(Part 2)
With our bums hurting more and more with each of the horses’ steps, and with the air getting colder and colder and the snowfall thicker and thicker we rode on towards Snow Mountain. I went from uncomfortable to in some pain to pretty unwilling to continue in the span of about ten minutes. At one point I even called out to Amy asking her whether or not she really wanted to continue up the mountain, but when she didn’t respond I figured she didn’t hear and so I shut my trap and tried to suck it up so that I didn’t pressure her into giving up her “snow mountain experience.”
The problem initially was just my feet. The mountain was extremely steep and so riding the horses up was ok, but riding them back down—according to the guide—was far too dangerous, so we had to walk. However, as my feet had frozen from the mud, water, cold and snow, I was finding that pretty difficult. Our guide carried on, though, and pretty soon he was out of sight, lost in the dense snow and white haze. Slightly panicky, I decided that I had frostbite. I was sure that not only did I have frostbite, but that the lack of guide and minimal sensation in my feet was going to make it rather difficult for me to descent, and so by the time I got back I would lose at least one toe. This was my decision.
Now, the other problem: Snow mountain is high. Songpan, the town from which we started, is 2852 meters high. That was the base of our trekking experience. I don’t know how tall Snow Mountain is, but I do know how thin the air is. I also know that a steep climb down a mountain (with the additional minor panic of losing a small appendage) in frigid weather does nothing to enhance my breathing capabilities. So, what did I do about it? I’m proud to say that at that moment I had my first ever real asthma attack. It was a beauty. There was wheezing, panicking, minimal capacity to function…really the whole nine yards.
Thankfully Amy came back for me. Having scampered along before, she returned when she noticed my absence and basically dragged me down the mountain until we got our guide. When he saw me, he had to put me back on the horse to ride down, despite the steepness of the descent. It was good, though. I didn’t fall off the horse, and I even regained some feeling in my feet! When off Snow Mountain and back into safe, survivable territory I wanted to get off the horse again. It wasn’t too steep and I was feeling up to it.
Nope. Bad idea.
I realized that on the horse I used muscle. My back, legs, and stomach all worked together to keep me on the horse, but my heart was at rest. There was no need for actual exertion of energy, so I was fine. Once I got off the horse, though, and took 5 steps I couldn’t breathe. Enter: second asthma attack in 2 hours.
Amy again pulled me down the mountain (the guide having yet AGAIN gone ahead). I was pretty pathetic, actually. In retrospect this is quite a humorous story I think. It’s at least the stuff of good cartoons: pathetic failure and pathetic injury. So long as the guy lives in the end it’s pretty funny. And I’m alive, so feel free to laugh at my terrible turn of bad luck.
Needless to say, I wasn’t really let off the horse unless really necessary from then on.
There’s more to come on the events of that night at our home-stay, but for now you’ll just have to wonder about it in the car with the radio on low.
With our bums hurting more and more with each of the horses’ steps, and with the air getting colder and colder and the snowfall thicker and thicker we rode on towards Snow Mountain. I went from uncomfortable to in some pain to pretty unwilling to continue in the span of about ten minutes. At one point I even called out to Amy asking her whether or not she really wanted to continue up the mountain, but when she didn’t respond I figured she didn’t hear and so I shut my trap and tried to suck it up so that I didn’t pressure her into giving up her “snow mountain experience.”
The problem initially was just my feet. The mountain was extremely steep and so riding the horses up was ok, but riding them back down—according to the guide—was far too dangerous, so we had to walk. However, as my feet had frozen from the mud, water, cold and snow, I was finding that pretty difficult. Our guide carried on, though, and pretty soon he was out of sight, lost in the dense snow and white haze. Slightly panicky, I decided that I had frostbite. I was sure that not only did I have frostbite, but that the lack of guide and minimal sensation in my feet was going to make it rather difficult for me to descent, and so by the time I got back I would lose at least one toe. This was my decision.
Now, the other problem: Snow mountain is high. Songpan, the town from which we started, is 2852 meters high. That was the base of our trekking experience. I don’t know how tall Snow Mountain is, but I do know how thin the air is. I also know that a steep climb down a mountain (with the additional minor panic of losing a small appendage) in frigid weather does nothing to enhance my breathing capabilities. So, what did I do about it? I’m proud to say that at that moment I had my first ever real asthma attack. It was a beauty. There was wheezing, panicking, minimal capacity to function…really the whole nine yards.
Thankfully Amy came back for me. Having scampered along before, she returned when she noticed my absence and basically dragged me down the mountain until we got our guide. When he saw me, he had to put me back on the horse to ride down, despite the steepness of the descent. It was good, though. I didn’t fall off the horse, and I even regained some feeling in my feet! When off Snow Mountain and back into safe, survivable territory I wanted to get off the horse again. It wasn’t too steep and I was feeling up to it.
Nope. Bad idea.
I realized that on the horse I used muscle. My back, legs, and stomach all worked together to keep me on the horse, but my heart was at rest. There was no need for actual exertion of energy, so I was fine. Once I got off the horse, though, and took 5 steps I couldn’t breathe. Enter: second asthma attack in 2 hours.
Amy again pulled me down the mountain (the guide having yet AGAIN gone ahead). I was pretty pathetic, actually. In retrospect this is quite a humorous story I think. It’s at least the stuff of good cartoons: pathetic failure and pathetic injury. So long as the guy lives in the end it’s pretty funny. And I’m alive, so feel free to laugh at my terrible turn of bad luck.
Needless to say, I wasn’t really let off the horse unless really necessary from then on.
There’s more to come on the events of that night at our home-stay, but for now you’ll just have to wonder about it in the car with the radio on low.