Mountains don’t move. And for that I am truly grateful, because I am already plotting another journey for Kyajo Ri. After trekking through uncharted terrain for several days to get to the mountain, our efforts were thwarted by a unexpected, steep rock band just a thousand feet from the summit. Although disappointing, we felt that the margin of safety was getting too narrow for justifiable ascent, so we headed down.
Walking down into Namche for the last time, I felt tears come to my eyes. A six week journey, coming to an end. I was conflicted. In part, I now had to go back to society, where it’s unacceptable to blow snot rockets in the street, and leave behind my beloved mountains. But the other part of me felt a happy kind of sadness, the kind where something is ending, but you know it is only a beginning.
I have learned so much from my Himalaya family. We are now packing up basecamp, and getting ready to fly out on the heli tomorrow. I have to go now though, these last few moments with my family are becoming more precious by the second.