After following the river for a few hundred metres and passing porters carrying heavy loads of sawn wood, the path began to rise and the rhododendrons were coming into bloom so the section of our walk leading up to Tengboche was significantly more colourful than expected and the angle of ascent up to the monastery was relieved somewhat by their beauty. Reaching the top of the hill we took lemon ginger tea at one of the tea houses that accompany the monastery. This restful 20 minutes or so was spent by Tim recalling a couple of amazing episodes from his time in Northern Nepal, in the Dolpo region.
One of these related to a time when he was unwell with a seriously upset stomach, as was another girl of the village in which he was staying. After several days Tim was fortunate enough to get some antibiotics which may have begun to fight his infection but the same was not the case for the girl who remained very ill and was actually regressing. After a few days the local healer, an old woman from a nearby village, came by and was asked to look at the pair. After a short examination, sitting them back to back she braided several strands of their hair together; Tim's fair hair with the girl's dark hair. Upon completion she lay her hands upon each of their heads, looked skywards and croaked loudly 'kwok', 'kwok', 'KWOK' throwing her hands forcibly upwards in the final exhortation. Within 48 hours both Tim and the girl were perfectly fit and well. In Tim's case this could of course have been the effect of the drugs but none were taken by the girl.
Another, perhaps even more incredible but compelling story related to an unknown affliction that impacted a whole village. He witnessed first hand the healer, in this case a man, gather all those feeling Ill within the village in one section of the communal shelter then while holding aloft a small rice bowl utter an incantation in an olden tongue. As his chanting reached a crescendo he brought the bowl down with a crash as if to trap a poisonous creature within the bowl. Saying 'I have it, I have it!', he then continued to chant for a few minutes. He was unaware that a western friend of Tim's, Michael, had arrived at the entrance to the shelter and at the instant the healer dramatically raised the bowl once more with an exaltation of banishment in a strange and unforgiving tongue, Michael was physically knocked back against the door jamb. He recovered in time to see a blinding ball of light about the size of an egg streak from the bowl, bounce several times around the room then zip out of the door in front of his face and dissipate. By the end of the day the ailment inflicting the village was no more.
You may choose not to believe this but Tim assured me of its authenticity. Doesn't it just make you want to go there?
Moving on from our break we continued towards Namche Bazaar, once more revelling in the joy of a well made and for the most part not too precipitous track. There were a few sections however that required a little more effort, not least that which descended 600m to the river at the amusingly named suspension bridge at Phunki Tanga before climbing 300m back up to the beautiful hamlet of Kyangjuma.
While we were enjoying the lunchtime hospitality of Tashi and her husband at the Ama Dablam Lodge & Restaurant a call came through to the team from our agent back in Kathmandu. The message was straightforward and the implication was profound. There were no seats available on any flights from Lukla to Kathmandu on Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. This meant that we had to get to Lukla this evening (Sunday), rather than tomorrow which had been the plan. Thus instead of a steady stroll into Namche over the next couple of hours we now faced a nominal 10 hour trek which had to be completed in order to secure flights on Monday morning. These had been reserved for us but unless we put in a personal appearance at Lukla that evening the seats would be reassigned and we would be stuck. It was then around 1 pm, it was scheduled to get dark at 7pm, and the forecast was for heavy rain from late afternoon.
Aaaaaargh!
With no time to lose we bolted our lunch, filled water bottles, bade farewell to Tashi who presented us all with kata scarves to keep us safe, shouldered our rucksacks, and shipped out in double-quick time!
Tim and I led the charge, with Ellis and Alex, Rob and MK close behind. Heaven only knew where Tim M, Scoot and Chris were but we had no choice but to leave that issue with the agent. ('Scoot' was actually called Scott but his name was spelled wrongly by some clown on the climbing permit and Scoot stuck.) As Paul and Ingo had left base camp the previous day they would already be planning to get to Lukla this day so there was no issue with them, and 'Bulks', Dan and Nigel had paid for the chopper out.
Tim reckoned if we got a blast on we could cover the ground in 6 hours rather than 10 but it would be a full-on charge with just a short break every hour. He was particularly keen to get to Lukla before dark and to avoid as much of the rain as probable. I agreed with him but targeted 6:55 as Happy Hour finished at 7!
Off down the track we went, no horses spared. We could see Namche Bazaar in the distance and the flat broadly level track that contoured around the hillside towards it. Bustling past trekkers and showing less concern for the meanderings of yaks than hitherto we belted along the well maintained stone-slab path high above the Dudh Koshi river, completely ignoring the last view of Everest, and made Namche in about 1 hour, roughly half the time allowed in most trekkers schedules. Inevitably Tim knew quite few people in the town all of whom seemed to know we were arriving and conspired to delay our progress down the steep slab steps and through the town. Stopping only for as long as necessary not to appear rude we pressed on, via a little shop to take on board supplies of sugary sweets, dried fruit and chocolate bars we continued. Our feet were already complaining of the battering they were getting on the rock and cobbles but that couldn't be helped. It was make Lukla in good time today or be stuck until Friday at the earliest. No thank you! Let's get outta here pronto!
Out of Namche the track goes down, down and further down, normally for a full hour before finally reaching the Dudh Koshi river valley. Needless to say we did it more quickly, catching and overtaking Alex and Ellis who had got in front while we were delayed in Namche. They nonetheless kept close to us now and for a while we were a band of 4 loonatics racing pell-mell down the steep and slippery path through the woods, or at least that is how we must have appeared to those poor souls struggling up the other way who were swamped by our dust as we crashed past. For most of the trip down I was in the lead and looking back occasionally the only person I would see was Tim. Then Tim disappeared and I only saw Alex. Next time I only saw Ellis. Strange, I thought. Slowing down at last I realised that while I was on a path it showed less wear than previously. Ellis caught up and we looked concernedly at each other. By this time we were at river valley level. Sure enough we'd missed a turning and looking up we saw Tim over a hundred feet above beckoning us back. 'Are you sure'? A slow and exaggerated nod came back. 'If you're having a laugh there'll be trouble!' A evil chuckle. 'No way! - we're carrying on as there is a path here and it must go somewhere'. A wave of the hand in the general direction we were travelling was his response. So on we went. Sure enough after a couple of hundred metres we came to a suspension bridge festooned with prayer flags and kata scarves. Looking up we saw another many metres higher. We had clearly used the old route, missing the turning for the new route. No harm was done. Reaching the other side and just about to climb up to Tim's level we met a local man who assured us that in the dry season the lower route was quicker. Due to the deepness and narrow width of the river gorge there was no telephone signal so had no way of letting anyone know where we were. So we continued at valley floor level, slipping and sliding over slimy round damp river boulders for an agonising 300 metres or so. At least it was cool down here but that didn't stop the sweat streaking our bodies as we belted along revelling in the richness of the atmosphere. Eventually seeing another suspension bridge ahead a lone figure could be made out just beginning to cross from left to right. Increasing my speed to a near run, almost suicidal in the conditions but essential in order to see who it was on the bridge, I got close enough to see that, as expected, it was Tim and a shout was raised to alert him. After a few minutes I was on the bridge and having crossed took a good water break and some sweets. Ellis caught up after minutes, followed by Alex, who had taken a wrong turning too, 10 minutes later.
Off we went together again, with the next targets being the police and Army checkpoint at Jorsale and the entrance to the Sagarmatha National Park at Monjo. By this time the weather had turned and the sky threatened rain, but we were moving too fast and hot to care. With hot feet feet and toes wincing with every knock or twist on the unforgiving pebbles, loose rock and wild paths along which we travelled way too fast, we made the police post by 3:20. I guess we must have approached like fugitives on the run as the soldiers on duty checked our papers very carefully and questioned us closely before relaxing. We of course explained who we were and why we were travelling so fast and were rewarded with big laughs, knowing nods, and a cheerful wave through. Likewise at the park gate which we reached at 3:30.
Clattering through Monjo and trying to ignore the pain in our feet we had made good time in that 4.5 hours of trek had been covered in 2.5 hours. But we still weren't even half-way and the path to date had been predominantly either down or gently undulating. Furthermore while there had been no rain it was growing very dark. It wasn't going to get any easier.
Leaving Monjo, while the route continued to be heading downward over the long term, it comprised a whole series of quite steep upward sections alternating with steep declines. Up, down, up and down all the time. It was a nightmare. As sore on the toes in either direction the little hamlets of Chumowa, Benkar, and Tok Tok came and went in a blur. Somehow we avoided the rain ourselves but to add insult to injury not all the areas we crashed through had fared as well. The ground was now wet, which meant the rocky paths were slippery and the sandy paths were waterlogged. As it was still hot, Tim estimated around 28°C, it was steamy. In order to maximise my visual accuracy to cope with travelling at a daft speed over ankle-twisting rocks I had kept my glasses on rather that using contact lenses. However with the sweat pouring off my face and the mugginess of the atmosphere I was steaming up. This, added to the growing overcast, made for a dangerous combination and I called to Tim for a short break in the tiny village of Rimjung. Quickly putting my lenses in and grabbing a drink it felt like a formula 1 pit stop and we were off again towards Phakding. My change of visuals proved timely as now the rain did start. Only slowly but rain it did and if anything the route through the hamlets of Ghat and Thado was even more of a switchback than previously; but at least it was still overall descending. From Thado it would go upwards. Nominally a 2.5 hour trek we had around 2 hours in which to complete it. There was a steep section for about 40 minutes, followed by broadly upward undulations for 40 minutes, with a further 40 minutes of straight climb. We were looking ok for 7 but blimey it was hard work.
Tim was faster up the hills than me although I usually caught up along the flat, sometimes needing to jog in order to do so. To take my mind off the pain in my toes I was counting steps reaching over a thousand upward steps before becoming bored. There was no time for 'step, breath, step, breath'. This was 'step, step, step, step'. But we were doing ok and mercifully the rain had stopped and the skies lifted a little.
As we approached Cheplung I knew that the first steep section was over and we had around an hour to hit our target. Just through the village we came to a natural spring and I was out of water. Tim and I agreed that in light of what lay ahead we should take a decent rest. Gulping water and forcing down grain bars and sugar sweets we stopped for about 10 minutes. This was longer than ideal but necessary to prepare for one last push. Then it was off and within 10 minutes or so we hit the final climb to Lukla Gate. One, step, two, step, three, step, four, step. On and on into the gathering gloom up the path. Still heavily cobbled and increasingly sore at least the path was well made with rock and therefore even though it was getting quite dark towards the end we didn't need our head-torches.
Finally we could see Lukla Gate ahead and with a last few steps we heaved ourselves through it. Peering ahead we could see the village of Lukla in the murk. There are no street lights here but our watches clearly showed we had made it before 7. Shaking hands briefly before abandoning that for a man hug Tim and I beamed at each other through the sweat before shuffling through the town like John Wayne with bunions on both feet. We reached our hostel a few minutes later. It turned out to be the last one in the village and as we opened the door the clock on the wall showed exactly 7 pm. We had done it!
Tim ordered a tea while I had a cold beer. Never had either tasted better!
Then joy of joys within 5 minutes Paul and Ingo came in from having a look around the village and the level of hugging and congratulations had to be seen to be believed. These are such great guys and we were so pleased that they were here. Having refreshed ourselves we checked our feet to find not a single blister. Not even a hot spot. Soreness from the constant bashing on the rocks of course but no damage at all!
At about 7:25 Alex came in and the hugs and congrats took off again. Then at 8 we saw Ellis. Though a little later than us his time was amazing as he had taking a wrong turn in the dark and gone some distance out of his way, uphill, towards the monastery above Phakding.
Shortly after Rob and MK arrived. Again this was a great performance given that Rob had business in Namche which had delayed him and he was also carrying a heavier rucksack than us.
Thus ended what must have been the most expensive trek to Everest base camp and back in history. There will be a few more blogs as I know from previous experience that some of you like to hear about the city and other post-expedition goings-on, however this marks the end of the main part of our trip.
Kathmandu here we come!