Nepal: TREK TO EVEREST BASE CAMP
- Lauren Smith
- Apr 6, 2022
- 22 min read
A tale of river crossings, tea breaks, and yak traffic on our journey to the foot of Everest.
Our adventure began on the floor of the domestic terminal at TIA, where we waited out a 4-hour fog delay of all flights to Tenzing-Hillary Airport in Lukla. Considering that our destination is currently regarded by google as the most dangerous airport in the world, my trekking team (consisting of guide Mukunda and fellow volunteers Molly and Taylor) was content to wait for the weather to clear. Curling up on our day packs, we prepared to wait as long as it took, along with the dozens of other trekkers hoping to catch a flight to the Himalaya that day. Around 11:00am, as the clouds on the live radar began to disperse, we were finally driven to our 18-seater prop plane, loaded carefully according to the weight of our bags and bodies, and launched into the sky.
Shortly after breaking through the clouds and smog that suffocate Kathmandu Valley, we were greeted with our first view of the Himalayan peaks, which stretched along the northern horizon as far as the eye could see. The camera struggled to discern the jagged, white-capped mountains from the clouds that swirled around them, but the eye could clearly depict the majestic peaks that speared above the height of our plane— a man next to me could even identify them based on their shape. 30 minutes later, we were descending through the layers of fog to be suddenly met with one of the shortest runways in the world, beginning at the top of a cliff and ending at the steep base of a mountain. Some brilliant engineers decided to build the runway on an incline, which assists in the deceleration of landing planes just enough to prevent a collision with the 14,000 foot mountain face. Safely on the tarmac, we were quickly unloaded, even as another group was lining up to take our plane back to the valley. In fact, the left propeller of the plane was kept running, assisting in the quick turn-around that was necessary on the tiny 4-plane platform. Because only small propeller planes are permitted to land in Lukla— the gateway to the highest peaks in the world— traffic at the airport could get quite high during trekking season, especially when the volatile mountain weather played a role. To accommodate, pilots have become experienced at getting in and out as quickly as possible, landing just long enough for the flight crew to receive a hot cup of tea on the tarmac as duffles are unloaded and loaded. It would be a crime to miss tea time, after all.
Mukunda hustled us into the cramped airport lobby, where we were greeted with our duffles and Deependra, the Sherpa we had hired to carry them up the mountain for us. Deep may have looked like any average 24-year-old man, but he was no normal human being. He was a Sherpa. With that title came the astonishing ability to trek in high altitude for days with upwards of 80 kilos on his back. In flip flops. He single-handedly carried mine, Taylor’s and Molly’s bags (each around 9 kilos of clothes, sleeping bags and toiletries) up and down the Kumbu valley over the next 11 days, beating us to the lodge by hours every evening. With Mukunda and Deep on our team, we had no fear heading into the mountains on that cloudy Sunday afternoon.
Day 1: Lukla (9,350 ft) — Phakding (8,694 ft)
Upon landing in Lukla 4 hours behind schedule, we had a quick lunch at a lodge next to the airport before adjusting our trekking poles and beginning the first stretch of our hike, hoping to get to our destination before dark. Day one was (blessedly) mostly downhill, but we were quickly reminded of a crucial law of hiking that would come to haunt us over the next two weeks: What goes down must come up. Particularly on a trek with a net elevation gain of 9,000 feet, every step down warned of two steps up before the day was done, as was the theme of the EBC trek. However, on the trail to Phakding (the only day where we lost elevation) I was blissfully unaware of the challenges that awaited us, and embraced the hike with the excitement and enthusiasm of a child. We passed through several small Sherpa villages along the way, each studded with stupas, prayer wheels and religious monuments that stood proud against the majestic backdrop of the alpine hills. And yes, they were still considered “hills” at this point, even though they towered over our current elevation of 9,000 feet. The Nepali, spoiled as they are, won’t even consider it a mountain until the peak is snow-capped, and the tree line in the Himalaya reached what I estimated to be around 14,000 feet. So there we were, surrounded by peaks higher than almost all of the Rockies, and we had yet to see a mountain. Needless to say, it was still a stunning first four miles, and we arrived in Phakding in light rain just before dinner. Mukunda claimed that the rain was good luck, and would bless the rest of our trek, which certainly proved to be true in the coming days.
Though our first day should have been considered easy, we were all certainly feeling the altitude towards the end of our last uphill stretch, and we were already learning to take some of Mukunda’s words with a grain of salt; I suppose “easy walk”, “little uphill” and “very close” is all relative. Regardless, I looked forward to tea, food and bed. We shoveled down a dinner of dal bhat (which we would get very used to) before heading to our tidy, minimalistic bedrooms for night one: Molly and I in one room, Taylor just a plywood board away.
Day 2: Phakding (8,694 ft) — Namche (11,286 ft)
On our second morning, we slowly built up the strength to brave the air outside of our sleeping bags, fully aware that it was only going to get harder as the trek went on. We were served a simple breakfast and tea before heading out, Namche our next destination. The rain from the day before had cleared the sky of clouds, blessing us with beautiful, sunny views from each of the five suspension bridges we crossed throughout the day. Our entire route would be following the Dudh Koshi (“milky river”), recognizable by its frothy, white rapids. The river springs from the high glaciers of Mt. Everest and is widely renowned as the highest river in elevation— you can just imagine the temperature. Our trail was also adorned with giant rhododendron trees, blooming with the national flowers of Nepal, which we would only get see in this window of elevation. Though the high altitude Himalaya are covered with them, they weren’t yet in bloom above 10,000 ft in March.
It was on this day that we officially crossed the checkpoint into Sagarmatha National Park. “Sagarmatha” is the Nepali name for Mt. Everest, which literally translates to “Peak of Heaven”— certainly fitting. Along this trail, we also had our first glimpse of a true mountain, the snow-capped peak hovering in the distance and sparking our excitement for the coming days. After a steady uphill walk along the river through the stunning Kuhmbu valley, we reached the iconic Hillary Bridge, strung between towering hillsides and flowing with prayer flags. This lovely sight marked the beginning of our steep 1,700 foot climb over the last 1.5 miles to Namche Bazar— the first of many grueling ascents.
“Slow and steady” was the name of the game (and would become a running joke), as the elevation already had us gasping for breath, even at a snail‘s pace. Thankfully, we were forced to stop (totally against our will) to let several groups of mules pass by, all carrying supplies to Namche and beyond— some of the gear was probably even bound for base camp. Along these steep switchbacks was also where we had our first and closest encounter with wild mountain goats, found grazing along the trail— another fantastic excuse to stop. We finally stumbled into the mystical Sherpa capital of Namche at 11,200 feet around 3:00 pm, and I was certainly feeling my legs and my lungs just a bit more than usual. In fact, all of us were starting to get hit a little bit. Molly had some indigestion and chest pains from the wind, I had a sore throat and cough from the dry air, and Taylor was feeling the beginnings of altitude sickness. Thank goodness the next day was a rest/acclimation day.
Yeah, that was a typo on the itinerary.
It quickly became apparent to us novice trekkers that “rest” and “acclimation” were not synonymous.
Day 3: Acclimation Day in Namche
What we had planned for our acclimation day in Namche was a quick morning hike up 1,500 feet above the town to the famed “Everest Viewpoint”, which consisted of steep steps and winding switchbacks to a summit around 12,700 ft. Deependra, who had been trekking far ahead of us with our duffles each day, decided to join us for the little jaunt, doing the whole thing in flip flops and walking as though he were out for a stroll in the park. It was pretty embarrassing. The view probably would have made it all worth it, but, unfortunately, the clouds had rolled in again, and we could only catch glimpses of stark white and grey mountain faces through gaps in the misty fog. What was incredible, however, was noticing that what I thought were clouds hanging overhead, were actually the peaks of huge 16,000 footers that encircled Namche. Though a clear view would have been breath-taking, it was also somewhat magical to be shocked with each shift in the clouds, as we were teased by the sheer size of the surrounding mountains. We shared a pot of tea at the top of the hill before making our steep descent.
Following our hike, we visited the museum in Namche, which detailed the history of the Khumbu valley, Sherpa people, and the historic endevours to summit Everest. The museum also featured a statue of Tenzing Norgay, the Sherpa to accompany Sir Edmund Hillary on the very first ascent of Everest in 1953– A hero in every sense of the word, considering I couldn’t even make it to Namche without modern technology and 6 suspension bridges. That afternoon, Taylor and I took advantage of the precious free time to walk around the surprisingly established town (considered the “Thamel” of the mountains) and sat down at a bakery for a cinnamon roll and latte— our last luxury for a while.
Day 4: Namche (11,286 ft)— Tengboche (12,795 ft)
Coughing through a painfully dry throat the next morning, I eagerly swiped away the condensation from our window, hoping for clear weather. No such luck. The heavy fog obscured even the other side of the town, and we resigned ourselves to another cloudy day of hiking, this time with a final destination of 12,700 foot Tengboche, grounds of the highest monastery in the world.
Of course, to get to Tengboche, the plan was to hike down 1,400 feet, cross the river (we love crossing the river), and then head back up. Straight up. Another 2,880 feet. Considered one of the most grueling days of the hike, we were fortunate to be accompanied by some wild dogs throughout the day. To clarify why this was a good thing: the mountain strays in these parts were actually exceedingly well taken care of, many even taken in as honorary pets by the Sherpa people, so the pups that trailed us throughout the trek were adorable, sweet, healthy and well-groomed. I got giddy every time a dog started pacing with us, and would pathetically check every few seconds to see if he was still there— they were a huge mood booster.
That boost was much needed on this particularly long and foggy day, but we took it slow and steady (you know it) stopping for a tea break in the morning and a long lunch break down by the river. Unfortunately, due to the low clouds, we could hardly see our kanine companion up ahead, let alone the towering mountains that we were told lined the valley between these two villages. Knowing that jaw-dropping views were hidden just behind the fog certainly lowered morale for the day, and I personally had to fight to keep pushing up the steep incline that afternoon. However, as Mukunda would point out, that push uphill would have been much more difficult under a bright, hot sun (and 6 days later we would witness that truth).
We arrived at the elaborately painted gates of the Tengboche monastery drained and probably hating each other and Mukunda just a little bit. The beauty of the monastery was heavily shadowed by the fog, and my cold, aching body wanted nothing more than to sit by the furnace and wrap my hands around a cup of milk tea. So that’s exactly what I did. As we slowly thawed in the warmth of the teahouse, we had the opportunity to chat and commiserate jovially with some fellow trekkers, which was actually another magical aspect of the trek. The trail to base camp drew people from every corner of the world, of all ages and backgrounds, and there was something serendipitous about each path we happened to cross deep in the remote regions of the Himalaya. Some regulars along our trek were a doctor from Columbia, sisters from Denmark, a spontaneous first-time trekker from Sri Lanka, and a group of elderly friends from Switzerland. That night in Tengboche was spent playing Rummy with a solo trekker from Dheli who had just quit his job to see the world. It was fascinating to learn about so many unique lives that had somehow come to intersect with mine. The warmth of companionship might have been the only thing that got us through that cold and gusty night on top of the 12,700 foot hill.
Day 5: Tengboche (12,795 ft)— Dingboche (14,300 ft)
We stirred at 6:00am to our typical wake-up call from Mukunda: “Molly, Lauren, Taylor! Good sleep?”, but this time, the call was coming from outside our window, rather than our door. I rubbed away the frosty condensation to see Mukunda standing there framed by majestic mountains on all sides.
“Everest is waiting!” Mukunda called with a big grin, forming his hands into a little peak.
Stumbling over each other, Molly and I stuffed our feet into our boots (all of our clothes were already on because, well, we had slept in all 4 layers), and shuffled outside in a trance. Giant, towering peaks outlined the monastery to west and south. From the east, our the lodge was cast in deep shadow by another glacial wall, and in the north sat the recognizable shapes of Ama Dablam, Lhotse, and, in the very back, Everest herself. We were cacooned in walls of rock and ice, all taller than anything I had ever seen in my life. Laughing giddily, we spent 30 minutes just walking and gaping at this magical scene we had woken up to, sharing wide-eyed looks with fellow trekkers who had also been greeted by nothing but fog the afternoon before. Before breakfast, Mukunda took the three of us inside the monastery where we got to witness the monks performing their morning prayers and rituals, surrounded by fantastically elaborate architecture, paintings and statues. As no pictures were allowed, the imagery will live on in my memories alone, but it was unlike any place of worship I had seen before.
After a meal of apple porridge and boiled eggs (this became a staple for me), and a quick yoga session lead by yours truly (I was so under-qualified), we headed north towards our next destination. Of course, the trail began with a steep descent down to—you guessed it— a river crossing, before we slowly began our ascent back up, up and up, finally passing the tree line after lunch at around 13,500 feet. Throughout the day, we were treated to views of 22,4000 foot Ama Dablam (translates to “Mother carrying baby”), 27,900 foot Lhotse (4th tallest peak in the world), and the tiny point of Everest, peeking out from behind the Lhotse range. It was also on this day that we got to meet our first yaks, utilized more often at higher altitudes. These fluffy giants had us climbing up on the sides of the trail several times to let them pass, but I could never complain about those cute faces (or the rest time). After heading down to cross the river ~yet again~ we began our final ascent to Dingboche, where we would spend the next two nights: isolated, barren and situated at 14,400 feet. Arriving at our teahouse, we collapsed into our rooms and immediately stuffed our sleeping bags under the blankets to begin warming them up. We then beelined to the lodge’s dining room furnace for some heat and a meal of dal bhat and Tibetan bread (our new obsession). It would be another chilly night.
Day 6: Acclimation Day in Dingboche
Reminder: Acclimation does not equate to rest.
On day 6, we woke up to yet another crystal clear morning, the towering peaks illuminated in the early sun. After breakfast, Mukunda marched us through town and 1,000 feet up a nearby hill, hitting my altitude PR of 15,400 feet. And boy, did I feel it. However, it was on that little plateau that we found the best views of the trek so far. The mountains we had been chasing in the distance were not so distant anymore, appearing larger and more awe-inspiring than ever before. The sunny, blue skies allowed us to witness the full glory of the nature that surrounded us, and it was absolutely breath-taking. Either that, or I actually just couldn’t breathe. Probably both.
We had reached the point in the trek where my lungs had undoubtedly become the limiting factor in my physical capability. The moment I began an ascent, my breath became heavy, but the moment I took a break, I felt as though everything was fine and I could go for miles— it was frustrating.
Sitting on our picturesque plateau, I lead us through some yogic breathing exercises I had learned at the Nepal Yoga Academy the week before and was concerned to realize that I could barely hold my breath for the regulated 8 seconds. I couldn’t tell you if it made a difference, but it was pretty cool to sit and practice Pranayama against such a stunning natural backdrop.
We slowly shuffled back into the teahouse around noon and put away some soup and dal bhat for lunch (really the only food we were advised to eat at this point), grateful for our half-day of relaxation. On this bright afternoon, sunshine streamed through the dining room’s wrap-around windows from all angles, creating the warmest environment we had been in since Kathmandu. Noticing this gift, we all slowly reclined along the carpeted benches of the dining space with full bellies, and proceeded to nap until the sun went down. It was heavenly.
Day 7: Dingboche (14,300 ft)— Lobuche (16,140 ft)
We woke up to clouds.
Heading up a steep hill out of Dingboche, we spent the rest of the morning walking along a misty ridge that overlooked the vast riverbed we had been following since day one— now consisting of more rocks than water. Across from us were towering peaks that we couldn’t see at all. With no mountains in sight, it felt as though we had been transported to the foggy, green highlands of Scotland— except for the fact that just walking along flat ground had us breathing hard. Heading down the ridge, we crossed the river (because, you know, it had been too long) and enjoyed lunch in Thukla, blissfully unaware of what awaited us. The Thukla Pass.
It was only about 1,000 feet in elevation gain, but, trust me, it felt so much worse. Steep switchbacks took us into thinner and thinner air, and breaks had to become uncomfortably common. Taylor, prone to altitude sickness, was finally getting hit with the splitting headache described in the warning pamphlets, and it was discussed later that we were pretty close to carrying him up the pass. He persevered, though, and we reached the top in weak form, only to be fittingly greeted by the Mt. Everest Memorial Site. Stone monuments covered the grounds at the top of the pass, many of which were wrapped in prayer flags, paying tribute to all the climbers who have lost their lives in their attempt to summit the infamous peak. The thick, grey fog only exaggerated the dismal scene, obscuring any view from the top of the pass, and hanging heavy on our tired heads. We had absolutely no idea what the fog was obscuring, and wouldn’t know until 2 days later, on our way down.
Soldiering on, we trudged through a rocky, barren valley for what felt like hours before finally rounding a corner to catch a glimpse of our home for the night.
Though every village since Namche had been relatively small and primitive, Lobuche was the first grouping of buildings that I am sure only existed in this empty field of rocks for a single reason: we were within miles of the tallest peak in the world. If it wasn’t for the streams of trekkers and climbers heading this way every season to take on Everest, there would be absolutely no excuse for civilizations to exist out here. That being said, I was continuously impressed with the amenities that they did manage to haul up to these remote locations. Beds, western toilets, full kitchens— most of which was probably hiked up on the backs of yaks or Sherpas. It was no wonder why the prices for water and food were so outrageous. Of course, the remoteness had certainly taken its toll in the form of heat, clean water, and electricity. Arriving at our teahouse in Lobuche, we were just grateful for the mattress.
It might be important to note at this point that all bathroom and washing facilities since Lukla had been minimal at best, unbearable at worst. That being said, not only were showers abandoned in Kathmandu, but I had given up washing my face in Tengboche, and I was fighting to brush my teeth in Dingboche. It was the combination of frigid, smelly water, freezing nightly temperatures, and the occasional complete lack of running water that threatened to abolish my western hygiene habits. However, it wasn’t until Lobuche that Molly and I had to have a serious discussion over whether or not it was worth the painful cold to try to change our underwear— the final decision was “ugh, yes”, but we huffed and moaned through the entire 30 second process.
This experience also opened my eyes to how much I overpacked. 2 different thermals? Please, I would never consider stripping off the one I had on in these temperatures. An extra pair of leggings? Unnecessary. Hairbrush? I was so naive. Really, all I needed for these two weeks was the four layers on my body, a sleeping bag and a toothbrush. Live and learn. Sorry Deependra.
We got through a couple rounds of cards in the dining room that night before heading to bed early in preparation for the big day to come. I fell asleep to a chorus of coughing trekkers, all of whom were hoping to see base camp tomorrow.
Day 8: Lobuche (16,140 ft)— Gorak Shep (16,995 ft)— EBC (17,600 ft)— Gorak Shep (16,995 ft)
If I thought the civilization of Lobuche was a stretch, Gorak Shep had absolutely no business existing on the gravel plateau of a boulder field at 17,000 feet. The trek between the two “villages” was only 3 miles with an elevation gain of under 1,000 feet, however, several factors worked together to make this a grueling walk.
First of all, almost all of that net elevation was gained at a single pass that took us out of the valley of Lobuche and into a sea of boulders as far as the eye could see. We then proceeded to pick our way across loose rocks up and down the trail for the next hour. The hike was made more bearable only by the steady lines of yaks that required us to climb off the trail for space every 15 minutes. On their backs were piles of food, gear and equipment bound for base camp, as the summit season on Everest was a mere month away. Also transporting gear to base camp were countless Sherpas, some of whom were bracing stacks of mattresses or an entire refrigerator on their back. Needless to say, it’s hard to complain on a trail when you’re literally pacing with a man carrying a refrigerator.
100 feet down, 200 feet up, 150 feet down, 300 feet up, and so it went through the boulder field until, finally, a dusty collection of buildings came into view below us. This would be our first and only village that did not maintain any year-round residences, and it was no wonder why. The surrounding glacier rocks and jagged mountain peaks were the very definition of inhospitable. In fact, Mukunda advised us to pack in water from Lobuche, because the tap water in Gorak Shep was considered too indigestible even with the purification tablets and filters we had. Absolutely everything that made up this little village had been carried up thousands of feet on the backs of yaks and sherpas.
All that being said, it was also obvious why so many people braved the rocky tundra. The tallest peaks in the world eclipsed our view in all directions, towering as high as I could crane my neck. Their majestic beauty was brought into sharp relief against the clear blue sky and grey rocks that surrounded them, and the harsh blue and white ridges of the upper mountains could be made out clearly from our viewpoint. It was utterly surreal.
We took lunch in our teahouse in Gorak Shep before beginning part 2 of our day: base camp. The orange tents of the camp could be spotted from the pass out of Lobuche, however, they remained another 2 hour boulder walk beyond Gorak Shep. Picking our way across the rocks, the desolate, mountainous landscape might as well have been a foreign planet in Star Wars. Nuptse and Everest’s West Shoulder hogged the majority of our view, standing like soldiers shielding Everest herself. It wasn’t until about halfway up our final ascent that a dark, bare peak shifted into view— the highest peak on Earth, in fact.
This was the closest we had ever been to the roof of the world. Though I wanted to keep staring up the entire time, the loose gravel and wobbly boulders demanded intense focus, especially given that I was already weakened by the lack of oxygen and 8 days of hiking. Not to mention, my long history of ankle sprains was threatening to be my downfall (literally). Miraculously, I made it down the last slide of gravel without a single tumble, and we were greeted around the final glacier lake by a group of trekkers headed the other way, all pounding our fists and congratulating us. Just beyond them sat the rock: Everest Base Camp, 5364m.
We made it.
Though we were all dealing with various degrees of headaches as we hit 17,600 feet, the discomfort was easy to ignore, given what we had just accomplished. Molly pulled out a bag of snacks, Mukunda and Taylor lit up a cigarette and I sat back to soak it all in.
Plopping down on a boulder, I found it difficult to believe that some people would continue on from this point, up the steep sheets of ice that sat against the eastern side of the camp. I certainly would not be.
After about an hour of tooling around, taking pictures and enjoying the moment, we headed back across the boulders to Gorak Shep for the night. With clouds rolling in and no base camp at the end of the tunnel anymore, the hike back felt even longer and more exhausting than before, and we all stumbled into our teahouse in a haze of exhaustion. We thawed out from the brutal wind around the dining room furnace (fueled primarily by yak manure, which was not as unpleasant as you might imagine), and traded stories with a couple Germans, Swiss and Americans who shared the warmth of our lodge. Before long, we were all hunkering down to find that perfect position in the sleeping bag (I had gotten it down to a science), hoping to get the most out of our short night of sleep.
The toughest challenge was yet to come.
Day 9: Gorak Shep (16,995 ft)— Kala Pattar (~18,000 ft)— Pangboche (13,070 ft)
The next morning, we woke at 5:00am to brave the cold and begin our ascent of Kala Pattar— a gravely hill next to Gorak Shep that boasted some of the most iconic views of Everest.
The trail was ridiculously steep, and every laborious step was a new personal record in elevation. Breathing heavy in the pre-dawn light, we shuffled slowly up, driven only by the spectacular view of morning sunlight bleeding down the glistening peaks that surrounded us. Higher and higher we climbed, until Everest was perfectly framed between Nuptse and West Shoulder, eclipsing the sun from the east. The halo of light that traced the frame of the peak only made the view more fantastical, and we held strong against the freezing cold winds as long as we could to capture the moment (I had never been so indebted to my buff). At around 18,000 feet, probably just 400 feet short of the Kala Pattar summit, we made the collective decision to head down in an effort to save our strength and escape the biting cold that could easily worsen the mild sicknesses we were all dealing with. The view wouldn’t get any better from where we were, and we still had a lot of descending to go. There has been some regret since then over not soldiering on to the summit, but then I remember how weak we all felt, and I’m sure we made the best decision.
After all, we still had to cover 12 miles and 4,600 feet in elevation back down the valley by dinner time. We celebrated with a breakfast of pancakes, french toast and milk tea before heading out of Gorak Shep and braving the boulder field one last time. We descending the first pass and stopped for tea in Lobuche before continuing through the valley to Thukla, enjoying snow-capped views that had been obscured by clouds on our way in. It wasn’t until we reached the Mt. Everest Memorial Site at the top of the Thukla pass that we realized just how much we missed. Just beyond the pass, where there once was only fog, stood a massive wall of mountains.
The panoramic views stretched the entire horizon and soared high into the heavens, shocking us with their magnificence. Fortunately, we had a long, leisurely downhill walk from the pass to enjoy what might have been the second best views of the entire trek— a very different experience from our hike up. Lunch in Thukla was followed by a custard dessert (the celebrations were not stopping anytime soon), before we crossed the rocky stream of the Dhudh Koshi, now just a narrow fragment of the rushing waters we had followed to Namche so many days before.
Walking along the riverbed for hours, we passed primitive Sherpa villages, fields of grazing yaks and, finally, the tree line (Mukunda was sure to point out our first baby fir tree at around 13,600 ft— a blessed sign of oxygen and shade). We came to an aching rest in Pangboche around 5:00pm, already 4 miles beyond Dingboche, where we had slept three nights before. The air felt blissfully thicker and warmer, and we slept well in our beds that night.
Day 10: Pangboche (13,070 ft) — Namche (11, 286 ft)
Another 9.5 miles were covered on our way down from Pangboche to Namche. Of course, per usual, the trail demanded that we hike all the way down to cross the river not once, but twice, before making our final ascent into the Sherpa capital that afternoon. We passed through Tengboche along the way, taking in the spectacular architecture and views one last time before continuing past the monastery and down the steep 2,800 feet of switchbacks. Unlike on our way up, blue skies and sunshine welcomed us, providing stunning views of the mountains all morning.
However, while we got to enjoy the scenery on the descent, it was evident that the trekkers we were passing on the way up were not so appreciative of the beating sun. I was suddenly grateful for our overcast days. We had our lunch by the river, then worked our way back up the hillside in the afternoon, strolling into Namche around 3:00pm. In the warmth of our teahouse, the four of us cracked a bottle of Khukri Rum, mixed it with a splash of hot water, and toasted to a job well done. After dinner and cake (why not?), we headed to the local Irish pub (the highest Irish pub in the world, if you can believe it), where we met a friend from the trail and celebrated our success with a few rounds of beers and cards. After one embarrassing round of pool, we escaped the pitying looks of the local Sherpas and headed back to our rooms, certainly feeling the affects of altitude on our alcohol tolerance.
Day 11: Namche (11,286 ft)— Lukla (9,350 ft)
On our final day, we covered the last 8.5 miles to Lukla, once again surrounded by blooming rhododendrons, lush forests, and the rushing waters of the Dhudh Koshi. Crossing bridge after bridge, I reflected on how much I had changed since we last passed through these parts— there was just no way of knowing what we were about to endure over the next 10 days. Okay, I’m being dramatic, but now I felt a little battle-hardened. I had discovered an entirely new definition of discomfort, and had proven that I was capable of so much more than I had ever attempted before. No showers? No problem. No heat? Whatever. No oxygen? Who even needs it? It’s impossible to complete a trek like this without a slight shift in priorities.
We made the final ascent into Lukla in the misty rain around 4:00pm, running into our Sri Lankan friend just steps from the gate (we hadn’t seen him since day 3). Together, we stepped off of the trail and into town, officially completing our 11 day, 80 mile trek.
Back in relative civilization, we grabbed some celebratory Sherpa craft beer at a local bar, where we ran into several friends from the trail. Chatting with those who had just come down, and those who were just heading up, I was struck by the sense of camaraderie and belonging fostered by such an experience. We were from all different countries, jobs, ethnicities, political and religious backgrounds, but chatted like old friends over funny yak stories and the horrors of the Thukla pass. It was the perfect way to end this unforgettable experience.
The next morning, thanks to the fortunate rainfall of the evening before, our 6:50am flight out of Lukla hurtled down the declined runway right on time. In Kathmandu, we were blessed with our first shower and warm bed in weeks, which we took full advantage of before treating ourselves to some wild Nepali massages down the street (can’t really get into that here). Feeling like new human beings, we capped off the experience with dinner and a night out with friends in a final celebration of our survival (and Taylor’s coincidental 21st birthday).
I am so proud of what the three of us accomplished, and am incredibly glad that I felt pulled to do this trek during my time in Nepal— it was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience that I will be talking about (annoyingly) for many years to come.
Wow, wow, wow!!! I don't know what to say! Speachless... and so proud of you! That buff was a stocking stuffer meant to keep you warm on short day hikes and around town on cold Chicago winter days... never imagined it would be a staple piece of clothing on a "little hike" in the Himalayas just a few months later!