Day 3—Mt. Everest base camp trek
No mo’ Jam-Jam
The previous day’s cloudy skies evaporated with the morning sun, illuminating blue agate skies and glowing snowcapped peaks. Before breakfast, I grabbed my camera and began climbing above the town, Namche Baazar.
Immediately I noticed breathing was easier than my arrival last night. Smiling, I assumed I’d conquered the next altitude adjustment and couldn’t predict the blindside I’d face later in the afternoon.
In the itinerary, Dingboche is listed as a “rest day”. Do not picture sitting under the sun and drinking a cappuccino. This is an acclimation day, where trekkers hike higher and sleep back low. I envisioned wandering the streets and shopping after our scheduled walk.
I was pumped with energy after a full breakfast as our group met outside for the next challenge. Chearing and Pemba encouraged us with “Let’s jam-jam,” which means “time to get moving”. We didn’t need to be asked twice.
These are the steps to get above town
Namche Bazaar sits in a bowl of sorts, with town following natural contours of the land. The trail quickly filled with a rush of porters and trekkers and the jockey for space began as we walked single-file up stairs and eventually along a dirt path to our first stop– the Sherpa museum and Hillary’s guide, Tenzing Norgay’s memorial. What a pleasant walk with beautiful views of town and surrounding mountains.
my gosh! an easy walk close by the museum and memorial
Tengay’s memorial with Everest and Lhotse in the background
Behind Tenzing’s statue, Everest teased us with peekaboo views until swirling clouds hid the view once again. We spent a good amount of time in the interesting museum. From here, we proceeded to climb steep stairs to reach an even higher ridge line.
About half way up I lost control of breathing and pulled off the trail to let others pass. Seriously winded, I tried everything to slow my breathing. Breathe in with one step. Breathe out with the next. When that failed to quiet respirations, I slowed down, taking one step and breathing for 3 seconds. It felt as if an emergency brake locked down on my jam-jam.
Gulping for air, I looked uphill to see the goal, a distant restaurant that wasn’t getting closer at all. My shaky hand swiped hair out of my face as a military helicopter continued to swoop overhead, dropping off Nepalese troops returning from a border military base. It felt as if the plug to my energy reservoir got pulled as mist rolled in.
Pemba came up behind me. “Give me your pack.”
I wanted to cry. Maybe I wanted to hug him too. But mostly I wanted to cry. What was happening to me? How did I fall apart like this when I had such a strong morning? What was happening to my body? I felt like a wimp. Worse, my confidence red-flagged.
Unbuckling, I passed him my backpack. “Just until we reach the top, ok?” I didn’t like having to do this. Disappointment flushed my hot cheeks. Digging in with determination, I slowly marched uphill. With the extra weight off my back, breathing now matched my steps.
Pemba must have known, because he walked beside me. “Sometimes I carry 6 backpacks at a time to help out trekkers.” He smiled, and then sprinted uphill like a mountain goat. I wished he’d break into a sweat– just to make me feel less of a weenie.
Nearing the perched restaurant, I mentally dug in. I will do this even if it takes me longer than anyone else. Immediately I blocked the sobbering thought that no matter how hard I’d trained, at some point the choice to continue (or not) wasn’t in my control.