126 - Kala Pattar to Dzongla (Three Passes Trek, Nepal)
"You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life."
— Albert Camus
IN GORAK SHEP, I learned a lesson I continue to learn again and again: Don't judge a book by its cover, asshole. The previous day, I'd watched two gentlemen donning Mohawk haircuts enter my teahouse with enough gear to cross the Arctic. They didn’t look all that affable, so I judge those books by their covers. In my mind, they might as well have been carrying Lite-Brites with the word “DOUCHEBAGS” spelled out in multi-colored lights. Turns out, they were Italian doctors who’d just walked all the way from Jiri. (Some trekkers opt to take a bus from Kathmandu and walk from there in lieu of a flight to Lukla.) They were extremely friendly. The haircuts were a “shits and giggles” approach to their hike. Back in Kathmandu, a crowd watched in gleeful awe as the two reshaped their noggins. Good guys. I’m the one who deserved the douchebag Lite-Brite.
You can’t actually see Mt. Everest from Everest Base Camp. Kala Pattar is the designated viewpoint, though it’s not ideal either. Anybody who’s somebody goes there for their panoramic fix. I’m somebody, right? Yes, yes, I am.
See the sunrise. See that fucking sunrise, ya heard? Everywhere you go, the sunrise is king. See it or else. It's cloudy? You're sick? Nuclear winter? Doesn't matter. Don’t be an asshole. Behold the sunrise. Notwithstanding brilliant matutinal reflections off the nearby mountains, the morning isn’t a great to time to see Everest, at least in March. Sure, this is the best chance of clear skies, but it’s a little like the “searching for your keys under a street lamp” trope. Everest, Nuptse, and Lhotse are bathed in shadows.
Is it worth the hike? You bet your ass.The problem is the cold and piercing wind. If you make it before sunrise, you will freeze your nuts off waiting for the glorious “Hallelujah” of daybreak, which means you’re less likely to linger. And linger you must. I cared little to see the sun break the plane, but thought a morning hike might be rewarding. I tried timing departure so light would fall across the trail as I ascended.
I left at 6:30 a.m. (as opposed to the normal tourist yak train at 4:30 or 5:00), but this was still too early. The trail was shrouded in darkness and, therefore, rather nippy. The payoff was huge. Shall I beat the proverbial dead horse? Yes, I shall. The view was stupendous, a 360-degree heart-stopping panorama of the surrounding valley. It’s like snorting cosmogenic cocaine. I lingered for a bit, braving periodic bouts of icy, butt-clenching winds. Linger but don’t loiter. That’s my motto. Always leave wanting a little more, and the spell will never be broken.
I descended in a state of cosmic bliss. No “Zip-a-dee-doo-dah” this time, but a slow trot turned into a near sprint. When the gradient permits and obstacles are absent, it’s a blast to gallop down the side of a mountain. I was hopping like a jackrabbit on amphetamines. I passed an elder group of Irish lads and lasses I'd met a few days prior in Chukkhung. They thought me foolhardy and full of youthful exuberance. Their guide advised me to simmer down. He wasn’t wrong. I was a fool. A fool, I say! I couldn’t help myself. Baby had to fly. I wasn’t human. I was a force of nature. In other words, I was a child. Trying to put the kibosh on my enthusiasm was like pissing into a hurricane. Ain’t gonna happen. Back at the lodge in Gorak Shep, I devoured a breakfast banquet.
Gorak Shep to Dzongla, the launch pad for the Cho La (Pass). I spent most of the day alone, passing trekkers sporadically. This solo journey was exquisite, the scenery awe-inspiring and difficult to fathom. The wind slapped me in the face like nobody's business, but I didn’t much care. I was mesmerized, high as a kite on cosmic crack. More tuning fork-like sensations… lonely, haunting, wonderful.
The trail was gentle enough to let my mind wander. And wander it did. My thoughts were soaring higher than the Flying Lama, the fifth reincarnate lama of Rongbuk Gompa in Tibet. Known as Sange Dorje, he allegedly brought Buddhism to the Khumbu via supernatural flights around the region. Literally, I had my doubts. Metaphorically? I had total faith in the “flying” lama. Two short songs wrote themselves in my head as I frolicked, The Cho La Song and The Cho La Song Rap Remix. I blame the altitude. After a long slog, I found my way to Dzongla, parked at the Green Valley View Guesthouse, then consumed Herculean volumes of food. I arrived in the early afternoon, so I had time to relax and enjoy the outrageous views as well as compose my masterpieces. I met a German fella who also had designs on crossing the Cho La the following day. He too was without a guide and suggested we hit the pass together. I had a playmate. Yay.
