Whenever I see this headlamp, it awakens in me the urge for adventure and the desire to escape. I wore it on my trip to the North Indian Himalayas in 2015. I'll never forget one specific moment, and it's emblematic of the journey I took back then.
It was our second ascent, a trek up to 3800m. We dragged our bodies for a total of seven hours through jungle-like undergrowth, rocky slopes, lush meadows inhabited by wild cattle, and finally up to the sparsely vegetated summit of Bashal Peak. A mental and physical challenge the likes of which I have rarely experienced before in my life. When we reached the top, there was simply no air left for words. We sat down and gazed into the miles of distance. I had never seen a view like that before. Then we rested for a moment. But this moment lasted longer than we realized, and so it took us almost an hour before we set off to begin the descent. A few steps down the slope, back into the dense vegetation, darkness descended like a blanket over our heads. Immediately, the air cooled rapidly, and our body heat, which had just a moment before caused the sweat on our skin to vaporize, now fought against the icy wind. It took a few minutes for our eyes to adjust to the new surroundings. But uncertain steps at this altitude were simply too risky, and even though it was almost fun to train our otherwise under-stimulated senses, this was the right time for the lamp. Perfect visibility, always in sight! However, there were four of us, and I was the only one with a light shining from my head. The others had a small LED flashlight, which soon gave up the ghost, and a cell phone light. So I walked right at the back to shine a light for everyone in front of me. At a safe distance, however, because loose scree and stones quickly became dangerous projectiles on slopes. Our descent should have taken just under an hour and a half, but we soon realized that we had taken the wrong route. Going back would have been
It would have been too dangerous, as we could have gotten even further lost and were already about halfway there. Or so we thought. However, the terrain became increasingly difficult, and at some point the descent resembled an acrobatic course rather than a trekking tour. In fact, our situation was life-threatening, as right next to our feet, there was a drop of several tens of meters, while we held on to thin tree trunks and roots to avoid falling. And at some point, there was no longer any option to climb back up, as the top was suddenly unreachable. Down was the only "way," and so we slid down several meter-high crevices, warning each other only with shouts of falling rocks, as we could no longer see each other from a distance through the thicket. After four and a half hours, we finally arrived back at the bottom safely. My legs were shaking, as my body had mobilized all its strength over the past few hours to avoid exhaustion. There were moments when our situation was precarious. A sudden rain shower, for example, would have caused us serious problems and perhaps led to a different outcome. But at no point was I afraid. In fact, I was positively tense every moment and even excited about our spontaneous adventure. I also always had complete trust in our guide, as he had known the mountains his entire life and was always calm and collected. He knew we would get back down safely; the only question was when and how.
