three passes trek journal - part 4

Day 6: Pangboche to Dingboche, side trek to Nangkar Tsang

Sleep didn’t come easy to me the night before. Even the afternoon I planned to use for a long nap was spent staring at the ceiling. Still, I refused to acknowledge that I was already showing symptoms of AMS. I assumed I was just overthinking things, hence the lack of sleep.

The trail from Pangboche was cutting through the old floodplain of the Dudh Kosi river, with a very gradual ascent that I never felt like I was gaining elevation. Dingboche is at an altitude of 4410m, which meant climbing more than 400m. But the only time I remember feeling exhausted because of walking on a steep trail was after crossing the river. And it didn’t even last very long.

It took me less than two hours to reach Dingboche. I easily found the teahouse where Dierk and I were supposed to meet but he wasn’t there. The guy who I assumed to be the son of the owners, gave me a note. It was from Dierk and it said that he decided to leave for Chukkung that morning. I didn’t want to make a decision at that moment if I should stay or go so I opted to have my lunch even though it was still too early.

Going up Nangkar Tsang.

Chukkung is less than three hours’ walk from Dingboche. Even if I lingered for an extended siesta, I had enough time in the afternoon to get there. But it is also 300m higher and in terms of acclimatization, proceeding would be a wrong move. Nangkar Tsang is also in the Lonely Planet list of detours. So I opted to stay. And besides, the old woman running the guesthouse seemed very kind.

After a quick rest, I went up to Nangkar Tsang, the hill behind the village. The map I had said it was 5600+m. If I could make it there, it would have been the highest I had ever been. But the people at the guesthouse said it was only about 5100m. Bummer. But it didn’t deter me.

The first part of the climb wasn’t steep. I reached a low ridge with chortens and prayer flags in no time. From there, I had a full view of the village, which was also situated on an old floodplain. The land is parceled with walls. Some have buildings, but most are empty. They’re probably cultivated during the season and it was already post-harvest time.

I continued going up. It was disheartening seeing everyone else already on their way down. I looked behind me for some encouragement but couldn’t see anyone. I looked at my phone and realized it was only half past noon, although people going the opposite direction made it feel like it was already late in the day.

The village of Dingboche. If you could see the orange tents, the one in front of it was the guesthouse I stayed at.

The trail was winding on a steep incline, making lots of switchbacks. I got impatient sticking to it and chose to go straight up, trail or no trail. The trail vanished among a jumble of boulders. The pole with prayer flags attached to it signaled where I needed to go. I found a group of young people when I reached the pole. But farther, I could still see higher peaks. I looked for a way to get there but was told by a guy that we were at a dead end. I glanced past him and saw the ridge has gone too narrow with a sharp drop on both sides. I moved back and found a comfortable spot to enjoy the view. To my left is Chola Tsho and the village of Dragnag, where I would be treading the following week. To my left is Ama Dablam, which looked like something else viewed from that angle. I sat there for about an hour doing nothing else. But actually, I was waiting for everyone to leave so I could have a moment up there on my own. When I heard someone said they’d wait for sunset, I stood up and left. 

Day 7: Dingboche to Chukkung, side trek to Chukkung Ri

No one else came to the guesthouse the previous day and for the first time on this trek, I was the lone guest. So when I went to the dining hall for breakfast, the woman asked me to dine at their kitchen. I didn’t mind it though. It was such a waste of precious fuel heating a large room for just one person.

The kitchen was just starting to heat up. I asked for some muesli with hot milk. I was prepared to receive a measly breakfast but the bowl given to me was so full that she couldn’t put enough milk in it. So instead, she gave me a mug of milk and said that if I needed more, there were still some in the kettle. When you’ve been on a trek where you were made to feel like people want to squeeze every penny out of you, generous acts become strange and at the same time heart-warming.

I didn’t leave the guesthouse well after 9am. Chukkung was only three hours away as I was told. And like the previous day, the trail was only gradually rising that I didn’t feel the 300m increase in altitude. The only challenging part was when I had to go up and down little hills of boulders that didn’t seem to have an ending. And there was a little stream to cross before getting to the village, but it was deeper than my boots could handle. There were planks of wood across the water but their surface was covered with ice so using them was out of the question. I waited for other people to cross to see where they step foot but they all had a pair of trekking poles which made balancing less difficult for them. I took my pole out and started the slow, nervous crossing. There was a guy leaning on a huge rock at the other side of the stream, which made me feel a bit better. If in case I slip and fall, someone could help me. I kept my head bowed down the whole time, carefully choosing the rocks on which to step on. I made it without any incident and when I raised my head, there was no sign of the guy. The thought of me needing any help probably never crossed his mind.

A little hill in Chukkung.

The first guesthouse in Chukkung didn’t feel inviting. The next seemed okay but looked too big that the dining area may get so busy. And besides, I saw the young couples ahead of me went in there and I didn’t feel like being near couples. The third was locked. I knew there were at least four guesthouses so I kept walking towards the end of the village. Even though Chukkung is small, I didn’t feel like going back so when I found the guesthouse, I entered its gate. There were two buildings, the other one looking more like a small annex. I noticed men hanging out in the sun in front of the smaller building and asked if I could get a room. One of them stood up and told me to wait while he gets the key. I followed him but I stopped when I realized that they were drinking. In the middle of the day. It didn’t feel right. But instead of walking away, I just stood there until the man came back. He showed me my room which was located in the annex and it was so sunny, it made me stay.

When I came out of my room, the men weren’t there anymore. I went to the dining hall which was on the second floor of the main building. I took a seat on a sunny spot and ordered daal bhat for lunch. The men I saw earlier arrived and one of them took the table next to mine. He started chatting with me but I was a little apprehensive. He must have sensed my uneasiness so he went on explaining that they were just having one bottle of beer, trying to kill time. It turned out that Mann, the guy talking to me was a guide/coordinator for people who were doing the same trek and also climbing some peaks. The other guys were their porters who were already getting bored because one of their clients took another acclimatization day before climbing Island Peak. When Mann learned that I was trekking on my own, he suggested that I go with his client Brian on crossing the pass the next day. He then went on telling me that Brian is just crossing the three passes; he was also climbing three 6000+m peaks. All in a span of three weeks. Mann added that he was currently the fastest to climb Island Peak among their clients. I knew that I would be too slow for him so I told Mann that I was planning to spend an extra day in Chukkung to see Island Peak Base Camp. Which was true anyway.

In the afternoon, I set out to go up Chukkung Ri. At 5550m, it would be a 700+m ascent from the village. There was also another peak at an elevation of 5800m but it’s less popular. I had some trouble finding the route. I knew I needed to cross the river but couldn’t find a bridge. I searched for it downstream but got no luck. Fortunately, I found a man who walked on the shallowest part of the river. I traced his steps and successfully reached the other side.

The trail that leads to Chukkung Ri.

There was no definite trail from the river. The man just pointed me to where Chukkung Ri is. I could either follow the paths going straight up or those almost parallel ones which were slowly ascending, separated only by lines of dwarf shrubs. I might have chosen the easier path but every step I took was taxing. It wasn’t AMS, I was sure of that. I ate so much daal bhat for lunch I felt so heavy and I was having a hard time breathing. Daal bhat is said to give you “24-hour power” but in my case, the daal bhat decided to hibernate in my stomach and stole all my power. In the end, I only reached a ridge way below my target. From there, I could see the trail to Chukkung Ri. I felt there was no way I could get there so I settled on a defeat. The view was good enough though. And I had the place all to myself.

Day 8: side trek to Island Peak Base Camp

When I woke up, I decided that I would stay another day in Chukkung, even if it meant not having someone to cross Kongma La with. Why worry about tomorrow when I could enjoy today?

I found Mann in the dining hall, smiling at me. It turned out, his client decided to have a rest day which meant we would be crossing the pass on the same day. I could not escape his generosity. But the thing is that it was only Mann making the offer. What if it was not okay for Brian? That was what’s bothering me.

I set off for the base camp. Mann gave me some directions but after crossing a tiny stream, I was already unsure where to go. Good thing I saw a few people walking a little ahead of me. There’s nowhere else to go in that route except the base camp so I just followed them. The whole time we were walking on a hodgepodge of semi-loose rocks which based on what I observed from Nangkar Tsang were a confluence of glaciers that had long melted and were now actively eroded by glacial fed streams. (I may be wrong though.)

After crossing the glacier, I emerged into another valley. The stream had some ice cover but it didn’t stop a group of yaks from hanging around the area. I caught up with the people I was following and confirmed that they were also going to the base camp. They were going a bit too slow for me though so I went ahead. When I encountered a junction, I opted to take a higher trail rather than cross the stream. Upon reaching the lower bank of Imja Tsho (lake), I took out my map and confirmed that I was on the right track. But I had a sudden change of mind. I wanted to take the longer trail, leading to the Amphu Labsta Base Camp which was on the opposite side of Imja Tsho. So instead of turning left, I turned right.

Imja Tsho and I.

It was a surprise to see an excavator (backhoe for my fellow Pinoys) parked near the lake. I also saw a group of men working on some sort of installation and bridge across the stream running from the lake. I read somewhere that the government of Nepal along with UNDP had this project of draining Imja Tsho. Being fed by a glacier which is continuously melting, this lake is one of the fastest-growing in Nepal. This could lead to the lake water breaching its banks causing flash flood which could adversely affect mountain villages. Those men may be part of that project.

The only way for me to get to the other side was through the bridge. I could retrace my way back to the riverbed but it was too far. So I approached the men, half-expecting that they would stop me. I said Namaste and some of them acknowledged my presence but no one seemed to care that I was there. So I just quietly crossed the bridge and went my way.

The walk I took actually wasn’t that interesting. Imja Tsho with its grey colored water wasn’t exactly stunning. My goal that day was to walk as far as I could. I walked past the other guys again, whom I found idling by the edge of the lake. I wasn’t even halfway towards the other end of the lake when I started feeling jittery. No, it wasn’t the men I saw earlier that was causing me worry. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of a yeti suddenly showing itself, abducting me and taking me to god-knows-where. I don’t even know how it looks like. And getting face to face with a yeti has about the same probability with me stumbling upon the love of my life in that place. Still, it caused me the base camp and I grudgingly retreated.

The view on my way back to Chukkung.

When I reached the guesthouse, I saw Mann sitting with a guy who I assumed was Brian. He was busy writing, most likely a journal. A big book was in front of him. At least we had something in common. I still wasn’t determined going with him though. The guy paid premium for trekking and climbing guides and porters and I would be having some sort of free lunch. Somehow, it didn’t feel right for me.

Before I went to bed that night, I pre-ordered my breakfast. When asked what time I wanted the food served, I wasn’t able to give an answer right away. By chance, Mann was standing beside me and he told the guy to have it ready the same time as Brian’s. And so the morrow’s been decided.

three passes trek journal - part 3

Day 4 - Namche Bazaar to Pangboche

My fourth day doing the Three Passes Trek was the day I made up my mind regarding my itinerary. That is, I wouldn’t have any.

After having breakfast and packing my bag, I went back to the dining area to pay my bill. There I found the guide who offered to adopt me and his team, ready to leave. He told me they would be staying in Tengboche, in case wanted to go with them. Thinking they’d be walking faster than me, I told him I’d find them. My bill was a little over 3000NPR. I gave 4000, but the staff didn’t have enough change so he just gave me back my 1000. It wasn’t that much money but I was still amazed with the contrast from my previous experience.

The 'road' to Everest.

 It seemed like every trekking groups in Namche that day agreed on leaving at the exact same time. I was walking with a herd of people; not much how I imagined spending my day. I tried to walk faster to escape the crowd but just a few steps and I was already panting. And then I remembered the one kilogram of yak cheese I bought the day before. I convinced myself that the weight would be all worth it. Was it? I wasn’t sure except that my backpack was a lot heavier. So I stayed within the pack and fused with its comfortable rhythm.

The woman walking to my right started chatting with me. She expressed her fondness of people like me, adventuring on my own in the Himalayas. She’d been to Nepal 16 times, a number of times alone but most of the time with her husband, who was then trailing behind us. Now, that was a very impressive number. Despite her age, she said she would still find a way to come back and trek in the mountains. She inspired me to do the same. And if I could do even half that, I would have lived a good life.

It was very cold when we left Namche so we were all bundled up when we left. But by then, the sun has gone above the mountains. And the lack of clouds gave the sun full power. We stopped to take some layers off. They decided to take a short rest so I bid them goodbye and went ahead. By then, the crowd has magically thinned out. I could see a few people both way ahead and behind me, but where everyone else had gone was puzzling.

I noticed only then that the trail I was sauntering on was more like a paved road, which could accommodate cars, even trucks. Only that there were none of those in that place. Farther ahead, I came across a man who was sitting serenely in the middle of the ‘road.’ I stopped to read what was written on the nearby signboards and learned that the man is Pasang Lama Sherpa, who was responsible for the improvement and maintenance of the trail in the Khumjung area. It said that he doesn’t get any funds from the government and was relying only on donations to accomplish his endeavor. Such an inspiring man.

Soon, the ‘road’ ended and I found myself walking on a trail lined with some kind of short trees on both sides, whose upper branches meet and make a canopy. Many of those trees have leaves which looked like thick, green hair. It felt like walking in a fairy tale scene. I did like it a lot although not having sweeping views was the trade-off.

Tengboche monastery.

The trail progressively seemed less well-kept compared to the one I was taking in the early morning. I was probably out of Mr. Sherpa’s jurisdiction then. It was also gradually descending, which was not a good thing if you’re on your way up. Add to that the smell of a freshly baked cinnamon bread permeating the air surrounding me. I walked for some time with the whiff torturing my rumbling stomach and making me slobber like crazy. I later found the culprit; a guy walking in front of me who must have stashed a great deal of that bread in his backpack. I wanted to despise him but I understood his action. Thankfully he took a detour to a teahouse before crossing the bridge. I went ahead, grateful that the source of my suffering was then behind me. I only needed to endure the two-hour steep ascent to the village of Tengboche.

It was a hot and dusty climb and the only thing I could see was the other mountain across the gorge. There was no epic scenery to make up for the toil. Although it was still noon, I was ready to call it a day. And then I saw chortens and people and finally Tengboche, straddling in a broad ridge. I was aiming for the set of teahouses at the far end of the village, but my feet couldn’t walk straight to it but instead brought me to a muddy trail, out of the village. Not that I regretted my feet’s decision. Because a few minutes later, I found Rivendell. Legolas wasn’t there but I could gaze all I want at beautiful Ama Dablam while having plates of dal bhaat.

I could have spent the night in that teahouse but I made a passive decision of walking farther. Kind of a wrong move. Sometime later, after crossing a bridge and the trail started going up, I felt a pain on my lower right chest. At first, it was more like a discomfort but it became unbearable as I continued walking. An old man passed me by and must have noticed me hunched, clutching my chest. He was concerned, and offered that I take one of his two guides if ever I needed any help. I thanked him, said that I was fine and continued walking so he would stop worrying. Besides, it was only day 4 and there’s no way I would give up that early. Luckily, the pain went away once the trail levelled.

Funny how I ‘chose’ my guesthouse in Pangboche. Several minutes from the village, I felt a rumbling in my stomach. So I hurried. Once reaching the village, I had my eye out for a place with an outhouse. At the first one that I found, there was a group of young male trekkers. It didn’t feel right. I must have walked several hundred meters more before finding the perfect spot. The only person around was an old man who was busy reading. I quickly unbuckled my backpack, dropped it on the ground and went on with my business. When I went out, I saw a local woman. I smiled at her and asked for a room.

Day 5 - Side trek to Ama Dablam Base Camp

I spent half of the day taking the side trek to Ama Dablam Base Camp. Having accepted the fact that I have a knack for getting lost, I was ready to shut the idea of going there when the guesthouse owner told me that I might have some trouble finding the right trail if I go on my own. But as luck would have it, I met a fellow trekker, Dierk, who offered to go with me. And since he’d been there before, there was little chance we’d lose our way.

I met him the day before, while I was waiting for my dinner to be served, listening to another group of American trekkers lamenting about the recent win of Trump. He approached me while I was busy writing on my journal to ask if I am a trekking guide. Being mistaken for a guide may mean that I looked strong and fit, but he said that it was because I looked like a local.

Getting to the base camp proved to be a bit tricky. At first, we only needed to go down to the river but we diverged from the road too early and even though we could see where we needed to go, the crisscrossing trails before us were either too narrow or too slippery. Once we crossed the bridge, we went up a steep slope which was supposed to be a shortcut, following what seemed to be a derelict trail.  It was mostly worn that I had to use both my hands to climb. It was so steep that the only thing I could see if I look up was the blue sky and there was no telling if the end was nearing or not. I wasn’t going to give up though and a few curses later, the scramble ended and we landed on a wide, flat area.

Ama Dablam as seen on the trail to Tengboche.

The rest of the trek was spent on that gently rolling terrain towards the foot of Ama Dablam. There was not even a single signage telling as to where the base camp was so we only relied on Dierk’s memory of his previous jaunt there. There were trails leading everywhere as the place is used by grazing yaks. Which was kind of incredible because there didn’t seem to be grasses growing on the ground. We went up and down mounds of rocks and dirt until we got a glimpse of brightly colored tents and prayer flags strung on huge boulders.

The place was quiet, with only a few people and yaks roaming the area. We found a guy, and someone who was most likely his guide, sitting comfortably on a camp stool, acclimatizing, as they prepared to attempt reaching the summit in a few days’ time. From afar, I could see a group walking towards the mountain. (About a week later, a magnitude 5.2 earthquake rocked the Everest region. The news said that a Sherpa died from an avalanche in that mountain, while the climber he was with was badly injured.) I was content looking only at Ama Dablam, its prominent peak with ridges radiating from it was a sight to behold.

Ama Dablam Base Camp

Our return journey was without any incident, although the descent on that steep, worn-out trail terrified me a little. Along the way, Dierk and I agreed on climbing Nangkar Tshang together the next day. However, once we reached the teahouse, he felt like walking further that day. I opted to stay to get some rest since I hadn’t been sleeping well for days. So we resolved to meet at a particular teahouse in Dingboche the following morning.

Before leaving, he showed me a photo in his camera – the only photo he took since Lukla. It was of a guy who was about my age and the photo was taken the day before. Dierk told me he first met the guy two years prior, in the Annapurna Circuit. As if the universe conspired, they met again on a different trail. But they were going the opposite direction. Still, it was an extraordinary circumstance. And although trekking in the Himalayas, with its sheer beauty, kind people and daring challenges is a wonderful experience, encounters like that of Dierk and his friend’s is what makes up an epic story. (Which was something I hope I could have as well.)