Day Ten: Tilicho Base Camp-High Camp
Signboard at Tilicho
This was the day when a clove of humble garlic would save my life.
530am: Danny woke us up with 2 cups of hot Nescafe. The rain last night didn’t seep through the tent, but the rocky ground gave both of us a hard time trying to catch some quality sleep. Breakfast was no surprise – Rara noodles.
7am: We broke camp. The distant peak of Dhaulagiri (8167m) peered through the clouds. It was a good sign. Today we would finally see Tilicho: the world’s highest lake (4919m). As we headed westwards, Tilicho Peak (7132m) looked so close we could also lick it.
1048pm: We saw this body of water which looked suspiciously like a lake, but it was the size of a large pond. This couldn’t be Tilicho right? Our guide told us this was part of Tilicho, which consists of various smaller bodies of water.
1118am: We finally reached Tilicho! I whooped, jumped into the air and run forward to kiss the signboard. All these days of walking, and finally, the world’s highest lake. Winds roared on the plateau, throwing the Tibetan prayer flags into a frenzy as we clicked away.
Tilicho
1230pm: Circled the lake to our lunch spot. The viewpoint would have made a scenic place for Rara noodles but we needed a water source. Wished we could have stayed up at the viewpoint longer.
147pm: After-meal lethargy hit hard. God decided to give us a wake-up call. The monsoon had dashed all hopes of a dry crossing – we took off our shoes and forded the knee-deep (at some points, waist-deep) icy river. The currents were so strong we had to cross three-men abreast.
215pm: At 4600m, Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) hit me. I was walking like a drunkard, giddy and out of breath. The slightest exertion got me panting for air. I looked up, and saw a zig-zag path up a 40 degree slope. No good at all. At the second bend, Khusang and Desmond were waiting for me. I must have looked like a ghost. Khusang gave me a clove of raw garlic, and told me to chew on it. I took a small bite – the zing shot up my nostril like turbo-boosted wasabe. In an instant, my AMS symptoms subsided. Amazing.
I looked at Desmond, who advised me to take small steps like an ah pek. I didn’t have to try too hard. We were walking a little faster than Neil Armstrong did on the moon. This was a serious preview of what it felt like to be 70. I prayed to God for strength. I swore I had not an ounce of physical strength left in my legs. Repeating Hail Mary over and over under my breath, my legs somehow continued to moved, and step by step, I ascended the indomitable slope.
The rest of my memory of that hour was a blur. All I could recall was that there were many ascents – after climbing to the ‘top’, another slope awaited us. Our guide was trying to explain to us this was not the normal route. Landslides had destroyed that trail. This Eastern Pass we were climbing was a few hundred metres higher – at least 400m. And +400m at this sub-5000m altitude is no joke. This was the hardest climb I had ever done. My body was spent – only prayers sustained me.
349pm: We finally saw the sign pointing to Mesokanto Pass. This meant the worst was over. We were at the top of Eastern Pass, at about 5300m. It was probably much higher, maybe even higher than Thorong Pass. Our porter and guide moved ahead to recce for a suitable ground to set up camp in the High Camp area.
Arduous Ascent
The landscape was barren. We tried to catch up with the duo but they had disappeared over the horizon. As we trekked across the vast emptiness, it felt like we were in a computer game, moving from one map square to the next, the scene unchanging. Khusang and Danny were nowhere in sight for the next half hour, and we just hoped we were moving in the right direction.
445pm: We crashed into our tent totally spent of our last ounce of energy. Our legs felt like jelly. The icy river crossing, innumerable scree slopes, and the indomitable Eastern Pass had taken its toll on us. What was supposed to be a 6-hour “easy” climb turned out to be a 9-hour killer ascent. For the next two hours we fell into deep slumber.
7pm: Dinner was once again, Rara noodles. The High Camp at 4900m, is not short on cold winds. The water from the nearby stream was close to freezing. Piping hot Dan Ngan Lo herbal tea was sweet luxury, in this no-man’s land. Thinking back, I have never said so many Hail Marys in my life. Thank God we made it. Tomorrow, we cross 3 passes, including Mesokanto-La (5099m) – the final pass.
Glacial Melt seen from High Camp
Tilicho is backgrounded by its icy western face
Eastern Pass Suicide
