We are at 12,380 feet at this camp, only a 750-foot gain from yesterday. We are scheduled to remain here until tomorrow with the intention of ascending at least 2,000 feet during a day hike and returning to this altitude for sleep. Hike high, sleep low. Well, that was the plan anyway. But this being a wilderness means plans can change. It’s about 6am when I wake and I presume it must still be dark outside because my orange tent is not glowing at all this morning. I sit up in my bag and reach for the roof of the tent, which appears to be drooping and I am curious as to why. When I touch the nylon, I realize it is wet and I can see a field of condensation that has spread broadly across it. Some of the droplets have swelled and appear ripe to fall to the tent floor, which is covered with the contents of my duffel. I didn’t have everything packed in plastic inside, so much of my clothing is soaked after spending an entire day being rained and snowed and sleeted on. I grab a towel that one of the staff left in my vestibule when they pitched the tent yesterday. It’s already pretty wet, but it’s my only option. I move to wipe the tent’s surface but just as I reach back up to the ceiling, the ceiling caves in.
I am laughing as I put both hands up to fend off the falling tent, which seems to be caving in slow motion. It’s not that it's funny, I am just nervous. And when I am nervous, I always laugh. For instance, I laughed when Susie Kelly’s horse threw me from it’s back and I lay with a lifeless, broken elbow starring up at 16 hands whinnying and bucking as it tried to avoid stepping on my body. To this day, I laugh when I am around horses. Just their presence makes me nervous. It also wasn't funny when I had food poisoning and I laughed as I asked my friend Charlie to please pull the car over because I thought I was going to throw up. Because I was laughing, he didn't pull over right away which made me laugh even harder. I barely got the door open before I puked at the feet of an unsuspecting gardener. I was so humiliated, I didn't eat sushi for over a year after that. And I have never been back to Sushi Roku.
It's not funny, but here I am laughing again as my roof falls down on me and covers my entire body and sleeping bag. It's not terribly heavy, but it is a little freaky so I swear and let out a small yelp. I realize that only half of the tent is on top of me. The other side appears to be stable so I push the snow covered nylon off of me and I crawl over to the intact side of the tent. I cover my long johns with my jammy pants, put on my boots and grab my coat and leave the tent. I look around the camp and see that nothing is moving. Everyone is apparently still asleep and everything is covered in snow and shrouded in fog. I cannot see the Five Sisters at all; even the mountain in front of me is barely visible.
I walk over to the staff tents and wake them up. They all have that look of confusion to them, the look we all seem to have when we are startled from sleep or when we are traveling and we wake not entirely sure of where we are. I feel kind of lousy doing this after the day they had yesterday, but I don’t have much of a choice. Even the toilet tent has fallen in which leaves me with nowhere else to go. Literally.
The staff is up and working on my tent within a couple of minutes. As they work, I realize that the other tents could just as easily fall in. Knowing now firsthand that having your tent fall on your head is not an optimal waking experience, I grab my pole and go around to everyone else’s tents and tap the snow off. There is over a foot of snow around each base and the little path that was shoveled last evening to connect the tents has completely disappeared under the fresh snow. The bottoms of my jammy pants are soaked by the time I get around the last orange tent and my ankles are getting cold so I go back into my tent. Just before I kneel down to open the flap, I look up and see a hole in the clouds and the slightest hint of the Five Sisters. 
I am hopeful that this means the weather is clearing. Within about 20 minutes, there is a “knock” at my “door” and I am offered hot tea and washing water, both of which I gladly accept. I sit inside my bag Indian style and cradle the green plastic cup in both hands for warmth. I only take a couple sips of the tea before setting it aside to perform my toilette.
This is a relatively small and narrow camp and my tent is the closest to the dining tent and the furthest from the facilities, which were set somewhat inconveniently at the very northern tip of our camp. Overnight, the toilet became an island. The small lake beside it now has a stream running from it and around the toilet so I have to leap in or out of it. I decide to walk over to the dining tent. I am the first one there but everyone else starts straddling in at around 7:15am. Despite the grey skies, we are a remarkably happy group this morning, having slept well and still believing that this weather won't continue for much longer. I have a couple pieces of peanut butter toast while Bart describes the various hikes in the area that he did the prior time he was here. One of them would have rivaled the hike on our day off at Jholmolhari with at least 3,000 feet of ascension and astounding views to Gyazi Gangkhar. But it’s all just talk because it is now lightly raining and the rocks in this terrain are hidden under a blanket of increasingly icey snow. A steep hike in these conditions would be too precarious to attempt. Even walking alongside the river is not recommended. Bart instructs us to do nothing all day.Our group remains in the dining tent until about 8:45am and then slowly disbands to our individual tents. I spend the morning doing a couple crosswords and singing Fleetwood Mac and Dave Matthews songs along with my iPod. I am perfectly happy laying here in my little cocoon. If I were doing this at home, I would feel guilty but here, I have an excuse. I can do nothing at all and feel great about it.
After lunch, I start reading my book, The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. It’s a thrill ride about Vlad the Impaler, otherwise known as Dracula, who according to one of the key characters, still walks among us. I particularly like that the book is set in Europe and the characters move around to exotic locations like Istanbul, Rumania, Bulgaria and Transylvania. It’s a great read for a rainy day like today. At 6:30pm, Bart starts yodeling, alerting us to come to dinner. The food is hot and delicious. We have a lot of fresh vegetables at each meal and our cook makes us hand made noodles which he mixes into fresh soups each day. I am eating very well without partaking in the protein courses. Bart has brought all his maps and paperwork with him to the dining tent, but he sets it aside and asks everyone to enjoy their meals first. After the last course is cleared, he pulls the papers out. He lays a couple of maps on the camping tables and shows us the route we are booked to take. This includes four mountain passes including the one we are supposed to cross tomorrow, Buchu La located at 16,000 feet. Our hiking path was supposed to have been a large loop which would have allowed us to walk into and out of the valley surrounding Minya Konka via different routes. Bart tells us that we are going to have to redirect ourselves due to the weather. He is concerned that the passes will be unpassable for the horses and all of our gear due to the amount of snow that has accumulated. Dorji had spent much of the day up toward the pass with his yaks and had seen the conditions for himself. For this reason, Bart suggests that we forego Buchu La and head instead toward what was to be our 4th pass, Gyazi La (15,000 feet). He has reworked the hike so that most of it is intact; we will get over three passes and reach the Gongga Temple. We are all somewhat disappointed but agree that this is our best alternative.
When I get back in my tent after dinner, I realize the one distinct benefit of the snow: it keeps it warm enough so that I can sleep in just my long johns. I get myself arranged in my bag, don my head lamp and I continue reading The Historian. I am so caught up in blood sucking vampires and the walking dead that when I hear a strange noise (a yak bleating), I practically jump out of my bag and my skin. I decide that evil 600-year old murderers are better topics in daylight. I opt instead to do another crossword and despite the fact that I have done nothing but lay around and eat all day, I fall fast asleep by 9:30pm.
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