The Longest Night
Last night in Macermo, I had the first signs of sleep aphnia, which is one of the symptoms of AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness). I'll describe it more later.
Breakfast this morning begins with "Corn Flax" and milk. "Corn Flax" is the Nepalese pronunciation of "Corn Flakes." "Milk", pronounced "milik" is steaming hot powdered milk; poured over cold cereal, it is more than unappetizing--it is noxious! (Did I mention that I have almost completely lost my appetite? Last night, the bowl of soup was all I could force down.) Did I mention that our sherpas wake us each morning at the door of our tent, offering hot tea--but the very last thing offered, long after the breakfast is served and even after the table is cleared, is instant Nescafe coffee. I want my coffee now, please. You can take your stinking Corn Flax and milik and...just give me my morning coffee!!! Politely, I do not say a word, and patiently await for the never-arriving elixor, but John sits across the table, noticing my unspoken misery and laughs. Later, I will have to kill him...after I've had my coffee.
Today we hike along the Dudh Kosh River and Glacier. How can this trip keep becoming more beautiful each day? With each gain in altitude, we lose warmth, and it is now noticeably cold. However, we're dressed for it, and are quite comfortable. The wildness of this river, with its power displayed in frequent waterfalls and constant whitewater is impressive. So is the precarious nature of our footing as we walk along precipitous drops, the river a mere careless step away.
After a long ascent, the trail levels off and we hike the last mile or so alongside turquoise colored lakes, three of them in a row. We have met a few trekkers who in one long trip have gone to Kattipur, Everest Base Camp, and Gokyo. All of them agree that Gokyo is the most beautiful, though for some reason it is the least hiked of the three.
Nevertheless, we find Gokyo campsite to be a slum compared to other places we've camped. Our tents are crammed together in a tiny "yard"--a courtyard of stony dirt, so close together that when we crawl out of the front door, the first thing we do is step off a knee-high stone wall. The bathroom outhouse for the entire lodge is 10 feet from our tents, so we hear--and smell--every time someone from the lodge uses it during the night. It is miserably cold as a constant wind blows off the lake.
Dinner consists of--who cares? I force down the soup and try to ignore the aroma of curry when the entree is presented. I may never desire another bite of anything with curry as an ingredient--that is, with the exception of Corn Flax and hot milik.
Then, the worst and longest night of my life!
In the tent around 7:30, I drift off to sleep pretty quickly, but wake up, gasping for air, at 9:30. From then on, every time I fall asleep, I stop breathing! This is one of the more common effects of altitude, and I had a late-morning touch of it yesterday. But tonight it hits full-force and it hits early in the night.
Here's the repeated pattern for the rest of the night: I awake, completely out of breath, like I've just swum the length of the pool underwater. I take several deep gulps of air, then a few "normal" breaths, then drift off to sleep. Maybe 15-20 seconds later, I awake, completely out of breath. John advises me to inhale deeply through my nose, and exhale through my mouth, making a puff when I do. This actually doesn't help relieve the symptom, but is artificial enough to perhaps keep me awake and break the pattern. I count "puffs", and the most I reach is 20, more likely 7, sometimes as few as 3, then I drift off to sleep. A few seconds later, I awake, gasping for air. Each cycle takes maybe a minute. All of this accompanied by the wildest, most horrible dreams/nightmares imaginable. I learn to discern when a thought turns into a dream--as it becomes a dream, it becomes technicolor and more vivid.
This went on for 9 hours--from 9:30 pm until 6:30 am.
For drinking water while hiking I use as a "canteen" an insulated plastic container called a "Camelback". It has a long tube attached to a 3 liter container, so one can sip from it while walking without having to stop, remove one's pack, get a drink, etc. The last thing I did at the end of each day was fill the Camelback with boiling water, so that the next morning I'd have cool water to drink on the trail. Besides, an insulated Camelback converts into an effective and comforting hot water bottle when place inside the sleeping bag!
Around 4:00 am, I reached down inside my bag, found the tube, and took a sip of still lukewarm water. Without realizing it, I detached the tube from the Camelback container. About a minute later, when I awoke from the next round of gasping for air, I discovered the entire 3 liters of water had emptied into my bag, soaking it completely. I mean, wring-water-out in streams soaked.
Did I mention, it was the longest, most difficult night of my life?
Breakfast this morning begins with "Corn Flax" and milk. "Corn Flax" is the Nepalese pronunciation of "Corn Flakes." "Milk", pronounced "milik" is steaming hot powdered milk; poured over cold cereal, it is more than unappetizing--it is noxious! (Did I mention that I have almost completely lost my appetite? Last night, the bowl of soup was all I could force down.) Did I mention that our sherpas wake us each morning at the door of our tent, offering hot tea--but the very last thing offered, long after the breakfast is served and even after the table is cleared, is instant Nescafe coffee. I want my coffee now, please. You can take your stinking Corn Flax and milik and...just give me my morning coffee!!! Politely, I do not say a word, and patiently await for the never-arriving elixor, but John sits across the table, noticing my unspoken misery and laughs. Later, I will have to kill him...after I've had my coffee.
Today we hike along the Dudh Kosh River and Glacier. How can this trip keep becoming more beautiful each day? With each gain in altitude, we lose warmth, and it is now noticeably cold. However, we're dressed for it, and are quite comfortable. The wildness of this river, with its power displayed in frequent waterfalls and constant whitewater is impressive. So is the precarious nature of our footing as we walk along precipitous drops, the river a mere careless step away.
After a long ascent, the trail levels off and we hike the last mile or so alongside turquoise colored lakes, three of them in a row. We have met a few trekkers who in one long trip have gone to Kattipur, Everest Base Camp, and Gokyo. All of them agree that Gokyo is the most beautiful, though for some reason it is the least hiked of the three.
Nevertheless, we find Gokyo campsite to be a slum compared to other places we've camped. Our tents are crammed together in a tiny "yard"--a courtyard of stony dirt, so close together that when we crawl out of the front door, the first thing we do is step off a knee-high stone wall. The bathroom outhouse for the entire lodge is 10 feet from our tents, so we hear--and smell--every time someone from the lodge uses it during the night. It is miserably cold as a constant wind blows off the lake.
Dinner consists of--who cares? I force down the soup and try to ignore the aroma of curry when the entree is presented. I may never desire another bite of anything with curry as an ingredient--that is, with the exception of Corn Flax and hot milik.
Then, the worst and longest night of my life!
In the tent around 7:30, I drift off to sleep pretty quickly, but wake up, gasping for air, at 9:30. From then on, every time I fall asleep, I stop breathing! This is one of the more common effects of altitude, and I had a late-morning touch of it yesterday. But tonight it hits full-force and it hits early in the night.
Here's the repeated pattern for the rest of the night: I awake, completely out of breath, like I've just swum the length of the pool underwater. I take several deep gulps of air, then a few "normal" breaths, then drift off to sleep. Maybe 15-20 seconds later, I awake, completely out of breath. John advises me to inhale deeply through my nose, and exhale through my mouth, making a puff when I do. This actually doesn't help relieve the symptom, but is artificial enough to perhaps keep me awake and break the pattern. I count "puffs", and the most I reach is 20, more likely 7, sometimes as few as 3, then I drift off to sleep. A few seconds later, I awake, gasping for air. Each cycle takes maybe a minute. All of this accompanied by the wildest, most horrible dreams/nightmares imaginable. I learn to discern when a thought turns into a dream--as it becomes a dream, it becomes technicolor and more vivid.
This went on for 9 hours--from 9:30 pm until 6:30 am.
For drinking water while hiking I use as a "canteen" an insulated plastic container called a "Camelback". It has a long tube attached to a 3 liter container, so one can sip from it while walking without having to stop, remove one's pack, get a drink, etc. The last thing I did at the end of each day was fill the Camelback with boiling water, so that the next morning I'd have cool water to drink on the trail. Besides, an insulated Camelback converts into an effective and comforting hot water bottle when place inside the sleeping bag!
Around 4:00 am, I reached down inside my bag, found the tube, and took a sip of still lukewarm water. Without realizing it, I detached the tube from the Camelback container. About a minute later, when I awoke from the next round of gasping for air, I discovered the entire 3 liters of water had emptied into my bag, soaking it completely. I mean, wring-water-out in streams soaked.
Did I mention, it was the longest, most difficult night of my life?
posted by Dave Fry | 9:57 AM
<< Home