A mountain too high to climb

I have recently returned from a hiking trip in Nepal. Yes, exotic Nepal, host to the grandiose Himalayan mountains and trekking capital of the world. I had signed up for a 6-day trek to the Annapurna Base Camp, or in short the ABC trek, favoured by many first-time trekkers as the route is scenic and the final altitude of 4130m not so high as to induce altitude mountain sickness.

Still, getting to the ABC was anything but elementary. Given my aging legs and limited fitness, it was tougher than what I had imagined it to be.  Not that I neglected on preparing for the trek. I had trained hard for the months leading to the trip – jogging, climbing 40-storey buildings, three times over each round, circled around our Macritchie reservoir and scaled up and down the Bukit Timah Hill umpteen times. But at only 160m above sea-level, BTH was a mere pretender to the colossal massifs that awaited me.

So deep within the Himalayas, with lungs strained to bursting point, I heaved my aching frame to clamber up yet another boulder. There was always another knee-crunching step to labour over. I had never before seen so many steps within a single day in my life. At every incline slope, self-doubt crept into my head. At times I felt my own mortality slipping off the edge.

But this was a trip I had to do. Ranked high on my list of to-dos, I knew from the outset it would not be easy. I would also be risking many undesirable possibilities – spraining my ankles, falling sick or suffering from food poisoning while being stranded in the middle of nowhere, high up in the mountains where medical attention is out of reach.

But the rewards of the trek were immeasurable. Stunning sceneries of snow-capped mountain peaks, grand vistas of lush green valleys with raging rapids tearing through the rocks and shimmering waterfalls gliding gracefully down the hill slopes to feed the rivers below.  Not to mention, the crisp cool air. In the words of the late Paul Kalanithi, a brilliant neurosurgeon who succumbed to late-stage cancer shortly after he completed his amazing book “When Breath Becomes Air”  -  “We shall rise insensibly, and reach the tops of the everlasting hills, where the winds are cool and the sight is glorious”.  

The physical punishment and pain I had put myself into certainly sounded insensible.  I was also trekking on my own. A solo trip, save for my Nepali guide and porter.

There were advantages of trekking alone. If I had found the going too tough I could on the spur change my plans. No worries about disappointing anyone. And instead of the obligatory chatter, I could focus on my own state of mind and work on some serious self-reflection. As I envisioned, the experience would be enlightening, balm for the soul. There will be a lot of time to refresh memories of my late wife. Renew my vows with her even. And all the while, breathing fresh air.

The trip started with a 2-hour rattling Jeep ride along a rocky mountain path from Pokhara, an hour’s flight from Kathmandu.  Disembarking from the jeep, Ramesh my guide for the trip threw me the question, “Are you ready for 6 to 7 hours of trekking my friend?” “Do I have a choice?” I replied, swallowing gulps of anxiety. Seven hours of continuous trekking sounded scary. But I tried not to think too far, ahead of the expected suffering.

Behold, the trekking newbie venturing into the unknown

I had set my mind on this journey so there was only one way to go - forward, following a trail into the forested hills. So together with Depak, our sturdy porter carrying my back-pack collection of clothing and survival essentials, our ragtag team of three set foot on our six-day trek. For a trekking newbie like me, an adventure into the unknown beckoned.



Chomrong was a particularly picturesque village spread across the entire slope of a mountain

One of many lodges along the trekking route

I learnt over the next few days that the Annapurna sanctuary was an experience in extreme climate change. Starting from a tropical rainforest, the trek quickly took me through alpine forests immersed in temperate cool and culminated at the base camp at sub-zero freeze.

The hill features are rugged and massive and the terrain has a way of mocking me and eroding my waning confidence. Should I venture further and deeper or make an early u-turn? If not for a lot of encouragement from my trusted guide it would have been tempting to consider turning back. Returning to the four-star comfort in Pokhara and civilisation.



A trekker requiring the services of a donkey as her legs could carry her no further

I tried not to focus too much on the final end goal – the ABC itself, but to take each stretch of climb, one at a time. Which is the next stop or rest point? Ramesh, my ever-patient guide could fill me in. He knows the entire route like the back of his hand. He could prompt me on the tougher gradients or the more gradual ones to mentally gear me for the challenges ahead. The route led us to many quaint and colourful lodges where we could rest, drink masala tea and take our lunch, usually standard fare of rice with dal baht, a savoury lentil-based curry.

So from Jhinu to Chomrong, a picturesque village sprawling along the sides of a mountain, we climbed higher up on makeshift stony steps and boulder-laden slopes defying the gravity on our aching bodies to arrive at Dovan, where I spent my second night. In the morning, I woke up early to treat myself to an amazing view of the Annapurna mountain peaks. Standing no less majestically at the end of the range is the Machapuchare, Nepali for “Fishtail Mountain”, with its steep and pointed fishtail-shaped summit making it a mountain deemed impossible to climb. 



The majestic Machapucharare with its fish-tail summit

From Dovan, we moved on to Deurali and after yet another dal baht recharge, we powered ours aching legs to the Machapuchrare Base Camp or MBC to rest and prepare ourselves for the last stretch to the ABC. As evening falls at the MBC, at 3850m, the temperature quickly dipped to freezing. The entire camp was shrouded in thick fog. I piled on the warm clothing – thermals, t-shirt, pull-over and on top of it all, the North Face woollen-lined winter jacket that belonged to my son W. In fact, except for my trekking pants, most of the trekking gear I brought along including my back pack were loaned from him. During dinner all the hikers were huddled around a common dining table to keep warm. Our Nepali guide and porters were seated behind closely watching and tending to our needs. They made me feel spoilt and useless at times but I was nevertheless grateful for their patience and watchful eye over my welfare.

We woke up at 4.30am at the MBC to set off for the pre-dawn hike to ascend this final stretch to reach the ABC. The plan was to reach there before dawn and watch the sun lighting up the mountain peaks. So donning our head lamps we battled our way on snow laden ground and icy rocks. Walking in the dark, I could tell that the gradient was not particularly steep. It would only be a mere two hour uphill trek of mostly moderate gradients. But the thin air made breathing hard and the entire body felt heavy with muscles starved of oxygenated blood, straining with each step taken.  It was an exhausting climb. I took to counting steps so I could focus on the progress, one step at a time. And taking deep breaths, gasping in the thin cold air.

My thoughts inevitably drifted back to that fateful April morning. At the hospital with Jenny. If breathing was hard during my climb, how much tougher was it for her during those last few hours of her life? I had sat at her bed-side in the hospital, watching her heaving and gasping with each lungful of air to keep her mind and body alive.  Jenny struggled with her breathing from the early morning hours for at least five hours before she took that crucial breath and sighing it out for one last time.  What were the thoughts that ran through her head throughout this final struggle? Was she like me, also counting each breath and taking it one at a time?

She was scaling the mountain of her life. But sadly, it was one too high for her to climb.

So for much of my upward ascent in the cold and dark, along the slippery route from the MBC and ABC I felt overwhelmingly sad. If I had shed tears they would literally freeze on my face in the bitter cold. But put in the right perspective, my own physical struggle to reach the ABC was nowhere in comparison to Jenny’s suffering. I have no cause to complain but to march on.

Shortly after 6am the sky slowly illuminated, crowning the peaks of the Annapurna massifs ahead with a beautiful golden orange glow.  It was an impossibly beautiful scene. Bright mountain peaks unfolding ahead as dawn broke open another brand new day. A most unusual day in my otherwise banal life of an academic administrator. At the ABC site, hordes of other trekkers were prancing about in celebratory jubilant mood, posing and snapping photos in every direction.



At the ABC, hordes of trekkers were posing for photographs




Dawn breaking over the Annapurna mountain ranges lighting the peaks with a peachy orange glow

Nepali village kids looking stately and proud

So Nepal came and went. Amid the exhaustion and the pain in my wobbly knees and joints, I have sworn that this trekking expedition would be my first and last. But now upon returning, I could not be so sure.  I had stood amongst the world’s tallest mountains and took in incredible sights, along with glimpses of Nepali village life.  The country has a magical lure that calls for another visit. So before long, I may well be packing for another trek.

I am also mindful of the long hiatus in my blog postings. My writing has definitely fallen over a cliff. But it was not because I was too busy. In fact, I had deliberately resisted the urge to write on more than a few occasions.  Instead I was questioning the reasons I need to continue despatching my despondent state of mind, to share my grief. Is there any sense to persist on this blog?

What is the point of rehashing the same stories of yet another day in my life without her, over and over again? It is not that I have turned round a corner. Jenny had remained the one constant and I continue missing her. Each and every day, all this while.  So nothing much has changed.

But I am not ready to abandon this site. It is a tribute and a testament for my love for her. I will keep it alive even if the postings will be fewer and farther in between. And it does not matter if nobody follows it anymore.

But let me know if you wish to join me for my next Nepal trek.