At the Foot of the Mother Mountain

No matter what the future holds in store, I can say now—out loud, without hesitation—something that, sadly, all too few men and women can ever say: I have lived my dream.

~ Ed Viesturs, No Shortcuts to the Top: Climbing the World’s 14 Highest Peaks

The last thing I wanted to do at 4:30 in the morning was unzip my sleeping bag and face the brutal pre-dawn cold of Lobuche village.  Here at 16,207 feet (4,940 meters), the basic tasks of every day life had become harrowing accomplishments.  Open the sleeping bag and brace for the penetrating cold. Peel off my pajamas and replace them with layers of trekking clothes.  Walk down the hall to use the toilet and brush my teeth. Eat more than three bites of breakfast.  Each mundane task took every ounce of willpower I possessed.

Walk to the foot of Mount Everest.  Would I have enough willpower leftover to see this through?

I must have accomplished most of these tasks, save for the bit about breakfast, because just as the sun was beginning to creep out over the valley, I found myself outside of the teahouse and face to face with a bunch of yaks.  I know I was face to face with a bunch of yaks because I have pictures of it. They’re date stamped, October 14, 2025 and everything.  I don’t remember them. In fact, in my memory, we left the safety of the teahouse under the cover darkness.  In my memory, we walked at least an hour shrouded in night before the sun finally broke over the valley.  Evidence suggests that my memory is wrong.

Here’s what I can say, with relative certainty, actually happened.

We set out from our teahouse in Lobuche around sunrise. The trail was a thin line through the snow, which had been cut by the guides, porters, and trekkers who went before us over the course of the previous week.  A matter of days earlier, people had been hard at work breaking this trail, an effort that I can’t begin to fathom undertaking now that I know what 16,000 feet in the sky actually feels like. 

There was a long line of trekkers in front and back of us, moving slowly.  We passed some groups. Others passed us. We pulled over to give way to the yak trains carrying their heavy loads.

Labored breathing, the ringing of yak and horse bells, and the deafening chop of helicopter propellers harmonized in an endless loop.  I’d grown used to the occasional helicopter flying far overhead over the course of our trek. Now a chopper or two flew low over the valley every ten to twenty minutes. Most of them were carrying sightseers, and I started to recognize a few of the same ones flying by on schedule.  Others were undoubtedly rescuing trekkers who had fallen prey to AMS, an unsettling realization to make as I slowly gained elevation.

The sun crept higher in the sky, and its rays reflected at us from all directions.  I suddenly felt like I was plastered to the surface of a giant frying pan. Where I’d been freezing hours before, I now had to shed layers. 

But the light and the heat jolted my brain back into full consciousness. Suddenly things mattered again. No longer was I just an oxygen-deprived body going through the motions. Now I was awake. I was on my way to Mount Everest.

Pitiably, this reawakening occurred just as we arrived at the base of a hill.  With the memory of yesterday’s taxing hill climbing experience fresh in my mind, I heaved a heavy sigh.  I couldn’t imagine this one would be much better, but as we started up it, I was surprised to find that it wasn’t so hard. Most likely this was due to having to stop every few steps due to the human traffic jam clogging up the slope. For the first time that I can recall, I was glad that there were too many people on the trail.

Little by little, our team crested the top of the hill, and our guide, PG, made the call that it was time to put on our micro spikes. We’d all bought these back in Dingboche after an icy trail stopped us from summiting Nangkartshang. Looking at the icy, downward slope ahead of us, I was beyond grateful to have the spikes. 

We started hiking again, and PG walked up beside me.  With a sweeping gesture to our right he said, “It’s the Khumbu Glacier,” and pointing far into the distance, he added, “and that’s Base Camp.”

The area he was referring to was to the Northeast. It was cradled in the lap of a semicircle of savage mountains, all the way toward the end of a rift of jagged, ever shifting ice that cut through the landscape like the blade of a hacksaw. 

I felt the prickling sensation of goosebumps creeping up my arms.  The Khumbu Glacier was just below me. Base Camp was up ahead, close enough that I could see it. This was what it had all been for, all of the training and the endless days of hiking. It had all been in service of seeing a place that I’ve read about, and dreamt about, and ceaselessly discussed with Vince (who is always a good sport, even if he doesn’t quite share the obsession).  Now that I’d been trekking through the Khumbu for a week, I’d discovered that the journey was so much more than just Base Camp itself.  But damn if it wasn’t exciting to finally be there, and damn if it wasn’t even more beautiful than I’d ever imagined.

A burst of renewed energy propelled me onward until a cluster of blue-roofed buildings came into view. Sitting at 16,942 feet (5,164 meters) above sea level, Gorak Shep was where we’d be spending the night after our trek to Base Camp. For now though, it was where we were stopping for lunch, and to check into our teahouse. We trudged across the length of the little settlement, and stopped at the northernmost teahouse. Kala Patthar, the peak we were scheduled to hike the next morning, was just outside of our doorstep. Behind it Mount Pumori’s pyramid-shaped form stood between us and Tibet.

We checked into the Gorakshep Yeti Resort, and the porters brought our duffel bags up to our rooms. Even walking upstairs to me and Vince’s room was exhausting at this elevation, but I was happy for the opportunity to leave behind some of the warmer layers I’d been wearing early in the morning. There was no sense in carrying unnecessary weight in the afternoon. Back in the dining room, I made another pathetic attempt at eating a meal before it was time to grab our daypacks and get back on the trail.

A helicopter flew low overhead as we set out for our final push to Base Camp. Kala Patthar loomed above us to the left. It was more of a large hill than a peak really, but I looked up at it skeptically, heavily doubtful that I would make it to the top the next morning. I am willing to push through a lot of pain and difficulty for a good hike, but I do know my limits, and my intuition was saying that Kala Patthar was beyond my limits.

The icy trail cut a path through hard snow, running beneath towering peaks on one side, and the Khumbu Glacier on the other.  Gargantuan chunks of ice piled together, punctuated by the occasional pool of stagnant water, opaque with glacial sediment. On the far side of the glacier, Everest’s peak was obscured by her own West Shoulder, and by nearby Nuptse, whose marble-colored ridge looked as though it had been carved by a master sculptor.

To my relief, the hiking wasn’t too difficult. The terrain was as close to flat as it ever gets in the Khumbu.  That is to say, there were some small ups and downs, but on average, the elevation was stable.  This was immensely helpful because even walking on flat land was exhausting at that elevation.

One section of the trail was prone to rock slide, and I did my best to keep up with PG as he hurried underneath it, encouraging us to get through fast to minimize our exposure. My adrenaline spiked as a little torrent of scree rushed over the trail just between me and PG. I stopped just long enough to let the rocks settle, and then rushed through, gasping for air once I exited the danger zone. 

The group’s spirits were high as we inched alongside the glacier, getting ever closer to Base Camp.  Every rest stop was filled with our team’s typical banter and laughter, but at one particular stop, PG grew serious when I jokingly asked him if he thought we would make it. 

“You will,” he ensured me, “just fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes. I hadn’t realized we were that close. A burst of energy, fueled by excitement, carried me onward after that.

The trail rose up to mount an elevated ridge of scree.  The land gave way on either side of the ridge, resulting in a strange illusion where I felt as though I was closer to the high peaks than I actually was. The glacier below us was broken up more often by pools of white water now, which made for dramatic pictures of white ice against a cobalt blue, cloudless sky.

Suddenly, the trail veered off to the right, and the form of a large, strangely shaped boulder could be seen up ahead. The rock was covered in graffiti, and surrounded by people. We’d finally made it to Base Camp at 17,598 feet (5,364 meters).

As we approached the scene, PG congratulated each of us and gave us a hug in turn. I thanked him, feeling a bit dazed. Through all of our training, and all along the trek, there was a large part of me that thought I wouldn’t be able to make it to Base Camp. There were so many factors that were outside of what I could control or predict. I could have gotten too sick to continue, or had a much worse reaction to the altitude, or my tricky knees could have taken me out at any moment.  Our trip could have even been halted by another weather event, or even an earthquake. But none of those things had happened, and every single member of our team had made it!

My spirits soared into the sky and above the mountains. I’d been dreaming of, and planning for this moment for so long, back far beyond the time when Vince and started training for this trip. For me, this journey began as far back as the fifth grade when I wrote a hilariously naive story about me and my ten-year-old friends climbing Mount Everest.  As an adult, I know for certain that I will never climb that mountain.  But standing at her feet felt like the apex of something personally monumental. If everyone has their own Mount Everest, then Everest Base Camp was mine.

After taking a few moments to relish in the accomplishment, the team got in line to get our pictures taken atop the iconic Base Camp boulder. At some point, someone had come with red spray paint and added the words “NO CHOMOLUNGMA” above the standard “EVEREST BASE CAMP” sign.  Of Everest’s three names, Chomolungma is arguably the truest one, as it’s the Sherpa name for the mountain. Translated into English, it means “Mother Goddess of the World.”

Once we’d all gotten our pictures, and taken a few group shots, we wandered off to explore Base Camp a little more.  There were a handful of tents set up for trekkers to camp in, and I was extremely grateful that we hadn’t booked the “camp at Base Camp” version of the trek, an idea I’d briefly considered when I was planning.  Now that we were here, I was very glad that I’d get to sleep in a cold teahouse tonight instead of atop a pile of snow in a tent.

Everyone spent our remaining time at Base Camp posing for more pictures, and we all passed around a “send” beer that Kennedy had packed specifically for this moment. But wispy clouds started to gather over what had been a completely clear sky all day, a signal that it was time to get moving again if we wanted to make it back to Gorak Shep before dark. Reluctantly, I heaved my day pack onto my back, and took my place in line to start trekking. As we left Base Camp, we passed by a few horses who had been brought out so that exhausted trekkers could hire them, and then we were back on the trail.

It didn’t take much walking for my energy level to dip dramatically. The anticipation that carried me to Base Camp was gone, and now I was left with an exhausted body that hadn’t eaten a square meal in three and half days. It was all I could do to keep walking, and every time we stopped to rest, I would collapse onto the nearest rock, too tired to even bother with drinking water at every stop. I put in my best effort to continue to appreciate my surroundings. After all, I was still surrounded by the most beautiful landscape imaginable. and the late afternoon light was making the surrounding ice come to life in a dance of light and shadow.

But by the time we finally stumbled back into Gorak Shep, it was all I could do to drag myself over the threshold of the teahouse and climb the stairs to me and Vince’s room. Once inside, I flopped onto my bed and just laid there, staring at the ceiling as I rode out a wave of bone-crushing exhaustion. I don’t know how long I laid there-long enough that the cold eventually forced me back into action. As I fished my thermals out of my duffel I told Vince, “I’m not doing Kala Patthar tomorrow morning. I can’t.”

Of course, he wanted me to try, but I knew in my gut that it was a bad idea. I’d already spent every reserve I had in my body (later I would learn that I’d lost eight pounds on our ten day trek), and there was simply no way I was getting up in the middle of the night to try to climb another thousand feet higher than the elevation of Base Camp, and then hike all the way back down to Pheriche where we were scheduled to spend the next night. It wasn’t going to work.

It turned out that I wasn’t the only member of the team who felt that way. We all met in the dining room for dinner, and I was elated to see that Sandy had ordered a couple baskets of popcorn for our table. Popcorn is one of my favorite snacks, enough so that I actually managed to eat a bunch of it. I’m sure this would have been very helpful if popcorn had calories. As I stuffed kernels into my mouth, the team discussed Kala Patthar, and it turned out that Vince was the only one who was enthusiastic about giving it a try. Everyone else was either on the fence or totally against it, so we decided as a group to skip it and try to get a bit further downhill than Pheriche the next day.

Now that I had a belly full of popcorn, and the reassurance that I didn’t have to climb anything in the morning, it felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. By the end of the meal, my mood had shifted from morose back to happy and proud of accomplishing such a longstanding dream. Maybe that’s anticlimactic, but I felt that I had accomplished what I’d come here to do, and there was no sense in trying my luck by going any higher. Later, I crawled into my sleeping bag, content that I’d given the day my all, and mentally prepared for three more long days of trekking back down to Lukla.

You can see more details of this amazing destination on my YouTube channel!