By Dan
Wednesday 19th of April 2017
Day 11
Thorong Phedi - Muktinath
1040m ascent / 1620m descent
Lodge: Bob Marley Hotel
The alarms hadn’t sounded when we woke. We set two just in case. After all 4am wasn’t the standard set-time on the average human’s body clock. It was 3:30, and we both lay there waiting. Not saying anything, just waiting for the day to begin.
We pulled our things and selves together and psyched ourselves up for the ascent to come. Almost a kilometre of climbing was to be served to us with little relent, before we finally reached our 5416 metre goal of the Thorong La Pass.
The first 400 metres of climbing was flirting with vertical as we fixated on the glowing circles, made by our headlamps, on the ground. As we switched back and forth, we could see the bobbing of other lamps below us, fireflies all congregating to a single point, Thorong Phedi High Camp.
An hour passing by, we took the moment to recover our senses, the cold numbing our bodies to our heavy packs and the enormous task at hand. Being Le Chevre (or The Goat for the Ingeles) Coco wasn’t far behind us, we welcomed the familiar face, shared a few jokes and openly envied his ability to climb mountains with the ease of a morning stroll on flat ground.
A gentle breeze beckoned us onwards, we farewelled Le Chevre, as he was waiting for Ged, knowing full well he would pass us within the hour and put our paws for the first time into snow. Surrounded by threatening mountains, we were encouraged by the warming glow of the sun rising over the eastern peaks. A feeling obviously shared by our fellow fireflies, when masks of struggle were replaced by those of awe.
After snaking along the single trail, passing lonely tea houses and even lonelier yaks, we soon felt our hopes rising. We’d been climbing for almost 4 hours and knew our goal was soon to be reached. A pinnacle soon rose above us as I beckoned Richelle on, trying not to push her too hard as I was well aware of my Drill Sergeant status. Racing to the pinnacle we knew our time had come, but it was soon revealed the mountain thought otherwise. Being April 1st, it was definitely a day to be made an April Fool, as we encountered our first of the dreaded “false summits”.
Five false summits later, we could make out the flashing colours of prayer flags peeking round a bend in the trail. This had to be it, as we raced to the top, raising our arms in the air in a typical Rocky Balboa fashion. Our montage was done.
We quickly took our triumphant photos, Coco got his top off, the cold winds had already started to bite as we made our way across the threshold of up to down.
In every great saga or journey, only a rare few ever talk about the return journey. As if the way back (or down in our case) doesn’t merit mention. So with that in mind I will be brief.
It sucked. It really sucked. Taking 4 hours to climb and over 5 to descend. The true April Fools Joke coming when we decided to follow a ridge (blatantly ignoring the 10cm high roadblock) and found ourselves on the scariest, slipperiest and none descendible part of the mountain possible. Tears were shed in fear and frustration as we made the long arduous climb back out of death valley. If you ever find yourself descending Thorong La and make it to a fork in the road, one a fearsome trail and the other a picturesque ridge, take the fearsome trail. The ridge is the exotic plant whose pollen is poisonous with barbed leaves, only made beautiful to attract, trap and swiftly kill its victims.
Cold, frustrated and with knees now making a steady, rhythmic cracking. We managed to stumble down to the first village after the pass, where Coco was waiting for us, the faithful friend that he was. Seeking an immediate cure to our blues, we found solace in a cold bottle of Coke and waited for Ged (not to be confused with waiting for God).
After collecting familiar faces, we soon had enough trekkers to form a posse, which is exactly what we did as we raced the home stretch to Muktinath. Caught in the current of the group, we made the journey in under an hour, where we stumbled into the Bob Marley Hotel and the ever triumphant embrace of a bottle of beer and the best shower I’d ever had.
We now had four new Legends to add to our tally. Ged, the experienced English school teacher with more dry wit than a James Bond movie. Coco, the Belgium goat, with an unnatural ability to climb mountains, who ate like a starving man. Tiago, the Portuguese Pirate with cheek to match. And Ana, Tiago’s partner, with a smile and heart bigger than Thorong La Pass itself.
Day 12
Muktinath - Kagbeni
190m ascent / 870m descent
Lodge: Yacdonalds Hotel
With our new team assembled, no challenge was too great for our combined might. So we decided to take the longer way to Kagbeni, climbing back up to the top end of town to cross a bridge over the Jhong Khola and into the unforgiving desert. We passed through interspersed villages of green and brown into Jhong, the former capital of the region with a ruined 14th century fort jutting out of its middle, the old skeleton stabbing into the sky as a final warning to all of the unrelenting nature of time.
A few years ago it wasn’t possible to take the north side pass to Kagbeni, but now the restrictions to the Upper Mustang district are slowly being lifted, like a sheet over an old car, revealing the rare beauty beneath. Our morning stroll soon turned into a midday trudge as the sun steadily heated up the frying pan we were walking on. Feet burning and blisters at bursting point, time slowed, willing us to remain in the desert forever. Our situation only made more apparent by the vulture that appeared overhead as soon as we took a break.
Stuck on our rocky treadmill, it seemed we would never get to Kagbeni as we saw a lush oasis in the far distance. Still too far away to let our hope go free. It wasn’t until our patience was wearing thin that we were greeted by an old, ageing look out on a rocky outcrop, welcoming us to the village of Kagbeni below. The village we saw belonging to … a restricted village in the Upper Mustang. We thanked our gods and turned our back on the mirage, stumbling down the steep rocky cliff to the medieval village, Kagbeni.
We wound our way through the closely packed mud houses and down dark alleys and were soon greeted by Meme (Grandfather) the town’s pre-Buddhist protector, complete with raging erection.
After acquainting ourselves with the locals (human and animal) and finding the cheapest and dustiest beer to wet our stone-dry lips, we sought a place to hang our hats. It didn’t take us long to find Yacdonalds, a previous sign in Jhong alerting us to it’s existence. Since then we’d been envisioning a drive-thru for yaks and shakes as thick as our legs. It wasn’t to be. The menu being the same as most of the places we’d stayed. However, that didn’t stop us from staying there or ordering the vege burger, chips and seabuckthorn juice meal deal. Only reinforcing the idea, that you can take the boy out of the west, but you can’t take the west out of the boy.
Day 13
Kagbeni - Marpha
130m ascent / 340m descent
Lodge: Neeru Guesthouse
We rose early the next day, aware of a great southerly wind that howled up the valley we were trekking down after 11am. But being 7am a soft northern breeze nudged us gently to our destination. We made for the river bed, hoping to find a hundred million year old ammonite uncovered in the silt. With our eyes glued to the floor it didn’t take us long to uncover all kinds of treasure (including the fossil).
However it wasn’t the older than the himalayas fossil that caught my attention, or the phallically inclined buffalo horn. It was the amount of trash littered everywhere. From forgotten shoes to Coke bottles, the waste was significant, serving as a chilling reminder of how much crap we produce as human beings and how important a waste management system is, of which Nepal has none.
It just seems like no one gives a fuck. And we all have a role play in this shitty stage show. The indifferent locals, who just pour their rubbish into their waterways, uneducated (or possibly uncaring) to the impact of plastics in the ecosystem. The hungry hungry tourists, who bring their consumptive habits to a world that cannot handle it, turning a blind eye to the amount of build-up around every town. And Annapurna Conservation Area Project (ACAP for short), the only representative of the government I’ve seen since getting here, who place a single well-hidden bin every 15km or so, which hasn’t been emptied for the last 5 years, along with the occasional inconspicuous sign reminding folks to “care about the environment”. They’re definitely doing their bit.
We all may be responsible, but personally I think it’s the educated who should be leading by example, sharing their knowledge for the betterment of society. Which is by no means an easy thing. Because believe me, a cold, refreshing fizzy, soft drink is pretty damn rewarding after a day of hiking. But if it means polluting the environment, well Coca-Cola can go fuck itself.
We battled our way through Jomsom and onward to Marpha, where Mother Nature was surely punishing us for our crimes against her land by blowing a gale directly into our faces. The message was loud and clear. Marpha finally came into view and we took shelter between the mud-bricked buildings, a peaceful calm descending over us as the wind was left behind to accost some other poor human still out on the trail.
Our path eventually led to Neeru Guesthouse, where we waited for the rest of our tribe to join us. A couple of hours and apple ciders later we were reunited for what was to be our final night together. In the past few days, we’d bonded faster than super glue, even going so far as to get tattoos of each other's names on our ass cheeks. Not really. But it didn’t matter, knowing full well that strong friendships had been forged without the binding quality of a tattoo gun.
We ate our last supper, took our obligatory group photo (one serious, one silly), I wrestled with an 8 year-old, who I am pleased to say I suplexed and KO’d, stayed up as late as our worn bodies would allow and went to bed not without tears in our eyes.
Day 14
Marpha - Larjung
200m ascent / 310m descent
Lodge: Larjung Lodge
A symbolic tear raced down Richelle’s cheek as the era came to an end in a flurry of hugs and promises to visit when we arrived in Europe. We said goodbye to Ana and Tiago and Richelle, Ged, Coco and myself made our way back to the river bed for another exciting day of trekking.
Now fully aware of the winds hate for humankind we started the day with a bit of pace, climbing our way to an unnamed village as light poured over the mountain tops to bathe us in an ethereal light. An old man yelled an incomprehensible jumble of words at us through a haze of smoke – we managed to catch “apples” and “bye bye”.
The old village was perched on top of the hill, with only one guesthouse and no tourists it felt like heaven. The peace broken by an old man throwing rocks at a curious young cow, an all too common scene in Nepal, where the animals shake with fear when a human comes too close.
Making our way back down to the riverbed we were determined to spend most of the day on this short-cut of a surface. A glorious limbo between the main road and the steep winding trails of the mountains. Unfortunately the river planned differently, as it cut our way short forcing us to backtrack up a steeping trail. It took us high above the river into a pine forest, where were protected from the wind. The pines serving as stoic soldiers against the outside world. This is where we lost Ged and Coco as our pace slowed with the ever-steepening gradient of the hill. Thinking they’d raced ahead we continued on, only for them to catch up to us a couple of hours later. It turned out they took a wrong turn. This definitely put some wind in our drooping sails.
Following the red and white blazes, marking the circuit, we eventually made it to the trails tipping point and flowed down the hill, our legs like water as we raced to end this part of our journey. Reunited with Le Chevre and Le Ged, we stopped for lunch before we crossed the mighty Kohla to Larjung. Ged was feeling under the weather upon arrival at the lodge and promptly went to his room. We didn’t see him till the next morning. While Ged slept, my unspoken rivalry with Coco continued. This time putting away the chess board to build houses of cards as quickly as we could.
Day 15
Larjung - Ghasa
200m ascent / 760m descent
Lodge: Florida Guesthouse
We woke slowly the next morning, expecting to leave a little later with Ged in recovery. Only to find the man raring to go, his skin a few tones lighter. After sharing too many details, as usual, we braved the riverbed once more in what was to be an epic showdown between man and wild.
We walked for half a kilometre before the river presented us with its first minor challenge, which we bridged with large rocks from the dry bed. A few more minor navigational leaps and the river finished playing games with us, laying out the final gauntlet for us to pass. Putting our minds and bodies together we were able to heave a makeshift bridge across the fast flowing water. The river beaten, we high-fived each other and retreated to the road where a suspension bridge soon gave us an escape from both.
Once again, we climbed high into the hills, eventually making it to Lake Titi nestled in a valley and ringed by forests of Rhododendrons. Peace and silence prevailed. Continuing on we descended steeply to a vast flood plain and crossed back over the river for the home stretch to Ghasa.
Thunder trumpeted the arrival of rain as we raced along the the slippery trail. In my haste I slipped, where a stinging nettle was waiting to catch my fall. How kind. It was the worst fucking fuck of a fucking pain I have ever fucking felt. Initially I thought I’d broken my hand. After the pain subsided enough for me to continue, we made our way to the guest house. Where I was promptly heckled for my crying, Ged being the main culprit. I wish there was a way to share my pain with him, short of shoving nettle up his ass.
The nettle settled in for the night and I struggled to sleep. The situation only inflamed by a group of 30 loud locals arriving at 1 am in the morning. Richelle wasn’t impressed as she stormed outside and kindly explained to the manager how people trekking for 6 hours a day need actual sleep.
Day 16
Ghasa - Tatopani
90m ascent / 900m descent
Lodge: Dhaulagiri Guesthouse
Our last day with Ged and Coco was here, and my hand throbbed with a steady deephouse bass. The trek was uneventful, but beautiful. The rain from the night before gave everything a gloss coat. Which I slipped on more than a few times.
With Tatopani in sight, again the rain threatened. We were all looking forward to dumping our stuff and getting in the hot springs, of which Tatopani (meaning hot water) is famous for. However it was not to be, with the springs being more like a prison bath than the natural springs that come to mind. Our disappointment transferred to our hotel, which we had decided to leave due to a less than helpful manager and his toad-like wife. Taking our things and moving across the street to the more appealing Dhaulgiri guesthouse, we instantly felt better when we saw the manager smile. A rarity at the Himalaya Hotel across the way.
Being our last evening together, and for the sake of our track record, we sought out a local bar. It was happy (and sad) hour. And pop-corn was complimentary. What more could an exhausted hiker ask for? More photos were taken and we spent a good deal of our time watching the people come and go, especially a well-to-do Nepali woman, who produced mucous with alarming proficiency. I sympathised, having been in the grip of a cold for the last week or so.
Dinner was bitter sweet and I remember little of what was said. I'd become weary of trekking and socialising and just wanted to close myself to the outside world. And my hand was still throbbing away. I needed a new day.
Day 17
Tatopani - Shikha
850m ascent / 70m descent
Lodge: Hotel Peaceful
Goodbyes are hard. Especially if you’re Richelle. She’s always claimed to never like endings and once again her ducts glistened with sadness. The last of our Legends hugged and well-wished. Ged: off to catch a jeep and Coco: still trekking along, just much faster and further than us. The time had come to set The Goat free.
We ate our breakfast and prepared ourselves for the final climb of the circuit. 1700 metres up to Ghorepani, a tourist town that sits below the ever popular Poon Hill. Though we wouldn’t be making the whole journey in one day, we weren’t idiots or goats.
Climbing from Tatopani, the environment changed from sub-tropical to tropical jungle. We were surrounded by banana trees and thousands upon thousands of shades of green. Moisture clung to the air as the day got steamy, forcing us to zip down to shorts.
The climb continued ever upward causing frequent stops to gather ourselves. Although breathing came easier than on the Pass, due to our much lower altitude and new found mountain lungs. Passing through small villages and collections of children we finally got to Shikha, a small village about half-way up the climb. We stayed with a woman and her nephew who was on school holiday from Pokhara. He was eager to take part in the managing process and his alacrity amused us.
Reaching our goal quite early in the day, we took the opportunity to sit back and relax. We whittled the day away next to the kitchen with our noses in our books occasionally watching the most recent episode of Village Life. This week, Aunty’s Nephew comes to town and gets up-close and personal with the beak of a chicken. Chaos ensues. Everyone laughs.
I forgot to mention that a small drama of our own was taking place in the background of our trek. Richelle had left her Kindle in our room at Thorong Phedi. The hardest place to reach along the circuit, besides Thorong La itself. We’d been intermittently trying to call them in vain, with various moments of breakthrough. Unfortunately we’d come to a standstill and things were up in the air, until we reached the more serviced town of Pokhara. Richelle, not one to be known for having no book to read, promptly pilfered The Girl On The Train from one of the lodges. I believe in Marpha. At that moment she was devouring it with gusto.
We soon went to bed in our small mud shed with Jesus standing over us, protecting us from our sins. As well as the rain that’d returned and was now attempting to break through our tin roof. A sound that needs no help from the Sandman to get me to sleep.
Day 18
Shikha - Ghorepani
900m ascent / 20m descent
Lodge: Hotel Hilltop
Light was breaking through the slats in our walls, when we woke. A sign that Jesus had done his duty and given us a glorious day as compensation for our hovel. A quick breakfast and we were off. The extra 800 metres of climbing giving spirit to our whining calves. The view was enough to forget our woes for the moment as we crossed rice paddies, terraced farms and thick forests of Rhododendron, backdropped by Annapurna South and Dhaulagiri. Ever so slowly making our way up to Ghorepani.
It really did prove to be a wonderful day. If we’d had access to a beach and a place to toss our hiking boots, I don’t doubt we would’ve. However our boots stayed tightly bound to our feet as we climbed higher and higher. The hill steepening with every step. Until at last we reached Ghorepani. In my competitive nature, I led us to the highest hotel in the town, aptly named Hotel Hilltop. Where we promptly kicked off our boots, as promised, and celebrated with beer and chocolate.
It’s a wonderful feeling after 18 days of trekking with a reasonable weight on your back to know that you won’t be doing anymore climbing. I thought back to all the porters we’d passed (and been passed) by and felt a mixture of admiration, sadness and loathing. My thoughts mulled the life of a porter. A semi-decent job for any Nepali man. But one that surely symbolised the true proletarians. A lower class being that struggled for the money and health of the privileged. All the Communist Party of Nepal signs I’d seen along the way, started to make sense. These poor fools. Desperate to earn a better life by doing a job they surely hated. I wonder what happens to your back with a 30kg load constantly pulling down on your neck? I have visions of an accordion slowly being squeezed. I was yet to see a porter over the age of 30.
We sat in the sun and I taught Richelle to play chess. I’m not much of a teacher and I’m afraid I left the poor girl feeling more confused about the game than ever before. It also didn’t help that everyone suddenly became a chess teacher at that very moment. We turned back to reading (Richelle had traded Girl on the Train for Lust for Life – A novel about Vincent Van Gogh), and watched the hotel steadily fill with miscellaneous tourists.
Our last night on the circuit called for something special – lasagna and spaghetti. Which wasn’t half bad, considering the location and price. Getting a healthy serving of carbs and an early night was essential for our 4:30 climb to Poon Hill in the morning.
Day 19
Ghorepani - Pokhara
0m ascent / 1900m descent
The sounds of excited yelling woke me. It was 4. And I pounded the wall hard to shut it up. If I was going to wake early, it would be on my own terms. Not some inconsiderate tourist’s. Our alarm was set for 4:30. I glanced out the window and could already see a steady stream of headlamps bobbing up the path. The fireflies had returned and in greater numbers. Abandoning the alarm I woke Richelle and we donned our headlamps, all too aware of the large crowds that Poon Hill was known to draw.
There’s now a 50 cent fee to get to the top. Fortuitously for us, unaware to this new fee, we’d left our money at home. Combined with the great crawl of people behind us and the time of the day, the ticket attendant really didn’t care. As long as the masses paid, a few beggars could slip through the cracks. It’s worth adding that Poon Hill is one of the most popular trip for tourists in Nepal. It offers the thrill of a trek and the gasp of the mountains without the multi-week commitment of the other treks. Which is why there were a butt-load of people.
Pushing up the mountain was a cinch for us. After all, we had no packs and we’d just hiked over 200km. As many tourists wavered, we powered on. Steaming to the 3100 metre summit of Poon Hill. There we waited amongst the buzzing tourists, a drone that grew ever louder as the sun began to rise over the Manaslu, Annapurna and Dhaulagiri mountain ranges.
Richelle proved her true genius at this moment, when she revealed her ace: a packet of peanut biscuits she’d purchased the day before. I would have kissed her. If my face wasn’t filled with cookies. We watched the sunrise and audibly gasped, like everyone else, as it climbed the last peak to bathe us in it’s god-like light. No wonder people worship this shit. Oh mighty round shiny orb please tell us what to do!
Letting our fingers and toes thaw for a moment we abandoned the riot and made our way back down the anthill. Our first taste of the descent to come. I may have mentioned this earlier, but descending is harder than ascending. Let me give you an example of what it feels like. Go to your nearest wall, preferably one that won’t dent or break easily, and repeatedly bang your toes and knees against it. Ignore the complaints from disgruntled neighbours and continue for the next 5 to 6 hours. Presto. You are now attuned to the wonderful feeling of descending over 2000 metres in a single day.
Again, I won’t bore you with the details. But 6 hours later we arrived in Naya Pul, the final stop. before heading back to Pokhara. Our energy used on the hill, knees aching in protest and skin red from the unforgiving sun. We were spent. But we were happy. After 19 days of trekking we’d accomplished the first of our myriad of monstrous goals for the year. Annapurna Circuit. Thats a great big tick.
Not in the mood to catch the very public bus, we shared a cab back to Pokhara with a couple of locals. And we all lived happily ever after, especially the cab driver who was 20 bucks richer.