MOUNTAIN LIFE - Coast Mountains | Summer 2018

78 MLCM SUMMER 2018 Perspective As we trekked and summited and trekked some more, each day fell into a pleasant routine. I revelled in the little moments of quiet I found each day, savouring early mornings as the sun crept over mountain tops, bathing the valleys in rays of golden light. I inhaled the blue, pungent smoke created by humble stoves merrily burning dried yak dung patties, and watched it curl off the tin roofs of the villages and into the crisp morning air as we passed by. I found joy through the cheery exchanges of “Namaste, how are youuu?” with the local children as we passed through tiny towns. Children with round, ruddy cheeks playing outside in any weather and scrambling fearlessly up and along the steep terrain outside their villages, content to build that world using whatever props they could find. There’s a simplicity to life in this land that holds immense appeal, particularly when compared to our overly materialistic North American sensibilities. Yes, it’s a hard life. Incredibly so, at times. The rubble from abandoned buildings compromised during the devastating 2015 earthquakes, still lies in forgotten piles. Other buildings are propped up by rebar, their crooked exteriors looking only slightly less shaky than their abandoned counterparts. Rutted roads bear testament to the raging floods that the melting spring snows can bring with them, sometimes wiping out vital food supply routes for weeks at a time. These mountain folk are entirely dependent on the mercy of Mother Nature and yet, there is such great joy and peace to be found in their resilient world that relies more on community than the latest iPhone app for happiness. I came to Nepal thinking that my journey would simply be an exploration of pushing physical boundaries. I did experience this, and there were certainly times where I was reduced to tears by the physical difficulty of what I was asking my body to do. And yet, while searching for scale in a vertical world, I also found perspective in the places I least expected it – in the cozy homes and lives I was welcomed into along our journey, and through the warmth extended by travellers and locals alike as our lives intersected for a fleeting moment. As ego-driven humans, we are very fixated on objectives, that a successful trip must have a quantifiable goal, a “purpose” that others can admire and measure against. And yet so much of my journey was about exploring unknown, unnamed, and (some would say) relatively unremarkable areas of the world’s highest playground. In the end, we didn’t summit nearly as many peaks as we had so optimistically planned for. A family emergency in the middle of our trip cut short some of our objectives, as two of our team grappled with unexpected loss, and the focus of the trip changed to support them. But that’s life. It doesn’t always go according to plan, so we adapt. And somehow I didn’t mind at all that we only accomplished some of our grandiose goals. By that point I had realized that the reason for me being there wasn’t so I could climb the highest, farthest, or fastest. It was so that I could step back and absorb the lessons life wanted to give me, and be willing to create the space and silence necessary to find them. I suppose that’s part of the inherent nature of searching – you don’t always know what you are going to find. My ultimate sense of accomplishment came through slowing down and appreciating the smallest details of each day, rather than trying to stand on top of the world in order to look down on it. Looking back at our trip with hindsight now, I’ve realized that the most powerful thing I gained through our journey was perspective. Without distractions to guard against the candid moments of reflection that extended silence invites, it’s hard not to end up confronting uncomfortable truths. The constant, plodding pace of trekking itself was a challenge for me, as I am used to moving much faster when I’m in the mountains. Slowing down and learning to look around a little bit more was something that I gradually embraced, once I let go of my impatience. It turns out that you actually miss quite a few things when you are only focused on how fast you can go from point A to B. I was also made uncomfortably aware, through its absence, of my reliance on social media and the constant affirmation and false sense of connection that it provides. I began turning off my phone even when we did have Wi-Fi access, and in turn I was actually present where I was, instead of always looking to the places I wasn’t. There were many times throughout the days of solo trekking that I would find myself bursting into glorious acapella song, and then some poor donkey herder would come around a corner to find me channelling my inner Eddie Mercury as I navigated trails and jumped over piles of dung. It didn’t seem to matter, and we would exchange cheery Namastes before I launched into the key change. Here I was, several thousand metres higher than I had ever been in my life, and yet I was still dwarfed by 8,000-metre peaks that seemed to stretch up to the sky. Sunrise over Kathmandu, made brilliant by perpetual fog that settles over the city.