Long-run: EBC

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This blog is an entry I had been wanting to write for a long time- It's six years in the making! Although I can't say I remember every part of the day I both climbed Kala Pattar and walked to Everest Base Camp (EBC), I remember that much of the day was a blur as it was occurring. And the rest I can remember clearly as though it was yesterday.

Buddhi and I decided it was best to wake up early and reach Kala Pattar by sunrise. This way, we could leave the afternoon open should I feel the energy to complement the 4 hour morning climb with a 4 hour afternoon trek to the mountaineering mecca known as EBC. Since my watch had died, and I had only grown accustomed to waking up with the sun, Buddhi promised to knock on my door to wake me up. Sure enough--with no clue what time it was--I heard the knock and jolted out of bed. It was pitch dark in the room. All I could sense was one warm bottle surrounding my leg and one under my arm.

I had been anticipating this day for months and years. From writing reports on the Hillary ascents to reading Krakauer novels on the monsters that live on Everest, I had always wanted to step into base camp. With respect for Chomolungma, never further than that.

I flipped on the flashlight and started up the Kala Pattar trail. Almost as though on cue, the sun began to rise as we reached the peak of Kala Pattar. I looked around and soaked the colors and sights into my memory bank. But the sun rose quickly, so the colors were fleeting. The sky quickly turned blue, and the cast of 20,000ft characters surrounded me. Pumo Ri was closest, looking over my shoulder like a big brother. The khumbu valley, the path I had taken for the past few days, trailed back toward Ama Dablam and around to Namche Bazaar. Everest, with Lhotse on its shoulder, stood proudly.

The walk back down to Gorak Shep was peaceful. And again I took advantage of my walking poles and ski skills.

Back in the teahouse, Buddhi said he felt a shift in the weather. This wasn't a typical daily shift, it was the winter weather shift. Budhhi sensed we were soon running out of fall days--the ones that carry high pressure systems and blue skies, which translates to clear views of the peaks. He said if I was up to it we should try for EBC in the afternoon and then start heading back to Lukla the next day. I was a little tired after the morning trek (to 18,3k), but feeling actully pretty good. And anyhow, at this point, my trust in Buddhi turned to instinct. Whatever he said, I was going to listen and follow.

We ate a hearty lunch, played some card games, and turned to the trail for Everest. Walking to base camp felt strange, even in comparison to the moonwalks I had been taking since I reached 17,000ft+ . Much of the trail was surrounded by rocks and boulders. Some of them would skirt down the sides of the hill, while others looked on, seemingly waiting for the right moment to slip down the side and take something/one with them. I began seeing the novelties of getting closer to camp. The khumbu icefall became part of the path, and I was tempted to touch the icebergs that protruded through the dirtfilled, dusty trail. Buddhi and I chatted much of the second half of the trail, and as we neared EBC proper, a chirping Chough joined our conversation.

We found a comfy rock to set up snacks and take in base camp. From here, there was no view of the peak. Only the infamous icefall. As with most ice-creations, the fall creaked and crackled. Just as I expected to see, the khubu was alive. What I didn't expect was just how alive it and everything around it was. The Lhotse face, just to the right of the icefall, was constantly avalanching. It was so frequent I was able to snap a few pictures during one event, where a 50 foot chunk skidded off the sheer cliff and raptured into the frozen khumbu river. I remembered seeing insane footage of an old film where some guy climbed and skiied parts of Everest back in the day. He used that portion of Lhotse for ice climbing practice. But who knows how many times that icy face has lopped off only to be replaced with even sketchier ice climbing terrain. The way it looked now- with snow running and grumbling off the side as though it wanted to be niagara falls- a climbing attempt was simply out of the question.

The icefall itself seemed like something out of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Though every movement wasn't visibly apparent, the noises emanating from the 2,000 feet of ice wall made it clear that nature was playing an endlessly unfair game of hide and seek. My desire to reach base camp was fulfilled, and not a single ounce of my will told me to proceed a single step further. In fact, with the winds starting to blow dust into the air, also making the prospect of surrounding boulders sliding down the trail more likely, it was going to be challenge enough to just to make it back to Gorak Shep.

The walk back was painstaking. I felt rushed to make it back before dark, but also began receiving a dust dousing up my snout and eyes to cause my walk back to be my life's highlight in pain. I was exhausted, had a full-blown (no pun intended) headache, and wanted to douse my eyes in Visine. But I had to wait for 2 hours for any relief. When I made it back to the teahouse, I forced food into my belly and crashed hard on the bed.

The next morning I woke up refreshed. Headache and all was gone. The 3 of us retraced our steps back to Namche Bazaar over the next couple of days. I remember looking back at the final opportunity to see Everest and the clouds were beginning to overtake the peak. Buddhi was right, the weather had shifted. This was the last day of the season anyone would see the beasts of the Himalayas.

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