So you know how delicious that breeze is as you sit by a pond? Or perhaps under a giant elm tree? Ahhh, that cool refreshing wind. Soothes, calms, even entices.
Except if you are on Everest.
Ever try to cook chicken stroganoff in an 80 mph wind? We did. Last night. That's not all we did. Around 4pm as tents started to groan and pop under the strain, we dug in, literally. Built a wall around our tents, of snow, to try and lessen the impact of the wind on us. Spirits were high, confidence soared, and we went to bed feeling like conquerors. Ha. You don't conquer anything on this mountain, she tolerates your presence, and if she does not like you, she spits you off.
This morning we got spat on, hard.
Right about the time our cook tent started bursting at the seams, a radio call with Willi at base confirmed that not only were the winds not stopping, they were going to get bigger before they stopped. As Vern and I made the decision to descend back to Base Camp, Jean Michelle came to us to inform us that, um, his tent had simply torn apart.
Enough is enough.
We packed quickly, walking back down through what, as James said, "ever see photos of the Nevada test site for the h bomb?" tents torn, ripped, or simply gone, leaving a small indentation in the snow where they used to be.
Blown this way and that, we slowly worked our way back down to base, where amidst tea and soup, peering at each other's wind-burned faces, we allowed ourselves a grin, and a joke or two, even if they were on us...
So we are here till the wind abides, all safe, happy, and none the worse for wear.
Till later,
Luis
