Trek Part 2 - Just Day 4

Day 4 (May 9th): Up at 6:30 after a decent sleep, just a few wake-ups which are to be expected for cold tent sleeping. Indians chatted loudly long after my dad and I tried going to sleep last night, and they woke us around 5am with more animated yapping. The cold and discomfort seemed not to bother them much. (Three of them, however, - mother, father, daughter - turned back on day 2, as the father had mountain sickness and the 6 year old child constantly needed to be carried by a porter.) Feet started bothering me a little by the end of the previous day - "Cadillac" boots pretty good but not perfect. (In fact, my two big toes are still numb, and have been since mid-trek. We've now been back for 5 days. Look forward to feeling them again.)

Very cold morning, did a few warm-up exercises with the Indians, and set off around 8:30. Gorgeous blue, sunny sky, but still have 3 layers of pants, 5 layers of tops, mitts, hat and scarf. Met Maximus along way, an Italian living in a London ashram who came to India and became a Sadhu (those who renounce to all material possessions, and generally have long dreads and wear long orange robes). Papa had an interesting spiritual talk with him, as I photographed them from behind. Pit-stop around 10:30, where we decided to split from the group of Indians. We were near the Gomuk glacier at this point (where we had walked to yesterday), and had two choices for reaching Tapovan: we could cross the rapidly flowing river, knee-deep in icy-cold water, and take a steep "path" up to Tapovan valley; or we could walk across the glacier a little further, which would take about an hour more. What drew papa most to this trek was being able to walk along the glacier, so he was set on the second option. I agreed, as I was not interested in the cold river-crossing, nor the ridiculously steep hike on the other side. The Indians all opted for the shortcut. Since we had our own guide, we were able to split from the group. We watched the entertaining process of their river-crossing, then headed towards the glacier. Even with a guide, we weren't always sure exactly where to go. You must be very careful on a glacier - to avoid falling in a crevasse or walking on a piece of ice that could break off. We managed pretty well, and better than the sherpas who came this way. They thought they spotted a good path, but it only led them to a huge crevasse that could not be crossed. They had to backtrack quite a ways. We all eventually made it safely across the glacier, but what came next would prove a little more troublesome - at least for me.

We stopped for lunch around 1:30, at the bottom of the last stretch of hike before Tapovan. I was a nervous wreck just staring at what was ahead. A quivering lump of fear had lodged itself in my throat. I was looking at a long vertical gully, the only "path" leading to the valley where our camp was set up. It was basically a ditch in the mountain face, created from running water and erosion. It was similar to the path that was awaiting the Indian group after their river-crossing. I thought our glacier walk was leading us to a more reasonable way up to the valley. No such luck. I tried to gather a little mental courage after lunch and began the climb. I was trembling from the very start. You'd think a few years of rock-climbing would have prepared me for this, but the difference - a very crucial one! - is that I was not attached to any rope here. A wrong move when rock-climbing is not so bad when you have a rope to support you if you fall; but a wrong move while going up this gully could mean a long a painful tumble a long way down. Almost every rock I attempted to hold onto was unstable and would break away from the ground as I tentatively placed my foot on it or grabbed hold of it. I managed - shakily - to get partway up, but at one point I was standing vertically in a star position, both hands and both feet on rocks that rested loosely on the sand and earth, seeing no possibility for my next move. I stayed there, frozen with fear, as I heard and saw large rocks rolling down the gullies to my left and my right. I couldn't bring myself to move, and the tears started flowing. I was terrified my foot holds would slip and I'd go tumbling down the ravine, or that a rock from above would start tumbling towards me. Papa and Rohit were a ways ahead, apparently much less bothered by the precarious hike than I was. A few mountaineers who were heading down noticed my frozen state, and called up to Papa and Rohit: "Someone should come down and help her, she's not moving." Rohit, being our guide, came to my rescue. It took him quite some time to convince me to make a move, but after several tentative and teary attempts, I finally took a deep breath - and Rohit's outstretched hand - and stepped up onto what was anything but solid ground. I didn't go tumbling down. Well, that was one step of progress, but we were still far from the top. I'd get stuck several more times, with trembling legs and nearing hyper-ventilation. Papa had time to get all the way to the top, put down his heavy pack, and come back down to meet me about halfway. There was a small waterfall where we met, which was quite a relief, as my throat was so dry from the heavy breathing that I could hardly swallow. Papa and Rohit tried to calm me down, but it was hopeless. They kept suggesting that I stop and take deep breaths and quit crying (the blurred vision from the tears didn't help matters - couldn't see where I was going... not that I really wanted to). I didn't want to stop, all I wanted was to get to the top. The whole hike from bottom to top of the gully can take about 20 minutes. It took me well over an hour.

Yes, I made it to the top. No rocks fell on me, and apart from a few minor (albeit adrenaline pumping) slips, I was always moving upward. I have never been so relieved to walk on flat solid ground. As papa and I made our way along the path (no quotation marks required here!), I was so overwhelmed with relief and emotional - much more than physical - exhaustion that my eyes welled up with tears again. Just minutes later, we could see our tents in the distance, and the terrifying hike suddenly became absolutely, 100% worthwhile. Ahead of us was a spectacular open meadow, a kilometer wide, surrounded by high snowy peaks, the path leading to our campsite dotted with tiny bright purple alpine flowers. Ahhhhhh, beauty. Even with with the grey sky and light drizzle that had begun when we reached the top of the gully, the sight was still breathtaking. When we got to camp and people asked us how the hike went, I was perfectly honest. By the time we got our daily late afternoon tea and cookies, the drizzle had turned to snow. And by dinner time, the ground and the tents were covered in a white blanket. We sought shelter in our tents for the rest of night, where papa decided to have a "shower": washed as much of himself as he could with a few wet wipes. That's as good as it gets when you're in a tent and it's below zero outside. I was so bundled up for bed that night that I had trouble zipping up my sleeping bad. Felt like the Micheline Man.

Day 4 of the trek was on May 9th, the anniversary of my mother's death. Papa and I had a beautiful moment of emotional music meditation in her memory. My mind was finally beginning to calm from the day's events. But as I tried falling asleep that night, it all came rushing back. My mind distinctly recreated the sound of tumbling rocks and I couldn't help but imagine my feet slipping and my body falling. These thoughts tormented me as lightning cracked and thunder roared outside. Unbelievably enough, I managed to fall asleep that night. There was high-pitched ringing in my ears and I had a pretty severe headache, but the sleep was decent and I was thankful not to have had any nightmares about tumbling down a gully or being crushed by falling rocks. Small gratitudes in times of despair.