By Brian Johnson
The Himalayas evoke images of mountains shrouded in clouds, Buddhist monasteries tucked away in valleys, and religious ascetics meditating in frigid caves. My fascination with the Himalayas was sparked after reading Heinrich Harrer’s Seven Years in Tibet. Harrer, an Austrian mountaineer, was arrested by British authorities in India when World War 2 erupted. The book chronicles Harrer’s escape from a POW camp in India, his journey across the Himalayas to Tibet, and his friendship with the current Dalai Lama.
A quote attributed to Harrer has intrigued me for decades: “In the time between the two wars, a British colonial officer said that with the invention of the airplane the world has no secrets left. However, he said, there is one last mystery. There is a large country on the roof of the world where strange things happen. There are monks who have the ability to separate mind from body, shamans and oracles who make decisions, and a God King who lives in a skyscraper-like palace in the forbidden city of Lhasa.”
After visiting Nepal in 2018, I returned in 2022 to trek to Everest Base Camp with several friends from South Africa and the U.S. When we arrived in Nepal, the Himalayas were socked in by bad weather, so we marked time in Kathmandu for a few days. We finally got seats on a helicopter and flew to Tenzing-Hillary Airport in Lukla, known as the world’s most dangerous airport. One end of the runway is a mountainside, and the other end drops off into a steep valley. It is so challenging that authorities have enacted strict standards for pilots who fly into the airport.
After safely arriving in Lukla, we hauled our gear to our teahouse to check in for the night. Thick fog and light rain blanketed the region, and we were delayed again for a few days. However, we caught a helicopter to fly us north to pick up the trail, as we were running out of days to complete the trek. I’ve spent time on military helicopters, but this flight showcased the skill of the pilots who fly in these mountains.
KITTY AND BRIAN JOHNSON
As we flew through a valley hemmed in by towering mountains to our right and left, fog began to envelop the helicopter to the front and back, literally walling us into the valley. Through the mist, we could see a small hamlet below us, and the pilot landed on a small grassy hill. We grabbed our gear and walked across a swinging bridge adorned with Buddhist prayer flags and reserved rooms at a teahouse.
We were warmly welcomed by the Buddhist Sherpa family who owned the teahouse. Although Hinduism is predominant in Nepal, Buddhism is widely practiced in the border areas near Tibet. According to Buddhist lore, Siddartha Gautama (The Buddha) was born in Lumbini, Nepal.
After dinner, we drank tea by a wood stove and talked with the family late into the night. I asked about snow leopards, and the old man said he’d seen one behind the tea house years earlier. Snow leopards, native to the high mountain ranges of the region, are extremely elusive. It was late, so I said my goodnights and stepped outside into the frigid night air. I stared at the peaks towering above me superimposed against a star-filled night sky and smiled, I was deep in the Himalayas.
Teahouse rooms are austere, with little but a mattress and blankets. And they are very cold. The walls are paper thin, so getting a good night’s sleep is nearly impossible. The teahouse dining room, normally heated by a stove, is where trekkers congregate. Flags and inscriptions from climbing teams around the world adorn the walls and ceilings. Dining here was a true international experience, with climbers and trekkers from around the world. Although the company was enjoyable, it was time to hit the trail.
We started the trek north and encountered very steep hiking for the first few hours. At the start of every distance trek, hikers tend to be talkative and happy to be on the trail. But as the miles stack up, each drifts into their own mind, using mental tricks to get them through tough parts of the trail. Trekkers new to high-altitude hiking tend to shoot out of the gate too quickly, and it’s the guide’s job to slow them down to acclimatize to these extreme altitudes.
I’ve adopted a walking style in the mountains that I learned from these guys — slightly bent forward while taking slow, measured steps. On particularly steep terrain, I pick a landmark on the trail, make it my immediate goal and walk to it. It sounds simplistic, but it breaks up tough portions of the route into mentally manageable segments.
We arrived in the village of Tengboche, home to a large Buddhist monastery. I wandered the grounds and turned prayer wheels hoping for good blessings for our journey. Prayer wheels are cylindrical wheels with religious mantras written on them. Spinning the wheel is equivalent to orally reciting sacred scripture and helps the person receive good karma. Like prayer wheels, prayer flags are prolific across northern Nepal. Buddhists believe that as the flag whips in the wind, it spreads compassion to all beings. As the sacred words written on them fade in the weather, they are replaced with new flags, thus recognizing the inevitably of change and that all beings are part of an ongoing cycle of birth and death.
CLIMBERS MEMORIAL
THE TEAHOUSE FOR THE FIRST NIGHT
PRAYER WHEELS
Farther down the trail, the unmistakable outline of the mountain Ama Dablam came into view. The mountain is called the “Mother’s Necklace” because the ridgelines on each side of the mountain resemble a mother with her child. The mountain stands at 22,349ft. and dominates the eastern sky for trekkers heading north. A few days before, in Kathmandu, I’d struck up a conversation with a Scottish climbing team on their way to climb Ama Dablam. As we passed the mountain, I wondered how they were doing and wished them success.
GORAKSHEP
TENZING-HILLARY AIRPORT
Late in the afternoon, we arrived at the climber’s memorial at Thukla Pass at about 15,000 feet. As the sun set, mountain fog enveloped the pass, and the wind picked up. Prayer flags popped in the breeze as I walked among the stone monuments dedicated to those who perished climbing these mountains. It was an eerie and otherworldly place, but peaceful. We rested there for a bit but needed to keep moving.
After several tough days of trekking, some through heavy snow, we arrived at Gorekshep, the last inhabited village before base camp. Our day started long before sunrise. After dressing, filling water bottles and checking equipment, I stepped outside into the freezing darkness. Overnight, the sky had cleared, and the mountains presented themselves in all their glory. As I stood in the darkness staring at the world’s highest peaks bathed in moonlight, I understood why people find their gods among these towering giants of nature.
We set out before sunrise to do the 2 1/2 mile trek to base camp — not a long distance, but at 17,000 feet, it’s not easy. I have trekked at higher altitudes, but I struggled with my oxygen levels this trip. It felt like I was breathing through a straw, and I couldn’t get into a consistent hiking rhythm. We made our way along a narrow trail skirting the Khumbu Glacier, turned right and walked down to base camp — basically a painted rock. We took pictures, shook hands and took in the incredible scenery. It was the end of a wonderful adventure with good friends.
As we began our trek back to Gorakshep, I glanced to the north, knowing Tibet was just a few miles in the distance but yet so far. I was disappointed that segments of our trip had to be skipped due to weather, but happy with what we had accomplished. I guess Tibet will have to wait for another day.
We hiked back to Gorakshep and caught a helicopter to Lukla. After checking in at the teahouse, I wandered down the narrow main street, browsed through a second-hand bookstore owned by a Sherpa woman and drank an excellent Gurkha beer. Feeling scraggly, I found a barber and spent an hour in the chair chatting with him and a policeman.
Back at the teahouse, I was so tired I don’t remember falling asleep. I woke up to a beautiful morning in the mountains and. felt refreshed after a good night’s sleep in a warm room. We packed our gear and walked down to Tenzing-Hillary Airport for our flight back to Kathmandu. After boarding the aircraft, we taxied to the end of the very short runway, where the pilot increased power to the engine. As he released the brakes, we shot forward and lifted off over the deep valley at the end of the runway.
My wife, Kitty, had flown over to Nepal from our home in Saudi Arabia. That night at a bar in Kathmandu, we decided to rent seats on a helicopter and fly up to Mt. Everest. She had to see what I had just seen. So, we booked two seats on a helicopter to fly us north to Mount Everest. It was another crystal-clear morning as we flew north through beautiful green valleys and passed over Buddhist monasteries dotting the hilltops below. The pilot set the helicopter down on grassy plateau at about 18,000 feet, and we stood in front of Mount Everest. It was one of the best days of our marriage.
A week after we returned to Saudi Arabia, my wife tragically passed away. After days of working with Saudi and U.S. consular authorities, we were cleared to fly back to the U.S. We flew from Saudi Arabia to Frankfurt, Germany to connect with a flight to Houston.
While sitting in a Frankfurt airport cafe waiting for our flight, it dawned on me that I had come full circle in my 30-year story with Kitty. As a young Army officer stationed in Germany, I picked her up at this very airport on a spring day in 1992 to start our married life together. Thirty years later, our story ended here.
KITTY AT KALLA PATHAR
My wife, Kitty, had flown over to Nepal from our home in Saudi Arabia. That night at a bar in Kathmandu, we decided to rent seats on a helicopter and fly up to Mt. Everest. She had to see what I had just seen. So, we booked two seats on a helicopter to fly us north to Mount Everest. It was another crystal-clear morning as we flew north through beautiful green valleys and passed over Buddhist monasteries dotting the hilltops below. The pilot set the helicopter down on grassy plateau at about 18,000 feet, and we stood in front of Mount Everest. It was one of the best days of our marriage. A week after we returned to Saudi Arabia, my wife tragically passed away. After days of working with Saudi and U.S. consular au-thorities, we were cleared to fly back to the U.S. We flew from Saudi Arabia to Frankfurt, Germany to connect with a flight to Houston. While sitting in a Frankfurt airport cafe waiting for our flight, it dawned on me that I had come full circle in my 30-year story with Kitty. As a young Army officer stationed in Germany, I picked her up at this very airport on a spring day in 1992 to start our married life together. Thirty years later, our story ended here.
After her funeral, I returned to Saudi Arabia for another year to sort life out. I was angry at the world and had lost interest in everything. But as time has passed, I’ve come to understand how wonderfully unique our life together was. We were fortunate to have spent nearly 22 years abroad in Europe and the Middle East, where we lived a life of adventure. We saw Russia, were charged by elephants in Kenya, tracked rhinos on foot in Namibia, worked with cheetahs in Somaliland, visited Kenya numerous times, slept in a treehouse in the South African bush, and camped in the Arabian desert.
We drove across the open expanse of Namibia to the Atlantic Ocean. We listened to the beautiful Muslim call to prayer across the Middle East and watched Hindu cremations on the sacred Bagmati River in Nepal. We searched for Bengal Tigers in the forests of Nepal, lions on the plains of the Masai Mara, and leopards in the arid beauty of northern Kenya. And in our final adventure, we saw the mighty Himalayas together.
I guess we could have been more responsible with our lives and put more money away, but I have no regrets. We lived life on our terms, and we were free.
I now live in the beautiful hills of eastern Tennessee, where I hike the mountains and explore the natural wonders of this region. After being abroad for so long, I find the U.S. “noisy,” and it never turns off. I cherish solitude, and I find peace and clarity in the mountains here. I watch a parade of animals from my bedroom window every day. Addie, a local black bear, frequently visits my house at night. I know she’s outside when she bumps up against the house on her never-ending search for bird seed. I look after some ridiculously funny raccoons and opossums who live in the woods behind my house, and deer feed in my yard. And of course, I dote on the many cats we have taken in over the years.
I am where I need to be for right now. But one day I want to go back overseas for good. I’m just more comfortable there. I might run a bar in Nepal, work as a safari guide in Africa, or buy a small cottage on the Swahili Coast and live out my days writing while the breeze from the Indian Ocean drifts through my window. I have old friends who occasionally call and ask how I am doing. I can think of no better answer to that question than what Jimmy Buffett penned in his classic song He Went to Paris:
“After 86 years of perpetual motion,
If he likes you, he’ll smile and he’ll say,
Some of it’s magic, some of it’s tragic,
But I’ve had a good life all the way.”
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