Base Camp Hilton

Exhausted, weak, dehydrated (and still sunburnt!!) I stumbled down the final section of the Moraine Superhighway. A hazy yellow-gold mirage appeared before me amidst the dull grey scree and moraine. I rubbed my eyes with my snot covered Patagonia mittens. Base Camp. Could it be? Was it a mirage? The spring in my step caused me to stumble face first into the scree, narrowly avoiding a pile of rancid yak dung. It had been a long 21km walk down from ABC and my body was still recovering from yesterday’s ascent /descent of the North Col.

Hobbling with the aid of my trekking pole, I stumbled to my golden haven. My tent. My palace. My home. With my knees placed securely on my ‘Welcome Mat’, I unzipped the fly to the two-man tent (for one) and was immediately greeted by a warm, clean glow of loveliness. Thanks to the Dollarama-Shopping Extravaganza in Zheng Mu several weeks ago, my tent was a breath of fresh air. Martha Stewart eat your heart out…

To the far right of my tent is a small single mattress with my sleeping bag, the comforter and duvet cover purchased in Zheng Mu (bargain and serious style points!!!). The duvet cover is (still) white, lime green, aquamarine blue and turquoise striped. A huge rice filled lime-green ‘accent pillow’ (a mans worst nightmare) rests stylishly on the head of the ‘bed’. Next to the bed is the stool also purchased in Zheng Mu. Covered by a lilac handkerchief, it serves as my bedside table upon which rests a collection of books, cough candies, vitamin C tablets and my iPod.

Directly behind my bed is the conservatory, accessed via a zippered ‘bay window’, which offers one of the most incredible views in the world (no, neither Jason nor Ben’s tents!!) Looking out of the ‘window’ you can’t help but not sit mesmerised by Everest, standing solitary and grand with its snow white cap and plume of spindrift against the clear blue sky. It’s no wonder that the mountain is still considered sacred.

On the floor of my tent, a slick silver strip down the centre, is a roll-mat purchased in Kathmandu. I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to have the dull blue boring side up rather than the flashy metallic silver side but I figured that the tent color scheme could handle it.

To the far right of my tent (about 2 feet from my bed) is my giant red closet… better known as my ‘kit bag’, filled with all the fashion essentials needed for the Base Camp cat walk. Plus batteries, a box of Kraft Dinner, my Maximuscle energy gels, and protein bars. At first glance one would think that the kit bag / closet would clash disastrously with the lime-green accents found throughout the tent however the color scheme works remarkably well and the red adds some ‘pizazz’ to the entire ‘tent’ suite.

The ‘piece de resistance’ in the tent is the light-and-airy feel achieved through the creation on the ceiling. I’ve taken 4 prayer scarves received from various llamas and guest house owners along the journey and have hung them from the centre of the tent out to its corners, like the inside of a circus marquee. Delicate, cream-colored giant white sashes contrasting against the golden ceiling of the tent and also doubling as a useful ‘hammock’ to cameras, sunglasses and head torches, easily accessed while laying in bed.

To ensure that the oasis stays smelling fresh and clean I regularly roll my ‘Issy Miake’ industrial sized deodorant stick along the canvas walls so that the tent is filled with the fresh and clean smell of spring (rather than stinky trekking boots and clothes that haven’t been washed in over a month) as soon as the sun hits the tent in the morning. It’s nearly as good as waking up to the smell of fresh coffee…. Or fresh bread…. (but not quite).

I can’t complain about the neighbours either. Dubbed the ‘Chelsea of Base Camp’ my tent real estate will only sky rocket in value with considerate neighbours such as Jason and Ben who have since come to me for interior-design advice and to exchange recipes… (ok, perhaps that is a slight exaggeration). Either way, my golden oasis of warmth in the heart of Everest Base Camp is definitely my home away from home and I can’t imagine anywhere I’d rather be.

It almost sounds civilised. If only we could do something about this mountain climbing malarkey….

North Col Day

Armed with my ‘Big Girl Boots” trekking poles, several layers of down, and the most positive attitude that I could muster up under the freezing cold windy conditions, I began my 1 hour ‘slog’ to “Crampon Corner” and then onto the headwall of Everest North Col. It was precisely 8am and whilst I felt I was moving well I was definitely missing my Starbucks vanilla latte and read of the morning papers to help get me in ‘the zone’.

I’d spent a rather restless night worrying about the ascent. To say that I was nervous was an understatement. I’d been in this position before -- I’d already climbed the North Col - twice last year… - but still I needed to take the time to put that sense of the ‘unknown’ and ‘uncontrollable’ into perspective. A climber was tragically killed in a serac collapse last year on what was a seemingly ‘routine’ day out on Everest. His tragic death was a stark reminder never to underestimate the power of Mother Nature and the sheer risk and unpredictability involved in high altitude mountaineering (or any mountaineering for that matter!). If you’re unwilling to accept or face that element of risk or unpredictability you’re climbing the wrong mountain.

Bohlle, the Camp Manager kindly assigned a Sherpa, Norbu, to accompany me up the North Col. This made me feel significantly better knowing that I was not going to head up on my own. Norbu and I left ABC up the moraine to Crampon Corner. Crampon Corner is a ‘landmark’ on the NE Ridge route where climbers ‘gear up’ and ‘gear down’ picking up or dropping off their harnesses, crampons etc. enroute to the ‘headwall’ or the start of the North Col.

Sitting at Crampon Corner geared up and baking in the blazing sunshine (Yes I was wearing SPF 50 and not a cm of skin was showing!!!) I sucked on a frozen chocolate “Maximuscle’ energy bar and weighed my options. This was made easier by the fact that I really didn’t have many options to weigh. It was a simple case of get the hell up the Col, get the hell down and get the hell back to ABC so that this 7000m milestone could be checked off the list.

I looked up at the headwall of the Col. It’s 400m blue-ice face glistened menacingly in the sunlight as ice crystals bounced off its surface. A steady stream of people could be seen making their way up and down the wall. I clipped onto the white rope and thought, “Let’s get this done and over with’ and pushed the jumar upwards as I felt my crampons bite into the thick blue ice and snow. For the next 20 minutes, although it seemed like an eternity, I managed to find a rhythm of: three small steps, an arms length slide of the jumar up and then a three second rest.

Step right, two, three, four; Step left, two, three, four. Rest, two three, four… (Admittedly I was quite liberal on the three second breaths which regularly stretched anywhere from five to ten seconds in duration.)

Every ten metres or so there was an anchor where I would clip into a new rope and tie off the old one to continue onto a new section of the climb. Norbu stayed with me for the ascent, quietly encouraging me and also acting as support during some particularly tricky sections where the traffic flow on the up and down ropes seem to resemble a New York city traffic jam. Looking back, I don’t remember much of the 3-hour ascent apart from focusing steadily on the various ‘landmarks’ that had been flagged in conversation by the team which had gone up before me - the first crevasse, the second crevasse, the ice serac that collapsed last year… Each of these frozen landmarks passed but I didn’t even have the energy to feel a sense of achievement.

When we reached the final ladder crossing a 4-foot wide crevasse marking the top of the North Col I felt an absolute sense of relief and achievement. I looked up at Norbu who sat next to my splayed body eating his packed lunch and whistling a tune as if he had just climbed Primrose Hill / Ridgetown Hill. It felt fantastic to reach the top - 7000m mark, a point that I’d struggled to reach a year ago. With the sun beating down on our heads Norbu and I shared a ‘Bounty Bar’ to celebrate our successes before beginning our descent.

A fundamental difference between cycling and climbing is that with cycling you always have the thrill of a downhill to look forward to after a gruelling uphill. The wind in your hair, the feeling of sheer weightlessness… Unfortunately this is not the case with high-altitude climbing where going down is often more treacherous than going up. Every time I watched as the rope slid through my abseil device as I slid down the sheer ice face, carefully moving from one section to the next I could feel my lungs aching for breath and my feet longing for the stability of solid ground. When my feet finally hit solid ground and I could unclip from the fixed lines, I was incredibly relieved and managed a high-five with Norbu..

The descent took 1.5 hours and as I looked up at Everest in its 3 o’clock shadow I had a newfound respect for the mountain. Needless to say, sleep came relatively easily that night..!

Top Picture: North Col. Bottom Picture: North Col Headwall.

An Hour of Irresponsibility

I’m hesitant to write this blog entry because it epitomises the definition of stupidity and I am truly embarrassed to include this incident however will do so in the hope that others may learn from my utterly stupid mistake (cue Mom shaking her head already)….

Advanced Base Camp

ABC sits on a rocky base of loose moraine just a few kilometres south of the Rombok glacier in a valley at about 6200m. At this altitude, it is the highest base camp in the world - roughly 300m higher than the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, the highest point on the African continent. At this altitude even taking 5 consecutive steps is a struggle so, although during those first glorious moments when ABC is first spotted it seems, at first sight, tantilizingly close, it is still about an hour of tricky moraine-navigation away. The highlight however is that a comfortable camp and a warm sleeping bag is at the end of it.

The Adventure Peaks camp is one of the first of the small village that is ‘Advanced Base Camp'. This means that it’s well protected from the howling freezing cold wind that sounds like a steam engine rushing off the glacier and down the valley.

There are two long blue mess tents that form the main ‘hub’ of ABC social activities and camp life. Whilst we don’t bask in the lap of luxury as we do at Base Camp, the tents are well heated with a soft ‘foam-like’ insulated floor, have a long communal table seating 15-people with plastic garden chairs in each. The tents are lit by several energy efficient light bulbs which storm into operation as soon as the temperamental generators are switched into action - usually when the sun goes down and the temperatures plummet to unbearable levels.

Our bright yellow two-man tents are scattered haphazardly from about 5 - 15 metres of the mess tents separated by some treacherous terrain. A quick trip from the mess tent to the sleeping tents easily leaves one breathless. There are 2-people per sleeping tent (a definite bonus from the warmth-perspective) and mattresses are supplied for extra comfort and to ensure a restful, blissful, 6200m nights sleep.

We have one bright green marquee-like toilet tent in the centre of camp. Reaching the toilet tent is an acclimatisation process in itself as both are on a small knoll of lose moraine. Planning to use the tent requires foresight (never go without toilet paper!) and a strong sense of balance to ensure that gravity doesn’t conspire against you and, most importantly, never look down, never breathe in, always bring toilet paper and never rely on the zipper to protect your sense of modesty.

Top Picture: Everest and Advanced Base Camp Position. Bottom Picture: Advanced Base Camp Layout.