“Eight-six, eighty-seven, eighty-eight,” I count the footsteps in my head.

The numbers don’t matter really, it’s just a mind trick that I play in order to stay somewhat focused on putting one foot in front of the other. It’s almost a mantra of sorts.

I try to switch to counting in Spanish, just to mix it up a bit, but I have to work too hard to remember the numbers past 30 and the counting becomes too taxing. It only adds to the fatigue that I feel.

It’s mid-April (2013) and I am back in the Himalayas of Bhutan to finish what I started 16 months ago: The Snowman Trek.

In 2012 I had managed just enough time off from work to trek the first part of this adventure and knew then and there that I’d be back. Due to the remote nature and ruggedness of this trek, it is considered one of the most difficult in the world, and I’ve had to manage a four-week vacation from my corporate job to tackle this feat.

So after the three days of travel from the Phoenix area and then three days of altitude prep hikes here in Bhutan, we are finally trekking the trails that have called to me since I first learned of them. We are spending most days hiking an average of 10 miles per day and most nights sleeping at around 13,000 feet.

We carefully selected the end of April in the hopes that the start of our trek would coincide with beautiful spring weather and the end of the trek would complete before the summer monsoons set in.

But regardless of our careful calculations, spring came late to Bhutan this year and we are faced with the possibility that our plans will be halted.

The locals have told us that the snow at the first major pass is chest high, but we have come all this way and will not be detoured that easily. My husband Phurba, our Bhutanese guide, has trekked these trails numerous times in his life and has never once had to turn around due to weather. He knows that I certainly will not turn around based on hear-say alone. He knows that ultimately we have to see for ourselves.

We’ve already encountered rain, sleet, hail and snow each and every day in the first four days of this adventure, so I’m not discouraged by more bad weather. In actuality our very first day trekking delivered the worst weather to date, so every day after that has seemed like a blessing. On that first day, we trudged up the mountain for 11 hours in what could only be best described as a swamp. Each step had to be carefully planned as I searched for a rock, or a log, or a clump of dirt just to keep my boots out of the mud and my butt off the ground.

I followed my husband up the mountain and tried to mimic his steps, but his 6 foot 2 inch frame has a slightly larger wing span than my 5 foot 2 legs can manage. If I hadn’t trekked in Bhutan before I’m sure I would have been asking myself what in the world I was doing…oh wait, I did ask that question.

So on the fifth day of our trek we head up to our first major pass of 15,500 feet and it’s already snowing by early morning. The trail quickly becomes covered with new snow as ice forms underneath. In Bhutan they use ponies and mules for carrying supplies – not just for trekking, but also as a mechanism to move merchandise, building materials, and most anything else that requires transport between the remote northern villages.

We have nine of these stocky beasts, simply referred to as “horses,” as part of our support team and they are loaded down with our tents, cooking supplies and even propane gas tanks that our support staff will use for cooking. The horses are managed by a local man from the village of Laya who has also spent his life trekking these routes and knows his horses like he knows his own children.

The typical trekking routine is that we set out on foot early in the morning while the support staff takes their time with clean-up and breakfast. Then before noon, they, along with the horses, catch up to us on the trail and move on past to the next camp so that everything will be set up and ready when we finally arrive for the night. On this particular morning, we just happened to stop for a rest as the horses made their way up the trail past us and through the snow.

I always enjoy watching the horse team and am amazed at the physical fitness and agility of our horseman as he never rides his horses, but only walks along with them whistling and calling out commands in order to keep them moving and on the trail.

Twice during our trek, the horses moved out under the cover of night and headed back to our previous camp. Without fail our horseman was up before dawn to track them down and bring them all the way back to camp – this before we finished our breakfast and headed out for the day.

Due to the condition of today’s trail, our horseman leads the front mare as she picks her way through the snow and ice. I am told that the horsemen sometimes use a mare at the front of the pack in order to encourage the males along a difficult route.

As we catch our breath and enjoy the surrounding beauty of the Himalayas, we suddenly see the lead mare trip and go down in the snow. We are too far away to know the exact cause, but can only imagine that the ice and snow have become more treacherous up the trail. As she struggles to right herself we watch in horror as she tumbles onto her side and then starts to slowly roll down the side of the mountain, pack and all.

It was a disturbing site to see and I let out an audible gasp. Fortunately her pack seems to stop the pull of gravity and miraculously, the horseman soon has her back up on the trail without apparent injury. Nobody speaks a word, but we all know that we need not go any farther as a trek without the support horses is nearly impossible.

My husband and I agree that the horses should go back to the last camp as we continue to make our way on foot up to the pass. We’ve come this far and decide that we can at least summit the first pass, survey the other side, and then return to camp as well. Although the snow on the trail quickly becomes thigh-high, we summit the top and with a touch of sadness in our hearts, we turn around and return to camp. This is as far as I will go on the Snowman Trek and, although I am disappointed, I cannot bare to put the horses in further danger.

Bhutan is a small Buddhist country nestled in the foothills of the Himalayas and surrounded by two powerful giants – India and China. Although they are best known for their motto of “Gross National Happiness,” after even a small amount of time in this country you realize that this is more than just a campaign slogan.

The population is mostly Buddhist and that calm humility, simplicity and respect for life is a part of their everyday culture. The size of Switzerland, this small peaceful kingdom is often overlooked by the common traveler, but as anyone who has visited here will tell you, it is a unique and unforgettable place to experience.

All travel to Bhutan must be arranged through a licensed tour company and, along with the visa application, all itineraries within the country are government approved. This also means that any change to travel plans must also be approved through the government, so our aborted Snowman Trek would now require my husband to obtain such approval – even if that change simply meant trekking another route in the same area.

Although we are high in the Himalayas and the closest village has no roads or electricity, my husband somehow manages to change our routes with the officials and obtains permission for our continued adventure.

I have learned over the years of travel that in Bhutan, my husband can always find a way to resolve any obstacle regarding permits and government permissions – no matter the remoteness of our location.

Soon after our horse mishap we begin our new course to the village of Lungu and the disappointment regarding our re-routing slowly disappears. Lungu is a small village off the standard trekking routes where the local people rarely entertain tourists of any kind. A visit here provides us with a glimpse into the true meaning of community and, as always, the true hospitality of the Bhutanese people.

In Lungu we spend time watching the entire village come together for one common purpose: to help build a house for a young man who is the first in his village to attend a university.

Of course watching a community come together to help one of its own is a special treat in itself, but the most moving part of this experience is the joy and laughter that surrounds everything they do. From the young girls in their long kira dresses that strap large rocks onto their backs with rugged rope and then carry those rocks from the distant farm field to the housing site, to the man that stirs an enormous pot of Bhutanese Red Rice that will supply the workers with lunch.

As they work, they all laugh and sing and smile and even invite us to share in the lunch break. It occurs to me that they are all working with the joyful purpose of simply helping a neighbor and that feeling quickly becomes contagious.

We move on the next day to the Masagang Mountain Basecamp – another trek that is so far off the standard routes that some of the locals even think it is closed to tourists. Our journey here takes us through remote yak herder camps where once again we are greeted with hospitality and often invited in for butter tea or the opportunity to simply come in out of the cold and wind.

The homes in this area are rugged, completely made of rock with a moss type roof, and blend in so well with the natural surroundings that the only hint that a house even exits is the site of the small puffs of smoke that escape from the hearth burning inside to keep the butter tea warm.

It’s as though we have stepped way back in time – futuristic time travelers with our high-tech gear roaming through villages where the people have survived for centuries in this harsh landscape with the land and nature providing all that they require.

We decide to stop for a break at one of the yak herder’s homes and are greeted by two elderly women and a younger woman with her small daughter. They quickly offer us the best seats in their modest living space and ask us to share in the butter tea that they are slowly sipping.

Now butter tea is an acquired taste and one that I have unfortunately never acquired. To best describe the flavor is to simply look at the name – although I am still not sure how the word “tea” has anything to do with the ingredients as it’s more like drinking a cup of very salty melted butter. Whenever I am offered butter tea, I simply raise the cup to my lips as if taking a sip and then watch until my husband’s cup is empty so that we can secretly exchange cups.

In total we spend 18 days trekking in Bhutan, and although we have had to change our intended route, the trek is anything but disappointing. The camp help serves us hot coffee at our tent door every morning and at night we warm ourselves with their hot soup and laughter. They set up our tents, cook our meals, and entertain us with throat singing, jokes, and teasing.

Even though I don’t understand their words, their laughter moves through me and I feel a part of their joyous celebration of just living life.

The days are spent trekking through awe-inspiring landscape that is surrounded by the untouched peaks of the Bhutanese Himalayas and visiting remote villages where the school children are always happy to sing and dance with us, and where we provide a small treat to some enthusiastic young monks as we offer up gifts of individual Polaroid photos.

The weather never improves and we encounter snow and wind most days, and there are areas where the trail becomes treacherous yet again, but the majesty of the Himalayas and the playful welcoming, warm nature of the local people make for another unforgettable adventure in Bhutan.

As for the Snowman Trek, it has not yet escaped my grasp as I secretly plan for my return.