Hills vs. Mountains? Focusing on a singular worthy goal and what Shakespeare must have intuited about mountaineering
It has become popular in recent years to climb nearby Lobuche in order to avoid doing another practice run through Everest’s Khumbu Icefall (about which I will have much more to say in a future post—stay tuned!).
PaDawa and I planned to carry our gear up to Lobuche High Camp (approximately 17,700 feet) before descending back to sleep at Lobuche Base Camp (approximately 16,200 feet), which is pictured here:
We would then climb to High Camp again the next day and stay there for two nights at an altitude closer to Everest’s Base Camp (EBC), before making our summit attempt on Lobuche.
Lobuche’s summit is just over 20,000 feet—nearly as high as Alaska’s Denali/McKinley—the tallest mountain in North America (one of the Seven Summits of the World). It would stand to reason that technically-speaking Lobuche is categorized as a mountain.
Yet, in several conversations I had with PaDawa, he kept referring to Lobuche as “the hill.” If there is one English word that I’m assuming PaDawa well knows by now, surely it is mountain.
I suppose if you have already successfully climbed Everest 27 times, ascending to 20,000 feet is a simple hill for you.
Lobuche High Camp staff had our always-appreciated hot lemon/ginger/honey tea waiting before we returned to Lobuche Base Camp where PaDawa set up rope drills in the dining tent for me to practice maneuvering my ascender under his tutelage. I took it as a test that he was trying to see whether I could pass without additional instructions. He is a man of few words, but he noticed my familiarity with the devices and proffered his approval, along with a brief head nod and succinct compliment that I took quite personally.
There are climbers who are not prepared for Everest, with absolutely no business being up there, and have not put in the training or time necessary on other mountains over the years. I was not going to be among them.
We awoke early to clear blue skies and amazing views. PaDawa and I proceeded fast, got up to High Camp before anyone else, and settled into our cozy shared tent expeditiously. Bad weather moved in—a mix of hail and snow—so we had a simple dinner on our laps inside the tent.
The first time we went from Lobuche Base Camp to its High Camp in order to cache gear, he estimated that it might take 2.5 hours or so. PaDawa and I made it in an hour and 45 minutes without much trouble. The second time up, others observed that he and I were “moving really quickly,” and we certainly were. We made it in under an hour and 20 minutes.
It felt great to shake off the rust, reengage my climbing muscles on a steep slope, and receive expert tips and advice from PaDawa on some Everest-esque situations we would be facing in a few weeks. Before turning in for the night, I savored the view of the moon over the storied Himalaya and said a short prayer of gratitude for this life-changing experience and the legendary Sherpa Guide I am so lucky to have leading the way.
One of the challenges of trekking to Everest Base Camp (EBC) is the nearly unavoidable traveler’s stomach resulting from the combination of introducing unknown pathogens to your gastrointestinal tract and the varying degree of sanitation differences. Many climbers who have made this trek were the sickest they have ever been in their lives.
Alas, even after faithfully using a sterilizing UV pen in all water I consumed, avoiding anything raw, and keeping my hygiene in tiptop shape, it was my turn for the common experience. Pardon the TMI, but the point is—for you at home—if you suffer a GI issue, your energy may be depleted, but you have indoor plumbing, which is useful not just for toilets, but also for sinks/showers/baths. Imagine severe GI problems without any privacy or facilities, after which you are due for a pickup game of basketball—with Michael Jordan—or a round of golf—with Tiger Woods. In my case, I had another acclimatization hike with Mister Everest himself—my indefatigable Sherpa Guide, Pasang Dawa Sherpa.
And PaDawa is relentless. He has no other speed besides LFG.
I pressed onward and ascended to “crampon point” on Lobuche—to an altitude of around 18,300 feet (which happened to be higher than any other climber made it that day), with a tormenting GI battle raging in my belly and threatening to cause a nasty scene at any moment. I will spare you further vivid descriptions of the situation. You are welcome.
The path was precarious: sharp terrain with snow and ice on rock—a treacherous combination. I was already drained, but this slippery reality caused me to assess whether I was up for the challenge. There were fixed lines on a few of the worst portions, which provided opportunities to refresh my skills with an ascender, or jumar, and repelling device again.
At crampon point, we were rewarded with a nice overview of Everest Base Camp (EBC), and—given our elevation—we were actually looking down at it, as you can see. Individual tents appeared to be fit for ants. I also stole my first glimpse of the Khumbu Icefall, which was imposing—even from this distance.
At lunch, two guides who had scouted the route to Lobuche’s summit announced their verdict. The route was too icy, with great potential for a fall or a twisted ankle. (One of those guides had not slipped on a mountain in more than six years, and he slipped twice on this scouting trip.)
PaDawa left it up to me as to whether we would try for Lobuche’s summit or not. I was both interested and tempted—all mountaineers suffer summit fever to one degree or another—nothing wrong with that instinct when directed properly.
One rarely has fully-informed expert firsthand scouting reports. Usually climbers make decisions relatively blindly—while more or less guessing at the conditions ahead.
In this case, the scouting guides’ ominous warnings convinced me to reconsider what I was doing. I was still ill with unpredictable GI problems and had zero energy. I wasn’t sure how I had beaten everyone else up the mountain. I was completely spent.
The smarter course of action was to bank the two nights we had already achieved at High Camp combined with the additional ascension to 18,300 that we managed—and call it good enough.
Given that my objective on Lobuche was acclimatization in preparation for Everest, I weighed the value of summitting vs. it potentially jeopardizing my goal of summitting Everest if I were to injure myself in the process.
Adhering to my fastidious PROFOUND CLIMBING™ approach of calculated risk mitigation, I sorted out the options as they were, and decided to let everything else fade away as I concentrated. I kept my eyes firmly affixed to my previously-stated worthy aspirational goals, which were twofold: to 1) summit Everest and—even more importantly—2) return home safely.
The treacherous route on our descent from Lobuche high camp clarified that we had made the right decision in not seeking the summit of Lobuche, because the situation would have been even worse the further up we went.
When we got down to lower altitude, I instantly sensed how much easier it was to breathe the thicker air. I found myself feeling appreciative for that relief and healthier.
You may recall that in William Shakespeare’s Henry IV, Part 1, Act V, Scene IV, Sir John Falstaff famously stated in a quip that has long-since become folklore:
“The better part of valor is discretion; in the which better part I have saved my life.”
I had no question that PaDawa and I could have tagged the summit—even with the poor weather, icy terrain, and my digestive failings, but Lobuche’s summit was never my goal.
Everest was.
We were borrowing Lobuche for acclimatizing, and we had nothing to prove. Forgoing a summit always causes me twinges of regret in hindsight, but there has never been a missed mountaintop that I can say in good conscience I was wrong about declining.
The better part of valor is discretion indeed—sound counsel from Shakespeare’s fictional knight circa 1597. Honoring that enduring truth has likely saved my life a few times—not that it was a life-or-death decision on Lobuche, but you get the idea.
As I said, PaDawa and I had already climbed higher on Lobuche than anyone else among the Everest climbers on the mountain (one guy whose objective was to climb Lobuche did summit the following day, and thereby honorably and appropriately accomplished what he set out to do).
The benefit of summitting Lobuche for me would have been marginal at best, but PaDawa was super deferential either way. When I asked him what he wanted to do, he just pointed back at me and stood silently waiting for my answer. The apprentice replied unequivocally to the master, “not today, boss.”
And down we went.
