We wake with a sprinkling of snow on the tents and ice crystals in our water bottles. The snow has also given the north face of Mt. Kailash a new look.
We set off at nine for the Droma La / Tara Pass, the highest point on the kora. At 18,600 feet it is 2400 feet above Dirapuk Monastery. The trail we are told, ascends steeply, flattens out for a while, then ascends again very steeply. The views are wonderful: the powerful presence of Mt. Kailash is available for much of the way. For me, it is a very hard climb. Again my heart aches. It is not racing, but rather simply trying to get enough oxygen. Every few minutes I stop and rest, learning again my poles. I try every remedy or aid I can think of: the altitude medication Diomax, some gly-coramin squares another pilgrim has given me, honey-based energy bar from home, lots of water.
A glacier pack just before the pass
I just keep pushing on. After five hours of walking I reach the pass. I join with other pilgrims in throwing up in the air a small pack of papers with blessings on them, thanking the gods for allowing me to make it safely this far.
The celebration upon reaching the pass
Then I unroll my prayer flags. Seemingly everyone brings prayer flags. I tie them between two rocks already festooned with flags and think of the many people I want to send blessing to.
After a half hour enjoying the festivities of each new group attaining the pass, I begin the descent. It is a steeper and rockier trail, requiring more attention than the ascent. Three and a half hours later, I descend into a gentle valley. There is a small tent tea house there and I meet up with five of the slower walkers from our group. We are all exhausted.
After hot noodles and other refreshments, we learn from our guide that out camp is several more hours away. “Just stay on the left bank of the river,” he says.
Yaks with our bags. (Four yaks for the tents and kitchen, two yaks for our sleeping bags and duffles.
I begin walking again at 5:45. The trail is easy and after an hour I begin to look for our encampment. Probably over the next hill or just beyond where the river turns right and is out of view. Hope after hope is dashed. Nothing to do but keep walking. Three hours later there is still no camp in site. Part of me wants to complain or argue, but it makes no sense. The only thing that makes sense is being with my breath and my body and moving on. I walk for a few minutes, stop to breathe, and walk again
After the tea house, on the (seemingly) endless walk.
Finally around 9 pm, just as it is getting dark, I see the blue tents. I make it to camp by 9:20, have a bowl of soup, and am quickly in bed and asleep. One wonderful and exhausting day.
The elusive camp
