Easy as ABC

The Deurali day dawns bluebird and clear, still damp but not too chilly as the sun moves slowly up the valley from far below. At 7 a.m. on the fifth day of the trek we start the final four hours to ABC as shafts of light force through wedges of mountains, Annapurna in front of us, Fishtail to the right. The river is rushing down below through sheer rock walls and the climb is steep at first, mostly mud and rock trail and, gloriously, no stairs as it passes through the gorge in its ascent to Machhupuchhre Base Camp (MBC). We're at about 13,000 feet, the air is thinner and less damp and although I have to stop to catch my breath, I can finally breath more easily ─ no thanks to two weeks of gorging on dal bhat and Coke at low altitude in the heat. Why anyone loses weight on this trek is a mystery since you must eat three times a day so your guide will get their free meal.

At MBC we stop for hot ginger tea before the final climb to ABC only two hours across alpine terrain at a gradual altitude gain. The day is absolutely perfect for the hike. The Annapurnas indescribably fill the broad viewscape until clouds descend from nowhere to obscure both sun and scenery and the air becomes damp and cold with their mist.

Mountain dogs voluntarily escort trekkers to and from villages through their territory and two pass guiding a few tourists. Shrouded in clouds at almost 14,000 Annapurna Base Camp sits in a bowl surrounded by Machhupuchhre and the Annapurnas. Again we are told they are no rooms but we're able to opt for a three bed dorm with another British woman whose last name is acceptably Fairey. We celebrate with rich chocolate carried half way around the earth from Mountain Earth Foods in Crested Butte. Dhanu makes scrunchy faces at it because she prefers the sweet American junk bars.

Up on a ridge are prayer flags, poems and memorials to those lost on the mountains. Annapurna has claimed many in their attempt to conquer her. Although I can't see through the cloud, the glacier below is noisily moving taking rocks with it in its eerie descent. All around avalanches caused by late rains are thunderously crashing every few minutes. Somewhere on the mountain in the fog is a French climbing team and separately a solo American climber. I walk the edge high above the glacier among the prayers, intuitively seeking a niche in which to hang the Red Lady flags I carry from my own beloved threatened mountain − to ask the Big Sister Annapurna for her blessing.

Through the mist an unnaturally bright orange glow is coming towards me.
“You should put your flags with all the others so they'll be read by more people and the more they are read, the more the universe will absorb them,” Gabby's British accented wisdom rings true even though she is dressed in a florescent day-glow orange long-shag coat.
“Jeezus Gab, you look like a psychedelic yak...” and I think, why didn't I bring my usual ceremonial costuming for this trek instead of wearing all the fake North Face garbage everyone else also bought in Kathmandu? We plan to string the flags in the morning after the sunrise ritual. This leaves us free to take off and explore nearby ridges before the evening descends.

Past the flags a bastion of rocks delicately balanced, little castles, stupas, more tributes, more petitions with the solemness of a graveyard. Down sloping sides through fields of larger rocks we come upon a circle of dark barren soil ribboned through with white sand, a dry creek bed in a lunar landscape. Dotting the fine dirt are clusters of tiny puffball mushrooms and in the greyness and altitude we're certain we've left the planet. Over the next ridge, avalanches so loud the ground shakes and the evening light is setting in. We head back to camp for dinner.

Always a jovial party in the common room, the kerosene heater is blowing strong fumes and heat under the long dining table skirted with yak wool blankets to slide your legs under. Yes, there have been fires and bodily combustion but in the night cold, temperatures dropping fiercely now, no one cares. The laughter continues until the moon rises three-quarters full over cleared skies and illuminates the ranges with such magnitude that everyone rushes out of the lodge to stand outside in silence in awe of the lunar lit snow peaked panorama.

When I finally pull myself from the surreal world, I crawl off to sleep fully clothed − down vest, wool hat and gloves tucked happily into my bag with all the electronics and batteries. Dreams are intense for everyone who falls into the trance at Annapurna.

Sunrise humbles the soul and elevates the spirit as the light moves down the goddess-face of the Annapurnas. People and flags silhouetted on the ridge where the sun has not reached yet stand with cameras poised. Across the bowl behind us is Machhupuchhre, the fishtail still bathed in shadow. Points, peaks and avalanches, I am mesmerized by the unfolding daylight, a phenomena I don't witness at home either with my Mediterranean heritage and night schedule.

I move to the other side of camp as a white veil of light is dancing with rays of shadows cast from Fishtail's peaks. Suddenly bright streaks shoot upward from a jagged point with the explosiveness of a sparkler on the Fourth of July as the sun rises to form a perfect diamond bead visible for only five seconds as it rises into the sky. Five seconds of star burst, stripes of prisms welcome the day. When the light show plays itself out, you realize how high you are... mostly because you've held your breathe through the entire performance and at high altitude.

Gabby is her own little spectacular sunrise decked out in the shocking orange acid-yeti shaggy coat. I gather the lavender anointed red prayer flags and we head up the ridge. As the silent prayer request begins, Gabby, with the longer legs, ties one end to the highest point of the pole above the other flags. As I reach to tie my opposite end, a prepared chant for each knot, a bellowing voice calls, “Playing through!”

Golf club and ball in hand, a dreadlocked, surly-bearded man with aboriginal tattoos across his forehead and a mischievous smile suddenly appears and sets his tee right next to me on the ridge.

“How did I get in this Fellini movie?” my disoriented brain is not registering the scene as he screams, “FORE!” and hits the ball high over the nest of flags to a makeshift hole marked by a pole and tin can way down on the camp floor while the ever glowing Gabby-in-orange is laughing and shooting photos.

The flags are up waving high above the backdrop of Annapurna and Fishtail surrounded by magnificence, hope and a temporary golf course. Dhanu is impatiently pacing, hoping we'll come down soon to start the return... back through the forests and stairs to find a room and more food. It's 10 a.m. when Gabby and I pull ourselves away from the mountains we've spent a knee-destroying five days to get to. As we approach Dhanu she pipes in with her favorite insistent comment, “Ok, we go now. Ready?” She repeats this continually until there's no choice but to pick up your bag and head out.