In October 1987, known in financial circles as the year of the big crash (long before the 2020 one), I travelled to New Delhi, India. From there, our small group from Ireland (Olivia Furlong, Derrick Gerrity, Maureen (my Irish wife), and I were driven to the hill stations in northern India. (It appears that the only girlfriends I could muster all happened to be called Maureen.) We romantically searched for those named locations along the River Ganges where the Beatles and the Beach Boys had meditated, as well as the towns of Dehradun, Rishikesh and Missouri. We were totally enthralled. When I inquired of our Sike driver Namal prior to the drive, as to what side of the road people in India drive on, he innocently responded. “Mister Tony, we all drive in the middle of the road”. OK, I thought.
Later, as I exiled myself to the more serious business of mountain climbing, I joined a group of American trekkers in Kathmandu, Nepal. There were twelve of us total, all Americans, except me. A longtime friend John Rahn from Prescott, Arizona was amongst the group. John had agreed to meet me at the inappropriately named Shangri La Hotel. Unbeknownst to me, I may have been experiencing an early mid-life crisis. Friends in Ireland questioned me as to why I was going to trek in the Himalaya for six weeks.
“Are you going to find yourself” they asked jokingly?
Upon my return to Ireland, I couldn’t resist the temptation to finally respond to their annoying questions.
“To be honest, I did find myself, and I was disgusted”.
We spent several days in Kathmandu, while also undertaking a short trek in the valley to assist our group acclimatize to the higher altitudes. Our fearless leader was a young Tibetan guide named Keysang Tsetan. The city of Kathmandu lies at an altitude of 4,600 feet and is considered the gateway to the Himalaya. With a population of over two and a half million souls, that city’s rapid expanse over the past few years has come at a heavy cost in pollution.
From Kathmandu we took a short flight to Lukla airport, a location that is generally regarded as one of the most perilous airports in the world. Taking this dangerous thirty-minute flight east for us was much more preferable than a four to six day trek. Due to Lukla’s extremely short runway, continuous wind shear, high altitude and low air pressures, the airport is not for the faint hearted air traveler. On the steep cliffs leading to the airport, lie the crashed remains of airplane fuselages.
As we made our tiring way towards the Khumbu glacier, John and I were learning from other trekkers that October ’87 would go down on record as the worst climbing season in the Himalaya. All the major expeditions to the great peaks had been cancelled. Perhaps it was mere dumb luck, however, most of our intrepid and inexperienced group somehow scaled to 17,575 feet (Gokyo Ri Peek), located in the Khumbu region of Nepal. From its summit, Gokyo Ri affords a generous view of the entire Khumbu glacier, including Mouth Everest, Lhotse, Makalu and Cho Oyu. One can even see the plateau of Tibet – that completely intrigued me! The Khumbu is also the largest glacier in Nepal, and reputed to be the largest in the entire Himalaya.
My successful mission to Nepal was one I would never forget, especially when I finally looked across the snow-clad glaciers towards the highest mountain on planet Earth – Mt. Everest. The Nepalise people, the mountains, the bravery of the Sherpas, Buddhism – they are all inextricably intertwined. I loved that trip. I felt I was at home. Perhaps on some days, it was even better than home.