The mountain, Ama Dablam, obtrudes 6812m into the deep blue skies of the Himalaya’s
casting an imposing presence on the surrounding landscape. This strong landmark of the lower Everest region, had been my beacon since leaving Namche several days before, and now I was finally walking around her - so to speak. Her familiar shape altered by a few kilometers of walking, also highlighted the steepness of her flanks; the seemingly relentless walls to her summit. They call it a rock climbers’ mountain. Whatever she was, I thought Ama Dablam (Mother’s Necklace), was simply beautiful. She took my breath away.
The small sherpa village of Dingboche, sits at a lofty 4410m above sea level.
Village life is simple; hard. Many people who live in Dingboche are directly involved in the tourism industry in some way, whether as a teahouse operator, a guide or a porter - the village sees trekkers and climbers for much of the year, particularly during climbing season (spring), when it offers itself as the perfect launch-pad for attempts on Makalu and Island Peak. It is also of course, on the Everest Base Camp trail. In the winter months, many villagers go to Kathmandu to escape the bitter cold.
Dingboche enjoys amazing views of Ama Dablam, yet it is not the best place from which to climb her; that would be from back in Pangboche, some 4-5 hours walk away.
Island Peak (6189m) and Makalu (8481m) from above Dingboche
I was in Nepal on a trekking journey to ‘EBC’, with a tentative plan - snow and ice permitting - to cross the Cho La pass and descend into the Gokyo lakes region. I had heard it was stunning.
To stand at Everest Base Camp and to see the magnificent mountains of the Everest region from Kala Patthar, had been a childhood dream; long inspired by the enigmatic Sir Ed, stories of Mallory and Irvine and just a natural attraction to the beauty of mountains. I could not believe I was actually back in Nepal, but this time to realise this long-held dream. It was awesome.
Dingboche was the first village where feelings of altitude-induced weirdness started to land. I was struggling to roll over in bed without increasing my heart rate by 50 beats per minute; I was walking as if through glue; I was basically in slow motion yet my body was working over-time. Things started to hurt in Dingboche.
I was saved by a local cafe though, for coffee - a mild headache disappearing soon after I drank my first cup in days.
I concluded that my headache must have been a combination of caffeine withdrawl AND altitude! It probably was not far from the truth, as I drank a couple of coffees every day normally. However, it was not every day I found my self up at 4410m above sea level, let alone in a cafe drinking coffee! Surreal.
Stupa above Dingboche with Ama Dablam behind
Dingboche held a certain sense of significance for me, as I knew I would be turning away from the Chukkhung Valley and heading up the Khumbu Valley; the final push towards EBC.
My porter and I stayed two nights there and on our acclimation day, we climbed to Nangkartshang Peak, 5083m above the village. We took it slow, and I felt well-worked but ok, stoked to have moved beyond the 5000m mark. The villages in the Everest region are dotted with stupa, mani stones and prayer flags. the colourful flags punctuating the otherwise monochromatic landscape, with their Buddhist teachings towards enlightenment. In Tibetan Buddhism (the main spiritual belief amongst the Sherpa peoples), the mountains are places in which they can come closer to enlightenment; Mount Everest (Chomolungma - Goddess Mother of the Mountains, holding special spiritual significance.
The sense of this was quite tangible.
Mani stones painted with mantra
I turned my back to Ama Dablam and commenced the slow laborious grind towards Lobouche, at 4940m.
The short climb out of Dingboche that tracks onto a plateau in the Khumbu Valley, had me gasping for breath by the time I reached the chortens that mark the passage towards Lobouche.
Everything felt wrong.
I ushered for Jeet, my porter, to go ahead, and not to wait for me, particularly as we had joined a large splintered group of trekkers on the plateau, all shuffling along at the speed of mud, lost in a world devoid of common sense and oxygen. If an onlooker casually dropped in from an oxygen-rich environment, they would have wondered what on earth was going on. The sight was something else! Even the porters, yaks and dogs moved slowly.
For several hours we languidly crept forward.
The landscape quickly changed however, and we crossed an icy river which bled from the terminal moraine of the Khumbu Glacier. I was becoming excited by the thought of EBC being only a day away.
I could taste it.
Just shy of the Khumbu Glacier terminal moraine - Thugla.
In Thugla, I drank garlic soup and took a welcome rest break - unintended, as the plan was to go directly to Lobouche, but I was slowing down and a headache was building. Garlic is a natural blood-thinner; I figured it would do me good before the final push up to Lobouche.
Jeet went ahead at my direction, up the steep grind that leads to the Thugla Pass, a place where memorials are placed, to all the climbers that have lost their lives on Chomolungma.
I saw the memorial to Rob Hall and felt overcome with emotion.
Such a waste.
Views of Pumo Ri grew clearer as the approach to Lobouche neared. The day was stunning - those deep vivid blue skies augmenting a clarity and contrast I would usually only attain using photoshop. I had never experienced anything like the skies over the Himalayas before. Jeet and I had discussed the possibility of crossing the Cho La into Gokyo, due to the warm day-time temperatures which were quickly denuding the surrounding mountain passes and making the passage safer. I had crampons and this was looking good compared to a few days earlier when the pass was closed due to ice and snow. I was feeling motivated to give it a go and if not passable, we had a back-up plan to go up the Dudh Kosi River Valley via Phortse and Dhole.
Things were going to plan…
The stench of urine was over-whelming, as I walked through the front door of our chosen tea house in Lobouche.
The sun had dipped below the surrounding mountains and the temperature rapidly plummeted. I was cold, exhausted and had a mild headache.
I went into my room and drank a litre of water; added several layers of clothing and made up my bed for the night. I wondered if I was going to have enough blankets - this was going to be a cold one - maybe the coldest night yet.
Sorting my gear out for the following days planned walk to EBC, I started to develop a stronger headache. I took panadol and nurofen and opted to eat an early dinner then have an early night, as the following day would be long - over eight hours.
I processed some images of the last two days while I waited for my dinner, smiling in awe again, of the beauty of Ama Dablam. Even though EBC held a special significance for me, I felt more drawn to Ama Dablams stature and the way her presence was so raw, than Mt Everest’s monolithic size.
My headache kicked in again - less than an hour after taking the pain killers. It grew stronger and I struggled to eat any dinner. I started to feel extremely unwell and decided to go to bed rather than force myself to eat the rest of my food. Jeet was quite happy to finish it for me.
Porters work for a fixed rate per day. Jeet was paid the going rate by me, of 2000NRP per day ($20 USD). From their daily rate, porter’s must buy their own food and pay for their own lodgings. Most tea houses will provide free accommodation for the porters and some will also give them free food.
The tea house at Lobouche did not give free anything. Jeet was glad for the extra food.
Porters Loads
That night I had the worst night I could imagine, particularly if an eight hour walk was the go.
I barely slept due to head pain (painkillers did very little); I was cold (low blood oxygen will exacerbate this) and I also got up no less than six times to pee.
I was the walking dead the next day and sat like a zombie at the dining table as Jeet brought me my standard cheese omelette for breakfast.
“Jeet, I cannot possibly eat”
I felt as if I would throw up, my head pounded and I could barely keep my eyes open.
“I cannot walk today; I need to go back to bed”
Jeet was a little taken back with my statement, as he was raring to go and thought I would be also. I told him we would need to stay in Lobouche another day - I desperately needed a rest day and we could go to EBC tomorrow instead. He seemed somewhat recalcitrant, but I did not care; I went back to bed.
Outside the sun shone and the tea house emptied out as excited trekkers began the last leg of their journey to EBC. There had been a group of Chinese trekkers in the night before. One man in particular, looked terrible. He was coughing and spluttering everywhere - all over everyones food. I looked at him and thought he looked like death. Another woman sat in a zombie-like state for over two hours, never saying a word and clearly very exhausted.
These people had gone to Base Camp today.
What was wrong with me?
I lay in bed with a building pressure in my head; I couldn’t lie flat; I could not stand the sunlight shining through the window; my neck felt stiff; I threw up.
When had I experienced these symptoms before … I knew I had felt like this before.
Meningitis. I felt like I had meningitis.
I took the last of my painkillers for the headache which was increasing in intensity and continued to drink, thinking that surely I would get through this and I would be ok by morning. But the headache got worse and worse until I was in so much pain I was yelling for help. I did not care what people thought, I just needed some help.
No one came.
Several times I got up to try to find Jeet - struggling to walk and feeling like I had vertigo.
Eventually he knocked on my room door to ask if I wanted some tea.
“No”, I told him, “I think I need to go down”.
By this time it was 2 pm and I knew a descent to Periche would be the only option, but I did not think I could possibly walk there. I was in a lot of pain and it was not abating; I had no painkillers and I was dizzy and vomiting.
“I think I need the helicopter”
Jeet agreed, nodding vigorously. He ran off to organise it. I lay in bed, with my dreams of standing at EBC being washed away as fast as the tears were rolling down my cheeks.
I was truly scared.
The helicopter took one and a half hours to arrive. In the tourist off-season, they have to come from Kathmandu, which makes the total time much longer. By the time it got to Lobouche, I was beside myself with pain and could barely walk. Everything then seemed to happen so fast. The pilot flew me to Lukla as he made a decision that he felt was better for me - it would have been a further 40 minutes from there to Kathmandu - he did not feel I had 40 minutes.
I guess he has seen it all before.
I was given an oxygen mask which stayed on for two nights, and morphine for my head pain.
The beginnings of Cerebral Oedema - thats why it felt like meningitis.
Oxygen. How simple. How utterly simple.
So as I sit now in the out-skirts of Kathmandu in the beautiful ancient village of Changu Narayan, recovering from the battering I have given my brain, I feel frustrated by my very real lack of energy (I am puffing going up a flight of stairs); by my loudly ringing ears; my episodic lack of balance; the mild lingering headache and the unanticipated change of plans.
It is what it is.
The opportunity to reflect on the seven days I had in the Himalayas, is something to value. To walk around Ama Dablam - Mother’s Necklace - was like being in the presence of greatness; I could feel her embrace, her power and the importance she held for the local Sherpa people who lived at her feet. That has to be enough for me.
On my way up to the Khumbu region, as we drew closer to Base Camp, I remember saying to Jeet that there was a very real sense of being on the roof of the world. The whole landscape just folds itself upwards as if reaching for the sky. There is no down-time in that part of the world; there is no easy downhill (not even on the downhill); the best you can hope for is a lower elevation and therefore more O’s. It is inhospitable, desolate and raw.
It is also intensely beautiful.
Everest is to the Sherpa, the Goddess Mother of Mountains. She is Ama - Mother; and Ama Dablam is Mother’s Necklace. They both offer strength and a path to knowing oneself better.
I am grateful.
I have seen her - Chomolungma - Goddess Mother of the Mountains.