Robert Francisco

October 12 – 27, 2009

Gokyo Valley, Chola Pass, Everest Base camp

Atop Kalipatar: Mt. Everest Sunrise

The question had been plaguing me for weeks – since first asked. The more I focused, the more I tried to force fit into something I thought I new, the more it evaded capture, evaded dominance.  Recognizing that life’s important explorations rarely present forthcoming clarity, I simply let go; like the “Purpose of life” inquiry –  Who the fuck knows.

Trail up Gokyo Valley

I tentatively and very carefully place each foot and hiking pole (ensuring four points of contact and hopefully safety) on the steep, snow covered, and very icy slopes of Chola pass. This is the same pass that a Nepali porter lost his life on days before in a sudden avalanche of rock and snow. While focusing on climbing,  a counter question, with complete inappropriate timing, springs forth: “Maybe you are supposed to leave something in these mountains” rather than “hopefully you will find what you are looking for” as my dear friend Alan first proposed as I departed for these Himalayas.  “What?” my brain screams- “What the hell does this mean, who the hell cares – shut the hell up – I am trying to stay attached to this mountain……what good is an answer to a dead guy?”

Stone house on route

Later that night I crawl into my down bag after realizing I will  be sleeping on a platform of stacked rocks; largely flat, but hard and granite cold.  The 3 inches of ancient, filthy  compressed foam make little difference. I replay the question over and over trying to decipher: “Maybe you are supposed to leave something in these mountains….”.  I turn on my headlamp, write the new question in my journal and recognize I must indeed be suffering from a lack of oxygen, that my mind has finally,  at 46 years, gone….completely.  Find something – leave something. I begin to cough again and notice through my lamp beam that my closet (5.75 x 2.75  x 5ft ) is completely filled with Yak shit smoke from the mis-directed flue of the dining hall stove. “Great: yak smoke, rock bed, flat mattress, shitty food, and stupid questions followed by even more stupid questions”. sleep comes slowly and is fitful.

Everest Region Porter

Days, and kilometers later in Dingboche the questions are far from my mind.  In fact, I have not given them another thought.  Rather I have been mentally preparing for my final and greatest “Conquest” of this trek – Island Peak.  We are indeed going to follow Sir Edmunds lead – Like Mt. Everest in 1953 we were going to “knock that bastard off”. Hubris my ass. While a far cry from Everest this is my mountain, and like other goals throughout my life this +20,000 ft rock  is on my “list”. Therefore and by definition – like all others before it, it will soon be reduced to a check mark along with, unfortunately but necessarily, my own mental asterisk – it will be a temporary positive feeling of accomplishment, of self worth, of bragging rights, but it will not be enough…they never are. That is not the point  This is simply how things are, how they always have been, how they always will be.

Angin and Robert on Kalipatar

Forget that I have developed a nasty cold, that my cough is worsening due to high altitude combined with yak smoke and kerosene fumes (days later I will be diagnosed with severe bronchitis and a respiratory infection). Forget that I have concerns about the climbing conditions; more specifically the people who were creating these conditions; I see photos of nearly a hundred tents at base camp (you pay your rupees, and you can be a mountaineer – I realize, embarrassingly,  that I am not alone in my ego), while hearing stories of skilled climbing guides doing their job of “putting” clients on top even if it means with the aid of mechanical devices (effectively “pulling em up and lower em down“). I hear of potential for serious bottle necks on the steepest part of the mountain whereas you can not climb up or down due to your nose in someone’s ass and your ass in someone’s nose – I have read enough climbing accounts to know that these potential traffic situation are very dangerous and have led to some of the sports biggest human losses. Forget that I am scarred. Tomorrow morning I will face these minor obstacles and in typical fashion I plan to kick their ass. That is what I do, who I am. I am not a strong guy or a particularly smart guy, but I am a guy who does not quit.  A man my friend Michael describes as “Hitting an obstacle and thinks the only option available is adding more fuel to the tractor”.  Yes, I have been told, and yes I believe, this makes me an incredibly effective corporate warrior, impossible to live with or maybe even love, and while not reckless potentially dangerous on mountains and elsewhere.

Prayer flags on Gokyo Ri

Earlier in the day I pay a Nepalese fortune to charge my Ipod Nano using a solar panel; once atop Island Peak, I can play the theme song “Memories” from Andrew Lloyd Webber’s masterpiece Cats in remembrance of my mom who we lost to cancer just over a year ago. I have not listened to this song since her memorial as I have been saving it for such a grandiose day. A day she would be proud of.  A day my post divorce councilor would have described as “consistent with your narcissist tendencies”; like he actually knows a God damn thing.

Evening spot lights

Just before midnight I wake up frantically grabbing my mouth, my nose….my chest.  Trying to clear an opening, trying to make a passage- open damit, open – I am fucking suffocating, I am going to die….hyperventilating, sit up, gasping. STOP! Breathe, concentrate, relax, you are fine.  Breathe, breathe……breathe. No problem see, just a cold, just high altitude, just some fluid on your lungs, just one of those ever more frequent panic attacks – I now understand why climbers and divers often tear off their oxygen supply as they struggle to get life supporting air. When I die, please don’t let it be from suffocation.

Moraine

What was that?  Dreaming? Dreaming before I nearly suffocated? Who was that? While not part of my plan, I instinctively search for my Nano….feeling in the dark.  I squint to see, hit the repeat function, and play “Memories” for hours while I stare at the ceiling to black to actually see; I try to breathe.  I wake with the first rays of morning, my mouth sticky dry, – I sip tainted Iodine water to lubricate my swollen tongue preventing it if from affixing to my palate or teeth permanently. I blow my nose – thick mucus, dirt,  and dried blood.  One ear bud is wrapped around my neck, the other plays:

Ama Dablam (maybe the prettiest mountain in Nepal)

I dress quickly and go to the small dining area where Angin  pours morning tea.  With no forethought I say “Angin, we change plans; we not climb Island Peak”. A look of great concern and then horror comes to the young mans face.  “Oh no sir, you feel better in a few days, you strong man, you not quit, you never quit, you-me…we all ready walk Langtang trek, we climb Gokyo Ri, we climb Chola pass, we climb Kalipatar, we go Everest base camp….we now go Island Peak; you climb slow-slow all way top; you be rock star – like Mica Jackson.  You satisfy, I satisfy” I had not considered this being Angin’s climb as much as mine but then I think back to all of the times he had bragging rights in front of the other Sherpa porters and guides as our time in the mountains far exceeded most of the other trekking tourist. From somewhere outside of me I say simply and with complete resolve: “Angin, I am sorry.  I can climb that mountain if I want, and I can climb that mountain if I need, but I nor want or need to climb. I have no desire and nothing to prove…..especially to my self”. His response is simple and final: “Yes sir, you decide”.

Loboche tea house

I eat my breakfast alone as my highly competent guide and porter manages the logistics of a sudden and surprising change of plans.  Upon his return, we quickly and unceremoniously grab our packs and go outside.  We stand for a long minute looking up valley towards Island Peak just as the sun began to touch her flanks. While there I hear: “I will always be here and you are welcome to try and climb me.  If you come of “want” you will either reach my top or not…..who cares, it is unimportant. But if  you come again of “need“, remember I am insidious, with an insatiable apatite. You may reach my highest point, but it will never be high enough – I will give you a higher mountain, a more precarious sea, a faster motorcycle,….you will never catch me, I can not be caught”.   I smile a huge grin, laugh out loud, and give a nod as I turn smartly down hill.  “How far down can we get today Angin?” I direct.  “You sick sir, but I carry your day pack also, we make dinner – Namche Bazar”.  I Okie/Nepalese  blow-out – more mucus, more dirt , more blood. We leave.

Stone Mantras line the way

I do not speak, think, or turn around for over hour and while physically racked, I move very quickly down the valley. When we do stop and look back, Island Peak is gone – what an odd feeling – “Christ, Jesus Christ, did I quit?  Yes, Robert you most certainly did quit – you are a quitter”.  That is strange, quitting did not kill me, in fact I feel good, really good. My head goes foggy again and I shake myself back to consciousness when suddenly: “Maybe you were supposed to leave something in these mountains”. Shit, I just left a whole God damn mountain unclimbed, a life goal unattained. You are fucking kidding me!

Snow field on backside of Chola pass

Really, truly my brain scratches? did you? Or – “Find what you are looking for in those mountains?” What? What the hell are you talking about I shout silently, give me a break – I finally get an answer to the question you bring forth, then you change back to the original question. Frustrated.

Stupa eyes

Walk, calm now –  “You are in the land of Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva, and Genesh….the land of the Buddha and the Dharma…..the land at the top of the world……hold both questions – they are not exclusive, they never were….life is not linear nor singular; neither black or white,  embrace the duality – a river of birth, a river of death – You left a mountain, you found Freedom”.

Monastery Painting

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Back in KTM.

NOTE: I am publishing post on the date of event to make searching easier in the future.  Thus you may have to scroll down past this post to see what has been happening the last few weeks.  This situation will self correct as I get caught up.

The photos are downloaded,  and I am starting to write.  But I only have a bit of time as I am going to Chitwan National Park for a few days (doctors orders) to ride the Elephants and hopefully see the endangered white Rhino’s, and while not likely – but possibly,  the Asian Bengal Tiger…… some days I love being me. But then again it may be all the drugs they put me on to hopefully curb the growing infection in my chest, or it could be the abundant amount of oxygen at this altitude. Regardless, I am on restricted duty so here are a few photos.

Horse on the Steppes of Nepal

Ama Dablam (mother and her necklace)

After I sat down on the cold earth these two came over and ultimately let me scratch their matted hair.  Now, as my crazy about horses friend Dana knows, I am scared of equines so this was a bigger deal than reaching the base camp of Mt. Everest.

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Namche Bazar – Dhole 4110m

We got news last night that a porter was lost on Chola pass due to a quick moving avalanche. This sad news hit many of us hard – especially those who new the man who lost his life. We also heard that Island peak was experiencing severe weather with temperatures of -35c; if it is anything close to that cold when I get there in a few weeks you can be assured that my lily white ass will be staying in the tent.

Angin above Namche Bazar

Yak

Just before Dhole a group of 4 young men who were carrying their own loads blew past us with nary a wave.  They had also started at Namche and planed to push on farther up the valley. Around 11pm in the evening, I heard a great deal of commotion and realized that these “studs” were back in Dhole and one was suffering from Acute Altitude/mountain Sickness (AMS).  He was suffering from an excruciating headache, nausea, blurred vision, shallow and labored breathing, and numbness in the extremities. And, well he was freaking out. They got settled down, and Diamox was given to hopefully counter the affects of the oxygen shortage. Diamox is actually a glaucoma drug but is used frequently for AMS.  Some take as a preventative and others, myself included, carry it as a treatment option if problems develop. Unfortunately, some of the big outfitters hand this potent drug out like Chiclets and run the risk of masking the symptoms of a potentially fatal problem.  In the morning we saw this poor guy and he looked like he had been hit by a yak – a very big yak.  He was recovering but his trek was over as his options were limited to one; go down.

Mantra stones

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October 12, 2009: KTM – Luklaa- Phadkimg 2610

The signed said “We guarantee all seats to be window seats”.  That is a rare promise that will actually be kept in Nepal.  The plane holds 14 people – 7 on each side. My window has a big crack in it that looks to be repaired with Shoe-go.  One thing for sure, they do not need to remind everyone to fasten their seat belts as we are all ratcheting ourselves in tight.  What is this?  Cotton for your ears and a piece of hard candy; how nice- welcome to first class.  Engine one fires and the propeller whirls to life.  Number two – cough, wheeze, belch of black smoke – but she fires; no worries, I know this bird can fly on one engine.  Is that a automobile GPS on the dash?  Is the co-pilot really tapping the instruments to get the needle to move?  The pilot turns towards us, gives a half salute, revs the two big jets, releases the break and we barrel down the runway….we are in the air.

We are very late (1400 hours) in the day to be flying into Lukla – where  last year a similar plane hit the nose of the runway due to limited visibility killing all passengers on board. I can see that we are fully equipped with instruments and they seem to be working, but I also notice that we are flying a cloud avoidance route. As we approach the typical starting point for Mt. Everest,  I immediately see why – we are flying in between two mountains; one on each side. And “shit” that is a mountain in front of us. WOW, we just landed on a very short  runway that extends to the edge of the bench before falling into the abyss. What? The runway actually runs uphill at about a 6% grade. One thing for sure, if you take off from here and do not have enough air speed you will either drop to the earth or hopefully glide into a mountain.

Hope this cough of mine gets better

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Kathmandu, Nepal heading to Lukla in an hour

Goat parts and bicyle

Most freight in Nepal is moved by human powere

Bicycles are not for recreation

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Kathmandu, Nepal

I am generally well, the power is on, the internet is working, and I had some time to post some photos.  Now if you have not figured this out yet, I post photos and write about stuff by request; thus since Shannon said she wanted more of Statues, Buddhas, Stupas, so she could paint or draw them I will kindly try and oblige. There is obviously no structure or method to my journal, so seriously if you are interested in something, have a question or want to see more of something…..just post a comment and I will do my best.  I can also send a high resolution full size jpeg to your individual email if requested.

Offering of rice and flowers to gods

Da Dog

They say to be very careful of the dogs as they are vicious.  What?  the guards here at our hotel use me to catch our hotel dog each night as he likes me to rub his head.

They just kind of wonder the street eating garbage

Kids of Langtang region

So little and such big smiles

Langtang

Never tire of the Buddha, good thing…they are everywhere

Yak or Nak in the mist

Corn dries all across Nepal this time of year

Temple

KTM

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Little Tibet, outside KTM

View from my window

My friends, David and Cei, from Australia needed to see the doctor again because Cei was still suffering from brain swelling (or being a “fat head” as her father said once he heard she was going to be ok). About a week ago, she had been at just over 4500m and had a sudden onset of Pulmonary Edema; a very dangerous and life threatening ailment resulting in massive swelling of the brain, followed by ruptured blood vesicles in the cranium….then you die.  This is caused when the brain is starved of oxygen (at 5000m there is only ~50% of the O2 available, and given that we loose ~2% of our V02 (max oxygen uptake0 each year as we age…these altitude can cause problems.  Anyway Cei is very fit, was well rested, well hydrated, and acclimated properly. She was even taking Diamox (high altitude drug that helps O2 absorption-somehow) and had been higher a few days prior. Regardless,  she suddenly gets a massive headache, starts to throw-up uncontrollably, and begins to loose consciousness; all within an hour.  Miraculously, an Italian doctor was staying in a local village and had a medical kit from a summit expedition.  Cei, was given a huge dosage of steroids to stop the swelling, they tried to get a helicopter in but the weather prevented it, so they literally stuffed her into a “porter basket”, and her climbing guide, after securing the basket around his forehead, ran down slope for 2 jarring hours to a location that the aircraft could reach and an altitude that she may survive at.  So yesterday, we went to the Dr. because she was still having great difficulty with her motor skills.  Fortunately, her clinical exam showed improvement and the doctor believed she was going to fully recover; but they are going to continue to monitor and do a MRI (they all ready did a CT) tomorrow if she is not better.  It is also possible the altitude caused a stroke, but the doctor does not think so, and like he said “even if it did, there is nothing we can do about that now – is there”.  Medicine is a bit more practical and direct here.  Update: David, Cei and I just had breakfast and she continues to improve; they are booking tickets to a beach in Thailand to recover, and are planning on coming back in the spring to “finish, unfinished business…attempt the +6000m Island Peak again”. Update two: fully recovered.

As for me, I going for it in a few days.  I plan to fly to Lukla on the 10th and start a 21 day mini expedition.  I plan to ascend up the Gokyo valley, climb Gokyo peak (5480m), cross Chola pass and rejoin the primary route to Mt. Everest.  From there I will ascend to Everest base camp and Kalaphathar (5545) and the infamous ice fields.  Then I plan to double back and take the side route up to Chhakung; hike to high camp on Imja Tse (5820m) and tent over, and finally at 0200 hours around the 26th or 27thattempt to summit Imja Tse (Island Peak, 6181M).  So around that time, look up because that is hopefully where I will be.

What month is it? The monsoons are supposed to be long gone, but Nepal and much of Asia is getting hammered with rain; mudslides and flooding are widespread and the paper reported a corresponding 34 dead in Nepal. In KTM it has been coming down hard for a few days now and I am glad I am not in the mountain this week.  My trip may be pushed out a bit farther as many flights to Lukla are being cancelled.  This is fine with me however, because over the years every time they try to “force” flights onto Lukla’s  difficult mountain airstrip – they crash.

Lost in translation -again

Things in Nepal are often different! Sometimes often very different. Order anything with a preconception and you will likely be surprised and disappointed.  Check something out with an open mind, and you will likely laugh, or cry, but will enjoy the experience regardless.  The bakery advertised chocolate brownies – my favorite. First bite is always tentative and while good the heavy cinnamon threw me off – cinnamon really, in a brownie?  The Spaghetti with long chewy cheese strips layered in the middle was also a bit “off”.  But we may have found the most “not expected” thing in Nepal last evening. We had a high end ($20usd) dinner and could not help but noticing the bar below the restaurant.  The sign read: “Pussy Cat Bar, with shower”. After dinner, Cai says: “Ok guys I know you are dying to check that out, lets go…one drink”.  Now I have not been in a strip club for a few decades and, well,  I still haven’t.  We knew this had to be something special as this is a Maoist and thus very restrictive government.  Inside the bar we watched what could have been auditions for India/Nepal version of So you think you can dance; kind of a MC Hammer, meets Michael Jackson, meets John Travolta in a Bollywood thus very cheeky way. Some of the guys were actually pretty talented and the women served as back ground dancers (bad bad bad).  There was indeed two shower heads over the dance floor and the floor had a drain but they were never deployed.  We were actually concerned that one of the girls was going to put a high heel in a drain grate and break a leg. There was also a “pole”, which the guys used to swing around like Frank Sinatra in singing in the rain. One young women actually jumped on the pole for a micro second after a big approach…..we all looked at each other and nearly died. We asked Mimar (David and Cei Trekking guide) who joined us if this was a typical men’s club.  “oh yea, very good, but not just for men”.  What about the shower we asked, “with no clothes?”  “oh no, with clothes…sometimes they wash their hair, very nice, very very nice”. The best part was when we got the bill and Dave had to borrow some Rupees because he failed to realize that the coke he bought for a “host”, who proceeded to fill his beer after each sip and pat his knee, cost him $350rp (5 bucks). Not to be outdone, I also paid $350rp for a $15rp water and I opted out of the knee patting. As we walked back to the hotel, we each practiced our “moves” , laughed at the condominium project advertised as “condom house”, while the local police drove the street picking up drunks.

Tibetan rug weaver

We went a bit a field yesterday (relying on Lonely Planet) and discovered a remarkable Tibetan co-op where wool was being spun and carpets being made entirely by hand.  The women working there, without a doubt, were the happiest people I have ever met. We tentatively looked in the door and were greeted with a chorus of “Namaste” as the artist masterfully managed their looms and spinning wheels all under the watchful eye of a large photo of his holiness the Dali Lama. The co-op supports over a thousand Tibetan refugees and relies on funds generated from the hand made rugs they make.  Now, I have a thing for rugs; after my divorce I only asked for one picture, one chair, and both rugs (one Turkish, and one from Afghanistan); I am thinking about buying a 100 knot room rug – spectacular.

Making yarn from lambs wool

My journal “fact checker” has weighed in once again and it is obvious that his cube in the United Arab Emirates is providing him to much contemplative time.  But facts are facts and I appreciate him holding me to the highest international reporting standards.  There is NO SUCH THING as yak milk, butter or cheese.  You see, as Yak is a male and a Nak is the female and thus the lactating one.  I apologize for this grievous oversight.

I had a great week hanging out, seeing the sights, and exploring manufacturing options for their business, with David and Cei. I am looking forward to visiting them again in Brisbane or Laos….great people, and hanging out with the biggest guy in Asia was fun as the cleared the streets in front of Cei and me.

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Kutumumsang to Chisopni 2180m

Millet and corn

“Good no rain, we can take the local route” proclaimed my able guide. I have been on ladders that were not that steep, but I resigned myself not to let those 7 year old girls who were carrying 15 kilo of millet each beat me to the top. I should have left my ego at the bottom of the dry water fall that was the local route. Two thirds up and my shirt poured rather than drip sweat off the tail.  At the top I was on my knees not sure whether I should ask for salvation or simply death.

I finally figured out our plan.  After studying the miniature map in the guide book and piecing information together, I realized we were walking back to KTM-or nearly so.  Up a ridge to a saddle, down a ridge to a saddle, repeat. But the landscapes are amazing and we are now into a new caste area that is dominated by Hindu rather then Buddhist of the high elevations. While brutally hot and humid these low lands are dotted with homes, people, cows, goats, chickens, ox, dogs, buffalo, and even a non-black cat.

In Nepal when you are trekking a route, you are simply following an ancient route that has been named as a trekking route. The PCT this is not, and to call much of the last several days a trail is quite optimistic.  Rather, a landslide clears the vegetation and that slide, as if ordained, becomes the new route up or down. Six hours of this and your knees are begging for salvation.

This town has some limited road access to vehicles (motorcycles only) but I am unsure as to why.  Never mind, I am sure.  If three young men can get a bike here why wouldn’t they.  One runs the clutch, one pushes or holds the bike back on down hills, and one pulls on the assents and try’s to slow the bike while not getting run over on the descents. Yea, I would try to get my bike here. Standing around we diagnosed the bike’s problems and get cheers from the local crowd when we get her to fire – only to hear moans as she dies when the clutch is let out. I know just enough, thanks to Dan my friend mechanic man, back home to know that the problem is fuel/air; oh if I  only had a different needle for this carburetor to compensate for the altitude, I could be king for a day.

Sometimes food just shows up. Today as I write a plate of spicy curry and potatoes combined with a dry rolled grain appears before me and Angin.  Ok, push the spoon aside with approving nods and use only the right hand to mix and transport food to mouth.

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Stupa below Langtang

When Angin awoke me from a short nap before dinner, I was shaking violently.  I sat up and immediately threw up all over the floor – the hand hewn logs had ample vomit gaps and the mess disappeared to the earth below. Not sure what was wrong with me but the combination of poor diet, high altitude, and walking in the rain for 8 hours may be a factor.

At some point the rain always penetrates your best defenses. Sweating from the complete humidity, It first hits you neck like a squirming ice cube, follows you spine as you brace, runs down your ass crack for a second cleaning, and ultimately ends up in your shoe. Like New Zealand, in Nepal you have to be careful as you can go from so very hot to so very cold, so very quickly.

Playing with my diet and simple is good.  Oat porridge or a hard boiled egg for breakfast along with black tea.  But be careful as the very tasty oats are unrefined and will most likely have several rocks mixed in.  For lunch I have been sticking to noodle soups and like everywhere the soup is as good as the kitchen it came from. Some contain homemade noodles and are seasoned beautifully and some are literally the Asian version of Top Ramen.

Bamboo, Cedar, pine, a type of Madrone, and ferms all within meters of each other.  What a diverse flora; and species so far up the slope (at home, this is above timberline).

Down slope to a smoked filled tea house with “dinare hool” printed above the door, we stopped for warm liquids. Above the stove hung strips of meat that I had seen throughout the region in limited quantities, but had never seen on a menu or up close. I inquired out of curiously and was indeed told it was meat as I took a photo; no kidding. As I finished my tea and got ready to leave the women took down one of the strips and with a curved knife and brute force cut it into corn kernel sized pieces. Heating oil over the stove until it smoked she added onions to the black skillet, then seasoning, then a splash of water and ultimately the meat. Complete, she, surprisingly,  brought the plate of meat to me. I had decided, largely, to not order meat on this trip, but if it was offered out of kindness I would accept. The smaller pieces of meat and onions were good in that salty greasy way and the larger chunks tasked like old dirty boot leather. Actually really dirt boot.  After a lot of going back and forth I understood why.  The meat was specifically:  an old, male, water buffalo.

Regarding meat.  I LIKE it. I like it a LOT. But I have come to understand that the way we raise, produce, and distribute it in the states can only be described as environmentally sinful and morally wrong. That does not mean I do not eat it, I am just trying to be honest about the decision I am making; my like of meat out weighs my objections to how it get to my mouth. Interestingly, in Nepal meat is very limited and therefore it is used quite sparingly and in a sustainable manor. The diet here is dominated by plants. They have no choice, the land will not support a lot of meat production and thus that limited land must be used to produce the greatest (plants) return.

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