Montana Christmas

We headed to Montana for Christmas with the Castor Family on the Glory B Ranch and enjoyed many feasts with family and friends. Trimming trees in ice climbing gear and Carhartts is all in a days work. St. Marys Peak as seen from the Glory B. X-mas Dinner

Local Wildlife

Trimming Trees

Moab Christmas

After returning from Nepal, we recovered and celebrated Christmas in Moab. We enjoyed fresh snow, picnicking in Arches, a blind treasure hunt for presents, and crab legs.

Canyonlands National Park

Picnic in Arches National Park on X-mas day

Team Building Present Hunt

Sweet Present!

X-mas Dinner

Never Ending Peace and Love (NEPAL) - 1

Nepal was a study of extremes. For every adjective I would use to describe this country the adverb ‘very’ or ‘extremely’ or even ‘ridiculously’ proceeding it would be appropriate. The treks are very enjoyable, the people are extremely lovely and the landscape is ridiculously gorgeous. The cities are very chaotic, the temperature extremely freezing and the hygiene ridiculously filthy. Travel in Nepal is very confusing, bus rides extremely dangerous, and the taxis ridiculously jarring.

We arrived into Kathmandu with the expectation of being overwhelmed by the traffic, touts, and pandemonium; however, we must have been well travelled, because we were pleasantly surprised with how calm and great we thought this city was despite other tourists claiming culture shock. There are plenty of eye catching shops and businesses in the tourist district of Thamel with a mind-blowing density that can cause sensory overload. Braden said I was like a goldfish – anything shiny would stop me in my tracks. Thamel was a plethora of colorful pashmina/carpet shops, ‘like-real/real-fake’ mountaineering stores, trekking agencies, cafés, and painting studios. The streets were a bit like bumper cars between the taxis, tourists, and rickshaws. Overhead was just as busy as the ground with powerlines at eye level, a collage of advertising signs and prayer flags.

Typical street scenes in Kathmandu

Subtle differences that we noticed between the Middle East and southern Asia are the relaxed nature and general acceptance of environment and other people by the locals. After being in the Middle East, especially Egypt, we were relieved to not being exposed to the obvious conservatism and relentlessness of the people. People in Nepal seemed generally happy to be alive, I didn’t have to cover my blond hair, Braden noticed that I wasn’t being glared at on regular intervals, and there were women (I don’t know where they are in Jordan, but women/girls are not seen in public).

The first step in preparing for our trek was to acquire the appropriate permits and decide if we wanted to hire a porter. The three levels of trekking personnel in order of decreasing clout are: (a) guide, def. a person to guide you around and has the knowledge of the landscape and history of the people to share with you, will be your personal photographer, and will help you with accommodation and necessities; (b) guide cum porter, def. someone who will carry a bag of your gear and will assist in finding accommodation, etc.; and (c) porter, def. a really strong man that carries a ton of weight and follows you around.

As independent (probably to a fault) travelers and priding ourselves on being comfortable in the mountains, the idea of hiring someone to go hiking was difficult and required serious deliberation. Arguments of supporting the local economy, getting a more authentic trip, and not having to carry all of our weight won out and we decided to get a porter for our 18-day trek on the Annapurna Circuit. At the third trekking agency we visited, we got a good feeling from the people and the guy there talked us into getting a guide cum porter instead of a porter so he would speak English.

Counting out the 70,000 Rupees of small bills needed for the trek

We met our guide cum porter, Apar, the day before departing Kathmandu. It was Apar’s first of his second dozen times that he has hiked the Annapurna Circuit (i.e. his 13^th time). He was a pleasant and funny guy, who we became very close with after spending 18 straight days with. He was also in training to be a guide, which we took to mean that he was not happy with carrying our bag. After we lugged 60- and 75-pound bags containing camping equipment, climbing gear, and a 17-inch high stack of books around for two months, we thought our 25-pound bag was pretty light, Apar did not. Aside from that difference, we all got along very well.

The trek began with a rough eight-hour bus ride (with a goat as a passenger), then another hour in a jeep that made us glad that we were walking the rest of the way. Every night we would stay in tea houses, which are generally homes that have been remodeled and expanded to accommodate the trekkers to be like little mountain hotels. Accommodation along the trek consisted of small (well ventilated) guest rooms made from plywood and stone with two twin beds containing thin foam mattresses. The tea houses also contained a common area with tables and a wood-fired kitchen providing home cooked meals. The most common, and only local meal, was Dal Bhat, which usually consists of a plate of rice, lentil soup, curried potatoes and pickle (a spicy radish-like vegetable). Braden attempted to eat Dal Bhat for lunch and dinner for every meal like the Nepalese and did very well for nearly 10 days. Other specialties that we enjoyed included garlic soup, warm milk with muesli, Tibetan bread, fried rice with vegetable, and apple pie.

For the first 7 days, we would hike 8-18 kilometers (5.5-11 miles) with an elevation gain of 200-900 meters (650-3,000 feet) daily. These first days were pleasant, with easy walking through beautiful rain-forested countryside and humongous waterfalls. The evenings were filled with Nepalese dancing and singing in the tea houses. At lower elevations, the farmers were harvesting rice by cutting the rice stalks with sickles, once the stalks were able to dry for a week or so, the people would go back and beat the rice out of the stalk. Food gathering and processing was observed daily, including many barefoot women spreading drying wheat and beans by walking on them on the front porch. This may also be the reason we would bite into sand in at least one meal per day.

Construction of a new road was happening for the distance that we covered over the first five days of the trek. Our first encounter was when we came to an armed guard that had sticks crossing the trail. Apar, our guide, was having some heavy discussions with the guard with a lot of hand pointing to the trail ahead and the rickety bamboo bridge over the raging river to our right. Then Apar turned around and said, “Run”. So we ran! Then we realized why we were running – about 300 feet above us on a slope, the road construction crew was knocking rocks down the slope. We used the donkeys as a shield and kept running. At the end of the section we questioned Apar as to why we did that. His response was that the alternative was to cross the temporary bamboo bridge and that it was far more dangerous than rock fall. Later that evening, other tourists corroborated Apar’s theory saying that crossing the bamboo bridge was the scariest thing that they had ever done in their lives.

The second time we were affected by the road construction was when we were lounging during lunch that overlooked a gorgeous waterfall. More armed guards came by and ushered us back down the hill. The guard in front of me kept hitting his AK47 fully automatic machine gun on the rocks by the trail. It took everything I had to not say, “Dude, be careful with that thing.” The reason they were moving us was that 500 feet below us in the canyon, they were dynamiting for the new road. We moved to the ‘safe area’. The locals were huddled under a slightly overhanging boulder, us tourists hung out on the slope. Note: do as the locals do. The blasting began with a ka-boom that was so loud the ground shook and it hurt our ears. Then we noticed the grapefruit to basketball-sized rocks flying straight up from the canyon below and into the sky. When the rocks started raining down all around us, we dove in with the locals while the nearby houses were being bombarded by these flying death balls. I ended up on the lap of a local lady. For the rest of the day we listened closely to the guards, hurried along, and kept a sharp eye out for natural cover hiding places.

Never Ending Peace and Love (NEPAL) - 2

On day 6, we reached the village of Pisang. Our tea house was in lower Pisang, but we went up to Upper Pisang and visited the new monastery. This was an enlightening experience. Just outside of the gompa (monastery), we passed a prayer wheel stumpa that contained no less than 200 wheels to turn. At the gompa, their were Buddist prayer flags covering the skyline and at the moment we arrived the sky opened up for the first time in three days to uncover the majestic Annapurna II mountain top – this is the moment everyone breaks out into song in a musical. The gompa itself was fantastic, the artwork was intricate and all hand painted. This is the reason we came to Nepal.

Trekking continued, each day getting closer to the ultimate goal of Thorung La Pass at 17,770 feet above sea level. Once we reached Manang at 11,600 feet, the scope of the day changed from trying to get far and high to going slow and steady to acclimatize to the elevation and avoid acute mountain sickness (AMS). On the first acclimatization day in Manang, Apar took us up to the “100-rupee lama”. We hiked way up on the hill to a small and cave-like stumpa (monastery) where we were blessed by a 93-year old lama for a safe passage over the pass, and then he charged us a hundred rupees (~$1.50). That evening we pampered ourselves by going to the movies. We watched Slumdog Millionaire sitting on yak-fur covered benches, warmed by a stove in the middle of the room, and was served tea and popcorn in mid-movie.

Unfortunately, shortly after tea and popcorn Braden had to excuse himself to wretch all the way back to the tea house. I found him an hour later in our ‘well ventilated’ bedroom, zipped up so that I could barely see his eyes, shivering. It was a sad site. After another serious episode of vomiting six more times, we went to the health clinic since vomiting is a potential symptom of AMS. The volunteer American doctors assured us that he was not going to die, although he may feel like it, and it was food poisoning – that was the end of the Dal Bhat.

After recovering for another day, Braden stepped up and pushed on towards the ominous Thorung La Pass. Hiking for the next three days consisted of only four hours of hiking and only one thousand vertical feet gained. Aside from the mountain viewing and yak spotting, we spent most of these days figuring out how to stay warm. The squat toilets doubled as ice-skating rinks and the buckets of flush water were frozen solid (it was a miracle that neither of us fell in – it was close many times). We could see our breaths sitting in the dining halls and many peoples contacts froze overnight. The locals didn’t seem to think it was so bad and kept leaving the doors open, a cardinal sin if you ask me. I am getting cold just typing this paragraph.

The days leading up to the pass were same-same, yet that means anything but boring. Hiking through high alpine forests and glacial valleys were beautiful, especially when we could gaze at the 26,000 foot mountains of the Himalayan Range. We saw many people that were hiking down because they either could not continue due to AMS or were not able to forge the snowy pass. Yak and musk deer covered the steep hillsides.

The night before the pass, we all sat around the little wood stove commiserating. It was like visiting a nursing home (without all the heat and soft chairs and stuff): us tourists being the 80-year olds and the guides/porters being the nurses/staff. We (patients) would sit around and discuss ad nauseam about how cold we are, how much our bodies ache, headaches, head colds, constipation from the Diamox (AMS reducer pills), cramping from the food poisoning, etc. We all brought our various medications to the dinner table. The rumors were running rampant: there is a treacherous ice patch above high camp, the cold freezes all water in your backpack, etc. The guides/porters (a.k.a. nurses/staff) were trying to assure us that everything will be OK, when they know as well as us (patients) that one of us very well may die tomorrow. We had all seen the helicopter rescue in Manang, the old man coming down the trail on a donkey repeating, “hospital”, and the one that really made us nervous, the 60-year old lady from earlier in the day that had a blue face, couldn’t walk without being held by two porters, who had to go down on a horse (it was frightening that this little old lady who couldn’t walk was expected to ride a horse). --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We (patients) would complain about the cold and lack of blankets, while the guides/porters (nurses/staff) stoically encouraged us when they have to share leftover blankets, have inadequate shoes and winter cloths, and are carrying up to 100 pounds on their backs by a strap around their foreheads. But enough about them: we are cold, no one can get a good nights sleep at this altitude, and everyone is nervous as cats by water about the foreboding Thorung La Pass tomorrow. If we don’t make it over the pass, it means a seven day hike out the way we came in. Braden and I made a pact that if either of us are getting sick within 200 meters of the top, just grab the other one and pull them over the pass with blue face and all (that is probably how people die, I guess). ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening we discussed what time our guides were making us get up in the morning, “we have to get up at 3 AM” and “oh, I thought we had it rough when we had to get up at 4 AM”. Someone said, “our guide is making us get up at 2 AM”, which brought a collective round of sighs and “that sucks”. Many people without guides got up at 5 AM, however, no one got up after 6 AM. We figured that hiking in the dark is how the guides prevent snow blindness, I think that sunglasses are a better solution. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was finally here: Pass Day. Apar woke us up at 3 AM from our slumber interrupted by bouts of cold. We had both of our feet in one sleeping bag, which were nestled into the second bag, spooning for the very short night. Although Apar was cheerful and friendly, I had tinges of hatred in my heart for being up so early. We were on the trail at 4:01 and started up the very steep ascent in the dark. Lack of sun was a benefit for me, because I didn’t have to see the whole picture; I just had to make it up the five feet that was illuminated by my headlamp. At 4:20, Braden and I exceeded our previous maximum elevation reached of 14,500 feet. It was very cold out there: zero degrees Fahrenheit, if not colder. A lapse in wiggling either fingers or toes in our lightweight winter attire would guarantee frostbite. We all had scarves over our mouths that were now coated with ice crystals from the moisture in our breath. The trail was now fully covered with snow and ice, the hillsides we were travelling on were very steep and sometimes went down to deep talus valleys below. Apar very kindly treated us to a cup of tea that must have been made with gold because it cost 110 rupees (a cup of tea in Kathmandu is 20 rupees). The sun was fully up now and we kept walking up to false pass after false pass. Then at 7:30, it was suddenly there. Thorung La Pass!!! There were prayer flags everywhere, it was stupendous! We made it! After getting the requisite photographs we headed down the other side.

The way down was just as arduous as the way up. We met up with a fun group that had similar walking patterns to our own: Mollie, Erwin, and Raj walked at very similar paces to me, Braden, and Apar, respectively. Mollie and I were able to empathize with each other’s war stories about coming down the mountain, I won for the number of falls (five), but she won for most extreme fall (ending up dangling from her guides ankles on an icy, 45-degree slope that would have sent her on a 50-foot tumble). We were laughing so much that night at the tea house that the French group hushed us – that took a lot of nerve from the people who have been loudly gapping and eating delicious looking yak steaks for the past week.

That night was rough for me. I nearly threw a wobbler (def. complete mental breakdown) over my eye leaking. Braden had to get up with me in the middle of the night to help flush my eye. This was tricky in a freezing bathroom in the dark with freezing cold water that we wanted to disinfect by adding betadine to the solution. In the morning we attempted the six hour walk to the hospital in Jomson. I made it about 10 minutes from the tea house and my eye hurt so bad from the light that Braden made me an eye patch and gave me his arm for support. Luckily we saw a jeep for hire that had already been rented by a group of very nice Polish people. The driver was not going to let us on, but after the Polish people demanded that he let us get on with them, we paid the driver for the empty seats the Polish people had already paid for, and took the jeep to Jomson.

In Jomson, we went to the hospital, where I was relieved that the office had the eye contraption that you see in eye doctor’s offices in the States. The very nice Nepalese doctor diagnosed it as bacterial conjunctivitis, gave me some magic drops, and charged us 1000 rupees ($12.50). In the morning, we went back to see the doctor because we would not have another opportunity for the next five days of our trek. It was a Saturday, so the hospital was quiet, but still unlocked. The doctor got out his keys from his pocket and while Braden held the plastic Ever-Ready flashlight, the doctor flipped my eyelids back with his keys and determined I was OK to go on with the trek. We then asked to pay again and the doctor said yesterday’s payment covered today too. We persisted in the offer (especially since we paid the western doctors $100 for a 5-minute visit when Braden got food poisoning). The doctor then brought us around the corner to show us the sign that said, “Tourists – 1000 rupees, Locals – 500 rupees”, then he said, “see, you are already getting screwed”.

The rest of the trek was really pleasant. We travelled down the breathtaking Jomson valley with huge peaks on either side including the 7^th tallest peak in the world, at 26,811 feet above sea level, Dhaulagiri (a.k.a. the White Mountain). The high elevation tundra gave way to lush rain forest once again and everyone’s attitudes seemed to improve as the temperature warmed. At Tatopani, we indulged in the local hot springs and ate apple pie. Life was really good.

The last two days of the trek, up and over Poon Hill, turned out to be the two most difficult days of the entire journey. We were lucky enough to spend it with are new hiking buddies Mollie, Erwin, and Raj. Braden and Erwin would take off, and then wait for us at regular intervals, Mollie and I would hold up the rear, while Raj and Apar would be the go-between. The guides seemed to spend most of the time making fun of Mollie and me in Nepalese, so we couldn’t even understand them to defend ourselves. But, we all got along great and enjoyed the 6,400 feet climb up to Poon Hill and the more difficult, 6,800 feet descent back down to Nayapu. There was an obvious difference at this point between those of us on the 18^th day of our journey to those going in the opposite direction on the 1^st day of theirs: you could smell the soap from the clean hair and cloths, they were taking constant photographs, they were smiling.

Since the trek is fairly well set up with villages about a days walk apart, we ran into the same people over and over again. This created an excellent way to make good friends. Some really nice sisters from Michigan, Tammy and Shelly, organized a Thanksgiving dinner when we got back to civilization at Pokera. There was no turkey, but there was apple pie! During dinner, our new friend Paul from Jersey, UK, asked us American’s what the history of Thanksgiving was. We all spewed off lame answers about harvests, Indians, etc., then he busts out with a giant American-flag decorated felt hat and the text from Abraham Lincoln’s proclamation of Thanksgiving. Paul then proceeded to read us the entire text in a presidential voice. It was great!

For the final couple of days of the long journey, we looked at the historical sites, went Christmas shopping and ate at the yummy restaurants around Kathmandu. The three day journey home, via Istanbul, was as good as to be expected (oh yeah, aside from almost going down in the Atlantic). The journey was incredible, life altering really, but we are really, really, glad to be home!

Nepal - Additional Photos

Giant prayer wheel Solar-heated water

Corn drying

Bridge with Prayer Flags

Locals playing a popular dice game

Yak for dinner?

Baby Yak

We don't know what this is

Giant crossing a bridge

First meat in 19 days makes me very happy

Fish-tail Mountain

Street dancing

Just finished the long trek

Downtown Kathmandu

Basket weaving with feet

Baby Billie

Yak

mmmm, dinner!

Careful, careful. Meaghan hugging the right side.

Prayin'

Annapurna IV

Water-powered prayer wheel

Hanging out at the tea house

Construction Zone (see upper right)