Walking to Rara Lake

The next morning we set out. Our cook Mimor and his two assistants packed up the camp. The kitchen boys Bimba and Tilok shouldered the lighter baskets. The guide Dendi assigned three porters to the heavier loads. He carried a small daypack himself. The camp hierarchy was becoming clear.

"We'll reach Rara Lake in four days," Dendi told us. "We'll stop for lunch today when we find water." We started up the avenues of Jumla, a bit out of breath from the eight thousand foot altitude. Two hours later we were glad to sit down while Mimor cooked, but didn't feel too fatigued. The slope had been gradual, and we had kept a good pace.

By mid-afternoon our illusions were shattered. A sheer ridge loomed before us, with a trail snaking straight up. Mimor bounded ahead, passing sheperds effortlessly chasing their goats in the alpine meadows. I struggled to lift one foot. About halfway up, I reached for my altimeter. "Don't look," Diane warned. "Almost 11,000 feet," I read. "My lungs are bursting. I don't want to know!" she screamed back. At 12,000 feet, we topped the crest, only to stare down at the north side covered with snow, ice, and mud. I tried the snow first, off to the side. A couple of steps later, I plunged thigh deep, unable to extricate myself, much less move forward. Diane stuck to the ice and mud on the main path.. She managed to stay erect for 20 paces or so, then slid several yards into a snowbank.

Slowly we edged our way down a valley, catching Mimor as dusk closed in. The mountains rose steeply on both sides of the stream, with snow blanketing everything. A stone building housing a smoky teashop occupied the only level ground. "Do you think they expect us to stay in there? Diane asked. I frowned, seeing no alternative. "We can't pitch our tent on this snow and we'll slide down the bank anyway." We peered again into the hazy interior. Mimor must have seen us blanch. He barked orders and pointed at the mud roof. The boys scrambled up and unfolded the tent. Sure enough, he had spied the only flat dry spot available. We learned quickly never to doubt his eagle eyes when he was looking after our comfort.

"I wanted to stay in Australia," I taunted that evening. "Didn't the guide books say to take a short easy trek the first time, see if you like it?" "You talked me into this," Diane retorted. "A twelve thousand foot pass on the first day. How many more?" Some hot tea calmed me. "The first day is always the hardest," I rationalized. "Yeah, tell that to my legs."

We dragged ourselves up the next morning and kept walking. Three days later we had forgotten those initial tribulations. We traveled down one river valley and up another. We passed countless villages, with schoolchildren chasing us as we brought some excitement to their recess. We hiked across terraces dotted with blooming peach trees and through dense evergreen forests. Atop another 11,000 foot pass, we glimpsed our destination, a shimmering blue jewel set in a ring of snowy peaks. The next day we camped on the shore.