The Cloud Ocean

Khan Tengri – July, 2024

Posted on 2024/10/09 by Ian

Contents

Khan Tengri

Khan Tengri from North Inylchek Basecamp

Khan Tengri is the high point of Kazakhstan, the second highest peak of the Tian Shan range, and one of the five 7000m snow leopard peaks. At 7010m Khan Tengri is also the world’s northernmost 7000m peak, although there is some contention as to whether its altitude should be considered 6995m on account of a significant ice cap adding to the peak’s geological elevation. Its northern latitude means that weather on Khan Tengri is unstable and often severe, and that climbers encounter a thinner atmosphere than is found at comparable elevations further south.

Khan Tengri is an exceptionally beautiful mountain on account of its prominence, its pyramidal shape, and its remarkable geological composition – the upper peak from ~6000m is a marble pyramid steep enough on its north face to remain mostly free of snow. Viewed from the north on a clear day, at sunset this pale yellow-gold marble catches the light of the setting sun and glows in a fiery, blood red hue. When viewed from the south Khan Tengri presents a perfect snow pyramid reminiscent of K2 in Pakistan or Alpamayo in Peru. The first time I experienced Khan Tengri’s sunset alpenglow I could only gape in awe – it is one of the most glorious, impressive peaks I have ever laid eyes upon.

The Goal: An Independent 7000m Snow Leopard Summit

I had been keen to make an attempt on Khan Tengri for many years prior to my 2024 expedition. Khan Tengri is a mountain which, early on in my mountaineering progression, seemed utterly out of reach for me. I first laid eyes on images of the route in 2015 when Edgar Parra, a friend and mountain guide from Ecuador, had shown me photos from his ascent. For many years, Khan Tengri stood in my mind as a mountain which I thought I’d never be skilled or strong enough to climb, let alone independently (which I define here simply as ‘unguided’). With time and experience it began to seem more realistic, and possible for me to safely take a shot at. A variety of climbers I’d met over the years, including several friends, had recommended the northern route to me, emphasizing its viability for an independent or ‘solo’ (if such can be considered possible, given the fixed ropes) climb, its relatively good protection via seasonally maintained fixed lines, and its challenging, rewarding character. I had similarly been warned that the south route was unacceptably risky, due to significant serac and avalanche exposure.

After successful and highly rewarding experiences on Pik Kommunizma and Manaslu in the summer through autumn of 2023, I knew that I would be keen for another big mountain goal in 2024. While I shifted my focus entirely to rock climbing after Manaslu, and kept it there for the following six months, beginning in the early spring of 2024 I also committed time and energy to a training regime for mountaineering.

With no partners available on an aligned timeframe the expense, extreme physical toll, and guide support of a second 8000m expedition undertaken without friends did not seem particularly viable to me. At the same time, Pik Kommunizma had renewed my enthusiasm for the 7000m snow leopard peaks, and based on the advice of friends I felt confident that Khan Tengri could be doable if going alone. At this point I had summited three of the 7000m snow leopards, had climbed on those three peaks five times in total, and had done so independently – whether with friends or all alone – each time. I committed to an early start at the very beginning of the season, paid my deposit to Ak-Sai Travel, who now operate both the north and south basecamps on the Inylchek glacier, and prepared to return to Central Asia. I would warm up and pre-acclimatize on Pik Lenin, before shifting to Khan Tengri via the North Inylchek basecamp.

Acclimatization Strategy:
Pre-Acclimation, Expedition Enchainment

I pre-acclimated for Khan Tengri by making an attempt on 7134m Pik Lenin, the basecamp of which is also accessed from within Kyrgyzstan. I had previously summited Lenin in the summer of 2017, and in 2016 had also made an unsuccessful attempt; this was my third time on the mountain. I had a very rough time of things on Lenin on account of sustained inclement weather – enormous snow dumps and high winds – and never made it higher than ~6100m. Nonetheless, my time spent moving up and down Lenin, and resting at elevation, served as adequate acclimation for a rapid ascent of Khan Tengri. I summited Khan Tengri on my 7^th day in North Inylchek. I did not feel as thoroughly acclimated as I wanted to be, largely due to my ‘low’ highpoint on Lenin, but my acclimation was definitely sufficient and served my goal wonderfully. Had I made it to the summit of Lenin during pre-acclimation, I believe that my subsequent time on Khan Tengri would have felt much easier than it did.

Pre-acclimation via expedition enchainment is a majorly effective strategy for tackling big mountains. It requires a significant time investment, which is a deterrent for many, but significantly improves odds of success and quality of experience (minimizing AMS and discomfort) at altitude. Climbing a ~7000m peak before a lower but technically demanding peak in the ~6000m range effectively mitigates altitude as a factor for the second climb. Climbing a 7500m peak and spending weeks in basecamp before an 8000m peak prepares the body with a thorough acclimation ‘foundation’, making a no-o2 ascent more realistic. At the time of writing I have successfully enchained four major expeditions above 7000m:

7134m Pik Lenin as preparation for an ‘overnight’ solo ascent of 5642m Mt. Elbrus, with no acclimation rotation on Elbrus.

7134m Pik Lenin leading into a rapid 5-day ascent of 5947m Alpamayo, where we skipped high camp and gained the summit on day 4.

7495m Pik Kommunizma as pre-acclimation for an ascent of 8163m Manaslu, where a single rotation to ~6650m was sufficient for my summiting without the use of supplementary oxygen.

7134m Pik Lenin prior to 7010m Khan Tengri, where I was able to summit on my 7^th day without any rotations above ~4500m.

Pik Lenin is uniquely ideal for this purpose. It is inexpensive, quite high, highly accessible, very comfortable due to a developed basecamp, geographically close to me (I live in China), and relatively straightforward to rotate up and down on. When climbing Lenin it is notably easy to gain 5000m on nearby Pik Yuhin; this may be one of the most efficient and comfortable places to tag 5000m anywhere in the world. Lenin is a slog most of the way, but in spite of that I’d totally go back and spend time on Lenin (yet again!) in preparation for other peaks.

Schedule and Calendar

Here I have put together a calendar outlining my acclimation routine and climbing activity throughout my 2024 Pik Lenin and Khan Tengri climbs. I have likewise charted out the elevations used for acclimation rotations, culminating in an ascent.

Khan Tengri Journal

7.20

Arrive in 650m Bishkek.

7.21

Long, full-day drive to Karkara at 2200m. Many stops made the ride far lengthier than expected.

7.22

Helicopter ride for ~40 minutes through the valleys and into the mountains, to North Inylchek basecamp at 3960m, with first views of the Tian Shan range.

After lunch I went for a hike to crampon point at 4050m. Time of 45 minutes to get there, crossing moraine and dry glacier. A large river crossing was bridged with a wooden platform, which must be found via a specific ice valley. The river is fierce and powerful, quite dangerous, and must be crossed with caution.

North Inylchek Basecamp is small, rugged, spartan. Situated upon moving glacier, there are no permanent structures – indeed, the tents shift and slowly flow over time. My sleeping tent developed a distinctive slant and a troubling instability throughout my short stay in it. Food was consistently excellent, and Basecamp staff were friendly and professional. Yet, the camp feels cold and desolate when compared to Moskvina or to Lenin’s BC and ABC. There is no greenery, little life, much shadow and ice.

Khan Tengri presides above camp, majestic in its geometry. On clear evenings it glows orange and red at sunset, magnificent and ominous. Surrounding peaks are sharp and severe, numerous 5000m teeth rising alongside Khan Tengri, steep and pronounced. The Tian Shan are serious business, and very few of the visible mountains would be easily ascended. The proximity of the Inylchek glacier is startling; it is always underfoot, and its exposed ice lies a few short meters from camp. Climbers in camp visit it frequently for the washroom facility. Puddles of meltwater form, freeze, and drain throughout the day. Rivers of pure glacial water materialize at noon. The glacier is the highway which leads to the base of the route upward, and the foundation upon which camp is temporarily constructed.

7.23

2:20 pm depart BC.
3:35 pm arrive crampon point.
Time of 75 minutes.
6:30 pm arrive Camp 1, 4540m.
Time of 4:10 from BC.

I packed 6 days worth of supplies and all of my equipment for higher up. I had decided to go heavy and get the carrying over with in one shot – a strategy which has worked well for me in the past. I hoped to potentially even make my way into position for a summit attempt off of this heavy carry.

Soft snow made the heavy pack quite grueling to manage throughout steeper sections of the easy climb to Camp 1. I wished that I’d left earlier in the day; soft snow bridges were more than a bit dodgy. I used my jumar twice on fixed lines, making the slush easier to manage.

Camp 1 is small, but I had no problem finding a rock platform for my low-profile one-person tent. One benefit of a small tent is the ease of pitching in tight spaces!

7.24

9:20 am depart 4540m Camp 1
10:05 arrive Crampon Point.
11:05 arrive BC. Time of 1:45.

I woke up to steady, wet snowfall, and very poor visibility. I decided to bail rather than waste gas and food waiting around in Camp 1. Conditions were very damp. Ascending in such conditions would be miserable, and it would be hard to dry off properly once back in my tent.

I descended fairly quickly, although fresh snow slowed me down as I pulled ropes out and looked for the optimal path down. The moraine was lovely in the snow, and the flags which mark the way to the wooden bridge across the glacial river were much easier to see.

It was quite hot; I sweated inside of my water resistant layers and was thoroughly soaked once I got back to BC.

I was pleased to make a heavy carry to Camp 1, as I would never have to make that section of the route with a huge pack again. At the same time, I was disappointed not to get my equipment and supplies up to Camp 2, as doing so would have set me up nicely for a fast-paced summit attempt later.

7.25

Depart BC at 10:10 am.
Arrive Camp 1 at 13:10 pm. Time of 3:00.

After spending all of 7.24 in Basecamp, during sustained wet snowfall and poor conditions, the forecast shifted for the better. I agreed to move up on a similar time schedule as two other independent climbers, Lucas from Germany and James from the UK, and meet them in camp 2 on the 26th. We would then share a tent and stove in Camp 3 on the 27th.

I ascended in a light breeze and full sun, making a good pace whilst subjectively ‘taking it easy’. Conditions were much better than my first climb to Camp 1, as I left much earlier in the day. Having a lighter backpack was also quite enjoyable!

I observed two enormous serac collapses off of Khan Tengri’s shoulder, to the climber’s left of the north face. These did not threaten the route or its approach. It was very pleasant to arrive at Camp 1 with my tent pitched and food ready to eat. Conditions were flawless in camp, sunny and warm with a light breeze. I was easily able to dry my boots in the sun, and take a comfortable nap.

I ate well all afternoon and evening, and slept for over 9 hours. Light snow fell overnight, exactly as forecasted.

7.26

9:30 am depart Camp 1 4540m.
16:05 pm arrive Camp 2 5550m. Time of 6:35.

The route from Camp 1 to Camp 2 covers steep terrain, with several ice and rock steps. The rock steps and an exposed rock traverse were fun, and not strenuous for me, but the steep ice was brutal to front point while hauling my heavy backpack. I felt great with breathing and altitude, just absolutely slammed by the weight of my enormous pack. There were almost no places suitable for stopping to rest, due to the sustained steepness of the terrain. I had trained well for this expedition, but mostly via running rather than load hauling. This definitely contributed to my intense discomfort in managing my heavy pack while on steep terrain. Unfortunately, the remainder of the climb was like this; steep, and difficult with a big bag.

The weather was sunny and warm for most of the way, shifting into cloud and wind as I approached Camp 2. The entire route is fixed each season, and I kept my ascender on the lines for the majority of the climbing. With the ascender on, the route felt secure and reasonably well protected, but remains relentlessly steep. Without fixed ropes, the route between Camp 1 and Camp 2 would be an order of magnitude more strenuous, and I would not have felt at all comfortable soloing the vast majority of it. This would be a theme for the remainder of the route from Camp 2 to Camp 3 and then to the summit; if not already fixed this would be a very challenging and involved mixed route with what appeared to me to be fairly mediocre protection. Make no mistake, the majority of climbers – myself included – are only ascending Khan Tengri from the north due to the presence of the fixed lines.

Lucas and James met me at Camp 2 as planned. They arrived well before me, coming directly from Basecamp with light packs given that they had already deposited their tents, equipment, and supplies in Camp 2. I pitched my tent between theirs, and would leave my tent and some spare supplies here when the three of us moved up to Camp 3 together with a shared tent.

7.27

8:30 am depart Camp 2.
Arrive 6100m Chapaev Shoulder at 12:45.
13:25 pm arrive Camp 3 5860m. Time of 4:55.

More steep, sustained climbing from Camp 2 to Camp 3. Many rock and ice steps, but the fixed ropes made for secure climbing with the jumar on as a backup. The route up and over Chapaev shoulder is quite demoralizing, as it seems to go on forever – climbing still higher even while Camp 3 is clearly visible below! This aspect of the north route, paired with relentlessly sustained steepness, contributes to its (deserved) reputation for being difficult. Chapaev’s shoulder represents an additional ~250m of ascent and descent which must be covered – both on the way up and on the way down.

Views from the top of Chapaev shoulder were superb, and we spent fifteen minutes taking photos and looking at Khan Tengri’s west ridge under clear skies. The descent down to Camp 3 was very quick on firm snow. Camp 3 is a tiny snow ridge dropping off into large cornices to the north, and a steep face to the south, but we quickly found a flat space for our shared tent.

The forecast for 7.28 was promising, calling for 35 km/h wind with light snowfall in the morning and heavier snowfall in the evening. Lucas, James, and I decided to commit to a summit attempt.

7.28

Awake at 12:30 am.
2:45 am start.
12:20 pm Summit. Time of 9:35.
3:50 pm return to camp. Time of 13:05 round trip.

The route to the summit begins with a low-angled snow climb, but rapidly steepens. The majority of the route to the summit is relentlessly steep. There is almost nowhere to stop without anchoring off, and only a handful of small, level ledges. Two of these are sometimes used as high camps, and both were occupied by very tightly-pitched 2-person tents. James left our tent first, and Lucas struck out ahead of me. Lucas climbed impressively fast, and I wouldn’t see him again until ~100m below the summit. I caught up to James where the route steepened, and climbed more or less on pace with him until the couloir, where I moved on ahead of him.

The weather for our summit day was very much sub-optimal, with intermittent high winds and sustained snowfall throughout the ascent. Around 4 am I began to fear that the forecast was entirely incorrect, and that the projected evening snowfall had shifted forward to early morning. Beginning at around 8am there were two hours of vicious wind and driving snow wherein I seriously thought about bailing. I pushed through in the hopes of the weather shifting, and although high wind continued, the snow eased off.

I climbed in my down pants, down storm parka, and all of my base and mid layers. My base and mid layer system for the upper body was: 150g merino t-shirt, 150g merino long sleeve, 200g merino long sleeve, Patagonia R1, Patagonia Nanopuff. For my legs, my system was: 200g merino underwear, 150g merino leggings, 200g merino leggings (yes, two pairs of merino leggings, layered), Patagonia softshell guide pants. I use a Feathered Friends Volant storm parka, and Feathered Friends Volant down pants for 7000m peaks. I wear a single heavyweight merino sock. Gloves were an issue for me on summit day; due to constant manipulation of my jumar and personal anchor I was not able to wear my 8000m storm mitts during the climb. I wore a Polartec liner glove inside of the storm mitt mid-glove, a ‘crab claw’ with bifurcated index finger. If I were to return to Khan Tengri I’d purchase the warmest, heaviest five-finger glove I could find and leave my mittens behind.

Without my storm parka’s hood closure, a thick Polartec buff face mask and my goggles, my face would have become too cold to continue – I had to minimize any skin exposure to the air. I quite frankly would have majorly benefited from wearing my full down suit in the frigid, windy conditions we experienced – but carrying it up to Camp 3 in the nice weather lower down would have been miserable! Khan Tengri was a bloody cold climb; I had more gear than I thought I’d need, used all of it, was still cold, and am glad that I was especially cognizant of protecting my hands and feet while moving. The ‘wiggle step’ is an important technique to master; wiggling the toes and fingers in line with every single rhythmic rest-step higher.

Dawn eventually cracked the frozen night sky open, revealing Pik Pobeda in the distance. Pobeda’s summit glowed warmly, while its enormous massif spanned across the horizon below. A fearsome mountain, Pik Pobeda is the hardest and most dangerous of the snow leopards, the ‘gatekeeper’ to finishing the five. Sunrise did not, unfortunately, bring warmth. Khan Tengri’s normal summit route follows the west ridge, which does not catch morning sun, and the wind was too intense for daylight to make much of a difference.

At around ~6800m, I roughly approximate the elevation here, I reached the couloir where the ridge traverses north onto the mountain’s upper slopes. There was a significant bottleneck here, as the handful of climbers ahead of me worked their way past the sketchy pair of core-shot fixed ropes. Unanchored in the middle, the ropes protected the traverse from a deadly fall, but did not serve to keep a climber comfortably on route. They were very loose, difficult to jumar in a controlled manner, and majorly slowed down the people ahead of me. I reckon that I waited for almost 45 minutes for my shot at this short ~15m of the route; when it was my finally turn to climb I used my axe for balance and delicately cramponed across the traverse with the ropes held as taut as possible. On the way down, rappelling this section was also annoying, and one of the slowest sections to navigate.

Above the couloir I finally gained Khan Tengri’s upper slopes, and was greeted by the glory and life-bringing warmth of the sun. The sunshine revitalized me, filling me with hope and renewed motivation. Immediately overheated, I anchored myself to slather sunscreen onto my face and remove my down pants. Taking the pants off would prove to be a mistake, as I needed to put them on again when intense wind resumed less than an hour later. Above the couloir is a fun rock step on beautiful marble. Fresh fixed lines made for perfect protection here, and I racked my axe so that I could free climb. I made use of a hand jam, stemmed, and pulled some easy rock moves with my jumar as backup. This section of rock was by far the highlight of the route for me – class 5 climbing and a hand jam above 6800m!

The final slopes to the summit are moderately angled, but were arduous in their own way due to intense wind and cold. Snow quality was acceptably firm and the route up was easy, but weather made for significant discomfort. I met Lucas here, on his way down from the summit, and we exchanged words of encouragement. Near the summit are several large boulders, and enough small, flat areas for a few tents. Some ambitious teams do apparently camp up there, although the prospect of hauling gear up makes me shudder.

When I reached the top, I let out a shout of triumph. It had been a long push, in poor conditions, and I was delighted and relieved to have made it. Each meter was fought for and hard earned. The summit day was physically and mentally difficult. A lot of this can be attributed to the impact of weather conditions, especially wind. The summit plateau was excruciatingly cold, due to intense and sustained winds. I was only able to stay for a few minutes and hastily take photographs of Pik Pobeda, Khan Tengri’s summit cross, and the surrounding terrain. A friendly Ukrainian climber who was already on the summit when I arrived generously removed his gloves in order to take my photo for me. I climbed the final ~10m up the ice cap, to the true high point of the mountain, the controversial final meters which designate Khan Tengri as a 7000m peak. James arrived as I was headed down, and we quickly took a selfie together.

The descent to our high camp tent felt endless; rappel after rappel after rappel, mostly on iced and knotted fixed lines. I made a concerted effort to remain focused and intentional in my actions, double check my systems, lock my carabiners, and generally be as careful as possible. I was fatigued, mentally and physically, and knew that mistakes would come easily should I allow them.

Back at the tent, I clocked my round-trip time at 13:05, not very fast at all. I believe that inclement weather slowed me down significantly. I also lost between 30-60 minutes due to the small bottleneck at the couloir traverse fixed lines. I also could definitely have trained with better specificity; my calves persistently felt like an athletic bottleneck on Khan Tengri. I was not fully prepared for the amount of front-pointing and sustained steep terrain, and had been especially worn down by the struggle of managing my enormous backpack during the steep load carries.

7.29

10:55 am depart Camp 3.
1.5 hour rest in Camp 1.
18:00 pm arrive Crampon Point.
~3 hour rest at Crampon Point.
21:50 pm arrive BC.

James, Lucas and I slept in, and took our time eating breakfast, drinking coffee, and packing up. A massive avalanche woke Lucas and I in the early morning – it swept the southern route below Camp 3. A serac collapse off of Pik Chapaev had triggered the slide, a common occurrence given Chapaev’s topography above the southern route’s approach gulley. Lucas and I turned our radio on to listen for any distress calls from the south: nothing. On return to basecamp we would learn that one man had died in this avalanche, and that two others had been seriously injured.

The climb from Camp 3 back up Chapaev’s shoulder was slow and annoying – yet more jugging on the jumar. Happily this ~250m climb would be the final use of my ascender on the route.

Endless rappelling on the way down. Chapaev’s shoulder is around 6100m high, and the base of the route sits at roughly 4000m. Accounting for some sections of smoother terrain and short sections of walking, I figure that I easily rappelled 1800m in total. Many fixed ropes were icy, pulled too tight by snowfall or glacial shift, or were knotted in awkward places mid-rap. Diagonal rappels and raps on loose scree or deep snow began to add their toll both physically and mentally.

In Camp 1 we stopped to pack our tents and spare supplies, and take a much needed break from rappelling. We stopped again for several hours to regroup as a trio at Crampon Point, drying our boots and socks in the sun and gazing at Khan Tengri’s splendor.

We were all exhausted, and the final easy dry glacier crossing to basecamp felt like a bit of a death march. On return to basecamp – manna from heaven! A hot meal, a cold Coca Cola, and the Sauna facility were all ready and waiting for us! Never before have I slept so well after drinking a full liter of cola.

7.30

Rest day in Basecamp. I felt quite alright this day, not particularly worn down, albeit with a very healthy appetite. The weather began to deteriorate, and we were grateful that we had summited when we did.

7.31

Helicopter scheduled for today, but cancelled due to foul weather. High wind and steady rain all day long.

8.1

Helicopter at 11 am back to Karkara camp. Long drive back to Bishkek, total time of ~6.5 hours with minimal gas station stops.

Images

Thoughts on Khan Tengri

Khan Tengri via North Inylchek was a difficult climb. The terrain and demands of the ascent, even with fixed lines in place, represent a totally different scope of ascent than Pik Lenin or Pik Korzhenevskaya, the other two ‘lower’ 7000m snow leopard peaks. Weather was challenging, and extremely cold on summit day. Load carries on relentlessly steep terrain posed a real challenge, and are something which I will endeavor to train for with better specificity in the future. I was delighted to summit Khan Tengri in an independent style, and in good time due to pre-acclimation. Pik Lenin had been a total wash, a boring grind of a climb with days upon days spent waiting out foul weather, and having that ascent pay off with success on Khan Tengri was a joy. North Inylchek is a spartan base camp, but food was both sufficient and good, the sauna was delightful, and the staff were highly capable. Ak Sai runs a solid operation, and I have been very impressed by their basecamps on Moskvina, Pik Lenin, and the Inylchek glacier. Ak Sai’s pricing is of quite good value, in my opinion, if just paying for basecamp.

Khan Tengri is one of the most beautiful mountains I have ever climbed, or even seen! This is a special peak, one of the world’s most remarkable, unique in its character. The marble cap of the upper mountain is unlike anything I have ever seen elsewhere – I’d love to hear a geologist go into greater depth as to its formation and nature. Witnessing the blood red glow of Khan Tengri at sunset is indelible, a powerful mountain experience which will never leave me.

Editing this journal as I am, in late September of 2024, it is interesting to compare my physical state after Khan Tengri, with that of my condition after Manaslu – Khan Tengri was subjectively a ‘harder’ climb than Manaslu, yet Manaslu was much ‘harder’ on my body and mind. After Khan Tengri I felt pretty good, had an appetite and energy, had lost about 4kg of body mass, was able to rapidly begin regaining lost weight. After Manaslu I was physically ruined, suffered from short term cognitive fatigue or impairment, had no appetite for about a full day, and had lost about 7kg of body mass. My rock climbing performance took roughly three months, around 12 weeks, to fully recover from Manaslu. As I write, I subjectively feel that my rock climbing performance has taken only about 6-7 weeks to recover from Khan Tengri.

I am of the firm belief that the southern route to Khan Tengri’s west ridge (the northern and southern routes share the same summit ridge) is unacceptably hazardous, exposed to severe and unavoidable objective risk in the form of serac-induced avalanche off of Pik Chapaev. We saw or heard numerous slides on the southern side of the route, and multiple fatalities and grievous injuries occurred in 2024. I am compelled to put this to writing, phrased in strong language: If planning to climb Khan Tengri, you should prepare for and train for the northern route. Do not play dice with your life on the southern side of the mountain.

Manaslu – Trip Report, September 2023

Posted on 2024/04/02 by Ian

Contents

I climbed to the true summit and absolute highpoint of 8163m Manaslu on September 21^st, 2023 with a commercial expedition organized by Imagine Nepal, and 1:1 guided by Pasang Dawa ‘Pa Dawa’ Sherpa. I did not use supplemental oxygen at any time during my ascent or descent.

This is a written trip report for my climb. For photographs, take a look at this post.

Manaslu’s East Pinnacle, from 4900m Basecamp

The Goal:
8000m Without Supplementary o2

An 8000m summit without the use of supplementary oxygen had been a major personal goal of mine for a long time. The economic expense, training rigor, time commitment, and uncertainty surrounding my ability to physically handle 8000m had deterred me from making any attempt pre-Covid, with the rationale that I could continue to build more 7000m experience first. Uncertainty, especially, was in hindsight a major factor for me; how would I handle the elevation without o2, and how could I know or fully prepare without just committing? The high-friction environment created by Covid policies in China, where I live, suddenly put a hard stop to any possibility of my getting onto an 8000er, or even mountaineering at all, for three and a half years. Near the end of Covid I arranged to take a one year sabbatical from work, thus satisfying the time commitment involved, and commenced a structured training regime.

With no stable partners keen to make early plans, and absolutely not confident in targeting my first 8000er alone, I resolved to accept the cost of climbing guided with a commercial operator. Manaslu, whilst still very expensive, was the cheapest 8000m peak one could climb guided, and its normal route was very straightforward for me to research and get a sense of – especially so given excellent content published by Explorersweb. I chose to climb with Imagine Nepal for a number of reasons. Imagine Nepal stood out to me as a local Nepali operator, as the operator responsible for rope fixing, and due to their solid track record in climbing to Manaslu’s elusive true summit – and not a ‘false’ foresummit – during the two seasons prior to my attempt. The choice worked out for me, and Imagine Nepal was as fine an operator as any on the mountain; basecamp provided excellent rest and recovery, Pa Dawa was an absolute unit of a guide and partner, and all logistics and transfers were smooth and professional.

Acclimatization Strategy:
Expedition Enchainment

Enchaining expeditions, climbing multiple high elevation peaks in a row with the goal of robust long-term acclimatization, is a tactic which I have made productive use of several times. In the past I have enchained Pik Lenin with Mount Elbrus, and Pik Lenin with Alpamayo, for excellent outcomes. The primary difference between a lengthy singular expedition within one region, and a link up for acclimation carry-over, is in the loss of exposure to elevation midway due to travel and transitions. I am not aware of any well-established science to the persistence of acclimatization, nor its rate of degradation once removed from a hypoxic environment. However, I know from prior experience that I am fine for roughly a week at sea level without any significant loss of acclimation, and I also believe that – if smoothly executed – transitions at low elevation can function as good recovery intervals for the body.

Prior to Manaslu I undertook a significant expedition to the Pamir in Tajikistan, where I successfully ascended 7495m Pik Kommunizma, another long-term goal of mine. This climb, unguided and with friends, was deeply significant for my subsequent success on Manaslu. I had plenty of time in Tajikistan to refresh myself on my mountaineering systems and habits, get back into the rhythm and challenge of high altitude climbing, and most importantly was able to rigorously acclimate before setting foot in Nepal. Thorough acclimation was absolutely critical to ascending Manaslu without bottled oxygen, and I am certain that without Pik Kommunizma, plus significant time resting in Tajikistan’s 4330m Moskvina basecamp after that ascent, I would have needed at least one additional acclimatization rotation on Manaslu. The schedule followed by climbers making use of bottled oxygen is absolutely not suitable for a no-o2 ascent, as it involves a quite limited scope of acclimation.

I had spent an unpleasant night at 6950m camp on Kommunizma before ascending to 7495m, which provided serious stimulus for my body to adapt for even higher. The risk I faced was in losing this deep acclimation by spending too much time at sea level; I thus opted to remain in Moskvina Glades Basecamp for over a week after Kommunizma, and tried to get back to altitude as quickly as was possible upon reaching Nepal. As part of this strategy, I opted to save money by trekking into Manaslu basecamp, clearing 5150m Larke Pass and spending several additional nights above 4000m. The approach trek had me back to elevation much faster than a helicopter would have (helicopters fly in somewhat last minute, only when basecamp is fully constructed), and I also felt that the trek served to reinforce my base acclimation from living at 4330m Moskvina Glades. Nutrition and rest during most (I’ve heard horror stories about the Makalu approach!) approach treks in Nepal are a non-issue, due to well established tea house infrastructure, and an approach trek on a popular route (as in the Khumbu region) serves as a very low intensity acclimation interval. I felt quite strong from the get-go on Manaslu, with no issue sleeping at 6650m C3 on my first and only rotation, and no issue sleeping or eating at 7430m C4 during my summit push. The ability to rest and eat properly at these elevations set me up with a superb foundation of energy and motivation for my summit attempt.

My complete acclimation schedule, including Manaslu’s summit, is visualized below. Dark blue shows sleeping elevation, and light blue indicates the daily high point:

Day-by-Day Climbing Schedule and Route

Here is a calendar outlining my schedule throughout the approach hike and climb. I tracked output as minutes spent moving, whether ascending or descending.

September 1^{^st} – 5^{^th}

Approach trek.

The approach began with a long drive split over two days, from Kathmandu to the trailhead for the Manaslu circuit trek. I saved a significant amount of money by undertaking the 5 day approach trek instead of helicoptering into basecamp. This also served to reinforce acclimation nicely; on September 4th I cleared 5150m Larke Pass, and I spent two nights sleeping above 4000m during the approach.

Weather was quite unstable and rather poor throughout the approach. There was intermittent rain, high humidity, and one full day of torrential rain where we decided to hunker down in a tea house and just wait. The approach trek was otherwise pleasant enough, with very well broken trails and comfortable tea houses the entire way. The approach hike ended in Samarguan, a small village with guesthouses catering to both hikers and climbers.

A donkey train took my equipment separately, and Pa Dawa and I only carried day packs throughout the approach hike. The donkey with my bags was delayed, and my equipment made it to Samarguan just the day before we hiked up to basecamp! Luckily I had packed a thorough day bag, with everything that I needed (except an umbrella!).

The terrain throughout the approach hike was lovely higher up, especially the mountains surrounding Larke Pass and the high alpine lakes outside of Samarguan. In nice weather the Manaslu circuit would be a worthwhile hike unto itself, although the nearby peaks are less stunningly pronounced than those in the Khumbu region. Unfortunately, Manaslu did not reveal itself to me throughout the approach hike, and remained wreathed in clouds on days where I would have had good views in clear weather. I would not set eyes upon the mountain’s profile until the day of my first rotation to elevation.

September 6^{^th} – 8^{^th}

Active rest days in Samarguan, followed by a move to 4900m Basecamp.

I went for an afternoon hike up to an alpine lake on one day, and a much longer hike up to a high temple on another. The hike up to 4900m basecamp was slow but easy, on a well beaten trail. The route to basecamp was crowded with porters, hauling equipment up both for climbers and for basecamp infrastructure. We stopped for local milk tea halfway up, and took our time hiking at a relaxed pace. The weather was truly atrocious, rainy and very wet, and gave me cause for concern as to the conditions we would face higher on the mountain.

Manaslu is a very wet mountain, apparently due to the topography of the nearby valleys. On arrival basecamp was wreathed with mist and fog, there was incessant drizzle, and an umbrella became a truly critical piece of equipment. If attempting Manaslu, bring an umbrella for use on the lower mountain! We immediately went to the meal tent of our basecamp, where hot drinks and a space heater insulated us from the wet. My personal tent was spacious, and with double walls was insulated from condensation.

In reflection, the mood was somewhat grim those first days in basecamp, with very wet weather and heavy precipitation casting a shadow over our perceived chances for a smooth climb on the upper mountain. Moving between rest tents and meal tents was tenuous, exposure to the rain and cold making it difficult to stay dry and comfortable. The initially foul weather did eventually stabilize into one of the best seasons Manaslu has ever seen, with an enormous multi-week weather window of low winds and zero precipitation.

September 9^{^th} – 10^{^th}

Rest days in 4900m Basecamp.

I got to know the other climbers climbing with Imagine Nepal, meet more of the local support staff, and get a sense of the basecamp environment. I made daily forays higher, up to ‘crampon point’ at the edge of the glacier, in an effort to push my acclimation a little bit. Satellite internet service was available, and I was able to keep in touch with family and friends.

Weather was awful, constant drizzle and high humidity. It was difficult to stay dry, even inside the vestibule of my tent. I found myself wearing my down pants every day in basecamp, to deal with the penetrating humid cold.

September 11^{^th}

4900m Basecamp to 5750m Camp 1.

Manaslu revealed itself to me for the first time today, as the clouds parted and the mountain appeared from the mist. A rainbow appeared in the humidity over the peak, crowning the pinnacle – a false foresummit summit visible from basecamp – with colour.

My first day on the upper mountain, gaining the glacier and Camp 1 at 5750m. The lower icefall above basecamp is broken and heavily crevassed, and the route to Camp 1 was winding and somewhat indirect. The climbing was extremely easy, on very gentle slopes throughout, just with quite a bit of crevasse navigation via fixed ropes. There were numerous sections which would have been incredibly dangerous to cross without the fixed lines in place.

September 12^{^th}

5750m Camp 1 to 6250m Camp 2.

This section presented the ‘lower crux’ of the route, with a complex icefall navigation and several steep ice steps to ascend. The entire route was fixed, so the 80 degree to overhanging ice cliffs within the icefall required only easy jumaring. Regardless, each ice step was crowded with climbers, and they presented bottlenecks to movement. Porters carrying oxygen and heavy loads of equipment to the upper camps had to ascend slowly, and some climbers appeared very uncomfortable managing the steep terrain.

Camp 2 was still being established when we arrived, and there weren’t many tents up yet. Our group placed our tents, and enjoyed the rare clear view over nearby peaks. I felt quite good on this first foray above 6000m, although my pace from Camp 1 wasn’t particularly quick. I had a healthy appetite, and rested well through the afternoon and overnight. Many climbers planning to utilize o2 stopped at 6250m Camp 2 and descended to basecamp the next day – this would be their only acclimation rotation, and they would use oxygen from the low 6000s onwards for their summit attempt. I had heard that this was the standard tactic for oxygen-supported attempts, but was nonetheless surprised to see it employed at scale; an ascent of a 7000m peak typically requires more acclimation than this!

September 13^{^th}

6250m Camp 2 to 6650m Camp 3.

Camp 2 to Camp 3 is a very short route, quite direct and steeper than the terrain from basecamp through to Camp 2. I was able to make the ascent in just over two hours, pacing slowly and carefully so as to avoid heavy breathing and overexertion. Camp 3 is situated on a natural plateau below a gorgeous ridge of ice cliffs, well protected from the slopes above. Due to high precipitation Manaslu is notoriously avalanche prone; the upper camps below the large plateau at ~7400m have historically been hit with slides, and this season’s Camp 3 placement was intended to help mitigate that. It was a gorgeous location, with incredible views both down and up the mountain.

Our small group – three other Imagine Nepal clients, two Sherpa guides and myself – were the first climbers besides the rope fixing team to reach Camp 3 this season, and the route higher had not been opened or fixed yet. We placed our tents, and spent the afternoon looking at the route to Camp 4 above us. This would be the highpoint of my first, and only, acclimation rotation. There was no means of reasonably ascending higher, as the way to Camp 4 was bogged in deep snow. A rope fixing team of half a dozen strong Sherpa guides were to open the route and fix it in its entirety, in a few days once that snow consolidated.

I rested very well at Camp 3, with a healthy appetite and no difficulty sleeping. This elevation was a solid ~300m lower than the high camp on Pik Kommunizma, where I had spent an unpleasant night almost a month earlier. I was uncertain how much acclimation I had retained from my time on Kommunizma and in the 4330m Moskvina Basecamp, and was quite relieved to respond well to the elevation at Camp 3.

September 14^{^th}

6650m Camp 3 to 4900m Basecamp.

A big descent day. The large ice steps were all smooth enough to rappel, on account of well-fixed ropes. Descending was a slog, but relatively fast; only 4 hours from Camp 3 to basecamp. There was no rush, given an entire day budgeted for descending.

September 15^{^th} – 17^{^th}

Rest days in 4900m Basecamp.

I focused on good nutrition, lots of sleep, and calm mental focus throughout these three days. I was feeling very uncertain as to whether or not my acclimation would be sufficient for a no o2 ascent, and consulted online with several friends and partners who between them had a wealth of 8000m experience. I also received helpful perspective from Pakisani mountaineering legend Sirbaz Khan, who was climbing under Imagine Nepal’s logistics, and from Imagine Nepal’s leader Mingma G. Their combined advice and experience put me somewhat at ease; I decided that I should be well enough acclimated to make a solid attempt.

September 18^{^th}

4900m Basecamp to 6250m Camp 2.

The first day of my summit push was one of the longer ones, as I opted to skip Camp 1 and climb directly to Camp 2 from basecamp. The intention was that this first big output day would be offset by a shorter day two, ascending only from Camp 2 to Camp 3, a more reliable (shorter term) weather forecast for the proposed summit day, and a better two night rest interval in the mid ~6000m range. Slower climbers departed a day earlier, and included Camp 1 in their push. This tactic seems to be quite standard on Manaslu, as it gives guides better flexibility with their clients. One strong climber I’m aware of departed basecamp a day after I did, and climbed directly to Camp 3.

On Pik Kommunizma I had taken the opposite side of this strategy, and opted to add a day so as to make for two shorter and easier first days rather than a huge single day’s push. By my reckoning, this decision is really contingent first upon weather reliability and second upon confidence in one’s physical fitness.

September 19^{^th}

6250m Camp 2 to 6650m Camp 3.

A short, easy day ascending 400m to Camp 3. We took our time on this day, and tried to move at a low intensity pace.

September 20^{^th}

6650m Camp 3 to 7430m Camp 4.

More than the summit day, Camp 3 to Camp 4 felt like the crux of the route. We departed Camp 3 very early in the morning, making most of this ascent in the dark. Many climbers began to use oxygen on this move, and some continued to the summit in a single push on account of superb weather. My understanding is that most climbers who start on o2 from their Camp 3 departure continue to use it, at a low flow rate, overnight at Camp 4. The route from Camp 3 to Camp 4 is long and very sustained, relatively steep the entire way, and mentally feels endless due to the visual illusion of false tops throughout. Due to foreshortening of the mountain ahead, each rolling crest of the route looks like it might be the last – but isn’t!

This was a long and arduous day, and the first day that I used my down suit for an entire day. At almost 800m of elevation gain, Camp 3 to Camp 4 is comparable to summit days on many other peaks, and easily as taxing. The route is much, much steeper and more strenuous than Camp 4 to Manaslu’s summit. In total, this ascent took me an incredible 12.5 hours of output. We began very early in the day, so as to maximize rest time in Camp 4 before the summit attempt. This worked out very well for me, as due to my good acclimation I was able to both eat and sleep comfortably at 7430m Camp 4.

September 21^{^st}

7430m Camp 4 to 8163m Summit.

Awake at midnight, Pa Dawa and I began moving at approximately 1 a.m. I had trouble getting one of my crampons on, as the bulky chest and stomach of my down suit made it difficult to see my feet in the dark. Pa Dawa helped me, and I couldn’t help but think of all the anecdotes of ‘commercial climbers who can’t even put their own crampons on’! I kept my down suit hood up as we climbed up into darkness, my headlight inside illuminating only a small bubble of light on the snow in front of me. We greeted other Imagine Nepal climbers on their way out of camp 4, but with supplemental oxygen they quickly outpaced me. The down suit is a remarkable piece of equipment, highly versatile for venting and layering. I had a perfect micro-climate inside of the suit, and few issues with cold. My toes did become quite cold in the hours before sunrise, but I was able to manage by applying a focused ‘wiggle step’ technique – adding a full toe wiggle into my rest step rhythm at the conclusion of each step up.

The terrain immediately out of camp 4 was gently sloped. The majority of the route to the summit was similar, with the exception of one ~100m section of steeper terrain without fixed ropes. Most of the climbing to the summit only involved sustained rest stepping without use of a jumar, periodically switching the wire gate on my leash across fixed rope anchors. I left my ice axe in camp 4, and climbed to the final plateau below the true summit using two trekking poles. I climbed to the summit itself with only a jumar, empty handed.

A few hours into the summit push Pa Dawa, who climbed using o2 from 7430m C4, told me “You’re moving too slowly. I will run out of o2 if you continue at this pace. You must either go faster, or use o2”. This sparked a fierce intensity in me, and prompted me to push myself quite hard; I had resolved to either summit without o2 or to retreat, but not to use oxygen for ascent. I placed my full mental focus into my breathing and my rest step output, stopped only to drink or apply sunscreen, and made each stepping movement as efficient and as precise as possible. The elevation was enormously challenging for me, and I struggled with my breath and output rhythm every step of the way.

Sunrise brought a burst of energy and enormous stoke. We were already at or close to 8000m when the sun hit, and the morning light brought both warmth and a clear view of the route to the top. Other Imagine Nepal clients, new friends whom I had shared many meals with in basecamp, were descending from the summit, and we met at dawn below the final fixed ropes. They offered encouragement, and were proud to see me climbing without o2.

The final section of the route to the true summit was nowhere near as severe as I had expected it to be. A great boot track had been broken in, traversing past the false summits and then ascending steeply on fixed ropes to the true high point. While the anchors, a loose piton and some pickets, were a little bit dodgy, jumaring up to the high point was neither difficult nor particularly exposed. The view from the top was unambiguous; there was no more mountain, nor any higher pinnacle, to ascend. The weather had been flawless from camp 4, with almost no wind and clear skies, and the summit area was no exception. I was even comfortable removing my gloves. On the summit I waited a few minutes to take my turn standing at the top, chest and hands above the final snow cornice, but was very keen to begin descending immediately. Pa Dawa persuaded me to wait while he prepared two magnificent videos: one of the view from the true summit, and one of me on the top. I took several photos, but most were poorly framed – Pa Dawa’s photo and video at the summit were welcome images of the environment, of my state at the top, and of the view.

On the way down from the summit I sat down to rest at around 7600m and vomited until my stomach was knotted empty. Between C4, the summit, and my return to basecamp I consumed nothing but Coca Cola, Honey Stinger energy gels, a cup of juice generously provided by Nims Dai’s team at Camp 1, and a litre of water mixed with Cyclic Dextrin carbohydrate powder – a gift from my partner Reuben on Pik Kommunizma. Feeling far from spent after summiting, Pa Dawa and I decided to descend all the way to 4900m basecamp in one push. We knew that the food, sleep, and general environment of basecamp would be far preferable to another night at a high camp, and worth the exertion of a big descent. We ended up completing the ~3200m descent in approximately 9 hours. The descent was long and arduous, but we moved with high spirits.

In basecamp we received a warm welcome. One of the basecamp team met us at the edge of the lower glacier with Coca Cola and water, and in basecamp I enjoyed a hot tea before lying down. I had no appetite, difficulty sleeping, and fairly severe cognitive fog that evening, but knew that I’d ‘made it’ the entire way, up and down, and would easily be able to descend even further the next day.

Thoughts on Manaslu

Manaslu was not a difficult climb in any technical sense; the vast majority of the climbing route was fully fixed and broken in by local Nepali guides and porters, and the (severe if not fixed) ice steps throughout the icefall and middle mountain required only simple jumar and rappel techniques. Manaslu was not a difficult climb in any logistical sense; all tents were hauled and placed by Imagine Nepal’s team, I carried nothing besides my personal gear throughout the climb, I cooked no food and prepared no water, I did not route find, I did not dig tent platforms, and all decisions regarding timing and weather were made for me. Manaslu was not a difficult climb in regards to risk; objective hazards were almost entirely mitigated by the fixed route, I climbed with Pa Dawa at my back whenever on the mountain, and on summit day Pa Dawa had a spare bottle of oxygen in his pack – ‘psychological oxygen’ – for use in case of emergency. The Imagine Nepal basecamp was absolutely luxurious by my standards, which bolstered the quality of my rest intervals and likewise kept me well nourished physically and relaxed mentally. In many respects, Manaslu was significantly ‘easier’ than any 7000m peak I have ever attempted.

The worthy challenge of Manaslu was in its elevation. Output above ~7700m was brutally difficult for me to maintain, and I felt that there was an invisible wall after which it required extreme focus to manage my breath rhythm and pacing. I moved much slower than the majority of climbers who were making use of o2, but still set a decent time of almost exactly 6 hours from camp 4 to summit. Subjectively this felt like much longer, struggling to continue moving, to rest step as efficiently as possible, and to minimize my breaks to water consumption or sunscreen reapplication. Both physically and mentally, Manaslu was a very challenging mountain to climb.

I lost roughly 11% of my body weight throughout my Pik Kommunizma and Manaslu expeditions, despite concerted efforts at weight gain: the Turkish restaurant and lots of baklava in Dushanbe after Pik Kommunizma, loads of ice cream and lamb noodles in Kathmandu before Manslu. I was particularly weak on return to Manaslu basecamp, significantly worse off than on Kommunizma. The afternoon, evening, and morning after summiting I experienced significant cognitive fog, was uncoordinated and clumsy, and had no appetite. I developed a productive cough on return to basecamp, which almost immediately resolved when I reached Kathmandu at low elevation. I was quite thoroughly slammed by the summit and descent, and if I had been unsuccessful I likely would not have had reserves for a second attempt. I had intended to attempt a climb of Ama Dablam after Manaslu, but was so worn down that I opted to change plans and go to South East Asia for sport climbing beside the ocean instead.

I was delighted to succeed on Manaslu. Despite the climb’s ‘accessible’ nature, due entirely to the degree of infrastructure and support present on the mountain, 8000m without o2 was the real deal, a true challenge and a worthy goal. Climbing guided was expensive, but after the fact I feel that I derived significant value from the expense. Pa Dawa was an enormously supportive, experienced, and reliable partner, and was pivotal in making my climb happen smoothly. He was a talented cook, knew everyone on the mountain and was thus able to secure a three person tent for the two of us to share at every camp, accompanied me from Kathmandu throughout the approach trek and entire climb, managed to capture excellent images at the summit, and quietly ‘had my back’ throughout the difficult C3-C4 and summit days. I was lucky to climb with him, and must not only express gratitude for his support, but also emphasize the role which his presence played in my successful summit.

I would attempt another ‘low’ 8000m peak, one of the nine below ~8400m, but next time would feel comfortable doing so unguided with an independent team. I would not consider changing my attitude towards the use of o2 in the future – I would only use supplementary o2 for the purpose of an emergency descent – and now realize that this decision quite possibly precludes me from ever making an attempt on Everest, K2, Kangchenjunga, Makalu, or Lhotse.

Manaslu, Photographs – September 2023

Posted on 2023/12/10 by Ian

I ascended the true summit and absolute highpoint of 8163m Manaslu on September 21^st, 2023 with a commercial expedition organized by Imagine Nepal, and 1:1 guided by Pasang Dawa ‘Pa Dawa’ Sherpa. I did not use supplemental oxygen at any time during my ascent or descent.

Below are photographs from my climb, organized by date. For a detailed written trip report, take a look here.

Manaslu

September 2nd – 7th: Approach Hike

September 8th – 18th: Basecamp, Acclimation Rotation to 6650m Camp 3

Glacial Lake, Basecamp Approach from Samagaun

September 19th: 6250m Camp 2 to 6650m Camp 3

September 20th: 6650m Camp 3 to 7430m Camp 4

September 21st: 7430m Camp 4 to 8163m Summit

September 21st: Summit Videos

Pik Kommunizma / Pik Ismoil Somoni – August, 2023

Posted on 2023/09/17 by Ian

Contents

Pik Kommunizma / Pik Ismoil Somoni

Pik Kommunizma, the Pamir Plateau, and the Borodkin Spur as seen from the summit of 7105m Pik Korzhenevskaya.

Pik Kommunizma as seen from 6100m camp on Pik Korzhenevskaya.

Pik Kommunizma as seen from near the summit of 6230m Pik Chetyreh.

The highest mountain of the Pamir range, the highest mountain of the former Soviet Union, the highpoint of modern day Tajikistan, the world’s 50^th highest mountain, one of the five 7000m Snow Leopard peaks. 7495m Pik Kommunizma, renamed as Pik Ismoil Somoni by the Tajik state in 1998, is an absolutely enormous mountain which utterly dominates its surroundings. A primordial axe-head ridge of black rock, Kommunizma rises above the high Pamir Plateau, which is itself guarded on all sides by severe walls and high ridges of shining snow. Climbing Kommunizma by the normal route is akin to climbing three mountains; the ~6250m Borodkin Spur from ~4300m basecamp, 7007m Pik Dushanbe from the ~5850m Pamir Plateau, and finally Kommunizma itself. The normal route is long and circuitous, ‘uphill both ways’, exposed to inclement weather and to some degree of objective hazard.

I first set eyes on Pik Kommunizma in 2018 during an ascent of Pik Korzhenevskaya, a nearby 7105m mountain which shares basecamp. My timing and strategy were insufficient to make an attempt in 2018, but Kommunizma’s presence was nonetheless a constant. The distinctive summit ridge was always there, looming on the horizon, clearly visible from each of the lower peaks which I climbed on that expedition. In 2023 I found an opportunity to return for a proper attempt, and was ultimately successful in summiting.

Basecamp and Access

The vast majority of the time Pik Kommunizma is climbed from Moskvina Glades Basecamp, as the normal route and all of the mountain’s most well-known variations begin here. Moskvina is a decades-old location which has seen use, in various incarnations, since Soviet times – although I did learn during this particular visit that the original basecamp which was employed in the earliest years of the area’s climbing is located significantly lower down the valley than present day. Moskvina is a rare oasis of greenery in a high altitude desert; there is a small lake (albeit polluted with rusted oil drums, amongst other ancient detritus), enough grass grows to attract herds of mountain goats, and several streams flow in from various glaciers.

Moskvina has been dramatically upgraded and improved since my 2018 expedition to Pik Korzhenevskaya. It is now one of the better basecamps that I have had the pleasure of staying in. The ‘old Moskvina’ of 2018 was an absolute dump, rife with food insecurity, stomach issues likely stemming from bad water, poor sanitation, leaky tents, and generally miserable facilities. The ‘Moskvina of today’ offers 24/7 hot water, a free hot shower at any time of day one pleases, an indoors hand-washing station with abundant hand soap, clean cooking and eating facilities, an excellent revamped Russian sauna, water sourced from glacial runoff well above living quarters, and solid operations management facilitated by Ak-Sai – an operator of good reputation and considerable renown on the Snow Leopard peaks. The staff at Moskvina this year were competent, friendly, and accommodating throughout my one month stay – especially the kitchen staff and the head basecamp manager. The situation at Moskvina has been massively improved and modernized, and I would be very surprised if there isn’t eventually an attendant rise in climber interest with the area as a result.

The basecamp package cost me $3,300 $USD, inclusive of a shared tent, three meals per day for 30 days (I ended up staying in basecamp between 7.29 and 8.25), all permits, use of facilities, a hotel stay on either end of the trip, airport transfers, and helicopter rides both in and out. The only area for improvement which I could really pin down as significant, would be the rather limited stock of for-purchase goods such as beer and soft drinks; everything was sold out within a week of helicopter restocking. The pay-per-use satellite internet connection was somewhat dodgy, but good enough for basic usage and always fairly refunded when non-functional – certainly much better than nothing.

Moskvina is traditionally accessed by helicopter, although the lengthy approach trek is definitely possible and seems to attract interest from a few brave souls every season. In 2023 most helicopters flew from Djirgital, a small town an 8 hour drive from Dushanbe on very rough mountain roads. A few flights did run directly from Dushanbe, specifically the first flight in and the last flight out; the helicopter was provided by a Tajik airline this year, and we infer that it is parked and maintained at the Dushanbe airport. The helicoper flight takes about 40 minutes from Djirgital, and is incredibly scenic, offering magnificent views of the Pamirs and tantalizing first glimpses of Pik Korzhenevskaya and Pik Kommunizma. Helicopter flights were managed externally, but booked alongside the basecamp package; there’s no independent booking, and the helicopter is specifically offered as a part of the logistics operation for climbers.

Route Description

Ramp to ~5200m Rock Camp: Red
~5200m Rock Camp to ~5850m Pamir Plateau: Blue
~5850m Pamir Plateau to ~6950m Pik Dushanbe: Green
~6950m Pik Dushanbe to Summit: Purple

~4300m Moskvina Basecamp to Ramp

A moderate moraine hike with several variations through the rocks and lower glacier, with one small river crossing. Quite well cairned throughout, straightforward directly up the valley. A wide, open space below the ramp presents a good cache spot, and has a simple helicopter pad marked out with white rocks.

Ramp to ~5200m Rock Camp on the Borodkin Spur

The infamous ramp remains objectively dangerous, exposed to avalanche from serac collapse, but is definitely less risky than in years prior. Conditions were very dry throughout my time in Moskvina this season, and the ramp area was no exception. Most of the giant, hanging seracs seemed to be stable, and only one upper corner was responsible for the majority of releases. Several large slides did hit the route, but never when climbers were present. The largest slides seemed to be in evenings, perhaps due to freeze / thaw cycles. Moving briskly, exposure to the most dangerous sections of the ramp was limited to around 15 minutes on descent. The rockfall and collapsing lower glacier of Korzhenevskaya, found at around 5000m, felt significantly riskier than Kommunizma’s ramp did.

After gaining a few hundred meters up the gently sloped snow ramp, an obvious rock ridge littered with old fixed lines starts up the Borodkin Spur. The rock is pitted and scratched from many decades worth of cramponing; I took my crampons off and was able to actually enjoy the terrain. This was the most interesting part of the entire route, and there is even a cool notch / tunnel which one must climb through. Despite a fair bit of choss the rock ridge mostly offered great scrambling, with exposure and excellent views over the lower glacier. The Rock Camp is found at the top of the ridge between 5100m and 5200m, and has about a dozen good pre-built tent platforms, solid relics from expeditions past.

~5200m Rock Camp to ~5850 Pamir Plateau

The Pamir Plateau, from the Borodkin Spur.

The Borodkin Spur continues on snow past the Rock Camp, up to around ~6250m. Numerous small campsites can be found along the way, mostly underneath cornice formations, but nothing is particularly large and it would be difficult to place more than a few tents. During my ascent I camped the first night at ~5350m, on a level snow shoulder speckled with hairline crevasses. There are several significantly steep sections of climbing, all of which had been fixed by guided parties earlier in the season. Two cornice steps offered difficulty, even fixed, due to slight overhang and exposed ice. On descent several of the fixed ropes had melted out v-thread anchors, and on the way up one section of fixed line was no longer anchored safely. Caution with anchors placed by others, and a spare screw or two, is essential.

The Borodkin Spur is long and really drags on; cresting the top and getting a first view of the Pamir Plateau below is truly wonderful. The descent from ~6250m down to the Pamir Plateau at ~5850m is mostly quite moderate but did exhibit one significant section of steep and exposed water ice, which we fixed one of our ropes on. Ascending from the plateau some 400m back up the Borodkin Spur after summiting was arduous, and seemingly endless when fatigued.

It is worth nothing that the Moskvina side of the Borodkin was crevassed, with most frozen over or filled but nonetheless present. In the dry conditions which we enjoyed everything was nicely visible, and hazards were very easy to avoid. In deeper snow, or with no boot track, it would be well-advised to consider roping up.

~5850m Pamir Plateau to ~6950m Pik Dushanbe Camp

The Pamir Plateau is enormous and mostly flat; one can camp essentially anywhere. Crossing the plateau isn’t hard at all, and snow conditions were excellent for us. There were no significant crevasses along our line of crossing, nor any nearby it. I can envision significant difficulty if met with deep snow on the plateau, but this would also implicate the entire route, especially the Borodkin Spur.

The ascent of Pik Dushanbe is long and repetitive, a moderate snow slope the entire way. There were no particularly steep sections, and limited terrain variation. A few crevasses lurk along the line of ascent, but were mostly straightforward to see and avoid. A highly visible rocky ridge characterizes the upper half of the slope, and provides a good landmark for navigation. On descent, in whiteout, this rock band easily kept us on route and making good progress. The campsite at ~6950m is located in a nicely sheltered col near the top of Pik Dushanbe, with flat space for quite a few tents. Several much smaller tent platforms exist in the rocks along the ridgeline, with space for one or two tents every two hundred meters or so. Views of Kommunizma’s summit pyramid are grand and imposing from the 6950m camp; the rock wall hangs ominously over Pik Dushanbe and appears much larger close up than from afar.

~6950m Pik Dushanbe Camp to 7495m Summit

A short descent of some ~100m from camp leads to a rolling ridgeline towards the base of Kommunizma’s summit pyramid. There is a fair bit of ascent / descent throughout this section, more than one would expect when viewing the mountain from a distance, which becomes quite demoralizing when on the way back into camp after summiting. In particular, the final slope back up to 6950m camp is heartbreaking to climb after the summit. The ridge soon reaches the base of the summit pyramid, where a massive snow slope accesses the upper summit ridge. There was a decently switchbacked boot track on our summit day, but no ropes had been fixed by earlier teams. Sections of the face are quite steep, and there were patches of icy terrain where fixed lines or running protection would have been very welcome. A bad fall anywhere on the face would be difficult to arrest, and the subsequent runout is enormous.

On reaching the upper ridge of the summit pyramid the gradient steepens significantly, and the ridge drops off in a severe cliff. The degree of exposure is startling, as the mountain’s upper aspect provides no clue towards the summit ridge’s sharp edge when viewed from a distance. The sharp ridgeline ascends abruptly, with a slight rolling traverse as one reaches Kommunizma’s summit. A single fixed line was a welcome discovery here, protecting the steepest pitch of the exposed ridge. The summit is small, but flat and unambiguously the peak’s high point. A plaque and some broken poles marked the top, with Pik Korzhenevskaya prominently visible across the valley and the entirety of the Pamirs stretched out far below.

Trip Report and Schedule

I flew into Moskvina with friends Eric and Andreas, whom I had climbed with in 2019 on Noshaq in Afghanistan. Prior to Moskvina Glades, Eric, Andreas, and I pre-acclimated by hiking Bazarduzu in Azerbaijan, where I tagged 4100m. Torrential rain on the only day scheduled for the hike soaked me to the skin, and I turned around well short of the summit. Once in Moskvina I engaged in two subsequent acclimation intervals on Pik Chetyreh, to 5500m, and on Pik Korzhenevskaya, to 6300m. Icy conditions prevented our group from attempting a Chetyreh summit, and personally feeling bad on Korzhenevskaya I opted to stop at 6300m and spend a night at 6100m instead of pushing for the summit. I previously summited both Chetyreh and Korzhenevskaya in 2018.

On this trip Eric, Andreas, and I split the cost for the services of a private meteorologist, Chris Tomer, whose forecasting proved to be remarkably accurate and useful for strategizing. With a night at 6100m and a high point of 6300m under my belt, I rested for six consecutive days in 4300m Moskvina, waiting for a forecasted weather window with low wind. This acclimation schedule proved to be more than adequate acclimation for 7495m Pik Kommunizma, likely due to a significant base acclimation period and high quality rest spent at 4300m.

Following my six day ‘Russian rest’, I started up Kommunizma alongside Paul Schweizer, an experienced friend whom I knew previously from Pik Lenin in 2016, and from Pik Korzhenevskaya in 2018. On day two I convened with Reuben Kouidri, who alongside Eric and Andreas had opted to make a single lengthy push straight from basecamp, combining what I had split into my own day one and day two schedules. Reuben and I subsequently shared a tent and stove, and climbed as partners throughout the remainder of my Kommunizma ascent. We summited together on day four from Pik Dushanbe camp, and descended to the plateau in the same day.

Calendar

Acclimation Graph

Dark blue depicts sleeping elevation, light blue depicts climbing elevation.

Day-by-Day

Day One: August 13th
~4300m Moskvina Glades to ~5350m Snow Camp
8 Hours, +1050m

Having marinated in Basecamp for about a week, our small band of five unguided climbers – Andreas from Denmark, Eric from the USA, Reuben from the UK, Paul from Scotland, and myself from China/Canada – were all feeling antsy and eager to move. I had been resting very well since coming down from 6300m on Korzhenevskaya, supplementing my Basecamp diet with high-protein food from Dushanbe, maintaining finger strength with simple hangboarding (on my small, one-handed fingerboard) every other day, and doing some light bouldering on (surprisingly decent) nearby blocks when it was warm enough. Our professional weather forecast pointed to low winds and warmer air temperatures on August 16th, and it became increasingly apparent that this would be the best summit day over the coming weeks.

Andreas, Eric, and Reuben planned to wait as late as possible for a firm weather confirmation, and then pull a long first day climbing overnight from Basecamp all the way to the 5850m Pamir Plateau. I had done poorly with the subsequent recovery at altitude following a similarly lengthy 11.5 hour day while acclimating on Korzhenevskaya, and wasn’t keen on straining myself during an ‘approach day’. The long Korzhenevskaya push served as a reminder – after almost four years away from high altitudes – making me cognizant of the ethos which had always worked very well for me on previous climbs; slow and laid back days leading up to a strong summit attempt.

As luck would have it, my fourth friend Paul was both keen to aim for our August 16th summit day and similarly aligned with my aversion to a long first day’s climb. I had initially met Paul on Pik Lenin in 2016, where we climbed together through the lower icefall and to 6000m, and had run into him again at Moskvina in 2018, when I summited Pik Korzhenevskaya. Paul is something of a ‘quiet legend’, enormously experienced and accomplished in the mountains, yet humble and very reserved in downplaying his significant achievements. Paul and I didn’t plan to meet in Moskvina this year, but were happy to run into each other once again. We had always gotten on well, shared a similar enthusiasm, and had a mutual sense of trust in safety standards and competence. Paul had also been up part of the route already, had gas cached on the mountain, and knew conditions well – extremely fortuitous for me! The two of us agreed to climb together, up 1000m from basecamp, to camp at ~5350m on a snow shoulder near the middle of the Borodkin Rib where Paul’s cache was located.

Reuben and I collaborated to pair up after the first day, sharing a tent, stove, and gas supplies. I’d carry the tent up on day one, and Reuben would climb overnight with Eric and Andreas to ‘catch up’ with me, bringing stove and gas, on day two. Reuben and Eric would each carry a radio, for check-in with base camp. Paul graciously offered to share his stove and previously cached gas on day one, saving me significant weight. Paul and I made an early start, taking advantage of the excellent (eggs, and more food than normal!) ‘early alpine breakfast’ offered by the basecamp cook. We set off at a leisurely pace along a well-marked trail, through the moraine up the valley towards Kommunizma. Paul already knew the moraine well, which saved us some trouble in avoiding repeated descents and ascents.

The approach was uneventful, and happily the glacial ramp at the base of the Borodkin was likewise very straightforward and smooth. Two small avalanches did release above us, but were so far off that they didn’t hit, nor even spray, the route of ascent. The ramp is heavily crevassed, but everything was so dry and clearly visible that we didn’t see a need to rope up. The rock ridge past the ramp offered engaging climbing, and I enjoyed the scrambling far above massive glaciers, with awesome views and big exposure on both sides.

Past the rock ridge the snow slopes of Borodkin’s Rib begin at around 5200m, and a dodgy looking fixed rope greeted us, protecting an icy initial section of climbing. Under test strain most of the rope pulled free, some 50m of line. We gingerly ascended up the first section without weighting the remaining lines, rightly nervous of any anchor’s integrity. I finally got high enough to inspect the remaining intermediate anchor, a good v-thread, and confirm that it was safe for us to jumar the line. This process of testing, ripping out, and then inspecting the ropes wasted a fair bit of our time, but it was still only early afternoon and we had a comfortable buffer. We soon found ourselves at Paul’s cache on a flat, but exposed, snow shoulder at around 5350m.

Here we dug a little bit to flatten out tent platforms and then pitched our twin single-walled tents, hairline crevasses conveniently located right at the doorways. I gratefully accepted Paul’s gracious offer to melt snow on his stove and with his cached gas, and managed to eat a huge meal of freeze dried food, cheese, mixed nuts, and snack foods. We settled in for an early rest, and I slept remarkably well throughout the entire evening. The decision to take a slow first day had worked out for me, resulting in a very minor fatigue load, a healthy degree of food consumption, and an excellent night’s sleep at a relatively low elevation.

Day Two: August 14th
~5350m Snow Camp to ~6250m Borodkin Spur
8:30 a.m. – 14:00 p.m.: 5:30 Hours, +900m
~6250m Borodkin Spur to ~5850m Pamir Plateau
14:00 p.m. – 15:00 p.m.: 1 Hour, -400m

Paul and I took our time in the morning, given the relatively short ascent which awaited us. After a good breakfast, again with Paul generously sharing his stove and gas, we packed and were moving by 8:30 a.m. About an hour later we heard voices and saw figures below us; Andreas, Eric, and Reuben had caught up, climbing since around 2 a.m. All three seemed to be in good spirits, and indeed there was plenty to be happy about: a decent boot track continued the rest of the way up the Borodkin, with only a thin dusting of snow over top of it. As we ascended, a large group of Russian climbers descended past us. They were ‘tourists’, on an epic ‘mountain tour’ traverse expedition, and had hiked into Moskvina before summiting both Korzhenevskaya and Kommunizma. Their plan had been to complete a traverse of Kommunizma, descending to some distant village on the side opposite to Moskvina. They had summited Kommunizma some days prior, but one of their members had fallen on descent and been seriously injured; they were headed back to Moskvina for an evacuation. We wished them good luck.

Making steady progress upwards, I reached the top of the Borodkin, around 6250m, at 14:00. The upper Borodkin was viciously cold due to high winds, some of the worst we experienced throughout the five day climb, and it was a relief to find shelter on the far side where the descent begins. The first views of the Pamir Plateau from the top were breathtaking; the plateau is much larger and more impressive than the mountain’s profile would suggest from a distance. The plateau not only stretches out between Borodkin’s Rib and the base of Pik Dushanbe but is also remarkably wide, and falls off starkly to the Moskvina side where it is guarded by severe walls of rock and ice. Pik Dushanbe and Kommunizma preside grandly above the plateau; cresting the Borodkin is akin to having summited a 6000m peak and discovering the lofty base of yet higher mountains behind it.

Descending 400m down the plateau-side of the Borodkin was mostly quite moderately sloped and took one hour, slowed somewhat due to a large patch of exposed water ice which we opted to fix one of our ropes on. Eric proficiently placed two screws, and a treacherous traverse with bad runout became an easy diagonal rappel. On the plateau ahead of us we met Russian guide Pavel and his client Olga, who gave us good advice on the flattest section to set camp. We got our tents up, collected excellent slabs of compact snow for cooking, and settled in for the night.

Day Three: August 15th
~5850m Pamir Plateau to ~6950m Pik Dushanbe
9:50 a.m. – 17:20 p.m.: 7:30 Hours, +1100m

Our group opted for a late start, anticipating a rapid ascent up Pik Dushanbe. We broke camp and were moving by 9:50 a.m. Eric and I opted to rope up and go first on the first section off of the plateau, as visually there seemed to be potential for hidden crevasses. After some 300m of elevation gain it became clear that snow conditions were excellently crisp, everything dry enough for good visibility of any hazards, so we unroped and continued separately.

Ascending Pik Dushanbe was a real slog. The terrain drags on and on with minimal variance in slope or character, an enormous moderate snow slope the entire way, 1100m up. Around halfway up there is a prominent rock band which serves as a clear landmark, with a few small camping platforms dotting the rocks every few hundred meters.

At 16:30 p.m. and around 6700m, Andreas, Reuben and I stopped for a short rest at one such site and briefly discussed the possibility of pitching camp below the 6950m high camp. Eric was already well ahead of us by the time we had stopped, and was out of shouting distance; we couldn’t make out if there were larger sites higher up or not. Andreas committed to high camp, while Reuben and I briefly ran through the pros and cons of stopping where we were. We quickly decided that given we had already somewhat underestimated the timing of our ascent up Pik Dushanbe, we would do poorly to similarly underestimate the summit day by starting too low.

Less than an hour later, at 17:20, Reuben and I reached the 6950m camp. It had been a long day, and a few hours slower than anticipated. In hindsight we probably could have climbed faster or started earlier in the day, but despite it being late the weather was very cooperative; almost no wind. Andreas and Eric had their tent up and were preparing for the night, so Reuben and I likewise focused on getting everything unpacked and organized. Three Russians we had met a week earlier in basecamp – Constantine, Dima, and their guide – were also in their tent, having summited that morning. They had spent several days waiting out bad winds in high camp, but gave us encouraging information on the good condition of the route.

Reuben wasn’t feeling well at all, and complained of blurry vision and stomach issues – he had significant trouble eating, and vomited up most of his food. To make matters worse, when helping him dump a bag of chocolate mousse I accidentally managed to spill most of it onto his outer boot shells!

In the tent, small tasks at this high elevation felt slow and difficult, and I was generally uncoordinated – as evidenced by the chocolate spill. Yet in spite of this I generally felt pretty decent, and was able to eat a fair amount of my cheese, sausage, and snack foods for dinner. I boiled water nonstop, right until sunset, and contentedly drank over a liter of tea, plus a big bowl of sugary hot chocolate mixed with whey protein. Paul arrived late, right at sunset, and I greeted him with a half litre of hot water. We went to sleep early, planning for a 5 a.m. start, and I slept quite well given the elevation.

Day Four: August 16th
~6950m Pik Dushanbe to 7495m Pik Kommunizma Summit
6:45 a.m. – 11:45 a.m.: 5 Hours, +545m
7495m Pik Kommunizma Summit to ~6950m Pik Dushanbe
12:00 p.m. – 14:20 p.m.: 2:20 Hours, -545m
~6950m Pik Dushanbe to ~5850m Pamir Plateau
17:45 p.m. – 19:45 p.m.: 2 Hours, -1100m

I woke up at 4 a.m. and began preparing for a 5 a.m. start to our summit attempt. In lieu of cooked food I ate a bowl of dry muesli, some energy gels, and a large hunk of Tajik cheddar cheese. The stove fired up, but the first of what would soon become many problems reared its head when it became apparent that our gas canister had frozen overnight, despite our storing it inside of the tent. With the gas flowing at a pathetic dribble, just barely hissing into the burner, melting snow was taking an inordinate amount of time. A second problem; Reuben’s only Nalgene water bottle cracked when we filled it, spilling water and rending it useless for a summit bid. The third issue; Reuben’s boot lace snapped, likely due to the mousse that I had spilled on the boots the day prior freezing solid overnight. Fourth; I managed to capsize a full litre of melted water, wasting it, after waiting over an hour to prep it. Fateful bad luck and the consequences of minor carelessness were conspiring against us.

Andreas and Eric managed to depart on time, at 5 a.m., and Paul shared some water before heading out shortly after them. While the various mistakes and setbacks which Reuben and I experienced read as trivial in writing, they posed rather significant challenges at 7000m. We moved slowly, with diminished cognitive alacrity. We swapped an empty soda bottle for the busted Nalgene, carefully tied the boot lace back together, slowly warmed our gas can, and borrowed Andreas’ stove from his tent (we had cached about 1 kg of spare gas on the plateau, and an abundant supply at Pik Dushanbe Camp) so as to run two burners simultaneously. Reuben and I, in reflection well after the fact and in a nice restaurant at sea level, both agreed that we handled these setbacks well; we cooperated, communicated, stayed as focused as we could, and eventually sorted everything out.

Nonetheless, we departed almost two hours later than intended, at 6:45 a.m. This could have been catastrophic for us, but we managed to maintain a healthy pace and make up for lost time. We descended from Pik Dushanbe quickly, following Eric, Andreas, and Paul’s boot tracks across the ridge line. This initial ridge section involved more descent than I had expected, but eventually terminated at a small rock band, the base of Kommunizma’s upper face and summit pyramid.

The upper face presented an endless slog, but happily, mostly on visible boot track. Constantine’s tracks from the morning prior were still in place, and Eric, Andreas, and Paul had further beaten them in. Time dripped and crawled during the climb up the face, my complete focus dialed into each step’s crampon and axe placement. The terrain was fairly steep, with some small sections of water ice, and a fall would have been difficult to arrest well. Ahead, I saw Andreas and Eric traverse left off of the switchbacks that Reuben, Paul, and I were ascending; a voice came over Reuben’s radio, Zaravko the basecamp manager, watching through a telescope and telling us to continue climbing directly. I passed Paul, we wished each other luck, and I continued after Reuben up the switchbacks. Andreas and Eric came into visibility on the ridge above us, moving fast towards the summit. Carefully passing a final 5m section of sketchy water ice, I eventually reached the summit ridge at the rightmost snow notch.

The exposure was incredible, with the face dropping off abruptly and a sharp ridge line extending up to the right. The Pamirs spread out below under a deep blue sky, dozens of 5000m and 6000m peaks, stark contrast between black rock and white snow. Behind us Korzhenevskaya presided with particular prominence, standing alone over the lower glaciers, its long summit ridge and route of ascent perfectly framed against the sky. Reuben was just slightly ahead of me, as the two of us began up the ridge towards the highpoint.

Andreas and Eric met us halfway up the ridge and offered encouragement, telling us that we were almost there. I congratulated them; they had both completed the five Snow Leopard peaks with their ascent of Kommunizma, and just had to descend safely. Fifteen minutes later Reuben and I were both at the summit, a small, flat, unambiguous high point marked with a plaque and some debris. We hugged, shook hands, and started quickly taking photographs. It had taken us almost exactly five hours to summit from Pik Dushanbe, a superb outcome in light of our haphazard start in the morning. The wind was sharp and biting at the top, so we quickly began to descend. We met Paul at the notch, exchanged greetings, and started down the face.

The descent required total concentration. The face is fairly steep, and sections of ice were tricky to navigate with only a trekking pole and a long axe. The ridge back to the base of Pik Dushanbe was miserable, each uphill section taxing my resolve. Pik Dushanbe itself was a hideous slog, and felt like significantly more elevation than it had on the way down. When I finally reached camp Eric and Andreas greeted me with a half litre of hot water. I told them I’d wait for Reuben, and we agreed to meet down in the plateau camp, using our satphones to coordinate if anything happened. Camp was sunny and sheltered from the wind, so as Andreas and Eric finished packing and departed I lay down in the tent to take a nap. Reuben arrived about an hour later, feeling exhausted; we agreed to sleep for one hour and then descend.

My alarm clock woke us up on time, and we began packing up. The weather shifted, and thick cloud socked us in with low visibility. Without wands marking the top of the route up Pik Dushanbe, we wouldn’t even have been able to make out the correct direction of descent. Paul arrived right as we finished packing, and told us that he intended to spend the night at Pik Dushanbe camp and descend in the morning. I asked Paul “Would you go down in this weather?”, to which he replied “No. But, you’ll make it”. Filled with renewed confidence and resolve, Reuben and I hoisted our packs and headed into the swirling mist.

The hike down took forever, the two of us fatigued and struggling somewhat through a few inches of freshly fallen snow. Between whiteout and snowfall, our old boot tracks were almost impossible to make out, but the rocky ridge served as a landmark and compass, keeping us on track along the ridge proper. After a few hours we broke below the clouds and could see the plateau laid out below us, under the glow of a glorious sunset. Andreas and Eric’s tent was clearly visible in the distance, below the Borodkin, but we both felt too worn down to cross the plateau and join them. Reuben glissaded the final few hundred meters of descent, and we pitched our little single-walled tent on the first flat stretch of snow we came across. We felt much better having descended some 1100m, and despite the whiteout hiking down had been the correct decision. We boiled water, ate some light food, and fell asleep.

Day Five: August 17th
~5850m Pamir Plateau to ~4300m Moskvina Glades
10:50 a.m. – 18:30 p.m.: 7:40 Hours, +400m / -1950m

Reuben and I slept in late, and awoke to hot sun and high wind on the plateau. We really dragged our feet, and took our time getting ready. We met Tomas and Martin, two strong Czech brothers who had skied Pik Chetyreh and Pik Korzhenevskaya in the weeks prior, as they crossed the plateau towards Pik Dushanbe. They would go on to summit Kommunizma and ski most of the descent. Reascending the plateau-side of Borodkin’s Spur was awful, our pace miserably slow. Our fixed rope was still in place on the iced-over section, and we stopped to recover my two ice screws, re-anchoring the top of the rope on a v-thread. This would later prove to be a mistake, as a day later Paul would find the rope unusable, the lower section inaccessible.

Cresting the Borodkin, our pace rapidly accelerated once on downhill terrain. We quickly found ourselves at the top of the ramp, fresh with avalanche debris, and we hustled across so as to minimize exposure. At the helipad we changed into approach shoes, an enormous relief for feet accustomed to stiff mountaineering boots. The trek back to basecamp was sloppy, our wobbly legs uncooperative on loose scree, and we both lost our footing more than once. Basecamp eventually came into view, and before we knew it we were crossing grass. Eric and Andreas greeted us, offering congratulations and sharing handshakes. After dropping my bag I immediately cracked the celebratory 1.25L bottle of Coca Cola I’d purchased ahead of time, and headed inside the kitchen hall to try and scrounge up some fresh food.

The climb was truly over, we’d made it safely back. Paul would join us in Moskvina two days later; all five of us succeeded. Eric and Andreas departed a few days later, hitching a ride on the Russian ‘tourist’ evacuation helicopter. They subsequently ascended the Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan highpoints, surveying and establishing a new Uzbek highpoint in the process, and also completing the highpoints of every one of the ‘stan countries. Reuben and I would wait 9 days for the scheduled helicopter to take us back to Djirgital, and then spend an entire day driving back to Dushanbe. The wait, while boring, served the purpose of solidifying and preserving my acclimation for subsequent mountain goals in September.

Images

Thoughts on Pik Kommunizma

Pik Kommunizma presents an enormously long route, about 3600m of altitude gain, and quite a lot of slogging up moderate glacier. After summiting, I strongly felt that I’d never climb the route again. It is too long, has far too much uphill climbing after the summit, is too repetitive, and doesn’t offer much in the way of interesting terrain. Views throughout the route were exceptionally good, especially when contextualized by prior climbs of Korzhenevskaya and Chetyreh. After Kommunizma, I felt a strong desire to climb something ‘more interesting’ (a direct route!) next time. Moskvina now offers enormous value for independent climbers, presenting great access to two 7000m mountains at a very reasonable price. The two independent Czech brothers summited Chetyreh, Korzhenevskaya, and Kommunizma in a single season. Eric, Andreas, and Reuben all managed both Korzhenevskaya and Kommunizma. The basecamp is remarkably comfortable, helicopters actually ran on time this year, and the mountains are very beautiful.

Pik Kommunizma was my first significant mountaineering goal since Covid ‘ended’ in China, reopening the border for two-way travel. I had been away from altitude, and serious mountaineering, for well over three years. Throughout Covid-related travel restrictions in China I had intensely shifted my focus and goal-setting into rock climbing, while trying to maintain basic cardio fitness through lesser mountain goals, hiking, and a little bit of cardio training. I trained quite well leading into Kommunizma, while still maintaining sport climbing activities, through a structured and committed six month endurance-oriented training regime. My good athletic performance on the mountain, and a successful summit, left me with a great sense of confidence and accomplishment; I hadn’t let go of mountaineering throughout Covid travel restrictions, and had proven to myself that I remained capable of good preparation and execution. The entire expedition was long enough for me to get back into the rhythm of my old equipment and food systems, and initial rotations up Pik Chetyreh and Pik Korzhenevskaya gave me both robust acclimation and a chance to make mistakes at lower stakes.

Good luck with conditions played a significant role in our experience on Kommunizma. Fixed ropes placed by a Russian guide two weeks prior to our ascent, and maintained by Ak-Sai, aided many of the steep sections. An incredibly dry season made for a visible glacier, and our ascent involved almost no trail breaking; the descent from Pik Dushanbe under steady snowfall was the worst of it. The climb would have been significantly harder through deep snow or up an unbroken route. The climb would have been harder, or impossible, without the camaraderie and teamwork of Reuben, Paul, Andreas, and Eric. The upgraded basecamp allowed for an excellent recovery environment, and besides a throat infection after summiting I didn’t experience any stomach issues or serious illness. Our weather forecast was invaluable, and secured a low-wind summit day for us.

We organized our climb through ClimberCA, a proxy for Ak-Sai and Tajik Peaks, although one should ostensibly be able to organize directly with either of these two companies. As of late 2023, their websites are:

Ak-Sai: https://ak-sai.com/en/

Tajik Peaks: https://www.tajikpeaks.com/en.html

Tianhaizi – 田海子山 – February 2021

Posted on 2021/03/17 by Ian

Tianhaizi: Location and Introduction

Tianhaizi / 田海子山 is a 6070m mountain located in China’s Sichuan province, within the Daxue Shan / 大雪山 (‘big snow mountain’) range. Tianhaizi is the closest major 6000m peak to the nearby town of Kangding.

The Daxue Shan range is also known as the Gongga range, after its major highpoint of Gongga Shan / Minya Konka. Gonga is an incredibly impressive and topographically prominent 7556m peak with only a handful of prior summits, and a shockingly bad track record of fatal climbing accidents. Tianhaizi, while nowhere near Gonga’s difficulty nor notoriety, has a reputation for being a challenging mountain to attempt without a large team and fixed ropes.

Topographic surveys in the 1930s assigned the name Lamo-She to the cluster of peaks of which Tianhaizi is a part, but locals all call the mountain by its Chinese name.

Looking down the approach valley and into the Daxue Shan range at sunset. From left to right are Jiazi Feng/嘉子峰, Aidejia Feng/爱德嘉峰, and Little Gonga/小贡嘎.

Tianhaizhi has a fascinating climbing history, in that its first ascent was made quite recently – by a 1993 American team led by the legendary Fred Beckey. Although Beckey himself didn’t accompany the summit team, visiting a piece of his legacy proved to be interesting; locals still had stories about him, and one long-time logistics fixer regaled me with tales of then 70-year-old Beckey hitting on his 20 year old daughter! You can read the AAC trip report of the first ascent here. Local officials, perhaps half a dozen of them, all told us that the mountain had seen no prior winter summit.

Tianhaizi: The Soccer Game

For a decade plus the entire wilderness area around Tianhaizi shuts down for winter due to fire risks associated with dry conditions in the alpine forests, and only locals with legitimate economic need are allowed to enter the high mountains. Securing permission to bypass the forest-fire controls put my partner and I through incredibly arduous hoop jumping, telephone tag, and delicate negotiation. This was an ordeal of politicking unlike any I have ever experienced prior, and an absolute roller coaster of emotions. Our hopes of being granted access would be lifted through some minor progress only to be crushed, again and again, in what felt like endless cycles of red tape.

I sent messages to my friends and family while in the midst of this, and looking back at them they read with a certain Kafkaesque despair. There are four or five instances along the lines of “We aren’t making much progress. The contact in the Athletics Department doesn’t know who to call, and the local government guys we met yesterday don’t want to give us their names or phone numbers” interjected with such gems as “we randomly met a guy in the hostel who knows everyone, things are looking up!” and “all this, just for a chance to suffer in freezing squalor for a week”.

Throughout, whilst visiting three disparate government offices in person and making phone contact with about a dozen functionaries and aficionados, we were continually met with fear and skepticism. No foreign tourists had visited Kangding in ages, and everyone around us was concerned about COVID. Producing our negative test results and year-old passport entry stamps helped to cool things off, but the tension created by our very presence didn’t make things any smoother!

After playing soccer for three days, each office and official deftly kicking the ball to the next, we finally found success in the shape of a liability waiver, the fruits of a last ditch persuasive effort. My partner, a native Mandarin speaker, was able to secure the fabled form by walking a tightrope of anger, logic, emotion, and pleading coercion. This final, penultimate conversation was masterful to behold, and made me realize how much room for improvement remains in my spoken Chinese ability. We signed and thumb-printed a document promising not to start any forest fires, and that done, we were on the road and into the mountains!

The cluster of peaks Tianhaizi is a part of, Baihaizi at left and Tianhaizi in center, from nearby Kangding.

Tianhaizi: Planning Around Pandemics

The decision to attempt a winter Tianhaizi climb was born of perseverance tempered by impenetrable limitations. Despite relatively stable circumstances within Mainland China, international travel outside of China had become impossible for me due to the COVID19 pandemic. This unfortunate situation prevented access to my preferred (and far more realistic) winter Himalayan goals in India or Nepal, or to on-season climbs in South America. Coming into the 2021 winter season I had missed the 2020 summer season entirely, breaking a four-year streak of 7000m expeditions in Central Asia. Worse yet, following a successful winter climb in Nepal in early 2020 I had failed on a string of ‘easy’ 5000m and 6000m walkups within Mainland China, mostly due to horrible off-season weather. While 2020 concluded as a solid sport-climbing year on rock for me, I felt an irrepressible urge to get back to high altitude.

I have long focused on maintaining momentum in my climbing, and I do believe that my approach of steadily pushing higher and harder has been working well for me. The prospect of missing this winter season and ‘missing out’ on opportunity crushed my spirits. Pandemic controls severely curtailed potential winter climbing goals; foreign nationals remained banned from accessing many national parks or obtaining permits for most interesting climbs. As an example, all of the moderate 5000m climbs around the Siguniang Shan area, where I had climbed in the winter of 2016, remained off limits to foreigners.

When a friend suggested Tianhaizi, and we discovered that a permit would be possible, the gears of preparation immediately began to grind. Having a short term goal to train for once again gave me focus and determination. In reflection, my borderline obsession with mountaineering is a double edged sword capable of cutting deeply in both directions; whilst failures hurt and a total lack of access leads into depression, setting arbitrary personal goals to work for generates an intense motivation and can cumulatively build tenacity.

Tianhaizi: Approach Hike

After we had untangled the complexities of access permission, we were able to drive by car to the mouth of the valley used to approach Tianhaizi. This journey takes just over an hour from Kangding, following a well maintained and paved road the entire way. We enjoyed a full view of Tianhaizi from the lower valley, but were unsettled by the state of the glacier. I could tell from a distance that the lower glacier, when compared to the photos we had collected while researching the route, was very dry and significantly diminished.

Baihaizi, left, and Tianhaizi, right, from near the road at 4000m.

The approach hike up the valley begins at 4000m, and we intended to set our basecamp at 4750m. I had anticipated the need for good acclimatization prior to activity at these elevations, and so we had conservatively pre-acclimated. Throughout our daytime adventures with red tape, navigating the intricacies of local bureaucracy, we had maintained a daily schedule of driving out of Kangding to Zheduo Shan, a nearby mountain with good road access. We drove by bus each day to 4300m, and then hiked to 4500-4600m where we would sit and rest for an hour before descending and hitchhiking back down to the city. The bus tickets cost only about 20 RMB per trip up. I had planned and scheduled to make this trip higher for three days in a row, and we ended up following that plan to perfection; we resolved our access issues while on the third day in Kangding. This structured acclimation strategy had us comfortably camping in our planned basecamp at 4750m on the first night.

Unfortunately the nature of the approach hike was particularly unpleasant. The valley to basecamp constitutes some 2km of easy hiking followed by a further 6km of hideous moraine composed of an endless jumble of unstable boulders. Moving across the boulder fields laden with heavy winter packs was fun for the first thirty minutes, and tortuously miserable thereafter! We spent a cumulative time of over 15 hours throughout the trip moving back and forth across these moraine boulders, delicately balancing and bracing for shifting, sliding rocks while keeping our eyes and ears tuned for the warning sounds of rockfall from above. We could hear the sounds of rock slide emanating from the valley walls around us throughout our nights at basecamp, and the entire upper valley felt very unstable.

Accessing the lower glacier at 5000m involved another hour and a half over moraine from our tent, with no suitably flat areas presenting us with higher camping opportunities. The valley was exposed to sunlight only between 10am and 4pm, which made for full-on winter conditions in camp and during our approach rotations. We experienced temperatures of around -20C inside of the tent at night, and figure that it was around -30C outside. We made quite good time throughout our attempt in spite of the cold and awkward terrain, and consistently worked ahead of the timeframes that we had anticipated based on our research.

Tianhaizi: Rockfall and Blue Ice

When we reached the gully which gains the toe of the glacier, we discovered poor conditions on the mountain. There was no snow cover to speak of, and the glacier access at 5000m which we had expected to involve a straightforward snow ramp instead presented us with around 60m of 50 degree blue ice, which we gingerly simul-soloed. Where the approach up the upper valley had involved exposure to easily avoidable rock slide, the gully which gained the glacier created a dangerous, bottle-necked shooting gallery. We had at least a dozen near misses within 1m of us, from rocks softball sized or larger, and my partner took a significant hit to the upper arm while protecting his head with it. While we were on descent in full shade a murderous block the size of a microwave hurtled down the gully towards us, spinning like a throwing axe as it bounced and careened some 10m off of the ground – and this was the final straw for me.

I been warned in advance of rockfall on the route by my helpful contact in the Sichuan mountaineering association, but had not anticipated the degree of risk which we experienced. We encountered sustained rockfall dramatically worse than anticipated, made particularly bad by conditions on the mountain and in the valley; there had been no significant snowfall for months. The same dry conditions which created forest fire hazards lower down made for a glacier of naked blue ice, and for very little snow anywhere on the mountain. High winter winds that cleared away any remaining snow cover further exacerbated this inclement terrain. As a result, rocks perched atop or embedded within the surface of the exposed ice rained down nonstop, knocked free by winds or the daily thaw/freeze cycle.

Without snow cover the bone-dry glacier had also receded from key technical steps along the route. The dry glacier created tens of meters of bare rock and significant ice runouts where our research had led us to expect easy to moderate snow slopes and two or three 2-3m steps of rock and ice. I reviewed my photos of the upper mountain in basecamp, which revealed that the entire 600m of gain to the top, over 1km of summit ridge, was also made up of exposed blue ice. Realistically, even without the unacceptable risks of persistent rockfall, our 30m rope and four ice screws were inadequate for safely dealing with such extended climbing on 45 degree ice atop an exposed ridge. A running belay on screws could have gotten us much higher than our turnaround at 5350m, but a safe descent would have been nightmarish. We made the decision to end our attempt and retreat due to the objectively hazardous rockfall, and the knowledge that a summit was most likely beyond our ability given the state of the glacier.

Naked blue ice on the glacier. The lower edge of the upper summit ridge, and its small ice step, is visible in top center. It’s a lovely shade of blue!

Expectations (left and middle) versus reality (right) on the rock step at 5400m.

Tianhaizi: Photographs

Tianhaizi: Final Thoughts

Despite an unsuccessful attempt, getting outdoors and trying was immeasurably better than staying home. The swathes of pristine blue ice, while unexpected, were gorgeous to see and to climb on. We did well in managing our acclimation and the challenges of winter camping at altitude, and did our best with the conditions that we found on the mountain. Our high point of 5350m at least involved some real climbing, and afforded us with good views of the upper mountain.

We went into our Tianhaizi attempt knowing full well that our odds of success were low. There was no documented prior winter ascent, and independent winter climbing in or near the Himalaya involves unique challenges created by wind and cold. The cold was a persistent presence throughout, and forced us to pay careful attention to our food intake and rest schedule.

The approach hike was unpleasant enough that I likely would not return to Tianhaizi in the future! Of course, I write this with the misery of crossing the boulder fields fresh in my mind; given time a second attempt in the October season might not be outside the realm of possibility.

Imja Tse (Island Peak) – February 2020

Posted on 2020/06/17 by Ian

Imja Tse

Imja Tse is a 6183m mountain located in the Khumbu region of the Himalayas. Despite being a significantly prominent mountain by the standards of any other country, Imja Tse is completely dwarfed by the imposing south face of Lhotse, the 8516m fourth highest mountain in the world which stands just a few kilometers to the north. As Imja Tse is further surrounded by higher 6000m and 7000m peaks, when viewed from afar it is easy to understand the mountain’s colloquial name of ‘Island Peak’; it does indeed resemble an island within an icy, mountainous ocean. Imja Tse is designated as a ‘Trekking Peak’ by the Nepal Mountaineering Association, which has practical implications for accessible and affordable permitting. While the ‘Trekking Peak’ label does not implicate the difficulty of an ascent (some technically challenging climbs such as Cholatse are also designated as ‘Trekking Peaks’), Imja Tse by its normal route is not a difficult climb. With fixed ropes and the infrastructure associated with the normal climbing seasons in place, it probably goes at around a PD+ grade.

Imja Tse dwarfed by the south face of 8516m Lhotse (left), the fourth highest mountain in the world.

Imja Tse, from the approach to basecamp.

Going into my decision to climb Imja Tse in January and February, the middle of Nepal’s winter, involved several variables. I had been interested in a winter Himalayan 6000m climb for some time, and in 2018 had made an attempt in northern India. Extreme cold, incorrect route beta, and fatigue had all contributed to a non-summit. Despite being unsuccessful, the trip had been good experience and a successful test of my winter equipment. I intended to return to India in the winter of 2019 for a solo attempt, but thwarted by passport issues and a bad chest cold I never made it out of China. In 2020 mountaineering permits for India looked uncertain; in part due to instability in the Kashmir region, in part due to environmental conservation efforts involving the closure of certain valleys. Further, a solo attempt for 2020 was off the table for me – a close climbing partner and friend had disappeared in the mountains in late 2019 while climbing solo on a moderate route, and his death had deeply impacted my perspective.

As a result of this confluence of considerations the possibility of winter climbing in Nepal arose. While I could only find limited information pertaining to winter ascents of the lower mountains in the Khumbu, I knew that it was possible. After all, all of the area’s 8000m mountains had seen winter ascents! Nepal’s permitting system, while expensive (compared to alternatives in Central Asia or South America) during the normal pre-monsoon and post-monsoon seasons, is significantly cheaper for winter mountaineering permits, and tourist support in general becomes less expensive during the off-season. While soloing in Nepal is possible, the nature of the bureaucratic red tape and well established tourist industry make it very smooth and affordable to arrange an experienced 1:1 local partner; without any friend available on the same time frames as I, this had become an essential consideration for me. The prospect of a winter ascent without any crowds, without any fresh fixed ropes, and with the challenging weather conditions of winter began to look very appealing.

Schedule and Trip Report

The trip began with arrival in Kathmandu and a flight to Lukla two days later. Kathmandu was an enjoyable introduction to Nepal; colorful, flavorful, full of life. The atmosphere, pedestrian traffic, and general feel of the city were similar to my experiences in Indian Kashmir, but past the surface Kathmandu is very much its own unique place – for one there are images and services related to the Himalaya and to Mount Everest visible literally everywhere one looks in the tourist district. I had no issue getting some simple preparatory shopping completed, and had time to meet a Nepalese friend whom I’d known for many years when we had both lived in Northwest China.

I’d arranged the climbing, trekking, and camping permits in advance through a tourist agency, and they were all in order the day after I arrived – an enormous time-saver for marginal additional costs. I met my climbing partner, Ashok Tamang, and we spent a few hours talking shop and discussing our plans after going over each other’s equipment. At first impression Ashok was quite competent, and definitely knew what he was doing when it came to climbing – in the days to come we would spend hours upon hours sharing rock climbing and mountaineering stories. We quickly agreed upon the crevasse safety and basic technical gear that we’d both carry on the mountain.

Day 1: The flight to Lukla departed quite early in the morning, and after a harrowing landing on the sloping, minimalist airstrip of “the most dangerous airport in the world”, we found ourselves in Lukla at 8 o’clock in the morning. 11km of straightforward hiking and 5 hours later, we arrived in Josalle at 2750m where we would spend the night.

Day 2: The morning of the second day it registered with me that climbing in the Khumbu Himlaya would be unlike anywhere I’d ever been before. The teahouse in Jorsalle had served us a hot dinner the night before, and after sleeping overnight on a bed with a mattress we were greeted with a hot breakfast in the morning. Bar two nights spent waiting out winds at high camp, we would lodge in teahouses throughout the entire approach hike – a level of comfort, service, and nutritional consistency the likes of which I had never experienced before. The abundance of tea-houses in the Everest region makes approach hikes extraordinarily comfortable and, dare I say, quite easy. Sleeping in a warm bed every night, enjoying three hot meals per day, having steady access to bottled drinks, and having the option of very affordable porter support makes acclimation significantly more comfortable than anywhere else I have ever climbed.

Given the winter season there were only very few other people around; mostly Chinese nationals going trekking for their Chinese New Year vacation. Despite the lack of crowds, I could tell that the infrastructure was in place to support many thousands of tourists. Indeed, when entering the national park on this second day I was allowed to see the park’s data – tens of thousands swarm the area during the peak climbing and trekking seasons. I can only imagine the crowding, noise, and chaos which this must entail. Paradoxically, despite remaining an economically undeveloped rural area, the Khumbu is highly developed with tourist infrastructure in the form of guesthouses, restaurants, shops, and bridges – the seasonal tourist industry is the backbone of the region’s economy. I felt happy to have come in the middle of winter for my first visit.

On the second day we hiked 4.5km to Namche Bazaar at 3450m. Namche is the central settlement of the Sherpa people, and despite the lack of road access is like a small touristic city. Almost all of the facilities were closed for winter, but several comfortable guesthouses remained open – the food here was the best, by far, of the guesthouses I would stay at in the Khumbu.

Day 3: A five hour hike through gorgeous evergreen forest took us to Tengboche monastary at 3850m. Good weather allowed for nice views of Mount Everest, Lhotse, Ama Dablam, Thamserku, and Khangtega. Ama Dablam appears tantalizingly close from Tengboche, and was absolutely stunning to observe in the clear winter air. A Spanish team was on the mountain this winter, and would put several members on the summit just a few days after I left the monastery. The monastery itself was empty, the monks having all descended for the winter, but I was able to spend some time taking in its architecture and Buddhist artwork.

Day 4: A three and a half hour hike to 4350m Dingboche, where we stayed in a lovely guesthouse with a large sunroom on the roof. Acclimation was going well, but this was the first night where I began to feel the effects of altitude. This day’s trek offered spectacular views of Cholatse, Taboche, and distant Lobuche East.

Lobuche East, true summit the highpoint to the left.

Day 5: A one hour and fifty minute hike took us to 4750m Chukkhung, the highest settlement below Imja Tse. The hike from Dingboche follows relatively close to the Lhotse South face, and passes the Jerzy Kukuczka memorial. After arriving in Chukkung I made a quick acclimation hike to 5100m on the Chukkhung Ri hill behind the settlement, taking about two hours round-trip. Despite this hike being quite easy, the winter wind and cold began to make themselves felt. Chukkhung would later prove to be bitterly cold at night. That said, having a bed and a teahouse to stay in at Chukkhung made the approach hike an absolute luxury to this point.

Day 6: Resting in Chukking for acclimation. I met two other Canadian climbers headed for Imja Tse. They were a few days ahead of my schedule, and intended to move up the next day.

Day 7: Resting in Chukking for acclimation. There were high winds this day, and an uninspiring weather forecast calling for 100km winds for the following days. The two Canadians and one Chinese moved up today, in preparation for a summit bid.

Day 8: A two hour hike to Imja Tse basecamp at 5080m. The two Canadians and one Chinese climber had summited in the morning, but had battled horrific wind conditions which nearly shut them down. The Canadians told me that the beginning of their climb in the dark had been colder than their experience on Denali, due to the wind. Basecamp was windy when we arrived, and the forecast didn’t look promising. We pitched our tent and hunkered down for an afternoon of rest. That evening winds were howling on the upper mountain, and despite the sheltered location of basecamp our tent shook profusely with each gust. After a brief discussion Ashok and I agreed to wait for another day – not an impact given our extra food supplies and spare time.

Day 9: We departed our tent at 3:15 a.m. under a clear sky and low winds. The route first crosses a large moraine, circling around the mountain to the east before heading up a gully of good quality rock. There was some class 3 scrambling, but generally this section was fun and easy. After topping out of the gully, we finally had a clear view of Imja Tse’s glacier and icefall. We crossed a narrow and exposed ridge of good rock to the toe of the glacier, where we stopped to hydrate and put on our crampons.

Crossing through the Icefall was interesting, in part because I was surprised at how dry the conditions were. High winter winds and low precipitation meant that the glacier was particularly ‘naked’, leaving all of the crevasses highly visible and open. It looked as if the mountain hadn’t seen snow in weeks. An old boot track was visible; it had melted out from the high traffic of the autumn high season and then frozen into place. The icefall wasn’t difficult, and reminded me of the lower glacier traverse right out of basecamp on Pik Korzhenevskaya in Tajikistan. It was bitterly cold, and I needed to don my down pants and storm parka.

Past the icefall we gained a large plateau below Imja Tse’s summit ridge. The glacier was bone-dry and opened up, bergshrund crevasses gaping. The ridge itself was so barren and exposed that an ascent wouldn’t be viable – the clear route to take went straight up the face of the summit pyramid. The frozen boot track marking the way like a road chopped into the ice was something I had never seen before. In hindsight, this was perhaps the driest glacier I have ever been on.

The summit pyramid across the glacial plateau, from just above the icefall. Summit is the visible highpoint. The line in the ice is a frozen boot track, left behind from the autumn season.

Crossing the plateau was trivial, and we soon found ourselves at the base of the face. A small ~5m ice step blocked the way, and the old fixed ropes on it looked unsafe. Ashok hadn’t been on the mountain since autumn and wasn’t sure of the ropes, so we agreed to avoid jugging the lines. From here I led on Ashok’s belay, avoiding the fixed ropes in favor of the 30m/8mm rope I’d brought, placing a single screw for protection. The step wasn’t difficult, but balance was a bit tricky given that I only had my 75cm ice ax. Above the step I anchored off onto two of the old fixed lines plus a second screw, and belayed Ashok up.

The small ice step at the base of the face, Ashok on rappel.

Directly above the little ice step we discovered a significant ~1m crevasse splitting the middle of the face. We agreed to belay the jump across on my anchor while clipping into the two dodgy fixed lines as a secondary backup. I went first, then belayed Ashok up after me.

Crevasse splitting the face. Take a look at the old fixed ropes some ~10m down!

Above the crevasse the going was smooth, with a few straightforward sections of exposed low-angle rock. The conditions were very dry and icy, but the moderate slope wasn’t too difficult. I clipped into the old fixed lines as backup, but led the rest of the way up without an ascender; the fixed ropes were bleached white from sun exposure, and we were unsure of the state of anchors higher up. Never fully commit to an old fixed rope on the way up, without having had the chance to properly inspect anchors and integrity.

Looking up the face, towards the summit.

Before we knew it, there was nowhere higher to go. It was 11:15 a.m. and we had made it! The summit was decorated with some old prayer flags. A hefty boulder with an assortment of crooked pickets served as the anchor for the old fixed lines which we had been so dubious of. It was cold and windy at the top, and we stayed only long enough to take some photographs. With clear skies the views of surrounding mountains were exceptional.

Looking down the summit ridge from the summit of Imja Tse. The face is to the left.

View from Imja Tse’s summit. Ama Dablam is the prominent peak to the left. To the far right, the nearest prominent peaks are Taboche and Cholatse.

View from Imja Tse’s summit. Makalu is the prominent peak center. Baruntse is the prominent peak to the right.

Lhotse South Face, from near the summit of Imja Tse. Lhotse is the central peak, Lhotse Shar is the pyramidal peak to the right.

After checking the anchor at the top, we opted to rap down on the two old fixed lines. They were somewhat frozen and fraying, making them a massive hassle to run through prussik and gear, but using two felt safe enough given that they were separately anchored the entire way down. The rest of the descent was quick, and soon we were back at our tent. We packed up and hiked back to Chukkhung, arriving at 7:15 p.m. The hike back was notable for the snowstorm which hit halfway in, making the path somewhat difficult to find.

Day 10: Exit hike from Chukkhung to Tengboche.

Day 11: Exit hike Tengboche to Namche.

Day 12: Exit hike Namche to Lukla – the final uphill stretch coming into Lukla was a nice workout.

Day 13: Rest in Lukla, waiting for our flight scheduled the next day.

Day 14: After many hours of delay, our airplane finally arrived in Lukla and took us back to Kathmandu, where we celebrated with a pair of tandoori chickens and some Everest beer. On return to Kathmandu the news that I had been reading about the COVID19 outbreak in China began to take on greater clarity; my return flights to Shanghai were abruptly cancelled by the airlines. I departed Kathmandu two days later on a flight to Canada, where I would spend an unplanned month before eventually making my way back to China. Two weeks after I departed Kathmandu the Nepalese government announced the shut down of the spring climbing season; there would be no April/May climbing in the Khumbu.

Other Images

Thoughts on Imja Tse

Winter Imja Tse was a good experience for my first trip to Nepal. Partnered with an experienced local guide who knew the route well the climb wasn’t too challenging, but leading everything on the mountain was still rewarding for me. While not the most difficult, Imja Tse is still of relatively high altitude and does involve a significant icefall and glacier – in hindsight I am satisfied that I didn’t go alone. It was very nice to be the only two people on the mountain, and to generally enjoy the Khumbu area with very few crowds. The trip wasn’t too expensive, largely due to the winter season, but I was still surprised by the level of support and tourist infrastructure in place. I do not think that I would enjoy the area anywhere near as much during the normal spring and autumn high seasons.

Winter in Nepal has a lot of potential. With cheaper permits and cheaper access, and no crowds, there’s a bit more sense of adventure to be had if one is willing to brave the frigid winds. Inspired by the fact that this season saw winter Ama Dablam summits, I am already putting together plans for more ambitious winter goals in the Khumbu area, and am hopeful to return in 2021. Finishing my objective of a 6000m Himalayan summit in winter felt good, but was also somewhat easier than expected. My experience in Nepal involved none of the absolutely grueling load carries and -40C winter camping which I had been through in the northern Indian Himalaya. A return to northern India for more winter climbing attempts likely also remains in the books for me, if I am provided the opportunity, as that particular sort of rugged winter mountaineering still represents the sort of challenge which I am interested in working towards.

Noshaq – July 2019

Posted on 2019/09/13 by Ian

Noshaq, from basecamp at 4650m.

Noshaq, from the near the edge of the glacial moraine at the mountain’s base.

Noshaq

Despite being the 52^nd highest mountain in the world, standing at 7492m, Noshaq is not well known outside of niche circles. By most measures Noshaq cannot fairly be described as beautiful or aesthetically pleasing, and is about as far as is possible from being a ‘popular’ mountain to climb, located as it is within the Wakhan Corridor of northeast Afghanistan. The mountain is nonetheless notable as Afghanistan’s highpoint, the second highest summit of the Hindu Kush range, and the westernmost 7000m mountain in the world. Notwithstanding its obscurity within the modern climbing world, Noshaq has a storied early history. Noshaq was first ascended by a Japanese team in 1960, and in 1972 saw a summit by the legendary Reinhold Messner. A year later Noshaq became the first 7000m peak to see a winter ascent when a Polish team reached the top in February of 1973, a feat which as of yet remains unrepeated.

Noshaq at Sunrise.

From 1979 well into the early 2000s Noshaq fell off the radar of the mountaineering community due to Afghanistan’s ongoing political instability, sectarian violence, and outright war. The first Afghan ascents of the mountain took place in 2009 when Wakhan locals Malang and Amruddin, two of a team of four Afghan climbers supported by French guides, reached the top. Both men are still active in the Wakhan, and offer services as fixers and tour operators. Their accomplishment attracting considerable international attention to Noshaq for the first time in decades. The valley which leads to Noshaq Basecamp has since been de-mined, relative stability has returned to Afghanistan’s Wakhan Corridor, and each summer season for the past several years has seen a few teams making attempts on the mountain. In 2018 the first Afghan female gained the summit of Noshaq, climbing with an American NGO team.

The Wakhan corridor is a natural barrier between the Pamir, Karakoram, and Hindu Kush mountain ranges, a narrow fertile valley wedged between high mountain peaks. The area is remote, difficult to access, and is both culturally and ethnically distinct from the rest of Afghanistan, predominantly populated as it is by the Wakhi people. The Wakhan has been relatively safe for the past ten years or so, and has never seen an established Taliban presence.

Our 2019 expedition to Noshaq was initiated by my American friend Pat, who began to pull together a variety of interested climbers he’d partnered with in the past, or whom had good vouching. Over the course of several months the group resolved into a team of seven, representing the USA, Estonia, Denmark, Canada, Spain, and Hong Kong. Our expedition was successful, and four of our seven summited Noshaq. I did not summit, on account of a severe lung infection which hit me hard after an initial rope-fixing foray and summit attempt. I was unable to shake off symptoms of pneumonia or bronchitis, including a debilitatingly productive cough. With significantly compromised respiration I ultimately ended up struggling just to get off of the mountain.

Getting There

The Wakhan is difficult to access. Land travel from Kabul, Afghanistan, is extremely unsafe and is absolutely not a viable option. The border with China is closed, and will likely remain so for the indefinite future. There are no established airports, and the tiny airstrip in Afghan Ishkashim is limited to special, non-commercial use.

The beautiful Wakhan Corridor.

Support exists in the Afghan Wakhan as one of the first Afghan Noshaq summiteers, Malang, now operates a small tour company there. His right-hand man Azim Ziahee is an absolutely incredible fixer and problem solver whose support was invaluable to our expedition.

Azim’s business card.

Further good news is that it is possible to access the Afghan Wakhan via Tajikistan, crossing the Tajik/Afghan border at Ishkashim. While this sounds daunting at first glance, as a process it is relatively straightforward. For the sake of accuracy, brevity, and clarity, I have written out a detailed step by step process:

1. Obtain an e-visa for Tajikistan. This can be done at http://www.evisa.tj/index.evisa.html#/ . The process is straightforward enough, but pay attention when submitting payment. If a mistake is made in entering credit card information, the system can lock the application. Ensure that you pay the additional fee for a GBAO, Gorno-Badakhsan Autonomous Region, permit.

2. Fly into Dushanbe, or otherwise enter Tajikistan. Dushanbe is a relatively developed city, and has a rather nice supermarket in the main mall. This is absolutely the best place for obtaining supplies anywhere nearby.

3. Buy a SIM card at the ‘Megaphone’ (Tajik’s largest wireless carrier) in the central mall. Tajikistan has a solid 4G network, and prepaid SIM cards are very affordable. The Tajik Megaphone network is accessible from the settled parts of the Afghan Wakhan corridor, or at least from locations with good line of sight. Getting a Tajik SIM is highly advised, as doing so will make the entire trip significantly smoother. A Tajik SIM card is the only reliable means of accessing the internet from the Afghan Wakhan.

4. On entry to Tajikistan, immediately apply for a second e-Visa. Set the entry date to some ~10 days in the future; e-visa validity is good for entry on or after the listed date. This second e-visa will be used to re-enter Tajikistan at the end of the expedition. It is not possible to obtain a Tajik visa at the Afghan land border. It is not possible to cross the Afghan land border into Tajikistan without a visa. It is difficult and slow to apply for a Tajik e-Visa from Afghanistan, due to the absence of stable internet infrastructure. This second e-Visa will likely be approved at some point during the approach hike to Noshaq Basecamp. As such, it is wise to have it emailed to a trusted friend or family member, who can confirm its receipt via satphone, and then forward it to your Afghan fixer/operator. It is easy to print documents in Afghan Ishkashim.

5. Drive to Khorugh, in Tajikistan. The drive takes roughly 14-16 hours from Dushanbe, on bad roads. The drive from Dushanbe to Khorugh is significantly more expensive than the drive back, because there isn’t much demand for travel in that direction! Azim and Malang should be able to assist in arranging transportation. If a Russian speaker is in the party, it will be possible to arrange transportation once on the ground in Dushanbe. LAL hostel in Khorugh is a decent place to spend the night. Bring plenty of food and water for the car ride, as there aren’t many places to stop along the way. Expect at least one flat tire.

6. Visit the Afghan Consulate in Khorugh to apply for an Afghan tourist visa. I can provide GPS coordinates of the Consulate if desired. The application requires 5 visa photos, the small size which is also used by China. Inexpensive photos can be taken in Khorugh, but it is much faster if you already have your own. The visa application is relatively straightforward, but does require a handwritten letter of intent. The cost in 2019 was $220 USD for Americans, $150 for all other nationalities, and must be paid in cash. We were told that Japanese, South Korean, and Russian passport holders are presently unable to apply for a visa. The application took roughly two hours to process, after which time we retrieved our passports with visa stickers inserted.

Our group’s gear, at the Afghan/Tajik border.

Filling out application forms, for our Afghan tourist visas.

The Consulate in Korugh.

7. Drive to the border crossing in Tajik Ishkashim. The drive takes about 2-3 hours from Khorugh. The border crossing is on a bridge, in the middle of the large river which separates the Tajik and Afghan Wakhan. The border crossing is slow, as passports must be processed on both sides. We experienced no issues crossing the border. Azim met us with cars on the Afghan side.

8. Drive to Afghan Ishkashim, just a half hour from the border, where one can overnight. We paid $30 USD for bed and board, and while expensive, this appeared to be the standard rate throughout the Afghan Wakhan.

9. Register with the police in Ishkashim and obtain permits for entering the mountains. We needed an additional five photos for this, but took them in Ishkashim at a cost of about $1. The paperwork was easy to sort out with Azim’s assistance. Qazi-Deh, the village from which the Noshaq approach begins, is roughly one hour’s drive from Ishkashim.

Route Description

An outline of camp locations and of our climbing routes to 5500m Camp 1. The summit is located at the far left of the ridge, behind where it is marked in this image.

I have accurate GPS waypoints for campsites, major landmarks, and for the summit. Please contact me if you want a copy.

It is worth noting the consistent weather patterns which we experienced on Noshaq. Every morning was clear, with low winds. Every day on the mountain, bar two days in the middle of the expedition, we experienced whiteout, snowfall, and significantly increased winds starting between 11 a.m. and 3 p.m., and lasting until after sunset.

Qazi-Deh to Basecamp

Qazi-Deh, a small village at around 2600m, is the starting point for the approach to Noshaq Basecamp. Qazi-Deh is Malang’s home village, and everyone there knows him; there are comfortable enough guesthouses available. We paid $30 per night for room and board in 2019. The full approach from Qazi-Deh to Noshaq Basecamp is typically completed over a 3-4 day timeframe.

The valley which leads to Noshaq Basecamp.

Razok, Malang’s son and a leader of the porters.

First night’s campsite.

Our porters managing the donkeys, which carried our gear.

With Malang, before beginning the approach hike.

The enormous scree traverse.

Looking down the valley.

The enormous scree traverse.

Getting close to Noshaq Basecamp.

The mouth of the valley leading to Noshaq can be found 2km east of Qazi-Deh, and a well-marked path leads due south, away from the houses and fields. The first few kilometers of the approach cover easy terrain, a rocky path following the valley river. Abandoned farms line the lower valley, and the area is mostly quite barren. Further along are small areas of surprisingly dense greenery, rich with trees and moss cultivated by the glacial meltwaters of the river. This easy, pleasant terrain continues all the way to the standard campsite for the first night, a pastoral grove of trees and grass beside the river at about 3200m. This location is known to porters, and they will plan to stop here to overnight and graze the donkeys. Porters warned our party of landmines around this area, and cautioned us not to leave the path or wander towards the nearby hills. This first night’s campsite is roughly 14.5km from Qazi-Deh, or 12.5km from the mouth of the valley.

As the route ascends the terrain gradually becomes more severe, crossing scree fields and traversing landslide-prone slopes of rock high above the river valley. One section is notably unstable and lengthy; an enormous scree traverse of considerable difficulty for the donkeys. Porters know the way well, and will keep the donkeys under close watch here. Unfortunately this is also where the path becomes steeper and gains a considerable amount of altitude. Past the traverse is a long swath of glacial moraine and scree fields, churned leftovers of the receding glaciers which flow off of surrounding mountains.

Noshaq Basecamp.

Noshaq seen from basecamp.

Most parties stop at around 4200m to overnight, breaking the second leg of the approach into two days so as to avoid an overly rapid ascent. A direct hike from the riverside campsite at 3200m to basecamp at 4650m covers 16.75km. Basecamp itself is large, with numerous good tent platforms. There is a water source in the form of a small stream which emerges from the ground – it stops flowing overnight, but swells considerably each afternoon.

Basecamp to 5500m Camp 1

From basecamp a well-cairned boot track follows a ridge of moraine all the way to the snout of a melted out glacier. This lower glacier should be dry and open, crevasses thin and easily spotted, and can safely be crossed in hiking boots. There are many ways across, of varying complexity, and we cairned a few different paths.

Approaching the ascent gully.

Climbing the gully.

5500m Camp 1.

Looking down, across the dry glacier.

From the base of the mountain there are two easy to spot and relatively straightforward routes to Camp 1. The first option, which we had read about prior to our expedition, is ‘the glacier route’, an ascent up Noshaq’s prominent central glacier. The path of least resistance begins at the base of an obvious ramp, far to climber’s left when facing the mountain from basecamp. Upon seeing the mountain’s condition in person we decided not to explore this option, and did not scout access to the base of the ramp. We rationalized that the hassle of roping for each transition up and down, the objective hazard of significant exposure underneath the large seracs which guard the sides of the ramp, and the general risks inherent to heavily crevassed terrain made the glacier a poor choice.

We opted to take the second clear option, and ascend a gully more or less directly in front of a climber observing the mountain from basecamp. About 100m of loose scree leads into this gully from the edge of the melted out lower glacier, and a large boulder at the bottom served as a convenient cache spot and easily identifiable landmark. I have marked this gully in the above image of Noshaq, and have an accurate GPS waypoint for the base of the gully. The weather was warm throughout our climb, and snow conditions on the mountain rapidly deteriorated throughout the expedition. The route to Camp 1 had fully declined into a slippery, melted-out nightmare of ice, rockfall, and steep scree by the time we made our final descent. As such, we ended up climbing this section via three different variations, which I have colored red, blue, and green in the above image.

Red indicates our initial line of ascent, made while there was still a snowpack available. We began by climbing directly up the gully on soft but decent snow, comfortably switchbacking as much as possible. The upper gully is characterized by a steep ‘snow triangle’ which, as evidenced by debris, had avalanched some time before our arrival. As the terrain grew steeper we traversed right, ascended a short section of scrambling to the far right side of the snow triangle, and then made an easy traverse back across. When covered in snow this traverse was straightforward enough for each of us to comfortably solo, and felt quite secure. Unfortunately, as the mountain melted out a hideous layer of hard ice was revealed, making for unacceptable exposure to an ugly runout. In such slippery conditions I wouldn’t want to cross without at minimum a running belay on screws, as self arrest would be impossible and a slip would result in a catastrophic fall down the icy upper gully. From the left-hand side of the snow triangle we ascended alongside a rocky ridge to the area where the red route shown above splits into a blue line. From here the red line indicates the safest means of ascent, scrambling up and over the rocks directly below Camp 1. The blue line shows a variation which many of us opted to take when snow conditions were good; a brief traverse onto well consolidated glacier, and back across along the ridge/ramp which finishes the top of the ‘glacier route’. While a nice ascent option if provided good snow, with poor conditions this variation was not viable.

The green line in the above image indicates an alternative line of ascent and descent. The rocky ridge to the left of the gully and snow triangle, while composed of steep, loose, hideous scree, is far preferable when the gully and snow triangle traverse are melting out. Rockfall was a constant hazard on this ridge; wear a helmet and establish a clear communication routine with partners. Despite the rockfall, this ridge felt much safer and more secure than the icy and exposed snow triangle traverse.

Climbing to 5500m Camp 1.

Camp 1 itself is a sizeable, flat area atop a rocky ridge. There is abundant tent space, and plenty of accessible snow for cooking. Amongst the rocks there were a fair number of propane/butane gas cartridges both unopened and partially used.

5500m Camp 1 to 6200m Camp 2

The route to 6200m Camp 2 is straightforward, and follows the ridge quite directly. There are some interesting little features below Camp 2; a short but easy ridge traverse and several protruding rock steps which collectively require about a dozen metres of scrambling. One prominent step just a few hundred metres above Camp 1 can be climbed to the left, over class 4 terrain, or to the right, over easy snow and simple rock scrambling. We discovered a fixed rope on the left side of this particular rock step, and while it turned out to be of good integrity, other old fixed lines discovered higher up were core shot. Never weight a fixed line of unknown origin if you haven’t inspected both it and its anchor. There are several small plateaus along the ridge which would be suitable for camping, but the standard spot for Camp 2 at 6200m is by far the largest and best of them. While the ridge is not glaciated, and thus is not crevassed, it is imperative that climbers attentively stay on route; the glacier is only some 5-10 metres to climber’s left, and a significant bergschrund/moat separates it from the rock of the ridgeline. I sustained an unroped, armpit-deep fall into this moat/bergschrund just above Camp 1, with only my enormous backpack and quick ice ax reflex saving me. Unbeknownst to us, our boot track had been passing dangerously close to this crack throughout the expedition.

Climbing to 6200m Camp 2. Photo by Pat.

Terrain below 6200m Camp 2.

Climbing to 6200m Camp 2.

6200m Camp 2.

I have not marked this section of ascent on the photo, as it is relatively direct and quite straightforward to navigate.

6200m Camp 2 to 6500-6700m Camp 3

Terrain above 6200m Camp 2.

From Camp 2 the route continues directly up the ridge, towards the imposing rock wall which waits above. The ridge broadens above Camp 2, and in a whiteout it can be difficult to ascertain one’s location relative to camp – we did well by paying careful attention to the size and location of prominent rocky sections, and using them to navigate on descent . Higher up, the ridge steadily becomes rockier and slightly steeper. Crossing over the patches of exposed rock is easier than breaking trail through snow, and besides one or two metres of scrambling is mostly just scree slogging. There are several options for a Camp 3 location, with good tent platforms on rocky plateaus at 6500m and 6700m.

Camp 3 to Summit

I did not achieve Noshaq’s summit, but did make it to 7100m on the summit plateau, to the base of the summit ridge.

On the summit plateau. Photo by Eric.

The summit plateau.

Looking down the first pitch.

Traversing the second pitch. Photo by Eric.

From high camp between 6500-6900m the rock quality improves, but also becomes much steeper. I would classify several sections in this area as Class 4. At around 6900m the route terminates in an obvious ridge, slightly corniced. From this ridge, about 100m of rock stands directly in front of the climber. To climber’s right the wall is steeper, and drops sharply off into Pakistan. Far to climber’s left lies steep and crevassed glacier.

The rock band at 6900m. We ascended to the left. Photo: Eric

Our route of ascent in red, rappel in green. Photo and route: Eric

On our first summit attempt we ascended the middle-left of the rock wall, up a fairly obvious weakness in the terrain. Altogether we climbed three pitches of about 40m each. Eric, one of two Americans on our team, confidently led all three and was able to place good cams for protection – he used one of each BD small red through BD big red. In different conditions screws could also be useful here. With Eric’s help I have marked the route of ascent in red, and the rappel route in green. The first and second pitches were easy, perhaps 5.6, and fairly secure. Due to its being a traverse, and on account of deep, loose snow, the third pitch was a somewhat sketchy 5.7 and poorly protected. We found good pitons at the top of the third pitch.

Eric leading the third pitch.

Following the second pitch.

While ascending, we noticed a fixed line further to our left. This fixed line ascended significantly easier terrain, perhaps Class 4 or ~5.4. From the top of our three pitch route, we were able to easily access this old fixed rope, to discover that it was thoroughly core-shot. We re-fixed this rope, and used this easier route for descent. Later, it was used for jumared ascent during the successful summit bid. While this route of ascent is considerably easier, accessing it involves a significant traverse along the base of the rock wall. The snow in this area was deep and unconsolidated in 2019, making it an unintuitive option. If I return to Noshaq, I will likely endeavor to ascend the rock wall via this variation, budgeting an entire day from high camp to break trail to its base, ascend it, and fix it prior to any serious summit attempt.

Above the rock difficulties is Noshaq’s enormous summit plateau. The terrain is gently sloped, but most definitely glaciated; climbers should rope up. In the past, many teams have fixed a high camp on the plateau, as there is abundant space very suitable for tents. The summit itself lies at the far eastern termination of the significant ridge standing atop the plateau. Crossing the plateau, ascending the ridge, and crossing the ridge to the summit covers roughly 1.6km of distance. My teammates informed me that they climbed a few meters of Class 3 scrambling in order to gain the ridge itself.

Schedule and Trip Report

July 8th
Dushanbe to Khorugh

Arrived in Dushanbe at 3:45 a.m., on the same airplane as Maria and Pat. There were significant delays at customs, as Pat had to sort out a landing visa. Met Eric and Ludwig at the airport at around 6:30 a.m. We had many errands to complete – grocery, gas, SIM cards, picking Andreas up from his hostel. There was limited time for food or rest, and we were all exhausted. We departed Dushanbe at around 10 a.m. and arrived in Khorugh at 2 a.m. the next day, taking about 14 hours total for the drive. The drive was hot and unpleasant, on bad roads most of the way. We were utterly exhausted by the time we reached Khorugh!

After meeting Ray in Khorugh our team was fully assembled. In total we numbered seven; myself, Pat (USA), Eric (USA), Marie (Estonia), Ludwig (Spain), Andreas (Denmark), and Ray (Hong Kong). While experience within the team varied, everyone seemed keen.

July 9th
Khorugh to Afghan Ishkashim

We met Ray at LAL hostel, where we slept for a few hours. Good WiFi, showers, and acceptable food were to be had. We went to the Consulate General of Afghanistan at 9 a.m., and applied for our tourist visas. A few hours later we drove to the border, where we crossed into Afghanistan. Azim, our highly capable fixer, met us with cars and drove us for about 30 minutes to Afghan Ishkashim, where we were finally able to slow down and rest properly. We had a good meal here, and met Malang, one of the first two Afghan nationals to summit Noshaq. Malang is an interesting and exceptional man.

We have transited from Dushanbe to Afghan Ishkashim in around 40 hours, a breakneck pace. Everything has felt rushed, albeit relatively smooth. If ever repeating this journey I would likely try to pace things in a more relaxed manner, perhaps taking one additional day in Dushanbe and departing for Khorugh at around 6 a.m.

July 10th
Afghan Ishkashim to 3225m Approach Camp

We registered with police in Ishkashim. With Azim’s help the paperwork involved in this was smooth and easy. We then drove for about one hour to Qazi-Deh, the village at 2600m where the approach hike to Noshaq basecamp begins. Here we sorted out porters and donkeys. In the past, expeditions have had porters carry all gear to basecamp manually. Happily, for our approach the porters were able to take donkeys all the way to basecamp, which significantly improved their work situation. Malang told us that this is only the second time donkeys have been able to make the entire approach.

We began the approach hike in the heat of the day at 2:30 p.m. We covered 14.5km in just over four hours, arriving at our first night’s campsite at 6:45 p.m. The campsite is at 3225m, and we were already beginning to feel the impact of altitude. The campsite is very pastoral, in a grassy scattering of trees alongside a branching stream of the main river. There was easy access to water and good camping spots. Porters warned us not to venture towards the nearby mountains, on the premise that there may still be landmines in the area. The first day’s approach was very dry and dusty, and once in camp all of us were complaining of itchy throats and nostrils.

July 11th
3225m Approach Camp to 4650m Noshaq Basecamp

9 a.m. start, 7 p.m. arrival. We hiked 3225m to 4650m in roughly ten hours. All of us are very tired, and this was perhaps too much altitude for one day, with over 1400m of gain. The porters were all doing well, as the donkeys carried everything all the way to basecamp, and were very happy to be paid, ecstatic when we gave each of them a $10 tip. The basecamp was nice, with a good water source and several rock wind walls for tents. Eric, Ludwig and I made it to basecamp about an hour ahead of the remainder of the team, and handled checking luggage and paying the porters. I was experiencing mild AMS on arrival in basecamp, and tried to sleep early. The dust and grit from the second half of the approach had irritated my throat, and a persistent dry cough made breathing uncomfortable while lying down.

July 12th
Carry to 5000m

I carried a light load to 5000m, at the edge of the dry glacier, and then descended to basecamp to rest. Still experiencing mild AMS, I didn’t want to push myself too hard. Tagging 5000m so quickly is not normal for me, and thus far the acclimation schedule has felt extremely rushed. The remainder of the team went higher for a few hours while I turned back to basecamp.

July 13th
Carry to 5000m

The six others on the team decided to make a carry all the way to 5500m Camp 1 today. I decided not to go, as I absolutely did not feel ready to clear 5000m. The team departed at 9 a.m., while I rested all morning. I departed basecamp at 12:35 p.m., and moved my cache at 5000m to the boulder at the base of the gully, also at around 5000m. I met with Eric and Andreas as they descended, but hiked back to basecamp by myself.

Thus far the rushed pace and accelerated acclimation schedule has been pushed forward mostly by Ludwig’s tight timeframe – he has a strict departure flight – and by Eric’s intention to try and climb the Uzbekistan highpoint after Noshaq. If I return to Noshaq, I will likely slow down the initial acclimation schedule by spreading the approach hike over three days, and spending an extra rest day in basecamp.

July 14th
Rest day at 4650m Noshaq Basecamp

July 15th
4650m Noshaq Basecamp to 5500m Camp 1

We agreed that we would move to Camp 1 today – fast, but somewhat reasonable given that I felt well and had twice tagged 5000m. As I had already moved most of my equipment up to the cache boulder at 5000m, lightening the load from basecamp, I felt good about making the move in a single carry. I departed basecamp at 9:05 a.m., collected my cache at 10:15 a.m., and reached 5500m Camp 1 at 3:30 p.m. My single carry bag was very heavy, and I felt slow ascending the gully. Indeed, I took up the rear of the team the entire way, the others all moving faster quite far ahead of me.

There were a few class 3 moves across rotten rock on the way up, and a little bit of exposure on steep terrain. It was an enormous relief to reach 5500m Camp 1 and take my bag off. I quickly pitched my tent on the rocks. The cough which I had been nursing since basecamp persisted, still from the throat rather than the lungs. My throat felt dry and irritated, and I figured that if the dusty two day approach had caused the cough, then the dry air at altitude was developing it.

July 16th
Hike to 6000m

We departed camp at 11:30 a.m. with the intention of making an acclimation hike, and reached 6000m at 3:15 p.m. The route along this section of ridge above 5500m Camp 1 passes several rock steps, one of which had an old fixed rope placed on it – I didn’t climb the rope, and opted for a more secure scrambling option. On descent I inspected the rope’s anchor, rapped it carefully, and hacked it out of the ice – it turned out that the scramble circumnavigating the rope was faster for the remainder of the expedition, but finding and recovering this fixed line still felt promising. Eric led the way up the ridge, breaking trail and finding the most efficient lines past the rock steps. I once again took up the rear for most of the hike, trying to pace myself, and thus climbing slowly. At 6000m we realized that Camp 2 was higher up, but decided to turn around due to deteriorating weather.

July 17th
Rest day at 5500m Camp 1

July 18th
5500m Camp 1 to 6200m Camp 2

We decided to move higher today. We departed at 9:20 a.m., and arrived at 6200m Camp 2 at 3:10 p.m. I once again made a single carry and ascended with an atrociously heavy bag. I felt lightheaded on arrival, and had abnormal difficulty trying to focus on setting up my tent; mild AMS. Eric, Andreas, and I arrived at camp first, followed by Marie. Eric once again broke trail most of the way from 5500m Camp 1. Pat, Ray, and Ludwig opted to stop lower down and complete the move up on the following day. In hindsight, this was a wise decision for acclimation.

July 19th
Hike to 6700m

Feeling much better after a full night’s sleep, Eric, Andreas and I decided to make an acclimation hike and try to scout the rock feature below the summit plateau. We departed camp at 11:15 a.m., and reached 6700m at 2:15 p.m. I broke trail for about half an hour right out of basecamp, Andreas for over an hour, and Eric broke trail for the remainder of the way. This had become a recurrent theme; throughout the trip Eric was the best acclimated of us all, was likely the strongest, and always moved the fastest. At points he outpaced Andreas and I while trail breaking deep snow.

Eric, Andreas, and I before heading to 6700m.

Terrain above 6200m Camp 2.

As we ascended the weather began to deteriorate. At around 6600m we were moving through intermittent whiteout, and climbing increasingly steep terrain. A hundred metres later at 6700m, feeling the altitude, I decided to head back to camp rather than continue pushing higher in terrible visibility. Andreas and Eric continued into the whiteout as I descended alone. Snow had already filled our boot track, and my descent involved plenty of postholing. Despite poor conditions, I was back at camp in just 30 minutes, arriving at 2:45 p.m.

July 20th
Rest day at 6200m Camp 2

The remainder of the team all arrived at Camp 2.

July 21st
Summit attempt to 7100m

Eric, Andreas, and I decided to make a summit attempt on this day. At the last minute Ray opted to join us, and Ludwig decided he would try to get as high as he could despite his poor acclimation. Pat and Maria chose to wait.

We departed 6200m Camp 2 under a bright moon at 2:10 a.m. The hike to 6700m was mostly uneventful, although Ray lagged far behind Eric, Andreas and I. We were unaware that Ray had lost his mitts in the wind until much later, when he caught up to us at about 6900m. From 6700m to 6900m the terrain became much steeper, slowing us down as we broke trail through deep snow. Eric led most of the way, with Andreas and I taking over only for short sections.

Climbing at dawn.

Andreas at sunrise.

Eric, preparing to lead the first rock pitch.

Sunrise from 7000m.

Terrain above 6200m Camp 2.

At 6900m we reached the base of the rock section. It was here that Ray caught up with us. As he was without his mitts, we persuaded him that he needed to descend. Eric led three pitches through the rock band as Andreas and I belayed and cleaned. Protection was pretty O.K. for most of it, and Eric was able to place good cams. Only the third pitch was difficult or sketchy, due to a traversing section on loose, deep snow with marginal protection. We found good pitons at the top of the third pitch, and a piton or two along the way, indicating to us that the route we took had been climbed in the past. Our three pitch route roughly ascended to climber’s left, and finished in a prominent notch in the rock. Although I cannot visually identify our route in any of our photographs of the rock band (see the route description, above), the notch is visible to the left, along the ridgeline.

The top of pitch 3 found us at the base of the summit plateau, albeit on a 40 degree slope. From here I could spot the top of the fixed line we had seen on ascent; I made a GPS waypoint, so that we could easily return to it for our descent. The decision to descend via a different route was made due to perceived difficulty in setting fixed ropes on the traversing pitches we had just ascended. Rather than messing about with rapping the route we had climbed, we figured that it would be faster and safer to re-anchor and secure the more direct fixed rope that we had spotted. In hindsight, this was probably a very good decision.

From our last anchor I led a short ~10m section of steep snow to a flatter area, where I belayed Eric and Andreas up on a picket and my ax. We roped up to continue a bit higher, away from the edge, and cached our rock gear.

Crossing the summit plateau. Photo by Eric.

We stayed roped up for the entire summit plateau crossing, quite certain that it was glaciated. Eric and I took the ends of the rope team, placing Andreas in the middle, and I volunteered to break the first trail. The snow was ankle to knee deep, but the terrain was gently sloped. We had begun to really feel the altitude, and moved at a painfully slow pace despite our good condition. It was here that the weather abruptly began to worsen – intermittent whiteout and increasingly heavy snowfall. As the weather got progressively worse, and given our snail’s pace, I suggested that we bail. Andreas seemed undecided, but Eric was adamant that we continue pushing. We all still felt great, albeit tired, so I agreed that we continue. I broke trail for about an hour to the base of the summit ridge, where Eric took over.

From here we climbed for another hour, or so, into worsening whiteout conditions. Wind was picking up, and it was getting colder. Visibility was down to 20-30m. I once again broached the topic of descent, and this time Andreas agreed. We rationalized that we were pacing such that we might summit by 5-6 p.m., but would then be left descending in the dark, or bivvying on the summit plateau. We still had to fix ropes, or at the very least rappel our route of ascent. We had a stove and gas with us, had extra water and extra layers, and bivvying was on the table as an option until we decided that to do so would be to invite frostbite. As a team we agreed to turn back. It was 12:30 p.m., and our elevation was a bit over 7100m.

Back at the edge of the summit plateau I took charge of rope-fixing. I tried to work quickly, but by this point was tired and hypoxic. Easy knots took a few tries to dress correctly, and I was constantly having to double, triple check everything I did. Skills which I practice every weekend on rock had become clumsy and molasses-slow due to cold and fatigue. I was able to salvage most of the anchor gear left with the old fixed line, and back it up nicely with fresh runners. The old rope was core shot, so I cut the bad section out and replaced it with some of the static line that we had carried up with us. I made sure to keep the old rope attached and accessible, as I wanted to follow its line of descent. Anchors and rope all sorted, I rapped while hacking the old rope out of the snow and ice. I was thus was able to follow it down and find a solid cordelette anchor, which had been left on a big boulder.

I backed the cord up with a piton and a sewn runner. From here the ridge that we had ascended from was visible, below and to skier’s left. Eric and Andreas arrived at the boulder, and we agreed that it would be easiest if I tried to fix a second line to the ridge. I took the first rap again, traversing and breaking through knee to waist deep snow along the base of the rock wall, placing a single intermediate anchor part way. It took almost 80m of rope to reach to ridge, costing us Andreas’ 60m climbing rope and most of the remaining static line which we had carried up. I securely tied the system off onto a large boulder.

Andreas rapping the second fixed line. I am visible on the ridge. Photo by Eric.

The fixed lines completed, I found myself shivering uncontrollably in the wind and deep snow. The weather was truly heinous by now, with moderate winds, total whiteout, and steady snowfall. As Andreas and Eric rapped across to me, I put on my down pants and storm mitts. My throat was bothering me, and I was wracked with fits of coughing.

Whiteout conditions on descent.

Descending back to 6200m Camp 2 was a nightmarish slog through deep snow, the whiteout limiting visibility to some 20m. I was exhausted by this point, coughing and staggering, and found myself moving far slower than I had just two days earlier on the same terrain. Several times I postholed waist deep and had to sit, breathing for a minute, before pulling myself out. We returned to camp at 7:10 p.m., a 17 hour day.

July 22nd
6200m Camp 2 to 4650m Noshaq Basecamp

I woke up feeling terrible. I was coughing uncontrollably, and the cough had developed into a wet, productive one. I had no symptoms of AMS and felt strong aside from the cough; I quickly ruled out HAPE. In regards to climbing, there was much disagreement and discussion as to the best course of action to take next. Andreas also had a cough, although only from his throat, and like myself felt that he needed to descend and rest before another attempt. Ludwig had made it to 6800m on the 21^st, and then descended all the way to basecamp; he had to leave to catch his airplane. Eric wanted to move up immediately in preparation for a second summit bid. Pat and Marie were undecided, but tempted to move up and take a shot at the summit. The deciding factor ended up being food. I only had two days supply remaining, Andreas had nothing, and Eric was running low.

Eventually Eric, Andreas, and I decided to return to basecamp to rest and recover. Pat, Marie, and Ray would descend to Camp 1, where they had a food cache. On descent we met three Polish climbers who had arrived while we were on the upper mountain – they were the only other team to attempt Noshaq this season. Much of the route was melted out on descent, and turned to either scree or ice. We departed 6200m Camp 2 at 12:00 noon, reached 5500m Camp 1 at 12:45 p.m., and reached Basecamp at 2:20 p.m. We cooked pasta with sausage when we arrived, and while it looked like dog’s breakfast, it tasted delicious. Some three hours after Eric, Andreas and I arrived in basecamp, we saw Marie approaching across the moraine. We feared bad news, and were relieved to learn that she, Pat, and Ray had descended only because their food cache had been raided and eaten by the ravens which inhabit the valley.

It so happened that 7.22 and 7.23 were the only two days of the entire expedition when weather remained clear of afternoon whiteout and snowfall. Unfortunately this wasn’t of much benefit to us, given we used these as rest days.

July 23rd
Rest day at 4650m Noshaq Basecamp

I slept poorly, waking up several times throughout the night due to uncontrollable coughing, able to sleep only once my lungs were cleared. I was continually coughing up thick chunks of yellowish phlegm, in startling quantity. I was unable to breathe deeply without my lungs bubbling, which triggered coughing fits. Shallow breathing felt fine, and I otherwise felt strong and healthy, with a good appetite. Marie let me use her asthma puffer, which helped suppress the cough for an hour or so after use, but didn’t alleviate my difficulty breathing.

July 24th
4650m Noshaq Basecamp to 6200m Camp 2

The team wanted to move back up to make a summit bid. My cough was only marginally better after a full day’s rest, but accompanying the others was my only chance – in my condition I knew that holding back in basecamp and making a solo attempt later wouldn’t be possible.

We departed basecamp at 9:40 a.m., reached 5500m Camp 1 at 2:40 p.m., and 6200m Camp 2 at 6:40 p.m. – 9 hours in total, covering more than 1500m of elevation gain at a very slow pace. I moved slowly due to terrible conditions in the gully and relentless productive coughing. Much of the route had melted out into dangerously icy conditions, and the traverse across the ‘snow triangle’ (see route description above) was insecure and dangerous – we probably should have taken the time to place a running belay, or even pitch it out. Ray took a ~5m fall on ice, but luckily was completely unhurt and able to continue. Ray later stopped at 5500m Camp 1, too tired to continue to 6200m Camp 2. The route to 6200m Camp 2 felt endless, rest stepping forever in the punishing sun, and later in whiteout and snow.

I was physically very tired when arriving at 6200m Camp 2, and trying to manage my cough. I focused on getting food and water prepared, along with hot water bottles to sleep with.

July 25th
6200m Camp 2 to 6500m Camp 3

I slept poorly, unable to rest properly due to my cough and difficulty breathing. The plan was to ascend to 6700m today, in order to place a high camp in anticipation of making a summit bid on the 26^th. Eric and Andreas left on time, while the rest of us took our time getting ready.

We departed camp at 11:00 a.m., and reached 6500m at 2:00 p.m., 300m in a slow two hours. I was still tired from the big ascent the day prior, and significantly impacted by my cough and breathing troubles. Given the nice tent platforms at 6500m, I decided that I should stop for the night. Pat and Marie, seeing that I was in poor shape, decided to camp with me rather than continue to 6700m, where Andreas and Eric waited. We agreed to depart for a summit bid at 2 a.m. the next day.

July 26th
6500m Camp 3 to 4650m Noshaq Basecamp

Ready to leave at 2 a.m., I waited another hour for Pat and Marie to get ready before starting upwards at 3 a.m. Eric and Andreas’ headlights were visible above us; they had started at midnight. By 4 a.m. I realized that I was moving too slowly, couldn’t breathe properly, and was coughing too much to continue. I turned around at around 6650-6700m, and was back in my tent by 4:30 a.m., where I immediately went back to sleep. I slept until 9 a.m., and realized that Ray had also descended. His headlight had broken, and ill equipped for managing the fixed lines he had turned back.

Ray and I packed up our equipment and started down together at 10:15 a.m. We reached 6200m Camp 2 at 10:45 a.m., 5500m Camp 1 at 12:45 p.m., and basecamp at 4:45 p.m.

The descent was quite difficult for me, and validated my decision to abort the summit bid. I struggled to breathe properly due to the amount of fluid in my lungs, and had to stop every 40-60 minutes in order to aggressively cough and clear them. I was coughing up roughly 3 popcorn kernel sized chunks of phlegm each time, yet more kept accumulating. Despite this, I still exhibited no symptoms of AMS – this was a lung infection, not HAPE.

About 100m above 5500m Camp 1, just a few meters to the side of our old boot track, I punched through into a crevasse, a hidden moat where the glacier meets the rock of the ridge. I fell armpit-deep into the crack. My enormous descent backpack lodged against the crevasse edge, and I was also able to plant my ax pick in time to help stop the fall. Looking down I could see that the ice slot went some fifteen to twenty meters deep, and my legs dangled over a dark void. I reacted quickly, and spread my weight onto my arms and ax, back in the direction I had been coming from. I shouted at Ray in Chinese – that I was in a crack and for him to stay where he was. Using my trekking pole and ax, fueled by adrenaline, I was able to physically haul myself out and back onto the snow slope. My heart rate through the roof, breathing heavily from the burst of heavy exertion, I collapsed in a fit of uncontrollable coughing. This was by far the worst unroped crevasse encounter I had ever had, and a full fall could have been catastrophic. We had moved unroped over this area throughout the expedition, feeling secure in the knowledge that we were on a ridge. In hindsight, it is possible that the entirety of the saddle area above 5500m Camp 1 is in fact glaciated; if returning to Noshaq, I would make a point of roping up on this section.

From 5500m Camp 1 the descent became significantly worse. The route was severely melted out, and crossing the snow triangle was no longer a safe option; it was a bulletproof sheet of ice. We opted to descend the rocky ridge to climber’s left of our ascent gully. This option was significantly safer than the ice of the gully, but did expose us to unpleasantly unstable scree prone to rockfall. We gingerly made our way down, taking almost three hours to get to the cache boulder at the base of the gully.

From the cache boulder it took another hour to reach basecamp, where I collapsed into my tent, utterly annihilated and struggling to breathe well. Andreas and Eric arrived several hours later, before sunset, having successfully summited before noon. They were in good spirits, despite Andreas visibly suffering from his throat issue. Pat and Marie got in contact with us via satphone; they had summited and were safely back in their tents at 6500m.

July 27th
Rest day at 4650m Noshaq Basecamp

Pat and Marie made it back to basecamp in the afternoon. A small earthquake hit in the morning, dislodging enormous boulders onto the path between basecamp and the dry glacier.

July 28th
4650m Noshaq Basecamp to Qazi-Deh

The porters arrived in basecamp with donkeys, in the middle of a snowstorm. Throughout the expedition weather had followed the pattern of afternoon whiteout on the upper mountain, some days earlier and some days later. This, however, was the first and only day we experienced snow in basecamp itself, and it came down hard and heavy. One of the Polish team assisted us in weighing everything, and helped negotiate a firm rate with the porters.

Donkeys waiting in basecamp.

We loaded up the donkeys with bags, with one porter carrying an additional bag that didn’t fit, and began to head down. Within fifteen minutes of departing basecamp we broke through the cloud ceiling, and were greeted with a view of blue sky and open valleys. Between the earthquake and the storm in basecamp, it was if the mountain had been angered by the summits, and wanted us gone.

Descending below the clouds, and into open valley.

We made the entire descent hike in a single day, taking some eleven hours to cover the 2000m of descent and 31km of distance. It felt like a death march for me, my clogged lungs and productive cough still adversely impacting my breathing and endurance.

Back in Qazi-Deh we sorted out payment for the porters, tipped each of them $20 for making the descent in a single day, and feasted on chicken and naan bread.

July 29th
Qazi-Deh to Khorugh

We departed Qazi-Deh for the Tajik border, and crossed back into Tajikistan. Pat and Andreas had visa problems, in that neither of them had successfully acquired their second e-visa, and were denied entry. Process the e-visa payment with care, to avoid having the application soft-locked. They made it across the next day, but only after making some phone calls to the American embassy. A car arranged by Azim met us on the Tajik side of the river, and those of us who had crossed over headed to LAL in Khorugh, where we would spend the night. Eric and Ray departed for Dushanbe the next day, while Marie and I waited for Pat and Andreas – the four of us would later make an interesting land journey all the way across Tajikistan, to Bishkek in Kyrgyzstan.

Thoughts on Noshaq

Four of our seven summited the mountain, making the expedition a success. I contributed meaningfully to the trip, especially by taking responsibility for the work required to fix all of the ropes and help open the route up for the others. I performed well throughout the expedition, at least until I was hit hard by the respiratory infection, after the first unsuccessful summit attempt. Our four were the only summits of the year, as the three Polish climbers who arrived after us were hit by a streak of relentless bad weather which forced them to turn around from a highpoint of around 7300m.

Flowers at basecamp.

I was disappointed that I didn’t summit, especially given that I’d climbed strong up until I became sick. Well after the expedition’s conclusion, in hindsight my non-summit continues to bother me. I feel that I should have made it. Looking at my journal from the climb, I can rationally see that there was no chance of success once I became ill. There was no way I could have ‘pushed harder’ or ‘been tougher’ and somehow made the summit – certainly not responsibly, without putting myself, and by extension the others in the team, in danger. Alluding that my coughing fits and difficulty breathing were dramatization of a mild chest infection is disingenuous – the photos I took showing how much phlegm my lungs were producing, the sheer quantity of what I was coughing up, and my journal writing from the moment should serve to dispel my irrational ‘what if’ hindsight thinking. I have never before been so sick in the mountains, as on this trip. In spite of this, I still think about it. What if I had waited a day longer before the first attempt? What if we had moved camp that day instead? What if we had pushed on that day, and bivvied somewhere secure after summiting? What could I have done differently, to avoid getting so debilitatingly sick?

Our coordination and teamwork could have been stronger on Noshaq. In our group I had only previously climbed with two people, Pat and Marie. Of the six others on the team I only had prior technical climbing involving ropework, communication on terrain, and gear placement with Pat. Our coordination as a group on the mountain wasn’t always predicated on good communication, clearly defined expectations, or scheduling. This was in part due to a lack of familiarity across each person’s habits, style, and routines. We had no radios on the mountain, and relying on satphones for communication made for significant message delays and numerous small miscommunications throughout the trip, some involving minor variations in route finding, others resulting in misallocated equipment.

Throughout the expedition Eric had ended up with a disproportionate amount of the more physically demanding work, in that he thanklessly undertook the majority of trail breaking, with Andreas and to a lesser extent myself filling in the gaps. Eric also handled all of the significant lead climbing. This issue likely could have been resolved with clearer communication of expectations at the beginning of the expedition, and a fairer arrangement for breaking the route – on carry days our pacing was entirely irrelevant to intended outcomes, and it wouldn’t have mattered if someone slower had lead.

Likewise, the expedition felt rushed as a result of what were arguably unrealistic time expectations; Ludwig was climbing on a very slim time budget, and Eric was motivated to finish as soon as possible so as to attempt a second mountain. Our acclimation schedule was the fastest that I have ever followed. While I exercised my better judgement at the beginning of the climb – in hindsight the choice to delay my first trip to 5500m Camp 1 was a great decision – I eventually felt compelled to ‘keep up’. The severity of the respiratory infection that I experienced was definitely exacerbated by rushed acclimation, and arguably would not have hit me at all had I not pushed myself as hard and as fast as I did.

These issues could likely have been eased had we worked together on a warm up climb or practice route of lower intensity and significance, before starting on Noshaq. Radios would have made a huge difference towards smooth and responsive communication, and would have alleviated most, if not all, of the minor miscommunications which occurred. Nightly planning meetings, even for just a few minutes at a time, routinely and formally arranged, would have helped keep expectations in check and given everyone an opportunity to voice opinions on pacing and strategy. Our group was large enough that hiring a private meteorologist to provide weather forecasting would have been economical, and could have made a significant impact on our terrible luck with weather – whiteout and snowfall every single day that we were moving above 5500m, the only two bluebird days spent resting in basecamp!

Noshaq is remote, big, short on looks, and chiefly composed of loathsome choss. When I try to tell people what I was climbing on all summer, they first ask me where on earth it’s even located, then raise an eyebrow and ask me why I’d ever consider going there. That said, for better or for worse, I know that I need to return to Noshaq.

Ojos del Salado – February 2017

Posted on 2019/09/01 by Ian

Ojos del Salado from el Arenal, still many kilometers from high camp.

Ojos del Salado Trip Report

I visited Argentina for a second time in February 2017, with the goal of climbing the 6893m Ojos del Salado. Ojos is the second highest mountain on the South American continent, the highest volcano in the world, and given its location on the Chilean/Argentinean border is also the highest mountain in Chile. As with most volcanoes, Ojos by its normal routes is considered an easy climb, and is entirely non-technical barring a section of scrambling near the very top of the mountain. That said, its location deep within the high Atacama desert makes for a unique environment, offering its own particular challenges.

An ascent of Ojos del Salado has two possible starting points – Chilean or Argentinean. The Chilean route is very well developed, with huts conveniently placed all along the way, and is very accessible via 4×4; where records have been set for highest driving altitudes. Climbers commonly begin the climb on this side with a drive to 5200m. The Argentinean approach is the polar opposite; remote, desolate, inaccessible, wild.

In researching and planning my 2017 winter expedition, I sought an opportunity both to challenge myself and to develop the range of my expedition experience. The ~43km, extremely remote approach to Ojos from the Argentinean side had been on my radar for quite some time, and appealed to me as an ideal objective. I knew that the climb itself was comparable to Aconcagua, if not easier, and decided that the land approach from Argentina would add desirable complexity and difficulty to an attempt.

I decided to make a solo attempt, approaching over land through the high Atacama desert. I would begin unacclimated, and utilize the desert approach for my acclimation. The isolation of the area, the distance involved, and the relatively high altitude of the entire affair comprised a compelling test of my training and logistical planning skills. I would need absolute self-sufficiency and robust physical endurance in order to succeed.

Attempting Ojos from Argentina entails getting to Fiambala, a dusty little town in northwest Argentina. In late January I flew in to Buenos Aires, hopped a cheap domestic flight to La Rioja, and from there rode a run down bus to Fiambala. The same can also be done via Catamarca instead of La Rioja, if the flights are more accessible or less expensive. In Fiambala I hoped either to find a well-regarded local fixer and operator, Jonson Reynoso, or to sort out independent transportation to the Refugio Cazadero Grande at the side of Highway 60, a roadside emergency shelter in the middle of nowhere, where the approach to Ojos begins.

Jonson is a legend in the area, and is the go-to person for any and all logistical needs in the high Atacama. I had read about Jonson on Summitpost and had seen his name mentioned in numerous trip reports, but was unable to find a means of contacting him ahead of my trip – I figured that I’d show up in Fiambala and sort things out when I got there. Jonson can be contacted via his email, which I now have; please send me a message if you need his address.

I arrived in Fiambala at dusk, and with my terrible Spanish managed to get a taxi from the bus station. I told the taxi driver “Jonson Reynoso, Ojos del Salado”, and he immediately knew where to go. We pulled up in front of Jonson’s office as the sun was setting, and there he was, larger than life, standing in the doorway. I introduced myself, told him that I wanted to climb Ojos, and we arranged for a drive at 4 a.m. the next morning. In Jonson’s office I met an Irish climber who had returned from Ojos that afternoon, having made an unsupported but pre-acclimated approach in much the same manner I planned to. He had barely made it off the mountain, a vicious snowstorm having completely buried his tent as he descended from the summit, and only a GPS waypoint of his campsite location had saved him. He warned me that conditions would likely be poor in the high desert.

The next morning, we loaded up the car and I began my approach. From the roadside Jonson’s 4×4 was able to cover an additional 10km across open desert, to Quemadito at the head of the Cazadero valley. From this point, Ojos highcamp is roughly 43km away.

It would be apt to describe the Atacama as a place of death. While the Cazadero river in the lower valley supports surprisingly abundant life, sparse flora and large herds of vicuña, as one ascends higher the river soon runs dry. The mummified corpses of dead vicuña rest alongside the path, preserved by the aridity and heat. Past 4400m or so there remains nothing but rock, dust, and sand – the terrain is devoid of life. Water was scarce, and to obtain it I often had to walk as far as 1km to distant fields of ice penitentes, which I chopped, bagged, and hauled back to my camp. One stretch of about 14km near the middle of the approach lacked any water whatsoever, necessitating a single carry crossing. Without a sat phone the approach in its entirety objectively is unsafe, with even a sprained ankle representing a potentially fatal injury. The nearest road is days away, and the nearest human settlement is over 100km distant.

Ultimately, I did not succeed in summiting Ojos del Salado. I did make it to ~6400m on the mountain, where 60-70km/h winds and knee deep snow prevented further progress. Violent winds roared straight down the mountain from Chile to the northwest, threatening to knock me over entirely. Without ax and crampons firmly planted to brace myself during gusts, I was at times unable to even maintain my balance.

The unusually deep snow was the result of unnaturally heavy precipitation throughout the days of my approach; five consecutive days translated into heavy snow higher up. After I made the decision to bail on my summit attempt, Jonson informed me via sat phone that the four day weather forecast remained poor. With barely enough food remaining to stick it out for several days and wait for a weather window, and rationalizing that the soft snow would take more time than I had to consolidate properly, I decided to descend. In hindsight, I can infer that the mountain’s conditions had likely remained poor since the Irish climber’s lucky descent.

In total I covered 170km above 4000m, shuttling loads of equipment and food, with more than half that distance higher than 5000m. I didn’t actually see the mountain itself until the sixth day of the approach, when I reached the Portezuelo Negro pass leading into the high plateau of el Arenal which sprawls below the mountain. I spent a total of 10 days to reach my high camp at ~6000m, in large part due to beginning the climb completely unacclimated, and further owing to my acclimation strategy of rotating loads higher so as to ‘climb high, sleep low’ the entire way up. I made the descent from my high camp to the pickup at Quemadito over three days, a single carry with an extremely heavy pack. During the approach hike I spent eight consecutive days completely isolated, no other human being within sight. One local man lives in the Cazadero valley, where he raises mules, but he does not venture higher than the lower river valley. It is worth noting that a cache of ~3 days food supply, dry garbage, and extra equipment which I had left some ~15km into the approach was raided in my absence. Upon my return the equipment and food had been stolen, but the garbage left behind for me to carry down.

Although the expedition without summiting was by definition unsuccessful, I do not feel much sense of regret or deep disappointment. I had completed a difficult solo land approach across the high Atacama, and had attained the base of the mountain. The grueling approach, and particularly the descent hike, had tested my mental focus and tolerance for physical suffering. I remain convinced that the hideous conditions on the upper mountain made my summit, alone, impossible to accomplish, and as a result I feel that there wasn’t much I could have done differently. Weather is fickle, yet sometimes absolute in its impacts.

I fully intend to return to Ojos del Salado in order to finish what I started, but would absolutely not consider approaching from the Argentinean side. When I do return, I will focus on gaining the summit, will ascend via the Chilean side, and pre-acclimate with a few other 5000m-6000m peaks.

Ojos del Salado Photographs

Ojos del Salado, from el Arenal.

Penitentes.

Ojos del Salado, from near the pass into el Arenal.

Meltwater ponds appeared in the morning, and would dry up throughout the day.

Camp at the base of Ojos.

Penitentes.

A campsite near the begining of the approach.

The cave I slept in at Aguas Calientes, the day before leaving the river.

Distant penitentes.

Crossing the Atacama desert.

The cave I slept in at Aguas Calientes, the day before leaving the river.

Distant mountains, from highway 60.

Ojos del Salado.

Crossing the Atacama desert.

Mountains on the horizon.

My solar panel was essential, and operated extremely well in the desert.

The Cazadero river.

Camp alongside the Cazadero river.

The Cazadero river.

Crossing the Atacama desert.

Ojos del Salado, from near the pass into el Arenal.

The cave I slept in at Aguas Calientes, the day before leaving the river.

Crossing the Atacama desert.

Aguas Vicunas campsite.

Penitentes, the only water source for sections of the approach.

Life in the Atacama

Camel Peak West – 骆驼峰西峰 – February 2016 (中文)

Posted on 2019/08/13 by Ian

Camel Peak, the west summit to the left.

骆驼峰地区

5484米高的骆驼峰坐落在中国著名的四姑娘山边。它因与骆驼相似的外表而命名，由两个山峰和一个高高的马鞍支撑着美丽的冰川。四姑娘山，即四美女山，同样以四座高低错落的山峰，紧紧相连一线的外表而命名。当地人说这四座截然不同的山峰就像一家人，最年轻最美丽的叫作“幺妹峰”，同样也是最高的。剩下的三姐妹分别叫作“三峰”，“二峰”和“大峰”，其中三峰是第二高的，大峰是最矮的。北至四川北部的邛崃山，骆驼峰，四姑娘山以及周边的山脉位于四姑娘山国家公园，也是四川省的大熊猫保护基地和一项世界文化遗产。

四川省的这一地区属于阿坝藏族羌族自治州，被当地人称为阿坝。阿坝人以藏族为主，他们友好，安居乐业，很多人至今还保留着传统的生活习性。他们以普通话为主，但汉语水平不尽相同，当然英语就非常少见了。旅游业是当地经济的重要组成部分，虽然冬季并不是旺季，但是仍有许多美味的餐馆。离四姑娘山和骆驼峰最近的小镇叫日隆镇，也是我登山的基地。我就住在日隆镇中心外的昌平谷入口的一家当地旅馆。

Camel Peak (center), Yangmantai (right), and Changping Valley.

许可证，登山准备，不确定性

我攀登骆驼峰的计划始于10月，当时我在广州和一位朋友商量着在中国春节期间能够攀爬的山峰。我的朋友熟悉那块地方，他曾在昌平谷远足过。他推荐我攀登骆驼峰，但和我的假期有冲突。所以骆驼峰的西峰成为了最合适我攀登的冰川，我开始为独自一人的登山做准备，训练。

在没有英文翻译的情况下，想要得到中国山脉的良好信息是非常困难的，中国旅行报告里常常缺少详细的资料和图片。当地旅馆老板和四川登山协会的联系人都对我的研究有着无可计量的帮助，在他们和少量中国旅行的网络报告的帮助下，我对将那些数据和我的行程组合起来有了很大的信心。我的女朋友帮助我进行了超出我能力的中文阅读，帮助我认证完成了许可证的申请需求。

尽管如此，不确定性迫在眉睫。一方面我有能力进行冬季的攀登，一方面我不确定中国登山协会是否会授予我登山许可证。这让我在训练中很难专注于我的目标，因为不知道我是否有机会踏上这座山峰。为一个毫不确定的目标而训练，能帮助我心里上建立攀登。在寒假的一个礼拜前，我收到了好消息，我的单人登山许可证被批准了，我收到了官方的认可。

My Chinese Mountaineering Association Climbing Permit.

My climbing permit.

攀登前的适应驯化

到达日隆很费时间。首先乘坐到成都的晚班飞机，第二天搭6小时车程的车越过4400米的关隘，驶往山脉。如果和其他人共同乘坐一辆私家车，那么每人共花费150人民币车费，此项服务由旅馆老板提供并组织。那里也有从成都茶子店公交站到日隆的公交车。

日隆海拔3200米，是个很好的适应高海拔的过度地区。在开始我的攀登前，我花了两天时间适应那里的水土海拔。第一天开车经过关隘并在那休息，第二天探索双桥沟。双桥沟峡谷，长坪沟和海子沟是国家公园里三座主要的山谷。长坪沟只能徒步到达，但双桥沟经过开发和居住，有一条铺好的道路。沿着山谷向上行驶，是不是停下来散步和拍照是个令人享受的事。并且很好地领略了这里的地形和适应高达3800米的海拔。

邛崃山多陡峭险峻，且未开化。攀登它们需要较好的技术，一个小失误都能导致严重后果，许多山脉至今都没有被攀登过。连四姑娘山两边的山峰都令人望而生畏。尤其令人印象深刻的是猎人峰的裂隙脊，也被称为尖峰。这座山的名字似乎有些争议，但我所接触的当地人都称它为猎人峰。

Hunter Peak.

Hunter Peak (left) and a cleft peak of unknown name.

The frozen valley river framed distant ridges and peaks.

Shuangqiao Valley.

日隆的山峰依旧很雄伟，像最高的幺妹峰，在镇子最远的边界的天空中都能看到它。幺妹峰美丽迷人，令人印象深刻，因为它险峻令人望而生畏，很少有人尝试或者成功登顶，是个很有难度的山脉。

Yaomei Feng (left) and the other three sisters (San Feng, Er Feng, and Da Feng, left to right) above upper Rilong.

骆驼峰西部旅行反馈

我原计划六天完成骆驼峰的攀登，其中的三天背着我沉重的背包，徒步到达长坪沟，另外两天用于下山。在即将出发的最后一刻，我在四姑娘山国际公园的办公室里进行许可证的检查，公园的办公人员告诉我导游是强制性的——于是就变成了“当地的马夫会带我去山脚下”。

当时打的几通电话显示没人想去——因为这个地方的冬季意味着夜晚的寒冷，结冰的山谷阻碍了马的前行。一个小时的焦虑和通话，旅馆老板终于找到了一个愿意去的人。黄先生带来了一匹强壮的马，他陪同我走了比往常远的一段路。如果非法地在没人帮助的情况下攀登，我将无路可走。幸亏我没有试图在没有帮助的情况下背着我的装备独自上山。

My sturdy packhorse.

第一天： 由于在公园办公室的突发状况，我的出发推迟了。黄先生和我在喇嘛庙于中午12点出发，喇嘛庙是一个巨大且新建的佛教寺庙，位于长坪沟约3400米的地方。长坪沟的山脚下有一个大约四千米的木板制的道路，我在那里遇到了几个当地的牧民。幺妹峰从远处望去很突出。

Lama Temple and Yaomei Feng.

Yaomei Feng above Changping Valley.

Yaomei Feng above Changping Valley.

Yaomei Feng.

走到木板路店尽头，我们遇到了大块的厚冰。一条河流流经长坪沟，从周围山脉流出的溪水从河谷壁直流而下。在冬季，这些河流结冰，泛滥，河岸和森林被覆盖着厚厚的一层冰。马无法安全地在滑的冰面上行走，这让我们的步伐变得很慢。于是我们就用我的冰镐在崎岖的冰面上砍来砍去，或是在树丛中绕道而行。

Large swathes of ice covered sections of the valley and were impassable for the horse.

在蜿蜒的山谷中，那个石头金字塔般令人印象深刻的婆缪峰就映入我们的眼帘。随着海拔的升高，越来越多的河岸被雪覆盖着，锋利如锯齿般的山脉沿着山谷壁拔地而起。

Pomiu Feng.

Pomiu Feng.

Sharp mountains, names unknown.

Livestock grazing on the riverbanks.

晚上五点半，在五个半小时的远足后，我们到达了这一天的露营地，位于3800米的木骡子，就在一个巨大的木屋处。有人告诉我，这个小木屋是专门接待旅游季节来过夜的游客的，除了守门人现在就是空的。到达了露营地，我们终于看到了骆驼峰，就在山谷的尽头。我在树丛边，面向山峰，搭起了我的帐篷。

The wooden cabin at Muluozi.

Camel Peak from Muluozi.

My first night’s campsite.

晚餐，我做了汤面，香肠和一些饼干，并为第二天煮了一些水。太阳下山，气温骤降，我帐篷内的温度只有零下六摄氏度。

第二天： 在我享受了一顿悠闲的早餐后，我们整理好行装和马，在中午十一点半时出发。在木骡子上方，我们遇到了更多的冰，只能沿着河岸慢慢行走。大段的河流都被冻住了。

几个小时后，我们到达了山谷的尽头，绕着冰面前行，沿着牲畜留下的脚印，我们到达了山谷的山脊，也就是骆驼峰的山脚。天气开始变化，云层在我们上方逐渐形成，延至北部。

Changping Valley from the trail to highcamp. Mr. Huang and horse in bottom right corner.

通往骆驼峰的小径沿着崎岖的牲口小道一直延伸到山谷，偶尔会要掉头。我们很快突破了树丛线，看到了骆驼峰山脉和羊满台，金字塔形状的山脉直达天际。地形很快变成松散不结实的冰碛、巨石和夹杂着雪的碎石。

在下午六点，我们一直到了马足以安全行走的地方，在树木无法生长的4700米海拔处停了下来。这里的冰碛物夹杂着雪，有些巨石之间的夹缝非常深。经过一番探索，我们发现了一个几近平坦的地面，在雪地上搭起了我们的帐篷。在这里，我即将独自完成剩下的攀登。长坪沟位于我们的下方，幺妹峰高耸于其上，在傍晚的阳光下分外华丽夺目。

Yaomei Feng from my highcamp.

Yaomei Feng and Changping Valley from my highcamp.

Camel Peak, from near my highcamp. West summit to the left, East summit to the right.

晚餐，我还是做了汤面，涂了花生酱的黑麦面包，香肠和一些巧克力棒。顿时觉得自己很强壮，很适应，并且能够吃下一顿大餐。我将雪煮成热水，取出我靴子里的小鞋子，电池，太阳眼镜，首套，袜子，相机和衣物，将它们放进了我的睡袋，包裹着热水瓶子。夜晚很冷，我量了我的双层帐篷的温度，只有零下十二摄氏度。断断续续的云从我的上方翻腾，但是明亮的星星非常闪烁，黑漆漆的夜空没有任何强光的污染。

第三天： 我将我的闹钟设定到早上五点半，特意在寒冷的清晨出发。我醒来就发现一夜之间，雪足足下了30-40厘米，给大地铺上了一层软软的白色粉末。早上六点半，我整理好我的装备，吃了顿简单的早餐便开始了我的行程。湛湛蓝天，没有一丝云彩，但狂风卷起了阵阵浪花。

想要在冰碛上取得进展就要在深雪中卖力前进。除了巨大的岩石，冰碛没过了我的膝盖，很难判断在我脚下的是什么东西。石缝被积雪覆盖的地方是看不见的，很难找到稳定的落脚点。我以着蜗牛的速度向上行走，试着站在大石头的表面，避免掉进深深的雪里。尽管我很努力，但我也经常仍会沉入岩石间松软的雪中，有时雪高达我的腰部。

Morning view towards Camel Peak, slightly above my highcamp.

Deep snow over the moraine made progress above highcamp slow.

多变的地形让我无法找到合适的节奏来控制我的步伐，冰碛也似乎从未停止过。这让我想起阿空加瓜岛的上卡纳莱塔，步履艰难，让我很不愉快：道路很滑，不稳定，身体透支。在最初的两小时，我曾想要返回，但是我逼迫自己继续前行，一遍一遍地告诉自己，冰川将能让我更好更快地攀登。三小时后，早上九点半，我终于到达了骆驼峰的冰川地区。

Looking down the snow-covered moraine, from near the base of Camel’s glacier.

在探索骆驼西部传统的攀登路线时，我想到了几篇下方山坡发生致命雪崩的报导。从冰川脚下可以明显地发现此处的地形覆盖着新鲜且松散的雪。冰川的口鼻处显示有冰，我猜测那晚的降雪应该是落在结实坚硬的底部。以防雪崩的危险，我小心翼翼地远离主斜坡，沿着整个山较矮一边的岩石前进。如下图：

My route of ascent, avoiding climbing directly up the main slopes wherever possible.

My route of ascent, avoiding the main slopes wherever possible. From left to right are the west summit, false west summit, and east summit.

环境状况不尽人如意，松软厚厚的积雪下有着坚硬的冰，狂风阵阵打在我的身上。一条旧的线固定在较低低冰川上，但是很难看清它的锚，所以我并没有冒风险使用它。慢慢地我找到了合适的速度，在深深的积雪中找到了很好的节奏前行。

Looking down the lower glacier towards the moraine.

我沿着低处的冰川的岩石走到了山峰的东部，用我的冰镐和一个登山杖向上攀登。最陡峭的地方，坡度达到45度。

还有一个斜坡，向上倾斜至东、西峰的山顶。我待在东峰山顶的南面，因此可以避免穿过主斜坡上厚厚的积雪。山脊对面假西峰的山顶显现在眼前。

Looking towards the false west summit, from below the east summit.

The false west summit, across the saddle.

在山脊上，我饱览了许多名不经传的美丽山脉，西至长坪沟。东峰的山脊上覆盖着厚厚的雪，很难找到穿越的路径，但当我靠近虚假的西峰山顶时，东峰的山顶在我身后显得优雅无比。

Jagged peaks to the west of Changping Valley.

Looking back across the saddle towards the east summit.

在假西峰的南面脚下，冰川向南倾斜成一个陡峭的斜坡，向着西边蜿蜒而上。山脊的北面是个几乎垂直的面。在这里攀登变得极其陡峭，大约有55-60的角度，有些路段的积雪没过膝盖。我收起我的登山杖，只用我的长冰镐和短冰镐。

The southern base of the false west summit, from the saddle.

Ascending, curving up and around the false west summit through steep, deep snow.

一旦穿过假西峰，绕过一个陡峭的山脊就能到达真正的西峰。我从前看过这段路程的照片，所以我知道在北部有个很大的飞檐。过慢地攀过山脊会把我暴露在雪崩的危险中，然而过快地前行会致我于飞檐的边缘。山脊上的雪并没有非常深，所以我选择了一条位于中间的道路，用最快的速度越过这道飞檐。

Looking across the final ridge from below the west summit. In the distance from left to right are Yangmantai, the east summit, and the false west summit (the snow covered point below and in front of the east summit).

穿过山脊，西峰就矗立在我面前，一道几乎垂直于西边的陡峭的石墙。我开始探索出一条向上行走的道路。

Looking across the final ridge towards the west summit.

我很快地发现北部的墙是一个垂直的墙面，没有任何合适的地方能让我在没有保护的前提下前进。南面的墙看起来很不错，但是我发现道路被平凡的垂向下的石头挡住了。回头向北走，我爬上了一块三级难度的斜坡，它停在一块雪地上，大约占据了墙的三分之一。从这里起，唯一的路是随着石块的裂缝垂直向上的。我用我的短冰镐插进裂缝中为我提供额外的保护，我小心翼翼地向上攀爬着。这并不是很难，大约为五级难度，但是狂风和各种危险让我聚精会神地前进着。专注于我的手，较和工具的位置，我一点点地取得了进步，最终我发现我站在了顶端。

Looking down the summit rock wall from roughly halfway up.

Looking down Changping Valley from below the west summit.

我的前方的小雪坡上，矗立着胜利的旗帜和一块小石碑。风从我身边呼啸而过，我慢慢地走到了最顶端。下午2：40，我终于成功登顶，虽然很疲惫，但是我很开心。

The west summit of Camel Peak.

The west summit of Camel Peak, Yangmantai and the east peak behind.

Atop Camel West.

在狂风中登顶是非常寒冷的。我很快地拍了些照片，准备在4，5分钟后下山。我用着我的小冰镐慢慢小心地爬下去。在山顶下的一块小石壁边，我稍微休息了一下，在穿过山脊前，我吃了点零食。

回想我下山的路程，明显比上山快了许多，除了被东，西山峰分开的山脊，我的足迹在狂风吹虐下，被覆盖在厚厚的雪中。下午四点，我到达了冰川基地，遇到了在岩石边上等我的黄先生，我们穿过冰碛，在下午五点半，我们回到了高处的帐篷处，从帐篷出发到回来，一共花了十一个小时。我吃了些面包，喝了些水，开始整理我的装备，准备立刻睡觉。

Looking across the moraine, on the way back to highcamp.

第四天： 早上八点半我们醒来，吃了些早餐，把一些装备放在马上，开始了漫长的越过长坪沟的路程。我们只带了一些面包和水，从4700米的高营地，徒步走到了3200米的喇嘛庙，全长33千米，高1500米，总时长7.5小时。回到日隆，我洗了澡，然后吃了辣牛肉火锅来庆祝我的胜利。

Looking down Changping Valley, descending from high camp.

骆驼峰总结

骆驼峰的攀登考研了我的坚韧意志力，身体训练和以往的攀登经验。独自攀登是非常值得留念而且振奋我心的。回想我独自一人在山上的经历，也许近几周只有我一人，也许是近几个月，我觉得我非常得特别。山上恶劣的天气和环境，让攀登变得很有挑战性，在各种不确定因素的阻扰下，让最终的胜利变得来之不易，也让我觉得非常有成就感。四姑娘山地区是非常险恶的，充斥了狂风，陡峭严峻的未知山脉。我有幸能来到这个地方，即便只是攀登了最简单的山峰，但也很自豪能站在山顶端饱览这群美丽的景色。

Camel Peak and Yangmantai.

Yaomei Feng.

资料

我的联络人和日隆本地人告诉我，尽管高海拔的寒冷气温，冬季仍然是个攀岩的好时间，是不那么恶劣的。在山上，我经历了夜晚的大雪和强风，但是他们告诉我在其他季节，降水可能会更加地严重和频繁。由于中国的国庆节，十月是个该地区的旅游旺季，整个山谷都会被中国登山家围绕。所以这个地区一年四季都处于可攀岩状态。

期间，我住在日隆的阿伦本旅馆，在我的旅行前，我提前联系了老板。他为我提供了往返日隆的车辆，并且帮我找到了黄先生，一个为我提供马匹，最后一刻在山上陪着我的人。微信或者电话联系该旅馆是最好的方式。在旅游旺季，他们可能还有会英语的工作人员，但是在我的冬季旅行中并没有，他们的网站是：www.aleeben.com/.

通过四川登山协会，是可以拿到该地区的高山峰的登山许可证。他们似乎没有会英语的员工，而且许可证的申请可是需要用中文填写。许可证需要详细的行程表，一张可接受的登山履历表，护照照片复印件，中国签证和一张申请表。攀登开销——500元，即100加币的许可证。微信或者电话是联系登山协会的最好方式，微信上他们是非常友好，乐于助人的。他们的网站是：www.sma.gov.cn/。

对于过夜游客来说，长坪沟的门票是150元。登山许可证可以通过SMA获得，位于四姑娘山公园的管理处会强制进行检查。他们是没有会英文的工作人员，他们不准我在没有人帮助的情况下进行攀登，至少会强制安排一个当地的马夫来帮助你。该公园的网站是：www.sgns.gov.cn/。

Pik Korzhenevskaya – August 2018

Posted on 2019/06/08 by Ian

Pik Korzhenevskaya, viewed from the approach to Pik Chetyreh.

Pik Korzhenevskaya from the east, viewed from the summit of Pik Chetyreh.

Pik Korzhenevska and
Moskvina Glades Basecamp

Tajikistan’s 7105m Pik Korzhenevskaya isn’t the most famous 7000m mountain, but is undeniably a peak of extraordinary beauty. Korzhenevskaya is named for the wife of the Russian geographer who discovered the peak, and the compliment in this gesture is clear to understand as soon as one sets eyes upon the mountain’s profile; the mountain’s eastern aspect is a gorgeous pyramid of snow and rock rising high above the surrounding valleys, both gargantuan and elegant in its lines. The standard climbing route is as inspiring as the mountain’s figure, and after navigating the lower mountain follows the exposed southern ridge line for over 1,000 vertical meters directly to the summit. Pik Korzhenevskaya is one of five 7000m peaks of the old Soviet Union, and thus is a required objective for any mountaineer who aspires to earn the Snow Leopard climbing award granted to those who attain their summits.

The Moskvina Glades basecamp used for ascents of Korzhenevskaya doubles as the basecamp for the highest peak in the area, 7495m Pik Kommunizma / Pik Somoni. This makes for a largish international population of varying ability and experience. The basecamp itself is operated by the Pamir Peaks company, who are the only game in town for logistics. The basecamp is decidedly rough and ready, and essentially only accessible by helicopter. The helicopter departs from the small town of Djirgital, a full day’s drive from Dushanbe, and operates on an unreliable, delay-prone schedule. Approach via foot is possible but very difficult, and in 2018 only two individuals made the trek into basecamp, both later opting to fly on the way out. The helicopter crashed several days after my departure from basecamp, killing five.

Moskvina Glades Basecamp.

Pik Chetyreh from Basecamp.

Helicopter.

Pik Chetyreh.

There is no sensible alternative to using the Moskvina Glades basecamp, and it is far better than nothing – I would be doing a grave disservice not to compliment the wonderful sauna facility built from a repurposed shipping container, and would be wasting my energy were I to complain about any perceived inadequacies. One would do well to bring spare food, stomach medicine, water purification tabs, and all personal equipment – especially ropes. I kept a detailed diary throughout my time in basecamp and on the mountain, which I have summarized into this page.

Pik Somoni, viewed from the summit of Pik Korzhenevskaya.

Route Description

The normal route is somewhat convoluted, at least until ~6100m where it gains the south ridge. The below images are of a map drawn by my Polish friend Konrad, who graciously gave me permission to share it. His descriptions are written in Polish, but it nonetheless should serve as a visual aid for understanding the route. I have color coded the camps and route sections in the image adjacent to the original drawing. Below, I have written my own detailed descriptions for each section of the route.

Map of route.

4200m Basecamp to 5100m Camp 1

Besides summit day this is the longest section of the route. Immediately outside of basecamp the route crosses a section of glacier. This area melts rapidly in the daytime, and the cleanest route through will change day by day. While crampons aren’t needed, it is well advised to mark one’s path with cairns or wands. There will be a variety of easy ways through to the other side, and it is best to route find rather than waste time climbing vertical ice walls.

Crossing the glacier.

On the other side a well worn footpath switchbacks up grassy hills. The route continues to be well marked as it crosses a section of river. The boot track soon transitions onto rock, and while the direction should be mostly obvious one should keep an eye open for cairns. There are several class 3 moves in this rocky section, as the route gains altitude. After crossing a significant river below a large waterfall the route becomes harder to visualize, but large cairns should still be in sight. Ascending several hundred meters of hideous scree takes one onto a rocky plateau adjacent to an icefall; 5100m Camp 1.

5100m Camp 1 to 5300m Camp 1.5, to 5600m Camp 2

The route out of Camp 1 starts on a visibly worn boot track and is fairly obvious. It ascends an icefall adjacent to a meltwater waterfall, involving several steep sections of glacial ice. Without fixed ropes in place the competent use of crampons and axe are essential for ascending, and this area becomes congested when large groups are on the mountain. Fixed lines were placed along this part of the route in 2018, but the ‘rope’ used was merely unrated ~6mm nylon twine with no sheath. Beware; ropes of this quality, along with their suspect anchors, are not to be fully trusted for hauling body weight on an ascender. This is a steep, slightly technical section.

Above the icefall is a muddy river, and on its bank is 5300m Camp 1.5, a popular alternative to Camp 1. The water here will need to be filtered for debris.

Continuing across the muddy river, the route gains the glacier proper. This section of lower glacier is rapidly melting out and was a hazardous crevasse field in 2018. The cracks are numerous and large, and the snowbridges were changing day by day. Crossing after early morning is ill advised, and crossing at any time of day unroped represents a terribly risky exposure to a bad fall. I watched this section of glacier visibly transform during my time on the mountain, with enormous crevasses opening and forcing rerouting. The old Camp 2 at ~5800m no longer exists, as the glacier has completely receded several hundred meters away from the rock face which the camp used to to sit alongside. 5600m Camp 3 now sits on a flat area of snow, above the worst of the crevasses.

Looking up the lower glacier towards 5600m Camp 2, from 5300m Camp 1.5. Camp 2 is out of sight, but would be located in the middle-left of this image. 6100m Camp 3 is visible in this image, where the rock meets the snow along the skyline in the upper right of the picture.

5600m Camp 2 to 6100m Camp 3

Above 5600m Camp 2 the glacier improves significantly and involves far fewer crevasse hazards. The route continues to ascend the hanging glacier visible in the above image (ascending to the right, in the image above), crossing several slopes of moderate steepness. A bergshrund must be crossed at around ~5900m. This section was fixed with nylon twine in 2018. 6100m Camp 3 sits at the top of the glacier, at the very base of the south ridge, and is visible to climbers as a notch in the rock. It is a small space, and suitable for only 4-5 tent platforms.

The bergshrund. 6100m Camp 3 is visible in this image as a notch of snow against the sky, in the top right corner of the picture.

My tent at 6100m Camp 3.

The three photos below are not mine, but are of my partner Pat and I. Credit to Dave from Lithuania for taking such excellent shots of us arriving at Camp 3, and for being so kind in sharing them with me.

Reaching 6100m Camp 3.

6100m Camp 3.

Ascending to 6100m Camp 3.

6100m Camp 3 to 6300m Camp 4

Past 6100m Camp 3 the route ascends roughly ten meters of rotten, low class 5 rock in order to gain the south ridge. Old fixed lines were in place on this section, with good anchors tied off on large boulders. This short rock step is the most technical section of the entire climb, but is made trivial by fixed ropes. Above the rocks one must ascend a section of narrow, exposed ridgeline before gaining the nicely sized plateau of 6300m Camp 4.

6300m Camp 4, Pik Somoni in the distance.

Ridge between Camp 3 and Camp 4.

Rock section above Camp 3.

6300m Camp 4 to 7105m Summit

The route to the summit is delightfully direct, and follows the ridge line straight to the base of the summit pyramid. The ridge is very exposed in places, and involves several short slopes up to ~65 degrees. One of these slopes was iced over on my ascent, and I fixed my 30m rope on it. The route steepens at the base of the summit pyramid, but there were sturdy old fixed lines in place. The flat, broad summit was marked with only a single tent pole.

Looking down the south ridge after fixing my line, en route to the summit.

The summit pyramid.

Summit view.

Looking down the south ridge.

Looking up the south ridge.

The south ridge.

Schedule and Trip Report

Acclimation near Dushanbe

Prior to flying into the Moskvina Glades basecamp and beginning Pik Korzhenevskaya, I spent five days hiking in mountains nearby Dushanbe with Estonian friends. The hike was very pretty, and served as a great warmup. I do not know the name of the range which we hiked in, but do know that it wasn’t the Fan Mountains! We reached a high point of around ~3,500m and spent a night above 3,000m for acclimation. A few days spent between 2,000m-3,000m made a significant difference in providing some pre-acclimation to make for a smoother transition higher.

Mountains near Dushanbe.

Estonian friends and I.

Mountains near Dushanbe.

July 14th
Arrive 4330m Moskvina Glades basecamp.
Acclimation hike to 4700m.

Helicopter into basecamp with Estonian friends. Acclimation hike to 4700m along the approach to Pik Chetyreh.

July 15th
Acclimation hike to 4800m.

Carried 10kg of equipment to ~4800m in preparation for an attempt on Pik Chetyreh. Lots of scree and loose rock on this section of the approach.

July 16th
Move to 5100m.

Left Moskvina at 9:30 a.m., arrived at 5100m Pik Chetyreh basecamp at 4:30 p.m., 7 hours. See my Pik Chetyreh trip report for more details of this climb.

July 17th
Ascend 6230m Pik Chetyreh, sleep 5100m.

5:30 a.m. start, 2:30 p.m. at 6230m Pik Chetyreh summit (likely main summit, possibly a sightly lower sub-summit; see trip report), 7:00 p.m. back in tent. 13.5 hour day.

July 18th
Descend to 4330m basecamp.

7:30 a.m. depart Pik Chetyreh basecamp, 10:00 a.m. arrive Moskvina. Descent on scree was unpleasant with a heavy bag.

July 19th-20th
Rest days at 4330m basecamp.

Two full rest days.

July 21st
Move to 5600m Camp 2.

My friend Pat and I departed Moskvina Glades basecamp at 6:20 a.m., making the long approach hike to 5100m Camp 1 in just over 4 hours and arriving at 10:40 a.m. At Camp 1 we spent some time arranging equipment and changing boots for the next leg of the climb on snow and ice. We ascended the icefall/waterfall past Camp 1 and reached 5300m Camp 1.5 at around 1:00 p.m. After a short rest and some conversation with other climbers staying at the camp we continued onto the hideous lower glacier. The snow was melting out in the early afternoon sun, and conditions were miserable. Knowing what we were getting into when planning to climb from basecamp to Camp 2 in one push, we had agreed that we’d turn around if afternoon conditions were too unsafe. With care and a steady pace we made good progress across the sketchy terrain, and arrived at 5600m Camp 2 at 3:00 p.m.

July 22nd
Move to 6000m.

We departed Camp 2 at 11:00 a.m. – in hindsight far too late in the day and a costly mistake. Snow conditions were predictably terrible in the afternoon heat and slowed our progress significantly. No climbers had been further then just above the bergshrund, or roughly ~5900 on the route, and below the bergshrund we found ourselves slogging through mostly unbroken mush. Crossing the bergshrund itself was tricky due to the soft snow, and above we realized that a significant traverse across a steep slope made unstable by melt separated us from the proper location for Camp 3. Late in the day, and tired from breaking trail through slush, we opted to ascend the rock ridge directly above the bergshrund. We pitched it into two 20m pitches of rotten ice and loose rock, with a single screw and a picket for protection. Atop the ridge at ~6,000m we dug a tent platform and hunkered down for the night. Had we departed Camp 2 earlier, or had I been willing to take on the full traverse in the slushy conditions, we likely could have moved to the proper 6100m Camp 3.

July 23rd
Move to 6100m Camp 3.

Starting early, we packed up and completed the traverse to the normal 6100m Camp 3. The traverse only took about an hour and made me question whether or not my call to camp atop the ridge the day before had been wise – we likely could have completed the traverse the day prior in roughly the same amount of time, albeit with terrible, soft snow conditions. At 6100m Camp 3 we met six other climbers who had ascended from 5600m Camp 2 that day. We dug a good platform for our tent, and spent the remainder of the day resting.

July 24th
Descend to 5600m Camp 2.

Moderate wind, snowfall, and cloud cover made for a thoroughly uninviting looking summit ridge. All eight of us agreed that a summit push would be ill advised in the conditions, especially given that we would be breaking trail and opening the route for the season. Two of the other climbers decided that they would head higher in the afternoon to check, and if necessary replace, the fixed lines on the rock step above camp. After breakfast Pat climbed up to the base of the ridge, breaking trail to scope out the rock. When he returned, we discovered that we were almost out of propane – we had packed for four days, and had used most of our supplies. Facing more inclement weather for the next few days, we opted to pack up and descend immediately rather than try to wait a day or two for a summit shot. The six other climbers stayed and all summited the next day, the first of the season, albeit in very poor, difficult conditions.

Pat and I departed at 12 p.m., and reached 5600m Camp 2 in just an hour. Unfortunately, once again arriving in the afternoon, we realized that the glacier below Camp 2 was out of condition for a descent lower; crevasses were open, snow bridges were marginal, and the snow was even softer than our first crossing on ascent. We opted to stay in Camp 2 with what we had, scrounging some spare propane which Pat had stashed earlier. We sat throughout the afternoon with nothing to do but look down over the glacier, and were surprised when, at 3:30 p.m., we saw figures ascending solo and unroped. The first climber, an extraordinarily strong and very experienced Bulgarian named Ivan, made it without incident. Regardless, it was agonizing watching him gingerly ascend the melting death trap of cracks. The second, a Chinese climber whom I’d met earlier in basecamp, wasn’t as fortunate. When his first snowbridge blew, dropping him waist-deep into the monster crevasse below, Pat and I quickly scrambled to rope up and get rescue gear racked; we were certain that we’d need to venture out into the crevasse field to try and recover him from a fall. Luckily, as he went in he was able to struggle, flail, and pull himself out – only to fall through, waist-deep again, on the next bridge. Somehow escaping unscathed after his second punch-through, he greeted us below Camp 2. It turned out that he had ascended with no down parka, no sleeping bag, and no gas or stove. By sharing equipment we devised a rough and ready sleeping situation good enough to keep three people warm, and we spent a cold night huddled together, squatting an empty 3-person guide tent out of necessity.

July 25th
Descend to 4330m basecamp.

Departed 5600m Camp 2 at 6:15 a.m., early so as to ensure stability when crossing the crevasse field below camp. Arrived at 5100m Camp 1 around 8:00 a.m., to find a lot of congestion on the narrow route up the frozen waterfall. Had a very limited supply of water coming from 5600m Camp 2, but was able to fill my bottle with clean, fresh glacial melt at 5100m Camp 1. Thirst quenched, and leaving a large cache at Camp 1, I was able to maintain a brisk pace for the remainder of the hike down. Arrived back in basecamp at 10:30 a.m.

July 26th-28th
Rest days at 4330m basecamp.

Three full rest days.

July 29th
Move to 5100m Camp 1.

Facing a dodgy weather forecast, Pat and I nonetheless decided to ascend to 5100m Camp 1, if only to recover the gear which we had cached there. We left basecamp at 11:00 a.m., and arrived at 5100m Camp 1 at 3:20 p.m.

From around ~4700m onwards deep snow covered the route, and with snow still falling steadily it was clear that the route was out of condition. Descending climbers, many unsuccessful in their summit bids the day prior, reported waist deep snow above 5600m Camp 2. We figured that we would carry on and see conditions for ourselves, and accepted that we might merely be on a gear recovery mission. As we met more people descending, among them climbers we knew, we continued to hear the same description of waist-deep snow conditions on the upper mountain.

At 5100m Camp 1 we pitched our tents and hunkered down, the snow steadily continuing to blanket everything.

July 30th
Rest day at 5100m Camp 1.

It continued to snow. We opted to wait rather than to descend, in the hopes that the weather would shift. The weather didn’t shift.

July 31st
Descend to 4330m basecamp.

As it continued snowing, we gave in to the fact that the weather was not going to cooperate with our plans, and packed our cached equipment for the descent to basecamp. The descent was slow with heavy bags, and the snow covered path made navigating the rock scrambling trickier. We departed at 10:20 a.m. and reached basecamp at 1:20 p.m.

August 1st
Rest day at 4330m basecamp.

Weather remained inclement, and having cleared all of our equipment off of Korzhenevskaya we began to prepare ourselves for an attempt on Pik Somoni.

August 2nd
Move to 5100m Camp 1.

The weather began to improve overnight. Rather than wait another 2-3 days to begin a Pik Somoni attempt alongside Estonian friends, we opted to return to Korzhenevskaya and take another shot. Another Estonian friend, Marie, joined Pat and I. We repacked all the equipment we had brought down two days prior – a psychologically arduous task, knowing that we could have simply left it all at 5100m Camp 1! We took our time, in no rush given our intent to overnight on the rocks at Camp 1, and departed basecamp at 2:20 p.m., reaching 5100m Camp 1 at 6:20 p.m.

August 3rd
Move to 6100m Camp 3.

We departed 5100m Camp 1 early so as to ensure a safe crossing of the crevasse fields below 5600m Camp 2. Left 5100m Camp 1 at 6:20 a.m., arrived at 5600m Camp 2 at 9:10 a.m. The route had changed significantly since my first crossing of this section, and crevasses were fully opened up, snowbridges collapsed. Circumnavigating the cracks made the route longer, and generally not much better than it had been a week earlier.

We took a short rest, and began from 5600m Camp 2 at 10:10 a.m., reaching 6100m Camp 3 at 2:40 p.m. The route above Camp 2 was straightforward enough, and in much better condition that my earlier ascent of it – the recent heavy snowfall had consolidated very nicely. The bergshrund was nicely frozen up, and a smooth climb this time around.

At Camp 3 we dug tent platforms, and began to prepare for a summit bid the following morning.

August 4th
Move to 6300m Camp 4.

We awoke early to discover relatively high winds. We quickly made the decision to go back to sleep and use the day for a move to 6300m Camp 4, from where we would have a shorter shot at the summit. We departed after lunch at 11:50 a.m., and arrived at Camp 3 at 1:30 p.m. The move up wasn’t difficult, gaining the summit ridge via a moderate rock step. Later in the afternoon saw the arrival of two Polish friends, Piotr and Konrad, who would later join us on the climb to the summit.

Camp 3 is a generously sized plateau a few hundred meters up the ridge, with enough space for several tents. We spent the afternoon eating, hydrating, and resting. In my notes I remarked that I “hydrated more than 2L, ate a full meal, lots of snacks, hot cocoa, nuts, gels, granola bars, some oats. Stomach is full, feel very warm and comfortable.” I had a healthy appetite at high camp, and with plenty of time to take the day slowly was able to thoroughly fuel up for the next day’s climb.

August 5th
Ascend 7105m Pik Korzhenevskaya, sleep 6300m.

We planned to start early, but given our good pace in the days prior opted not to push an alpine start so as to avoid the cold of night. I woke up at 3:30 and took my time eating a light breakfast – instant noodles with half a liter of soup broth – drinking coffee, and preparing equipment for the summit push. I brought 1L of hot tea and 1L of hot electrolyte mix in my down parka, along with Honey Stingers gels and crunchy granola bars for snacks. As usual, I carried my storm mitts and down pants in my summit bag.

I left my tent at 5:00 a.m., feeling strong. I made a steady pace up the ridge; snow conditions were perfect, there was almost no wind, and overhead the sky was blue and free of clouds. At around 6800m I briefly stopped to fix my rope to an iced over slope which I figured I’d want to rap on descent, but otherwise took only a few hydration breaks. I reached the summit without incident at 11:30 a.m., and spent almost an hour completely alone at the top. Konrad was the first to arrive, and after he helped me to take some photographs I began to descend. I departed the summit at around 12:20 p.m., and was back in my tent at 6300m Camp 4 at around 2:35 p.m. The descent was relatively smooth, although it is notable that several sections of ridge are distinctly ‘no fall zones’ due to the narrow terrain and severe drop-offs.

On the summit of Pik Korzhenevskaya.

August 6th
Descend to 4330m basecamp.

Cleaned camp, packed all equipment into a massive descent bag, and headed down the mountain. I departed 6300m Camp 4 at 9:00 a.m. with Pat and Marie, and reached 5100m Camp 1 at 1:00 p.m., where I stopped to take a rest. I left 5100m Camp 1 at 2:30 p.m. and reached basecamp at 5:30 p.m., in time for a delightful sauna and a dinner of borscht in the mess hall.

August 7th
Rest day at 4330m basecamp.

August 8th
Depart basecamp via helicopter.

I lucked out, and got onto an emergency evacuation helicopter back to Djirgital – there was room for several passengers in addition to the evacuee. This was enormously fortunate, as the helicopter’s normal schedule is infrequent and prone to unexpected delays – Pat remained in basecamp, and would later wait over a week for an exit helicopter after he summited Pik Somoni. A few days after my departure the helicopter crashed, killing five. I spent the remaining 6 days of my trip getting food poisoning and resting in the sweltering heat of summer Dushanbe. I stayed in the City Hostel, an excellent place, and rented the basement out with other climbers who were also waiting for flights home. I was happy to meet my Estonian friends in town when they returned from Moskvina Glades just a day before my departure.

I was delighted to have summited Korzhenevskaya after two false starts, and pleased to have made it up Pik Chetyreh despite our team being woefully underequipped. I felt some sense of personal regret for not having made any attempt whatsoever on Pik Somoni, especially since the loss of time stemming from our decision to halt the first attempt on Korzhenevskaya was largely responsible. I feel strongly that I will return to Moskvina Glades again in a few years time, likely after fully pre-acclimating on another 7000m mountain.

Khan Tengri

The Goal: An Independent 7000m Snow Leopard Summit

Acclimatization Strategy:Pre-Acclimation, Expedition Enchainment

Schedule and Calendar

Khan Tengri Journal

Images

Thoughts on Khan Tengri

The Goal:8000m Without Supplementary o2

Acclimatization Strategy:Expedition Enchainment

Day-by-Day Climbing Schedule and Route

Thoughts on Manaslu

Pik Kommunizma / Pik Ismoil Somoni

Basecamp and Access

Route Description

Trip Report and Schedule

Images

Thoughts on Pik Kommunizma

Acclimatization Strategy:
Pre-Acclimation, Expedition Enchainment

The Goal:
8000m Without Supplementary o2

Acclimatization Strategy:
Expedition Enchainment