I didn't apply for the job, I inherited it. This is our sixth week in the city of Goretex and nylon, and there are parts of my day which have become routine. Sometime before dark I amble down to where we keep the generator stowed away behind a rock wall. With a few hundred tugs, it starts.
Lights come on, batteries get charged and e-mails get sent.
On occasion, despite my rigorous efforts, the generator will not start. These are times when I sit down on the moving chunks of granite and look up over the ice fall to the setting sun. I place my hand on the shiny, red metal engine and re-check all the switches. In the magical setting of the Himalayas it is not unusual to share a conversation with a generator. I have caught other Basecamp managers interacting with their generators in a variety of ways.