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Anson Walldorf 2/22/24 Anson Walldorf 2/22/24


THE REAL WORLD

Standing at 18,000 feet on the edge of a glacier facing the Everest range, I
took my camera out and snapped a few photos. I tried to ignore the headache
creeping in and take a moment to appreciate the beauty of the sun setting over
the Himalayas. My stomach felt like it could turn inside out if I tried to eat
my frozen boiled egg too quickly, so I crawled in my orange, winterized tent
sitting between a rock wall and the high camp cook’s tent. 



My mind wandered to the summer prior when I fell into the “real world” trap of
“just go get a job; you'll hate your first job anyways.” I spent that summer
crammed in the corner of a windowless office in a DC consulting firm doing mind
numbing work. I was terrified of living an easy life of going through the
motions. This fear of the mundane drove me to this adventure where I experienced
tea houses, prayed with Buddhist Monks, passed ancient sites and monasteries,
encountered a red panda and a troop of monkeys. After days of trekking through
the jungle, we crossed into the towering Himalayan mountains, picked edelweiss
flowers for luck, met climbers and trekkers from every corner of the world and
ultimately to the side of this 21,247 foot mountain, Mera Peak. 



The inside of the tent gave off a dull orange glow from the afternoon sun which
didn’t help the headache or nausea. My mind drifted with the thin air and I
wondered why I was here. I felt lucky I spent much of my childhood on my
grandparents' North Georgia farm climbing around the caves and cliffs of Lookout
Mountain. It was there that my curiosity for the outdoors and exploring the
natural world was born. 

As I laid in my sub-20 sleeping bag, I thought about the times my cousins and I
would scale our way down the bluffs below our grandparent’s house to explore and
sit in silence with a deer rifle and wait for an unsuspecting buck to pass by.
Experiences like these sparked my imagination and longing for a life in the
outdoors.  

I was also fortunate to have a friend that was willing to take on this adventure
with me. When I called Andrew and told him “I have a crazy idea, let’s go climb
a mountain in Nepal after graduation.” He laughed and immediately said, “I’m
in.” 

We spent the next year and a half planning how to make this trip a reality and
up to this point, the adventure in Nepal had already exceeded every expectation.
We began our trek to Mera a week earlier, after a bumpy and exhilarating flight
between mountain ranges and into the infamous Lukla airport. The 12 degree
landing strip and the astoundingly short runway have led many to label Lukla
airport as the most dangerous in the world. Lukla is located in the steep and
rugged foothills of the Himalayas and has an elevation of 9,500 feet. Hotels,
restaurants, and small farms surround the airport. 

Stepping off the plane, I ran my hands along the Tibetan Buddhist Prayer Wheels.
Small, open-air vendors line the crammed storefronts of Lukla selling everything
from trekking and climbing gear to jewelry and prayer flags. There are only
walking trails in this region because the landscape is too vertical and remote
for vehicles. 

From Lukla, we set out for Mera with the trekking guide and porter we hired,
Kamal, who is a 50 year-old trekking guide, husband and father of two. His lean
structure is a reflection of the eight months a year he spends guiding treks
through the Himalayas. I have never met a friendlier or happier person. Dhiren,
the porter Kamal hired for us, is an 18-year-old from the foothills of the
Himalayas with the stature of a division one wrestler. When not in school, he
carries climbing gear from mountain to mountain.

“Bistari, bistari” (Nepali for “slowly, slowly”), Kamal told us as we approached
Khare, the last stop before Mera basecamp. In Khare, we met Lakhpa Sherpa, our
climbing guide. Lakhpa’s calloused, weathered face, ski goggle tan line, and
stout stature is the staple look for the rugged and tough Sherpa guides. After a
day of acclimatization and gear checks, the three of us made the push to high
camp, to those orange winterized tents that pull a mountaineer back to them like
a marathoner to a hellish run. We were met with 30 other climbers, most of whom
were experiencing intense altitude sickness, some of which needed helicopter
evacuation. 

After a few hours of sleep, we woke at 2 a.m. for the summit push. I slipped my
feet into frozen climbing boots, stepped into my climbing harness, adjusted my
crampons and headlamp and roped in a line of three with Lakhpa and Andrew. 

The night sky seemed to wrap around us, with shooting stars flying above our
heads. The bright bands of the Milky Way illuminated the vast glacier. We
crossed between ominous dark crevasses and up steep, icy faces lit only by our
headlamps and the light of the stars. 

We kept a steady pace as we dug our crampons into the frozen glacier. As we
looked down the vertical glacial section we had just traversed, we could see a
line of climbers making their way up. Just behind them, the silhouette of the
Everest range faintly glowing from the light of the glaciers and snowy peaks. 

The sun began to rise over the Himalayas in the east and lit the dramatic peaks
with a fiery orange and red. After another thirty minutes, we made it to the
ridge just below the peak. On either side of us, dramatic snow banks dropped off
for thousands of feet. As we crossed the ridge we felt the wind powerfully whip
up and over the mountain. The first rays of dawn blanketed the snow and Mera’s
Peak glowed in front of us like a lost jewel. From high camp to summit it took
us just under three hours. 

Steep ice falls and snowbanks hung off the edges of the peak and we were
rewarded with the view of the world's tallest mountain range, stretching into
the sky and illuminated by the morning light. I pulled off my gloves, unzipped
my jacket and grabbed my camera. Within seconds, my hands were numb from the sub
zero temperatures.

We spent just 15 minutes on the peak of the mountain we had been planning to
climb for over a year. As the three of us stared at the horizon only breaking
the silence with an occasional gasp at the vast beauty and miniscule feeling
caused by the grandiose landscape that surrounded us, I asked Lakhpa, “Does that
ever get old?” His reply? “Nope.” 










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