Travelogue – Nepal Mera Peak 2024
“The Night the Mountain Ate Me!”
Since childhood, I have always tried to push myself and see how far things would go. This has resulted in a lot of endurance sports over the years, starting with running and later triathlon. In my job as a police officer, there has also been a long series of activities and challenges. When I look back, I think the drive started in primary school. Where you stood and had to be chosen for athletic activities. I was never a first choice. You can choose to take such experiences negatively, but I have apparently chosen to take up the fight. Mostly because I have found joy in practicing sports, but also in participating in the community. Looking back, however, it has often been a solitary performance, as I have never been close to those who won the competitions. Here, at the age of 66, I still have the desire to challenge myself.
In that light, for many years, I have entertained the idea of the peaks in Nepal. Realistically, I have not focused on the highest peaks, as recklessness has not been part of my thoughts. But choosing Mera Peak in the Nepalese Himalayas seemed like an achievable obstacle. I have watched a sea of videos from the area and thought it must be a fantastic challenge combined with a great nature experience. Of course, it has also been with a certain awe – whether I was even physically able to complete it, but the thought has been thrilling for a long time. Paradoxically, it has only been financially possible in the autumn of life, and thus no longer possessing the strength of youth. It is the age where everything hurts – at least for some. One thing was certain – I had to be in the physical shape of my life to handle these 6,500 MASL (metres above sea level). It is physically strenuous both because of the elevation itself, but also the fact that you only have about 40% oxygen available.
In the year leading up to the departure in October 2024, I prepared for the challenge. I was aware that this would not be an easy task – not least because of my age. It involved long hikes with a backpack, but also runs (a lot of hill sprints) and quite a bit of cycling on the road. The rowing machine was also diligently used, where at one point I rowed 10 km every day, 6 days a week, in addition to the other things. I constantly had to listen to my body, as some years of work in Greenland left me with some ailments in my Achilles tendons. So, it was always a balance. But all in all, I felt physically ready. My super $\text{VO}_2\text{max}$ for my age and participation in various medical research projects also gave no cause for concern.
The preparations also involved purchasing and renting equipment for this adventure. It is quite extensive and many of the items are not readily available in my otherwise well-stocked selection of sports gear. Ice axes, harnesses, expedition boots, various ropes, a sleeping bag for $-25^\circ \text{C}$, etc., were not exactly on the shelf. The cost of the expedition boots alone was well over DKK 7,000. My years in Greenland as a police officer, however, meant that I had much of the necessary clothing. Working in Qaanaaq on an ATV or dog sled in $-30^\circ \text{C}$ meant I had some things. But I had long been eyeing LOOW, as they make some exquisite, top-shelf wool clothing. I was therefore happy when they chose to sponsor and support me with some clothing.
In practice, it turned out to be the perfect and functional choice. I have other merino wool, but LOOW's is simply more comfortable and durable. Without having the sponsorship in mind, I can highly recommend the products. It made a difference for me. I have tried quite a few brands, though. I found it durable, lightweight, and with good temperature regulation. It is super important that you are warm, but don't sweat, when you are physically active in such conditions. Also when you arrive at a teahouse or tent in the evening. It is extremely cold and there is no heat, except for a few hours at dinner. Thus, there are damp clothes and no drying opportunities. I solved it by wearing my base layer inside the sleeping bag and the rest of the merino wool at the bottom of the sleeping bag. This gave the feeling of dry clothes in the morning. During the day, I had a net on the outside of my backpack, where the merino I was not using could be dried by the sun. Fortunately, there was no rain.
The day arrived, and I met the rest of the expedition team in Kastrup (Copenhagen Airport). It is always a bit exciting whether you blend into a cohesive team, but here there was no reason to fear the next 22 days. You live closely together, and you are pressured – regardless of age. As the absolute oldest, there is also the fear of not being able to keep up. It turned out to be a very diverse group in background and types, but in practice, a very homogenous group. Everyone was very helpful, and those who had tried other mountains offered help and advice along the way. A couple had tried Mera Peak before but had to give up. Now they were giving it another shot.
We arrived in Kathmandu and were driven to a hotel in the city. Good conditions and scorching hot. The trip is full of contrasts, which also makes the packing a challenge. The expedition leader reviewed our gear. It was quite impressive to see everything laid out across the entire room. The art is to hit the right balance and then be able to take it on the flight to Lukla. There is a strict weight limit that must be adhered to. Actually, only 15 kg including hand luggage. This is completely impossible, so you have to wear a lot of it – not that it makes any sense.
The day after, one of the participants asked if we should see the sunrise from the Monkey Temple? A small group of us accepted. We took a taxi there and looked up the imposing stairs to this huge temple complex. I did not count the stairs, but there were endlessly many. Soon I was puffing like an old man, completely out of my element. The air is thinner in Kathmandu, but nothing compared to what awaits. Immediately, inner uncertainty began to set in. This is where you have to grit your teeth and believe in the attainability of the mountain. Later, I learned that some of the others – with concern – had watched my trip to the temple. They thought: that guy won't get far! But it was a great experience to see the temples – to feel the atmosphere with the many locals and the activities taking place at the top. The military also used the stairs to keep the soldiers in shape, in addition to the spiritual feeding. I have worked with Ghurkas before. They are small and therefore have an easier time with it – well, that was my approach to the ordeal. But the monkeys could easily have relieved me of all my valuables without any resistance. The temple is Nepal's oldest and is definitely worth a visit. Very relaxed in terms of religion and behavior on the site. Thus, there is room for monkeys, dogs, rats, and birds – and the mix of tourists and locals.
The traffic in Kathmandu is a chapter in itself. But soon you are walking on the road with cars, motorcycles, rickshaws, bicycles, and dogs rushing past on all sides. Everyone honks. Does it work? Faith moves mountains. The difficulties only arise when you have to climb them.
In the evening, we went to the restaurant "The Third Eye." Like everywhere else, there were only friendly, smiling people. Stacked up on cushions on the floor and off with the footwear. The older demographic is not too keen on low heights, but it worked. The legs don't bend as easily as they used to. I think I've become too strong with age. The food is Indian inspired and delicious.
After the walk back to the hotel, I crawled into bed. Enjoying the last luxury before the adventure. Thoughts are swirling in my head – whether I packed correctly.
The next day we were back at the airport. Four of us were pulled out because there was no room on the flight to Lukla, which serves as the gate to the mountains. Now you might think that panic sets in, but actually, we were offered a helicopter to Lukla instead. I have flown quite a bit in helicopters, but it makes the trip more exciting, as you can follow the landscapes and see the impressive mountain massifs. Finally, it should be safer, as Lukla is one of the world's most dangerous runways. It is located on a cliff ledge and is ultra-short.
We started the flight after waiting a morning on the concrete runway. Dressed in clothes for sub-zero temperatures (due to weighing). The cabin was vacuum-packed with luggage and the four of us. We were all squeezed in. I sat for a long time looking worriedly at my backpack, which was outside on the cement. There was no room, but suddenly it was in the cabin, on top of everything else. Quick exit?
The trip towards the mountains offered a magnificent view. At one point, the pilot did a $360^\circ$ turn to see if there was clear sky in the gap between two mountains. We flew through one valley after another and hopped over mountain ridges. Soon Lukla appeared, up a mountain slope. Right there, I was glad for the heli, as that postage stamp was too wild. We landed softly and safely. Soon there were planes in and out. Just like watching an aircraft carrier. Soon we walked up to the meeting point with the others. My group just walked off, but I could barely keep up. No oxygen, and right here I was already doubting whether I was completely healthy to throw myself into this. But I got there and changed clothes. Lukla is at 2,846 MASL, so we are nowhere near the altitudes to be climbed. More for the worry barometer. While I was refueling with filtered water, someone from the group asked worriedly about me. Apparently, I couldn't go under the radar. But who claimed it would be a walk in the park?
Soon we were on our way towards Monjo. Leaving far too late due to waiting time at the airport. There was pressure, as there had been bad flying weather in Lukla. The expedition is structured with an initial trip up through a valley section and returning to Lukla, and then taking the trip towards Mera Peak, via another valley section. This is to ensure optimal acclimatization. It turned into almost 6 hours and 13.7 km and a little over 580 meters of ascent. The trip quickly put me at the back of the bus, figuratively speaking. Couldn't catch my breath. We walked fast and almost without breaks because darkness was coming. The others put on headlamps, but I see well in the dark. I prioritized a rest. Here in the night, thoughts again fell on whether I had bitten off more than I could chew? I received incredible support from the others who poured dextrose into me and gave good advice. Pep talk constantly, and finally we reached the goal. I was completely exhausted. Went in and had dinner in the teahouse. It took forever to get it. I had to constantly move my legs under the table to relieve the pain. After eating and water refueling, we got a briefing. Up at 05:30 the next day.
I slept fantastically and felt like a new person. It is said that you acclimatize during sleep. For breakfast, I had the driest French toast, but it had to go down. Lots of food and drink is the way. I hate ginger, but was told that a special tea was good against altitude sickness. I have no room for error, so it was many cups of ginger lemon honey tea, and it actually tastes good. So, it became a fixed part of the meals. I also supplemented with Diamox (Acetazolamide), which counteracts altitude sickness. Altitude sickness is a co-player and something you have to take seriously. There are actually deaths on Mera Peak too. One of my preparation videos actually showed a dead German being carried down by the sherpas.
Soon on our way again and this day almost only uphill. You walk on dusty paths, which in some places are provided with a kind of cobblestones. Always near the river, which must be crossed via suspension bridges. Encountering caravans of yaks and mules. They puff a lot, so I am not alone. It is truly a very beautiful sight that constantly unfolds in front of you. I have a female sherpa who shadows me. When I puff and stop, she stops and looks everywhere else. My profession makes me quickly spot a shadowing. It's kind of sweet and it's an expression of care – I'm on the list. But I walked at my own pace and with a constant check on my heart rate monitor to follow my nascent acclimatization and especially my pulse. These things made me have a better day. Many suspension bridges at wild heights and very swaying. And almost only up for over 4 hours. They call it a short day. It was 6.5 km and 713 meters of ascent. But a very beautiful trip. Sweet children talked to us in small bits. And lots of glimpses of their way of life when passing villages. Some places very rough and steep, and other places, just high steps. So virtually nothing easy, so I was spent when we reached the sherpa capital, Namche Bazaar, at 3,400 MASL. Lunch and then up to the room. I feel much better than yesterday. Maybe I'm slowly getting used to less oxygen? Several have been sick, and one vomited and won't eat. My own pace is my solution, and then we'll see the range. I don't have tingling anywhere or dizziness. I'm just damn tired. Here after a nap in my room, I'm okay. It just hurts in my hip and calves. I got a single room. Don't know if it's an age privilege, but it's nice.
The next day's headline was rest day, but I've figured that one out. You have to go hiking. I talked to the guide about the effect on my system. She advised a shorter trip, and we became a team of 3, plus her. We had a super pleasant day and saw some interesting places. Among other things, I was blessed by a very smiling monk. I got a hug and a piece of yarn around my neck, in addition to the obligatory white scarf. Funnily enough, the women got longer hugs and had a hard time breaking free. But that's Buddhism with humanity, warmth, and peace. The day still involved 4.5 km and 200 meters of ascent. Nothing in Denmark, but here – over 1,000 calories. My lungs were hanging out to dry after a few minutes. It's a wild experience, and we are not even halfway to the goal!!! On the trip on the outskirts of Namche Bazaar, we saw Edmund Hillary's old runway on a mountain plateau. The man who, along with the sherpa Tenzing Norgay, was the first on Everest on May 29, 1953. A visit to the local museum clearly showed what an achievement it was. When you look at the gear they had and the weight of it. But Hillary lost his heart to the sherpas and cared a lot about the sherpas and their living conditions in the time after. He and his wife organized collections that went to several schools, medical treatment, hospitals, and evacuation of the sick via the runway. That's why they worship him to this day. He also didn't take all the credit for Everest. His sherpa, who became a hero, was given an equal place. Which was probably not normal for that time. In an open area by the museum and with a view of Everest's impressive peak, stood a gold statue of Tenzing Norgay, who was a national hero. More have come since, and they are all impressive in their achievements. You can only have great respect for these people, from whom I also received great help. A larger number of porters and sherpa guides are hired for the expedition. It is a training where you slowly rise in rank. They start as porters and the lucky ones then become guides. They are absolutely indispensable, as the unfamiliar climate and conditions mean that you can only carry a fraction of what they can. Their conditions have become much better over the years. However, one is a little shaken by a lump sum compensation of 12,000 USD to the surviving family members if one dies. In fact, a number of them perish, making it a relevant topic. The loss of a breadwinner has major consequences in a country where the man is often the source of income. There are efforts working for better compensation and also more schools for training guides. I traveled with Kipling, and they have a good attitude towards the sherpas and their conditions. They receive fair wages and also various clothing and footwear. All of which corresponds to the great help they provide for us.
I was also at another museum, where we were asked to leave our mobiles and cameras. It was an old sherpa house with livestock on the ground floor and then living quarters on the first floor. Among other things, I saw an impressive flute that was partly made of a human thigh bone, a femur. They looked at my bones with interest, so we chose to slide away. Otherwise, I would have been playing the tune.
The day ended with shopping. The guide had noticed that I was sweating like a horse during the exertions. I have always done that, and it is a problem here, as you must drink at least 5 liters a day. She suggested a light jacket, but where do you find a shop with XXL sizes in a country with small people? Soon the walkie-talkies caught fire, and half the city was suddenly in the shop. I found an XL that fit well. The requirement was only waterproof and no coating. Nice to have "Mom Guide" with me. My shell jacket is too hot and already has salt efflorescence. I should also have had crampons, but they don't exactly have size 49/50 here. That will have to wait. I've always had a large lifestyle and am used to panic and wide eyes.
In the streets you see many yaks. That is to say, they are not. It is a mix of yak and a black-and-white cow. The yak would get too hot. When you see the mix standing and puffing, it makes good sense. We also reached a coffee house, where we had hot cocoa and cookies. Calories must be consumed, as the expenditure is high.
After some tough days, we have reached 4,350 MASL and again we need to rest. The last few days have not been easy. I have dug deep and mentally tried to endure it. However, I have been able to see that my acclimatization curve has been moving up, albeit at a slow pace. The readings mean that you do not completely lose courage when everything in your body aches. It rises by about 40 degrees and is now 63% acclimatized at the current altitude. We have returned to Lukla and are repacking.
The hike now enters another valley, offering new scenarios. We have to cross a pass at over 4,600 MASL. A steep and very impassable path with a constant ascent for over 9 hours. It is hard on the breath, but the distraction of the surroundings gives something back. There are barren cliff walls, only to turn into lush Rhododendron forests as far as the eye can see. It is dense scrub and trees with hanging moss. It must be wild when this giant primeval forest blooms here in the Hinku Valley. It brings back memories of my trip into the Amazon jungle years ago. But here I dig deep and run at the limit of my physical ability. Every step is felt. At one point, a stone under me tips and I lose my balance. I fall down between two boulders and land on my bad hip. Not only that, but I break my carbon pole. We all use trekking poles – it is absolutely necessary. So, it's a disaster. The sherpa leader quickly jumps in and lends me one of his poles. I would not have been able to continue without this helping hand. Telling of the environment we are moving in. I grit my teeth and get going again. We manage to cross the pass, which is a windy and somewhat cold pleasure. It is a trip where the temperature constantly fluctuates wildly. If you thought it was easy after the summit, you were wrong. Still ups and downs, but constantly a terrain where you have to look closely at the surface and find the right footing.
We reach a primitive windswept teahouse. All my clothes are wet with sweat, and there is nothing to do but use the usual method – clothes in the sleeping bag and sleep them dry. Maybe a bit of an illusion, but the thought counts. It has gotten really cold, and having said that – I've never been sensitive to the cold. It is felt, however, and contributes to constantly draining your strength. But the Greenland time has provided a buffer.
The days have brought us to Tagnag, which is a small village with an okay teahouse. Here we have a "rest day." I need to relax and recover. I had an up day yesterday, though. Throughout the trek, I have been at the heavy end, where an "age president" should be. I got possessed over lunch and set off in a forced march after the leading sherpa, who was going to prepare the camp. I couldn't follow him, but the path along the river was easy to follow. Over streams with great balance and surprising security. I felt like I was flying. I felt I had to prove to myself that the race was not over. I arrived well before the others and was able to film them coming in. It was great to experience their enthusiasm that I had recovered. But it is a super team that is there for each other. But also a growing belief in myself that I can go the distance. Tomorrow it goes steeply up towards 5,000 MASL. It is the last teahouse before the final ascent. Time will tell if it will be the turning point. You can feel that the thin air contains less and less oxygen.
The new day brings big decisions and many unknowns. I have been in limbo about whether I should make a summit attempt or surrender? I packed my backpack with full liquid tanks, even though it was not necessary. Also with other gear, as the day was to be a test of how far my potential extends.
We started with a walk along the river, and soon it went up. Today's program is to go from 4,300 MASL to Khare at 5,050 MASL (a bit higher than Mont Blanc for comparison). Soon a steep path begins to emerge and up in a nice and somewhat frightening climb. The fact that you can see the whole stretch gives a slightly too clear picture of today's battle. After a long stretch, we come to a moraine clay slope, where we take a detour from the trail. For a while, we have been able to observe a glacier, from which small landslides are seen. Always beautiful to look at, but a somewhat small one compared to those I have seen in Greenland. The terrain is very rocky, and small stacks of stone piles stand everywhere. Small beacons and signs of many visitors. Over by the edge, a large lake appears, which is completely turquoise. It is constantly fed by meltwater. Our guide tells us that the glacier was much larger relatively few years ago. Environment is also a factor here.
We continue along our trail and follow a river of meltwater on our left side. Soon the Mera Peak massif rises on our right side. We are lucky that the sun peeps out right here, so it stands beautifully and white. You feel quite small and regard this ordeal with awe. It looks wild and will probably resemble walking on the Inland Ice. The weather has been very changeable. From cold and damp to sunshine and warmth. This places demands on the clothing, and I am super happy with my LOOW clothing here. The clothes, however, do not help my breathing, which is slightly strained, and you can feel that there is less oxygen available. No symptoms of altitude sickness, apart from the eternal cough we all have.
Today, I am in the middle of the field and have no problems keeping up. It's quite nice to get this feeling of surplus. It undoubtedly does something for the possibility of enjoying this magnificent place on earth. One person in the group is completely exhausted and not him/herself. He is otherwise an iron man of an athlete with many marathons behind him. Also the extreme ones and also ultra runs. I had not exactly seen this coming from him. I really sympathize with him, as I was there earlier. Paradoxically, I have found the turbo, which is also reflected in my acclimatization on the Garmin watch (Epix 2 Pro). I have found a slow pace that is stable and grinding forward. I can see that some of the fast types from previous days are now close by and even behind me. A wild development that gives food for thought about possibilities. I did hand over my climbing gear in Lukla, so... It's funny how you go through a lot of registers inside yourself. The struggle to overcome and believe in your own ability. Self-confidence ebbs and flows – in a swirl of impressions.
We reach a small teahouse with a view of Mera Peak. We are blessed here with brilliant sunshine. Soon the whole team is sitting facing the massif. We drink lemon tea with sugar. Warmth and new energy for the body.
After a break, we go up a mountain slope and a decent gradient. It's still going well. Up and down it goes in the landscape, and everything is fine. We can no longer see the massif, which fits with the fact that we have to walk around another mountain to get onto the glacier that leads to Mera Peak. After a while, we can see the houses in Khare.
Once arrived, we have lunch and keys to the rooms. I am privileged, as the age president, to get a single room. It only failed once on the trip. I have taken it because it makes it easier to pack and dry clothes, etc., but also because there are many sick people. I prefer not to be infected.
After lunch, I talk to the guide. She is amazed at my transformation. She is willing to give me a wildcard. There are enough sherpas for me to turn back if the ordeal turns out to be too strenuous for me. It may seem strange to be so in doubt, but the conditions with how height and stress affect you can make it difficult to grasp the possibilities. She says there are good forecasts for a summit attempt the night between Sunday and Monday. Even a full moon. Not much wind and a reasonable temperature. But there are mountains, and things can change quickly, as I have also experienced in Greenland.
If I'm going, the next hurdle is gear and boots. I have bad premonitions because I am several sizes larger than the locals. But they happen to have a pair of 8,000-meter boots of the same brand as mine. What is the chance that they have a pair and in size 49? They start with a rental price of 150 USD per day (3 days), but then my Chief Sherpa friend gets involved. After eyes rolled to heaven by the landlord for 10 minutes, we land at 190 USD – possibly less, for all 3 days, including helmet, climbing harness, carabiners, and crampons. He is a gem. The landlord will not hear about a discount if I choose to turn back. Here the chief winks at me and says he will take care of that. There is no doubt that the chief commands respect. A man who has climbed Everest 12 times from both sides of the mountain, you just don't say no to.
With the gear in hand, a longer session begins to adjust everything to me. It seems foolish that I bought everything and am now standing here renting it. The climbing harness gets bigger and bigger in the selection I get my hands on. The guide says I am a Viking, and they need to pull themselves together. Soon it is brought out – something that fits reasonably well. But crampons are hard to find in the size I need. They promise to have something for the next day. It's a shame they don't have it now, as you want to have the gear in place and focus forward.
Tomorrow's program is a rest day, but we will train acclimatization if we wish. I have promised the guide to join as a final test. We must also have a safety briefing. It's crazy that it has come this far – that the possibility is actually emerging. No symptoms of altitude sickness, and we are at 5,050 MASL. Strange that a few days ago, I thought this was the end of the line for me. Damn it – only 2 tent camps and then towards the summit. We are talking about 1,500 meters of ascent over the next few days.
The teahouse here is called Refuge Mera Lodge – in Khare. There are panoramic windows towards Mera Peak, and in this "greenhouse," there are deck chairs and sofas, so you can sink into the breathtakingly beautiful view. Clearly one of the better teahouses and an experience in itself. Well, not 5-star luxury, but we enjoy the place. When you sit by the panoramic windows and feel the warmth, my thoughts drift to a James Bond movie filmed in the Alps. But I can't quite see him in the deck chairs 😉
The rest day is underway. I slept okay. It's for acclimatization and training. After breakfast, we take a walk up the mountain. Quite steep, but everything works fine. We settle for 300 meters of ascent, as we do need to rest. During the trip, we probably all glanced over at Mera. From the glacier, there is a steep slope to the ice ridge. You have to get over that. That in itself will be an ordeal. After this section, there is just a long climb to the top. I think there is a possibility of being eaten, as there are no easy sections. The plan is to go up to the tent camp – Camp 1 or Base Camp. Get some food and sleep. Then it's on to High Camp. There we must also have warm food and get some sleep. Arriving on Sunday night, we are to set off a little after midnight for the summit attempt. There is a weather window and only $-15^\circ \text{C}$. Almost no wind in the forecast. The latter is the dangerous one. Wind can destroy everything, which is why there is an extra day on the schedule. The full moon is good, because it is an ascent in the light of the headlamp – so all help is welcome. Then everything should be fine, and my physique should hold up when we reach the summit on Monday. We have to walk in ropes for part of the route up. You can fall more than you like.
For the sake of the latter, we train in the afternoon, ascending with a handle, where you pull yourself up by the rope. Then rappelling down. This must be used in case of a possible emergency procedure, so it is important that we have all tried it, should something go wrong. Glaciers are fickle. I hope not to have to use it seriously.
The status of our team is relatively okay. However, there is one person waiting for a medevac by helicopter. It will be a small type that can only take one person. That's a real shame for him. Even people who are in extreme shape can fall short when illness strikes. We don't know what he is suffering from, but it's not good. He has to go to the hospital.
We have reached October 21. We start from our teahouse in Khare. A goat trail that soon turns into a rockfall. It is difficult to see the path at all. A little altitude, but nothing wild. After a few hours, we arrive at Base Camp. We are installed two by two in the small yellow expedition tents, which lie in a row by a cliff edge. There is only just room for me and my partner. The luggage is packed around us. I have always been good at arranging things so that I can find them in the dark. It's f* cking cold here, to put it bluntly. But it would turn out that this is just a taste of what's to come.
In the afternoon here at Base Camp, we train again on the glacier ascent with rope and a self-arrest device. Then rappelling down. The same program as in Khare, but now with expedition boots and crampons. And the terrain is somewhat more difficult. It went well, but it was hard work. Oxygen is lacking.
Back in the tents, the sherpas serve tea and dinner. It comes to the tent door. We got it inside, and immediately after, we were in our sleeping bags. Just to feel some warmth on our bodies.
After almost 12 hours under the shield, because there was nothing else to do but recover. The thought of tomorrow's trials, as well as very little sleep over the next few days, makes us switch off. The body is behind, which my partner also feels. He is not completely well either.
We wake up early to massive dripping from the tent canvas. Condensation everywhere, but okay sleep. During the night, we heard a roar. I immediately recognized the sound of a glacier slide, which I experienced many times in Greenland. We again got tea and breakfast at the tent door. It's some indeterminate porridge that I'm not so fond of in the morning. I'm also not exactly eager to visit the toilet on the glacier. Immediately, I am offered an omelet and some toast, which I cannot refuse. Super delicious for about a dollar. Where the heck do they get the stuff from??? We pack up and hike along a goat trail towards the glacier.
We arrive at the place where we trained the day before. Here we change into expedition boots and crampons. I'm like a 5-year-old who has to get dressed before kindergarten. I can't reach my feet, and my lungs are working at full capacity. The small grips are also difficult in this cold. None of the equipment is made for easy operation in the cold. Uh, it is only used in the cold? I get help from the sherpa, who has done it to death. Even he has a little trouble, as things don't sit properly. But we get there, and soon we move up over the glacier. It is mega steep, but a large, beautiful white surface, only broken by a few crevasses. The thin air bites at us all, and we are gasping for breath. The climb is hard and demanding.
It takes most of the day, constantly going up. It is so steep that if we didn't have crampons, we wouldn't have made it up. The extra grip helps, even if they don't lift us up. We come to a large piece of rock or a smaller mountain. It suddenly juts out in front of us.
We move towards this mountain. Over there, we walk in a semicircle around to the back. Here is a narrow ledge where High Camp is located. A row of expedition tents stands in a line, right out to the ledge. When you look out and down, it just goes straight down. You should not sleepwalk here. However, there is a magnificent view of another glacier.
We throw ourselves into the tents, well exhausted from the ascent. Again, we get food brought to the tent door, accompanied by tea. It is hammer cold and well below freezing. We are alone with the sherpas, as our expedition guide had to drop out at Base Camp. She suffered a concussion shortly before departure. She has a pounding headache due to the thin air. She is otherwise a tough cookie. But the doctor says no to continuing. You can see that it affects her that she cannot follow us. She feels a great responsibility for us.
We tiredly throw ourselves into our sleeping bags at 6:00 PM, as we have to eat at 12:00 AM and make a summit attempt at 01:00 AM. A couple of the guys are worried about me. They think I look worn out. I brush it off, as I am now at 5,800 MASL here in High Camp. Yes, there is not much oxygen, but I will still try to go all the way. Of course, it makes an impression on you.
I don't really sleep, probably because of the tension and the thoughts that are flying around. It is, however, one of the biggest things I have subjected myself to. Even though I have taken many challenges in my life.
At 12:00 AM, we eat some soup with noodles and a lot of ginger honey lemon tea. Supposedly good against altitude sickness. I still can't feel anything at all from altitude sickness. There are some of the others who are not so lucky. Several have withdrawn from the summit attempt. It is pitch black, and you can see the threatening mountain massif in silhouette. It's just a long way up!!!
We are roped up in small groups. I am alone with my sherpa. Something easier, I thought, when you could control your own pace. The caravan sets in motion, and we look like a string of Christmas lights. It just goes upwards from the start, and my lungs are not quite with it yet. The goal is to find a pace where things fit together. We have one person in the group who walks extremely slowly, which suits me perfectly – at the beginning. But soon my sherpa steps out into the deep snow next to the track and starts to push past the queue. I do too, by virtue of the rope. After 50 meters, I feel like I have run a marathon. In desperation, I tug at the rope to the stallion. Luckily, he doesn't weigh that much, so I can throw him back. I ask him in gasps if he intends to kill me, because he is well on his way to doing so. He laughs heartily. He is the Duracell bunny among the sherpas. He just wants to get it over with. Now, the thing is that he has lived here all his life, and I am somewhat behind.
This stunt means it takes over half an hour for my breathing to stabilize. Not the best start. We continue steeply up. At one point, we pass a snow bridge with a crevasse on both sides. I do not step out onto the bridge until he is across. That way he can pull me up if it doesn't hold. Nothing happens, and we are safely across. We stop all the time. Someone has to adjust equipment, and there is one person in particular who never has control of their gear. Soon her headlamp also goes out. Fatal here. A young girl suffers from a severe headache and is vomiting in streams. Clearly altitude sickness, in my layman's knowledge. I try to say something, but no one listens, and there is a long way to go. It is insanely steep and there are no rest sections. The constant stops continue. This causes me to start feeling signs of frostbite in my fingers. I know it from numerous experiences in Greenland. A problem that I must solve. I move my fingers as much as I can in my gloves. They are special expedition gloves but do not live up to their purpose at all. I paid a fortune for something that my own gloves could have done better. Someone who has been walking well has the same problem with their feet. We are tied together and continue. The slow one has stomach problems and constantly has to sit down on the track. Too bad for her and very unenviable in the cold. Soon she turns and gives up. It is not sustainable for her.
We continue 100 meters further up, and I check myself. I can see that we are about to turn up towards the summit – about 6,100 MASL. I calculate the situation. I can feel that I am close to the limit, and my breathing is not getting better. I simply don't get enough oxygen. That's the end of it. I conclude that I might reach the summit, but then I won't come down again. Even walking down is an ordeal. At the summit, we must be able to walk down to High Camp for a short rest (1 hour) and then all the way via Base Camp to Khare. It is a long journey that demands a lot. There is no doubt that it is a harsh trip. I realize that it is not realistic to continue. Bitterly close to the goal, but the calculation is clear. I shout "Stop! Stop! Stop!" to the sherpa. I tell him that I am burnt out and am turning back. I can see that my female partner is in crisis. Up or down? She has been incredibly strong, but I can see that something is wrong. We talk fine, but she doesn't just blurt things out. However, she decides to follow me down. We toddle downwards at a slow pace. We stop several times, and something is clearly very wrong. We are surprised at how far we have walked up. At one point, she confides that something is wrong with her lung. Either fluid or it has collapsed. No wonder she is pressured. She has tried it before and apparently got a sudden, unexpected tug from the rope over her shoulder. We stumble into High Camp, and when we sit down on the rock in front of the tent, she passes out. I just manage to grab her and press her head down between her knees. The sherpas try to pull her up, but I hold on. Soon she is back with us. She is relieved of her gear and placed inside the tent. I myself am totally exhausted and throw myself into my tent. I shout to her in the neighboring tent that she must shout if it gets worse. Soon I am gone, but only in a light sleep. I know she won't say anything if she needs help, and then there are all the impressions. I lie with all my gear on, as I can't imagine having to put it all on again in an hour. A sherpa comes with some hot tea. I cling to the mug, as my fingers are completely numb. The warmth also feels good internally.
I wake up after a couple of hours. My neighbor wants to get hold of the guide. The mobile phone doesn't work here, but the sherpas have a portable radio. One of the girls who didn't go with us during the night gets an explanation and calls the guide. It will take 12 hours before a helicopter can come and evacuate. And it is not certain that it can land here. She is brave and will try to walk down herself. We gather a team, and slowly we move down the glacier. There are actually quite a few who did not attempt the summit. I don't think there is a single person in the group who is not sick.
On the way down, we are surprised that we climbed so steeply. I have trouble breathing and don't quite understand why I am so affected when it is going downhill. I have nothing left to give, and I am glad I chose to turn back. Even the walk down is an ordeal. At one point, I exclaim in frustration that now I can't even keep up with someone with a collapsed lung. She laughs at that when we meet later in Kathmandu.
The agreement is that we will get our trekking boots at Base Camp. When we reach it, there are no bags. I therefore have no choice but to continue in the expedition boots size 49. It is a completely impossible project because they are so big and wide. They don't fit into the footholds at all and are just incredibly slippery on stones. Then what should not happen happens. A combination of the wrong footwear after the glacier and my fatigue causes me to slip on the stones. Both poles fly up, and I can't break my fall due to the trekking poles. I land flat on my back at full speed and have all the air knocked out of my body. They pull and tug at me, but I just want to be allowed to die in peace. When I finally get up, I can see that the dirt path only had a boulder that perfectly fit my back in the fall. I am completely crippled. I cannot carry my backpack. I limp along and can now not keep up with the collapsed lung at all. The sherpa leaps like a mountain goat next to me. I constantly lose my balance due to the blow to my back, exhaustion, and the useless footwear in this terrain.
The guide meets us and gets an update. We both report that we will probably make it to the teahouse. It really hurts, but I have to get down. Every time I sit down to rest, the sherpa taps me on the back and ruffles my hair – "Good job, my man!" He did not see the fall and does not know that I am not exactly in the mood for a tap on the back. I do not have the heart to tell him, as he is super kind and means well.
We arrive at Khare, and I am completely drained of energy. I cough like a retirement home. A helicopter is ordered for evacuation, and in my quiet mind, I hope to be included, but it probably won't happen. Ahead are 3 tough days towards Lukla. I think with dread about the mountain pass. Time will tell how it will go. I have no appetite at all, which is downhill.
I am told that the woman with the collapsed lung has been carried down to Khote. She has been carried at full speed by some sherpas. This is to get her out of the altitude. The group has been quite hard hit, but it has worked with humor and good camaraderie.
I take some pills I got from the doctor. They are supposed to kill most infections. It is an emergency treatment. I am sure something is very wrong with me.
The night is spent in Khare, and I have slept terribly. I woke up at 03:00 AM with a severe cough. A completely dry cough. It started yesterday. I can see that my pulse reading is far too high. Not least because I am super acclimatized. I pack my backpack lightly and get ready for the hike.
When we leave Khare, I am positive enough. During the walk, that is set to change. The cough increases, and the strength is simply not there. I only enjoy the snow-covered mountain peaks to a limited extent, as my physique is in poor condition. At one point, a large piece breaks loose from a mountain peak. It rumbles down the mountain, and I manage to get a picture.
When we reach the first teahouse, we stop without getting anything. The cough has become much worse, and the others look worried. They also ask if they can do anything for me. The pills I took are not expected to take effect until after 3 days of treatment. I simply don't have time for that.
Further down, we have lunch at a teahouse. I don't feel like eating at all, but I force down fried potatoes with a fried egg. I know that without fuel, I'm sold. When we go outside, I cough almost to the point of vomiting. This is really bad. We walk on, and soon my concentration is gone. I stumble a few times, but nothing serious. The guide begins to shadow me and gives encouraging messages. I stumble along like a drunk man. I am super focused when we reach narrow wooden bridges over rivers, as well as at high steps down. Even though we are walking flat and sloping down in altitude, my pulse is racing and my breathing is gasping. It is completely wrong, as I am perfectly acclimatized and am now on my way down. I think it is pneumonia. I think with horror of the approximately 15 km to Lukla tomorrow. It is over a pass with technically difficult hiking and 1,100 meters of ascent. I realize that I cannot do that in the condition I am in now. Everything must change overnight.
I hobble into Kothe, where we are to sleep. The day involved 15.3 km and 7.5 hours of hiking. I can't even understand that I made it here. Once there, I am welcomed by the group, and they are quick to help. I am deeply grateful. Cola is poured into me, and they ensure I have the room key and find my luggage. I cannot think rationally at all. One person comes over and asks if I have spoken to a doctor? It is reasonably clear that I am not well.
After consultation with the guide, she starts investigating whether I can get a helicopter lift over the pass and go to a hospital either in Lukla or Kathmandu. Both suspicion of pneumonia, but also an examination of my back, which is not good after the fall. They will try to work some magic.
After dinner, where I only manage to eat some mushroom soup, both the guide and the chief sherpa come over to me. He says it is sorted, but the guide says they are working on it through insurance. I should not worry about anything. Regardless of whether I go to Lukla or Kathmandu, someone will be waiting for me and drive me to the hospital. They will also transport me to a hotel when I am discharged. Now we will see – but it is nice that these things are under control. But Nepal is like Greenland – you never know. But somewhere, I am relieved. It would be far too dangerous to climb over that pass in my condition.
I go to bed with a sleeping bag, 2 duvets, and 2 pillows. The latter to elevate my head. It is dog cold and damp. I am shaking like a leaf.
When I wake up, I realize that I haven't slept at all. I have been coughing incessantly. When the alarm rings at 05:55 AM, I reach for the least damp clothes. I have an Aclima mesh undershirt – the same system as the military. It is ingenious in combination with my LOOW clothes. It warms and wicks moisture away from the body. And it has the great advantage that the damp LOOW does not get close to the body and give that cold shudder on such a morning. I have nothing dry.
I pack my duffel bag, which is about to burst. I take penicillin and the rest of the pills, and then it's morning tea. People trickle into the unheated room. They ask kindly about me. It is incredible how quickly this group has bonded so well. It is not only towards me but the whole group.
After eating my toast with a fried egg and the obligatory ginger honey lemon tea, the guide comes over. The insurance has not replied. The choice now is whether I want to pay upfront and then take it up with the insurance? I cautiously ask what I have to pay for the lift? It will be 1,100 USD, so I say go without dwelling for a second. I have no choice. Staying in the teahouse until the insurance replies will not do me any good. So a big yes from me.
The guide grabs someone who is completely depleted after diarrhea since the first few days. "You're going with Per's heli!" I just got my status. Then she addresses the group with the same message. There is room for 4. Now I think I should interject something. I offer them a ride for the wildest flight for 500 USD per person, but there are too many people from Jutland (Jutlanders) – so we end up with 2, even though there are enough sick people.
They come over to me after breakfast. The heli is coming in 1 hour. Perfect flying weather. That is not a given, as the weather changes all the time here in the Himalayas.
After 1.5 hours, I am told to go to the helipad. We are then evacuated to Lukla. The journey out goes over the pass I feared. It is a fantastic ride through the valleys and with high mountainsides on both sides. We weave between the mountains, and there is full value from my co-pilot seat. I film the entire trip with my GoPro.
Upon arrival at Lukla, we land at the hospital's helipad, where the staff is ready. I reluctantly leave my helicopter.
Inside the hospital, I am immediately met by a kind Swiss doctor. Just what I needed. She takes my vitals, and everything looks okay, given what we have been through. I am surprised by this, as I feel absolutely terrible. She listens to my lungs, and there is no water in them. I just need to continue with the penicillin. However, she would like to have some X-rays because of my back, just to be safe. She thinks she can find a displacement on my spine. She does not think it is serious, but there is something that may not be quite right. It could be a minor fracture that should heal on its own. No sensory disturbances. So all in all, good. She will call someone who can operate the X-ray machine.
A Nepalese nurse scurries around and measures everything possible. She stands for a long time looking through my passport. Then she says very seriously that there is a mistake in the passport. I just manage to think – oh no. She then says that it says 66, but it must be 55? I thank her many times, laughing. She says it in all seriousness. I thought I looked more like a 77-year-old. She looks closely at me and shakes her head. Imagine, here you sit like a hanged cat and are given 11 years. It is healing. I need to get my passport corrected!!
I sit in the hospital garden, which is full of brightly colored flowers. I enjoy the greenery and a bit of warmth from the sun. Everything has been streamlined at the hospital. More efficient than in Denmark. But then the radiologist comes up the path. He is an elderly man who is limping and wearing a military uniform. Very smiling and friendly. I am shown into the X-ray room. I notice a Siemens label on the machine. I think it will be okay. It is dog cold in the room. I am asked to remove clothing from my upper body. I am cold, but he says I am a strong man... they can do things in Nepal. I am asked to lie down on the X-ray table. It is freezing cold, and the cough increases. Laid on ice like this, I can hear my full name and birth data being typed with one finger – only one finger, on the PC. Then things need to be corrected, and then we are ready. No lead apron. He probably thinks I'm 70 and it's not necessary – we're back on earth again.
The nurse comes, and she scolds. The doctor also comes, and then it is a hectic scene in Nepalese English and loud sighs. Wrong part of the back. Back to it... same scene, and again not quite the right picture. Now I have to take a standing and side view. We do that, and still with one finger. "Don't worry."
I secretly look at the photos and can see a larger shadow on my left lung. It is clear that I have not had much use of that lung. I cannot see a fracture on my back. That is always something. The doctor comes and fetches the pictures, and we go back to the heated room. She explains that there is a shadow on the left lung. It is probably some kind of virus – pneumonia. But there is also a compressed vertebra. She recommends a CT scan when I get home. I must continue with penicillin and get some codeine for the night. More so I can sleep. She estimates about 10 days, and it will be over. Otherwise, see a doctor in Denmark. I get the pictures – I have never seen such poor quality, but it only took an hour.
I pay for the hospital. I get a couple of hundred stamps and a bill for 20,000 rupees. The first time in almost 3 weeks that I see a payment terminal.
Outside, a guy with a Kipling cap is waiting. He wants to help me further. Next to him is his wife, who is smiling broadly. Their daughter is also with them. She is probably 6 years old and shines in her princess dress. They greet me with "Namaste" and fold their hands and bow. I am not allowed to carry anything, but I insist on carrying the medicine and the pictures. I have been through quite a bit for them. I am totally out of breath, even though we are walking downhill in Lukla. We reach the teahouse, which is located a few meters from the end of the runway.
Here I have to wait until the others arrive in a couple of days. There are take-offs and landings every 10 minutes. Here I can recover!
Another wild day. While I sit relaxing at the end of the runway, which looks mostly like an aircraft carrier, I remember a humorous observation. A few days ago, we were sitting in Khare having breakfast. One person on the team had his contact lens flipped the wrong way. He asked his daughter to hold the camera so he could see what he was doing. He took the lens out and was about to put it back in. Next to him stood Sherpa No. 2, with a menu card, waiting for an order. He moved closer and closer, while his eyes were about to pop out and his mouth was wide open. The daughter asked if he didn't know what her father was doing? No, he didn't. She explained that it was like glasses you put in your eye. Now he was even more astonished. She asked if he didn't know about it, which he denied. He had never seen anything like it in his life. It should be noted here that when he takes orders, his nose brushes against the paper. I think he could use glasses.
In the following days, the group gathers again. There is a fight for seats between the different travel organizers to get the guests out of Lukla. We have to go through a security check at the airport, among other things. It is a complete parody. We are asked if we have any firearms by a very serious police officer. When we deny it, we are quickly waved on.
We are flown out in a small twin-engine turboprop plane. I estimate it takes about 30 pax. We sit close together and wait excitedly to be launched. The runway is ultra-short, and it's just over the edge with a decent free fall. I hope the engines don't suddenly cut out. We are shot out over the cliff, and it is a wild experience.
Finally arrived in Kathmandu, and I get a cool hotel room. A proper toilet, shower, and even a sink. Something that is not available in all teahouses. And yes, a mirror. A somewhat scary experience. I haven't had access to one. I look like something out of a horror movie. And I can see for myself that I have lost a lot of weight. The others say so too. I could afford it, so that's fine.
I spend time relaxing and buying gifts. I also paid various expenses, such as the helicopter. So the card has been flashing after quick draws from my pocket.
I am still affected by the pneumonia. I can't keep up when we walk, but they are kind enough to wait for the old man with the yellow armband. I cough so much that I feel like I'm falling apart. Even with 2 large pillows, it takes an hour before sleep sets in with the Codeine. I have been promised that it will be gone in 8 days. I think I'll have plenty of space on the plane...
Satisfaction washes through my body over this adventure. I am super satisfied with my experience and the adventure. The fact that I missed 350 meters is irrelevant in this context. I assessed the situation, and in retrospect, it was on the edge, and what I did was absolutely right. It is probably difficult to imagine that 350 meters is a big deal. But the entire climb was wildly steep and without rest areas. It would take at least 2-3 hours, and I already had frostbite in my hands. The time to the top would have made it risky. I have pretty good references from Greenland. And then my age – I could have suffered permanent damage, and it is not worth it.
So, I am happy and proud of what I accomplished. I could have completely ruined my left lung. The descent was also tough.
Tomorrow, it is relaxation and departure to the airport around 9:00 PM. Flying a little after midnight to Dubai. Change of planes and on to Copenhagen. Not so enthusiastic about flying over Russia, but it worked on the way down. It is gradually a large unstable area, both in the Middle East and further north. Well, it goes.
Arriving home around 12:30 PM. I will probably have to see some doctors in the coming week. It is highly likely that it is an infection or a virus of some kind. I was told that there could be small blood clots, but it was not immediately dangerous. In any case, my chest is very sore. I have not been banned from flying. I would be if they were not quite sure about things. So, I am not nervous as such. Let's see in 8 days. But the Swiss witch's brew I got from the doctor helps as much as sticking your head out the window and taking a dose of Kathmandu smog.
The last few days in the mountains, my lips were open sores, so I cannot kiss anyone for the next 8 days. My nose is whole but has chosen to shed its skin. My wife will be working overtime with repairs. The maid at the hotel was quite sweet when I met her in the hallway. After providing me with drinking water, she said – "Excuse me, Sir, but your lips???" She looked so worried and handed me some lotion. I don't think it is good for lips, but everyone is incredibly sweet and welcoming. Also the people on the street. A striking experience. When you shop – they also give good discounts in the stores. The dying must be well taken care of in their last minutes. If they are slow, the coughing scene comes. Right on the verge of vomiting. Then the millions roll back into my pockets...
November 1, 2024
Epilogue to the Adventure in the Himalayas – Mera Peak.
Well, the mountain won the first and last round. Sometimes willpower is not what reaches the goal. Sickness and exhaustion mean that margins fall to one side or the other. In my case, it became a voluntary turning point, based on listening to my body and being able to complete the journey down from the heights. Do I sit here with a disappointment – not really. Even after much reflection, the result is overwhelming for me. After the hard start, I had completely considered it impossible to reach a summit attempt. Now I relied on stubbornness and willpower, which then revealed an acclimatization to the altitude that made it possible. But when the body is exhausted and worn out, it is also susceptible to disease. Everything was perfect. Not too cold ($-15^\circ \text{C}$), almost no wind (the reason for most canceled attempts), and also a full moon. The body breaks down around 5,800 – 6,000 MASL, and then things only go one way. I reached 6,100 MASL and calculated that if I were to walk a little over 10 km in difficult terrain, as required after a summit attempt, I had to turn back now. My calculation also proved to be the right one, as the disease caused my respiration to become worse and worse. In fact, to a critical level in relation to being able to continue walking. In that light, it is only a success that my body reached that point.
Thinking in dry figures, the performance is also quite significant, seen in my universe. Thus, in the period from October 7 to October 22 (15 days), I walked 144 km in difficult terrain. And within that, I climbed a total of 9,210 metres of ascent. This was made possible by burning a total of over 30,000 calories. Although I ate well and also with a lot of fat, I still lost 7 kg. Not without cost – when you have to take off your belt at airport security. My trousers just fell down and caused a sorry sight. But apart from this, the adventure has provided a long series of fantastic nature experiences – seeing areas that in no way resemble anything I have been in before. Good friendships and lots of fun. Living on the edge literally, under harsh conditions, which you can say made me stronger and I completed it. I would not want to be without this experience in any way. But the plate was hot, and I should not touch it again. My age of 66 made it the last attempt at this extreme. Well, you don't remember so well, so maybe after all...?
My health is improving. I have had a control X-ray, and there is no longer any shadow on my lung. At the same time, my breathing has become normal. The cough, which was particularly bad and deprived me of sleep, is in retreat. So, I will be up and running again soon. The compressed vertebrae will have to wait for later.
Thanks to those who followed me on the adventure. I read the posts on Facebook with great pleasure. I do not regret describing things quite personally, as I felt it was necessary to be able to understand my thoughts and gain insight into the task. But it came to give so much more in terms of experience and new acquaintances. Let me start by saying that I did not complete the goal of 6,500 MASL. I missed it by 300 m. But did that take the experience out of the big picture – absolutely not.
Thanks to LOOW and Pro-Outdoor.dk for sponsoring equipment and clothing.
