The Sherpa Step

Scott Sturman

fliesinyoureyes.com

Yaks and Mt. Shishapangma - photo by JoAnn Sturman

Rick Hoffman, a high school friend, wrote a five part story in Flies In Your Eyes entitled “Climbing Aconcagua.”  In the series he recounts his and his son Mark’s adventures climbing the Western Hemisphere’s highest mountain carrying heavy packs in blizzard conditions and then saving a fellow climber’s life in the middle of the night. Rick aptly observed a vigorous lifestyle and advancing age are not mutually exclusive.

My wife and I had the opportunity to travel in Tibet this year with a premier guide, Gary McCue, who has been adventuring in the country since 1985 and wrote the definitive book about trekking in the region, Trekking Tibet: A Traveler’s Guide.  We were members of Wilderness Travel’s Highest Trek in the World group, whose goal was to walk to Mt. Everest’s Camp 3 at 21,100 feet.  With the exception of an exceptional teenager, our group ranged in ages from the early 50s to 70.  To our surprise, this was the youngest group Gary had led on this particular trek, and although no technical mountaineering skills were required, there was a considerable amount of huffing and puffing along the way.

Trekking in Tibet - photo by JoAnn Sturman

The Sherpas, native Nepalese mountain people, who are known for their physical prowess at extreme altitude, hike up steep hills in a distinctive style called the Sherpa step.  It is a particularly useful technique for saving energy when carrying heavy loads up inclines where there is little oxygen in the air.  Normally, we walk with our knees slightly bent throughout the range of motion.  On flat ground the body’s weight is supported primarily by the bones of the leg, but steeper slopes require more muscle involvement to overcome gravity and stabilize joints when the advancing leg is positioned forward of the center of gravity.  The knee and hip of the leg in contact with the ground never completely straighten and force the muscles of the hip, thigh, and calf to be in a nearly constant state of contraction when ascending steep grades.  

To take advantage of skeletal support when walking up substantial gradients, the Sherpas put a subtle hitch in the leg in contact with the ground.  They rarely stoop when walking and keep the upper body more or less erect.  As the front leg moves forward, the rear one completely straightens for an instant, causing the upper body to sway backwards ever so slightly.  This allows the femur and tibia to bear the body’s weight while the surrounding muscles relax.  Over many hours and up thousands of feet, using bones rather than muscles for support provides a huge benefit.  Observing the Sherpas glide over the mountain trails, prompted members of the group to mimmic their gait, and although there will never be a Tenzing Norgay among us, there was a decided benefit at the end of the day. 

On Mount Kilimanjaro guides instruct hikers to walk “pole, pole” or slowly, slowly which is sufficient to get many to the top, but in the Himalayas where trekking requires participants to cover long distances as well as negotiate long ascents and descents, technique as well as speed are important.  The Sherpas are so fit and acclimatized, that is seems their pace is the same whether climbing up or down a mountain, and I wonder if they walk “pole pole” even when approaching Everest’s summit. 

Altitude sickness is the bane of the high altitude trekker, and one wrongly assumes an episode at much lower altitudes necessary means problems at loftier elevations.  In all cases where I have experienced severe altitude sickness, I ascended much too fast under taxing conditions or thought I could drive from my near sea level home one day and scamper up to 13,000 or 14,000 feet the next.  Headache, fatigue, nausea, and ataxia were the inevitable results until I heard about the bicarbonate wasting diuretic acetazolamide.       

With a better understanding of physiology and well planned itineraries utilizing a “camp low, hike high” regimen, experienced mountain guides are adept at leading white haired, Medicare aged clients safely to impressive altitudes.  Good physical conditioning is a must, but judicious use of acetazolamide (Diamox) to hasten the acclimatization process and acetaminophen for treating high altitude headaches has allowed clients who are accustomed to sea level conditions to ascend to altitudes near 20,000 feet with few ill effects.  In most cases the traditional Diamox dose of 250 mg twice a day can be halved.  Climbers should begin two days prior to ascent and continue until summiting.  Adequate fluid intake is essential to compensate for dry air and high energy consumption rates associated with steep terrain, cold weather, and low oxygen tensions.  Generally, frequently watering the ground with copious volumes of clear colored urine insures sufficient hydration.

“If you can’t carry on a normal conversation while trekking then you’re walking too fast,” Gary advised.  This was possible up to a certain incline and altitude, but there was a point where talking interfered with breathing even at a snail’s pace.  I learned to ask Gary open ended questions, so he would talk most of the time, and I could add to the conversation with an occasional grunt.  When approaching one’s physiologic limit, it was better to shut up and slow way down to keep the respiratory and heart rates in a tolerable zone.  It is remarkable how quickly the heart rate accelerates and shortness of breath occurs, when one goes beyond the comfort zone and climbs a little too fast.

Trekking in Tibet - photo by JoAnn Sturman

There is no reason for seniors or anyone else to condemn themselves to ocean cruises, puttering around the garden, or spending the weekend watching television.  With a savvy guide and adequate physical preparation, the world of National Geographic is no longer just accessible to 20 and 30 year old somethings.     

China: The Bull in the Chystal Store

 Harvest Time Near the Great Wall of China - photo by JoAnn Sturman

Scott Sturman
fliesinyoureyes.com

On the back roads near the Great Wall north of Beijing, farmers heaped large piles of soy beans with the crop still attached to dried leaves and stems.  Any passing vehicle was obliged to run over or through the five foot high mound which helped separate the beans from the chafe.  It must have provided the farmers immense amusement and punctuated their dreary days to see our car careen through their makeshift barricade.  Their’s was a difficult life.  At the time in 2007, 56% of China’s 1.3 billion people lived in rural areas, but per capita income was only one-third of urban dwellers.  Success meant leaving the countryside and moving in droves to China’s already crowded cities.

Great Wall of China - photo by JoAnn Sturman

With the exception of these few extra days hiking and driving in the vicinity of the Great Wall, my wife’s and my trip to China would be considered the standard pilgrimage.  In this case under the watchful eye of our tour guide, the affable chain smoking “Henry,” who like others in his profession had majored in tourism while attending college and had a knack for taking his tour group to shop at every silk, rug, and cloisonné factory in the country.

At this time in the autumn of 2007 the country was in a frenzy preparing for the 2008 Summer Olympic Games to be held in Beijing.  Like most foreigners, we were exposed to a highly sanitized, staged view of the rebirth of a nation, one where Communist overlords relaxed doctrinaire economic restraints which had kept the country tightly controlled since Mao’s rise to power in 1949.  Despite the trip’s orchestration, one could not help but be impressed by the energy of the Chinese worker and the impressive display of public work projects, but it did not require a particularly fastidious observer to realize these gains came at a price.  China’s meteoric rise had been built on cheap labor, production unfettered by environmental or social welfare concerns, and an under valued yuan.

 Tiananmen Square - photo by JoAnn Sturman

While seated in our tour bus stuck in stop and go traffic, I spotted a small red disc directly overhead and asked JoAnn, “Is that the sun?”  Normally, one is used to seeing this phenomena at dusk or dawn as the sun’s rays strain to penetrate the earth’s atmosphere tangentially, but this was noon on a cloudless day in Beijing.  The smog was so acrid and dense it made the Los Angeles air of the 1970s seem like Lake Tahoe.  Despite the congestion and pollution, bicycles outnumbered cars by a staggering margin.  As China’s prosperity increased and bicyclists became motorists, the air quality was not going to improve.

Beijing's Olympic Stadium avec Smog - photo by JoAnn Sturman

From the capital we flew to Xian, home of the Terra Cotta Warriors.  The air was thick with smoke from farmers burning fields and factories belching fumes, and the reason wearing a surgical mask was popular in this country where the sun never seemed to shine.  The Warriors were built in the third century B.C. and meant to protect China’s first emperor Qin Shi Huang in the afterlife. The effort embodied the Chinese infatuation with grandiose public works projects and required the labor of an estimated 700,000 slaves compelled to construct a sanctuary for a man known for his extreme cruelty and caprice.  Soon after his death, a peasant insurrection led to the destruction and burial of the mausoleum.  It is one matter to rule in life but quite another to do so after death.

Terra Cotta Warriors - photo by JoAnn Sturman

As the airliner descended, the coal fire haze obscured Chongqing, a bustling megalopolis of 28,000,000 on the Yangtze River, and the point of embarkation for the 410 mile cruise down the river to the Three Gorges Dam.  Throughout the voyage we peered through the smokey air toward the shore and observed ubiquitous signs on either side the gorge indicating their precise elevation, for when the reservoir was filled its surface would be precisely 175 meters above sea level.  To avoid the rising water, 1.3 million people were either displaced or moved to entirely new villages higher up the steep hills bordering the Yangtze.  It was as if all the inhabitants of San Antonio or San Diego or Dallas were forcibly moved and required to leave their homes and possessions to the advancing waters.   When it comes to engineering and massive construction, there is no such thing as human rights in the People’s Republic.

Sun and Yangtze River - photo by JoAnn Sturman

A 600 mile flight from Wuhan, which is just downstream from the Three Gorges Dam, took us to Guilen in the southern China.  The area is known for its beautiful limestone karsts along the Li River, but the more vivid memory recalls the little Chinese girls dressed in pink accompanied by their newly adoptive American parents.  No boys were going to America, just those troublesome girls who happened to be born under the state mandated one-child-per-couple program.  The preference for boys may have a strong cultural underpinning, but in a generation a substantial number of this great surplus of grown men will be sleeping with each other. 

Limestone Cavern near Guilen - photo by JoAnn Sturman

The last leg of the trip concluded with an 800 mile flight to Shanghai to witness the culmination of the Chinese success story.  The old European buildings along the Bund adjacent the Huangpu River were dwarfed by newly constructed skyscrapers festooned with garish light displays.  The energy and wealth of the region were palpable.  All that was needed was to tweak the Workers' Paradise, and the superiority of communism with a conscience became readily apparent.

Despite the fanfare, the story seemed too good to be true.  In a country just as choked for space as for clean air, individual freedom was as rare as good health ("The Sick Man of Asia") and concern for the environment.  Prosperity was coming to China, but the Bill of Rights was not along for the trip.   And what about the rumors of human rights violations and martial law in Tibet far to the West and away from the media’s prying eyes?