NEPAL
GREAT HIMALAYA TRAIL
The Great Himalaya Trail follows “the highest feasible route across the Himalaya” through Nepal as well as Bhutan, India and Pakistan.
What is the GHT?
The Great Himalayan Trail — or GHT — is a vast, wandering thread stitched across the roof of the world, stretching from Nepal’s far eastern border to its remote western edge.
It weaves through the heart of the Himalayas, crossing high mountain passes, deep river gorges, ancient trade routes, and isolated villages where daily life remains pretty much the same it’s been for centuries.
Along the way, the trail passes beneath some of the planet’s highest peaks while also moving through subtropical forests, alpine meadows, and stark high-altitude deserts.
It’s not a single path so much as a grand journey, linking landscapes, cultures, and histories into one continuous traverse.
Whether tackled in small sections or as an ambitious months-long crossing, the GHT represents one of the world’s most demanding and rewarding long-distance trails and a way to experience the Himalayas not just as scenery, but as a living world.
Kirati pilgrims at the Jannu Shrine, along an acclimatizing side trip on the way to Kanchenjunga.
Section One, Kanchenjunga to Makalu
Let's start at the very beginning...
For my first visit to Nepal, I skipped the cushy, postcard version of trekking, the one with teahouse beds, hot showers, and helicopter rescues when things get uncomfortable.
Instead, I gave myself a 60th birthday present by choosing something far wilder — a demanding 34-day walk across high-altitude routes in one of Nepal’s most remote regions.
The journey followed Section One of the Great Himalayan Trail, from Kanchenjunga, the world’s third-highest peak, to Makalu, the fifth. Along the way we crossed Lumba Sumba Pass (one of my all-time favorite names!) rising to just shy of 17,000 feet.
Starting in Nepal’s far eastern corner along the borders of Tibet and India, the trail dives straight into the toughest terrain of the entire traverse which is remote, exposed, brutally steep, and relentlessly rugged.
Calling it tough feels like an understatement, especially since a cyclone decided to join for part of the adventure!
This trip was unusual for me in one key way. I signed on with a guided expedition, expertly organized and led from start to finish. In fact, it may be the only hike of my life where I didn’t lose weight!
Kathmandu to Ghunsa
Flying to Kathmandu from the United States is a thru-hike of its own. I went economy, so had to fold my body into my seat and attempt to sleep as much as humanly possible.
Still, I was near psychotically jet-lagged, but managed to squeeze in a visit to the Swayambhunath, better known as the Monkey Temple with its 365 steps, panoramic views, incensed aroma and hundreds of resident monkeys.
Below was a wonder to behold in the sheer amount of traffic moving on the roads as each car squeezed into position like so many blood cells in a maze of capillaries. I celebrated my arrival with steamed Momos at the Zen-like Garden of Dreams before crashing at my hotel for a 12-hour snooze.
Unfortunately, the recently ended monsoon wiped out part of the road we needed to take from Bhadrapur to Ilam, so after an early morning flight with zero visibility, we drove in the opposite direction of our destination for 10 dusty and bumpy hours ending up in Terhathum.
I snagged my own seat and slept nearly the entire drive, awake long enough though to experience the extremely windy roads snaking up and down the foothills on roads that were oftentimes rivers of water and rock.
We soon passed the washout and headed to Suketar, staying in the lovely Hotel Yak right next to the defunct airport, its runway a jumble of rock now after the 2015 earthquake. In the crisp morning air, we caught our first glimpses of the snow-capped Himalaya, Kanchenjunga thrusting itself a bit above the rest.
Still, an even bumpier jeep-ride lay ahead taking us deep into the gorge of the Tamur Khola valley. The road snaked high along the gorge on what appeared to be a newly built road without a single guardrail and often was washed out completely.
The bumpy jeep ride up the Tamur Khola gorge. Nepali drivers are some of the best in the world.
And now, we walk.
It sort of feels sudden to hop out of the jeep, stretch your legs and begin moving. The air is still quite warm and humid at only 5,500 feet. It’s hard to imagine we will climb 12,000 feet from here to Kanchenjunga’s basecamp!
It is a very short walk, though, past the new hydroelectric dam. As lovely as these villages are in their most primitive state, the people who live here want modern conveniences – like electricity.
Immediately, I spy cardamom growing in the forest on the very steep terrain. This may be a trail, but it’s not wilderness in the sense that an American might think. This area has been inhabited for hundreds of years. Villagers travel on these routes too, and so have built extraordinary stone stairs, oftentimes from materials carried by hand from a great distance away.
It’s steep and exhausting walking on these stairs, but for the most part manages to control erosion. Our first campsite is already set up in the lodge’s garden at Sekathum.
In the evening, we meet our staff. Oh my goddess, there are three guides and one sirdar, six kitchen crew and a cook, 27 porters and a head porter plus an international guide. We meet each one in turn to much applause and excitement. Two of the porters are women, Urmilla and Lachhimi!
So now it become obvious why it’s worth hiring a team. Planning logistics, keeping us on schedule, organizing permits, finding us places to sleep — especially if another group shows up and there’s limited space — and maybe most importantly, feeding us.
Our meals include meat and bread as well as squash, potatoes, dal bhat (lentil curry and rice) as well as salads and desert. Even in the morning, we’re awakened with hot tea served in our tents. I must say, as hard as I worked, I never went hungry!
Our first real day of trekking takes across a fantastically built metal suspension bridge and up into deep forest. It’s fall now, so the huge rhododendrons are mostly free of flowers, but it’s gorgeous and lush in here, filled with ferns, bamboo, gnarled brown oaks and a fresh, earthy scent.
Pro tips:
- If you are flying from the United States, give yourself extra days to recover from jet lag. It was (almost) debilitating!
- Use Diamox (acetazolamide) to help acclimate. I brought a seven-day course from home, but easily bought more in Kathmandu.
- The start of the trail can be very hot and humid as compared to the sub-freezing temperatures of the alpine regions. Plan accordingly!
We cross a few streams fed by waterfalls on rickety downed logs, then march up and up, 3,000 feet to a narrow terrace at Amjilossa, where one single pine tree looks down on our tent array.
The next day is steeply up and down high above the river, the Ghunsa Khola. Gyabala is our destination at 9,000 feet. There’s a guest house where the porters sing and dance the night away while we camp again in the garden.
Nepal is not about solitude and deep reflection. It’s loud and boisterous, dogs running around, chickens peaking into the tent flaps, a line forming for the long drop-style squat toilet and a general joyousness that is unique to this place.
The weather is so lovely, all of us take a steep walk up to the stupa above. The views are stunning of the deep valley below through a string of prayer flags. The idea is to send the prayers into the universe, so best to put them where the wind will catch them.
The next day’s walk gets steeper and more committed as we arrive in the stunning hanging valley of Phole. Yaks — or mores accurately Dzo, a cow/yak hybrid— wearing bells and fancy red headdresses, graze in the meadow with a view of impossibly spiky, snow-capped peaks. Their dung dries on rocks in preparation to use as fuel.
The houses are beautiful in this village, wooden and painted colorfully in pinks, blues and yellow. The roofs though are metal. We pass a pile of rocks called a Mani Wall, also protected by a metal roof. Flags flutter in the breeze, and I gently touch the colorful inscriptions praying for good health and a safe journey.
We take a sharp right to head toward Kanchenjunga and pass the spur we’ll take up and over Nango La when we return. Sanskrit graffiti is all along the rocks plus a memorial to the 24 members of the World Wildlife Foundation who were killed, including two Americans, in a helicopter crash in 2006.
Our final steps are on a very narrow wooden bridge across a landslip, then across the river to Ghunsa. Hot showers await as well as many prayer wheels to spin. I look forward to a day off, when I’m corrected. We will camp here two nights, but use tomorrow to hike steeply up and acclimate ourselves for the high trekking ahead.
Ghunsa to Kanchenjunga (and back)
I was all set for a rest day. I loaded a dozen books on my eReader and was ready to just kick back and enjoy the view.
But that is definitely not the best use of time on a trek like this. There’s an old adage that you should climb high and sleep low. It trains your body to get used to thinner air.
It was terribly cold when we awakened and tough to get up, dress and leave our warm sleeping bags. Once the sun reached us as we pushed up a stone trail through moss-covered oaks on the Kanchenjunga Circuit, I felt good, warm and strong.
I drink a lot at altitude. I’ll add an electrolyte mix to half of at least four liters per day. It means I pee a lot (!) but I rarely developed a headache. I should mention having a team boiling the water each day meant I never had to fuss with filtering water. I also had a hot water bottle to cuddle when temps dropped below freezing.
I also hike very slowly and was almost always behind this very fit and competitive group. That sometimes left me feeling lonely in the back, but Bihm stayed right on my heels every day and assured me it was wise to go slow so I didn’t risk developing dangerous altitude sickness symptoms.
We climb to a beautiful viewpoint at Lobsang La just above 13,000 feet. Take pictures and head back down. Maybe it was a mountain high, but meeting that goalpost and knowing that tomorrow I’ll sleep at that height gave me a boost of confidence.
We spend the afternoon testing our portable decompression chamber and cramming into an emergency shelter. Again, there’s an entire team looking out for our safety. To top it off we’re served pizza and pumpkin pie. Life is good!
I am feeling good and ready to climb. We are spectacularly lucky with the weather. The skies are crisp and clear without a cloud in sight. It’s steep through pine and rhododendron forest on the east bank of the Ghunsa Khola and pass Buddhist mani walls and chortens all along the way.
We cross a few landslips on big rocks, but it’s mostly straightforward walking to a grassy meadow at Rampuk Kharka where we eat lunch surrounded by many shrines and flags. From here, the land opens up and we climb steeply above a larch-filled valley, putting on their golden autumn finery.
As we leave the forest, we come onto dry grass littered with deep purple gentian, their petals wide open to receive the bright sun. Rising to our right is the glorious snow-encrusted flanks of Jannu.
Kambachen has to be one of the most beautiful places I have ever camped. I peak directly out my tent at mountains encircling the meadow. Many colorfully painted teahouses or lodges await trekkers coming behind us and there’s a constant sound of building as the Kanchenjunga Circuit has become very popular. We’re early so we can get to Makalu before it gets too cold, so still have it largely to ourselves.
Again, we acclimate by climbing high, this time to Jannu Shrine at 14,500 feet. I must say this is the single most favorite day of the trek for me. The trail is paved with stones all the way up. The mountains beckon us as we climb, as do the many cairns stacked in phallic shapes all along the way.
We take a brief pause at Nupchu Khola before powering up high above a glacier, then through a series of Kirati flags waving in the wind to a shrine. What timing! A group of pilgrims circumambulate the shrine, with its burning juniper, crashing cymbals, clacking a damar — a two headed drum — blowing yak-horns and dancing.
Prayer flags, brass bells, and long fringed strips of fabric move in the breeze. It is one of the most fascinating places I’ve been in my life. I love mountains, but this is a mountain setting with people doing what their ancestors have done for millennia. It’s deeply moving.
Dzo, a yak/cow hybrid, are empty now after carrying supplies up to Pangpema, Kanchenjunga’s North Basecamp.
Pro tips:
- “Climb high, sleep low.” Take advantage of any chance to go a bit higher each day to slowly get used to the thin air.
- Bring Emergen-C and high-SPF lip balm.
- Drink LOTS of water with electrolytes and skip booze.
- Walk slowly and “pressure breathe” pushing the air out forcefully through pursed lips.
Again, I am far more confident having climbed to Jannu Shrine and the following day to Lhonak feels easier. It’s not as steep up lateral moraine through a seasonal yak herder’s camp and across a rocky and hazardous landslip, where we all wear helmets just in case one of the rocks decides to give way.
Things get wilder up here as we follow a deep gorge filled with ice pushing out from Kanchenjunga. We eat at a small guest house where they advertise “Toilets with Rooms!” giving us all a little chuckle.
Our camp is very cold, so we soak in as much sun as is humanly possible looking down on the spectacular jumble of ice, rock and rushing water below. The stars are exquisite each time I need to duck out for a wee and I’m feeling excited and ready for our push up to Pangpema, the north basecamp of Kanchenjunga.
Again, we are blessed with heavenly weather and easy slopes walking high above the glacier and surrounded by impressive peaks, Wedge, Mera, Nepal and Twins all dwarfed by the 8,000+ meter monsters ahead.
I am slower than everyone, especially on the extended landslip, requiring careful footing and helmets. It’s not all up, but steeply down and up again through here. I am nervous how I will manage when I return.
But I can’t think about that now. The beauty of this place is extraordinary, especially in the intense sun and deep azure sky. It’s not long before we reach the basecamp, with guest houses dug below ground in rock-reinforced caves. Blue sheep pass nearby and we linger taking photos and soaking it all in. I even take off my shirt for some cancer-thriver photos to post on Instagram!
But we don’t stay here long and need to return to our tents at Lhonak. And that’s when everything goes sideways. Perhaps I picked up a bug from one of my fellow hikers coughing in the bus, or from someone in the guest houses. Or maybe breathing heavy at altitude and in cold air has just done me in, but I develop a hacking cough.
It’s lovely heading down, but I’m miserable. Exhausted, my lips swollen from sunburn and breathing becoming a nightmare. The good news is I don’t have a headache and we’re descending, so it’s not altitude sickness, just a bad cold.
We spend another night in Lhonak then walk all the way back down to Ghunsa. Originally, in order to avoid another group from France who we’d need to share tiny campsites with, we had intended to skip a rest day and keep moving forward.
I don’t know if it was because I am sick or for another reason, but we take that rest day and I sleep all of it!
Ghunsa to Thudam (over Lumba Sumba Pass)
It’s a good day off in the sun, a hot shower and doing everything I can to mitigate this nasty cough. We return to the spur up to Nango La and it turns out to be a very short, but incredibly steep, climb.
It’s stairs the entire way with views back to the viewpoint we climbed on our first day of acclimatization. Funny that going up doesn’t give me too many problems. I breathe steadily, pursing my lips to force air out and allowing my lungs to simply work as a bellows and vacuum up the next breath.
It’s when I stop that I cough, almost uncontrollably. But it passes and we arrive at a beautiful karkha or meadow to camp for the night and prepare for our first in a series of high passes.
It’s very steep, but again, short up to the 13,500-foot Nango La or pass. Prayer flags flutter in the breeze and we linger at the low point, some of us (including me with my cough) climb a bit higher for a more expansive view of the steep and snowy climb down.
All of us put on micro spikes and slip-slide down this magnificent valley, eroded by land slides in some places. When we stop for lunch under a hot sun on grass turning amber in the fall coolness, some of us want to stay right here forever.
We can see our tents already set so far below in another unnamed kharka. There’s just enough sunlight to warm ourselves before dinner, which includes chips (French fries!) It is a very long and hard day again as we wend our way steeply down a wiped out ravine to Yangma Khola.
This is the moment of truth where a washed out bridge would mean an enormous detour. We sent one of our guides ahead to check it out. Imagine, he and one porter travel in a day what takes us three!
The bridge is intact over a raging river of glacial melt. But from this lowest spot, it’s another massive climb, this time up an experiment in road-building. There’s a reason Nepal is filled with walking trails rather than roads. Its steepness means most routes are soon wiped out by landslides and impassible.
We are able to walk some of it, but then head up unbelievably steep and narrow switchbacks. I am going well, but my breathing just can’t keep up and I cough uncontrollably. It’s at this point that I am convinced I can’t go on. Ben, our English guide and Bihm. the head guide or Sirdar walk with me and convince me to keep going.
I beg them to let me go home, but they won’t hear of it and push me on. Eventually I make it, reaching the Tibetan-style village of Olangchungola with its cobblestoned walkways, brightly painted wooden houses and farm animals everywhere. We set up tightly in a small garden, then eat inside a smoke-filled guest house. Ben calls a doctor who convinces him to give me antibiotics and hope for the best.
I sleep and wake and set my mind to getting up and over Lumba Sumba Pass. It’s just shy of 17,000 feet and has me freaked out. I have been that high before, many years ago at K2 in Pakistan. But a pass is something else entirely because once you start going, you gotta keep moving up and over without retreating.
We leave the lovely village of Olangchungola, yaks, goats, chickens and one very special black dog walking us up the stone walkway along the river mostly on road. I am absolutely dying and begin weeping. I can’t breath, I’m coughing up a lung, it’s horrible.
Ben and Bihm ease me along as we leave the river and head up into a valley. Somehow I keep going, one step at a time, up and up. It helps that it’s still absolutely spectacular. The colors are chestnut and amber, the sky is a deep cerulean.
Everyone is stopped at a lovely meadow for lunch. I have no idea what comes over me, but I keep moving as mist fills the valley and it gets colder. After one particularly steep climb, I cough so hard, I throw up. But it’s just a reaction to the coughing and I keep going.
We cross a chasm on a very narrow log. Everyone reaches out to ensure I make it safely. We are a pretty darn great team. I forgot to mention that when I reach the high points, usually only about 10-15 minutes after everyone else, they cheer and we all give each other a big hug. I really need that!
We come to a kharka with only a horse-shoe shaped pile of stones. It was intended for us to go higher, but the porters have mutinied. They picked up a resupply in Olangchungola and are at max weight. So we’ll camp here with a longer day over the pass tomorrow.
I’m fine with that and ready to tuck in as a deep chill sets in. I wear all my clothes, use a sleeping bag liner and sleep with a bottle full of boiling water. I have so got this!
I would never claim to be a particularly resilient person, or possess a secret ingredient that keeps me moving forward in the face of difficulty. I imagine I’m just stubborn and no matter how much I cry, whine and complain, I keep forcing my body forward.
I feared this pass, but I feel good. One trick is that I continue to take diamox throughout the trip. It’s a diuretic, but I sleep better and manage to handle the rigors of the altitude.
We have a mighty hard climb right out the gate, which I take slowly and steadily. I breathe fine until I stop, then hack and spit. But on we go, hitting very deep snow where our micro-spikes are well used.
Huge puffy clouds billow behind us though Kanchenjunga peaks out from them saying farewell as we press on towards Makalu. It’s a few humps to get to the first set of prayer flags, false summits that can play tricks on anyone’s resolve.
The little black dog scampers ahead knowing we’ll offer up treats along the way. A cute mountain weasel checks us out, protecting his den but bouncing around much to our delight.
We take a short breather at the first summit, then see it’s a traverse to the final up. Ahead, Makalu peaks out, an almost perfect triangle of snow and ice. We’re headed exactly there!
A mountain weasel entertains us on the way to Lumba Sumba.
It’s a short celebration at the top, then down out of the wind for lunch and a long slog to yet another kharka. We pass a lovely grassy valley with a stream passing through it, but continue steeply down. It’s already in shadow when we arrive and begins to lightly snow.
I put up my umbrella as we watch the porters arrive, some visibly angry we went so far, throwing down their loads and screaming at the guides. Fortunately tomorrow is a very short day and we’ll end up in a tiny village, so everyone calms down and we quickly set the tents, eat and go to bed.
It is a very easy walk to Thudam, as we enter forest again meet a cobblestone path along a rushing river. Meat dries in strips on the porches of wooden houses, boulders on the roof to keep it in place during the rough winters.
Our cook, Jagatman, is so creative making different meals each day that are nutritious and interesting. I am not entirely sure how he does it, but he makes us a cake with Lumba Sumba spelled out in chocolate. Phil, the oldest member of the group and the one who invited most of the people who came, accepts the honor of cutting it.
The reason becomes clear soon. He’s ill and will be evacuated the next morning. What a shame! But we are really very far from any medical attention and this is a wise course. When we wake in the morning to crystal clear skies and a view straight down the valley to Makalu, a helicopter arrives and whisks him away.
Pro tips:
- Bring micro-spikes and gaiters in case you hit snow on the steep passes.
- Just put one foot in front of the other.
- Pack an umbrella for shade and rain/snow/sleet.
- Invest in adventure travel insurance in case you need to be evacuated. A helicopter ride can run in the tens of thousands and you don’t want to be stuck with the bill!
Thudam to Seduwa
There are tears, at least from me, when Phil leaves. He is a character with a sharp British wit and someone who does no suffer fools. We share a love for classical music — he even brought a CD player so he could listen to his favorites.
A very strong 70-year-old who has climbed many a Himalayan peak, he has a condition totally unrelated to the hike which makes it especially hard the he has to quit.
I’m amazed I‘m still going! We’re much lower now back in the trees but my cough is still awful and today is an especially hard day. We cross a landslide than traverse on a slippery trail high above the river. I have never seen a valley so high and so narrow. It’s dizzying.
Our climb is intense up 1,000 feet with significant exposure all around. I cough my way through before we stop at a perch with a view of Makalu straight on. Then it’s down and down through bamboo forests and impossible views of crags with no visible trail.
We eventually hit a ruined road where I carefully negotiate a wooden ladder as everyone cheers my descent. The kharka is less a meadow and more a very tight squeeze of buildings. Porters gather in one of the guest houses, drinking and singing and we eat in an extremely smoky room. The thatched roof is designed to let smoke out but no rain in. I can’t imagine this is good for the lungs!
The next day is very steeply down on slippery rock stairs to a huge suspension bridge, then right back up to Chyamtang in the Arun Valley. I love these magnificent metal suspension bridges. From above, it’s a clear shot to a road across the valley that looks to be blocked and unused.
Woman in traditional dress work the millet fields and we come to a sweet village of painted houses surrounded by marigolds and zinnia. Everyone smiles as we pass, holding their hands together in a prayer and saying, “Namaste! Namaste!”
Our wee sight on a terrace above the valley is one of the most lovely we’ve been in so far. Porters set up a game where they flick plastic discs into pockets at the four corners of a board which has been slicked up with corn starch. Laundry is hanging and shoes airing out and we’re all filled with joy not knowing what’s coming next.
How much do I say about the fact that the rain finally arrives. We were so stupidly lucky to have crystal clear weather for Kanch and the passes. Ben told us that in a previous trip he led, they had clouds and mist. So we were due for some rain.
But this is no ordinary rain.
This is a Cyclone. Cyclone Montha which gathered strength in the Bay of Bengal and was ripping through Nepal, flooding out entire villages and dumping feet of snow high above. Before it moves past the country, it leave a wave of destruction including several deaths in the mountains.
And somehow we’re lucky because we are way down here at 7,000 feet in the jungle, as it were. And because we took that rest day in Ghunsa and let the French go ahead of us, we have the option to stay low and keep moving while they find themselves stuck in drifts.
We all pull out our rain gear and line up according to color before setting off. The porters wear plastic parkas over themselves and their gear and look miserable. I laughed at my friends when they bought cheap ponchos in Kathmandu, but those ponchos worked better than my rain gear and I was soon soaked through.
The trail mostly contours the mountains passing through small villages. Nothing feels too hard, just wet and slick. We climb high up to a chorten, a Tibetan buddhist shrine of stacked rocks so old, moss is growing in its chinks.
We can see Hongon from here, but it is a long way still around, up, steeply down and steeply back up again. And in between is the scariest bit yet of the trail.
For most of the way, the trail is wide as it moves along the side of the steep cliff, but for a short bit there are narrow stairs headed down with a steep drop to the side, 1,000 feet down to the water.
Pro tips:
- I laughed at my friends who bought over-sized rain ponchos in Kathmandu. But they worked far better than my rain gear!
- Pack lots of books and games. You never know when you’ll be stuck due to weather.
- Be open to serendipity. Magic is everywhere.
I panic.
This is not my forte at all and I don’t feel as if I have the balance to get past this. Ben puts a sling around my waist and holds me as I descend as Bihm puts his body in front so I can’t even see beyond the next step. And that’s how they get me down, one step at a time, bit by bit until I hit the safe part below.
Would it have been easier in dry weather? Maybe. I feel such the wimp but the men tell me that I kept going and to be proud of myself. Maybe they are just trying to keep me happy, but it works and soon enough we arrive at a little guest house high up on a hill.
There’s no possible way we can set tents in the huge puddles forming in their garden, so quickly they find a way to accommodate the whole lot of us, including every porter, kitchen crew, client and guide. Sure, some slept on the porch, but they were out of the rain and there are plenty of blankets.
Hot soup is served and someone brings out Uno. The porters begin to sing and once the rain lets up, all of us head outside and dance.
I’m going to give it away right now: we get rain for six solid days. There are a few dry moments, but we dare not go up to the high route to Makalu and instead head down into the jungle and skirt the worst of the weather.
All of these routes are local and passable — at least as far as our guides can surmise. So we start by heading to Hatiya Village. It’s a shortish walk on slippery rocks. There’s a building near the school where we find places to sleep on the floor.
In all this rain, I pick up leeches. They’re harmless, but they’re gross. I’m wet, cold, tired, and there’s blood running down my leg. So I take out a wet wipe and clean it up, setting the bloodiness down as I try to get myself set up on the dusty floor.
Without skipping a beat, one of the woman takes a swipe at me for setting down that wipe for two seconds, telling me I need to have some manners and get rid of that right now. What a bitch! It’s not like Nepal has garbage cans handily located. I pick it up and walk out, feeling pretty done in by the rain and by her inability to show an inch of grace.
Anyone who knows me well enough knows that when I get upset, I usually cry. And I did. Hard, for about ten minutes. I’m sure everyone wondered what the hell was wrong with me. Only Ben asks and suggests I get out there as the rain stops for a moment and take a walk.
And, boy, am I glad I did! Because at the end of the cobblestone road there’s a little gazebo. Several local Sherpa women are hanging out, dressing up in traditional outfits and taking pictures of each other.
I dry my tears and say, hi, then take a few photos. Since my camera has a better lens, one of the women takes it from me and starts filming. Then she shows me how to send them to her via WhatsApp using her hot spot.
So much for being out in the middle of nowhere.
Then they insist I dress up so they can film me. Oh, friends, am I ever glad my fellow hiker was such a bitch. It got me out of the building and into this wonderful, amazing, singular, magical, cultural-exchange experience.
And it was all mine!
The terrifying overloaded bus ride on washed out roads from Barun Dovan to Hedanga Gadi.
It is a longish and scary walk to Barun Dovan. I’m passed by a few old ladies in crocs carrying umbrellas and I feel like a wimp. The rocks are slick and at one point, we need to climb over a massive boulder and try not to slip off into the boiling river.
We finally meet a road and a tiny guest house where we all need to bunk up to stay out of the rain. At least there’s a comfortable eating area where we hang out with the resident kittens, loud and demanding.
Nearby is a massive golden buddha and a swing bridge festooned with prayer flags. A decision is made to take a rest day here and wait out the rain. But the weather has other plans, letting up on our day off, and starting again in earnest the minute we plan to leave. <sigh>
But this time, there’s a bus! One that can carry all of us and our gear, if we’re willing to crowd in. Sadly, another one of the group needs to evacuate as his leg is swelling dangerously. He elects to drive out with one of the guides who had only just did a reconnaissance of the high route, only to learn we weren’t going to be able to go that way anyway.
It’s sad to see Steve go, and again, I’m shocked I can keep going.
The bus ride is a godsend as walking all that way on road in the rain would be absolutely demoralizing. We lurch along, picking up locals on the way who end up having to hang on to the outside. The road is nearly destroyed in some places, but carefully placed bamboo seems to be holding it in place as I look over the steep drop-off and wonder how much it would hurt falling down into that chasm.
Our walk is short, but it begins to rain again in earnest and we make it just in time to a school in Ulin, all finding somewhere to sleep on the hard, concrete floor away from the leeches and the damp.
We’re wet and miserable, but on we go, knowing this cyclone has got to clear out eventually. It’s not a long or hard walk to Seduwa, where we finally meet up again with the Makalu trail.
But we’re running out of time. Bihm suggests we just climb to a viewpoint then head home, but many in the group are not happy. Why did we walk such short days during the cyclone? Why did we take a full day off to just sit in Barun Dovan? Why are we allowing the porters to decide how far we can go?
Things get quite tense. The porters are wet, too, tired and demoralized. Some of them have hurt themselves falling or being chaffed by wet shoes. We are no longer on schedule with a rest day on the way back up to Makalu.
And it is very hard to get there. Unlike the trail to Kanchenjunga, this one requires extremely steep climbing up and over Shipton La, with a couple of La’s in between. Then it’s a wildly steep descent down to the Barun River and right back up again.
Originally, we would have met the Barun over a high route, but now we are very low and have to cram all this in what should take seven days into five.
No rest for the weary.
That’s when everyone tries to come up with a plan, one that gives rest where it’s needed, and pushes where we can. We’ll take a short day tomorrow, then a very steep day before going over the passes and heading up past where we had planned to camp.
We’ll all empty out our bags and only take the minimum, and fewer porters will go with us, staying behind to cook and set tents when we return. It’s a gamble, but the weather is supposed to clear.
Seduwa to Makalu (and back)
Praise all the gods and goddesses, the sun comes out. It’s one of those clear days that make you forget what you’ve just endured. Beautiful, fresh, easy going. I got my own room last night at Hotel Buddha and I needed it badly, cuddling in with a book and resting.
Our walk is easy on a main route where kids in school uniforms fly past. No wonder Nepali people have no trouble on these paths. They’ve been moving across them all their lives — and carrying a basket full of school books, groceries, everything on a tumpline since they could walk.
Everyone is happy it’s sunny, but annoyed we’re taking such a short day to Tashigon. The truth is, after Tashigon is a relentless set of stairs climbing 6,000 feet! I can hardly believe it myself.
It seems like it would be natural to find a stopping place somewhere in the middle of that 6,000 feet, but there’s only a tiny rest area on the way to Khongma.
But I try not to think about that now on this easy day. Our stop is another terrace looking out to mountains through a scrim of marigolds. Chickens wander the premises and poke heir heads into my tent.
But the next day comes and I know it’s going to kill me. Stairs must be better than a dirt path, but they are merciless. I am way behind everyone and crying most of the way unable to catch my breath and coughing at every break.
Finally, I decide to hell with it and turn on my phone and play Lizzo. “Dance party!” yells Bihm as the beat pushes me right up that ridge and another and yet another.
Shiva View Lodge appears and our tents are set on narrow terraces. At first the mist is down, but then it clears to reveal a full moon rising. The bitchy broad as well as my roommate from back on the rainy days and me climb up to get a better view as the sun sets over a cloud inversion. It’s glorious.
Back in the dining room, we play Uno with the porters and laugh the night away knowing tomorrow just might even be a little harder but feeling like we’re going to go for it.
It is definitely a different day beginning with steep stairs to a viewpoint where we catch our first glimpses of Makalu since way back before Cyclone Montha hit. Behind is the very narrow and steep ridge we’ll follow up and around, down and up and finally steeply up to Shipton La itself.
I struggle with the climb as I watch everyone else speed ahead. It’s not the most fun being in there back, even if I’m not too far behind. But it is truly a wonder to behold. All these stairs built by hand leading up and over narrow catwalk ridges.
Shipton La is just shy of 14,000 feet, but I am beginning to really feel it again maybe because the antibiotics did nothing and my cough is still a hacking horribleness. I have only enough time to shoot a quick selfie video, then head back down out of the wind, past a cool lake, so still it reflects all the surrounding mountains in its surface, and right back up again.
We don’t linger at Debotay, where we will camp when we return. It’s warm and sunny now but there is still a long way to go, measured in hours (three at least) down nearly 4,000 steps all the way to the Barun River, then back up along a landslip.
The steps are fine, just tiring as they bring us back through moss-covered rhododendron forests and an earthy smell. The bark peels back in pink strips and leaves crunch underfoot.
As we navigate the landslip, it begins to rain again Really? Haven’t we had enough already! It’s tricky footing, undulating up and over washouts for at a least mile or two. My tent is already set as we arrive at Pemanthang sitting in a small pool of water.
I’m not sure I can take any more of this. There aren’t even enough chairs in the wee little guest house, and I squat on a stool feeling very sorry for myself.
Pro tips:
- I found the cold intense. It’s mostly dry, but if you have damp it will chill to the bone. Bring very warm layers and don’t expect the fire to be lit except in the evening.
- Nepal trekking requires a flexible attitude to manage the delays and setbacks, but also to know when it’s time to push and forgo a day off to get going while the getting’s good.
- Don’t forget a towel for (usually cold) showers and maybe a pair of crocs or flip flops.
The next day is rough.
It’s actually a lovely walk to Yangle Kharka, another place we’ll camp on our return. It’s bigger in a wide valley. A huge brand new concrete stupa sits smack dab in the middle of the valley. Curious bright orange lichen grows on boulders that we need to pick our way around as we follow the valley to its end.
And then we go up. And up and up into another wild valley of steep rocks and massive waterfalls all with a fresh coat of snow. At first, the views are still available and it’s eerily lovely. But soon, we can’t see anything but the stairs in front of us, the washouts and narrow bridges, the cold and damp climb up and up to more cold and damp.
The gal that was bitchy to me only a few days ago changes her tune and walks with me up these steps. I don’t know if Ben asked her to or if she really wants to, but I must admit, I really need her help. She encourages me along, telling me all the things — one step at a time, you’ve got this, you’re stronger than you think. She was a coach at one time and it shows.
But the struggle is real and at one point, she resorts to singing to me in her admittedly poor singing voice, “The ants going marching one by one. Hurrah! Hurrah!” I laugh and keep plodding along, and eventually this ant makes it to the Langamale Kharka and a warm fire.
It’s misty and cold, but at some point, one of the group leaves to use the loo and returns to tell us he can see the moon. I’m sure he’s pulling our leg, but yes, indeed, the skies are clearing and the stars twinkle in the frigid 15,000-foot air.
I’ll share a freezing cold room again with a married couple, wearing the clothes I’ll wear tomorrow and sleeping in my sleeping bag under every available blanket.
Those stars that came out last night fade to a crystal clear, sunny day. It’s cold, but the sun warms us fast and we eat early and head up to our final destination — Makalu basecamp. It will be a very long day indeed as we hike up 1,500 feet then back down 5,000.
But it’s not hard walking at all, more gentle grade next to a river and up a long valley. Ben walks with me today and I feel much better, coughing less and moving along well. Fewer tears too.
Another black dog finds us and follows playfully to the first small guest house at Sersong where we have a snack and drink plenty of water, then up and over a ridge and down to a row of buildings at the base camp. I can hardly believe I’m here. I did it! I kept moving ahead in spite of pain and coughing and doubt.
We linger in the sunshine eating snacks and I have my cancer thriver picture taken before we turn around and walk the long way home. Lunch awaits us at Langmale Kharka, then it’s down and down on the steps where I thought I couldn’t move one more inch.
The sky is clearer so we can see the beautiful monster crags we missed on the way up. I arrive just as it goes dark, and because we had to change our plans, there’s no place for us to eat in the dining room and each of us is served our dinners to eat alone in our tents. No celebration.
But the beautiful weather continues as we follow the path again through mossy forests and along the washout, then up and up thousands of steps back into the alpine area where we camp in deep mist. The rain we had on our way up was snow here and leaves a slippery winter wonderland up and over Shipton La.
We have a leisurely cooked lunch back at Khongma, before descending to Tashigon where we left our extra weight. Two of the guys buy a case of beer and I taste my first Ghorka Strong of the trip, well earned by all of us. There are lots of laughs, high-fives, teasing before we tuck in and prepare for the final bit to Seduwa.
It’s early enough when we arrive the next day that we can wash our clothes, wash ourselves and even take a all-girls dip in a pool of water along a rock outcropping before a river’s plunge over a waterfall.
From here, it’s only a short walk to jeeps that drive us out to Tumlingtar and our flight back to Kathmandu, a clear view to the Himalayas right at eye level.
