As we sat astride the summit of Cholatse, with views of the vast peaks of the Khumbu, the months of planning and a journey spanning several weeks seemed to disappear. How exactly did Tim Miller and I find ourselves fortunate enough to be guiding the South West Ridge of this quiet summit?
Late last year, my long term client, Richard the Vet (guess where that name came from), asked me if I’d guide him in the Himalayas in 2024. I was keen, of course, but where to climb required careful thought. After seemingly endless research, trawling through blogs, social media digging and discussions with friends, the Khumbu region in Nepal seemed ideal. The climbing season for their summits did not clash with the summer alpine season, unlike India and Pakistan; it is well geared up for climbing/trekking and the weather in the autumn is typically stable.
Deciding on an objective was a little trickier. We wanted a peak that wasn’t going to be busy, would involve technical climbing, and ideally could be climbed alpine style - or as close as possible. This discounted Ama Dablam, which is now so busy that I had heard many referring to its Camp 2 as ‘Camp Poo’. A friend recommended Cholatse’s SW Ridge, suggesting that we might be the only team on the mountain. Being below 6500m, Cholatse is classed as a trekking peak, so permits are only $150. This contrasts to the staggering $1150 charged for Ama Dablam and other higher peaks.
Guiding in remote locations can be pretty daunting, and I wasn’t that keen to embark on such an undertaking by myself. Thankfully Tim Miller, who had climbed in Nepal twice before (and had won a Piolet d’Or for his efforts), jumped at the chance to come along with his client Harvey. His previous experience and local contacts made the months-long process of planning a far simpler experience than it initially appeared.
All too soon October appeared, and after a whirlwind of packing, and a seemingly endless list of jobs, we were on a train to London with very heavy duffle bags. For the first ten days of the trip we were joined by Abbey, Eileen, and Harriet, who trekked with us over the Renjo La before leaving us at Phortse, when we headed into Cholatse base camp. The trek went well as we slowly acclimatised; taking our time and trying our best to stay healthy. I had planned this part of the trip carefully, never sleeping more than 500m above the night before, and including several rest days to minimise the effects of altitude. The big reveal we’d been waiting for, the view of Everest, Nuptse, Lhotse, Makalu, Cho Oyo, and Cholatse as we reached the Renjo La, was spectacular. It was truly a real highlight of the trip, and one of the best mountain vistas I have seen.
We arrived at Cholatse base camp slightly later than planned - we had an enforced four-day stay at Phortse, using its slightly lower altitude to assist in recovery from various (thankfully fairly minor) illnesses. It is definitely worth having some extra time in reserve planned into your schedule in case of illness. Once we were all back to full strength, we reached our very well provisioned base camp. There were several other teams enjoying the vast, flat, grassy meadow, and whilst we weren’t going to be the only ones on the mountain, this was clearly going to be a very different experience to a typical day out on the Matterhorn or Mont Blanc.
After another couple of rest days we headed up 5200m to spend a night up high as our final bit of acclimatisation. In an ideal world it is good to try and sleep 1000m lower than the summit of your objective before attempting it, and Cholatse is 6440m, but to get any higher would have required technical climbing that would have been too tiring to be of any use. Tim and I pragmatically decided that the effort outweighed the benefit.
Up to this point the weather had been practically perfect, but gradually light snow storms had started to appear every afternoon. With this in mind, we packed heavy - taking four days worth of food, and planning to sleep high on the mountain ‘Paul Ramsden style’ rather than going light and fast from a higher camp (a tactic that I would definitely have favoured when I was younger). Thankfully, the night before we left, my Dad text my satellite phone to say that there would be one more day of afternoon snow and then four days of clear weather. We were relieved (despite limited faith in the forecast), and decided to go for it.
The next morning we left just after first light, trudging upwards with our very heavy bags. Upon getting to the glacier we roped up as a four, and kept ploughing. We knew from other teams that the mountain had been recently fixed with new polypropylene rope, and whilst this put paid to our ‘alpine style’ ambitions, it seemed silly not to utilise them.
We arrived below the snow slope that leads to Camp 1, and split into our respective teams. Two hundred metres of steep snow took us to the plateau, and a palatial campsite. We got the tent up just as light snow started to fall, and found ourselves sharing the plateau with two Americans, with whom we’d earlier been sharing base camp, and a Japanese team, who had local Sherpa guides and had arrived by helicopter a couple of days previously. The Americans had tried to summit that day, going light from Camp 1, but bad weather had turned them around just below the summit.
We settled down, melted snow and ate our freeze dried meals, before drifting in and out of fitful sleep. We had set early alarms, aware of how long everything takes to do in a tiny tent, and packed up, ready to go as dawn came. The second day went uneventfully. We climbed snow and some sections of chossy rock, grateful for the fixed ropes, especially on the steepest rocky section.
Whilst not quite as vast, Camp 2 was still extremely comfortable, set on a flat ledge atop a serac. The weather that afternoon was ideal, and we melted snow in the sunshine before trying and failing to force down a freeze dried dinner. Sleep was even more limited this time. I tossed and turned with freezing feet, and eventually I forced myself to boil a litre of water with which to warm them - thankfully it seemed to do the trick.
Day three dawned cold and clear. With only two hundred metres to go we left our tents pitched and went light to the summit, carrying only jackets and water. Above this point the route was only partially fixed, with some moderate terrain that we moved together over, before reaching a small plateau below the final summit snow mushroom. Thankfully the fixed ropes were back, and we shuffled up to reach the summit, a sharp ridge which we straddled a cheval. The descent was long and uneventful thanks again to the fixed ropes, though I was glad they were new as I found them terrifying anytime they were near rock. We reached base camp shortly after dark, to be greeted by a celebratory cake made by our marvellous cook.
After a day’s rest, we walked out, using our spare day to go over the Cho La which offered us a view of Cholatse’s magnificent North Face. The trek back went without issue until we reached Lukla, where the weather was too poor to fly out. Rather than pay for a helicopter we opted to walk for another day, to Paiya, and take a jeep. Unfortunately there were no free jeeps, so we ended up sat in the bed of a pickup truck, travelling on some of the least structurally sound roads I have ever experienced. After the longest seven hours of my life we reached tarmac, and after another fourteen we reached Kathmandu.
Reflecting, here are a few things I have learned, which I would recommend to those considering their first Himalayan trip: find a good agent, ideally from a personal recommendation. Ours was able to swiftly adapt transport and travel plans, to the rapidly changing weather and our looming international flights. Also their base camp cook was top notch, and kept us very well fed.
Go with people you know, like, are laid back, and share similar ambitions and risk tolerance. These trips are rarely about the climbing, more patience and perseverance. Put extra time in your schedule to allow for unplanned eventualities, illness, a lost bag, that sort of thing. Do your research, make sure your base camp is comfy (grassy). On my first trip, to Pakistan in 2010, we spent three weeks sleeping on rocks. Finally, the friendliness of the people and the beauty of the mountains makes the effort of planning and organising fade into a distant memory. If you’re thinking about it - go for it.
Words: Tom Ripley
