Finally the day I had been looking forward to and dreading arrived. It was time to cross Thorung La, the mountain pass at 5,416 meters (17,769 feet).
I awoke at 4:30 a.m. Our goal was to leave for the pass at sunrise. Just about everyone else left earlier, some as early as 3 a.m. We thought it would be safer to hike in the daylight so we could see better and avoid icy patches on the trail.
We got lucky with the weather yet again. It was bitter cold in the morning, but the skies were clear and there was little wind until we reached the top. The trail is the only imperfection in the view.
From what I've read and heard from talking to trail guides, the majority of people who get sick on the trail are young, fit men. Their egos kick in and they want to go higher and faster. The mountains quickly shows them the error of their ways.
When I first went to Nepal I was pleasantly surprised by how many elderly people I saw on the trail. I met a lot of people in their 60s and 70s, usually Germans or Dutch and usually in large groups. I hope when I'm that old I still want to hike!
"Slow and steady" is the the key to success in the Himalayas. One surefire way to get sick is to overexert yourself. You see the older hikers with their walking sticks, methodically plodding along. But they always get where they're going, and they never get sick.
Rob, Tom, Kasia and I walked together so we could watch our pace and keep an eye on each other, in case one of us started showing symptoms of altitude sickness. Rob and Kasia had hired a horse to carry their gear.
I wanted to do the manly thing and carry my own gear, but when they offered to let me load some of my gear into their bags on the horse, I accepted. You don't get a gold star for carrying your own gear. The goal is to get across. Tom shamed me by carrying his own gear, but then again, I was a freshman in college when he was born....
From the top down: Kasia, Tom, Rob, Kali (horse) and Parkas, the horse's owner.
Look how blue the sky is! Next to Kasia is a black and white pole. There's a series of them marking the trail so hikers can find their way after a heavy snowfall.
Last year I climbed Gokyo Ri (5,360 meters) and Kala Patthar (5,550). Both were difficult climbs. I was expecting the 1,000-meter vertical ascent to Thorung La (5,416) to be equally unpleasant. It wasn't easy, but it was much easier than I expected.
We stopped at High Camp (4,800) for tea, and then again at at the lonely Yakawa Kang teahouse (5,115), seen here from above.
Imagine working there. What a commute! Next stop: the top!
At that altitude there is only half as much oxygen as at sea level. All in all I felt pretty good. None of us were showing any effects from the altitude. Incredibly, there's a teahouse at the pass, which may very well be the highest teahouse in the world. We had a pot, or rather a red thermos, to warm up.
The tea was terrible and expensive. At the lodges a pot of tea costs 200-300 rupees. This cost 1000 rupees, over $13! That's how much I spend in a day on the trail! It was worth it, though, to get some hot tea in our bellies.
We paused just long enough to take some photos. The pass is a dip between two peaks which are almost exactly the same height. Yakawa Kang (6,482), on the right as you're walking, was bare. Khatung Kang (6,488), which you can see behind me here, was covered in snow.
Note all the footprints in the snow. Because we left relatively late the ground was thoroughly trampled by the time we arrived. We then started the long walk down, a full vertical mile of descent below the ledge in the center of this photo.
In two days I would be looking back this way as I hiked up into the mountains on the other side.
The hike up was difficult. The hike down was murderous. Going downhill that far is hell on the knees and back. The recent snows had thawed and melted again, so the trail was covered in ice, as seen in this photo looking back up towards the pass.
We tried to navigate from one rocky patch to the next. Tom and Kasia had no problems at all but Rob had to go slowly on the slick ice. I spent as much time on my butt as I did on my feet... Finally the snows cleared and we were walking on a rocky trail again.
There wasn't much traffic coming up the mountain aside from strings of horses. The mountain passes in Nepal were used for centuries by traders going to and from Tibet. Much is still carried over the passes on the backs of horses, otherwise it would have to be carried all the way around.
We saw a few hikers coming up, which is just plain crazy. The way we came was 1,000 meters up, with two teahouses where we could rest and recharge. The hike in the other direction is over 1.5 times as long with no lodges or teahouses. The only landmark the guide books mention is an "old yak herders' hut" at 4,300 meters, seen here on the ledge in the center of the photo.
We could finally see the villages in the valley. We were elated. We had a laugh about how hiking in Nepal skews your sense of time and distance. Only two more hours downhill! Woohoo! If we were back home we would have said, You expect me to WALK? Down THERE?
A small village with three guesthouses has recently sprung up towards the bottom, offering a bit of a respite. From this vantage point it's obvious why traders chose this pass. We had just walked down the hill in the center that looks like a tortoise shell. Follow the ridge line down to the bottom of the hill you'll see the village.
The change in landscape was dramatic. The Tibetan Plateau is, strictly speaking, a desert.
Just a few days ago I had hiked through a lush, damp, deciduous forest! Soon we came to the temple complex called Muktinath. The adjacent village is called Ranipauwa, but most people tend to lump the temple and village together and refer to them collectively as Muktinath.
The mountain next to the temple complex was festooned with the craziest profusion of prayer flags I've yet seen.
We had taken our time on the hike, walking slowly and stopping whenever possible to rest and have tea. The sun was starting to set as we approached the village. The temple complex is in the foreground. The village is just beyond. The ghostly outline of Dhaulagiri, the world's seventh-highest mountain, is barely visible through the fierce glare, just below the sun.