Curiosity Doesn’t Have An Expiry Date
An old dream of Himalayan peaks, meets the realities of an old body.
At seventy-nine, I decided to try something I had never done before: go on a sea cruise. Before setting off, I checked with my GP. I wanted to enjoy myself, but I wasn’t about to pretend that age and health are no longer a problem. Somewhere in that conversation, my GP made a joke, “Do you want to kill yourself?”
That first cruise became the subject of my story, “Doctor-Approved Chaos: My First Cruise at 79.” It was an adventure, a bit of a test of my nerves, and a reminder that growing older does not necessarily mean giving up on new experiences.
Now, at eighty, another old dream has come back to bother me.
Some weeks ago, I came across a wonderfully evocative article by Lena Hoffman about the Annapurna Base Camp Trek, titled “Spectacular Alpine Altitude Thrills Defining This Legendary Annapurna Base Camp Trek.” Her description of the towering Himalayan peaks stirred something in me. I have wanted to trek through gigantic snowy mountains for decades, but somehow the years kept getting in the way.
Reading her account made me wonder: is this another adventure I should seriously consider, or is it time to accept that some dreams are better left to the imagination?
My mind is still willing, but my body has begun to ask some awkward questions.
Before leaving for Vietnam many years ago, I underwent Special Forces training. It was not about being a tough guy. It was a requirement for being a member of my country’s strike force unit at the time. It made the Vietnam preparation easier for me to navigate.
We went on long marches carrying heavy packs, slept whenever we could, and learned to pay attention to the weather and our surroundings. We also learned to prepare for the unexpected, make the best of a difficult situation and accept help when we needed it.
I learned lessons from those experiences. They taught me to prepare properly, adapt when things did not go according to plan, and recognise when it was time to stop.
Of course, that was a long time ago. My old training cannot persuade my nerves and knees to behave as they did in my younger days.
Still, the desire for adventure has not disappeared. I remember swimming across a swollen river, running in full gear under a scorching sun and crawling low for hours to avoid being seen. Those were demanding experiences, but they also taught me something about myself.
Perhaps that is why the thought of trekking in the Himalayas still excites me. I know what it means to face a challenge, and I know the satisfaction of doing something that once seemed beyond my reach.
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But there is a difference between remembering what I could do and deciding what I can safely do today.
When I imagine myself on a Himalayan trail, I picture an early morning, crisp air and mountains rising against a clear blue sky. I imagine walking at my own pace, taking in the scenery and enjoying the pleasures of being on top of the world.
I can almost feel that familiar excitement. It is not just about seeing a glacier or standing beneath towering peaks. It is also about fulfilling a dream I have carried for most of my life.
Then reality taps me on the shoulder.
At eighty, my balance is not something I can take for granted. My joints have their complaints, and recovery takes longer than it used to. I worry about slipping on a steep descent, struggling with the altitude or developing a minor illness far from proper medical care.
I also worry about becoming the fellow who starts a grand adventure only to discover that his body has other ideas. That would be disappointing, certainly. But disappointment is one thing; putting my health at unnecessary risk is another.
So perhaps there is a middle ground.
Instead of attempting a long and demanding trek, I could consider a shorter route with experienced guides, proper support and enough time to rest. I could work with a physiotherapist to improve my strength and balance, and seek medical advice about whether high-altitude trekking is sensible for me.
Most importantly, I would have to accept one simple rule: turning back would not mean I had failed. It would mean I had made a sensible decision.
There is no point in setting off to enjoy the mountains only to spend the journey attending my own body. The adventure should be worth having, not something I must endure just to prove a point. And if the medical advice is that such a trek is too risky, there are other ways to enjoy the mountains.
I can read accounts written by people who have been there, watch documentaries and listen to their stories. None of these would replace the experience of standing among those peaks, but they would still allow me to enjoy a world I have long wanted to see.
Besides, I have reached an age when I no longer need to prove my courage to anyone, including myself.
For now, I will keep walking as much as I comfortably can, look after my health and see what the future allows. If an achievable opportunity comes along, I will consider it carefully. If it does not, I can still appreciate the beauty of a place I may never visit.
I have learnt that growing older means making adjustments. Some dreams need to be changed, some need to be postponed, and others may have to remain dreams. But there is no reason to stop being curious.
I may never stand beneath those Himalayan peaks, and I have to be at peace with that possibility. Yet I can still read about them, imagine the journey and wonder what it would feel like to be there.
At eighty, I may have to negotiate with my body before making plans. I may need more preparation and a few more rests along the way. But the desire to explore the world has not retired with me. And as long as curiosity is still alive, I reckon there is something worth looking forward to.
