Nothing Cures a Headache Like a Broken Leg

The Thorong La pass sits at 5,416 metres, the highest trekkable pass in the world. Here is what I brought to it: five years away from the mountains, no guide, no porter, a February start (a month before the season, and why? So that nobody on the trail would try to talk to me), 84 kg and a good belly. Practically speaking, I was in the worst shape of my life.

Sensible people would call that a list of reasons not to go. I called it a packing list.

So why go at all? Love had just packed its bags and left. They say nothing cures a headache like a broken leg, and while my friends would have prescribed a bar, I prescribed a mountain and put my body on the line. Why drown the heartbreak when you can freeze it at 5,416 metres?

Did I complete the trek? Of course I did. That’s why you’re reading a blog post and not a rescue report.

There isn’t much to say about the trek itself, and that was the whole point. Mission accomplished: I had the trail to myself and to my thoughts. Not a single “Hi, where are you from?” for days. It was just me, the mountains, and RJ Balaji’s Naalanna Muruku podcast in my ears.

Annapurna Conservation Area entry permit held in a hand, passport number hidden — The permit. The only paperwork that agreed I should be here.

A steel suspension bridge strung across a forested gorge — The first of many suspension bridges.

A snow-streaked peak above a pine-covered gorge — The view that kept the legs moving.

A small bridge over a turquoise river running through a rocky valley — Turquoise water, rocks and nobody else.

A tall waterfall pouring down a rust-coloured cliff into a river — A waterfall all to myself.

A dirt trail through pine trees under a blue sky, with a snowy peak behind — The trail, empty, exactly as ordered.

Dark pine trees in the foreground with a snow-capped peak in the distance — The snow is getting closer.

Pine trees silhouetted against a bright sky, snowy mountains behind — Pines, peaks and a podcast.

But the universe always finds a way to remind you who’s in charge.

It started small. I had lost my insulated water bottle, so on the morning of the crossing I bought a plastic one. A kilometre in, I reached into my backpack for a sip and pulled out a solid block of ice. For the rest of the day, lunch was a protein bar and dessert was licking my water bottle like a popsicle.

Then the weather joined in. The wind was howling and the previous night’s snow lay ankle-deep on the trail. I was the last person on it. The only other soul up there was a German hiker somewhere ahead of me, whose name I never bothered to ask. I followed his footprints, but the wind kept filling them in, and after a while they simply disappeared. So I asked him just one thing: to look back every now and then and make sure I was still in sight.

The man who went in February so that nobody would talk to him was now begging a stranger not to lose sight of him. It was also the most scared I have ever been. It wasn’t the altitude or the cold. It was the thought of dying alone, or slipping somewhere and ending up in a valley down there, while the only person who might notice was walking away from me and his footprints were vanishing behind him.

He wasn’t walking away, as it turned out. He waited for me at the top of Thorong La, gave me a big hug, and started his descent. I still don’t know his name. Danke, whoever you are.

Ankle-deep snow, and a valley I very much did not want to visit.

I came down the other side dehydrated as hell, with a frozen bottle of water in my bag that I could not drink.

And the heartbreak? Turns out a broken leg really does cure a headache. Momentarily.