“Hey guy with hydration pack, 2 hiking sticks & North Face vest; my 5 yr old walked the same trail in Crocs carrying a naked Barbie. Relax.”
Jack Boot @IamJackBoot X 2017
My first multi-day hike was in Nepal.
It was very relaxed.
It was February.
On the spur of the moment, I decided to hike the Annapurna Trail.
I got minibuses, train, rickshaw and coach from Darjeeling to Kathmandu.
After getting a permit, I bought a map, a knock-off Mountain Hardware puffer jacket, a headtorch, and a small roll of duct tape.
In Pokhara I rented a sleeping bag.
In the taxi to the trailhead, the driver was chatty.
Heavy bag?
Not very, about 7 kilos.
You have guide?
No guide.
You have porter?
No porter.
You have raincoat?
No raincoat.
The driver smiled at me over the rear-view mirror.
He pulled up in front of a shop, got out and came back with two jumbo size black plastic bin liners.
If it rains, you cut hole. Put head here.
Thank you.
I stuffed them into my pack politely.
At the start of the trail, I bought a wooden walking stick for fifty cents.
In knee-length designer yoga pants, shiny white Asics, and extra absorbent cotton shirt; with the sleeping bag dangling under the China-made, no-name daypack, I set off to Annapurna basecamp.
Ultralight and basic, wooden staff in hand, relaxed and happy, like a hobbit.
I huffed and sweated up the rocky paths, dirt tracks and stone steps, happy with my choice to travel as light as possible.
When I hiked past people decked in Gore-tex, moisture-wicking technology and carbon fibre walking poles, I smiled to myself said Namaste and strode ahead.
The Nepali porters didn’t have poles.
Few had boots.
They floated up and down the mountains in flip flops or plimsolls.
Heavy packs, double their height balancing between their shoulder blades.
No guide
No porter
Spontaneous.
Hardcore.
Relaxed.
The Annapurna Circuit is one of the most popular hiking destinations in the world.
The trail is clearly marked and well worn.
Along the way guest houses accommodate hikers, serve food, coffee, chai and have drinking water.
Some of them even have hot water for a shower.
In my mind it was a perfect trail to walk lightweight.
I knew it wasn’t easy.
Basecamp is over 4,130 metres. Pokhara is at 800 metres.
It’s over 3000 metres up.
It’s THE Himalayas – they’re the tallest, steepest, most changeable, and dangerous.
I knew that.
The stick
I knew the stick would come in handy.
At first, it was a nuisance.
Unaccustomed to using one, it bumped into rocks and got caught in bushes.
But then, when parts of the trail became slushy; when the icy, wet stone became slippery, when it was so foggy I couldn’t tell how close I was to the edge of the pass,
then I quickly learnt how to use the stick.
It was while tottering down one icy path that I met a group of friendly Nepali guides.
With the stick in my right hand, wedged between two small boulders; my right knee bent at a right angle while I tentatively moved my left foot further in front of me, down the path.
The stick shifted slightly.
I shrieked, wobbled, found my balance, and sat on the frozen ground.
I slid on my bum down the short section using the stick like it was an oar slowing down a canoe.
The socks
The local guides approached.
Namaste, they were all smiles.
Namaste! I had stood up by now.
You have guide?
No guide.
You have porter?
No porter.
You have crampons?
What?
They pointed to their boots.
He said something funny in Nepali to the other guys because they laughed.
Ok, you have extra socks?
I was confused but nodded.
Yes, why?
You put socks over your shoes.
You don’t slide – like crampons.
With their big smiles, they left.
I did as was advised.
Counterintuitively, I stretched some socks as far over my shoes as possible.
I stood up.
Well, what do you know?
Instant grip.
No guide
No porter
I made it to basecamp!
I was very, very pleased with myself.
The bin liner
Even the few drops of rain that started spitting down could not dampen my joy.
When the rain turned torrential, I shrugged and slid into one of the bin liners.
Then the wind picked up; the rain turned to snow, then sleet, then back to rain.
It got cold.
I put my celebration on hold and got serious about getting down safely.
That was the hardest day of the 9-day walk.
Each step felt precarious.
The black plastic flapped against my wet knees and slipped over my eyes.
The rain running off the poncho was going straight into my shoes.
It felt like my feet were under a tap.
Icy gusts of wind threw me off balance.
Despite the socks and the stick I slipped and fell several times.
The ponchos were in tatters.
Later I found out I’d just missed an avalanche that almost killed some Chinese hikers.
In the end I returned to Pokhara in one piece.
A run of idyllic walking days followed the downpour, and I went back to a state of mild euphoria.
In awe of the colossal mountains.
In awe of myself.
A stunning view of one of the Machhapuchhre Peaks from the Annapurna Circuit.
I was also very, very grateful.
I knew I hadn’t climbed Everest, and that I wasn’t wearing a pair of Crocs or holding a naked Barbie, but I wasn’t optimally prepared.
I’d bruised my whole body, had cuts on my legs and arms.
I’d destroyed all but one pair of socks.
My Asics were brown.
Benjamin Franklin might have tutted and disapprovingly said:
“Failing to prepare is preparing to fail”
He might’ve been right.
Ultralight or Ultra Ill-Equipped?
Spontaneous or reckless?
Hardcore or foolish?
Here’s what I would bring if I were to do this hike again:
- Wet weather gear - jacket/pants/pack cover
- Hiking boots/trail runners
- First Aid Kit
- Personal Location Beacon (PLB) / Garmin GPS - Emergency device|
- Crampons
- Walking Poles (2 of them)
- Quick-dry (wool/Smart wool) clothing
- Spare gloves
What kind of hiker are you?
Have you ever felt too relaxed on the trail?
Have you ever over-prepared?
READ Why adventuring out of our comfort zone helps us reach our highest potential
