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would emerge onto the main trail much higher than Dylan and Dorje. It was the kind of game a father likes to play with his sons.
    IN NAMCHE BAZAAR we arrived at our lodge, which was owned by one of Ang Karma’s relatives. When we sat on the porch to eat a late lunch, there was heat in the sunshine, but the air was much cooler. All of us were slowed down by the lower levels of oxygen, which was to be expected at 11,500 feet. It was Christmas Eve, so we declared Christmas Day an acclimatization day. Among our small presents to the boys in the morning were German Christmas sweets that Barbara had bought in Singapore, where the festival is celebrated with immense commercial zest. It was a very different scene in Buddhist Namche.
    We gave the boys a wad of rupees to spend in one of the village’s three Internet cafés. Dorje checked his e-mails and chatted on MSN to friends in Singapore and Australia. Dylan had been out of touch with his gaming clan for over a week. When he logged in, he learned that an American faction within his clan had accused him of funding a climb of Everest with money earned from the clan’s tournament winnings. Dylan thought the accusation was hilarious in its naiveté about what a climb of Everest involved, but he appreciated the need to take the issue seriously. He typed furiously, arguing his case and turning the tide of opinion.
    Our next day of trekking involved a spectacular and enjoyable hike. After lunching by the river at a tiny village with the endearing name of Punke Tenke, we climbed steeply through conifer forest. It was an unrelenting climb, drawing us closer to the mountains. The pine trees gave way to huge rhododendrons as the angle eased and we traversed the hillside. The climb ended abruptly with a short steep section that led to the crest of a ridge. Suddenly, there was a view of the famous Thyangboche Monastery, perched on the highest knoll of the ridge, surrounded by green pastures and a 360-degree panorama of glorious Himalayan peaks. Mount Everest was among them, although obscured by its subpeaks Lhotse and Nuptse.
    That night in our lodge our bedroom windows were frosted with ice, a silent welcome to winter in the Khumbu. Dorje had picked up a stomach bug at Punke Tenke, which affected his appetite that evening. Although still off-color the next morning, he wanted to keep trekking. However, by the time we reached the village of Pangboche, it was obvious that he needed to rest and recuperate. We soon found a comfortable lodge, and I spent a day hiking to fetch some medicine for him from the Khumjung Hospital above Namche. Dylan filled the day with a hike up to Ama Dablam Base Camp with Beeba. This proved to be the highlight of the trip for him, indicating that not all the best Himalayan experiences involve Everest.
    Another afternoon Dylan and I took advantage of the perfect weather to head up the steep grassy slopes above the village. At first we climbed up a thousand feet to admire the view, but then I noticed silhouetted prayer flags on a rocky ridge another thousand feet higher, and this became our destination. The ridge continued up to Taweche Peak, its icy mass tempting us to go farther. The shadows were lengthening, but before heading down we sat among the prayer flags and looked up the valley to the Everest massif. I gave Dylan my camera, and while he busily snapped photos, I gazed at the mountains. Now that we were 2,000 feet above Pangboche, less of Mount Everest was obscured by the vast mountain wall formed by Lhotse and Nuptse. The most dramatic mountain in view was the closest one, Ama Dablam.
    Although I had visited Everest Base Camp several times before 1981, I felt that my relationship with the world’s highest mountain began in that year with my climb of Ama Dablam, which was 6,500 feet lower. The easiest route of ascent of this chisel-shaped peak was up a ridge that faced Dylan and me. In 1981 our expedition had tackled the steeper Northeast Ridge