The Old Diocesan Issue 13 - Magazine - Page 42
Making molehills
out of mountains
Brandon de Kock recently pulled out his trekking poles and headed to
Nepal in search of human truths in the soaring peaks of the Himalayas
I
f you’ve ever locked eyes with
a female kudu that appears out
of nowhere, or had your heart
stopped by a charging elephant,
you’ll know how dramatic the
bush can be. At Victoria Falls,
there’s the rush of movement
and energy. In the ocean, there’s
endless mystery. But mountains,
especially big ones, are more like
cathedrals, designed to humble
humanity. They just sit there,
silent and motionless, posing
a simple question: is it true that
the more insignificant you feel,
the closer you get to realising
how significant you are?
It’s precisely the kind of question
upon which my closest mate
Doz and I have built a lifelong
friendship. He’s an Old Etonian
(almost an OD!), so our common
ground is fertile: verbal jousting,
for example; philosophical chess;
and a sensible amount of fine red
wine. For decades, he had longed
to feed his heart and soul by hiking
the Himalayas. For me, a spiritual
Mother Naturalist, it was a nobrainer. Let’s do it!
We chose Mardi Himal in Nepal:
a five-day, 40km trek that begins
with a jeep ride into the clouds,
from the lakeside city of Pokhara
to a place called Kande at around
1,700m. From there, you steadily
gain elevation until the final
push on day four takes you
to the viewpoint at 4,200m.
38 | THE OLD DIOCESAN
The Mardi Himal trail snakes up through lush rhododendron forests, fully in
bloom from the middle of April, framing the 7,000m peak of Annapurna South.
In this part of the world, where
anything under 2,500m (that’s twoand-a-half times Table Mountain)
is considered a hill, ours was a
moderate little hike: Himalayas
for beginners.
Still, you have to climb a
mountain to see a mountain.
And as you trek up and along the
ridge that leads to Mardi Himal
peak, there are two constant
7,000m-high companions that
start off defining the skyline
and end up right in your face:
on the left, Annapurna South;
and to the right, the unmistakable
double-peaks of Machhapuchhre,
the sacred “Fishtail Mountain”
where climbing is forbidden.
The trail sits entirely within
the Annapurna Conservation
Area, and we trekked from camp
to camp, overnighting at teahouses
along the way. When asked what
we should order at the end of a
day, our Sherpa guide Sarki didn’t
