The trek to Everest Base Camp was replete with cleansing,
meditative days. The beauty that struck me came in many forms: the view of
Phortse village with the Khumbu in the background, the expanse stretching out
from the summit of Gokyo Ri, Ama Dablam and her matriarchal command over the
valley. But of all the sights of my twenty-one day trek, the view from Kala
Patthar was the one that, like the wind there, nearly knocked me over.
I started to Kala Patthar from Gorak Shep, already at
an altitude of 5,000 meters. I had met two Buddhist lamas on the way to Everest
Base Camp and now we endeavored to reach the 5,550 meter summit of Kala Patthar
together. One might conclude that being in the company of monks added an
element of spirituality to the journey, but that was not the case. As much as
their jovial smiles and flapping maroon robes added a certain quintessence to
the Himalayan experience, the truth is that I quickly parted from them as they,
unaccustomed to hiking at altitude, walked very slowly.
Again on the uphill climb, I found myself alone. Well-acclimatized
after two months of hiking in the Himalayas, I was not at risk of getting
altitude sickness. That did not give the air any more oxygen, however. Just
like everyone else, I labored to breathe with every step. The late afternoon
wind forced me to zip my jacket to its apex, so that only my cheeks and eyes
were exposed.
There was no snow on this section of the hike. The
wind pushed it off of the slope and the morning sun had melted what was left. There
was a well-trodden dirt path, easy to follow, and it was not long before I
reached the prayer flags that marked the top.
The view was all mine and mine alone for that brief
period of time. Or, better stated, I was owned by the view, by the vastness of
the Khumbu range. I was a mite propped up on the mountaintop by some benevolent
force that brought a whole life to a literal ascension, setting me at the
highest point I had ever been.
I looked out, astounded by the stark beauty, full of
wonder: How is it that a boy of fourteen-years old can read Into Thin Air and dream of the storied
history of Everest and these surrounding peaks and now at thirty-three—a man—he
was sitting across from her? What serendipitous fate brought it all together so
elegantly? Being there, ensconced among the talus, was not a dream that I
sought and struggled toward. It’s as if as soon as I closed the pages of that
book, I had casually ridden a seventeen-year, lazy stream that carried me there.
Even then, as the wind caterwauled against my jacket, as I watched the clouds
rip from Everest’s summit, I only vaguely understood that I was in that hallowed
place, and that now it became my turn to reflect on what it meant, on the
adventures that had led me there.
It was a terrible place for my camera to run out of
batteries. But the bad luck also sanctified the moment. It made it one that I
had to internalize, making it mine in memory alone. As a result, despite
leaving behind the monks, I did find mindfulness. Thirsty to remember all of
the details of that beauty, I paid special attention to the chill on the wind,
to the sound of the prayer flags; I watched Everest keenly, memorizing the
pewter sky behind her and imagining the short distance from the summit to the
limits of the Earth’s atmosphere.
I also thought about that boy that I was. What would
he think of his chance to be in such a place? Had I been there when I was
fourteen, would I have appreciated it as I did now? Or did the seventeen years
in between prepare me better? Did my experience in other mountains in the
world—the strength built up in my legs and lungs, the knowledge of just how unique
these were—make my experience more vivid? Was this therefore the culmination of
a pilgrimage that I had been on, but was unaware of the whole time?
I bid the mountain farewell, knowing that the stream
that had ushered me there had dried up. That particular pilgrimage was over. I
was already starting down a new stream that would carry me off toward another
future that I solemnly wished would be as easy and as beautiful as the one that
culminated on top of Kala Patthar.
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