Thanks Lou.

More monsoon from dusk until early morning. Then it cleared. Again!

I thought it was going to be a quick dap today. Just goes to show how wrong you can be.

Thanks Lou (again).

We dropped down in steep sections, followed by relatively level ground. This bridge was just before a drop.

Looking down from the bridge was the drop.

Isn’t it fantastic here? I’m very fit at the moment, although I’m tired, but you don’t have to be megafit to do a Himalayan trek. Get a guide and porter. If you’re with a group make sure they’re around your own level of fitness. I’ve got Bhim’s contact details if anyone is interested. He’s a top quality bloke. Look up this valley and imagine that you’re there.

I’ve decided that I can’t do another trek now. It would be great to go up to Tilicho Lake but I’m whacked. I’ve been looking forward to trekking solo for a while but physically I can’t get down to Dharapani tomorrow and start climbing another 17,000 footer. In fact I can’t climb anything soon. I’m going to descend for the next few days and then spend the weekend in Pokhara. Maybe do some fishing on the lake. I’ll also come back a week earlier to see my old lass.

Meanwhile here’s the mountains!

Now I’d decided what to do for the next week I was happy. And loving the descent through forest to jungle again.

It was a long walk today with some hairy sections, again due to landslides, but eventually we saw Tilche in the valley.

The gate to the village was imposing and the teahouse was comfortable with a hot shower and superfast WiFi.

We drank beer together, in moderation, and had a good laugh over dinner. Sleep time.

Night night.

We waited at the top of Larkya La pass for a while, just in appreciation of it giving us a tough hike for 10 days, as well as the views that the clear skies still afforded us.

Just breathing in the quiet, apart from the regular rockfalls. The stillness and peace, without the constant sound of the crashing river which we’d had day and night for 10 days. It’s tempting to think that the mountains are trying to weigh you up because someone up there is keeping an eye on things. But we’re insignificant to these magnificent peaks. Anyway stop waxing lyrical fat boy and get your lardy arse 4,000 feet down the other side in time to get some scran.

A love divine is still yours and mine. Thanks John.

The physical drop down the other side was ridiculous, but someone had managed to carve a bit of a zig zag path into the hillside. Most accidents happen on the descent and my legs were slightly unsteady from the efforts of the morning. Careful (with that axe Eugene) . Thanks …. which one is Pink?

Even more careful when the weather is looking a bit wild.

We picked our way down, trying to keep up speed but trying not to slip, trip or fall. This drop below was much steeper than it looks in the photo.

What you can’t see, unless you magnify the photo, are 5 black dots coming up the path. Five policemen who were on patrol. you might be able to spot them.

We engaged them in conversation and they were jolly nice coves. On the beat to maintain security of the pass, whatever that meant. We were still no wiser as to what they were up to until, further down, we came across a tv journalist who was doing a piece on the Manaslu Circuit. The coppers had picked up on that and decided to look proactive!

After a couple of hours of calf and knee straining descent we spotted a glacier below us in the valley, and a small camp to the side of it in the distance. Dindins!

Our pace picked up and potato with garlic soup was the feast of the day! I must have lost some weight on this trip surely ref! Come on ref you bozz eyed get! I’ve lost weight you blind bastard! Ok. Maybe I have and maybe I haven’t. Refs are crap nowadays.

Another two hours dropping down before we got anywhere near our destination. Bimthang. Not a bad spot, but bereft of electricity and WiFi.

The sheds were nice but it decided to rain, and the monsoon came back with a vengeance in the evening and night. Looks like our clear views of the Himalayas are over. But they were spectacular whilst they lasted. Deep rumbles continued to remind us that somewhere there were thousands of tons of ice and snow cutting down mountainsides. Mountaineering is a risky business. Good job that we’re just bedwetting trekkers!

Night night.

We waited at the top of Larkya La pass for a while, just in appreciation of it giving us a tough hike for 10 days, as well as the views that the clear skies still afforded us.

Just breathing in the quiet, apart from the regular rockfalls. The stillness and peace, without the constant sound of the crashing river which we’d had day and night for 10 days. It’s tempting to think that the mountains are trying to weigh you up because someone up there is keeping an eye on things. But we’re insignificant to these magnificent peaks. Anyway stop waxing lyrical fat boy and get your lardy arse 4,000 feet down the other side in time to get some scran.

A love divine is still yours and mine. Thanks John.

The physical drop down the other side was ridiculous, but someone had managed to carve a bit of a zig zag path into the hillside. Most accidents happen on the descent and my legs were slightly unsteady from the efforts of the morning. Careful (with that axe Eugene) . Thanks …. which one is Pink?

Even more careful when the weather is looking a bit wild.

We picked our way down, trying to keep up speed but trying not to slip, trip or fall. This drop below was much steeper than it looks in the photo.

What you can’t see, unless you magnify the photo, are 5 black dots coming up the path. Five policemen who were on patrol. you might be able to spot them.

We engaged them in conversation and they were jolly nice coves. On the beat to maintain security of the pass, whatever that meant. We were still no wiser as to what they were up to until, further down, we came across a tv journalist who was doing a piece on the Manaslu Circuit. The coppers had picked up on that and decided to look proactive!

After a couple of hours of calf and knee straining descent we spotted a glacier below us in the valley, and a small camp to the side of it in the distance. Dindins!

Our pace picked up and potato with garlic soup was the feast of the day! I must have lost some weight on this trip surely ref! Come on ref you bozz eyed pillock! I’ve lost weight you blind beggar! Ok. Maybe I have and maybe I haven’t. Refs are crap nowadays.

Another two hours dropping down before we got anywhere near our destination. Bimthang. Not a bad spot, but bereft of electricity and WiFi.

The sheds were nice but it decided to rain, and the monsoon came back with a vengeance in the evening and night. Looks like our clear views of the Himalayas are over. But they were spectacular whilst they lasted. Deep rumbles continued to remind us that somewhere there were thousands of tons of ice and snow cutting down mountainsides. Mountaineering is a risky business. Good job that we’re just bedwetting trekkers!

Night night.

Thanks Windsor.

As instructed by the sergeant major I got up at 4.15 for breakfast at 5.00. During the night it had rained heavily and for my 4am pee the cloud was around my shed. By the time I’d packed and got out for breakfast the sky was clear and the early light was showing the mountains in some glory. Manaslu was imperious. It was cold so I wrapped up with three layers and wore leggings for the first time this trek.

Bhim had to knock up the boys who ran the camp to get some breakfast made. It was half decent porridge and honey and I was happy. We pushed off just after half five and after 50 metres I was breathless and knackered. Bhim came over and offered to swap rucksacks, which I refused but gratefully accepted later. Sufficient oxygen is difficult to take in – which is a George Formby way of saying ‘it is difficult to take in sufficient oxygen’. He puts it that way round, with the noun first, when he’s struggling to get a rhyme. Bless. Not that I was thinking of George when my lungs were trying to escape from my throat. This old heart of mine was working overtime. Thanks to the Isleys.

The sun was beginning to reveal a magical world beyond the wall of moraine that we were tracking to our left.

The view to our right was trying not to be outdone.

There were deep plunging noises of rocks from inside the glacier, falling as the ice melted and dropped it’s load down deep hidden chasms. A bit like listening to whales underwater.

As the sun took hold of the mountains expanding rocks were released from the sides by gravity and crashed down to the valley floor, every couple of minutes as we climbed up. And ominously deep rumbles of ice and snow avalanches could be heard like distant thunder resonating up and down the valleys. I hope the folk at Manaslu Base Camp were safe.

We smiled and congratulated each other on being the luckiest people to cross the pass in months. The weather was extraordinary. We couldn’t believe it.

After an hour we passed a lake, meltwater from the glaciers collecting behind the wall of moraine. The reflected mountains were phenomenal

There were plenty of animals enjoying the morning sun. Marmots, huge mice as big as young rabbits, and yaks grazing.

I started to delayer my clothes but you need to be careful up here. The weather can turn quickly and kill you. I’ve been carrying my emergency bivouac since we set off, hoping that we wouldn’t have to use it. A snowstorm five years ago killed 21 trekkers on the Annapurna Circuit at the same time of year, and this trek is more remote.

The rockfalls got bigger and more frequent, particularly down this range.

Meanwhile we were working our way up 2,300 feet to the summit of the pass with less and less oxygen. Some people climb Everest without oxygen tanks, and that’s 12,000 feet higher than this. How do they do it? Even Bhim, a young, strong lad of 32, was puffing with the effort. Then to pee on our parade a little more the path went from partial path….

to none at all.

Looking back down the valley we’d come a long way over rough ground. To the extreme right of the photo below, about a third of the way up from the bottom, is a smoother section with straight, parallel lines down it. That is the ice of the glacier underneath us which is exposed at the surface.

After five hours of slog I could have given up. My muscles were screaming. Bhim came over and offered to carry both rucksacks. I couldn’t let him, as much as it might appeal. Then a light came on. There were flags.

And suddenly over the top of the next brow the summit was less than 20 metres away. I can’t tell you how emotional that is. Luckily there were two French lads coming the other way who took photos for us. We’d done it.

Take a break.

It had rained heavily last night and my chest was tight with the altitude so I didn’t get much sleep again. But more than the night before. It’s like waking up trapped in a box and you desperately want to breathe cool, fresh air. This was the last day before the final, gruelling trek over the summit of the pass. Looking down the valley it was dark but not too foreboding.

Looking up, in the direction we were heading, was much brighter.

Porridge again for breakfast and we were off by 8.30. Today we were going up to the highest place we could, before crossing the pass tomorrow morning. It was a camp for people doing the Manaslu Circuit and, as it wasn’t the full season yet, we were hoping it would be open. If not we were buggered. After 45 minutes the view back to the village was lovely.

I’m lucky. When I think of wife, family, home, security, enjoyment, fulfilment and Sheffield United I am blessed. Particularly SheffU, we’re in the Prem you know, and I’ll get back for the Liverpool match.

There may be trouble ahead. Hello darling. Love you.

From higher up, and a bit of magnification, the view back was great.

It was one of the steepest climbs we’ve done this Circuit and I got in a bit of a lather. I was trying to drink as much water as I could and the air wasn’t cold. That combination, added to my rucksack, produced a sweaty, fat bloke who smells. I was struggling. Bhim offered to swap rucksacks again, he could see I was in difficulty. What a star that man is. I refused, like a lemming desperate to jump over the cliff.

Then we came across the moraine, being rubble pushed or discarded by glaciers over the millennia. And amazingly underneath some of this moraine was a living, breathing glacier, covered in rocks.

To the right of the moraine is Dharamsala camp, about an hour away.

Give me legs, give me oxygen, give me strength. I’m in pain.

We got there and I got a suite again. Outside hole in the floor toilet, no electricity, no tapped water, no WiFi – oh my God, no WiFi! Again.

We lunched, I slept and then we did some more altitude assimilation by climbing for an hour and trying to get my breath back before my poor old heart packed in from beating like Keith Moon on amphetamine. And then sitting and enjoying the earth for half an hour before descending for dinner.

The river we had followed for 10 days was getting smaller as we neared its source.

We ate and had an early night, preparing for a 5am start on the final push over the top. Ominously a Himalayan thunderstorm started shortly after. The top had not been clear of cloud for months and the thought of dodging lightning bolts was a bit scary. But you think scary things when you’re on your own in the dark. The morning makes things better. Dunnit?

Night night.

Thanks Ivan.

And coincidentally we strode through fields all wet with rain. I don’t think I mentioned it previously but on the flight coming here I also listened to Astral Weeks, twice. It has overtaken The Big Huge by ISB as the greatest album of all time. Headphones really brought out the intricacy and beauty of the greatest work of musical art in the history of the world. End of – no surrender. Well, he is from Belfast.

I looked out of my window and after the rainiest night so far the clouds were capitulating to the sun. I grabbed my iPad, got my trainers on and shot outside. And there was Manaslu in the sunrise.

Even the modest local mountain, which was higher than most in Europe, looked great in the morning sun.

A decent breakfast of porridge and honey set me up for the walk, with milk tea of course, and we set off for a relatively short dap to Samdo, a village of Tibetan origin just a thousand feet higher than Sama. The valley opened up before us.

To our right there was a battle going on between the sun and cloud in the upper reaches, and it was 50:50 at the moment.

Up to our left on the hill was a tower of stone that looked for all the world like a giant guard from Lord of the Rings, with a wooden spear. If you didn’t look twice then you might miss the local guy two thirds of the way up the hill and in the centre of the photo.

It looked like the sunshine was winning in the mountains

and the valley

Each half hour brought a new perspective and I was hoping for a complete cloud clearance.As on the Annapurna Circuit a lone horseman coming along the valley cut a dash. Rob Carter, matey, I bet some of the horse gear would sell well in the UK. Whaddya fink?

We were nearly there, before lunch, and had been warned to get a teahouse room early as there were more climbers coming over the pass and the rooms could all be taken. Looking forward Bhim was crossing the last bridge before the climb up to Samdo.

We got to the first teahouse and grabbed rooms. Mine was an executive suite.

Lunch, laze, tried to message Antonia as she was in Leeds but strangely could not connect, even though earlier I’d posted a photo on Facebook. Then we went up into the mountains, to within 4 miles of China, to get higher altitude acclimatisation. The peace of the mountains was amazing.

As we headed back down to the village there were some local youths dressed in Worzel Gummidge type outfits, running round going berserk. They had whips and were shouting and banging on the doors and wooden shutters of houses to make maximum racket. According to a women Bhim spoke to, if the elderly die they automatically transition to the next phase. If younger people die in an accident, for example, their spirits won’t let go and hang around the village. These youths periodically rampage to scare the spirits into moving on.

Back for dinner and the menu was written by a Yorkshireman.

Night night.

A late breakfast at 8am, after an iffy night sleep. It had rained heavily during the night and clouds were still hanging around.

After breakfast I had a solid discharge which confirmed that the virus had passed. I had guessed so as I was feeling stronger and hadn’t released my doo dah for the previous two days. Hope you’re enjoying this update and not eating your dinner whilst you’re reading it.

A hot shower was a real treat and then I took a risk on the weather and washed all my clothes, except the ones I had on and my thermal clobber for the pass. There was a courtyard on two levels at the teahouse and a rope across the second level was a perfect clothes line. Then we were ready to walk up to the monastery on the hill above town and float around a bit. The sun came out and Buddha looked pleased. There was a large incense burning crucible that was churning out smoke from juniper branches. Fabulous smell.

Looking down from the hill, the village was doing that nestling thing again in the sun.

I was wrapped up today as the temperature could change very quickly, and I was protecting my eyes from the sun.

We went back to the teahouse for lunch, just as a group carrying the old statue of Buddha for relocation came past, blowing horns and banging drums. We’re not far from Tibet and most of the population round here are Tibetan or of Tibetan extract, and the Buddhist influence is strong here.

Another afternoon walk, folding up my dry clothes, more food for dinner, and teaming up with an Aussie from Perth, originally from Sale in England, who was climbing Manaslu over the next few weeks. Kevin Farebrother was in the fire service and was able to take extended holidays by swapping shifts. He had climbed Everest to the summit, three times. He was a great bloke and we talked for ages when the WiFi was out. But don’t interrupt my blogging when it’s working Kevin. You ball tampering criminal.

Night night.

Thanks Lou.

I’m a bit too old for the Himalayas. I would need to have a porter and walk without any load if I were to do it again. There are rough signposts pointing to the next village and indicating how long it will take to get there. I’m never early. There are lots of challenging walks in Europe. Nepal is just so different and really love it. Hey ho.

We are heading up to high altitude, around 12,000 feet today, and the monsoon doesn’t know when to stop. This is the view from my shed.

This is the view from my shed looking straight out of the door up the valley.

After a great breakfast and many thanks we pushed off up the left bank on the photo above, ignoring the suspension bridge. It was a steep day today. Cooling off a bit more but still sweaty for the fat lad. The Buddhist influence is growing and the religious sites are increasing. These are called gumbas.

Villages were becoming fewer so it was a bit of an occasion when we happened on one. Like this one coming up…

After this village a deep valley cut into our river from the left and we had to follow the new valley for a long uphill slog until it was narrow enough for the locals to have erected a suspension bridge. Once over we came back along the other side of the valley until we could see the village that we passed an hour ago.

This constant uphill battle with a rucksack on your back burns the calories and I’m still on a potato diet. Chipped, mashed or roasted. With cheese. Corrr blimey! The village that we were aiming for as our luncheon destination decided to turn up.

With the usual religious Gumba as you enter.

We found somewhere to eat and I set up a makeshift clothes line in the garden with my parachute cord – best thing ever invented – took off my sweaty clobber and dangled it in the sun and breeze. A sensational drying combination according to my old lass. By the way I put some other clothes on. I didn’t eat lunch with Jenny Taylor hanging out and the Plumber’s crack out back. I do have some decorum.

After lunch we pushed off through the village, which was spread around a hilltop monastery. An imposing structure.

The section after lunch is difficult until it’s properly digested but we don’t have time to wait. We just slogged, very slowly with tiny steps up steep hills and with a little more bounce on the level parts.

After hours of hard work we crossed a suspension bridge over another side valley and crossed over a brow. There was Sama in the distance, with two grey glaciers in the hanging valleys behind it.

Seeing your destination on a trek usually gives you a real lift. This did. It didn’t turn us into spring lambs but we got our heads down and cracked on like a pair of feisty ewes. Within half an hour we were knocking on the door, figuratively.

And entering the village the eyes have it.

We were here for two nights to acclimatise to high altitude. This is the first!

Night night.

It was a good night in the room but the monsoon had been strong. I’d hung my wet clothes from days ago up on the balcony and the wind had whipped the rain under the eaves and soaked my clobber even more. This was followed by breakfast consisting of milk tea, without tea, and noodle soup laced with salt until it was inedible. Unperturbed we set off and I got my rucksack on my back without too much difficulty. The valley up ahead was dark and cloudy. Who gives a fig, we’re going to the top.

After half an hour we came across another teahouse which made boiled eggs and proper milk tea. Get in! Looking back the sky was brighter below.

Gradually up ahead it cleared too. Double edged sword as the sun really does pull out the sweat when you’re a fat lad from Sheffield. Although considerably thinner due to the virus.

The path struggles to find a way up the valley with the ravines that stretch up towards the sky. The path switches from traversing along the bottom of cliffs and then climbing to traverse along the top. It mostly rises quite steeply on this trek and however much you have on your back it becomes a struggle. Even more so ahead when we get to higher altitude and the air gets thinner. When it’s steep then we slow down, with short steps. I keep looking at the floor up the steepest and longest sections so I’m not downhearted by the distance to go until it evens out. I count my steps as well as this takes your mind off the pain and the sweat dripping off your nose and chin and into your eyes. Stopping for a rest is good but keeping going is better.

And then all of a sudden you can come across a flatter section of valley, like this.

The Buddhist walls and carvings were becoming more frequent.

And the temperature was beginning to dip a bit, with the trees and vegetation starting to look a little alpine rather than sub-tropical jungle. We stopped for lunch and I ate without stomach pain. I didn’t feel weak and knew that I could keep going. Across the river from the teahouse was a huge wall of stone.

The season for this trek starts at the end of August and peaks in October, well after the monsoon ends. We were only the third party to trek it this season, with a party of 5 and a party of 3 a few days in front of us. Nutters in the monsoon rain.

We crisscrossed the river and came up to a choice of bridges. Hmmm. The high one or the low one. Come on Bhim let’s do the low one for a laugh.

Not with this rising up to meet me I’m not!

We pushed up towards Namrung, where we had to check in at the police post, before deciding whether to go further. The view down through the jungle was a wow!

And the entrance to Namrung was spectacular.

We decided to stay in Namrung and booked into a teahouse by the police checkpoint. The owner was great and him and Bhim got on like a house on fire. We had our last beer for a while and ordered dinner. Could he provide me with chicken in spicy gravy with mashed potato pleeease?

He nipped down to the butcher and came back to say that the butcher hadn’t got a chicken but he would go out to find one. Twenty minutes later he appeared in the teahouse and brought the chicken over for me to approve. I stroked it and said ‘see you later Old cock’.

An hour later I got the best mash and chicken in gravy this world has ever tasted. After dinner me and Bhim joined the owner and some of his mates round a camp fire in his garden and chewed the fat for a couple of hours. Very pleasant company and remarkable hospitality. Nepal, I love you.

Night night.

I slept until the alarm woke me at 7am and I still had a bad dose of the runs. It just takes your strength away. It’s too long now to be food poisoning, it’s a virus or summat. Diarrhoea, Diarrhoea, Figaro, Magnificococoa.

I was determined that we wouldn’t fall behind again today and asked Bhim over breakfast if he could get a porter for the day to carry my rucksack. Needs must. Whilst he was away I wandered round the garden. My clothes were hanging on the line soaked. The monsoon had struck in the night. Oh well.

The view was just amazing.

Bhim came back to say that the teahouse owner could fix us up with a local lad, so we committed to reaching an ambitious target that would still allow the lad to return home in the day. Otherwise you have to pay for the return day as well. House rules. The owner and Bhim reached agreement.

Dannii joined us and we set off at 8.30. He seemed a decent lad and was enjoying the attention of the locals, particularly the young girls, as we made our way through the village, him with my pack on his back.

Above the village was a big gash in the hillside where a landslide had taken out a few houses two years ago. The survivors moved up above it and rebuilt houses. Hardy breed.

My missus came up with Bohemian Rhapsody as a song with Landslide in it. Bien fait Maggie.

It was a slog but it was so much easier with 16 hours sleep, some food and no rucksack on board. There are dozens of mule trains up and down this valley delivering to and from dozens of mostly tiny villages. We followed one up the trail for a while.

Bhim confirmed that we weren’t going across this bridge. Safe but scary. Thank goodness.

Dannii was doing alright for a skinny lad and we made decent progress. Relentlessly tracing the route of this river to its source high in the Himalayas. With waterfalls cascading and mule trains dotted along the path.

As we approached the waterfall in the last photo we realised how stunning it was.

For the last few days we’d been well and truly into wild marijuana country, and on this section of the trek there was enough to supply Europe for a year.

The bridges were occasionally more pragmatic than the long suspension swingers, particularly where the path could get lower down the river banks.

However high we got the river was still crazy, being fed by the melting glaciers above us.

The path wound up the other bank but the effects of the monsoon were still here in the forest with difficult land-slipped soil to negotiate. The drops below were scary so we were more than careful.

After a decent lunch we were feeling brighter, although the heat was still sapping. I was feeling ok and was grateful that Dannii had been available. He had eaten his Dal Bhat curry and rice with his fingers. Bhim had used a fork and got twice as much down.

We were beginning to move into Buddhist areas. We’re less than 20 miles from Tibet, which was devoutly Buddhist before being invaded by China, and a lot of refugees had trekked over the Himalayas to seek sanctuary in Nepal. But going further back in time, Buddha was born in Nepal, although the majority of the population is Hindu. There are ancient monasteries hidden in the mountains, one a few miles higher housing 200 Buddhist nuns and 300 priests. The path passed a thick, short wall which was lined by worn but still decipherable Buddhist rock carvings. Phenomenal.

And finally we arrived at our destination. And it was shut. We let Dannii go back home and he scampered down the valley like a puppy. Back to school for him tomorrow. We waited but nobody came so we donned our rucksacks, me for the first time today, and walked across the village to the next teahouse, which was open and gave us a hot shower and food and a room. Long sentence wasn’t it!

Night night me ducks.