Promised Pictures

This first picture is of myself and Sanjay Kulun, whom my last entry was about.  We are standing next to one of the sacred lakes of Gokyo, the tribute to which is just behind us on the right.

I took this picture from the summit of Gokyo Ri.  Gokyo is barely visible just below the center of the picture.  The glacier I crossed which I recounted in my last post is also fully visible, extending down the valley where I made my jump.  Two of Gokyo's sacred lakes are also visible.

Here I am with the giant bolder that signals Everest Base Camp.  Many people say that there isn't much to see at Everest Base Camp, however, a friend and I kept walking past this touristy boulder and eventually found a makeshift kitchen encampment (made out of stone) left over from the last season of Everest attempts.  The site also provided a nice view of the Khumbu Icefall where the real climb up Everest begins.



Atop Kala Patter, I'm standing with Mount Everest behind me (Everest is the darker pyramid shaped mountain closer to the middle of the photo.  Not the taller one off to the right, Nupste, which appears taller because of perspective.)  I was extremely fortunate while on the summit here because shortly after I finished the climb, the dozens of tourists already there headed down and I was completely alone with the view.  I spent about an hour drawing the mountain scape into my journal.

The Hands of Sanjay Kulung

To put this entry into context, I had crossed the Cho La pass the day before. It took me close to 14 hours because I had become sick the night before in Dzongla after walking from Gorak Shep. In the 48 hours it took me to get from Gorak Shep to Thagnag (including going up and over the Cho La pass [5,300 meters]) I had only had a bowl of museli with milk, half an energy bar, and nothing else because I was sick and simply couldn’t stomach any food. This left me very weak going over the pass, and very dehydrated. I should have anticipated being so dehydrated from the nature of my illness, but being tired and weak, I did not. Getting down to Thagnag where this story starts was very long and difficult. Thagnag is the town just before the destination of Gokyo, which is just on the other side of a glacier flow.

November 9^th 2010

I left Thagnag later than everyone else who had been there the night before. The woman who cleans the rooms was embarrassed and confused to see me. 2 egg omelet and a tuna sandwich. Luckily I managed to get them down without a problem.

Still dreary and weak I started off and hit the moraine (per someone’s suggestion) a little north of Thagnag. I simply couldn’t see where the path would be and on gaining the top of the moraine, I saw farther south 4 porters whistling along on a well-beaten path. I slowly made my way around the mountainous (at least it felt like it) unlevel part of the moraine. I found the well-beaten trail and made my way into the glacier. This glacier, unlike the two I had crossed had huge deep pools of water that were more like lakes than pools, slowly draining southward. I followed the path down to a split between ridges that was separated by water. Too much water to pass. I tried to find another path, inventing my own as I went. I slowly made my way south down the middle of the glacier. Frustration set in quickly as the cairns I DID find let to dead ends or paths disappeared into bolder strewn geography.

Me weakness and my frustration both worked against me, it was some of the slowest going yet. My aimlessness aided these enemies and each time I gained a ridge I became more confused as to which way people crossed the glacier.

Looking back there must have been a better path to the north - the direction I had originally set out for before seeing the porters. God only knows where those porters came from - probably walked through the water, though it hadn’t been worth it at the time for myself.

I continued slowly, slowly, slowly, trying to be mindful of my foot falls. I knew in my condition it would be far too easy to sprain another ankle or get a foot trapped, or even break something. Bolder hopping was a Devil’s dance, taunting slips, slides and falls. So I rested often, and tried to focus while watching my boots waiver and fall solid onto some askance angle. Farther and farther south I went.

I seemed to be getting closer to the second moraine, but the slowly flowing lakes were starting to compound and bunch up between that moraine and the land I was gaining. When I reached the closest ridge to the moraine, my unfortunate suspicion proved real. Between the moraine and ridge upon which I stood was no longer a slowly flowing drain from the higher glacier lakes. Before me was a loud and joyously angry river that seemed to explode at every point. It gorged itself with ice up against the largest most massive boulders that held way at points in the rush. Between these points was a gush, an utter ejection of water. No place presented path for crossing the icy blood of the glacier.

I looked up. The sun was still high, but the mountains to the west of me were huge dark shadows. Sunset was not for many hours but soon I would be in shadow, which I feared, being the foreboding prequel of the night. Crossing the Khumbu glacier at night, however dangerous had been more than doable thanks to the clear path. This glacier was a hot mess and a desperation to get across it was rising in me.

I followed the river south and as I did it became steeper, faster and more angry. But there seemed to be more boulders and possible places to cross the cold crashing curse.

I went farther down and I could see down into the valley where there was another village. And just across the icy rage, high up was a stone fortified pathway that I presumed went to Gokyo. Just a little farther down, I thought I could see a conglomeration of boulders that might separate the waters enough for my ancient refuge nation of one.

Down I went and climbed out on to the preliminary rocks. It looked like I could make it. I attempted to look at the final space between boulders from as many angles as I could. It seemed feasible. The problem was that I couldn’t get a perfect understanding of the distance between two crucial rocks until I was on the closest of the two. Getting to this rock, however, required me to jump down to it, just far enough so that if I needed to get back up, I wouldn’t be able to. I turned on my belly and with two excellent handholds, slowly lowered myself, pack and all, down on to the boulder. It was situated essentially three quarters of the way across the river. My feet barely touched the rock and I let go; on the rock I turned around to look at the gap. It was too far to jump. If I had been at full strength, and had I not had the large pack, I knew I could have jumped it, but the day had already been long - long after two very long and debilitating days. To make matters worse, the river had splashed up water on each rock, which in turn had frozen, making the farthest, most useful part of the rock inaccessible for risk of slipping on the final jump. The second rock presented a symmetrical danger. In essence, to make the jump, I would only be able to use half of the boulder I was on (ice portion included, I could probably take three full strides on the boulder) and would have to propel myself far enough to land in the middle of the second boulder. Realization of my situation set in and I started looking around for a way out. My eyes frenetically shot around at other boulders, all unreachable, and then my gaze went to the sky. Up on the stone fortified pathway, there was a lone porter, resting his load against the wall and watching me. With the roar of the river drowning out any sound, it was the only gesture I could think of that would transcend all barriers of language: I put my hands together and raised them, as if in prayer and looked at the porter for mercy. That young porter’s name was Sanjay Kulung, a 15 year old boy from Gokyo. He walked up the path towards Gokyo a dozen paces and then placed his load down on a ledge and proceeded to effortlessly and quickly descend the rocks until he was on the boulder adjacent to my own. He spoke almost no English and beckoned me to come across the gap. I shook my head ‘no’ and then realized that he was talking about my pack. I took it off quickly and practiced a few swings with it to see if I could hurl it the distance. My chest was echoing with the pound of my heart. An idea came into my head. I put down the pack and dismantled parts of it. The compression sac with my sleeping bag hanging off the back, I threw it to Sanjay. The small tent, I threw, my water bottle… until the pack was bare and then I practiced the swing once again. I felt confident I could get it across. I heaved it back and forth and finally lifted it with my whole body into the air and watched as it sailed over the rushing water and landed with a crash on the rock, Sanjay’s hands grabbing it simultaneously and dragging it to a safer spot. There was only one thing left to get across the gap.

Sanjay looked at me and his hands beckoned for me to jump. I looked down at the gap - the rushing water, impatient, and crying for me to fall. If it happened, there would be little chance. The pressure would slam my stunned body into boulders and there would be little life in it as it tumbled down the rest of the way into the valley. I looked back at Sanjay’s beckoning hands, I looked back at the gap and I took the two steps back to the edge of the boulder. I looked at the rocks on either side of the gap and visualized myself taking the steps and flying across the gap. I inhaled very deeply, consciously, several times and looking one last time at Sanjay’s beckoning hands, I closed my eyes. I thought of my Mother and my Father, my family, and all my friends. I thought of everything I had done in life, everything I had accomplished - everything that had led up to this moment. And then I thought of everything I wanted to do - my hopes, my dreams. I opened my eyes, said to myself, “Not Today.” and I jumped.

From Dark Ice to Dim Light

This entry is from my journal which I have kept everyday since I left Boston. To give a little background to the entry, I had started my trek less than a week prior and had done little other than slowly make my way up the valley. On the first day of my trek, I met a young woman two years older than myself, originally from Europe but recently having come from the northwest of the United States. She told me in those first few days of her seemingly extensive climbing experience, which reassured me since, when it came to mountains, I really didn’t have much of a clue as to what I was doing. The most I had done with regards to mountains was crossing the Cascades and the Rockies by bike two summers ago. For this entry I will refer to this young woman as ‘N’. The day before this entry I had spent the time hydrating myself and trying to rid my blood of as much CO2 as possible because the night prior I had experienced some mild symptoms of Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS). For the day this entry records, our plan was to trek one of the passes: Kong Ma La, which links the towns of Chuckhung and Laboche, apparently a 10 hour trek.

November 3^rd 2010

Yesterday was the most challenging, terrifying, and affirming day of my life. N and I awoke by 5:30 and luckily I slept very well. I had muesli with hot milk and N had Tibetan bread with cheese. We were on our way before light had touched any of the mountains, though the sky above was growing a dim blue. We had to trek a bit north to cross the small but icy stream to the eastern side of Chuckhung. My hands were very cold but this would prove to be the very least of my worries. After crossing the stream we headed south and started on a diagonal climb up the eastern ridge of the valley. This light climb brought us high above the valley as we traveled south and the valley fell farther below us. By the time we turned east, presumably for a more formidable section of the climb, the whole valley was before us and I could not only see all the way back to Thyangboche (where we had stayed several nights prior), but I could even see (barely) the high altitude hotel on the mountain opposite Namche Bazzar.

N was already having a lot of trouble breathing before the climb started getting steep. This was the first time I offered the possibility of turning back and taking another day at Chuckhung to acclimate.

The day before I had spent the entire day drinking water (6+ liters) and I knew that I would be better prepared for the altitude since I’d given my body the opportunity to rid itself of as much CO2 as possible. N had spend the day attempting Chuckhung Ri (5,500 meters. Chuckhung is situated around 4,700 meters). She came back from the day trip very happy and in good spirits, though she had said that it had been difficult and that her lungs hurt. These details were coming back to me then on the edge of the valley. Two other trekkers were gaining quickly on us due to N’s frequent stops to catch her breath. I certainly wasn’t in a race but the speed by which the trekkers overtook us worried me, because, while one was a young man, the other was a much older man, and its sensible to think that a 23 year old male and a 25 year old female should at least be able to keep up with this pair. This worried me a little but I figured since we would be sleeping at an altitude not much higher than Chuck hung (Laboche is around 4,930 meters, an acceptable 200 meter increment) I wasn’t terribly worried. As long as we got down from the pass we should be ok. Slowly, we made our way over some high hills with still a growing distance from the trekkers who had passed us. I would take pictures while N caught her breath or attempted to get a little ahead. When we found the first major ridge, N was already speculating about which high point was the summit. In lieu of her condition I was hoping for the same possibilities.  My worry was starting to gain a very nervous edge. When the grassy slopes started to turn into a rock strewn lunar landscape, we took a break and another group of four over took us. One of them (a - as N put it - ‘crazy’ French woman) had been with N on Chuckhung Ri and started to talk about how difficult of a time N had had on the Ri. (I learned a few minutes after their departure from N that her jubilant mood had been more from the fact that she’d broken up with her boyfriend on a phone call)

On the first rocky ridge that was something more akin to steep, the histrionics that would mark the rest of the day began to show themselves. N was stopping more frequently and on top on this her complaining was starting to gain a more desperate nature. At a few points she broke down and started crying. The headache she had briefly mentioned earlier was now very painful and she was now dizzy. Asking her if she wanted to turn back had grown to be a common punctuation of our intermittent conversation, and asking her then would be far from the last time. She was adamant that there was no way she would turn back. By this point I was very worried and I tried to take comfort from all the mountain experience she had been raving about.  We had both convinced ourselves that the summit had to be just over the ridge we were on. I beckoned her on (seeing no other alternative), telling her that we were almost there and that she would make it! When finally after more stopping, and goading her on, we made it up over the ridge the summit wasn’t in sight and our path banked to the right. We passed a small lake and N sat down, declaring that she would go no farther and that I should leave her. Before us was a snow covered hill - not a terribly formidable task - and I knew that N could make it up and over. She was petulant and unyielding. My position was beginning to feel more and more constricted and compromised and was making me feel desperate: She would not turn back. Encouraging words slowly got her to the top of the white hill.

The sight that awaited us broke N down into tears. Before us was another gorgeous blue mountain lake, and to the north of it our path banked before slamming into an almost vertical ascend of about 100 meters. At the top of that distant rocky ridge, multi-colored Tibetan prayer flags stretched from one high rock to another as if mockingly signaling the end of a race. N was down on her knees crying. She said that she couldn’t go on any farther and that I should leave her. I knew by this point that she was also hallucinating - seeing black dots, which meant (based on my reading of the last few days) that she was experiencing symptoms of pulmonary edema and cerebral edema - both extremely critical life threatening afflictions. I also knew that the altitude we were at (approx. 5,400 meters) had not taken its full affect on her and that if she were to stay at the altitude for somewhere between 6 and 12 hours her condition would worsen as the CO2/Oxygen levels became more unbalanced. Considering the symptoms she was telling me, it seemed reasonable based on my reading that if she stayed she had a good chance of lapsing into a coma and possibly dying. At this point panic was boiling inside of me and I worked through my options at a machine gun rate.  My only choice was to get her up over the summit and down as fast as possible. I told N that I couldn’t and wouldn’t leave her. She asked me:

‘Why?’

“I just couldn’t“, I said. She asked me why I cared? The question seemed irrelevant to me. I told her that we needed to get to the summit and get down, or she risked falling into a coma and possibly dying. She looked around at the gorgeous display of mountains behind us.

“Its a good place to die“, she said. You’ve got to be joking, I thought. She seemed serious.

“Why do you care?” She asked again, “No one else would care if I died.” Panic had more reason, but terrified as I was, I told myself I was finished with this nonsense.  I started walking forward a few steps and looked back with the parental expectation that she would follow. Underneath I was terrified that I might be pushing her too hard.  She got up slowly, and slowly we ascended the last rocky wall. N made if first, and when she got to the small space that felt as though it teetered between the two incredibly steep inclines, she was ebullient. Memory of the last several hours seemed to have been washed from her. For good reason too, the view was unlike anything I had ever seen:

The entire landscape before me and in back of me truly looked as though the world was mid explosion, yet the action was so still! White jagged peaks, peppered brown and black where true hard color shown through. The motion of millions of years condensed and pressed into a single moment of observation. All the sound that trickled out from that vast expanse of movement was a light whirl of wind on the rocks.
I could have sat on that pass for days - weeks - months in awe, with still more to find. But the sun was not going to wait and N had to get down. The other side of the pass was the steepest terrain I had seen yet on the trip. Nearly 600 meters of downward rock pile. And at the base of it - flat ground that led up to the Khumbu Glacier moraine wall. In-between the two glacier moraines was a convoluted maze of rock piles, valleys and pools. And just beyond the second moraine was a clutter of buildings which I pegged for Laboche. I was entirely aware that crossing the glacier would be difficult, and the last push to Laboche.
We started down from the pass, and I immediately had trouble. My right knee was painful from Petella-femeral syndrome which had been developing over that last week. Luckily I was familiar with the syndrome from training for cycling across North America. Basically one side of my leg had gotten stronger than the other side much faster (or just tightened up) and was pulling my knee cap out of the groove created by the joining of the femur and the tibia. Time and more exercise is really the only cure. (other than a good PT). N gave me one of her trekking poles to help, but after much pain and slow going, I was nearing the bottom and felt not only that the syndrome was getting worse but it was now starting to develop in my other knee. I had been using a wooden staff in my right hand for a few days, about the same time the syndrome started developing in my right knee. In my frustration and pain, I determined that the use of the staff and now the pole was creating some kind of imbalance in the way my legs were holding up my body. I became upset, gave N back her trekking pole and then destroyed the wooden staff against a bolder. (I was right about the imbalance, as the problem has slowly resolved itself ever since, and not once has it gotten at all worse.) I stormed down the rest of the rock-hoping decline and quickly made my way across the flat ground towards the moraine.
The moraine rose seemingly unnaturally from the earth and the gathering dark mist made me feel that I was truly on another planet. In all honesty the monolithic quality of the wall of rock and dirt looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. Great horns and shaking strings sounded in my head as every epic soundtrack began to conglomerate and announce the arrival of a final obstacle.
When I had caught my breath I ascended some of the moraine, perhaps 50 of the 100 meters, running up the path. I looked back to see N hunched over her trekking poles, gasping for breath, not a quarter of the way I had amounted. She looked up after a minute and said it was impossible. Very slowly, she ascended to my level on the verge of tears, and told me that she felt as though her lungs were filled with something like mucus and that she could only really take half a breath. The sun was going down and I knew that Laboche was just on the other side of the glacier. N didn’t want to go on, but what was I supposed to do? She was back at a safe altitude, but I couldn’t leave her, and if her condition somehow worsened, it would be best if we were in Laboche. At the same time, however, I was afraid that if I pushed her too hard, it might also make her condition worse. The top of the moraine was just above and I managed to quell N’s tears and convince her to just go to the top of the moraine to see what the path looked like.
When she glimpsed what lie beyond the moraine, she collapsed once again into tears, sobbing uncontrollably saying that it was impossible. Somehow, I convinced her to continue, and as the sunset it was a constant series of emotional breakdowns. She would sit on the ground, cry and say once again that it was impossible. Every time we got to the top of a ridge and our pathetic headlamps illuminated yet another ridge she would become an emotional mess. She told me to leave her, to go on. Ridiculous. The only choice was to continue, as terrified as I was… and this is something I want to make clear: I have never been more terrified in my life as I was that day, and that night when I was making my way with N through that glacier. The whole time I had a SPOT device which is primarily a GPS unit for notifying family and friends of one’s whereabouts and letting them know that everything is alright. It is, however, equipped with a Panic button which backs $100,000 of search & rescue. My trembling finger hovered above that red Panic button all day, and never before had I so strongly considered pushing it than during some of N’s breakdowns that night in the Glacier. Fear was a constant layer of clothing that ran up and down and all around my body, telling me of the danger that was beneath my feet, the cold at my throat and the degrading systems in N’s body. The stress of that fear was so intense that at several points in the glacier, I attempted to make myself cry, just to relieve some of the feeling, but something irresolute had grown solid inside of me. I could not cry, however much I wanted to. Something, whatever it was, felt solid - monolithic in my chest, and its voice in my mind told me to go on, and that I would succeed, to keep going, keep going…
N would accuse me of saying that it would be our last ridge when we surmounted it, only to see more ridges. I had done nothing of the sort. The moraine, which would be our final climb (based on what I had seen from above at the pass) was visible in the distance as a gargantuan black wall - this I had said would be the last. But through her tears and anger she accused me of trying to trick her. I did my best to remain hopeful and optimistic, but I was terrified to the core, and constantly questioned whether or not I was doing the right thing. I am thousands and thousands of miles away from home, in a country I don’t know, I am in the midst of a cold rocky glacier, navigating in the dark, the young woman I am with is breaking down emotionally and physically, and I have no way of contacting anybody save for the Panic button. But I knew we were close! I saw Laboche from the pass! I knew my eyes had not deceived me.
Luckily the last 3^rd of the trail was generally downhill and looked as though it was heading for a depression in the moraine. I egged her on with positive words and finally we reached the top of the moraine, but I could see nothing. The trail through the glacier had bent slightly southeast by my feeling of it, so I knew (and hoped) that Laboche would be just north along the moraine. After a few more breakdowns, I felt something in the back of my mind flicker… I thought….maybe…oh please let it be so… I told N to turn off her headlamp, and through babbling teary complaints she did. I did the same. Barely, through the dark cloud and the fog, there was a dim luminescence.
I yelled to N, “There is light!, there is Laboche! We are almost there!”, she responded:
“…but its so far away!” and started crying. Continually she had resigned her fate to her present spot, but now, finally, she conceded and said:
“I trust whatever you do…”, and followed me. I kept walking in the direction of the nebulous light, all the while tracing the steps in the snow, of the trekkers from the morning. When I thought I heard voices, I yelled “Help!” but no one would answer. We crossed a shallow stream and shortly I was on a well-beaten path that I knew had to be the main trail to Laboche. The lights were brighter and I could make out windows, and I could see people in the buildings! I kept yelling to N, “We are here! We are here! I can see people! We are in Laboche!”
Finally, I stumbled into a lodge and asked for a room over and over: “Room? Room? Room?” - No room. I went to the next lodge and walked in and collapsed on a bench. The dinning hall was full and predictably no one noticed I had come through the door. I asked someone who I should talk to and directed myself to the young boy who seemed to be orchestrating the operation.
“room?” - Yes.
I looked back to find N on the bench that I had left and motioned for her to come. Through a flag-covered doorway, stone steps, a left turn, more stone steps. The end of a dark hallway - room 30. N went in first and dropped her bag, I did the same and the moment I sat down I broke down in sobs. I said through my convulsions that I had been so worried about her, that I hadn’t been sure what to do, that I had never been so scared in all my life. She apologized and told me that I’d saved her life.

Epilogue:
The next day, I found that I was rather angry with the position that N had put me, unwilling to turn back when its exactly what should have happened. I told her that she needed to see a doctor, that she needed to go down to Perische. She would have nothing of it and planned to go up to Gorak Shep. I thought it was an unwise decision. It was amazing to see how quickly she forgot how difficult the previous day had been for her. And on top of it all N told me that prior she had had a very serious case of pneumonia and thought it was what she had now in Laboche. Not ten minutes up the lightly inclined trail she was once again down on her knees gasping for breath. I convinced her to stay in Laboche another night to rest. The next morning, against my protestations we started again up towards Gorak Shep, and again the same result, though it was obvious she was trying to hide her symptoms and pace herself more efficiently, moving very slowly. I argued with her, urging her to see a doctor, telling her that I would go with her to Perische, but she was unyielding. A Godsend, two Swedish guys, who were obviously having a lot of trouble breathing stopped to talk to N while I was up on the moraine. (I could easily run up to moraine, and walked along it as the path to Gorak Shep was along it. I had separated myself from N to try and figure out what to do.) When I came back down I learned that the Swedish guys had told N that two days ago a woman had died after returning to Laboche from Gorak Shep. Her stubborn wall seemed to be teetering on an unreliable base. The Swedish guys came up to the two of us and I introduced a conversation I could not loose.
“So guys, if you thought you had pneumonia, would you still be on your way to Gorak Shep?” There expressions instantly changed, as though they’d suddenly walked into a situation way over their heads.
“No way.”, they responded. I looked at N and replied
“Yea, niether would I, pretty dumb idea if you ask me.” I was pissed.
It convinced her to descend and turning my back on Base Camp, Kalla Pattar, and Everest herself, I led N down to Perische. 900 meter descend over 10 kilometers. When we got to Tukla (an intermediate town close to Perische) I agreed to stop for some tea, and N made it physically apparent that she was intending to stay. After the Tea I got up and walked a few paces out of Tukla, turning around to confront her petulant expression. I had a flashback to my childhood and realized I was standing in my Father’s shoes. I took my cue from his actions and N got up, grudgingly and followed me. I stayed ahead of N so that she protestations, if there were any, could not reach me, and once when I agreed to her arm waving and waited for her to catch up, she started yelling at me:
“I COULD BE IN GORAK SHEP RIGHT NOW!-”
“YEA, AND YOU COULD BE FUCKING DEAD!” I yelled right back at her before turning back and briskly gaining distance from her slow pace.
I was determined, though I still questioned whether I was doing the right thing or not. I wondered what my family would think or do, my friends? I endeavored to make Perische long before N and did so. I found the medical post as quickly as I could and when I found the doctor - a young woman from Ontario, I told her all of N’s symptoms and the events of the last few days. I also told her that N was very upset with me, and before N got there I paid the $50 for the medical consultation so that when N arrived she could not protest.
Sure enough, she had a chest infection, of which the doctor said had no chance of healing up at Laboche or Gorak Shep.
Though I wanted to head back immediately, N begged me to stay and leave in the morning, I agreed. That night at The White Yak, there was a nice group of people and we had a generally fun time. N and I noticed that the older gentleman of a german couple was looking at N and I. We commented on it, and after a few minutes I forgot about it. Perhaps an hour later, N said:
“Caught it.”
“What?” I said, having no idea what she was talking about. She rolled her eyes and said:
“Ugh, you have no imagination!” I couldn’t figure out what she was talking about and then I remembered the greman man and realized that she’d meant that she’d ‘caught’ his glance. After a moment I decided that her reaction to my puzzlement had been a bit mean.
“You know, you can be a little mean sometimes.” I said. Without changing her expression or missing a beat, she looked at me and said:
“You deserve it.”
The next morning I left. Good riddance. I climbed the 900 meters ascent over the 10 kilometers and I did it in under 6 hours. When I told a Sherpa what I had done he furrowed his eyebrows and sucked air through pursed lips. “You verdy stron man! Verdy stron man!” That day, I was a Sherpa.