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Blank_page In the fall of 2004, my dad and I went to Nepal. It was,for him, the fulfillment of a lifelong dream of following in the footsteps of many great adventurers. It was also his 60th birthday present to himself. On October 17th, we landed in Kathmandu. Our guide, Pasang Dendi Sherpa, was waiting for us at the airport. After a few days exploring Kathmandu, we set out on a harrowing bus-ride through the middle hills?where we encountered a true Himalayan traffic jam, caused by the dead carcass of an ox that had fallen off the top of a bus. On October 21st, we reached the end of the road and began hiking from Besisahar. This was a lush and vegetated region that narrowed increasingly as we gained elevation. We were following the path of a river that led straight toward Tibet. We passed through numerous small towns and villages before arriving at Manang. Manang was an ancient outpost in the salt trade from Tibet, its high stone walls echoing with the guttural sound of Tibetan horns and the clammer of hand-cymbals. Looming above it was the toothlike form of Annapurna IV. From Manang, we ascended to the high pass at Thorung La. We were at 17,500 feet, and both dad and I succumbed a bit to altitude sickness?the worst manifestation of which was a splitting headache and a strong urge not to continue trekking. But the next day we were feeling good, and set out in the early freezing air. At the pass, we could look back down through the valley we'd travelled up over the last ten days, and we could look forward to the Himalayan desert of Kagbeni ahead. After a knee-crushing 3000 foot descent, we arrived in the beautiful little town of Kagbeni, surrounded by fields of apple trees and sea-buckthorn. A small rampart in this town had a sign and a border-station that marked the path to the Forbidden Kingdom of Mustang. No one was allowed beyond this point without a special permit?the trail was invitingly barren and isolated. We headed south from there, to Jomsom. I caught a small plane back to Pokhara in the middle hills, while dad continued for a few more days to the base base camp at Dhaulagiri. From there, separately, we flew to Bangkok and then home. Matt Johnson December 2007 4 In the fall of 2004, my dad and I went to Nepal. It was,for him, the fulfillment of a lifelong dream of following in the footsteps of many great adventurers. It was also his 60th birthday present to himself.

On October 17th, we landed in Kathmandu. Our guide, Pasang Dendi Sherpa, was waiting for us at the airport. After a few days exploring Kathmandu, we set out on a harrowing bus-ride through the middle hills?where we encountered a true Himalayan traffic jam, caused by the dead carcass of an ox that had fallen off the top of a bus. On October 21st, we reached the end of the road and began hiking from Besisahar. This was a lush and vegetated region that narrowed increasingly as we gained elevation. We were following the path of a river that led straight toward Tibet.

We passed through numerous small towns and villages before arriving at Manang. Manang was an ancient outpost in the salt trade from Tibet, its high stone walls echoing with the guttural sound of Tibetan horns and the clammer of hand-cymbals. Looming above it was the toothlike form of Annapurna IV.

From Manang, we ascended to the high pass at Thorung La. We were at 17,500 feet, and both dad and I succumbed a bit to altitude sickness?the worst manifestation of which was a splitting headache and a strong urge not to continue trekking.

But the next day we were feeling good, and set out in the early freezing air. At the pass, we could look back down through the valley we'd travelled up over the last ten days, and we could look forward to the Himalayan desert of Kagbeni ahead.

After a knee-crushing 3000 foot descent, we arrived in the beautiful little town of Kagbeni, surrounded by fields of apple trees and sea-buckthorn. A small rampart in this town had a sign and a border-station that marked the path to the Forbidden Kingdom of Mustang. No one was allowed beyond this point without a special permit?the trail was invitingly barren and isolated.

We headed south from there, to Jomsom. I caught a small plane back to Pokhara in the middle hills, while dad continued for a few more days to the base base camp at Dhaulagiri. From there, separately, we flew to Bangkok and then home.
Matt Johnson
December 20074
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