Martin

Hi Everyone, hope you’re all happy…..thanks for checking in and especially for your comments (and abuse).

I’m sitting in a cafe in Pokhara, a fantastic city at the foot of the Annapurnas. It’s been a hell of a time since Manang and being here has given me a chance to relax and reflect a bit on the trip, and to speak to Kath and Meg after having no contact whatsoever for 9 days.

Where to begin? Just after my last post, we decided as a group that Plan B was to get below the snowline then down to the roadhead as quickly as possible, then head over to the West side of the circuit by bus, where we could go to a famous viewpoint called Poon Hill. The plan meant we had to get out to the roadhead in 4 days when it had taken 8 days to get up there, so we had 4 straight days of up at sunrise (5.30am), walk until dark (6pm) with a lunch stop.

The bad weather caused many problems – the infrastructure is sparse at the best of times as the Nepalese have to exist with only their own strength and skill and whatever resources can be carried in by porters or donkeys. Below the snowline there were many landslides caused by the heavy rain, so the trail was sometimes damaged, sometimes treacherous and sometimes it just disappeared completely.

On the second day back from Manang the trail was so bad that we had serious problems. We were below the snowline, crossing landslides on unstable ground and it was getting obvious there was no way we would reach our destination for the night. Nightfall happens really quickly here, particularly when you are deep down in the valley as we were. We crossed landslide after landslide in the growing gloom, each time trying to pick a safe route with the help of the lead sherpa, and trying to stay close together so we could help anyone who slipped. Then, basically, it got dark. 8 of us, our 3 sherpa guides and a similar-sized group of French trekkers were crossing unstable mud/rock/dirt ledges, in what moonlight there was from the overcast sky, with a hundred metre drop into the flooded marsygandi river on our left hand side. It was an incredible experience and not one I’d be keen to repeat too often if I’m honest. Luckily around 6.15pm we came to a teahouse in the middle of nowhere at a place called latamarang several miles short of our intended destination. Our sherpas didn’t know where our porters were, as there was a high route to Danakyu where we should have stayed, so we spent a night without our kitbags or sleeping bags. Amazingly the woman in the house fed and watered all of us without fuss, and her little boy of about 5 sang and danced for us as we ate. As a group we were quite shaken and the hospitality there was just amazing. There’s an enormous sense of togetherness in the group, and its wonderful.

To add to the story, on our second night on trek we had been in a teahouse (these are like small hotels) with a different group of French, a big group. I remember one of the women nodded hello to us as they arrived, and one of the guys was walking around in his underwear while his clothes were drying. I also remember that their head sherpa encouraged the whole group to applaud their porters when the porters arrived, which I thought at the time was a bit naff. Anyway, when we got to Latamarang our head sherpa Passang told us that 6 of the French and all 12 of their Nepali support were killed in an avalanche at 4500m. For me it put the last few days into stark perspective – you have to take this place seriously.

The morning after Latamarang we got down to Danakyu first thing to find that, incredibly, one of our porters had got through on the same route we had used, all the way to Danakyu. This small, thin, wizened man had carried a 30 kilo load over the same landslides we had faced, in a pair of flip flops for fuck sake, and made it through to where he had been told to get to. These people humble me. Our other 5 porters were unaccounted for but as we were having breakfast they all showed up, having taken the high route down and having stopped at various places down the way when the light went. I feel a surge of affection for them and a renewed admiration for the uncomplaining, smiling way they go about doing a bloody tough job. We christen the guy who got through “top cat” and it’s funny to see him strutting about. He happens to always wear a yellow top, so like the leader in the Tour de France this becomes the maillot jaune.

Further down the valley the walking becomes easier and the 2 last days down to the roadhead were long and tough but relatively uneventful, except for one thing. I came up to bed at midnight on the third day to find Barry getting dressed – Rolf was in the middle of a hypoglycaemic fit. We got Lou who was still up in the dining room, (did I tell you he’s a doctor) who was fantastic, took control of the situation and found the (only) emergency glucagon injection that Rolf had with him. In half an hour he was Ok but he’s really, really lucky Lou was there. Rolf OK’d me telling people about this, and it probably happened because of the strain he’s been putting his body under these last few days. He’s been diabetic for 30 years and I think the fact he has come on this type of trip should be an inspiration to people about what you can do as a diabetic and also what you’re still capable of at 63. I think this trip has pushed him pretty close to the edge at times and I’d worry about him if he tried to do a trip like this again.

Its nice to be walking in the sun in a T-shirt again. Larry all your gear was fantastic up high so ta very much.

Besi sahar (at 970m) is the town at the roadhead and we spent the night after our 4 day route march there. Its a big place but there are no phones. About 300 trekkers have come back off the mountain today so we have to stay in the shittiest hotel I’ve ever seen. No electricity, no running water, en-suite toilet which is a hole in the floor etc etc. My head torch (Larry’s) comes in very handy. We were all shattered at this point, including the guides and porters, but we have a fantastic evening with beer and Royal Stag whisky. we played a cool game called thumb wars with some locals. Lou got pissed and fell off his chair.

The last few hundred yards walk back into Besi had felt wierd – I felt like I wasn’t supposed to be here again and it reminded me we had missed out on getting over the pass. In all honesty, though, I think now the pass would have been easy compared to the walk back out. The night in Besi feels like the end of the trek for some reason, but its not. Tomorrow’s another day and we’re going by bus to start a 4 day hike in and out to Poon Hill back up at 3200m.

Love to all

Martin

Tags: Annapurna, Nepal, Oct 2005 Nepal, Oct 2005 Nepal, Travel

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