Friday, November 12, 2010

Paul Croffit

It was cold, and when it was cold, it wasn't good to be tall and thin. Towering at just over six-foot-six, Paul was shivering in the mountain winds. For the most part, he'd planned this out well and managed to cram everything he needed into a single 4-gallon pack. The hitch? The only way he could make it work was to pack his jacket at the bottom, where it would be compressed by the heavier stuff like his tent and stove. Other things were well planned, too. For instance, his timing seemed spot on. He was going to make it to the peak just before sunset. The only problem was that it was getting colder earlier than he had expected. There were probably another forty minutes of hiking ahead of him, and even exerting himself like this his teeth were beginning to chatter.

Beside him, his stocky Sherpa guide didn't so much as shiver. The guy couldn't have been more than five-foot-four, and while Paul was wire thin, his companion was thick. Paul wasn't sure if he would describe it as fat or muscle. It was probably something in between. Either way, it worked for the guy. Paul had climbed dozens of mountains before; it was his job, after all. He still got winded as he approached the summits like this. In contrast, his guide was breathing evenly like he was on a stroll through town square.

Another wind blew by Paul, and he seriously considered stopping, unpacking everything, getting his jacket, and then packing everything back. He was proficient at this by now and could probably do everything in just seven or ten minutes. That would put them a bit behind schedule, and maybe they'd have to hike the last stretch through twilight. With a pair of heavy duty flashlights, though, that wasn't a problem. Paul just didn't want to lose face in front of his guide.

They hadn't spoken much at all. Paul wasn't even sure what his guide's name was. Tingtuck, Tingmuck, Teetong. Something like that. He wasn't really one for this region of the world. He was more into the Andes and the American West. 'Mountaineering Monthly' wanted his take on the Himalayas, though, so off he went. He'd climbed through them once before, but in his opinion, they lacked the beauty of American mountains. They were too desolate. Too high. By the time he was at this elevation, he couldn't see a tree anywhere, not even way below him. Pollution was also becoming an issue. The smog from India and China encircled the mountains and just hung there like a ring of gray. His Sherpa and him had passed that ring hours ago, but he could still see it. In fact, when he looked down, that's all he saw.

The wind was literally battering him now. He could handle the force, but the faster it blew, the colder it got. He started breathing fast and hard through his nostrils, hoping that would help. His mom had gotten into Kundalini a few years back, and now she was trying to get all her kids to start, too. Over Thanksgiving last September, she gathered them in a circle in the backyard and showed them “The Breath of Fire”--or something along those lines. It was a funny sounding name, but he had to agree. It did something. And up here in the mountains, maybe it would help keep him warm.

His Sherpa glanced at him, and Paul imagined he saw the slighted twist to the guy's lips. It was hard to tell. The people in these parts were unreadable. Still, he'd rather be thought of as a hippie loon than as someone who couldn't handle a simple hike. This was his job, after all. Professional pride was on the line. He shoved his hands more deeply into his pockets and kept breathing heavily. Breath of Fire. Breath of Fire. Eventually, his Sherpa stopped and turned to him.

“You want stop?” Paul grimaced and shook his head. The Sherpa continued looking at him though, gauging something about Paul that he couldn't read, and then the guide simply nodded and continued up the mountain. Paul trotted behind. The wind kept howling around them, but they were so close and he wasn't going to stop now.

Although it felt more like an hour than twenty minutes, they were soon at the top. Paul dropped his pack and pulled out his camera. The jacket could wait; there wasn't much sunlight left. He started recording the view from every angle. This was a strange place. No matter were he looked, he couldn't see the horizon. The smog and air were so thick that all he saw was sky.

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