My Everest adventure

IT is 50 years ago this week since Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay stood on top of the world.

Our nine-strong trekking support team was following in the footsteps of the great men of 1953, accompanying 11 climbers as far as Everest Base Camp.

We had flown into Lukla (9,317ft), a scrape of an airstrip cut into the hillside high above the Dudh Koshi River in the east of Nepal.

The Twin Otter plane was crammed with rucksacks, kit-bags, walking poles and other necessary paraphernalia as we made the 45-minute flight from Kathmandu.

Knuckles were white as the aircraft plummeted towards the tiny runway and lurched to a halt on the tarmac.

At Lukla, we met Tensing, our sirdar, or lead Sherpa, and his team.

These ever-smiling men were going to be cooking, cleaning, pitching our tents and, of course, carrying our kit bags as we struggled upwards with our small day rucksacks.

With boots tied, packs fastened, hats on, and poles to the ready, we set off for Everest.

We passed prayer wheels, negotiated painted mani walls and lurched across rickety bridges as we made our way north to our first campsite at Tok Tok.

On that first stretch we met two eccentric Englishmen with a pressing engagement.

John Roberts, 35, and Ben Gibbons, 21, both from Cheltenham, formed the Everest Extreme Ironing 2003 Expedition.

With Ben carrying the ironing board, and John minding the iron, the two were out to break the altitude record for this peculiar 'sport'.

The men of iron got in some practice on a 100-metre long suspension bridge near Phakding.

As the icy waters of the Dudh Koshi raged beneath him, Ben set up his board on the wobbly crossing. Taking off his top he did a particularly impressive crease-free job on his polo shirt.

That night we were camped on a grassy terrace at Tok Tok while the climbers had the 'luxury' of the tea lodge.

It seemed we trekkers got a better night's sleep as at least one climber complained of being kept awake by the rats squealing beneath the floorboards.

We were up at 5.30am the next day for a hard, sweaty slog to Namche Bazaar, the Sherpa capital.

Our days would follow a similar pattern. The Sherpas would wake us with 'bed tea'. Fifteen minutes later they would arrive with a metal bowl of hot water for washing. Within 30 minutes of waking we would have to be washed and packed and ready for breakfast.

This usually consisted of porridge, pancakes, chapatis, sometimes toast, washed down with tea, coffee or hot chocolate.

The trek up Namche hill was a real grind. Our team leader Chris Brown advised me: "Walk like an 80-year-old man." I felt like an octoganarian by the time I got to the campsite.

I had my first taste of mountain sickness at Namche as my body struggled to adjust to the altitude (11,286ft). I felt nauseous and had a terrific headache, but apparently that was fairly normal.

The next day was a so-called 'rest day'. This meant a six-hour hike above the town to help us acclimatise. 'Climb high, sleep low' was the mantra.

We visited the monastery at Khumjung and were intrigued by a 'yeti's head' in a glass case. We quaffed chang (rice beer ladled out of a blue plastic barrel and filtered through a piece of cloth) at Tensing's mother's house, visited the Canadian medical volunteers at the Khundu hospital, toured the fascinating Sherpa museum in Namche, and then popped into town for a look around. Very relaxing.

After lunch by the water-driven prayer wheels of Phunki Tenga, we made our way to Tengboche monastery, perched high on a ridge above the Imja Khola river.

The terrain became more challenging as we took the stiff hike up to the monastery.

As the snow fell softly outside, we sat in the stone-cold temple as the praying monks chanted, banged drums, rang bells and blew horns. It was surreal.

The weather closed in as we made our way down the steep and muddy slope to Deboche.

The climbers were playing cards and reading as our bedraggled trekking team trudged into the cosy wood-panelled lodge. Wet clothes hung from the rafters as snowflakes settled on our tents outside. A climber tuned in on a small radio to the news crackling over the airwaves from the BBC World Service. The rest of us huddled around the stove for warmth as the yak dung smouldered in the grate.

The tents were encrusted with ice when we awoke the next morning, ready for our trip to Dingboche.

Rice was scattered during a ceremony at Upper Pangboche monastery as our journey was blessed by the lama.

The next day was another 'rest day'. So leisurely in fact that we scaled our first Himalayan peak, Nangkar Tshang (16,700ft).

The scenery was scintillating with turquoise skies and stunning snow-covered peaks all around as we wheezed our way to the top.

It was pretty precarious at times, especially near the top. The snow-covered route was incredibly slippery and the soles of my boots seemed to have completely lost their grip.

A lone lammergaier eagle soared overhead as we sat on the summit and marvelled at Ama Dablam, Island Peak and Makalu.

That night, as we dozed in our tents, the yaks stampeded twice. The sound of yak bells and thundering hooves split the night as we cowered in our tents expecting to be trampled at any moment.

Skirting northwards around the valley above Pheriche we continued north to Lobuje. The mountainous Himalayan panorama was magnificent.

At Dughla the sound of a mountain horn echoed above the valley as a Swiss trekker gave us a rendition of Amazing Grace.

The afternoon walk from Dughla to Lobuche was awesome, the most incredible walk I had experienced.

Surrounded by glistening summits with the Chola Glacier grinding inexorably down the valley behind us, we traversed the tricky snow-covered slopes below Awi Peak, and crunched our way across a frozen lake. It was a real adventure.

Gorak Shep, or White Man's Death as it is sometimes called, was our next target.

The weather was superb so the decision was made to climb Kala Pattar (18,208ft), the black rock. It is from there that the classic view of Everest can be seen from above Base Camp.

The altitude sickness was starting to get to me as we struggled to the summit. We clung grimly to the rocky outcrop as the winds threatened to blow us off the top. But the views of Everest were worth every exhausting step.

I was a bit under the weather in Gorak Shep that evening with the usual splitting headache, nausea and loss of appetite, laced with a touch of exhaustion.

But the next day, after a breakfast of omelette and baked beans, we set off for our final push to Base Camp.

The last leg was a struggle across ice and glacial moraine.

Base Camp is a jumble of boulders and crevasses which makes it difficult and dangerous to get around.

At night we could hear the ice cracking as the glacier moved beneath our tents.

Now and then an avalanche roared down the Khumbu Icefall above camp and we struggled to breathe in the oxygen-starved environment.

We awoke to find our sleeping bags covered with a film of ice and our water bottles frozen.

Three nights at Base Camp was a challenge for most of us, and we could only wonder at the tenacity of the climbers.

They were beaten back by high winds on their push for the summit on Wednesday.

The nine remaining climbers of the Jagged Globe expedition will on Monday make their second attempt to stand at the top of the world's highest mountain.

Updated: 08:44 Saturday, May 24, 2003