Pemba buying snow

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Pemba buying snow

Pemba Sherpa keeps this photograph of his first summit of Mount Everest. He's wearing his father's old down suit and holds a blessing card from Lama Geshi. Memories of the killer avalanche endure, but Pemba Sherpa is also worried about the Tibetan calendar. She crinkles her nose skeptically and shakes her hands in a 'so-so' gesture. Last April 18, Ngawang Karma's year-old son, Pemba, was guiding a client through Mount Everest's treacherous Khumbu Icefall when a massive avalanche killed 16 Nepali high-altitude workers. It was the deadliest avalanche in the history of the world's tallest mountain and led all the commercial expeditions to leave the mountain before attempting the summit. Without such assistance, the vast majority of mountaineers wouldn't have a chance of successfully scaling Mount Everest's 29,foot 8, meters summit, the veritable top of the world. Pemba escaped unharmed, but he says he is not going back this year. His mother worries that her son hasn't recovered from the emotional experience of being so near the avalanche and knowing all the men who died. But that's not the reason he's missing Everest this year. For Pemba and his client, a man from Alaska in his mids, the goal that day was to get acclimatized to the increasingly thin air on Everest by hiking from Base Camp, the makeshift village of tents at 17, feet 5, meters that serves as a staging ground for climbing expeditions, to an area known as the Football Field, a relatively flat expanse of snow and ice at 18, feet. For climbers, it is the only respite from objective hazards like collapsing seracs and rock and ice fall, as well as the grueling climb up the icefall's 2,foot gauntlet of massive, shifting ice formations. Pausing to sip water at the edge of the Football Field, Pemba felt a strong gust of wind blow down the valley. Later he would regard it as a warning, like the exodus of animals before an earthquake. Five minutes passed. Then he watched in awe as building-size blocks of ice tumbled off Everest's west shoulder. Clip in! A cloud of pulverized snow and ice ballooned and funneled down the narrow valley toward them. Pemba and his cousin Phinjo Dorje Sherpa, who was just behind Pemba on the fixed line, crouched down and hoisted their packs overhead as shields against the shower of debris. Then their world went dark. When Pemba and Phinjo Dorje rose, a blast of fresh snow had covered them. They quickly gathered their clients and began descending. I couldn't talk,' Pemba says. Bundled for transport, Ang Kami Sherpa was one of the three survivors from the avalanche that claimed the lives of 16 Nepali workers in the Khumbu Icefall last year. He heard the voice of Mingma Tshering Sherpa, also from Pemba's village of Phortse, who he knew was carrying loads closer to the avalanche's main impact zone, scratch over the radio:. Pemba tallied up the people he recalled seeing on the mountain earlier that morning, and realized that each one who came to mind could be dead. None of the 16 men who were killed was a close friend, but Pemba knew all of them. Nearly a year later, 'I still have them in my eyes,' Pemba says. For Pemba and the hundreds of other Nepalis working in the mountains, the decision to climb is often not necessarily a simple one. But for each man, myriad factors are at play, as nuanced and complex as the icefall these men traverse. This wasn't Pemba's first time dealing with death in the mountains. His second season on Everest, in , he helped carry the body of a friend down from Camp III, which is at 23, feet 7, meters. But that fatality was the result of a medical condition, he says. The morning of the avalanche, 16 miles away in the small village of Phortse, Pemba's family learned of the tragedy from trekkers who were staying in their guesthouse, the Namaste Lodge. By mid-morning, family members finally reached Pemba by cell phone. Pemba didn't want his mother worrying, so he lied and said he was fine and that he'd taken a rest day at Base Camp. They were saying things like, 'We don't need the money; we need you to come back. We'll work hard in the fields; we'll survive; come down,' ' Pemba says. The next evening, when Pemba returned home, his mother greeted him in tears and his father, Lhakpa Dorje Sherpa, did so in a silent hug. Lhakpa Dorje, a seasoned sirdar, or lead guide, and veteran of 34 Himalayan expeditions above 8, meters 26, feet , understood the depth of what had happened and the potential impact on his son. Like many men in the Khumbu, Lhakpa Dorje worked hard in the mountains so his children wouldn't have to. Lhakpa Dorje and Ngawang Karma were determined that Pemba, their youngest child and only son, would receive an excellent education and opportunities far beyond the reach of the high mountains that had confined them. Sherpa tradition dictates that the youngest son inherits the family land and looks after the parents; daughters traditionally move to their husbands' homes. Lhakpa Dorje began portering at age Food was scarce in Ngawang Karma's large family, and she would often leave home for kitchen jobs with mountaineering expeditions, hoping for a solid meal. They wanted a different life for their children and saw education as the key to a better future. When Pemba turned eight, his parents enrolled him in a top-notch boarding school in Kathmandu, a two-day walk and minute plane ride away. Like an increasing number of Sherpa children, he grew up far from his cultural and ancestral home, and his time with his family and in the Khumbu was limited. But while many of his Sherpa classmates gravitated toward the kinds of jobs not available to them in the Khumbu—such as medicine, business, and aviation—Pemba increasingly thought about returning to the mountains. Of the estimated adult men in Phortse, more than 90 percent of them have summited Everest. Most of them have done so multiple times. Although Lhakpa Dorje vowed never to return to Everest after an expedition left him for dead high on the mountain as he struggled to descend with a dull ice ax in hard ice, he has climbed many other high Himalayan peaks. Pemba's maternal grandfather, Nyima Tenzing Sherpa, worked on nearly 20 expeditions. His paternal grandfather, Karma Tshering Sherpa, supplied yaks to the expedition of Edmund Hillary, who along with Sherpa mountaineer Tenzing Norgay in became the first to reach Everest's summit. Including Pemba's uncles, the family's tally adds up to more than a hundred high-altitude expeditions, and that's not counting cousins. The village of Phortse sits on a high plateau overlooked by the peak known as Ama Dablam center. Of Phortse's estimated adult men, 90 percent have summited Everest with commercial mountaineering teams. In nearby villages such as Namche and Kunde, most families are prosperous enough that their men are no longer tempted by the paydays garnered on Everest. But many families in Phortse and Thame, towns farther off the tourist track and less developed, still need the work that Everest provides. Those expedition earnings often are used for the next generation's education, as Pemba's family did for him. He's benefited from a good education, but the next step is uncertain. The expense of a university degree didn't feel worthwhile when Pemba knew he'd be returning to Phortse, where a diploma has no direct correlation to wages. According to Sherpa tradition, as the youngest child and only male child in the family, Pemba will eventually become responsible for the well-being of his family and their lodge. Pemba could have worked in the lodge or stuck to the safer trails as a trekking guide, but neither would be as lucrative as high-mountain guide work. And for Phortse men, the historical ties to Everest and other high mountains in the region are long and illustrious. Young Sherpas can recite the members of early expeditions and their sirdars like baseball fans recollecting World Series lineups. The draw is understandable. Three years ago Pemba, determined to understand his father's work, approached a Pangboche sirdar for a position on an Everest expedition. He was intent on going despite the tears and anger that followed when he told his parents of his plans. Pemba worried that the years in Kathmandu——being away from tsampa , the fortifying Sherpa porridge, as well as the rigorous life that the Khumbu demands—would put him at a disadvantage on the expedition. Tasked to ferry loads up Everest, Pemba got the opportunity to carry gear for a client on a summit day. On May 19, , about 6 a. In his family's lodge, a photo of Pemba on top of the world is displayed prominently. He's dressed in his father's old down suit, and between his gloved hands he cradles a blessing card from Lama Geshi , the monk who bestows benedictions on hundreds of climbers each year. It's a pose reenacted in countless photos of Sherpa climbers and hung in homes and teahouses all over the Khumbu. In the photo from Pemba's second ascent, in , he crouches with his hands in a gesture reminiscent of an L. A card from Geshi is tucked into one of his pockets. Pemba says working expeditions isn't just about the money; he's fallen in love with climbing. But when we get back down, we forget all those hard times,' he says, echoing a sentiment common to mountaineers everywhere. Like most year-olds, Pemba also appreciates the independence and break from home life that expeditions give him. But Pemba won't be climbing this year, and the reasons are more complex than just the lingering trauma of last year's avalanche. Born a quarter century ago, in the year of the iron sheep according to the Tibetan calendar, Pemba has entered what is known as a gyak year pronounced 'kack'. According to Nyingmapa, the form of Tibetan Buddhism that Sherpas traditionally practice, gyak years are supposed to be a period of obstacles and increased danger. Da Nuru has summited Everest 16 times. Eight of Daki's sons have worked as mountain guides. For many men, this means taking a break from risky activities such as guiding on high peaks. The predominant gyak years consist of three cycles of three years each: 12, 13, and 14 years of age; 24, 25, and 26; and finally, 36, 37, and 38, with the middle year of each cycle feared as the most potent. According to some lamas, age 25 is the worst year for women, and 37 is most dreaded for men. With his 25th birthday looming, Pemba says he has a special incentive not to work on Everest this year. There's a lot to do and worry about—you're a little stressed getting ready for Christmas Day. December 25 is the big day—that's where all the attention goes, the main gyak,' explains Sange Dorje Sherpa, whose grandfather was sirdar to the famous Irvine-Mallory and Hillary-Norgay expeditions. As his family's youngest son, Sange Dorje worked in the safer trekking business, which sticks to hiking trails and lower peaks, instead of the riskier high-altitude climbing industry. Da Nuru Sherpa, Pemba's next-door neighbor who has ascended Everest 16 times, turned 37 last year, and like other Sherpa born in the year of the horse, he patiently bided his time trying to remove obstacles and minimize risk through pujas and prayers that his father, Nima Rhita Sherpa, Phortse's head lama, prescribed for him. Specific readings and decoys, called Lu , can also help redirect the malevolent forces. Because of his gyak year, Da Nuru did not work on Everest last April, so he missed the avalanche. This year, his parents, wife, and children have made it clear that they want any climbing he does on Everest to be done on routes on the Tibet side of the mountain, which avoid the deadly Khumbu Icefall on the Nepal side. But Da Nuru will not be returning to Everest this year after all. The mountaineers who have hired him have decided to climb the 23,foot 7, meters Baruntse instead and save Everest for next year. This month, as Phortse transforms into a ghost town devoid of young men who work as guides on Everest and other mountains in the region, Pemba admits that a part of him would like to go too. Instead he'll be working in the lodge, guiding a few trekking peaks, and visiting lamas such as Da Nuru's father and Lama Geshi. Each lama will consult the Khunu Lodu , an almanac of Tibetan astrology, for advice on which will be the most 'auspicious' times for Pemba to hang prayer flags and perform purifying ceremonies and specific mantras for minimizing the dangers and obstacles of his gyak year. The next time Pemba travels to Kathmandu, he'll free 50 birds and fish, sold in the Sherpa section of town, to help combat gyak forces. Secular cynics will dismiss all the tiptoeing around the calendar as superstitious pageantry, but for many Sherpas, the 'auspiciousness' of one moment versus another is crucial and represents a complex interplay of cosmology and astrological elements, like wind and fire, which can be calculated down to the second and are specific to the exact time of each person's birth. So, what happens next year once Pemba's gyak year is over? That depends on whom you ask. Pemba would like to return to Everest despite last April's avalanche. He says the Nyingmapa belief that the day of one's death is predetermined helps quell any worries about returning to the icefall. And he acknowledges that concept might be hard for a foreigner to understand or embrace, but he is not alone in attributing the avalanche, in part, to an isolated event orchestrated by unhappy mountain deities. I won't have the fear until there's another,' he says, referring to last year's avalanche in the icefall. And if his parents say no? Like many other concerned parents and spouses, Pemba's mother has made it clear she doesn't want him going back. People say sometimes you need to listen to your elders. I listened to them this year,' Pemba says. His voice trails off, leaving the difficult question unanswered. This year the Khunu Lodu predicts that April 18 will be a fortuitous day. The complementary elements of earth and water will dominate, making it an excellent day for planting and farming. And mountain climbing? Nuptal Rinpoche, a lama from the Manaslu region who is studying in the United States, says making predictions about climbing is very hard to do. After all, in ancient times, when the Tibetan texts were written, there was no such thing as mountaineering. While Pemba's neighbors farm potatoes and his friends, cousins, and uncles shoulder loads through the icefall, Pemba will light 32 butter lamps—two for each victim—in honor of those who died in the avalanche. Molly Loomis is a writer based in eastern Idaho. All rights reserved. By Molly Loomis. Of the estimated adult men in Phortse, more than 90 percent have summited Everest. Photograph by Andy Tyson, National Geographic. He heard the voice of Mingma Tshering Sherpa, also from Pemba's village of Phortse, who he knew was carrying loads closer to the avalanche's main impact zone, scratch over the radio: 'Just backpacks. This time, 'I was almost near the death. I listened to them this year. The Year of Highest Danger But Pemba won't be climbing this year, and the reasons are more complex than just the lingering trauma of last year's avalanche. Annual Migration to the High Mountains This month, as Phortse transforms into a ghost town devoid of young men who work as guides on Everest and other mountains in the region, Pemba admits that a part of him would like to go too. You May Also Like. United States Change.

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Pemba buying snow

Looks like you're not logged in! Log in or create a free account dismiss. I was born in the Everest region of northeast Nepal, not far from the small village of Sengma. I do not know the exact date of my birth, although I believe it was sometime in October of Like many Sherpa families, we were farmers and herders, grazing our livestock in the nearby mountains. On one such occasion, while my father was away, my pregnant mother led the animals to the jungle pastures high above the village. When she went into labor, she walked into the bamboo shelter where she slept at night, and delivered me alone. Thankfully, she found the knife in time. She remained alone with me for three days until my father arrived at the camp. I lived with my parents and eleven siblings in a stone house without electricity, plumbing, or running water. Khumbu is a spectacular place of snow-covered peaks and deep gorges, glacial valleys and forested hills, waterfalls and cascading streams. To this day, there are no roads in Khumbu. Because of the high elevation and cold climate, farming has never been easy. For food, we grew potatoes the main staple , barley, buckwheat, corn, beans and a variety of greens. We also owned a dozen or so zoms —a cross between a yak and a cow. In late spring, we would drive our livestock to pasture in Lumding. At 14, feet elevation, Lumding is a sacred valley rarely visited by Westerners. Surrounded by snow-covered peaks 8, meters high, the valley comes alive in summer with blooming trees and wildflowers—crimson rhododendron, the creamy white flowers of magnolia, blue Himalayan poppies, purple primulas, and bunches of white orchids. Most of the time I went around barefoot with minimal clothing. I remember it raining a lot and being cold, sitting beside a pine and pitch fire to get warm. My mother and sister would be there, too. At night, we slept inside a canvas shelter, which could be packed up when it came time to relocate to a different pasture. We cooked our meals inside this shelter. We made milk, butter, and cheese, which we would sell every week at the market in Namche Bazaar. Pemba Sherpa was born in the remote Khumbu region of Nepal, where he distinguished himself as a mountain guide. At 19, he migrated to Boulder and founded Ascent International. Pemba has been able to devote his life to helping his native people of Nepal, where he has built a bridge, hydroelectric plant, and is planning a medical clinic. He has led more than 20 trips to Nepal for the Colorado Mountain Club. One of my favorite activities as a boy was watching birds. My favorite was the danphe , the national bird of Nepal. Danphes typically live at 11, feet elevation or higher. The males have long green crests and beautiful iridescent feathers of copper, teal, and purple. Among the big animals I encountered were the red panda, black bear, and snow leopard. Red pandas, on the other hand, were quite common. I remember always trying to touch one, only to have it run away. Despite the poverty and hardships of living in Khumbu, Sengma was a wonderful place to grow up. Very few foreigners visited the area, and it still had the feel of an isolated Sherpa kingdom. Strong family relations are important in Sherpa culture, and I was very close to my siblings and mother. Back then, people tended to remain in the village where they were born without the expectation of ever leaving. We were happy with what we had, perhaps because we knew no other way of life. Growing up in Sengma made me appreciate the simplicity of life and meeting the basic needs of food, shelter, and clothing. There were few complications beyond that. But times change. Today, most Sherpas no longer live in Khumbu. I myself left home at fourteen for the capital city of Kathmandu, where I worked for an expedition company as a mountaineer and guide. Five years later, I migrated to the United States and started my own international adventure company. I operated the company for twenty years, traveling the world and meeting many interesting people. Today, I am a successful businessman living in Colorado where I own two restaurants and eight properties in Boulder. With my wife and young daughter, I enjoy a life of relative affluence. But this only begins to tell the story. Each year, I return to Khumbu, where I am reminded of where my journey began. I have never forgotten the poverty and hardships of my people. I am both Sherpa and American, walking in two worlds. For centuries, Sherpas lived in relative isolation as farmers, herders, and traders. Because of its remoteness and inaccessibility, Khumbu remained virtually cut off from the outside world until the mids, when British climbers turned their attention to Nepal in their effort to summit Mount Everest. Ultimately, this spawned a climbing and trekking industry that would profoundly change the region and transform Sherpa culture. Roughly 3, Sherpas presently live in Khumbu, while another 30, inhabit small villages scattered throughout the mountains of eastern Nepal. Sherpa communities also exist in India in places like Sikkim and Darjeeling. Today, Sherpa people can be found in all parts of the world including Europe, Australia, and the U. More than 5, Sherpas live abroad, half of whom reside in New York City. Still, the heart of Sherpa country and culture remains the Solokhumbu—a relatively small region of valleys along the southern slopes of Mount Everest. Contrary to the assumption of many, a Sherpa is not a porter or mountain guide. But this is not accurate. To be a Sherpa is to be a member of an ethnic tribe that settled the Everest region of Nepal roughly years ago, the first people to inhabit this part of the Himalaya. Beginning sometime in the early s, a small group of Sherpa families began a migration from eastern Tibet that would eventually land them in the uninhabited Solokhumbu region of Nepal. In subsequent years, they would be followed by other Sherpa clans coming from Tibet. Among the highest mountain dwellers on earth, Sherpa people are affectionately known throughout the world as the fabled inhabitants of the Himalaya. As was the custom in Sherpa culture, my parents were brought together in an arranged marriage. My mother was originally from Hewa—a three-day hike from Sengma. She was hard-working, compassionate, and loving. As a boy, I remember the many rituals she observed in and around the house: putting out the seven bowls of water in the morning as an offering to the gods yonchap , swinging a brazier filled with burning incense sangbur , making regular visits to the monastery, and taking time for daily prayers. To this day she remains a devout Buddhist, living in Kathmandu where I see her regularly. Explore the SunLit archives at coloradosun. My father, who grew up in Sengma, was mayor of the area. He was often away from home, leaving my mother alone to care for the children and farm. As mayor, my father was respected throughout the area and people were eager to accommodate him. He was physically very strong. He often brought me with him as he went politicking from village to village. Of all the children, he chose me because he was proud to show me off, even though I was bored most of the time. He was an abusive alcoholic, often beating my mother. It hurt me emotionally and psychologically to see him hit her. When I was five, I remember thinking to myself that I was not going to grow up to be like him. A year later, my father died after falling from a makeshift bridge into the river, leaving my mother to raise the eight children who remained alive at the time. Of the twelve children born in our family, only six are alive today. The others died of illness and other causes related to living in poverty and harsh conditions. This rate of mortality was not uncommon among Sherpa children. Of the many dangers we faced on a daily basis, crossing the river was certainly among them. Every year, a new bridge had to be built by villagers after the monsoon runoff swept the existing bridge away in summer. The bridges, made of bamboo, were often dilapidated and unsafe. I myself witnessed a boy named Pasang fall into the river, only to be carried downriver to his death. I can still recall his parents running downstream, screaming, as other villagers tried to help. I am still haunted by the image of this tragedy, and for years I vowed that, if I ever had the chance, I would build a safe bridge over the river. I was completely illiterate when I first arrived in the U. Although I struggled to learn English and adjust to the new culture, I realized the U. I was ambitious and eager to learn. On my way to becoming a U. Just as much as I wanted to pursue my career ambitions, I wanted to explore the Rockies and the climbing opportunities it afforded. At the time, there were very few Sherpas living in the U. As a Sherpa, it was not difficult for me to make friends. Some of the CMC members had been to Nepal, and others were eager to go. In , at the age of twenty-two, I guided a group of fourteen Americans on a trek through Chola Pass in Khumbu. After returning to Colorado, word got out about our adventure, and people from across the U. At the time, there were very few outfitters in the U. Before long, I was guiding two and sometimes three trips to Nepal per year, most of them through CMC but also some that were private. I found that I really enjoyed taking foreigners to the Himalaya and sharing what I knew about the culture and history. I liked meeting new people and, of course, I loved trekking and the mountains. I decided to concentrate on adventures that were relatively safe, where people could enjoy themselves and experience the beauty and culture of Nepal. The trips would feature climbs in excess of 20, feet in some of the more scenic, less-traveled places of the Himalaya. Over time, this role of bringing people together and bridging cultures became more than just a business strategy. Traveling back and forth between Khumbu and Colorado, I was fortunate to experience the best of both worlds. Immersed in these two different cultures, I gained a unique perspective on each. At some point, it occurred to me that the work I was doing might be important. With all its wealth and generosity and opportunities, the U. At the same time, I discovered that the Himalayas and Sherpa culture had a lot to offer Westerners. Many of the Americans I took to Nepal came back with a different perspective on life. Most Sherpas there have so little, whereas my American and European clients generally had everything they needed. And yet, it was clear that Westerners found something spiritually rewarding about the people and culture of Khumbu. Read an interview with co-author James McVey. To find this book: Prospector: Search the combined catalogs of 23 Colorado libraries Statewide list of independent bookstores Searchable database of bookstores nationwide. Skip to content Looks like you're not logged in! Colorado Book Awards finalist in Creative Non-fiction.

Pemba buying snow