Annapurna Base Camp trek

The main reason I came to Nepal was to check out the mountains and a ten-day trek into Annapurna Base Camp was a good place to start. I set off with two English chicks and a couple of porters (the chicks and I are lazy) from near Pokhara, a shade over 1000m above sea-level and our target was ABC at 4130m. I was reliably informed that the villagers we encountered along the way would consider men wearing shorts to be classless, and that women in shorts are seen as witches or prostitutes. I wore shorts often so as not to mislead the village-folk, and the chicks purposely didn't wear shorts so as not to drum up business. They were on holiday after all.

At the very start of our trek we had a magnificent view of the Modi Khola, the river that drains the basin we were attempting to reach, with Machhapuchhare (6997m, "Fish Tail" in Nepali. Machha = fish, puchhare = tail) dramatically rising behind. It was to be over a week before we finally reached ABC and were able to appreciate the mountains up close. The first few days were uneventful but pleasant, and it wasn't until we reached Ghorepani that the first grand vistas opened up. Our hotel room - at The Hungry Eye Hotel no less! - afforded us an incredible view. Lying in my bed I could see the twin-buttressed bulk of Dhaulagiri straight ahead (8167m, "Chook's Foot" in Nepali), and off to the left Annapurna South loomed large (7219m), with the very pinnacle of Annapurna 1 just visible behind (8091m, "Do not climb", Anna = climb, pur = do, na = not). The huge south-east Dhaulagiri glacier separated the eight-thousander from nearby Tukuche Peak (6920m, "Cake Peak") and to the left of Annapurna South the Nilgiri Range was prominent (7061m, "Toad's Foot"). The sheer size of these mountains rendered the ranges in front, although well over four- and five-thousand metres themselves, insignificant. The setting sun cast a wonderful glow on the giants, until it finally slipped below the horizon, converting the whole scene to monochrome. It is incredibly luxurious to lie in bed and watch sunsets and sunrises over immense mountains and glaciers; the contrast between the icy vista spread in front and the immediate warmth of a sleeping-bag is a delight. The number of hotel beds that can provide such a view of two of the world's fourteen eight-thousanders must be very limited indeed.

We had a rest day in Ghorepani as I had contracted mild-to-light dysentery (actually just the squirts, but I want to make it sound worse than it was so I appear tougher than I am), Corinne had acute Achilles tendinitis (or so she said) and Maya had the sniffles and acute atttentionseekingitis. Incidentally, the cost of bog roll was exorbitant – up to $1.60 per roll – which means that for a hairy guy like me most of my cash was flushed down the loo, or to be more precise delicately placed in one of those bins next to the loo. Despite my dysentery I still managed to explore the town a little bit. The sheer number of hotels, not only in this town but all along the route, is worrying; every building had a sign advertising beds/rooms. We usually only met a handful of trekkers at each stop but the dozens of hotels, each with dozens of beds, are a testament to how many people attempt this walk in season. From what our guide told us the rate of road building in the area is progressing very quickly, and I dare say the trek to ABC, and indeed the circuit of the entire Annapurna massif, will be achievable by road rather than trail within a few years.

The next days involved trekking up, down and through ravines of unfathomable steepness. Giant landslips scarred the landscape, which the monsoon worsens each year, slowly and indiscriminately claiming tracks, crops and buildings. At times we walked on a soft carpet of fallen leaves, other times shiny metallic rock. However for me these days were mainly a tale of woe and calamity, of gastro and the lavatory. Ha, that sounds like the start of a great poem:

A tale of woe and calamity,

Of gastro and the lavatory.

Western-style toilets are best,

At least they afford you a rest.

But those Eastern loos are a 'mare,

Your arse all but laid bare.

. . . hmmm, nope, that's a shit poem. Literally.

Poetry's not for me, it's for others, you'll see.

Ha!

I'm not a poet, luckily don't I know it.

Haha!

Did I mention that there's a lot of time to think and compose rubbish verse whenyou're just plodding along for several hours every day?

I don't know what's worse, having the runs or having to read terrible, terrible verse.

Hahaha!

Sorry.

I don't know what came over me.

Back to the trek.

We finally reached the village of Chomrong on my birthday. That morning the chicks had presented me with a lovely impromptu birthday card and a Snickers Momo 'cake'. Sadly dysentery prevented me from taking more than a mouthful or two, but they took great delight in polishing off the rest. Our guesthouse in Chomrong was perched high on a ridgeline and we had an incredible 270 degree view of valleys, peaks, villages and wheat terraces. It was like being in a plane. Views like this were commonplace throughout the walk and I never tired of them.

After yet another spectacular sunrise, we left Chomrong and made our way to Doban through jungle, shimmering bamboo groves and silent rhododendron forests. The views back down the Modi Khola valley were superb, dozens of ridgelines plunging to meet the rushing snow-melt river below. It was the winter solstice, the longest night of the year. It certainly felt like it as I still wasn't 'regular' as they say in the tv commercials.

After Doban the scenery changed again, the lush greenery replaced by rocks and steep cliffs rising on either side of a narrow valley, culminating in 'mere' 4000m and 5000m craggy peaks, dwarfed by the blinding white snow-capped behemoths behind them. The sound of water was ever-present, either from the roaring river beneath us or from the hundreds of waterfalls tumbling down the dark rock face. A pale, weak sun tried to break through the cloud, with little success. I was back on solid ground in the bathroom department though, which was a welcome relief. Squatting for ages on an eastern-style toilet is a killer on the knees and ankles.

In the afternoon we ascended to Machhupuchhare Base Camp, a cold mist chasing us up the valley the whole way, never more than a few hundred metres behind. We were much closer to the river this time and some of the huge boulders casually strewn across its path had been smoothed by the waters into beautiful sensuous forms Henry Moore would have been proud of. The sunset from MBC was superb, although only a few peaks were visible they changed colour dramatically over the course of a few minutes, from gold, to orange, to pink, to purple, to a deeper purple. When everything else had been plunged into darkness the very tip of Machhupuchhare held the last light for a few seconds longer until it too finally relinquished the colour. The mist hadn't yet caught us; an advance search party snuck up the valley, then meandered higher, brushing past our lodge. The cloud level remained below us that evening though and the sky was pure and clear; it was very cold. The stars above were dazzling, every corner of the night sky twinkling with a celestial body.

The next morning we hiked the few hours to ABC. The jagged summit of Machhupuchhare sliced through the morning sun's rays, although we remained in shadowy cold. About an hour of walking brought us near the warmth of the sunlight. I paused to catch my breath and let the earth's rotation move the mass of Machhapuchhare out of the way. The shadow line slowly crept towards me, a metre every few seconds, until I was finally bathed in glorious warming sunlight. The difference between the shade was an instant 15 degrees. As we ascended higher I could feel my chest tightening, my lungs struggling to extract oxygen from the thinning air. It was deathly still, even the headwaters of the river had been silenced; frozen; a snapshot of time captured for the duration of the winter. Sound carried a long way in the cold, delicate mountain air and the flap of crows' wings was startlingly crystal clear. The whoosh as they changed direction and cut the air sounded like the aggressive flutter of kites.

We staggered, breathless, into ABC and walked over to the precipitous rim of the South Annapurna Glacier. The view was stupendous. We were in the centre of an amphitheatre on the grandest scale, surrounded by huge mountains on all sides: Hiunchuli (6441m, Nepali god of frigidity), Annapurna South, Annapurna Fang (7647m), Annapurna 1, Khangsar Kang (7485m, "Fighting Peak"), Tent Peak (5663m), Gangapurna (7454m, "Do not smoke"), Annapurna III (7555), Gandharba Chuli (6248m, Nepali god of garbage*) and Machhapuchhare, all of which were only a handful of kilometres from us. There seemed no escape, no way through let alone over these impenetrable walls.Annapurna South and Hiunchuli towered over us, but even more impressive was what was across the glacier, the colossal slab of rock that was the south face of Annapurna I: near-vertical, almost four kilometres high and several more kilometres in breadth. It was impossible not to stare at, impossible not to be overawed. Annapurna 1 was the first eight-thousander to be summitted; in 1950 a French team led by Maurice Herzog achieved the top from the north. Like books? Like a good adventure? Like mountains? Like . . . erm . . . the French? Then check out his account of that attempt (which he wisely called Annapurna), it's a damn good read. The south face of Annapurna was first scaled in 1970 by a British expedition, but fuck knows how. Four kilometres of vertical rock and ice?!? Get outta here.

It remained deathly still that day in the giant bowl, not even the gentlest of breezes; the sky was a brilliant blue. The cracks, creaks andgroans from the glacier and the mountains were scarily loud, and the scale of everything was incomprehensible - trying to take it all in was dizzying. The rubble-covered glacier looked only 20m below us and I was certain a 30 minute amble was all that was needed to cross to the other side. In fact it was well over 100m below, and apparently took several hours to cross. It was impossible to judge whether boulders were the size of people or houses. The noises emanating from deep within made it clear we were in the presence of imperceptible but powerful forces. It was a cold, desolate, alien place not fit for humans. The size was overwhelming, so far removed from what we experience on a day-to-day basis. It was beautiful, humbling and invigorating.

There was a shrine to a handful of the people that have died in this area over the years, and there were dozens of prayer flags strung up. These are cotton prints with prayers written on them and usually a picture of a horse. Supposedly with each flap the horse depicted gallops off into the wind, circling the globe, benefiting all sentient beings. The idea of prayer flags sending thousands of prayers fluttering around the earth is indeed quite a romantic notion, but patently ridiculous all the same. What is this, drive-through praying?? Put some effort in you lazy fuckers. The more I learn about religion the more ludicrous the whole concept becomes. Regardless, the colour and movement of the flags was a welcome respite from the harsh surroundings.

As the afternoon wore on and the heat of the sun began to have some effect the summits became enveloped in snow-melt cloud. At dusk the same mist from yesterday made another unsuccessful attempt on our position; once more the night sky was pure and brilliant. That night ABC was bitterly, bitterly cold. The big tub of water used to flush the toilet froze. Sleep didn't come easily, the normal shallow breaths of rest didn't contain adequate oxygen so every few minutes I woke up gasping for air, although I did finally manage to drift off. The sunrise was, yet again, magical, despite the discomfort of the subzero temperatures. The photos do not do it justice.

On the descent we were forced to enter the mist that had laid siege to us for the last few days and the temperature plummeted once we were in its icy grip. The extra red blood cells my body had created overnight to cope with the thin air were now working miracles though. I felt superhuman; I flew up steep stone staircases as quickly as others descended; it was nigh on impossible to get out of breath. In the words of Happy from a few pre-seasons ago, I was "superfit". Maybe someone should suggest to Scott to organise a pre-season training trip to Nepal? Doing those stupid circuits at 4000m would really get the heart pumping. The scenery was still spectacular, the steep drop down into the village of Jhinu being particularly vertiginous. Christmas eve was on the walk out and I was quite thankful to have left all that capitalist Christmas rubbish behind, although there were a smattering of Merry Christmases and Joyeux Noels.

Bigger and bigger villages heralded our approach back into civilisation. We were tracking downriver this time and one particular guesthouse had a come-hither sign with “sit and relax while you listen to the song of the river”. Uhh, no thanks, it had become a very annoying roar by that point. Our tired legs and feet soldiered on and eventually carried us back to where we began. I would love to do the full circuit one day, but the weather is turning and the vital pass at a place called Thorung La (5500m or so) might be closed due to snow at any time, so I think it's going to have to wait. Tibet is the next port of call methinks.

I've added a few more photos here than usual (trust me, it could have been heaps more) because the area was so photogenic and we were fortunate to have perfect weather for most of the journey. I reckon I'll end up getting quite a few of them framed!

Oh yeah, I finally managed to use my "Nepalling" joke. It got the reaction it deserved.

* I made all of these translations up, except for Machhapuchhare. Well what else do you expect me to do when it's a ridiculous figure below zero and I'm bored. By the way, Machhapuchhare remains unclimbed as it's considered sacred, although a British team got within 50m of the summit and then turned back because they promised they would. What nice lads.