Up To
High Camp
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Khare,
15th October
I had a great sleep and the answer I sought was
waiting for me when I woke up. Of course I was going up. And there were
no after-effects from the Yak.
I packed up my half kitbag, put on the plastic boots
with great reluctance, knowing how awkward I would be in them in the pre-glacier
part of the journey, and set off with Ringji.
We had almost reached the glacier when Andy caught
up with us. The path went around the glacier until the top of the steep
part, then followed the snowfields up to the Mara La and beyond up to
High Camp, beside a rocky outcrop at 19,000 feet.
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The 'Mallory' wave
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Andy was impatient and energetic. He took us straight
up the middle of the glacier.
Normally
that would have been quicker, but today's snow, unlike yesterday's, was
brick hard and it was very difficult to make an impression in it.
After
an age we got to the top and entered a much flatter area going up to the
Mera La.
We
could see crevasses just off the path, but these were crusted over with
snow. We crossed over a snow-bridge. It had probably been there for scores
of years, yet I held my breath going over it.
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Looking up the glacier: the little dots are people
on the path
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Andy drew my attention to a far-off snowpeak. "That's
Cho Oyu", he said, adding almost apologetically, "I
climbed that in my youth" (at over 27,000 feet it is the eighth highest
mountain in the world). The shame was that more of the highest peaks in the
world, including Everest and Makalu should have been visible.
Another shame was that there were lenticular clouds in
the sky - a sure sign, said Andy, of bad weather within 12 to 24 hours.
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Approaching the snowbridge at the Mera La
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Learning
to walk again
Andy explained that that my walking speed was an
unknown quantity, because I was always walking dead slow with Colin, but
I would need to generate a better average pace.
That would require me to modify my walking style
from one that was jerky and involved frequent short rests, into one where
I kept moving continuously, no matter how slowly.
He
gave me a target; we had to reach the beginning of the final steep section
by 1 pm or else we would turn back. Eventually we reached the Mera La,
the midpoint.
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After the glacier, the walking became gentler, almost
flat in places - good territory for me to practise this new form of walking.
I actually began to enjoy it.
Then Andy turned to me and pointed to the steeper slopes
in front of us, "It's 1 pm and there's the steep bit
ahead, so you've passed the test".
I was more conscious of acute pain in my feet than anything
else. I hated wearing these plastic boots. In the last section there was a sharp
drop in temperature. I felt my extremities - fingers, feet and ears - get colder
and colder.
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Because of the high altitude and the
steepness, I could not go any faster. Both Andy and Ringji began to suffer
also because their natural pace was much faster. I began to drop 20-30
yards behind.
I began to get irritated that the finish
line wasn't appearing in front of me - not because I was tired or short
of breath - but because I longed for the moment when I could get my boots
off!
In the last little section I caught
right up with the others. When we reached our mess tent and Andy announced
his presence, from inside the tent
came a voice (Paul) asking "Is
Geoff with you?"
I was able to reply "No,
he gave up ages ago". Recognising my voice, Paul
said "Great that you've
made it".
When inside the tent, I polished off
two bowls of the most delicious noodle soup I have ever tasted.
Then I realised, this is 19,025 feet, higher that I have ever been, and
felt quite pleased with myself.
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The last, steep bit approaching High Camp
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There was disappointment when I started to unpack: the
Thermarest would not blow up. We had failed to secure the one site on rock and
so our tents were pitched on the ice. No air mattress meant me being rather
close to the ice beneath.
Such disappointment was nothing to the agonies that greeted
me when I tried to get up to go to the mess tent for dinner (about 20 yards
down the slope). I got the most awful cramps in every muscle of my legs below
the knee. To get up I had to bend my legs, as soon as I bent them I got excruciating
pain. When one muscle relaxed, another took over. Those in the mess tent were
too far away to hear my screams. Paul was in bed in the next tent with a headache
that he thought was altitude related. He shouted, "What's
wrong with you?" "Cramp", I groaned
back. "Oh, is that all" he replied.
Is that all? At that moment I was lying
half in and half out of a tent at over 19,000 feet. My legs were outside at
a temperature of minus 25 degrees. I was thrashing about in agony. I had already
writhed around to the extent that I had thrown my boots off and my camera had
flown off (thankfully straight up in the air, so I managed to find it again).
Only cramp, indeed!
Eventually I joined the others and asked them what to
do about the Thermarest. They suggested that I should put everything I had between
the groundsheet and me. When I got back to the tent, my rucksack, my kitbag
and even Nicky's rucksack (we were sharing a tent for this one night) were stuffed
under my sleeping bag - and the useless Thermarest.
The first thing I did when I fell asleep was to fall off
this self-made ridge of bags and end up lying with just a sleeping bag and a
ground sheet between me and the ice outside. The bottom of the bag was soaked.
I didn't sleep another wink.
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All the old cold symptoms came back and I had non-stop
sneezing interspersed with nose blowing.
At least I had some soft paper products. I had been
reduced to rough toilet paper for the last few days, but Nicky did me
the great favour of giving me a pile of real tissues. What a luxury!
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"Andy", said Paul's
voice plaintively from the next tent, "I've got a headache.
I think I should go down."
Just how was Andy going to cope with this, I thought to
myself. Paul had had a headache since he got to High Camp. At this height, all
unexplained headaches were assumed to be due to altitude sickness. Paul was
being sensible. Even so, it would need to be a very severe headache was before
one would favour descending through the Mera La in the dark, with crevasses
waiting just off the path. The reply came back, "Take
a couple of paracetemol and come back and see me in a couple of hours if the
headache gets worse". Masterly, I thought.
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