Somewhere around Pheriche at 14,000 feet I passed the previous record for my highest elevation. Four years ago on the Big Island of Hawaii I signed up for a tour of the top of Mauna Kea, one of two enormous dormant volcano mounds that brought the land mass out of the ocean. Astronomy is one of my favorite hobbies, so Mauna Loa was a special objective for me to see the world famous (to astronomers) telescopes built at the summit of the volcano at a little under 14,000 feet. I started the day at sea level in lush, tropical Hilo, drove a couple hours upwards and inland to more barren terrain, and parked at the visitors center at 9,000 feet. I met with the tour group and continued up to the summit to see the slowly swelling cinder cones and the desolate, Martian landscape. We piled out of the van and hurried to get a clear view of the sunset over the rest of the Hawaiian islands below, but before I could figure all of this out I was feeling pretty delirious. The tour guide had mentioned something about the effects of high altitude, but with the surreal view of looking down on Maui and looking up to an unbelievably clear view of the heavens I wasn’t sure what planet I was on anymore. The tour was over very quickly as we spent only about 20 minutes at the top, then the tour guide was intent on getting us back down. I know I was pretty loopy up there, so the tour is set up to slip in and quickly back out of the high altitude before we all pass out. The experience is still like a vivid dream in my memories, but it was good to get perspective of why Universities invest so much money in building astronomical observatories up there. The air is clear and dry since it is above much of the humid island air that can distort views of the faint specks of light in the sky.

So, years later I’m matching my elevation high point again, and with an adequate acclimatization schedule I’m able to grasp reality a little more clearly. At night in Pheriche we had some amazing views of the moon and the stars casting faint, silvery light on the sharp mountain peaks around us. There were so sheer, snow capped mountain faces around us that the flat horizon was blocked in all directions by peaks rising miles into the sky. I had trouble gaining my celestial bearings because I couldn’t find the big dipper and the north star in the sky. Everywhere else in the norther hemisphere that’s pretty easy to find, but I suppose they were obscured by the terrain. Along the way I started to wonder why no one thought of packing a telescope up there somewhere to get a pristinely clear view of the night sky. There are countless mountain peaks where an enterprising research could set up shop and have clear atmospheric views at an unparalleled mountain elevation. At Pheriche, at the base of so many huge mountain, I imagined it would be fantastic to have an observatory atop a minor mountain peak of about 20,000 feet, and it would open great insights for ground-based astronomy. But to be honest the drawback quickly became apparent. First, who could survive the cold and icy conditions at that altitude (much less enjoy it enough to perform intellectual labors). Second, the skies really aren’t that clear as there seemed to be a lot of high altitude weather patterns going on and there was often a lot of fog up there. Third, there are absolutely no roads leading to the mountains, and there’s not a helicopter big enough to transport the large components used by serious professional astronomers. Finally, Nepal as a host for expensive, sensitive scientific capital is pretty risky and would be entertaining target practice for certain insurgent military forces. I still think there is some automated, amateur science project that would get great results bolted down to a rock above 20,000 feet. But I’ll pass on being the one to install and maintain it.