Mera Peak alpenglow
In October 1997, we fulfilled a long held wish to travel to Nepal to trek in the Himalayas. I probably promised at the time to keep a journal of the trip, but never did. Now, 29 years later, I am making good on that promise. While much of those 4 weeks is still surprisingly fresh in my memory, such was the culture and grandeur of Nepal, the passage of time will undoubtedly have changed our recollection of individual events and experiences.
At 6476 meters, Mera Peak is the highest "trekking" peak in Nepal. But what it lacks in technical climbing, it more that makes up in beauty and isolation (at least it felt like that in '97 - possibly very different now?). From Lukla, the gateway to the western Himalayas and Everest Base Camp), Mera Peak is a 55 to 65 km trek over 6 to 8 days, including acclimatisation, with a day of two less on the return journey. After passing over the Zatrawa La, a 4600 meter pass above Lukla, the route descends for what seems like forever to the Hinku valley, which it follows upstream, gently gaining altitude, to the village of Thagnag. At Thagnag, in the shadow of the impressive pyramid of Kusum Kangguru, the route abruptly changes pitch and climbs the Mera Glacier to the Mera La, where onward trekkers can descend into the even more isolated Hongu Valley. From the Mera La, the final trek picks its way across snow fields and between crevasses to high camp and the final steep climb to the summit.
While this was first and foremost of trekking holiday, it was also an opportunity for a few pictures! I had never photographed at high altitude, but this was a once in a lifetime chance so, I invested in a new camera - a Canon EOS 50e - and lens - an EF 20-35mm. Both are sat on the windowsill next to me as I write. We had to travel light, so a medium telephoto zoom completed my kit. This was in the days before digital, so I took 14 rolls of Kodachrome 64 and a single roll of Ilford B&W film. I thought this was extravagant - I can now shoot the equivalent number of shots in a single day!
Arriving at Kathmandu International Airport
Like most treks to Nepal, our journey started in Kathmandu. For someone who had only left Europe once, this was a massive and extremely exciting culture shock. The sights, sounds, tastes and smells of the city blew me away.
It was such a vibrant and seemingly mystical place, so different from anywhere I'd been before or, for that matter since. We met up with the rest of our party, eleven of us in total, and spent a couple of days sightseeing around the temples, squares and streets of central Kathmandu, before getting ready for the journey east, to Lukla.
Sadhus
Pashupatinath Temple
Our transport to Lukla - wish us luck!
Lukla Airport
We had heard scare stories of flying into Lukla, that the runway, perched high up on the side of a mountain, slopes upwards with a 12% gradient. That's a 62 meter difference between the start and finish, and with a sheer drop at one end! So it was with a mixture of relief and disappointment that we found our passage through the foothills would be in a soviet era Mil Mi-8 helicopter. Once on board, hunched around the edge of a cargo bay piled high with kit, we were offered earplugs - a somewhat futile gesture against the roar of the engine and rattle of the worrying fuselage!
But, we arrived safely in Lukla and watched with awe and trepidation as fixed-wing planes landed and took off from what must be one of the world's most inaccessible airports. Once a plane was over the end of the gravel runway, landing seemed straightforward. But wreckage alongside the boundary fence suggested it wasn't always the case (there have been at least 8 major crashes here). Maybe the helicopter option was a blessing in disguise!
Preparing for the trek...
We spent the day in Lukla resting, exploring the village and taking a walk along the next day's route to acclimatise. We also met our sherpas and porters who would support us so fantastically over the next couple of weeks.
I don't know how it's changed in the last 29 years, but Lukla then seemed to be a small and relatively quiet Nepalese village. Yes, there were a number of trekking parties passing through on their way to Everest Base Camp and beyond, but I recall quiet streets and a slow pace of life, in sharp contrast to the hustle of Kathmandu. Maybe I have selective memories.
Our Sherpas and porters were an amazing group of people - always smiling, always helpful. Himal was our lead sherpa, from the far east of Nepal, in the Kanchenjunga range. Zetta had submitted Sagarmatha (Everest) multiple times. Mingma was the youngest, but who would later prove to be one of the strongest in the trek, and last but not least, Churrung, who looked after me when I was forced to retreat from the Mera Glacier due to altitude sickness.
At this point, we were still without a guide. Tim had been held up in bad weather on another trek and racing to catch us up.
Lukla camp
Our first taste of high altitude - the 4,600 meter Zatrawa La
Porters...
So, after a comfortable night in Lukla, we set off and in the opposite direction to the far more popular Everest Base Camp path - it immediately felt more isolated and wild. Day 1 was an easy approach walk, of only a few kilometres to a clearing in the foothills above Lukla, where we pitched camp. There were very few teahouses back then (I remember only 2 or 3 in the entire trek) and only one that had rooms. Our accommodation were tents, carried from camp to camp by a small army of porters.
Each day consisted of the walk to the next camp, dumping our backpacks (and to be honest, these only contained spare clothing, snacks, cameras and so on - our amazing porters did all the heavy lifting) and then carry on for a another 2 or 3 km to gain more altitude, to acclimatise for the next day.
Day 2 was a bit of a baptism by fire (or ice?). We climbed through thick snow, the 1000 or so meters to camp on whatever flat ground was available in the snowfields below the Zatrawa La. The next day we were over the pass and dropped down to Thule Kharka. The encampment was dominated by an impossibly large boulder. While we retired to our tents, the porters disappeared under various rock overhangs in the valley walls, each with a dry stone windbreak making a snug, protective shelter - the valley was filled with the light of their fires, the smell of aromatic woodsmoke, and the sounds of chatter and laughter.
From Thule Kharka, we descended through misty forests of huge rhododendron trees to camp 5 at Tashing Ongma, a further 1000 metres below. From here, the valley opened out, the vegetation shortened and even higher mountains towered above us. This is how I always imagined the Himalayas to be!
Photography so far had been good - an understatement, but I was really struggling to deal with the huge dynamic range presented by the high altitude light, the snow and deep shadows in the valleys. This was years before I had even heard of exposure bracketing and graduated filters - I typically set my exposure compensation to -1 and hoped for the best. As we climbed further up the Hinku, however, the light and the compositions changed from stunning to almost overwhelming. Waking up early at Tashing Ongma, I wandered outside before anyone else was up, to be confronted with alpenglow painting the higher cliffs of the Mera massif to our south in a magical fiery rose-gold display. It was one of the most memorable scenes I have ever seen - my photo doesn't do it justice!
The village of Thagnag, from the climb to Khare
By day 6, we had arrived at the village of Thagnag, nestled in a bowl below Mera Peak to the north, the Mera Glacier to the east and the massive rock face of Kusum Kangguru to the south (6367 meters). Since leaving Lukla, we had passed a couple of solitary teahouses, so Thagnag, with its one teahouse (Hotel Sunrise), a few cottages and extensive yak-folds, was as much civilisation as we would see over the two weeks. It was in the Hotel Sunrise we sampled Chaang, the traditional Nepalese barley beer - I'm struggling to remember what it was like...
Looking across to Kusum Kangguru
From Thagnag we started the climb to our "base camp" at Khare - base camp in the sense that it was the last camp on solid ground before moving onto the glacier. Up to this point, I had been feeling ok - tired, groggy and with a chronic mild headache - but otherwise ok. But, climbing up the steeper ground out of Thagnag, I started to feel worse and by the time we reached Khare, my head felt twice the size and was thumping like a pile-driver. Himal and Tim, our trek lead who had caught us up on day 2 o4r 3, diagnosed Acute Mountain Sickness (altitude sickness) and instructed me to retreat back down the mountain, under the watchful eye of Churrung. Reluctantly I agreed and I assumed my trek was over. We spent the night in a cave, somewhere between Thagnag and Khare.
Zetta
Minga
Glacier camp
Although I felt like death warmed up on the way down, the lower altitude and a dose of Dimox worked wonders and by the next morning my head had cleared and, having checked in with Tim on the radio, I was on my way back up. I can't recall if I rejoined the team before they left Khare or at the next camp, but that night I was pleased to be reunited with Caroline at 5000 meters on the glacier!
The next morning, we made our penultimate climb up to high camp at around 6000 meters, threading our way through crevasses and looking out onto the most stunning landscape I have ever seen. In the foreground was the ever-present Kusum Kangguru, its summit now almost at eye level, the middle ground dominated by Chamlang, at 7319 metres, and then the most amazing backdrop of countless shark's teeth peaks, including the iconic Ama Dablam, Nuptse, Makalu and, through the rolling clouds, a distant glimpse of Sagamartha or, in Tibetan, Chomolungma, the Mother Goddess of the World herself.
Our last climb started at 3 a.m! It was a dark, misty, cold and more than just breezy morning. I clearly remember Tim declaring, with some satisfaction, that the temperature had dropped to minus 33 degrees Celsius - what I can't remember is whether that was before or after accounting for windchill. Whatever, it was blinking cold, so much so that we had slept with our boots in our sleeping bags to prevent the leather from freezing (we couldn't afford modern plastic boots!) and more significantly, the boiling water in our water bottles was frozen solid within seemingly minutes. We roped up and started on our way. The climb was uneventful, but a tough slog at over 6000 meters - the thin air was taking its toll. The last 30 meters or so was as technical as it got and I was thankful when Zetta hauled me over the cornice and onto the summit ridge.
Well, so much for a view! The mountain was shrouded in thick cloud and the most we could make out were the prayer flags blowing wildly from the summit cairn.
We dropped off the top and prepared for the long trek back - we would bypass high and glacier camps, and descend all the way to Khare. At this point I'm not sure what happened, whether it was the altitude or I just wanted to be off the mountain, but I somehow became separated from the rest of the group and found myself walking back to the tents at high camp alone. Fortunately I made it without incident, but quite rightly had a piece torn off me by Himal and Tim when they arrived shortly after.
The next day, we returned the short distance to Thagnag. Arriving mid-morning, we had a few hours to kill, so making the most of our altitude acclimatised legs, a few of us set off up the slopes of Kusum Kangguru, reaching about 5000 meters before resting and retreating ahead of thick cloud that was piling in up the valley. The views down to Thagnag and back towards Khare and the Mera glacier were breathtaking.
Our concern over the weather was well-founded. That afternoon and evening unseasonal heavy snow carpeted the valley and mountainsides.
It continued to snow heavily as we retraced our steps to where our outward path descended from Thule Kharka. By this point, one of our party who had been gradually feeling poorly, took a turn for the worse and Tim and Himal decided he would struggle to get back over the Zatrawa La and needed to be evacuated. Deep in the valley, radio reception was impossible, so Mingma agreed to head back to Lukla through the night to raise the alarm. The next morning, we cleared a makeshift helipad in the snow and set off following Mingma's tracks in the now knee deep snow. Bearing in mind it had taken us four days to reach this point on the outward journey, we were amazed to hear the helicopter pass overhead only hours after we left - Mingma had traveled non-stop to reach Lukla or at least the Zatrawa La where he may have been able to radio for help in fresh deep snow in around 18 hours! Moreover, his tracks made our passage through the snow that much easier.
What was a long, but simple descent previously, was a far more serious undertaking on the way back. We were exhausted and frozen by the time we approached Thule Kharka and here we had won of our most enduring experiences of Nepalese kindness and hospitality - as we came over the last rise, by now in complete darkness and still a couple of hundred meters from the teahouse, we were met by several didis ("older sisters") bearing trays of hot tea and juice. We tumbled into the teahouse more eager for warmth than food.
The next morning we climbed back up to the Zatrawa La and over a transformed landscape and back to Lukla, civilisation and cake.
The next day we returned to Kathmandu and spent a couple of days relaxing in and around Kathmandu. This included a trip out to Bhaktapur, a UNESCO-listed city some 13 km from Kathmandu and a centre of Newar culture. It was such a beautiful city, which unfortunately suffered heavy damage in the 2015 earthquake.
The Nyatapola in Taumadhi Square
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