Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part VII - Days 16-18)

Day 16

This was a long walk. We began by crossing the pass above Green Lake (Keche La – 4665m) and then began a long and steep descent into the valley of the Pho Chhu. It was not a particularly challenging descent and we came across some villages on our way down including Tega, where we stopped to take in the views of the valley and look at a local Chorten. Across the valley there were hanging valleys and waterfalls cascading down from the plateau above. Below was a sheer gorge with a raging river. It was quite relaxing!

(View into the valley from Tega)

From Tega we descended before coming across a bridge that took us over a waterfall entering the valley. It was loud and a bit wet, but another good place to stop and take in the views. Once we reached the Pho Chhu we came across two of the local girls who were collecting wood. They kindly posed for a photo. It was interesting to see the significantly different clothing they wore compared to the Layaps. We walked along a very rocky trail before climbing up the steep banks (about 20 – 30metres) to the village of Lehdi. It was raining now and there was a cold wind; we were glad to find some shelter in the lee of a hut where we could eat our lunch.

(Some locals near Lhedi)

All that was left was a long walk up the valley to Chozo. In our way we glimpsed the magnificent Kungfu Kung (7100m) as it appeared out of the clouds. This wasn’t a particularly steep walk; however the final climb up the valley through large boulders seemed to take a long time. I think we were all glad to see Chozo when we came around the final corner. The village was bathed in soft sunshine that was spearing in through the clouds. I looked to the east to see Table Mountain, however all I could see was a cascade of cloud tumbling down the west face, the summit and top half of the mountain being obscured. We had a rest day to look forward to and I was not going to waste it!

(Arriving at Chozo)

Day 17

I did very little on this rest day, other than wander around the village. Miriam and I persuaded one of our guides, Ash, to take us to look at the monastery. This was also a fortress, the only one in the Lunana region. It was the only traditional designed Bhutanese monastery we had seen, however we were not able to gain entrance as there was no caretaker around. It is said to be over 600 years old.

Some of the group, only two (perhaps three) went to visit the nearby village of Thanza, somewhat closer to the base of Table Mountain. Now…Table Mountain. This is an awesome piece of rock; there is no other way to describe it. It rises some 3km from the valley floor to its flat summit (approximately 7100m). The summit stretches for kilometres and has a cornice of snow on top that must be a couple of hundred metres thick. It dominates the view east from Chozo with its seemingly vertical west face. Simply magnificent!

(Table Mountain)

The locals came to visit camp and chat as best they could with us. The lad with the big purple hat was a standout among the locals! There was also a house blessing going behind the camp, so there was an opportunity to visit and experience this ceremony. I felt (rightly or wrongly) that I would be intruding so stayed at the camp.

I could have spent the whole day just staring at it, but I had washing to do and lunch to eat, as well as morning and afternoon tea etc. One of the guides showed me the route we would be taking the next day up on to the Lunana plateau. It didn’t look too bad. I ended up thinking that it was a good time to have a rest day.

Day 18

After a chilly start to the morning we crossed a short bridge over the Pho Chhu and began the long climb up to the Lunana Plateau. By golly it was tough! Even the yaks were puffing and panting when they finally caught us and left us behind. We climbed up over 1000 metres to Sintia La, and it took me about 5 hours. We stopped for lunch on some rocky outcrops not far beneath the final pass. Up here there were small glaciers coming down from the craggy plateau edge and a view back towards Table Mountain and Kungfu Kung that was ample reward for the hard work. We were even rewarded with a spectacular avalanche on Table Mountain. We had heard the rumbling of a few avalanches in the morning; however we only saw this one.

(Avalanche on Table Mountain)

Once we reached the plateau we came a across a beautiful, if barren, landscape. It was rocky and framed by snow-capped peaks, with small lakes and streams cutting through the rocks. There were more of the strange alpine plants unique to this part of the world, and we were blessed with clear, crisp weather. While our path was reasonably easy, off to the east were large craggy peaks beside deep valleys that had been incised into the plateau. We strolled with comparative ease across this landscape but the altitude did eventually start to tell. We were staying up at about 5000 metres for two days. By the end of the day, the campsite at Tsho Chena could not come soon enough.

(On the plateau)

Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part VI - Days 13-15)

Day 13

After a windy night we awoke to a cloudy day that proved to be a poor photo day. We climbed up to a valley that was quite open and it was here that we saw some of the rheum nobile – a cylindrical plant that was either red or yellow. It’s a strange plant and I am sorry to say that none of my attempts to capture it on film were successful due to the light (or perhaps my ability with a camera?). Another steep climb followed and we got tantalising glimpses of a big mountain high up in the clouds. A lot of the day involved climbing over moraine and rocks and it proved to be reasonably challenging. By this time we were at about 4900 metres. It was cold and I looked forward to having dinner and then climbing into my sleeping bag.

(Our yaks and yak herders appearing through the mist)

Day 14

I awoke on Day 14 of the trek aware that the tent felt rather warmer than it probably should, given that it was snowing when we went to bed the previous night. As I managed to focus my eyes I could see shadows on the side of the tent. At the same time as I touched them they moved with a ‘sssshhhhh’ sound as the snow slid down towards the ground. A cursory look outside the tent revealed a white landscape that was gloomy under the blanket of a thick mist.



After we had breakfast the mist lifted and we were treated to a magnificent view down the valley with the sun casting a soft light on the snow. We could see for miles. Many miles. There were peaks stretching off in the distance as we looked west towards Nepal. Opposite was Gangla Karchang, a magnificent, sheer rock that reached up to 6300 metres. It was difficult to understand that it was over a kilometre higher then we were – it seemed almost close enough to reach out and touch. The scale of the landscape was very deceptive.

It was a short climb up to the pass (5020 metres) during which time magnificent, if small, glaciers were visible, along with the seasonal deposition lines in the snow. After crossing Karakachu La we began a long descent. Very early on I was able to catch an avalanche on film. This morning was one of the most spectacular on the whole trek. The clear sky and crisp morning snow made the thin air much less tiring, and the view from the pass was awe-inspiring with 7000 metre peaks marking the border with Tibet. Below the peaks was a precipitous valley some 3km lower. These views made the 1000 metre steep climb down from the pass into the valley more seem easier than it actually was. There were plenty of opportunities to stop and admire the view and the rhododendrons.

(On the way up to Karakachu La)

(View from Karakachu La)

(Avalanche on way down from Karakachu La)

Once we reached the valley floor it was a three-hour walk along the flat valley floor to the camp. However, because we had spent so long talking to our Bhutanese guide, Sonam, about the flora of the area, we ended up reaching the camp in the dark using torches. It has been a hard day, but the views were easily the best yet and made the effort seem a small price to pay to see them.

Day 15

We started today walking through the bottom of a glaciated valley that had many large boulders strewn along its length. The river, Tarina Chuu gurgled happily beside us, making the walk rather pleasant, although there were some rather muddy patches.

(The Tarina Chu)

We then began a long climb up towards the village of Woche. This was, as usual, quite demanding and took up until lunchtime. At Woche we lay on the grass and had lunch in the afternoon sun, and watched the locals at work preparing their wheat. It was quite idyllic, however we did need to move on to the next camp.

(Kids at Woche)

We left the village and crossed a large moraine deposit which involved many short, steep climbs before we got to cross the Woche Chuu. As we came down towards the bridge one of our yaks fell in the raging torrents (it’s a reasonably wide river) and we watched as the yak herders kept their heads and managed to guide it back on to the shore. If we had lost the yak, we would have lost everything attached to it for good. However, I’m sure the yak was even more please than we were with its survival!

Just to finish off the day, then came to a very steep climb up to our campsite. It was at least 50-70 metres and proved to be a real effort. Just what we needed. The camp was right next to Green Lake and gave us a great view of Kangphu Kang (7200m) to the north. The lake was indeed green and provided a much-appreciated place to stop for the night.

Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part V - Days 10-12)

Finally got around to the next installment of the Snowman Trek. Read for days 10-12.

Day 10

Only a half-day walk today. Four hours and only sixty metres of climbing and we would be in Laya. As in all cases when the day promises to be easy, it is always just that little bit harder than expected. Nonetheless after leaving camp and walking along an undulating path with lots of short, sharp climbs and descents, we came over a ridge and found ourselves on a plateau and only a few minutes walk from the village of Laya. Having flat ground was a bit of a novelty, as was a collection of houses greater than a handful.

(Arriving in Laya)

After finding our campsite, having a hot lunch in one of the houses (adorned with a very clear picture of a penis – apparently a holy man came through Bhutan a few hundred years ago and his teachings included putting such paintings on houses protected their occupants from bad luck and evil spirits) and spending some time watching the locals go about their business sorting the grain and wheat, it was time to do the usual chores that come with time at a campsite – generally washing and dying clothes. There were also a couple of shops that became apparent after some looking around.

(Layan Lady)

Our leader had thought that, as we were all travelling well, we could ignore the scheduled rest day and keep on moving the next day and give ourselves an extra day ‘in the bank’ in case of trouble later on in the trek. However, our change of yaks had not yet arrived and would not be arriving until late tomorrow. So could relax and rest instead.

(Typical Bhutanese architecture in Laya)

Day11 (Rest Day)

So, what do you do for a day in Laya? There were some shops to go and explore, there were view aplenty to sit and gaze at for a while, and there were hours to snooze and regain some of the energy that had been lost on the previous leg of the trek. Some of the guys visited the local school and had a good time talking with the teachers and children.

One of our crew livened up proceedings by finding a plank of wood and fashioning a cricket bat. We made a ball out of whatever we could find – lots of tape, and then the game was on. Cricket at 3900 metres! A good indication that I was over the altitude effects was that I could run around now and my headache had gone. We played around for an hour or so, repairing the bat when necessary, and providing some entertainment for the locals.

That evening we were treated to some traditional local dances and some local Black Mountain whisky. We partied on into the night, even getting up and trying to learn the dances, which were not that difficult, although some found them more challenging than others. I was happy that we had had a rest day. I felt refreshed and ready to tackle the next leg.

(The author drives through the covers in Laya - photo courtesy of my wife Miriam)

Day 12

Today we started going down; all the way down below 3300 metres. This was cruel, because we then had climb back up to 4200 metres. Once we had reached the bottom of the valley and crossed the Mo Chhu, we then began a long 100 metre climb back up to our camp for the evening.

This was a long climb up to Rodophu. At the start we made our way through often muddy and rocky forests with sharp, steep turns that provided very few places where we could move out of the way of our yaks when it was time to let them past. Like many other days, the yak’s passage gave us an opportunity to rest for a while. This was a seven-hour climb and it was relentless, particularly where there were high rock steps to climb up. The landslides were also interesting; they gave us an opportunity to look right down the precipitous slopes to the valley below.

On the bright side we saw yet more rhododendrons and pine trees, and the forest sheltered us from direct sunlight during the morning. It became cloudy later in the day, and rained a little bit. While we were still in the valley there were plenty of waterfalls coming down from the clouds above. We arrived at camp fairly late in the day and were happy to rest our feet. We were treated to a old hit, which sheltered us during dinner from the cold wind that was blowing in the evening. Well, partially sheltered us as there were no windows in the hut, but it was nice to sit inside. We did, of course, sleep in our tents. Tomorrow we would climb yet again to our highest camp to date, at just below 5000 metres.

(The camp at Rodophu)

Philosophy: Patience really is a good thing!

Patience is a virtue. This is an often quoted sentence and one which appears to be becoming increasingly ignored.

The ever accelerating nature of society and its desire for instant gratification has led to a widespread attitude that everything must be had now. If we can’t have it now, then we have to go and look for something else that is instantly available. Then, once we have whatever it is we obtained, be it either an object or an achievement, we are then immediately looking for the next step rather than enjoying or appreciating what we have.

The rate at which modern society loses interest in new things, on both an individual and societal basis, shows that not only are we losing patience but also that boredom is the result of this loss. Life has become more focused on achievement rather than the journey to achievement. This leaves people in a constant state of stress – unable to relax because there is always another goal which must be attained.

And what is boredom really? I can understand being a little bit bored at work when a job is not stimulating, but there is no excuse for boredom at home. Boredom at home is surely just a sign of a lack of imagination, and probably the reason why so many sit transfixed by the gogglebox as it spews tripe at them. But I digress.

A little bit of patience brings relief from stress and can also bring a far greater reward than the endless treadmill of goal-oriented high achievement. The patience to sit in front of a painting at an art gallery and marvel at the intricate brushwork and the imagination and the talent of the painter to produce such a dynamic picture brings an affirmation that we, as humans, have an immense amount of talent stored away if we could only access it. It may have taken the painter months or even years to produce the work. It would have been unachievable without a good store of patience. The same can be said of authors, architects (at least those who genuinely want to create, rather than build a box!) and many other creative people. Accessing this talent is usually the problem, sometimes because people may grow up being told they have no talent, but also when people don’t have the patience or imagination to try new things. How do you know if you can paint or not unless you try? One of my lost opportunities is drawing; I know I can draw because on one, and only one, occasion I drew a walking boot in incredible detail, but I haven’t had the patience to it again. It did, however, help me get rid of the notion that I couldn’t say I couldn’t do something unless I had first tried it.

However, perhaps the most important use of patience is to take time to learn about ourselves as individuals. There are so many messages being thrown at us every day verbally, visually or subliminally, that it is difficult to sort out what we want as individuals from what we are being told we should want by other interested parties. These include private companies, advertising firms, our employers, our families, government and many more. It is like trying to see the night sky through a telescope in the middle of a city. The stars are visible, but without seeing what the night sky is like without all the light interference from an urban area, we are unaware of how magnificent it really is.

It takes a significant amount of patience to sit and learn about yourself. Some people never find this patience and go through life in cascade of ever-changing values dependent on the latest expectations others have of them. This patience might be thought of as meditation, but I do not necessarily agree with that interpretation as patience and self-knowledge are not necessarily about spirituality. The application of patience in life provides a long-lasting benefit. It allows us to spend time thinking about what we really want, not what society and/or mass marketers are telling us we should want. Once we know this, our decision-making processes become a lot less conflicted.

Patience allows unhurried and clear assessment of options and of opportunities. It is also a shield from over stimulation and a way in which life can be simplified and made far more enjoyable. It clears the fog that is advertising and spin and allows contemplation of what is on offer. This doesn’t necessarily mean that there needs to be certainty of outcome, far from it, but it does mean that if the future is clouded, this fact is accepted and doesn’t cause unnecessary stress. Patience will assist in bringing calm until the haze clears.

Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part IV - Days 7-9)

Day 7

After spending a night trying to sleep while the local dog population was intent on running riot through and around Chebise, we had a quick breakfast and then began our walking. We headed up towards the next pass – Gombu La. This was a very steep 450 metre climb up to the ridge on which the pass was located. The views back towards the mountains (Jichu Drake (6850m) and Tsheri Kang (6532m)) were magnificent, and made up for the burning feeling in my lungs and legs. I was even able to laugh when I left taking my picture of this view a little too late and had to put up with clouds obscuring the two peaks.

Looking back towards Jichu Drake (obscured by cloud)

The landscape up here was that of grasslands, probably inhabited by small mammals judging by the small burrows we came across. There were bound to be some birds of prey eyeing up these mountainsides looking for the merest hint of movement that would show them where their next meal might be. I didn’t see any, but others did.

It didn’t take more than about two hours to get to the pass, and then we began descending through forests of rhododendrons. As we walked down to lower altitudes we entered a forest of fir and larch trees that was full of autumn colours. Reds, oranges and yellows combined with the dark greens to make a wonderful sight. We stopped for lunch at a yak-herders shelter and enjoyed the opportunity to sit down and rest for a while.

On our way down we could see steep cliffs and gullies on either side of the valley. There were waterfalls cascading down from the cloud above that obscured their origin. The descent took some time and we eventually reached a braided river that we had to cross to get to our campsite on the other side. After a few hops and jumps we could sit down with a cup of tea and reflect on the successful completion of the first week of the trek.


Day 8

Yet another great breakfast to start the morning. Our cook once again excelled himself, filling us up with enough fuel for the day. I wish I could remember his name. I wrote them all down and now can’t find them.

This was a very hard day. We climbed up to over 4700 metres to Jare La in the morning. This was a climb of over 750 metres and it certainly felt like it. Being quite steep and with the cloud being low, we didn’t really know how far we had to go as we trudged on ever upwards. However, once we reached the pass, we were greeted with the smell of Sandalwood which reinvigorated us to some extent. We had a short stop here before we carried on and walked down through a beautiful, wet but treacherous forest. There were lots of sharp corners and the occasional slippery rock, but in between this there were some great views of the valley into which were going. The descent seemed to take a long time and was hard on our legs.

Once down into the valley we were able to relax a bit, and once we’d crossed a makeshift bridge we were on a flat valley floor. In the distance we could see a traditional black yak herder’s tent made of woven yak fur. I tried to get a photo, but it didn’t turn out very well, and we were keen to get to our camp for the night so we didn’t venture of the track too far.

To round the day off, we had a short but steep climb up to a flat campsite on a wide grassy plateau on the side of the valley. By this time I was looking forward to the traditional cup of tea and nibbles at the end of the day and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow we were going to do our first 5000 metre pass; the crew filled us up with carbohydrates for dinner!

Day 9

Oh dear…this was a hard day. I wouldn’t usually swear, but - f***! Over 800 metres of climbing in the morning, and it was a rainy and grey experience. There are no pictures of this climb because I was tired, and it didn’t seem worth the effort to take pictures on such a dull day. And it was also quite slippery in many places.

Glacial lake and scour

There were no great views from the top; however the rain did ease once we made it over Sinche La (5005 metres) to the other side. Even though it was tough, it was sobering to see a member of another expedition being carried up the mountain on horse-back, clearly suffering from altitude sickness. The Bhutanese guide, Sangey, was genuinely worried about him. He made it over and down the other side, and on to the end of the trip, but this must have been a very bad day for him. It was good to see Sangey again, he had been our guide on a previous short trek in Bhutan, and he still had his sense of humour and mischief.

Coming down the mountain we had great views of the valley ahead, another classic glaciated U-shape with steep sides and scree-slopes. Further down we came across further evidence of glaciation - a scoured mountainside and glacial lake being retained by a terminal moraine. As walkers would know, after a long hard climb your legs can be a bit wobbly on the descent, so we found a good spot to sit and appreciate the view. There were yet more rhododendrons and fir trees on the steep hillsides which our path clung to.

On the way down from Sinche La

We carried on mainly down hill in the afternoon and camped in some sandy soil by a river. The next day promised a short walk to the village of Laya, and then we would change yaks and move on towards Chozo and the Lunana region.

The Future of 20/20 Cricket – Can it, or should it, replace One-day Internationals?

The 20/20 game is becoming increasingly popular in both the domestic and international arena, and this provides a much needed opportunity to address the ever tightening schedules faced by international teams.

Closer inspection of this phenomena shows that in the near future it may well out-perform one-day internationals in terms of financial returns and crowd numbers. This format provides excitement in the form of big-hitting and the likelihood of a large number of wickets in a short period of time. It also attracts large numbers of people.

In addition to this, holding 50-over matches in a day-night format has proven the benefits of having evening cricket where people can come after work. The logical extension of this is that a match is played in its entirety in the evening or for that matter on a Sunday afternoon. People can go and do other things that day as well as attend the cricket. On a workday, this is extremely beneficial for crowd numbers. It also attracts those who like their cricket but perhaps not enough to spend a whole day at a ground. And let’s not forget that, particularly here in Australia, people may not be enticed by the prospect of sitting in 35º C in full sun. Sitting under lights in the cool of the evening is likely to be a more attractive option. The huge success of the 20/20 World Cup is indicative of the potential of this game.

At this point I have to point out that I am a ‘traditionalist’ where cricket is concerned. Test matches are the pinnacle of international cricket, and that four-day games are the pinnacle for domestic players. I regularly go to the WACA to watch at least two days of the test match, however one-day cricket has never held the same attraction for me and I sometimes struggle to motivate myself to go. It is also a relative newcomer, having only been on the international stage since 1970. Having said that, I do acknowledge that there is a need to cater for shorter attention spans and a desire for more action and entertainment in the game.

I also acknowledge that one-day cricket has been instrumental in changing test match cricket for the better, leading to some of the best test cricket I have seen in recent years. However, the growing number of meaningless one-day tournaments that clog up the cricketing calendar are fast making this form of the game a burden rather than a benefit, a fact that is increasingly being commented on in the media by both players and spectators. Add to this the fact that one-day cricket is becoming very formulaic, with the middle 25 overs often being fairly tedious as fields go back and good shots fail to reap the value they deserve, and it could be argued that it is time for a change.

So let’s challenge the status quo! The 20/20 game provides a way to address this schedule for international teams if it substantially replaces the one-day game as the second string to a tour. Is this too radical? It’s certainly no more radical than when the one-day game first came into the spotlight. The reality is that people now want to live their lives at a faster pace, and the 20/20 game caters for this need while at the same time providing a great marketing opportunity.

Perhaps the way to go is to reduce the number of one-day internationals (perhaps a maximum of five) and play five 20/20 matches during a tour. After all, who remembers which team wins the one-day tournaments each year, and here in Australia, who can remember the third team that takes part? We do, however, remember who played the test matches and who won that series, because it is these matches that are the true test of cricketing skill.

So let’s do away with these meaningless one-day tournaments and get more people through the turnstiles to watch 20/20. They’ll have their fill of big-hitting, excellent fielding, and exciting finishes. They can see the whole match in three hours and fit it into their tight schedules. 20/20 provides a convenient way to maintain the financial health of the game, while at the same time reducing the match time of the players and ensuring that the game is marketed to a broad section of the population. The only true test of a nations cricketers is a Test match, so who really cares what the form the shorter matches take?

Current Affiars: Rescuing round-the-world sailors is well worth the cost.

The rescue of another yachtsmen, Yann Elies, competing in the Vendee Globe round-the-world race has once again reached the headlines, with some uncharitable commentators highlighting the so-called ‘cost’.

Those, particularly in Australia, that criticise the cost of such activities should bear in mind that many would not be living where they are today unless someone with an adventurous sprit had not boarded a boat and sailed into the wide blue yonder. While a comfortable and sedate experience is what many people long for, the human race would stagnate without those who try to push the boundaries in all sorts of fields and endeavours. There are indigenous races that may rue this adventurous sprit, and one cannot begrudge them this opinion, but exploration and competition appear to run in the blood of much of the human race.

Those that wish for the quiet life have every right to seek that experience, but they should not begrudge assistance to those who seek more active and physically challenging experiences. Just as some follow the suburban dream and conventional career paths, other dream of sailing the ocean or climbing mountains, or perhaps even going into space.

And as for the cost? Bean-counters use figures suggesting in excess of one million dollars, but is this real? Are the navy sailors not paid irrespective of whether they are at sea? Perhaps they get paid more at sea, but how much more? Is the fuel not going to be used at some point or another in the year? If not this voyage, then another. So what is the real cost of this rescue that wouldn’t otherwise be expended? I would hazard a guess that it is much less than the figures quoted.

I applaud those who still find ways in which to be adventurous and challenge the elements. They remind us that humans are a curious and dynamic animal that seeks out new experiences. We need to keep climbing mountains, sailing the oceans, exploring deep caves, the sea floor and the deserts. The alternative is that we become a risk-averse race that crawls along, afraid to take chances and nervous of challenges. Why should everyone be chained to their job? Why criticise those who choose to push the limits? In the long-run, their spirit of adventure benefits all of us, shows that the world can still be a wild and wonderful place, and reminds many of us of the origin of the cities where we live today.

Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part III, Days 4-6)

Day 4 (Rest day)

It was time to spend a day acclimatising to the altitude, but what do you do on a rest day?

Jangothang provided a magnificently scenic place where we consider what to do. The enthusiastic went off visit a nearby mountain lake, while the rest, including Miriam and I, decided that a day of rest and relaxation would be more appropriate. And besides, my dull headache. The previous night I had woken up with a thumping headache that I needed to treat with some painkillers. They had dulled the ache but I had not had a great night’s sleep even though I had kept my head elevated to try to prevent the build-up of fluid on the brain. I had been expecting a headache, but I never been at this altitude for a prolonged period of time and it had been much worse than I had expected.

(The domestic chores of a rest day)

The thing about this headache was that, if it did not improve or got worse, it could keep me from carrying on with the trek. It would be for my own health and safety, but the thought was still disquieting. The next day was the first high pass (4890 metres), after which there would be no way to walk out of the trek route without going over another high pass. And there was no way Sumit would let me do it if I hadn’t improved. He had started me on Diamox by now, which would help keep the fluid build-up as low as possible. Every year people die because they don’t properly recognise or deal with the symptoms of altitude sickness, so to have an experienced guide is something I would highly recommend. While we didn’t know it until we had completed the trek, a group walking a couple of days behind us, lost one of their number two days further on from Jangothang. It was a sobering message and made us appreciate the fact that we all made it through safely.

However, on our day of rest and acclimatization, the sun was shining and my headache was reasonably mild. The majestic peak of Jhomolhari towered above the campsite, its snow-covered flanks and peak glistening in the morning sun. It really is a magnificent peak. I spent most of the morning sitting in a chair doing a bit of reading and periodically becoming entranced by the mountain and spending what was probably hours just staring at it, watching clouds brush across the snow and listening to the distant sound of unseen avalanches. Jhomolhari is one of the mot sacred peaks in Bhutan, and at 7300 metres one of the highest. Nobody is allowed to climb it from the Bhutanese side, or any other mountain in excess of 6000 metres for that matter. I think this is a good thing. To leave some mystery in the world only makes it a more interesting place!

To make the day enjoyable, the crew had decided to make deep-fried sandwiches for a morning treat, and despite my raised cholesterol levels, I felt that I had to sample at least on of these culinary masterpieces. This was one of the first clues that our cook was going to excel on this trek. The group members who went wandering came back in the early afternoon, and I decided to explore the Jangothang site.

In addition to the stupendous views, there are also ruins of another 17th century fortress at this site. This one was adorned with many prayer flags, giving the scenery some colour and giving the ruins a festive feel. Like Drugyel Dzong, this fort is a relic of when the Bhutanese were defending their valleys against incursions from Tibet. We were to come across more on this trek; most just collections of stones that were crumbling, or just a distant jumble of rocks.

The rest day was over all too soon and we were all soon sitting around our trestle-table watching a feast of carbohydrates being brought out for us. We soon realised that this was a sign that the next day might be a tough one. Due to a camera malfunction that cost me a roll of film, I have no photos of the stunning Jhomolhari on the rest day...but take my word for it - it was magnificent! Below is the best I can do!

Day 5

That night I awoke with a splitting headache at about midnight and quickly accessed the painkillers I had brought for just an occasion. I had very little sleep for the rest of the night, but woke, with much relief, with no real headache a Diamox to take before breakfast.

So this was the day when we were going to climb our first high pass, Ngile La, which rises to 4885 metres. The day began with a gentle walk up the valley before we turned east and began the long climb up to the pass. The day was cloudy and this meant that we didn’t get to see the summit Jichu Drake, one of the more spectacular mountains in the region, however it did keep us cool. The trail soon turned very steep indeed. I was at the back of the group already feeling the pace, and wandering if all that training had been for nothing (I had been doing runs up to 20km long as part of my preparation).

It soon became a matter of putting one foot in front of the other and accepting that there simply is not the same amount of oxygen in the air up at this altitude. It was time to take things easy and it provided many opportunities to stop and admire the view back down the valley to our campsite. The previous night’s snowfall on the surrounding peaks added to the vista.

About two hours into the climb, it became a matter of setting myself into a rhythm and keeping going. My legs were feeling the 800 metre climb, and while I didn’t feel out of breath in any way, I could feel the tiredness coming on, along with a dull headache. After a short break we reached what looked like a flatter section, perhaps we were nearing the top.

However, when we turned the corner we were met with another climb that promised to tax us even further. At the valley’s head were snowy peaks, and between them, a saddle which promised to be the pass. Miriam, Sheila, and I put our heads down and trudged onwards and upwards. This was not so steep as the initial climb, but after that steep early section, together with my body rebelling against the lack of oxygen, it felt just as tough, if not more so. By this time we had probably climbed about 400-500 metres, only another 300 to go!

(View back toward Jangothang)

Approximately 3 hours in and I was wondering why I was not still sitting back at the camp with a deep-fried sandwich! Of course, they’d packed up by then and I could see the loaded yaks coming up the mountain some distance behind me, catching me up if I was any judge. The pass looked close now, but one of the crew, who sauntered past me with incredible ease, told me that it was probably at least an hour away at my pace. To make me feel better he told me that our leader was with two people even further behind than us. It gave me a sort of perverse pleasure to know that someone was suffering more than me. Terrible, I know, but I blame it on my oxygen-starved mind.

Eventually the pass came into sight, marked by the multi-coloured prayer-flags that were fluttering in the considerable, and cold, breeze. Howling gale would be a more appropriate description. By now I was carrying a couple of lead weights in each of my legs and could not manage more than a few dozen steps at a time, small steps I might add, even with the pass so tantalisingly close.

With only about fifty metres of climbing to go, I was reduced to counting twenty steps at a time and stopping for a breather, but even this proved too much, and with the prayer-flags within spitting distance, I was reduced to ten steps at a time. I hoped to god that all the passes were not going to be like this because I had ten more to go on the trek after this one.

The freezing gale helped propel me up the last few metres and all of a sudden I was on a gentle downhill slope. My legs, still with their lead attachments, carried my down far enough to sit out of the wind, and gaze across the bleak, but magnificent, landscape that lay before me. The dry landscape was framed by the mountain peaks that lined the horizon beneath a broken layer of cloud. Miriam took some photos, but I just felt awful and didn't worry.

Once I had sat down, we thought about having some lunch, although I must admit that I wasn’t feeling that hungry. After Sumit caught us, he headed on to catch up with the rest of the group, telling us that Margo and Neil were not far behind. This was one of the most enjoyable rests that I had on the whole trek, and I was pretty reluctant to get up again, but we still had a few hours walking to go before we reached our camp near Lingshi.

The descent started well enough, my body rejoicing in the downhill gradient, however, after about two hours, the physical toll of my fist real climb stated to have an effect, and I could feel my legs going weak at the knees. The descent took us down into some lovely forests, but I was far too tired to take much notice, only concentrating on putting one foot in front of other and watching out for treacherous parts of the track.

After about four hours I was wondering if the day would ever end, and looking up in hope every time we came around a corner with new view of the valley below to see if our tents were in sight. The descent turned into a bit of a blur as I fought my way through the fatigue. Thankfully at four-thirty, we saw our tents, but this was just a tease! We still had to clamber down a steep and rocky slope, making way for yaks at the same time as they passed us on the way the camp. After another forty minutes of fatigued walking, we finally reached the camp and I don’t think I could even manage a smile as I sat on a log. Miriam was kind enough to lay out my sleeping bag in the tent and I gratefully lay down, only lifting my head to talk to Sumit when he came by to see how I was feeling – bloody awful!

However, after two hours of lying down, and a cup of tea and some chocolate, I was feeling a lot my like myself again. I managed to get up to have dinner, and another dose of Diamox. As I sat and ate my daily intake of carbohydrates with some vegetables, I fervently hoped that I was over the worst of it. Thankfully it was. I slept like a log that night.

Day 6

I awoke feeling 100% better than the previous day. We started with a short but hard climb up to the Lingshi Dzong, guarding the Lingshi pass that crosses into Tibet to the north. The view from this place are fantastic, with the rugged mountains stretching in all directions. The dzong here is also a centre for traditional medicine, and there were many herbs drying in the sun. Inside the dzong there were some relics of the colonial influence, with some old firearms on the walls from that era. We left a donation, spent some time looking around the old building, and then made our along the track towards Chebise.

We walked along a track carved into the steep mountainsides and up to a mid-level pass. It was a steep climb up to what was more of a ridge than a pass, but nothing like the previous day. The views were, as usual, fantastic. We then made our way along more paths down to the village of Goyok, where we stopped for lunch. It was a great stew (probably mutton or yak) and we ate in the courtyard of one of the houses, sitting among the various drying meats and greenery. The view coming down into Goyok is one of the best of the trek, with the village sitting in a narrow valley, surrounded by sheer rock faces.

(View coming in Goyok)

Above the village is one of the oldest monasteries in Bhutan, Goed Dzong, built in the 16th century as far as I could tell from our guide. Like many of the dzongs, it has been renovated through work by the local villagers. It sits carved into the mountainside, however we did not visit it.

We carried on towards Chebise, walking on paths that clung to steep mountainsides, promising a long fall if one of the many landslides that we clambered over decided to move at any time. Chebise provided a welcome campsite, and a view towards the waterfall at the head of the valley. I felt good now, still taking the Diamox, but no headaches any more. I was adjusting to the altitude, but I continued taking the drug until we reached Laya, the mid-point of the trek.

(view towards Chebise)

Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part II - days 1-3)

Day 1

The official start of the Snowman Trek was in the shadow of the overgrown Drugyel Dzong, an old 17th century fort that now looks somewhat time-weary. It was a humid day; the monsoon had decided to linger later than usual. It gave the sun some extra bite, the humid air magnifying the intensity. I began the trek with a leaky bladder, and I hasten to add that I am talking about my water carrier in my pack, which promised to cause me much hassle if I was not careful. I hurriedly acquired a few 1.5 litre plastic water bottles to make sure I was properly equipped. They lasted the whole trip too!

(Drugyel Dzong)

In the warm, humid air, we began strolling along the lush valley, passing a holy man burning something with an interesting smell. Then we got into the mud. It would not usually be this muddy but for the late monsoon. The rocks were covered in slippery mud, and where there were no rocks, the mud sucked at our boots. It made for a very tough first day, an energy-sapping day where the hours merged into one long endurance test making the customary hard first day, harder than expected.

Stopping at the Gunitswa Army Camp to have our trekking permits checked, provided a good excuse top stop and sit down on a bench for a while and admire the surrounding mountains. By the time we reached the campsite (Shana), it was getting towards evening and nearing twilight. It was a pleasant campsite, with the Paro River gushing past and providing a foreground to traditional farmhouse illuminated by the soft evening sun. At 2890 metres, nobody was suffering from the altitude in any significant way. I slept well that night.

(Paro River at Shana)

Day 2

Our intrepid leader, Sumit, had informed us on the previous evening that the second day was going to be full of ups and downs, and that we would be climbing over 600 metres in altitude. In reality, we would probably be climbing more than 1400 metres once all the ups and downs were completed. It was on this day that people started to feel the effects of the thinner air as we went higher. There were some pale faces on the trail, and we came across one person vomiting as a result of the effects. At this altitude, it isn’t usually too serious, but there were people were in some distress. Neither Miriam nor I were suffering anything more than a bit of breathlessness from the reduced oxygen, at this stage.

This was a bit of an endurance test, and although we went slowly, it remained tough all day, as our bodies protested at the altitude. There was, thankfully, less mud on this day, and we visited a small settlement where the locals treated us to some stew for lunch. It was a pleasant surprise and a respite from never-ending trail. It was no more than three houses in a high and remote valley, but it was a place to sit and take the weight off our feet, and have some yak meat (probably) and fresh vegetables.

Our pack horses passed us relatively early in the day, carrying our gear to the next campsite. We would get used to getting off the narrow trail to them pass, and look forward to the chance to sit down for five minutes every now and then, particularly in the steep mountain sections.

Following lunch, we entered birch and larch forests and would soon come across the rhododendrons. Bhutan has almost fifty species of rhododendrons and often has perfume companies come to extract scents to work on. You could say it is the national plant of Bhutan…but then again, maybe not! There are also hundreds of species of orchids. The rhododendrons are used for domestic uses including traditional medicine, incense, and woodcarving.

As we climbed higher, each hill became harder and I began to wonder exactly how far ahead the camp lay. As the day wore on, we trudged through steep-sided valley that took sunlight away early in the evening. Shadows from the surrounding peaks crept across the path, increasing the gloom. This effect was magnified when walking through dense forest, making it important to watch the ground carefully so that we didn’t turn an ankle on the one of the numerous rocks. We spent some time wondering whether we would make camp before dark. We did, but only just.

On the way we came across a large chorten festooned with prayer-flags. A fellow traveler (Margie, I think) saw our fatigued expressions, and told us to look up and to the left. Our fatigue faded away as the summit of Jhomolhari towered up in the distance, its snow-covered peak glistening in the evening sun. It was a magical sight; we were close to the snow. The view and moment are still etched into my memory.

(Jhomolhari at sunset)

In another half an hour we were at the campsite (Soi Thangthanka) and gratefully sitting down with a cup of tea. We had covered 22km in about ten hours and were now at 3800 metres. That night I got my first altitude headache of the trek, but I still managed a reasonable night’s sleep. It was hard not to sleep after that day.

Day 3

A dull throbbing headache greeted me on the morning of the third day. My body was keen to tell that I was at altitude. This didn’t surprise me, as the only other time I had been up to this height (also in Bhutan) I had suffered the same headache. Being an optimistic type, I thought that a little bit of walking would sort it out.

Cloud shrouded the surrounding peaks, as we had a quick breakfast and then headed off onwards and upwards. We passed through some small collections of houses, somewhat optimistically called villages in the trip notes I have subsequently read. For me this day was one of dull headaches and other than that, it was uneventful. The trail followed the Paro River We climbed almost five hundred metres before reaching Jangothang, at 4100 metres (also called Jhomolhari base camp, although it is no longer possible to climb this mountain, at least from the Bhutanese side). We had climbed about 1800 metres in the last three days and I was certainly looking forward to the rest day.

Philosophy: Are you an optimist of pessimist? There is no middle ground.

I am an unashamed optimist. I generally see the possibility of a positive outcome, in fact I tend to think of it as the most likely outcome. I am sometimes proven wrong! I find pessimism difficult to understand, however I think it plays an important part in a successful society. Just don’t try to mask it by calling it realism. Realism suggests an ability to predict the future, an almost god-like quality.

It is my belief that there is no such things as a realist, because the reality of a future event is unknown, and only becomes apparent after the event has occurred, no matter how easy or difficult it is to predict the result . Prior to this there is only conjecture about what will occur, and all conjecture has a bias towards pessimism or optimism depending on the outlook of the individual concerned.

Pessimists are generally acknowledged to have a bias towards less than satisfactory outcomes, a negative view of the future. Optimists have the opposite outlook. Pessimists might not necessarily believe a bad outcome will result, but given a choice of potential outcomes they are likely to choose the one that is less positive. Optimists will choose to believe that the better outcome will occur. Pessimists may see the downside of a current situation, while optimists choose to focus on the positive aspects. The classic example being the glass half-full or half-empty conundrum.

Optimists are dreamers. They see positive outcomes in the most dire of situations. They will confidently march into the dark with a sunny outlook to cast some light, taking setbacks as mere speedbumps on the way to the good outcome that lies somewhere ahead. Of course I’m sure the officer overseeing the charge of the Light Brigade was also an optimist, probably verging on the insane type, as were the generals who decided that trench warfare would get them significant gains in the First World War. Or perhaps they were simply not in possessions of all the facts. This, however, does not necessarily (and sometimes unfortunately) prevent an optimist from making a decision.

Many pessimists steadfastly maintain that they are realists, however in my view, this merely shows them to be in denial about their own pessimism. The half-empty glass is a classic example of this, there is only a choice between the positive or the negative. Many will argue strenuously, in the case of future events, that they are looking at empirical evidence (the interpretation of which can be subjective and therefore pessimistic or optimistic) from similar past events where outcomes may not have been good, and that they are merely projecting a likely outcome. However, such a view does not allow for a different, more positive outcome than what has happened in the past, and is therefore pessimistic. I would go as far to say that the vast majority, if not all, of people who say they are realists, are pessimists.

The crucial point about optimists and pessimists is that we need both of them to make sure that important decisions are made properly, with the appropriate amount of consideration of outcomes. In world where there was only pessimists, very little would change and it is likely our psyche would most likely be permanently damaged. In a world full of optimists, it is likely that it wouldn’t be long before we ran head-on into a brick wall that didn’t move. It could be disastrous. But we do need decisions to be made.

And it is also true that most people alternate between optimism and pessimism depending on the situation they find themselves in. This is only natural as we are emotional creatures. Only very few of us are consistently of one frame of mind or the other. And we all know how annoying the constant optimist or pessimist can be.

So don’t say you are being a realist when you are being a pessimist. If you can’t see the positive outcomes in a situation, admit it and get on with explaining why the optimist might be on the wrong track. If you are an optimist, acknowledge that the pessimist has a role to play in tempering your enthusiasm and natural wish to keep the sun-shining, in order that you don’t find yourself on a path to destruction.

Please, just don’t call yourself a realist. ‘Realism’ simply doesn’t exist before an event has taken place.