Our journey started with a 16-hour drive, most of it on windy, rugged mountain roads. But we could only drive so far.
As we hiked the last four kilometers to the landslide, we passed villagers trekking out single file. Most were carrying their lives on their back, some with a child on their hip, even a few people were barefoot.
Then we started seeing bodies, body after dead body, wrapped in blankets on makeshift stretchers. Some were carried by soldiers, some by villagers, all headed to the morgue, a parking lot designated on the side of the road. That night, I settled in for an uneasy sleep in the car with my producer Wen-Chun Fan and photographer Brad Olson, knowing it was just a preview of the devastation we would witness.