Tibet, Everest Kangshung Face; September - October, 2006

10/08 Day hike to Tshechu - Spring of the Life Water

The day breaks blue and sunny and 38 degrees in the tent. We won't have to break camp today - a luxury.

John's request for a 7:30 breakfast is ineffective, and we eat on a normal schedule. At 10am we leave on a day hike to one of the main sites John has come to investigate.

After a brief retrace down the valley we take a steep pitch up and into a small side valley. Hidden just inside the valley is a beautiful, sacred turquoise lake. It is said that if you have purity of mind and strength of spirit you can see prophetic visions in the waters. We cross the stream that drains the lake on a wishbone bridge, then trace the shoreline towards the head of the valley. It reminds me of the Emerald Bay trail at Lake Tahoe. Now and then the trail drops right to the water and the soft lap of waves is a gentle complement to the rush of the streams that feed the lake. An hour and a half from camp brings us to the far side of the lake and the base of the climb to Tshechu, our objective.

Tshechu is a sacred complex comprising a cave that Padmasambava stayed in, a spring of holy water and several stone huts that "give shelter to pilgrims". Most of the Tibetans from our group and the English group have come to pay their respects, and they take it all very seriously.

The first part of the climb isn't steep but it is steadily uphill. We can clearly see the stone huts and the prayer flags are an inspiration to continue. The second half of the limb is a series of steep switchbacks through the rockslides beneath the caves. I find it a very tough path, and practice my mountaineering "rest step" for much of the way.

The weather turns around noon, and small hard pellets of snow fall from dark skies. I've gone from shorts to storm gear this morning.

We reach the cave after 1pm and settle in for a long visit. I follow the other group's guide and crew to the upper chapel where they light candles and butter lamps before the statues of Padmasambava. One statue is an original, installed when the chapel was built in the 8th century. The other statue was brought here from a monastery in the next valley over that was destroyed.

There is a set of old Tibetan script plaques affixed to a board in the chapel. The guide reads them slowly and says they give a brief history of the site. I take a few pictures, and the Tibetans are very interested in seeing them on the camera's LCD screen.

The chapel is small, five feet by eight feet by about five feet tall. The Tibetans crowd in and hold an informal service, with song and chant.

One by one they drift off and head back, taking some water from the holy spring for good measure. The Nepalis have combed the hillside gathering a special plant form which they make incense. We are the past to leave at 3:15pm. With gravity now urging us onward the descent is painless. Sun breaks out, lighting the valley and lake in a new and delightful way. I've been fooled before, though, and retain my fleece and rain shell.

By the time we reach the lake (14,750 feet) 1,000 feet below the cave, the sun is gone for good. A biting headwind whips up the waves to just short of white caps. As we thread our way along the lake the wind ebbs and blusters. For a moment, it stiffens and I catch a few white caps after all.

It feels like late fall in the Midwest or northeast; damp, with a scent of summer's spent leaves on the wind. Gray towers of cloud above, but a glimpse of puffy white and blue sky far down the Kama Chu.

I have learned that the juniper will reach out and tussle with my hiking poles if I get too close. This seems to happen more often as the day wears on and the junipers become bolder.

One last wearing drop brings us back to our little part of the main valley. Two more groups have joined us; both American. There is a man of 72 years in the smaller group; encouraging. The larger group has a geodesic dome tent that would do Bucky Fuller proud.

They have added many hungry yaks to the herd, and they graze within inches of our tents. The din from the bells around their necks is deafening; a torture from Edger Allen Poe.

By 6:45pm the clouds above are breaking up and the scenery is returning in the last light of the day. Perhaps we'll have a clear night.

One of the grazing yaks has run afoul of my tent stays and the tent shakes violently, in time with the infernal bell. The crew comes to my rescue, driving him off, thundering and ringing. The yaks come and go through the tents. They graze up towards the tents and then the crew drives them off. By dinner time they have given up, and the bells fall silent.

By the end of the evening I am half-way through East of Eden. The fog has returned, foretelling a warm but damp night.