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Beyond Thyangboche with its renowned gompa (Buddhist monastery) and fabulous view up the beautiful Imja Khola Valley to Everest (or more appropriately Chomolungma - "Goddess Mother of the World"), protruding above the great Nuptse-Lhotse mountain wall, I branched off with my trekking crew beneath the graceful Ama Dablam into the less frequented Chukhung Valley.

On a bright, clear morning I crossed the sparkling waters of the Imja Khola from our campsite in a stone-walled yak-pasture at Bibre to climb steep, tussock-grass slopes onto a small plateau directly beneath the towering North Face of Ama Dablam.

Far below lay the cluster of grey, stone-built houses of Dingboche, the highest permanent settlement in the region, while further to the south the white cone of Number jutted above the long, jagged arete of Kwande Ri. A faint breeze rippled the surface of a lochan to distort the reflections of the shapely Taboche and Cholatse prominent to the west. On the northern flank of the Chukhung Valley, rising sheer above great moraines and scree slopes, loomed the massive wall stretching between the great peaks of Nuptse and Lhotse (the world's 4th highest mountain).

In the afternoon we moved camp higher up the boulder-strewn valley and, next day, I trudged to the top of Chukhung Ri overlooked by the black, banded summit of Lhotse. I seemed to be on a level with the summit ridge of the nearby Island Peak - the most popular of the so-called "trekking peaks". Across the valley a long arete of rock and ice culminated in the dramatic pyramid of Ama Dablam.

Two days later on the stiff ascent from Bibre to the Kongma La a superb vista unfolded of the giant peaks of Baruntse and Makalu (the world's 5th highest mountain) soaring skywards above the ice-walls at the head of the Chukhung Valley. We encamped at the entrance to a wide rocky amphitheatre with a magnificent outlook over to Ama Dablam.

Late in the afternoon I scrambled to the top of a small peak where I huddled amongst the rocks and watched its silhouette edge higher on the vast Nuptse-Lhotse wall directly opposite. As the sun and temperature dropped the huge snow fields faded from dazzling, marble-white, through silver to leaden grey before suddenly glowing golden in the final rays of the setting sun.

Next morning we headed through the craggy amphitheatre and climbed into a higher cwym. Skirting two lochans, a short scramble gained the cairn, bedecked with multi-coloured prayer-flags, on the narrow col of Kongma La. Above us loomed the jagged ridge of Nuptse while beyond the sapphire-blue lochans a fine view unfolded of the heavily-glaciated, upper Chukhung Valley.

On the far side height was lost rapidly as we plunged down steep, rough scree towards the great, stony river of the Khumbu Glacier. The pleasant meadows of an ablation valley provided a fine, secluded campsite with a spectacular outlook across to Taboche and Cholatse.

In the cold shadow of Nuptse I climbed to the top of a spur falling from its lofty summit to gain an excellent vantage point. Immediately below lay the opaque, green waters of the Lingten Pokhari ensconced beneath the moraine wall of the Khumbu Glacier. Beyond the glacier, bare, barren tundra led up to the charming, conical Pumo Ri.

Only a half-day sufficed to traverse the rugged, ice-bound moraines to rejoin the "yak-route" at Lobuje and early the following morning, with my sirdar Nima, I made the pilgrimage to Kallar Pattar at the foot of Pumo Ri to gaze in awe at the snow-plumed summit of Everest floating serenely high above in an azure sky -a fatal loadstone for many mountaineers.

Leaving the Khumbu Valley we climbed past the picturesque, emerald-green waters of the Tsola Tsho nestling beneath the elegant Cholatse and encamped beside a stream above the small cluster of lodges at Dzongla.

The steep slog to the snow-covered Chola Pass was aleviated by frequent stops to admire the splendid view back down the valley to the great pyramid of Ama Dablam. From the col at the head of the easy-angled neve another fine view extended across the snow fields to the lofty spire of Lobuje Peak - another popular "trekking peak". Steep, loose scree led downwards to boulder-strewn moorland and on to the huddle of dwellings at Thang Na.

In the morning we traversed the broad, shattered moraines of the Ngozumpa Glacier and joined the main trail from Namche Bazaar to the popular trekking objective of Gokyo Village. The 5300metre hilltop above the small summer settlement affords a superb outlook over three turquoise lochans and across the Ngozumpa glacier to the jagged teeth of Cholatse and Taboche and the black, rocky summit wedge of Everest protruding above a high escarpment. Some say it is a better viewpoint than the more frequented Kallar Pattar.

From Gokyo we continued up the savagely glaciated valley to encamp in splendid, silent solitude at the picturesque Khumbu Panch Pokhari (a set of five small lakes)amidst a tremendous cirque of himalayan giants:- Cha Kung, Gyachung Kang and the immense, 8000metre Cho Oyu ( the world's 6th highest mountain ) festooned with hanging glaciers and tumbling ice-falls.

An exhilarating scramble on huge boulders to the top of a rock peak achieved a close-up view of the mighty ramparts of snow and ice sweeping round the skyline from Cho Oyu to Gyachung Kang. Beyond the shining white-ice and grey moraines of the Ngozumpa Glacier the stately twin summits of Kang Chung formed a prominent landmark The merest tip of Everest could just be seen while far below the cluster of bright blue lochans of the Panch Pokhari shone in the sunshine. Returning to camp the still, dark waters of one of the lakes mirrored perfectly the cubic, castle-like Cha Kung.

It was with some reluctance that we departed from the spectacular beauty of the Khumbu Panch Pokhari - a himalayan campsite to be long remembered.

Back at Gokyo we were entrapped for five days by freak, unseasonal snowfall and had to be airlifted out to Namche Bazaar by helicopter.

Other Treks: Annapurna Region

Reference: "High Adventure Around the World"

Namaste is commonly used as a casual hello or goodbye but can also be bellowed out as a belligerent challenge - in effect "who are you and where do you think you are going?". In its highest form it is uttered reverentially, with upright hands pressed together, in respect or thanks - "I salute the spirit within thee".

Do not anticipate thanks however for the customary and very welcome donations of cash or clothing to your trekking staff - it is the giver who is considered the lucky one in having something to give and thereby obtaining merit points to achieve nirvana.

While it is normal practice on narrow paths in the European Alps to give way to uphill traffic this should not be expected in Nepal where most trekkers are not experienced mountaineers. It would also be unwise to attempt to impede a fully laden porter careening down a steep hillside - in Nepal the basic rule of the road is "might is right". Brashness also counts.

I have, however, seen porters, complete with their 30Kg dokos, running uphill to escape the sharply pointed horns of a frenzied yak - one of the potentially lethal hazards of trekking in the Himalaya. Last autumn in the Solu Khumbu there were two such fatalities - one woman tourist and one Sherpa sirdar heroically trying to protect his group from a train of stampeding yaks.

When you hear the tinkling of their bells you are well advised to get off the track. Should this not be possible (sheer drop one side, sheer cliff the other) then holding a hat in front of their eyes is usually sufficient to ward them off. Although normally tractable they should never be treated with contempt - even yak-men exercise considerable caution.

To experience the best from a trek a small group (1 to 4 members) is preferable. Large groups (more than 8 members) though more profitable for agencies are less satisfactory in many respects - the greater the number of people then the higher is the probability of problems - logistical, organisational, personality clashes, accidents, health (many kitchenboys - many hands touching food).

Managing the day to day expenses of large groups - purchase of fresh vegetables, charges for campsites, wages for porters - can prove too much for the budgeting skills of some sirdars and the money they are allocated by their agency is exhausted before the end of the trek resulting in a whip round of members. In the remote Makalu region I met a group abandoned by their sirdar who had absconded with the remaining money and their return air-tickets.

With an attendant army of trekking staff and porters large groups are an unwelcome encounter responsible for major hold-ups and frustration on single-file trails and at permit checkpoints. They are the bane of independent, "tea-shop" trekkers who have filled the visitors' logbook in the ACAP (Annapurna Conservation Area Project) office in Dhampus on the route to the Annapurna Sanctuary with adverse comments. Diana Penny, the organizer of the biennial Everest Marathon has received complaints about her 40 member groups on their approach march to the race start point at Gorak Shep - the original site of the base camp for climbing expeditions.

Such large groups can completely monopolize lodges and inundate campsites. They are an abomination in wilderness areas. Several times I have been invaded and, overwhelmed by force majeur, de-camped to escape the surrounding bedlam - most people take to the wilds to get away from the madding crowd and are not overjoyed to have it overtake them.

Long trains of professional porters carrying trade goods can also be an impediment to progress when they suddenly stop in mid-path to rest their loads on their T-shaped sticks. I have been tempted to give the end one a good shove to see if they would all tumble like a row of dominoes.

The popular treks of the Nepal Himalaya may be ideal for meeting people from many countries and furthering one's language and social skills but not for seeking silence and solitude. In the peak, post-monsoon season last autumn saturation level was reached in the Gokyo Valley in the Khumbu region when the number of visitors exceeded the capacity of the local lodges.

Of course the great attraction of these routes is the ease of access they provide to the incomparable mountain landscapes of the highest peaks in the world. Considerably fewer trekkers are to be found in the pre-monsoon, spring season or on the more difficult and demanding routes such as the Dhaulagiri Circuit.

Untrampled routes remain in Solu Khumbu as I discovered on my trek one autumn to the Likhu Khola Valley.

The vast majority of the population eke out a subsistence level existence in small rural communities and as soon as they can walk, children start to use a namro (head strap) and doko (conical wickerwork basket) to carry loads of firewood or fodder. Although yaks and ponies are used in some parts of Nepal for transporting goods the use of the namro is commonplace. Long trains of professional porters carry gigantic loads from the roadheads to markets such as Namche Bazaar, the capital of the Sherpas, high in the heartland of the Solu Khumbu. A standard load is 30 kilograms for both men and women but men can be asked to take double, or even heavier, loads. Cargo carrying helicopters are a recent threat to their business but are unlikely to replace the namro in the foreseeable future.

Many of the caravanserai and lodges used by these porters for their lunch and overnight stops have now been commandeered by independent backpackers for use in so-called "tea-shop" trekking - OK if you are immune to bed and stomach bugs. The two most popular routes, Everest Base Camp (known as the 'yak route') and Annapurna Circuit (known as the 'Coca Cola trail'), can both be undertaken as "tea-shop" treks.

While some consider that carrying their own rucksacks helps them to get fit and acclimatize (not a view I share) and others say they do not like to use people as beasts of burden I have found that many backpackers do not know how little it costs to employ a porter and would gladly do so to save sore backs, aching feet and 'sahib's knee'. None of my climbs and treks would have been possible or so enjoyable without the stalwart support and cheerful company of my porters. "Good food, better pay, more interesting and easier than other jobs", asserted Mohan and Lal Bahadur on my recent return visit to the Annapurna Sanctuary. They were happy to be employed. Usually the number of porters looking for work exceeds the number of loads available as many have come to rely on trekking for hard cash to buy supplies and equipment for their family farms.

The alternative to "tea-shop" trekking is camping or "organised" trekking where each group is self-sufficient and carries its own food, camping and cooking gear enabling access to remote, uninhabited, wilderness areas such as the spectacular Hongu Valley in the Everest region and the isolated "Hidden Valley" in the Dhaulagiri Himal.

After the first few days the routine becomes well established:- bed tea, washing water - kitbag packed, tent down - porters off - breakfast - trekking - rest stop (at tea shop if possible) - trekking - lunch stop - trekking - rest stop - trekking - set up camp.

On my first trek I was amazed, and relieved, at the variety and quality of the meals produced by our cook, Dendi, and his kitchenboys from his open, wood fires - a trekking group, like an army, marches on its stomach - indeed it was a British army officer, Colonel Jimmy Roberts, who pioneered and established trekking in Nepal. His training is still in evidence - cooking utensils are cleaned and polished before and after all meals and periodically layed out for inspection.

Trekking staff usually start off as porters and work their way up to the top job of sirdar - the foreman in charge of a trekking group. My friend Ang Zangbu, the managing director of Highland Sherpa Trekking, began his career as a porter before serving his apprenticeship as kitchenboy, cook and sirdar.

Porters are the least well equipped for high level treks and the better agencies provide them with warm clothing and footwear. Many do not and porters have frozen to death on the high passes. They are however the backbone of all major treks and climbing expeditions - even the redoubtable Reinhold Messner, the first person to make solo ascents of all 14 of the world's eight-thousanders (mountains over 8000 metres), used porters to reach his base camps.

Previous experience at altitude is, moreover, no guarantee of success. Although I had breached the 6000 metres contour on several occasions, (including ascents of Pharchoma and Mera, two of Nepal’s so-called trekking peaks) on my subsequent crossing of the 5,200 metres Larkya La on the circuit of Mt.Manaslu, I suffered an acute attack of the "mountaineer’s disease" - an enormous difficulty in putting one foot ahead of the other. I was engulfed by a tremendous mental and physical ennui and every step was a major effort.

Some professional guides and mountaineers spend part of the year in the Himalaya in the Northern Hemisphere and part in the Andes in the Southern Hemisphere in an attempt to maintain their acclimatisation.

Continued general ignorance of AMS is commonplace and every year there are fatalities in the Himalaya. One American was sure that the effects would wear off if he only pushed on - the worst possible thing to do. The essential first step is not to go any higher and then, if necessary, to descend as far and as fast as possible. Many on a once-in-a-lifetime, tight-for-time trip foolishly persevere against advice with tragic consequences.

Diamox can be taken to help with acclimatisation or to assist with recovery from AMS. It requires an expensive prescription in this country but can be obtained over-the-counter at a small fraction of this cost in Kathmandu.

Organised trekking groups from the better agencies carry bottles of oxygen for emergency treatment for those suffering from the rarefied atmosphere and some also take "Gamow bags" - pressurisable body bags (named after the inventor) to reproduce the conditions of a lower altitude.

Hitherto, bottled oxygen was standard practice in forays into the "Death Zone" above 8000 metres but since the first ascent of Everest without the use of supplementary oxygen by Rheihold Messner and Peter Habeler its continued use as a climbing aid is now considered unsporting. Alan Hinkes, the Yorkshireman aiming to be the first Brit to climb all 14 of the world’s 8000 metre peaks, has been criticised by his peers for his use of oxygen on his successful ascent of Everest.

However this is not a problem for recreational mountaineers and any which way you choose should be acceptable. Getting to the top of one’s selected summit (and safely back down again) even if it takes the assistance of a guide, the support of Sherpas and porters or the use of supplementary oxygen provides a sense of achievement and satisfaction.

The basic solution is simple - "Pack it in, pack it out" - but the problem lies with enforcement.

Climbing expeditions are now required to pay a substantial deposit ( in addition to the substantial fee for their climbing permit ) in guarantee of clearing the mountain but the liaison officer paid and responsible for ensuring this rarely ventures above base camp and is also unlikely to be too demanding in fear of jeopardising the expected baksheesh.

Only group treks are permitted in certain restricted areas such as the Kangchenjunga region and trekking agencies must sign an agreement promising to protect the environment but on my visit I found many dirty lunch places and campsites - in the wilderness there is nobody to police the regulations! A group some two days ahead I knew to be Swiss from their trail of distinctive, chocolate wrappers ( and confirmed by their entries in the logbooks at the permit checkpoints ). However in Switzerland mountain paths tend to be impeccably clean - there people are employed to pick up the litter - an expensive remedy.

As all bottled and canned foodstuffs are brought by camping treks from Kathmandu some of the better agencies require their sirdars to bring back the empties. Donations of useful containers to villagers are permitted, provided a receipt is obtained, but otherwise a fine is imposed for any shortfall.

Another step in the right direction is the move to ensure all trekking guides are qualified and registered. Since passing the official training course Nima Lakpa Sherpa, my sirdar on recent treks, has become scrupulously conscientious about scavanging for litter - a marked contrast with his early treks as a porter and kitchenboy when he thought nothing of discarding the odd biscuit or sweet wrapper. However, as is the way in Nepal, many of the private, self-employed guides merely obtain the required identity badges through friends in high places with a little bit of "ghoos" ( the endemic commission charged for special service by officials - i.e. bribe ).

It is the cook squads though that tend to be responsible for leaving dirty lunch and camping places. In large trekking groups it is customary for them to be left behind by the sirdar and members still cleaning their utensils after meals and in their haste to catch up with the group abandon sites without properly tidying them. Agencies with overtight schedules ( for commercial advantage to reduce their charges - every extra day puts up the price ) are particularly guilty.

Burning rubbish might seem an obvious solution but one must be careful - cooking fires are sacrosanct with mystical properties and to throw on a piece of litter can cause offence and instant unpopularity. It is perfectly acceptable however to use a separate fire and there is talk of installing an incinerator at the Everest base camp.

Cost of course is a major consideration as with the enormous pile of empty bottles awaiting disposal at Shyangboche, the small airstrip above Namche Bazaar. Perhaps the international brewing company that has featured Kathmandu in its expensive advertisements could pay for the uplift. However even in affluent Switzerland there is an unsightly rubbish tip at most alpine huts.

A pleasant exception to the norm is the approach from Pokhara to the Annapurna Sanctuary. Here the onus is put on the local lodges by ACAP ( Annapurna Conservation Area Project ) to keep their surroundings tidy or to face sanctions including possible loss of licence. Similar schemes are also underway in the Sagarmatha ( Nepalese name for Everest ) and Langtang National Parks, the other two areas most frequented by independent, "tea-shop" trekkers.

However it is only once everybody adheres to the concerned backpacker's other maxim "Leave nothing but your footprints" that the vexed problem of litter in the wilderness and mountains will be solved. Persistent personal example helps. Also remonstration as I am wont, as necessary, to reproach my trekking staff:- "Fowar! Mila! Ramro chaina!" ( Dirty! Dirty! Not good! )

A sense of perspective must nevertheless be retained - at the base camp for Dhaulagiri at the foot of its towering "Little Eiger" Face the huge accumulation of rusty cans, the product of some forty years of expeditions and a major eyesore when viewed on its own, pales into insignificance within the overwhelming grandeur of the surrounding Himalayan landscape.

Throughout the afternoon it snowed steadily. One large group of trekkers and their staff headed off down the valley. I wondered where they were going - they would not be able to get far so late in the day and in such poor conditions.

In the evening Nima, my Sherpa guide, suggested I slept inside the lodge with the staff but I dislike lodges ( good ones are congested and noisy, bad ones are dirty and dismal ) and retired to my tent pitched in an adjoining field. Unseasonal snowfalls had been experienced on many previous treks but had never amounted to much.

I was awoken by something pressing against me. The sides of the tent were bulging in under the weight of snow. I tried to push it off but it was too heavy. I switched on my torch - the tent poles were beginning to buckle. In a panic I stuffed my things into my kitbag and scrambled out of the tent - only just before it collapsed. I ploughed through the deep, wet snow and burst into the safety of the lodge.

It was still snowing next morning. My tent had disappeared completely beneath 4ft. drifts. Only through necessity did anyone venture outdoors.

Shiva, our kitchenboy, was kitted up for an expedition down to the lake, about 50 metres away, to replenish our water container. Soon after he left there was a tremendous roar. Almost immediately Shiva burst back into the lodge wide-eyed and shaking with fright. A massive avalanche had cascaded off Gokyo Peak into the lake sending a huge wave racing across the surface. Shiva had narrowly managed to save himself from being engulfed but had lost the water container.

All day the snow fell. I instructed Hakim, our cook, to go easy with our food and kerosene supplies in case we were to be stranded for a prolonged period - we had enough for about five more days. I also began to worry about how much snow the lodge roof would bear.

It was a bad night in the lodge, stuffy and overcrowded - bed bugs biting. Forced to go out by a call of nature I emerged into an ethereal world. The skies had cleared and everywhere the snow gleamed in the light of a crescent moon and a myriad stars.

Activity reigned in the morning amidst a dazzlingly bright snowscape. Paths were beaten between the various lodges. The Australians, the largest contingent of trekkers, started to make a path out of the village. Planks of wood were laid alternately and jumped upon to compact the shoulder-deep snow. Progress was slow. After two hours only some 200 metres had been covered but they persevered and by late afternoon had reached the end of the lake - normally a five minute walk.

There was no army or police post in Gokyo village - no outward communication was possible. However there were a few transistor radios and word began to circulate of events elsewhere. The whole of the Nepal Himalaya had been hit by a freak, 36 hour snowstorm; the Gokyo Valley was the worst affected as it lay directly in the direction of the storm unprotected by any intervening mountain range.

Only a short distance further down the valley the group I had seen leaving Gokyo village at the start of the storm had been entombed by an avalanche - 29 people were dead - 13 Japanese and 16 Nepalese. In the region hundreds of trekkers, trekking staff and villagers were cut off.

Before breakfast next morning I saw two well equipped Sherpas heading down the path. I thought they might be attempting a break-out to the next village of Pangka, where the major tragedy had occured, and followed on behind them. I was surprised at how far the path now extended - on to the second lake. However the Sherpas were only going to join the gang already working on the path.

Yaks were a problem. They knew it was time to return to the lower valleys for the on-coming winter and would make their way down the path. To pass them you had to lean back against the snow embankment ( if you stepped off the path you would sink waist-deep into the unconsolidated snow ); the yaks would approach cautiously then charge past in a headlong rush with their sharply pointed horns only inches away.

In the village there was no sense of crisis - indeed the opposite was the case. Lines of washing had appeared and groups of trekkers and staff lounged around basking in the warm sunshine. Helicopters occasionally flew overhead but none landed.

The fifth day dawned bright and clear. From our lodge window I expected to see people going down to work on the path but there was no sign of anyone. I went up to the Australian's HQ. They had given up. The doom and gloom brigade had got to them. The path had been extended to a bridge below the lakes where the trail descended beneath a steep hillside. The scaremongers were warning of avalanches and saying it was too dangerous to go any further. The leader of the American group had forbidden his members and staff to work on the path.

One climber, Matthew, an Australian, however was going down to check the situation and Nima and I, with a few others, went with him.

From the bridge we could see Pangka where a helicopter had landed and was surrounded by people.

I belayed Matthew whilst he carved a path through the drifts on the far side of the bridge and around a rock buttress. Round the corner a steep snowfield led on downwards - difficult but possible - the way to Pangka was open.

One sirdar decided to go down immediately. His group was running out of time for their international return flight and he was anxious to make contact with the helicopter. Nima also decided to go down. I headed back up to Gokyo with the intention of returning in the afternoon to fix a rope handrail round the awkward corner and move down to Pangka the following day.

Back at Gokyo there had been developments. One of the small helicopters had landed and instructions given that arrangements be made for people to be airlifted out.

After giving priority to those with urgent international flights to catch and those who were sick, the Australians had put all other names ( trekkers, staff, villagers ) into a hat and drawn them out at random., A long queue stretched from the square of snow that had been flattened for a helipad.

Three times that afternoon large Mi-17 helicopters, only recently purchased by Nepal from Russia, landed. Each flight evacuated about 30 people. ( "It depends on the pilot - some are stronger than others", said the local agent Pasang Sherpa ).

It was already getting dark when the fourth flight arrived. I was watching with Hakim and we were astonished to see Nima emerging. He had quite a story to tell. He had made it down to Pangka, having a bad fall on the way, had then hitched lifts in helicopters, first to Namche Bazaar, and then all the way to Lukla where he had passed on word that we were safe and well. He had then managed to return to Gokyo on the last flight.

Later in the evening I had our names added as a single block of six to the evacuation list ( from which we had been omitted ). In Namche Bazaar the situation had been chaotic as many trekkers had been dispatched without their support staff, tents, food or kitchen equipment - a consequence of mixing people at random in the list and not in their groups.

The first flight next morning was mostly a cargo flight with some trekking staff. We flew out together on the second flight. The Sherpani from our lodge and her three young children were also on board. Her husband was staying behind to tend his yaks and the lodge.

A mere eight minutes later we touched down in a different, snow-free world of green meadows and pine forests at Namche Bazaar - normally a three day trek from Gokyo.