Soukeras Looks Down to Find Way Around Mt. Everest

It isn’t often you find yourself searching the ground for yak dung, but Jason Soukeras didn’t have much choice. Not with a Himalayan snowstorm blinding his way.

Soukeras, a Corona del Mar wrestler, was part of a support crew that accompanied an American expedition up Mt. Everest last spring. Although this entailed several responsibilities, Soukeras’ foremost role was taking care of himself.

Now in Newport Beach, where Soukeras lives, that might not be so difficult. Sure, the waves at the Wedge can be dangerous, and you could fall into the bay and get bopped by a yacht. But all in all, it’s about as treacherous as Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.

But this was Mt. Everest. The Mt. Everest. Twenty-nine thousand feet tall, highest of them all. Not a locale to take lightly. But there was Soukeras, wandering on the outskirts of base camp one day, taking photographs of an incoming storm, when all of a sudden. . . .

Whoosh. Instant whiteout. Snow dumped from the sky, winds whipped about and Soukeras found himself squinting just to see the ground around him. He didn’t know which way to go. He wasn’t sure which way he came. He was turning into a snowman.

Did he panic? Not at all. Soukeras, 17, isn’t an Eagle Scout for nothing. He simply noted the trail of yak droppings on the ground and--knowing the yaks were back at camp--followed the stinky stuff to safety. Nothing to it. Basic beast-of-burden navigation.

If the incident spooked Soukeras, he certainly doesn’t show it. This is a kid who might yawn at an oncoming avalanche, or shrug when lost at sea. He’s ice-cube cool, as unruffled as a fresh-pressed shirt. Which is a good way to be when tangling with the world’s highest mountain.

On a globe or relief map, the Himalayas are a slightly curved bump, like an eyebrow on the face of the Earth. Up close, this range--whose name translates to “adobe of snow,”--is one of the most awesome sights on earth. Soukeras--who estimates he’s hiked 500 to 600 miles in his lifetime--was invited to join the expedition for 20 days last April. Originally, his entire Boy Scout troop had planned to go, but only a small portion of the $10,000-per-person funds were raised. With his troop’s blessing--and his parents’ financial backing--Soukeras joined the five other support-crew members, flying first to Katmandu, Nepal, and a day later over the Himalayas to Lhasa, Tibet.

Just getting to base camp (elevation 17,200) was not without incident. In Katmandu, where a tense transportation strike was going on, locals hurled rocks at the support crew’s Jeep, and Soukeras heard scattered gunfire from his hotel room at night. On the flight to Lhasa, aboard an old Boeing 707 filled mainly with armed soldiers, air turbulence was so violent, many of the flight attendants got sick, burst into tears, or both.

“That was comforting,” Soukeras said.

From Lhasa--where the group visited everything from the former palace of the Dalai Lama to the Hard Yak Cafe--it took five days of rough driving before reaching base camp. On the way, Soukeras experienced $120-per-night hotel rooms without electricity or running water as well as local cuisine. Mainly, that meant yak--yak stew, yak butter, yak cheese, rack of yak. . . . Good news if you were having a Big Yak Attack, bad news if you were Soukeras.

“It all tasted the same to me,” he says.

At base camp, an altar was set up for the Sherpas, the Tibetan men who serve as mountain guides. Juniper was burned each morning in offering, and prayer flags--small pieces of cloth adorned with prayers to Budda--were draped over the altar so that the wind would blow the prayers into heaven. Many of the yaks wore prayer flags, too.

The climb was attempted in steps; from base camp, smaller camps were established so climbers could rest, refuel and adjust to the elevation once again. Most of the food and equipment--including 420 Hershey bars, 10,000 tea bags and five gallons of hot sauce, all of which was packed and organized back home by Soukeras and his Scout troop--was hauled by Sherpa and yak. Kumar, the cook, whipped up everything from the traditional Tibetan dalbhat, a dish of rice and lentils, to a Himalayan pizza (sauce on the side).

Although the support-crew members were not expected to climb past base camp, Soukeras joined a guide for what turned out to be a three-day, 40-mile trek. They slept atop rock-strewn glaciers, which cracked and rumbled at night. They peered into eerie crevices, 50 to 100 feet deep. And they hiked past 30 to 40 wooden plaques--monuments to climbers who died in their attempt to conquer the mountain. One plaque was for George Mallory, the British mountaineer who first spoke the famous words, “Because it’s there.”

Soukeras reached 21,500 feet before altitude sickness forced him to turn back. The climbers, equipped with oxygen tanks made of titanium, made three attempts at the summit--this after Soukeras and the support crew had already left the mountain for the United States--but only came within 2,000 feet of its peak. Winds up to 100 m.p.h., as well as snow, forced their retreat, but not before rescuing two men from another expedition, caught in an avalanche.

Soukeras had to hear about it by phone in Newport Beach, where he had returned 18 pounds lighter. He says the first thing he did when he got off the plane at LAX was head to the nearest coffee shop.

“I had the most non-wrestling food I could find,” he says. “A big slice of chocolate pie.”

Apparently, they were plum out of yak.