On November 14, Jenni Lowe, president of the Alex Lowe Charitable Foundation (ALCF) and widow of climbing legend Alex Lowe, announced that the nonprofit she founded in his name will officially dissolve before the end of 2025. The nonprofit’s assets—including the iconic Khumbu Climbing Center—will go to the Juniper Fund, a Nepal-based charity helmed by celebrity mountaineers Melissa Arnot Reid and David Morton. Jenni Lowe first initiated the handoff process about a year ago.

“It just felt like time,” she told șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű. “I’m approaching 70 years old, and I feel as though I’m ready to change direction in my life.”

The ACLF has been a force of change in the Khumbu region of Nepal since its founding 25 years ago. Jenni Lowe initially launched the ALCF alongside leading alpinist Conrad Anker to help indigenous mountain communities and to honor her late husband, Alex Lowe, after he was killed in an avalanche on Shishapangma in 1999. At the time, Alex Lowe was considered one of the best alpinists of his generation, establishing bold first ascents in Antarctica, Baffin Island, and in the Himalaya. He was only 40 when he died, and he left three young sons behind.

The cornerstone of the ALCF’s work was The Khumbu Climbing Center, a facility that helps provide safety education to Sherpa guides and other members of indigenous climbing community. Together with Anker, Jenni Lowe helped build the KCC from the ground up. Since its launch in 2003, the facility has provided life-saving training to hundreds of climbers.

From here on out, the KCC will continue under the umbrella of the Juniper Fund, a well-regarded nonprofit that has worked alongside the ALCF for more than a decade. The Juniper Fund’s mission to support the families of Himalayan high-altitude workers, especially those grieving loved ones killed in the mountains, dovetails with that of the ALCF. That made the hand-off an easy decision, Lowe told șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű.

“The Juniper Fund does amazing work,” Lowe said. “When I started the ALCF, I was this young widow, and I had deep compassion for the women over there who I saw as in my shoes. The Juniper Fund stepped in to provide support to those families in a beautiful way.”

Lowe hopes the transfer of assets from the ALCF to the Juniper Fund will be complete by the end of 2025. That includes all monetary assets, the building that houses the KCC, and other resources. The ALCF’s board of directors will continue to be involved throughout this process, Lowe said.

Arnot Reid described the transfer as an opportunity to build on the Juniper Fund’s existing mission. But, she said, it’s important to emphasize that the KCC isn’t getting passed off, per se; it’s a powerful organization in its own right, and it’s simply getting a new financial backer.

“The KCC is run in Nepal by Nepalis, and it’s an incredibly successful and really well-run organization,” Arnot Reid said. “They don’t need our intervention to run the incredible programs they already have; they just need our support financially and awareness-wise to continue to bring their mission to people who aren’t aware of it.”

Arnot Reid said the Juniper fund is committed to supporting the KCC’s existing work and has no plans to alter or add to it at this time. Instead, the Juniper fund will work closely with the organization’s Nepali representatives and follow their lead.

But while the work will remain the same, Arnot Reid says Jenni Lowe’s leadership will certainly be missed.

“Jenni is a role model for me,” Arnot Reid said. “She worked really hard to make things happen in a space where people said it wasn’t possible, or ‘We can’t do that,’ and she did it with grit.”

That’s something Lowe is equally proud of: she said in her time at ALCF, the nonprofit accomplished more than she could have ever dreamed of.

“In the beginning, it was just a way for me to walk through the grief of losing Alex. I had no idea what I was getting into when I first started the foundation, but it was a huge gift to my life,” Lowe told șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű. “I love that community and I’ll miss them. But I feel satisfied and happy with what we’ve done. It’s time to make my world a little smaller.”

The post The Nonprofit Founded to Honor Alex Lowe Is Closing After 25 Years appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

There’s no perfect trip. Despite the best planning, the unexpected happens, like the ferry service doesn’t run the only day you need it, or you didn’t know that there are two German towns named Frankfurt.

We asked our longtime travel writers and editors to tell us about their most memorable travel mistakes, the ones that taught them a significant lesson or two. Some of their stories made us chuckle, and most were relatable. If you’ve ever been seriously sick while abroad, frustrated with others on a group trip, or ignorant of the rules of the road in some foreign locale, you’ll appreciate these sticky situations.

1. Desperately Seeking Arctic Apparel

While on my first and only small-ship cruise along the southeast Alaskan coastline one September, I was so excited for the adventures ahead that I mistakenly left my luggage on the airport conveyor belt. The shuttle picking me up transported my group directly to the Mendenhall Glacier for an initial hike before dropping us off at the dock for departure. The boat had set sail before I realized that I had nothing more than the clothes on my back for a chilly seven-day itinerary. I was mortified.

Thankfully, the ship captain and company owner raided the vessel’s supply closet and were able to deck me out with a staff T-shirt and sweatshirt. An angel fellow passenger loaned me an extra puffy and a few essential layers. Disaster averted, with the help of a few kind people. —Stephanie PearsonÌę

2. Double-Check That Google Maps Route

After skiing powder all day in the Alpine mecca of Chamonix, France, my husband and I grabbed a baguette and a hunk of cheese and hit the road in our rental Peugeot bound for Tignes, France, the next stop on our winter European road trip.

Still giddy from our time at the iconic resort, we didn’t consult Google Maps as closely as we should have. It navigated us east through the Mont Blanc Tunnel—a seven-mile-long feat of engineering that cuts through the massif and connects Chamonix to the neighboring ski town of Courmayeur on the Italian side. The one-way toll costs about $55. Baffled but believing in Google Maps, we continued to follow the directions and enjoyed the finest of scenic drives for another 30 minutes. Then the cobbled streets turned into a one-lane dirt road that soon dead-ended at a snowbank, with skiers cruising atop it.

There was nothing to do but turn around and try a different route, which, of course, directed us back through the tunnel (forcing us to pay again) and added several hours to a long day. But it made for a good story afterward. —Megan Michelson

3. Pack Back-Up Meds in Case You Get Sick

I habitually get sick in foreign countries. I’ve suffered numerous bouts of strep throat while visiting family in Sweden, food poisoning on a rural train in northern India, and came down with scarlet fever on a five-day backpacking trip in the remote Alaskan bush. That last trip was a turning point for me. I now always carry antibiotics with me when I travel. —Emily Pennington

4. Why Overpreparing Isn’t a Bad Idea

I was invited to Nepal in 2003 to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the first ascent of Mount Everest. I signed up for a 30-day trip with an outfitter that took the scenic route from the steamy jungle up over a series of very high passes, including 19,100-foot Amphu Labtsa La, and back down into Tengboche, the original base camp for the 1953 climb, which was hosting a big celebration.

The trek was absolutely stunning and supremely remote. It was also nerve-wracking. Every day we had reports that Maoists were going to intercept us. That never happened, but incompetence among some in our own group proved to be far more dangerous.

The crux of the trip was an almost impossible ask: we had to summit a “minor” 17,000-foot pass, cross an ice field, and then get both up and down Amphu Labsta La— all in a day.

I was toward the front of the group when I reached the top of Amphu Labsta La in the afternoon and took a gander at the descent. What I saw terrified me: a 50-degree slope of solid blue ice running at least 400 feet. Getting everyone down was going to be a huge ordeal, since not everyone could rappel on their own.

We ended up having to sleep atop the pass for two nights. Because much of the clients’ gear had been lowered with the porters after the initial night (everyone thought the full group would have rappelled down that day), we found ourselves stranded atop the peak with insufficient equipment. A quick tally revealed we had just three tents, three sleeping bags, and two sleeping pads for 11 people. Four of us piled into my three-person tent, and I spread my sleeping bag as best as I could over us. I didn’t sleep at all, just shivered and prayed a storm wouldn’t roll in. At first light, exhausted and pissed off at how miserable I’d been, I packed up, clipped into the rope down the pass, and rappelled myself, not waiting for anyone to lower me. You can bet I partied my ass off when we finally got to Tengboche. —Tim Neville

6. Bugged Out

Failing to zip my backpack after sleeping outside in the jungle of Panama had me toting not one, not two, but three massive (and I mean massive) cockroaches with me back to the Panama City hotel where I stayed the night at before my flight home. Between the surprise discovery and the aftermath of dealing with them, I got zero sleep and am still haunted to this day. —Stephanie Vermillion

7. Renting a Car in a Foreign Country Can Come with Pricey Curveballs

In 2019, my wife and I bought cheap tickets to Milan, rented a Fiat, and road-tripped through northern Italy. It was thrilling to speed on the mountainous highways and cruise through quaint villages via winding roads that topped out on ridgelines with views of the Mediterranean below. Because it was spring, there were few tourists, so we’d simply park, walk around visiting a plaza or ancient buildings and churches, and continue on. It was all perfect—until we got home.

On a monthly basis, I started getting fines in the mail—for improper parking, speeding, and driving in restricted residential areas without the requisite permit. At first I thought this was a mistake. Then I realized that every fine was in the place we’d visited that day.

After paying hundreds of Euros in penalties, I swore off ever traveling to Italy again. I took to retelling the story of my travails to any Italian who would listen, only to discover this is a common occurrence. One Italian told me that when he returns home, he borrows his mom’s car, breaks countless rules, and racks up ticket after ticket.

My stance on Italy has since softened, but I still get occasional fines in the mail. I refuse to pay them and try to view them as mementos of one of the best trips of my life. —Ryan Krogh

8. Start Earlier than You Think You Need To

Lesson one: Don’t underestimate the approach to a backcountry cabin. My friends and I had booked the Eiseman, a popular Tenth Mountain Division hut in the Gore Range outside Vail, Colorado, and getting there required a six-mile ski tour with nearly 3,000 feet of elevation gain. No problem, we thought. We were a hardy crew of experienced backcountry skiers.

What we didn’t consider was that April’s warming temperatures had turned the snowpack to mush. Combined with a later than expected afternoon departure, the soft, sticky snow glommed to our skins, making travel considerably slow and challenging.

Lesson two: Less is more in the backcountry. We naively stuffed our packs with margarita fixings, avocados, jars of salsa, a foam roller. Needless to say, the ski in took twice as long as expected—we didn’t get to the hut until after dark—and half our crew ended up dropping gear there and returning to lighten the load of the slower folks. We were a total junk show. That said, the taco party sure was fun. â€Äâ.ČŃ.

9. The Pitfalls of an Undocumented Pilgrim

When I thru-hiked Spain’s Camino de Santiago, I carried the obligatory pilgrim’s passport—a thin leaflet littered with official stamps, tucked in a protective plastic bag. It proved I’d walked what amounted to nearly a marathon a day, and it was also my ticket into cheap albergues: glorified hostels reserved solely for pilgrims, where I could soak my feet, thread blisters, rinse my clothes, and crash hard before rising to repeat it all again.

But one day near the end of the trek, in Galicia, a massive storm rolled in while I was eating a sandwich on the side of the road. I hastily repacked my gear and booked the remaining four miles to the nearest town. When I arrived at the albergue that evening, soaking wet and exhausted, I couldn’t find my pilgrim’s passport, and no pleading with the check-in lady in Spanish would persuade her to give me a bunk without it.

So I retraced my steps, blisters bursting, leg muscles screaming, my head hammered by hail, until I found it blown up against a fence near where I’d stopped for lunch. I never misplaced that passport again. —Patty Hodapp

10. A Different Kind of Wildlife-Watching

Last year on an off-trail backpacking trip to Wrangell–St. Elias National Park, I learned the importance of carrying two to three days of extra food in Alaska. My group was dropped off by a bush plane for a five-day expedition and halfway through the trip, an adolescent grizzly bear ran off with one of our bear cans packed with food. We had to ration supplies for our remaining time, but fortunately, our resourceful guide cobbled together some pretty creative and delicious meals for the final two days. â€Ì§.±Ê.

11. A Case for the Carry-on

At the check-in counter for my flight to Germany, where I’d be joining friends to climb in the , I noticed that airline personnel were chatting as they tagged bags. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: Always look at the tag before your bag sails away. But I didn’t.

I arrived in Nuremberg to watch an unfamiliar duffle bag circle around on the carousel, while someone in Newfoundland was looking at mine. I was in northern Bavaria in late autumn, with no sleeping bag, tent, or puffy jacket. I did have my climbing shoes and harness in my carry-on, so I went on to a house in nearby Erlangen owned by extremely generous German climbers, who were letting some of our group occupy their basement.

When I explained my dilemma to the leading free climber (RIP and bless him forever), he shrugged, waved me toward his closet, and told me to take any of his clothes. There was only one problem: I’m five foot seven, while he was easily six foot one. I wore his stuff for two days. —Alison Osius

12. Frostbite Has Never Felt So Imminent

When I camped on the Greenland Ice Sheet two years ago, I learned the hard way to test my gear before bringing it on a trip. I brought “waterproof gloves” that actually weren’t waterproof at all. My hands were soaked and freezing within minutes of pitching my tent in a very wet, cold snowstorm. It was 14 degrees out. The next morning I had to thaw the gloves over the mess-tent cookstove. —S.V.

13. Tetotaling at Elevation

Alcohol and altitude don’t mix, a rule of thumb that took me two notable times in my life to learn. Once I flew from New York City (sea level) to Vail, Colorado, (8,239 feet) for a fun trip with a friend who was writing a story about a professional skier. The skier was going to take us all around the mountain to his favorite spots. The night before, I enjoyed two large glasses of red wine at dinner but had failed to drink much water that day. I woke up nauseous at 2 A.M., threw up for the next three hours, and missed the ski tour.

The second time I was in Chile’s Atacama Desert, located at 8,200 feet. I was staying at a gorgeous lodge with fantastic food and wine. This was a few years after Vail, and I had long forgotten that incident. So when the beautiful Chilean cabernet was served at dinner, I drank it, but I was hugging the porcelain again early the next morning. I missed an amazing hike up a volcano. Suffice it to say I now don’t drink at altitude and focus on hydrating instead. —Mary Turner

14. Tiny Things That Bite When You Least Expect It

I was working for the student newspaper at Montana State University when I got a fax announcing ridiculously low airfare to Costa Rica for spring break, so my brother, girlfriend, and I all went down there to dirtbag it for a week. We were poor, so we packed hammocks, intending to string them between trees on the beach and sleep there.

We made our way to Montezuma, on the Nicoya Peninsula, which back then had one restaurant and a few houses on sandy “streets.” It was pitch-black when we arrived at the beach, and none of us had a headlamp. My feet felt wet as we crossed what must have been a small stream slipping out of the jungle through leaves. But then the sensation changed and my legs and feet exploded in what felt like fire.

“Ants!” my brother yelled. We’d stumbled right into either a nest or a train of fire ants that proceeded to bite the piss out of our legs. There was nothing to do but strip down and race for the ocean, which we also couldn’t see. Waking up to howler monkeys and swimming the next morning made everything right. —T.±·.

The post 13 Travel Mistakes Our Writers Will Never Make Again appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Every year since 2019, The editors ofÌęBackpacker have led a trip to Nepal, an annual pilgrimage that both pays homage to the region’s soaring peaks—and chips in as the country continually heals from the tragic . This fall, we’re going back, and we’re hoping to take you with us.

So, what does this part-service, part-adventure trip look like? First, we’ll meet up in Kathmandu. You’ll get to rub shoulders with editors and fellow Backpacker readers, explore the city, and eat some incredible local food. Then, we’ll spend about a week building classrooms for a school in the village of Kakani near Kathmandu. When the work is done, it’s time to play: We’ll head out on a nine-day, beneath the ice-encrusted Himalayan peaks in the Nar Phu valley. We’ll be accompanied by Nepali guides and porters, who provide us with unique local perspective on the natural landmarks, Buddhist monasteries, and historic communities we’ll pass along the way.

While some basic fitness is required, you don’t need any serious backpacking experience (or construction know-how) to join us—just a desire to help out, do some good, and experience the adventure of a lifetime. The trip is scheduled for October 12th to 31st, and there are only four spots left. Ìę

The post Want to Join Backpacker in Nepal? We’ve Only Got Four Spots Left. appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Every year, a vast ecosystem of Nepali mountain workers helps hundreds of climbers ascend and then descend Mount Everest. In 2024, approximately 1,500 of these guides, porters, cooks, rope fixers, and expedition operators will support the 414 paying clients on the peak.

Abiral Rai, 33, is one of these unsung heroes. Abiral is not Sherpa—he is from the Thulung Rai ethnic group, one of many found across Nepal’s eastern hills. He grew up in a small village in the Solukhumbu district of eastern Nepal, about a six-day walk south of Everest Base Camp. He began his career at age 18 by portering loads of rice, soda, and other supplies for the commercial trekking industry in the Khumbu Valley, and then ascended through the expedition industry’s labor force until he became a high-altitude mountain guide. In 2019 Abiral completed his certification with the International Federation of Mountain Guides Association (IFMGA).

This year, Abiral is working as a VIP guide for expedition companies Climbing The Seven Summits and TAG Nepal to help his client, a 29-year-old business owner from Singapore named Blake Li, reach the top. Abiral spoke to șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű shortly after he and Li returned from their second acclimatization rotation on Everest—a hike to higher elevations to prepare their bodies for the summit push. He gave us a glimpse of daily life on the world’s highest peak.

Day 1: Navigating the Khumbu Icefall

Midnight, Mount Everest Base Camp (17,500 feet)

Abiral wakes alone in his tent and eats a quick breakfast of porridge, boiled eggs and toast. He gives his assistant, Tenzing Sherpa, the 22-pound bag of high-altitude gear his client packed the night before. Tenzing is paid by the weight that he carries, and on this trip he has chosen to carry a double-load totaling 70 pounds. Then, Abiral stuffs a sleeping bag, climbing and safety gear, a mattress, food, and water into his pack. He and Tenzing meet Li, and the three start hiking toward the peak. This is not their summit push, but a four-day acclimatization ascent up to Camp III at 23,500 feet. It’s still dark as they head down the trail, and their headlamps light the way to the Khumbu Icefall.

2 A.M., Khumbu Icefall (18,000 ft)

Abiral and Li reach the base of the notorious Khumbu Icefall, the dangerous glacier on the peak’s southwest face that is riddled with crevasses and collapsing ice blocks. Here, they both don crampons and remove warm layers to avoid overheating and soaking themselves with sweat. Due to their ability to travel quickly together, they are among the first to reach the tricky section. Every year, the Icefall Doctors, the route fixers who focus specifically on this section, establish the ever-changing pathway through the dangerous glacier. They break the route into sectors, assigning each a number from one to five.

3:30 A.M. The Football Ground (18,300 ft)

Abiral and Li pass sectors one and two quickly, stopping just once for a drink. They encounter the first large crevasses on sector three—a massive crack in the ice that’s bridged by aluminum ladders and safety ropes. Abiral crosses the ladders first and then holds the safety lines tightly to provide more support for Li. After they complete the third sector, they reach a wide-open area of the icefall known as “the football ground.” This area is safe from collapsing ice and rockfall, so the pair rests for ten minutes.

5:45 A.M. Danger Is Everywhere (19,000 ft)

Sector four of the Icefall presents two sizable dangers: unstable snow bridges across deep crevasses, and huge seracs towering overhead. Abiral walks faster through this section to minimize their exposure to avalanches. Traveling under darkness means the air temperature is colder, and the glacier ice is more firm. This reduces but does not eliminate the risk of avalanches. Just as the sun begins to rise, they meet a group of 30 load-carrying workers and climbers waiting beneath a 150-foot tall vertical wall of blue ice. Two nylon ropes dangle down the steep face of this terrifying fifth and final sector. Progress is slow, as the workers with heavy loads must remove their backpacks, climb up the fixed ropes, and then haul their gear up behind them. After waiting for several minutes, Abiral jockeys his way onto one of the nylon ropes and uses an ascender called a “Jumar” to scale the sheer incline. Once at the top, he hammers two aluminum anchors into the ice, secures his own guide rope, and drops it down to Li. Li ascends the fixed rope while Abiral’s guide rope adds an extra level of safety.

7:15 A.M. Reaching Camp I (19,900 ft)

Past the vertical ice, the route turns into a dangerous glaciated plateau, strafed by occasional rockfall. Abiral ties a rope to Li, and the other end to himself for safety, allowing one of them to quickly stop a fall should the other fall into a crevasse. They move as quickly as possible through this section. The sun is still low in the sky as they walk into Camp I. They find their section of tents, which were set up days before by other workers on their team. Abiral unloads their personal gear and sets up sleeping bags and mattresses in the tent that he will share with Li. He then heats water on his small gas stove and they drink tea and eat the last of their trail snacks. They will spend the rest of the day here, chatting with other climbers, resting, and allowing their bodies to acclimatize to the altitude.

5:30 P.M. An Early Bedtime

Abiral and his client have spent the last ten hours resting in Camp 1: hydrating, going on short walks, talking to other climbers, and trying their best to avoid the burning sunlight. Dinnertime comes early and with little fanfare. Abiral cooks a freeze-dried meal for Li with his camp stove. He eats a large bowl of mashed potato flakes with chili powder. They retire to the tent and are asleep by 8 P.M.

DAY 2: Avoiding Rockfall in the Western Cwm

6 A.M. Sherpa Oatmeal (19,900 feet)

Abiral wakes in the dark and cooks another freeze-dried meal for his client. Then, he cooks his own food: a large helping of “tsampa,” a Sherpa staple made of roasted buckwheat flour. They get onto the trail. Even though the walk to Camp II is short—less than two miles with 1,500 feet gained in altitude—it’s safer to complete the journey early in the morning before the sun warms the glacier and triggers avalanches along the route. Abiral also prefers to walk in the cool temperatures—direct sunlight slows clients down. The same journey may take twice as long during the heat of the day, and the exposure can lead to painful sunburn. As they walk, Abiral keeps an eye open for rockfall coming off the Nuptse face to their right.

9 A.M. A Short Journey to Camp II (21,000 feet)

Abiral and his client arrive at Camp II, which resembles a small, bustling city atop a rocky outcropping. The collection of tents is located halfway up the wide and dramatic undulating valley called the Western Cwm (pronounced “coom.”) There are 300 people here, the CTSS/TAG Nepal camp alone boasting 53 people. Guides, cooks, assistants and other workers mill about busily. Abiral prepares the tent, and then he and his client rest. Around noon, they meet in the heated dining tent and enjoy lunch.

5 P.M. Speeding up the Ascent

Abiral is impressed by Li’s strength at altitude. After discussing with him, Abiral decides to skip the rest day in Camp II and to instead venture higher onto the peak the next morning. He and his client eat dinner early and then head back to their tent. They are asleep by 6:30 P.M.

Day 3: A Punishing Climb Into Thin Air

3 A.M. Departure in the Dark (21,000 feet)

Abiral eats a quick breakfast of porridge, toast, and an omelet. He packs a light bag of snacks, two liters of water, and his warmest climbing gear. Above Camp II, the terrain and the temperature demands that he and the client don a set of heavier boots, gloves, and a full down suit. They rope themselves together, leave camp at 5:30 A.M., and walk across the glaciated valley towards the looming Lhotse Face.

7:30 A.M. A Wall of Rock and Ice (21,500 ft)

After nearly two hours of walking, Abiral and Li reach the base of the Lhotse Face, an intimidating, nearly-vertical 2,000-foot wall of rock and ice leading up to Camp III. Here, the climbing requires using jumars that allow climbers to ratchet themselves up the fixed ropes. This year, heavy winter snowfall never arrived on Everest, and now the route is mostly ice and rock. The hard surface makes the climbing more difficult and increases the potential for injury or death. Loose rocks and ice tumble down the slope as Abiral and Li begin the ascent. They started their day so early so that they could be alone on the tricky section, and avoid the famous traffic jams of climbers following in their footsteps. The Lhotse Face is often where photographers snap images of hundreds of climbers standing in a queue to reach the top. Abiral knows that at this altitude, speed means safety. Li’s strength on the jumar line is an asset—on previous ascents, Abiral has had to rope himself to clients that struggled on the incline and tug them upward. But this time, he and Li ascend at the same pace.

9 A.M. Reaching Camp III (23,500 ft)

After reaching the top of the Lhotse Face, Abiral and Li follow fixed ropes across exposed terrain for another few hundred feet to reach Camp III. The jumble of tents—both standing and shredded—sit between rocks, ice, and piles of gear. A few workers are chipping away at the bare ice to make room for additional tents. Abiral snaps a few photos and eats some chocolate. But this is a brief moment of enjoyment. Peering down the Lhotse face, Abiral sees a long line of climbers, guides, and high-altitude workers beginning to ascend the steep roped section. This gaggle of ascending people will create headaches for anyone heading downhill. So, after just 15 minutes, Abiral makes the decision to head down to minimize waiting time on the ropes. They don rappelling devices and begin to descend.

11 A.M. Traffic Jam (22,500 ft)Ìę

In many places on the Lhotse Face, there is only a single rope for both ascending and descending climbers. Despite moving quickly, Abiral and Li must wait for ascending climbers to pass. They locate safe anchors on the lines for each pass—it’s a time consuming but necessary step to ensure their safety. Rappelling down the face takes only 45 minutes without traffic, but today it takes Abiral’s group nearly two hours. They return to Camp II in time for lunch at noon. At 12:15 P.M. it begins snowing heavily, depositing more than 8 inches at Camp II over the course of the afternoon. Abiral is delighted by the new powder—it will make the Lhotse Face safer when they return in a week for the summit push.

Day 4: Back to Base Camp

4 A.M. An Early Descent (21,000 ft)

Abiral wakes up in the dark and packs his high-altitude boots, gloves, and other gear into a duffel bag that will stay in Camp II until he returns for the summit push in a week or so. After a quick breakfast, he and his client rope together and set out into the fresh snow below camp. The route they followed two days ago is now gone, and they must navigate slowly and carefully, following small flags that indicate safe passage through the glaciated terrain. By 6:30 A.M. they reach Camp I, where they retrieve the filled poop bags that they stashed on the way up. They hydrate and descend into the Khumbu Icefall.

7 A.M. A Final Bottleneck (19,000 feet)

As Abiral and his client arrive at the vertical wall of ice in the Khumbu Icefall’s fifth sector, they encounter a long line of heavily-laden workers and climbers waiting to descend. They wait for 45 minutes for the traffic jam to ease, and to save time Abiral fixes his own anchor into the ice and lowers his client down the cliff using his personal guide rope. This practice gives Li an added layer of safety in the case of a fall. Abiral quickly follows, rappelling down the fixed ropes before another climbing group can get on. As they continue the descent, Abiral notices that the icefall route has already changed significantly since they climbed through only two days ago. There are new crevasses to cross and fresh ladders. In some places, the old route has disappeared into a crevasse, or been buried by falling ice. By 10:30 A.M., they reach the foot of the icefall and remove their crampons. Abiral estimates that they have passed at least 70 clients, workers, and guides since departing Camp II.

11 A.M. Safe At Home (17,500 ft)

Abiral and Li return to the relatively thick air of Base Camp, where hot drinks and lunch are waiting for them. Abiral has maintained close radio contact with the Base Camp team throughout the climb, and they know what Abiral and Li like to eat. Li downs a sandwich, boiled vegetables, fried fish and a salad. Abiral eats a giant plate of rice and lentils with chicken. After lunch, Abiral arranges laundry and a hot shower for Li. He does not schedule bathing time for himself, as he believes that showering weakens the body at extreme altitude. Abiral notices that the other clients and guides are starting to develop a slight cough from being at altitude for so long, and he doesn’t want to do anything that might weaken his immune system. He returns to his tent and video calls his wife to let her know he is safely back in Base Camp. In the afternoon, he scrolls through his latest photos, updates his Instagram, and prepares for the clients-versus-guides ping-pong tournament scheduled for the next day.

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It’s been a frustrating month for mountaineering guides who lead expeditions on Mount Everest. The laws governing climbers on the peak’s Nepali side have changed several times, leaving guides confused, anxious, and glued to the Internet awaiting future updates.

“It’s Nepal and nobody knows how the new regulations will be interpreted, implemented, and finally enforced,” said Austrian guide Lukas Furtenbach, the owner of Furtenbach șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűs, who leads Everest expeditions in Nepal.

The situation began on February 8 when the Khumbu Pasang Lhamu Rural Municipality, the governing body that, among other things, oversees the rules and regulations of Nepal’s Everest Base Camp (EBC), said that for 2024 and beyond, climbers would be required to haul their feces off of the peak and down to Base Camp via plastic WAG bags. Then, on February 14, officials with the agency released even more stringent guidelines. These rules regulated the size of square and dome tents, curtailed the use of helicopters to ferry gear to camp, prevented visitors and trekkers from sleeping in camp, and required every climber to carry down at least eight kilograms (17.6 pounds) of garbage from the mountain, among other things.

The document was laden with typos and logical holes, and some of the strict regulations on the size of tents and the helicopter transport left guides scratching their heads. Furtenbach told me that because of the statute’s vague text on tent size limitations, guides would likely just have to bring more, smaller tents. “We might see a Base Camp this year with more tents than ever because of the new regulations,” he said.

But Nepali officials weren’t finished, and February 28, they said that all climbers on Everest would be required to wear a tracking chip.ÌęThen, a week later on March 8, the governing body completely revised the rules issued on February 14, and the revisions all-but reneged on some of the rules.

“False alarm. Once again. Nepalese routine,” said Furtenbach.

When we corresponded on February 29, Furtenbach told me that Nepali officials hadn’t reached out to him or other Western operators about the new regulations—like everyone else, he had read about them online. There were several regulations that Furtenbach said did not pass his sniff test.

Among these initial strictures was a rule that forbade the use of helicopters to ferry gear to and from EBC. Instead, all tents, climbing gear, and personnel would need to be transported solely by yaks. The rule’s intention was to not only preserve nature and reduce helicopter traffic in the region, but to bolster the fading cultural practice and industry of yak herding. But Furtenbach told me that there simply aren’t enough yaks in the region to handle all of the gear.

“If this regulation is not relaxed, we will see chaos—teams not getting gear, food, and oxygen to the mountain in time,” he said. The timing of the announcement, just six weeks before the season begins, represented a major curveball for Furtenbach and other operators.

Luckily for them, the revised ruleset gives some leeway to chopper access. After the latest revision, some operators will be able to carry some logistical equipment to and from Base Camp via helicopter, but the process will beÌęsubject to a monitoring committee’s approval. However, according to the Himalayan Times, the municipality that yaks and local porters “should still be utilized for transporting climbing gear under normal circumstances.”

Regulations on tents became another point of contention when the municipality originally outlawed dining tents larger than ten square feet per person. Guides complained that this regulation essentially outlawed the tents used for mealtime and meetings. “This is an error and not practical—it barely accommodates one chair,” Dawa Steven Sherpa, a conservationist and the CEO of Asian Trekking told . This restriction has now been eased to 60 square feet for the dining tents and 80 square per personÌęfeet for sleeping quarters. While the regulations on dome tents were meant to curb luxury at EBC, the effect was negligible on big operators. “With those calculations in mind, you can use a large dome tent when you have enough members in your team,” said Furtenbach.

A no-visitor policy that would have required medical staff to purchase a separate climbing permit was also eased for guiding operations, but will remain in place for trekkers and general EBC visitors. Friends and family of climbers will now also be allowed to stay at Base Camp.

Another point of confusion was the implementation of “tracking chips,” which, in fact, are nothing more than Recco reflectors. These reflectors are often used in avalanche incidents for body recovery, as they require a bulky detector that is often carried via helicopter. “Ground-based Recco searches are not often possible, and on Everest most rescue and recovery missions are above 7,000 meters (23,000 feet), where helicopters never fly,” said Furtenbach.

Furtenbach said his company has tested all manner of sensors, trackers, and even vital-sign monitors on Everest and says each one comes with its limitations, but none so much as Recco. Most climbers on Everest who get lost do so on the summit ridge, far beyond the possibility of a Recco-guided recovery. “A better solution to the problem of climbers getting lost on the mountain would be that their guides do not leave them alone,” he says.

These new rules aren’t coming out of a vacuum. Last year tied the deadliest year on record on the world’s highest peak. “The new [Recco] rule is in response to rising casualties on Everest,” Rakesh Gurung, director at the Department of TourismÌę The Khumbu Glacier, on which EBC sits is Clearly something has got to give. But with Everest season just a few weeks away, and these rules far from being set in stone, I don’t envy operators trying to suss out planning a group expedition.

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American alpinists Jackson Marvell, Alan Rousseau, and Matt Cornell were huddled together in their tiny alpine shelter—all wrapped up in a three-man sleeping bag—when a rock ripped through the rainfly like a sniper round.

The trio was perched above 23,000 feet on the North Face of Jannu (25,295 feet), in the Kanchenjunga Himal of far eastern Nepal. They’d spent three days climbing the route, camped on an exposed fin of snow. Their tent was hanging partway off the side of their snow platform, and rock fall had peppered their tent all night. “I slept with my arm around Alan, who was in the middle, all night long, just trying to keep myself on the platform,” Marvell recalled.

Now they were looking at an eight-inch gash in the tent. “We used two locking carabiners to stitch it up,” Marvell said. “They acted kind of like fabric clamps,” Rousseau added, chuckling. “Honestly, we were amazed it worked.”

Tent-ripping rockfall was far from their only snafu. The trio’s shelter was buried in the bergschrund on approach by constant spindrift. The group was pounded by constant falling rock and ice, pushed off the face by 15 mile-per-hour winds, and struck by a collapsing snow mushroom high on the headwall, not to mention pushing through thousands of feet of extremely technical, nails-hard vertical climbing at dizzying altitudes. When Climbing spoke with Rousseau and Marvell, both were in a hospital in Kathmandu recovering from frostbite, but remained in high spirits.

Jannu, also known as Kumbhakarna, has been a longtime objective for all three climbers. Marvell and Rousseau made a strong attempt in 2021, reaching 23,600 feet, as did Rousseau and Cornell in 2022. In 2023 the trio was finally all together, and with help from an $8,000 AAC Cutting Edge Grant, they were knee-deep in what would become the proudest achievement of any of their careers. “Everything came together. We had the energy of our whole team, and perfect weather to do this thing,” Marvell said.

Also known as the “Wall of Shadows,” the North Face of Jannu, a sheer rampart soaring almost to the peak’s summit, has witnessed some of the most technical high-altitude climbing in history. The face was first partially climbed in 1976, by a Japanese team who angled off the face to the east ridge to avoid the final, steep headwall. 1989 saw a direct (claimed) ascent by controversial Slovenian soloist Tomo Česen, though most regard this as bunk, along with several of his other more outrageous claimed feats.

The first verified came in 2004, with a heavy aid effort by a Russian team under Alexander Odintsov. The group won a Piolet d’Or for their efforts but ignited some controversy for leaving a large amount of gear behind on the wall, as well as the “siege-style” manner of their ascent (55 days, ten climbers, an overwhelming amount of fixed ropes, and so on).

Hard Climbing at High Altitude

Rousseau, Cornell, and Marvell had an altogether different style in mind. The team traveled light and fast, carrying a small alpine shelter and two inflatable portaledge pods, bundling together in a custom-built three-person sleeping bag. “This was our first time tripling up [in a single sleeping bag],” Rousseau said. “It was awesome.”

On October 7 they set off from a camp at 15,400 feet, crossing a and climbing a somewhat technical granite buttress. “Above that, we got into an icefall, climbing through vertical seracs, making our way up onto this hanging glacier plateau,” said Rousseau. The team slept in the North Face’s bergschrund at 19,000 feet that night at the base of the steep, upper mountain.

During the night, heavy spindrift piled up around their shelter. “We got pretty pounded,” Marvell said. “It was piling up slowly, so we weren’t at risk of getting buried, but it was seriously stacking up, collapsing our tent a bit, so we had to get out and excavate in the middle of the night.”

In the morning, they climbed a “snice” (hard-frozen snow) ramp feature on the wall, traveling from 19,000 feet to almost 22,000 feet. Although the first 1,000 feet of snice was nearly vertical, it protected well with a bit of effort. The team made camp beneath a steep rock buttress.

On the third day the team ascended to 23,300 feet. “That was where the technical climbing really begins,” Rousseau said. “From that point on there was difficult mixed climbing [climbing on rock and ice with crampons and ice tools] to get established up in the headwall.”

This was the night they carabiner-stitched their tent fly, and in the morning of the fourth day the technical climbing began in earnest. Above them was all new terrain, higher than any high point they’d reached in the two prior seasons. They led the route in blocks, with each member typically tackling three to four 150-foot pitches at a time.

Though the trio covered barely 500 feet that first day on the headwall, things went smoothly. “It was really nice, we had a great window,” Marvell said. “The weather kept on opening, and we didn’t have a big rush to move fast in that terrain. We were all climbing our pitches well.” The technical mixed climbing got even more difficult, but never stymied the team.

While Cornell followed a pitch, Marvell and Rousseau were hit at the belay stance by a large snow mushroom that collapsed from an overhang high above them. The collapse, which totally buried Marvell and Rousseau, luckily missed Cornell, though he could no longer see his companions at all, enveloped in the snow. “The force of it was pretty great,” Marvell said, “and there were a lot of chunks in it, but it didn’t feel like it would’ve knocked you off the face.” That night—the team’s first hanging bivouac—they set up in the yawning cavity from which that snow fell.

“Day five was more of the same,” said Rousseau. “We started right off the bat with gnarly hard climbing on a vertical panel. Matt led a pretty impressive block of technically difficult mixed climbing that eventually got us up to where we slept at [24,600 feet] in another hanging belay.”

They’d budgeted 2,500 calories per day, but by this point, their calorie consumption had dwindled to a mere 800 to 1,000. “By the time we got high, we were really losing appetite,” Marvell said. “I wasn’t able to put down energy bars during the day.” This wasn’t just an appetite issue. Their bars and gels also kept freezing, as did their water, despite insulated bottles. “On that vertical of a face, it’s really challenging to stop, get out a stove, and brew,” Marvell said. As a result, by the time they were high on the wall, he was eating only one dehydrated meal at the end of the day, and perhaps a bar in the morning.

As anyone who has slept (or tried to sleep) at elevation can imagine, the nights grew progressively worse. “Morale was always high, but man, as we got higher, shit went down pretty rapidly,” Marvell said. Luckily the route protected quite well, and though they were incredibly sleep-deprived, the trio recalled no pitches being so unprotectable that the climbers risked injury or death in the event of a fall.

That fifth night, in particular, the group was severely fatigued. Rousseau remarked to Marvell, “I remember saying to you guys, ‘I know we have a long way to go, but I kind of feel like we just did something insane.’ And you guys sort of just nodded silently at me. Like, ‘Yeah dude
 We’re with you, but we have a long fuckin’ way to go.’ That moment really sticks out for me,” Rousseau said, laughing. “Like, we all should be so psyched right now, but we were destroyed, just hoping to survive at that point.”

The following day, their last on the route, was “deceptively hard,” said Rousseau. “We kind of wrapped around to the south side of the mountain after topping out the headwall on our side, and we thought it’d be more moderate, but it was still pretty real vertical climbing up until just a couple hundred feet shy of the summit.”

On the night of the sixth day, October 12, the team rapped down from the summit, sleeping at their last bivouac at 24,600 feet. By the end of the seventh day, they were back at their base camp.

Like Cogs in the Machine

The team christened their route—entailing nearly 9,000 feet of climbing broken up into a “metric shit-ton” of 150-foot pitches—“Round Trip Ticket.” Ultimately they used a hint of aid climbing in the form of tension traverses, but predominantly free climbed. It’s certainly the most inspired effort on Jannu to date, if not one of the most impressive Himalayan feats in recent history, and the high point of these alpinists’ careers.

That’s saying something because Marvell, Cornell, and Rousseau are no slouches. Earlier this year, the trio put up a proud (9,545 feet) with the difficult and unprotected 5,000-foot route called “Aim for the Bushes,” and last year made a of the notorious “Slovak Direct” on Denali (20,310 feet).

But those missions pale in comparison to “Round Trip Ticket,” they said. “This is definitely a couple of steps beyond anything any of us has done before,” said Rousseau, “[because of] the elevation, the fact that it’s a dead North Face with no sun, and just the days of sustained climbing at that altitude. We always thought of the North Face of Jannu as being the ultimate prize in this style of climbing. And it lived up to those expectations.” “It probably surpassed them,” added Marvell.

Teamwork was an integral part of their success on Jannu. All three agreed that the three-man group was crucial to their success, not just from a morale perspective but logistically as well. “Fewer hard leads per person, less overall weight to carry, it makes it all easier,” said Rousseau.

There was no conscious decision for any one member to specialize in any section or style of climbing, though in the past the trio has used such an approach. “This time it was just an organic thing,” said Rousseau. “We knew everybody could do everything, so in the morning, it was like, ‘Yo, who wants to tie in?’”

Climbing difficult vertical ice and mixed pitches is one thing, of course, but when you take that performance and set the stage at between 22,000 and 25,000 feet, what once was an impressive athletic endeavor becomes just as much a battle of the psyche.

“Everything starts to feel more desperate,” said Rousseau. “You have a really small margin. You can’t allow yourself to panic because you don’t have the reserves. You have to focus on efficiency. Control is the ultimate concern. Conservation of energy. We all just started feeling like cogs in the machine. We did our work, and pitch by pitch, it whittled away. Before we knew it, we were on top of the most intimidating feature we could think of.”

Each member of the climb felt this “cog in the machine” experience. Every man had his own way of describing it, but they all evinced the same almost spiritual experience on the wall. Cornell wrote on his Instagram, “Consumed by events of the climb, we lost the meaning of individuality.” In Rousseau’s words, “The key was surrendering to a super deep flow state that we all entered together.”

“What was crazy for me is that when I was leading my block, I felt fully engaged,” added Marvell. “You’re functioning at your highest capacity, and you have the team’s trust behind you. And when you’re following, it’s reversed. It’s almost like you can rest because all of your trust is in the leader.”

Perhaps sleeping in the same sleeping bag helped them enter this flow state of ultimate trust, though that remains speculation.

Buying a Round Trip Ticket

The group named their line after a comment made by Russian Sergey Kofanov in a . Kofanov and partner Valery Babanov had made an ascent of a new route on Jannu via the West Pillar (“Magic Pillar”) earlier that year.

In that piece, Kofanov remarks on the allure of the North Face. “I couldn’t tear my gaze away from [it],” he writes. “Its immensity was so mesmerizing it made me dizzy. Such a cosmic cold issued from its frozen granite walls, even when I had my back to it, I felt as if it were watching me. Perhaps someday, a pair will climb a direct route on the North Face in alpine style, but they’ll need to accept the likelihood that they’re buying themselves a one-way ticket.”

The men all noted that they dealt with some negativity from friends and loved ones during their years venturing to Jannu. The concerns may have been well-intentioned, but in reality, manifested as toxicity. “I dealt with a lot of unfortunate interactions the first couple of years I went over there,” Rousseau said, “people telling me or my wife that I wasn’t going to come back from this. So this route name was a bit of a ‘fuck you’ to those people. We came here collectively three times, and we bought three round-trip flights. We were intent on coming back every time.”

“There’s so much talk in the alpine climbing world that if you want to climb hard, you have to accept death as a consequence,” Rousseau continued. “I think that’s true to some extent, but it’s overplayed. The over-emphasis on mortality in alpinism sets us back a bit.”

All adventure athletes have to find a balance between acceptable and unacceptable risk to practice their sport. If one errs too heavily on the side of caution, they’ll never leave home in the first place. Too far to the other side, and they won’t come back at all. Naturally, everyone draws their line in a different spot.

The Rousseau-Marvell-Cornell team believes that a big factor in their success is that all three draw their lines in nearly the same spot. They’re willing to accept a comparable amount of risk, and they analyze it in a similar way. For Marvell, the trick lies in staying rational. “If you let your brain tell you that it’s all bad, then that will be your experience. In 2021, we turned around pretty high on the wall because we didn’t have the window we wanted. It was disappointing, but that’s just what you do. So it never felt crazy, like we were climbing into a death trap.”

“This is the third year we’ve come to [Jannu],” Rousseau added. “We’ve become pretty strict observers of where things are falling, where avalanches are happening, and how long it takes for the route to clean. We analyze things as in-depth as we can before we launch. We pick the best window, the best forecast, and make no compromise. But once we step into it, we just climb.”

There are moments, of course, where the team had to come together and regroup, such as when the large snow release hit Marvell and Rousseau at their belay. “But once we meet and we make our call, we don’t let ourselves doubt it,” Rousseau said. “Unless the conditions change again—which you have to be open to accepting—then, man, you focus on climbing and nothing else.”

“Don’t put yourself in that doubting headspace. Just go.”

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On September 20, Chris Warner scraped the ceiling of the Earth for the fifth time this season, summiting Manaslu (26,781 feet), the eighth highest mountain in the world. The 58-year-old is now the second American to summit all fourteen 8,000-meter peaks, after renowned mountaineer Ed Viesturs completed the list in 2005. A lifelong mountaineer, Warner has contributed to the growth of climbing in the United States. The Marylander founded Earth Treks, a chain of climbing gyms that is now one of the largest in the nation.

Warner had an impressive season, taking advantage of accommodating weather windows to summit four 8,000-meter peaks in just over a month. Prior to Manaslu, Warner summited Nanga Parbat (26,660 feet), Gasherbrum II (26,362 feet), Gasherbrum I (26,510 feet), and Broad Peak (26,414 feet) between July 2 and August 4.

Manaslu has seen exceptional climbing conditions this year, a stark contrast to last year when three climbers, including the legendary Hilaree Nelson, died in various accidents. Warner reported perfect temperatures and easy travel to the true summit. His trip from camp three to the summit and back to base camp took just 13 hours.

“Over the last few years Chhiring Sherpa and I have been climbing together, we’ve practiced this style of super fast ascents and descents, taking advantage of weather windows and our fitness to pull off big objectives,” said Warner, whose passion for climbing borders on religious. “Not sure it can be proven but just maybe it is my background as a Catholic school kid and altar boy and Chhiring’s years at a monastery in India that ‘inspires’ us,” he says.

This astonishing season is one for the record books in the Himalaya and Karakoram. Earlier this summer, Kristin Harila of Norway busted the speed record for the 14 peaks by more than three months, completing the feat in just 92 days. Her record was met with some controversy, as her team used helicopters to stock many of the upper camps on Manaslu before her summit push.

“I’ve been climbing in the Himalaya since 1989, and so much has changed. But for the better: the mindset of what is possible is so much better now,” Warner says. “Based on my recent experience, we’ve held ourselves back. Just as the trail running crowd has transformed the outdoor world, I’ve learned so much from climbers like Nims and Kristen Harila.”

Known for bold ascents in his 24-year quest to climb every 8,000er, Warner was the first American to solo any 8,000-meter peak. In 2001, he had planned to climb Shishapangma via the Polish-Swiss route, but pivoted due to poor conditions. Instead, he chose to climb a variation of the British descent route from the peak. He climbed alpine style, carrying just a light pack. “Unroped and 1,000 feet up the 60-degree face, I broke an ice axe (sic), shearing the bolt and rendered it useless,” said Warner in a He rappelled down the face and regrouped for an attempt four days later. Warner reached the summit after climbing 7,000 vertical feet of steep rock and ice. By the time he got back to his tent at advanced base camp, he’d been pushing for 34 hours straight, all alone.

During an ill-fated Everest attempt in 2003, Warner and his team–who were mostly contestants in a reality TV show Warner was hosting–mounted a heroic rescue effort when a number of parties attempted to summit in marginal conditions and were caught in the Death Zone, above 25,000 feet the risk for cerebral and pulmonary edema skyrockets, after dark. Warner led the rescue and helped get every climber out alive even though he was during his efforts.

Unlike Viesturs, who climbed every 8,000er without supplemental oxygen, Warner carried bottled oxygen to reduce his exposure to risk on Manaslu. According to Exporersweb.com, Warner has always been forthright about his current style, well-supported and with supplementary O2. “Now I don’t have to worry about anything other than enjoying the mountains, and I am having a blast,” he told the online title. In 2007, however, Warner accomplished his summit of K2 (28,261 feet) in alpine style without oxygen or the help of Sherpas. But since that K2 ascent, Warner has pivoted from daring alpine-style ascents, and is content to climb “just for the fun of it,” he says.

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Any number of concerns are on our radar as we plan our next trip, from serious issues like how destinations are working to mitigate tourists’ environmental impact to inconveniences like months-long passport wait times. In this column, our travel expert addresses your questions about how to navigate the world.

I’m going to Mexico City and have heard that the food scene is incredible. But a friend of mine just went there and got a parasite, and she thinks it came from a meal at a food truck. I’m an adventurous eater, but I want to avoid getting sick. How can I protect myself when I’m traveling and eating out all the time? —A Queasy Foodie

Whether you’re having carnitas from a roadside taco standÌęin MexicoÌęor dumplings from a teahouse in Nepal, experiencing local food culture is one of the joys of travel, as it sounds like you well know. But contracting a foodborne illness far from home can be traumatic, dulling even the most adventurous palates and even scaring travelers from returning to a destination.

When Anne Driscoll told friends that she and her family would be visiting Punta Mita, Mexico, she received unanimous advice: be wary of what you eat and drink. At least a halfÌędozen friends who had already traveled to the small Pacific-coast surf town had experienced gastro disasters. Forewarned, she took every precaution, from increasing her normal probiotic doses before theÌętrip to avoiding fresh produce while there and only drinking bottled water throughout her stay. However, theÌęentire family still gotÌęextremely ill. “It was catastrophic,” she says. “I was violently expelling the contents of my stomach through both ends.”

Driscoll was the first to fall ill. She thinks a hamburger she ate at the resort restaurant might have been the culprit. SheÌęassumed it would be harmless if cooked well-done. Her husband and two teenage daughters relaxed their guardÌęthe final day of vacation and had ice in their drinks. The ice potentially could have caused the 24 hours of intestinal agony that, unfortunately, overlapped with their flights home to New Mexico. “They used up all the barf bags on the plane, and my youngest got sick in four different places throughout the Dallas airport,” she says. Driscoll has no plans to return to Mexico anytime soon. “I know it’s not logical, but the experience was so bad that I can’t imagine going back and risking it again,” she says.

Each year one in six Americans comesÌędown with food-related illnesses caused by bacteria, viruses, or parasites. Some countries, like Mexico, have a reputation for felling travelers with gastrointestinal bugs (who hasn’t heard of Montezuma’s revenge?). Developing countries, especially ones with humid climates where bacteria breed more easily, tend to be dicier, says Dr. Kyle Staller, director of the Gastrointestinal Motility Laboratory at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. “But you can get sick from contaminated water or an improperly handled burger patty anywhere in the world, including the U.S.,” he adds.

Causes of GI Distress

Food-related illnesses are caused by , including salmonella,ÌęE. coli, norovirus, and giardia. They often fester on raw or undercooked meat, raw vegetables, food stored at unsafe temperatures, or food prepared in an unsanitary manner or with contaminated water.

“Don’t drink the water” is a common travel precaution, especially when visiting third-world countries. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, more than 180 countries, including popular vacation spots like Mexico, Thailand, and Belize, have tap water considered unsafe for consumption. Even if it is potable, drinking waterÌęin a far-flung locale can still cause GI distress, cautions Dr. Lynne Ahn, an integrative gastroenterologist in Boston. “Everyone’s gut biome is unique,” she explains. “If the mineral or salt content of the water in a destination is different from what you’re used to at home, you could experience discomfort or worse.”

Traveler’s diarrhea is a common illness, affecting between 30 percent and 70 percent of people on the road, according to the CDC. Depending on the bacteria, parasite, or virus, you could end up suffering a few hours or even a week, and experience vomiting, stomach cramps, body aches, and a fever. People who have irritable bowel syndrome or a compromised immune system are often at greater risk of more serious side effects,Ìęsays Staller.

Best Practices

No one wants to spend vacation sitting on or hovering over a toilet. A good rule of thumb is to drink filtered or bottled water (although try to avoid single-use plastics, opting instead for glass bottles or cans) when traveling to a destination with questionable water quality. Ahn also recommends making sure all beverages arrive sealed, and wiping off the container before taking a sip. Even small quantities of dirty water can have serious repercussions, so it’s smart to avoid ice and use filtered or bottled water to brush your teeth, she says.

If you really want to play it safe, stick to familiar foods, says Kendra Weekley, a gastrointestinal specialist at the Cleveland Clinic. Different diets create different gut flora, which is why locals in Kerala, India, are able to handle a fiery curry but that same dish, even if the ingredients are uncontaminated, may leave anÌęAmerican traveler with an upset stomach. In high-risk gastro-disaster destinations like India and Nepal, travelers may find it’s wise to carryÌęa stash of snacks like protein bars and instant oatmeal, especially if they’re undertaking an adventure like trekking or mountaineering.

Unfortunately for healthy eaters and vegetarians, fresh, unprocessed, and highly nutritious foods like vegetables and fruits will most likely get you sick in a country without rigorous sanitation standards, says Staller, who advises avoiding lettuce as well as produce that doesn’t have peelable skin. And like at home, travelers should be wary of raw and undercooked seafood and meat, he adds.

If you’ve been justifying an extra glass of cabernet or vodka and soda, thinking it can help ward off germs, think again. While some studies have suggested that drinking alcohol with a meal can reduce the chance of food poisoning, due to increased acidic content in the stomach, Staller says alcohol cannot kill foodborne pathogens and will most likely just leave you dehydrated.

Where You Can Safely Eat

It may sound like you have to live off packaged snacks, but avoiding gastro issues doesn’t necessarily mean sacrificing culinary pleasures. Food is one of the best vehicles to explore a culture and can typically be enjoyed without incident if you take proper precautions, says Staller.

In general, eating from street-food vendors is riskier than dining at a restaurant. That’s because in many developing countries, hawker carts and food trucks aren’t held to the same food-safety standards. If you do choose to eat street food, however, try to catchÌęa glimpse of the preparation area. Does the kitchen look clean? Are food handlers wearing gloves? Are raw meat and raw vegetables beingÌęhandled separately to prevent crossÌęcontamination?

A long line is often a sign of good quality, says Staller. This tenet applies to restaurants, too. “When there’s a high degree of turnover with diners, ingredients are being used versus sitting in a refrigerator that might have an unreliable power supply,” he says. Foods left out for long periods, especially in humid environments, are more likely to put the eater at risk of developing food poisoning. Which is why experts always suggest skipping the buffet.

Ed and Christy Rossi learned this lesson the hard way on a trip to Marrakech, Morocco. The weeklong conference they attended provided a daily lunch buffet, with dishes heated by warming trays and salads kept fresh with misters. But it wasn’t long beforeÌęthe couple succumbed to vomiting and bloody diarrhea. “I thought we were dying,” recalls Ed. Upon returning home to Colorado,Ìęthey immediately went to their doctor for antibiotics and discovered they’d contracted shigella, a gastro superbug. The experience hasn’t prevented them from returning to Morocco, but they’ve sworn off buffets in general.

Avoiding fresh fruits and vegetables extends to condiments, something even cautious eaters may overlook, says Staller. A bowl of salsa looks inviting when you’re noshing nachos, but anything made from raw vegetables or fruits can be trouble. And it doesn’t hurt to wipe off the opening of that bottle of hot sauce or ketchup before use.

Preventative Measures

Some evidence suggests that taking probiotics two weeks prior to travel, and while traveling, can reduce the rate of traveler’s diarrhea, says WeekleyÌęof the Cleveland Clinic. However, different strains of “good” bacteria affect people differently, so find what works for you and take an effective dose (ask your doctor or pharmacist). Side effects can include bloating or gas. If the thought of getting sick is causing you stress, probiotic pills are a low-risk, potentially high-reward precaution, she says.

But also: travel anxiety can often unsettle your stomach before you even reach your destination.ÌęSays Weekley, “If your mind is stressing over packing and getting to the airport, your gut will feel it.”ÌęBreathing techniques and free meditation apps like Breethe or Headspace can help calm your nervous system ahead of travel or while on the plane.

And be sure to stay hydrated on the flight. “People don’t want to get up to use the bathroom and end up dehydrated and constipated,” says Weekley. If you’re prone to getting backed up from flying or an atypical diet, she suggests traveling with soluble fiber supplements or a stool softener like MiraLax.

Staller regularly works in developing countries and says he has a tendencyÌęto suffer from GI problems. His go-to? That tried-and-true recommendation: Barbie-pink Pepto Bismol. A of students traveling to Mexico showed that those who took two tablets of Pepto BismolÌęfour times a day were 60 percent less likely to experience traveler’s diarrhea. Staller says that’s his regimen the minute he hits the ground and throughout a trip. He notes, though, that Pepto Bismol’s active ingredient, bismuth subsalicylate, can cause alarming but harmless symptoms such as black stools or a black tongue.

What to Do if You Get Sick

If you contract a foodborne illness, symptoms such as stomach cramps, chills, vomiting, and diarrhea typically start within hours but can also occur several days after ingestingÌętainted food or drink. When you’re ill, your body tendsÌęto lose a lot of liquid, so staying hydrated is crucial. “It’s often dehydration that makes you feel more sick,” says Staller. He recommends traveling with oral rehydration salts, which are absorbed more effectively by the body than water alone. “It’s like the equivalent of an IV,” he says.

Traveler’s diarrhea is largely resistant to antibiotics, he says, so your best plan is to be close to a bathroom, stay hydrated, and ride it out. If you have severe symptoms, like a fever or blood in your stool, seek out medical care.

If you’re an omnivore and an intrepid traveler, chances are you’ll be hit with a gastro catastrophe at some point in your journeys. Often disaster strikes when you let your guard down or simply don’t trust your gut. I tend to have a stomach of steel. TheÌętwo times I have gotten food poisoning I questioned what I was consuming yetÌęproceeded anyway to be polite to my hosts. All it took was the smallest sip of a lassi that had been sitting out in the sun in Varanasi, India, and a tiny bite of goat stew in the Omo Valley of Ethiopia to cause me 24 hours of anguish. Lesson learned: table manners don’t always apply on the road.

Have a question of your own? Drop us a line at Traveladvice@outsideinc.com.Ìę

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű correspondent Jen Murphy became an omnivore after an eight-year stint working at Food and Wine magazine. She’s since eaten everything from guinea pig to grasshoppers to fried cod sperm sacs and has remarkably only been hit with two major gastro disasters in all of her world travels.Ìę

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The merits of hut-to-hut hiking are many: it’s one of the most accessible ways to tackle a multiday outdoor adventure, offers the benefits of backcountry camping—crowd-free sunrise vistas, deep wilderness immersion, and long, glorious days on the trail—and promises the creature comforts of home, notably running water, toilet facilities and a warm, dry place to sleep.

While the U.S. has several well-known and well-regarded hut systems, I’ve hiked a handful of the world’s most famous hut-to-hut trails and can tell you that some trekking systems abroad are worth traveling for. Here are the most stunning, with accommodations that range from rustic guesthouses run by locals to high-altitude refugios to backcountry bunkhouses set amid scenery that will soothe your soul. One thing’s for certain—every one of these 13 trips is a bucket-list-worthy escape.

Laugavegur Trail, Iceland

Length: 33.6 miles
Terminus: °ŐłóĂł°ùČőłŸĂ¶°ù°ì
Best time to go: July to August
Days to complete: 5 to 6

Starting with the splotchy rhyolite mountains of Landmannalaugar, as colorful as an artist’s paint palette, Iceland’s fabled doesn’t slouch on the scenery for the entire route southward. The trail, only open mid-June through September—and even then you’ll encounter snowfields—traverses volcanic moonscape slopes freckled with obsidian and plunges into deep green valleys filled with mirror-clear tarns. Because its otherworldly landscapes and jaw-dropping beauty attract the masses, the five (from $80) tend to book up to six months in advance, though hikers may elect to bring their own tent and camp near each hut for free. Want to trek with a guide or explore farther off the beaten path? arranges a Hidden Trails itinerary each summer that tacks on several obscure lakes and waterfalls to this famous hike (from $3,475).

Overland Track, Tasmania

Length: 40.4 miles
Termini: Ronny Creek (north) and Narcissus Hut at Lake St. Clair (south)
Best time to go: December to March
Days to complete: 6 to 7

Though it’s punctuated by a state-of-the-art hut system (think: mud rooms, clean kitchen spaces, and composting toilets), Tasmania’s is rugged, rooty, and rocky, even by American standards. Still, we wouldn’t let a little rain and mud stand in the way of this recommendation; the trade-off are expansive button-grass plains descending into ancient eucalyptus forests, possible encounters with adorable wallabies and wombats, sapphire alpine lakes, and the chance to set off on a class-three scramble up 5,305-foot Mount Ossa, the highest in this Australian island state. Most hikers depart from Ronny Creek and stay in a handful of huts en route to Lake St. Clair and the ferry to the St. Clair Visitor Center, though if you’re up for another 11 miles of tramping, by all means. Plan to pay a total of about $190 for . Looking for a splurge? Check out Tasmanian Walking Company’s six-day (from $2,803), which boasts privately owned huts with fireplaces, local wine, and freshly prepared meals.

Annapurna Circuit, Nepal

Length: 143 miles
Termini: Besisahar (east) to Pokhara (west)
Best time to go: March to April or October to November
Days to complete: Up to 21

The is a breathtakingly high altitude romp around the Annapurna massif, passing through some of the Himalayas’ most soul-stirring scenery as it climbs from lush forests filled with delicate butterflies and past rushing cascades to Thorung La Pass, a lung-crunching 17,769 feet above sea level. Travelers can expect to see myriad important Buddhist cultural markers, too: fluttering prayer flags, centuries-old temples, and intricate prayer wheels. Accommodations are simple and affordable: teahouses with Western-friendly menus and private-room options—just don’t expect a heater. And small villages are now connected via a dirt road that spans most of the route, so making the trek is not the remote experience it once was (and you can hop on adjacent trails to avoid the road altogether). As of April 2023, Nepal implemented a new rule stating that all trekkers must hire a licensed guide or porter to explore the country’s wilderness trails. Experienced tour companies like and offer excellent guided trips, full of history and heart (inquire for prices).

Mount Meru Trek, Tanzania

Length: 43.5 miles
Terminus: Momella Gate
Best time to go: December to February or July to October
Days to complete: 3 to 4

If you don’t have time for a full expedition up Kilimanjaro (19,340 feet), or you’re seeking an epic acclimatization hike before the big journey, Mount Meru (14,968 feet) is a fantastic option. Situated in Arusha National Park, in northern Tanzania, this brief trek boasts abundant wildlife sightings on day one (giraffes, zebras, and, if you’re lucky, elephants) before a steep ascent that affords phenomenal views of the collapsed crater and ash cone. From the summit, hikers can even enjoy panoramic vistas eastward to Kilimanjaro, often hovering above the clouds like an ethereal being. As for accommodations, expect rustic, dorm-style cabins with indoor mess halls and separate lodging for your porters. Due to the amount of wildlife, an armed ranger is required to hike with groups on the first day of this trek, so a guided trip is a must. and are both highly regarded (inquire for prices).

Kumano Kodo, Japan

Length: 43.5 miles
Termini: Tanabe (west) and Katsuura (east)
Best time to go: March to May or October to November
Days to complete: 5

The , located south of Osaka on Japan’s Kii peninsula, is a centuries-old pilgrimage route and one of only two paths of its kind to earn Unesco World Heritage status (the other is the Santiago de Compostela in Spain and France). Technically, the Kumano Kodo is not a singular route but a network of footpaths that crisscross the deeply wooded region, passing ancient Shinto shrines and temples, edging past misty waterfalls (including the tallest in the country), and wending through tiny villages. The (a.k.a. the Imperial Route) is the most popular way to explore. Skip the guided tours on this one—the Kumano Travel website is incredibly thorough and helpful with bookings—and instead plan to overnight in traditional ryokans, or inns, as you go.

Nahuel Huapi National Park Traverse, Argentina

Length: 25 miles
Termini: Villa Catedral (south) to Arroyo Lopez (north)
Best time to go: December to March
Days to complete: 4 to 5

Soaring, toothy peaks that seem to grasp at the sky, glittering azure lakes, rushing waterfalls, and refugios that resemble hobbit houses
 there’s a lot to love about this trek across Argentina’s first national park. Utilize the robust public transportation from the gateway city of San Carlos de Bariloche, and nab a night at —the only reservable hut of the four—in advance. Alternatively, you can hire a respected company like for a guided adrenaline-fueled adventure along steep, rocky ridgelines, with opportunities to rock-scramble and take in the striking views of enormous Lake Nahuel Huapi (from $1,310). Before jetting off, spend a few days luxuriating in Bariloche, surprisingly European and often touted as the Switzerland of South America.

Jotunheimen National Park Historic Route, Norway

Length: 35.4 miles
Termini: Gjendesheim (east) to Eidsbugarden (west)
Best time to go: July to early September
Days to complete: 4

For a hearty dose of towering peaks, deep-cut valleys, and crystal-clear lakes, look no further than through , often referred to as Land of the Giants. Thirty-five miles might not seem like much at first, but this trail is no walk in the park—you’ll be following in the footsteps of Norway’s mountaineering history, sometimes gaining over 3,600 feet in a day as you clamber over craggy terrain (chains are present to aid with grip on the most harrowing sections), making your way between two remote lakes once essential to accessing the region: Gjende and Bygdin. You can book the DNT huts—the video below, of Fondsbu, is just one run by the —in advance and traverse the “fairylands” of Svartdalen solo, or sign on with for a similarly supported route that’ll quench your hiker hunger with delectable included meals (from $4,800).

Tongariro Northern Circuit, New Zealand

Length: 22.4 miles
Terminus: Whakapapa Village, North Island
Best time to go: November to April
Days to complete: 3 to 4

Unlike the Tongariro Crossing (a day hike which traverses the same eponymous national park), the allows travelers to get up close and personal with the nation’s most notorious volcanic peaks, sans the crowds. The loop circumnavigates the snowcapped, charcoal-hued cone of Mount Ngauruhoe, skirting hissing steam vents, ancient lava flows, and brilliant emerald lakes. Considered one of New Zealand’s Ten Great Walks, this hike is for geology and Lord of the Rings buffs who’d love nothing more than tackling a such a boulder-strewn landscape en route to Mordor. You can opt to through the well-appointed huts (which include bunk beds with mattresses, indoor heating, kitchens, and non-flush toilets), or book a locally led trip like three-day jaunt (from $891).

The Walker’s Haute Route, France and Switzerland

Length: 108 to 141 miles (depending on the route)
Termini: Chamonix, France (west) and Zermatt, Switzerland (east)
Best time to go: Mid-July to mid-September
Days to complete: 10 to 14

Sure, this one winds up on virtually every best-of hiking list on the planet, but if you take a second to Google a few snapshots of the gobsmacking glacially carved valleys, fields full of crocus and blue bugle, and steep summits that jut skyward like granitic witches’ hats, you’ll quickly see why. The (not to be confused with the similarly named ) passes below the summits of ten of the twelve highest peaks in the Alps. You’ll alternate between staying in well-appointed mountain huts and quaint European villages, indulging in fresh pastries and local cheeses between leg-burning ascents. Huts book up well in advance (and require a for booking), or just let an experienced company like or do all the hard work and logistics, while you focus on the scenery (from $6,195 and $3,616, respectively).

Sunshine Coast Trail, Canada

Length: 111.8 miles
Termini: Sarah Point on Desolation Sound (north) to Saltery Bay (south)
Best time to go: June to September
Days to complete: 9 to 10

Often lauded as our northern neighbor’s best, least commercialized, and longest hut-to-hut trek, the meanders across the British Columbia seashore, terminating some 90 miles north of Vancouver. The journey is a bucket-list adventure for forest bathers and ocean lovers alike, with wonderful opportunities to spot wolves, deer, raccoons, grizzlies, and elk, not to mention pick plentiful blackberries and salmonberries in late summer. Fourteen (with another slated to open next year) are set along the route, and the provides loads of how-to info it you’d prefer to go it alone. Another possibility is a guided partial trek with (from $1,340).

The O Circuit, Chile

Length: 85 miles
Terminus: Torres del Paine National Park’s Laguna Amarga Entrance
Best time to go: November to March
Days to complete: 11

As one of the premier treks in South America, southern Chile’s O Circuit is a show-stopping option for mountain-loving backpackers who want to put in the big miles when the U.S. is knee-deep in winter. Longer (and more secluded) than its more famous cousin to the south, the , the O Circuit includes the aforementioned route, plus dozens of off-the-beaten-path miles skirting the northern expanse of Torres del Paine National Park. Purchase your online in advance, then plan to get to your refugio (see the sites managed by and ) or camping spot as early as possible, as this trip is incredibly popular. Wildland Trekking offers , if that’s your preference ($5,900).

Triglav National Park Traverse, Slovenia Mountain Trail, Slovenia

Length: 27 miles
Termini: Vrsic Pass (north)Ìęto Lake Bohinj (south)
Best time to go: June to September
Days to complete: 4

It seems like the Julian Alps have been on the tip of every travel writer’s tongue ever since the Juliana Trail made its debut back in 2020. But if you’d rather not blow all your vacation time hiking the full 168 miles through this scenic landscape, through Triglav National Park will give you a taste of the best stuff. Book hut reservations for , , and in advance, then get ready to traipse across craggy ridgelines, limestone escarpments, and peacock-green tarns. If arranging the trek yourself sounds like too much of a headache (and the language barrier can be intimidating), offers a similar itinerary, with an optional add-on to summit 9,396-foot Mount Triglav, the highest in Slovenia ($430).

Sneffels Traverse, Colorado

Length: 29.4 miles
Termini: Telluride (south) and Ouray (northeast)
Best time to go: July to September
Days to complete: 5

The U.S. is home to several well-regarded hut systems, but one stands out above the rest: the . Run by the in the (you guessed it) glorious San Juan Mountains of western Colorado, this route begins at 10,676-foot Last Dollar Pass, above the iconic ski town of Telluride, and meanders between four diminutive, eight-person bunk-style cabins on its way to the gold-rush town of Ouray. Due to its popularity, hikers ($275, including return-shuttle service) through the hut system between June 1 and October 15. Expect eye-catching meadows of purple lupine, serrated sky-high peaks, and verdant forests of aspen and pine along the way.

Emily Pennington has now trekked on every continent, including hundreds of nights spent on the trail in the United States. For big adventures, she recommends bringing a Kula Cloth and a clip-on carabiner mug.

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A team of climbers, mountain guides, and helicopter pilots in Nepal is celebrating after pulling off one of the most improbable Himalayan rescues in recent memory. On Thursday, April 20, the group located missing Indian mountaineer at the bottom of a deep crevasse on the slopes of 26,545-foot Annapurna. Maloo, 34, had been stuck in the pit for nearly three days.

The group erected a system of ropes and pulleys and hoisted Maloo from the ice onto a slope prone to avalanches, before loading him into a helicopter bound for a nearby hospital. The latest say that Maloo is in critical condition at a facility in Kathmandu—but he is alive.

Video of the harrowing rescue circulated on Instagram Thursday afternoon, showing the climbers navigating the narrow pocket of ice where Maloo was found. One of the pilots who ferried rescuers and supplies back and forth from the crevasse saysÌęthat the successful mission was the product of teamwork and luck.

“We were all happy and energized that everything went smoothly,” Sobit Gauchan told șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű. “We celebrated after coming back to Base Camp.”

Another reason for the celebration, Gauchan says, is that most people on the mountain had assumed that Maloo had perished in the icy tomb. “I think that is the reason few were willing to risk their life to go inside the crevasse,” he says.

A Tragic Week On the Mountain

Maloo’s disappearance on Monday, April 17, occurred amid a terrifying few days on the world’s tenth-highest peak, which is also one of the most dangerous mountains above 8,000 meters.

Over the weekend, a favorable weather window opened up and approximately 40 climbers began their push for the Annapurna summit.

But the clear conditions changed quickly, and a storm trapped multiple mountaineers high on the peak, where confusion and tragedy happened. An Irish climber named Noel Hanna, 56, died Monday night in his tent at Camp 4, at 23,300 feet, after reaching the summit without supplemental oxygen. Then, Indian mountaineer Baljee Kaur spent the night stranded on the mountainside after getting lost on the descent to the camp. Others huddled in their tents at Camps 3 and 4, unable to descend.

On Tuesday, April 18, multiple rescue helicopters flew high onto the peak to rescue survivors and to search for Kaur, who was eventually discovered and saved.

Gauchan, a pilot and instructor with the charter company Prabhu Helicopter, completed two aerial pickups from Camp 3 that day, ferrying a French climber and his Sherpa down to Base Camp. The flights were just two of 185 sorties he made during a 35-hour period.

“Everyone’s focus was on people stuck in higher camps,” Gauchan says.

As helicopters flew up again and again to save climbers, the search for Maloo was just getting started.

Maloo’s Fateful Descent

Maloo had been trying to climb the peak without supplemental oxygen, but he turned back from the summit on April 17 after feeling sick. He descended the peak alongside Brazilian climber Moeses Fiamoncini, who had also aborted his attempt just shy of the top. Fiamoncini that he was with Maloo at the time of his disappearance.

“Maloo was very weak, probably with some [acute mountain sickness], so I descended all the time some meters behind or in front of him, and so did his Sherpa. He was never alone,” .

Disaster struck when the trio descended a steep and icy cliff that required rappelling. Fiamoncini said the climbers had three ropes to choose from for the rappel, and that he went first and navigated the section safely. But when he looked up, he saw that Maloo had chosen a rope that was too short to reach the bottom of the cliff.

“I shouted to him, telling him to stop, to look at the rope, but he didn’t,” Fiamoncini told Explorersweb.“He fell when the rope ended, and he hit the hard ice one meter to the right of me and immediately slid down, rolling, for some more meters until he disappeared in the crevasse. I was horrified.”

Fiamoncini and the guide climbed to the mouth of the crevasse and shouted into it. He said they stayed there for “a long time,” despite the slope’s exposure to avalanches. Receiving no response, the duo eventually climbed down to Base Camp. “He never made a sound, not even when falling,” Fiamoncini told Explorersweb. “In such circumstances, I knew the possibility of finding Anurag alive was really very slim.”

News of the disaster filtered out to the media and through the mountaineering community. Maloo’s brother, Sudhir Maloo, wrote a plea to the outside world to help find the stricken climber.

“We are devastated,” he wrote on Instagram. “It feels like our worst nightmares have come true, but we cannot lose hope. We know that Anurag is out there somewhere, waiting for us. Help us find him by signing and sharing this petition.”

A Rescue In Thin Air

The rescue operation was launched by Seven Summits Treks founder Chhang Dawa Sherpa and his brother Mingma Sherpa. On Wednesday, April 19, Mingma phoned Gauchan asking about helicopter availability, and the pilot said he could be ready later that afternoon. “We have worked together in many other high-altitude rescues before,” Gauchan says. “There were no other helicopters with pilots that could go that high.”

That afternoon, Gauchan flew to the town of Dana to pick up five Sherpa rescuers, and then ferried them that evening to Base Camp. The group, which included seven rescuers, got an early start on Thursday, leaving Base Camp at around 6 A.M. to reach the site. Helicopters struggle to hover and carry loads at such high altitude, so Gauchan had to ferry just one or two climbers at a time to the crevasse. “Finding a landing spot was the challenging part for me—I’d barely touch the ground and tell the climber to jump out,” Gauchan says. “The second, third, and fourth flights all had this same kind of difficulty.”

The rescue party included Chhepal Sherpa, Chhang Dawa Sherpa, Dawa Nurbu Sherpa, Tashi Sherpa, Lakpa Sherpa, Lakpa Nurbu Sherpa, and Polish climber Adam Bielecki, who had been at Base Camp at the time of the rescue.

The crew built a rope system atop the crevasse, and then Bielecki and Tashi Sherpa descended into the pit. Bielecki told Explorersweb that he found Maloo nearly 200 feet below the surface in a pile of snow. He was still breathing.

“I was expecting to retrieve a dead body, so try to imagine my surprise when I saw that he was breathing, his eyes reacted to light, and his body shivered a little,” . “The feeling of joy that wraps you is indescribable.”

Members of the team recorded video as they hoisted Maloo through the tight chamber in the ice. It took approximately an hour to raise Maloo out of the crevasse and six hours to complete the mission. Gauchan received a call on his radio that the team had found the lost climber, and he flew from Base Camp to the rescue site, and loaded Maloo and others onto his helicopter, and returned to Base Camp.

“He was checked by some medical personnel present there, and then flown to Manipal hospital along with his younger brother and Chang Dawa onboard,” Gauchan toldÌęșÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű.

It took several hours for Gauchan to ferry the rescuers back from the crevasse to Base Camp, and luckily the group avoided avalanches while waiting. The weather had gotten bad, Gauchan says, raising the level of danger for the entire operation.

“We were the only people high up in that mountain and the previous trails were all buried due to fresh snow,” he says. “By noon, the mountain was covered up. Had we been 30 minutes late, some of the people would be stuck in higher camps, which would have taken them at least a day to find their way back.”

Recovery in Kathmandu

On Thursday, April 20, Mingma Sherpa of Seven Summit Treks posted : “After three days of being missing in a crevasse nearly 250m below, Anurag has been successfully rescued and choppered to Manipal Hospital and then Medicity Hospital in Kathmandu.” Dozens of comments on the post cheered on the rescuers for saving Maloo’s life amid the seemingly impossible circumstances.

reported that Maloo received a litany of lifesaving treatments after he was plucked from the ice. According to that report, Doctors performed CPR on him for over four hours. Emergency crews also treated him for hypothermia and then placed him on a ventilator. The most recent reports on Friday said that he is in the intensive care unit at MediCity Hospital in Kathmandu.

“Currently his blood pressure has increased and heart rate is okay, with scant urine output,” a Mediciti Hospital representative on Thursday evening.

Maloo’s survival inside the crevasse feels straight out of a Hollywood movie, and mountaineers and high-alpine specialists speculated about how he stayed alive for three days in such an inhospitable environment. Amit Chowdhury, a board member of the International Climbing and Mountaineering Federation (UIAA), “A crevasse is warmer and well protected from wind. So if he was not badly injured, it’s not unusual that he survived in a crevasse.”

The ordeal has cast a limelight on the incredible challenge of rescuing climbers in the high peaks, and the important role that helicopter pilots like Gauchan now play in saving lives when situations go wrong. It’s also vaulted Maloo onto an international stage. He is attempting to climb the world’s 14 peaks above 8,000 meters to bring attention to sustainable development and environmental protection. In December, he wrote a lengthy post .

“Unfortunately, mountains are under threat from climate change and overexploitation,” he wrote. “With the increasing global temperatures and alarming rate of warming of planet, melting of glaciers at unprecedented rates, affecting freshwater supplies downstream, and the increasing plastic waste, the mountain people face even much greater struggles to survive. This problem affects us all. We must reduce our carbon footprint and take care of these natural treasures. ”

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