Traveling Tales: Our Global Path to Portugal

So, today was the day and I had totally forgotten about it; until I saw it. We rounded a bend and there it was. The hillside path was horseshoe shaped and I could see the other trekkers already on it, making their way slowly and cautiously. The image was frightening. I had never been afraid of heights, but this scene was disturbing. The hill sloped downward from the path at about 45 degrees, covered in loose shale, a continuation of the landslide for about 500 feet then there was about an 800-foot drop. The earth above the path rose directly upwards. So, the path was it, about a foot and half wide. The ground was gravelly, a combination of rock and sand. We were in the middle of the group today. The experienced folks were ahead of us, and some slower ones were behind (yes, we had acclimatized and picked up our pace a bit), including Lisa, Tensing, and the porters with their children in the baskets. My Sherpa had gone ahead, probably assuming I was just behind him, and had already rounded the bend which formed the apex of the horseshoe which was marked by a huge boulder which had to be stepped around to proceed up the other side. I took a deep breath and started on the path, hugging the rock wall to my right. Howard was behind me. We had almost reached the turn at the boulder, when I stopped to configure my best move around the boulder. The trail on the other side of the boulder was not visible from this side. I had started to maneuver it and then could see that the path went up at a 45-degree angle from that point onward. Howard asked what was wrong and I told him. “I can’t get around the boulder.” I could feel my heart pounding now. I was scared. Because I had stopped, everyone behind me had stopped too, their shoulders against the mountain wall. Howard said to step forward first with my right foot, then use my left foot to step around the boulder to make the right corner turn, hugging the boulder. As I shifted my feet, part of the path below my foot crumbled away. I reached up to the ground to my right, and grabbed a rock to steady myself, and it pulled away from the wall. I slipped and was now sitting on the narrow trail, looking down at the sand and stone debris that had first fallen from under me now skidding down the slope. Then I looked back at the line of other trekkers, including the two kids with eyes as big as saucers and that’s when I realized I was in trouble. No one had a rope, there would be no helicopter coming to save me like in the movies. Howard reached out to take my upper arm and I said, “No.” I honestly did not want to take him down with me. “Let me help you stand up,” he said. I thought for a moment recognizing that my legs are my strongest muscles, from years of jogging, so I took a deep breath and stood. It worked. But, I was still looking at the slope and drop off. Then, out of nowhere, one of the Sherpas appeared, on the other side of the boulder. In the background, I could hear them calling out to one another which was the signal that brought him back to me. The Sherpa who was standing there was not Krishna. He was obviously young, maybe 17 or 18. I weighed more than him, and yet he reached out to me - with a shaking hand. I had an image that if he tried to pull me up he would simply catapult over my head and roll down the slope. And yet I knew the longer I waited, the harder this was going to be and the more afraid everyone else was going to become. I looked at the two kids again. I promised myself that if I fell, I would not scream, or at least I would try not to scream. They didn’t need to remember that for the rest of their lives. The unavoidable visual would be enough. As I reached toward the Sherpa, Howard held my opposite upper arm. The Sherpa pulled. Remember, he was 45 degrees above me. I pushed and climbed around the boulder and up the path to a stable resting place. Just then my Sherpa arrived panting. He’d been running back after hearing the calls. I sat down on a rock and he sat down with me. My knees started to shake against each other uncontrollably. Howard came around the corner just then. And other people began doing the same, all with the help of the Sherpas. We had another two hours of trekking before we reached camp. I don’t think I have ever experienced as much adrenalin as I did during that two-hour walk. I guess when you’re faced with imminent death it doesn’t occur to you that the recovery takes over your physiology. I felt stronger than I felt in my whole life. I felt like running as fast as I could for hours. I couldn’t breathe enough air, I couldn’t go fast enough. It was an incredible reaction for me to experience. Once we were in camp, a friend and colleague who was behind me told us that her Sherpa packed some ground onto the path where I had slipped to ensure they would have enough push-off to get around the bend. They also made her promise not to tell anyone that they each took a swig of raksi, the local liquor, before making their moves. The next morning, Lisa told me that one of her little boys said he dreamt that “the lady” fell off the mountain. I’m glad it was just a dream.