At the Sherpa village of Gokyo (15, 580 ft.), we decided to split up. My sister, Scott, and one porter would decend the Dudh Kosi drainage to its junction with the Imja Khola, then ascend that river to the village of Dingboche. Rather than go down and around with them, I would go with our guide and a porter over Cho La, the pass that connects the two drainages, and we would reunite at Dingboche. Our guide had never been over Cho La, but it all looked straightforward.
We parted ways just below Gokyo. Ratna, our guide, the porter, and I crossed the Ngozumpa Glacier and began our ascent of the pass. It was steep, but pleasant going under a bright sun over solid rock footing. At the top of the 17,780-foot pass, things changed. Instead of rock, we were now walking on a glacier. Instead of sunshine, we were wrapped in a low cloud dusting us with gentle snow flurries. But, no problem; the route was clear and there was a gentle magic about walking through a delicate snow flurry in the Himalayas.
We reached the lone trekking lodge at Dzonglha (15,912 ft.), our destination for the day. All of the lodges we had stayed in before were primitive, but each had a coarse quaintness and a bright open feeling. Not this one. In a room so dark it felt subterranean, I rolled my sleeping bag out on an unclaimed portion of a long common sleeping pad where all visitors would spend the night. The luxury of resting after the day’s effort trumped any concerns about the accommodations.
Ratna came in and tapped me on the shoulder. The porter did not feel well, and we would have to pack up and go lower. Ratna carried the porter’s load, and I carried Ratna’s load so that the porter could walk unburdened. The pace of the earlier snowfall had increased, and now it was nearly dark. Off we went.
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Our destination was Tuglha, about three miles and 1,000 feet down the slope. Each of us walked through the snowy darkness in our own envelope of silence. After a while, it was clear to me we had walked longer and farther than the distance to Tuglha. Where were we, and where were we going? I can’t remember the conversation I had with Ratna, but all we could do was keep walking. Finally, I heard nearly the sweetest sound I have ever heard: Yak bells. We were just outside Lobuche. Instead of three miles, we walked five. Instead of dropping lower, we climbed higher.
Cho La
The next day, the porter was fine. We marched down the lightly snow-dusted valley to Dingboche where we rejoined my sister and Scott. Over lemon tea at a village tea house, we shared our misadventures and then found lodging for the night. The next day, low clouds chilled the morning air, but as they began to dissipate, they luffed and danced on the surrounding peaks revealing them in the most artistic and spectacular ways. As I walked through Dingboche, I looked up to see a Stupa appear in front of Taboche and got this image; my favorite from the trip.