November 10, 2004

Nepal

“Kathmandu Under Siege.” “Bombs Close Luxury Hotel in Nepal.” “Nepalese Struggle to Break Rebel Hold on Capital.” These were just a few of the ominous headlines in the international press this past summer after several bombings rocked Nepal’s capital city of Kathmandu and Maoist rebels threatened attacks on traffic headed to the Kathmandu Valley. “Sounds terrible, doesn’t it?” says Ravi Chandra Hamal, 49, CEO of Ama Dablam ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Group, a tour operator headquartered in Kathmandu. “But it wasn’t true. It was really alarmist, hysterical media coverage.”

Well, maybe. But hyped by the press or not, last August and September were rough in the mountain kingdom. And, as a bloody November 9 bombing of a government building indicates, the danger remains very real.

Things were looking particularly bleak this past summer. Over the course of a month, beginning in mid-August, alleged Maoists threw pipe bombs onto the tennis courts of Kathmandu’s five-star Soaltee Crowne Plaza Hotel, rebels announced plans to attack traffic on its way to the Kathmandu Valley, forcing the army to provide armed escorts to shuttle food and supplies into the capital for a week, and angry mobs numbering in the thousands trashed downtown mosques and looted Muslim-owned businesses to protest the execution of 12 Nepalese citizens by Islamic militants in Iraq. On September 10, just as life appeared to be limping back to normal, suspected Maoists lobbed two pipe bombs over the wall of the American Center, which houses the U.S. Embassy’s public affairs office, along with the American library and the Fulbright educational foundation. There were no injuries, but the attack—the first against a Western diplomatic target—combined with the previous violence, prompted the Peace Corps, for the first time in its 42-year history in the country, to withdraw all volunteers.

Nepal’s adventure travel industry—already hobbled by a U.S. State Department advisory warning American citizens to avoid all non-essential travel to Nepal since October 2003—was devastated. Tour and hotel bookings for fall, Nepal’s high tourism season, initially plummeted. American arrivals alone dropped 21 percent in September as compared to the same month in 2003, and several international airlines suspended flights to the country. “I was pulling out my hair,” says a leading Kathmandu-based tour operator who suffered a number of cancellations in the aftermath of the unrest. “Clients were terrified to travel to Nepal.”

Of course, Nepal has been through all this before. Since the Maoists launched their armed insurrection in 1996, some 10,000 have died in the violence and periodic flare-ups have sent tourism numbers spiraling downward. The year 2001 was particularly rough: The country saw massive strikes as well as the assassination of nine members of the royal family by Crown Prince Dipendra (who then killed himself), which led to a dramatic drop in travelers to the country. But especially hard for outfitters this time was the fact that 2004 had started off so well, with a 26 percent rise in tourist arrivals in the first six months as compared to the same period the year before.

The good news is that Nepal’s travel industry may be getting better at bouncing back quickly. ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø travel outfitters canvassed in October and early November (before the November 9 bombing), claimed they might actually be able to salvage the fall trekking season. Bookings were rebounding and Thamel, Kathmandu’s tourist hub, has been hopping. “November doesn’t look that bad,” says Basant Mishra, 51, president of the Nepal Association of Tour Operators. “We had a lot of cancellations, but now they have reinstated.”

High-altitude mountaineers are also learning to take Maoist flare-ups in stride. Several major commercial guiding companies surveyed for this article reported zero cancellations for fall expeditions. Elizabeth Hawley, the 81-year-old mountaineering matriarch who has been meticulously documenting Himalayan climbs since 1963, says she’s been as busy as ever and estimated that more than 400 climbers were on 22,494-foot Ama Dablam in October.

As has been the case for several years, some of the most popular trekking areas, such as the Khumbu Valley leading up to Everest, and the Mustang plateau and Manang Valley north of Annapurna, remain Maoist-free. And even if you do run into them elsewhere, the threat continues to be to your beer money, not your life. On sections of the popular Annapurna Trail, where Maoist encounters with trekkers have become standard, the rebels demand a 1,000-Rupee (US $13.64) “tax.” Once paid, travelers receive a receipt—stamped with the likeness of Karl Marx, Vladmir Lenin, and Chairman Mao—to prevent them from being stopped again. (The fee can rise to $100 or more in the remote, far western regions of Dolpo or Humla.) The fact remains that not a single foreigner has been kidnapped or killed as a result of the eight-year-old insurgency. During that time, the country has received more than three million visitors. “The risk of being a victim of Maoist violence is clearly much lower than the risks of going trekking, mountaineering, rafting, or simply going in a bus,” says Keith Bloomfield, 57, the British Ambassador to Nepal. “The threat is fairly small.”


That might be true, but the bombing of the American Center raised the specter of U.S. citizens traveling in Nepal becoming targets. The Peace Corps still has no plans to return anytime soon. “The risk was no longer acceptable for us,” says a high-ranking Peace Corps official.

Insiders in the travel industry argue that such a change in Maoist strategy is highly unlikely. “They don’t have the mind-set to harm tourists. If they did, they could have certainly done it by now,” says Ama Dablam’s Ravi Hamal, a 24-year adventure travel veteran. “Tourism is the lifeblood of this country. Even the Maoists realize that.”

So far this fall, it seems Hamal is right. Mark Van Alstine, co-owner of the Colorado-based outfitter KE ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Travel, which specializes in trips to Nepal, says his groups haven’t had any trouble on 23 trips to Khumbu, Mustang, and Manaslu. “We planned our trips to run in areas we are comfortable with,” he explains. “We have not had any problems at all.”

Wally Berg, a 49-year-old American climber who runs Alberta-based Berg ºÚÁϳԹÏÍøs International, echoes that sentiment. “Business is booming in the Khumbu,” says Berg, who led a group of 11 clients to the Everest area in October.

It’s still too early to tell how the spring 2005 trekking and climbing seasons will proceed, and many outfitters are in a holding pattern. As for mountaineers, early indications point to another busy year for expeditions on Everest. Todd Burleson, owner of Alpine Ascents International, says he’s already filled the slots for his company’s spring climb of the world’s tallest peak. And Eric Simonson, co-owner of International Mountain Guides (IMG), reports that he already has enough sign-ups to carry on with all his spring Khumbu trips.

Still, if the November 9 bombing is the beginning of another spike in violence, the entire season, if not the entire country, could be thrown out of whack. “We have noticed that the word ‘peace’ is very, very important,” says Basant Mishra. It’s anybody’s guess at this point whether the Maoists will ever give it a go.

The post Crisis in Nepal? appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.

AMID THE HOOPLA ON EVEREST this year, one prospective feat is well worth keeping tabs on. As part of an American expedition led by Everest vet Robert Hoffman, 42-year-old Apa Sherpa (above) will attempt to break his own record of 12 Everest summits. Despite his tiny stature, the five-foot-two, 121-pound native of Thame, a village in Nepal’s Khumbu Valley, has been a legend on Everest for the past decade. “He’s the difference between success and failure on the mountain,” says Alpine Ascents International owner Todd Burleson, who was present for many of Apa’s early climbs. “There are a thousand Sherpas who will get me high. But I’ve only got one or two in the world who can get me to the top, and he’s one of them.” But Apa, who started climbing in 1987, with a Japanese team on Annapurna, isn’t in it for the fame. His motive for climbing remains simple: He wants to feed his family and educate his four children. “Nobody would climb Everest 12 times on the Southeast Ridge for fun,” says climber Yves Lambert, 42, who summited Everest with Apa last May during an ascent commemorating his father’s 1952 Swiss expedition. “It’s not fun. It’s his work.” Even so, Apa’s talking about knocking off 14 ascents, since, he jokes, 13 is an unlucky number. “Climbing is risky business,” says Apa. “Foreigners want to come and climb Everest because it is there. And we Sherpas climb Everest to help them get there.”

The post Lucky 13 appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.

THIS SPRING MARKS THE 50TH ANNIVERSARY of Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay’s epochal first ascent of Mount Everest, on May 29, 1953. To celebrate, we’re profiling some of the greatest pioneers of the Himalayas: the Sherpas. “In the work of the Sherpas,” wrote Sir John Hunt, leader of the British expedition that put Hillary and Tenzing on top of the world, “lies the immediate secret of our success.” On that expedition and in every subsequent season of triumph and tragedy on Everest, it has been the Sherpas—an ethnic group, some 110,000 strong, most of whom reside in Nepal’s Khumbu region—who have made the accomplishments of Himalayan mountaineering possible. ¦ Today, Sherpas go well beyond their traditional duties of setting fixed lines at altitude and shuttling gear up unimaginable terrain. Sherpa climbers hold the records for the most ascents of 29,035-foot Everest and for the fastest climb; indeed, 579 of the 1,651 climbers to reach the summit of Everest have been Sherpas. But it hasn’t all been glory—56 of the 175 people who have lost their lives on the mountain were also Sherpas. ¦ In November 2002, ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø dispatched photographer Martin Schoeller and journalist Jenny Dubin from Kathmandu to the Khumbu Valley and to Darjeeling, India, to seek out the grand old men of Everest’s golden age and, in a look toward the future, some of the brightest stars of Himalayan mountaineering’s new generation.
Behind the scenes footage of Schoeller on assignment in Nepal

The post Tigers of the Snow appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.

WHAT’S A HIMALAYAN KINGDOM to do when a limping world economy, Maoist uprisings, and an international travel slump have whacked its tourism industry? If you’re Nepal, you always have the mountains to fall back on. After three years of negotiations, the country is opening its section of the Himalayas to a foreign-owned heli-skiing operation—the first permanent commercial heli service in the world’s greatest range. Founded by Craig Calonica, a former U.S. Ski Team racer based in Chamonix, France, Himalayan Heli Ski Guides, headquartered in Kathmandu, will begin flying its customers up Nepal’s virgin slopes in mid-January. Starting at a staging base in Pokhara, 100 miles west of Kathmandu, expert clients will be whisked to various camps at the foot of the Annapurnas, catching rides to 18,000-foot ridges, jumping out, and heading down the mountains’ 5,000- to 9,000-foot lines. On a good day, Calonica estimates, a skier could tick off 39,000 feet of untracked descent.


Calonica, a 49-year-old veteran extremist who has attempted three unsuccessful ski descents of Everest, started scouting routes last spring after securing permission from the Ministry of Tourism. With help from a handpicked team of top Chamonix guides that includes Jerome Ruby, Dede Rhem, and Stephan Dan, he cut Nepal’s first heli-ski lines during test runs on the flanks of 26,040-foot Annapurna II and 24,688-foot Annapurna IV, in the Manang region. “The conditions were incredibly superior to anywhere we’ve ever skied before,” he says. “We were shocked by how good it was.” If weather permits, Heli Ski Guides hopes to begin running trips in the Everest region this winter.


Laying down first tracks won’t be cheap—though Calonica declines to discuss prices, the experience will probably set you back about as much as the down payment on a new truck. Even so, the company’s Ecureuil B2 and B3 helicopters are already booked through April. Among the early clients looking into trips were film companies Teton Gravity Research and Warren Miller Entertainment, both eager to send skiers down Nepal’s big faces.


Nepal’s government is excited by the possibilities too. “Heli-skiing will bring new target groups to our country in a season when most people do not want to come to Nepal,” says Shankar Koirala, joint secretary of Nepal’s Ministry of Tourism. Officials are considering waiving fees for five to ten years to promote the sport, which means the government might not see an immediate influx of cash. But the hope is that the whirlybirds will bring people back to the mountains—and put a better spin on Nepal’s tarnished image.

The post Into Big Air appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.

“PEOPLE STILL THINK CLIMBING the Southeast Ridge of Everest is an adventure,” says American climber Pete Athans, 45, leader of the Everest 50th Anniversary Expedition, who summited the mountain for the seventh time this spring. “It’s more of an adventure figuring out the New York subway system.”
Athans is exaggerating, but he’s got a point: Now more than ever, the world’s tallest mountain is a high-altitude mosh pit. After the 1996 disaster that claimed the lives of eight clients and guides, it was assumed that the masses might be wary about taking on Everest. But each year hundreds of climbers head for Base Camp, upping the chances for mayhem if, as happened in 1996, the weather turns nasty at the wrong moment. On May 16, a 61-person horde made the summit from the Nepal side, shattering last year’s record of 47 ascents in a single day. In all, about 250 climbers and Sherpas took on Everest’s Southeast Ridge this year, with 91 topping out.


“This is the world’s largest stage,” says 47-year-old climbing veteran Eric Simonson, an American who organizes yearly trips to the Big E for International Mountain Guides. “Every year there’s a whole new group of actors that show up. Some of them give good performances, and some of them give bad performances.”


Among this year’s dramatis personae were Sean Swarner, a 27-year-old American who became the first known cancer survivor to summit (and whose previous experience was limited to climbing some of Colorado’s fourteeners); Americans Phil and Susan Ershler, 51 and 46, the first married couple to complete the so-called seven summits; Ellen Miller, 43, the first American woman to top out on Everest from both the north and south sides; Tamae Watanabe and Tomiyasu Ishikawa, Japanese climbers who at 63 and 65 became the oldest woman and man to summit; Apa Sherpa, 41, who broke his own record by chalking up his 12th ascent; and Tashi Tenzing, 36, the grandson of Tenzing Norgay, and Peter Hillary, 47, the son of Sir Edmund Hillary—both of whom topped out.


Add unsuccessful climbs by the first American all-women team, a 72-year-old man from Chicago, and several other failed “firsts,” and you’ve got one manic mountain. “It smacks of people trying to be creative,” says Athans. “I mean, Peter Hillary is the oldest New Zealander to climb Everest? What kind of record is that?” Midge Cross, a 58-year-old member of the Ford-sponsored 2002 American Women’s Team, sees the packaging of Everest attempts becoming even more absurd. “The next thing, someone’s going to carry the biggest ball of string to the summit.”


Lest we forget, Everest is still very dangerous: Two climbers died on the mountain this year, 26 have died since 1996, and there have been plenty of near misses. “There are a lot of people who climb Everest that barely get down, but you never hear about the close calls,” says Ed Viesturs, 43, who has been involved in more than his share of high-altitude rescues. “Everest can turn on you like that,” adds Henry Todd, the controversial British outfitter. “It can have a really sharp tail.” The Toddfather should know—one of the climbers who died this year was a client of his.


But the show will go on, and Everest 2003—the 50th anniversary of Hillary and Tenzing’s first ascent—is shaping up to be the biggest blockbuster of them all. The Nepal Ministry of Tourism has restructured climbing fees, and the golden-jubilee season is sure to be jammed with hopefuls. Elizabeth Hawley, the 78-year-old mountaineering matriarch who has been meticulously recording Himalayan climbs since 1963, puts it simply: “Everest, next year. Do not try to show up. No parking space.”

The post Mountain Madness appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.

“ONCE YOU MOVE AWAY from the 8,000-meter peaks, there are hardly any people going to Nepal,” says British alpinist Mick Fowler. “And it’s because they are feeling ripped off.”

Climbers Willie Benegas and Cameron Lawson take in the summit of White Wave

Not to mention flat-out scared. With an armed Maoist rebellion still simmering in an estimated third of the country, “People are now focusing on South America and Africa, areas not in the news,” laments Andy Crisconi, co-owner of the Colorado-based outfitter KE ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Travel, which specializes in Nepal trips. Of course, Nepal has never been a bargain for climbers. Fowler calls the kingdom—where payoffs and kickbacks are a fact of life—the most expensive nation in the Himalayas, not counting Bhutan. As tourist numbers plunged this past winter, it became clear that the greatest mountain playground on earth had landed on the rocks.
But with luck, and a little more openness from Nepal’s Ministry of Tourism, it might not stay there for long. In December, well into the planning cycle for the premonsoon adventure season that kicked off in March, the ministry said it would begin issuing climbing permits for 103 new peaks above 5,000 meters, including White Wave—a spectacular 5,809-meter pyramid—and Nangpa Gossum, on the Tibet border (at 7,350 meters, it is the highest on the list). The ministry also invited backpackers to six never-before-opened trekking areas, including the Walungchung Gola, a region in the northeast offering hundreds of lakes and sweeping views of Kanchenjunga. All together, the terrain amounts to thousands of square miles of largely untouched mountains and valleys—an unprecedented offering from a country that only began welcoming organized tour groups in 1955.


So far, everybody seems thrilled. Mountain Travel Sobek, the El Cerrito, California-based adventure outfitter, hopes to offer trips to the new trekking areas as early as this fall. And alpinists are, well, stoked. “A lot of the peaks on this new list I would imagine are pretty spectacular,” says Fowler, a 45-year-old climber from Melbourne, England, who last year secured special permission and a Polartec Challenge grant to attempt Peak 43, one of the newly opened mountains. “They would attract a lot of people like me.”


And not a moment too soon. The year 2001 proved to be one of the bleakest for Nepal in recent decades. Though strikes paralyzed the capital in January, things really began to head south in April, when Maoist rebels killed 31 police officers in the first of several such shootouts to come. In June, Crown Prince Dipendra went on a drunken rampage and shot dead nine members of the royal family, including King Birendra, before turning the gun on himself. The Nepalese government only made matters worse. Despite the fact that not a single foreigner has been either the target or the victim of Maoist violence in the rebellion’s six-year history, Nepal branded the revolutionaries “terrorists”—hardly a brochure-friendly term in the months following September 11—and declared a nationwide state of emergency. The U.S. State Department advised citizens to defer travel to the kingdom, and visits by Americans plunged 62 percent in December, compared with the same period the previous year. Last fall, not a single team attempted Everest.


A tourism crisis of this magnitude won’t reverse itself overnight. Most of the ten Kathmandu-based trekking agencies surveyed for this article said their spring bookings were down more than 50 percent. Similarly, Danbury, Connecticut, outfitter Himalayan Travel reports a 25 percent decline in confirmations. Mountain Travel Sobek canceled two scheduled Nepal trips for lack of interest, and KE ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Travel nixed seven. On the other hand, things are more or less back to normal at Everest; numerous expeditions are scheduled for April and May.


Though Maoists continued to skirmish with the military in remote areas of the country, by midwinter the army appeared to have them on the run, and on January 24, the U.S. State Department downgraded its travel warning. “This ’emergency’ is psychological,” says Ravi Chandra Hamal, CEO of the Ama Dablam ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Group, a tour operator headquartered in Kathmandu. “Things are more stable now than they were four months ago.” Indeed, after calling a friend in Nepal’s capital for an on-the-ground update, Wyoming climber Dave Anderson, 37, went ahead with a December trip to 6,185-meter Kwangde Lho. “It was much less a state of emergency than I thought,” he says.


In the meantime, the list of new peaks is making the rounds of the world’s alpine clubs, and outfitters hope new trips into untracked valleys will prove irresistible to trekkers come fall. Even more incentives are in the works: Nepalese government sources say they are working on new regulations that would effectively eliminate the May 31 season deadline Everest climbers face when trying to time a summit bid. “Nepal is starting to get the message that they need to be more service-oriented and more proactive to tourism,” says Pete Athans, who has been to the top of the world six times.


Like many adventurers, Athans believes Nepal’s new terrain will encourage more shoestring travelers to explore some of the globe’s last remaining unclimbed areas. He’s already updated his own tick list. “I would like to go out and do the Yak’s Horn,” he says, referring to newly opened 6,948-meter Mount Tengi Ragi Tau, close to Cho Oyu. “It’s a beautiful peak,” he says. “And I’m pretty sure there won’t be any Maoists out there.”

The post The Kingdom’s Comeback appeared first on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online.