It has been just past two weeks since we set out to hike around the Annapurna Himal, a mountain range made up of peaks towering 6,000 to 8,000meters into the sky, on the trail known as the Annapurna Circuit. The entire route is 300km, but we decided to bypass parts of the western section due to the annoying progress of a road that is snaking its way into the wilderness and overtaking the trail. I feel that we tramped this trail during the last few years that it will remain a wilderness walk.. But then I realize that 20years ago, trekkers were grumbling about word of their secret Himalayan walk being spread to the Western masses. And bear with me here, this post is long.. it covers nearly two weeks, and there are no pictures.. takes too long to upload them. Facebook is faster with pictures. Go over there to see pictures. Mk?
Crammed onto a sardine-can-bus, we set off from Pokhara at 5:30am, on a morning that drenched us with rain. Our bus consisted mainly of would-be trekkers, including a Belgian fella who intended to mountain bike the entire Annapurna Circuit, a Russian girl who was trying to convince other people to help her rent a jeep to take them far up the trail and bypass several days of rice terrace-filled hiking, and our future trekking partners. Arriving in Besisahar after a bumpy 6-hour ride and at the end of the bus-able road, we skarfed down a big plate of veggie macaroni, changed into our boots, and organized a trekking ‘team’ made up of Hillary, myself, the Frenchies (Christophe and Julie), and the Brits (Mike and Alison). The trail was wide enough for a jeep to creep slowly by, and I could not help but notice the ashamed look on the faces of ‘trekkers’ who had opted to pay their part of the 10,000rupee jeep fee in order to shave off some effort involved in reaching the Annapurna views. I couldn’t help but think they looked like older siblings of toddlers who insisted that they ride the TeaCups with them at Disney World… they knew better than to be excited about being on the ride, but they still felt a little queasy from a mixture of subtle motion sickness and boredom. However, the jeeps had a roof, and we did not. The sky opened up and rained on us like Mother Nature herself wanted us to have a horrible first day of hiking. This didn’t really present a big problem for me, because if you have ever hiked with me, you know that I start sweating at the trailhead. I am gonna be soaking wet no matter, might as well not be stuffed into a rain jacket. Let it rain! Hillary, on the other hand, had her arm cast.. And she realized that her pack was in fact NOT waterproof (as I tried to hint to her in Seattle), she had to use her rain jacket as a pack cover.. So we stopped in the first village and bought her a purple plaid umbrella for 300R. Problem solved. We stopped that night in Bhulbule, got to know our new friends, and slept in pitiful jail cell-like rooms. Our nightly routine went like this: dinner at 6pm, order breakfast to be ready at 6:30 the next morning, then settle onto our comfy plywood beds.
The first four days greeted us with clear skies in the morning, but a humidity that resembled being inside an enormous mouth and afternoon thunderstorms that reminded me of Summers growing up in Alabama. We hiked North along the trail, avoiding the newly built road, through steeply terraced rice fields, past waterfalls systems several hundred feet tall, around recent landslides, through scrubby villages, and over sweaty-back-inducing ridges. During the initial days of our trek, we were unsure of the commitment we really held towards our trekking partners. During a steep, multi-hour climb, we left a previously unmentioned fellow, Kunal, when his overloaded backpack left him too far behind the rest of us. At the village of Ghermu, consisting mainly of a few guesthouses pocking the rice fields, we somehow got separated and Mike and Alison slipped by to the next village. We had a good night learning a few card games with Chris and Julie, but I couldn’t help but think that Hillary would probably be tormented to trek alone with me while I did my outdoors freakout thing over the next ten days. Luckily, we bumped into the Brit’s the very next day and the six of us walked triumphantly in the riverside village of Tal. As the evening thunderstorms raged, our nervous chuckles melted into genuine laughing fits as we played games accompanied with chaang, locally brewed ‘beer’. It tasted more like Mike’s Hard Lemonade mixed with chicken broth, but I had a nice buzz when I finished Hillary’s for her.
The walk from Tal to Chame posed our longest, hardest day yet. Always opting for the trail that went furthest up the hillsides and avoiding the easily graded road… you must know that the road is being blasted into the vertical cliffs of the gorge that we followed.. This road will undoubtedly be an asset to the villages who rely on the current system of trails, donkeys, and porters who ferry food and supplies, but selfishly, I still felt annoyance at the sight of blasting and machinery…. Back to the story: we hiked fifteen miles of jungly hillside trail that more than once made me question my Outdoorsy Snobbiness Ideals that had left me perched on rain-soaked, landslide riddled ridge, just waiting for the whole thing to slide me off into the river below. I’ve gotta hand it to Hillary: carrying an umbrella in her good hand, nursing a badly sprained ankle, other arm in a full cast… she’s tough as they come. She negotiated down logs, river crossings, waterfall jumping, landslide walkarounds… all without complaining. We entered the relatively large village of Chame as another band of storms came down the valley, but the night presented us with hot showers, great food (both my customary dinners), and the ever increasing fun that came from playing cards and dice with our new friends over bottles of Tuborg beers.
Waking up the next day to clear skies at 4am, I lay in bed and stared out my window at 8,000meter+ Manaslu to the East.. The massive hunk of stone was catching the fading moonlight, and I continued watching in darkness as the sun rose and lit up only the summits of peaks further west of Chame. These quiet moments were foreshadowing to what would become one of my favorite days spent in the mountains.
As we left the village behind and headed Westward up the valley, I finally decided on a name for the rust-colored dog who had been tailing us for the past hour. It seemed only fitting that she be named Blistie, since the girls were all battling deep sores from their boots. Blistie moved out in front of the 6 of us, ferociously cleared the trail of stray dogs, and waited as we plodded up the inclined trail. I don’t think Blistie liked goats, after wading through a herd of no less than 300 goats, I noticed Blistie was nowhere to be found. I’ll take it tho… our bond was too strong to say goodbyes, I’ve never had a dog into old age, and I don’t want to either, because having Blistie for an hour or so.. And then losing her.. Made me feel a bit of sadness.. Farewell, Blistie: The best goat-fearing, trail-leading, brown dog in the world!
The day’s trail took us past the 4,500ft Paungda Danda.. A glacier-carved rock wall resembling a giant curved X-Games snowboarding obstacle that I imagined an overgown Shawn White sliding effortlessly across (ginger hair flowing), around abandoned Tibetan settlements with roofs little over 6 foot, and through sub-alpine environments that reminded me of the Enchantments, Yosemite, and Glacier Nat’l all in the same instant. I had the strongest urge to have my hiking and climbing buddies from back home with me. Taking the higher, more rewarding route, we ended up in Upper Pisang village a little after lunchtime and found a guesthouse with rooms and a dining room perched precariously on the steep hillside, but granting unobstructed views of the peaks across the valley floor. I now entered Jordan’s Outdoor Freakout Zone. I had to physically remove myself from the group.. Because nobody likes the giant kid who smiles stupidly for hours at enormous inanimate hunks of rock and ice. The peaks of Annapurna II and Annpurna IV sat mockingly across the valley, their summits no more than 4 miles away as the crow flies. I smiled, I sat in the sun, we walked up to the monastery and smiled some more, and I tried to keep from running around and hugging people and telling them how happy I was at that very moment. Come to find out, our good friends, Eric and Dieny, stayed in this same guesthouse in Upper Pisang last year.. So I know they felt some of the same excitement. The afternoon was brilliant, as the previous days’ storms never materialized.. We were in the rain shadow of the Annapurnas now.. Dry and crisp from here on out… Booyah!!!
We set out early the next morning, again on the high route, to the village of Manang. We could have reached this spot in three hours, but our route was to take us higher in elevation and provide better acclimatization for the days to come. This was the day that we all realized the power of Porridge and Boiled Eggs. I capitalize them due to the respect they came to command during the strenuous days following. Christof ate Porridge that morning. Hillary ate Boiled Eggs that morning. The two of them left the four of us straggling behind on the steep, rocky switchbacks that climbed from the riverbed to the hillside village of Ghyaru. After climbing nearly 600 meters and basking in the glory of Pisang Peak as they waited for the rest of us, Chris and Hillary agreed to let the remaining guys and gals onto Team Porridge and Team Boiled Eggs, respectively. We ended the day’s hike by overtaking a group of New Yorkers (with a porter-guide) who had taken the lower route. I cannot deny that my pace quickened as we neared them. Hillary and I realized, with a little embarrassment, that we rather enjoyed being one of the fastest groups on the trail. We had done a 6-hour trail in less time than it took these other folks to do a 3-hour route. Forget the embarrassment!
A rest day was spent in Manang, as we were now sleeping at an elevation of 3,540meters. We drank Tuborg, we met fellow Seattlites, we hiked up to the 4,000meter ruins of a Tibetan village… we ate enchiladas! It seemed that with the increasing elevation and dispersed Oxygen, that our team was conditioning quite well. Our girls were tough and stoic about blister pain, the men were Men. I felt great about the coming days’ hikes. The next two days were short and sweet. Out the door at 6am, to our desitination by 9:30am and drinking tea on the lawn as we glanced at the weary-looking hordes who paid porters to carry their excessively packed rucksacks plodding by. We realized the gratification that comes from doing things on your own.. But I must admit that the porter’s wages mean a great deal to the local economy.. So no method is better, in my mind. If you’re a middle-aged gal who wants to see backwoods Nepal without lugging her own pack.. Go on with your bad self! Get a porter! If you’re a 20-something athlete who wants to contribute to a rural economy.. Get a porter to carry you pack.. No judgment!
It was during one of these short days that I ate my first Yak burger. Listen.. when you’re eatin’ yak.. You know you’re eatin’ yak.. (I wish I could have Chris Rock saying that part).. Yak is grissley, gamey, and somehow tastes like you’re eating Andre the Giant’s ground-up fist with some onion mixed in. Didn’t stop me from ordering a Yak steak later on tho.. Still a meaty fist.
The last stop before we headed to our main objective, Thorung Pass, was the trekker-supported ‘village’ of Thorung Phedi. Basically, this sloping spot in the valley was no more than a guesthouse and a barn.. The latter being a place to keep the donkeys and yaks that would lucratively carry sick hikers over the pass. The owner of the guesthouse, Michung, was a mixture of Mr. Miagi and Crocodile Dundee.. Nepali Hipster Grandpa.. And I desperately hoped he liked me! We were now resting at 4,540meters (14,982feet), and if one of us got sick, the only option was to go back from where we came. We were actually higher than we had ever walked.. Higher than anything in the Continental US. Luckily, we only had 1,000meters to go, and we felt great. We spent the evening drinking tea, eating soup and freshly baked bread, and roudily playing cards. A great time was had by all. We awoke at 5am, and were on our way up the braided trail by 6:05am after a breakfast of… Porridge for the guys. Boiled Eggs for the gals. We had aligned ourselves by Team Porridge and Team Boiled Eggs days ago.. And there was no turning back now. Our fuel was reliable, our legs were strong, the competition amongst us was stiff…
Our first step out the door of the dining room was onto snow-crusted ground, the first of the year. The Sun was shining the first rays of the day onto our Southeast-facing slope, so we were cautious of foot placement on the sometimes icy, sometimes sloshy footpath. Our 3,300foot climb was not in full view; we had to crest a never-ending serious of false summits that twisted amongst the towering peaks surrounding our path. After an hour of hiking, we stopped to layer down our clothing, as the clouds had lifted and the sun was warming our backs. Actually, the air temp was just above freezing, but I had somehow drenched my warm wool shirt in sweat. I was now down to a single long sleeve synthetic shirt while everyone else were in insulating layers. I don’t understand it. After a quick sitdown for hot lemon tea and a Back40 Gnar Bar, we were ready to make the final push up and over 17, 872ft. Thorung Pass. Hillary left us in her wake, and never looked back. If you have ever been on a backpacking trip with this girl, you know why we call her SlothBear. She is pretty damn slow (horribly ornery) to get outa bed, but once she gets going.. Good luck catching her! We made the 4-hour hike from the guesthouse to the top of the Pass in just under three hours, and we felt great. We stopped to take some pictures, Team Porridge had a pushup contest (the highest 35pushups I have ever done, and I think Mike and Chris let me win), we did a French dance that Chris and Julie taught us, and we beat our freezing hands against each other to promote some blood flow.
The walk down the North side of the pass was a little confusing. Our thighs ached, our knees banged, we slipped on melting snow, we ended up on the wrong side of deep gorge, then had to pick our way down and across to the correct trail because going back up for thirty minutes was not an option. Our stop for the night was just outside the pilgrimage destination of Muktinath, in the Hotel Bob Marley. Strange, going from bare-wooden rooms in an alpine setting to a hotel that blared reggae beats and served delicious pizza.. We celebrated, we played dice and cards loudly, we took long hot showers to wash off the 5-day-old grime.
Our last walk was 13miles down a braided river valley to the town of Jomsom. If we left early and hurried, we might beat the jeep-loads of Israeli and Chinese trekkers who paid huge fees to avoid walking down the rocky river bed. The prize for beating them to Jomsom? Two tickets on a DeHaviland Twin Otter 18-seater airplane back to Pokhara. Our reason for wanting to get back to Pokhara? It was Thursday; Hillary’s arm cast was due to come off on Friday! We dragged in to Jomsom after noon, dusty from battling blowing sand and a constant headwind that drove for hours. It had taken us much longer to walk than I guessed. All morning, my heart sank as we watched jeeps full of our adversaries bump along the riverbed, knowing that they would scoop up all the seats on the three daily flights out of Jomsom. I thought of the four buses we would have to take as we slowly snaked around the mountains and took 11 hours to reach Pokhara. I prepared myself for Hillary’s mood when she realized that her cast would have to remain on over the weekend. But alas! Hillary and I found two seats on the first flight out of Jomsom the next morning. We paid $95 per seat. Best $95 ever spent. As we waited at the ‘airport’ the next morning, I laughed quietly as the Israeli group walked in proudly and demanded to be placed on a flight to Pokhara.. It was an hour before the flight, and there were no seats until Monday. They had taken a 30minute jeep the previous day to overtake us on our 7 hour hike, but had not gone to the airline office to purchase tickets in all of their time on Thursday. The Chinese girls showed up to the ticket counter along with us, holding maroon flight vouchers in their hands. There was a big commotion that I did not understand entirely, but we understood that they had purchased their tickets for this flight from an agent in China which turned out to be a scam. They also did not have seats on the flights. These misfortunes were our saving grace. The flight was spectacular, as we slipped by the summits of Tilicho, Nilgiri North and South, and the dominant Annapurnas. Landing back in Pokhara, after a 20-minute flight from a destination that took us twelve days to reach was a bit disorienting. The story continues.. But I will hand that over to Hillary. The rest of the day is her’s to tell…
