Wordsmith
The Man with the World ’ s Best Job
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Kev Reynolds meets Mr Fixit on the slopes of the Himalaya
If you ’ re planning to organise a Himalayan expedition you ’ d be advised to get yourself a Mr Fixit , someone who knows his way around the mind-numbing bureaucracy of the East ; someone who can hire a reliable crew of Sherpas , cook and porters , find fuel when there ’ s no fuel to be had , and arrange a flight when all flights are booked ; someone who knows who to know , where to go and what to do when things go wrong . And believe me , the one guarantee you can bet on in the Himalaya , is that something will go wrong . That ’ s when your Mr Fixit proves his worth .
I found mine by sheer fluke . In the summer of 1994 I was making a crossing of the Ötztal Alps with my wife when we arrived one afternoon at the Braunschweiger Hut , perched on a rocky island on the edge of glaciers . Pushing open the boot room door the first person we saw was a Sherpa . I blinked twice , then gave him a Namaste . ‘ Where are you from ?’ I asked . ‘ Kathmandu ,’ he replied . ‘ No – where ’ s your village ?’ ‘ In Solu district ,’ he said . ‘ Where in Solu district ?’ ‘ Some place called Junbesi .’ ‘ Junbesi ! Do you know Ang Chokpa ?’ The Sherpa ’ s eyes popped - ‘ How do you know Ang Chokpa ?’ So I told him : ‘ I stayed in his lodge last October !’ And with that Kirken Sherpa and I began a friendship that has lasted more than twenty years , during which time we ’ ve made numerous expeditions together , and I ’ ve come to recognise him as the ultimate Mr Fixit . Find yourself in a tight spot in a dodgy location , and there ’ s no-one better to be with ; no-one better than he to find a solution to a problem ; no-one more able to get you out of a hole , to turn disaster into triumph – as I know to my benefit .
He once chartered a plane to fly eight of us to a remote meadow where we were met by our twenty-five man crew who had taken two weeks to get there : two days and nights on a broken down bus , then on foot for twelve days – after which we made our way into the real back-of-beyond on the northern side of the Himalayan divide . After ten days our doctor went sick and had to return to Kathmandu . No chance of a rescue helicopter where we were , but within an hour Kirken had organised his evacuation with porters and Sherpa escorts . All ended well .
Another time we were heading for Kanchenjunga during the Maoist insurgency . Knowing our long bus journey to the trailhead was likely to be blocked by armed rebel gangs , he hired a tough Maoist supporter as our driver . As a result no road block held us up for more than ten minutes .
At the end of the expedition we ’ d arranged for a plane to collect us from the Suketar airstrip – then just a sloping meadow above the Tamur River . Clouds were down on the allotted day and without being able to see the meadow , the pilot turned back . We hoped he ’ d return next day , but that night the heavens opened and the airstrip was waterlogged . No plane could possibly land on that , but we were due to fly home in 24 hours and tension was rising . Somehow Kirken got hold of a satellite phone and called a young helicopter pilot who owed him a favour . We made it out just in time …
Kirken ’ s brother-in-law joined us once for a trek to Everest . Tsewan was the strongest , fittest , most
16 Outdoor focus | summer 2018 able of all the crew , and he and Kirken made a perfect team , but one afternoon he collapsed with a heart attack . Fortunately we were able to get him to the first aid post at Pheriche where he was given oxygen while we called for a rescue helicopter . Meanwhile Kirken summoned friends and family in Kathmandu to arrange his hospital treatment until he could get back to take charge . He saved Tsewan ’ s life .
One year Kirken and I made an exploration of Nepal ’ s Farthest West with five of his crew to act as porters . It was not a commercial venture , for he and I shared costs throughout . As the only map available at the time missed out a whole valley system and at least one 6000 metre mountain , we decided to do without . As a result we were lost for days at a time . I mean , well and truly lost . And it was liberating !
We also ran out of food , but came to a poor grubby village a thousand miles from anywhere ( so it seemed ), where the locals were hospitable and generous in providing us with a feast of potatoes and boiled eggs . Surrounding us as we ate , they also gave Kirken a fever and me TB . Not that we knew it at the time , in fact my TB was not diagnosed for many years . But that ’ s another story …
Days blurred into one as our journey continued . I became weaker , coughing and spluttering from dawn till dusk , but tended with care by my Sherpa friend and the lads who shouldered the heavy loads , we made it at last to our destination where , once again , my Mr Fixit managed to conjure up a flight to get us home .
Years later , my lungs shot , I thought my Himalayan days were over , but an email arrived from Kathmandu . ‘ Mugu to be open ,’ it read . ‘ Porters are hard to find there , but mules carry loads . Where mules can go , so can a horse . I ’ ll get you one . When shall we go ?’
Ah ! Kirken the tempter , he knows me too well ! Mugu was virtually the last of the untrod places and I could hardly resist . So gathering a few friends , my wife and I set off once more for Kathmandu where we were hung about with garlands of marigolds before heading for the lost land of Mugu . There , an unsuspecting horse was waiting to take me over a series of 4000 metre passes on my Himalayan farewell . Only my Mr Fixit would have thought of that .
Kirken Sherpa