Everest Base Camp (Part I- The Sherpa Saga)

Everest Base Camp (Part I- The Sherpa Saga)-

Getting off the plane in Lukla there is a swarm of sherpas ready to pounce. After you survive the flight, and each of your nails is chewed to the cuticle, it’s hunting season for the sherpas. Everyone flying in is there for trekking and most, like myself, are there for the Everest Base Camp trek. If you come with a pre organized group you’ll be left alone, but the solo walkers are free game. The enterprising sherpas lined the chain link fence outside the airport. It looked like a quarantine camp, or a prison who just had a bus arrival of fresh meat. I conduct a few fruitless 10 second interviews and finally find someone who speaks good English and appears very capable. We go over my route, agree on a price and head on our way. On the way out of town he needs to stop by his house, pick up a pack and change shoes. When he invites me down the hill to come inside, the cynic in me thinks he’s working on sympathy and a future tip by exposing me to his predictably simple living conditions. I don’t really mind if that is his intent because, provided good service, I plan on tipping big anyway, as I usually do. And who am I to be making an assumption like that anyway? Plus I would actually love to see his place so I graciously accept the invite. When I walk in I’m greeted by a friendly wife and beautiful 13 month old girl in a basket… He got me! While he gets his things ready his wife prepared tea (hot Tang) for me, I sit next to, and make faces with, the little girl. Of course I fall in love. Before leaving he asks for half up front on our agreed upon price. I saw no harm in it because we would be spending the next 14 days together regardless…Twenty minutes later we are back on the trail. He was strong. He seemed like a good guide and I was happy to have him.

After a good nights sleep we are back at it by 7:00 the next morning. We make it about a third of the way to our next checkpoint (Namche Bazar) when we make a stop. After going inside a shop for several minutes he comes back out with another guy. My sherpa tells me he received a phone call and his little girl became ill. He says has no choice but to go back and attend to her. This guy he’s introducing me to is his cousin and he’ll be taking over as the Sherpa for me. I’m taken aback by this and, though very sympathetic to his little girl, I’m definitely uncomfortable with what he’s telling me. I’m thinking- what about the money I paid? Who’s this new guy!?.. This must be a set up, is his daughter really sick? After sizing up the situation I reluctantly agree to go ahead with the cousin. I have little choice. I could walk back to Lukla and lose two days or try this guy out. If I don’t like him I will be able to swap him out at Namche Bazar which is the largest town on the trail. I shake Sherpa 1’s hand and hope the best for his little girl.

Five minutes into it with Sherpa 2 I can already tell he isn’t as good. Sherpa 1 would effortlessly walk ahead of me and have to slow down when I stopped to take pictures. Sherpa 2 was struggling. I walked ahead trying to set a pace, letting him know what I was expecting from him and to take his temperature a bit. He couldn’t keep up. I would stop constantly and wait for him to catch up. I’m wondering where the legendary Sherpa pride and ox like strength is I’ve been reading about. Thirty minutes into it he says we should stop for lunch. He lets me know this is the last restaurant before Namche Bazar. I told him that’s ok, I’m good, just had breakfast not too long ago and I’m not hungry yet. He gives me a confused look with his limited understanding of English. “Lunch?” He questions again. I let him know I wasn’t eating, but if he had to rest after thirty minutes I would wait for him. I sit on a bench in the dining room and he goes behind a curtain where the locals kick it. Impatiently as can be I’m sitting there waiting for him. I vent my frustrations to another pair of hikers who sympathize with Sherpa 1 ditching me. An hour passes. I pull back the curtain to the locals lounge and see Sherpa 2 enjoying a hot cup of tea to wash down his lunch. I tell him we should be heading on our way. He gulps down the final sip and we’re back in the trail. Walking ahead and waiting, walk ahead some more, wait some more. Wait for him to catch up, he needs a break. At a common break point I wait for him. I get into casual conversation with a couple guys. One from Australia and the other from Germany. They ask where my guide is and I fill them in on my plight. They shake their heads with sympathy and tell me about their guy being a rock star. He’s carrying BOTH of their bags and is always waiting for THEM to catch up. Never looking tired, he refuses to walk behind them. They say they offered him water once and he said “no I’m ok, I had some tea this morning”. Five more minutes and Sherpa 2 rolls up. By now he has shed his jacket and has beads of sweat running down his face. He sits down next to me where I’m talking with the other guys. I ask if he’s doing ok. “I’m ok”, he says, then stops to catch his breath before finishing, “but I’m thirsty, can I have some of your water”. The two guys shoot me a quick mouth open look. I hand Sherpa 2 my water. An hour later we arrive to Namche Bazar. At this point I’m conflicted between ditching Sherpa 2 or sticking with him. My head says lose him, my heart says give the guy a break. Because the trail is a virtual pedestrian highway making it impossible to lose your way I’m 100% confident on being able to do it by myself. The only reason I don’t is because it sure is nice having someone carry your bag and, confident in your abilities or not, you still want someone watching your back if you’re cruising around the Himalayas. I ultimately decided to stick with him. Sherpa 2 heads back down the mountain a half day, as planned, to pick up some supplies and will be back the following day to proceed. In the mean time I make pseudo friends with the guest house owner and ask him about my guide, who he seemed to know. He tells me he is “OK”, with a long emphasis on the “OK”… He says to me “just don’t let him drink”… Um, excuse me? Drink?… “Yeah he has a tendency to go overboard on the alcohol sometimes”. Fantastic! I now have an idea of what was mixed with that “tea” earlier during his lunch break. I go to bed wondering if I’m making the right decision. Next morning during my breakfast the hotel owner comes over and says my guide is here… But it’s not the apparent alcoholic, Sherpa 2. He was not feeling well and complained of leg pains so sent someone else in his place….

Introducing Sherpa 3. He looks ok enough. He’s younger and appears stronger. Only downside is he speaks even less English than Sherpa 2 (who spoke less English than Sherpa 1). With the help of the guest house owner as interpreter we go over my route. Once he’s comfortable with that the subject of pay comes up. I let him know VERY clearly that he will be getting zero in advance and he needs to talk to Sherpa 1 about the portion I already paid. He understood the situation and we were on our way. Sherpa 3 seemed good. He wasn’t lagging, always had a smile and we started to develop a rapport. I would try to teach him some English and in turn I learned a little Nepalese. We were getting along well and I was happy with trading out Sherpa 2 for Sherpa 3.

That night I started to feel a sickness coming on. Thankfully my symptoms (sneezing, sore throat, fever) resembled an oncoming cold, as opposed to symptoms of high altitude sickness (dizziness, vomiting, light headedness) which had the potential to end of my hike. The threat of that developing, in addition to my sketchy Sherpa situation, had me reevaluate and alter my plans. Somewhere along the way to Lukla I developed aspirations of tackling a few additional, and more challenging, peaks (Chola Pass & Renjo pass) after reaching Everest Base Camp… I now had to get back to my original goal- making it to Everest Base Camp. I decided I would take it nice and easy and since my return flight accounted for those additional peaks I had plenty of time for extra rest days if needed. At the start of the next day I told Sherpa 3 how I was feeling and what the new plan was. He was visibly pleased with this change as he apparently was not looking forward to the two high passes. He encouraged me to go slow, “no fasties” he called it, and I nodded in agreement. Half way into that day (day 5 for me, 2nd with him) I could tell he wasn’t the same. My morning cloud wore off and I was felling good, though still very committed to going slow. He was in bad shape. Toward the end of that day we would have to stop, literally, after every 5 minutes so he could take a 3 minute break. I was coddling him at this point. Making him eat, giving him water and trying to figure out what was wrong with him. Through charade like hand gestures I was able to ascertain that, not only was he light headed and dizzy, but he suffered a recent head injury!… what… the… fuck. I was fine doing the hike on my own, but the prospect of having to look over the person who was supposed to be looking after me was by no means appealing. As he readied himself to stand up after this enlightening break. He make it half way and, watching closely, I saw his head wobble and eyes dance around in their sockets like he was shroomin’. I gently, but quickly pushed him back down to a seated position. The rest of the day I stood right beside him with a watchful eye making sure he didn’t lose his footing and tumble down a ravine. We inched along and finally made it to the next stop. I insisted on him seeing a doctor once I checked into my room. When he arrives back at the hotel and, with the help of another interpreter, he tells me he cannot go on. I was actually happy to hear this because there was really no other logical course of action but for him to descend. I paid him for the 2 days and implored him to use extreme caution on the way down… Now, because I’m already 3/4 the way up the mountain and its high season there are no available porters and I am Sherpa-less.

The series of events leading up to where I was currently at and having gone through THREE sherpa’s got my head spinning. How did I go though THREE sherpas? Why did that guy in passing ask where I was from? Why did that other guy not really act surprised when I told him my porter got sick and had to descend? Why did Sherpa 3 take a picture of me with his phone yesterday!?…The combination of ingrained Vegas street smarts and ancient cannabis induced paranoia put me on guard and took my security level from yellow to orange. I knew where the Australian and German guys, from a few days prior, were staying. I found them and told them I lost yet another Sherpa. I would be carrying my own bag from here, but would be happy if they allowed me to join them the rest of the way. A safety in numbers kind of thing. They graciously accepted me into their group and we planned on meeting up the following day.

I started out that day walking with an older group of 21 doctors and med pros from New Hampshire. Can’t get any safer than that!…I told them my saga and they also kindly invite me to hang with them, which I did for a bit. The group was walking so slow that it could hardly be called walking. Like the speed an army general would pace a small room dictating terms of a surrender to a typist. I hung with them for about an hour before I started to break away from the pack. Soon after I caught up with the Aussie (Craig) and German (Max). Their small group also consisted of a guide “Lax-Man” (as in re-lax) and porter “Yak-Man” (half man half mountain yak). Lax Man was a 24 year old guide that was making his 111th trip to base camp. He was kind of a playboy, Nepalese ladies man type guy with a quiet bravado. Yak Man is no taller than 5 feet and built like a kid. He could pass for 16, but was really 29 and married. As mentioned earlier, he was carrying both their bags and was a beast. Never hungry at stops, never thirsty on the trail, never tired, and never complained. Always smiling, you could not break his cheerful spirit with a waterboard. He had a very distinct and childlike laugh that always ended with a spiraling WEEEHEW exhale sound that would only make you (and him) laugh some more. One of the nicest people I’ve ever met. The 5 of us ended up staying together through until the end and back to Kathmandu. (More on the group in my next post)

On the final day walk back to Lukla I have my eye out for Sherpa 1 to retrieve some of the upfront money I paid. I see him with another group outside a cafe and wave him over to not embarrass and question him in front of a client. He was surprised to see me. He gave me his deepest and most heartfelt apologies for the way everything transpired and told me that his wife is at home and would be expecting me on the way back to give me the money. I thanked him, told him I was glad his daughter was feeling better, shook his hand and went on my way. When I reach his home his wife was far from expecting me and had no money waiting. Luckily I had Lax Man and Yak Man with me as some local representatives because what was supposed to be a friendly stop by turned into a bit of a scene. It never got heated and nobody’s voice was ever raised, but all the neighbors were poking their curious heads around the corner to see the big bearded white man asking about his money. They got Sherpa 1 on the phone and Lax Man did just about all of the talking. I’m trying to read his face, but he’s not giving any clues. I look over to Yak Man and he kind of frowns and shakes his head no. Sherpa 1 is now playing games, saying he’ll wire me the money in a month type shit… It’s not until Lax Man threatens a police report on my behalf that his wife calls a neighbor who soon comes over with the amount I was owed. Lax Man and Sherpa 1’s wife were talking for a bit when I ask what’s being said. She told him that she is an honest person, but her husband is a drunk and a liar. I told him to ask in Nepalese if the daughter ever really got sick. As much as I didn’t want to believe somebody could lie about that I already knew the answer.

Bob

*The same day I reached Base Camp (April 29th) may forever live in infamy on Mt. Everest as it made international headlines for the world’s highest altitude brawl. On high camp (2 stops up the mountain from where I was standing at Base Camp) two climbers, well respected in the mountaineering world, were violently attacked by an angry mob of around 100 sherpas.