We are told there are two ways up the final mountain pass, straight up or the long winding way. Were not talking a modest incline it was to be our highest summit of the trek. So without much of a hesitation 6 of us headed for the straight shot in Tashi’s words we chose the “adventure”. The beginning steps were deceivingly easy I was thinking this will be no problem we’ll make it up there sooner than we know it. But as I kept climbing the oxygen around me felt like it was depleting with every step, my leg muscles ached, my heart felt like it was beating to one of the Ladakhis odd techno songs that they love so much., and even as my lungs burned and eyes water as I looked to the snow covered top of the mountain I have never felt so happy to be braced against the steep slope of a mountain in the Himalayan mountains. As our efforts continued the sun was covered by a massive snow cloud that made the surroundings around us look exactly like fresh piece of white paper, and when I looked down the bottom of the mountain I could no longer seen the base and the top was just barley in sight. The effort put into scaling that mountain gave my body a rush of adventure I felt like an arctic explorer and extreme ice climber!
After what seemed like a slow painful process I made it to the top and with a rush of energy gave a victory cry with Taylor cheering by my side. Jake, Cedar and Caroline had already collapsed into a pile out of exhaustion. At the top it was still so snowy we couldn’t see where we had started but the lack of view didn’t matter we had just pushed ourselves up what seemed like a perpendicular mountain!!! Of course that’s a bit of an exaggeration but have you ever tried to acclimate to high altitudes, it’s harder than I expected and makes trekking a whole different experience! When the rest of the group made their way up to join us we had a giant peanut butter and paratha feast! I can tell you one thing that was the best peanut butter I have ever tasted!!!!!
---katrina
Friday, March 11, 2011
Om.
I have always been a mountain girl. So as I switch the lenses of my sunglasses from rose to polarized black down in the valley, I am already measuring the mountain in my head. The sun is shining, and after three days of trekking I am ready for this. Starting up the nearly vertical access to the pass, I don’t mind that I am last. I don’t like being in the middle of the pack. If I can’t be first, I’d rather be last. It is a meditative walk, and I settle into the same silent self reflection I have always used while hiking at home.
About halfway up, clouds roll in. Weather really does come quickly in these mountains. I don’t mind the sudden fog, or the feeling of granulated snowflakes pricking at the layer of Dermatone on my face. I just keep going, even though it gets more difficult.
I am fairly sure that I can tell you what it feels like to reach your VO2 max. There comes a certain point at altitude, when you can feel every muscle in your body, and all you want to do is to stop. But every time you do stop, you have to start again. And when you start again it is sooo much worse. You know what it feels like to be alive. Really alive. In the midst of the pain I realize I am grinning like an idiot.
The entire hike, I had my dad’s scarf. It was tied onto my backpack, and I held either end over my shoulders in both hands, anchoring myself, and reminding myself to keep track of my breath. How to describe that hike to you… it’s so difficult. Those of you who ski at Smuggs, it was like walking across Catwalk, looking down to the right at the moguls below and looking up to the left at the slope that looks so very vertical. The only difference is that you’ve got no skis on. Gravity is not your friend, and there is about a three to six inch layer of granulated powder on top of desert sand for your feet to make purchase of as you switchback up the mountain.
When I reach the peak, I am psyched. In the JFK airport, I bought a Power C Vitamin Water. It was the last purchase I made in America. Somehow I held out on drinking it for a whole month. I had the brains to bring it on trek with me. It turns out to be the best tasting Vitamin Water I have ever had.
After half a Cadbury Fruit and Nut bar, a few Good Day cookies, and a Jhapati with peanut butter for lunch, I turned to my pack for what I had purchased for this very moment.
The prayer flags I had purchased while on a walk through Hemis the day before were an excellent idea. With a little help from the pony guides and our guide Tashi, my prayer flags were soon strung up across the pass. Just leaving them there like ordinary prayer flags is not my style. Instead I pulled out a few pens and asked the rest of the VISpas to write “their prayers” on the flags. This is a Ladakhi tradition, writing one’s prayers with a pen on the prayer flags so the wind will carry and spread them. We generate a whole lot of good Karma standing in a row on this mountain, on top of the world. I chose a yellow flag, for friendship, and proceeded to decorate it as a thank you to everyone who helped me to get here so I could climb that mountain. On the flag, I write the names of friends and loved ones who have been on my mind lately and all my wishes for them. Hopefully those winds will make their way down off that mountain, and around the world and find each of you whether or not I wrote your name.
Standing, writing on the flag, I think about every time I have climbed Mt. Mansfield. There is a small plaque in the top recognizing human triumph. Here, a mountain is conquered with a fountain of color and prayers for the world. Across the valleys, flames of color rise and dance in the wind like signal fires in an ancient time, if only to signal peace. As always the only thing to do is to stand still and breath it in. After a moment I collect the pens and my backpack and continue down the other side of the pass to Ang. I am last again, but I don’t mind. This is how I like it. After all, I’ve always been the last kid at the craft table and how many people can say that they have decorated prayer flags on a peak of the Himalayas?
About halfway up, clouds roll in. Weather really does come quickly in these mountains. I don’t mind the sudden fog, or the feeling of granulated snowflakes pricking at the layer of Dermatone on my face. I just keep going, even though it gets more difficult.
I am fairly sure that I can tell you what it feels like to reach your VO2 max. There comes a certain point at altitude, when you can feel every muscle in your body, and all you want to do is to stop. But every time you do stop, you have to start again. And when you start again it is sooo much worse. You know what it feels like to be alive. Really alive. In the midst of the pain I realize I am grinning like an idiot.
The entire hike, I had my dad’s scarf. It was tied onto my backpack, and I held either end over my shoulders in both hands, anchoring myself, and reminding myself to keep track of my breath. How to describe that hike to you… it’s so difficult. Those of you who ski at Smuggs, it was like walking across Catwalk, looking down to the right at the moguls below and looking up to the left at the slope that looks so very vertical. The only difference is that you’ve got no skis on. Gravity is not your friend, and there is about a three to six inch layer of granulated powder on top of desert sand for your feet to make purchase of as you switchback up the mountain.
When I reach the peak, I am psyched. In the JFK airport, I bought a Power C Vitamin Water. It was the last purchase I made in America. Somehow I held out on drinking it for a whole month. I had the brains to bring it on trek with me. It turns out to be the best tasting Vitamin Water I have ever had.
After half a Cadbury Fruit and Nut bar, a few Good Day cookies, and a Jhapati with peanut butter for lunch, I turned to my pack for what I had purchased for this very moment.
The prayer flags I had purchased while on a walk through Hemis the day before were an excellent idea. With a little help from the pony guides and our guide Tashi, my prayer flags were soon strung up across the pass. Just leaving them there like ordinary prayer flags is not my style. Instead I pulled out a few pens and asked the rest of the VISpas to write “their prayers” on the flags. This is a Ladakhi tradition, writing one’s prayers with a pen on the prayer flags so the wind will carry and spread them. We generate a whole lot of good Karma standing in a row on this mountain, on top of the world. I chose a yellow flag, for friendship, and proceeded to decorate it as a thank you to everyone who helped me to get here so I could climb that mountain. On the flag, I write the names of friends and loved ones who have been on my mind lately and all my wishes for them. Hopefully those winds will make their way down off that mountain, and around the world and find each of you whether or not I wrote your name.
Standing, writing on the flag, I think about every time I have climbed Mt. Mansfield. There is a small plaque in the top recognizing human triumph. Here, a mountain is conquered with a fountain of color and prayers for the world. Across the valleys, flames of color rise and dance in the wind like signal fires in an ancient time, if only to signal peace. As always the only thing to do is to stand still and breath it in. After a moment I collect the pens and my backpack and continue down the other side of the pass to Ang. I am last again, but I don’t mind. This is how I like it. After all, I’ve always been the last kid at the craft table and how many people can say that they have decorated prayer flags on a peak of the Himalayas?
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