Cherry Pickin’ – Part 2

Author © Scott D. Zachary

Day 9

       I was cold last night, even while nestled inside two sleeping bags! It helped to pull my head inside the sleeping bag, exhaling my warm air to bump up the temperature.

       Charles stayed in his tent this morning suffering from leg cramps.

       Twelve of us trekkers set out early on the seven-hour trek to and from Base Camp, each accompanied by his or her Sherpa. Tenzin led the way up the Khumbu Glacier. Every so often, a trekker turned around and gave up. At times, I could barely see Tenzin a little way ahead of me on account of the heavy snowfall. As the snow abated, I could see Base Camp in the distance with its many colorful tents and its strung prayer flags flapping in the breeze. I looked around—no one except Tenzin effortlessly hiking a rock’s throw farther up the glacier.

       I trekked to the Base Camp of Mount Everest today! YAHOO! I made it, but “notwithstanding.” Altitude sickness dropped me on a doormat in front of a climber’s tent. I curled into a ball, grasped my head between my hands, and wailed, and writhed, and moaned, and cried. One thought pierced my vale of pain: Cerebral edema?

       I have no idea how long I had lain there agonizing before the extreme pain in my skull subsided enough for me to stand up. Tenzin and I scurried for three hours to get back down to our next camp in Gorak Shep before dark.

Return to Lukla

Day 10

       We trekked six hours today.

       Shamar held a miniature tape recorder to his ear for a few minutes at a time as we trekked. I asked him about it, and he said he must ration the expensive battery. I gave him my spare earbuds. I’ve never received more profound appreciation. I philosophically contrasted that exchange with someone I’d given a hundred thousand times more and who subsequently asked me, “What did you ever do for me?”

       The Sherpas booked Charles and me in a guesthouse with a dozen other trekkers. I asked the owners of the lodge if they had any imported beer and VOILA! They brought me a Beck’s beer. That went down so well that I asked for another. I felt such a pleasing glow when that one was gone that I asked for a third. Alas, they informed me that they only had those two beers, but I was welcome to drink some goat’s milk beer. I followed the owner into the kitchen and sat on a large boulder next to the fire pit that vented through a hole in the ceiling. A kind elderly lady handed me a glass of white beer. I gulped down a mouthful and nearly puked it all over the room. That was the first time I ever left half a beer. That stuff was horrible! I could easily quit drinking alcohol if that was all there was to drink.

Day 11

       The porters carried large heaping baskets on their backs today. Shamar told me that the porters earn two dollars a day when there are no yaks available to share their burden. Feeling cocky and super-fit, I motioned for the porter to swap his load for my daypack weighted down with chocolate bars, mittens, and a scarf. The porter delighted in his good fortune. I put the strap on top of my head and heaved. My legs wobbled for less than 100 yards before I surrendered. His basket must’ve weighed at least 150 pounds!

       Six hours of trekking and we camped beside a primitive store. Basking in the sun, I asked Shekhar if he could get me a Coca-Cola. He said, “Yes, sir.” A while later, I asked Tenzin if he’d seen Shekhar. Tenzin replied, “He went to get you a soda,” pointing at a tiny, distant figure loping across the valley. He told me Shekhar was getting my Cola from the village where we stopped for lunch. I was stymied.

       Shekhar bounded into camp after the sun had gone down and gave me two Coca-Colas. He didn’t act as though it was a big deal to him. It was to me!

Day 12

       Up is up, and down is down, except when trekking in the Himalayas. Today was an exception to the exception. The Sherpas were coddling Charles far behind me when I came upon a gargantuan, crater-shaped valley. I inserted “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” into my Walkman and trekked down and down and down at a terrific pace, leveraging my walking cane to propel me downward. Nearing the bottom of that colossal valley, I stopped and turned around. I could barely make out Tenzin’s sweeping arm commanding me to come back up to where I started down. So much for exceptions! That’s the only time I saw Tenzin annoyed by anything, which I could only surmise by the cursory stern look he gave me after my long, arduous climb out of that enormous valley.

       We camped next to a village where Shamar took Charles, me, and a couple of the porters to see a television. He actually invited us so we could watch the reaction of the porters when they viewed their first television set. They hadn’t even heard of television. I never saw anything so comical as their stupefied ogle. They looked behind the TV to see where the actors were. One porter waved at the screen to get the attention of Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz. Everyone burst into laughter.

       Tenzin rented a shower for us in the village. A trickle, but it was hot and welcome.

Day 13

       My deviance into that valley yesterday became a favor to Shamar. Word somehow got back to him that his wife had delivered a boy into the world. We were already half a day behind schedule and would have to fly out a day later, so Tenzin asked if we would be willing to pick up the pace for nine hours so Shamar could visit his wife and newborn son. A long, arduous day of trekking, but well worth seeing Shamar dance with delight upon viewing his likeness, Amesh.

       My blunder allowed us to spend time in a Sherpa home.

Day 14

       We visited a Nepalese elementary school today where Charles’s son Trevor is volunteering as an English teacher before starting his freshman year at King’s College in London. Thirty-some of the most exuberant, respectful, and appreciative children I’ve ever seen. They regard school as a privilege, not a restriction. And the kids had fun learning! Charles said many young Brits perform such worldly service between secondary school and university. They call it taking a “gap year.”

       Trevor joined us in the mess tent this evening to celebrate his father’s 60^th birthday. The cook baked Charles a cake over the campfire. It was as delicious as any I’ve ever tasted! I sat and listened to Charles and Trevor reflect on their lives. What a great father-son relationship! One of my few contributions was when Charles referred to “The Empire,” to which I blurted, “What empire?!” After a moment of troubled cogitation, he acquiesced.

Day 15

       Another splendid day of trekking in the heavens. I DO NOT want to leave.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       Our plane hadn’t fully attained lift when we left the runway on the side of that mountain. We plunged away before taking off to Katmandu.