An Anniversary for Annapurna ~ Travelog Thursday

I treat anniversary's of specific dates as a big deal. I don't know why or where that came about, but since I can remember I found knowing an important date in my life as a milestone, or marker that gives me perspective on the things that have changed in my life since last year or ten years ago at that time. I think that I treat important dates as my own personal New Year's Eve/Day. I have never had a massive revelation or moment on the last day of the calendar year because it never had any personal significance to me. But certain dates in my life stick out in my mind with significance.

Now that I am back in America, I look at random days of the year and think, “where was I last year? What was I doing? How long was my hair? Where was I mentally?” These questions come up often, and I am fortunate enough to remember a lot of special dates from at least last year's crazy travels. But sadly like everything, your memories begin to fade from year to year, and hopefully with all of my photographs and stories, the moments in my life will be remembered.

My Buddhist Prayer flags blow atop Mount Annapurna, Nepal

So today, I woke up and thought the usual questions of “where was I last year on this date?” Although, knowing full well that I would remember April 6th as a pretty exciting day for me in 2010.

The sixth of April, 2010 I was just finishing my last day of a grueling weeklong trek to the base camp of Mount Annapurna, the world’s tenth highest mountain. But what made this date so special was all that occurred prior to completing the trek.


Just a few short days after entering into Nepal near the end of March, from India, and visiting one of the holiest places in the world, Lumbini (the birthplace of Lord Buddha), I arrived into Pokhara, Nepal—the trekking, climbing, outdoors-ing capital in Nepal and perhaps in the world. On my bus ride up from Lumbini to Pokhara, I met this British girl named Hannah and being the only two westerners on the rickety old bus full of rice bags, chickens and even two live goats stuffed underneath the bus, we bonded on our eight hours of overnight horror.

Once getting to Pokhara, we got stuck in a snow/hail/thunderstorm that did not work out very well for my plans to get on my way to the Annapurna Base Camp trek immediately. The rain allowed me to rest and made me realize I don’t need to rush, but with my time constraints within Nepal and flights to get back to Thailand, I had to push the limit a bit.

So finally, the last day of March, Hannah and I started our trek. The first three days were about the same thing; steep climbs, heavy bags, cold nights, little food, sore legs, and lots of cool locals and trekkers.

The view going down the valley away from Annapurna Base Camp.

(There will come a time where I blog on the details of this trek because it was life changing, but for now, I want to get to the good part, the last few days!)

As my few days of climbing progressed, people along the trail start to know one another as the trips mesh day by day. So eventually after the second or third day, people begin to gravitate toward groups or people that share the same pace as them along the trail. So Hannah and I met up with these two Englishmen (Shaun and Phil) and an Aussie girl (Anna) and formed a small group that looked out for each other during the climb. Obviously, being in the middle of a mountain range, none of us had access to the real world, so much of our third day was Shaun and I talking soccer and those who caught ear of it joined in as well.

The next day started with me excited to climb. I threw on my blue Chelsea soccer kit and let everyone know that I was climbing for my Boys in Blue as they had a HUGE match against rivals and title contenders Manchester United that day. Rightfully so, every Englishmen or soccer fan recognized the jersey and commented. Some rude, some happy but mostly good conversation was struck up. My jersey was such a hit on the trail that on day 6, as I was descending back down the mountain, I ran into some guys from England talking about soccer, and I interrupted quite rudely and asked if any of them knew the result of the Chelsea/ManU match. They all smiled and one of them said, “wait, you’re American, right? You’re the Chelsea fan from America that all these people have been talking about. You’ve got the Michael Essien kit with you don’t you?” I was shocked that my reputation held out so firmly, and was even more shocked and ecstatic to hear that Chelsea beat Man U that match. It made my trek even that much more special!

At Mannachuppre Base Camp about to make my final ascent, but not without showing my support for Chelsea!

On day four (April 3, 2010), the final ascent until the base camp, the trek got interesting. The gutted valley which we trekked along for most of the first three days started to take more of a shape and you can actually see at the narrow points of the valley where the thousands of year-old scrapings from the glacier higher up the mountain ripped through the rock. On both sides of you are 6,000+ meter high mountains jetting straight up to the sky with snow capping them all and every so often regions of avalanche warnings. (We actually just missed a small one on our descent down which was scary.)

Avalanche Warning signs all across the upper part of the trek. We witnessed a few, some too closely.

Once we got to the last stop/teahouse/rest site before the Annapurna Base, we had to take a rest. This stop was called the Mannachuppre Base Camp as it sat at the foot of Mount Mannachuppre (aka Fish Tail Mountain as it looks like the tail end of a fish from the Annapurna Base) which is the holiest and most sacred mountain in the Himalayan range for Nepali people. It is so special and impressive, that not one person has ever climbed to the top of it, and the one person who has dared to even circle the sharp peak by plane was killed in an accident the following week when he began boasting to be the only person to ever reach the peak. It is a very special moment for a Nepali person, even the porters and guides who climb it every week to take a photograph in front of the special “Fish Tail Mountain”.

Mount Mannachuppre (aka Fish Tail) is the highest peak looking over Annapurna Base Camp. The sun rises just over its shoulder peak and shines down into the valley. ABC is at the bottom of the picture with all its prayer flags.

Once arriving at the Fish Tail Base Camp, I was struggling with how cold it was and the climb only looked steeper. So now to the last base camp, I’m spent and I’m no longer talking soccer but just making sure I can breath properly. After about 32km climbing uphill and about 8km remaining to the top, I could feel the pressure in my chest but also of the clock. I relaxed for 45 minutes, ate a very expensive Snickers bar with black tea and started the final ascent on my own as my group left a few moments beforehand and were ascending much faster than I was. The MOMENT I stepped forward towards ABC, it started to snow. Within 30 minutes it was a blizzard and I couldn’t see 50 feet in front of me. There in the back of my mind was where I could hear all of the smart and reasonable people in my life saying, “we told you that your heart cannot handle serious altitudes. Turn around.” Every gruelingly slow step in this snowstorm, I thought about all the other struggles and difficulties I had overcome in my life, mainly beating cancer twice. I kept motivating myself by saying “I can do this, and when I do, it will be one of my proudest days”.

My porter fighting his way through the snow to get to ABC.

I am not a person to be told “you cannot” by anyone, not even the oncology team who saved my life. It does not bode well for anyone to tell me that I cannot do something because it only motivates me to more than wanting to do it, but rather I needing to do it. This trek was one of those things. A year and a half earlier I climbed to 4,095 meters above sea level and my altitude sickness was quite bad the night before reaching the peak of Mount Kinabalu, Southeast Asia’s highest point. And prior to that it was recommended that I not climb it for my weakened heart. I didn’t listen of course.

All of my most taxing, painful, enduring moments of my past came to mind as motivation within each miserable step up to base camp. All of the mishaps and bumps in the road just became visual in my climb alone. It was INSANELY difficult to motivate myself to reach the metaphorical “finish line” as it was impossible to see and psychologically frustrating because you would look up and not know where to go or how much further to go or even if it would be flat or a steep climb. There came a point halfway up where I turned around and could not see down the mountain from where I came from, or look up and see where I was going. And I was all alone in the middle of a snowstorm near the peak of mountain. All I had was a walking stick in my hand as my porter had already reached the top with my bag and I simply had the path in the snow to follow. It became more than difficult but rather frightening at that point. The snow was thickening and the footsteps that were my guides to where to walk were slowly vanishing and I began slipping around.

Finally after 2 hours and 40 minutes, I saw houses in the distance and made it to the base camp. The “finish line”. Once I got there, all the people I met on the way up on the trail and my group of friends were bundled up in the dining areas of the separate teahouse/guesthouses with blankets, foot warmers, and hot tea talking about the walk up and how beautiful the snow was. I arrived covered in snow, breathing heavily, near passing out and had no idea where to go or which friends were at which guesthouse. Suddenly one of my friends waved me down to join them inside for some tea, food, and warmth. It was a tremendous feeling. Then friends from another teahouse came out and waved me down as well. The feeling to have no clue what your next move is as you've spent four days trying to reach this point and then having your qualms relieved with some good people waiting on your arrival.

Our teahouse with friends, warmth, and decent food.

Anna stands outside the guesthouse waiting for me and watching the fresh snow.

I treated myself and ate a hardy spaghetti dinner, which was perfection even if it was not like the homemade stuff like back in New Hampshire. I told myself the entire trek that I would only eat dahl baaht for the entire trip up. Dahl baaht is a lunch tray with a ton of plain rice, steamed spinach, dahl curry (lentils and cabbage soup), vegetables like broccoli and stuff, and some pickled chillis, alongside a fried papad (like one big fried tortilla chip without the salt and more grease). You mix it all together with your hands and make a nice combo of all the sections and then scoop it into your mouth with you right hand. This is the dish ALL Nepali eat, everyday, every night, all the time. It's supposed to be the healthiest and best for trekking and unfortunately its only cheap in the towns, while on the mountain it can get to up 400 rupees (around 200 Thai baht= 4-5 US$) but still the cheapest of the meals available. So the spaghetti was a great change of pace and a nice reward for reaching the top. But the real reward was not a pasta dinner, but it was to see the 10th tallest mountain in the world, face-to-face. And when I got there, the snow was too thick and I couldn’t see any peaks in front of me. The mystery made the wait overnight even more spectacular.

My roommate that night was Sameer, a nice Indian guy who was in the Indian Army as a medic and was a good conversationalist. At one point before we fell asleep, he looked over at me and said, “Mike, do you snore?” I replied, “no I’m not a snorer, you are lucky.” He laughed and said, “Oh I only assumed because with such a big nose, you must snore loudly.” I laughed pretty hard and told him, “I wouldn’t judge my friend, that big Indian nose of yours properly has some snoring potential in it.” His humor was helpful as my altitude sickness concerned me with how fast my heart was racing while trying to sleep. It was as if my heart was pounding like I was running quickly, but I was only laying down. I went to sleep freezing with all my layers on, within my sleeping bag and three blankets on top of me, only to wake up each hour to see the moon illuminating the massive mountains around the base – and my heart still racing, this time I feel like it was more out of anticipation rather than altitude.

Unfortunately, it was too cold to go out and snap any photos or even appreciate the view but from my fogged up window, but the moon and snow-covered ground looked incredible. Finally, I woke up at 5:30 for sunrise and everyone in the camp was already up and at it, excited to watch the sun eclipse the peaks and start making the base camp brighter (and also warmer). The highest peaks were the first to be touched by the sun coming in from the east in its orange/pinkish flare. Annapurna I stood straight in front of us at base and it looked like a huge vanilla snow ball just lightly dipped at the top with orange sherbet. Annapurna I is the 10th highest mountain in the world but the king of the Annapurna range at just over 8000 meters above sea level (8091m or 26,545 ft). Quite a sight to see, but it doesn’t stand alone. Around it are Annapurna III, IV, and several others that are out-of-this-world tall, all over 8000 m. It felt like we were right at the top of them with how close they were, but in reality we were a mere 4140 meters above sea level, only halfway up. It’s hard to imagine that 4 days of trekking from about 1000m to reach over 4000 only amounted to HALF of this mountain. The base area has a smaller hill to march up to get great views of all the peaks that create a 360 degree panoramic view of all over 7600m peaks staring down on us like peons. The hill is covered in prayer flags and stupas commemorating the first ascent in 1970. There is a sign stating congratulations on reaching the base and the exact altitude you’re standing at. There are statues for those that have died on the mountain, one of them being a member of the first group of climbers to reach this base camp in 1970. It was quiet, white, and chillingly beautiful everywhere you look. The only things that move are the colorful flags of red, yellow, green, blue, and white with the wind.

The 10th highest mountain in the world: Annapurna I as the sunrises to it's tip

I wrap my prayer flags around a stupa to keep them tied tight and won't blow away.

A wider angle of how massive Annapurna I is and the giant valley that formed nearly 1,500 meters below.

Catching some sun in front of Mannachuppre for good luck and my "Hope" shirt opened up.

It is a custom to bring prayer flags on any mountain trek for good luck and safety but also to be able to place at the highest point. The meaning behind them is that the flags will blow in the wind, and the actual prayers that are written on the fine cloth will blow through the flags and be sent across the land below and bless everything the wind reaches. So my prayer flags were brought up for everyone in my life, my family, my friends and every single person who I’ve met along the way of my crazy and adventurous life. I thought about my doctors, my teachers, my students and every single person important to me. As I put my prayer flags up, I made some wishes, said some prayers and had my friend take some photos of me while doing so. I wore my Relay For Life t-shirt with the word “Hope” on the front. It was my personal reminder that anything is possible, it just takes a little bit of hope. I showed my shirt off, got some pictures with it on and got people talking and asking about it. I explained to them how significant the moment was for me in my life and their congratulations were amazing.

Once finishing my two-hour photo shoot at the top of base camp, I began walking down to the houses to get ready for breakfast and the descent. As I was walking down, I took one last look at my prayer flags that I immediately hung up beside the hundreds of others there. I said one last goodbye to the mountains and my prayer flags gave a wave back, as they were the ONLY flags out of all of them that were blowing in the wind. It couldn't have been more perfectly scripted and definitely not coincidental. I was stunned. I grabbed my camera and recorded it. My 25 foot long flags were the only ones blowing in the wind. It was magical.

I packed my bags up and got with my friends to make the trip back down. The sun was beating down and it was quite hot by the time we left, so I was still wearing my Relay For Life "Hope" shirt for obvious reason and as descending, I had multiple people asking what it meant and what it was all about. It was a very proud moment to boast about what the shirt and what climbing this massive mountain means. Especially as it was exactly a week to the day of the 10 year anniversary of April 11th, the day I was diagnosed with cancer. Once again, not coincidental in my eyes.

Me in front of the king of the Annapurnas with Hope on my sleeve. Facebook profile picture for sure.

As we kept walking down, someone had mentioned that it was Sunday and it made me realize that it was Easter Day. The same day in which I spent with Annapurna and the Himalayan family… like I said, not coincidental. Rising from the dead among rocks... sounds about right doesn’t it?

So as all of these special dates start to hit their anniversaries, especially April 11th, I will always remember April 4th, 2010 as the day I can look forward to as the day I reached the peak and closed out a phase in my life that I will only look back on now with great respect and significance.

I guess I have a lot of reasons to appreciate anniversary dates for.