April 25th 2015. Kyanjin Gompa.

It's 5:25, five full minutes before the alarm is due to go off. A
peek out of the window tells me it's misty, or the cloud is very
low. They're pretty much the same thing here at 3800+ metres.
I contemplate telling the group that there is no point in climbing
up to Kyanjin Ri, but feel obliged at least to make the effort.
Breakfast at 6 am and we're ready to go. The porters have
managed to blag a couple of local jackets, the cloud appears to
be lifting and we're off. I ask Samuel to keep an eye on the
altitude with his legendary watch, to give me a shout every 100m
gain so we can reasses the conditions. At about 9 am we've
reached 4250m and conditions are deteriorating, and the
prospect of standing at a view point with no view is uninviting and
so we begin to descend. Back at the Sherpa hotel we drink the
last of my 3-1 instant coffees, collect all the bags and begin the
decent to Langtang village, where we plan to stop for lunch, and
continue to Ghora Tabela for overnight.
The weather is a mix of drizzle, cloud and mist but the walk is
pleasant, it's downhill for one thing. As is usual with our group I
tend to walk a little in front, turning occasionally to recommend a
possible decent photo oppotunity to Samuel (who seriously
doesn't need to be told). We've passed through Mundu and I spot
a seriously pituresque cottage with twisted pine tree, prayer flag
and swirling mist. We spend about five minutes here
photographing from a variety of angles and then on. Across the
last riverbed before Langatang. I am craving lunch, it's been six
hours since breakfast, a greasy veg, cheese spring roll has my
name on it. I'm passing to the left of the rows of Mani stones just
above Langtang, when the earth begins to shake violently from
side to side. I think those behind me shout earthquake. A noise
next to me tells me that the ancient rows of Mani stones are
starting to collapse, The shaking stops, the stones are still falling,
and as I'm on the lower side I fear my legs might get crushed, so I

climb through a gap to the upper side. I suppose about ten

seconds has passed by now, and in the panic I don't remember
hearing the avalanche, so what comes next is this; A whiteness
descends, a quiet whiteness, then grey, then darker grey as if
night has fallen, I'm staring into the darkness when the noise
begins to build. The noise instantly becomes a roar, I dive to the
floor, curl up and hold onto the Mani stones.
I couldn't guess the wind speed at the time; 150mph? I'm being
hit in the arse by stones, snow and dirt are starting to cover me,
and for that second, maybe two, I fear it's the beginning of my
live burial. I conjure a picture of my three year old daughter,
apologize (don't know why) and say goodbye.
The wind comes to a halt as quick as it started. I feel relief;
deliverance? Not sure, but I'm buzzing. I stand up, shake off the
discouloured snow and dirt, stride round to where the rest of the
group are, "Are you okay?" "Yes" they reply from their four man,
snow covered huddle. "Let's get to Langtang for help" I say,
"porter says we should stay down" They reply.I nod tell them to
stay there I will go and look. The younger of the two porters is not
there, he's already crossed the terraced field that overlooks the
village. He's standing with a distraught mother and her injured,
shocked children, eyes down staring at what was Langtang
Village, he turns, walks toward me, tears in his eyes, "It's gone,
Father, Langtang is Gone".
The snow is still gently falling, but it's not snowing.