Belly of the Whale

I just completed a behemouth and undoubtedly scattered email to Bob Baker. Have mercy on him for it. I attempted to explain part of my mind, but holding back for brevity. In my notebook I am making good progress though and I will be ready for Bob and Linda's scrutiny when I return.

With this said, I am too tired to continue the story. Another day. Tomorrow.

Today I started my new class and was quite thrilled by it. It was large and quiet. I was forced to assume ignorence so I started from the beginning. I am in need of creativity, new ways of teaching. They are going to stretch my skill. This is all good.

I'll write a bit more anyway. . .

I will not go into Bourkrieve's book except to say that it is a truely harrowing tale, an amazing rescue by a couragous and passionate man. I came to adore his devotion to his passion, his one passion. He was so simple.

Before I read this book, I knew that Anatoli had been killed, like Alex Lowe, in an avalanch in the Himalaya. In the postscript, his coauthor described the accident. In 1998, he was attempting a winter assent of Annapurna I. That is where I was. I was now twenty miles from the basecamp at the moment I read these words. I smiled and put the book away.

The dry elevations had slowly, not unnoticably, given way to forested hillsides. The thick monsoon clouds were always overhead, luckily holding their loads until early evening as I made myself comfortable in a guesthouse of my choosing. Today it was the trekkers Lodge, and this should be my last. I was in Tatopani. Tomorrow would be Saturday, the last day of my trek, when I would head into Beni. There I could take a bus back to Pokhara and then to Kathmandu. Today I had seen the valley again narrow and steepen. Great suspension bridges crossed the expanse of the gorge as villages became slightly less seldom. Rice patties also became more regular. It was planting time and I enjoyed stopping in the shade to watch the men work the oxen, ploughing the mud and the woman planting the young shoots by hand. The planted fields took on the fresh light color of new leaves in spring. The atmosphere was almost festive, many people around watching and talking.

Reaching Tatopani was a joy. The day was longer than I had suspected, though certainly not long enough to complain about. My feet were a bit sore was all. As I came into town I recalled that there was a hot spring near by. I am a great lover of the ambiance of natural hot springs and it has been a very long time since I have indulged in one. This warmth doesn't suit them well, but I didn't have great expectations.

Walking into the Lodge, I was shocked to see several groups of trekkers sitting around for dinner. I had taken almost for granted how few people I had seen, only a hand few of westerners a day. I heard the rain start to echo off the tin rooves of the various building.

I must sign off. . . quickly.