Mera Peak

I have been planning different variations of a year long, trip around the world for the better part of a decade now. Whenever I found myself unhappy with work or frustrated with my life, I would fantasize about leaving it all behind to explore the world.

I have a notebook filled with possible round-the-world (RTW) itineraries. Sometimes I fancied going east to west, other times west to east. Some itineraries included Australia and New Zealand, while others substituted Russia, Mongolia and China via the Trans-Siberian railway. And each year, my itineraries would change a little as I discovered new destinations (Croatia, Slovenia) and removed politically unstable ones (Egypt, Tunisia). But no matter which variables I played around with, one thing was always a constant in my plans: a month in Nepal to climb Mera Peak.

Mera Peak from the glacier below Mera La

How cool is it that it is possible to climb a 6000+ m Himalayan peak without any prior mountaineering experience? When Nick and I sat down to plan our RTW route, this was an absolute must-do for me. So you can imagine my excitement when, after 15 days of steep climbs and seemingly never-ending descents, two river crossings, days spent hiking through the clouds and evenings spent shivering with a mug of hot chocolate, we arrived at Mera Peak High Camp (5800m). From the precarious little ledges where our tents were pitched, the summit appeared close enough to reach out and touch!

Warming up with some milk tea

After a very early dinner and a few hours of rest, we woke up at midnight, struggled our way into all our layers, strapped on our crampons, and started up the mountain. It was slow going. Very slow going. It was tough going too. The winds were so strong that they were literally knocking me off my feet. Every time there was a strong gust, I'd have to drive my ice axe into the snow and hunch over until it subsided.

Time seemed to pass very slowly. All I could focus on was putting one foot in front of the other and struggling to catch my breath. We got into a rhythm that went something like this: trudge trudge trudge, pause to pant pant pant, trudge trudge trudge, pant pant pant, trudge trudge, pant pant, trudge trudge, pant pant...whoa! Sudden gust of wind! Hunch hunch hunch. Okay, it passed. Trudge trudge trudge, pant pant pant, trudge trudge trudge, pant pant pant etc. etc.

We spent the first week in the mist

It was pitch black and all we could see was a few feet of snow in front of us and the headlamps of the other half of our group, just ahead. They had started just a few minutes before us, but it seemed like they were really far ahead! The gap never seemed to close, and worse, seemed to be getting bigger! I started to worry that I wasn't keeping pace. Dom, our ever calm and collected trip leader, reassured me that our pacing was totally fine. But that didn't stop me from worrying about it, and questioning whether I could actually do this. Every couple of stops, I'd voice my concerns, and Nick would encourage me and spur me on. But the higher we went, the longer my stops and the shorter my spurts of walking; the stronger the gusts of wind and the bigger my doubts. Just when I was ready to swallow my pride and throw in the towel, our leaders saved me the trouble.

But it started to clear as we got higher

As we approached a more exposed ridge line, the winds became even stronger, and our leaders felt it was too dangerous to continue. Both groups independently assessed the situation, and turned around. And just like that, our big adventure was over.

Jumar practice in Tagnag

It may sound very anti-climactic and disappointing to have the high point of our trek end like this. Especially after 15 days of hard work to get here, and years of anticipation. But oddly enough, it didn't feel like a let down at all. In fact, I found myself relieved! The wind and altitude were really getting to me, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could have continued. And it turns out that all those cliches about the journey being the destination are actually true. The scenery was so beautiful and the rhythm and routine of life on the trail so engrossing that the summit just became a bonus.

Sometimes you get icing on your cake, and sometimes you don't. But either way, you get to eat cake. We had a lot of cake on this trip (both literally and figuratively), so we came away very happy and satisfied. It was all just part of an incredibly fun and challenging journey that I will remember for the rest of my life.