Mountaineering in Nepal - He Ain't Your Sherpa (Cont.)

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Outside Magazine April 2001

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True EVEREST
He Ain't Your Sherpa (Cont.)


	Near Everest, monuments to Scott Fischer and other climbers killed in the Himalayas. (Teru Kuwayama)

BUSHWHACKING 2,300 FEET down a steeply terraced hillside to the pearlescent Dudh Koshi River, hopscotching from one greening barley field to the next, we start our trek in earnest.

We make poor progress the first day because every 75 yards we're hailed by another one of the neighbors, each of whom plies us with cups of hot tea and platters of boiled potatoes; you peel a spud, dip it in chili sauce, and eat it like an apple. The first dozen are tasty. At about the third stop, I take the risk of offending my host and refuse. Babu takes an entire platter.

Back on the trail, it's finally time to challenge the master on his own turf. "How much do you weigh, anyhow?" I start in.

"Eighty-two kilos," he replies. 180 pounds. He's five-foot-five.

"Ever wonder whether you could've done the speed record faster if you weighed less?"

"Not possible," he says. "I try. My wife too good cook."

Sherpas distinguished themselves as high-altitude specialists who would risk their lives for sahibs. But they also fought hard for greater respect.

Climbing up from the river, I make my move, striding urgently uphill with my 45-pound pack, opening up an early lead. Babu is carrying 25 pounds. Teru wears a knapsack and a belt slung with cameras. Nima has everything the rest of us don't want to haul, maybe 70 pounds of crap, loaded into a full-size backpack with a duffel bag strapped on.

"What's the matter, Babu?" I call down at one point. "All those potatoes weighing you down?"

He stops, lets out a throaty chortle, and starts trucking straight uphill, cutting the switchbacks. "I'm catching you!" he yells.

"Cheater!" I shout.

On the downhill stretches Babu runs full-tilt, taking the lead and skirting meandering yak trains, dollar-a-day porters carrying 120-pound loads, and the occasional horrified Euro-trekker (we aren't exactly soaking up the scenery). Nima, clad in flimsy Chinese army-surplus canvas sneakers—Asia's answer to Chuck Taylors—stays right on Babu's tail. I try to keep pace without blowing a knee. On the uphills, however, I regain my lead. Grinning devilishly as I pass him, Babu warns me that things will be different once we're above 10,000 feet.

I'm still ahead by the time we get to the town of Lukla, where we spend the night. The next day we continue our yo-yoing on the five-hour walk to Namche Bazaar, a town of 1,647 people chiseled into a steep-walled cirque at 11,286 feet. We've arrived in the high country, the official opening to the Khumbu Valley.

Namche serves as the commercial center of the region, drawing people from several days away on foot to buy and sell goods every Saturday. Thanks to a nearby hydropower project, it boasts electricity, two Internet cafés, three bakeries, and a number of rooftops sporting enormous satellite TV dishes.

Babu checks us into the Panorama Lodge, where many Everest mountaineers stay, in part because a flat stretch of land behind the lodge is a perfect staging ground for the yak trains that supply Base Camp. The owner is Sherap Jangbu Sherpa, 46, a member of the growing class of wealthy, educated Sherpa businessmen who have taken advantage of the ever-growing tourist boom. In addition to running his successful lodge, Sherap Jangbu leads luxury treks for outfits like Butterfield & Robinson; he also provides a dramatic measure of how far Sherpas have come in just a few generations. "My grandfather was a farmer, my father was a trader, I'm a guide and hotel owner, and my son is going to be a software developer," he told me. Babu is trying to make the leap from Third World field hand to First World franchise in one generation.

He has been passing this way for over a decade, ever since he first got the opportunity to work on Everest in 1990. That year he signed on with an expedition led by Marc Batard, a Frenchman who a few years earlier had climbed from Base Camp to the summit in less than 24 hours. During Babu's first season on the mountain, Batard planned to attempt his next stunt: spending eight hours atop Everest and then immediately climbing neighboring Lhotse from Camp IV. Batard reached the summit and lasted two hours before fear of frostbite forced him to descend, abandoning his sleeping bag and a stove on the summit. Babu, stationed at the South Col, asked Batard if he could take a crack at the summit and got a thumbs-up. He dashed up alone, gathered Batard's stash, and hauled this proof that he had summited down to Base Camp. It was a formative experience in more ways than one: With Batard as a role model, Babu began to veer off the typical path for Sherpas.

The Panorama Lodge is also popular with trekkers, and here I meet the Seashols: Mike, Suzanne, and their sons, Matt, 28, and Pete, 24. The family takes one or two adventure-travel vacations a year. Mike is a software entrepreneur who has run 30 marathons, Suzanne is a preternaturally cheery and energetic trooper, Matt spent the last year traveling the world (42 countries, including Nepal), and Pete is a big-wall climber.

The Seashols love Sherpas. "I've never seen people with such an incredible strength-to-weight ratio," Mike tells me. "They're so strong! And humble. And gracious." Suzanne chimes in: "The best part about being with these people is that they are so gracious about sharing their culture. They're wonderful people. Every question I ask, they answer."

The Seashols register only one complaint. "It's been so hard to find people wearing traditional dress," says Matt over breakfast one morning. Just then I notice Babu entering the dining room wearing a red Mountain Hardwear WindStopper Flex jacket, a pair of khaki Mountain Hardwear Supplex Pack Pants, and a purple Mountain Hardwear WindStopper Nut Beret.

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