all the necessities earlier in the afternoon, and even had time to boil a liter of water to make a strong batch of green tea, which we poured into a thermos.

We departed for the summit at 12:15am, and initially marched between two tour groups consisting of a half dozen or so climbers. The night air was crisp, and the wind was as still as the night. The first two hours were easy; a clearly defined trail up to the glacier which we had horsed around on during the afternoon. At the glacier we put on our crampons, and marched across a crunchy glacier. The stream which marked the mid-way point across the glacier had slowed to a trickle. The banks of ice on the miniature valley which the river had carved during the daytime glowed a frosty blue under the illumination of a quarter moon.

After crossing the glacier the real climbing began, and we managed to stop chatting. I don’t recall what we had been so keen to talk about from midnight until two in the morning, climbing a mountain, and crossing a glacier. Knowing us, I would guess that philosophy and plausible answers to the meaning of life came up. However, we were also prone to talk about food all the time, and it’s not unlike me to discuss my bowel movements when the opportunity presents itself. Regardless, when the climbing got serious, we were able to shut up and enjoy the silence.

We zigzagged up a long, icy incline, and I reveled in the simplicity of the process. My mind became quiet, hollow, rhythmic. In a delicate way, nothing seemed to matter. I don’t recall any exhaustion, shortness of breath, or negative thoughts to grapple with. I’m sure such thoughts did come, but they didn’t leave any traces. Towards the eastern horizon, the sky was unzipping. A distant mountain range come into focus; a ragged dividing line between Earth and the Heavens. Color bled upwards out of the Earth, and gradually devoured stars and what had once been night sky. Eventually the Sun triumphed, and night was officially obliterated. All climbers simultaneously came to a stop, momentarily awestruck; then giddy – everyone looked around to see who else was smiling. For a few minutes only, we were all bathed in electric tangerine light. When it had passed, everyone resumed their own personal march.

Dominik was ahead of us for most of the climb. He would scurry ahead, check the route, and then wait for Tarin and I to catch up, cloaked in a crazy space-blanket he’d brought with him which, despite being as thin as aluminum foil, apparently retain 90% of body heat. That was our basic routine all the way to the top. Much to my surprise, the hike was quite easy. We weren’t the first people to make the summit, but we all seemed to enjoy every bit of the process. Tarin and I made a final push and arrived at an empty summit save one wacky German expedition leader: Dominik. He’d been up there by himself for 30 minutes or so before we arrived, and was seated peacefully looking out at all the world.When we joined him the celebrations began. We had each gotten ourselves up 6140 meters/ 20,144 feet/ 3.8 miles above sea-level; and the weather was spectacular. There was not a cloud in the sky. The wind amounted to little more than a light breeze. A blanket of mountain ranges extended all the way to the horizon. On a clear day K2, the world’s second highest mountain, is visible from the summit of Stok Kangri. Unfortunately, none of us knew this at the time. Nevertheless, we’ve all apparently laid our gaze on the whole of K2, and it was stunning! We spent almost an hour taking pictures, chatting with other climbers, and enjoying the views. After that, it was as they say: all downhill from there.

We began our decline with some great views, but they gradually became less and less stunning. The apex had come and gone; the climax had already been reached. There was no higher goal to set our sights on. We could only look back on where we had been, and remember how good we had it.

Due to my knees, I descend like a grandpa. Once we reached a safe place, Dominik went at his own pace – which is about as fast as I can run. Tarin kept me company for another couple of hours. Once we reached Advanced Base Camp, Tarin took off, and it was me and Ira Glass once again for final two hour stretch to Plain Ol’ Base Camp. Though I was not the last person to summit, I was the last person to make it back to camp by a wide margin. I didn’t mind at all. I’d had a great day. I wasn’t even tired, and my mood was still up.

I think my primary lesson from day one was obvious: plan first; then be ready to go with the flow. The lesson of the follow days had more to do with perception vs. reality; doubts vs. actual capacity. These kinds of battles against the self are common to climbing. Doubts enter the mind, and the climber has to continually persevere; to overcome himself in order to reach the top. I’ve had these sorts of mental battles on climbs before, but this time all my doubts and struggles had come and gone before the climb even began. After I had hydrated properly, all was smooth sailing, and I’m sure there’s a lesson there, too. Mostly, I remembered how much I love to go for walks in nature, and climb somewhat large mountains if I can. Each trek I’ve done has been a living metaphor; I highly recommend them. Confidence and elation soar once the top is reached. The subconscious is well aware that you can go no higher. More than anything I learned the value of surrounding myself with positive people. Dominik and Tarin, whether they know it or not, are wholly responsible for getting me up that mountain. I didn’t have the confidence to set out on my own like I wanted to. If I had, I’m 100% sure I would have called it quits at base camp. Subtly and persistently they pulled me along, and for that I am grateful.