I woke up bright and early the next morning feeling excited about the day ahead. So excited in fact, that I only ate half of my breakfast and was packed and ready to go before anyone else was done eating. "Ready already?," the guide from the day before asked me.
"She's always ready," said one of the French girls.
"Sometimes she walk, sometimes she fly," replied the guide. I laughed and said goodbye to everyone I had met and told them perhaps I would see them later on the trail before it split. And with that, I was on my own again.
I stepped out of the home and on to the path. The mountains on one side, and the stream on the other. I started walking down the path, full of confidence. I jumped down into the stream bed and was hopping from rock to rock trying to keep my shoes dry and rapping "I am a God" at the top of my lungs. In the distance, I could see a path going between two mountains, so I set my sights there. After about half an hour, I reached the path. I followed it for a few minutes when suddenly it did a 180 and led up a hill. It seemed strange to me that the path would turn like that, but there was clearly no other way, so I followed it. At the top of the hill, the path turned again back the same way it was to begin with. This reassured me and I continued on my way. After about ten minutes however, the path was so faint I could barely keep track of it. Every once and a while, a hoof print would faintly appear ahead of me, and this would comfort me enough that this was the correct way, and I would keep walking. But eventually, even the hoof prints were nowhere to be seen, and I found myself standing among the biggest mountains in the world, lost, and completely alone. No need to panic yet though. My iPod told me it was only 11:00. I had been walking for three hours. If I had to turn around and retrace my steps, I would still make it back to Yuruche by 2:00. Plenty of time before it gets dark around 7:00. So I weighed my options. I could turn back, accept that my 6 hour day was a loss and try again the next day. I turned and looked back at all the distance I had covered and instantly knew this wasn't an option. There was no way I was walking another three hours back the exact same way I had just come. This left one option. I turned to face the mountains ahead. I squinted. There! Up that mountain! A path! My heart leapt. I would have to walk about 400m horizontally across the mountain I was currently standing on, but I could make it. Balancing myself on the sliding rocks, I slowly started to make my way across the steep mountain, the rocks slipping with every third step sending me sliding down on my side for a few feet. Finally, I made it to the path. About 30 feet lower on the slope than where I started, but I was there. I assessed the road ahead. The path went straight up. The rocks were bigger however, so at least they wouldn't slip as much. I took a big gulp of water, and started the ascent.
Three steps in: I collapse, exhausted on the rocks. Trying desperately to suck enough thin air into my burning lungs. I sit for 30 seconds. My head stops spinning. I look up at the path ahead. I have a dark realization. This isn't a path. People bring horses on this trek. There is no way a horse can rock climb. I looked behind me and suddenly saw for the first time what I was really looking at. It's not a path. It's a dried up stream bed. About 30m up, the stream turns around what looks to be the highest rock, dusted with glittering snow. Despite the fact that I am now irrefutably off the trail, I still can't bring myself to turn around. I think I can make it to that rock. Then maybe from the top I will be able to see the path and get to it. So I climb, collapsing every third step, gasping for air. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I could almost see around the rock. One more three step journey. I pull my pack straps tight and hoist myself up. 1...2...3...I can see... Another mountain. A higher one. No great view. No path. Another mountain. I collapse, utterly spent, and stare down the mountain at the distance I've covered, imagining the stream bed flowing freely with my blood, sweat and tears. I sit like that for a long time.
Eventually, I had to bring myself to acknowledge that I'm going to have to turn back. At least to where I last saw the true path. I still hadn't given up hope that I could make it to Skyu before dark. I refused to look at the time though, out of fear that it would be too late and I would have to give in. I started to descend and it immediately became clear that descending on these rocks is not much easier than going up. After a few feet, I took off my backpack, took out my camel pack, and kicked my backpack down the slope. I watched it roll a few feet down the mountain, taking some loose rocks with it. I followed. And like that, I climbed down.
I walked for a long time back in the direction I had come from, still refusing to check the time. Finally, I came across the place where the path had turned so sharply. I scanned the dirt for new footprints, showing that my new friends had followed after me. But found only hoof prints, and occasionally the faint sign of my own shoe. This was the wrong path. I sat down, exhausted and shrunk lower and lower into the earth as I realized the inevitable. I would have to spend another night in Yuruche. Eventually, I worked up the energy to stand, and started following the stream back. This time, I didn't bother to hop from rock to rock. I just let my shoes get wet.
Maybe an hour or so later, the home stay appeared in the distance. I didn't even have the energy to be frustrated any more. I decided to press on without a break until I reached it. It was a longer walk than I had anticipated, but I refused to stop. When I finally arrived, I fell onto the front steps, took off my pack, and closed my eyes. I was so entirely out if energy, I could scarcely imagine how I would walk up the steps to the bedroom. I laid on the front steps for about 15 minutes, drifting in and out of sleep. I awoke to the sound of voices approaching. I pressed myself up in time to see a couple approaching with a guide walking a few steps ahead. "Where did you come from today?" The guide asked when he was close enough to yell.
"Here." I yelled back, and smiled faintly. He gave me a confused look. When he was close enough to speak to at a regular volume, I explained to him that I had come from Zinchen the day before and had set out for Skyu that morning but had somehow gotten lost.
"Ma'am... how? The path is very simple," he said, offering no sympathy.
"I don't know," I replied weakly, and lay back down on my makeshift porch bed.
"There are some tents about 35 minutes ahead if you want to stay there," he said, "They're cheaper and will make for a shorter day tomorrow."
I peered at him from under my heavy eyelids. "35 minutes?" I asked. He nodded. I pulled out my iPod and checked the time for the first time since that morning. It was 5:30. I had already walked for over nine hours, including the scaling of a rock face. What was another 35 minutes? "Okay." I said, hoisting my pack onto my back and standing up. At least this way I wouldn't have to tell the whole story to the people at this homestay. So from there, the four of us set off. The guide and his clients, (couple from France) and me bringing up the rear. After about ten steps, I realized how I had gotten so hopelessly lost. Where I had jumped down into the stream bed that morning, I had left the blatant path. Ten steps into my journey I was already on the wrong path. How I made such an obvious, silly mistake, I will never know. But at least now I was going the right way.
Twenty steps later, I found I could no longer put one foot in front of the other. I dropped my pack to the ground and curled up beside it, using it as a pillow. I laid like that for about 5 minutes, until I had enough energy to stand again. Ten steps later, I collapsed again. By this point, the other three were so far ahead they were almost out of sight. I carried on like this the whole way.
An hour and forty five minutes later, I finally arrived at the tents. The sun was sliding below the mountains and the sunlight was quickly fading. The French couple and their guide were nowhere to be seen. I sat down in a small plastic chair, pulled my sweat pants and socks out of my pack and wriggled into them while I waited to for someone who owned the place to surface.
I must have fallen asleep in the chair, as the next thing I knew I was being gently prodded awake by a small Tibetan man. I reluctantly opened my eyes and he was looking at me with a big toothless grin on his face. I couldn't help but smile back.
"Can I stay?" I asked. He nodded and pointed behind him. One of the tents had been prepared for me while I dozed in the chair and was waiting with the door tied open and the blankets pulled back. I can safely say I have never seen a more inviting sight as long as I've lived. I thanked him profusely, grabbed my pack, and climbed in. I meant to lay down just for a minute before organizing my things and having some dinner, but the second I laid my head on the thin, cold pillow I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep and didn't awake until the next morning.
"She's always ready," said one of the French girls.
"Sometimes she walk, sometimes she fly," replied the guide. I laughed and said goodbye to everyone I had met and told them perhaps I would see them later on the trail before it split. And with that, I was on my own again.
I stepped out of the home and on to the path. The mountains on one side, and the stream on the other. I started walking down the path, full of confidence. I jumped down into the stream bed and was hopping from rock to rock trying to keep my shoes dry and rapping "I am a God" at the top of my lungs. In the distance, I could see a path going between two mountains, so I set my sights there. After about half an hour, I reached the path. I followed it for a few minutes when suddenly it did a 180 and led up a hill. It seemed strange to me that the path would turn like that, but there was clearly no other way, so I followed it. At the top of the hill, the path turned again back the same way it was to begin with. This reassured me and I continued on my way. After about ten minutes however, the path was so faint I could barely keep track of it. Every once and a while, a hoof print would faintly appear ahead of me, and this would comfort me enough that this was the correct way, and I would keep walking. But eventually, even the hoof prints were nowhere to be seen, and I found myself standing among the biggest mountains in the world, lost, and completely alone. No need to panic yet though. My iPod told me it was only 11:00. I had been walking for three hours. If I had to turn around and retrace my steps, I would still make it back to Yuruche by 2:00. Plenty of time before it gets dark around 7:00. So I weighed my options. I could turn back, accept that my 6 hour day was a loss and try again the next day. I turned and looked back at all the distance I had covered and instantly knew this wasn't an option. There was no way I was walking another three hours back the exact same way I had just come. This left one option. I turned to face the mountains ahead. I squinted. There! Up that mountain! A path! My heart leapt. I would have to walk about 400m horizontally across the mountain I was currently standing on, but I could make it. Balancing myself on the sliding rocks, I slowly started to make my way across the steep mountain, the rocks slipping with every third step sending me sliding down on my side for a few feet. Finally, I made it to the path. About 30 feet lower on the slope than where I started, but I was there. I assessed the road ahead. The path went straight up. The rocks were bigger however, so at least they wouldn't slip as much. I took a big gulp of water, and started the ascent.
Three steps in: I collapse, exhausted on the rocks. Trying desperately to suck enough thin air into my burning lungs. I sit for 30 seconds. My head stops spinning. I look up at the path ahead. I have a dark realization. This isn't a path. People bring horses on this trek. There is no way a horse can rock climb. I looked behind me and suddenly saw for the first time what I was really looking at. It's not a path. It's a dried up stream bed. About 30m up, the stream turns around what looks to be the highest rock, dusted with glittering snow. Despite the fact that I am now irrefutably off the trail, I still can't bring myself to turn around. I think I can make it to that rock. Then maybe from the top I will be able to see the path and get to it. So I climb, collapsing every third step, gasping for air. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I could almost see around the rock. One more three step journey. I pull my pack straps tight and hoist myself up. 1...2...3...I can see... Another mountain. A higher one. No great view. No path. Another mountain. I collapse, utterly spent, and stare down the mountain at the distance I've covered, imagining the stream bed flowing freely with my blood, sweat and tears. I sit like that for a long time.
Eventually, I had to bring myself to acknowledge that I'm going to have to turn back. At least to where I last saw the true path. I still hadn't given up hope that I could make it to Skyu before dark. I refused to look at the time though, out of fear that it would be too late and I would have to give in. I started to descend and it immediately became clear that descending on these rocks is not much easier than going up. After a few feet, I took off my backpack, took out my camel pack, and kicked my backpack down the slope. I watched it roll a few feet down the mountain, taking some loose rocks with it. I followed. And like that, I climbed down.
I walked for a long time back in the direction I had come from, still refusing to check the time. Finally, I came across the place where the path had turned so sharply. I scanned the dirt for new footprints, showing that my new friends had followed after me. But found only hoof prints, and occasionally the faint sign of my own shoe. This was the wrong path. I sat down, exhausted and shrunk lower and lower into the earth as I realized the inevitable. I would have to spend another night in Yuruche. Eventually, I worked up the energy to stand, and started following the stream back. This time, I didn't bother to hop from rock to rock. I just let my shoes get wet.
Maybe an hour or so later, the home stay appeared in the distance. I didn't even have the energy to be frustrated any more. I decided to press on without a break until I reached it. It was a longer walk than I had anticipated, but I refused to stop. When I finally arrived, I fell onto the front steps, took off my pack, and closed my eyes. I was so entirely out if energy, I could scarcely imagine how I would walk up the steps to the bedroom. I laid on the front steps for about 15 minutes, drifting in and out of sleep. I awoke to the sound of voices approaching. I pressed myself up in time to see a couple approaching with a guide walking a few steps ahead. "Where did you come from today?" The guide asked when he was close enough to yell.
"Here." I yelled back, and smiled faintly. He gave me a confused look. When he was close enough to speak to at a regular volume, I explained to him that I had come from Zinchen the day before and had set out for Skyu that morning but had somehow gotten lost.
"Ma'am... how? The path is very simple," he said, offering no sympathy.
"I don't know," I replied weakly, and lay back down on my makeshift porch bed.
"There are some tents about 35 minutes ahead if you want to stay there," he said, "They're cheaper and will make for a shorter day tomorrow."
I peered at him from under my heavy eyelids. "35 minutes?" I asked. He nodded. I pulled out my iPod and checked the time for the first time since that morning. It was 5:30. I had already walked for over nine hours, including the scaling of a rock face. What was another 35 minutes? "Okay." I said, hoisting my pack onto my back and standing up. At least this way I wouldn't have to tell the whole story to the people at this homestay. So from there, the four of us set off. The guide and his clients, (couple from France) and me bringing up the rear. After about ten steps, I realized how I had gotten so hopelessly lost. Where I had jumped down into the stream bed that morning, I had left the blatant path. Ten steps into my journey I was already on the wrong path. How I made such an obvious, silly mistake, I will never know. But at least now I was going the right way.
Twenty steps later, I found I could no longer put one foot in front of the other. I dropped my pack to the ground and curled up beside it, using it as a pillow. I laid like that for about 5 minutes, until I had enough energy to stand again. Ten steps later, I collapsed again. By this point, the other three were so far ahead they were almost out of sight. I carried on like this the whole way.
An hour and forty five minutes later, I finally arrived at the tents. The sun was sliding below the mountains and the sunlight was quickly fading. The French couple and their guide were nowhere to be seen. I sat down in a small plastic chair, pulled my sweat pants and socks out of my pack and wriggled into them while I waited to for someone who owned the place to surface.
I must have fallen asleep in the chair, as the next thing I knew I was being gently prodded awake by a small Tibetan man. I reluctantly opened my eyes and he was looking at me with a big toothless grin on his face. I couldn't help but smile back.
"Can I stay?" I asked. He nodded and pointed behind him. One of the tents had been prepared for me while I dozed in the chair and was waiting with the door tied open and the blankets pulled back. I can safely say I have never seen a more inviting sight as long as I've lived. I thanked him profusely, grabbed my pack, and climbed in. I meant to lay down just for a minute before organizing my things and having some dinner, but the second I laid my head on the thin, cold pillow I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep and didn't awake until the next morning.
