MOUNTAINS THAT MADE ME WHO I AM: Part One – Nepal

Moonrise over Nuptse and Everest

I should be in Greenland now, dogsledding with the Thule Inuit, but injury has caught up with me once again. Sidelined with a broken arm (thanks to a Mexican horse), I have decided to revisit some of my early adventures, the ones on which my love for high, beautiful mountains and rugged wilderness grew into a lifelong passion.  Be forewarned: the photos here are from slides dating back to 1972.

My first climbing schools were in 1967 with the  Edmonton Section of the Alpine Club of Canada.  Despite being spectacularly unfit and terrified of heights, I persevered, ignoring the often vigorous suggestions of fellow club members that I should find some other form of recreation.  Stubbornness has its rewards, however, and eventually I became, if not a good climber, at least one who was no longer a complete hazard on the mountain.  I settled into a routine of weekends in the Canadian Rockies climbing easy peaks.

In 1972 a sabbatical from my university allowed me to spend a month trekking in Nepal.  Starting near Kathmandu, we hiked through leech-infested forests, passed groves of giant rhododendrons, and crossed raging rivers on fragile bridges. After several days we entered the high Rowaling Valley, almost the first western tourists to go there.  At the valley’s end we surmounted 19,000′ Tesi Lapcha pass and descended to Thami and the Everest region, eventually reaching Everest Base Camp.

Nepal was a turning point in my relationship with mountains, and Tesi Lapcha pass was the instrument that turned a simple pastime into a passion.

The young head lama of Thami in 1972

Just below the glacier that flows from Tesi Lapcha pass, we were joined by a young boy who we were surprised to learn was the head lama of Thami.  He had come to the Rowaling Valley for his first visit with his family since being taken away as a small child.  Now on his way back, he was accompanied by a few Sherpas and 2 yaks which his father had donated to the monastery.  From the moment our parties came together until we reached Thami our Sherpas were far more interested in the welfare of this holy figure than in us.  Far from resenting his presence, we knew that we were witness to something very special, something that few other visitors to Nepal would ever experience.

Starting up toward Tesi Lapcha.

Unless one has been there, it is difficult to grasp the scale of the Himalayan landscape.  As a Canadian I was no stranger to glaciers, but the “trade route” over Tesi Lapcha pass filled me with awe.  How could humans be at home in this chaos of sheer rock walls, ugly moraines, vast snow slopes and towering ice?  Yet the Sherpas carried their loads of firewood and baggage with the matter-of-fact air of people crossing a meadow.  The young lama (seen at the far right above) displayed a calm grace and obvious pleasure that belied the perils of the terrain.

Entering the icefall

I had never felt so small and insignificant, yet at the same time so captivated by the savage beauty of a place.  To the Sherpas our crossing was all in a day’s work; for me it was the first encounter with an untameable, primordial geography.  I did not know it at the time, but I would develop a longing for wild, desolate terrain that would rule my life for decades; indeed it still does.

In the icefall

Just how were they going to get the yaks up this?  We had our climbing ropes to use as a hand line and crampons to give us purchase on the slippery surface.  Sure enough, as soon as we westerners were safe our ropes were co-opted to help with the yaks.  With ropes secured to the horns, several Sherpas pulling, even more pushing, the frantic yaks were dragged up the ice and deposited on the snow at the top like so much baggage.  Then the Sherpas, wearing running shoes, brought up their heavy loads, not without difficulty, but as always, without complaining.

Approaching the top of the pass

Among the soaring peaks of the Himalayas, this summit, seemingly swathed in icing, barely rates as a bump. Yet it was one of the most beautiful we saw, painted against the deep blue of the sky.  We spent a night just below the top of the pass. As we descended to Thami, passing first blue poppies, then tufts of green vegetation and finally grass, I felt that I was stepping out of a dream and back into the real world.  Or was it the other way around?

We saw the lama safely to his monastery and were granted an audience and blessing.  I promised myself that I would send him copies of the photos I took of his crossing, but somehow I never got around to it.

A few days later I climbed Kala Patar and trekked to Everest Base Camp, where there was only one set of tents belonging to a British expedition.

Me on the summit of Kala Patar

Khumbu Icefall from Everest Base Camp

While we were camped at Gorak Shep, I watched the full moon rise over Nuptse and Everest, and I asked myself, “What can I ever do to top this?”  I wished that I could reach out and stop the hands of time.  I did not know that this was only the first of many moments when I would ask the same question.

Me and My Fears

Funny thing about fear: you defeat it in one place and it promptly crops up in another. Right now I’m afraid of my next riding lesson. Last Wednesday we rode out onto snow-covered fields for the first time. The horses were full of themselves, ready to go at top speed, but the terrain was uneven and the ride rough. I tried to canter twice and almost lost my seat. I know that tomorrow we will go into the fields again and I will have to canter. It would be easy to call in sick or say that I was too busy for the lesson. But I won’t. First, because I have booked a horse trek in Mexico in February on which we will have to canter across meadows (and so far I have cantered only in an arena). Second, I just hate to let fear get the better of me.

As a mountain climber, backcountry skier and solo backpacker I’ve faced fear many times. Fear keeps me alive. I know that I have to check and recheck every belay point on a mountain, avoid slopes that are likely to avalanche, proceed with caution in bear country. Realistic fear drives me to prepare for danger, and being prepared, I am less afraid. Two summers ago I was face to face with a grizzly bear while I was lunching with food spread all around me. Because I was prepared, the bear didn’t get the food and neither of us came to harm. I have dealt with my fear of bears by learning how to deal with them. But I’m terrified of cougars; where they are concerned I take refuge in statistics – in the areas where I hike cougar attacks are very rare (scant consolation if the “rare” attack is on me). The danger is there but I find the level of risk to be acceptable.

It’s so easy to yield to fear, to stay within a safety zone. Scared of spiders? Squash them! Scared of snakes? Stay out of snake country. Scared of public speaking? Stay silent. Scared your kids will be abducted? Never let them out of your sight. How our lives become circumscribed by fear!

I followed a conversation on Twitter the other day about fear. Most tweets gave ugly critters like spiders or the death of a parent as the primary fear. I tweeted, “Not facing up to my fears.” I know that my wonderful, exhilarating life of adventure would never have happened if I had yielded every time my stomach played host to squadrons of butterflies. I live by two rules: “Nothing ventured, nothing gained” and “Failure is more rewarding than not trying.”

So tomorrow I will give my horse the signal to canter and will keep doing so until I can sit firmly in the saddle – or go flying off, break a bone and have to cancel my Mexico trip. Or I could slip getting into the bathtub with the same result. The world is not a safe place.

Facing the New Year: a life on fast forward

Looking back at 2011, I know that for me it was a very good and eventful year, even if not everything that happened was good.  After spending a week snowshoeing at Mistaya Lodge, high in the Canadian Rockies, I was forced to make the hard decision to put down my beloved Alaskan Malamute. A few weeks later I left for the Yukon to mush a dog team in the magnificent Tombstone Range, camping out in the snow, meeting wonderful people and getting very attached to my dogs.  After that I sold my house and moved into a rented condo.  In June I spent a month in Mongolia, horse trekking and touring; that country so won me over that I plan to return in 2013.  I managed a few days at Shadow Lake Lodge in September, just in time for the golden larches to display their finest.  Since then I’ve been taking riding lessons and riding as much as possible in preparation for a horse trek in Mexico in February.  Unfortunately in early December my mother (97), fell twice and has been in hospital ever since.  She will have to give up her apartment and move into a nursing home.

So now I face a new year that is already stressful.  My next adventure to Patagonia and Mexico begins January 13, and before then I must move my mother’s belongings into storage, clear out her apartment, find a nursing home for her, deal with all the loose ends of her life, and find time for riding lessons, workouts with my trainer and daily visits to the hospital.  Trying to conduct business in the week between Christmas and New Years was all but impossible, but at least I was able to pack for my trip.

One more big trip is on the horizon: dogsledding with the Thule Inuit in Greenland (late March, early April), followed by a short hop to Sweden to drive a dog team in Lapland and maybe spend a night at the Ice Hotel (though why I would do that after 10 days of sleeping in a tent on the sea ice in Greenland baffles me).  Next summer I will spend another week at Mistaya Lodge (where the hiking is as good as the skiing and snowshoeing), do at least one multi-day backpacking trip in the Rockies, and possibly take a September horse trek in the Yukon.  And, of course, I will also be planning my trips for 2013.

Is this a life on fast forward?  Indeed yes.  Each year brings me closer to the time when I will have to give up many of the activities I so love, even if illness or injury doesn’t stop me before age does.  So I fill my days with dreams, plans and adventures, living in the present and future, not in memories.

The Comfort Zone

The comfort zone can be anything that makes you so comfortable that you don’t want to leave it even briefly: your job, your computer, your circle of friends, your home, your routine, your fixed beliefs.  It’s a tempting place to hang out, even when it’s not very rewarding; I admit to spending the occasional weekend in a cocoon, drinking coffee and watching drivel on TV (so easy, so undemanding).  But then I decide to take riding lessons so I can do a horse trek in Mongolia, or hire a personal trainer so I can climb Kilimanjaro, or sign up for a week of driving a dog team in the Yukon wilderness, or, on a different plane, start a blog or find someone whose views are opposite to mine so we can debate. These aren’t youthful follies, just the latest ventures in a lifetime of stepping out of my comfort zone.

There are people to whom I would like to give a push. I’m not suggesting that they go ride a camel in the Gobi desert, but I hope they can be persuaded to try something that scares them just a little, that makes them feel uncomfortable, so they can understand how much we grow from risk. Herewith my list:

People who ask me, “Aren’t you afraid to do (insert just about any trip or activity I undertake)?”  Yes, I’m afraid of bears, falling off my horse, breaking my neck skiing, getting lost in the wilderness. If I weren’t, I would be crazy to embark on most of my adventures.  Fear keeps me safe, it doesn’t keep me at home.

People who find the digital, virtual world so real they can’t be bothered to learn about the planet on which they live.  If we lose our attachment to nature, which is far more powerful than our best technology, how are we going to deal with the challenges that face us?

People who don’t have a passion; when the children are grown and gone, when you have retired, outlived your friends and /or spouse, will you spend your days watching TV, too bored, scared or bewildered to venture into new territory?

People who never tempt fate, never risk failure.  You either grow by seeking new experiences or you grow old.  I know too many people like that.

People who cannot be happy alone.  I once met a woman who had been solo backpacking for two days.  She said she couldn’t stand her own company any longer.  If she has nothing to offer to herself, what can she offer to others?  But kudos to her for at least trying something new.

If I have a mission (beyond trying to cram as much adventure as possible into the next few years), it is to inspire others to take that first step to a world beyond their borders, to grasp the joy of living boldly.  It took me a while to learn that lesson, but at 75 I am in many ways younger than I was at 25.