The morning of the summit was all dolled up in its best colors, a perfect picture postcard of mountain charm and clear blue skies. It was one of those mornings that teased us with a 'let's-see-what-you've-got' grin. Weather was good. The air pulsed with a tango of excitement and jitters.
Like I mentioned earlier, plan for the day was
- Slight late wake up call today at 7am
- Tea/Breakfast and a round of briefings
- Gear training
- Lunch and Rest
- 10pm Start for the summit
--- Next day --
- 6am Summit (weather dictating)
- Noon: We planned to return to base camp
- Rest of the day: Rest to recuperate from the arduous ascent.
After lunch, our trek leader and support team introduced us to the array of gear needed to negotiate the high-altitude conditions, particularly in areas with abundant snow. We were allocated our gear after a comprehensive training session. Heeding my tentmate's advice, I tried each piece of equipment to confirm its functionality. To my astonishment, most were compromised in some way, but I was able to exchange them.
Intermittent snowfall prompted us to retire to our tents. My thoughts raced as I packed my bag for the final push, the gravity of every added gram in my backpack bearing heavily on my mind. I scrutinized every food item, analyzing its necessity. Somewhat surprisingly, my nerves didn't keep me awake, and I managed to steal a few hours of sleep that afternoon. The previous night's dreams, mostly centered around my family, swirled in my mind as I considered whether I'd ever again commit to such a demanding trek. Perhaps the thin air was to blame for this unusual introspection.
Seeking tranquility, I wandered to the nearby stream in the late afternoon and let the peaceful ambience wash over me. Tales of high-altitude treks and their potential perils - upset stomachs, dehydration - reverberated in my head. I resolved to be in top form, a decision that inevitably stoked my nerves. My experienced tentmate shared invaluable advice, which calmed me somewhat.
In the evening at routine oxygen checks, it was clear that two of the team members won't be able to join. Their Oxygen levels were low and there were signs of AMS. It could have been a huge risk to take them higher. Another member who was the most experienced and strongesr trekker among us also had to drop the plan after developing AMS signs. Although he was allowed to walk with group till the Advanced base camp.
Our ascent began punctually at 10pm, the dark sky an ominous backdrop to our long, steep climb. I will split this journey story into three parts
1. The long walk
It began as fairly easy walk on the leveled ground for half an hour or so. It was quite a scene to see bunch of trekkers with mounted head-torches marching in discipline and in a sort of rhythm on a dark night with bone chilling wind.
Before long, the gentle path took a steep turn upwards. What followed was a seemingly endless march that tested the limits of our endurance. On the surface, I appeared to be holding up well, but beneath, I was grappling with unexpected discomfort. A gnawing stomachache was making its presence felt, an unwelcome intruder on our journey. It felt as if the high altitude and my mounting anxiety were messing with my mental clarity.
While switching gloves during a brief respite, I managed to misplace my woolen glove liners. It wasn't until a few moments later that I noticed it's absence. But given the task at hand, I had neither the luxury to stop and look for them, nor did the absence pose a serious threat to my comfort. So, with a mental shake of my head, I dismissed the trivial mishap and refocused my energy on the climb.
In due time, we found ourselves at the Advanced Base Camp. If my memory serves me right, we halted here for a short break. Meanwhile, my stomachache seemed to reach a crescendo, perfectly in sync with our growing altitude.
2. the best part
Moving beyond the Advanced Base Camp, the path ahead became even more challenging. The slope turned steeper, but ironically, this phase proved to be the best part for me, both physically and mentally. My relentless stomachache seemed to vanish as if by magic.
We encountered colossal glaciers and gaping crevasses, their awe-inspiring enormity lending an extra edge to our climbing odyssey. The path continued to test us, but every hurdle crossed filled me with a sense of achievement, driving me to face what lay ahead.
It was a long long walk. Every break I kept hearing about someone or other turning back. I kept going. I remembered to sip water to avoid dehydration and once in a while eat a little for energy.
My heart rate started going alarming high.
3. UP in the thin air
We were close. A few hundred meters more, and we would be at the summit. Yet, my heart was pounding alarmingly, a stark reminder of the reality of our situation. Taking breaks after every few steps became our norm as we reached the shoulder of the mountain.
The summit was now within sight, a mere 200 to 400 meters away. We stopped for a breather before the final push, the thin, biting air acting as a sharp reminder of our precarious circumstances. One of the staff members fell ill and decided to return from there. There were now just a handful of us and it was perhaps a push for last few minutes.
I realized that my heart was beating crazy fast. Perhaps I had pushed way too much. One of the trekkers had a bad knee and was literally dragging himself. Fortunately for me, legs and rest of the body was all fine. However at this point I was unsure of this palpitation. I could turn back and safely reach camp. Or I can carry on with racing heart for some more time and reach the summit.
I had a couple of minutes to decide. At this height, we were up in the air, completely exposed and with ever changing weather we were not allowed wait there for more than five minutes. Few more seconds and my heart beats were not slowing down. I thought of all the promises I made to the my people. May be I could push myself but that would be sure a risk. So I decide to stop and turn back from there. I moved to the trek leader and conveyed him my decision. He said "Shekhar bhai, bas itna rah gaya hai (Just a little bit left), I am sure you can do it". I didn't want to risk it by pushing further. I explained him and he agreed. I wished everyone good luck the group of handful trekker. They resumed climbing.
I joined the staff member who was sick and was to head back. We took a little break to have a look at the stunning view. Sun was about to rise. I clicked a few photographs. My hands were shaking, I didn't realize then but the photographs all came out super blurry.
Was I bummed out? Not at all. What really matters is living to tell the story.
Mountaineering history is full of stories about climbers who were on the brink of making big waves, but had to back down just before reaching their long-awaited goal. One tale that mountain enthusiasts remember well is the 1933 Everest trip led by Frank Smythe. Imagine Smythe, just 1000 feet away from the top of the world, looking up at the tantalizingly close peak. But instead of pushing ahead, he decided to turn back. These stories echo in the mountaineering world, showing us that the real win isn't in beating the mountain, but in living to tell the story.
Smythe's Everest tale has another spooky twist - the appearance of the "Third Man Factor". As fatigue and altitude sickness started to wear him down, he felt the very real presence of an unseen friend, a ghostly third person guiding and comforting him as he came down. This mind trick, caused by extreme stress and loneliness, feels as real as the harsh cold or the sound of snow crunching under boots. It shows how our minds can make up a friend in the loneliest of times.
Thinking about this, I remember another powerful survival story, shown in the movie 'Touching the Void'. Joe Simpson, the climber, also felt the Third Man Factor when he was fighting for his life in the Peruvian Andes. This invisible friend, a made-up voice, kept him going when he was about to throw in the towel, giving him the strength to keep living. This movie is a must-watch for anyone curious about how far human strength can go. As a mountain lover, I'm drawn to these stories, and 'Touching the Void' holds a special spot in my heart. I can't recommend it enough.
As we descended, the stunning views were our reward for the grueling ascent. Descent was really fast. Weather was on our side. So barring minor slips on the way, before noon we were back at base camp. The weather turned bad around this point. The group who summited had hard time reaching back to the base camp. Eventually one by one they reached. We all celebrated our success.
Next day, we started our return journey to Leh. We crossed picturesque Markha valley. I have never seen such breathtaking and colorful landscapes.
I have achieved far more than what I originally set out to do. This marks the highest I have ever climbed.
I've had the privilege of being an audience to nature's masterstroke, beholding vistas of such exquisite beauty that they defy description. This endeavor, this personal triumph, is more than a mere accomplishment for me.
Will I come to the mighty Dzo Jongo again or will attempt something like this? May be.. who knows?
Until then, 🤗
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