The Mother's Necklace

by Matthew Horan

  November 9 – Monjo, Kyangjuma

  The walk up to Namche Bazaar is always one of the hardest days for a trekker through the Khumbu. For us, going on to climb a mountain, it’s certainly not the hardest we’ll face, but “Namche Hill” is steep and it’s the first place the altitude starts to hit you. We dodge some yaks coming down the trail – at one point we have to retreat from a giant swing bridge several hundred metres above the bottom of the valley when one stubborn yak driver decides not to wait for us and sends his yak train across. There’s no reasoning with a 400kg creature with lethal horns that takes up the entire bridge.

  On it’s own, this is a spectacular walk. We have a singular goal, but dozens of people trekking alongside us simply have the goal of enjoying the views and sucking in the clean air. Namche Hill’s famous double swing bridges hang over an immense gorge, with crystal-clear glaciated water surging underneath. The torrent is the Dudh Khosi, or “Milk River”, as the glaciation strips off minerals from rock and turns the water a brilliant, pearly translucent white. You can see why the Everest Base Camp trek, of which this is day two, is so popular.

  About two thirds of the way up the winding trail there’s a small clearing with locals selling soft drinks and oranges. Looking ahead, it’s clear why. Peeking through the trees for the first time is the most famous summit pyramid in the world – Everest. It’s well over 40 or 50km away, but it still looms in the distance, teasing trekkers and climbers alike with its storied history of death and triumph.

  Everest through the trees below Namche.

  I glance at my Suunto mountaineering watch. We’re at about 3300m. A solid 1000m above Lukla and higher, I tell myself, than the cold and windswept rime-ice summit of Mt Aspiring in New Zealand where I was almost two years ago to the day. Here, closer to the equator, I’m surrounded by flowers and orange vendors. About 30 minutes on there’s another check-in point, where you have to register if you’re climbing. From the hut, I can see across the valley to the Kwangde peaks, the least impressive of which I climbed from the other side more than 10 years ago. From this side they look massive though, a solid 2.5km higher than us.

  We get into Namche just after noon and settle in for lunch at one of the many excellent bakeries. They’re all called Everest Bakery, it seems. I give my wife Judy a quick call via Facetime. Communications are amazing in the Khumbu. Last time I was in Nepal, in the early 2000s, we trekked in along the old “Hillary Route” from Jiri to Lukla. I was out of contact for almost three weeks, not just with home, but almost the rest of the world. There’s none of the regular teahouses on that trek that there are on the Khumbu trek. Internet service has also made the world a lot smaller. It’s sad in a way, to lose that sense of immersion in the local culture, even as the Net lifts many of the local kids into better education.

  Judy tells me the US election is going terribly – Donald Trump is ahead. I think she’s joking. That morning we’d checked the early returns on Richard’s laptop, and Hillary was a lock. Her news sets off a mad scramble for Wi-Fi, with everyone checking the news websites. Emily, a Californian climber at the bakery who’s also headed for Ama, is aghast.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says.

  It’s a refrain we’ll hear a bit in the next month whenever we run into an American. You can pick the Americans in Namche – they’re the horrified ones looking at phones and apologising to strangers. It’s so unanimous you wonder how anyone could have voted for Trump, but they explain that many of the people who would vote for him are not the sorts to broaden their life experience in developing nations.

  Namche is usually the second stop for most treks on the Everest trail, but once again, Tim has refined the schedule. We trek on another one-and-a-half hours to the Ama Dablam Hotel in Kyangjuma (actually, the Ama Dablam Hotel is Kyangjuma). There’s minimal altitude gain, so our acclimatisation doesn’t advance that much. What we do get ahead of is the hustle and bustle of Namche. Even in these modern times, Namche is as close to a Middle Ages trade hub as you can get – everything comes in on something’s, or someone’s, back. The Ama Dablam Hotel is a wonderful escape. Run by the indomitable Tashi, a middle-aged Sherpani with better English than me, it features one of the most gorgeous prayer rooms in Nepal. Tashi is almost as devout in her appreciation of the British Crown, with pictures of her and Prince Charles taking pride of place beside pictures of the Dalai Lama. She’s met him a few times – he stayed at her hotel years ago and made the perfunctory invitation back to her to visit London. When she did, she looked him up and to his credit he met her for tea – with Tim in tow.

  (NOTE: A year later, just as Tim’s 2017 expedition was leaving the mountain, Tashi’s hotel, with its irreplaceable prayer room, burnt to the ground. It’s being rebuilt and will hopefully be even better, although it couldn’t be more welcoming).

  We got our first views of Ama Dablam just after leaving Namche, but from the hotel it’s impressive. Here at ground level the spire is all alone, bathed in the red sunset, while off to the left the terrifying south face of Lhotse and the Everest summit pyramid are far enough away to look like sisters, not massive parents. Ama Dablam means “mother’s necklace” and from the hotel it’s easy to see why. The two massive ridges – the south-west and the north-east – expand away from the central summit spire like enfolding arms, while the dablam, the “necklace” is an impressive four or five-storey ice cliff below the summit. It’s the first time the enormity of our task really hits home. The closer we get, the more we are reminded that this is a mountain Edmund Hillary pronounced was “unclimbable”. It’s not, of course, and each year dozens of climbers ascend it in two mad rushes around March and October. But Hillary was right in that it’s not a mountain for the faint of heart.

  Ama Dablam with Lhotse’s terrifying south face in the background. The South-West Ridge is in the left, with the “dablam” towards the base of the rectangular snow slope leading down from the summit.

  November 10 - Kyangjuma

  It’s a rest day, so naturally we go for a hike. It’s actually fairly important for our acclimatisation to sneak up a bit higher, so we trek up to the Sherpa village of Khumjung, which has a large bronze statue of Edmund Hillary in the main street, next to the school he built. The achievements of Hillary go much further than just summiting Everest. He arguably gave more to Nepal than it gave him, and the love and respect for him is obvious.

  The Marine and I get talking about rugby – he’s a massive fan and has a bit of man love for my brother, who was an international rugby player. My brother Tim is, I say with the smugness only a brother can, afraid of heights.

  We also drop in for tea at the Everest View Hotel, just above 4000m, for, well, views of Everest. The hotel is a really impressive building, built by the Japanese for mainly Japanese tourists, who would get helicoptered in and then spend a week recovering in their room from the altitude gain. Even more impressive is the bill for a pot of lemon tea, which wouldn’t be out of place in a major Western capital city. We sip our overpriced tea, and then stroll back down to our more modest, and more welcoming, hotel.

  The view of Ama Dablam from the Everest View Hotel. From left, Matt, Adam, Laurent, Leigh, Richard and Dan.

  That night Jon gives us a brief lecture on altitude sickness and acclimatisation. Part of me wonders whether this would have been better before we got to altitude, but it actually works pretty well because this is no longer academic. We’re all feeling short of breath, as fit as we are, so we get the message and listen intently. Jon has summited Everest twice and Ama Dablam about eight times, so he knows his stuff. I think I know a lot about acclimatisation already, but I still learn from listening to Jon. The thing about altitude that shocks people is that there is actually the same percentage of oxygen at high altitudes as there is at sea level. Jon explains it’s the air pressure that makes the difference. Less pressure means the oxygen molecules are spaced further apart, so less gets in your lungs.

  The acclimatisation process is one of the most impo
rtant things we need to consider on Ama. It’s too low to use supplemental bottled oxygen, but high enough that you really do think you’ll need it. Slow and steady acclimatisation is the key to unlocking the summit slopes. Too fast and you’ll go down with altitude sickness. Too slow and you miss your window and you have to leave for the plane. It’s a fine-tuned schedule, even though we’ll have two weeks of solid climbing time on the hill.

  The banter starts immediately after dinner. Pete’s dry delivery – in his thick Belfast accent - has us in stitches and will continue to do so during the trip. I roomed with Pete in Monjo and got to know him a little there. Jon has an excellent rule of getting us to room with different people on the way up so we all get to know each other. I’m rooming with Dan at the Ama Dablam Hotel. Getting to know him involves finding out he loves listening to Belinda Carlisle on his iPhone while he’s wrapped in his sleeping bag.

  Our last climber, Roland, arrives at the lodge while we’re there. He’s been trekking through the Khumbu on his own for the past fortnight, acclimatising early, which is an excellent plan if you can afford the time. A 50-something British senior exec with a German company, he’s fit and strong, with a wry sense of humour. He quickly slots into the group, despite the disadvantage of the rest of us having formed reasonable bonds. We initially – and naturally - looked on him as a bit of an outsider, but that lasted about 10 minutes with his genial nature.

  November 11 - Kyangjuma

  I know this is going to be one of the most demoralising days on the trek in. We’re losing a ton of altitude as we descend to the valley below Kyangjuma, only to regain it, and more, as we trek up the other side towards Tengboche. It’s a beautiful hike, the trail curving around the side of steep hills, but slow and hard on the knees. And I hate having to go down just to go up again. A fit-looking French girl passes us at the bottom, with one Sherpa. She has an ice axe strapped to her pack so I strike up a conversation. She’s off to Ama as well, one of the many “solo” climbers who attempt the mountain with just one Sherpa in support. There are a few of these climbers scattered along the trail – Emily in Namche was another. They still use the same fixed ropes on the mountain as us. It’s a more independent way of climbing, but I’m not sure the lower cost outweighs the support you gain from a larger Base Camp team. And in any case, part of the attraction of climbing is spending time with friends, and making new ones. It certainly is for me, and I suspect I’d be bored out of my skull on a “solo” trip.

  At the small village at the bottom of the valley, above an impressive raging river of glacial flows, the former Royal Marine and I come across a small Ghurka post. We wait a couple of minutes until it’s 11am and then, with both our heads bowed, I recite the Ode on Remembrance Day.

  “They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them”.

  As the two ex-military men on the trip it’s a poignant moment for us both.

  Commemorating Remembrance Day below Tengboche.

  Lunch at Tengboche turns out to be a mistake for me. I order the chilli pizza at the Everest Bakery (yes, another one, although this one actually does have views of Everest), only to discover that the chilli is chilli powder liberally sprinkled over the entire pizza. I manfully refuse to admit my mistake and eat most of it. At least I leave hydrated, and the team is amused.

  The walk from Thangboche to Pangboche, our eventual destination is a gorgeous hike through Middle Earth forests of rhododendron and across surging rivers of water so cold it drains the heat from you as you cross the bridge above it. The Middle Earth analogy, it turns out, is an apt one. I pass one new lodge proudly displaying the name of “Rivendell”. Our acclimatisation is spot on, even though I’m taking it a bit slower, it seems, than everyone else. Jabu, one of our Sherpas whose seeming plumpness belies an immense fitness and his dozen or so Everest summits, lurks behind to make sure everyone is safe, although I can’t help but feel he’s judging me. And maybe he is.

  Pangboche’s noticeably colder, especially when the sun goes down. I snatch a shower in Jon’s room, which is newer and actually has a shower. It’s seriously cold. Cold enough that when you’re in your sleeping bag you really can’t read, as it means you have skin exposed. I brought a Kindle packed with books but it’s not getting much of a workout. Last time I lugged around all four volumes (as they then were) of George RR Martin’s Game of Thrones series. And read them twice. And then swapped books. Technology makes it all so much easier, weight-wise. My iPhone is getting a workout though. At the urging of my coach Chase, I downloaded several of Dan Carlin’s Hardcore History podcasts before I left, so I’ve had some enjoyable walks in, learning about the Spanish American War.

  I’m rooming with Adam this time. He generously lends me a herbal concoction to dab under my nose and clear my sinuses. While I’m acclimatising well, the dust, especially in Kathmandu, means I’m getting a dreadful blocked sinus at night and a bit of a “Khumbu cough” and sore throat during the day. Of course I didn’t bring enough cold and flu tablets or lozenges, only remembering at my stopover in Bangkok and then not being able to find any in KTM. It’s a decision that’s going to haunt me throughout the expedition.

  Adam tells me he’s raising money for Angelman Syndrome, which I’ve never heard of, but which the daughter of one of his best mates in NZ suffers from. I’m impressed at the dedication of raising money while also trying to train for something like this. I always struggle to do it for things as simple as charity rides. I make a mention of it on my Facebook posts in the hope of getting him a few extra Aussie dollars, which I tell him with a twinkle are worth a lot more than NZ’s Pacific Peso.

  November 12 – Pangboche, Ama Dablam Base Camp

  Morning in Pangboche brings an unexpected surprise. Through binoculars from the tea house common room we can see the upper summit slopes of Ama Dablam. There’s some tiny dots on it, dwarfed by the massive ice cliff.

  Climbers.

  We knew the mountain was climbable this season – talking to Lachlan Gardiner in KTM had confirmed that. It had been a slow start, with some snow on the upper slopes delaying the setting of fixed lines through some of the more dangerous sections. But now the season is in full swing and the summit is “going”. It’s exciting, but also daunting – those climbers look so small, so vulnerable. Jon shares the binoculars and we all have a look, speculating on the route.

  We have a short walk in the morning to Upper Pangboche – basically about 20 minutes away – and get blessed by Lama Geshe. He’s one of the top Lamas in Nepal – the Buddhist equivalent of a Roman Catholic Cardinal – but he lives in a small, ramshackle temple with an outdoor drop toilet next to the holy texts. We take the blessing very seriously. I’m not the most religious person, but Nepalis are and I thing it’s important to show respect for their culture as they open their country and their homes to us. We always pass by the carved Buddhist chortens on the left, although I’m never sure whether that’s a religious thing or simply a road rules one. We also make sure we spin the plentiful mani wheels beside the trail as we go by. I always whisper to myself “safety and success”.

  Lama Geshe gives us prayer scarves to be taken to the summit, and we give him some folding money. Scarves aren’t cheap.

  We hit the trail soon after, about 10am, dropping briefly down into the valley before a dusty walk up to our base camp. It’s about three hours long, one of those hikes when you’re so close to your destination, which is always another frustrating false crest away. It’s beautiful, of course, and there are frequent stops for photos as Ama Dablam looms larger and larger. It’s hard to take a bad photo in Nepal, especially among the mountains, and it’s something Jon encourages.

  “If you see a good shot, stop, have a sip of water, take couple of pics,” he advises.

  It all aids acclimatisation, taking it slow, hydrating whenever you can. I have a three-litre Camelbak bladder in my daypack and i
t’s usually drained by nightfall.

  Approaching Base Camp.

  After clearing the scrubby, sandy landscape above the river – I keep thinking it’s the sort of place where you’d get ambushed in a bad sword and sorcery movie – we begin to hit real alpine terrain. There’s not much vegetation now, just tufty grass amid boulder fields. We loop around the Ama Dablam Lodge, filled with yaks and tired climbers, before mounting another small hill, where we are met by our Base Camp staff, led by Kame.

  Once again, Tim has bucked tradition. He has his own base camp on the other side of a hill from the main one, which we never see. It means we have more room to spread out, we’re not worried about hygiene from other expeditions and we can enjoy each other’s company. We do miss out on the companionship of climbers from other teams, which we do really enjoy when we get higher on the hill, but it’s a good situation. We’re at 4500m – almost 2km higher than when we started in Lukla. We could, of course, walk over the hill to the main Base Camp, but, you know, hill.

  We each have our own small three-person tents, which are quickly cluttered with climbing gear and clothing. The weather is warm enough for short sleeves, but as soon as the sun drops behind the bowl of mountains the temperature drops about 20 degrees in seconds and we’re in down clothing. We spend the evening in Tim’s splendidly appointed mess tent, with gas heaters by our feet. It’s going to become a rush to get into the tent first at night to grab a place by the heaters under the table. Even more splendid is the food. Tim has pate, crackers, olives. It’s a really touching taste of home and a far cry from the fried spam I remember on my last trip to Nepal.