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Cold Nights and Altitude....
A trek to the ancient pilgrimage town of Muktinath, and beyond... (written April 1998)
 

Something very strange happened to me during the night. The fever that had been brewing for a week or so since the early part of my trek finally broke. But the aching in my body from the previous day's exertion allowed me no comfort. Alone and shivering cold in my small, bare concrete cell of a room, wrapped in my warmest clothes, blankets and quilts, I slept fitfully, waking almost every hour. Each time I did so I felt portions of my head and face-ache clearing. I felt there was a loving, caring, benevolent presence watching over me that was so beautiful, despite my physical torment. I can't really explain…..

  
 

Muktinath, a small village and sacred pilgrimage centre lies high in the Annapurna region of Nepal's Himalayas. At 3800m it is the highest settlement on the circuit, just below and to the west of Thorung La pass; dwarfed by the stunning majesty of 7000 and 8000m peaks that sweep every direction of this vast landscape. Pilgrims come on foot (for there are no vehicles except for the mule trains) to worship at their respective temple: for the Hindus, the Vishnu Temple where a stream is diverted into 108 sacred spouts : for the Buddhists, the temple of the eternal flame burning from a natural gas vent is their grail.
I'd flown to Nepal out of Thailand via Bangladesh, on my independent travels, though for the previous 10 days had been trekking with TREK AID as part of a group from England, connected as we all were to the Tibet Relief Fund of UK. Not only did this facilitate trekking and overnighting in some of the world's most stunning and culturally fascinating environments, it also gave us the chance to interact more intimately with the Tibetan exile communities and work with them to define their ongoing needs, allocate funding and view completed projects (such as the community hall in Tserok, or the acquisition of sewing machines by the women of Tashiling to make traditional performance costumes). The generosity and hospitality afforded us at all times was humbling, and I dearly hold memories of my contact with these warm, gentle and dignified people.
       

Having reached Muktinath, still gleaming from an overnight snow storm that left the bare trees, stonewalls, villages and high slopes in picturesque crispness, I camped one night there with the group, but stayed on the next morning as they descended back towards Kagbeni and the Kali-Gandaki Valley

Being April, the Thorung La pass, at 5416m, was still blocked with heavy snow, at least from the clockwise direction of the Annapurna circuit. However, I had been told of a small plateau that lay a couple of hours below the pass, at about 5000m, that would be reachable. Despite a growing illness which was bringing aches, coughing and diarrhoea, I gently determined this was my goal.

      
   
     
 

So, gathering a few provisions for my extra days, I first had to find a room for the coming night. Sadly at such an early hour the only room to be found among Muktinath's modest and weathered hostels was a small, cold 'cell' off a balcony in the poorest of the bunch, with dark packed-earth floors and a toilet a long trek up rickety ladders to the wind-blown roof terrace. Yet the family owners were friendly and I left my main pack there, taking just the essentials for my day's trekking.
Passing through the pilgrimage temple compound, I soon left the village far behind, crossing small ravines and leaving the rocky barrenness as I reached the snow line. It was only as I began a more steep ascent that I became aware of my lack of condition, as I laboured with more heavy breathing and my chest hurt. Without snow, there is zig-zag path which leads up this steeper western approach to the plateau. However, this now being covered, I had no choice but to break my own trail through thigh-deep snow. It didn't take me long to see the folly of this, but a stubbornness and quest for adventure drove me onward under the hot, blue skies, despite my leg muscles screaming and my fingers tingling and numb from the exertion. For another 2 hours I continued this way, becoming wet, cold and very tired and was about to give up when the land levelled out: the plateau at last !
 
I crouched by the ruined walls of an old stone shelter and ate my meagre lunch, though my plight was now compounded by lack of water, as my bottle had emptied itself during the climb.

I sat, totally alone, absorbing in a light-headed state the awesome beauty and isolation: the deafening silence ringing and pulsating in my ears. The only other sounds were the swish of air cutting through the wings of huge, circling crows and the tinkling bell of a large, fluffy trail dog who wandered by to check me out. I began to drift and only just caught myself from lapsing into a lethargic doze which, if I needed any further reminding symptoms, showed me that altitude sickness and disorientation were closing in.
 
 

Gazing ahead up the trail where the cobalt skies turned blue-black in contrast against the blinding snow, I could make out the faint trail made by others crossing the pass from Manang in the east. A couple of hardy trekkers approached me from that direction and disappeared over the steeper face I'd just climbed. That human contact snapped me out of my torpor and I began to slowly pick my own way back down. This, however soon became futile, and seeing that I was spending more time on my backside than on my feet, I decided to become a human toboggan and proceeded to sledge my way rapidly (and not without great exhilaration !) down to the snow line once more.

I was now soaking wet and cold, and laughing out loud at the thrill and stupidity of it all ! The afternoon sun was still very hot, and being now safely out of the higher snow, I stripped off all my clothes, spreading both them and my surrendering body on the mossy grass to dry.

I slept, of course, and woke an hour later to fresh, dry clothes, a mild sunburn on my legs and back, and a growing headache from all the exertion and dehydration. Yes I can look back now at my foolishness. And yes, it was worth it !
     

Back at my humble lodgings there was no chance of a hot shower, but instead I greedily gobbled down a large meal and copious amounts of sweet tea before, still dressed, swaddling myself as best I could against the night's chill, I turned in. And somewhere during my fitful night the fever peaked and broke. I awoke miraculously fresh and energised to greet a low, golden morning sun and ate a hearty breakfast before striding out along the trail west, descending back to the Kali Gandaki Valley.

I felt so alive; so alert; so full of energy. What was yesterday's bravado and my experiences through the night really about ?

   

I embraced the day and, it seemed the whole world, spread before me. The towering peak of Dhaulagiri, bathed in sunlight, beckoned me on, past women laden with huge bundles of brushwood carried from who knows where, heading into Jharkot like walking bushes !

And a lone pilgrim: a Sadhu, resting on a rock by the side of the trail: an archetype and something of a vision as the landscape opened up behind him. We made a brief exchange which sealed my day, and my whole experience of the unspeakable beauty of this journey we are all walking

      
   
Link to Trek-Aid website here