127 - Cho La - Dzongla to Gokyo (Three Passes Trek, Nepal)
"Laughter is timeless. Imagination has no age. And dreams are forever."
— Walt Disney Company
TWO RICHARDS ARE BETTER THAN ONE. Just me and my doppelgänger. (If, by “doppelgänger,” I mean a man roughly my age with the same name who looks nothing like me.) We would attack the Cho La (pass) together. This was a welcome development, as light snow obscured tracks left by three Americans the day before. Safety in numbers.
An American trio told me the path was easy to follow, at least before the snow, though even then, and just as with the Kongma La, there was only one route through the valley. The journey to Tagnag should be straightforward. The leg from Tagnag to Gokyo might be more challenging, they cautioned. The trail across the moraine was not static, shifting according to the whims of the glacier. It was supposed to be well-marked, but guides have been known to kick over markers to ensure their livelihood. I appreciated the advice even though it was offered in a “I-am-giving-you-this–warning-sort of-to-help-but-almost-hoping-you-get-screwed” tone one often confronts with people getting a little too much satisfaction out of giving advice.
The beginning wasn’t so auspicious for Double Rich. The snow led to deviations, but the valley narrows as you progress, forcing even the most moronic of morons in the right direction. It was swell to have a partner in ineptitude for a change. Other Rich did enough worrying for both of us. The weather was beautiful, the scenery epic. I relaxed somewhat, knowing if the shit hit the fan, at least we had each other.
Other Rich was super friendly. He was also about as exciting as a dry donut. I believe exhaustion and dehydration dampened his mood, so I couldn’t blame him, but it would’ve been nice to have someone as excited as I to complement the natural marvels before us.
After finding the right track, we still had to ascend the pass. Fresh snow plus mountain pass equals hardship. As luck would have it, I saw a lone porter sitting on the rocks above (and just below the pass) resting in the morning sun. A porter signifies trekkers. Trekkers from the other direction mean there would be tracks to follow. I was as pleased as a pig in pig shit. He spoke almost no English, so I got nothing, but we encountered two Germans and their guide, an elderly couple whose combined ages may have topped 150. If I’m trekking the Cho La into my golden years, I will consider myself fortunate indeed. I think the Other Rich was a tad disheartened, as he was a bit wiped while those two were skipping along like lovers in the park.
Now, we had a trail, which was super fucking duper. Not long after passing the bionic geriatrics, and after some trudging, we reached the prayer flags and rock cairns marking the Cho La. All downhill from there. We paused for some pics and began our descent… long, long descent.
As with the Kongma La, the initial dip was less than ideal. Scree, small boulders, and ice were conspiring against us. Once we found ourselves on more even ground, we took an extended rest, assuming we were close to Tagnag. We were not. We had another hour and a half to go. Although exasperated, I fared much better than my clone. He lagged and looked as if he might pass out when we arrived at the lodge. I was shattered myself, but it was nothing a mini-banquet and three cups of coffee couldn’t cure.
It was tempting to call it a day and hunker down, but there was plenty of time to reach Gokyo, a relative hop, skip, and a jump across the Ngozumpa Glacier. After speaking with a few guides, I was relieved to hear the trail was well-worn. Other Rich also decided to give it a shot. His motivation took a serious nosedive when he saw the glacier and the hilly, rock-strewn terrain awaiting us. He retreated. I was undeterred and pressed on, a wise move as there was considerable snow accumulation that evening.
I crossed a glacial moraine under a misty sky, diminished light, and gentle snowfall. There was nobody around. All groups had made their crossings for the day. I found the walk to be most splendiferous. It felt like I was trekking on the moon or an ancient crash site. Only me. Just me and the relentless hum of eternity in the background. Ahhhhhhhh…
As I plodded along the spellbinding landscape, my head filled with all kinds of nonsense, amusing nonsense I like to believe. I envisioned authoring my very own “Guide to the Himalayas” and lecturing would-be explorers in that signature nasally American voice and a “serious-as-a-heart-attack” expression as they sat hypnotized across the table:
"So, you want to go to the Himalayas, eh? Excellent. I have two words: Gore and Tex. Absolutely essential. The only thing more important than Gore-Tex is water, but only slightly so. And the Gore-Tex should be windproof, waterproof, bulletproof, asteroid proof, etc. Can't have too much. Ever.
I have two more words: soft feathers, “Down” to layperson. Again, can't have enough. And it better damn well be goose down. Goose? Geese? Gooses? Whatever. Get some. In your jacket. In your sleeping bag, In your ass. Pack it in there. Hard. Two thousand fill or more. Don't fuck around! It's the Himalayas, for the love of God!
After years of painstaking research, I've discovered the perfect Down to Gore-Tex ratio: 1 to 1.5. Memorize it. It’s your code. Eat it. Breathe it. Be it. Some folks like to go 1:1. Yeah, you could do that. You could also paint yourself blue and tell everyone you're the last surviving Smurf. Don't fuck around. Go with 1 to 1.5.
Now, look, it’s super important you spend as much money as possible. Everything has to be new. Brand spanking new. If you spend less than $500 on a Gore-Tex jacket, you just don't belong up there. This is real. For keeps. What about your boots? New. Don't even think about removing the tag until you get to Lukla. And make sure upon returning home you stuff all of your shit deep inside your closet, never to be seen again. Very important.
You're gonna need to get yourself some trekking poles. And nothing short of titanium will do. Trust me. I've seen some shit. Bad shit. Be prepared. Don't be one of these a-holes who thinks they can get by with two poles. Ludicrous. Ludicrous, I say! Bring three. Trust me. It’s the safe way to go. If you get in a bind, you can always fashion a titanium triangle. Can't tell you how many times that triangle saved my ass in a pinch. Don't fuck around! Three poles. Trifecta. Do it.
Now, assuming you have followed my instructions (correct Gore-Tex to down ratio, new equipment, titanium poles, etc.), you should have no problems. None. Altitude sickness? No prob. Go as high as you want as fast as you want. Acclimatization is for your great-grandmother. AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness) is just some bullshit phenomenon cooked up by a crafty Diamox salesman to augment drug sales. It’s all crap. All of it. Crap. Don't be fooled. Altitude-smaltitude! Anything under 7000 m is a joke. Haaa!
Now, if you fail to follow my advice, don't despair. Just get yourself a Sherpa. Sherpas can do anything. I won’t say I believe in magic, but I've seen some serious shit. Real serious. If you get into trouble, simply touch your Sherpa. Bada-boom, bada-bing, you’re golden. Shortness of breath? Headache? Fatigue? Hold your Sherpa's hand. Don't fuck around! Touch your Sherpa. Hard.
It’s also imperative you get yourself a porter so you can bring anything and everything. Television, bowling ball, favorite rock, books (you'll need something to read while the rest of the pussies in your group are “acclimatizing”), bow staff, nunchucks, globe, solar panels, short wave radio, etc. If you think you might use it, bring it. Your porter doesn't mind. They love it. They love carrying shit. I've seen them skipping with glee after carrying sixty kilos for eight hours. Sixty kilos? That's for Sherpa toddlers. If your porter is carrying anything less than two hundred kilos, they don't deserve to be called a Sherpa. Don't even tip them. They won't mind. Honest.
Any questions?”
I arrived in Gokyo a little after 4 pm, tired and hungry. I was more than happy to get to a lodge, throw down a meal(s), and hit the sack for my standard ten-hour nap. A good day. A very good day. Two passes down. One to go.