Bird watching - Brittany, France

After losing over 8 kilos mountaineering, it didn’t take long – 2 weeks in fact - for Nic and I to become roly poly after we arrived in France. We spent a lovely relaxing 2 weeks at Nics parents, Michelle and Raymond in Bretagne eating The Best Bretagne food, if not The Best food. Bretagne – Brittany in the northwest of France is particularly famous for its fruits de la mer or fruits/food of the sea – seafood! We indulged in langistinne something like a cross between a crab and a prawn, ultra fresh rock oysters, rays and spiders. Then some wild oiseaux - pronounced “wazu” and meaning bird, and pork from the farm; pork patte, fresh jambon, and saussicon, (although not all on the same day…) Michelle makes The Best gateaux Bretagne (kinda like shortbread) and The Best strawberry gateau which we helped decorate for Llelwyn’s (Nic’s neice’s) birthday. (As well as being a bon cuisiner , Michelle also has other talents like painting and embroidery and best of all, sorcery; her homeopathic concoctions worked a treat!) Ohhhhhh, all this tres bon food and I haven’t even started mentioning the wine and the cheese! We also spent the two weeks in Bretagne checking out Jocelyn’s photos – all of them of “wazu”. He really has taken a liking to “wazu” watching and photographing, and wears a camouflage suit to hide amongst the trees. There he waits in his hideous green plastic outfit and army green balaclava with his foot long telescopic lens until some poor person wonders through the forest track and suddenly… “Bonjour!” cries the tree. But his photos were quite brilliant and the lens so powerful I also used it to take photos of Nic and Jos surfing more than 100 metres away. They went surfing a few times out near the western most points of La Plue. The waves are some of the best in France, but the water was so cold and frigid Nic’ sensitive toes (after being almost frostbitten on our expedition in the Himalayas) couldn’t bear it. Anyway, the last weekend we stayed in Bretagne was The Best. Whilst Jos went off to chase another type of bird at a uni party, we went to a traditional Bretagne “fesnos” with the folks. At the fesnos the musos played their pipes, which are like a one pipe bagpipe, and the singers did a question-response type song. Everyone joined hands in a circle and danced the particular dance that goes together with the song. I really really wanted to join in… but Michelle and Raymond, even after years of dancing lessons were not taking part. This had to be a sign. With deceptively simple looking footwork it was best left to the pros. So, even though those 8 kilos were truly back on by then, off we went to enjoy more of Bretagne and eat crepes and drink apple cider.

Celebration of an expedition - Nepal

The celebration at the end of our expedition lasted a while, as it should. It began with a big party in Lukla, where after being teetotallers for a month we skulled beer and tried Nepali whisky with the porters, the guides, and the liason officer. The liason officer has a strange role. In essence, the Nepali government requires us to have a special permit and be accompanied by a liason officer on the expedition, as we were going to climb a Himalayan peak above 7000 metres. The problem is, most liason officers have only ever seen the inside of an office, and have no idea about the mountains or mountaineering, let alone climbing a 7000 metre peak. So, it would be dangerous and even stupid to have them “accompany” the team. So it seems to be an unspoken rule that the liason officer sees us off, and then suddenly reappears to join us on the way back, often on the last day of the expedition to walk back to Lukla. Anyway, we had a lot of laughs making fun of the poor man who made a small contribution to our expedition, but partied in a big way at our big party to celebrate our big effort. Without that small contribution though, and so without a permit and his approval we could have been fined thousands of dollars. Once an American team was fined over US $100,000 for climbing without approval.

The night of the party Robin, our cook made the most amazing meal with different curried meats and veges, papadams, and a big cake for dessert. We drank and ate far too much, and then thanked the porters and the guides quite formally for all their hard work, which sometimes involved carrying up to 70 kg loads with barely sandals for footwear through ice and snow. It amazes me how famous some western mountaineers are – particularly those who have climbed Everest, and how little recognition their Nepali guides and porters get. They climb the same peaks, fixing ropes and often enduring twice as much weight as the members of the team, and I never heard any of them complaining. We made donations of our expedition gear, and money to them which they graciously thanked each of us individually for. The night continued with lots of back slapping, some truly bad dancing to Bollywood music, and more making fun of the liason officer and his really truly bad dancing, till we could laugh and stand no longer.

After enduring the flight back from Lukla, (the flight is specatular but the take off and the landing is terrifying, and there is at least one plane accident a month - on a sad note, Edmund Hilary watched his wife and children die on a flight arriving in Lukla), and arriving back in the Du, Nic, Boydo and I decided to get out of the city as soon as possible, and booked a short trip to Pokara to continue our celebration. We took a bus from the Du which was meant to take 6 hours but ended up taking 13..!!. The road was full of landslides which meant that the two lanes of quite a busy road became one , and we had to wait in the bus for hours dripping with sweat until the bus could move a few metres and a breeze would come through the window. After our horendous trip from Dunche (see the article Dunche to the Du) we had decided to take the “tourist bus” so we didn’t have to put up with so many animals and people on top of people as , but even on the tourist bus, 13 hours is a long long ride without air conditioning in over 30 degrees and stifling humidity.

Our celebration continued in Pokhara. We indulged at the “German bakeries” which did a pretty good chocolate croissant, and apple pie; especially after a rice diet for 2 months; and explored the Indian restaurants which the Nepalis do extraordinarily well. We spent our days drinking beers in canoes on the lake, drinking wine on the rooftop of our hotel with a view of the Annapurnas, and just drinking generally, so that we saw things that perhaps weren't there. I like celebrating.

Climbing attempt on Barunste - Nepal

I could see the snow capped summit in the distance. Getting excited, I rushed up to the top of the moraine ridge, and there it was. From this 5500m view point, trying to catch my breath, the impressive west face of Baruntse stood proudly in front of me. The south west ridge was the route we had come to climb. The ridge looked well defined, and weather conditions looked promising. Our support crew had already set up the tents and prepared dinner when we arrived at base camp. Life can be way too easy sometimes! The next day one of our porters, who was also a lama conducted a puja ceremony – where our gear is blessed and we implore the gods for good weather and good health. The following 2 days were spent resting to ensure proper acclimatisation prior to heading up higher on the mountain. As I got bored easily, I spent my time going on walks and eating the endless supply of food from our chef Robin. Davina, in the meantime was happy chilling out and reading. Then everyone got busy at base camp packing for the next 5 days – for the climb. Sumit, our friend and also group leader had mapped out the expedition climbing plan. Day 1 – we would walk to Camp 1 , Day 2 – we would acclimatise by walking to Camp 2 and back again to Camp 1, Day 3 we would walk to Camp 2 and stay there for a sumit bid on Day 4. The climb to Camp 1 was the most exciting with a 300 metre section of ice and snow at about 45 to 50 degrees. I wasn’t at all keen on jumarring up fixed ropes, so started pitching it myself, with Pat seconding, and ended up soloing the top section. It felt like hard work, especially at 5100metres! Pat and I arrived at Camp 1 before any of the other team members, and there we took the only stove, to melt water and rehydrate. It felt good to chill out at camp, nicely protected from any avalanche. The next day we went for our acclimatisation walk to Camp 2 at 6500 metres and back, on a beautiful sunny day that gave us a good view of the south west ridge of Baruntse as well as a stunning postcard shot of Makalu. That night, back at Camp 1 , Pat and I got stuck into some freeze dried meals that looked appealing, but were not so appealing the following day. I was as sick as a dog the next morning, and we had to get to Camp 2 ready for our sumit bid the following day! I took it slowly, throwing up along the way a couple of times, although I didn’t know how I would feel the following day. Thanks to a few digestives, I felt suprisingly better on the summit morning when we had to get up at 2 am. The sky was clear, stars out, and the night calm. We left the campsite in a chilly -20 degrees walking in 1 foot of fresh powdered snow that made our progress slow and difficult. About 30 minutes after leaving the camp, I lost feeling of most of my fingers and toes which made me think about going down.... but I decided to wait for the sun to rise. When it rose, it didn’t really help warm them, but the view of Makalu was so beautiful at about 6700 metres that it helped me upwards. The progress was quite difficult due to the loose snow and I was happy to rest every 10 steps or so. I eventually joined lakpa who was leading the climb at 6,850 metres where he had stopped. He was in front of a crevass which almost totally crossed the ridge, and below us was a 2000 metre vertical drop. The only way through was a steep section of very loose snow which he was unsure whether to lead. “What do you think?” he asked, perplexed. I wasn’t at all keen to lead that section either, particularly because we only had static ropes to fix the lines which wouldn’t have been great in case of a lead fall. So, this was the highest point we reached on the mountain. I was happy enough to go back down, as my toes still didn’t show any signs of life, but back at Camp 2 I was relieved to discover I had no frostbite. It felt good to leave the mountain and get back to the comfort and saturated oxygen air at Base Camp at 5500 metres.

RFC (Robin’s Fried Chicken) - Nepal

Coming back into civilisation after being in alpine territory (above 5000m in altitude) is the best lesson in life appreciation you can get. At base camp everything was dead and grey and the only life we saw consisted of hawks and the odd ferret. The cold ice infected everything. There were no fresh vegetables; no meat, and mostly rice and potatoes for breakfast, lunch and dinner. But after we crossed the pass on our way back from Baruntse, life returned. It came back in tiny green spurts of leafy shrubs, in tiny purple alpine flowers, and then little bursts of energy and song as finches began to flutter across our path. The world became a magical garden full of treasures that no evil could penetrate.

And just when we were revelling in life and its beauty, glorious food began to grace our plates. Fresh vegetables appeared for dinner; mushrooms, tomato and spinach… and fresh fruits for dessert; sweet sweet bananas... and then, wonderful Robin, our cook popped The Question:

“ Would you guys like to have some Chicken!?”

Chicken!!?? The only meat we had eaten, or tried to eat for the previous 2 weeks was canned spam! Chicken sounded heavenly. Chicken sounded divine. So he bought some local chickens - animals we had just walked passed on the trek, and curried and fried them for our lunch. While it might have been oily and dry, and somewhat reminiscent of KFC, it was still the best chicken I have ever tasted; Robin’s Fried Chicken, and it became known fondly as RFC.

That night, the sweet water of the shower helped cleanse away weeks of dirt. Then the warmth of the night felt like a long awaited snuggle. Ahhh, to sit inside a house warming hands by a toasty fire; to sleep without my feet feeling numb, frozen and belonging to someone else; to sleep naked, without thermal layers upon layers; to go out to a real toilet at night without putting on mountaineering boots and a down jacket. Life was gooooood.

Dark rhythms from a basecamp - Nepal

My forehead burrows, the worry is clear
I know too well the things to fear

Like the water she left on the side of her pack
Which becomes icy, frozen, undrinkable at that
She reaches anyway and takes off her mitt
Which flutters and blows away with her wit
Her hand becomes numb; she cant hold the rope
No water, no hand, no wit, no hope

Like the air vent he forgets to open at night
And a snow storm starts blowing the tent becomes white
He passed out early after cooking inside
From the poisonous air he has no place to hide
His dreams become wild; he’s on crazy dope
No oxygen, no breath, no air, no hope

Like her focussed mind which ignores the thin air
To turn back now would be too hard to bear
So her climb up is automatic, but her head explodes
She collapses, coughing blood and vomiting loads
Her summit dream is so strong she thinks she can cope
No head, no lungs, no health, no hope

Like the agony of his bladder bursting
While in his warm bed he cant stop cursing
Where the fuck is my pee bottle to no one he said
And where is my head torch; not by the bed
He rises in the dark and falls down the slope
No ridge, no footing, no arrest, no hope

7000m up the air is thin
But weather is good warming hearts within
Dark rhythms at base camp haunt my soul
But I’ve confidence they will reach their goal
And come safely down the climbing rope
So I can cease this endless mope…