Annapurna Transitions
Apr 12 - Manang
It's my fourth day on the Annapurna circuit and 15th on the great Himalayan trail. I connected the two circuits in a town called Dharapanni, ever so hesitantly saying farewell to my group. It took two days to descend 11k feet and four days to climb back up half of that. Now I'm sitting here at the foot of the toughest sections of the circuit with a serious case of déjà vu.
Snow storm. The rumor mill has begun churning. Everyone is talking about it. The pass is closed, don't even try going up. Everyone is headed back down here to Manang and waiting it out or changing plans.. I've heard this one before. But this time I don't have a team around me or a guide to provide advice. I'm on my own staring out a window at a blizzard slowly erasing all the brown that covered this town when I arrived yesterday. And to think, just 24 hours ago I was wondering to myself, "wow, this is the Annapurna circuit that everyone talks about?"
It was a sarcastic wow. My first four days on the circuit were not what I'd call exciting. Walking along a very uneven, dusty, and sometimes muddy road. The lines of mules, porters and villagers that I had become so fond of on the Manaslu trek were nowhere to be found. Instead I had to constantly look over my shoulder to see if a car or a motorcycle was heading my direction, forcing me to the side of the road and filling the air with dust and exhaust fumes. Jeeps flew by filled with tourists. Tractors crawled through carting wood. The constant stares from each vehicle as I stood alone with my face covered. Men walked the roads towards me, no longer with baskets strapped to their foreheads. Instead each had a huge strip of lumber on their shoulders as they walked back towards the villages. In each town I saw less stone huts and more cottages of wood boasting wifi and fresh baked goods. The most highly recommended names from my trekking guide were run down, as if their days of glory had long been out lived. The first thing out of the mouths of the villagers was still namaste, but instead of looking at me with curious eyes, they'd quickly ask me if I needed a room or in the case of children, if I had candy... Ghost towns of overly developed stops along a well beaten trail. A harsh contrast to what I had just experienced the 13 days prior. I wanted to write about the sights, but it was the same every day. Pines, road, dust, sun, and flat uneventful terrain with tree stumps to both sides of the road. There were a few gems, but no real variety. No carved out paths along the hillside or rock staircases to hustle over. I was shaving hours off of estimated hike times, passing groups and solo hikers in the process, and finding myself alone at lodges for the night.
I missed my team. Waking up at 5:30am was no longer the same without Andreja there already on her second cup of coffee. No one waiting around the bend offering water or a pat on the back or a time check before lunch. No one to throw your arms up with and spin around, smiling from cheek to cheek. Enjoying the glory of my surroundings was now more difficult looking down at my lone shadow. I missed talking through the thin walls chanting "living the dream!" as we shivered in our ice cold rooms. I'd often stand on the edge of the trail and yell out into the distance. But it wasn't the same without the echoes of those other familiar voices I had grown so fond of.
I wanted to feel the contrast of walking alone, and here it was.
I had formed close friendships with every person on that team. Close enough that as we said our goodbyes, each gave me a present. Your feet were cold, take my extra socks. Your hands shivered, here are my gloves. Your glasses broke, take my pair. And this scarf is a gift for when it gets windy, cold, or dusty... We'd walk with you if we could, but know this is your journey.
Now go make us proud.
Are those normal relationships to have with a group consisting of mostly guides? I've chatted with several others on the trail, and I don't think it is. These guys were different. They called me brother in the sincerest tone and I could feel a similar spirit to that of my closest friends. For them, it wasn't about the business. Just like for me, it wasn't about the destination. It was about the experience and finding like minded people to share their culture with. It's definitely a presence that's missing here on the more popular circuit. And one that really makes me wonder.. What's more valuable, life experiences and accomplishments or the people you share the journey with?
I had already started leaning towards the latter, but now I could feel the difference. It's always been about the people. But with one very important new caveat - mental and emotional compatibility. We had a group of people that weren't worried about getting anywhere. We were going to enjoy the ride regardless of where it took us...
Apr 13 - Yak Kharka
With the recent dump of snow, I had to change plans. The path to tilicho lake was covered in white and too dangerous for me as a solo trekker. The only options I had were to wait in Manang like everyone else or push for the pass trusting that my body was fully acclimatized from the week prior. At 10am the snow stopped. I saw an open window to gain some ground and I took it. 9kms and 1500 feet of elevation stood between me and the next town. I figured I could do it in two-three hours. Twenty minutes after leaving I started questioning my decision. I saw more people heading down the trail than I saw in total on the Manaslu circuit over a two week period.. I was the only one walking up. I wanted to know why, so I asked everyone that passed..
"It might snow more, might not, but we don't have time to wait it out"
"Snow storm is definitely coming. It's starting tomorrow and will last for six days."
"I just came from the next town. It hasn't stopped snowing there and there's nothing to do. You should really head back to Manang where you at least have connectivity.."
All of them made me pause momentarily, but none shook me from my path. Honestly, I just didn't want to backtrack and climb back up to where I was. I knew I'd stop trekking and call it a good effort. I also figured the higher I got, the more likely I'd be to make a move if the weather cleared. I made a deal with myself. If I hit a roadblock, I'd turn around and be happy with the effort. But if it worked out, I was pushing forward. There were moments when I was anxious. A lot of them actually. I was alone and could barely see fifteen feet in front of me. It was completely white out and I was walking in crampons. Soaked from the post snow mist.
It took four hours to get to Yak Kharka including a lunch stop. I found two solo Swiss hikers also heading up. It was the highest they'd ever climbed and one was having trouble with altitude. So I slowed down and walked with them and led the way. Offering the same helpful breathing patterns that my guide had provided me while I was struggling.
When we arrived, several of the lodges were filled with trekkers that had hunkered down from the night before. Several bunched together in the common areas, bundled up in sleeping bags trying to stay warm. That night I found myself in a room with a small fireplace in the middle. Several people surrounded the lone heat source having the ever familiar conversation, up or down? The verdict was split. I was sitting off to the side sipping my tea. I had developed a reputation. The double circuit guy... I guess it wasn't very common. Even guides and police wanted to know more about me. Where I was from. Why I was doing it alone. I hadn't shaved in close to three weeks. I definitely looked the part. They wanted my opinion. So I told them..
"As far as I could tell, there are no certainties when it comes to weather here. Everyone has a different story. A part of me thinks a lot of the groups and guides prefer to hang back at Manang. It's comfortable, they have control, get paid anyway, and it's easier to walk back than push through. But there's another group and guide here, which tells me that it's safe to be here too. I've seen this before. Just last week on the Manaslu circuit, people were panicking, changing plans and heading back down after one night of snow. A few of us made a move for the pass and it was perfect. Not a cloud in the sky. It might not work out that way here, but we've already climbed this far. Won't hurt to play it by ear in the morning and try to make it a little higher. Even if it's on a town by town basis until it clears... I think everyone should do what they feel comfortable with. As for me, I'm just going to wake up and see what the sky looks like."
The room remained unswayed, but the Swiss girls were with me and I knew that group was going for it too.
We woke up the next morning to hazy skies but no snow. Some hikers went back, but for us it was on. The elevation no longer bothered me. I left the girls with the larger group and darted out in front finishing a three hour hike in two. Everyone's plan was to settle in Phedi, but I wanted to get to high camp, an extra hour away and situated above 16k feet. I made it by noon, but it was empty. Like walking into a ghost town buried in snow. I wasn't sure why I pushed that high, especially on my own. Everyone told me not to try the pass without other people around, but here I was staring at crows picking at frozen remains off the side of the trail. Even the footprints in the snow pointed the other direction. I walked in, and let out a sigh of relief. Three other trekkers sat at the table playing cards. They had been there for three days. Struggling with altitude sickness and fatigue on the trail. It was us for most of the day, until a few more trickled in. Eight hikers total in a place that usually had close to a hundred that attempted the pass each day.. This was it. The group of brave souls waiting to see what the new day would bring...