Wandering at the back of the bunch

“It’s just a gradual climb”

John suggested, as we four headed away from Siberia Hut in the Siberia Valley with Mt Dreadful offering up it’s foreboding flanks as guidance, towards Gillespies Pass.

---

GRADUAL:

1. adjective

   1. 1.

      taking place or progressing slowly or by degrees.

      "the gradual introduction of new methods"

   2. 2.

      (of a slope) not steep or abrupt.

The previous day we had helicoptered in to siberia hut,

dropped our packs heavy with all manner of extravagances (as one does when being heli’d in) and headed for Crucible Lake.

Siberia Hut is in the remote Siberia Valley in Mt Aspiring National Park, and is a Te Waihepounamu UNESCO World Heritage site, in the Southern part of the great Southern Alps. It is one of the three main valleys that make up the Gillespies Pass Circuit, a usually three to four day walk comprising approximately 58 km.

The name “Siberia” alone, conjures up images for me of suffering, cold, misery and raw aloneness. With surrounding mountains claiming names such as “Mt Achilles”, “Mt Awful” and “Mt Dreadful”, one cannot help but know that some semblance of suffering will be on the cards!

The weather for Easter weekend was not forecast to be the best. I had to wonder, if I had been solo tramping, might I have ditched the adventure and opted for a soft option instead? It was my first trip to the famed Gillespies Pass circuit and I had heard it was a challenging circuit with a killer descent from the pass into the Young valley.

I found myself obsessing over my ability to make it down the steep descent to the valley floor!

Meanwhile, Crucible Lake was first on the tick list, and John assured me the walk to it, was just a ‘gradual climb’.

I was to hear that phrase again the next day, as we ascended the pass track itself.

Lies.

The moraine wall guarding Crucible Lake. The wall is deceptively high,.

It is a 542m elevation gain in 6.7 km (one way), from Siberia Hut to Crucible Lake,

with the majority of that elevation gained from the beginning of the Crucible Lake track up to the lake itself.

This section is around 3 km long and takes you up a narrow forested valley which leads to the incredibly grand lake basin, sitting like a crucible below the formidable Mt Alba.

A large moraine wall guards the lake and offers one last final push, after a pleasant wander through the open gentler terrain, once leaving the bush track.

As i walked behind the three guys I had come away with, slowly ascending the track to Crucible Lake,

I took a reality check as to why I was engaged in my own personal suffer-fest (yet again), and realised that at 55 and unfit, I could not hope to keep up with the whipper-snappers I was hiking with. I settled into my own rhythm, climbing onwards and upwards, delighting in the occasional views of a raging stream to one side, and glimpses of angry mountains across the valley.

Titipounamu (Rifleman) and Piwakawaka (Fantail) flirted with me under the protection of the track canopy, but proved impossible to capture with my camera due to dim light, and once at the lake edge, Pihoihoi (Pipit) made an appearance, seemingly delighting in the possibility of tit-bits left by humans.

Sheer rock walls with stratification at the most impossible of angles, drop away into this stunningly beautiful alpine lake which is often littered with icebergs. On this day, ice remnants were scattered about the far end of the lake and the luminescent aquamarine water belied the pleasant temperatures we were exposed to whilst there. One of my tramping buddies decided a swim was warranted and he braved the icy waters for a very brief breath-taking moment.

Needless to say he was not in there long.

Siberia Hut sits at about 640m elevation

and is near an airstrip which offers people the ability to fly in-fly out with a Crucible Lake day walk option. We three opted to helicopter in due to inclement weather temporarily halting plane flights. The valley is not wide and is surrounded by mountains, so the approach needs to be made in clear weather. A helicopter offers more flexibility in that it has the capability to fly safely at lower altitudes and does not need a large area for landing. We flew in with Wilkin River Jets and Back Country Helicopters for a very reasonable price, which saved us a long slog up the valley from Makarora and allowed us to make the Crucible Lake hike in the same day. It also meant we could bring in luxuries such as bottles of wine and other heavier food items we would not have otherwise tramped in due to weight.

The flight in alone was one high-lights of the trip for me, as the view above enormous waterfalls cascading down mountain-sides, was simply amazing.

Mt Dreadful is the dominating feature of the Siberia valley head

and can be viewed from the front deck of Siberia Hut. With the Crucible Lake side-trip done and dusted, the goal on day two, was to ascend Gillespies Pass, descend into the Young Valley and spend the night at Young Hut. This section of the track would take us to 1630m elevation on the pass and involve a steep descent - the one I was dreading. The walk from Siberia Hut to the pass track turn-off is a hardly noticeable very gradual climb (not John ‘gradual’, but actual gradual!) and passes several large waterfalls. There is also a stunning waterfall right by Siberia Hut which would make a pleasant swimming spot in summer. I have heard though, that the sandflies are pretty rife at that time of the year!

The climb up to gillespies pass

takes you up (a ‘gradual’ climb - yeah nah), through stunning bush and eventually onto open tussock areas which are very exposed to the elements. The track sidles through rocky outcrops and eventually brings you to the pass itself which provides the most incredibly drop-dead mind-blowing views of the wall that is Mt Awful (2192m) and the dramatic landscape around it, as well as evocative views into the Young Basin. You can literally smell the geological history of this area; evident through vast slabs of rock that make up the interesting shapes of the surrounding landscape. It was hard not to feel dwarfed, when standing on the pass and looking towards the imposing structure of Mt Awful, as well as the mountains making up the far side of Young Valley.

It was almost LOTR-esque.

The 600m+ steep descent into Young valley

took us quickly onto the easy route leading down to Young Hut. The descent is peppered with the infamous ‘Spaniard’ or Speargrass/ Taramea and in places is a temptation to grasp onto when the descent forces you to gather momentum! You quickly learn, however, that this stuff is not to be taken lightly, as it can pack a mean stab and easily draw blood. I guess thats why it earned its nickname of ‘Spaniard’!

The track follows the Young River (south branch) and is a very pleasant and much appreciated walk after the taxing amount of uphill to the pass. The hut sits at 550m and is on a ‘first in gets a bunk’ basis, whereas Siberia requires a hut booking. I found it a cold hut; hard to warm even with a fire (we had damp wood), as it sits in a shady area. The reward at this hut however, was the persistent and flighty Titipounamu who were on the hunt for bugs living in the window frames. They treated us to regular visits, dancing around, oblivious to our presence. Titipounamu (Rifleman) is a stumpy little bird and is generally considered to be New Zealand’s smallest bird, being part of the endemic Wren family. I had hoped to see Pīwauwau (Rock Wren) whilst on the circuit, but so far this had eluded me!

Young Hut was an interesting experience - where we had the loudest snorer I have ever heard, in the hut that night. He had arrived late but was one of the first to go to bed - asleep and snoring voluminously within minutes. A group of young trampers who were in the same bunk room as this trombone-like snorer, quickly realised what they were in for, and gathered in the eating area to discuss options. Some of them considered sleeping in the eating area; others had earplugs. I always bring earplugs as I find the experience of sharing a bunk room with numerous others, always keeps me awake. Even with earplugs in, and sleeping in a different bunk room, I could hear this mans snorting, wheezing, snuffling, clangorous symphony of sounds reverberating throughout the hut and into the night. I am sure that if such a thing as a boogey-man existed, it would have stayed well clear that night!.

---

Our final day on this superlative circuit

would take us from Young Hut, down along the Young River, to the Makarora River, via Young Forks, where the South Branch and North branches of the Young River converge. This section was approximately 20 km long and would involve a river crossing if conditions were right, or an additional three hours alongside the Makarora River to the Blue Pools carpark. This was not our preferred option, as it would also mean a long tedious walk on the state highway back to Makarora township, to where our vehicles were parked.

Image: Wikipedia

---

We walked in drizzle and sometimes in heavier rain, anxious to reach the river crossing point before the river levels rose.

The section from Young Hut is mostly through bush heavy with Silver Beech/Tawhai. It is studded with views to the Young River and in places some spectacular river cascades and views across to lengthy waterfalls tumbling from the valley walls above. There is also a picturesque swing bridge crossing at the North Branch intersection - Young Forks - which would make an ideal place to pitch a tent.

The Mighty makarora river was a welcome sight

and we all agreed that a crossing was on the cards to avoid the extra three hour walk to Blue Pools.

We locked into each other and crossed the river together, reaching the farm paddocks that ran alongside the main road into Wanaka. The river crossing here is wide, as the Makarora is a braided river system. It can, at times, have pools of deep swift water and should always be crossed with care and respect. The final section from the farm paddocks, I found to be completely tedious and I was not looking forward to the several kilometer jaunt along the main highway back to the car! Lucky for us, a driver pulled over and took one of our party to collect the car and then come and collect us to avoid any further walking. Isn’t it amazing how the brain says ‘enough!”

advice for old girls like me wishing to complete this circuit:

• Get used to carrying a pack with weight in it, prior to embarking on a multi-day hike, and get some miles under your belt first

• Take ear plugs

• Ensure your boots are worn in

• Carry water for the pass - there are streams on the way up but after leaving the bush, there is no more water (this is Siberia Hut - Young Hut direction)

• Use walking poles if you feel unsteady on steep descents (I personally hate them, but I can see they would be useful in this terrain)

• Know how to safely cross a river if contemplating exiting at the Makaroa

• Fly into Siberia if time is short!

• Take strapping tape - always handy

• Take toilet paper

• Ensure you have a good headlamp

• Wear layers not bulk. Merino is perfect

• Take a good quality rain-proof jacket

• Pack a beanie

• Carry a PLB

• Camera! Too flippin’ mind-blowing not to capture it!

  There are plenty of other must-do’s for tramping in an alpine area such as this and there is a lot of information online which can help with basics such as how to pack your pack, using gas stoves, info about dehydrated food v fresh food, shoes, clothing, river crossing, descending safely downhill and so on. Have fun!

Doin' Dirt in Dunstan

It was so brand-spankin’ that the trail was almost gleaming.

With the extraordinary use it had been receiving, however, since it’s May 8 opening, the Lake Dunstan Trail was more than likely just well-polished!

The 58.3km (each way) trail, takes riders and walkers alongside the incredibly picturesque Lake Dunstan, the Kawarau and Clutha Rivers; starting at Smith’s Way and finishing in Clyde.

This new trail adds to the myriad of cycling, walking and running tracks on offer in the Central Otago region - another great reason to visit the area.

There are numerous drop-in, drop-out points along the Lake Dunstan Trail making it attractive for people to plan their own excursions for as little or as long as they like. It would also be an option to combine both walking and cycling in the one trip. It would also be possible for those wishing to add on to their adventure, to include the cycle trails leading from Clyde, such as the Otago Rail Trail.

I checked out the trail last weekend, and not being one generally to jump into this type of cycling, (preferring instead to be in bush or forested single track), I was blown away by the scenery and immaculate trail design.

One of many boarded sections

Boarded tracks jut out from the sides of sheer cliffs, trails snake their way upward with names such as the ‘Cairnmuir Ladder’ and epic views greet you around every corner. I could not believe the engineering genius that had gone into the construction of this trail.

The Cairnmuir Ladder

I opted to start my ride at Cornish Point.

There is not much space for parking there and the need for more planning around this, plus access down to the track along with amenities such as a toilet, would be welcome additions in the future. I arrived and found a parking space, but by the time I had off-loaded my bike, donned my cycling gear and swigged a mouthful of water, both sides of the road were swelling with would-be nosey-parkers like myself.

The distance from Cornish Point to Clyde is 29km. I decided to turn around 2km shy of Clyde as the day was marching on and my pace had been not far off from that of a snail. A slow snail.

I was surprised at how I had under-estimated this trail - it was more challenging than I had given it credit for.

Then again - maybe I was just a lot less fit than I thought I was - in fact I KNEW I was a lot less fit than I thought I was! I could also see how people may well also under-estimate it and get stuck without drinking water.

Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink. Take plenty! There is one old hand pump along-side the track, not far from the first toilet stop along the Cornish Point to Clyde section. This can be used to pump water up from a small stream. Given its down-slope proximity to the toilet, I decided that was not a fantastic option.

There was, however, COFFEE.

Coffee Afloat - offering fantastic coffee, cakes, cookies, chocolate, cold drinks and ice blocks.

Yes … coffee.

Coffee Afloat has positioned itself at the foot of the first major climb between Cornish Point and Clyde - the Cairnmuir Ladder. I cycled through wondering why everyone was gathered around on the trail, getting in the way of people hooning down the ladder at break-neck speeds. It took me a moment to realise that here, in the oddest of all places, was a cafe.

What a bloody brilliant idea!

I did think to myself though “here’s an accident waiting to happen” - as folk were wandering about in a caffeine-fuelled stupor, oblivious to the dangers of rapidly descending and approaching cyclists.

Ah well, death by coffee probably isn’t such a bad way to go.

I had decided originally I was going to bike to Clyde and have a late lunch there, but I turned back about 2-3km from my destination, as the day was moving quickly by and I had not been as lightning fast as I thought I would be (cough, cough). My legs were tired from my previous days antics, and now my tummy was empty - all I could think about was that cafe on the water and its coffee. I found myself repeating the mantra (in time with my pedal-stroke), “please be open, please be open” and then “please take eftpos, please take eftpos”.

It was a yes to both.

Win.

The owner of the floating caffeine-heaven, said many people on the trail just came as far as the cafe; guzzled their coffee and then turn and went back; seeing it as a good place to call it a day and avoiding the zig-zag ascent up ‘the ladder’. The cafe also sells cold drinks, a wickedly good brownie and other slices, cookies, chocolate and ice blocks.

I was certain that I was one of a handful of m-bikes on the trail.

An m-bike is what I term a ‘manpower-bike’, and they were few and far between the day I was out grovelling up hills and feeling like I had not seen any form of fitness since 1986. The advent of the e-bike has lured people out to explore on gravel, where previously they may never have contemplated cycling, let alone cycling on any form of dirt.

This trail was, on this day, the e-bike epi-centre of the world.

Whilst I was in the midst of my own private hell, ascending the Cairnmuir Ladder

and other forms of evil,

95 year-old great-grannies were effortlessly floating past me, waving, seemingly with a bottle of bubbly in one hand and a bunch of flowers (smelling like lavender) in the other. I cursed these e-bike maniacs who showed no respect for the suffering that m-bikers endured, and briefly pondered a life with a battery under my seat and pain-free legs.

No - I shall not yield.

My trusty steed.

If this trail gets people out of their homes and into the outdoors, then they can flock in their e-bike droves.

Some advice would be:

1. Plan your trip in advance by having a good look at the Lake Dunstan Trail website. That way you can make decisions about how far to go, where to start, where to eat and where the toilets are.

2. Take toilet paper - I found the toilets along the trail to be devoid of the stuff!

3. Take plenty of water. There are a few small streams and one water pump along the way, but given that the water is coming from agricultural land above, I would not be keen to drink it.

4. Take a puncture repair kit and pump, and know how to fix a flat tyre.

5. If you are wanting a really nice break, take your wallet for either a break along the way at Coffee Afloat (not sure if it is there weekdays also or just weekends), cafes in Clyde or in the Heritage precinct if you start before Cromwell.

6. Bring a camera! The views are stunning.

7. Be careful on the boarded sections - these are narrow and it is not easy to see on-coming riders/walkers.

8. Be careful on descents. There are numerous steep twisty descents with steep drop-offs.

9. If you are on an e-bike and want to rely on the battery for the steeper sections, make sure it is well-charged, otherwise be prepared to push those pedals harder once it runs out (as I saw some people having to do!).

10. Wear a helmet - please! I saw some knobs without helmets, no water, no repair kits - nothing. Good on you!

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

Maybe when I am 95, I shall finally succumb to the joys of e-biking.

Angelus in April

I always knew that the walk to Angelus Hut could throw up challenging weather at any time of year.

I had checked the weather forecast prior to leaving St Arnaud as the local Department of Conservation office was closed due to it being Anzac Day. The weather promised a window of opportunity for the morning, plus the following morning - I figured I would easily make the hut before the worst of it came in and be out before it came in again.

It always pays to prepare for the worst!

Having lived in the remote St Arnaud area for several years, I was well aware of her temperament; of the stories told to me by DoC employees of tourists being plucked from Robert Ridge in bad weather, wearing shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops. The rescue helicopter is kept busy in the Nelson Lakes region. I had also experienced first-hand how quickly the conditions could change, having been a regular runner on the local trails - starting in sunshine and having to re-trace my steps due to summer snow falling!

As I walked further up the famous Pinchgut Track, with expansive views over Lake Rotoiti and beyond up the Wairau Valley, I was aware of the drop in temperature.

I added a merino layer when I arrived at Relax Shelter and eyed up the bank of cloud ahead of me.

It’s a world within a world up there on the Robert Ridge. The track takes you past the old Mt Robert Ski Area, that still houses the original buildings of the once popular field which operated until 2003, eventually being replaced by Rainbow Ski Area across the lake on the St Arnaud Range, due to more abundance of snow on the opposite range.

The Mt Robert Ski Area buildings are now owned by a group of families.

I admired the stunning terrain surrounding the Robert Ridge as I plodded steadily onward towards the jagged, narrow ridge characteristic of the last hour or so of the hike into Angelus Hut. This part of the trail is notable for jagged rocky outcrops and scree slopes which you must skirt across. In high winds, ice and snow, this can be a treacherous spot and is not a place to be exposed to the elements for long on a cold day.

The track follows the ridge until it intersects with the turn-off down the Speargrass Route to Speargrass Hut. This is often used as a safer/easier option than the ridge, to approach or descend and is well-known to be boggy, with numerous stream crossings. I was hoping at all costs to avoid a descent of this route the following day, but did use the saddle as a ‘barometer’ the next day to assess the likelihood of a successful ridge exit.

Track times can be confusing.

The Department of Conservation guides say to allow 6 hours for the walk via Pinchgut, into Angelus Hut. Even though I am no longer speedy, I am certainly no slug, and find that I am generally much quicker than established DoC track times. This day, however, I was crawling along. By the time I got the the Speargrass turn-off, the weather had completely packed it in; snow was falling; the wind was howling and I was seriously wondering what the f @#$ k I was doing out in the elements, like an idiot, in an area I well knew to be extremely changeable and on my own. Ah well … keep plodding! I knew I was close to the hut and that I could warm up and eat and that things would be fine the next day.

Well … hopefully!

Angelus Hut thankfully sits in a basin surrounded by peaks and on the shores of the most stunning set of alpine lakes. It would usually be a little more sheltered from the weather, but not on this day. I simply could NOT see the hut - I was walking in total white out in now horizontal snow, my hair had frozen, my hands were freezing and I was over it! When I did eventually roll into the modern DoC building, I felt like a cowboy from an old western movie; in a howling wind that blew all the weather into the first vestibule, I entered to the cold-hard stares of every other person in the room.

I could see they had all arrived well before I had, and I felt like the outlaw who had just ridden into town.

I claimed a bunk, stripped off my wet clothing and set about gathering wood to feed a dwindling fire. What is it about people and fires in huts?! It seems to me that everyone is always either happy to leave it up to someone else, or they think it is a hut wardens job to maintain the fire for them! I dragged up a bench and sat myself right next to the fire, warming my cold feet, drying off my hands, gloves, hat, boots and my now hanging-above clothing. Outside the weather deteriorated even more and people began to discuss options for leaving the following day. I started to wonder if we would be able to leave the following day and realised I did not have enough food or gas for such an unintended extension to my visit! Ruben (hut warden) warned us all that Speargrass would be the favoured route down in the morning, with weather set to get even worse. I quietly cursed myself for lugging up an extra couple of kilo’s of camera equipment, in the hope I could shoot some night shots or get some images of the hut and lake. It seemed it was not going to happen, that is until everyone went to bed (at around 7.30pm!) and I stayed up with one other older couple, reading and enjoying the relative solitude. Suddenly we were aware of the lack of noise from outside.

It had stopped snowing and the sky opened up briefly to reveal stars and a bright moon.

I ventured out into the cold in the hope that I could shoot some astro, but it was still windy - not as bad at all as what it had been. I managed one long exposure shot, lit up by the bright full moon.

It was simply breath-taking.

The next morning I was up well before sunrise, taking advantage of reduced winds and a sky that promised some colour.

I decided to wait for Ruben’s updated weather forecast

and I ended up being one of the last to exit the hut. The weather was apparently going to be vastly improved until around 4 pm, when another system would come through with high winds and snow. We had woken to an icy world that morning; bitterly cold, and I was not looking forward to walking the Speargrass route - the route that everyone else apart from one group of three, had decided to walk. I figured I would make a decision at the Speargrass-Robert Ridge turn-off, where I would have a much better idea (and view) of what conditions would be like along the ridge.

The views were simply out-standing on this morning; Lake Angelus looked pristine with a crisp layer of snow and ice on the surrounding tussock and thinly snow-clad mountains above, but with rapidly approaching clouds I knew the views would not last long. Within 30 minutes, I was back to walking in horizontal snow and wind, and cursing DoC’s so-called good weather window forecast! On the saddle I waited for one person who had left the hut behind me, just to let them know I was going to descend via the ridge anyway and they could join me if they liked. Right at that moment a man appeared looking like a cross between Bear Grylls and Grizzly Adams, up from the Speargrass route. “Don’t go down that way” he boomed at me through the howling gale, his sodden gaiters flapping about his calves in the breeze, “it’s bloody icy - your’e best to go along the ridge!”. I thought of all the people, including a family with two teenage kids, who were heading down the Speargrass route, with their nylon tops and running shoes. Jeepers….

Mountain-man disappeared down towards Angelus and I could see the last person to leave the hut, coming down the track towards me. She soon caught up and we descended together through unbelievably vile weather, before she decided to take a rest at Relax Shelter, some 40 minutes from the Mt Robert carpark. I decided to box on - eager to get out of the clothes I was in, and to head back south.

I must admit, it was really good descending together, as some of the more exposed scree and rocky areas along the ridge were caked in snow and ice; I had a locater beacon - she didn’t. You can never under-estimate this part of the track in crappy weather.

Wild File:

Angelus Hut (1650m) sleeps 28 people in two bunk-rooms. It has a decent-sized deck that surrounds half of the building and a hut wardens residence tacked onto one corner. It has a small fireplace and has wood delivered by helicopter. The hut over-looks the large tarn known as Lake Angelus and there are actually several tarns up there including the large Hinapouri Tarn which sits en-route to Maniniaro (Angelus Peak - 2075m). There are six clean toilets set away from the hut and a vestibule upon entry to the hut itself where packs and boots can be stored, along with close access to the stored firewood near the hut entrance.

The windows are double-glazed, but I still found myself feeling very cold and the fire was inadequate at heating the hut unless it was kept well-fed and roaring. There are several approaches to the hut; Robert Ridge (the most popular); Speargrass (the easiest); Mt Cedric Track (from Sabine Hut - up a steep spur); and the Cascade Track (from Coldwater Hut - up a steep stream valley). All approaches are about equal in terms of walking time (around 6-7 hours according to DoC times), but vary a lot in terms of distance, indicating the difficulty of each track.

You need to take gas and all cooking equipment, and toilet paper! I also recommend a small child’s hot water bottle (yes - a hottie), as it WAS very cold.

The Mighty Ben Ohau

I knew the view would be worth it,

but the uphill grind was hard-going and my legs were not feeling up to the job! Thankfully that feeling didn’t last long.

Ben Ohau peak had been on my radar for a long time and finally during early winter, I found the perfect day to explore its lofty slopes.

The track to Ben Ohau is accessed via the Greta Track, which is an excellent 16km loop which starts and ends on Glen Lyon road. It can also be accessed via several entry points into the Ben Ohau Range from nearer the Twizel end of Glen Lyon Road - this is better for mountain biking entry points. The scramble up to Ben Ohau peak is a short deviation off the saddle at point 1387, and is well worth the extra 20 minute round trip, just for the views alone. Incredible views across the entire length of Lake Ohau can be gained from this point along with views out to Lake Pukaki and towards the south.

The south-western flanks of Ben Ohau dive steeply into Lake Ohau, giving one a dizzying perspective when surveying the surrounding landscape - its a popular spot for hunters of Thar and provides a perfect habitat for them (for the Thar too…).

Allow 3-4 hours to peak-out Ben Ohau if just doing an out and back style walk from the first Greta Track car park, or 6-7 hours if doing the full loop (watch the streams after rain or during snow melt as they can get a bit gnarly).

The image shown above was taken from the shores of Lake Ohau on Lake Ohau road, looking directly across to Ben Ohau and can be purchased from my SHOP as a digital download that you can have printed any which way you wish.

Crafting New Terrain in Tekapo

You would be forgiven for thinking Sawdon Station

was all about high country sheep farming - well it is - but it also is home to Tekapo’s newest walking and cycling playground - The Lagoon Trail.

The trail, located on land owned by Sawdon Station, has been several years in the making and is now near completion. It is, however, open for use even though there are small pockets of work to complete. 

The trail has found its gravel path slowly snaking through the open landscape, all due to the hard graft of local Tekapo Trails members, volunteers and some much-appreciated community support, and has been funded in part by Lions, the Community Board, Genesis grants and donations from Tekapo Trails members.

Tekapo Trail members doing the hard graft laying gravel to form the newest trail in Tekapo

I visited the trail twice; the first time I was on foot with my camera and came across volunteers hard at work gravelling sections of the track near the lagoon, and the second time I decided to ride the trail on my mountain bike. I was amazed at how much of the trail had been gravelled since my first visit and grateful to be on the trail rather than attempting to ride the rough, rocky, rabbit-holed ground. Another good reason to stick to the trail and not to venture off!

The Lagoon Trail is approximately 8 km in total and runs in two connected loops, giving opportunities to walk or bike in either direction. It is an all-weather trail that also takes in a stunning little lagoon, for which the trail has been named after. A picnic table here provides an idyllic place for a rest, a picnic, spotting the many birds that inhibit the lagoon, or simply to enjoy the expansive mountain views. 

The perfect spot for watching the world go by.

The main entry point to the Lagoon Trail is via a gate (also an emergency exit from the park) that leads off the south-east end trail in the Tekapo Regional Park located on Lilybank Road. You can also enter the Regional Park from the main road into Tekapo by climbing over a stile along the fence-line and access the Lagoon Trail along the south-east section of the Regional Park track from there. As a keen mountain-biker, I found the Lagoon Trail makes for interesting extra mileage, included as an ‘add-on’ to the Regional Park’s numerous trails, or it can be approached as a stand-alone walk or ride.

The trail is easily recognised, as it is marked by blue-topped poles, as opposed to the ones DOC uses (orange).

There are further plans in the pipe-line for this trail, with a possible additional six kilometers of trail being added which includes a view-point to nearly the same elevation as Mt John’s Summit, bringing the circuit total to 14km - a decent half day walk. The reality of this add-on is still some time away, but I imagine this would be welcomed by those who love to get out and hike or bike, and will certainly be a significant addition to Tekapo’s local walking and biking trail network.

I enjoyed the trail’s juxtaposition to the nearly forested Tekapo Regional Park; with its stark, open, barren landscape and interesting rock formations in places, the Lagoon Trail almost feels like being in another country - it holds a unique opportunity for people to experience a typical high-country sheep farming landscape, just minutes from Tekapo.

Whilst Sawdon Station (who owns the land) is not directly involved with the trail project, they have been extremely accommodating in terms of its inception and completion. They are happy to have the development being managed by Tekapo Trails.

Things to consider if planning on walking or biking this trail:

• Please remember it is private land - remain on the trails

• It is part of a working farm - sheep may be present at any time, so shut all gates

• The trail is marked by blue-topped poles placed approx every 50m or so

• No shooting or hunting is allowed, but the gun club nearby means gunshot may, at times,  be heard

• Lambing occurs between October and December - so check first for trail closures

• The ground is uneven, rocky and rough in places - watch for rabbit holes - stick to the trail

• Entry is only via the Tekapo Regional Park from the south-eastern section of the track (there is a gate and signage)

• No dogs allowed

For any questions or to offer a hand on a shovel, please contact Teresa at tjmc.tekapo@gmail.com

Re-directing wanderlust during lockdown.

The view from Little Mt Peel looking West.

It is difficult for us souls who are curious and crave a sense of adventure.

To be in an enforced lockdown for those who love to be outdoors, or those who love to travel, is indeed a challenging time mentally. Let’s not go into how lucky we are compared to those who are sick or who have lost loved ones to this virus - that is not what this post is about, it is not a guilt-fest, to keep ourselves in check for even daring to feel hard done by; it is a post to help manage the feelings that can come with not being able to access the places we normally might, in the outdoors.

We cannot underplay the stress that people will be experiencing during this time, and those that use adventure as a medium to navigate through the world, will more than likely be feeling anxious.

Here are some ways to help managing ‘separation anxiety’ from the outdoors :

1. Check out the nature areas close to you that you could access via foot or bicycle

If you are used to jumping in your car and driving to a trailhead to access nature, why not walk or bike there if it is not too far away. With conflicting messages over how far one can drive to access trails, it would pay to err on the side of caution and seek an alternative method to get there. Check out google maps for other nearby trails that you previously never been to.

2. If you are not close to a trail, develop different routes in your neighbourhood for walking

To keep this from becoming monotonous, try to mix up your routes but you could also turn the walks into an adventure, by (for example), checking our the neighbourhood’s gardens - you might garner inspiration for something that you could do in your own garden!

3. Create a garden or re-design your existing outdoor space

Now is a great time to get stuck into the garden or outdoors in your own backyard (if you have one). You could use this time to create a space that you love to be in - prune trees perhaps; plant vegetables; place some outdoor seating in a spot where you normally would not place it; make some outdoor furniture - old doors and concrete blocks are perfect for this so long as they’re covered during rain. There are many things you can do to enhance your outdoor spaces ands this is also great if you have kids, who could get involved and take on a different form of learning.

4. Walk to the supermarket with your hiking pack on

I stole this idea from my friends who live on a hill in Dunedin, New Zealand. They each wear their packs and walk down to do their shopping, load up their hiking packs and walk back up the hill to their home with newly acquired weight! This turns even the mundane task of shopping, into an adventure (not to mention an excellent workout!).

5. On yer bike!

If you do not get onto a bicycle very often, now is the perfect chance to change that! If you own a bike, dust it off. You can cover so much more ground on a bike, and right now the roads are practically empty, so it is a cyclists haven! Take a camera, a pump, spare tube and tyre repair kit if you have them and get out and about.

6. Start an online exercise routine

For those days when you do not feel like getting outdoors, or when it rains, an online class will lend a hand to keeping itchy feet in check. There are numerous options, including exercises you could include into a walk (when the rain stops), for hiking; there’s yoga; Les Mills fitness classes on TVNZ Ondemand and many other options you can find on Youtube.

7. Day dream! Make an intention list of hikes you will do as soon as the lockdown is over

Having some hope in times like this, is pivotal to staying positive. Having activities to look forward to, bring us an opportunity to plan and research; so what about making a list of places you will hike once an appropriate level of movement is given back. The Department of Conservation has many day walking tracks, huts, multi-day hikes and places to visit, so why not plan a hike to somewhere new.

8. Dream big! Jump onto google earth and explore.

Google earth is awesome for getting up-close views of far-away places. Pick a country or city you would like to go to and explore it through google earth. 

9. Do a little, often

If you are still working from home, there is a chance you will be sitting in one spot for longer. If you do a little movement more often, you can scratch that itchy feet urge as well as keep your body from becoming stiff. Maybe take a walk around the block every hour or two. Maybe have a morning walk and then an evening bike ride. If you have kids this may be difficult, but if walking, take them too. Try to keep as active as humanely possible without driving everyone else around you crazy.

10. Just get outside and bask in the sunshine when you can.

If all else fails, at least lifting your face up towards the sun once a day (if the sun shines), is better than being inside all day long. This is immune-building as well as feeling just so darn good. A good 20 Minutes in the middle of the day, will do wonders. Hopefully if you are outside gardening, walking, cycling or playing with your kids, dogs or maybe even washing your car, you will be getting some valuable sunshine without consciously doing so.

Lastly …

Being anxious can result in our immune system reducing in function. This makes us more susceptible to illness. If you find yourself becoming really stressed from being cooped up, at the very very least try some deep slow breathing, somewhere alone and quiet, when these feelings arise. Our body knows when something is bothering us and we wear these anxieties and stresses in our joints, fascia and muscles. There are many resources online for those who need some guidance in relaxation breathing.

Chill.

Lockdown Habits: nine ways to establish a productive 'new normal'

As we settle in to the second week of lockdown in Aotearoa, New Zealand

the stark realisation of our “new normal’ will have landed. New routines will have been established; some constructive and some not so. New ways of negotiating life inside the bubble will be illuminating strengths and weaknesses in our lives and relationships. How do we navigate this new landscape in a manner commensurate to maintaining a sense of order when all else seems to be beyond our control?

It is at a time like this that I am thankful for over 25 years of martial arts training, which has instilled a strong ethos of discipline that has helped see me through tertiary study and very tough times in my life. I have not trained in karate for over a year now, but after being marinated in it for over two decades, the tenets will never leave me. I have established strong positive life habits and high expectations of myself (not that I am suggesting everyone should have high expectations of themselves - because that in itself needs appropriate management), and this way of being has allowed me to persevere when the going has become tough. And it has at times, been extremely tough.

Habits can define us and the choices we make.

Ultimately, everything is a choice - do I do this, or do I do that? As humans are pleasure-seeking beings, we are more often than not, drawn to whatever it is that will bring us the most pleasure or will take us to our desired destination the easiest, shortest and most painless way. The manner in which we go about our daily life can be deemed to be partly habit and partly choice. Choices and habits can be both constructive and destructive. So how can we make sure we are establishing constructive and productive habits during this hiatus of home confinement, that will lead us into making well-grounded choices?

Nine ways to establish habits of excellence:

1. Set an alarm to wake you each morning

It is easy to remove the morning alarm if you are not working during the lockdown. Keep the alarm set (sure set it for a little later, but not too late), so that you establish a routine of waking at the same time each morning.

2. Get dressed soon after you get out of bed

Get up, get dressed, get going. Don’t linger.

3. Write a list of things to do for the day

If you are still working from home, then obviously that takes priority, but write a list of things you want to achieve in the day. Keep the list short (achievable), so that you CAN do what is on it.

4. Maintain regular eating routines

This is important, as often we are guided in our working lives by timetabled lunch-breaks, ‘smoko’ breaks and designated times when we are legally allowed to take a break. Clearly we cannot be this rigid at home, but remember to eat and drink at regular intervals during the day, as you would at a work-place.

5. Get some exercise everyday

This may be more important now than ever before, as the new normal more than likely sees many of us sitting a lot more than we did prior to this lockdown. If your new normal exercise routine is indoors, there are plenty of online classes available with anything and everything available, from yoga to tai chi to hard core HIIT workouts. Les Mills have even provided free classes through TVNZ Ondemand. This is a great time to establish a fitness routine if you do not already have one.

6. Get outside everyday especially if the sun is out

Our body needs vitamin D3 as a defence mechanism and this is obtained through exposure to sunlight. Now more than ever, in the midst of a viral pandemic, it is vital to get as much sunlight exposure as possible to help develop a healthy immune system. The middle of the day is the best time - about 30 minutes. This can happen during a stint in the garden perhaps!

7. Limit social media time

It is tempting to stay connected with everyone and what is going on, by sitting on social media platforms all day. This can suck up time and can also be a negative spiral, being drawn into the dramas permeating around the world right now. If you find this is an issue ( I do have to be strict with myself!), try setting aside a time for social media; set a timer and limit yourself to that time only.

8. Set aside some time for reflection and solitude

Being in such close confinement to those within your bubble can bring about stress and tension after a while, especially if there are children in the house. It is important to take time for being alone and re-setting. This might not be possible every day, but it is important to ensure that this happens at least one to two times during the week. It could look like taking a walk by yourself; going into a separate space for meditation; practicing yoga; reading quietly; writing a journal or a blog; sitting alone in the garden. This will enable you to maintain focus, energy and motivation.

9. Go to bed at the same time each night

It is tempting to stay up later when it seems all routines are out the door. It is extremely important to create and maintain excellent sleep habits during times of stress, as this is a time when the body is rebuilding and harnessing physiological renewal. We each need at least 7 hours a night of good quality sleep and preferably a sleep that allows cortisol levels in the blood to reduce. Turn off all devices an hour before bed. Read. Dim all house lights. Wind down body and mind.

As we go forward with a sense of uncertainty about the length of lockdown, having well-grounded daily habits can help keep a feeling of control over our lives.

And who knows, maybe these newly-formed actions will become habits which remain with us long after the lockdown has ceased - informing and guiding us towards greater clarity and genuine purpose in our choices.

Chasing waterfalls and Rocky's Walk

How did I not know about this track, after living for a year in Thames?

In the search for a mystery waterfall, I discovered Rocky’s Walk.

Rocky’s walk is found on Victoria Road in Tararu, just five minutes drive from central Thames, with two possible entry points, making it an ideal circuit walk.

The stated track time is three hours, but I think this is generous considering I completed this in half the time.

I started the walk from an entry point 1km up Victoria Road, where there was ample parking space for cars.

The walk from this point, initially follows a stunning narrow fern-lined gully (Tinker’s Gully), dotted with mine shaft entrances and small waterfalls. It is an attractive start to the track and continues along with a moderate uphill trend until the track takes an abrupt steep uphill deviation away from the stream.

Beautiful waterfalls dot the track upstream.

The up-hill slog takes the track to a ridge with expansive view-points over the Firth of Thames.

Views across the Firth of Thames

It is a welcome rest on the legs after hand-over-feet climbing up to this ridge, with a change of flora to open pine forest and soft red needles underfoot. Glimpses of roof-tops in Tararu start to appear once the descent through this forest commences.

The descent through pine forest to Dickinson’s Camping Ground carpark.

Dickinson’s campground is at the start of Victoria Road.

There is a purpose-built carpark for the Rocky’s Walk track and people usually do the track in an anti-clockwise direction. Having gone up the leg-aching steep climb to get to the ridge, I was thinking to myself I would rather have gone clock-wise than anti. Once I started the descent to the exit point, I changed my mind - it was equally as steep this way as well. Either direction is going to be a suffer-fest for a while; a good suffer-fest. My exit through the campground meant I had to walk for approx 20 minutes up the gravelled Victoria Road to where I had started the loop.

Track in red; add on the gravel road to make a complete loop.

Total Distance: 4.1 km track + 1.2km road

Total Time: 1.5 hours (track time 2-3 hours)

Total Elevation Gain: 344m over 2km

Three hundred and sixty degrees from Crosbies.

How many tracks lead to Crosbies Hut (you might ask) … a LOT!

Crosbies Hut sits perched on top of a cleared historic farm site and provides coast to coast views of the surrounding Coromandel area.

From the ample deck you can see Whitianga Harbour; Table Top Mountain; the Kaiaua Peninsula and the lush forested hills of the Coromandel Forest Park. There are seven access points to the idyllic spot, each with their own flavour of suffer-fest. These include from Thames itself (Karaka and Waiotahi); Tararu ( Tararu Stream - five minutes out of Thames); the Kauaeranga Valley (Whangaiterenga - 30 minutes from Thames); Te Puru (15 minutes from Thames); Waiomu (20 minutes from Thames); and Tapu-Coroglen Road (35 minutes from Thames). Mostly, the track times are the same, but the tracks can vary somewhat in steepness, depending on where they are accessed from.

Today, it was waterfalls that made me do it.

Mention the word “waterfall” and I am all ears. My intention had been to hike up to Crosbies after my night at Pinnacles Hut. That night was the night that never ended! I got ZERO sleep due to it being packed to its 80 capacity with noisey weekend warriors; and after descending foolishly down the Billygoat Track instead of the normal quick way (doubling my descent time), I was a walking zombie, desperately in need of a nap! And so plans to hike the 5-6 hours up to Crosbies was the least inviting idea I was entertaining.

[ … but back to those waterfalls … ]

I had heard of some attractive waterfalls in Tararu, the camping ground there mentions them on their website - but gives no clue as to where they are located. Someone told me they were on the Tararu Stream track up to Crosbies - I am IN, I thought - the old “two birds with one hand” kind of thing. I will go to Crosbies AND I will photograph this picturesque cascading waterfall.

Perfect.

I walked that track to Crosbies - the steepest (but shortest at 9km) route up to the hut, of ‘360 degree views’, salivating over all the waterfalls of a post heavy-rain Tararu Stream, and not one single access point (unless I wanted to bungy, abseil or fall down), that I could see. Bummer.

The first of a three-tiered waterfall I was able to look longingly at from above.

The stream was pulsating with water energy!

Tantalisingly close - but oh so far.

With a stated track time of 4-5 hours, the Tararu Track is apparently the steepest and shortest route up to Crosbies Hut.

I was pleasantly surprised - although there were some places where I needed to stop for a bit and urge myself forward. The track, once it leaves the stream and continues to climb, joins the Karaka Track at ‘Jam Tins Junction’. From this point, the track time stated one hour and thirty-five minutes to the hut. I completed this section in half that time. It was boggy underfoot - a telling remnant of the previous two days heavy rainfall.

There are tell-tale signs of the history in this area, on these tracks. Originally cut for the trams which transported kauri logs into Thames, the tracks are wide in places and some parts have remnants of cobblestones underfoot. There are also mine tunnel entrances - particularly in the lower Karaka and Waiotahi tracks - and shafts in the bush, so staying to the track is essential; no wandering off to chase waterfalls in this region!

The final push to the hut

is a short scramble up a narrow, tree-rooted track which takes you to a clearing that the Crosbie family farmed at the turn of the century. A flash new building erected in 2010, takes in the stunning views and I was certainly happy for a chance to laze about on the sun-drenched deck while I ate my lunch and drank in the views.

Hut to myself - so time to get the camera on a tripod and do the official ‘selfie’.

And what about those views …

A glance north towards Coromandel township, from the hut.

Going down?

I wanted to walk into Thames directly, so I planned to return via the Karaka Track. This is longer by 30 minutes than Waiotahi, but I know that after heavy rainfall, Waiotahi would be a quagmire; so my choice was Karaka, which also has snippets of amazing views.

From the junction with tracks down to Kauaeranga Valley, the stated track time to Thames was five hours.

I was a woman who need caffeine

and so I knew my time would be half that. And it was. I was able to roll into Melbourne Cafe in Grahamstown (the top end of Thames) for my daily dose before they shut their doors for the day.

I never did find the waterfall I was looking for. Thats a mission for tomorrow.

A view to Tabletop Mountain from the Karaka Track)

Total Distance: 21.7km

Total Elevation gain: 720m

Total Time: 6 hours, 45 minutes (including 45 minutes of breaks)

Total Fun: Big fun

Tararu Track and Karaka Track to/from Crosbies Hut, in black.

Reflecting on the last twelve months (and other observations).

I caught myself pondering a question, as I walked up the road to join Te Araroa in the Te Kahui Kaupeka Conservation Park.

Below to my left I could see Coal River, swollen and swift from snow melt. In my face a strong wind blew, deafening much of the roar coming from the river, and making the push up hill even slower.

Where has this last year gone? I thought. It is nearing Christmas, the school year is out, and now I have time (and energy) to think. I don’t want this to be some ode to a shit year - but actually - it has been in many ways!

This year I lost part of my normal self and had to adjust to a new normal; I lost my best friend and soul-human to cancer in May; I was hospitalised four times in August and to top it all off I had a kidney operation in October. It’s been a year of learning.

But mostly I lost myself. This day, last December, I was walking in the Himalayas on the trip of a lifetime, to Everest Base Camp. Base Camp itself was not the be-all-and-end-all for me (just as well), rather, to be back in Nepal, amongst her people and her mountains; that was the draw. I wanted to walk there this time; drink in those huge hills and push myself. After a stressful year as a teacher, I felt I was ready for a complete change of scene.

As I wandered along on the small segment of Te Araroa I had under my feet, I thought about the similarities between the landscape before me, and the landscape in Nepal - I could be walking in the Khumbu region, but I am here, walking in the Tekapo region. The world is smaller than we think.

A side creek flows into Coal River over a significant loss in elevation.

Milky waters of the Dudh Kosi carved their way down from the high mountains ahead of me.

When I am near a milky river - such as what I saw coming from the valley today on my walk near Coal River, I am always reminded of the mountain rivers in Nepal. The milky hue; the noise; the energy.

I consider often, how life is like a river. Sometimes it is fast flowing, sometimes gentle and lazy. At times a river may have rapids that require deft negotiation, other times there is so much shallow water you can see the bottom. Sometimes also, you think you know where to cross and you place your foot - sure of the steady footing - only to have swept from under you by the current, or a slippery unseen stone. Life is like a river.

No part of a river is the same; no drop of water is repeated, identical or moves in the same way. Each is unique.

Like an unpredictable river, so too has the last twelve months been.

I never could have imagined a year ago, I would be so eager to get out of Nepal - her sounds, rush, colours, smells, all too much for me. My brain was fried. Just over a week into my walk in the Everest region, I came back down in a helicopter. I was really unwell. My brain was filling with fluid and the impact it had has largely dictated my year since.

I felt betrayed. How could beautiful surreal kind lovely Nepal do this to me? How could my body do this to me. Had I done something wrong? Was I going too fast? Too slow? Was it the chest infection I had when I went there? Did I climb too high the day before on acclimation day? What? What? What?

The Chukhung Valley leading away from Dingboche, towards Island Peak (left of centre) as viewed from nearly 5000m.

It was not until I got into the swing of things back home

that I realised the toll this head injury had taken on me. CT scans had confirmed small clots in my brain affecting vision - that sorted itself out far sooner than expected, thankfully, but not without an effect on my overall vision. The biggest issue was headaches (still ongoing but less in frequency - but they can still be really powerful); initially (and usually unexpectedly) balance issues; but most noticeably, I had a reduced tolerance for light, noise, stress, and anything requiring mental cognition. I became tired very easily. My ears rung.

I came home to a new job, a new town - a new life.

Having to shift house to 300 km away was incredibly fatiguing. I made several trips in a week back and forth - sleeping on the side of the road when my brain hurt. Funnily enough even though friends wanted to see my Nepal photos, they didn’t ask me how I was or if I needed help. It was almost as if ‘ignore it and it will go away’ was the prevailing attitude. Who steps up for you in times of hardship, is very telling. I boxed on none-the-less.

I started my job with a brain that couldn’t cope with too much noise (not a good mix for a school teacher); I couldn’t deal with people (again - where’s my buzzer - wrong on every level!); I struggled to teach; I forgot things; I was utterly mentally fatigued at the end of each day. Brain dead. I am still living this - but not as noticeably.

So where has the last twelve months gone? It has gone into trying to get well; trying to get enough sleep; to remove myself from stress when I can; to leave work when my brain has absolutely had enough; to take care of myself unapologetically. I have also given up worrying about what people think of me, allowing others to speak to me as if I am an idiot, AND I have given up chasing people. Way too much energy involved in that!

It has also gone into taking stock of all the great things that have happened this year, despite the crappy interludes.

I have landed myself in amongst a wonderful community in small-town Canterbury; my job - although stressful and exhausting - is the best teaching job I have had yet. It is a joy to be at this school with such a supportive, loving and caring staff - these are people who STEP UP. I have started yoga and meditation again. I have joined an active photography club. I have re-connected with friends from this area. I have made the most of the stunning scenery where I live, to indulge my love of photography and hiking. I have more energy to be creative again. I have visited USA twice this year and have the absolute pleasure of being able to show my friends around the lower South Island when they visit here in January. Lots to look forward to. I have packed a fair bit into this last twelve months. I have learnt a lot.

Slowly, slowly, she grows into her new normal, and its not so bad.

What do you do when it feels as if the river cannot be crossed? Find a way to cross it.

Washpen Falls: A Hidden Canterbury Gem

You can almost feel the grand disgorging of rock and fire that would have occurred in order to form the unique landscape housing the stunning Washpen Falls.

An 80 kilometer drive South West of Christchurch towards the Rakaia River, will bring you to the one-petrol-station settlement of Windwhistle. It is in the back hills of this area, that the land divests itself of smooth rolling consistency, and becomes a fracture within which Washpen Falls drops steeply as part of its descent towards the Hororata River.

Accessing the falls is via private land, which is open to the public for a $10 fee. It is worth every cent, as this interesting 1.5-2 hour walking trail takes you through forests of Radiata pine, bush and scrub rich with Tikouka, Harakeke, Horopito, Horoeka and native birds a plenty. You can experience earth’s upheaval as you walk under massive imposing canyon walls, nooks and cranny’s where rhyolite lava has been blown away and where Maori once made use of the indentations for shelter. Maori hunted Moa in this area, making use of the narrow high-walled terrain to trap the birds by forcing them up into the gorge where there was no escape.

Steep canyon walls provide a sense of enclosure.

The walking trail is a loop

and includes commanding views over the Canterbury Plains from one spectacular high point, along with heart-thumping peeks deep into the gorge where Washpen Falls thunders down. It is not a technical walk, although good walking shoes are essential and a moderate level of fitness would be an advantage. There are steps to negotiate, steep climbs and descents, and you can even laze in a row boat on a pond if you feel the urge to rest the legs, alongside a large covered picnic area.

Vicky from Arahi Tours, take Jo for a row on the pond.

You may not know, that Washpen Falls was used for the Hollywood movie ‘Z for Zachariah’,

a post-apocalyptic science-fiction movie filmed in 2015, where the falls (deemed to be full of radio-active waste) were used to shunt water onto a waterwheel to generate electricity. As soon as I stood in front of the falls, I recognised them, having just watched the movie recently. I went away and checked my suspicions that these indeed were the falls used, and was happy to see they were. This thundering weight of water crashes down for 22 meters and is known as a ‘horsetail’ fall - due to its shape. It sits beautifully framed by surrounding cliffs and clatters into a perfectly round pool at its feet. This, plus its private location, would have made it ideal for filming.

There is much to take in on this walk; much to explore and perfect for families and photographers alike.

Take the time!

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

New Beginnings: The Emergence of Spring

Springtime

[noun] ‘an early or flourishing stage of development’.

Monday 23 September marks the vernal equinox in New Zealand. It is a time of new beginnings and promise; a time of renewed energy and increased warmth in an emergence from winter’s incubation.

An equinox is a time during the year when night and day are almost equal. There are two equinoxes; in spring and autumn and these are defined by the angle of earth’s tilt toward the sun. During these times, the earth neither tilts toward or away from the sun.

Spring is defined by warmer temperatures and increased rainfall, making it perfect for growth and regeneration. Many animals give birth during spring and even in humans, the birth rate is higher during this season. Some cultures celebrate the return of spring every year, for example, Japan has the cherry blossom festival - the cherry, or sakura - symbolising the transience of life. Jewish people celebrate Passover and in other northern hemisphere Christian countries, Easter falls in springtime.

As New Zealand starts to uncurl from it’s winter hibernation, all the signs are here for a glorious spring season. Trees are in blossom; the grass has an increased luminance; the days are longer; birds are singing louder and the sound of lawn mowers are beginning to permeate the weekend. It is little surprise that people ‘spring clean’ and start to feel a new sense of purpose during this time of year - it brings with it so much promise.

Spring is the time for awakening and for wonder.

The magnolia blossom above, adorned its tree along with many others all in varying stages of arrival. The magnolia to me, signifies more than any other flower, springs imminent visit; more so than the daffodil.

The magnolia is an ancient tree - around a long time before bees were - and originated in South East Asia. There are many different varieties of the tree, with blooms ranging in size, shape and colour. To me they are simply stunning and one of the treasures of spring.

The image above, is available as a digital download for sale from my gallery/shop page.

When stuff slows us down

It hasn’t been my finest couple of weeks.

In fact it has been absolutely less than average. Being a person who finds it difficult to sit still, I have had to sit and experience my body telling me there is no way I can move forward. I felt like this for months after I came back from Nepal - a dragging fog; fatigue and a rapidly declining fitness - and I was only just starting to feel as if I may be able to get my act together. Then I became ill again and am at the end of an enforced ten days off work, which included three stints in hospital. I have been unable to do much at all and if I did, then man did I pay for it later.

I do not like this ‘sitting around getting better’ gig; but I am fearful of how my energy levels will be when I step back into my classroom tomorrow. Today I was unable to get out of bed before mid-day. I wasn’t sleeping, I was simply feeling too unwell to move too far. It sucks. It is teaching me about myself though; priorities, value around wellness and re-thinking how I have really been feeling these last nine months since I was sick in Nepal. Pretty bloody average to be honest. I have ignored my health; I have allowed stress to take over; I have not dealt very well with grief; I have not had five minutes really, to stop, breathe and just bloody well land.

I know the ‘told-you-so-ers’ out there will be thinking I push too hard and need to slow down. This could be true - sometimes. Since Nepal I have been literally at snails pace because I have been unable to push myself like I did. I have slowed right down and I do not like it one bit! Many people think they know how to live your life better than you do … maybe so, but it’s not theirs to play with.

But here is the lesson - I have a large amount of control over how I respond to feeling so darn blah. I can choose to wallow in it all and marinate myself to nothingness in how bad it all feels, or, I can accept this is how it is for now and each day aim for feeling a little better. I can continue to absorb myself in the activities that bring me a sense of wonder and fulfilment. I can even make the most of the down time to catch up on things I am usually too busy to attend to; today, for example, I loaded a bunch of new photos into my website and yesterday I ordered new cards for printing. I can and have, spread out on the couch with my cat and watched back to back movies - a rare thing for me. I have sat in the sun and soaked up those healing rays, and I have made bliss balls and soup to store in my freezer. This situation has also created the opportunity to be helped by others - and I have had plenty of it in the last couple of weeks, from wonderful people I barely know.

Good things can come from a seemingly sucky situation, it is just sometimes difficult to see past it as we are often so busy comparing ourselves to how things were.

Folding Upwards Part Eight: The inward collapse

I downed two Panadol and settled in for the night, eager to be on that final leg to EBC.

Sometime in the night I awoke needing to pee (the cold made me pee all the time and it drove me nuts having to get out of bed several times every night - the energy expenditure was massive in order to accomplish this menial task and I would come back to bed with my heart rate pounding out at least 150-160bpm).

I got up and was immediately hammered with a headache again and a bit of vertigo.  As I moved towards the toilet I felt a wave of nausea and wrote it off as a reaction to the gut-ripping odour from the toilet. 

With a constant urge to pee, I couldn’t sleep and as the night wore on my head began to pound with an urgency that had me worried.  Was I dehydrated? I had been drinking plenty - the recommended amount while at altitude. I used Panadol during the night but found they had little effect - they provided me instead with a sense that at least I was doing something. When morning came after a long painful night, I knew I was in no state to walk to base camp. Jeet came to find me for breakfast, excited about the day ahead and seeing his uncle who owned the teahouse we would stay at, in Gorek Shep, after we had tagged EBC.

“I can’t go Jeet - my head”

He looked shocked.

“Ok well you must sleep and tomorrow will be better. Drink many water” - his response was encouraging although I could sense his disappointment. Ok - I thought - this will pass and I will be sweet for tomorrow. Nothing to worry about here.

As the day wore on my symptoms worsened. I started to feel a stiffness in my neck and as if my head would explode; I felt increasing nausea and vomited frequently and just felt generally awful. I started to think I needed to go down, even back to Thugla, or Periche where the mountain hospital was, but doubted I could walk. I remembered seeing a child descending on horseback somewhere in the region of Pangboche, the family walking behind. I had stopped to chat to the mother who said her son had AMS (acute mountain sickness) and that was the end of their family trek.

I lay in an utter state of misery, the pain in my head becoming un bearable, the room spinning; I could not stand up; my vision was blotchy and my heart felt like it would burst out of my chest.

I wonder if I have altitude sickness/AMS … the thought began to grow in my head along with the pounding pressure. If I do, I need to go down.

For most people, mountain sickness is a self limiting illness, but it can become life threatening.

It is estimated that more than 100 million people per year travel to the hypoxic (reduced oxygen) environments found at altitudes above 2500m and at least 10 to 20 percent of people develop acute mountain sickness at this height.  Acclimatisation to altitude involves multiple physiological changes, occurring over days to weeks, which enable individuals to function better in these hypoxic environments. If this natural adaptation is surpassed by the rate of exposure to altitude, acute mountain sickness can occur.

For this reason, “rest days” of walking to a higher altitude and sleeping lower, aid the body’s physiological response to reduced oxygen and encourage a faster acclimation response. I had done everything right. EVERYTHING. Two nights at Namche (with a walk high rest day); two nights at Dingboche, also with a walk high rest day. Not changing more than 500m per day in my sleeping elevation. Taking it slow.

What was going on here?

I did not take diamox due to a kidney condition I have - diamox is a diuretic and my specialists advice was to avoid if possible. Was this the reason? I have since found out from an experienced guide in the Himalayas, that good old aspirin is best - prophylactic - and avoid diamox if possible.

I could feel myself slipping into a weird kind of head space; I lost all sense of time; I vomited a lot; my ears were ringing loudly; the pain in my head was literally driving me crazy; I couldn’t move my head, my neck was so stiff. It started to dawn on me that the only other time I had ever felt like this was when I had meningitis.

I had been unlucky enough to have had it twice in my life - once in Belgium in 1991, and in New Zealand 2001. This was feeling the same. I started to panic. I am in the middle of nowhere, I and I feel as if I have meningitis.

This is not going well!

Sometime in the afternoon I asked to be taken down. I could not stand up, I pee’d myself, I vomited on myself, I was a disgusting train wreck. I didn’t care - I needed to go down straight away.

A helicopter was called. My passport and phone were taken from me.

“Call my Mother - P L E A S E!” I told Jeet there were emergency contact numbers in a notebook in my pack; I at least had enough wits about me to remember that. I told him to get this information and call my mother to call my insurance company.

After what seemed an eternity, a helicopter arrived and a small army of men came to carry me. Someone packed my gear. I remember being carried to the heli and seeing people unloading bags of rice - how odd. I thought this was a rescue helicopter. I had heard of stories of trekkers being fleeced by the heli operators, and I briefly wondered if this was what was happening here too. Where was my passport? Did anyone call my mother? Did my insurance company know what was going on? Where the F…..K was I?

I was losing it.

I remember seeing the ground lift away and my dreams of EBC eroding away like the monsoon rains deal to mud. GONE.

What had gone wrong?

My symptoms were like those of meningitis - severe headache, vomiting, stiff neck, aversion to light, dizziness, loss of cognitive function, visual disturbances, unable to walk. Research shows that the brain does swell on ascent to altitude - this is normal for everyone, but those with less cerebrospinal fluid volume (a tighter fit of the brain in the cranium) are more likely to develop cerebral oedema symptoms. So those with less ability to accommodate the increased brain volume are the ones that are more likely to suffer.

HACE (High Altitude Cerebral Edema) is directly related to increased intracranial pressure; in effect, it is like meningitis but due to altitude not a virus or bacteria and it is not the inflammation of membranes that occurs, it is the inflammation of the brain that causes similar symptoms. Since being home, the doctors who I have done the rounds with to sort out the various challenges I brought back to New Zealand, have suggested that two bouts of meningitis may not have done me any favours - when ascending, my poor old brain had no where to go due to reduced cerebral spinal fluid (which may be related to my meningitis illnesses), and bingo.

How could I prevent this from happening again?

Don’t ever go to altitude again? Probably sensible. But, I want and need to finish this. Next time, it has been suggest I take even longer than the suggested trekking times, so instead of one rest day I would take two and to limit my rest day acclimation climbs to no more than 500m in elevation change. In Dingboche, I went from 4410 to 5180m on my acclimation day climb; even though I slept at 4410m, the ascent that day may have been too high. Take aspirin? Yes. Next time for sure.

So what happened with my insurance?

I eventually saw my passport and phone again - given back to me at Kathmandu domestic terminal where I was taken to pay the helicopter bill (with my credit card). No they had NOT called my mother or my insurance company, as requested. The evacuation cost me just over $8000 NZD. There was some dispute over who was in the helicopter with me (I didn’t have a clue - I was out to it!), and my insurance company were vary careful before paying out - even then I did not get all my money back and it took over a month. Thats a whole story on its own which may be worth telling for novice travellers! They were however, (insurance) very good at getting me to hospital for tests, CT scanning and paid for my flight back to NZ which they booked and sorted for me. I left Nepal three weeks earlier than planned.

Health outcomes?

I have ongoing headaches, regular attacks of dizziness, increased ringing in my ears but the main issue was my right eye vision loss which was temporary but scary none-the-less. I find it hard to concentrate, I get tired easily, my vision has deteriorated.

I learnt a lot from that experience. I came out of hospital and had a few days relaxing with my very good friend Amanda at her guesthouse above the smog in Changu Narayan. I tired quickly and slept, and generally took it slowly. I found I was less tolerant of the noises, smells, people - the things I loved about Nepal were attacking my senses. I found it almost unbearable. It was a relief to leave and go back to New Zealand. I KNEW I was really sick, when I felt it a relief to board that plane - I LOVE Nepal, and would never normally want to leave.

I arrived back in NZ facing having to shift houses and start a new job. I was struggling physically and emotionally and felt extremely alone. I had packed all my contents into the garage of my old house (where my son was now living), before I had left NZ for Nepal, on my own, but now I needed help more than ever to set up in Fairlie, some three hour drive north and inland of Dunedin. Once again, I shifted my life, alone, as I had done a gazillion times before - but this time I needed help. Help never came. It really hit me that I was truly on my own and that if I had died up there in the Himalayas, my family would have been affected by it, but certainly no one else. The experience up in those beautiful hills has changed my outlook a LOT. I am taking no bull from people; I am choosing who to spend my time with, and I am putting my energy into my family.

The experience has also made me realise there is more to life than

sleep, eat, work, repeat.

Folding Upwards Part Seven: Dingboche to Lobuche

The day dawned a clear, crisp, vivid iridium blue.

Jeet and I cautiously picked our way over morning ice to the trail heading away from the Chukkung Valley, to the Khumbu Valley - the valley that houses the famed Khumbu glacier, snaking its way down from the Everest massif. Within minutes I was out of breath, and needing to slow my pace. ‘Step step stop’ - I reacquainted myself with the ‘altitude shuffle’.

As we walked above Dingboche onto the plateau that gradually inclined towards Thugla, I could see the shapes of people spaced out ahead of me. Trekkers and porters; guides, villagers, moving laboriously forwards as if in a trance - slowly making headway.

A porter loaded with goods heads towards Thugla from Dingboche

I felt somewhat comforted by this scene; reaffirming that I was here with others going through the same experience. The valley broadened and I could see the trail leading to Cho La - where I would be walking after EBC.

The Cho La (pass) over which Gokyo Lakes is reached can be seen in the middle of the mountains. The path leading there is barely visible, scratched out like a thin line along the middle section of hills.

The peaks of Taboche and Cholatse leaned inwards at a foreboding angle, making their prominent pointed peaks appear even more surreal, as if they leaned in to whisper to passing trekkers. The deep vivid blue sky contrasted strongly against the stark white snow of the surrounding mountains - a sight so stunning, I could not take my eyes off what lay before me. My camera never left my hand.

A cottage lies empty for winter with Taboche and Cholatse in the background.

The trail between Dingboche and Thugla is a seemingly benign ascent; a welcome respite after the previous days of hiking.

I told myself I was doing well; keeping the ‘step step stop’ shuffle going as a way to provide some rhythm to the process. As I plodded slowly along in my zombie-like oxygen deprived state, I noticed the landscape changing rapidly. What little green space there had been on the plateau, now gave way to a barren rocky moonscape. At one point the trail crossed the lower reaches of the Khumbu Glacier. The moraine walls tower either side, accentuating the deep rift carved through the landscape forming the valley. People were dwarfed by the size of the moraine; large boulders scattered haphazardly as if a giant hand playing marbles had thrown with child-like delight.

The changing landscape to Thugla

The trail picked its way through this obstacle course eventually arriving across the valley at Thugla, a small settlement of no more than a fistful of buildings. Here I downed garlic soup (a supposed natural blood thinner which makes breathing at altitude easier - supposedly); and I chatted with Jeet who had arrived some 45 minutes before me and was hanging out with a bunch of other porters. Surprisingly many of the porters were smoking a cigarette; a somewhat innocuous activity at such an elevation!

The small settlement of Thugla lies at the foot of the Thugla Pass in the Khumbu valley.

Porters take a load off at Thugla

Jeet told me “not far Lobuche but first Thugla La - little bit climb”.

I was getting used to a porter’s version of “little bit climb” which usually meant a steepish track which would have me gagging for O’s within the first few steps. I wasn’t disappointed- the trail snaked upwards at an angle that proved to be time-consuming and challenging at this altitude. It felt like forever had gone by, when I finally set foot on the eerie wind-blown pass.

The trail leading out of Thugla towards the Thugla Pass.

Chortens and memorials, prayer flags, cairns and all manner of remembrance paraphernalia was housed on that pass. The first one I saw was that of New Zealander Rob Hall who lost his life on the hill in 1995. It was a humble memorial and I felt momentarily emotional- it suddenly kicked in at how isolated the area was; how difficult the conditions were and how fragile life was. I wandered for a while looking at who else was remembered here. Scott Fischer’s memorial stood near Rob’s; another all-American hero, lost to the hill.

From the other side of the pass, the trail descended gently. Pumori came into view - a magical triangular shape jutting into the valley space. I knew that Everest stood to my right, obscured by the mountains, unable to be viewed. I could see a wild plume flying in a line behind this mountainous barrier, hinting that Everest was lurking - wild as ever.

The perfect peak of Pumori

Lobuche is a small village that serves as a major stop for trekkers heading to EBC or over to Gokyo via the Cho La.

It is also accessed from the Chukkung Valley via the Kongma La and houses several large tea houses.

I arrived in the mid afternoon after what felt like a surprisingly challenging day despite the apparent lack of a major altitude change. The ascent had been gradual and insidious, but my difficulty breathing belied the lack of obvious altitude gain. I went to my room to sort my gear out for the evening - absence of lighting meant everything needed organising during the day before evening fell. The room was stunningly situated - right opposite the vile-smelling toilet which leached the sharp odour of urine and excrement through the thin walls.

I marinated yet again, in Nepal toilet smell. What a treat.

I went through my usual routine of setting up two mattresses and layering as many blankets as possible. The blankets were very heavy and at this altitude every time I moved to pull them over me was a monumental effort, requiring much consideration of how I would lie in the bed - wishing to remain warm but also conserve my energy. At this tea house (name forgotten) a party of Chinese trekkers in a tour group was staying. In the dining hall they sat in muted exhaustion - one guy looked like death and another woman slept with her forehead on the table. I wondered how they would get on with the final push to base camp if they looked this bad now! I always looked forward to my evening meal, and consumed a large plate of spring rolls (not like NZ spring rolls - these things were the size of a pie and crammed full of vegetables); garlic soup - standard now several times a day for me, then took myself off to bed with a mild headache in tow, but excited by the prospect of stepping foot at Everest Base Camp the following day. I was nearly there!

---

The day’s numbers:

Start: Dingboche (14468.5 ft/4410m)

• End: Lobuche (16207.35 ft/4940m)

• Distance: 4.13 mi / 6.66 km

• Sleeping elevation change: +1,738 ft / 530 m (In fact a decent altitude gain!)

• Day's elevation change: +2,263 ft / 690 m

• Total time: 4:32:18

• Moving time: 4:02:39

• Starting Oxygen: 61% of sea level

• Ending Oxygen: 56% of sea level

Folding Upwards Part Six: Pangboche to Dingboche and Acclimation Day

It was welcome relief to move on from Pangboche toward the higher ground of Dingboche, nearly six kilometres away.

Joy had bid his farewells to me and announced his plan to walk the Kongma La. I had visions of him with his mad hair and camera gear flapping all over the place, along with his gargantuan back pack, moving swiftly up the pass like a machine. I could see why he had changed his name to Joy; he was such a happy ebullient human; finding joy in the smallest of things..

The plan for me was to stay two nights in Dingboche with an acclimation climb up to Nangkartshang Peak; around 5000m. We left on a brisk but still clear blue day (I was beginning to understand that this was normal December weather for the Khumbu), with two dogs that dropped in at my heels, for a bit of company.

Every now and then they would stop by the side of the trail and stare down the deep valley or out over to the opposite side; perhaps imagining ghost dogs or illusive prey they would be too oxygen-deprived to bound after. They were thickly-coated and looked well-nourished; seemingly they enjoyed human company and stayed with me for several kilometres.

We arrived at Dingboche after what I considered to be an unchallenging few hours. I enjoyed the slow gradual incline; stopping only to photograph the mind-blowing scenery around me or to negotiate yak trains.

Passing a yak train always required an inside manoeuvre - the alternative was less appealing.

Dingboche (4410m) is an energetic little village that lies on the cleavage of two valleys - one leads to the Kongma La (the Chukhung Valley) ; and Imja Tse/Island Peak (a popular “trekking” peak of 6198m) and the other turns away to the left (the Khumbu Valley) to find itself at the feet of Chongolumga; Sagmartha ... Everest herself. It is a popular base for people embarking on expeditions to Island Peak, Makalu and other big peaks in the Makalu-Barun National Park. It can form an alternative and less busy trek than EBC, looping back to Namche via the Arun Valley - the deepest valley in the world.

Jeet knew the teahouse owners (a husband and wife team whose names I have forgotten) who donned mountaineering gear - hard alpine climbing boots were the everyday footwear staple for him, along with a one piece down suit, whilst she wore two hats; two puffers and thick climbing pants along with more sensible tramping boots. I suppose they slept in this gear too.

They very kindly gave me a room warmed by the afternoon sun. Here on the window ledge I could use my solar pack to charge my phone and not have to pay the 500 NRP per hour for charging. The tea house was 1500 per night (the higher you go the more expensive everything is); hot water 500 a fill; power charging 500/hr. The food was delicious however and the owners hospitable; giving me extra blankets and making sure I was comfortable. By now I was well-versed in how to maximise warmth for sleeping. I would place the second bed mattress on top of the bed I would sleep in as they were so thin the cold air would freeze you from underneath. I would put one blanket on top of the mattress then use all the others I had for sleeping. 

At this elevation it was starting to get harder to do simple tasks without the heart racing - pulling the blankets up and snuggling down to sleep felt like running a 100m sprint.

At Dingboche there is a beautiful stupa which overlooks the village and stands opposite Ama Dablam, which by now is right above Dingboche. The stupa requires a short sharp hike to reach, and the views are stunning. There is also a very good cafe, selling pretty good coffee by Kiwi standards and a decent array of cakes and pastries. 

The stupa above Dingboche and fittingly opposite Ama Dablam.

I had to sneak away there under the guise of “going to take photos” as Jeet and the teahouse owners felt I should be drinking coffee at their teahouse (no way! I wanted decent coffee!); and they questioned me closely on my return ...

Them: Where have you been?

Me: For a walk with my camera - so beautiful here!

Them: You go to proud cafe where all westerners drink coffee? (? ‘proud’ ?)

Me: Me?!! .... no no .... nooooo. (Face turns red; extreme feelings of guilt and shame well up inside).

Them: Good - you can drink coffee here.

The toilet even attempted to flush at this cafe - that alone was worth seeing.

Several small shops supply mountaineering equipment and one had a veritable array of pharmaceuticals which in New Zealand would require a prescription - such as diamox. Dingboche had a lively feel to it; I liked it and could have stayed three nights quite happily. 

For acclimation I was quite keen to explore the Chukhung valley up towards Island Peak BC. Jeet however, was not keen. “Better we climb Nangkartshang” he informed me with an air of great authority - “better for you and good view for camera”. 

So we did. Setting out on the short term trail to the ridge above Dingboche I quickly felt the effects of having gained 500m from the day before. My legs felt heavy and tired and I was walking at snails pace. Every step was a mammoth effort - step, step, stop … step, step, stop. A mild headache ensued.

Stopping to breathe above Dingboche. Island Peak in the background.

“You must be like Joy with the camera’s” Jeet told me; “he eat very much and you don’t eat enough. You need for energy”.

I was having a large three-egg omelette for my breakfasts along with other fantastic Nepalese food, so I didn’t feel there was an issue. Besides Joy was a man-mountain. He needed to fuel the beast. I had plenty of fuel storesI had been saving up all year on my body!

The day was beautiful and what had started at around -22 degrees rapidly warmed and before long I was peeling off my down jacket. We slowly ascended, taking in the incredible 360 degree views. I could see Makalu, Lotse, Nuptse but Everest was hiding behind the flank of Nupste - I couldn’t even get a ‘sneak peak’.

We took a couple of hours to walk up that hill to just over 5000m. My camera battery gave way part way up - possibly due to the cold, I’m not sure.

It was tough going for me and by the time we got back to the teahouse, I was rocking a mild headache. I went out in search of Panadol and found some Panadeine at the make-shift “every drug you could ever need” store, across the path. This removed the head pain and I once again felt good - happy at my effort and having reached an elevation milestone. In hindsight, going from Dingboche to this peak may have been too high too soon, but I was not to know this at that time.

That evening I had the best pizza I have ever eaten (of course). It was utterly delicious, full of vegetables, topped with nak cheese and a home made crust. It was a decent size and I scoffed the lot. That was an expensive 600nrp ($6-ish), the most I had spent on food so far. Well worth the splurge.

“You eat too much” said Jeet.

No pleasing him.

As the night grew dark and cold, the teahouse filled up with locals, who came to use the wifi and huddle around the yak dung stove. It was a funny sight; about 10-15 people in this basic teahouse around a basic fire in the middle of the mountains - heads down watching YouTube clips of western daredevil stunt motorcyclists, or music clips. I felt a bit annoyed as I had paid 500nrp for internet and all the band width was being hoovered up by everyone downloading.

The pot of water on a centre dung-fired stove, is standard heating in the Sherpa village teahouse. I came to love these things.

I contemplated heading outside to do some night photography, mildly encouraged by the clear sky at this altitude, but the walk to my room from the dining room was a plunge of at least 20 degrees (my room would have been -5 to -10 at night), so I decided that standing in the frigid mountain air was a daft idea and went to bed instead. Tomorrow we were moving higher; I had spent two nights at Dingboche and Everest Base Camp was rapidly becoming tangible. Tomorrow I was off to Lobouche and this meant I was two days from Base Camp.  I was mere kilometres away from the mountain of all my childhood dreams. I was feeling good and was eager for the days ahead.

I pulled up the thick warm blankets, pulled my hat around my ears and drifted off to the sound of dogs barking in the bone-chilling air outside. It seemed to me, that as night approached, the dogs became restless and barked repeatedly.

Perhaps it was an innate way to create some body warmth.

Here’s the rub:

Start: Pangboche (13,074 ft / 3,985 m)

• End: Dingboche (14,461 ft / 4,410 m)

• Distance: 4.3 mi / 6.96 km

• Sleeping elevation change: +1,387 ft / 425 m

• Day's elevation change: +2,024 ft / 617 m

• Total time: 3:02:18

• Moving time: 2:39:39

• Acclimation day elevation change: 675m

Folding Upwards Part Five: Namche to Pangboche

I had conceded to hiring a porter

as the journey up to Namche had shown me this was no easy trek. For $20USD a day, I had the company of Jeet, a Namche local who had worked as a porter many times to EBC. He knew teahouse owners, where to find the best coffee and best of all he was amazingly helpful and thoughtful.

Pangboche was our aim

and so off we went, slowly ascending on Namche’s hundreds of steps out into a grey gloomy morning.

The ever-smiling Jeet with my pack on and his inside it!

Once the ascent out of Namche is complete, the path sidles around the mountains on a wide, flat-ish very pleasant trail that provides commanding views of Ama Dablam and show-cases sweeping vistas into the valley below Namche. I could see the double swing bridges far below with the Dudh Kosi flowing beneath.

The track was busy with people - not all tourists like me, but mainly with ‘locals’ ferrying goods, walking behind yaks - seemingly a bustling main highway. The track had an extremely steep drop-off on one side to the river below, and you very quickly learn to stick to the mountain side of the trail especially when a yak train approaches.

Jeet pointed out Tengboche perched on a hill in the distance. I quipped that it did not seem too far away (which actually it wasn’t - only a few kilometres; however, I could see we would need to descend to the valley below to cross the river and then climb again in order to reach the small village. Oh how I looked forward to that climb … not.

We walked along at a fairly reasonable pace until reaching the foot of the climb that would take us to Tengboche. At the base of the hill, across a bridge, was a small booth inhabited by a khaki-clad young man who was checking permits. I used this as an opportunity to gather my wits, drink some water and prepare for the steep trek ahead.

Tengboche sits at 3860m

and is famous for its monastery (Dawa Choling Gompa) where tourists can walk the grounds or even attend meditation early in the morning alongside the Buddhist monks who reside here.

I was originally going to stay in Tengboche the night, but decided to move upwards to Pangboche with the plan to ascend to Ama Dablam base camp as an acclimation trek, necessitating a two night stay at Pangboche. I felt the elevation difference between Namche and Tengboche was not enough to warrant a night there.

The haul up to Tengboche was again a sufferfest for me. Step-step-STOP; step-step-STOP; step-step-STOP

and when I finally arrived, Jeet was already relaxing in the teahouse with his ginger tea and ready to order my lunch for me.

Looking back down to the entrance into Tengboche.

As I sat eating my lunch, shouting erupted from outside.

Jeet rushed out to see what was going on and I followed. A group of men had a man bailed up and pinned against the stone wall. They were shouting at him and things escalated quickly as heated debate about something took place. Fists were thrown. I started to worry. A guy in a military style uniform yielding a massive rifle stood silently to the side, watching.

I asked Jeet what it was all about and he informed me the man was accused of stealing something. Shortly after local ‘police’ (man in uniform with gun) had him handcuffed (with rope) and sitting in the teahouse where I resumed my lunch-eating. The man sat muttering loudly.

Jeet came and sat with me “good decision not to stay here” he said.

I couldn’t help but be aware of the juxtoposition of being at the world’s most famous monastery amidst a violent outbreak. Surreal.

The trail from Tengboche slopes away from the village

through rhododendron trees, which I imagined in flower would have been exceptionally stunning; for now they waited for a warmer season, retreating into spindly barren twigs for the winter. Across the valley we could see Phortse, enveloped in greyness, accentuating the chilling cold of the Nepal winter.

As Jeet and I continued, I became aware

of how dark, gloomy and cold it was. I was beginning to get a deep sense of how isolated this part of the world was, and how far I was from all the things I took for granted in my life. There is nothing like a good walk to sort some of this stuff out.

As we approached a swing bridge, I could see its former counterpart, collapsed into the valley, highlighting again the tenuous relationship of man in nature. This strong robust bridge could not hold against the conditions here. If a bridge is out, the impact on local villages must be enormous..

At the end of the swing bridge I noticed a tall man with long hair holding what appeared to be numerous bags. As I approached I could see he had an enormous pack, plus several smaller bags slung over his shoulders. He had colourful feathers woven into his hair and was sporting a camera with a long telephoto lens, trying to capture the Himalayan Thar that were gazing back at him. He heard me approach and delightfully exclaimed “are you following me?!”

I laughed and queried his choice of hauling heavy camera equipment up here. He informed me he had four lenses and two camera bodies with him. He was a strapping man - well over 6 foot 4 or 5 and I figured he had the brute strength to lug all this kit around. I asked him what his plans were and he said he had no plans, but thought he may do the Three Passes. I was in awe of this mammoth of a man.

So were the Thar.

Himalayan Thar

You can see a Thar just to the left of the bridge

“My name is Joy”

he said, with an extended hand. He told me I should check out his instagram page - something about ‘spiritual wilderness’ - and how he had come to the Himalayas 17 years ago to just wander around. He couldn’t believe how things had changed - “mostly the bridges” he said, “thank god”.

Joy informed me he was going to Pangboche that night and maybe we would catch up there. I wasn’t sure if I should be looking forward to that or not, but certainly he had camera gear and photos i was eager to look at.

The track to Pangboche from Tengboche is a gradual ascent but I was beginning to feel as if my legs were tiring. When we arrived in Pangboche, I was cold and tired and looking forward to a decent meal. The teahouse was one of several in Pangboche but one of the few open for the straggling tourists venturing this way in early winter.

Pangboche is at 3985m in elevation

and is often used as the launch pad for Ama Dablam base camp as the trail starts just outside the village.

Ama Dablam (6812m) oversees this part of the Himalayas and is a steady presence right through to Dingboche. It feels as if you are walking around Ama Dablam, rather then walking to EBC; a treat I absolutely loved whilst in this part of the Himalayas as it is such an enigmatic mountain.

The mysterious Ama Dablam, hiding behind cloud.

… and there she is.

Pangboche was alive with the sound of helicopters.

It was the first time I had really noticed them. here they arrived and left with a scary regularity - ferrying sick tourists back to Kathmandu or Lukla for treatment from the high altitude. I felt grateful not to have felt any indication of altitude sickness - just tired legs; I knew to take it slow, pace myself and to take my time going up. I was in no rush.

The tea house in Pangboche (the name escapes me) was my worst experience so far in Nepal. My room was next to a toilet - traditional Nepal style of course - but people obviously had aiming issues, as urine and shit stained the wooden footpads. The smell was vomit-inducing and leached into my room. I decided to do what many people advised and use a make-shift ‘she-pee’. This felt like a feral thing to do for me, but was far more hygienic than using the toilet unless for number two’s. These are the things you need to think about when in the mountains - again - stuff we take for granted in New Zealand. I also couldn’t brush my teeth as there was no running water. My water bottle was frozen solid in the morning necessitating buying hot water - which the tea house charges exorbitant prices for. They were onto a good thing. The village had an air of cold dampness and gloom about it. I didn’t want to stay two nights. I told Jeet, “no Ama Dablam base camp - we carry on to Dingboche tomorrow”.

“Oh there you are!”

I heard that familiar American East Coast inflection that I had encountered at the bridge with the Thar.

“I wondered if you would be staying here. You wanna come up to the old Gompa with me?” Joy said with way too much energy and enthusiasm; “the monks are there - you should totally come with me”.

I was thinking I should totally lie down and just totally get a coffee and totally eat something before I did anything at all. He (Joy) pointed out the trail to the Gompa - up steeply out of Pangboche. I refused his very kind offer, making up excuses of having to edit my photos.

Later that evening, I ate in a dining room full of trekkers - there were at least ten of us all from different parts of the world, sharing our stories and backgrounds; our experiences in Nepal and on the trail so far; the ‘what to do’s and what not to do’s”. I sat there thinking about how wonderful this aspect of trekking was. I had come to Nepal to be on my own. I had resisted taking a porter, I wanted so badly to be on my own. I had secretly bemoaned a full tea house of fast-track EBC trekkers, ‘doing’ base camp and back in something crazy like seven days so they could get back to their office job in New York City. But here I felt that sense of connection with all these people - the fast trekkers, the slow trekkers, the ‘Joy’s’ of this world who were simply wandering with no real fixed agenda or plan; the trekkers who just wanted to tag EBC as fast as they could; those like me who wanted the scenery so badly to infuse into our being.

We all had our own reasons for being here and yet there was no sense of ego in the room. Everyone humble and reverent and extremely mindful of the environment we were in. All connected; all experiencing something incredible. I reflected on what an interesting, almost strange day it had been, and even questioned whether I should just stay another night and acclimate at Ama Dablam base camp (as some in the room were planning to). When I went to bed, the smell from the toilet permeated so strongly that I felt sick to my stomach and I lay in a sleepless state marinating in toilet smell all night. The next morning I could not wait to move beyond Pangboche and into higher ground. I felt claustrophobic there.

We walked past the Ama Dablam base camp turn off and a twinge of regret flowed through my veins - well, its not going anywhere, I thought, and I will be back some time.

The track to ADBC crosses the river far below and then ascends to 4700m in elevation.

What I did: Namche to Pangboche:

• Start: Namche Bazaar (11,286 ft / 3,440 m)

• End: Pangboche (13,074 ft / 3,985 m)

• Distance: 9.4 mi / 15.12 km

• Sleeping elevation change: +1,788 ft / +545 m

• Day's elevation change: +4,194 ft / +1,278 m

• Total time: 6.30 (including stops)

A Coffee Story: Kiwi coffee flavoured with Vermont.

“Anyone here speak with a Kiwi accent?”

Norm announced as we stepped out of the snow and through the door of the tiny coffee roasterie Ungrounded, in Rawsonville, Vermont, some 15 minutes away from Stratton Mountain Resort. I quickly scanned the small intimate room; the familiar whir of a mazza super-jolly grinder comforted my ears, coupled with the heady aroma of freshly roasted beans and recently extracted coffee.

Ahhhhhh....I was going to survive the next six weeks.

This small gem in rural (middle-of-nowhere) Vermont, was the answer to my “I need a decent coffee” prayers. America is not well-known for the perfect coffee, at least not by Kiwi standards, in fact it is very difficult to find a nicely extracted coffee and silky steamed milk - if you are lucky enough to find a cafe that has an espresso machine at all.  But here, in a wintery wonderland, was a Kiwi guy and his family, living the dream, making coffee and slowly gathering momentum in terms of popularity amongst the locals.

I was intrigued.

How did a New Zealander end up in such a tiny community, roasting and making coffee, and why was he not doing this ‘back home’? A quick chat revealed that even though Kristoffer Lynch had grown up in New Zealand, he was in fact born in USA, shifted to NZ as a young child where he was raised in Nelson and Art-Schooled in Dunedin; living there until relatively recently.

In my eyes he was as Kiwi as one could get.

To understand why this was such an interesting enigma to me, to find decent coffee where I would least expect it, there needs to be some context.

Vermont sits in the group of states collectively known as New England. It shares borders with Canada to the north, Massachusetts to the south, Maine to the east and New York to the west. The total population of the state is 626,000 spread over 25,000 square kilometres; so people enjoy relative isolation amidst prolific lush forests and gently rolling mountains which remain snow-covered for around five months of the year. The state is known for its forestry, maple syrup, snow sports and is the home of the famous Ben and Jerry’s ice cream (an asset not lost on me). It is home to a vast variety of wildlife which includes moose, coyote and coy-wolf, bear, fox, lynx, catamount (eastern couger),  plus a host of rodents large and small. 

There is a quaint rawness to Vermont, accentuated in winter by the stark landscape and perennial whiteness. There is a sense of wholesomeness and a tangible feeling of time slowing down. It is a world away from the frenetic pace of New York city; one almost expects the smell of baking cookies and moose droppings to permeate the air here.

Customers stand in the small space marinating in the smell of coffee, chatting over their brews about the latest snow plough attachments for their over-sized trucks. People linger even though there is no seating and very little standing room. Four or five customers, and the place feels crowded.  Looking around I see sacks of coffee beans stacked wall to wall in a back room where a small Pavoni roaster is housed, emphasizing again, the industrial nature of this small venture.

A blackboard on the wall offers a coffee spiked with maple syrup - a local specialty, and gallon-sized containers of Vermont maple syrup sit stacked on a shelf above the sacks of coffee beans; not a sight you would come across anywhere else. Jessica (Kristoffer’s American wife) and Kristoffer work the space well, taking the time to converse with customers and all the while maintaining the busy ambience that sets this place apart from any other coffee-serving space I had been to in this country. I could just see that the focus here was coffee.

This was good.

“A short double shot latte please, with whole milk”; I have garnered the knack of asking for what I want here in the U.S, but with the added confidence of knowing that in THIS small cafe, when I say short - it WILL be a small cup, as opposed to the standard big, bigger and super-size that seems to have somehow become synonymous with the word ‘small”. As I have discovered, “short” or “small” can mean a cup size anywhere from 15oz to 20oz (or in Kiwi-speak 450 - 600mls!). I found it almost impossible to find a cafe that offered its brew in a cup less than 400mls (13oz), except for in New York city where good coffee seems to be escalating. This, however, is Rawsonville (population around 300); one of four other small towns within a five mile radius, known collectively as the town Bondville, making up a total population of around 1500 people; and here the locals are catching on.

You wouldn't be wrong in wondering how on earth a Kiwi roasting coffee could make a living here.  It was a lifestyle choice that brought him back to the country of his birth.  In Vermont in the Green Mountains, they could buy a house for $60,000, own and operate a business, open only for half a day and spend the afternoon with their young kids (Cole now 13 and Mikaela 12, who by the way, both sported a decent Kiwi twang to their American accent), enjoying the myriad of outdoor activities the area has on offer. They truly were living the dream, but it wasn’t always that way. 

At one point, they lived in a house truck, sharing the confined space with their newly acquired Pavoni, trying to figure out what they were doing, where they were going and how to craft the life they wanted for their kids. Their story is crayon colourful and truly inspirational.

As I stand there waiting for my coffee, I am treated to a display of Cole’s double-jointed capabilities. Extroverted, open and friendly, he twists and contorts himself in front of me, all the while chatting about what he remembered and liked from his last trip to New Zealand - pausing to ask me if I knew “the hole-in-the-wall cafe in Dunedin” - clearly a place he was impressed by (and that I have yet to discover). I admire his Amerikiwi accent and he then proceeds to complete the entertainment by showing me tricks he could perform on a snowboard, asking me if I was a skier or rider.

“Skier”, I admitted, “oh......you should snowboard” he informs me with the authority of an adult.

Soon I had that liquid warmth cupped in my gloved hands, sipping the smooth sweet caramel notes of the bean roasted to perfection, and wondering how on earth I was so lucky to have been acquainted with a fellow coffee-lover way out off the beaten track (and a New Zealander no less); someone so committed to the pursuit of the perfect coffee that he chose to bring its nuances to the people of the Rawsonville, Vermont. They may have moose, catamounts, lynx and maple syrup; they may skite about Ben and Jerry’s, but they can't lay claim to the genius of this American-born Kiwi coffee-enigma.  

To find out more about how this came to be, I asked Kristoffer and Jess if they would share some of their story with me. Here’s what I asked and what they said:

Why coffee?

Ultimately it’s to find a way to support our family. We wanted something that gave us the flexibility to live the life we believe in. We wanted interaction with people, to be part of a community and we started a coffee cart together in 2009 and in 2013 bought the roaster. We roasted coffee in the house truck initially. We sold our beans at local farmers markets, just buying a sack of beans at a time when we could afford to, and roasting it. That is how we learnt about Sumatra, Bali, Costa Rican and Ethiopian coffees. We got amazing feedback from locals and when we ran out, people started showing up at our house - looking for our beans.

All our coffee is organic - we go for freshness.  The standard American coffee is a hot watery drink usually with lots of cream and or sugar. Usually it was ground months ago and brewed a while ago - its about the caffeine, not the coffee experience for them.

Have the locals been responsive in a positive way?

We couldn’t do it without them. We have a good group of every-dayers. Some drink flat whites, lattes, maple lattes (espresso steamed with locally made maple syrup). We have just finished our 3rd winter in this location. We have created a funny little space where a huge variety of people come; the working crews, the old man locals, the visitors, the New Yorkers, New Zealanders, (they come back because we make it like they do in NZ), the snowboarders and skiers. We get a lot of foreigners, all looking for that better coffee. Coffee is the thing that brings them here - to our tiny little shop in the middle of nowhere.

Tell us about Vermont. What grabs you?

Its painfully charming. The snowboarding is good, the summers are beautiful, the foliage, the rivers, winding roads. Its like the American version of New Zealand. Its strikingly beautiful.

Where we live the population is small - most of the houses are second homes here. So we could create the life we had always talked about; having a house with a barn, some land to park the house truck, trees big enough for a tree-house. We can open the shop for half a day and spend the rest of the day with our kids (who we home-school). Even though we close the shop in order to do the things we want, the roasting side of the business continues to operate outside these hours.

Do you visit New Zealand at all?

Kristoffer went back to New Zealand early 2014 for family reasons but right now it doesn’t make sense for us to go back - its too expensive and we have priorities further up the list such as a new kitchen and a house renovation. We also wish to know Vermont more; it seems a bit wasteful to travel just for the sake of it when there are so many amazing places in our back yard that we are not familiar with yet. But as time passes, visiting New Zealand again seems to be inching its way up our list - we miss our friends there.

Did you ever feel as if the dream would never become reality?

There were many times when it felt like it was never going to happen - like we would have to give up (the idea of having a cheap house in a beautiful place and freedom) and conform in an unfulfilling job just for the sake of security. We would rally each other into believing it could happen; live in the house-truck a bit longer, save some more cash, keep looking and eventually we would have the life we wanted. We just didn’t know where. Having met in Vail, me from the East Coast and Kristoffer from New Zealand, not even a country could be pinned down! We moved a lot. Colorado to New York, then California and back and forth between New York and New Zealand, then Massachusetts. Dreaming this dream, drawing crayon pictures and driving friends and family crazy with our constant babble about houses and markets and impending doom - still believing at some time our dream would be a reality.

How has New Zealand influenced what you do here in Vermont?

New Zealand’s coffee culture definitely influenced us - long blacks, flat whites, strong short lattes.

Oliver Lequeux’s Mon Very on George Street in Dunedin, was part of the inspiration. 

Tiny, friendly, quirky and most importantly, really good coffee, roasted in-house. We spent hours in that stinky little brick alley. It was the kind of place you found yourself talking to a bull-rider, an American, a professor, a Frenchman, a Russian tourist, an art student, a mother, a musician …

As I stand in this tiny, quirky aromatic space,

I cannot help but think there is more than a little bit of New Zealand in this crayon-drawn dream space. There is a tangible sense of having landed; of ownership in one’s direction. Cole continues to enthral me with his double-jointed act, daring me to try the limits of my own joints, whilst his younger sister plays on top of sacks of coffee beans in the roasting room.  Customers come and go, the space breathes in and out; the snow outside continues to fall, and I am happiness fulfilled.

Downtown Rawsonville!

Folding Upwards Part Four: Namche Acclimation Day

The sound of roosters calling in the new day woke me from a deeply restful sleep.

The village of Namche Bazaar is known as the gateway to the Himalaya, but was once a thriving trading centre for farmers from surrounding villages and Tibetan traders to do business. It is still a thriving business hub - but that business is now the mountains.

A walk down the streets of Namche makes you realise how important it is for trekkers, selling everything you could possibly need for expeditions - even though more expensive of course than in Thamel, I was surprised, however, that things were not that much more pricey than in the big city.

The village streets are built on the semi-circular shaped terraces that give Namche its character - allowing everyone to tune in to life everywhere in the village - I could imagine that nothing goes unnoticed here!

The delightful streets of Namche

Livestock wander the streets and poke their heads out the doors of houses.

It is cold in winter, and most animals will sleep indoors at night, reinforcing the close proximity within which Nepalese and their animals dwell. It is a charming departure from farming as I know it, in New Zealand.

Pasture is not as abundant in the mountainous areas as it is in the more lush lower areas, and livestock such as yak. nak, cows and goats need fodder in the winter which has been retained from the summer months when pastures are rich. The greatest change possibly seen in Namche is the transition from a farming lifestyle to one of following the climbing and trekking seasons. Many people opt to run teahouses and also to use their livestock as pack animals, where there is much more earning potential. The old traditional systems of livestock movement upland (during summer) and downland (during winter) has slowly been lost, as tourism takes over and livestock are seen for their value related to this activity, rather than how they can provide meat, milk or wool for a family.

I wandered in search of coffee

and even though it was the end of the busy trekking season, I was still flush for choice of cafes. There are many different eateries in Namche; even European bakeries selling pastries, although I did wonder how long some had been sitting in the cabinet for. Namche was neither busy nor bustling when I was there, given the time of year, but there were certainly trekkers such as myself, in search of good food and caffiene.

I was not disappointed. The cafe culture prevalent in Kathmandu had made it to the mountains!

Namche is the first acclimation stop for trekkers going on any of the trails that branch out from this location.

A common and popular way to spend the extra day is to walk up to the world’s highest hotel - The Hotel Everest View, which sits at 3880m above sea level. My plan was to go to the hotel and then continue over to Khunde and Khumjung (where the Hillary School is located). The idea of walking higher and then sleeping an extra night at Namche, is to allow the body time to produce more red blood cells, triggered by a hormone erythropoietin, which is produced in response to lower oxygen levels in the blood.

Seemed a legitimate excuse to take another walk!

The grand stairway up to the Hotel Everest View

It was a grey dull day when I set out and the uphill heave out of Namche had me working hard within minutes.

The beauty of this steep climb upwards, is the view when you look back. It is completely outstanding - and it made me realise how much higher I was than two days before. I could barely make out the misty enclaves of Monjo in the valley far below.

I did not hold out much hope of an Everest view, when I stepped inside this Guinness Book of Records world record holding establishment, as we were enclosed by greyness, but what I was not prepared for was the commanding view of Ama Dablam, seemingly just up the valley. For the first time I was grasping the sense of how compact everything was. Maps do not relay this information well, and even my google earth-imagined journeys that I took before I left New Zealand, did not portray the close relationship the mountains in this region have with each other. Ama Dablam was ‘right there’. I also recognised the famous village of Tengboche which I could see on a neighbouring hill, it appeared to be just a short walk away, but was in fact a challenging trek from Namche over several hours and up a steep track.

The gorgeous Ama Dablam as seen from the Hotel Everest View. The enigmatic Everest is hiding behind cloud in the gap to the left of Ama Dablam.

The hotel was empty.

Sagarmatha - Everest was nowhere to be seen.

I walked on.

The track to Khunde is an easy downhill and goes past a small stupa where I stopped to take photos. The village of Khumjung sprawled out before me and I could see Khunde beyond that at the head of the valley.

A black dog joined me here and stuck with me all day and all the way back to Namche!

Khumjung sits in a valley behind Namche but is at 3790m, some 350m higher.

Khumjung Village.

When I arrived here I was feeling fantastic. My dog-friend stayed close by my side and together we walked into this village made famous by Sir Ed. It was here that Edmond Hillary decided to build a school in 1961. Back then it was a meagre but much-needed asset to the local area. Today it is a boarding school, where children come from miles away to spend their schooling, rather than going into Kathmandu. I was impressed by what I saw and felt proud as a New Zealander to see what legacy our own Sir Ed had left.

As I walked into the school, kids came up to me to say hello. A teacher introduced himself (excited to know I was from New Zealand) and showed me some classrooms - sparse and under-resourced by NZ standards, they were still a sight to behold and he was very proud of the school.

I wondered what Sir Ed would think now and I remembered his observations on the opening of that school decades ago …

“It was a remarkable occasion. The Head Lama of Tengboche carried out the official blessing. The forty pupils had grubby hands and smelly clothes – but their rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes were irresistible. It was a happy and satisfying occasion. When I left Khumjung on June 13th I little realised I was leaving behind what was to become a new way of life for me.

”

— Sir Edmund Hillary, On the opening of Khumjung School. Himalayan Trust

A large Stupa dominates the middle of Khumjung near the school

Now Khumjung School is successfully operated by the trust Sir Ed set up all those years ago; Himalayan Trust New Zealand

and has provided unreal benefit to the peoples of the Solukhumbu region. I felt truly humbled to be there.

As I wandered through Khumjung I also recognised the home of Phurba Tashi Sherpa, made famous by the recent documentary “Sherpa” highlighting the inequities of Sherpa people working in the mountains.

Phurba holds the world record for the most ascents of 8000m+ mountains, with 21 of those being on Everest and he worked for New Zealander Russell Brice until he decided to end his guiding career. I ate noodles in his teahouse (Tashi Friendship Lodge) and stared out into the view.

What an incredibly humbling experience to stand in this small village of utter greatness!

With my belly full of food, I was ready to begin the walk back to Namche via Khunde.

I knew there was a monastery in Khunde worth seeing, so I decided to slowly make my way there. Khumjung is a very neat and tidy village, with low stone walls marking small plots of land where livestock are housed, as well as marking the trail towards Khunde. As I wandered upwards, three monks walked towards me; broad smiles greeted me as they approached me whilst playfully jousting with each other.

“Where you from?”

The laughing monks

… the usual question …

I told them I was from New Zealand and immediately they launched into animated talk about the All Blacks. These three monks were rugby-mad and they primed me for every bit of information I had (which was very little!).

I never imagined I would have a conversation about rugby with monks, in a Himalayan village.

An old woman walked around the monastery again and again, muttering her mantra as she went.

From Khunde to Namche, there is a path leading up out of the village, over a small pass and drops down into Namche. I could imagine the area being stunning in springtime, with Rhododendron trees in flower and the hills green with pasture and life, but for now it was cold and unfriendly as the winter settled in.

The monastery in Khunde created a colourful addition to the surrounding winter starkness and as I could see, was a focal point for the village.

The walk back to Namche took approximately one and a half hours and felt unchallenging. I was rewarded with a stunning view when I came into Namche from the opposite side that I had walked out of in the morning.

The stunningly beautiful village from above. In the morning I had exited along the path leading out, at the top of the frame.

The striking contrast of colourful rooftops against the stark dusty surroundings, was captivating

as I descended hastily into Namche. I had spent all day walking; I was hungry and eager for a shower. I also needed to find an ATM machine and another layer of clothing.

A lesson on ATM machines in Namche:

Quite simply - if you can avoid using one - then stay away. But, if like me you neglected to bring enough cash to last for your entire trek, then a visit to an ATM is unavoidable. They are an experience all to themselves in Namche. Some work, some think about working and some definitely leave you wondering if you will ever see your card again, let alone any money. Then they also leave you wondering if the correct amount would come out. One ATM spat my card out but told me it had deducted funds. I stormed into the ‘bank’ and the man casually informed me that I should see a refund in my account in about a month.

“About a month?!!”

I exclaimed, completely unhappy with this situation. “Yes” he replied in a manner all too relaxed for my liking, “a month”.

Shit.

I needed cold hard cash. “Come back tomorrow, machine might be working then” he informed me.

So I did - and he was correct, it was working, and indeed within a few days I could see a refund had been applied for the first 5000 NRP I had attempted to withdraw the day before.

Better just to bring enough cash from Kathmandu

and also to avoid the ATM fee charged with each transaction of 500NRP, and the stress.

So what had I achieved in my acclimation day? I hoped a few more red blood cells were being coaxed into action by my incredible endocrine system, and that was due to this:

Starting elevation: 11,290 ft / 3,440 m

• Through elevation: Hotel Everest View 3880m / Khumjung 3780m / Khunde 3840m

• Ending elevation: 11,290 ft / 3,440 m

• Elevation change: +0 ft / +0 m

• Starting oxygen: 67% of sea level

• Ending oxygen: 67% of sea level

• Distance covered: 4.72 mi / 7.6 km

• Time hiked: 4h 00m

An awesome day out.