Take my breath away

At last reckoning I didn't give Abby her due. Neither of us were terribly enthusiastic hikers in our youth. From the early Volksmarches to state park jaunts during our annual camping vacations, you could say we were just along for the gorp. We also both hated the Presidential Fitness Tests, but at some point in our development I surged ahead in the desire to, say, "DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE, SHOOT THAT BALL," while ALK went on to win the National FFA speech contest.

Abby's been game all along for, as Devi has said, the poetry of trekking the Himalayas - but it took a bit of convincing that she should climb a 20,000 ft mountain. That was the plan at least until asthma derailed her on the 13,700 ft practice climb. She agreed to go for the five day's trek anyway. Everyone who knows her including herself can't help but be proud of her hike to the base camp at 16,400 ft.

We had two Sikkimese Nepali guides. They come to Ladak during their monsoon. They are employed as guide/cooks because they are most proficient at both. Ours were Futimba and Vijay, the former being a Sherpa (it's a last name, but no coincidence that he's a particularly able on the mountains) and the latter working his first summer at such altitudes. They would both have pulses of 105, a saunter, when the fungus among us were huffing and puffing away at 160 beats per minute. They didn't even know what beats per minute means.

On Stok Kangri day, Vijay got altitude sickness at about 19,500 ft and ceased to be an effective guide, but Futimba did a double summit with our two other trekmates. Nia, an incredible Welshwoman, followed him up the south face which he cheerfully told her no one else climbs, and James, an amiable Englishman, got the fall-aparts and was intercepted by the other two descending as he tried for a solo ascent in his delirium.

Which leaves me, who did not go to the top. A combination of excuses, being more lucid than James and not having the tenacity to go it alone on my first day using crampons (strap-on uber cleats) and an ice axe whilst the guide stayed behind with AMS, kept me at the 19,500 ft ridge where Vijay lay with a headache. Plus for every four steps, it took about three minutes of breathing. I could have done it if Crystal had been there, but now have to console myself that I climbed higher than any mountain in Europe or North America besides Denali. But still didn't make it to the top.

In North India, Stok Kangri is just an easy tourist climb in the Stok range, which is north of the Zanskar range, which is north of the Himalayas. The Frenchman in our 18 cum 26 hour jeep ride was preparing to summit a never-before-climbed mountain in the Zanskars next summer. Just another of the unnamed 6,000 meter peaks. There is no such thing in North America. Fascinating.

This brings us to the geographic wonder of North India. The mountains. If my mom infected me with the love of cultures, my dad infected me with the love of geography. He and Charlie know all the capitals of all the countries in the world. This Geography Bee mentality makes prizes out of the highest and second highest highways in the world. It makes me want to go places where if the jeep driver gets punchy he will drive you off a cliff in the fog unless you have a vigilant and good humored Spaniard to say, "My Friend! My Friend! Slowly, Slowly!"