THE TRIP (Trekking in Nepal- Post 4)

(To read the other posts in this series click on the label 'Nepal'.
Some of the pictures in this post were taken by David Hough.)

As we hiked toward Larke La pass Dave and I came to a blustery little town high in the Himalayas.  As we entered a drizzle floated down just on the verge of turning to snow.  Ice hung from the sides of woolly yaks.  We holed up in a rustic tea house where we met one of the only other foreigner trekkers on our trip: a young Italian couple.  Early the next morning we huddled around the wood stove finishing our hot chia before setting out in the freezing rain for the long push over Larke La pass.

Today we would face our greatest ascent and descent and longest hike topping out at our highest elevation of 17,120 feet.  As we pressed onward and upward the clouds began to lift and with them so did our spirits.  Because of other commitments Dave and I had chosen to do this trek on the tail end of the rainy season in Nepal.  Before we started the trip there was no guarantee we would get any great mountain views but already we had seen many of Himalaya's giants.  This day started off as one of our dreariest: we were literally in the clouds.  But they continued to part revealing some of the bluest skies Dave and I had ever seen.

Mount Manaslu's top could be seen between the massive hulks of North Manaslu and Larke Peak.  Days earlier we had viewed Manaslu's east side from base camp but we were now north of the eighth highest mountain in the world bordering Tibet's restricted frontier.  This day would be remembered by Dave and I as a 'blue day'.  Hiking under blue skies we came upon the bluest lake we had ever seen.  Skirting along it's ridge we starred into the lake's turquoise depths until we came across yet another wonder: the rare Blue Sheep- only found in the high Himalayas.  Dave sat at the head of the blue lake to photograph the Himalayan Blue Sheep under the blue sky.

As we continued to put kilometers behind us the terrain began to change.  Vegetation became scarce and we found our selves navigating a rocky tundra; undulating ever upward.  Though we had been looking at snow on mountaintops for days now we began to see snow on our path.   I threw the first snow ball catching my brother somewhat off guard.  Some time afterward I felt a brilliantly aimed ice ball lodge itself firmly between my pack and the small of my back.  Most of it melted before I could remove the contents.  By now the only plants to be seen were brightly colored arctic lichens and small flowers.  A mule carcass sat rotting in the middle of a salt flat.

After many false summits Dave and I finally came upon hoards of faded prayer flags strewn across boulders.  A little farther and we were there: on top of Larke La pass.  Wind blew ice sideways off the monument marking the place.  This was more than a milestone for me.  My shortness of breath sharp headache only instilled the sense of accomplishment that I had made it beyond the point of no return and rounded one of the highest mountains in the world.  For Dave and I everything would be downhill from this point (literally) and our path would lead us through even more stunning scenery ultimately back to our families.

No sooner had we put Larke La pass behind us and our paces quickened.  The painstaking effort it took to climb thousands of feet in thin air was almost forgotten as we glided down.  Our guide, Logan, was hopping from rock to rock like a Blue Sheep when he abruptly stopped and bent to pick something off of the ground.  Turning around he handed me a remarkably blue rock thus sealing the day over Larke La pass as 'blue'.  I continued to hunt for blue rocks to bring back to each of my children and chose small ones since I have six.

As we descended the terrain quickly became greener again.  We ended our day over the pass late in the afternoon in a tea house above alpine forests.  The stars that night were brilliant but it was still very cold.  The following day we descended among giant pines covering four times as much ground as we did when we were going up.  We started to feel it in our knees and on our feet.  Dave even decided to wear his sandals in attempt to alleviate the pain in his toes.  When we would occasionally pass a Nepali herder or porter plodding uphill we felt we had earned our passage.  But even with Mount Manaslu behind us our pride was kept in check when we encountered an elderly Nepali women carrying a load significantly larger than ours with a worn cloth strap across her forehead.

The sight, though humorous at first, was a sobering reminder that my brother and I could do this trip because of the simple fact that we were rich.  Sure, it was a major sacrifice to leave family behind, a financial strain and a risk to do a two week tea house trek in the Himalayas.  But our guide risked his life and left his family on a regular basis out of necessity.  And sure, Dave and I used this time in God's beautiful creation to seek Him and connect with each other.  But chances were the woman carrying the water tank didn't even know her Maker and couldn't look up to appreciate His creation for the load on her back.  I leave Nepal with a better understanding of how rich I am.  I am rich materially, physically, and especially spiritually- to be able to personally know the One who made Mount Manaslu and have met with Him there.