Entries from Expedition Dispatches

A half dozen of us managed to rally before the sun this morning -aided by flasks of milk tea and milk coffee- in order to get out for hikes and first-light photos. As usual, yesterday had finished cloudy and mysterious- making the morning's clear sky and unlimited visibility seem special. Already at 5:45 AM, Cho Oyu was in full sun, while the ten neighbors which had earlier seemed equal to it remained in shadow. The world's sixth highest peak was perhaps twenty miles to the North and reminding us just how lofty 8200 meters really is. Walking onto the ridge separating Pheriche from its sister city Dingboche we could see Makalu, the fifth highest mountain, some distance to the East. And of course, Lhotse, the fourth highest in the world was pretty close at hand and appeared brutally difficult from the side we were looking at. Being too close to the 25,000 ft. Nuptse wall, we couldn't see Mount Everest behind it, but we will get around that in a few days. Ama Dablam and Tawoche caught the sun in their time, along with Kangtega and Thamserku. And finally, the sun was on our little hiking team and we stripped off a few layers to enjoy the warmth. The ridges around Pheriche offer great hiking and we were happy to stretch our legs and work our lungs in the thin air. We each strive to hit that delicate balance between rest and exercise which is crucial to proper acclimatization. Some of our team got up to 16,000 ft and even 17,000 ft today, while others just took it easy around "town". Pheriche is a collection of maybe eight tea houses, a few farms, some yak pasturing lands and the Himalayan Rescue Association's clinic. Thirty minutes away, over in Dingboche, they have a few more teahouses and yes, you guessed it, one more last, last, last chance at internet. It is basically the same system that we tapped into in Thyangboche and Namche, utilizing a series of reflector dishes to bring the web into some otherwise remote places. Of course, the farther one goes up the valley, the higher the price. Word was that it cost about 1200 Rupees per hour this morning in Dingboche, which with the exchange rate around 76 Rupees to the dollar makes it... oh I don't know... we are too high for math now. Let's say that it probably makes the web in Dingboche about the same price as in the less user-friendly American airports. The key difference might be that they grow a fair number of potatoes in Dingboche. Cokes and Snickers bars cost more up at this higher end of the valley... really the end of the normal settlements... but that is only to be expected since we are getting a daily look at how tough it is to porter such loads to Pheriche and beyond. Most of us are still happy to indulge in some expensive snacks and drinks though. It isn't so strange to observe that the longer we are out , the more we crave familiar junk food -while craving money slightly less. Back from the hikes, we mostly spent time mingling with other climbers and trekkers, strategizing, book reading and napping through chunks of the afternoon. Erica, Ed Dohring and I attended a fine talk on altitude illness given by one of the docs at the HRA clinic next door. We like to think we know a fair bit about such things, but it never hurts to hear a good overview again, and to meet the good people (in this case Tracy and Madeline) who volunteer their doctoring skills for weeks on end at the HRA clinic. All are feeling reasonably well and with any luck, we'll all be loping along to Lobuche tomorrow.

Today is a beautiful and sunny day in Pheriche, at 14,200 feet. So many of the tea houses look and feel the same along the trek, it is easy to forget exactly where we are, but as I walked down the narrow dirt path after breakfast, I could feel exactly where I was. My lungs started moving a little faster and I could feel my heart rate increase, even with my slow steps on the relatively flat trail. As my nostrils expanded to take in the available oxygen I remembered that I am now at high altitude. I know, some of you that live just above sea-level are thinking that we have been at high altitude all along, but it is here that my physiology now agrees with that. Between 8,000 and 14,000 feet our bodies are undergoing some major changes to compensate for the increasingly more obvious loss of atmospheric pressure. Today, my lungs have to work a little harder, and my heart is pumping a little faster to get all of the new red blood cells around my body. I am thankful for all of the things that my body is doing to adjust to living in a world with less atmospheric pressure to keep all of the oxygen molecules within my breaths grasp, but mostly I am thankful to the red blood cells. They are the porters of my blood, carrying around all of the oxygen my lungs will grab onto. If all things go well, my blood pH will alter, and that will increase my respiratory rate telling my lungs that they need to expand and contract more times to achieve the same effect that they had at my house in Idaho. My blood will produce more of those invaluable little porters (the red blood cells) so that every time my ventilation is effective (the simple mechanical act of air rushing into my lungs) respiration will be effective (the actual exchange of gases deep inside my lungs) and then perfusion can happen (the red blood cells delivering the oxygen to all of my tissues). It makes me feel a little tired just to write that, I can only imagine how my body is feeling repeating this cycle over multiple thousands of times per day. When put this way, it is easy to see why we need so many rest days. Our bodies need to get used to this exhaustive act at this elevation before being challenged by the next increase in elevation. Today, the team feels good. As I look around at Dave doing crosswords, Seth reading Rolling Stone and Erica sipping tea I can tell that they are all acclimatizing well. There are a variety of reasons that one might not acclimatize so well, and surprisingly, the reasons are not so easy to predict. Some people have a physiological make up that slows the adjustments inside of their body as they get higher in elevation. It is hard to find a correlation between this response and much of anything- especially fitness. There are of course some more obvious factors that will prevent your body from getting all that work done. If someone is sick already, maybe even just a head cold, the body is already working overtime and it decreases the resources that can be used for altitude acclimatization. The same is true if someone is dehydrated or under extreme physical exertion. That is certainly part of the reason that we take a nice even pace on our move days, we don't want our hearts and lungs fighting to keep up, because eventually they will not be able to catch up with us, and will let us know. Likely in the form of acute mountain sickness. Acute mountain sickness is usually the first sign from your body that you need to slow down and stay at the elevation you are currently acclimatized to. Basically, your physiology is saying 'hey, wait for me!'. Consider this a warning, because your body will be persistent if you do not listen, and give you a louder reminder, one that you cannot ignore. Acute mountain sickness (AMS) can start with a variety of symptoms, the most common being a headache. It can be hard to know if it is from dehydration or sun or actually the altitude. If I am at a new elevation and I do experience a headache, I will start by drinking 1/2 a liter of water and consciously taking a few extra deep breaths as I rest. That first altitude headache often sets in after a day of moving and then coming to rest. While moving, we are naturally breathing a bit harder than when at rest. Once that movement stops and our respirations drop the whole process slows, making your brain a little hungry for some more oxygen. I don't mind taking little Ibuprofen or Excedrin for this headache, but I am very aware that the medication is what is making the headache go away, not the fact that the problem is gone...I will keep alert for other signs of AMS. My dinner might look horrible (lack of appetite), I might feel a little more tired than normal (lassitude), the room may spin as I toss my cookies (nausea and vomiting). If I stand to walk and feel uncoordinated or dizzy (ataxia) I know that it is time to act. Actually, I might not know that it is time to act if my mental status is decreasing, that really is one of the great dangers of AMS. Fortunately, I am traveling with an amazing team and we are all looking out for the signs that someone isn't acclimatizing well. So, what to do if these symptoms appear? Well, the best thing would be to descend 2000-3000 feet. As you go down in elevation, the positive effects are almost instant. At just a few thousand feet lower, I can start to feel better. The key now is to rest at this elevation and let my body catch up before going higher again. It also helps to hike a few thousand feet during the day, but sleep at the same altitude for a few nights. That gives my body a chance to taste a higher altitude while still recovering at a lower one (you will notice this once we embark on our climbing schedule at 'extreme altitude'). High altitude illness will not likely go away without some action from you (DESCENT)! Conversely it often progresses and gets worse. You can get swelling and fluid accumulation in your brain that will cause further changes in your level of consciousness, possibly even causing you to go unconscious or stop breathing. That is called cerebral edema, a brain injury caused by increased intracranial pressure secondary to swelling in the brain. It can even look a lot like a stroke or traumatic brain injury, just with a different cause. This is a serious and life threatening emergency, and this person needs descent (which can be complicated if they aren't conscious), oxygen and steroids to decrease the swelling in the brain. Bad news bears. The other life threatening altitude emergency is pulmonary edema, which is fluid build up in the lungs. As the pressure outside decreases, the pressure inside of our pulmonary vessels increases and sometimes the leak into the spaces in our lungs that are vital for gas exchange. This is basically a pneumonia and will cause difficulty breathing, and difficulty absorbing the oxygen (which could precipitate cerebral edema). This is another one where we need immediate descent and oxygen as well as some medications that can reduce the causes of the fluid build up. Here in Pheriche there is a medical clinic staffed and run by the Himalayan Rescue Association. There are western trained doctors working there (often volunteering time away from their own medical practices). This clinic is open to climbers, trekkers and porters. They do an altitude talk each afternoon and they do an amazing job educating people on the above mentioned dangers and the importance of listening to your body and being conservative. As a medical professional, I am thankful that the clinic is here. So many people feel sick and assume they just needed to do more training when realistically, their bodies aren't adjusting to the altitude. The clinic helps to educate people and reduce the trepidation about descending if you aren't feeling well. Our group is experienced, yet that doesn't guarantee that we are safe from altitude illness. What it does do is ensure that we are paying attention, and we have created a schedule that will allow our bodies to physiologically adjust to the rigors we are presenting. So today, as I watch Dave complete crosswords with impressive speed, Seth is reading Rolling Stone and Erica excitedly orders and eats her second helping of food for the day, I can say we are looking pretty good physiologically, and it is a beautiful day at 14,200 feet in Pheriche.

Down in the shadowy forests of Deboche, we passed an easy bunch of hours yesterday. The sun was blazing at midday, but otherwise, we were under lowish grey clouds. Many of the team made their way back up the hill to Thyangboche to see the large monastery or to sample the food at the bakery or to hook up to the web at the cyber café. Then it was back down to our place next to the nunnery in Deboche. The woodstove in the common area of our tea house kept the place cozy and hard to leave. We left it this morning at 8 AM in seemingly perfect weather. There were wind-sculpted lenticulars and cat's paw clouds hovering over Everest and Lhotse, but the other hundred mountains in view were cloud-free. We crossed the river to the sunny side of things and walked gradually up the track with Ama Dablam straight ahead and apparently welcoming us with her outstretched arms. The "Dablam" is the jewel that sits in the hollow of the mountain's throat, as if on a necklace. This jewel is composed of ice; a hanging glacier discreetly sized and sitting improbably on the face of a great mountain. I was curious to see it again, since I'd heard so many stories over the winter about its demise. During the popular season for climbing Ama Dablam, in the Fall of 2008, the Dablam had calved off massive avalanches and everybody I spoke to claimed that one could easily see the difference. Sure enough, while still beautiful, the jewel seemed half its former size. Of course not many people register such a marked change in the "health" of a glacier without wondering if the world is changing too fast and whether there will be glaciers enough to climb on forever. So it was, burdened by the weight of the universe and the health of the planet that I, along with Ed Dohring, Erica and Seth joined the rest of the team in Upper Pangboche at Lama Geshi's house. We'd come to seek the blessing of perhaps the most revered man in the entire Khumbu region. Lama Geshi, although he doesn't sit in some grand temple or cathedral, is a man of great significance in the Buddhist religion of the Sherpa people. It is quite normal for climbing Sherpas and the Western teams they assist to seek his blessing before approaching Chomolungma... the Mother Goddess of the Earth... or "Everest" for short. Lama Geshi greeted us -basically in his living room and got right down to giving each one of us a friendly head-butt as he tied a specially blessed and knotted gold string around our necks. I felt immediately happy to watch him go through a brief prayer ceremony for us. Although I tend to be slightly cynical about such things, that is a hard attitude to maintain around Lama Geshi as he always seems to take such a genuine interest in the climbers that visit him. Their summit pictures (at least a hundred) are on his walls and he must have seen thousands over the years, but somehow he still seems interested and enthusiastic. Such prayers... basically asking for his help to keep us from killing ourselves... might be a heavy thing, except that Lama Geshi always breaks out laughing as he utters them. His joy is infectious and welcome and seems to put us all in the perfect frame of mind for continuing our walk toward the mountain. After leaving Pangboche, we gathered again about an hour up the track at Shomare for a rest and some refreshment in another fine tea house. The clouds were steadily rising up-valley and covering the big hills as we set out for the final push to Pheriche. This meant that we could only see about fifty unbelievably beautiful mountains (rather than a hundred) as we turned the big sweeping corner around Tawoche and headed north into town. We were all stunned to see our lodging for the next two nights: The Himalayan Hotel, a beautiful new and spacious building of stone and wood. It didn't take long for each of us to find a comfy spot in either the sun or sitting rooms. There are hills aplenty around to keep even Ed Viesturs content as he "rests" and acclimatizes.

Today was another acclimatization day here at about 12,252 feet. Production team went out predawn to catch the early morning prayers at Tengboche and shoot in early morning light. Unfortunately the low clouds and fog didn't cooperate with our lighting wishes. Nonetheless we filmed a great dispatch in which we introduce our photographer Jake Norton.

Our guest house in Namche was packed to the gills with other trekkers and climbers last night. But as it was our third night in the same place, we felt pretty much like we owned the place anyway. We packed away the chapattis, the "thak tok soup", and the "chicken chilly" (yes it is spelled that way), as if we'd been living above 11,000 feet for weeks. Erica pretty much won the eating contest by knocking back a plate of veggie chow mein, two boiled eggs AND macaroni and cheese. The kid can eat... and that is a good thing, since that particular skill, or the lack thereof, has made a huge difference in climber success at altitude over the years. Some folks wither away as they go higher. The reasons aren't complicated; we all burn calories faster up high since everything is more work in the thin air, and of course life in a cold place tends to burn extra calories anyway. One of the troubles with simply eating more to compensate is that most people don't feel like doing it. The human gut gets overwhelmed fast when the blood it depends on is poorly oxygenated. So eating becomes a chore and -this being a trip full of mountain guides- we tend to nag each other a lot to do our chores. Erica has discovered that the path of least resistance is to say "Yes please" when the momo plate comes around again. (Perhaps it helps that Melissa bet her a fancy Kathmandu dinner post-trip that she wouldn't be able to maintain her weight for the next sixty days). We were up, breakfasted and on the trail out of Namche by 7:30 AM. For the first hour or so, we wound our way along on a traverse across a steep hillside. Far below us, the Dudh Khosi was making plenty of noise as the waters crashed through continuous and ridiculous rapids. Far above one could watch eagles and hawks soaring -provided that one didn't look up for so long that one walked off the edge and fell down to the Dudh Khosi. The trail was busy with yak trains coming and going. This was actually our first dealing with true Yaks as they don't generally live below Namche. We've so far seen plenty of dzokials carrying loads -and while dzokial is not an acceptable scrabble word, it is none-the-less a sturdy animal representing the cross between a low-land cow and a high altitude Yak. Now it is mostly yaks carrying loads to and from Everest Basecamp. They are strong, sure-footed, surprisingly feisty and a little tough to pass when they want the whole trail to themselves. By 10 AM we'd descended a few hundred meters back down to the Dudh Khosi and found our place in the sun. We sat at the tables outside a couple of teahouses drinking milk-coffee, milk-tea and hot lemon. This rest break was a nice time to collect our various camera teams, to make a head count, to people-watch (we watched Ed Viesturs head out at flank speed for his workout on the big hill to Thyangboche) and to eat another plate or two of fried rice. Eventually, we pried ourselves out of our comfortable sidewalk cafes and got busy on the hot and dusty trail going up to Thyangboche. The hillside was mostly covered in pine and rhododendron forests but there were also enough clearings to get a dose of strong sun. Typically, the day had begun clear and bright but was clouding up some as we approached noon. Thyangboche Hill, like a lot of the hills in this part of the world, goes on forever, but our entire group made it up the thing in about 90 minutes. Then it was time for another sit-down for snacks on the majestic hilltop. The place is famous for its elaborate and somber monastery, but also these days for having another last-chance internet café which Peter Whittaker took advantage of to connect once again with his family. We'd begun our hilltop break with views of Ama Dablam, Kangtega, Lhotse and Everest but after a couple more milk-teas the clouds won their battle and concealed everything. Now wrapped up in cozy First Ascent jackets and sweaters, the whole gang trouped on down the shady side of the Thyangboche Hill through a thick rhododendron forest to Deboche... our home for the next two nights.

While the rest of the gang set out in the dark for "production work" up and over the ridge to Khumjung, I followed at a more civilized hour with Erica and Ed Dohring. Father and daughter were both feeling fine after two nights and a rest day living the Namche high life. On this calm and sunny morning, we hiked up to Syangboche, the sometimes-used dirt airstrip five hundred feet directly above Namche. The mountains were big and bright and unobscured by any cloud whatsoever. As we came to the forested ridgecrest separating us from the Khumjung Valley, we were granted a big view of Everest and Lhotse with wind tearing ragged cloud banners from their summits. We connected up with the early-morning film squad to find the gang over in the Khumjung Bakery. They finished up breakfast and then together we went out for a few more photos, posing amongst the peaks on a fine spring day. Once this was finished, Ed, Erica and I continued with our acclimatization hike, agreeing to meet one and all back down in Namche in the afternoon. But first we found our way to the deck of the Everest View hotel to enjoy... what else? The Everest view with a couple of plates of French fries at 12,000 plus feet. A humongous brown and gold eagle flew close over our fries on his/her way through the tree tops of the ridge. There were a few other tourists about, but for the most part we'd gotten away from the "crowds" of trekkers and porters on the main trail up-valley. Our walk was quite leisurely and enjoyable, but it was not without purpose. Rest on a rest day is a great and valuable thing, but light exercise at a slightly higher altitude than one is currently sleeping at is also a great way to prepare for actually moving higher. We'll do that tomorrow, assuming that everybody has a manageable last night in Namche. But first, folks are back to resting... enjoying last showers and internet access and shopping in the metropolis of Namche Bazaar.

People always ask me what the hardest part of an Everest expedition is. I only have one Everest expedition behind me, but I suppose that is all it takes to know what is hard and what is not. Surprisingly, it isn't summit day and it isn't the Khumbu ice fall. For me, the hardest part is rest days. Writing that feels a little strange, as resting is something good, restorative and needed, but it is really hard indeed. I am the type of person that enjoys movement, enjoys physical challenge and the constant change that traveling provides. To that end, being asked to rest for roughly 1/3 of the expedition is no easy task. I feel like I have been moving forward constantly since I was a kid, and now slowing down to let my physiology catch up with my mind is a challenge for me. How do I accomplish the task of resting? Reading is a good start, but I cannot read anything related to adventure, otherwise my feet start to twitch and I feel the need to go for a walk. Card games are a good way to rest, they bring laughter and allow your mind to engage, while your body is absorbing the much needed down time. Perhaps the best way to rest is to eat. At the start of one of our many rest days, I look to the teahouse menu. I think about how many meals I can eat today, and if there is anything new that I would like to try. By midday I have rested my way through boiled eggs, tibetan bread, cornflakes, chicken momos, popcorn, fried potatoes, chicken soup, pasta, and if I am feeling really bold...a yak steak. I know, it sounds like it wouldn't be so hard to sit and read, laugh with friends and eat, but the truth is, that is why I climb...because it IS hard to do the other stuff. When you are moving on a trail, and breathing hard and feeling all the blood move through your body, well, for me that is the easy part. Making dinner after a hard day climbing, a day that starts before dawn, that is restorative in its own way. Maybe it is an illness, feeling more rested after a hard day of climbing three thousand feet than a day lounging in the sunshine and enjoying tea. I suspect it is really good to experience days that just force me to slow down and look around. These days are good for letting me think about the days behind us and renew the excitement for the many days that are still ahead of us. So today, I will practice my resting. I will go walk around the small, but busy, village of Namche and look over at the people who seem to be resting easily, perhaps I will even stop and inquire how they do it. For now though, I have another order of eggs to dig into and a small sunny spot to go sit in.

The rain finished sometime during the night and left partly cloudy skies for our morning walk out of Phak Ding. These improved to sunny, clear and blue skies for a few hours as we wandered the trail through the small villages and farms along the Dudh Khosi. The trails were quite busy with trekking groups and heavily laden porters. There were numerous groups from Europe and Japan but none that we recognized as being from the United States. I walked along with Erica and Ed Dohring and Seth Waterfall. We didn't do much instructing as to how to walk or climb the steps in the trail. Ed and Erica do hike plenty, in addition to the mountaineering they've accomplished. I did ask them to slow down just a bit to match my pace, hoping that I'd be able to pass on a rate appropriate for all we needed to accomplish today. The main wisdom I try to impart at this stage of a long climb is simply an awareness that our performance on any given day is an integral part of our overall performance. For instance, it wouldn't have been so useful for us to attempt to set some speed record on the day moving to Namche if that meant being wasted for our first night at a new and significant altitude. Conversely, walking too slowly toward our intended goal could tire us out just as much by keeping us on our feet with packs on our backs for too long. It isn't like figuring solutions to the world's financial troubles or landing spacecraft on Mars, but walking uphill is none-the-less my specialty and it turns out that getting the walk to Namche right is crucial for climbing Mount Everest. Everest didn't show itself for us today, but we were granted tremendous views -seemingly straight up- to the wildly fluted snow-faces guarding Thamserku's pointy summit. There was an unreal contrast between the rock and ice we could see by tilting our heads and the lush pine forests we walked through. We passed the odd flowering rhododendron and still a number of blossoming cherry and apple trees, though not quite as many of these once we'd gone through the gates of the Sagarmatha National Park and gradually started to gain a bit of altitude. My little gang enjoyed a hot lunch at the picnic tables outside a teahouse with members of our "production team" (Jake, Cherie, John and Tom) while the other climbers continued on toward the big "Namche Hill" -anxious to get the day's work done. The sky clouded up again and vaguely threatened rain as we continued along the Dudh Khosi. I found myself recognizing boulders and bridges along the way and remembering the friends/partners/clients from past expeditions who'd lounged here or there and stopped to take pictures in this or that spot. As we walked I counted myself lucky that most of the people in my memories were still my friends after those expeditions. In these days when I have to so often justify going back to the same mountains year after year, I wonder if I'd get away with that as a worthy argument... that they remind me of good people. Of course the big Namche Hill reminds me of a lot of good and sweaty people. We gained over two thousand vertical feet on the dusty switchbacks, passing lots and lots of porters straining under loads of hand-hewn lumber. Someone up-valley must be building a wooden WalMart. In mid-afternoon, we crested the hills and rolled into Namche, the Sherpa capital. I bumped into a number of Sherpa friends in the narrow streets and as we passed along I just got in the habit of saying "Namaste" to all the shopkeepers, whether I recognized them or not. We caught up with the rest of our team enjoying the lemon tea at the Camp de Base guest house, where we'll spend the next three nights. And now I'm sitting at the comfy dining room tables looking up at the usual posters of Hans Kammerlander, Hillary and Tenzing, and the Dalai Lama. We are home in the Khumbu.

It was an early morning, hustling out of hotels and bustling onto buses for the short pre-dawn ride to the airport. After a moderate amount of hurry-up-and-wait we hurried out to board a pair of Twin Otters primed for flight. There was a haze lying over Katmandu that we quickly busted through to find generally clear skies and big mountains spread across the horizon. I had a window seat next to the port propeller and during the fifty minute flight to Lukla my eyes were mostly pressed against that window. It was only ten months since I'd left these same mountains on this same aircraft, so how could I possibly have forgotten just how spectacular and formidable these peaks could appear on a clear morning? It was as if I was seeing Ghari Shankar and Menlungtse and a thousand others for the very first time... and just like that very first time eighteen years ago, I was humbled to look out at all the impossible ridges, sheer faces and jagged summits that I will never be bold enough to attempt. Finally, the plane turned just enough for me to get a clear view of Everest lording over everything and about thirty miles distant. I turned in my cramped seat in an effort to get Erica and Ed Dohring to recognize the dark pyramid now dominating the horizon. The engine kind of messed with their view so I went back to enjoying it for myself... picking out the South Summit and noting how little snow seemed to be covering the rock of the Southwest Face. I smiled at the obvious lack of wind aloft and granted myself a clichéd climber's observation that it was "too bad we weren't going for the summit today" Of course, then remembering that temps at 29,000 ft in the last days of March were likely around -50 degrees F while with patience we could be in line for a balmy -15 degrees F in the latter half of May. Our Yeti Air Twin Otter started diving down into a steep sided valley and I lost the view of the big hill while focusing on the small ones not so far from our wingtips. Now in the lower Khumbu Valley, it was easy to pick out terraced fields and small farms as the plane lined up for a Lukla landing. The pilot greased it, somehow matching the plane's steep descent to the opposite slant of the small runway. Within minutes we were out and walking toward a nearby teahouse to regroup as the planes sped noisily away. We sat and ordered a breakfast while discussing the best ways to keep fifteen people looking out for one another on the trails. All were relaxed, as we knew the walk to Phak Ding would be short and relatively easy. In fact, we would lose about 700 ft of vertical over the course of the morning. The trail took us past blossoming cherry and apple trees, past a few flowering dogwoods and a selection of well-tended vegetable gardens. Things were easy enough that the gang could spread out and pursue their own interests. Ed Viesturs, typically, wasted little time in getting the day's work done. Walking a more moderate pace with Erica and her Dad, I finished somewhere in the middle of the pack along with Peter Whittaker and Melissa. Our camera teams had various projects along the way, including some vegetable mo mo's that beckoned seductively from one café menu along the track. Eventually, we were back to a full compliment of climbers, cameramen and trekkers hunkered down for the evening in our teahouse along the rushing river and protected from steadily falling rain (the good flying weather was merely temporary) in the suburbs of Phak Ding.

The climb of Mount Everest has begun. Our team came together in these past few days, flying by various routes and trajectories around the world to Kathmandu, lugging all manner of electronics, insulation and enthusiasm. Good meals and nights of uninterrupted slumber have repaired some of the jet-lag grogginess and disorientation. We've met as a team several times now and have gone over preliminary plans and strategies. Tomorrow we fly into Lukla and begin walking. It is no stretch to suggest that all are looking forward to simply walking. That will be a welcome change from months of planning and packing and wondering about the future. Personally, I can't wait to be walking. Katmandu is always an exciting place for a climber to visit... but most of us wouldn't want that visit to be any longer than is necessary when Everest is the goal. There is too much chance for getting sick either from taking in smoggy air or dodgy food. There is still charm to this huge city, but it isn't wise to go hunting extensively for that charm just now. Katmandu is struggling these days; the electricity is only on a third of the time and so there is a nearly constant background noise of hotel diesel generators throbbing away. People are nervously recounting a winter devoid of moisture and the resultant severe water shortages they are now dealing with. As usual there is uncertainty over Nepali central government effectiveness and concern for how worldwide financial troubles will impact the country. Walking in the countryside will be perfect. We won't think just yet of the dangers of the Khumbu Icefall or the winds that might scour the Lhotse Face. We'll put off worrying over Hillary Step traffic jams and jet-stream meanderings. Instead we'll set off walking through lush forests and fertile farmland through the villages our Sherpa teams live in. We'll get talking some and walking more and we'll get away from cell phones and email. We'll try not to trip or step in goo... we'll take pictures of distant mountainsides and close-up flowers and our lives will get simpler than they have been for some time. I'll speak with Erica and Ed Dohring; my clients, and will explain how this ten-day trek can be the perfect way to prepare for a big climb. I'll try to tell them what I can of the Sherpa culture and the mountain history. Perhaps I'll get to introduce them to a few famous climbers along the trail. I'll mug for the cameras, as our team tries to capture our First Ascent gear being rolled out on its maiden voyage in the great mountain range. I'll try to stay healthy, warm and dry... simple.