This morning, the 21st, it is still overcast and drizzly. All night, as I woke up intermittently, I heard the rain pelting on the tin roof and wind gusts beating against the plywood walls. Richard says he woke up in the dark and was certain the ceiling was leaking somewhere because the rain sounded like it was falling right in his room. Give great credit to the lodges though – even though the walls between the rooms are intimately thin, the structure holds amazingly well and we enjoyed a good night’s sleep feeling warm and dry. Of course that doesn’t do much to help with the lodges being catastrophic fire hazards. They’re 100% plywood, no insulation or fire retardant, and they have a wood/dung stove right in the middle. In the morning the clouds cleared a little, and after we had our hot lemon and we packed up we set out for a relaxing hike to lower lands (be advised of irony). We actually had a full schedule for the day, but out next objective was to reach Pema’s (well, Mingma really takes ownership) lodge back in Khumjung. Discerning the yak poo from the mud was more of a challenge. As is typical with descending from the higher lands we were to cover in one day a distance that would take at least two days on our way up. The trail for the day would take us down to the river (always fun, because we just have to go back up again), then up to the Tyangboche monastery. The panoramic view there is idyllic and the monastery must be a spiritual sanctuary for the monks, except for the adjoining tourist village and all the white monkeys poking into the middle of their daily business. The poor monks can’t even slip out of the outhouse without a hiker panning over his camera for a telephoto shot of the monk adjusting himself.

Since we were on top of a hill, it was requisite for us to then stumble back down to the river. It was actually a long trail down, but across the valley Pema pointed out the trail that would lead us around to Khumjung – it didn’t look so far after all. We made it down to the river to a long spanning, wobbly bridge over a very anxious, pressing river current. We could see the traffic picking up of what must have been merchants transporting goods for the market in nearby Namche, to be held the next morning. Apart from the common Sherpa porters we passed by what must have been some lowlanders. Instead of carrying baskets on their back and wearing Eminem t-shirts, they were carrying bundles of pots and pans balanced on long bamboo poles. There we were at the bottom of a river valley, so what else was there to do but go way up the hill again. I couldn’t help but fall into a little euphoria at that point though, like I was drunk on the rich oxygen and humid air. We were really getting a sense of the things we had taken for granted before we had trekked in the higher elevations. One thing that really struck me was having all of the lush, green trees and grass around us again. Despite the mud, or yak dung, or whatever it was that I was slipping around on, it was really satisfying to feel Mother Nature’s welcoming comfort rather than her frigid wrath. We had lunch near the river next to a series of very interesting Sherpa gadgets. There was cool, clear stream lined with moss running down along the trail with us. The Sherpas had built seven stone huts over the stream, and at each one a wooden cog wheel would catch the current and spin a large prayer wheel above. That got Richard thinking, since he was an engineer in college. He is certain that capturing the rush of the main river running down from the Khumbu, the Dudh Koshi or Milk River, would supply enough electricity for the whole region. Even an occasional turbine along the mountain streams with a colorful prayer wheel on the top would be a great step forward. There could be hot electric showers for everybody while conserving on all the firewood. Pema’s youngest son Tashi wants to be an engineer too, so there’s a beneficial application for him to consider.

Just as we were on our way back up the mountain we had a slight disintegration issue. I wandered ahead on the trail as the rest of the group was taking a break. I got a bit ahead of them and waited a while to let them catch up, but after quite a while there was no sign of them behind me. I backtracked a little, still no sign, and it hit me that maybe they had up and went another way. Not to dismay though, since Pema had pointed out pretty clearly the way I should go, so I kept going. I went a bit further, still no sign. I went still further, and went still further, and even further still. At the very least there was a moderate amount of traffic on the trail (but I was too stubborn to stop and ask for directions). I saw a sign with an arrow pointing to Khumjung and I even saw a little rock mural made by some kids from the Hillary school, so I knew I was on the right track. I went still further, and went still further, and even further still. I had climbed, rounded several bends, climbed, and rounded some more, and after several miles of watching rocks and dookies passing by my feet I wasn’t even sure if I was still in Nepal. At least I recognized the major landmarks, like the towering mountain peaks and I pretty much knew which way was South, but for some reason the path leading up to Khumjung was playing coy with me. I soon found myself on a trail that was obviously skirting the hill, but it was playing the nasty trick of continually winding away, feeding me false hope since every viewpoint gave me yet another distant viewpoint to reach. It turned into quite an adventure since I was definitely on my own at that point, but I knew that the rest of the group would be very worried or pissed off. I kept pressing forward, and just as I wondered whether I’d made a complete loop around the hill I saw something amazing: Namche.

Apparently I had missed the subtle deviation to Khumjung at some point along the trail and I was way down in Namche. But since I was there and I was lugging the laptop around with me the whole time, I took the opportunity to stop by the Namche Cyber Cafe down in the shopping section of town. I had just enough Rupees on me for a bottle of water and 20 minutes time online, so I uploaded all of my blog entries for the time we had been above Namche. As we were leaving Namche before we assumed there would be a net connection in Khumjung, but that was where we started losing things we take for granted. We felt kind of bad because we didn’t notify anyone that we were cutting off all reports at that time. We hope none of you were alarmed (sound of crickets chirping). Well there ARE cliffs off of which we could have fallen! Is anyone there? Anyway, back to me being lost. Maybe stopping to indulge in the net connection was a bad idea because the typical order of the late afternoon between Namche and Khumjung is for thick fog to roll in. By the time I was ready and recharged to hike up to Khumjung for real this time, visibility was practically zero. I could only rely on my memory of the hike up the steep hill before. Interestingly, at that time even with perfectly clear weather I got thoroughly separated from the group and lost. My prospects for even finding the start of the gruelling incline above Namche were not good. It was already getting a bit colder and darker, and I was sure that my group was feeling ballistic with concern for my well-being. With providence and good fortune I found a couple of Sherpa boys who were headed home to Khumjung, and they agreed to show me the way. I had already covered what seemed like an Ironman course, but I rasped and lumbered up the hill behind the boys. They really saved me because I’m certain I would have easily been completely disoriented and stuck in the dark. I made it in good shape back to Pema’s lodge, and now I’m tethered to a Sherpa to make sure I don’t wander off like that anymore.

I covered what I felt was an amazing distance, but trying to comprehend the course of the Everest Marathon is too much. It runs from the Mt. Everest Base Camp down, up, down, up, down, up, down… etc… down to the Namche Bazaar. Our group had a brush with greatness back in Pangboche since the 2nd place finisher of the 2004 Tenzing-Hillary Everest Marathon was our host at the Sunflower lodge. There was her certificate, medal, and picture in the newspaper hanging on the wall. Her name is Mingma Doma Sherpa, and she is buff. She’s built like a collegiate track star, but there she was sweeping up and making our beds after us. She finished the race in 6:09:50, and what planet is she from? Every days passing by all the porters literally carrying mountains on their backs, I’ve just had to shut it out of my mind. I can’t bear the thought of carrying more than my basic pack across this exaggerated landscape, and I see these porters gritting their teeth a little and whizzing past me. I just complained about lugging my light pack all the way from Pangboche to Namche, but that would be a rest day for them. Back in Lobuche, when Tashi came down with some bad altitude sickness, Pema put gears in motion. He and his nephew Nima brought Tashi with great velocity back down to the clinic in Pheriche, in the dark, in the frigid cold, across a span that took me most of the day, about which I felt grouchy and complained about. They did it in an hour and a half, and then Nima came back to Lobuche that night to make sure we had our bed tea the next morning. We genuinely are grateful for their tireless service, but it’s hard to feel so lazy as we accept the degree of their toiling for us. It’s hard to imagine hoeing a row with them.