I was awake before my alarm. In mere hours, I'd be crossing the biggest pass in the world, Thorung La. I had already climbed the first 400m the day before, leaving a mere 600m more to climb. It was crazy to think I had just slept 400m higher than the highest peak I'd ever climbed, and to just get across the section of the Himalayas, I'd stand higher than the any mountain in the continental United States.
Our 5:30 breakfast was late, so many people left ahead of us, but we made up the time on the trail. The morning was mostly clear so all the peaks along the way were visible. The night had left an inch of snow, which was helpful for traction in some places, yet more slippery in others. Thankfully, the rest of the pass was not so steep; it was a steady incline. I kept thinking I'd reached the top since all I could see was blue sky over the crest, but new hills kept emerging. After two long hours, we saw the prayer flags and knew we'd finally reached the top.
There was a small tea house, which was necessary due to the cold gusty winds on the pass. Standing for our photo near the sign, facing the wind was the coldest moment of the hike, and had I not grown up in Minnesota, it could have the coldest of my life. I saw the young student, working as a porter for the holiday, standing comfortably, smoking a cigarette, wearing nothing but a light jacket.
"Aren't you cold?" I yelled through the wind.
"No!" He yelled back. "I'm Nepali!"
After a cup of coffee, we headed down the 1800m to Muktinath. The top of the hill, which was colder, still had lots of snow to grip to, but the high traffic of the path had turned much of it to ice. We passed a group of skiiers, climbing the opposite, intense way. They planned to climb Thorung Peak and Khangsar Khang, then ski down. They were certainly hardcore. I couldn't imagine climbing a hill taller than a mile in such slippery conditions. At one point, the safest way down was to slide on my butt, something that I was quite skilled at from my youth; the rain pants finally found use in Nepal. Further down the hill, the snow was melted, creating a giant mudslide all the way to the bottom. Himalaya and I both went off the trail for this part. It took three hours to reach the base, even longer than the climb. My right ankle was throbbing.
Thankfully, it was only an hour to Muktinath. On the outskirts was a famous hindu temple. It is a pilgrimage sight for many Buddhists and Hindus, who bathe under a line of 108 taps to bring good energy to someone recently deceased. Muktinath itself was a lovely village at the top of a wide valley surrounded by the great peaks of Tilicho, Thorung, Tukuche and the majestic Dhauligiri, standing at 8172m, the 7th highest mountain in the world. The views were literally breathtaking, enough so in fact, it covered the sad sight of my first motor vehicles in over a week.
Since it was our last day together and we'd crossed the pass, we had a few beers to celebrate. Even though I was only halfway done with the hike, it seemed like an end of sorts. The pass, the main challenge of the trek was done. There was no longer a massive feat of endurance hanging over me.
That night, I met with Mark, Mark, and Mike's elusive German friend, Stephan, who had skipped Lake Tilicho due to bad knees. He was tall and slim and he wore his body like it was few sizes too big. He was an old dead head, who was on his fourth trip to Nepal. He had a large collection of hash he'd bought from every village he could find and he demeanor suggested that it was more of a functional collection. The three of us sipped Mustang coffee, a glass of warm brandy with instant coffee powder dissolved into it, bearing the cold on the roof top of the hotel, staring at Dhaulagiri, glowing in the night from the full moon above. The first half had come to a close.
That night, Himalaya opened up a bit and shared his fears and insecurities about life, his job, and his family. I hired him because he seemed like a crazy, fearless Nepali man; I envisioned it would be like walking with Hunter S. Thomson, one adventure after another, but he proved to be a great, professional guide. Always walking sober, saving the partying for the night. The wild man proved to be like any other in his mid-twenties, possessed of a confidence in his sense of self, but unsure of his self's place in the world.
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