Pokin Descends

Nicholas didn’t sleep. By the time he got back from the stupa, explained the disaster to Pokin, and started packing away his gear, the alarm was already going off. Six AM. Zero hours of sleep.

The decision everyone had been putting off couldn’t wait anymore. Pokin’s lungs weren’t getting better. They were never going to get better up here. The doctor had said it plainly: go down. So they sat in the lodge that morning, running on no sleep and dread, and figured out a plan.

Nicholas and Pokin inside the lodge, planning the day ahead — The war room. Wood paneling, zero sleep, and one very difficult conversation.

Here’s what they came up with: Pokin would descend to Tengboche with Nilman, one of our porters. Tengboche was lower, had the heated room at The Himalayan where she’d stayed before, and she could actually rest and recover there.

Po On going up to Lobuche to rejoin the group was risky. She wasn’t doing well with altitude either, and higher wasn’t the direction you want to send someone who’s struggling. But Nicholas could take her up with Kerman, one of our other porters, reconnect her with Steve, Alice, and the rest of the crew, then push on.

Pokin was the one pushing him to keep going. She didn’t want Nicholas to cancel everything on her account. If he could still get his photos, still see EBC, still salvage something from the trip, he should. The astrophotography window was the clincher. The next two or three nights were the last chance before moonlight ruined the sky. After last night’s disaster, Nicholas had nothing to show for months of planning. If he went down with Pokin now, it was over. No EBC, no astro, no nothing. If he went up, he could speedrun the whole thing: Lobuche today, EBC tomorrow, Kala Patthar, then sprint back down to Tengboche.

Pokin would be on her own for three nights. She’d have Nilman, she’d be descending, and she’d be resting in a proper room. It wasn’t ideal. But it was the plan that gave everyone the best shot.

Dingboche village with snow-dusted buildings and mountains behind — Dingboche in the morning. Frost on the rooftops, mountains pretending to be casual about it.

Stone walls dividing fields with snow-capped mountains beyond — Last look at the stone walls. These have been here longer than any of us and they’ll be here long after.

Saying Goodbye
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We stood outside the lodge and said our goodbyes. Po On was coming with Nicholas and me up toward Lobuche. Pokin was heading the other way, back down through everything we’d already climbed.

Po On, Pokin, and Nicholas selfie with Ama Dablam behind — One last group photo. Ama Dablam in the back doing what she does best.

And then they split. Nicholas, Po On, and I headed uphill. Pokin and Nilman turned around and started walking back.

The Descent
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The rest of this post is Pokin’s. She took photos the whole way down, and what follows is her solo trek from Dingboche back to Tengboche. About 10 kilometers (6 miles) and 400 meters (1,300 feet) down, then 200 meters (650 feet) back up at the end to reach Tengboche. With bronchitis. And fluid in her lungs. Coughing the entire way.

View looking back at Dingboche village with Lhotse in the background — Looking back at Dingboche. Still beautiful, even when you’re leaving it because it’s trying to kill you.

White Buddhist stupa with painted wisdom eyes against mountain backdrop — The eyes on the stupa. They see everything. Including bears leaving without saying goodbye.

Nilman walking ahead on the trail with a large backpack, Ama Dablam behind — Nilman leading the way. That pack weighs more than me, and I’m not very heavy, so the bar is low.

Pokin set the pace. One step at a time, stopping to catch her breath every few minutes. Every cough rattled something that shouldn’t be rattling. Nilman followed behind, matching her speed.

Nilman on the trail with shrubs and mountains

Stone walls and fields in the high Khumbu valley

The trail dropped down through the high valley, past the same stone-walled fields and kharka huts they’d walked through days earlier going the other direction. The difference was she was alone now. Just her, Nilman, and whatever wildlife was judging her from behind the rocks.

Wide view looking up the valley toward Lhotse with a braided riverbed below — The valley stretching back toward where she came from. A long way to walk when your lungs are full of the wrong thing.

Cairns and a prayer flag along the trail

Steep stone staircase on the trail with mountains in distance — Stone stairs. Going up. Yes, up. The trail descends overall but keeps throwing in climbs just to keep things interesting.

Metal bridge covered in prayer flags spanning a rocky riverbed — A bridge wrapped in prayer flags. If prayers work on lung fluid, she was covered.

Nilman kept letting Pokin lead, which sounds polite until you realize Pokin has no sense of direction. She kept taking wrong turns onto steep scrambles they had no business being on, and Nilman just followed with the bags without saying a word. No doubling back either. The slopes were too steep to turn around and climb back up, so they just committed and scrambled down whatever Pokin had gotten them into.

Every time Pokin asked if Nilman wanted a break, he said no. So they powered through the entire hike without stopping. No rest, no tea house detours, just walking.

As she descended, the landscape started to change. More green. More air. The dry, brown scrub of Dingboche slowly gave way to actual vegetation.

Rushing glacial river through a steep valley — Glacial river. The water is that color because it’s ground-up mountain. Nature’s smoothie.

Line of yaks carrying supplies along a narrow mountain trail — Yak train. When they come through, you get out of the way. Those horns aren’t decorative.

The last stretch from Deboche to Tengboche is all uphill. Nilman said twenty minutes. Pokin was out of steam. Whatever energy she’d been running on had run out somewhere on the valley floor, and the final climb turned into something closer to a crawl. Twenty minutes became an hour. She described it as moving like a caterpillar, which is generous to caterpillars.

But she made it. Tengboche by late afternoon, back to The Himalayan, back to a heated room. Lower altitude. Actual oxygen in the air. She could rest.

Meanwhile, Nicholas, Po On, and I were heading the other direction, straight up into thinner air. That’s the next post.

Saying Goodbye#

The Descent#

Saying Goodbye
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The Descent
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