Back to Nepal

A year ago I flew from Kathmandu, Nepal to New York at the end of one year of travel, and shortly thereafter I vowed that “In Conclusion” was my final blog post. There are limited circumstances that might warrant additional blogging, but I recently returned to Nepal for a mountaineering expedition, which certainly feels like one such circumstance.

The expedition plan came together last Spring, when I realized that I could theoretically use vacation days to resume the hobbies I picked up traveling. I say “theoretically” because mountaineering is nearly impossible to pursue in a compressed timeframe, and investment banking vacations don’t tend to be lengthy by nature.

Luckily, I knew just the person to assist: Luke, the guide I climbed with in Pakistan last year, who specializes in customized expeditions to unique mountains. I described my objectives to Luke as follows: a two-week expedition to an achievable mountain with a fun team. “Achievable” translates to something I could summit without substantial training, since Manhattan does not exactly cater towards mountain fitness.

Luke proposed 21,000ft Gangchempo, a peak in the Langtang Valley of Nepal, which could be climbed in exactly two weeks with a helicopter approach into base camp. We’d climb a route that had only been climbed once in history, by Sanu Sherpa in 2022. Here’s a photo of Gangchempo (left) from the internet, and a photo of our route (right).

I was sold, and so began my third trip to Nepal. The first was in 2017, when my college roommate and I trekked to Everest Base Camp. In 2023 I returned towards the end of my year of travel, with no concrete plan but a loose vision to eventually head elsewhere in Asia. That vision never materialized, and three months later I was still in Nepal.

I could write extensively on my love of Nepal and its capital, Kathmandu, but for now I’ll refrain, as that topic is outside the scope of the blog. I will leave you with this: a famous climber once wrote that returning to Kathmandu is like receiving a warm hug. I couldn’t agree more. Here’s a photo of my return to Kathmandu, and return to Himalayan Java Coffee, where I passed countless hours in 2023:

Most Himalayan mountaineering expeditions originate in Kathmandu, and our expedition was no different. In Kathmandu I reconvened with Luke, met my 5 climbing partners (all of whom climb with him regularly), and got a near perfect score on the gear check (I only forgot liner gloves — pretty good):

The next morning we helicoptered directly to our base camp. Helicopter charters are a big industry in Nepal, with use cases spanning from mountain rescues to climbers and trekkers pursuing long objectives in short vacations. Our base camp staff trekked to camp in 5 days. We flew for 30 minutes:

As you can see, we landed on a cold and cloudy day near a small cluster of tents, a multi-day walk from the nearest village. Our gear (including my puffy jacket and pants) was on a separate flight, so for an hour I sat shivering in the dining tent, pondering a question I still don’t have the answer to: Do I actually enjoy this? I’m told that these are common thoughts to have in the mountains. Could be.

Base camp was at 13,600ft, so we spent the first few days resting with headaches. Flying directly to that elevation is virtually unheard of, so in some ways, our expedition was experimenting with the art of the possible. Here are some photos of the base camp. As expected, we were the only team there.

At base camp we also joined forces with the rest of the guide staff, apart from Luke:

Pemba Rita Sherpa (right) has 14 Everest summits. Sanu Sherpa (left) has something similar, but too much humility to ever tell you about them. Lakpa Sherpa (center) has climbed each of the world’s fourteen highest peaks twice, and is on his third lap. We were a very well supported team.

On our second base camp rest day, Pemba conducted the Puja ceremony, a Nepali tradition in which the mountain gods are asked for safe passage. The Sherpas will not set foot on the mountain without it. Here are some photos from that process:

Caroline (left photo) was my tent mate above the base camp. It was wonderful to finally have a female climbing partner.

After two days of rest at the base camp we headed up the mountain on an overnight rotation to Camp 1, to help our bodies acclimatize to the altitude. Below are some photos from the two day climb. The summit is the peak in the distance of the first photo.

In our climb to Camp 1 and the rest days that followed, two related points became clear. First, Gangchempo was harder than I had expected, and likely beyond the scope of my physical ability. Second, my motivation to try for the summit anyhow, and endure four days of discomfort in doing so, was barely there. My head wasn’t in the game.

Back at base camp, I contemplated these points for a day, then announced that I wasn’t going to climb. Unsurprisingly, my teammates believed that I should suck it up and try. My perspective was different: why endure four days of discomfort in attempt of an objective that’s likely outside the scope of my ability? There are plenty of really good answers to that question, but most assume a baseline of motivation that I just didn’t have.

In 2017, two of my friends watched from the sidelines as all of their friends jumped off the World’s Highest Bungee in South Africa. Surely they’d regret this. “Not one bit,” they told me. “We don’t want to do it and it’s as simple as that.” I finally understood what was in their head that day.

I don’t believe in omens, but I came damn close on the morning that the team left for the summit. In typical Nepali mountaineering tradition, we had “protection cords,” which grant safe passage on the mountain, tied around our necks. While the team packed for their summit departure, I sat outside and unzipped my puffy jacket as the sun hit my back. As I did, my protection cord fell off my neck and into my lap. Safe passage was no longer granted, just as it was no longer needed.

Later that morning, the team headed up the mountain with parting words, “helicopter will arrive for you at 11.” Then a thick cloud cover engulfed the camp, and the helicopter did not, in fact, arrive at 11. I was alone with our chef, with whom I could barely communicate, and a radio through which Luke delivered sporadic and discouraging updates on the status of the helicopter. Here I am alone in the dining tent at both lunch and dinner. Would not recommend this. Teammates are a nice thing.

I spent that night alone in the camp. My teammates had theorized that this might be a relaxing experience, but I’m going to have to disagree wholeheartedly. Particularly at night, something about a field of empty tents, a multi-day walk from the nearest village, without satellite phone, was unnerving.

Luckily the clouds cleared the next morning, and 30 minutes later I was back in Kathmandu:

Last year I spent more time hanging around Kathmandu than probably any tourist ever, so it was only right that my return to Nepal end in a similar fashion. I nearly changed my flight, but something about Kathmandu draws me in, and always has, so I spent five days in my favorite coffee shop (Himalayan Java), bar (Sam's), and hotel (Yak & Yeti) instead.

Avid blog readers may recall Ed (left) who I met on a ferry in Chile and traveled through Paraguay with, and Jenny (right) who I sat next to in the 10 day meditation course in Nepal last year. Both were coincidentally in town for climbing expeditions as well, and helped me pass both the days and the range of emotions that accompany failure in the mountains.

Eventually the Gangchempo team returned with a summit day report: 2 of the 5 remaining climbers reached the summit. The others tried but were physically exhausted, and turned back. Pemba was particularly stoked to get foreigners to the top. He posted the following:

Before wrapping the blog, I would be remiss not to mention that Gangchempo is the second mountaineering expedition from which I have departed early. The first was Cholatse exactly one year ago, and I wrote about that here. I’ve reflected extensively on this pattern, and concluded the following. First, that i’ve chosen expeditions that don’t align with my skills, fitness, and objectives in the mountains. Second, that my willingness to endure discomfort in the mountains is certainly higher than the average office worker, but probably lower than the average mountaineer. I’m completely at peace with that.

I’m still a huge believer in embracing discomfort. I’ve done it many times, and I’ll do it many times again. But it has to feel right. Gangchempo and Cholatse weren’t challenges I wanted to embrace. I am certain that I’ll return to Nepal some day, for a challenge that I do want to embrace. I’ll blog again when that day comes.

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for following!

Holly