Every Great Trek Must Come to an End (18 June)

 You are not in the mountains.  The mountains are in you.  ~John Muir

On the downhill

We awake this morning to bitter cold and gray, melancholy skies.  OK, I suppose at least a part of the chill and edging sadness is a reflection of my emotions.  This is our last full trekking day.  Tomorrow we'll be back to the world of roads and wires.  Tired and ready for a shower, a part of me is happy -- and knowing these days never will come again, a part of me already longs for the mountains we are soon to leave behind. 

No path, only rocks

Are we crossing again?

Continuing our descent from our highest camp, we strike a slow procession down a crazy-rugged trek of yak path, boulder hopping and river crossing  (back and forth and back again).  As we move along (as Gary would say, "Going down, except for when we are going up."), we meet a herder couple moving their yak uphill, single shepherds (mostly women) grazing sheep, a single fat marmot racing to its burrow -- and lower still, again, the Caterpillar hunters.  The day was as all preceding days on the trip: quiet, thoughtful, challenging and sense enriching.  I have no expectation of returning to the mountains of Tibet. I am, however, so grateful to have trekked where so few have gone before. The place, in its high solitude splendor, is almost impossible to describe (and I fear my words can never do it justice).  Maybe it is the place of Shangri-la!  Certainly it is enchanted.

Tinsley became one of my favorite walking partners

Today we stopped taking diamox. We seem to have managed life above 15,000 feet for the last two weeks without a problem and are happy for the diamox -- perhaps happier still to end the twice a day pill ritual.  Tonight’s camp is at 14,800 feet — and the air feels surprisingly oxygen rich. 

In my journal tonight I note what I’ll most miss from the trail:

Om mani padme hum

*reciting mantras to even my breath and steel my determination when the going got tough

*admiring the athletic grace of my husband as he treks

*going to sleep to the natural white noise of a stream, creek or river

*being humbled by towering mountains — and reminded of what a very small cog I am in a very short lifetime in the giant history of the world

*the absence of the 24-hour news cycle and talking heads

*the constant discovery of new (to me) flowers, birds and wildlife

*the chanting from the kitchen tent in the mornings and evenings

*Our gentle yak men and their yaks

The photographer

Our yak team

Senior yak man

Taking a picture of my favorite yak

Dharma and our fabulous camp staff

Gary arriving at Camp Nine

I won't miss the rocks and boulders