The Sick Sherpani

We were again in a cwm and had to climb straight up its side.

We had a big problem, however, one of the Sherpanis had endured a very bad night and had been vomiting blood.

Our fast five were away quickly and missed the crisis, but Colin, in Andy’s absence, has had to take on the mantle of responsibility for Terra Firma.

Gumbo and Cook attempted to pull (or push) the Sherpani up the steep hillside, but she was very uncomfortable and kept doubling up in pain.

Both of them in turn attempted to carry her, but the steep slope made this very difficult. Progress was slow.

Sherpas Gumbo and Nima struggle with the sick porter

Atop the ridge

Eventually we hit the snow line and shortly afterwards we got to the pass proper.

Cook was able to carry the Sherpani on his back over the fairly flat walking on the plateau part of the pass.

There was some wonderful sunshine today and we could look down over some gorgeous landscapes.

On top the snow was two to three feet deep, but many people had walked this way already and the path was good.

"And get him down also..."

We met an American lady coming in the other direction. She had done a course in Wilderness Medicine, had seen our Sherpani and had instantly diagnosed her as having some fatal decease.

She then lectured us on the need to get the Sherpani down safely as quickly as possible.

Her boyfriend came along five minutes later and repeated the lecture. It's funny how some people can be so stupid and so opinionated at the same time.

They even pointed out a porter (nothing to do with our expedition) who was lying on the trail being sick some distance from us, "And get him down also".

We did point out that they might take the lead in this matter, but they were, "going in the other direction".

The head of the pass

Even with the fixed rope it's not easy

On The Other Side

Worse was to come when we reached the head of the pass.

It was very crowded, with 20-30 people lolling around, most of them resting after having climbed the sixty-degree slope on the other side, with its zigzag path through the deep snow and a fixed rope for the last, steepest section.

Gumbo and Cook laid the Shepani down here, on a flat area just off the path and went off to look for help from some of our other porters. But here were the same sort of non-listening people as we had just passed on the trail.

As Colin and I arrived, angry voices were saying, "Who has deserted this woman, just left her lying here unwell?" Someone else was medically examining her. When we tried to explain, the ears shut tight. A lecture followed.

One of the Americans, a Native American in appearance, was much more a man of action. He was about twice Gumbo's size. He also had crampons on.

He just flipped her onto his back and carried her down the steepest part of the snowslope to the end of the fixed rope, a great help to us.

The Pack

It took a long time before I could get started on my way down, because I first had to step over the fixed rope at the top of it. Each time I tried to do so, someone latched onto it from below, straightening out the rope, which then leapt up to a height of two to three feet.

After surviving our adventures so far, I did not fancy being castrated by a mere rope!

So many people had been up or down it that the path was extremely slippery. I spent about a quarter of my time slithering on my bottom.

When I was about halfway down there was a noise and a cry from above and then a cheer.

We saw a pack that someone had dropped start slithering and then tumbling down the slope. The cheers grew louder and louder as it bounced higher and higher.

Then it splattered into an exposed rock with a mighty crash - and we were all silenced.

Each of us thought about what that rock could have done to flesh and blood.

So it was slow, more careful progress from then on.

Colin coming down the steep snow slope

The English Expedition

Eventually we got down past the snowline.

We met an English expedition on their way up, who gave us tea and biscuits. They were polite, hospitable chaps with pukka accents from places like Tunbridge Wells and Cheadle. We felt like Stanley meeting Livingstone.

They also had excellent news: flights from Lukla had been continuing normally, despite all our bad weather higher up, and there was no backlog of waiting passengers.

Gumbo And The Firebrands

After a couple of hours coming down a good but steep path, we came across a lodge where Gumbo obtained some tea and noodles for us.

He dropped the bombshell that it was still another two hours walking to go. It was now 5 pm. It would get dark in under an hour. We were going to have to walk in the dark again. Because of yesterday's problems, none of us had a working torch.

By 5 45 we were going through a forest, which meant that the light faded early. And tonight there no moon.

Just as we approached a horrendous bridge made up of a couple of poles, we came across some children waving some firebrands around. We asked them to keep the brands steady as Gumbo led each of us over the bridge. Then Gumbo attempted to get some brands to act as a fiery torch.

The first one didn't last very long so he went back to find the boys and get another one. Just as he arrived back he demonstrated rather too graphically what was going to happen. He had a spare brand, so when the first one ran out he would light the second one from the first one like this - and in one fell swoop managed to put out the live torch with the unlit one.

So Colin and I sat in the pitch-black forest for another half-hour until Gumbo returned again. This time he was very careful. This torch and the reserve one lasted until Cook and Laughing Kitchen Boy arrived with electric torches.

It wasn't very long before we had escaped the forests, but not the perils of the bridges. Some of the scariest bridges of the whole week awaited us. The good thing was that because of the darkness we couldn't see them until we were right up close to them.

Nearly A Disaster

Some of the the streams were crossed by crossing-stones, others needed little jumps to get over them.

There was one near accident when I motioned to the nearest Sherpa that I was going to jump over one of the narrower streams (a deep little gorge, but just over a yard across, with only a very wobbly pole connecting the two banks).

He misunderstood my gesture.

When I made my leap, a hand snaked out to prevent me 'falling', with the result that I nearly fell short of the other bank.

The Last Bridge...

(Sherpas hate giving their clients bad news)

"Gumbo, I'm glad that's over. I mean that is the last bridge we'll have to cross isn't it?"

(Silence)

"No more bridges, Gumbo, that is right, isn't it?"

(Pause) "One more bridge"

"But it's a nice bridge, a good bridge?"

(Silence)

"A good bridge?"

(Pause) "Not a good bridge"

Nearly Shot As A Saboteur

Laughing Kitchen Boy and I begn to pull ahead of the others

At length the lights of Lukla came into view. To get to the village we took the quick way straight across the airfield.

Just over halfway over, a wildly gesticulating character rushed down to us, weapon in hand.

He had come out of a tent next to a helicopter parked at the top end of the runway and was the helicopter's guard.

A long noisy conversation then took place in Nepali.

We had to promise to leave the airfield at once and never never trespass in it again, subject to our mothers' eyes being pecked out with crows.

Thankfully the quickest way out was forwards.

The Wrong Lodge

Bowing and scraping like beaten dogs, we fled out of the airfield, with the guard still barking after us with even more dreadful threats if we were foolish enough to return.

Our lodge was at the very far end of the village past a whole street of lodges. Laughing Kitchen Boy deposited me in the lounge of the lodge and went off to his quarters. There was no one else around.

I began to get a little uneasy when, after quarter of an hour, no one had come to show me to a room or offered food or drink.

At length Colin burst in: "We knew you were ahead but you hadn't turned up when I arrived. I wondered if Laughing Kitchen Boy knew that the lodge had been changed, so I came here". I was sitting in the wrong lodge!

In the correct lodge we encountered Scott and Paul keen to hear the story. A cold beer helped lubricate our throats and some excellent braised Water Buffalo was our storyteller's reward.