2022. I was riding a horse on Pueblo, Ute, and Apache land in Northern New Mexico when I received an email from my dear colleague and friend Jaylyn Gough, Executive Director of Native Women’s Wilderness (NWW)(Opens in a new window). The email was her final invitation and confirmation that NWW’s trek to Sagarmatha Base Camp (aka Everest Base Camp) was happening.*
Visiting the highest mountains on Earth hadn’t been a dream of mine until then. Perhaps because I didn’t know it was within my reach. What made it possible was the unexpected invitation came with gear and financial support, both from NWW partner brands and from the community. All I had to do was show up and take step after step up the Himalayas.
First Day On The Mountain
After waiting the longest slowest hours at the Kathmandu airport for better visibility to take off, we finally boarded the smallest plane I’d ever taken. The tiny vessel was sprinkled with our trekking crew as seats were first-come-first-served. I was lucky to sit next to Elaina, an Athabascan beauty who is one of the kindest and most nurturing people I’ve ever met. Trying to catch the stunning views of the mountains from the “wrong” side of the plane kept us entertained until we found ourselves squeezing the heck out of each others’ hands as the plane shook left, right, up, and down through thick clouds, preparing to land on the world’s most dangerous runway. We arrived in Lukla (9,383′).
There, I had my first garlic soup. A mountain staple famous for its medicinal properties helping the body cope with high altitude. And also: DELICIOUS. We were having lunch at the very place where many of us would celebrate our final night on the mountain ten days later. It all felt so surreal. “Ma’am, what tea would you like?” Tea with every meal had officially become the new norm as a cup of tea was included with the price of every meal up the mountain. “Honey lemon ginger, please;” it was about to become my favorite kind of tea.
At that first lunch, we finally got to chat with our guides and meet our porters - the folks carrying our duffles up the mountain. “Anil, Anis, and Ranjan,” I watched Jaylyn write our guide’s names in her journal. The trio was already exceeding expectations as we all witnessed them caring for Rocío, whose tanned and rosy cheeks had lost all color during the turbulent landing. By their recommendation, she was having garlic soup too. Rocío is a Xicana runner and inclusion advocate based in Texas, and she was one of the members of our group coming from the lower elevations. She was already feeling the altitude. But that wouldn’t stop her.
In fact, ailments, pains, strains, and other health struggles were too common for comfort during our trek. Every time someone came about a symptom, you could feel the collective dread: is this why people get taken off the mountain? Are we going to lose one of us? That first day, I woke up with the worst congested and runny nose I’ve had in years. I figured it could be an allergy or reaction to the air quality in Kathmandu and that it would pass once I got to breathe the fresh mountain air.
We finished lunch in Lukla and got our oxygen levels and heart rates checked by Anil. We would do these checks every morning and night through the rest of the way up.
Our guides affirmed to us that this trek was not a sprint and that it was better to take it easy than not to make it to Sagarmatha Base Camp. I realized I was on the low oxygen side of things, so I would take the hike extra slow just to be gentle with myself. To my surprise, several of us were taking it easy, and it felt good to notice people being honest with their pace.
Pushing Through
2 AM. I awoke to the sound of yak bells in Phakdin (8,563′). I watched the line of yaks heading upwards until they disappeared into the darkness. Yaks have the right of way on the mountain, and I hadn’t thought they might also travel through the night. One of the many ways the people of Nepal put hard work into perspective – yaks don’t travel on their own; there are humans leading them.
I wouldn’t be there, watching yaks go by at 2 am in a land so far from home, if it weren’t for my trekking roomie Laura. I felt a huge weight of gratitude for her. Our original departing flight from New Mexico got canceled, and we thought we might miss the trek. Suddenly, Laura asked for my birthday, booked us two seats on a new flight she found, and we ran for it. First in Albuquerque, then in Dallas. Bags would be delayed, but our goal was to make it in time for the trek ourselves. Gear would figure itself out. Experiencing the stress of maybe not making it to Kathmandu on time could’ve been awful. But in the company of Laura, it was one of the most fun travel days of my life. We laughed and goofed around so much you would’ve never known we were on the cusp of maybe missing out on the trek of a lifetime. We celebrated with Oreo milkshakes at the Doha airport.
We woke up extra early for optional yoga sessions with our guide Anil for the next few days. At first, I woke up and felt energized despite my decaying health status. My congestion did not pass, my nose was raw, and I also had a cough by then. As the air got thinner every day, I accepted the difficulty I had to endure to keep going. Eventually, I stopped waking up extra early for yoga and listened to my body. I needed all the rest I could get.
We hiked alongside the aqua-colored flow of the Dudh Kosi (दुधकोशी नदी, Milk-Koshi River), the highest river on Earth. First, right next to it, and later way above it as we ascended and crossed the many hanging bridges along its way. I was surprised that the heights didn’t scare me, but those bridges are physically hard to cross. Their final little uphill is the most uncomfortably challenging surface I have ever walked on. I dreaded them the entire way up. Especially when yaks were nearby because if you got caught in front of them mid-bridge, they weren’t stopping for you, but rather, you are expected to pick up the pace and get off their path ASAP. All the while, I wish I had never had to feel the steps of yaks on the hanging bridge while I was on it too. They are so heavy you can feel the boards underneath your feet moving and the bridge swinging slightly. After that, if I ever heard yak bells when about to start crossing a bridge, I would just sit to the side and wait them out.
Going in front of a yak on a hanging bridge means you are going no matter what. The literal feeling of a yak walking behind me on a bridge (or even in front) was, to be honest, scary. Image via Gabaccia Moreno(Opens in a new window)
The following days of the trek got progressively more challenging health-wise. I remember being among the last ones to arrive in Namche Bazaar (11,286′). I was so proud of having made it. I was soaking up my joy big time when I realized it was another 600ft up or so trek to the Moonlight Hotel where we were staying. “It has the best views,” our guide said. I took a deep-ish breath and started one painful step at a time, making my way up the endless stone steps to the hotel as darkness fell on my back and the street lights started to light the way. The town was so lively, with shops, bars, and cafes greeting us at every step. When we finally got to the hotel, I felt so relieved. “I just want to sit.” But of course, because the day had not been challenging enough, two of the steepest flights of stairs were awaiting us to get to the dining room and one more to my room.
The Khumbu River framed by stunning views of Nuptse and Ama Dablam. Image via Gabaccia Moreno(Opens in a new window)
Namche has to be one of the most enchanting places on Earth. Shelves on the mountain hold buildings, homes, and gardens, and it’s not uncommon to catch colorful Danphes (Nepal’s national bird) grazing the land. The panoramic views are stunning. Waking up, I could see some of the world’s tallest peaks right outside the window. Our guides were right, and the views were worth the extra trek. We spent two days there to acclimatize to the altitude. One of said days was supposed to be a “rest day,” as per the itinerary. Naturally, I got excited because I knew I needed that to heal. Turns out “rest days” in the mountains are days when you still have to hike, not rest; you just go back to the same place you departed from instead of hiking to a new destination. A rough realization for me as I was feeling way under the weather.
On day three, not really a rest day, we visited Khumjung village — one of the mountain's most ancient Sherpa settlements. We also visited the Sherpa Culture Museum(Opens in a new window) on the way. It’s still managed by its founder Lhakpa Sonam Sherpa, whose photographs of local mountains and expeditions adorn and pay tribute on so many walls along the trek up to SBC and many other routes. Unfortunately, we were admiring a photo exhibit when my head started feeling like I could pass out. I felt so sick I left the building and found a place to crash under the sun’s warm light. I had been tempted to skip the hike that morning but then felt more preoccupied about not acclimating well for the rest of the trip. The nap helped, and I was able to keep hiking.
One can walk right into a model traditional sherpa home at the Sherpa Culture Museum. Image via Gabaccia Moreno(Opens in a new window)
Once in Khumjung, we had a fantastic lunch with dazzling views of Amdablan, my new favorite mountain. We connected with three Sherpa ladies who ran the restaurant there. We had a few translated exchanges and learned from them about their culture, specifically their garments and what they still wear to honor tradition. We had learned earlier that Sherpa culture is rich in festivals, which is one of the ladies’ favorite things about being from there. They made me wish we had the opportunity of experiencing one of so many. Nepali people always say, “We have more festivals than days!”. Of course, different festivals are only celebrated by some and not all tribes or communities, but the saying refers to the importance of celebration in a shared Nepali identity.
During our hike back to Namche, I felt so energized I joined Cassie, who was always at the front of the line as if she were a local. Because of her endless energy (and wow, it did last all the way up!), we named her The Goat. Cassie is a fierce Blackfoot-Niitsitapi community organizer getting people of all backgrounds to connect with the land in her homelands known today as Alberta, Canada. And turns out she’s also into music and dancing. So as she shared what her favorite Native artists were, she turned up some tunes, and we just danced through a section of the trail. I forgot I was sick and just enjoyed the views while we danced it all off amidst the white and blue of the peaks and sky.
Dance became essential in our trek. We danced to welcome or send off each other across hanging bridges, celebrate arriving at new-record-to-us elevations, or even bring new energy to the group. I’m so grateful to our guide Ranjan who brought along a speaker and constantly reminded us to celebrate the journey. Often times when I felt like I couldn’t take another step, I would suddenly hear the music start, look up to see my friends dancing, and it did the trick. Dancing was a significant part of it all and, to this day, of my fondest memories in the Himalayas.
A Rite of Passage
For the next few days, what saved me was a mix of tons of community support combined with honey lemon ginger tea, cough drops, cold and flu pills, and “the vapors.” The vapors are an ayurvedic remedy that requires a bowl of boiling water, a few drops of “Sancho” essential oil blend, and a towel or cloth. Many of us in the group adopted it. “The vapors” became a roommate ritual for Laura and me cause both our respiratory systems were struggling. One of our guides would take on “vapors” duty and line up all the materials for us. Once the drops of oil were added to the water, we had to close our eyes and get as close as possible to it while covering our entire heads with a towel, creating a tent around it all. I’ll never forget the intense tingle of all the minty oils and the suffocating feeling from the vapor itself. My first few times, I lasted 3 seconds before feeling fully claustrophobic and gasping for air. Alas, it was worth the discomfort. “The vapors” saved my hike.
We arrived in Dingboche (14,470’) for another acclimatization stay, aka a “rest day.” Fun though, our entire way there, our guides kept hyping up the coffee shops. “It’s ok to have pastries here,” they promised. Coffee shops and bakeries along the way are infamous for giving people stomach aches due to the not-so-fresh nature of their pastries. But we had arrived at 14k+ feet of elevation, and we were given the green light to grab a treat, and you bet we did. On our “rest day,” meaning after our hike to 15.5k for the day, Laura, Cassie, and I ordered smoothies and a few treats. We borrowed a mini Jenga from the shop, and we sipped and laughed and played surrounded, low-key, by several of Earth's highest peaks. No, I did not think I’d be playing Jenga when I got to 14k ft for the first time, but there I was, and there was nothing else I would rather do.
Cassie (The Goat), Laura, and Gabaccia. Smoothies at Cafe 4410 (named after the elevation in meters) made our day in Dingboche! Image via Gabaccia Moreno(Opens in a new window)
Dingboche was a rite of passage for me. Hiking during that “rest day,” I felt vigorous for the first time since my last training hike before heading to Kathmandu. I also realized I had not felt strong for a long time. My training was cut short due to COVID, which hit me the week after I started training and kept me from physical activity, cutting my training time from seven weeks to three. “I’ll get strong in the mountains,” I thought. And on the hike to Dingboche, I felt the growth. My legs were going with power, and my mood was settling into the rhythm of life in the mountains. My journal notes read, “First happiest day.” I think I also felt strength from witnessing my newfound sisters push through their own struggles and support each other while at it. Jaylyn had long COVID and could not talk, Laura and I were still going through our respiratory issues, Rocío was still pushing through from day one, Elaina had recovered overnight from what was almost a heat stroke, and the list just kept going. Amazingly, if one ran out of cough drops, someone else was there ready with extras for them. If someone was feeling protein-deprived, someone rolled out the jerky. We always had everything we needed because we had each other.
The tides turned once I started feeling stronger. Here dancing by some of the highest peaks in the world. Image via Gabaccia Moreno(Opens in a new window)
After two days of feeling stronger and less congested, I finally breathed and started living my best mountain life. Which included being adventurous with the food I was trying. Who knew the best veggie burgers and fries are served above 15k feet? And that Dal Bhat power does last 24 hours!? Dal Bhat is another mountain staple that comes from the philosophy of making a complete meal accessible at a reasonable price; because, as our guides explained, “nobody should have to go hungry.” It consists of a lentil soup, a scoop of rice, a serving of vegetable curry, and pickled veggies, with unlimited refills.
Dhal Bhat. A traditional "all-you-can-eat" Nepalese meal. Image via Gabaccia Moreno(Opens in a new window)
My renewed spirits also came with a deeper awareness of my presence and my body on the mountain. More specifically, in relation to the people whose livelihoods depend on my (and everyone else’s) desire to hike there. All along, I had seen porters, first our own, taking two duffle bags each; then others, carrying oversized baskets with leaves, meat, and other supplies, giant loads of empty water bottles, mountaineering equipment, trash, and pretty much anything that could or couldn’t be carried by yaks or helicopters. On one particular day, we were hiking behind a few porters who were bent over, perpendicular to the ground, carrying construction beams and doors. Seeing someone carrying a door on their back for miles on end was definitely one of those reckoning moments when I realized the enormous privilege I had of being there. But also a rather brutal reminder of the long-lasting effects of colonialism and what we’re willing to sacrifice in the name of tourism. It’s people’s wellbeing. Their backs. Their lives.
I will never forget the slow steps those men took. A few of them had a walking stick about their knee height for support. Others did not. I personally do not need a hotel in the mountains to visit. But this is the stretch the local people have gone to make this mountain accessible to more people in the name of economic growth. I didn’t know it then, but porters get paid by the kilogram they carry(Opens in a new window), which encourages them to carry too much too often. And the porters' job is somehow considered “unskilled.” To me, that should never go unnoticed, unappreciated, and untold.
The Base Camp Stretch
When I open my journal on Day 8 of the trek, it only reads:
Day 8 - EBC Day! 11/24/22
Self-realization**
The day started with so much positive energy. You could feel the excitement in each others’ eyes and hear it in all the giggles and aws. Until. The wind started to pick up. Our guides immediately signaled us to take cover behind some giant boulders. I looked over and asked, “How long will we wait?” They said about 30min. “And if the wind doesn’t calm down?”
“We’ll have to be brave.”
We followed directions to brave the windstorm: Faces covered to our noses with our neck gaiters. Sunglasses on. Hats on and faces looking at our feet. The wind was now steady and forceful. Every step took the energy of too many, and you could lean on the wind of how strong it was. One of the things I did not expect at such elevation, thanks to my naivete, was to encounter sand. Yes, we were hiking against a full-on sandstorm above 15,000’. Unlucky me still couldn’t breathe much through my nose, so I had to make the bad bad decision of removing my face cover so I could feel some air coming through. The hat I was wearing? Not the appropriate one for the situation. They had suggested a bucket hat for all-around sun cover, but they forgot to mention on the packing list: In case of a sandstorm, you will need a hat with a hard shade that can also serve as your face shield. My face was getting the exfoliation of a lifetime. My legs exerted more energy than I had budgeted for the first half of the day. It felt endless. I was hungry. Suffering. “Why am I suffering through this? Why am I here? Why am I sick? Why didn’t anyone tell me about the right hat?”
Cassie, Gabaccia, and Laura waiting for the sand storm to pass behind a boulder. Image via Gabaccia Moreno(Opens in a new window)
I can’t remember the windstorm stopping. It’s like I went from excruciating pain in my entire body and my burning raw face to seeing Gorak Shep a few steps away. I looked at the sticker-filled booth-type structure that welcomed us into the village. I walked through the crooked hallways of the Yeti Inn and into the dining room. Everyone looked exhausted and worried. We had just spent so much energy. It was so late compared to our planned schedule.
Many of us did not believe we could make it that day. To be fair, our schedule constantly set up skewed expectations for us. Days that were marked as 4-5 hours long resulted in 8-10 hours. How far was Base Camp, really? Impossible to know. Many of us felt too tired and too sick to keep going. My breath felt so short, and my congestion worsened after the windstorm. Could we maybe do it tomorrow?
Our guides reassured us that we would have lunch and head out. “Bring your headlamps.” If we did not summit that day, we would not have time to get back down on schedule. “Grab more layers, too. It’s going to be cold.” Laura and I rushed to our room to get on as many layers as possible. Gorak Shep already felt colder than anywhere else (at like 2-3 pm, so….), how much colder could it get? I wasn’t taking chances.
- 2 beanies + 2 hoods
- 3 neck gaiters
- 7 layers of tops - 8 once I added my outer shell.
- 3 layers of bottoms - base, mid, and outer.
- 2 layers of gloves
- Double Merino socks
- Hand warmers
This was the final push. I had come this far. Was it worth it? What am I proving? I had nothing to prove. Could I just cut the suffering and give up? It was painful, my legs so tired, my body so cold, and not generating heat fast enough to keep me comfortable. Not even inside all my layers. I felt my footsteps get less secure over the next section. It was as if I could misplace a foot even though I was looking directly at the solid ground before me. A little stumble here and there. This was thin air. Maybe the thinnest air I’ll ever breathe.
No. Giving up was not an option. The pain of looking back at being so close would be much worse than I was already feeling. If anything, every time in my life when I had to push through pain had prepared me for this moment. I shook off the suffering darkness that was taking over and looked at the dirty ice around me. All ten women who eight days earlier had rushed up and down the stairs of a little hotel in Kathmandu weighing duffle bags and being silly were just about to touch SBC.
We crossed paths with many people who were already heading back to Gorak Shep. I knew we would finish our hike very late, but I would enjoy (and suffer) every second of it. “More trek to enjoy for us,” I thought to myself. More trek, yes, and apparently also more Base Camp. Nobody else was there when we arrived. We had it all to ourselves for a long time. It was the most amazing gift for being as slow as we needed to be,
At The Summit
Most of us arrived around the same time, except Lexi, an adventurous and talented Cup’ik and Yup’ik photographer from Alaska. She had fallen behind (accompanied by a guide) due to her health status worsening over the prior days. I noticed Elaina stopped behind us to wait for Lexi, so they could both arrive together. They knew each other before this trip, and Elaina’s gesture of friendship was profoundly moving to witness. Honestly, I didn’t know if Lexi would be able to make it, and I was worried. But Elaina knew she would.
Many of the women started to change into their regalia as a way to celebrate their roots and bring visibility to their Indigenous lineages through the mementos we took while at SBC. Suddenly the glaciers and stones' grey, white, and dull blues became sprinkled with different colors and textures, bright ribbon skirts, colorful embroidered tops, flags, and feathers. What a sight to see in a place like SBC! I may have overwhelmed them with all my questions about the different regalia. I really enjoyed seeing them honor their traditions and ancestry. I also felt a bit nostalgic for the ancestries erased from my own identity.
Amanda, Shy, Colleen, Elaina, Jaylyn, Cassie, Lexi, Gabaccia, Laura, and Rocio...all the women made it to Base Camp and most of them changed into regalia to celebrate. Image via Gabaccia Moreno(Opens in a new window)
“Can we climb up ‘the EBC rock’?” Yes ma’am! We climbed and posed for our portraits and supported each other as people were doing wardrobe changes and taking small group pictures too. Finally, we all got together for a much-awaited group shot. We had all reached the destination, and it was no feat to go under-celebrated. Base Camp became our own private party. Ranjan had brought us a big pot of hot mint tea to warm up and go alongside the Oreos they brought for us. I tell you, our guides were THE BEST. And while the tea really helped, I never really stopped feeling cold.
I felt like a super hero, not gonna lie. Image via Gabaccia Moreno(Opens in a new window)
As people continued to get creative with more portraits, I had something else in mind. I wanted to get as close (and as safe) as possible to the Khumbu Icefall. Anil had promised to guide me a few days prior. Once there, it really wasn’t anything super scary or dangerous at all. I probably didn’t need to be guided and could’ve likely just walked over myself. All that mattered, though, was that I was there, maybe for the first time and maybe for the last. I just stood there and observed the magnified crevices of ice rising and sinking through the falling glacier. My body might have been freezing and exhausted, but my heart was in awe, warm and full. “Congratulations,” said Anil, “your dream came true.”
*Sagarmatha is the Nepali name for Mount Everest, one of its meanings being "Goddess of the Sky" – this is the name I choose to use in my story as a way to show respect and admiration for the Nepali people that guided me throughout my time in their country. So when you read Sagarmatha Base Camp or SBC - it literally means Everest Base Camp or EBC.
**Self-realization was the reflection word of the day.