Makalu-Barun, part III: The Land of Rock and Ice

  Barun Glacier, Nepal
Tuesday, October 31, 2006

01 Gateway to Makalu

We passed the mani stone gateway into Makalu-Barun National Park and entered the realm of Snow Leopard, Yeti, and mystical mountains. The trails were now covered in snow, and the river valleys with their jungles were far below us.

Maila Carrying a Load

After a night in the small teahouse of Kauma, we began a traverse of a snowy ridge as sleet periodically fell. Today, we would cross three passes above 4,000 meters, including Shipton La at 4170 meters. The trail was icy in spots and most of the day required intense concentration. Today was also one of those days where things seemed to go wrong: pinching my fingers in the tripod, tearing my pants on barbed wire (why it was there, who knows?), and wondering how we could complete the trek with only 3000 rupees left.

I enthusiastically prepared dinner for Maila and me only to have Maila leave to eat dal bhat at the Dobati teahouse. Earlier, Sandy had negotiated that Maila would pay for his food along the way but that his pay would be higher and paid in full upon return. Also, we had agreed, I thought, that in the national park, I would cook. This would save money and also save the forests of the park from deforestation, as the tea houses all use wood. We had plenty of food and kerosene for this leg of the journey.

But Maila had no money, so continually needed to borrow money for food. With the little money we both knew we had, and the high cost of food in the mountains, I felt a lack of support, ending a frustrating day on a bad note. After dinner, I reinforced the facts of our situation as best I could.

I awoke at dawn and prepared breakfast for us, which Maila ate, apologetic for last night. We left early because Maila was concerned about rock slides once the ice begins to thaw in the morning sun. By around ten, we had descended 700 meters into the warm, forested Barun River valley and reached the landslide crossing area. The landslide area was a good test in balance and concentration as we jumped from boulder to boulder rock to rock.

Along the way, we passed the porters of the Belgian group. Between the four of them, they had thirteen porters to carry their huge stoves, changing room tent, dining room tent, dining room chairs, liters of kerosine, and more. The Belgians had told me earlier that they were embarassed about the chairs:

"It's too much. We focused on the climbing equipment, but forgot to talk about the other equipment. Too much...we don't need chairs. We don't want Western food, we want local food."

Including four guides, the group of twenty-one was heading across the West Col to climb into the Khumbu and Everest region, a difficult traverse. Some of the Sherpa porters didn't even have long pants. For that matter, neither did Maila, but I had extra clothing, so he was warm, dressed in more clothes than me. The unprepared nature of porters was disconcerting, as I would hardly take a friend camping if they didn't have the right equipment. Between Sandy and I, we bought Maila a sleeping bag, a warm blanket, and hiking boots.

The Barun River Valley

In a pleasant sunny glade by the Barun river, the Belgians invited me to join them for lunch and we talked about the porters, the park, and the people of Nepal. Maila ate dal bhat with the porters and was happy. Jan, a musician, felt that the influences of the western world weren't good. "Perhaps don't come," he said in conclusion. The group was also worried that some of the porters couldn't reach base camp because of their clothing--shorts in November at 5000 meters. I wondered: with all the sheep and goats and yaks and seemingly well endowed villages, couldn't they easily make warm clothing for their profession?

Maybe they weren't being paid enough, as most of the money, the Belgians complained, went to the company owners in Kathmandu. They told me that the son of the owner now goes to expensive boarding school in Japan. It's no wonder, in some ways, that the Maoists, who engage the countryside in a class struggle, are popular here.

One hour after lunch, we reached Yangri Kharka, a place with a small temple and teahouse, at 3500 meters. The Belgians would stay here for the night, reluctantly, as it was on their itinerary.

"It's only a half day of trekking!"

Maila wanted to stay also, but we agreed yesterday that our camp today would be higher, as descending in altitude would not help us acclimatize--we needed to gradually ascend. Since yesterday we slept at 3700 meters, we needed to sleep at 4200 meters for good acclimatization. We still had plenty of daylight remaining.

We continued through a light snowfall. Three hours later, we reached a camp at 4200 meters, a teahouse called Jark Kharka, run by two Sherpas, one of which had climbed Everest twice. "I only make $2000 each time, it's too dangerous...not worth it."

Nepu at Sunrise

I treated Maila to a couple cups of milk tea and prepared dinner in the snow. The adiabatic growth of mountain clouds ceased at nightfall and the stars emerged in the crystalline cold. Dark starless forms marked the large mountains that were now visible in their own way, illuminated ever so slightly from the stars above.

Fresh Snow in the Himals

The crisp sunrise revealed the white forms of the mountains--Nepu, Kauma, Bishom--as a flock of Snow Pigeon flew around the white glacially-carved valley. These mountains showed as Peak 6 or incorrectly named on the topo map. The cartographers didn't bother to ask the locals what the mountains were called. I prepared warm museli and hot chocolate for us. "Mmmm, ahmmm" said Maila, showing his appreciation. In Nepali, "please" and "thank you" aren't commonly used, but you know how they feel in a deep, primal, and sincere way.

Makalu, the Big Black Mountain

Five hours later, after a traverse on a snowy slope, we reached base camp. The afternoon clouds parted to reveal Makalu, rising 3,500 meters above us--a huge golden-hued pyramid covered in snow and glaciers. The sheer south face loomed in its proximity, yet the summit seemed almost untouchable.

The South Face and Southeast Ridge

Maila pointed out the Normal Route that expeditions took, along the Southeast Ridge. Today, seven different routes have been climbed: North Col, Southeast Ridge, South Face, Southwest Face, West Pillar, West Ridge, and West Face. The West Face was not successfully climbed until 1997. Avalanche hazard thwarts many expeditions, a porter told me earlier. Few people climb Makalu, in part because of this danger, and we were the only ones visiting Base Camp.

I cooked dinner, then convinced the Sherpa who was at the base camp cabin, tending a warm fire, to let Maila stay there for the night. Later Maila told me he was a Maoist, just keeping an untrusting eye on us. I boiled some water for our water bottles, which would also help to keep us warm. My thermometer read ten degrees fahrenheit inside the tent; outside it was much colder.

Before dawn, I awoke to the sound of Tibetan Snowcock, whose arrow-like tracks I had seen yesterday in the fresh snow. They flew around the moraines surrounding basecamp, feeding in the high-altitude grasses. By sunrise, I made porridge for us, using my balaclava and down gloves for the first time since climbing Aconcagua almost two years ago, delivering a warm bowl to the cabin. I motioned to Maila that I was heading up the Barun Glacier for the morning, then we would descend to warmer climes in the afternoon.

Lloyd and Makalu

I climbed to the northwest, following a snowy lateral moraine ridge and crossing old avalanche debris. Several hours later, I had a clear view up the entire glacier, which begins near Lhotse and Everest, visible above the glacier. Being surrounded by three massive 8,000 meter peaks makes one feel small. Climbing alone in the still, bright land of ice and rock was peaceful.

Lloyd Climbs Near Barun Glacier

Five days ago, we were crossing the Arun River in the sweltering and humid jungle. To reach here, we had traveled through jungles, terraced fields, villages, temperate forests, rhododendron thickets, fir forests, alpine grasslands, and snow. Still, there were signs of life in the land of rock and ice--tracks of birds in the snow--no Yeti or Snow Leopard tracks, though.

Autumn Himal Scene

We retraced our steps after a pasta lunch, camping at Jark Kharkal and Dobati on the way back. Leaving base camp, fingers of clouds joined to cover Makalu as we rounded the corner through a developing fog.

The next day was clear, revealing holy mountains that were covered in clouds for the snowstorm on the way up--Parvati with her belly pregnant with Ganesh, Ramesh, and a cliff inscribed metamorphically with Tibetan mantra. We walked through fir forests, meadows, rhododendron thickets, deciduous forests, and red heathlands, glowing from the autumn sun behind it. The smell of fir forests and decomposing deciduous leaves, newly fallen, filled my nostrils.

Above us, Parvati's waterfall dropped into the Barun River Valley. Maila, using sign language, told me that people would climb to the upper parts of the waterfall. If they were lucky, water would fall on them. If they were unlucky, no water would fall. Or maybe they would fall; the cliffs to reach the falls looked precarious.

Maila and I developed a way of communicating using sign language, body language, primal grunts, and a combination of Nepali and English. He would often speak in Nepali, which I would decipher as best I could, then I would reply in English. In the end, I think we understood each other well.

Maila at Shipton La

When we crossed Shipton La, the high pass on the way back, Maila shooed the big mountains away with his hands; he was happy to be descending. That morning, we awoke to another bitter cold. Surrounding our camp, the rhododendron leaves were tightly curled together for the night, covered in frost. As the sun finally rose above the southeasterly ridge, the sound of rhododendron leaves opening to the warmth cascaded through the valley, sounding like a flowing river. Redstarts, tits, and thrushes fed on the red, pink, and white berry trees as stoneflies and midges congregated in the sunlight.

For our last day in the mountains, Maila brought Nepali tea from the Kauma tea house, as we had no drinking water--the pools had dried since we were there last. We talked:

"Water long way--one hour."
"We go go go then."
"Bistare!"
"Yes. I'll make breakfast."
"Here's money for Dal Bhat...whatever" (we were finished with camping and cooking)

"Did you sleep well?" (point to cabin, where Maila slept)
"Very very well, mmm." (points to bed of dry ferns I used as a ground mat)
"Tikcha!"
"Blankets?"
"Yes."
"Up there very, very cold...now warm...dal bhat! Warm today...Tashigaon--no more trekking."
"You were good to eat all my cooking-no dal bhat for one week."

On the way back, some songs became memorable as part of my mind's entertainment:
Let It Snow
Green Day's Boulevard of Broken Dreams: "I Walk Alone..."
Jimmy Cliff's I Can See Clearly Now ..."the rain is gone...It's gonna be a bright, bright sunshine day...Look all around there's nothing but blue skies. Look straight ahead nothing but blue skies."

White-capped Water Redstart

Finally, we reached water and drank the fresh, cold water. We cleaned our clothes and washed. Maila poured brain-numbing water over my head as Gobi Chara (White-capped Water Redstarts) flew from rock to rock.

Sunset in the Foothills

Acorns dropped onto the trail from the oaks above us, turning golden brown--today was Halloween. At Tashigaon, we ate dal bhat for the first time in a week. and I drank a couple Roxy with Drolma in celebration as Maila met with some Garung relatives. Despite a sunburned lower lip and a wasp sting that swelled my hand, everything was "tikcha" after a week in the mountains of Makalu-Barun.