Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Into Thin Air

As I read Jon Krakauer's book of the same name when I began my trek, I'd never quite imagined I'd end up asking myself pretty much the same questions the book poses- what is it about the Everest that compells people to throw caution to the wind, ignore the concerns of loved ones, and willingly subject oneself to such risk, hardship, and expense?

It took me going through all this and more to come up with a bunch of answers which I can't really say are conclusive. The first definite sign of what I was taking up was the plane crash at Lukla, the first stop that serves as the base for the beginning of the Everest Base Camp trek. Just when I was waiting to leave for the airport came the news of the first ever accident on the Lukla airstrip that had left all twenty German and Swiss trekkers dead, along with two Nepalis. The flights for the day were cancelled and I was shaken up realising that I had insisted on being on the first flight but somehow got the second one. I did gather myself and leave after two days on the trek I'd longed for. Starting on a curious/energetic note, at the end of it, I can say that somewhere along the line it peters down to a test of endurance of the mind. Walking for abt 9 hrs on an average each day does not even count. It's the rising altitude that can play more with your body, as much as the mind. There are sunburns despite SPF 50 creams, nose bleeds are common and so are maddening headaches. You can't eat or sleep, but need to force yourself to do both. Your reflexes become slow and the ability to decide whether you want a boiled egg or a scrambled egg reduces drastically. Probably the only senses the trek would appeal to would be your vision, that meets scenes that the most drugged minds cannot conjure.

All this does not even begin to entitle me to compare my effort with those for whom base camp is not the end but the beginning of their ascent. While I carefully walked on the landslide prone glacier at the base, I was thrilled to see my first avalanche on the mountain across. I was filled with regret and guilt over my thrill when I heard of three climbers who were killed by one the same night. I still think of the phantasmal beauty of Sagarmatha that can kill at will, and wonder how such power can be masked by such deceiving beauty.

I have known and met people who asked me why I chose to go at all, and I'm afraid I have no answer for them. Non-trekkers might label expeditions as a mere adventure, or just something different to do, but its beyond me to put into words how this wasn't the thrill one gets in a bungee jump, or any adrenaline sport, because it isn't one. I met people with disabilities and people at the sunset of their lives, slowly crawling to the top. I don't think it was to prove anything to anyone, but maybe a test of their own will. More than the beauty of the mountains, I was moved by this will of the human spirit. I would willinglingy subject myself to it all over again, if for nothing else but to experience this spirit of those who are invited up there. If the hardship were any less than what it was, something would probably be amiss, for that is not the way of great mountains.