Monday, May 19, 2003
By DR. JASON FOUGHT
SPECIAL TO THE VINDICATOR
The weather continues to be tenuous, with talk of a summit Tuesday. I'm not overly optimistic and will believe it when I see it.
Paul Giorgio of Massachusetts, however, continues to feel strong, and I hope he has gained weight after consuming the carcasses of several chickens that arrived via helicopter. He's at Camp Two and hopes to summit Tuesday.
A real fear
Rather than talk about the continual waiting, however, I'd like to address a more personal subject. I'm terrified of yaks.
It's hard to admit this, similar to admitting a fear of heights, closed spaces and liking any music by Jennifer Lopez, but it's unfortunately true.
I suppose that these massive creatures that support Base Camp and other high-altitude regions are thought of by most as "cute" or "noble," but I'm not so certain. Like the porters, yaks carry enormous loads up the mountain to camps like ours. I guess this is noble.
Unlike the porters, they carry more, have loads forcibly tied to them, are whipped with ropes and have rocks thrown at them to get them to move. Maybe not so noble.
Also, unlike the porters, they weigh about a 1,000 pounds and have sharp, pointy horns.
For some odd reason, people like to irritate beasts like this for amusement. The rodeo is one example, where people try to prove they are tough by jumping on the back of some enormous horned beast, wrestle it to the ground and tie it up, just for giggles.
When it doesn't work out so well, some unfortunate person dressed as a clown has the job of attracting the animal's attention, focusing its fury on the clown. This is one of the cases where man and beast think alike, wanting the clown brutalized, pummeled and abused. Perhaps rodeos should use mimes for this purpose.
Another entertaining interaction with yaklike animals is the running of the bulls in Spain. Here, untrained, drunken tourists don't actually run with the bulls (unless they're really drunk, and then only for a short time before they're trampled), rather they stumble away from the bulls to avoid being gored and stomped to death.
Sounds like a whole lot of fun, and definitely something to be bragged of at family gatherings. I can picture it now:
"Take a look at our vacation video, Bobby Jean! There's the bull throwing Billy into the fence! He looks like he's unconscious! Look at the stuff oozing out of his ear! Ain't that cute?" Yet another opportunity to root against stupid humans, even if they are not dressed as a clown or mime. It's a shame that this event isn't in France.
Ill-tempered
Yaks, however, are known to be more ill-tempered than their cattle brethren. Living at high altitude and not getting a lot of oxygen probably already makes them unhappy. With ropes whipping them and rocks thrown at them, I believe I'm justified in being fearful. They have plenty of reasons to want to get you.
But there's more.
Paul, on the way up, told us that during his hike to Base Camp in 2001, he observed a man getting gored and trampled by a yak. He nearly died but was taken out by helicopter and received medical attention in time. Barely.
Tshering, (pronounced "Cheering"), a guide for our group whose father died in a Camp Two avalanche when he was an infant, told us that his uncle was gored and bled to death after trying to place a load on a yak. Still, he walks by these killers daily, seemingly without fear. And earlier in the trip, a yak thrust his horn at me, catching me on the hand. A warning shot that I'll remember.
So I've learned to respect the yak. When they walk by on the narrow trail, I don't look at their big brown eyes and say, "How cute." I view them as 1,000-pound Charles Manson wannabes with two sharp weapons and evil intentions. Gang members that moo. I'm determined to not be Sharon Tate. I yield the path, giving them plenty of room, and leave their murderous intentions to other unsuspecting climbers.
Still waiting
Otherwise, Base Camp continues as normal, and we continue to wait, hoping that the monsoon season doesn't arrive early. Although it's rare, there have been years when climbers have been unable to summit the whole season. Thankfully, I'm a bit warmer, and life here is somewhat more bearable.
I hope my next column will relate more to the summit and spend less time with my neuroses.
XTo follow the team, including updates from Paul as he progresses up the mountain, go to www.trekeverest.com. To learn the fate of Sparky, the Base Camp dog and to read more of Jason's updates, including unpublished ones, go to www.oneverest.com. To contact Jason, or ask him a question, e-mail him at jasonrfought@yahoo.com.