”There!” someone shouts, tapping the tiny perspex window so hard I fear it will break. ”Everest!”
To our left, as we look above the deep gray haze of the valley below, the Himalayas are stretched out as far as the eye can see, a ragged escarpment of arrowheads and vertebrae tipped with a sprinkling of white.
And above them all, a blackened face rises: Everest, that unmistakable pyramid of rock, with its veil of clouds trailing behind, guarded by the spires of Nuptse and Lhotse gleaming like armored sentinels in a dazzling sky of blue.
The sight sends a charge of excitement through the plane.
Soon we are among the mountains, swooping in to land on an airstrip clinging tenaciously to a ridge high above the gorge of the Dudh Khosi River. Our flight from Kathmandu has taken 40 minutes aboard a 19-seat Twin Otter.
We`re at 9,000 feet. At Lukla, the airstrip drops 250 feet from top to bottom before ending with an almighty drop to the river below. The airstrip was built by Sir Edmund Hillary as part of the Khunde Hospital Project in 1956.
I am on a seven-day Instant Everest trek–a relatively ”soft” adventure that will take me as far as Dingboche (14,400 feet), within 10 miles of the 29,028-foot summit of the highest mountain on Earth. Here, at the upper limit of human habitation, only the occasional yak herdsman and a few fellow trekkers disturb the pristine placitude of these Himalayan heights.
The days when the twisting, clinging trails that lead to Everest were trodden by none but a few Tibetan tradesmen, their shaggy yaks and the occasional hardy mountaineer are over.
Since 1950, when an American expedition first explored the Khumbu region of Nepal, countless climbers and trekkers have ascended the sinuous trail to Gorakshep and Everest Base Camp, at 18,000 feet. Many adventure tour operators now offer strenous 17-32 day Everest Base Camp treks.
But for those with less time–and energy–Mt. Everest is easy . . . relatively. The seven-day trek offers magnificent views of Everest, spectacular scenery along the way and a wonderful introduction to the Sherpa people who live in the shadow of Sagamartha, ”The Brow of the Ocean,” as the Nepalese call Mt. Everest.
From Lukla, the rocky trail drops quickly to the river, then climbs gradually up the canyon of the Dudh Khosi, through forests of blue Himalayan pine, giant firs, hemlock and juniper. Here in the valley, with its relatively mild climate, the local Sherpas raise corn, potatoes, turnips, cabbage and cauliflower, in tiny stone-walled fields interspersed among the high meadows and forests.
I am hiking alone, but for my retinue of ”kitchen boy,” porter, sardar
(a Sherpa guide, intrepreter and–on larger groups–group leader), and three yaks to carry all camping and cooking gear, food and my belongings.
I walk in unhurried, measured steps, for the stony path can be dangerous to those in a rush, and even downhill the steep trails can take their toll. At Pakding, at the base of the descent, my sardar ushers me into a teahouse where I warm myself with steaming hot tea and rakshi (rice whiskey), proferred with an infectious smile. Outside, the Dudh Khosi runs turquoise and beautiful, despite the gloomy skies rapidly turning black.
Night comes quickly, for this is January.
As I bury myself in my sleeping bag, a thin flurry of snow has begun to fall.
I awaken to a royal blue sky and the mesmerizing peak of Thamserku
(21,680 feet) aglow with a flaming yellow tip of the rising sun outside my tent. We set off in the shadows of the valley which is thrown into blackened insignificance by the lofty peaks, brilliant in the morning sun.
Tibetan Buddhism dominates the Sherpa lifestyle. All along the trail are shrines–manis–piled high with stone tablets carved with Buddhist mantras. We pass in a clockwise direction. Strips of cloth, hung high on poles, flutter in the wind, offering their weather-beaten prayer to the gods.
At the little settlement of Jorsale, trekkers enter Sagamartha National Park, established in 1976 as one of six in Nepal. From here, the trail climbs steeply for more than 1,000 feet through magnificent forests of rhododendron and magnolia, ablaze in spring and early fall with petals of brilliant reds and pinks.
Half way up, at a sudden hairpin in the trail, where a view to the northeast is unobscured, the plumed crest of Everest makes its first appearance, riding on the saddle between Nuptse (25,850 feet) and Lhotse
(27,923 feet).
From here on, the spires and parapets of various Himalayan peaks soar above the trail, so high and broad and dominant that distance closes in. Come noon, the first clouds court the mountain tops, eventually to obscure the peaks in smothering blankets of gray.
The village of Namche Bazar appears unexpectedly at the top of this first steep wearying climb, squatting in a bowl suspended high above the Bhote Khole Valley, beneath the gaze of Kwangde Ri (20,298 feet). This market town lies at the crossroads of the ancient trade route with Tibet. Here trekkers can buy jewelry and clothing from hardy Tibetans. Or, perhaps, see the yeti scalp on view in the monastery which looks down upon the rows of two-story houses laid out like seats in an ampitheater.
My toes are complaining inside my boots as I linger to photograph several women squatting by the ice-fringed stream which runs through town, washing their clothes in total oblivion to the cold.
My night is restless, for the sky is gloriously clear and the temperature well below freezing. I don my down jacket and slip outside to peak at the Milky Way cast across the void of sky like a handful of silvery stardust on a canvas of India ink.
Warm inside my bag once more, I sleep the slumber of spiritual contentment.
Everest is in view almost all the way along the easy five-hour walk from Namche to Thyangboche, except where the trail drops steeply once more through forest of Himalayan birch to the rushing Imja Khola. Here, at the tiny settlement of Phuki Thangka, a small stream turns several prayer-wheels in suppliance to the Lord God Buddha. From Phuki the trail climbs steeply once more through pines and azaleas as it switchbacks a hill to the saddle on which the Thyangboche monastery is perched in a clearing surrounded by rhododendron and dwarf firs.
From the high trail, I can barely spot the monastery: a tiny cluster of ants giving scale, at last, to the surrounding mountains. The spectacular fishtail peak of Ama Dablam (22,493 feet), gilded in pure-white snow and turquoise icefalls, looks down upon it like some holy protector.
It is a wonderful position. The view from Thyangboche, at its best in the early glow of morning, it rightly deemed one of the most magnificent on Earth. Such mountains as sacred Khumbila, Everest, Lhoste, Nuptse, Thamserku, and Ama Dablam surround the Buddhist gompa in an inspirational panorama of Himalayan giants.
For those unable to ascend the 2,000 feet to Dingboche (high altitude headaches or altitude sickness may prevent trekkers from going on), Thyangboche will prove an adequate reward. Try to time your arrival for the Mani Rindu festival, at the November-December full moon, when the lamas, dressed in elaborate masks and costumes, dance a celebration of the triumph of Buddhism over Bon, the ancient animistic religion of Tibet.
I am blessed by a cloudless sunrise, for I have climbed a treacherous trail by the light of the shimmering moon to gain a vantage for the dawn. One by one, the mightiest mountains on Earth awake and emerge in golden glory from the mists of the early morn. I am on the ”Roof of the World.”
Now, I am fulfilled.
