46 meadows are carpeted with cerulean gentians and the wild rhubarb glows amber. Freed from the job of climbing Everest, I was able to enjoy the landscape even more intensely, visiting again the turquoise Shurima Tso, the lake of the lama’s throne. But I must go back another time to see the other holy lake, thought to be the birthplace of Tenzing Norgay, the yak herder’s son who made the first ascent of Everest. And it would be good to see one more time that extraordinary cirque of mountains: Makalu and the stupendous granite buttresses of its satellite peak, Chomo Lonzo; the jagged summits of Lhotse; and the immense white wall of Everest’s Kangshung Face, where we spent such happy—and occasionally frightening—days all those years ago. Stephen Venables THE FIRST BRITON TO CLIMB EVEREST WITHOUT OXYGEN. HE MADE A NEW ROUTE UP THE EAST FACE WITH ROBERT ANDERSON, PAUL TEARE, AND ED WEBSTER BUT REACHED THE SUMMIT ALONE. dreams; the landscape was luminous with our own anticipation. Ten weeks later I limped back over the Langma La on frostbitten toes, totally wasted but supremely happy. Those ten weeks had given me some of the most intense experiences of my life, shared with remarkable companions and culminating in success on the world’s highest summit. Now the snow had gone from the valley, and the meadows were bright with primulas, the hillsides cloaked in rhododendron blossoms. Like George Mallory, one of the first Europeans to visit this valley, in 1921, I felt “a gentler spirit” on returning from the harsh dangers of Everest, and that mellowness was no doubt enhanced by the sweet glow of fulfillment, success adding yet another layer of resonance to the mountain sanctuary. Taking one last look back from the pass, I thought, “I must come back here one day.” So ten years later I returned, this time walking in over a different pass, the Shao La, and glimpsing the glorious forests of the lower valley, where it descends toward the Arun Gorge. And this time I came in the autumn, when the I first saw the Kama Valley on a late winter after- noon in 1988. After several failed attempts, we had finally managed to trudge through the snow to the crest of the Langma La, more than 18,000 feet above sea level, and there it was at last: this elusive valley, enclosed by three of the world’s five highest mountains: Makalu, Lhotse, and Everest. Twenty- seven years on, that first sight of the Kama Valley remains among my most treasured memories. It is simply one of the most beautiful places on earth. No wonder Tibetan Buddhists revere it as a beyul, a sacred sanctuary. For me and my American compan- ions, though, the valley had another, less reverent res- onance. We had come to climb a new route up the east face of Everest. Staring through a telescope at the ice terraces of that immense white wall, eighteen miles away, we felt very small and rather frightened. But we were also excited, daring brazenly to imagine a new route up the face. For us the valley—and the stupen- dous cirque of mountains that forms its border with Nepal—was imbued with our ambitious hopes and The Kama Valley TIBET
