A Man, a poem

December 5, 2017

Today President Trump came to Utah for his first time as president.  The president came, not to partake in the resplendent beauty of our state’s natural wonders, but to sign a controversial proclamation to significantly reduce the size of two of Utah’s national monuments, Bears Ears National Monument, and Grand Staircase Escalante.


Photo courtesy: Mason Cummings

The occasion of the president’s visit seems to be a good occasion to speak of manhood.  Men have been under attack of late.  No doubt much of this is justified.  No woman should ever have to fear a man, no matter the situation.  Equality starts with respect, and if we are to be equal as genders, we must start by respecting each other.

At the same time, the idea of men being judged by a court of public opinion is frankly frightening in a way redolent of the Salem Witch Trials, or Red Scare McCarthyism of the 1940s and 1950s.  Don’t get me wrong, men who use power or manipulation to abuse women must be brought to justice, but in the United States we have a system of due process and a tradition of “innocent, until proven guilty” that must be upheld.

But in light of the current damaged image of manliness, we should remember to celebrate the kind of quietly strong men that we should strive to be, or to want in our lives.  What follows is a poem written by Louis Untermeyer about his father.

A Man (For My Father) by Louis Untermeyer

I listened to them talking, talking

That tableful of keen and clever folk,

Sputtering . . . followed by a pale and balking

Sort of flash whenever someone spoke;

Like musty fireworks or a pointless joke.

Followed by a pointless, musty laughter. Then

Without a pause, the sputtering once again . . .

The air was thick with epigrams and smoke;

And underneath it all

It seemed that furtive things began to crawl,

Hissing and striking in the dark,

Aiming at no particular mark.

And careless of whom they hurt.

The Petty jealousies, the smiling hates

Shot forth their venom as they passed the plates,

And hissed and struck again, aroused, alert;

Using their feeble smartness as a screen

To shield their poisonous stabbing, to divert

From what was cowardly and black and mean.

Then I though of you,

Your gentle soul,

Your large and quiet kindness;

Ready to caution and console.

And, with an almost blindness

To what was mean and low.

Baseness you never knew;

You could not think that falsehood was untrue,

Nor that deceit would ever dare betray you.

You even trusted treachery; and so,

Guileless, what guile or evil could dismay you?

You were for counsels rather than commands.

Your sweetness was your strength, your strength a sweetness

That drew all men, and made reluctant hands

Rest long upon your shoulder.

Firm, but never proud.

You walked through sixty years as through a crowd

Of friends who loved to feel your warmth, and who,

Knowing that warmth, knew you.

Even the casual beholder

Could see your fresh and generous completeness,

Like dawn in a deep forest, growing and shining through.

Such faith has soothed and armed you. It has smiled

Frankly and unashamed at Death: and, like a child,

Swayed half by joy and half by reticence,

Walked beside its nurse, you walk with Life:

Protected by your smile and an immense

Security and simple confidence.

Hearing the talkers talk, I thought of you . . .

And it was like a great wind blowing

Over confused and poisonous places.

It was like sterile spaces

Crowded with birds and grasses, soaked clear through

With sunlight, quiet and vast and clean.

And it was forests growing,

And it was black things turning green,

And it was laughter on a thousand faces . . .

It was, like victory rising from defeat,

The world made well again, and strong – and sweet.


The Beast

November 14, 2017


Photo credit: Zandy Mangold

Many of you may wonder how I’ve been able to do my first staged ultramarathon.  Let me explain to you about the beast.

The beast is not a person, nor an idea, nor a mantra, although in your mind you could imagine it as any of these things.  The beast is a pace.  It’s not a comfortable pace.  It is painful, but it is endurable.  And that’s the point.  The beast is the fastest pace that you can maintain for miles, that you can keep on the uphills and the downhills, where you can still consume calories, have a conversation, or manage your water and electrolytes.  You could likely pee at this pace, but you’d probably have to be going backward, and you’d want to know who is around you first.

For me, the beast is 4 miles per hour, but it might be different for you.  The beast is not a one night stand; only used when needed.  The beast is demanding of your time and your miles.  You have to know the beast before your start your race.

When you are passed by a pack of runners, and you are tempted to join, the beast mocks you: “You think you’re going to win this? You’re not a runner.  Remember nine months ago you’d never ran more than a 5K.  You are, at best, a mall-walker.  And you are my bitch.”  Besides, your real competition is not against them.  You’re really competing against the beast.

The beast is a hunter.  It is a wolf.  When that racer you’ve been bearing down on takes off at a sprint, the beast tempers you: “don’t chase the bunny.  It can only keep that pace for a few hundred meters.  You can practically see the serpents of anaerobic metabolism coiling around it’s legs, injecting poisonous lactic acid into those hard working muscle.”  When the bunny slows, that’s when the beast attacks.

But the beast is also compassionate.  It uses endorphins like an opioid drip, slowly diffusing into your body, hiding the pain, the blisters, the swelling.  You don’t notice these things until the beast is done with you.

The beast may be passed early in the day, but this is a race for wolves, not for gazelles.  It will make many of those losses back in the end.  The beast doesn’t burn itself up quickly, but plods on ceaselessly.

You may think you can escape your beast at the checkpoints. The check point staff will tempt you with music, shade, chairs, and friendly hellos.  It’s like being at Starbucks.  And if you’re not careful, you’ll become a regular.  But remember, you’re a mall-walker, and mall-walkers don’t lounge at Starbucks like high schoolers skipping class.  Be efficient: refill water, check your feet, apply sunscreen.  Remember to make a few friendly remarks to the check point staff, after all this is their vacation too.  Then get out.

The beast is waiting.

The weather is beautiful, I wish you were here!

Over the past yeah, so many people have commented to me about how crazy I am to be running 150 miles, 6 consecutive marathons, in a week. And while this particular adventure may seem a bit quixotic in the grandest sense of chasing windmills, when you show up at the event, and surround yourself with your family of like minded nuts, it can be pretty fun.

The last day has been full of reunions, renewing old friendships, and creating new best friends. And PACKING!

At this point, just hours before we board busses to take us to the first Camp site, which is also the starting line tomorrow, each racer is packing and repacking. The decisions we make now, and the ones we’ve made over the past few days will have major ramifications over the next week. The decisions we are making now, often times gut choices or things that “just feel right”, about things like gear, nutrition, and warmth can literally determine if we will succeed or fail, as well as how much we will suffer over the next week. Make the right choices, and you will do well, make the wrong choices and you may not finished, or could get really sick.

Some of my friends are making choices for the lightest pack possible, sacrificing warmth and calories for speed and less punishment on the shoulders and back, while others, like me, prefer a warmer, and slightly heavier, sleeping bag, or slightly more food that I have to carry.

One of my friends, Greg, is already paying the consequences for his decisions. He decided to check his back pack and all its gear in the plane from Buenos Aires yesterday, but the bag didn’t arrive in Bariloche. If it doesn’t arrive this morning, he’s going to have to scramble to find gear at the last moment, or he may not be able to run.

The thing is, there are no definitive “right” and “wrong” choices. A decision that is good for one runner may be disastrous for another. And the thing is, we have to make decisions now, and can’t go back and change them later. The die will be cast.

In this way, this crazy esoteric race is a reflection on life. Decisions we have made have ramifications in our lives, and may continue to have repercussions as each day goes forward. The decision that may seem good one day may lead to disaster the next. But humans have a linear relationship with time, and so we cannot go back and change our decisions once they’re made, and once we know their ramifications.

Milan Kundera explores this in his book The Unbearable Lightness of Being, which explores the consequences of the decisions made by the main characters during the Prague Spring in Czechoslovakia in 1968. The idea of the “unbearable lightness” comes from an idea from Nietzsche. It is the thought that our decisions are unbearably light because we can only make them once, whereas they would be heavy if we were forced to continually live through our making our decisions, good and bad, like the Kurt Vonnegut story Timequake.

But the eternal rub is that we are forced to live with the consequences for the decisions we make each day, and since time relentlessly marches forward, we have to keep making decisions, even when we would like to pause to reflect on our decisions.

And how we react to the outcomes of our decisions determines the people that we become. It is what makes us interesting as individuals as it builds character. For some, the repercussions of our decisions can help us build resiliency, and make us stronger people who are more capable of meeting life’s challenges; for others, the weight of our decisions can grind us down and bury us in a sisyphusian effort.

In the book of John, chapter 8, religious teachers confront Jesus and ask him to decide on the fate of a woman, based on the decisions she had made in life. She was caught in adultery and the leaders think she should be stoned to death. Like so many of these stories in the Bible, the religious leaders are trying to trap Jesus, to bring him down to their level. Will Jesus agree with them and send this woman to he me death? Or will he defy the law, and lose credibility?

But Jesus just draws on the ground. It’s one of the great mysteries of the Bible. What did Jesus write or draw on the dirt that day?

When the religious leaders pressed Jesus for an answer, he off-handedly commented, “let him without sin cast the first stone”, and then went back to his drawing. Slowly it dawned on each person in the crowd that they too were sinners. It was not their place to judge this woman for her actions.

After they had left, Jesus asked the woman, “Where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She replies “No one.” To which Jesus says, “Then I will not condemn you either.”

It’s so pretty awesome passage about forgiveness and judgement, but my favorite part, that often gets overlooked, is what Jesus says next:

“Go now, and leave your life of sin.”

Wow! The woman had made her mistakes in the past, however that did not determine her future behavior. So while she has made her mistakes in the past, and has had to pay the consequences or her actions, those actions do not determine her future behavior: just because you make a mistake doesn’t mean you have to keep making mistakes. Our decisions are light, yes, but they don’t have to be unbearable.

Each morning we wake up, we can be better people, just by willing ourselves to be so. And if we keep being better people for long enough, we may even become good.

The decisions I make today will have huge ramifications on my next week. And while today’s decisions affect my future, they do not determine my future. I am still free to make the decision to put one foot in front of the other. If I make that decision long enough, I will eventually cross the finish line, in spite of all the poor decisions I made today.

Here we go! Flying to Bariloche to start the Racing The Planet: Patagonia race, 150 miles through on of the most beautiful settings in the world. It feels like the race has always been far off, over the horizon, but not anymore. We start Sunday!!!

It’s crazy to think that 8 months ago, I’d never run more than a 5K. Now I’m running (more likely fast hiking) six consecutive marathons.

My training over the past yeah has taken my to some incredible places, including Costa Rica, the Tour du Mont Blanc in Switzerland, France, and Italy, Zermatt, Santa Fe, Telluride, Breckenridge, and a marathon run to Kings Peak, the highest point in Utah. I have fallen in love with running during my training.

Riitta from Racing the Planet, in her infinite wisdom, has grouped all the crazy doctors who have volunteered in previous races, but have decided to run in Patagonia into one tent together, along with the incredible Cindy Drinnan. I expect the atmosphere will be a bit like the old TV show M*A*S*H, and for me our tent will forever be known as The Swamp.

We may be a motley crew of medical professionals, but I fully expect all of my fellow Swamp Dwellers to cross the finish line!

Please follow our journeys at the 4 Deserts website, and send some prayers, karma, hopeful thoughts, and good vibrations to this crazy doctor!

Buy less. Give more.

November 9, 2017

feature_kellermann_foundation_01If you are like me, as the holiday season draws close, you begin to think about how to show appreciation to your loved ones. For many in traditional Western cultures, this means buying various trinkets and items that you hope will bring some joy to those you value. But oftentimes these items end up in a closet, a garage, or a basement, utterly forgotten until some future spring cleaning.

Buying something because you have the money, or because you feel like you need to give something, is not a good reason to buy it. But giving to someone in need because you have extra money or because you feel the need is a good use of resources.

Instead of buying meaningless gifts, show your loved ones how much you care for them by giving to the causes they value, whether it is a wetlands conservancy group for your nature-loving spouse, an arts endowment for the artist in your life, or to public broadcasting for your friend who listens to podcasts.

But if you still don’t know where to give, let me suggest you look at the Kellermann Foundation. The Kellermann Foundation is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization that was formed to support a group of internally displaced persons in the African country of Uganda. This group, a tribe of pygmies known as the Batwa, is a group of traditional hunter-gatherers who were forced out of their rainforest, the only home they have ever known. When they were forced off their lands into an unfamiliar environment and culture, the Batwa began to suffer and even die.

The Kellermann Foundation’s works include school building, education programs, scholarships, water and sanitation projects, home building, agriculture, healthcare, ministry, and projects to maintain the Batwa’s cultural heritage. The Kellermann Foundation has also built and helps maintain a hospital in the Bwindi region of Uganda, which serves the Batwa as well as surrounding communities. The Bwindi Community Hospital has been recognized by the Ugandan government as one of the top hospitals in Uganda, and it has a nursing school that trains care providers to improve healthcare throughout the country.

I have been to Bwindi and have seen the good works that are being accomplished with the Batwa people. I was impressed enough that I have become a volunteer board member to continue to support and direct the future efforts of the Kellermann Foundation.

At this time, the world needs more giving and less stuff. Show your loved ones how much you care for them by adding value, not buying junk. Tis the reason for the season.

Buy less. Give more.

hmpg_feature_batwafamilyDear Friends,

If you are like me, you may find that reading through your Facebook feed has become very painful of late.  Right now there is so much frustration, anger, fear, and pain in our country.  These days, we see very few smiles, and feel precious little joy.  It’s easy to become discouraged; it feels like there is so little we can do.

But one thing you can do is support the Batwa people.

The Batwa are a wonderful tribe of pygmies in rural Uganda. Traditionally, they lived in the rainforest and were primitive hunters and gatherers.  All that changed when their government forced them out of the forest, as part of the creation of a world heritage site for silverback gorillas.

When the Batwa were evicted from the only life they have ever known, they were left to fend for themselves with no food, no land, no resources.  As a result, they began dying at an alarming rate, especially children under the age of five. That’s when Dr. Scott Kellermann and his wife Carol were called to Uganda to help save the Batwa.

When Scott and Carol first arrived, the Batwa were suffering and dying.  They held clinics under trees, hanging life-saving IV fluids from the tree branches.

Through the Kellermann Foundation, the organization started by Scott and Carol, the lives of the Batwa are beginning to look bright.  The Kellermann Foundation has created a Batwa Development Program, which has purchased land for the Batwa to live and farm, has built schools and sponsored the education of Batwa children, has built homes for Batwa families, has sponsored water and waste projects, and has set aside a small part of the rainforest where the Batwa can maintain their culture and pass on their traditions to future generations.

The Kellermann Foundation has also built a hospital, the Bwindi Community Hospital, which has been recognized as the top hospital of Uganda.  There, doctors from around the globe come to learn from, work with, and teach Ugandan doctors.  The hospital has had some astounding successes:

  • • In rural Uganda, many women attempt to deliver babies at home.  If their delivery fails, they are left struggling to find a hospital that can perform an emergency cesarean section.  The complications can be significant, such as death of the mother, death of the baby, or vesicovaginal fistula, a communication between the bladder and vagina, which causes continuous leaking of urine.
    • o The Bwindi Community Hospital has created a Women’s Dormatory, where pregnant women can come to stay at the end of their pregnancy to be near the care they require at the end of their pregnancy.
    • o They have created a voucher program where a woman can receive prenatal care and a delivery for the equivalent of 1 US dollar.
    • o The hospital now delivers 1,200 babies annually.
    • o They have built a pediatric ward that not only treats children, but has a demonstration garden where parents can learn how to grow nutritious foods and a test kitchen to teach mothers how to prepare foods to help their children thrive.
    • • The public health efforts of the hospital, and their HIV/AIDS clinic, have brought the HIV/AIDS rate in the community below 5%.
    • • They have built a nursing school—Uganda Nursing School Bwindi—that trains nurses to improve healthcare delivery throughout Uganda. This year, the first Batwa student is entering the nursing school!

But the Batwa, the Kellermann Foundation, and the Bwindi Community Hospital need your help to survive.  We would love for you to visit the hospital and see the work they do; however, if travelling to Uganda is not in your near future, please consider supporting the Kellermann Foundation financially.

    • • $225 can treat a malnourished child.
    • • $750 can provide primary education, materials, uniforms, and transportation for a Batwa child for a year.
    • • $1,250 per year can support a Batwa child through secondary school.
    • • $1,400 can build a house for a Batwa family.
    • • $1,500 per year can provide tuition, housing, and materials for a nursing student.

The Kellermann Foundation is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit charity.   It has received a Gold level from GuideStar, and is a “Top-rated” charity by Greatnonprofits.org.  You can support the Kellermann foundation by direct donation, or can support them through Amazon Smile.

I first met Scott Kellermann in 2015 when he visited Park City, Utah.  I have done medical work all over the world, but was so impressed by the work that they have been doing that I visited the hospital in 2016.  This year, I have decided to volunteer as an unpaid board member to help protect the Batwa, and to improve the state of healthcare in their region of Uganda.  I hope you will support us.

In these tumultuous times, you may not be able to change the results of an election, or correct the wrongs of our society, but you can help the Batwa. And that’s something worth smiling about!

Thank you,

Andrew Nyberg, MD MPH

Board Member

Kellermann Foundation

Back in Kathmandu

May 19, 2015

Dear Friends,

Thank you for the well wishes, the prayers, the concerns. I am now back in Kathmandu with plans to leave Nepal in the next few days. It has been quite an adventure since the first earthquake hit Nepal on April 26. After assisting the evacuation of the wounded off Everest, we stayed open to be there for all the teams, guides, porters, etc. that were now leaving the region. In spite of this, we saw very few physically sick patients, but some very traumatized people. On May 5 we closed the Pheriche HRA post, as it had become clear to us that our mission for this season was largely concluded, and we were anxious to get on to other things.

After a beautiful walk down to Lukla, and a safe flight out of the Khumbu, I said goodbye to Katie and Reuben, who were headed back to the UK to work on their upcoming wedding.

Mama Bear and Papa Bear, parents to our favorite puppies, Black Bear, Brown Bear, and Grizzly Bear, waking up to say goodbye on the day we left Pheriche.

Mama Bear and Papa Bear, parents to our favorite puppies, Black Bear, Brown Bear, and Grizzly Bear, waking up to say goodbye on the day we left Pheriche.

Mama Bear and Papa Bear lead the way out of Pheriche.

Mama Bear and Papa Bear lead the way out of Pheriche.

Walking out of Pheriche for the last time.

Walking out of Pheriche for the last time.

Ama Dablam and the farm fields of Pangboche.

Ama Dablam and the farm fields of Pangboche.

The heavily damaged monastery at Tangboche.

The heavily damaged monastery at Tangboche.

Gobi and Tan relaxing at a Teahouse.

Gobi and Tan relaxing at a Teahouse.

A teahouse kitchen.

A teahouse kitchen.

The rhododendron in bloom.

The rhododendron in bloom.

Namche Bazaar.

Namche Bazaar.

The dental clinic in Namche suffered heavy damage

The dental clinic in Namche suffered heavy damage

Reuben and Katie at our favorite cafe in Namche.

Reuben and Katie at our favorite cafe in Namche.

The two bridges to Namche Bazaar.

The two bridges to Namche Bazaar.

The author, looking back on the two bridges to Namche Bazaar..

The author, looking back on the two bridges to Namche Bazaar..

The beauty of the Khumbu.

The beauty of the Khumbu.


A “Bob Ross” waterfall outside of Monjo.

Cherry blossoms in bloom

Cherry blossoms blooming in Phakding.

Renee and I integrated into an awesome group of medical professional from Scripps (San Diego) and Mass General (Boston), who were operating field clinics in the Gorka region on Nepal for International Medical Corps (IMC). I’ve spent the past 10 days working with them, visiting several different sites by helicopter, setting up a clinic and camp, and treating the local population. In my time with them, we have seen well over 600 patients, mostly for common complaints and chronic conditions, but all of these villages have been devastated, and their “healthcare” infrastructure has been devastated, either because the community health worker is no longer their, or the community health post was damaged, or the medical supply line has been severed due to landslides and impassable trails.

The author.

The author and a satisfied customer.

Bringing medical supplies to a village to set up a clinic.

Bringing medical supplies to a village to set up a clinic.

Children playing with a wheel and stick, their favorite activity.

Children playing with a wheel and stick, their favorite activity.

Three Nepali children at play.

Three Nepali children at play.

We were in the town of Ghyachchowk when the second earthquake hit. Thankfully everyone was safe, but the second earthquake has played a major toll on the mental health of the people we are seeing. Their world was devastated after the first quake, and they were just starting to get over the experience and rebuild when the second earthquake hit.

The town of Ghyachchowk.

The town of Ghyachchowk.

Looking into a destroyed house.

Looking into a destroyed house.

The middle school, the pride of the village, ruined by the earthquakes

The middle school, the pride of the village, ruined by the earthquakes

Villagers demolishing a house for rebuilding supplies

Villagers demolishing a house for rebuilding supplies

After the second earthquake many of the Nepalis we saw were suffering from Acute Stress Reactions; fearful that any aftershock could be the next large earthquake. The emotional ramifications of what they have experienced will affect them for the rest of their lives.

A girl and her chick watch the activity at the mobile clinic.

A girl and her chick watch the activity at the mobile clinic.

IMC Nepali volunteers Ocean and Iman singing with the locals.

Nepali volunteers Ocean and Iman singing with the locals.

Our team has finished their deployment, and are now cycling back to the U.S. Another team from Stanford arrived the day before yesterday, and will be going into the field today to continue our work. Other groups from IMC and other aid organizations are in the field, performing medical duties, but also rebuilding water supplies and toilets, helping rebuild structures, identifying areas nutritional deficiency, and working with villages to develop coping strategies and mental health first aid.

IMC Dietary staff member Suzanne and Nepali volunteer Kul assessing the nutritional status of villagers.

IMC Dietary staff member Suzanne and Nepali volunteer Kul assessing the nutritional status of villagers.

In the future, I hope to provide more stories of my experiences since the earthquake, but it has been difficult to wrap my mind around the repercussions of everything that I have bared witness to in this country. In the meantime, please accept this short account of my recent actions and movements.

Before starting this next blog, a few things have to be said….

  1. There are too many people who have been helpful over these past few days. What we’ve been through would have been impossible if Reuben, Katie, Renee, Tan, Gobi, Jeet, and I hadn’t formed such a tight bond over the past 7 weeks. We have become a kind of family, and were really able to perform exceptionally well together under extreme circumstances.
  2. So many people came out of the woodwork yesterday to volunteer their help yesterday. Several nurses, doctors, and EMTs stepped up and allowed us to treat and evacuate 73 patients. Countless other trekkers, climbers, and nepalis stepped up to help document, coordinate, carry, and care for those unfortunate victims from Everest. The circumstances under which they gave themselves were incredible. Our patients were bleeding, wounded, and dying, and yet no one flinched. They just kept giving.
  3. As trying as our ordeal was, it paled in comparison to what my colleagues at Everest Base Camp experienced. After the earthquake let loose a huge avalanche on Pumori that took out a large portion of Everest Base Camp, including burying the Everest ER facility and destroying the camps of several teams, the doctors of Everest ER, Himalayan Experience, the Norwegian Expedition, and others grouped together to become the first line of care for all those suffering on Everest. They had to pronounce the deaths of many people that they had come to call friends. Their incredible efforts made our work exceptionally easier. I am incredibly thankful for Meg Walmsley, from Everest ER, who, after spending the whole day and night treating patients in Everest Base Camp, flew in one of the helicopters down to Pheriche to help us as we continued the efforts to treat these patients.
  4. There were multiple helicopter pilots who have been working incredibly hard to transport patients and climbers, risking their lives to do what is right. In particular, a Swiss pilot from FishTail was the first helicopter in the air, and was instrumental in getting us the sickest patients first. For all the service that the HRA provided the victims on the Everest avalanche, we did not receive a single payment. As far as I know, this is also true for the helicopter companies, the expedition companies, and the lodges who all provided incredibly for those in need.
  5. Unfortunately, the country of Nepal is always overshadowed by Everest. What has happened on Everest this season is tragic. The story we can now tell is epic. But what is happening here pales in comparison to the suffering that is occurring elsewhere in this country. We have food, water, and a well-stocked clinic. We “suffered” because we didn’t have Internet for a few days. We were less informed than you, because we were only getting small pieces of the larger picture. The story I tell of the people of the Khumbu and the climbers on Everest should not take away from the stories of others in Nepal. Our hearts and prayers have been going out to this country that we have come to love. As we sent our patients away yesterday, we truly didn’t know what kind of world into which we were sending them.
  6. Looking suffering in the face is always hard. One of the hardest things in these experiences has been to see the suffering of my Nepali friends Gobi, Tan, and Jeet, whose families have been affected by this earthquake, and yet these men stay here and continue to work here when they so want to be with their families. Their courage has been astounding.
  7. I thank God for all my friends and family who have suffered worrying about me. I am also thankful for the training I have received through my medical career and training, and to all those who have had the opportunity to teach me. In the book of Esther, in the Old Testament, Esther is put into a position where she needs to risk her life to save her people. Esther is literally scared for her life, but her wise uncle Mordecai counsels her saying, “Who is to know that you were not meant for such a thing as this?” In the wisdom and faith of Mordecai, I trust that God has placed Katie, Reuben, Renee, Meg, Rachel and the rest of us in this place to do what we are able to save lives, and to stand witness to what has occurred.

25 April 2015

The season was continuing as planned. Renee had taken her medical student on a trip to Everest Base Camp, and had returned several days before. As per our schedule, Reuben and Katie had left on the 23rd for their own trip up to EBC, taking a detour to hike the Kongma La, a 5500m pass that connects Chhukhung to Lobuche, before continuing on to EBC. The weather had been poor, and it had been snowing. The Kongma La is a notoriously difficult trail, and in the back of our minds, we were all just a little worried for them.

With just Renee and I at the clinic, we had been taking turns on 24-hour shifts caring for patients. Over the past two days, Renee and I felt as if we had seen the entire population of Pheriche and Dingoche, as the locals kept coming in with “cough” that turned out to be nothing more than an Upper Respiratory Tract Infection. April 25th was my turn to be on for 24 hours. I was hoping that we’d seen all the cough patients, and would have a slightly less busy day. It seemed that my hopes were coming true. The morning had been light with only two patients, and as lunchtime loomed, I was sitting in our common room reading a book when I heard the front door bell and two people walked in. To our joy and surprise, it was Reuben and Katie, who had returned early from their trip. They had gotten up on the Kongma La, and had camped out, but a snowstorm had put over a foot of snow on their campsite, and they had decided that backtracking to Pheriche was safer than climbing down the steeper side of the Kongma La on a path they didn’t know. Their plan was to spend the night in Pheriche, then leave early the next morning to get up to Everest Base Camp by the traditional route.

I had to leave our little homecoming when an actual patient arrived, a young Nepali who had Khumbu Cough, a nasty, persistent bronchitis that is very common to this region. I was evaluating him with Tan’s assistance when the whole world started moving in a peculiar way.

I have only ever been in one earthquake in my life. When I was biking across America with Ride For World Heath, we experienced a small earthquake in Dateland, Arizona. Earthquakes are described as a shaking, however I think that is a wrong description. Shaking implies that things go back and forth in an almost rhythmic pattern. In the two earthquakes I’ve now experienced, it felt more like floating on turbulent water. It’s not rhythmic; it’s random. And for those not used to earthquakes, it takes a few moments to realize that you’re in the middle of one. Right as Tan and I were looking at each other, saying “we better get out of here”, Gobi was already outside pounding on the windows for us to get out. Renee, Katie, and Reuben were still sitting in our common room, trying to figure out what was going on when they saw Tan, my patient and I bolt for the door, and they soon followed.

The quake only lasted a few moments, and to my unaccustomed body it actually was pretty underwhelming, until I had the chance to see the changes to the world around me. Pheriche is a small town with approximately a dozen lodges that cater to trekkers and climbers, with a few private buildings. After the earthquake, only two of the lodges remained without any damage. The style of building common in the Kumbu region is to build with shaped stones, usually without mortar. Many of the walls of these buildings had weaknesses that caused them to fall after the earthquake. The HRA clinic lost the wall on the Southeast corner, where the bathroom, and the room where Jeet, our cook, slept.

In spite of the tremendous damage to the town, there was only one casualty, one of the Nepali women in town was hit in the head with a stone and had a small laceration to her scalp, which I stapled closed.

We then entered the period that was effectively the calm before the storm. It was lucky the earthquake occurred in the middle of the day, when most of the trekkers were out on the trails. Knowing the amount of damage that Pheriche sustained, we expected bad things from Dingoche, our neighbor town on, which was larger. For the next several hours we kept an eye on the hill, expecting to see casualties coming from next door, but none ever came.

Earlier in the season we had set up a new communication system that allowed us to talk with Everest ER. We kept sending out messages to our neighbors to the North but never heard a response. We were in the dark about their fate until Gobi was able to reach HRA’s headquarters in Kathmandu by satellite phone. That was when we first heard that there was massive damage to Kathmandu. We also learned that while the staff of Everest ER was safe, their tents were completely destroyed. At the time, they were estimating two deaths, ten critically wounded and twenty less critically wounded.

At 3pm, three hours after the initial quake we were rocked by a large aftershock that added more damage to many of the structures in town. With the threat of continuing earthquakes, we decided to sleep in the sunroom, which we supposed would be safer than sleeping in our rooms in the clinic. The trekkers in town mostly crowded into the Panorama Lodge, one of the few intact structures in town.

Although we were on continuous alert for the possibility of patients arriving, they never did. April 25 was not a good day for an earthquake in the Khumbu, as the day was overcast, cold, and snowy. Helicopters were not flying. We knew our friends were in a bad way, and we suspected that our lives would get busy in the near future, but were unable to predict when.

But with darkness falling, there was little to do but fall asleep. I was just about there when Tan woke me, saying, “Andy, Andy…” “What?” “We have a patient”.

And so at 9pm our first patient arrived from Everest. He was a young Nepali who had been thrown several feet by the blast of air the preceded the avalanche. The patient’s friend had gotten to him right away, put him on a horse, and then took the next 9 hours to get him from EBC to Pheriche.

It is important to know that when a large avalanche forms, it displaces all the air in front of it, so before being struck by the avalanche, EBC was struck by a huge gust of wind. Several people who were there told me that this wind did a tremendous amount of damage when it hit the camp.

The patient was complaining of right-sided pain in his ribs, his upper abdomen and his thigh. Hearing decreased breath sounds, I worried that this man’s rib fractures had caused a pneumothorax. An ultrasound of the lungs confirmed my suspicions. He also had rights sided flank pain, and a sample of urine contained blood and protein. I was concerned he may have damaged his kidney, or developed rhabdomyolysis, a dangerous breakdown of muscle tissue. Since his oxygen saturation was good, I started him on oxygen to help decrease the pneumothorax, and started IV fluids. A FAST ultrasound exam was negative, and I even ultrasounded his right femur with no sign of fracture. I tell you these medical details, not because I assume you are interested in the medical details, but to juxtapose the time and care I was able to give this patient compared with what was to come.

A second patient followed closely behind the first, with a hand injury. Renee treated him, and he was discharged. Although we were told that more patients were coming, we didn’t see anything more that night. We continued to monitor our one patient, and got a good, if cold, night’s sleep.


April 26, 2015

I woke up at 5:45 when a FishTail Eurocopter flying by the Pheriche valley on its way to EBC. Aroused by this inordinately early flight, I got up to check on my patient. He was doing well, but a repeat FAST exam showed a full bladder, after he was unable to urinate, I became worried that he was obstructed for some reason, and all the IV fluids I was poring into him would eventually need to come out. As I was preparing to pass a Foley catheter through his urethra to drain his bladder, I got word that we were getting patients.

The FishTail pilot arrived with the two most critical patients, one with a head injury and the other with substantial orthopedic injuries. As the pilot unloaded the patients, he told Reuben, “I’ll be bringing you about 51 more patients.” For two hours, this one pilot was the only helicopter flying in the Khumbu. Clouds had socked in the Lukla airport, and none of the other helicopters could take off.

As more patients arrived, I took over the two clinic rooms, seeing four critical patients, including my patient from the night before. Katie was stationed at the room we use for research, and spent a large amount of time with one patient who was clearly our most critically injured. Renee transformed the sun room, which we had been sleeping in a short while before, into a third clinical space, and was able to get six patients on the floor in the room we normally use for our daily 3pm Altitude talks.

On one of the early helicopters, Meg Walmsley, an Australian anesthetist working at Everest ER, flew down to help us with the patients. She had been in the Everest ER tent treating a patient when it was blown down. The earthquake had set off an avalanche, which we all knew. What Meg told us, however was that the avalanche that took our EBC came from the nearby mountain Pumori, not from Everest, as we had all suspected. Meg lost all of her personal effects, and the Everest ER tent had been destroyed. She had spent all night treating patients at EBC, but then valiantly offered to come down to Pheriche to help us continue our care. Initially she helped Renee in the sunroom, but as more patients arrived with no concrete plans to evacuate them in site, we took over the dining room of the Panorama lodge, and Meg was tasked with caring for all the new cases that were being brought there.

The situation was quickly becoming a mass casualty incident, or what the American College of Emergency Medicine would call a medical disaster, which they describe as a situation “when the destructive effects of natural or manmade forces overwhelm the ability of a given area or community to meet the demand for health care.” In spite of the time and resources I could devote to my patient last night, we had gone from care with a scalpel to care with a saber: concentrating on vital signs, checking airway, breathing, and circulation, identifying injuries, and looking for obvious threats to life.

One of the large miracles of the day was how people kept showing up with offers to volunteer. We were in desperate need of doctors, nurses, and others with clinical knowledge that could triage and treat the patients that kept poring into our small town. But there were many people with no medical knowledge who also became incredibly important, working as scribes, taking records of patient names, and helping carry the injured. Early on we developed a system of using wide pieces of tape with markers to identify names, vital signs, and injuries on patients. This would help us quickly identify our sickest patients, and if we could evacuate the patients, this would help care providers down the road.

In spite of the bad weather over Lukla, Gobi had worked his considerable persuasive magic, and we were being told of a plan to get a Mi-17, an old Russian military helicopter, to fly to Pheriche, where it could take approximately 15 patients at a time. We now had the task of identifying which 15 patients were the most critically injured to assure they were on the first flight out. The weather patterns in the Khumbu are erratic, and you are never sure if a helicopter will make it, or if that helicopter was able to return, so it was important we get our worst patients out if an when we got the opportunity.

This is where one of our volunteers became a real hero. She and I went around, from the clinic, to the sunroom, to the Panorama, and talked with Renee, Katie, Meg, and the other clinicians to identify the patients that were in greatest need. We placed a sticker with a giant ‘E’ on each coat or sleeping bag, so it would be obvious to volunteers which patients needed to move. When helicopters land in Pheriche they don’t turn off their engines, this means things have to move quickly, and we could have no delays. Getting these patients down was the best way to save their lives.

The news concerning evacuation kept changing, and at first it sounded like the weather was too bad for any helicopter to lift. My biggest worry was that we would not be able to evacuate our patients, and would have to keep them over night. I was working with some wonderful volunteers, but at some point they would have to move on. How long could I expect Pemba to allow us take over his lodge and keep patients there? What if we had dozens of patients that needed to stay the night? How could we keep the critically injured alive when we didn’t have blood products?

At one point Reuben came around with a Chipati (think of a tortilla) with nutella inside, he said “Andy, you’ve gotta keep your strength up, I can’t have my doctors hitting a wall”. I thought to myself, is it lunchtime already? Only later did I realize that I hadn’t even had breakfast.

At some point in the morning, Ken Zafren arrived. Ken is an emergency physician at Stanford and Alaska Native. In the world of wilderness medicine he is a legend, and as the physician who recruits all the HRA volunteers, he is very heavily involved with the HRA. Although he had experienced the earthquake, and was aware that there had been an avalanche at Everest, he was completely unprepared for the amount of damage that had occurred in Pheriche (something we would hear frequently), and was surprised to walk into a mass casualty incident. His wisdom and experience were incredibly useful.

Reuben then came back and informed me, “We think the Mi-17 will be landing in an hour, get ready with your 15 sickest patients.” But then, before we knew it, two Eurocopters landed, and were headed back to Lukla. They had room to take four patients. We unloaded our four worst cases, Katie’s head injury patient, my orthopedic patient, and two other patients with head injuries that weren’t looking very good.

We had identified one other critical patient, so my list of 15 had dropped to 12. I started having volunteers transport them down to the “helicopter beach”, where they could wait in anticipation of the Mi-17.

The Mi-17 arrived as I was coordinating transportation of the critical patients. After I had gotten them all carried down to where the helicopter was, I headed there myself. To my utter chagrin, I saw the Mi-17 lifting off and five or six of our sickest patients were still on the ground. I then realized that several of the “walking wounded”, injured patients who were not critically ill, and could mostly still walk, had taken the opportunity to evacuate themselves by getting on the Mi-17.

Katie was caring for some of the patients, and Reuben, Gobi, and Tan were trying to coordinate helicopters and patients. I yelled at the crowd to “listen up”. I told them that ABSOLUTELY no one could get on a helicopter unless Katie had given them permission. The lack of leadership had lost us an opportunity to evacuate some of or sickest patients, and I needed to make sure that the HRA continued to keep stay in control of the situation, before someone else realized the power vacuum, and started trying to run the incident themselves.

With Katie in firm control of how patients were getting evacuated, I was able to return to the HRA and Panorama. It was clear that with our most critically injured patients being evacuated, we were shifting into a new phase. Now, with helicopters arriving to evacuate patients, the focus shifted from prioritizing acuity rather, and less stabilization. Also, the HRA staff began assuming leadership roles, whereas the direct triage and stabilization of patients fell to the nurses and physicians who had volunteered to help.

I returned to the Panorama lodge, where most of the remaining patients were, and announced we were changing things. Now any patients needing helicopter evacuation would go to one wall, while those who could potentially walk out or ride a horse on the other. We were lucky to have the Mi-17 and the Eurocopters available to evacuate patients, however I wanted to make sure all those who needed it got out, in case we lost those resources.

But in the end, that concern wasn’t warranted. All the patients from Everest had been brought to Pheriche. We were able to evacuate them to the airport in Lukla using three trips with the Mi-17, and about 10 trips with Eurocopters. When the last of the patients was loaded onto the Mi-17 and that beautifully large military helicopter took off over the Pheriche Valley, I looked down at my watch. We had a lot of people to thank.

Most of the volunteers, and almost everyone else in town was standing on the “beach”, which is really the main hiking trail through town. They were there to watch the helicopters take off. I called their attention. I told them, “In less than five hours, we treated and evacuated approximately 40 patients. Those of us at the Himalayan Rescue Association are volunteering our time to be out here. Today you are all volunteers of the HRA with us. Thank you for your help; there is no way we could have done this without you.”

Later Katie, Renee, Reuben, and I took a walk, and we figured out that I had grossly underestimated the miracle we pulled off. The first patient arrived at 6:40 am. The last patients were leaving just before noon. But we hadn’t seen 40 patients; we had seen 73.


After the patients had gone, the HRA staff, along with Meg Walmsley and Ken Zafren, pulled chairs around our entrance room, and opened our last bottle of Coke. Like a bottle of Dom Perignon, we had been saving it for a special occasion, and this seemed the perfect time.

At approximately 1pm, 25 hours after the original quake, a second aftershock shook us out of our comfort. After the hectic events of the morning, it was hard to get back to life as normal. A group of people showed up for our 3pm daily altitude talk, and I only noticed it because I happened to walk by at 3:05.


April 27, 2015

Tan, Jeet, and Gobi slept in the sunroom again last night. Reuben, Katie, Renee, and I elected to sleep inside, but every time there was a noise, we were wide-awake wondering if the walls were going to fall in on us. No one slept much.

Today became an odd contrast to yesterday. Yesterday we saw nearly 80 patients in a single day; today Pheriche was like a ghost town. Yesterday we were fighting for life; today we bore witness to the dead.

The helicopters were evacuating climbers from Camp 1 and Camp 2, and then were evacuating climbers to Pheriche, before heading down to Lukla. Today the body bags also came down. As a physician at the HRA, you become good friends with many of the Everest climbers, and today was our opportunity to see some of them again. It was a time to rejoice for the lives that made it, and a time to mourn for those who died.

It is also a time of uncertainty for Katie, Reuben, Renee, and myself. The trekkers are all leaving, and in a few days there won’t be any more trekkers or climbers. With most of the lodges closing, many of the Nepali workers are also leaving.

In a time when organizations all over the world are mobilizing to send aid to Nepal, we are uncertain of our continuing role in this disaster. On the one hand, with our proximity to all this suffering, it would make sense for us to try and dive in, and help wherever we can. On the other hand, after what we’ve been through, after what I’ve been through, I’m not sure how I will handle what awaits in Kathmandu.

Our thoughts are now more than ever directed towards home.

Time will tell where this story goes. Perhaps, as I stated in the beginning, God has more of a role for me to play in this disaster.

Earlier in the season, when all the big Everest expeditions were coming through Pheriche, the owner of an unnamed expedition company offered me the invitation to join his guides and clients climbing Lobuche East “anytime between April 12th and 20th.” Despite my efforts to secure a more specifics, I was merely assured, “show up at our base camp at Lobuche, and the guides will take care of the rest.

Not wanting to pass on this opportunity to get onto one of Nepal’s “trekking peaks”, I arranged with Katie and Renee to take off a few days during this time to try my hand at this peak. My hope was to be able to climb both Lobuche East, and Island Peak, two 6,000m peaks in the Khumbu region.  I have ascended to 5,500m twice in preparation for these bigger mountains.  Island is scheduled for May, so this was the perfect time to climb Lobuche East.  So I left on the morning of April 12, with plans to meet up with the group at their base camp that evening, hike to high camp the next day, and then summit the third. It was all going to be great!

Prayer Flags over Thokla pass

Prayer Flags over Thokla pass

I love taking pictures of these prayer flags....

I love taking pictures of these prayer flags….

Well I had good reason to be a bit worried about the specifics, or lack thereof.

I arrived at base camp in the mid-afternoon with cloudy weather closing in. I asked the Nepali’s around where the guides were, and they told me “they’re all up at high camp.”


So I used their radio to speak with the expedition company owner, who was currently at Everest Base Camp. At first he didn’t remember me (great!), but then said, “Oh, well just go up to the high camp and you can meet up with them there.”

At this point I had already gained 700m in elevation. At the HRA we teach that in altitude, you shouldn’t gain more than 500m elevation per day, and here I was preparing to climb higher. Well at least I’ve been acclimatized to Pheriche’s elevation for several weeks.

There was one westerner, a Sherpa and a porter who were preparing to leave base camp for the trek to high camp. It was very clear to me that if I didn’t leave with them, there’d be no way for me to get to high camp that night. No way was I going to walk into a cloud to find a camp on the side of a mountain I’ve never seen before.

A call came in from the guides on Lobuche. They had no knowledge of me, and were not excited to have me joining their expedition. Further, they told me that the sleeping bag and mattress I’d been promised were not actually there. Thankfully I’d brought my own, not trusting the vague promises I’d heard. I’d hoped to dump some weight before starting up the mountain, but this means that I’d be carrying my full bag of equipment up to high camp.

The group heading up the mountain was equally as unhappy about me being there. This is a great way to start an expedition, feeling that you are totally unwanted!

The trail was tricky, intermixed among rock fields. At one point, a rope had been strung because the trail was rocky and icy. Exciting, but a bit unnerving.

A sketchy section of icy boulders that required a rope for safety.

A sketchy section of icy boulders that required a rope for safety.

As five o’clock rolls around, it begins to snow, and twilight sets in. I gain a ridge, and there are about a dozen tents marking. The camp is at 5,200m, a full 1,000m above Pheriche!

Arriving at high camp, 5,200m.

Arriving at high camp, 5,200m.

The group has been kind enough to let me stay in their gear tent. I set up my sleeping bag and mat, and share a stove with the team doctor, Tracy, who works at Vail Valley Medical Center. We spend some time discussing doctors we both know.

Night sets in early. The plan is to be ready by 7 to climb to the top of the mountain. I snuggle into my sleeping bag wearing all the clothes I own! Inside my Mountain Hardware 0-degree sleeping bag I wear a long underwear top, a Patagonia sun-shirt, a lightweight Patagonia Down sweater, and my heavy synthetic Rab jacket. On the bottom, I’m wearing midweight long underwear, trekking pants, and Gore-Tex pants.

Still I’m freezing!

After the obligate getting up three times to pee overnight (I forgot to pack a pee bottle), the dull light of dawn starts appearing. It is snowing. Hard. It snows at least 1-1.5 feet overnight.

The camp the next morning.  My tent was the green one.

The camp the next morning, buried in snow. My tent was the green one.

Me at the high camp.

Me at the Lobuche East high camp.

The call goes out: we’re going to hang tight and see what the weather does before deciding to go up the mountain. By 8 am, it is decided to down climb back to basecamp. No shot at Lobuche East this time.  A snowfall this big is too much a risk of avalanche.

Downclimbing in the snow.  Stuff avalanches were going off all around us.

Downclimbing in the snow. Stuff avalanches were going off all around us.

Last night’s rock scramble has become a snow route today. Stuff avalanches are falling all around us.  Difficult but fun down climbing leads us back to basecamp, where tea, ginger cookies, and a meal of French Fries with an egg (a new culinary favorite!) awaits.

Downclimbing in the snow.

Downclimbing in the snow.

The icy rope section the next morning.  This time going down.

The icy rope section the next morning. This time going down.

I didn’t make it up to Lobuche East, and at first I felt a bit like the redheaded stepchild no one wanted, but as I got to know the group, I still had fun in the end.

I made it back to the HRA clinic in time to celebrate the Nepali New Year. Nepal does its best to assert its uniqueness from the rest of the world (thus being 15 minutes off the rest of the world in time), and according to their calendars, April 12 is New Years Eve, and the year is 2072! To celebrate, we bought some beers, which tasted really good after two days of heavy hiking, and Jeet and Tan bought rakshi, the local moonshine, which was remarkably smooth and basically tasted like water.

While the trip wasn’t the one I wanted, it was fun to camp out in a snowstorm, and to celebrate New Years with friends. The next time I ring in the year 2072, I will be 91 years old….

Ama Dablam shrouded in clouds

Ama Dablam shrouded in clouds

As part of my continuous efforts to explore more of the Khumbu region, I took a day to do a sprint hike up to Chukung Ri, a 5550 m peak behind the town of Chukung, which is a town up the valley carved out of the Imja Khola river, which has its source on the mountains of Island Peak, Amphulapcha, Lhotse, and the North Face of Ama Dablam. Chukung is the stepping off point for expeditions up Island Peak (Imja Tse), 6189 m.

But I’ve been eyeing Chukung Ri on the map, at the same height as Kala Patthar, and close enough to turn it into a long day trip, it looked like a great peak to “bag” for an acclimatization hike to better prepare for mountains like Lobuche East (6119 m) and Island Peak. Reuben was supposed to join me for the day, but wasn’t feeling well, so off I go on another solo adventure in the Khumbu.

The trail from Pheriche to Dingboche

The trail from Pheriche to Dingboche

In spite of the long distance to be covered during the day, I took the hike out rather casually. After crossing the hill from Pheriche to Dingboche, I stopped in at the Snow Lion Lodge, where Renee’s research medical student is staying, to catch up with him and accept a cup of Sherpa Tea from the proprietress.

The Stupa in Dingboche

The Stupa in Dingboche

Decisions, Decisions.

Decisions, Decisions.

The trail from Dingboche to Chukung offers some great views of Imja Peak, which is also known as Island Peak. It is a relatively easy 6000 m peak, and for some reason seems very popular with Asian tourists. It has a distinct black diamond on its Southwest Face. Renee and I are planning on summiting this mountain in May.

The Southwest face of Island Peak with its distinctive black diamond.

The Southwest face of Island Peak with its distinctive black diamond.

Ama Dablam, apparently beautiful from any angle

Ama Dablam, apparently beautiful from any angle

Just before arriving at Chukung, I catch up with Scott Simper, an Emmy Award winning photographer and friend of my advisor, Scott McIntosh. He is out here working on some video projects, and will be climbing Everest later in the season. They’re headed to Island Peak as an acclimatization climb for Everest.

Memorial to a Polish Climber who died on the South Face of Lhotse (in the background)

Memorial to a Polish Climber who died on the South Face of Lhotse (in the background)

With Scott Simper on the trail to Chukung

With Scott Simper on the trail to Chukung

I enter Chukung, another hole-in-the-wall place that has a series of lodges and not much else, and look for the Sunrise lodge on the advice of Katie. The proprietor is kind enough to refill my water bottles and point me in the direction of the trail up Chukung Ri.

The town of Chukung with the South Face of Lhotse and Island Peak behind.

The town of Chukung with the South Face of Lhotse and Island Peak behind.

The trail is a dusty uphill battle, and almost immediately I catch up with a group of Chinese trekkers. Katie, Reuben, Renee, and I have discussed this on several occasions. It’s funny to feel so comfortable travelling these trails alone, only to constantly pass trains of trekkers clumped together with a guide in the front and another behind. The freedom of being able to explore these mountains and trails at your leisure, with all your needs on your back, free of guides, clients, and porters, is a freedom elusive to those who spend thousands of dollars for the chance to trek to Everest Base Camp.

Following the Chinese up the trail to Chukung Ri

Following the Chinese up the trail to Chukung Ri

But on this occasion, the group of Chinese trekkers worked to my advantage. I was able to get advice from their guides about the route, and at the summit, they were friendly enough. One of them was even a Pathologist in China. He was kind enough to take a couple of “summit shots” of me with my camera.

The trail up Chukung Ri

The trail up Chukung Ri

Island Peak from half way up Chukung Ri

Island Peak from half way up Chukung Ri

Getting to the top of Chukung Ri was a race against time, however. As I climbed higher, I was watching the clouds slowly gobble up Ama Dablam, Island Peak, Lhotse, and finally as I reached the summit of Chukung Ri, the clouds were threatening this small peak too. I wasted no time, and quickly descended. After all, getting to the top is just half the journey; I still had to get home.

Island Peak shrouded in cloud

Island Peak shrouded in cloud

Ridge line to Chukung Ri

Ridge line to Chukung Ri

Summit of Chukung Ri

Summit of Chukung Ri

Luckily, the return trip is an uneventful slog retracing my previous steps. I arrive back to Pheriche in time for dinner, tired but happy to have made one more assault in the Khumbu.