LOCALadk Magazine

LOCALadk world's fourteen mountains over 8,000 meters, and out of all of them, it is the deadliest. While more people die each year on Everest or K2 because of the sheer numbers that climb them, one out of every three climbers who summit Annapurna I, dies. We wanted to stand beneath its beautiful, albeit deadly, ice and stone slopes. The next day we made our way to Nayapul, a village at the southern border of the Annapurna Conservation Area. It's a park very much like the Adirondacks, consisting of protected land and small mountain villages. Before long, we reached the stone steps. Level ground is virtually non-existent, and when the truck roads end, they are replaced by thousands of hand-lain stones. The only consolation to my knees was imagining the backs of those who had set the trails years ago. As we made our way up, the trek became more humbling with every step. Late April into early May is hot and hazy. The Himalayan peaks that surrounded us would appear with the sunrise but then, fade out of sight by breakfast. The temperature climbed as high as 90 degrees. Each afternoon, thunderstorms would roll through the mountains, echoing from ten thousand feet above. My recently broken toe had just finished healing before this trip, and I hadn't hiked in months. To top it off, we were carrying 50 pound packs; the going was slow. Manu's frequent "slowly, slowly" set a calm but deliberate pace. Then came the quarter-size blisters. Pop, drain, tape, continue. On our third night, in Chhomrong, we were preparing for a final push to Annapurna Base Camp. There, stone would give way to snow, a welcome change from the hot, thick air below. After a serving of dal bhat, a traditional meal of rice, vegetables, and a spicy green sauce, we retired to our inch-thick mattress atop a plywood cot. The night was growing cool as we played our last hand of rummy and went to sleep. Hours later, despite our water-treating and careful food-selecting vigilance, it hit us—a gut wrenching bout of something awful. Bethany woke first and struggled with the jammed door. Hours later, I followed suit, and only made it halfway to the privy. For the next 36 hours, the bed/bathroom cycle kept us in Chhomrong and away from Annapurna Base Camp. Manu was a toast-and-Sprite-delivering saint. She, of course, had seen it before. By the following evening we'd re-plotted a route that would take us west rather than pushing our bodies to higher elevation immediately after illness. So with a change of itinerary, we set out instead for Poon Hill, a small mountain popular with trekkers for its observation tower and panoramic sunrise views over the peaks. Small, of course, by Himalayan standards, as it "only" stands at 10,531'. Along the way, we crossed one mountain pass that took us from rocky, arid land to nearly rainforest-like fauna and humidity. In addition to the usual horses and cattle on trail, white monkeys danced and hollered over our heads as we continued down, up, down, and up again on the seemingly endless steps.

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