Three weeks ago I camped my first night at 17,000 feet beside the Rongphu (Rongbuk) Monastery in Tibet. As the sun went down a real chill arose in the oxygen-thin air. But to compensate, right outside my tent door flap, was the North Face of Mt. Everest, bathed in late evening “alpenglow”. I could hardly believe that I was really there!

Since I was 8 years old I have been reading mountaineering books. I love the world’s high places! The ultimate, of course, is Everest, “Chomolangma” in Tibetan; “Qomolangma” in Chinese – either way, the “Goddess Mother of the World”. At 8,850 meters (29,035 feet), it is truly the roof of the world. To get there to see it has been a lifelong pilgrimage for me.

I have seen Everest before from the southern, Nepali, side. It is magnificent and impressive, but it hides all but its forboding black summit triangle and snow plume behind the massive 26,000′+ Lhotse-Nupste wall. From the north, however – Tibet – there is no mistaking it for anything but the world’s highest mountain. There is nothing in front of it. It dominates the head of the Rongphu/Rongbuk Valley, looming 2 miles above my already high perch at 17,000 feet. All snow and fluted ice, with only Changste, its north subsidiary peak, dwarfed in the foreground. The great Nuptse wall shines white to the west, but it doesn’t obscure the view. No, there is no doubt but that one is in the awesome and exclusive presence of the Goddess Chomolangma!

The morning broke clear but cold. The sun illuminated Everest first but did little to warm us in the deep lateral valley. There was a coat of hoare frost on my cheerful yellow tent and my breath created rime patterns inside. But I was warmly snuggled in my fleece and down sleeping bag. At 7:00 AM, still dark, a friendly voice said, “Good morning, Sahib, bed tea?” It was our Sherpa crew bringing us a choice of black or sweet masala tea to awaken us. I have never had a better morning cuppa’!

After a hearty breakfast the sun finally reached down into our narrow, deep valley, warming us all. Today was the day we would go to Everest North Base Camp, 5 miles away. There were options, including a ride in a primative, ramshackled pony cart, driven by a Tibetan drover. But we were here to hike! So, along with my most hearty companions, I filled my water bottle, extended my Leki walking stick and set out at a brisk pace. 5 miles is a comfortable walk on the C&O Canal at home, and 500 feet gained over 5 miles is nothing to be concerned about. But try it from 17,000′ to 17,500′! Fortunately, I had had no problem at all with the altitude, but others in our party were not so lucky. Several felt quite light-headed, with headaches, and declined the walk. As I set out I thought of my regular WB/IMF retiree hiking companions at home, “The Sunshine Boys”, who were with me in spirit.

It would take us about two hours to reach our goal. We stopped often to admire the view and to rehydrate ourselves. At that altitude one must drink a liter of water an hour to stay adequately hydrated. Some huffing and puffing, but, for the most part, we hikers were well acclimatized, having been above 12,000 feet for 10 days already. The landscape was barren and severe. A cross between what I would imagine a similar walk would be like on the moon or Mars. Huge metamorphosized sedimentary rock walls hemmed us in on either side with rockfall littered all around us. Pieces ranged from pebbles to house-sized. Only a bare suggestion of hearty moss or patches of stunted plants upon which the herds of local yaks and dzo foraged. Indeed, they had been foraging outside my tent most of the previous night!

We arrived at lower North Base Camp to find a random tent town of tea shops, curio sellers (“Lookee, lookee! You like buy Everest rock? Good price!” – trilobite and ammonite fossils) and local characters. Also the world’s highest post office. Here one could send a postcard home stamped “Everest North Base Camp” (I sent one to my brother, Richard – but would it ever arrive?). There was a “supplement” of 15 yuan ($2) a card to be posted – hastily pocketed by the Chinese postal service attendant. I still haven’t heard yet whether Richard ever received his card.

Getting clear of the commercial clutter, we climbed a final hill (puff, puff!) and stood at 17,500 feet overlooking the real climbers’ Base Camp location. Down below us was a cluster of tents holding the members of a Japanese expedition about to attempt the traditional Northeast Ridge route up Everest. First they would have to negotiate the snout and body of the East Rongbuk Glacier, covered with a thick layer of moraine and scree. This would take them to Advanced Base Camp at the foot of the technical 1,000′ ice wall behind Changtse, leading up to the North Col at 23,000′+. From there the route follows the North Ridge to the Northeast Ridge, over three large rock steps ultimately to the summit. Many have tried but few have succeeded. The Second Step is a massive 40′ rock and ice wall at over 28,000′, already in the “Death Zone” (over 8,000 meters).

For a moment I wished that I was 30 years younger and about to join the party on the summit attempt. But I consoled myself by realizing that I was standing where George Leigh Mallory had first stood in 1921, surveying a line up the North Face with his pioneer English climbing companions. When asked why climb Everest, Mallory had simply said, “Because it is there.” Mallory, and his young Cambridge climbing partner, Sandy Irvine, had last been seen below the Second Step in 1924, heading for the summit in deteriorating weather. No one knows to this day if they ever reached the summit. Mallory’s body was not discovered until 1999, where it has now lain for 81 years, in a snow-bowl at 28,000′+, beneath the Northeast Ridge.

As we started back down, we met a party of Tibetan pony carts which had been secured for us by our Tour Leader, Hashmat Singh. We felt compelled to ride them back down to camp. It was a harrowing descent in these rickety carts, and all we had to show for it on arrival were some very sore butts!

I wandered over to the Rongbuk Monastery to reflect on my morning’s experience and to meditate. This monastery – the highest in the world – had been painstakingly reconstructed, stone-by-stone, in the 1990s, after having been completely destroyed by the excess ravages of the Chinese “Cultural Revolution” in the 1960s/70s. It was small, cosy and cheerfully lit with yak butter lamps set out before the Buddha. The few monks in residence were chanting their morning prayers. In the courtyard, one young monk drew my attention to the field of green prayer flags (traditionally: yellow, green, red, white, blue representing the elements: earth, water, fire, cloud, sky) fluttering in the breeze on the hill behind the monastery. There were about 40 of them. Each one marked a known death of a climber attempting the North Face of Everest, and this was only from the Tibetan side! One last time I looked up at the immense North Face and moved my eyes east from the Hornbein Couloir to the Great Couloir, above the Yellow Band, behind Changtse, to the bowl-shaped snowfield at 28,000′ below the Northeast Ridge. “God rest you, George Mallory”, I thought.