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.
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