The midwife and the mountain

My mother always wore a bracelet I got her many years ago with the GPS coordinates to Mount Everest. She never took it off. She explained the reason that she wore it was so that we (my siblings and I), would know where to “dump me when I go belly up.” My mother was known for her outrageous and often off-color sense of humor, but we all knew this was more of a directive than a joke. My mother’s obsession with the top of the world was well-known and her ability to recite facts along with all the harrowing stories about this majestic rock, was quite impressive. She loved Everest and would talk about it with anyone that would listen. I often tried to stump or quiz her. I would randomly say something like, “Hey, do you know the temperature at the top of Everest?”. “Minus 35F”, she would reply without even looking up.

After countless conversations, books discussed, and documentaries watched, I told my mother I would fly with her to Nepal, and we could rent a helicopter and do a flyover of Everest, but she said she did not think she could handle a long international trip like that. She was in good health, but at almost 80, she was slowing down, and it seemed like a daunting prospect to her. I told her I would go for both of us. I did not really think that through though, I just said it.

My mother died a couple of years and many Everest conversations later. My grief ran deep. It still does to some extent. I was lost. I hated talking about her in the past tense. I liked living partly in denial. Last year, with the first anniversary of her death looming, I was just dreading it. I could not believe I had already been living without her for a year – how was this possible? To add insult to injury, my midwife mentor of 30 years had just died, and the grief was compounded. I took to the internet and started looking up Everest facts in an effort to comfort myself. And then I read a story about trekking to Everest base camp.

About 60,000 people attempt the trek to base camp each year. Many of them are successful. Altitude sickness, injury or just plain giving up are among the reasons some people are unsuccessful. Anywhere from 3 to 15 people each year die just attempting the base camp trek. The altitude at base camp is 17,598ft or 5364m. It takes about 12 days total to trek round trip and most of those days are spent trekking to base camp because of the extra time to acclimatize on the way up. It only takes a few days to trek back. It is about 48 miles round trip or 76 kilometers for the entire trek depending on the route taken. But it is not about the distance covered, it is the altitude gain that is the difficult part.

I knew after reading about the trek that I had to go. I found a tour for the following October and when I saw that my arrival at base camp would be the second anniversary of my mother’s death, I signed up. It was meant to be.

Over the months my preparations included gathering all manner of information about the trek, including all the gear and clothing I would need. I also needed flights, visa, trekking permit, trip insurance (required in case you needed a helicopter to airlift you out in case of emergency), and lots of extra cash. I listened to podcasts, read books, and messaged people who friends had gotten me in contact with who had done the trek. I got excited. I also learned more about the culture and history of the region and people.

For centuries, the Sherpa people, having migrated from the Tibet side of the Himalaya, lived in the shadow the world’s tallest peak without ever even knowing that is what it was. Nevertheless, she was considered sacred and had (and still does) spiritual importance to the people living in her midst. In Nepali she is known as Chomolungma – Goddess Mother of the World. In Hindi, Sagarmatha – Goddess of the Sky. Prior to the 1900’s, all the peaks in this region of the Himalaya, including Chomolungma, were unclimbed, as they were seen as physical embodiments of mother nature, and the Sherpa people respect nature.  

In 1856, Chomolungma was declared the highest peak in the world at 29,035ft and British surveyor Andrew Waugh decided to name her Everest, after his predecessor, although she had long been named by the native people – this was completely disregarded. Surveyors had given her many names over the years preceding her distinction as Mount Everest, including Gamma, Peak B, and Peak XV. But in the end, it was Everest that was recorded and stuck.

It was not until May 29, 1953, that Everest was successfully summited by Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay. Hillary, a beekeeper from New Zealand who was also an avid mountaineer, never could have done it without Norgay, a seasoned guide from the Sherpa community who had accompanied several others before Hillary in attempts to summit.

Since then, approximately 6,338 people have summited and at least 322 have died summiting or trying to summit since 1922 when record keeping of such things began. Some climbers that died successfully summited and then died on the way down. Many of the bodies remain on Everest. There is an area on the trek to base camp where there are stone monuments and prayer flags for all those whose lives were lost.

I knew enough about Everest from my mother to know I never wanted to climb! It is not something you decide to do, you must have a drive to do it and have a desire to conquer! I love nature and I love hiking, but summiting Everest is neither in my blood nor in my budget (close to $100,000 these days). In her book, In the Shadow of the Mountain, Silvia Vasquez-Lavado, writes about her early childhood trauma, subsequent alcohol dependence and fierce desire to summit Chomolungma. She writes about what she was seeking from her journey and what she learned: “People come to Everest for many reasons. They want peace, adventure, honor, glory, transcendence. But like a good mother, she gives you what you need, not what you want.”

I started to wonder what it was that I needed. What would Chomolungma give me? I knew what I wanted. I wanted to find my mother! If she were anywhere, she’d be at Everest. But I made a conscious decision to let go of any expectations and just be in the experience. I thought it would be the only way to not be disappointed. In retrospect, I think I was right.

Every journey to base camp starts by arriving in Kathmandu. I spent 2 nights there and met up with my guide and the other people with whom I would be trekking. There were 13 of us in total and the countries represented were Canada, UK, Australia, Saudi Arabia, Switzerland, and Belgium. Our guide was local, he was from the Sherpa community. This was one reason I chose this outfitter, because who is going to know more about the culture, people, and mountains than those who grew up there? He was amazing and his last name was Sherpa! We prepared our packs. We would carry anything we needed for the day, including water, in our daypacks. My daypack would end up weighing about 15 lbs. (6.8 kg) when I added the 3 liters of water I needed to carry.  The porters who came along with us would carry the remainder of our things, which could not exceed 22 lbs. (10 kg). Each porter carried at least 3 bags!

From Kathmandu, you take a flight to Lukla. The Lukla airport, also known as the Tenzing-Hillary Airport, has the dubious distinction for being ‘the world’s most dangerous airport’. If you want to go to base camp in Nepal, (there is a base camp on the Tibet side), you must fly into Lukla, there are no roads. The extreme location, high in the Himalayan mountains at 9,337ft (2845m), makes takeoff and landing more difficult as do weather conditions and wind.

I was so excited for the flight into Lukla! I had seen so many videos, read so many accounts, I could not believe I was doing it. All I could think was, I wish I could call my mom and tell her about it! The flight barely lasted 20 minutes and we were on the ground safely and finally at the start of the trek.

We had a briefing on everything. Much of the information I already knew because of all I had read and researched before. For example, one might think we just trek uphill to base camp and then go downhill from base camp, it is mountains after all! Nope. The entire journey is up and down. On the way, you are gaining altitude the entire time, but it is not a steady upward climb. The route has numerous places where there are steep downhill areas. Thank goodness for my trekking poles!

The day we started out, it was warm. It was exciting. The trek was different from any hiking I had done mostly due to the terrain and altitude gain; but it was incredibly beautiful. Whenever it felt hard, I thought of being in labor – one contraction at a time, that is all that needed to be done. So, I focused on each step and walked from moment to moment, thinking only of the task before me and not what was next. It proved to be a particularly good strategy in the days to come.

I will not recount each day of the trek, but I will give some highlights. On the second day, the altitude gain was noticeable, and the trek was up and down and although I was prepared for that, it was exhausting. We crossed several suspension bridges that sit high above the river, which for some people is a bit daunting. The rules: don’t look down and don’t start crossing if there are mules or yaks coming from the other side, just wait. But when I first saw the Hillary Bridge, all I could think was, wow! The bridge is 410ft (124m) above the river. It is 459ft(139) long. I was down near the river looking up, knowing I would first have to trek up the mountain to even get to the bridge. But I also knew this was the last suspension bridge before Namche Bazaar, so it meant the days trek would soon come to an end.

I remember my mother talking about the Hillary Bridge and as I crossed, I was thinking of her and smiling and just taking in the moment. I wanted so badly to call her and tell her all about it. After the bridge, it was pretty much a steep uphill climb to get to Namche. I started feeling tired and a little nauseated. I slowed down. The guide in the back of the group stayed behind me. He walked slowly along with me. I did not think the altitude was bothering me, it did not feel like that. I had no headache and I had been drinking a lot of water. After about 30 minutes of this, I stopped. I said, “I have to vomit”, and vomit I did. My entire undigested lunch came up. He was so kind and handed me my water. I apologized, I felt so bad but I am sure he has seen worse. I felt better after that and trekked the final kilometers to Namche Bazaar. As I arrived, I saw the Belgian guy from my group and I said, “well, I am the slowest one today!”, to which he replied, “well, I’m 28 and I got here right before you so if you consider that, you are actually doing better than me.” I laughed and thanked him for his encouragement!

Over the course of the next few days, we made an altitude gain of more than 7000ft (2133m). The air was thin, and my energy was thinner! This was hard. I had multiple moments of self-doubt along the way. I remember thinking at one point, I can’t do this, because it was so hard to breathe. And as clear as day, I heard my mother’s voice saying, “but you are doing it! Look down!” I just watched as one foot went in front of the other, I was doing it.

I had to give myself multiple pep talks along the way. But in the evening, as I lay in bed I thought, ‘well, I made it through another day’! It was day to day and sometimes even moment to moment. My oxygen saturation was staying in the low 70’s, so that was pretty good. I had no symptoms of altitude sickness or anything else. The lowest my oxygen saturation ever got was 59. I wore an altimeter, so I could see not only the altitude gain but my saturation level as well. We also got checked by our guide each and every night.

The higher we got, the colder it became. By the time we got within 3 days of base camp, I was sleeping in my sleeping bag with a heavy blanket over me, double socks, thermal underwear, knit hat, gloves, turtleneck and my down jacket. I was warm. When I woke up each morning, there was ice covering the inside of the windows in my room and I could see my breath. Although we were staying inside, there was no heat in the building because it was just too high above the tree line to waste wood on trying to heat tea houses for trekkers!

Because of the rocky and uneven terrain, I spent most of my time looking down so I could get proper foot placement; I would have been doomed without my trekking poles. Consequently, a lot of time was spent thinking. I could not talk to my fellow trekkers when we did walk together because it was either breath or talk – I chose breathing, I could not do both. The thinking led me to all sorts of places. The Mary Oliver quote kept coming into my mind as I trekked, ‘what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?’ That gave me a lot to ponder as the hours went by.

Every day we got views of Everest as we trekked. It was getting closer and closer. Just when I would get discouraged or feel again like I couldn’t do it, there she would be in all her beauty and immovable brutality. So, I trekked on.

On day eight we woke up and left in the dark. It would be a long day. We would trek across the Khumbu glacier to Gorakshep, check into our rooms, have breakfast at the teahouse and then head to base camp. I was so excited! I was going to make it! The trek to Gorakshep was not difficult physically, most of the trek had not been, but my lungs were starving for air. Once I had breakfast, I was ready to start the climb to base camp. We were already at 16,942ft (5,164m), it was cold, and the air was thin. I did not care. I left with a guide and one other trekker in my group. The rest of the group would follow. Just as I was starting out, I had the thought that I wished I actually knew my mother knew I was doing this. And at that moment, the guide said, “hey, look!”. I looked up to Chomolungma and through the clouds, the Sun had risen above her and there was a rainbow halo around it. That was all I needed.

There were lots of people heading to base camp. As I trekked, I kept saying, “can you believe we are walking on a glacier! The Khumbu glacier moves 3-4 feet per day!” I spewed all sorts of fun facts like that as I trekked on. I was channeling my mother! If the trek was difficult, I don’t remember, I was too excited. When I reached the final path that led into camp, I was the very first one in my group. I had been last the entire trek and although it wasn’t a race, I still disliked being last. Finally, up ahead was the huge rock that declared base camp. I looked around in amazement. I was in the place that so many people had been before; people who summited, people who failed to summit, people who lost their lives, people who my mother had spoken of and here I was! I was quite literally at the bottom of the top of the world!

I stared out at the Khumbu icefall, which would be the next step on the journey were someone to be trekking up the mountain, it is one of the most dangerous places on the climb, but my journey would stop here. It was there, on the precipice of base camp and the Khumbu icefall, that I placed prayer flags along with a favorite photo of my mother and another small item I had carried the entire journey in my pocket. We made it.

I have now had an entire year to integrate this whole experience – all its ups and downs, quite literally, so now I am ready to share it. It was life changing. It was the most demanding thing I have ever done. My sense of accomplishment when I arrived back in Lukla was extraordinary.  And in the end, I realized, Chomolungma gave me what I needed and what I wanted. There was no great catharsis, no epiphany but rather a gentle realization; I did not find my mother on Everest, she had been with me the whole time. She never really left.