We awoke to a bright day in the spectacular Dudh Khosi valley that had been obscured yesterday afternoon by cloud and smoke haze. The valley is lined with towering black rock massifs streaked with ice, too steep for snow to stick, contrasted by brilliant all-white snow peaks adjacent.
An easy start to the day on a road already crowded with trekkers, porters with the baskets, mule trains, dzo with packs, heading for Namche Bazaar, so there were are lot of narrow and steep points at which we waited for a traffic jam to clear. Mule trains meeting, dzo occupying much of the trail clashing with traffic moving in the opposite direction, backpackers resting and retying their boots.
I haven't seen a vehicle for a week; no bikes, barrows, carts, cars, trucks; nothing. I am in awe at the industry, determination and sheer tenacity of the Nepalese villagers in these remote lands. Their houses are neatly made of cut stone, almost invariably with a blue corrugated roof, bright wood framed windows and a paved terrace with stone retaining walls with high benches for porters to rest. Every piece of stone has been quarried and hand cut, every fitting has been carried for days on the backs of porters or animals along trails that themselves were won from the hard rock mountains by men with hand tools, and the houses are strung out along tenuous paths that twist up into the unbelievable heights of the slopes, where they preside over paddies and tiny fields beaten and ploughed to a tilted plane and propped by stone walls.
We entered the National Park at Monjo and rested a while in the little museum and collected some stats of travellers over recent years. By their accounting up to 200 trekkers pass this way daily in April. We are in good company!
We crossed the river several times by suspension bridge, seeing previews of the forthcoming ascent to Namche Bazaar from the valley, crossing the river many times by suspension bridge; a sheer, pine-clad ridge: 550 metres in 2.3 km distance, a formidable incline at altitude.
We were in a boulder field that was the former course of the river when two high suspension bridges appeared, one above the other, the old and new Hillary bridges at Larjadabhan. The higher one marks the insertion point of the trail on the mountain flank. A precipitous 60 m climb saw us on the high bridge, buffeted by the cold afternoon wind, a swaying chain of hikers and porters on the way to Namche.
We had nearly reached the bridge end when a team of dzo charged straight onto the bridge regardless of other traffic. We flattened against the plaited wire side ropes, anxiously clutching camera straps and backpack webbing away from the swinging horns. Many angry insults were thrown at the herder for reckless dzo-driving!
As we were clearing the police checkpoint at Namche Gate it started to sleet, large, heavy globs bouncing off the rocky road. We're getting used to the mountain weather pattern: a cold, brilliant early morning that quickly warms as the sun strengthens, clouds start jostling for space between the peaks from about midday, followed by wind, a sharp drop in temperature and early evening rain, sleet or snow. More of this lies ahead of us.
The ascent to Namche Bazaar wasn't as tough as we’d feared, testament to our improving fitness and adaptation to these conditions. Some enterprising Nepalis were selling tangerines on the track, catching exhausted trekkers in both directions. I willingly paid 100 rupees for one!
We sleep at 3,440 m (11,300 ft.) tonight, our highest night so far.
