Two hundred steps from the top

I came back from Annapurna Base Camp a week ago, and the thing I keep returning to is the quiet.

The walking started at Nayapul on day 3, and by evening I was in Ghandruk, a Gurung village at 1,940 metres, drinking tea on a stone step while the light went orange on the hills. I had expected a hard trek from the first hour. What I got was rice fields, a river far below and an easy rhythm that took a day to find.

The days after that felt like a staircase. Chhomrong at 2,170 metres, Dovan at 2,600, then forest that turned from rhododendron to bamboo and back. Dinner was dal bhat every night, and the refills kept coming. Our guide checked on me each evening and told me what the next day would ask of my legs.

At Deurali, 3,230 metres, I woke up with a dull headache. I did what I had been told to do: walked slowly, drank water and said so out loud. The guide nodded as if he had expected it, and by afternoon I felt steadier. Above 3,000 metres I swapped my shower for wet wipes, like everyone else, and nobody in that teahouse had room to judge.

The last day began before dawn, because the stretch after Deurali is exposed to avalanches in season and guides start early there. Machhapuchhre Base Camp slid past at 3,700 metres. My breath got short, then shorter. Then the slope flattened, and I looked up.

Annapurna I stood straight ahead. Hiunchuli and the Fishtail leaned in from behind, with glaciers resting in the rock. The altitude read 4,130 metres. I stayed until my fingers went numb.

Two days later, at Jhinu Danda, I sat in a hot spring beside the river with my feet still aching from the descent. I thought about the camp, and about how the trek had never felt like a fight. It was just a long climb, taken one night at a time.