This was the most strenuous part of the trek so far, the final stretch: to watch the sun beam it's way across Machhapuchhre and the Annapurnas, before we would head back down to the valley where the mountains seemed so far, but were ever-present.
One hand on a torch and the other on my trekking pole, I distracted myself on the ascent with a cycle of wrapping my jumper around my head as the cold mountain air made it's way directly into my brain - and then unwrapping it as I heated up, the sweat trickling down my forehead. Whenever it seemed as if we were almost there, another winding trail would present itself before us, and I wondered how long it would be before I could touch the sky itself. Before long, our torchlight became irrelevant as the sun threatened to reveal itself before we had reached the top.
I was the last to reach the top and rejoin my group, which consisted of me, my brother, my cousin, and second cousin. The last half an hour had been continuous steps up huge rocks that were all half my height, but I made it in just enough time to get a glass of boiled water from a tent at viewpoint, before sitting outside to bask in the rays from the rising sun to defrost my shivering body. The view – and the lack of oxygen at this altitude - was breath-taking. As the peach coloured hues reflected from the snow-capped peaks began to turn back to white and grey, we came to the conclusion that viewpoint wasn't enough - we wanted to reach basecamp.
"Upper viewpoint is just a one hour walk, and from there its just another hour to basecamp," the tea house owners assured us. 4,500 metres did seem an impressive feat to boast. So, we carried on, with nothing but water and a KitKat fuelling us - or fuelling them, I should say, as I couldn't even finish a bite of mine due to the sickly artificial taste that I couldn't seem to stomach. I brushed it off. The trail we walked provided ample distractions from my concerning lack of nutrition, or ability to fuel myself. The landscape had entirely changed at this point - everything was new; the rocks we stepped on, the grasses that shot up through the solid terrain, the wispy flora that I can only describe as ghost-flowers. Each step I took filled me with awe.
It actually took an hour and a half, but upper viewpoint was all that it was promised to be. I couldn't believe how close the mountain I had grown up seeing from afar was now, and how the fish-tailed peak that the alp was named after looked entirely different from this perspective. This place is surely what heaven looks like, I thought to myself. Everything - from the concentrated frosted puddle, to the discarded Joker playing card - felt like an undiscovered wonder of the world. I would have happily stayed here all day - but the Mardi Lake Tea Shop - the lone structure consisting of a wooden frame patched with a single layer of hand plastered corrugated steel, had a sign on the front.
"Height: 4350 Meter" We only had another 150 to go. The heat was blaring now, and we still had on our down jackets and fluffy off-brand North Face hats that helped us survive the morning's frost. We hadn't taken our bags, as we planned to return to High Camp before noon, so our supplies were minimal. The terrain began to change even more - and although it was now less uphill, I was taking more frequent rest breaks. Nevertheless, I persisted until we came to a large stone structure, reminiscent of a chautari (resting place) minus the tree in the middle. We had long crossed the threshold where trees could no longer grow.
This, I decided, was my basecamp. I told my crew to leave me here and continue alone the last 50 metres to the official basecamp - that they later told me wasn't all that, just a stone with the name and altitude carved in and a few prayer flags - and lay face up on the grass. It was unfamiliar and prickly, but I welcomed the rest and tried to hold back the nauseating feeling pulsing through my body. I closed my eyes for a second, and unwillingly imagined myself rolling down the face of the mountain to my death. I sat up quickly. My uncle, a former trekking guide, had warned me before we set off about the delusions that are known to be one of the most dangerous symptoms of altitude sickness. A client of his once had remembered that to recover from it, you had to quickly get to a lower altitude - and throwing himself off the mountain seemed like the fastest way to do that in his delusionary state. I looked around me to try and focus on something else. Scarlett coloured spider-like insects patrolled a patch of foliage beside me, their appearance so foreign and obscure to me that my mind began to trail off again... were these real? Surely not. How could they exist? I must be the only one seeing them. But why only me? Maybe the blood-red colour of them was actually a pool of my own blood...?
I had to snap out of it. I looked to the mountains again, and peace embraced me. I closed my eyes, and lay back. My group would be here soon, and we would get back to our camp and be fine. But I couldn't shake the sound of flies buzzing. My ears worked, so surely I was still alive - but what do flies surround other than dead bodies? Was I the corpse that attracted them? I really had died up here?

No.
My eyes snapped open. This place was heaven - but I was alive. I smiled. Then I turned to the side and threw up, vomiting up a concoction of water and trail mix I had consumed that morning.

Oh.
The hike back to High Camp was the worst part. The constant vomiting that forced me to take a rest break every other minute, combined with the discomfort of our sunburnt lips and noses - it seemed as if the journey took forever. But eventually, we made it back to high camp. I jumped straight for the sunscreen and lathered my burning nose with the cooling fluid. Reflecting on my day, I was in awe of the nature around us that had both enchanted and threatened us, and decided as I crawled beneath the comforting bed sheets that this was what I wanted to do forever.