Mera Peak, 2018

I summited Mera Peak on October 13, 2018. It was hard and after I got sick enough that they put me in a Nepali hospital. Here's the story.

Part One. The Rescue.

17th October 2018, Kathmandu International Hospital

Pharyngitis and AMS the doctor has written on the whiteboard outside my room. I haven't even googled it yet. Sitting cross legged on bed, in lilac hospital pajamas, I google instead ‘Denali climbing operators’. Hmm, forever living in the future. I flick through images on my phone from only a day ago, bewildered that it was me, in those gigantic mountains. The Himalayas are brutal, ruthless, unmerciful and, the reality has finally hit me, potentially fatal.

Days ago, when I walked in those gigantic mountains, us moving on with the planned itinerary, from Kongma Dingma to Seto Pokhara, I couldn’t breathe. Fifteen minutes of walking, only twenty metres gain. Panting, and unable to feel any energy in my body. I told Sabin, my guide, I couldn’t go on. Not through Amphu Laptsa pass, the 5845 metre glaciated ridge with overhanging seracs that lead us to the next mountain. I would become a liability.

So the four of us sat on the dirt path, which zig zagged up between black granite. The morning sun on our faces and wind whispering through dry grass, next to soft edelweiss alpine flowers, bugs flying around in the air. Sabin perpetually dialling on the satellite phone. Bleep Bleep Bleep. Then a jingle sound like he had won a level of a game. No reception.

Bleep bleep again. Dorjee and Prem quietly staring into the valley. The decision is made. We are going down to camp, where we came from just half an hour ago. We will get reception and speak to Subin, the operations manager at Kathmandu, not to be confused with Sabin, my guide on the field. Subin will tell us what to do.

We walk back towards yellow tents and the tarped blue roof stone building. “Mikalu!” the babies cry. Yes, me again, just more bashful this time. We sit on the pile of stones in the middle of camp, it used to be a house, and might one day be piled into straight walls again to form another one. Chai, water. Bleep Bleep again, Nepali language. I wait.

“It reminds me of when I was thrown 100 times for my black belt. Each swinging pound into the mat, me rolling over, standing up and asking for it again. That lasted 11 minutes. This is four hours of that. ”

There is no reception here, 5000 metres high in the valley. After some deliberation, Sabin tells me, we have to retreat to Khare. I fucking knew it. Two days ago, walking down from the summit, I thought this would be an absolute arsehole to come up, and kind of hoped that I would never see the path again. Maybe it was intuition? 2000 metres we came down, what took us two hours of trotting decent, might now take five hours of climbing. Of grind. Of pain. F******@#!. Okay. “Let’s do it” I say.

We start off, leaving camp for the second time that morning. Already I feel awful and we have only just crossed the stream. Picking carefully through the stone path feels exhausting. I begin my mantra: We go up. Not five minutes later I am panting. Unable to breath. Shallow gasps. Ha a Ha a Ha a Ha. “I can’t breath Sabin” I call ahead stressed, he looks at me, worried. I can see his mind ticking, assessing the next step.

He will go up. In a flurry we shuffle gear around, he takes my backpack, water, his sat phone and puffer jacket, and quickly departs trotting uphill. I am grateful and relieved. He will go to get reception up the top of the hill, and call a heli to come and pick us up.

The rescue has now begun.

We wait again, back at camp on the same pile of stones. Dorjee continually casting an experienced eye back up the hill searching. More chai, some semblance of sleep in the sun with two giggling babies crawling over me, residence here at 5000 metres. “Sabin coming” Dorjee points to the hill. It takes me a moment, but I see the maroon fleece moving through the brown and wheat backdrop. He strides towards us, beaming and panting.

“Heli is coming.”

Heavy fog crept through the valley floor as if being spilled out of Heston’s caldron, and all the fleeting blue sky windows disappeared above. When I am handed the dinner menu in my tent at 5pm I knew it couldn’t be today. I panicked a little. Shallow hyperventilating breaths as I think of the night. Will I die? Do I have pulmonary edema? It feels like I am suffocating.

Calm yourself. Relax. You will be okay. It is hard to self soothe, with the knowledge if I am really sick, I could die. Just from some fog. These mountains don’t play games. Self rescue, the next skill to learn.

At 6pm I am talking myself into getting out of the tent and joining the others to eat dinner. Then, “Stepf?”, a light at my tent door. Fried noodles delivered. Greasy and delicious, they are followed by another knock at the door. “Chocolate dessert!” The chef/camp director/mother of the two babies, sympathetic to my dilemmas, has given me my first ever fried snickers bar. At 5,000 metres.

I wake up and encounter a strange feeling pass through me. A quiet thought, “I woke up”. I made it through the night and I am not dead. I have never had this thought before and it’s spooky and dark. After that I experience I feel a wave of relief that releases me from the fear of yesterday.

At 6:20am, sat upright in my sleeping bag, I pack. Slowly & breathlessly stuffing all of my belongings into sacks. I open my tent zipper and the stench of acidic pee wafts in. Note to self: don’t empty pee bottles repeatedly on your front doorstep. When I am ready I wait quietly as the vapour from my breath curls in tendrils towards the tent walls frozen solid with condensation.

Half an hour passes. Should I put on my shoes? Prem pops into view and asks me if I would like tea. Yes please! Sabin brushes his teeth on the rock pile, framed by my bright yellow tent door. A faint woop woop sound floats through the air and Sabin dashes out of view. The heli is finally coming.

With shoes on and laces undone I drag my bag out of the tent, lifting it as best I can over the acrid frozen pee patch. Prem reaches and grabs it from me, swiftly swinging it over his shoulder. More tea is passed to me, which I slurp as I tie up my shoes.

Whoop whoop WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP. It had finally arrived.

A big red machine appears, foreign and industrial against the valley backdrop. It is close to landing. Other shoelace tied, half drunk tea handed back to our chef with prayer hand namaste thank you. Stride towards heli, feeling very cool for someone so sick, walking past early risers and foreigners who arrived last night. They give me an iphone paparazzi departure. Now ducking down running, Sabin waved me lower, leg up in the heli, the three of us and bags squished into the back seat. 2 fingers indicated by pilot “2 people?”, three finger reply from Sabin “No, three people”. Door slammed shut we lift fast and spin around, heading sideways down the valley, spectators disappearing in the distance.

We are safe now, and the trip is over. I already miss it as we fly over the remote Himalayas. It is so beautiful, the sun is not risen over the mountains but light streams over them like a tutor hall. Mera on our right, snow white and high. The very top, that’s where I was three days ago.

Part Two. The Summit.

Four days earlier.

I’m not getting out of bed for less than $10,000 I think as my alarm melodies.

I lay there for another 20 minutes, it’s 1am and I hear people shuffling around outside the tent of our summit camp, 5800 metres high in the Himalaya. “Tea?” Dorjee calls. Yes Please! It’s time to move, I put on my pants, another jacket and eat porridge with my legs still in the sleeping bag.

I’ve shared the tent with Vamini, who I heard last night having a restless sleep. In my red head light she looks like hell, and I can see the effects of altitude and a sleepless night have had on her. I feel good however, and hopeful as this is the best I’ve felt at this altitude. We crawl out of the tent, making our way off the rock scree to the start of the snow field to rope up. We are the last team to organise ourselves, and it’s already nearly 3am. Vamini is going with Zac, as they are both faster than me. I am going with Sabin and Dorjee. Good I think. Nice and slow.

We start a winding pencil line across the invisible map of crevasses, up and down, gentle and falsely alluring. Gusts of wind start up. They started at midnight last night on the tent. Furious blasts flapping orange tent doors. Now, no tent door to shield me, it’s my face that gets the icy snow and it’s a prickly sting.

Then comes the uphill. I’ve listened through the whole Hamilton soundtrack. Now Matt Corby and Solange chant sleepy tunes, not the music I need for this moment, but it’s too much hassle to even think about changing the playlist. I’m too cold. My finger is numb. Will I get frostnip? I can’t remember if I put my other pair of liners in my bag. My ears and some of my forehead is exposed. “Dorjee can you get my hat?” He puts it on me like a child. My fatigue elevates, I begin to think in jolted sentences.

I need to stop again.

I have no energy.

Ten more steps.

One more song.

Just another half an hour.

It’s so black. It feels like an endless night.

Where is the sun?

“Sabin can I have my puffy from your bag?”

I try to share some gummy bears. Spill some on the snow.

I sit down again.

“Dorjee. I don’t think I have any energy left.” He nods. No enabling. “How long left?” One and a half hours. Fuuuuuuuck. I can’t do it. I seriously can’t. I have nothing left.

One more song. Half hour more.

Then a voice echos over the black dome sky. You will forget the pain of this, and remember the glory. You are in the pain cave. How deep have you got?

It reminds me of when I was thrown 100 times for my black belt. Each swinging pound into the mat, me rolling over, standing up and asking for it again. That lasted 11 minutes. This is four hours of that.

But now the sun is coming. A yellow highlighter drawn across the mountain lines behind me. It is so beautiful but I don’t care. I’m too tired. I know now though: I can make it till daybreak. The snow changes. Sabin puts my ski goggles on and the world becomes yellow tinted. The snow looks yellow, lemon with lilac miniature mountain peaks below my crampons. I see other crampon marks. They look beautiful and comforting. The light changes. Now bright neon yellow with dark violet shadows.

My steps are a shuffle. One foot does not even go in front of the other. It’s a half step.

The darkest hour is behind me. Soft morning light surrounds us as we reach a gentle slope, at its end a group of climbers. Ten minutes to get there. Above them is a 20 metre, 70 degree angle slope. The final step.

I see Zac. He has the biggest grin I have seen and he has already summited. “15 more minutes till the top!” he smiles. A group which overtook us calmly sip tea out of a steel thermos lid. I say “Let’s go” to Dorjee, I’m so slow, I can’t afford to stop. We start up the final step.

OMG. Did I say the darkest hour was over? This hill is ridiculous! From just one step I am bent over panting as if I have done a 100 metre sprint. Fuck this summit I think. I need to go down! I want to just get this over and done with.

We reach the summit. A small sloped platform around 20 metres wide. Sabin clips me into a ice pick anchored in the snow so I don’t fall off and I can’t really move. There are about 20 people up here. I try to get a sponsor video and take a selfie which looks like I could be anywhere. We get a picture with the MERA PEAK banner, which cuts off any other surrounding views, again, we could be anywhere. It could be planet Zoilon. I’ve never felt so apathetic on a summit. I don’t care about this stupid peak. Get me down. I feel really weird. We descend the steep section, silently thankful that down for me is easy peasy lemon squeezy.

I see people are stopped, smiling, more photos with more banners. Get me down I think. We go. After a handful of gummy bears and a sip of water. We’re roped up again and have an easy first half hour. Fast pace, no stopping, jogging down the snow that took five times as long to climb up.

Then Sabin slows. He is walking cross legged and falls a few times his crampons getting linked together. He looks buggered. We slow down the pace, and now every fifteen steps have a pause. Then another fifteen steps. I suppose this is what I was like going up. So it is my turn for patience.

We pass Vamini on the way down. She split off from Zac early this morning, Zac striding past us ten minutes into the summit push. She is now short roped by a prusik cord, Numka behind her. Talk about patience! She looks grey. I can’t believe she’s still going. She has another half an hour up. Bloody sheer determination. I asked her before, do you have self doubt? “What do you mean?” she said. Her husband has apparently, she, does not. Like how? Never has, never had. Teach me I think.

We make it down high camp. I plunge into my tent and am told to pack. We’re going down. I pack slowly, shoving puffy sleeping bags and jackets into sacks. Taking a breather between each shove. Noodles, tea, hot water all delivered. I sleep. A soft whimpering wakes me up. It was me. Slightly moaning, digesting the pain I just went through. I sleep an hour or so, intermittently woken by my own whimpers. Vamani enters the tent. She looks totally done. We are now waiting to all go down together. Vamini sleeps face down in the tent, and I notice she has the same fitful whimpers as I had.

It’s 8am and we wait. I need the bathroom. Three layers of pants, mountain boots with no flex and a harness pose my next challenge. The ply wooden toilet block has been seen before, by people more desperate than me and I find it hard not to step on poo while I wide leg hover pee. We wait and wait and wait.

“Vamini! We are all waiting for you! Hurry Up!!”

“Is it?” she says popping her head out of the tent. “I’ll be 5 minutes” Numkha helps her pack. We are ready. It is midday and we have another four hours down. Exhaustion and the incredible scenery make the descent a hallucinogenic experience. It’s as if I have stepped into a poem.

Part Three. The Decent.

Descending further

Ice castles sprinkled with black dust

Stepping into grey granite moonscape

Harness off, outer pants off, pee

Descend further

stone houses wrapped as blue tarp presents

We stop, no tea

A carton of eggs, fixed with red plastic twine

Dorjee in the lead

Dusty dirt rocky road

slipping downward

arms flapping like a high liner

then up again?

Slow. Breathing heavy. Hand gestures motions rest request

Down down

plush grass, lofty knolls

A huge white and black mountain stands tall in front

Chomolungma

Tiny yellow blue settlement below

half hour more

Swishy long sand coloured grass

bleach yellow and black speckled boulders

I’m in a koi pond

Giant fish swimming around me

Over the stream of ice blue clear water

A marshy field

Another wrapped stone blue present

We are motioned inside

I put on blue tinted glasses

Sip my tea

Slump on my backpack and dream again

This story can be also read (sans poem) in two parts over at WomenClimb