Dog on a Glacier

I’m not quite sure how far along the track Benny joined us. She was a carefree waif, trotting along with her tail held high and a smile on her face. She neither asked us to join in, nor demanded anything from us. She was simply there; happy to be a part of the group, even if just floating through for a while. I don’t remember a whine or a whimper. It was as if she knew her choice and would bear the consequences; a true mountain dog, content despite the difficulties of her environment.

She definitely didn’t feel the effects of the altitude! Off she would bound after our climbing guides hopping along the rocks of the moraine. Light-footed on the snow, she would be way ahead of us, her bare paws surprisingly unperturbed by the cold. And it was cold out there! We were in the shade on the Thyangbo glacier, at around 4500m altitude, west of Thame in the Everest region.

I don’t think she expected us to stop for so many hours. We were working on our mountaineering skills, hauling each other in simulated crevasse rescues, building snow caves and snow belays, and practicing ice-climbing up a glacier wall. She lay down on the snow, watching us with interest, but cooling down rapidly with the inactivity of a curious observer.

Raksha and Mingma quickly became her custodians, finding her a mat to lie on and keeping her sheltered with our additional warm clothes. At night, back at camp, she would sleep in the vestibule of their tent, protected from the jaws of prowling beasts. We were in the land of snow leopards and yetis… Raksha was taking no chances!

She accompanied us down to Thame a few days later, happily settling on the front doorstep of our lodge. We left her there as we descended to Namche Bazaar, hoping she would choose the quiet, safe village as her new home.

We were not sure what happened to Benny, but yesterday, there was a story in the Nepali Times about a dog who has joined the legendary Apa and Dawa Sherpa on their latest expedition along the Great Himalaya Trail. She joined them near Apa’s home village, Thame! Like them, we also speculated whether or not she was the dog seen at Camp 2 (+/- 6500m) on Everest last year. She joined us in November. Mingma was sure she was one and the same…

Why the name Benny? Well, it was the product of playful banter with our Ozzie friend, Ben! Apa and Dawa Sherpa’s companion is called Setuk. Could Setuk and Benny be the same dog? Well, have a look at the photo’s and tell us what you think! Their story and photo’s are at the following link: http://www.nepalitimes.com/issue/2012/03/02/Nation/19057

Thanks Mingma for the new photo’s for this story! We wish Apa and Dawa Sherpa and Setuk a fantastic journey!

Banteay Chhmar

I was lying in bed in the dark early hours of this morning, unable to sleep. Restless and achy, I landed up in email conversation with my friend Ade on the other side of the world. It was nice to have his cheerful daylight messages to take my mind off things.

Ade is on his way to Cambodia and mentioned that he wanted to visit a newly restored temple complex there. Intrigued, I asked him about it and he sent me this link: http://mekongtourism.org/website/2012/01/cambodias-second-angkor-being-restored-after-800-years/

I idly clicked on it and started reading. Next thing, I was bolt upright in bed, searching through my old Cambodia photo albums. Banteay Chhmar! I’ve been there! It was 2007, just after the area was cleared of landmines. Few Westerners had set foot there before. Finding our way was quite a story! This one is for you, Ade:

It had been a long morning. We’d crossed from Thailand into Cambodia at Poipet, the infamous border town which smells of dodginess and corruption. A border official had already tried to con us each out of an extra 200 Baht visa fee and it had taken a lot of stubbornness and sitting around waiting before he lost interest and returned our passports. The rest of the border-crossers were on their way to Siem Reap on the “scam bus” as it was known, but Emma and I had other plans.

Emma loves anything to do with temples. The older and more derelict, the better! She had read somewhere of Banteay Chhmar, a pile of ancient stones abandoned in the jungle. She  was determined to get there and take a look for herself. I was still suffering the blissful brainlessness induced by weeks of beaches in Thailand, so was happy to go along with whatever plans.

In retrospect we were perhaps a little naïve and definitely more than a little brazen! We donned out backpacks and walked out onto the street, asking the way to Sisophon. A tourist policeman stopped us, motioning that he knew where we must go. He ushered us to the bus station and almost convinced us to board one, but we figured out just in time that it was a “scam bus” leaving for Siem Reap. When he realised that we were adamant about Sisophon, he insisted that we take one of his taxis, at a highly inflated price of course! We were having none of it, so headed off down the road again, thumbs stuck out to hitch a ride. We were offered a lift within minutes, but from out of nowhere, the policeman appeared again and a lot of animated discussion in Khmer ensued. The driver, who had been happy at our agreed price, grumbled and drove off instead.

We carried on walking, trying to catch a ride, our policeman companion riding loops around us in an attempt to herd us back to the bus station. On we walked, bartering with drivers along the way. He would ride off a bit, we would negotiate a lift and next minute he’d reappear, pushing up the price again. Irritating mosquito! He wanted his kickback and wasn’t going to let us go without it! Exasperated, we sat down at a roadside stall and hoped that he would go away. We were in no hurry, so after a while he got impatient and seemed to disappear. By this time everyone in the vicinity knew where we wanted to go. Whispered prices hung in the air and the stall owner motioned for us to wait.

A little later, a pick-up truck pulled up alongside the stall. Within seconds and without any questions, we were squished into a small spot of open seat, backpacks and all. It was a tight squeeze, but we were on our way! We made it down the bumpy road to Sisophon, packed in the vehicle like a tin of sardines, while fresh fish slid around on the load-bed behind us.

We arrived in Sisophon, a backwater town, only to realise that Banteay Chhmar was nowhere nearby. We were the only non-Cambodians around. We had come this far; it didn’t make sense to turn around. A friendly pair of youths on motorbikes who could speak a smattering of English offered to help us out. On we hopped, each sitting behind, with our backpacks up front between our drivers’ knees . They took us to the local market where pickup trucks were being loaded for trips, going in the direction of Banteay Chhmar.

We were met with stares, plenty of smiles and offerings of morsels such as roasted crickets. Our scooter drivers acted as our translators, negotiating a good deal on our behalf. This time we settled for places on the back of a relatively empty looking pickup truck. With little verbal communication possible, it was hard to know what we were settling for… Three hours later, it was piled up high with us perched on top; six adults and a child.

We bumped along miles of dirt road, taking turns holding the little boy. Afraid he might bounce right off, I held him close, nestled in my arms. At times, he dropped off to sleep, rocked by the motion of our swaying load. I felt quite stable, sitting in an old car tyre.We arrived at an insignificant looking cluster of houses. No sign of a temple here! They ushered us off the truck and nodded encouragingly that we were at the right place. Feeling lost and deserted, we were relieved when another pair of young men arrived on motorbikes, just as before in Sisophon! They carried our bags and became our guides, taking us to the hidden treasures of Banteay Chhmar.

Banteay Chhmar… Not just a pile of rubble. A magnificent relic with a palpable spirit, held in the arms of the jungle.

     

      

                    Having been encaptured by the mystery of Banteay Chhmar, we had not yet contemplated the night ahead. It was evening time and we still wanted to get to Siem Reap. Back to reality and the practicalities of travel! There were no hotels or guesthouses anywhere nearby. Our local guides called the only taxi in the vicinity and after much discussion, we understood that he was only allowed to travel certain sections of road. “I want to take you but I can get into big trouble” is what he explained. He could take us as far as Sisophon, but from there we would have to negotiate further.

Understanding our worries of escalating fares, he decided to help us with an onward journey plan. “You cannot be seen by the tourist police, otherwise my taxi friend in Sisophon can’t take you to Siem Reap for a good price.” Having had the experience of Poipet earlier that day, we by this time understood exactly what he meant.

He took us to Sisophon along the bumpy dirt road. From there, we were literally smuggled from one taxi to another, avoiding the vulture-like tourist police eyes. We whizzed off to Siem Reap along the asphalt highway, fluorescent tubes of cricket traps lighting the nighttime skies.

Waka Waka in the Khumbu

I love this photo! All credit goes to Sagar Panthi for taking it. To me it is so much more than just a pretty picture with a good friend and a magnificent mountain (Amadablam) in between… Here we are in one of my favourite spots with some of my favourite people, standing on a wall outside Khunde Hospital singing and dancing the Waka Waka song. Now you might ask, why on earth the Waka Waka song?!

A few years ago, when I first started spending a lot of time in Nepal, I would have this recurrent conversation with new Nepali acquaintances. It went something along these lines:
“Where you come from?” <big smile at being able to practice some English>
“South Africa” <proud grin; (I love my country)>
“Oh” <confused look, followed by a few seconds of contemplative silence> “What country?”
“South Africa…” <slight pucker between my eyebrows, realising that this might take some explaining>
<lull in conversation while plucking up courage to ask a bit further> “But what country?”
“South Africa is a country. It’s right at the bottom of Africa below Botswana, Zimbabwe, Mozambique and Namibia.”
<confused silence>
“Cape Town? Johannesburg?”
<flicker of recognition, but still looking doubtful>
“Nelson Mandela?”
“Oh yes, now I know! Nelson Mandela!” <big smile and look of relief>

Nowadays, when I’m in Nepal, the conversation has changed completely:
“Where you come from?”
“South Africa”
<moment of contemplation with mind visibly ticking over, then huge grin> “Ah yes! WAKA WAKA!”

The first time that I came across this change was in October 2010 while hiking along the Jiri to Lukla route (the old Everest trail before the days of Lukla airport). I stopped in Sete for the night at a teahouse on top of the ridge. When Ang Tsering, the young and vivacious manager, found out where I was from, she immediately grabbed her mobile phone and started playing the Waka Waka song. It was her ring tone! Full of laughter, we played it a few times and sang and danced along! I think everybody else in the teahouse thought we were mad!

Nowadays when I get asked where I come from, I say, “South Africa; you know, Waka Waka!” Thanks to Shakira, Freshlyground and the FIFA World Cup for putting us on the map!

Helicopter in the Backyard

It’s kind of soul destroying when you’ve been waiting for a day for a helicopter to rescue you, only for it to hover overhead and leave again… I can’t blame the pilot though! The area he was meant to land in was little more than a grassy patch between two buildings with lots of planks and building materials strewn to one side.

I had been carried up and left on a chair nearby with my backpack alongside. Marion, my sister, was with me, but everybody else seemed to have disappeared. They obviously hadn’t heard the helicopter coming in and nobody had been there to flag it down. I was tempted to grab something to hail it in myself, but other than the fact that I couldn’t walk, I was also very sceptical about this space where it was meant to land… I’d heard some sobering tales of helicopter crashes in mountains and couldn’t quite believe that it could squeeze in there.

We watched it circle way down the valley with Machhapuchhre in the background. I let out a sigh of relief as it turned back toward us. By the time it returned, the little village of Tadapani was out in full force. A man with a dirty red piece of cloth waved the helicopter in, while I tried in vain to scold excited kids out of the way. It was bad enough that the pilot had to negotiate the hazards of the junkyard, but bodies running all over the place made me decidedly nervous!

With perfect precision, it glided into the parking spot, rotor kept going. I’d forgotten to tell Marion that this would be the case… I have put people on helicopters in the Himalaya before and you get used to doing things under moving blades. What Marion had neglected to tell me, was that she was quite terrified of the idea of being in a helicopter at all! She wasn’t quite leopard crawling, but it looked close enough! “You’re safe; it will be OK” I shouted above the droning noise. I felt quite guilty as she glanced back at me with wide eyes, realising that she had been so absorbed in looking after me that she hadn’t had a chance to worry about herself. That’s my little sister for you; probably the kindest and most self-sacrificing person that I know.

We made it onto the helicopter with bystanders crowding around. One particular lady kept leaning through the door, beckoning the pilot, preventing us from closing up and getting on our way. We’d never seen her before and had no clue what she wanted. It wasn’t until the pilot took his wallet out, that she stood back and allowed us to leave. You can’t park in her backyard for free!

Our pilot was as cool as a cucumber. Even I was saying a little prayer as we hovered before take-off. The junk didn’t move, but thankfully the crowd did retreat a step or two and a few seconds later, we were on our way.

Black Diamond Z-pole Splint

I am very impressed with my Black Diamond Z-poles! They came in handy as the perfect way to splint my broken ankle in the mountains the other day. Considering that it took 5 hours over rough and slippery terrain to get downhill to safety with a bimalleolar fracture, the solid and comfortable splint was my saving grace.

Don’t be confused by the random order of the photo’s here! We made 2 splints, first with boot on and second without. (Have a look at my blog “Slipping on Ice” for more pics of the first one.) The way we did it was as follows and it worked well for me :

We pulled the ankle straight (downward traction on the heel) and splinted it immediately after the accident. This gave substantial pain relief. I kept my boot on for a couple of reasons. Firstly, it made it a lot easier to attach the splint to my foot and also to put the traction that was needed from the heel to the ends of the trekking poles. The boot itself forms part of the protective “cast”. Secondly, once you get the boot off, it isn’t very easy to get it back on again; so if you want it on later, don’t take it off now! It was cold out there and I didn’t want to have my toes open to the elements. Also, I didn’t want to expose the foot to other accidental injury on the way down. Thankfully my foot’s blood supply wasn’t compromised otherwise the boot would have had to come off.

Z-poles fold down into three sections of carbon fibre tubing, with an inner flexible cord which holds them all together. We folded down just the top third, leaving the lower 2 thirds inline, so that the longer, lower section stuck out beyond the bottom of my foot. The folded upper 2 sections were the perfect length to support my leg from the rim of my boot up to my knee. The handles of the trekking poles pushed onto the rim of the boot from above, adding to that overall downward traction.

Because of the doubled-up section over my leg, there were effectively 4, not 2 poles supporting me, forming a box (together with the boot) around the broken ankle.

Onto the pointed bottom ends of the trekking poles, we used strapping tape and cord to traction the foot inferiorly. At the fold in the trekking poles at the level of the knee, we later hooked a scarf through the inner cord loops. The scarf could be held above the knee or placed around my neck as we hopped along, to hold the whole leg off the ground.

I threaded spare cord crisscross underneath my leg, linking the posterior long pole sections to one another. I then did the same with the short pole sections anteriorly. This formed a comfortable net in front of and behind my leg. We padded the whole construction with a scarf. The wrist straps on the trekking pole handles came in very handy! We attached them to one another underneath my boot at the ball of my foot. This pulled the foot towards my knee, holding the ankle in a neutral position (neither dorsi- nor plantar- flexed).

Once we arrived at the safety of the lodge (5 hours later) it was time to have a proper look at the extent of the injury. Until this time, the original splint had remained solid and comfortable, despite being dragged, piggybacked and pony-ridden to safety. We removed the splint and boot to take a closer look. Thankfully the circulation and sensation in my foot were good, but it was pretty obvious that I had broken both sides of the ankle. The helicopter could only arrive the next day, so we needed to re-splint the foot overnight.

Now that the boot was off, this was a lot trickier! There happened to be another doctor in the lodge, so he gave the foot a gentle tug for me to get the bits of bones better aligned again, and we got another equally comfortable splint on for the rest of the evacuation.

We used strapping tape in a U-shape around the bottom of my heel to hold everything together. We then put strapping tape along the sides of my leg and attached the trekking poles in a similar manner to before.

Somehow we managed to get the sock back on to keep my toes warm! Off to bed with a splint for the night; foot elevated above my heart. Good thing we got that boot off earlier… by 2 a.m., everything had swollen like a balloon! That was the first time since the accident that I needed tramadol! Thereafter, exhausted, we slept. We had a helicopter to catch the next morning.

Slipping on Ice

So there I was, happily leading the way and secretly quite gleeful that I was spending relatively little time on my behind for a change. Famous last thoughts! The path was incredibly slippery. We had been told that there was no snow below 3000m altitude and that crampons were not needed. I’m used to negotiating short stretches of icy path in the Himalaya, but this went on for miles. The snow had obviously melted and refrozen a few times, creating a hard, icy layer on the path. It was one of those days where I wished I had a pair of YakTrax in my backpack.

We got to an area where there were a lot of cairns and the path started to level out a little. I still don’t know why I slipped right there; there was hardly even an incline. I skated over the ice, my foot hit a rock, my body toppled backwards, but my foot stayed lodged behind… Snap! The rock was probably the size of a loaf of bread, almost as innocuous-looking as the path at that point. But it formed a perfect stopper and lever, and that was that!

I knew immediately that I had broken my ankle. For a second, I was in complete disbelief! “How on earth did I just do that?” Thankfully my instincts as a medic took over and within seconds I was back on track. “Pass me the trekking poles, cord and tape”. We put that splint on so fast that I didn’t have time to feel any pain. Keep the boot on, downward traction on the heel…  Black Diamond Z-poles make fabulous splints, by the way!

It was around 12h30 and there was still a long way to go. I put on my spare down jacket and popped a few ibuprofen and paracetamol-codeine. How on earth were we going to get down? We were a few hours away from the nearest lodge where a helicopter could land. There is no such thing as a formal mountain rescue service in Nepal. I knew that it was up to us to make a plan.

Everyone had been battling with the ice that day and there was still a long, slippery downhill path to negotiate. By this stage a few people had gathered; fellow trekkers and some local guides. They all wanted to help, but there was absolutely no way that anybody could carry me down without crampons on themselves. A pony would be four hooves in four different directions too! A stretcher (which we didn’t have anyway) would need a team of at least 12 people taking turns and would have been equally risky with people slipping all over the place. I didn’t want to have to deal with anyone else’s broken bones!

We had to come up with another plan. I eyeballed the crowd and could quickly tell that the Norwegian couple were our lifeline. Quietly and rationally offering practical advice, they stood out from the rest of a somewhat panicky crowd. A Chinese couple offered to go ahead and call for help, but their English was about as good as my Chinese, so that was not an option. Instead, they kindly gave us 2 trekking poles, which were invaluable in helping us down. A thoughtful and organised Nepali guide went on ahead, taking the rest of the group of bystanders down, leaving a few select helpers behind. He also carried the message of what had happened ahead of us, so that a pony and extra porters could meet us further along, once we got down to safer ground.

But, that still left us on the icy path with me, leg-up in a splint…Brainwave! Sheila, the Norwegian lass came up with the idea. “How about we make a sled out of this backpack rain-cover?” So that is exactly what we proceeded to do. We padded it with a jacket and I sat on it, pulling an edge upwards between my legs. It looked a bit like a massive black diaper! Keeping my left leg with the splint held in the air, I used my right foot to propel myself forwards while Milan and Nurbu took turns dragging me by the trekking pole held under my right arm.

We made progress, slipping down stairs and along downhill paths, then standing up and hopping between supporting shoulders on uphills and flattish sections. There were times I worried that someone would go flying off a steep drop-off next to the path, but somehow we made it down to safer ground. Once off the ice, I was able to hop along further with Nurbu and Milan on either side. They also took turns carrying me piggy back. Nurbu’s friend, Dil, appeared out of nowhere and helped out too.

We eventually made it to a solitary teahouse where there was no telephone. A message had been left there that a pony was on its way up, so they lay me down on a bench outside with a sweet cup of tea and some blankets. Marion, my sister, went ahead with a mobile phone to a spot on the hillside nearby which was known to have reception. She called my insurance to start organising the process of getting a helicopter to meet us lower down. It was already mid-afternoon and we still had a long way to go. We were in a steep, valley forest with no landing spot for miles. The path was also typical Nepal Himalaya style: steep ups and steep downs with lots of steps along the way.

About half an hour later, the pony arrived, tagged along by its leader, Gopal. Nepalese ponies are feisty creatures; sure footed and hardworking, but with a mind of their own. Thankfully, I like horses, but this was not your usual ride! With a broken leg splinted on the upslope-side, every time the path narrowed, I had to throw my leg over the front of the horse to prevent it from being bashed against the side. I landed up sitting diagonally on the woollen saddle rug, holding onto the leather crupper at the tail-end with my right hand and the multiple layers of saddle-padding at the front-end with my left hand. My right leg was desperately trying to stay in the stirrup (the only relatively normal thing about this whole seating position) while my left leg was thrown over the front, next to the pony’s neck. We quickly worked out that going down steps on horseback at this angle was not a good idea. In the end, the pony took me on the flat sections and uphill steps, while Nurbu, Dil, Milan and Gopal took turns to piggy-back me on the steep downhills.

I should probably be glad that I don’t have any photos of the diagonal, saddle-rug seating plan, or of me being piggy-backed downhill! Both were decidedly unladylike! Imagine 2 scarves tied together with one loop under my bottom and the other loop around my carrier’s forehead, Doka style… All that I can say is that I am incredibly grateful for the strength and kindness of the Nepali men who, without any requests for compensation, carried me to safety that day. Nepal may not have a formal mountain rescue service, but it does have a wealth of people who will graciously and self-sacrificingly do everything they can to help you out of a sticky situation.

It took 8 people and 5 hours to get me down to a lodge at Tadapani; pretty good going considering the injury. We got there eventually just before dark at 5h30 pm. The insurance company luckily was able to contact us along the way, so we planned for a helicopter rescue the next morning. All was safe and sound.

(I have a Bimalleolar Weber C fracture and had an ORIF last week in Cape Town. A pre-op X-ray is visible on my first blog “It took a little time”.)

It took a little time

I remember Justin saying to me as I left, “Helen, start a blog”. It’s funny, I haven’t heard from Justin in a long time. I got an email from him out of the blue just the other day… I wonder if he knew that I was meant to be in Kathmandu? But here I am in Cape Town with a broken ankle and, for once, nowhere to go for at least 3 months!

So what does it take to eventually start a blog after 5 years of travels and a million stories to tell? Well, next time somebody asks me, “how did you break your ankle?” I’m just going to say “refer to my blog!”