china

I love exploring China. And Chengdu has always held a special place in my heart since my first visit en-route to 九寨沟 Jiu Zhai Gou (the most beautiful valley in China) and again last year to 峨眉山 E Mei Shan (one of the four sacred Buddhist mountains in China). This adventure once again began in Chengdu, home of pandas and the gateway to Western China and it’s myriad attractions.

奥太娜 Ao Tai Na (5210m) is a 7 hour drive from Chengdu and is situated in 阿坝 Aba, an autonomous Tibetan and Qiang prefecture in Sichuan. The Aba region is extremely scenic: Blackwater (or Hei Shui Xian) is a less touristy destination renowned for its fiery Autumn colours, but the region also houses the more well-known 四姑娘山 Si Gu Niang Mountains and Jiu Zhai Gou. Ao Tai Na is one of the three main peaks of the 三奥 San Ao mountain range, a spiritual mountain for the Jia Rong Tibetans who live in this area. It is the smallest of the three, flanked by 奥太基 Ao Tai Ji (5286m) and 奥太美 Ao Tai Mei (5257m). In Tibetan, their names translate to the father, mother and child of the mountains 群山之父，母，子 respectively, with Ao Tai Na being the child.

As we drove to our destination, the hills were aflame and we were greeted by vibrant bursts of red, yellow and orange. The drive is not for the faint of heart with windy roads and our driver’s (and other Chinese drivers’) penchant for overtaking around sharp turns. We finally arrived in one piece at the homestay in Blackwater and were warmly welcomed with white scarves and a hearty Tibetan hotpot dinner before we turned in for the night.

The next day, on our warm-up walk to the base camp hut, I felt very heavy. It wasn’t so much of a hike than a walk up a dirt road, while the car took our bags. Before the road was developed, the second day had been a lot more strenuous, our guides said. Now, they could drive all the way up to the hut, but even so, we were advised to walk in order to acclimatise. At the time, I wasn’t sure why I was feeling so bad. We were only at around 3500m and I was taking half a diamox each morning and night on a friend’s advice. I figured I had underestimated the climb and not trained hard enough, was fatigued, or perhaps (and more likely) it was because I had been cutting carbs going into the trip.

Our base camp was better than expected – I had mentally prepared myself to sleep in a tent in sub zero temperatures, but here we had wooden huts. One with a stove for cooking and warming our hands by the fire and another for us to sleep. It snowed from time to time as we sat around drinking ginger tea, eating spicy packet tofu snacks, and enjoying the mountains. Our guides whipped up a hearty chicken and cucumber soup (complete with crown, head and claws), we drank lots of warm water and doubled down on the rice, helpful tips to avoid altitude sickness.

The night was cold, even in my heavy down sleeping bag with my down jacket draped over and two heat packs tossed inside. “You need a minimum of 1000g of down in your sleeping bag and 200g in your jacket or it won’t be enough”, they had emphasised. For a first time alpine climber, this was where I had struggled most with buying my gear for the trip and figuring out what was adequate. Most of the international brands and sites that I looked at showed down fill ratios but not down weight, so you could end up with a light 800 fill down jacket that was insufficient. However, if you managed to find the same item on a Chinese site, they were much more precise about this metric, shedding light on one of the many subtle differences between Chinese vs international consumers.

We rose just after two for the summit climb on the third morning, also the only day of actual climbing on the trip. Not wanting to repeat my performance the day before, I had a few portions of a surprisingly yummy boiled cereal and off we went. They always say it’s best to start climbing when it’s dark, not only to get an early start before the sun comes up and snow starts to melt, but also so you don’t really know what you’re getting yourself into and feel less intimidated by the mountain. The summit path started just behind our huts and was a three hour trudge up a steep muddy path till we reached a flat lookout point where a few yaks had come to graze. The only light was from our headlamps and the stars overhead, occasionally shining on the snow and making it glitter. It was so dark that we could only faintly make out the outlines of the peaks around us.

And then… That moment – When dawn started to break and the mountains gradually lit up. It was possibly one of the most perfect moments I’ve experienced. We stood around mesmerised, taking in the pink hues cast on fresh snow, and the panoramic views, staying for a bit longer than we should have. The fresh air was invigorating and I felt much better than I had the day before. It wasn’t easy, but I had a spring in my step and walking through calf-deep snow felt somewhat natural. Another three hours of walking in the snow took us over the ridge to the final summit push.

The peak of Ao Tai Na is a curved rocky outcrop, which reminded me of a snow-capped Kinabalu, one of my first climbs way back in 2011. While China officially recognises it to be 5210m, Ao Tai Na actually stands at an elevation of 4800m. From our perfect vantage point, we saw never-ending mountain ranges and a sea of clouds 云海 rising from below. My newfound friends, Mushroom 蘑菇 and Stone 石头, got engaged at the top and everyone was feeling light as we begun our descent back to base camp.