That simple little space between the mountains

It’s August now, and I recently found out that the world ‘august’ means “majestic, inspires reverence or admiration”. So, with this theme in mind, I decided to post about a recent trip to Nepal where I trekked to Mt Everest Base Camp as a fundraiser for a Nepali children’s home that I have come to know and love.

This story starts with reaching Base Camp. I thought this was the goal, and while a physical feat, I couldn’t help but feel the victory was a little dry. I take the standard photos in front of the somewhat uninspiring background, drank a cup of tea and join in the celebratory hugs.

We walk back along the glaciers to our beds for the night, and I can’t help but feel a bit disappointed that this was it - a photo opportunity and a bragging right. It’s a fitful night’s sleep when I know I need to be awake early to start walking again, coupled with the suffocating cold. Not to mention that thought of going further up this mountain makes my stomach turn.

Leaving the tea house at 3am, it is complete darkness. We’re so far from the electric halo of the nearest city and we trust our head torches flickering over the gravel to lead the way up the steep path to Kala Patthar.

Despite the increasing thinness of the air, each breath feels solid to swallow as I try to drag oxygen into my lungs, but it fights my efforts each time and rasps down my throat. I keep my head low and my rhythm steady instead of trying to make out the skinny scrap of rock we are headed towards.

My steps become smaller, less certain and my shoulders shake with each laboured breath. This becomes a mental battle as much as a physical one. I focus on the ground immediately in front of my foot for each step, the gravel starting to look like static under my boots.

I silently thank my mum for passing me one of her traits, as my stubborn nature kicks in. My steps gain some reach and my back stands a little less hunched. The steady pattern of right boot, left boot takes over, and there's no room in my mind to even contemplate anything else.

Just before sunrise, we run out of trail and reach a pile of rocks and frosted prayer flags. I turn to face where we have come from. The sky has a new purple wash as it shakes off the night and the energy of the day hums along the horizon. Balanced in the grey air, I wait to greet the sun that’s still sheltered behind the tallest shadow on earth. I sit and watch that simple little space between the mountains.

Suddenly aware I'm holding my breath, I breathe out and the mountain’s ribs start to glow gold, lighting up the edge of the snow like a line of fire. The sun stretches its limbs, slowly reaching across the sky and everything it touches wakes. In the growing light, I see the crown of peaks circling the clouds I sit above, and feel incredibly small.

A sunrise is always a very hopeful thing, and standing beneath a natural wonder creates a very strong sense of stillness. But finding the intersect between these two, it feels like you’ve cheated somehow, and been a part of something you shouldn't have seen.

The day slowly strengthens beneath us, ready to catch us as we descend.