Temperatures at Everest Base Camp have dropped to such low levels, that batteries that were fully charged only the day before are now dead. No matter whether the batteries are meant to power our Apple computers, satellite telephones, and BGAN (that’s the device which connects us to the Internet), or iPod, they are empty the next morning. Worse, yet, because the bad weather continues during the day, with horizontal snow drift that gives one the sensation of being stuck in a sandblasting machine, the batteries are difficult or impossible to recharge.

We have, in our formidable collection of electronic devices, a number of car batteries which are attached to solar panels, but without sunlight hitting those oversized panels, not even the car batteries are much use to us. We are thus solely dependent on our Honda generators, which have been modified to work in the extremely high altitude in which we find ourselves. But power problems aren’t the only reasons why our morale is slowly dropping.

After days of snowfall, strong winds, and little sunlight, we are not just sick of the poor weather, but also of the boredom that comes from sitting around and waiting weather in which we can climb again. At night, sleep is elusive because the strong wind gusts push and pull on our tents with such force, that one wonders when the whole contraption -contents and all- is going to become airborne and fly into the nearest crevasse. The problem I have with my particular tent is that it sits atop a ridge, which affords one an excellent view of the ice fall in good weather, but exposes one to even stronger, uninterrupted wind gusts.

When I asked our Sherpa why Anita’s and my tent sits so prominently within our camp, they explained that when they heard that the tent was going to be used by me, they decided to position it in the best spot. After three consecutive years of coming to Base Camp, and after a surprise success on the summit last year, it appears I have earned some respect among our trusted team of Sherpa. Aside from the more exposed tent site, however, another, more dubious honor has been bestowed on me this trip.

Typically, climbers are under no circumstances permitted access to the kitchen tent, much less are they ever invited to eat in said tent, which is reserved for Sherpa use. This year, however, the Shepa have invited me to eat among their number, in the mysterious kitchen tent. However, while the other climbers would be served Western foods (although not quite palatable for most discerning diners), the kitchen tent folk dined on classic Sherpa cuisine of Dal Baht and Ra-Ra noodle soup. Dal is a typical Nepali dish consisting of a mysterious concoction involving lentils and rice and is to be avoided like the plague. Ra-Ra noodle soup usually comes with undercooked noodles, which give cause to some serious gastro-internal issues. My hosts could tell my concerns with their offerings and asked what I would like to eat if I could have anything in the world. “Roasted duck” I replied, which elicited loud laughter.

Apparently, while everyone knew what duck looks like, nobody had ever seen one in real life, much less feasted on one. I explained that it was a very German thing to eat, like goose.  ”Duck will make you strong,” I advocated while flexing my right arm.  My personal Sherpa, Ang Namgel, replied with a cheeky smile and in his broken English “many climbers say they strong, don’t need Sherpa climbing other mountain. But Everest, need Sherpa.” This was met with general agreement from the other Sherpa sitting in the kitchen tent. They all had seen strong and experienced climbers come here and fail because their egos wouldn’t allow them to rely on Sherpa support. Some had died on their solo attempts. To me, more than short-changing themselves from a climbing and safety standpoint, I feel that those climbers also never got to experience the full extent of the Sherpa hospitality and the loyalty of their friendship, once it is won. At the end of the day, no matter how cold and windy it gets up here, sitting among the Sherpa and trading stories is better than climbing itself.

The scene of much boredom: Everest Base Camp.