Ama Dablam Summits, First Everest Permits
Pasdawa Sherpa, Pasang Tenjing Sherpa, Arjun Karki Dholi, and Datuk Bhote, working for 8K Expeditions, reached the top of the beautiful and popular peak on the afternoon of April 2. Although the mountain is busiest from October to early December, it also sees action in spring. It is the only peak less than 8,000m in Nepal where local operators do not informally agree on the rope-fixing work. Instead, the task is officially assigned by the Expedition Operators Association of Nepal (EOA).
This year, the EOA assigned Ama Dablam, as well as Everest and Lhotse, to 8K Expeditions.
In the meantime, many teams are already on their way to Everest Base Camp, which is already fully set up for their arrival. Nepal's Department of Tourism has not updated its list of climbing permits since March 21, but some international expedition leaders have already posted their stamped permits on social media.
In group permits for 8,000m peaks, the designed expedition leader is always a foreigner, such as Waldemar Niklevicz of Brazil -- leader of one of 8K Expedition groups -- Ben Jones of the U.S. with Alpine Ascents, or Jigar Kishorkumar Asnani of India with Satori Adventures.
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National Geographic
04-08-2025
- National Geographic
Can this Sherpa change mountain climbing forever?
Still just a teenager, Nima Rinji Sherpa has big plans for the future: He recently partnered with the United Nations Development Programme, signed a book deal, and incorporated a company to make souvenirs out of trash removed from Everest. Photograph by Krystle Wright Last October, a slender 18-year-old Sherpa climber stood atop a snowy peak in Tibet and recorded a selfie video in the dark. It was 6:05 a.m., and with this summit of a mountain called Shishapangma, Nima Rinji Sherpa had topped all 14 of the world's 8,000-meter peaks, becoming the youngest person ever to do so. Like several international climbers who reached the peak that morning, he also had support: Nima had been led by a Sherpa guide. Breathless in the thin air and wearing a puffy down suit, Nima thanked his mom for praying for him and his dad for funding his expeditions. He alluded to the conflicts in Ukraine and Gaza and asked for an end to war, hate, and racism. 'As a teenager, this is my message to each and every one of you,' he panted, then shouted, 'Woo-hoo!' Once he descended, Nima texted the video to his manager in Mumbai, who spliced it into an Instagram reel with inspirational music and blasted it to Nima's then 20,000 followers. Reporters called for interviews and shared the feel-good story of the teenager climbing under the banner #sherpapower to spread the message that his people weren't just supporters of Western climbers but athletes in their own right. Sherpas have long been associated with the hard but unglamorous aspects of climbing, like hauling loads and fixing lines. Nima has a different goal: becoming a global superstar. Photograph by Dina Litovsky Much of this scenario would have been improbable even one generation ago. For nearly 120 years, Sherpas have served as porters and guides for foreign climbers seeking glory on the world's highest peaks, becoming so synonymous with this work that many Westerners don't know that the word 'Sherpa' is an ethnicity, not a profession. But in the past 15 years, Sherpas have founded industry-leading guiding outfits and pursued their own world records and first ascents. Nima sits on the cusp of the next evolution: a Sherpa looking to eschew the business of guiding altogether and become a professional climbing star. (Superpowers are real—the resilience of Sherpas is proof.) Two months after setting his record, Nima was already preparing for his next project. Alongside famed Italian alpinist Simone Moro, he was attempting a winter ascent of 8,163-meter Manaslu. If they succeeded, the duo claimed, it would be the first winter climb of an 8,000-meter peak in pure alpine style, meaning in a single push, with none of the established camps, fixed ropes, bottled oxygen, or Sherpa support that Nima enjoyed on the 14 peaks. Even Moro, who at 57 had summited more eight-thousanders in the winter than anyone else, had never done so in pure alpine style. Expeditions like this are out of reach for most climbers from one of South Asia's poorest countries, but Nima is uniquely set up for them. His father, Tashi Lakpa Sherpa, and uncles are the founders of one of Nepal's largest guiding company, Seven Summit Treks. (The brothers also own an outfitter named 14 Peaks Expeditions, which Tashi oversees; a helicopter company called Heli Everest; and stakes in various other businesses.) Thanks to his dad's wealth, Nima never had to grind on the mountain, guiding or schlepping Westerners' gear as other Sherpas do. Even Moro's mentorship came through family connections; the alpinist works for the brothers as a helicopter pilot. (How an all-Nepali team pulled off one of the most dangerous climbs in history.) A few days before Nima departed, we met for breakfast at the Aloft hotel in Kathmandu where his father puts up clients and which serves as Seven Summit's de facto headquarters. Bearing the hallmarks of adolescence—a light mustache, clean Air Jordans, and earnest enthusiasm—Nima sipped a cappuccino while dishing sound bites at double speed. Eloquent and private-school educated, Nima knew his lines. 'I only want to do projects that are meaningful,' he said, because 'we're going to pass away someday. We have a very limited time.' The winter expedition would be a major step up from what he'd done, involving breathtaking cold and hurricane-level winds that could pin climbers in their tents for days. But Nima was undaunted. He fancied himself more an explorer than a climber, and 'winter climbing is more like exploration,' he declared, having never done a winter climb. 'It's more for me.' Historically, the chance of success for any winter 8,000-meter expedition is low, just 15 percent, according to Moro. So Nima added a disclaimer. 'Even if we don't reach summit, it's a learning for us.' It would be better if they summited, though. Nima wants to be a professional climber, meaning one sponsored by brands like The North Face and Red Bull. But his 14-peaks record hasn't been enough to earn those endorsements, so Manaslu is a chance to build his résumé. Nima joked that he needs a sponsor so that he doesn't 'bankrupt' his dad. But sponsorship isn't about the money. It's about dignity, he said. Sherpa climbers, he continued, 'never had the privilege to get chosen. The day I make the team, the day people consider me a professional athlete, it brings value.' For all the upward mobility that Sherpas have recently enjoyed, they have yet to make the leap from being guides who climb in their off-hours to athletes being paid to chase their own dreams. In aiming to be the first, Nima hopes to earn a measure of respect and equality that his people have long been due. But to grasp the opportunity before him, he'll have to transcend the world of commercial climbing that has both elevated and circumscribed his community for generations. Last winter, Nima and Italian alpinist Simone Moro climbed Nepal's Ama Dablam, a 22,349-foot peak known as the Matterhorn of the Himalaya, to acclimatize for an alpine-style push on 26,781-foot Manaslu. Photograph by OSWALD RODRIGO PEREIRA The idea of paying someone to guide you up a peak because you lack the ability to climb it independently is a relatively new one in the history of Himalayan mountaineering. For most of the 20th century, only explorers and serious climbers attempted peaks that rose above 8,000 meters, into the so-called death zone where there's insufficient oxygen to support human life. But in 1985, a wealthy Texas businessman named Dick Bass was led to the top of Everest by a climbing phenom named David Breashears, sparking the imaginations of amateur climbers worldwide: If he can do it, so can I. The commercial climbing industry was born. From the 1990s through the aughts, Western companies dominated the booming guiding business on Everest, charging up to $75,000 to climb the world's highest peak. They employed Sherpas and subcontracted logistics, like Base Camp setup and rope fixing, to Nepali companies, but the foreign guides owned the customer-facing outfitters and made the majority of the money. Some young Sherpas working on Everest saw an opportunity. Among them were Nima's father, Tashi Lakpa Sherpa, and three of his five brothers, Mingma, Chhang Dawa (who goes by Dawa), and Pasang Phurba. (Want to climb Mount Everest? Here's what you need to know.) The brothers grew up in a remote village with no electricity or running water, in view of 8,485-meter Makalu peak. Their childhood was one that Tashi now compares to the show Man Vs. Wild. They lived in the jungle, herding the family's yaks, sheep, and cows. They slept in shelters built from plastic tarps and hunted small animals for food. Sometimes they heard no other human voices for months. But the boys grew up proud. Their herds made them wealthy by the subsistence standards of the village. There were no mountaineers in the family. The brothers learned on the radio about climbing Sherpas like Ang Rita Sherpa, who was nicknamed the Snow Leopard and climbed Everest 10 times without bottled oxygen. 'He is Sherpa, I am also Sherpa. Why can't I do this?' Dawa recalled thinking. Mingma, the second oldest brother, went to Kathmandu at 14 and found a job hauling 75-pound loads as a trekking porter, then worked his way up to climbing with clients. Once he gained enough experience to fix ropes on 8,000-meter peaks—a job reserved for the strongest and most skilled Sherpas—he sent for his brothers. Tashi, the second youngest, began climbing Everest at 18. He crossed the deadly Khumbu Icefall 20 to 30 times an expedition, he told me, experiencing mortal fear each time. 'Every day, every second, life is in danger,' he said. Nima's father, Tashi Lakpa Sherpa (right), co-founded Seven Summit Treks, one of Nepal's largest guiding company, and he knows the dangers of mountaineering firsthand—he's climbed Everest nine times. Still, he says, Nima has 'a totally different opportunity for the Sherpa community.' Photograph by Krystle Wright But Mingma and Dawa, the brawny big brothers, were particularly irked by their unofficial job title. 'The Western people say we are porters,' said Dawa. 'This is not fair,' said Mingma. In their eyes, they were doing the same work as foreign guides, climbing the same mountains as clients. Why were they porters, and the Westerners guides and climbers? 'That's why we have to show something,' said Dawa. To prove that they had the skills to rival the world's best guides, Mingma and Dawa decided to climb all the 8,000-meter peaks. At the time, only the most dedicated mountaineers climbed all 14, and Mingma was the first Nepali to do so. The accomplishment gave the brothers major credibility, and inspired an idea. They would start their own company—and cut out the middleman. In 2010, they launched Seven Summit Treks, charging just $30,000 per person to climb Everest. Other Sherpa-led businesses followed, and over the next several years these companies outcompeted the old guard, benefiting from the ability to set lower prices as well as various upheavals in the climbing industry, as journalist Will Cockrell chronicled in his book, Everest, Inc. By 2019, Cockrell reported, Seven Summit was the largest taxpayer in Nepal's trekking and guiding industry. Today, Himalayan climbing archivist Billi Bierling calls Sherpas the 'bosses on the mountain,' estimating that they own 80 to 85 percent of the expedition market. While Sherpas of this generation were taking control of their industry, some were also falling in love with climbing, a sport most of their forebears saw as only a job; and slowly building visibility. By 2015, Sherpa climbers were making first ascents sans clients and promoting their feats on social media. In 2018, a Sherpa named Dawa Yangzum was sponsored by The North Face, albeit for guiding; she was the first Nepali woman to earn a certification from the International Federation of Mountain Guides Associations. But the trend was turbocharged in 2019, when a Nepali British former special forces soldier, Nirmal 'Nims' Purja, climbed the 14 peaks in record time, using helicopters, bottled oxygen, and fixed ropes to accomplish in six months what had previously taken Korean climber Kim Chang-Ho nearly eight years to do (though Kim climbed without supplemental oxygen and kayaked and cycled to Everest Base Camp). Nims, who is not Sherpa, brought handheld cameras and broadcast his journey on Instagram, capturing footage that became a hit 2021 Netflix documentary. He leveraged his exploits to start his own guiding business and sign deals with Red Bull, Nike, and Bremont watches, and though his career is now plagued by accusations of sexual misconduct (which he's denied), he put the world on notice that when Nepalis didn't have to serve clients, they could be recognized as world-class climbers in their own right. (Meet the Sherpa bringing Wi-Fi to Everest.) Nima comes of age in these flush times, blessed with not just family money but also role models and next-level ambitions. Growing up in Kathmandu, Nima began telling his father in early adolescence that he wanted to become a professional athlete. 'The plan was always to do something big in life,' Nima said. 'It was always the plan.' Nima poses with Kami Rita Sherpa after the latter's 29th summit of Everest. Photograph by Manish Maharjan The lead-up to a major objective tends to be an ascetic time for athletes, when they retreat from the world and prepare. But Nima is trying to capitalize on his moment, and he kept a frenetic schedule in the few days before Manaslu, attending to small-time obligations ranging from a cricket game for the Nepal Premier League to an interview for an American friend's YouTube channel and an elaborate 20-person lunch with Jane Goodall. Nima's manager at the time, Asad Abid, was frustrated. He thought Nima was sinking too much time, for free, into engagements that didn't move him toward his ultimate goal, which is to get paid to climb by brands. Some companies have offered free gear, Abid said, 'but nobody's talking money.' The outdoor industry is dominated by Western brands, and Sherpas face racial and language differences that can make it difficult to secure endorsements. They also have to contend with a cultural and vocational challenge. The Sherpa community venerates climbers who have summited Everest 20 times or set records like Nima's, but climbing brands don't usually sponsor mountaineers who ply trade routes on fixed ropes in the commercial style, whether they're the Sherpa guides on those expeditions or the climbers who pay those guides and use bottled oxygen, as Nima did. Most professional climbers are instead alpinists, who are self-supported and travel light and fast. To inspire the climbing cognoscenti, and eventually earn sponsorships, an athlete must climb new routes or peaks in good style, meaning without bottled oxygen or fixed ropes—and achieve an ineffable X factor that can be hard to grasp for those born outside of alpinism's Eurocentric culture. 'You need to have been living and breathing climbing as a sport from a young age to understand what is considered an accomplishment,' Cockrell says. It's a daunting transition even for the most well-resourced young Sherpa, which is why Moro told me he felt the urgency to 'grab' the teen, as he put it, and mentor him, 'before he falls into the trap of becoming another famous 8,000-meter-peak collector.' In inviting Nima to Manaslu, Moro hoped both to teach skills and instill the kind of worldview he said Nima will need to make it as a professional adventurer. The leap that Nima needs to make from commercial mountaineering to alpinism could be years long. He'll have to learn skills like ice climbing and placing gear, alpinist and former North Face team manager Conrad Anker told me. He'll also likely have to travel to North America or Europe to train on rock and ice, as it takes days to approach most peaks in Nepal. And he'll have to develop an eye for identifying his own projects. But in the age of the athlete-influencer, there may be a different way for Nima, one modeled by Nepali climbers like Nims. Climbing purists said that Nims's feat was primarily one of logistics and marketing—he achieved a speed record he essentially invented, one utilizing every accoutrement from helicopters to bottled oxygen—yet he nonetheless circumvented the traditional path to stardom. Nima, too, seems to be betting on this model of building his brand alongside his bona fides. 'Climbing both [Everest and Lhotse] on the same day,' he wrote in April 2024 on Instagram, 'is almost unheard of, and I found myself doing it as the mountain spirits guided me.' Still, storytelling can go only so far. Nims's record was paradigm shifting, and the long process through which Dawa Yangzum obtained her IFMGA certification is widely respected in climbing. Nima may be able to find his own path to professional climbing. But if you want to climb for a brand like The North Face, Anker says, you have to 'climb hard.' (You can still climb Mount Everest. Here's how to do it responsibly.) As with many prodigies, it's hard to tell how much of Nima's ambition is innate versus inherited, the result of some subtle parental prodding. As Tashi drove Nima and me around Kathmandu in his leather-lined SUV one afternoon, the two took turns telling Nima's origin story, passing the ball to one another smoothly in the front seats. Tashi's support of Nima has been tireless and unconditional. When Nima wanted to become a professional soccer player, Tashi tried to link him up with an elite coach. When that fizzled, he took his son to the climbing gym. When Nima wanted to become a photographer, he took him trekking to shoot photos. Tashi, who at 39 wore thick-framed black glasses and a stylish fade, said, 'I bought, like, a Sony A7?' 'Sony A7, yeah,' Nima agreed with a chuckle, from the passenger seat. 'A Sony A7 for him, and several lenses,' Tashi continued. 'Then I took him to Kongma La Pass, right?' This is a multiday trek in Nepal. 'Just the two of us, yeah.' 'Just him and me,' Tashi agreed. 'I saw that he's very strong.' It was on this trek, when Nima was 15, that Tashi suggested it might be 'interesting,' as Nima recalled it, for him to climb the 14 peaks as a teenager. Nima went home and did his research, then told his dad, Let's do it. The father's idea had become the son's. Initially, the 14-peaks project was a creative, mostly selfish endeavor: Inspired by Asian American adventure photographer and National Geographic Explorer Jimmy Chin, Nima wanted to produce a documentary. But on his first climb, Manaslu, in September 2022, he saw something surprising. He never knew much about the family business, and had always assumed his father's clients must be elite-level athletes to climb big mountains. Now he saw that in fact, many of them were average, even slow. Meanwhile Sherpas outpaced everybody and carried their loads. Seeing their raw talent, he began to wonder why there was no world-famous Sherpa climber today. Thanks to his father's connections, Nima (right) never had to make a living hauling gear and supplies on the steep trails leading to the high peaks. Photograph by Krystle Wright His motivation was galvanized, however, on his first trip to Shishapangma, a year before he'd ultimately summit. It was October 7, 2023, and Nima was at Base Camp. A Seven Summit Sherpa named Tenjen 'Lama' Sherpa, whom Nima had grown close to, was also on the mountain, assisting climber Gina Rzucidlo as she attempted to become the first American woman to summit the 14 peaks. Another American, Anna Gutu, was also targeting her 14th peak the same day. On their summit push, Gutu and her partner were killed in an avalanche. Lama and Rzucidlo were just below the summit, and Nima radioed to advise that they descend. But Rzucidlo wanted to continue, and shortly after, a second avalanche claimed both her and Lama's lives. Nima was in shock. Lama had come to feel like one of his guardian angels on the mountain. Afterward, he was depressed for months. 'I just felt very demotivated,' he said. 'Not just in climbing. In life itself.' It was during this time that he began to use the hashtag 'sherpapower.' He realized he wanted to be a voice for the Sherpa community. He wanted his people to feel that their lives had value beyond the measure of their wages. 'Let's say they make $4,000 a summit,' he said. 'I don't know if there's any job where you get paid this and it's so risky.' Sherpas 'literally feel' for their clients, he told me pointedly, sacrificing their own safety and even lives to help them summit. This kind of courage and loyalty, he said, 'is not something money can buy.' They deserved for their stories to be told, he thought—to be honored like heroes, not just paid like help. Over the years, Tashi has witnessed the death of many Sherpas like Lama, which is why he always told his own son that if he were to climb, he'd climb as an athlete, not a guide. If Nima was going to risk it all, he would risk it for his own dreams. Nima's climbing was nonetheless extremely stressful for Tashi and his wife, Leema. Tashi says he hid his worry—he didn't want to affect Nima's decision-making in the mountains—but behind the scenes he spun a protective web. He assigned one of his ace guides, Pasang Nurbu Sherpa, as Nima's climbing partner; he kept helicopters on standby while they climbed; he cut clients deals to beef up the man power on Nima's expeditions. On summit days, he didn't sleep, refreshing Nima's GPS tracker every 10 minutes. Whenever Tashi thought about calling his son back, he reminded himself, We are on a mission. (That's the word he uses, 'we.') 'I want to make him a super climber, super athlete,' he said. 'So I manage my emotions.' Tashi also wanted to shield Nima from another fraught aspect of the guiding business. Especially in its early years, Seven Summit was criticized for its safety record, and some said the company brought dangerously inexperienced guides and climbers onto the mountains. (The brothers acknowledged some growing pains but said they recruited many new Sherpas to the industry who are now trained and experienced, and train clients on lower peaks before they climb eight-thousanders.) In channeling Nima toward a different path, Tashi hoped to keep his son from the controversy that's dogged him and his family. 'He can have another type of job and professionalism as an athlete,' he said. Of course, Tashi could have encouraged his son to pursue a profession outside of climbing, as many Sherpas have urged their children to do. Any 8,000-meter peak can kill you, and the dangers are magnified in the winter, when temperatures plummet and avalanche risk increases. Going in alpine style removes the added security of fixed lines and bottled oxygen. The first time Moro attempted a winter alpine-style 8,000-meter ascent, an avalanche killed both his climbing partners. I asked Tashi what he'd say to parents who wonder how he can not only let his son do something so dangerous but also fund it. 'I think'—he said, pausing thoughtfully—'creating history is not normal. It's not simple.' Abid, Nima's former manager, offered his theory. 'I think Tashi is living vicariously through Nima,' he said. But when you're a parent whose life story is entangled within a generations-long struggle for equality, your children may serve as a proxy for more than your own unrealized ambitions. Tashi has seen so many strong Sherpa boys working for the glory of others, he told me, so much of his people's talent hired away. He always wanted to see one of those young athletes climb unencumbered. 'This is a totally different opportunity for the Sherpa community,' he said, 'and I really want to send my son in this way.' Annapurna was the first of all the eight-thousanders to be climbed, but it's also one of the deadliest— for every three climbers who stand on the summit, one will die trying to get there. Nima reached the peak in the spring of 2024 without the use of supplemental oxygen. Photograph by Manish Maharjan In Kathmandu in December, you can be seduced into believing winter won't kill you. The day that Nima left for his climb was like all the other days before it: sunny and mild, the smog-filled sky a dingy blue. I boarded an orange Heli Everest chopper with Nima, Moro, and Polish filmmaker Oswald Rodrigo Pereira, 40, their climbing partner. The plan was to fly into the Everest valley and trek five days to the Base Camp of Ama Dablam, a technical, 6,812-meter peak known as the Matterhorn of the Himalaya, where I'd catch a heli ride back. They'd climb Ama Dablam to acclimatize, then fly out to the Manaslu valley. The helicopter soared over green hills rippled with farming terraces, carved from the mountain like stadium steps. Snowcapped peaks lined the horizon, each big and beautiful enough to anchor a national park on its own. This was awe-inspiring stuff for most people, but for Nima, it was a commute. He'd fallen asleep. During the past few days in Kathmandu, I'd witnessed the muscle of Seven Summit firsthand. Everywhere I went, I bumped into smiling, clean-faced young men wearing company puffies and ball caps. Nima was cocooned within this universe, chauffeured and flanked constantly by the Sherpas in his father's employ. Does Nima fully understand what achieving his dream would require, from the hard work to the risktaking it would demand? He says he does, but for all his precociousness, here was an 18-year-old who still compared climbing to the epic adventures out of his favorite fantasy books. 'Winter expedition is like Lord of the Rings,' he said with exuberance, or 'When you read Harry Potter, it makes you excited. I feel like I'm in that life right now.' In both these stories, a hero—a chosen one—goes on a quest to save the people he loves. Harry Potter is destined by prophecy to save wizardkind; Frodo carries the Ring to save Middle Earth. Nima, too, sees himself as a messenger for his community. 'I think at the young age that he is, he already has a big burden on him, that he also imposes on himself,' Pereira later told me. In the helicopter, Nima woke up. We were wearing soundproof headsets, so he used his iPhone camera to show me Everest, zooming in on the snow-covered pyramid. Then he opened his notepad and typed me a message: 'The prince returns to the mountains.' Nima's first noncommercial expedition began smoothly, with days of dry weather on Ama Dablam. Nima, Moro, and Pereira enjoyed two easy rotations—acclimatization trips—up to Camps I and II. But the night before their summit bid, it snowed. With the rocks now slick, the climbers had to brace more often against fixed ropes, and on the second day, Nima's hands and forearms began to cramp. The trio decided to turn around several hundred feet below the summit and move on to Manaslu with less acclimatization than they'd hoped. After they reached Manaslu Base Camp a week and a half later, it snowed again. Then the forecast deteriorated further: three straight weeks of winds projected at over 90 miles an hour, creating dangerous climbing conditions. If they waited, they'd lose what acclimatization they had. After a week at Base Camp, they canceled the expedition. Nima and Moro immediately planned another attempt on Manaslu next winter. 'I felt like this was the best expedition of my life,' Nima told me. The extreme conditions exhilarated him, and compared to commercial expeditions, 'everything was in our hands.' Nima's greatest challenge now may be to stay focused on climbing. After Manaslu, he once again has a lot going on. He recently signed a book deal and announced that he's a climate influencer for the United Nations Development Programme in Nepal. In the spring he went to Everest Base Camp, but not to climb—he was helping his dad manage logistics, sitting for interviews with an American news crew, and assisting a company that was experimentally using drones to haul trash off the mountain. He'd also incorporated a company of his own, to make souvenirs from all that trash. He was training for Manaslu, he told me, but he was vague about how much, saying that he was trail running and strength training but didn't track his workouts. It remains to be seen if Nima will be the breakthrough athlete he wants to be. He has his doubters. His privilege is a source of ire among some in his own community, and several people I interviewed wanted me to know that Nepal has many talented young climbers today, not just Nima—climbers who would have his profile if they had his opportunities. But Nima believes that whether he achieves his goal or not, he's done something for his community already. (When climbing the world's tallest mountains, what counts as cheating?) On our trek's fourth day, I asked him what he thought of the debate about his climbing style. The sun was sinking below the mountains, and we were in a chilly room of a rustic lodge in the Sherpa village of Deboche. Was he aware that some people dismissed climbing 8,000-meter peaks as he did, with oxygen and fixed lines and Sherpa support? That people suggested that, in the eyes of 'real climbers,' he had yet to achieve much? Nima was sitting in a chair with his arms crossed. He didn't even pause. He said he didn't think those criticisms applied to him, then laughed. If he was a grown man making a big deal out of his accomplishments, they might have a point. 'But I'm just 16, 17 years old, just figuring it out,' he said, reminding me how young he was when he started climbing in the high peaks, so give him a break. Nima knows that what he did was impressive at his age. He understands that the story of Sherpas in the past 15 years has been one of the power of role-modeling, of being able to see heroes made in your own image and then daring to imagine yourself surpassing them. He believes he moved the right people. 'If I was someone else and I saw an 18-year-old did this,' he said, 'I'd be inspired.' A version of this story will appear in the November 2025 issue of National Geographic magazine.
Time Business News
30-07-2025
- Time Business News
Himalayan Circuit: Everest, Khopra, Poon Hill & Pikey
Traveling to the Himalaya is like going inside a dream where big mountains touch the sky and you feel like you are flying. Nepal is a place where many people go to walk long treks in mountain areas and see snow, culture, and silent beauty. In this journey we show four famous treks—Everest Base Camp with Two Pass Trek in Nepal, Ghorepani Poon Hill, Khopra Ridge, and Short Pikey Peak Trek. All treks have their own charm; some are hard, some easy, but all of them show the real side of Nepal Himalayan life and landscape. The Everest Base Camp Trek is world famous. But if you add two passes—Cho La and Renjo La—it becomes the next level of adventure. This trek is more challenging and also more beautiful because it takes you through different valleys, glacier crossings, and hidden lakes. You start this trek by flying to Lukla, then walk to Namche Bazaar, which is a busy Sherpa town in the Everest area. From Namche, you go towards Tengboche, Dingboche, and then to Lobuche. Then the trek split—you go first to Everest Base Camp, then climb to Kala Patthar for a sunrise view of Everest, a very special time. After that, you go across Cho La Pass, which is icy and steep but so exciting. Then you reach Gokyo Lake, which is a turquoise-colored lake with a reflection of mountains. From Gokyo, another challenge came—Renjo La Pass, which gives the best panorama of the Everest range. See Mount Everest very near from Kala Patthar Two high mountain passes: Cho La and Renjo La Beautiful Gokyo Lake and glacier valley Real Sherpa village and Buddhist monastery Adventure in thin air and rocky landscape Chance to see snow leopard, Himalayan thar Best sunrise and sunset of your life Helicopter exit available if tired or short on time It takes around 18 to 20 days to complete the whole trek with good acclimatization. You need strong legs and a big heart, but it rewards every step. The best time is from March to May and September to November. The Ghorepani Poon Hill Trek is easy but so beautiful and good for beginner people or family travelers. It is a short trek—only 4 to 6 days depending on how slow or fast you walk. The main highlight is Poon Hill, which is one of the best viewpoints in the Annapurna region. You start from Pokhara, drive to Nayapul or Hile, and then walk to Ulleri and Ghorepani, and the next day early morning you climb Poon Hill for sunrise. From there, the whole Dhaulagiri and Annapurna range comes in front of your eyes with golden light. After that, you can return by the same way or go down to Tadapani and Ghandruk village, which are beautiful Gurung settlements. The trail goes through forest, waterfall, stone steps, and rhododendron flowers in the spring season. Easy and short trek for all ages Best sunrise from Poon Hill Many local tea houses and warm food Forest trail with birds and monkeys Chance to see Mt. Dhaulagiri, Annapurna South, and Machhapuchhre Cultural villages like Ghandruk and Ghorepani Less preparation needed; no need for big gear Can do in a short holiday The Poon Hill trek is perfect for beginners, couples, and also older people. The trail is safe, food is tasty, and local people always smile. The best time is October-November and March-April, when the weather is nice and flowers bloom. Khopra Ridge Trek is like a hidden gem in the Annapurna region. It is not as crowded as the Ghorepani or ABC trek, but the view is even wider. From Khopra Danda you see full 360-degree mountains like Annapurna South, Nilgiri, Dhaulagiri, and Tukuche, and also the deep valley of Kali Gandaki. This trek starts from Nayapul or Ghandruk and goes to Tadapani, Bayeli Kharka, and reaches Khopra Ridge. From there, one special side trip is possible—Khayar Lake, which is a holy lake at 4600 meters. That hike is hard but peaceful and remote. On this trek you stay in local community lodges; they are run by village people, so your money goes to help them directly. That makes this trek more responsible and a real connection with culture. Remote trail but easy to follow Stunning ridge view every day Sunrise and sunset both from the top of the hill Community lodge experience Khayar Lake side hike option Fewer people, more peace Mix forest, mountain, pasture, and villages Great view of Dhaulagiri icefall It takes around 8 to 10 days to complete the Khopra trek. The best time is spring and autumn. No big crowd but very strong scenery. Sometimes you see yaks, eagles, and mountain goats. Also, local tea is very strong and sweet. Pikey Peak Trek is short and quiet but very meaningful. It gives you a taste of the lower Everest region without going to busy Lukla or Everest Base Camp. It is said even Sir Edmund Hillary said the best view of Everest he saw was from here. You can start from Dhap after a long jeep drive from Kathmandu. Then walk to Jhapre and Pikey Base Camp and climb Pikey Peak early in the morning. The view is big and wide—you can see Everest, Lhotse, Makalu, Annapurna, and also Kanchenjunga if the sky is clear. That full range comes like painting. This trek goes through Sherpa villages, Buddhist monasteries, chortens, and forests of pine and rhododendron. Local life is real—not too many tourist things. People offer butter tea and local potato, and you sleep in basic but warm tea houses. Best Everest panorama from low altitude Less known trail, no crowd Sherpa village and real lifestyle Forest walk and flowers in spring Ancient monasteries and prayer flags Short trek—only 5 to 7 days No need to fly; go by jeep. Very good for meditation and relaxation The best time is October-November and March-May. In winter, snow comes, but it is still possible. In monsoon, clouds come, so there is no view. But in clear weather, Pikey Peak shows a magic sky and holy feeling. These four treks make a nice Himalayan circuit—a mix of hard and easy, famous and hidden, and high and low. If you do all of them, you see many faces of Nepal. • The Everest trek gives you altitude and challenge. gives you altitude and challenge. Poon Hill gives you a soft intro and family fun. gives you a soft intro and family fun. Khopra gives you an off-beat trail and rich nature. gives you an off-beat trail and rich nature. Pikey gives you a secret view and peaceful path. Together they cover the Everest and Annapurna regions, two of the most popular areas. But this combination also shows the quiet side of trekking, which is very beautiful. Train your body before you come, especially for the Everest trek. Drink a lot of water. High places make the body dry. Take a slow pace; altitude sickness is serious. Bring cash money; ATMs are not available in the mountains. Using local guides and porters, they help and give jobs to local people. Respect culture; ask before taking a photo. Eat dal bhat, give energy, and be healthy. Bring raincoats; weather changes anytime. Charge the power bank; electricity is not certain. Carry a headlamp; light is useful at night. Spring (March to May) – flower bloom, warm days, nice sky. – flower bloom, warm days, nice sky. Autumn (September to November) —clear sky, festival time, best visibility. —clear sky, festival time, best visibility. Winter (December to February) —cold but quiet, some trail snow blocks. —cold but quiet, some trail snow blocks. Monsoon (June to August)—green but rainy, not good for mountain views. So plan your trek depending on what you like. If you like flowers and don't mind some heat, spring is best. If you want a big clear view, then go in autumn. The Himalayan Circuit is not just about trekking—it is a journey into nature, culture, and your own soul. Every trail—from Everest High Pass to quiet Pikey Peak—teaches something new. You walk, you breathe mountain air, and you meet people who live with sky and wind. It is not vacation; it is transformation. Nepal welcomes all visitors with a smile, and these four treks—Everest Base Camp Two Pass, Ghorepani Poon Hill, Khopra Ridge, and Pikey Peak—are gifts from the mountain to you. Come and walk slowly, and listen to the wind. The Himalayas will speak to your heart. TIME BUSINESS NEWS
Yahoo
02-07-2025
- Yahoo
Yak poo, dangerous flights, and teahouses: 10 truths about hiking Everest Base Camp
The 14 day trek to Everest Base Camp is almost every adventurer's dream, and there's a good reason for that. Between villages decorated in colorful prayer flags, the unique Sherpa culture, and the world's best mountain views, this trek is one to remember. But what most people don't talk about is the odd, uncomfortable, and unexpectedly wonderful things that happen along the way. From yak poo fires to flights into the world's most dangerous airport, here's 10 truths about hiking to Everest Base Camp. Before your trek to Everest Base Camp can begin, you have to fly into Lukla Airport, one of the most dangerous airports in the world. Lukla Airport is considered 'dangerous' for a lot of reasons: short runways, high altitude, poor visibility, and wind. The runway itself is perched right on the side of the mountain and is only 1,729 feet long (for context, runways at most large international airports are roughly 10,000 feet long). Flights there are so frequently cancelled that you have to build buffer days into your base camp trek schedule in case of cancellation. If you do manage to get a flight, expect a tiny plane and turbulence. If we had one word of advice for packing for Everest Base Camp it would be layers. Maybe unsurprisingly, weather in the world's tallest mountains is super unpredictable and the sun is strong. Overnight and in the mornings it's freezing (you'll probably get snow), but once the sun rises it's super hot. You'll start hiking at 5am bundled in beanies and coats, but by 8am, you'll be peeling off layers. Wondering how to charge your phone in the Himalayas? It's a lot easier than you think, but you'll have to pay. Most tea houses along the route provide charging, but you have to pay for it either by the time or percentage of battery. Expect to pay between $1-5 per hour of charging, depending on how high up you are in the mountains. Personally, we brought a solar-powered battery pack to charge our phones and save time fighting other trekkers for plugs at the teahouses. As for the internet, you can buy WiFi cards at teahouses, with 100mb usually costing $3-5. Around day 6 of your trek, you'll break the tree line. From this point on, wood becomes a precious commodity that most villages do not have. Instead, the locals use dried yak poo to fuel their fires during the frigid nights. After a long day of trekking, we loved going to a bakery or teahouse, ordering pastries or tea, and chatting around the fire with lots of other trekkers. It's moments like these that make the journey all worth it. You probably shouldn't expect Michelin-star cuisine this high up in the Himalayas, but if you do, sorry to burst your bubble. The logistics of getting food up to these villages is difficult, so restaurants serve a few dishes that give you the energy needed to keep trekking. Vegetarians rejoice, because you'll find little to no meat on the trek. Expect to eat lots of oatmeal, noodles, and rice served alongside local dishes like momos (dumplings) and dal bhat (lentil soup). If you're lucky, you might find a teahouse serving pizza or mac n cheese. And after a long day of hiking, it'll be the best pizza of your life. The best way to hydrate and embrace local customs during the trek is by drinking lots of tea. Try Tibetan tea, made with salt, tea, butter, flour, and milk. Seriously, it tastes like cookies in liquid form. We also fell in love with the tart sea buckthorn juice, made from a superfood berry that has more vitamins than oranges or carrots. I think it's an important shoutout to let you know that you often can't see Mount Everest from Everest Base Camp. Mount Everest is huge, but its summit often plays hide-and-seek behind mountains, clouds, and glaciers. The best views of this famous mountain come a little earlier in the trek. Usually, it's between Namche Bazaar and Dingboche that you will be able to see Everest the best. Spending the night at Everest Base Camp is usually reserved for the brave souls attempting to summit the mountain. If you're just hiking to base camp, you'll stay further downhill in the village of Gorakshep. After dropping your bags off at the tea house, it's about a two-hour hike to base camp. You'll stop there for a bit to take pictures, eat a snack, and marvel at your accomplishments before heading back to Gorakshep for the night. But honestly, just being at Everest Base Camp for a little bit is surreal. We saw between 3-10 rescue helicopters every single day of our trek! It's a 50/50 split between hikers getting airlifted off our trek and climbers getting airlifted off Mount Everest. Every time one flew by, we felt so grateful that our bodies were healthy enough to survive this insane hike, even after gaining thousands of meters of elevation a day! Our favorite part of the Everest Base Camp trek (besides the incredible mountain views) was getting to meet so many new friends. From learning about local culture with our sherpa guides to laughing as our new Aussie friends jumped into one of the freezing cold lakes, we really fell in love with the people on the trek. We vlogged every single day of our Everest Base Camp journey when we did the trek many years ago. To go back and see day 1, check out the video below!
