Mount Stok Kangri: Electrolytes, Oximeters and Butter-Salt Tea

Stepping onto the ridge, we were chilled to the bone. It was black with no moon and a strange scent in the wind made this place feel unintended for humans.

Sunrise on the way down Stok Kangri, 20,082 ft

Acclimatizing and Zen-ifying in Leh

During our month long trip to India, Vivek and I spent 10 days in the Ladakh region, crowned in the peaks and streams of the Himalayas.

When we stepped out of the airplane, we immediately felt the air was different. On the one hand it was clean and fresh, a far cry from Delhi's challenging smog, but somehow not as satisfying too. Thin.

Leh refreshes you like stepping into a field of mist.

At 10,000 ft elevation, Leh is nestled among the snow-covered peaks of India's Himalayas, crossed by a quiet stream through its center. It has become a small touristy mountain-town, however it is large for the northern state of Jammu and Kashmir, wedged between Nepal, the Tibetan region of China and Pakistan. Arriving in Leh was a culture shock of its own. We had traveled through Delhi and the cities of the Rajasthani, Thar Desert, just before.

Breathing in the mountain air, seeing the peaks in the distance, Leh refreshes one as a field of air shrouded in mist. The city is home to a strong Buddhist culture. Where in Rajasthan we had felt a powerful mix of Hinduism, Islam, and Sikhism, up here you felt Buddhism, Hinduism and Islam. The city has a strong environmental emphasis, clean water and air, and is dotted with tall skinny trees that seemed to be well aware of the high altitude around them. Leh sustains a major tourism economy, particularly with the surge of travelers who desire to climb in the Himalayas, bask in their austere, clean beauty and, particularly for German tourists, drive a motorbike at 15,000 feet.

Vivek and I had personally come here in search of adventure and catharsis, and perhaps out of some feeling of to answer a call. We wanted to backpack and climb a mountain while in India, and much to my uncertainty, Vivek had convinced both myself and our Trek the Himalayas guides (over email) that we were ready for Stok Kangri, even with, I will say, limited high altitude experience. In emails, he cited my experience as a volleyball club athlete, which I don't think really qualifies me. They wanted pictures of us hiking big peaks (over 14,000ft) and he had sent them a few pics of himself in Iceland and South America, and one of me on the small New England peak, Mt. Washington, when I still had braces. Nevertheless we had assured them that we were training hard and were ready for the climb. You were required to run at least 4 5Ks a week to join "the expedition." Truth was I had no idea how I would respond to the altitude. Some people do fine with elevation, some have tremendous difficulty to adjust. I figured since I am prone to seasickness that I must be a natural for the mountains. In any case, we had trained hard all summer long.

Leh brims with delicious Tibetan, Indian (and even Japanese) restaurants, with singing prayer bowls, prayer flags, and pashmina silk scarves. You will easily find yoga and meditation classes or an herbal doctor to sell you life-giving powder. After a day of rest, our first yoga class at 10,000 feet was quite a hustle. Vivek and I were certainly in the remedial section of the class. And it was a class of three. During our preparation days, I took several meditation classes at night from a visiting monk in a buddhist travelers' center. During the days we would climb to the edges of the town to small hills where there was a great Japanese Stupa, a temple and an old medieval palace.

We stayed at Raybo Hostel, a little ways out of the commercial town center. It was a beautiful wooden cabin-style hearth, with a sweet trickling stream just nearby heading in to town. We acclimatized well with chess, coffee, EmergenC, mint tea (helps nausea), Thukpa and Momos. Thukpa is the classic Ladakhi/Nepali soup, with noodles and vegetables. Momos are cute little dumplings.

Both peaceful and daunting, the real attraction of Leh is that all around you, no matter where you are in the town, you can see immense, glowing peaks that surround you and nestle you in the valley. They constantly remind you of their presence, and that you are in nature as well as a city.

Dreams

It seemed whenever we were acclimatizing, our dreams would intensify.

On the first night in Leh, I heard Vivek tossing and turning, arguing and then having an epiphany with "the Christian God." We had been to a lot of different temples in the past week. That same night I had a funny dream, in which I was in a warm sunlit field, colored with flowers, when an old-sounding voice suddenly spoke, "you know why you both came here." Then everything vanished, I saw the peaks and awoke with a start. I never found out what Vivek was dreaming.

If I would advise one thing if you plan to visit and hike out of Leh, it is to take as many extra days there as you can beforehand. It is well worth it, a stunning yet peaceful place, and extra time to acclimatize just can't be overrated. Dreams, oxygen and all.

"Climb high, Sleep low."

The First Days

After several days, we met with our Trek the Himalayas guides, some of them locals, others Bangalore tech industry burn outs who were finding a more satisfying life here in the mountains. We were a group of 15 hikers, 3 guides and a few cooks and helpers. We traveled by car the short way from Leh to Stok village, passing carpet stores and restaurants on a small highway. At the end of a road by the inner edge of Stok village, pressed against the mountains and shaded by light trees, we set out on a quiet dirt path. The path quickly began to slope upwards, into a great valley between two sharp ridges.

Hiking was beautiful and slow. Craggy sheets of rock rose up on either side and we followed the river that had carved this gorge steadily upwards. We would start early, set up camp each day before lunch, and then climb higher without our packs in the evening. "Climb high, sleep low" was the philosophy. The science behind this is that, by climbing high, you start to acclimatize to the highest altitude to which you hike. Thus, you will be better prepared to sleep at the lower elevation. This simple trick speeds your acclimatization and also helps to prevent dangerous low-oxygen events from happening while you sleep.

Our group of 15 hikers plus guides was very diverse, made up of Indians from every part of the sub-continent and a few internationals, Rocky, from Australia (the grandfather figure of our expedition), Kasha, a Polish powerhouse on a rejuvenating trip to India, and Vivek and I, the Americans. Most people in the group spoke very good English, and it was very easy to get along and become close. We all shared a common journey, anticipation and goal. Dinners at night would be loud with laughter, the mix of English and Hindi and the clanking of metal trays in a long tent, with cold and clear night skies piercing down just outside. Vivek and I would try to strategically position our sleeping tent each night to face the river or some far off peaks for an inspiring morning view.

In the morning I would enjoy some tea and insta-coffee curtesy of Kasha. Each afternoon we would enjoy more tea. On the third day, as we began to feel the altitude, I made a huge pot of Rajasthani mint tea I had purchased in Jodhpur's sprawling marketplace. I was very happy to share this elixir, to open our pores and nostrils with the refreshing smell of mint and hopefully receive more oxygen. Placebo or not, we were all busily preparing for the third oximeter test.

Each evening before dinner, we would gather around our guide as he carefully pinched our pointer fingers with an oxygen meter reader, which like that at a doctor's office, can sense what percent of oxygen our blood is absorbing. If you dipped below 80%, that was it, you were off the island. It was a daily drama we all anticipated, as a ceremony appealing to the gods. It was like a sporting match-- someone would score a 90 and leap away pumping their fist in achievement. Others would calmly smile and step back after they scored a pass, like a veteran player who is sure he will make the shot.

After this third day of testing, now three of our fifteen were to be sent home, with scores in the 70's. They returned with a guide the following morning. Vivek and I were doing quite fine at this point. My oximeter had actually increased to the surprise of our guide. The mint tea was paying off, and for Vivek, a last-minute purchase of Diamox.

Gathering Around and Preparing for the Oximeter

Base Camp, 16,000 Feet Nausea

As we continued up each day, the only way I can really describe the feeling was as if we were entering some kind of spirit-realm. Each day felt more ethereal than the last.

The night before we reached base camp, Vivek and I once again had unsettling dreams. I dreamt of a family illness. Vivek dreamt that a small group of little green aliens came into the tent in the middle of the night and started pulling me out, not before grabbing for his pockets trying to steal his wallet. He swatted away their little hands like mischievous children as they came to him. Apparently, I went very willingly along with them out of the tent and into the night...

The next morning we were fine, and indeed refreshed, feeling much better.

We arrived at base camp early, in time for lunch, and I spent the afternoon by the river reading. Because our expedition was in September, toward the end of the hiking season, we had set base camp lower than usual for Stok Kangri, (to avoid reports of frozen river at the normal location.) Even at our site, the river would freeze overnight and thaw again throughout the morning.

We were at base camp for several days in total. Our plan was to sleep there, rest the whole next day and set out for the summit after dusk. The summit hike was the true test. It was the marathon in the cold compared to a morning stretch. Because of the danger of slippery wet snow during the day, we had to attempt summit at night, a good 8 hour endeavor. We were to leave at 9:30pm, reach summit at roughly 5:30am for sunrise and then slowly hobble back down to camp. However, after the first afternoon at base camp, I had no interest in this auspicious goal any longer.

Nausea and headache were slowly overtaking me. I sat by the river, trying to shift my focus to its beautiful orchestra. It was my hope that the bubbly oxygenated brook might somehow revitalize me. We were now at 16,000ft, a good 10,000 feet higher than anything I had climbed before. I began to feel worse as the sun set and I was certain I would not attempt to summit if I continued to feel this way. I could not eat dinner. My gracious friends gave me an electrolyte drink which began to help, but not significantly.

As I cowered in the dinner tent after the crowd had come and gone eating, a visiting hiker nodded hello. He looked wind worn and strong and he crouched over to introduce himself. He was a native of Bombay, and was preparing for Everest. He was, thus doing the hike we did in 6+ days, in 2 days.

He could quickly see that I was not doing so well. In my delirium he seemed to be shining with light. I cannot now remember his name or much else from that night, but before he passed on he instructed our cooks to give me hot tea with butter and salt. I lethargically put the butter to my tongue, with regrowing hope that this man in his wisdom knew the secrets to recovery. I swigged down the salty hot water and some more electrolytes. I then crawled out of the dinner tent, walked across the encampment under swirling stars, and fell asleep against Vivek in our tent.

The next morning I awoke with joy to the sounds of the river, revitalized and optimistic.

At this point, through the rest of this final day of preparation, I was feeling immense gratitude that I would have the opportunity now to try to summit. The rest of the day we were instructed to sleep, but neither I nor most of our company was able to take more than a catnap.

In the late afternoon, we practiced linking together in formation with rope and rock climbing harnesses. This was our protocol, what to do if someone fell on the ridge. As the sun set, we cut our heels into the ground and dropped on command. All roped together, it escaped no one that this was not an individual endeavor anymore. Like a tribe preparing for imminent war.

Hiking Through the Night

After a short post-dinner nap, our band prepared for the final ascent. We embarked at 9:30pm and hiked up the first hill in rhythm. Our head lamps swayed back and forth. Our feet crunched on snow and rocks. The stars glistened over head.

At the top of this first lull, I felt my toe sear with pain and cold. After all this, would I go out for a toe? Quickly on our break, I changed socks and started to feel better. Okay no, not yet.

After passing over a sea of rocks, we approached the glacier. We stopped here, waiting for the stragglers and readied our crampons. The crunch of our feet sounded like a dull chalk sound, always almost about to turn into that hair-prickling screech.

Several hours in we stopped again. Bathroom breaks were an art form to minimize cold exposure and get under all the layers. At this break, several of our group of 12 hikers decided to turn back. We had a few extra guides for this reason. Oxygen was on everyone's mind. Our friend decided with certainty that, for his daughter's sake back home, he did not want to risk going further.

We continued on. Numb. Trudging in a kind of daze... Out of some kind of mad desire to get the hike done sooner, I stayed close at the front with our guide leader, sometimes pushing his pace a bit too much. We would have to wait a good 15 minutes for the caboose to catch up to us on breaks.

We were on the final hill heading up to the ridge. But hill is the wrong word-- it was endless. We might have spent 3 hours on this incline. It was quite steep, but the only thing I could do was to push forward at the front. Finish. Finish. Get to the ridge. Get it done.

On the 2nd break of this final slope, my toes began to burn again with that same intensity. At this point, a second group of people wished to turn around and head back. This included one of our dear friends who was feeling out of sorts mentally at this point. The oxygen was starting to affect people's moods. We found out later he was beginning to hallucinate, and that he spent the rest of the evening in a kind of lucid dream, yelling at himself and imagining that he was a street vendor in Delhi. He regained his oxygen-cool the next morning to find his pillow and other personals strewn about outside his tent.

We trudged on. The stars revealed themselves between wisps of cloud. Our slow footsteps hammered out in rhythm, with little breaks and slips, pulling us from this trance.

We stopped again after about 45 minutes. My toes were really on fire now. I ran back and forth to bring them back to life. At this point I finished my water. I could only bring one bottle for this final night hike as it had to be hot in a thermos; camelbacks would quickly freeze.

After this point, no one could turn back.

Our guides announced that this was the final turning point. After this point no one could turn back as they would not have enough guides to help. We fell to silence, contemplating this final choice. I felt well enough and wanted to continue. But my toes!! I asked my guide worriedly, "I am fine, I can handle the pain, but will my toes fall off? Do I have frostbite?" "No" he assured me, "If you can feel them, you are fine Sam." Ok then I am in.

I looked over to Vivek, he was set with determination to go forward. He smiled at me, then his headlamp went out and we jumped. I then realized my light had greatly dimmed as well. As the group prepared to continue, we scrambled to renew our lights and solicited friends for batteries. Lighting crisis averted, we felt reassured we would make it.

After another hour, we approached the ridge. I kept pushing forward at the front in a last charge, channeling my astrology sign the Taurean Bull.

We climbed onto the ridge. Yes we made it! I ran forward a little then collapsed before a rock. The wind hit me like bricks. I lay like a baby in the cold. The guide, a few others and I waited for the remaining three. There were six of us hikers now left altogether plus 3 sturdy guides. Perhaps I had pushed too hard on the ridge. I was completely spent. The cold entered me to my core.

All was still black, and though we could not see it, we could certainly feel that we were indeed on a great ridge, now finally exposed to the elements, at 19,000 feet in the air. Vivek and the others joined us. He nestled beside me and I curled into him, desperate for any warmth. All inhibitions aside, I held him like a child. But the moon was not out, and the cold air not forgiving. There was still the most precarious part to come.

I felt my brain slowly cook. Neurons steamed and evaporated into the air. We whimpered together in a little divot in the rocks that offered no protection. Vivek seemed to still hang onto some strength. But the altitude had caught up with me. I did not wish to, nor believe I could, go any further. This ridge was plenty enough for me. "I'll wait for you here. You guys go onto the top," I said. The guides seemed to ignore me.

As we lay there, Vivek and I were hit with the reality of what we were doing. I cried to him, "Why did we do this? We shouldn't have come up here." He nodded and agreed. We felt the insanity of our ambition.

Neurons steamed and evaporated into the air.

That was it. We had to keep going. There were six of us for this final journey: Awi, Kasha, Vivek, Prem, Rahul and I.

Now for our final ascent. We buckled into our harnesses. We slowly roped all together, with a guide on either end. The ridge was jagged, winding back and forth.We scrambled carefully from boulder to boulder. I was somewhere in the middle of our little kindergarten chain, in a terrible mood. I could no longer walk, and I crawled on all fours over the rocks, bent just enough for my arms to propel me forward. The altitude had completely taken my inhibition and I grumbled and moaned as we continued, begging "whyy, please put me down." Foul mood struck several of our company now. Suddenly, someone fell behind me. We all followed protocol and dug into the rocks at our feet. They had not slipped far, and thankfully we continued. Though this mishap did not do anything good for the moods of our party. I was thankfully too far gone to pay this little scare much attention. I bit my jacket and continued upward like a dog, in a daze.

I could not believe how long this "ridge" continued. Every time I thought we were close, there was more. There was more. This was the theme of the night I realized. I resigned myself to our chain of bodies, crawling along the rocks.

Finally, waking from a dream, we unhooked from one another. Several scampered forward. People began to cheer, but I could not understand why... We had made it. I couldn't believe it. I had counted myself out an hour and a half ago, at the very bottom of my strength, yet I had found to my surprise that I had a deeper reservoir still. That I did not know the limits of my heart and will. I started to cry. I cried, and I surged with a unique feeling of joy and relief. But I was ready to go down.

I did not know the limits of my heart and will.

The Summit, 20,082 Feet

We took some photos with those phones and cameras that had miraculously not frozen. (My iPhone5s had tapped out at Day 3.) Some people were doing better than others with regard to altitude, but no one wanted to linger up there. I knew my body only really wanted one thing. "Oxygen Sam. Need more oxygen. What the *@#* are you doing? Get back down." During our fifteen minute celebration at the top I morosely ate some GORP and excitedly waited for the descent. All I wanted was oxygen. My body and the unfriendly air of this place seemed to be in agreement; they were both asking me to exit this realm of spirits and return to the lowlands.

Sunrise came as we prepared to head back down. It was a magical reward, to see peaks shimmer into vision and the endless, grey expanse flood with light. K2 in the distance. Clouds happily nestled above and below us. As we began to head down the ridge, relinked, a new wind came, filled with sunlight that seemed much friendlier and more becoming to our party.

Going down was a new set of muscles and this aided me for a while. After the ridge we lay about in the sun for a short break. Awi reminded us that most people die on the way down, prone to recklessness and abandon. But we were filled with a careful confidence and new hope. The placebo was very strong: with each step we gained oxygen.

Now we could see in broad daylight the expanse we had come by in the night. We passed over a sea of small rocks. At this point I was stumbling and sliding and had to slow myself repeatedly. For a while, we relinked with our rope. Towards the end as we passed the great incline, we separated into groups of ones and twos. Like travelers bobbing out of the desert, we returned and reached camp again in late morning, to the smiles of the rest of our company waiting there.

Like travelers bobbing out of the desert...

We slept a little that day but not much. One more night at our riverside base camp at 16,000 feet, and we headed home the next day. We trekked all the way back to Stok Village that day from base camp, not needing to worry about acclimatization.

The following night in Leh, we reunited and feasted in the town. Shops had already begun to close and crowds to thin in anticipation of winter. With good food, coffee and wine, and celebration through the night, we re-adjusted to life in the mortal world.

Photos by Vivek Ramakrishnan and Sam Audette.