The snow started innocuously as we returned
from Cho Oyu base camp down the Ngozumpa Glacier to the
Sherpa village of Gokyo nestling high in the Nepal Himalaya. We
were on the final stage of a month
long trek in the Everest region and had hitherto enjoyed blue
skies and sunshine. Indeed we were
ahead of schedule which was to prove extremely fortunate.
Throughout the afternoon it snowed steadily.
One large group of trekkers and their staff headed off
down the valley. I wondered where they were going - they would
not be able to get far so late in the
day and in such poor conditions.
In the evening Nima, my Sherpa guide,
suggested I slept inside the lodge with the staff but I
dislike lodges ( good ones are congested and noisy, bad ones are
dirty and dismal ) and retired to
my tent pitched in an adjoining field. Unseasonal snowfalls had
been experienced on many previous
treks but had never amounted to much.
I was awoken by something pressing against
me. The sides of the tent were bulging in under the
weight of snow. I tried to push it off but it was too heavy. I
switched on my torch - the tent poles
were beginning to buckle. In a panic I stuffed my things into my
kitbag and scrambled out of the
tent - only just before it collapsed. I ploughed through the deep,
wet snow and burst into the
safety of the lodge.
It was still snowing next morning. My tent
had disappeared completely beneath 4ft. drifts. Only
through necessity did anyone venture outdoors.
Shiva,our kitchenboy, was kitted up for an
expedition down to the lake, about 50 metres away, to
replenish our water container.Soon after he left there was a
tremendous roar. Almost immediately
Shiva burst back into the lodge wide-eyed and shaking with fright.
A massive avalanche had cascaded
off Gokyo Peak into the lake sending a huge wave racing across
the surface. Shiva had narrowly
managed to save himself from being engulfed but had lost the
water container.
All day the snow fell. I instructed Hakim,
our cook, to go easy with our food and kerosene supplies
in case we were to be stranded for a prolonged period - we had
enough for about five more days.
I also began to worry about how much snow the lodge roof would
bear.
It was a bad night in the lodge, stuffy and
overcrowded - bed bugs biting. Forced to go out by a
call of nature I emerged into an ethereal world. The skies had
cleared and everywhere the snow
gleamed in the light of a crescent moon and a myriad stars.
Activity reigned in the morning amidst a
dazzlingly bright snowscape. Paths were beaten between the
various lodges. The Australians, the largest contingent of
trekkers, started to make a path out of
the village. Planks of wood were laid alternately and jumped upon
to compact the shoulder-deep snow.
Progress was slow. After two hours only some 200 metres had been
covered but they persevered and by
late afternoon had reached the end of the lake - normally a five
minute walk.
There was no army or police post in Gokyo
village - no outward communication was possible. However
there were a few transistor radios and word began to circulate of
events elsewhere. The whole of the
Nepal Himalaya had been hit by a freak, 36 hour snowstorm; the
Gokyo Valley was the worst affected
as it lay directly in the direction of the storm unprotected by
any intervening mountain range.
Only a short distance further down the
valley the group I had seen leaving Gokyo village at the
start of the storm had been entombed by an avalanche - 29 people
were dead - 13 Japanese and
16 Nepalese. In the region hundreds of trekkers, trekking staff
and villagers were cut off.
Before breakfast next morning I saw two
well equipped Sherpas heading down the path. I thought they
might be attempting a break-out to the next village of Pangka,
where the major tragedy had occured,
and followed on behind them. I was surprised at how far the path
now extended - on to the second
lake. However the Sherpas were only going to join the gang
already working on the path.
Yaks were a problem. They knew it was time
to return to the lower valleys for the on-coming winter
and would make their way down the path. To pass them you had to
lean back against the snow
embankment ( if you stepped off the path you would sink waist-deep
into the unconsolidated snow );
the yaks would approach cautiously then charge past in a headlong
rush with their sharply pointed
horns only inches away.
In the village there was no sense of crisis
- indeed the opposite was the case. Lines of washing
had appeared and groups of trekkers and staff lounged around
basking in the warm sunshine.
Helicopters occasionally flew overhead but none landed.
The fifth day dawned bright and clear. From
our lodge window I expected to see people going down to
work on the path but there was no sign of anyone. I went up to
the Australian's HQ. They had given
up. The doom and gloom brigade, mostly a group of Americans, had
got to them. The path had been
extended to a bridge below the lakes where the trail descended
beneath a steep hillside. The
scaremongers were warning of avalanches and saying it was too
dangerous to go any further. The
leader of the American group had forbidden his members and staff
to work on the path.
One climber, Matthew, an Australian,
however was going down to check the situation and Nima and I,
with a few others, went with him.
From the bridge we could see Pangka where a helicopter had landed and was surrounded by people.
I belayed Matthew whilst he carved a path
through the drifts on the far side of the bridge and
around a rock buttress. Round the corner a steep snowfield led on
downwards - difficult but possible
- the way to Pangka was open.
One sirdar decided to go down immediately.
His group was running out of time for their international
return flight and he was anxious to make contact with the
helicopter. Nima also decided to go down.
I headed back up to Gokyo with the intention of returning in the
afternoon to fix a rope handrail
round the awkward corner and move down to Pangka the following
day.
Back at Gokyo there had been developments.
One of the small helicopters had landed and instructions
given that arrangements be made for people to be airlifted out.
After giving priority to those with urgent
international flights to catch and those who were sick
( most of the Americans ), the Australians had put all other
names ( trekkers, staff, villagers )
into a hat and drawn them out at random., A long queue stretched
from the square of snow that had
been flattened for a helipad.
Three times that afternoon large Mi-17
helicopters, only recently purchased by Nepal from Russia,
landed. Each flight evacuated about 30 people. ( "It depends
on the pilot - some are stronger than
others", said the local agent Pasang Sherpa ).
It was already getting dark when the fourth
flight arrived. I was watching with Hakim and we were
astonished to see Nima emerging. He had quite a story to tell. He
had made it down to Pangka,
despite a bad fall on the way, had then hitched lifts in
helicopters, first to Namche Bazaar, and
then all the way to Lukla where he had passed on word that we
were safe and well. He had then
managed to return to Gokyo on the last flight.
Later in the evening I had our names added
as a single block of six to the evacuation list ( from
which we had been omitted ). In Namche Bazaar the situation had
been chaotic as many trekkers had
been dispatched without their support staff, tents, food or
kitchen equipment - a consequence of
mixing people at random in the list and not in their groups.
The first flight next morning was mostly a
cargo flight with some trekking staff. We flew out
together on the second flight. The Sherpani from our lodge and
her three young children were also
on board. Her husband was staying behind to tend his yaks and the
lodge.
A mere eight minutes later we touched down
in a different, snow-free world of green meadows and
pine forests at Namche Bazaar - normally a three day trek from
Gokyo. "Today my life changed",
declared Pertemba, one of our two Rai porters after his first
experience of flying. Hitherto his
only means of transport had been his own two feet.
On the flight I had studied the valley
below. It was covered in unbroken snow - no path existed -
it would not have been possible to walk out even if we had
managed to reach Pangka. A month later
the trail had still not been re-opened.
By the end of the rescue the helicopters
would have picked up a total of 549 people - 250 trekkers
and 299 Nepalese - most from the Gokyo region. 61 fatalities were
recorded. More were expected to
be discovered in the Spring after the eventual melting of the
snows.