A short story about one of most spectacular places I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting.
The clouds above begin to clear in the predawn light to gradually reveal spectacularly beautiful mountain tops all around. Twenty to thirty trekkers and I stand on a rocky ridge overlooking the moraine hundreds of metres below, a vast valley floor littered with giant jagged rocks and enormous boulders abandoned in the wake of the glacier, as it gradually retreated over the centuries. Prayer flags, red yellow, white, green and blue flutter in the icy breeze as they hang from cairns that line the ridge, others less lucky lay frozen solid to the frosty ground. There’s a bite in the air as the temperature lingers a few degrees below freezing, preserving the thick layer of snow that blankets the upper valley, only broken by the blue corrugated rooftops of the lodge, which appears dwarfed into miniature by its gargantuan mountain setting.
The four day trek up to the site of the 4,130m…
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