A pause in the clouds

A solo expedition to the Himalayas. In winter. In the middle of a raging pandemic. Successfully reaching the summit of two peaks in the Everest region, both at a height of around 18,000 feet. At 61. You won't find many attempting this.

On top of the Chukhung Ri peak

Why would anybody in his right senses go on an expedition to the Himalayas, one, all by himself, two, in winter, of all seasons, and three, right in the middle of a pandemic? That’s a trifocal question that I’ve often been asked in the past few weeks, and one that has a simple answer, as far as I am concerned. At 61, I’m not getting any younger. If I have to do something that I dream of, I must do it now, while I still can.

This was actually my fourth mountaineering expedition; the first was nearly 40 years ago. For this expedition, I had obtained permits from the Nepal Mountaineering Association to climb two peaks in the +20,000 feet range, but, because of dangerous weather conditions, had to settle for climbing two other, slightly smaller peaks, instead. Both peaks lay in the Everest region of the Nepal Himalayas: Kala Patthar, summitted on December 01, 2020, and Chukhung Ri, summitted on December 05, 2020.

Kala Patthar, at 5,643 m (18,514 feet) is actually a reasonably gentle climb, except for the last few hundred metres, which is rocky and steep. Chukhung Ri is a longer, steeper, and more difficult mountain, though a little lower in altitude, at 5,550 m (18,208 feet).

The expedition had actually been scheduled for March 2020. Then the pandemic blew up and the world shut down. I continued long hours of daily training here in Bengaluru, and when Nepal at last reopened the mountains and I was notified in November 2020, I jumped at the opportunity. Alone in the Himalayas? Nobody in my wide circle of family, friends, colleagues, and others was sufficiently fit and daring to come along. However, I was not completely alone. I had a sherpa and a porter for company on those bare, wintry, wind-swept mountains.

There is no applause from crowds when a climber reaches the summit. There is no triumphant music, either; just the sound of rasping breath in the thin mountain air. This is a story of the expedition seen from behind the scenes; stories that no photographs can tell.

No border checks

I travelled by land because flights to Kathmandu had not yet resumed. Strangely, nobody checked my passport and documents at the Indo-Nepal border, both while going and returning. In fact, when returning, I did not even know when I crossed into India, so heavy was the traffic across the border. There were no immigration formalities and no baggage checks in place in either direction. That’s food for thought for those who travel abroad by air. Travelling during a pandemic has its advantages, especially in winter. I was the only guest in the hotel in Kathmandu, and met almost nobody else during my weeks on the mountains. The Everest region is otherwise crowded with trekkers and climbers.

Unexpected demands

There were several challenges that the expedition threw up, many expected, and some completely unexpected, for which I was unprepared. The physical exertion was expected, but the magnitude of the demands came as a shock. There was almost nothing on the entire expedition that involved trekking on level ground or on a gentle slope. It was either uphill or downhill, and usually steep uphill or steep downhill. So, trekking for between four and nine hours a day was actually climbing (up or down), not walking, for four to nine hours a day.

A rough equivalent would be doing a half-marathon daily on most days, and a full marathon on the remaining days. So, there was no possibility of ‘saving one’s energy for the summit day’; every day was a fully draining day. People who do not train enough would not make it through even the first day on this expedition.

Also unexpected was that, for example, I needed to climb 500 feet down into a valley for every 1,000 feet I climbed up a mountain, with a net gain of only 1,000 feet between one mountain and the next. This was a recurring theme all along the way to the base of the mountains that I meant to climb. The discouraging effect of the waste of effort was huge. I felt like the frog in the well that slipped back two feet for every three feet that it climbed.

Imagine walking for four to nine hours a day. Now imagine climbing, like climbing stairs, for four to nine hours a day. Next, imagine climbing for four to nine hours a day with a loaded rucksack. Finally, imagine climbing for four to nine hours a day, with a loaded rucksack, on uneven ground, and with half the air that you have at sea level. That’s what it was like.

Half the air

The air thins as one climbs, and at 18,000 feet, the oxygen content of atmospheric air is half of that at sea level. So, any activity there, no matter how small, is an exertion. A lot of people have altitude sickness, which can be life threatening, and which can start at as low as 10,000 feet, Happily, I acclimatised comfortably. The greater difficulty in exertion associated with high altitude was something that I knew about beforehand, having experienced it in previous expeditions. The higher the altitude, the slower the rate of climbing; and hence, it becomes necessary to pause for a few seconds for rest more frequently. On the Kala Patthar climb, for example, I climbed for a 1,000 steps before pausing for a minute’s break; then it was for a few hundred steps; then it was for 60-70 steps; then it was for 20 steps. In the last 50-100 feet below the summit, every step was slow, partly because of the steepness, and partly because this was my eighth day on the mountain, and I was not fully acclimatised.

It was the same for Chukhung Ri; perhaps more so, because Chukhung Ri was a far longer mountain, and was far steeper in the last third of the climb. The last half hour on Chukhung Ri was a struggle, made more difficult because of the demoralising effect of the many false summits. I saw the summit ahead, but when I reached it, at last, I found that the mountain went on, far beyond; and this happened about half a dozen times.

A cold that shuts down the mind

It is possible to physically and mentally prepare for exertion by training hard before an expedition. It is impossible to be mentally prepared for a never-before-experienced cold that eats into the bones. At minus 20 C, the cold is so intense that, despite six layers of thick, thermally protective clothing, the mind shuts down.

Water freezes in the water bottles unless they are kept inside the sleeping bag. The nasal mucous membranes become heavy and nasal drops or spray cannot be used as a decongestant because they have frozen. Moisture in the breath condenses and runs down the lips and cheeks or freezes on the beard, while sleeping. Awaking with ice on the face is a bad way to start the day.

In such cold, answering any call of nature is misery. First, one needs to unstrap the climbing poles and remove three layers of gloves. Of the six layers of clothing, some need to be just pulled down, some need to be unzipped, and some have belts that need to be undone; some require just one of these actions, and some require all three. All these actions need to be done by touch and feel; it’s not possible to see anything below the waist because of the huge jackets, and it’s too cold to remove the jackets. Afterwards, everything needs to be pulled back, zipped, buckled and belted, and then the gloves need to return to frozen hands. This calls for courage and planning. This takes time. At minus 20 C, one wants to minimise such occasions. But, minimisation is not possible by drinking less water, because it results in chemically concentrated urine and, consequently, a burning bladder; that makes it impossible to sleep. And drinking more water means getting up in the dark and freezing night, and going through the complicated process of undressing and dressing.

The challenge of staying clean

Personal hygiene is impossible to maintain on the mountain. Despite the cold, sweating into one’s clothes is inevitable during the exertions of the day. The sweat has nowhere to escape, and clothes can’t be changed because it’s not possible to carry spares for 15 days of trekking and climbing.

Itches can’t be scratched because of the layers of gloves and the layers of clothing. Hands can’t be washed because water, where not already frozen, is freezing cold; and what is there to dry wet hands on? Teeth can’t be brushed because the toothpaste is frozen. High altitude related excessive and smelly flatus gets trapped in the clothes and sleeping bags. In mountaineering lodges in the lower reaches, the staff feed yak dung into the stoves with bare hands, and cook without washing those hands. If we can’t wash, they can’t wash, either. It is hard to even keep spectacles clean.

Look down at all times

Trekking and climbing on the rocky terrain required much concentration and care. A small slip could result in a twisted ankle or a broken bone. So, there was not much opportunity to admire the view; it was necessary to look down at all times, for careful placement of feet and for balance. This was not easy when wearing goggles that restricted the field of vision. Horse dung, mule dung, yak dung, lined almost every inch of the way, except along the summit climbs. These animals are necessary to transport food and other essential as well as nonessential items to mountaineering lodges, and they leave their dung along the trail. So, besides the rocky terrain, it was also necessary to look down all the time to avoid stepping in the dung!

Having nothing to do

After four to nine hours of trekking and climbing in a day, there was nothing to do except wait for the next meal. Sitting and shivering and staring into space became a default activity. It was dark by 6 pm. We finished dinner by 7 pm. After the dung in the stove burned down, there was nothing to do except go to bed, usually by 8 pm. It was surprisingly easy to fall asleep early, given the day’s exertion, and the cold, and easy to stay in bed or in the sleeping bag until 6 am, which was usually the rising time for toileting, packing, breakfast, and departure. Summit climbs, however, started at 6 am.

And the dangers...

Was there danger? Yes. It’s easy to twist an ankle or worse. Acute mountain sickness can turn into fatal pulmonary or cerebral edema. Medical care could be days away, with transportation by yak or mule; helicopter evacuation is only available for persons with deep pockets. Non-emergency problems, such as a root canal infection, have to be endured. Other than a dental crown coming off on the first day, I was lucky to have had no medical issues. On Chukhung Ri, there were places along the climb where, just a few inches away, was a near vertical fall of a 1,000 feet. Looking at the photographs later, I was astonished that I focused on the climbing and not on the vertiginous drops.

Would I do it again?

Unhesitatingly, yes. What builds better memories, sitting in administrative meetings or climbing mountains? For those who can dream, the answer is obvious.

The author is a professor at the Psychopharmacology unit in the Department of Psychopharmacology and Neurotoxicology at Nimhans, Bengaluru. He has received several awards in recognition of his research. Apart from his other wide variety of interests, he has published books for children and is a hobby rock-climber and mountaineer.