One More Big Effort:

Down And Up To Num

Pemba appeared just after breakfast, uninjured apart from his pride and his hangover. He had climbed back up to Kauma to spend the night, setting off at 5am to catch us before we left.

The steep downward stages were not kind on my knee ligaments. I also got blisters on my heels, right next to the recent ones. Today I was wearing an identical pair of socks to those on the first day, when the weather was almost identical. I now realised that the socks simply could not deal with the amount of sweat produced at 1000F. They became as sharp as razors. Today, immediate relief came from sticking on a plaster and simply changing the socks.

"Yes, he says it is painful." The question had probably been about where it hurted most.

"No, it has never happened before." Shortly this was followed by, "Yes, he takes medicine for it."

What sort of medicine? "It's green pills and they come in a glass bottle."

The Sherpas were confident that he would get better after some rest, so his load was redistributed among the other porters.

Pemba then became 'Table Boy' and I took his/my bags. By Golly the combination was heavy. My prayers for the original table-carrying porter's speedy recovery flew up to the heavens in advance of any others!

The porter did begin to recover and was given back more and more of his load. Things were back to normal by the time we had descended to the suspension bridge, with just the steep climb to Num remaining.

Freed of the extra load, the challenge of the 3000-foot steep ascent inspired me and I set off with gusto.

I resolved to estimate the vertical height gain and not look up until I got to the top (the path was mainly on rough stone steps, each one representing about a foot of height gain).

Eventually I got to the point where I reckoned I had gone up 3000 feet. I looked up at last. I was bitterly disappointed to see that there was still about 300 feet to climb. That last stretch must have taken the best part of an hour.

At last the top of the hill arrived and we were soon into Num again. This time another group had beaten us to the main square in Num. It was a support expedition for the Italian Makalu team ("The Eagles of San Martino") . Its purpose was to go up to Base Camp and wish the members of the climbing team there the best of luck. Their tents were laid out in immaculately straight lines; their equipment was all shiny-new and de luxe. Most of their women were friendly, but some of their men, sitting in their shiny new outdoor clothing and drinking big bottles of beer by the neck, were quite happy to be confused with the real climbers.

The Italians objected to us trying to pitch our tents around the edges of the town square. They believed that they 'owned' the whole of the town square. There was an angry stand-off between their Sherpas and ours; meanwhile our kitchen-boys quietly erected our tents and we dived into them as soon as they were ready.

While we sat outside Lhara Sherpa's lodge we met this extraordinary German woman. She was big, beefy and generously breasted - like a younger Hattie Jacques - and accompanied by quite the smallest and weediest little guide we had seen. We were reminded of 'Carry on' films. "I must get to [Makalu] Base Camp. Will I get through?" she asked in a mock Monty Python German accent. It did not seem likely that a little snow would stop this formidable woman. "I always rise at 5 am. It is better then," she added by word of explanation, before launching herself on the path to Sedua and all points north.

The most violent thunderstorm we had experienced began soon after we had arrived, with another, milder version returning late in the evening. Pat was inspired to choose this night to produce what was agreed by all to be the loudest snoring heard on the trek; on the other hand, it did seem to see off the Italians: they were gone soon after first light.

Next Another Day, Another Downpour Back Slippers Before The Snows