This article was originally published in The Goodland Journal Volume 3

Beep beep! Beep beep!

“No… Already?!”

Beep! Beep! Beep! Ugh. Its battery will die eventually if I just stay still, I thought wishfully.

Beep beep!

Okay, okay… I’m getting up, but it’s so cold outside my sleeping bag!

I reached my gloved hand inside my fleece liner and found my phone hidden amongst the camera batteries and memory cards. My tired, swollen eyes could barely make out the clock, 3:30 a.m. -15°C staring back at me. “This is going to be painful!”

I had set my alarm to 3:30 a.m. for a reason. This morning climbers would start ascending the Khumbu Icefall to reach Camps One and Two for their acclimatization process. I knew I couldn’t miss it. I grabbed any clothing I could find that wasn’t damp or frozen from the condensation dripping off the nylon walls around me and threw them on over the multiple sets of thermals I was already wearing. I grabbed my camera and tripod, pulled my boots over thick wool socks, and unzipped my tent.

Whoosh! The gush of air felt like a slap on my face. It was chillingly cold outside and eerily quiet. All you could hear was the frequent cracking of ice, a sound that takes a little getting used to. It was also the clearest night I had experienced thus far at 17,500 feet. I knew it wouldn’t last long, so I had to be quick. I slid down the little hill where my small, yellow tent was perched and scrambled up some loose rocks to the vantage point I had found the day before. It was the perfect spot.

I reached up and turned off my headlamp.

Darkness.

It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust. I blinked rapidly to speed up the process. And there they were, the climbers, trails of glowing headlamps making their way up and over the deep crevasses of the Khumbu Icefall. Those climbers would soon be standing on top of the tallest mountain in the world: Mount Everest.

At that moment, as I clicked photo after photo, adjusted my settings, and snapped again, I thought to myself, “How on Earth did I come to be here?”

My name is Jess, I am a photographer and I have lived in Nepal since I was just a couple of months old.

I’ll be honest, my love for the mountains and climbing didn’t begin from an early age. My parents, one an elementary school teacher and the other an Italian chef, didn’t exactly bask in the realm of adventure sports.

So growing up, the world’s tallest peaks were never anything more than large rock formations floating in the distance outside my window. Would I ever go? Probably not… But all that was about to change. I didn’t know then that they would soon become some of the most defining figures in my life.

Fast forward about 20 years: university, the loss of my parents and friends, rejected job applications, moving to new places, dabbling in different careers, and a global pandemic, I found myself back in Nepal, camera still in hand.

The pandemic, although an immensely difficult time for everyone, lit a fire under my ass. Suddenly I felt as though I had a purpose again and so I decided to journey to Everest Base Camp for the first time.

My aim? To document the first climbing season since the beginning of COVID-19. Many told me I was crazy, that during a pandemic is the absolute wrong time to go up there, and my personal favorite: it’s definitely not safe for a single woman to be going alone.

Every year the allure of the Himalayas brings hundreds of climbers and mountaineers to Nepal, home to eight of the world’s highest mountains. Their ultimate goal: to summit Mount Everest, which stands at 29,028ft. Tourism plays a vital economic role in Nepal, pulling in around half a billion dollars annually, with journeys to the summit of Everest costing between $30,000-$400,000 per person.

The 40 or so expeditions that take on the world’s highest peak during the spring can bring in over $4 million in permit fees alone, as well as provide employment to thousands of locals who work in the industry.

Unfortunately in 2020 things couldn’t have been more different. Just as the season was due to start, COVID-19 spiked and Nepal went into a nationwide lockdown that would last several months, resulting in the full closure of the mountaineering industry through to the end of the year.

However, desperate to start rebuilding its shattered economy, Nepal decided to reopen for the 2021 spring climbing season and issued around 408 permits to ascend Everest. COVID-19 reached the highest point on Earth.

I began my expedition on the 23rd of April, 2021. The first step was a flight from Kathmandu to the infamous Tenzing-Hillary Airport in Lukla. One of the world’s most dangerous airports to fly in and out of due to its high elevation (9,350 ft), very short runway (1,706 ft), and lack of radar or navigation systems.

As soon as I stepped into the usually bustling Kathmandu Airport, I knew mine would be a vastly different experience than the usual. The airport was empty. There were no long queues of tourists with large duffle bags clambering around, trying to check-in for their flights. In fact, I was the only foreigner there. This would remain a common theme until I reached Base Camp on the eighth day of my trip.

The first significant milestone for me was reaching Namche Bazaar (11,483 ft) on day two. Namche is the staging and trading hub for expeditions to Everest and other Himalayan peaks in the Khumbu region. It’s situated on the slope of an arch-shaped mountain, with amazing views of giant Himalayan peaks from all over the valley.

I spent two days here acclimatizing (going up to a slightly higher elevation and descending back down to spend the night). It’s important to be aware of altitude sickness, which occurs when a person travels to a high altitude without gradually acclimatizing. It’s no joke, and its dangers are sometimes overlooked even by the fittest and most skilled climbers. Much to my own surprise, I had no symptoms of altitude sickness throughout this entire expedition, not even a headache.

After two days of hiking around Namche, drinking iced tea, and eating brownies, I set off again. Every day as I climbed, I noticed the terrain change, the air thin, and the weather shift. As it got colder, I felt stronger and more confident in my abilities. The rhododendron forests soon transformed into tundra and the Himalayan peaks of Ama Dablam, Manaslu, and Everest became visible. Yaks began to replace mules, small horses, and dzos (cow/yak hybrids), carrying supplies to the higher elevations.

I soon arrived in Dingboche, a sherpa village situated at 14,468 ft. Without the hustle and bustle of tourists due to the pandemic, Dingboche was a ghost town. Many of the tea houses were shut as a result of having no business and it was the first time I’d really noticed the lack of other people on the trail. It had been a few days since I had an English conversation, or at least one where my grammatically incorrect Nepalese wasn’t required.

I really began to feel like I was at the base of the Himalayas. Everywhere I looked I could see towering, white-capped mountains and felt tiny in comparison. It was immensely humbling. I spent two nights here to acclimatize in preparation for the sharp increase in altitude I would soon be experiencing.

I went on another acclimation hike up to the top of Nagarstang Peak (16,667 ft) and I couldn’t have asked for better conditions. At the top I was presented with the most spectacular sight I have ever witnessed: the entire Khumbu region on display, just for me. The wind was minimal, just enough to keep the clouds at bay while prayer flags were rustling behind me.

Two days later I made it to 17,500 feet.

Reaching Everest Base Camp was like something out of an adventure novel.

I stood at a Chorten, a Buddhist shrine, honoring those lost to the mountains over the years, and read the names of some etched into the stone. I could feel how sacred this place that I was standing in was. It’s no wonder that Nepalese culture believes that deities live in these mountains.

I walked into Base Camp just as the weather began to change and temperatures dropped. Once again, I noticed how quiet it was. Sherpas I spoke to on the way up informed me that some climbers and Sherpas had already been evacuated back to Kathmandu with “flu-like symptoms”.

I’d heard stories of Base Camp being this vivacious place. People from different camps and teams socializing together, swapping stories of their adventures up the mountain, and more often than not, partying.

As I walked the 45 minutes from the entrance to my camp I saw that certain areas were sealed off. Thin red ropes held up signs reading “No Outside Climbers Allowed” and “COVID SAFE AREA”. I knew this would make my goal of documenting the pandemic at Base Camp rather difficult.

That first night, I couldn’t sleep. I could hear the incredible rumble of the Khumbu Glacier moving and cracking beneath my body. Off in the distance, the sounds of avalanches shook me awake just as I began to doze off, reminding me of where I was.

Life at Base Camp seems to pass in a blur and is described by some as a monotonous, humdrum existence with the occasional logistical challenge. Climbers spend the better half of their Everest experience here. Waiting. Waiting to acclimatize, and for the perfect weather window to begin their ascent to the summit. I, however, spent my time at 17,500 feet documenting as much as I could, all the while keeping COVID precautions in mind. I photographed yaks, ice climbing, and the starriest skies I had ever seen.

It would be easy to get used to life up here.

Unfortunately, soon after my arrival at Base Camp, the Nepalese government announced that the country would be going back into another nationwide lockdown to try and stop its third wave of COVID and give relief to the country’s already inadequate medical system.

When I heard this news my stomach lurched with grief as I knew I would have to return to Kathmandu. Even though I didn’t necessarily succeed with my plan to document the pandemic in the way I had originally intended, what I ended up discovering was a lot more of myself than I would have thought possible.

It’s a strange experience, but sometimes it happens that one day you wake up and find yourself in this place. A place where everything feels right.

Your heart is calm. Your soul is balanced. Your thoughts are positive. Your vision is clear. You know you are exactly where you are meant to be at that moment. You are at peace with where you have been, what you’ve been through, and where you are headed.

For me, that’s back to Base Camp, and perhaps a little higher.

You can find more of Jessica’s work here.

In the Shadow of Sagarmatha

What Are Men Compared to Rocks and Mountains