Anatomy of a disaster in the snows of Nepal

How did the Round Annapurna trail, one of the most popular treks in the Nepalese Himalayas, which tens of thousands of Israeli youngsters have completed without incident over the past decade, turn into a death trap — the scene of a tragedy whose dimensions are just beginning to emerge?

October is usually the best month of the year to trek in the Nepali Himalayas. The monsoon is over, the sun is shining, and even at the 5,000-plus-meter mountain passes, it’s rare to see so much as a flurry of snow.

But this year, an unseasonable cyclone hit India’s eastern coastal states — Orissa and Andre Pradesh — and freezing currents wafted up into the Himalayan peaks of Western Nepal. Meanwhile, thousands of hikers were traversing Annapurna — where it’s not necessary to carry elaborate camp material, because guest-houses are spaced less than a day apart along the trail.

The pass — the highest point of Round Annapurna — is a staggering 5,400 meters high, and a two- to three-hour climb from the nearest guest-houses. It is potentially dangerous to stay for too long at such an altitude, so most climbers take a short breather at the top, have a cup of tea at the teahouse — a small structure situated at the pass itself — take a few pictures, and head down for Muktinath, hundreds of meters below, and the next night stop on the trail.

But on Tuesday dozens of travelers, including several groups of Israelis, were crowded together in the teahouse when, without warning, temperatures dropped below freezing. The sky became blinding white, and the snow came down hard.

Survivors described the following sequence of events:

At about 3:30 in the afternoon, long after the usual hour when travelers head off for Muktinath, part the group decided to start down the mountain.

Others, including some of the Israelis and a group of Germans, stayed put and huddled together for the night. In retrospect, it was a decision that saved their lives.

Those who had headed down soon lost sight of the trail under deep snowdrifts. Some of the hikers slipped in the snow and fell into ravine; others plodded on, hampered by waist-deep snow that turned every step into a massive effort.

As they thrashed in the drifts, some lost their gloves and shoes. The extreme temperature began to take its toll. The hikers knew that they had to keep moving at all costs in order to stay warm, but with so little oxygen in the air, the constant effort was fatiguing.

For some, hypothermia began to set in. Hikers stopped to rest, exhausted, while their friends urged them onward.

Lost and unable to move on, the group stopped for the night. Those who could, jumped up and down and waved their arms in a desperate effort to keep from freezing. They tried to encourage friends who sat beside them in the snow, their energies spent. Some did not make it through the night.

When morning came, and the sun rose in all its glory, the survivors expected help to come at once — but it seemed like hours before they saw a lone Nepali soldier, part of the search and rescue team. He hoisted them up the slope with ropes, to where an army helicopter could land. Help had arrived.

In Kathmandu, it was the most somber Simchat Torah in memory. There are three Israeli institutions in the Nepalese capital — the Embassy, the Chabad House, and Tevel b’Tzedek, an Israeli organization that works in remote rural villages and runs study programs for Israelis and Jews from around the world. All three spent Thursday submerged in the aftermath of the tragedy.

The Israeli ambassador, Yaron Meir, and his staff worked tirelessly, organizing medical care and giving emotional support to the Israeli survivors, while trying to locate the dozens of Israelis all over Nepal who had still not been heard from since the dire weather set in. Most were probably on trails in other parts of the country, oblivious to the events of the last several days.

Chabad, led by Rav Chezky Lifschultz, was checking its own lists, visiting the sick, tending to the dead, and, as usual, doing all in its power to help others in times of crisis. Tevel b’Tzedek’s young staff and volunteers were tending to their hospitalized peers, bringing them everything from kosher food to SIM cards that would give them internet access, along with clothes and books.

Other Israelis, working in Nepal or just visiting, dropped everything to help compile lists of Israelis in the country and attempt to locate them. Israeli solidarity was never more in evidence, as everyone braced for the next few days, when the fate of those still missing will become clear.