The Cloud Ocean

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.

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.

The Goal:8000m Without Supplementary o2

Acclimatization Strategy:Expedition Enchainment

Day-by-Day Climbing Schedule and Route

Thoughts on Manaslu

The Goal:
8000m Without Supplementary o2

Acclimatization Strategy:
Expedition Enchainment