In the end, the most surprising fact about this ascent is that everything went exactly according to plan. Considering this was to be my first wall (after incomplete attempts on the South Face of Washington Column and the Nose) and my first time soloing out of the gym, I thought there would be ample room for mistakes and meltdowns on the wall.

I spent four days soloing the awesome route going up the spire next to Yosemite Falls, comprising 15 pitches of mostly aid climbing (the usual grade is V 5.8 C2). I managed exactly four pitches a day, sleeping at the comfy ledges on pitches 4 (First Error), 8 (Second Error) and 12 (just below the Notch) before summitting the spire and meeting Stefan and some other friends who had rappelled from the rim, which permitted to tyrolean across instead of rappelling the whole route.

Things started on Wednesday with a first load of rack and ropes carried to the base, a pretty tough hour and a half on an exposed climber trail, with a big elevation gain and occasional third and fourth class passages. Despite the route not being very popular, I found a party of three Australians at the base, fixing the first two pitches for an early start the next day. Rather than share the ledges with them, I opted to delay my departure by one day and bivy at the base the next evening. Since the seasonal spring had, very unfortunately, dried up, I had to carry all my water, 5.5 gallons (or about 20 liters) up the approach again. I estimated my haulbag to weigh about 30kgs. As I was starting to realize, soloing is hard work more than anything else!

I set up my bivy comfortably a short way from the base, and promptly discovered two facts which would weigh heavily on my ascent: one is that the famed wind which rises every evening and howls, hurricane like, all night long, was far from a myth. The other one was that I had omitted to check the gas level for my stove, and was nearly out. I had to ration it out before the climb had even started, and barely got any sleep that night, a mixture of apprehension of the climb to come, violent winds and fear of receiving a visit from the local wildlife...

The next morning, I waited as long as I could in hopes of the wind dying down before getting up in the cold. A quick breakfast and a gear check later, there was no more procrastination possible: I had to get started. I racked up, built a good belay on the ground, set up my soloing device (the Silent Partner), double checked, triple checked and quadruple checked, then started up the short 5.7 first pitch. Setting the tone for the climb to come, my first piece was the giant #6 camalot, and my second the barely less giant #5, cams I had only placed a handful of times ever before. The pitch was easy enough, with decent holds that kept appearing in the blankest sections. Soon I was at the belay, discovering the true crux of solo climbing: you have to do it all yourself, and be extremely tidy at the belays. After each pitch, I had to rap down to the previous belay, cleaning my gear on the way, release the haulbag, clean the belay, jug back up, haul, then restack the ropes before finally being allowed to continue climbing.

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Swimming more than walking, Kristoffer was making steady progress in the fresh snow. The unclimbed ice wall was only a few meters away now. As the rope came taut, I put the camera away and started coming up, sinking a meter with each step. It was very hard work and I was entirely focused on the effort when I suddenly heard Kristoffer shout "COMING DOWN!". There was urgency in his voice, but my first thought was that it didn't make much sense. There couldn't be ice coming down yet, and the angle of the slope was too low for anything to do real damage anyway. I looked up and everything seemed normal. Then I saw it. The whole slope was moving, coming straight toward me.

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For a month in the Fall of 2010, I joined a Jagged Globe expedition to the Khumbu region of Nepal. It featured lots of trekking, some easy climbing to high Himalayan summits, sickness and exhaustion, rain, snow, wind and sunshine, new friendships and random encounters and, of course, superb landscapes among the highest mountains in the world.

Gathered in a single page for convenience are my photos of the trip. Since this is a pretty huge post, you might want instead to browse the photo essays by day entries.

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Having spent the night in Munjo, we only had a short day ahead of us to get back to Lukla. The walking was pleasant enough, even though the first hours of the morning had so many people on the trail that it looked more like a New York street than a corner of the Himalayas. At some point, we had to wait 20 minutes for a caravan of dozens of yaks and mules to pass us. In Lukla, we re-repacked and got ready for the highlight of the day, a giant party with the porters, sherpa and cook team (except a few who had already found new work and were going back up the hills). Alcohol, bad music and a newly found vigor from the lower altitude led us all to have a great time.

We caught an early flight out of Lukla the next morning and, thanks to good weather, had lovely views of the Himalayas on the way to Kathmandu. All I could think of, though, was the upcoming shower in the Summit hotel! Despite all sorts of plans to explore Kathmandu and make great photographs, I was so ill and exhausted that I spent most of my time relaxing in the very luxurious and beautiful hotel, only venturing to the chaotic Thamel for short periods of time.

And then, before we knew it, it was time to go. The airport, Delhi, Heathrow, Copenhagen... another epic 23 hours expedition, during which I apparently looked so sick that the check-in counter thought I wouldn't be medically fit to fly on the last leg of my journey!

It opened the door, dropped my bags and launched the computer to start importing photos. It was 2am, I felt awful and would need a couple of weeks to recover physically, but already, I wished I was back there, in those amazing mountains...

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So that was it, we were done. We had made all three climbing attempts and crossed the Cho La, so we had nothing left but to return to Lukla, fly to Kathmandu and go home. We were sad, of course, but at the same time, we all felt exhausted and most of us were nursing a variety of illnesses, including the infamous Khumbu cough, impossible to escape due to the amount of dust in the air. Being able to rest and get better would certainly be welcome.

Our objective for the night was the Mong La ridge, which would put us only 2 hours away from Namche the next day but made for a long day. I was still very tired from my stint the previous day and though most of the walking was downhill, I struggled to keep up and didn't really enjoy the scenery of the lovely Gokyo valley. The day ended with an hour long ascension up a steep hill, something I could definitely have done without.

The next morning saw us in Namche after a leisurely morning walk. We stopped there for a few hours, checking whether the bakeries were as good as we remembered (even better, as it turned out) and finally reached Munjo in the evening, back in the Dudh Kosi valley. The big mountains were left behind and everything was green again. The trip was almost over.

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Things went wrong from the very beginning. I got up half an hour before sunrise and was keen to get started as soon as possible since I had a pretty tight schedule to keep. Unfortunately, the kitchen was still closed and it was thus impossible to get tea or even water. After pondering for a while, I decided I couldn't afford to waste any more time and that since I would only be gone for half a day, I could tough it out. Bad mistake, of course. I don't know what I was thinking.

The walk, gently uphill on a moraine valley, was pleasant enough and the views excellent, especially with Cho Oyu looming above me and appearing so close. But by the time I reached my goal, the fifth lake, I was dehydrated and exhausted, my body not quite recovered from the previous day effort. The plan had been to scale an easy 5400m mountain to get great views, but I only managed to laboriously get to 5200 before having to give up, tired and pressed for time. Even without reaching the top, however, the views were amazing, possibly the best in the whole trip.

Returning to Gokyo was an ordeal, especially with the dry wind coming to my face. Two hours later, when I stumbled back in Gokyo, I was a mess and my voice was entirely gone. Rehydration and a short nap did me a lot of good but were no miracle. At 4pm, the entire group now reunited (minus John and Torben who had been helicoptered off to a hospital in Kathmandu in the morning) set off for a 600m ascent to the top of Gokyo Ri, a hill above the village from which the view over Everest was famous. I struggled upward for more than an hour but slowly felt my strength fade and came to the realisation that I was now digging in my body's emergency reserves and that things could get dangerous if I kept going. I finally accepted my fate and, more relieved than disappointed, headed down back to the cozy lodge.

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The Cho La pass, at 5420m of altitude, is a formidable obstacle and not to be attempted lightly in bad weather or if the rocks are too icy. Thankfully, the blue skies seemed here to stay and other trekkers had confirmed the pass was in good condition, so it was just a matter of climbing up to it, including some fun scrambling in a loose gully, then following a good track on the relatively flat glacier and finally descending all the way down to Dragnak, on the other side. It took us a bit more than 6 hours for the entire thing, taking things pretty easy. The plan for the next day was to cross the very wide glacier to Gokyo in the morning, then climb to the top of Gokyo Ri for sunset, but since I still felt strong and had ambitious plans for daytrips from Gokyo, I went straight to Gokyo with Chongba.

During the day, John had had trouble with a worsening cold, and was walking quite slowly. As I later learned, his condition rapidly deteriorated in Dragnak and he spent a horrible night with breathing troubles caused by what was now a chest infection. A rescue helicopter came for him in the morning, with Torben catching a ride as he was still feeling weak and hadn't really recovered from Pokalde.

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The last major obstacle on our itinerary was crossing the Cho La, a 5450m high altitude pass. Even though it was only 2 hours away from High Camp and we had an extra day due to not summitting Lobuje East, it was decided for logistic reasons to have a very short day and save the pass for the next day. We walked quickly back to BC and continued on a ridge below the amazing north face of Cholatse before reaching a pleasant grassy spot below the two-lodge village of Dzonghla.

Since the yaks can't cross the Cho La, we had to split our gear and take only the bare minimum with us, while most of the kit would travel back to Lukla via Dingboche, the way we had come. We spent a lazy afternoon repacking and, yes, relaxing. I also finally managed to use my rock climbing shoes for climbing some big boulders near camp. After all, 5000m high in the Himalayas is as good a place as any to start putting up new routes!

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After such a snowfall, the big question was whether the lower slabs of Lobuje would be dry enough to allow safe passage. The only way of knowing was to go up and have a look ourselves, so we kept our schedule and moved to high camp in an easy hour and a half. While we relaxed in the tents (starting to see a pattern here?), Mungo and Chyote climbed up to the slabs to take a look. When they came down, they announced the bad news: the rock was covered in verglas which would take a few days to clear. Since many moves relied on friction and had to be done in the dark, they felt it was too dangerous to take a group there and decided to abort the climb.

We were all disappointed, obviously, but after all, this is mountaineering, and you don't get to choose what the conditions are. As a consolation prize, I scrambled above the lake next to which we had established camp and witnessed yet another amazing sunset.

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Though the snowfall lasted all night, we woke up to a glorious sun and a good 20cm of fresh snow on the ground. There was no question of going anywhere that day, especially since the first part of the climb after High Camp is on unprotected slabs, which need to be snow free to be safe. We instead relaxed for the day, using up our second rest - we were still on schedule but had no more margin of error.

The pleasant day was spent taking short hikes to the nearby ridges, building snowmen, drinking tea and plotting routes up the incredibly impressive north face of Cholatse which was towering above our camp, releasing giant avalanches every half hour. I promised myself I would come back, someday, for this mountain.

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This was another fairly short day, a welcome respite with most of the group quite tired by then, simply seeing us reach the base camp of our third and last mountain, Lobuje East. We followed part of the Everest BC trail, sharing it with large crowds, before thankfully taking a less-traveled fork toward the Cho La pass, which we would cross a few days later. The bad weather we had forecasted the previous day was clearly around, with low clouds, heavy mist, high winds and a big drop in temperature, though snow waited until the afternoon to start falling. But once it did, there was no stopping it until the next morning, which actually had us concerned that the tents may collapse under the weight, leading to furious kicking from inside every half hour.

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Our 15th day on the trail was short and relaxed. We only had a few hours of mostly flat and downhill walking to reach our base at Dingboche, going through the village of Chukhung. The views were even more magnificent than usual, due partly to the high altitude clouds that came in suspiciously early. As the afternoon progressed, a giant lenticular cloud appeared above Lhotse, which left little doubt that bad weather was headed our way. This could be a major problem for both our next summit, Lobuje East, and for the high-altitude pass we would have to cross later, the Cho La.

We reached Dingboche and its now familiar lodge by lunchtime, and met again with Torben and John, who were both doing much better and were eager to get back on the trail. The afternoon was fittingly spent honing our card playing skills and finishing books.

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The ascent of Island Peak is quite straightforward, hence its popularity (it is the most climbed mountain in the whole Himalayas!). From High Camp, things start with an ascent of a rock buttress on a fairly good path, with a minimal amount of scrambling, done in the dark and with no protection. After about 2 hours, the summit of the buttress is reached on a snow platform and a hanging glacier on a small plateau is the next obstacle. It changes every year but usually features a good track and straightforward climbing around the many crevasses, and people usually rope up but don't place protection. Without too many acclimatisation problems, this takes about one hour, until the headwall is reached, a 40-50 degrees snow slope, about 80 metres high. Most commercial expeditions (including ours) will put fixed lines to the top, even though it is not very exposed and has a nice gentle snow bowl at the bottom to catch any falling climber. Finally, a few minutes of climbing on a gorgeous snow ridge will lead the happy but tired climber to the true summit, at an altitude of 6189m.

Everything went as planned for us and we mostly kept the times we were aiming for. The mountain was extremely crowded, we counted more than 70 people on the glacier and were no less than 30 standing on the (fairly small) summit at the same time, which led to some traffic jam problems on the fixed lines. This took away some of the fun of summitting my second 6000er, though the view of the now very close Lhotse-Nuptse wall was as awe-inspiring as anything I have ever seen in the mountains. Though no AMS symptoms presented themselves, this was much higher than anything we had done so far and we all struggled with various levels of exhaustion.

The descent was fast and quite pleasant in beautiful sunshine, though heavy legs and hungry stomachs soon made us dream of the comforts of Base Camp, still a couple of hours away. We reached it by mid-afternoon, tired but contented after a good day of climbing and a beautiful summit.

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As happy as I was to be in Island Peak BC, there was no way to avoid the fact that it is a bleak, cold and windy place, and everybody was glad to leave for high camp in the morning. We had actually camped in an unofficial BC, a few kilometres downhill from the normal one, which happens to be bleaker, colder, windier and overcrowded. The day was mercifully short and relaxed, taking us about three hours to reach the other BC and, from there, High Camp in a steep but short climb. High Camp, on a boulder field and without water, was not a very fun place either, a far cry from the lovely camps on Pokalde. In addition, strong winds had started in the afternoon, turning the sunny day very cold. We all retreated to our tents, preparing for the 2am wake-up call the next morning. Thankfully, my headache seemed to have gone for good, a good thing since we would be breaking the 6000m barrier a few hours later!

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Since the headache had disappeared after descending back to Pokalde BC, I thought I would be ok, but it unfortunately returned during the night, with a vengeance. Painkillers didn't touch it and it was so painful that it kept waking me up. There was no doubt: I had AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness), and I needed to go down to recover. The plan had been to go to Island Peak Base Camp right away and start climbing the mountain the following day, though there was discussion of using one of our two rest days since others were getting tired as well. For me, however, the only direction was down and, shortly after breakfast, I departed with Mungo for the small village of Pheriche, across the ridge from Dingboche, to get checked out in the health post. As soon as altitude was lost, I started feeling much better and by the time we reached Pheriche, I could only think of going back up. The two British doctors confirmed that it had been severe AMS but that there was no sign of Edema, either Cerebral or Pulmonary. Treatment was simple: rest 24 to 48h at an altitude without symptoms, then re-ascend slowly. That could only mean one thing: no Island Peak for me. It was pretty hard to come to terms with this, especially since the photos of the mountain would have been important for Jagged Globe which had sent me there, but I had had to give up summits before, and I knew it was the right thing to do. I finally accepted my fate and settled in Dingboche for 5 or 6 days of waiting.

Resting and relaxing did me a lot of good, and after a good night of sleep, I felt great, with no sign of a headache. I hiked back to Pheriche to check with the doctors and got caught up in a puppy cuddling session (there are photos of me with them, but there is no way I will put them on the internet...). As I returned to the lodge for lunch, I ran into Mungo, John and Torben. John had gotten AMS too at Island Peak BC, with additional loss of coordination which was extremely worrying, and Torben was simply exhausted. While Mungo took them to Pheriche, we agreed that 24h without symptoms was enough for a cautious attempt on Island Peak after all and, barely half an hour after having finally accepted I wouldn't get a chance to climb the mountain, I was on the way to its Base Camp!

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We woke up (with morning tea brought to the tents!) at 4am and started climbing at 5am, an hour before sunrise. By 6, the sun had reached us, and by 8 were on the top, though Chris had been too tired and had turned back earlier. The climb had been even more straightforward than usual, as there was much snow on the ground, which held the mountain together and made scrambling sections much easier. The final section was a bit exposed, so the sherpas fixed some rope (a testament to their skill in such loose rock) for us to follow safely. I soloed the last few meters ahead of the others, which gave me a very pleasant 20 minutes on the summit on my own.

By then, however, I couldn't ignore the growing headache anymore. I was still hoping it was dehydration but the suspicions of AMS were getting stronger. I descended ahead both to lose altitude and to get out of the sun but started getting weaker. The descent from high camp to base camp, normally an easy hour, took me twice as long and I was so unusually fatigued that there was concern about HACE (Cerebral Edema, which can be fatal in a few hours if no step is taken) but since I was still articulate - as much as usual, at least - coherent and hadn't lost coordination, Mungo and I decided the best course of action was to spend a night at Base Camp and see how I would feel in the morning. After resting in the afternoon and hydrating copiously, the headache receded. I thought I was out of the woods.

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Though Pokalde is a fairly short climb and a high camp not strictly necessary, it was also to be a sort of rehearsal for the two bigger mountains to come, and we wanted to have time to acclimatise properly. As a consequence, we would walk only 2 hours that day, ascending a few hundred meters to a cluster of lakes below the Kongma La pass. Still young, full of energy and stupid, I got up before sunrise and climbed to a plateau a hundred meters above camp to catch up early morning light. Unfortunately, the views proved quite disappointing, though the Nuptse-Lhotse wall, now very close, was as impressive as ever. Later, as we ascended to High Camp, I began to feel a bit more tired but still went with John and Mungo on a sidetrip to the Kongma La pass, an hour away. This is when the headache started. I put it on dehydration as it had been a very hot day and went to sleep on it. Our alarm was set for 4am. Pokalde was on.

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After a week in the mountains, it was time to move up and start climbing. Our first objective was 5806m high Pokalde, a fairly easy rock scramble which would serve mostly for acclimatisation and honing our mountaineering technique. The first step, of course, was reaching base camp, just over 5000m on the trail up to the Kongma La pass. It involved a couple of hours of easy walking up the Imja valley then a left turn in a side valley, scaling a big hill until a lovely grassy spot overlooked by the mighty looking north face of Ama Dablam. The sherpas set up fixed lines for us to practice ascending and descending, but for the most part, we just relaxed most of the afternoon, enjoying the stunning scenery!

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Day 7 was another rest day, as having reached an altitude of 4400m, we had ascended 1000m in less than two days. Still shell-shocked from the sunset of the previous evening on the ridge, I got up extra early to attend sunrise from the same position. Unfortunately, the clear weather made for less interesting cloud patterns, but seeing the early light slowly illuminate the huge south face of Lhotse was a magic experience. After breakfast, I went on a small hike on my own, trying to reach some lakes below the north face of Ama Dablam, on the other side of the valley, but not managing to find the only bridge across the river and unwilling to try and ford it, I renounced in shame after an hour and, for the third time, went back up the ridge, climbing it to its highest easy point. By the time I reached it, altitude was starting to really take its toll and I headed down after a quick nap. The rest of the day was spent relaxing, reading and playing cards with the others. We all knew that the next day, we would move into Pokalde Base Camp and finally start getting ready to climb!

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A few motivated souls, including myself, got up extra early and walked back up the hill shortly before sunrise to attend the morning prayer in the Tengboche monastery, a unique and very impressive experience as much music and seemingly elaborate ceremonies are involved, but the whole thing remains a fairly relaxed affair. Later in the day, we kept heading up the valley running along the Imja Khola river. Unfortunately, bad weather came in earlier than usual and, though no rain was involved, we walked most of the day in mist and freezing winds. Much to our despair, we couldn't see any of Ama Dablam or Island Peak when we reached our destination, the quite large village of Dingboche.

Hoping for a brief clearing in the clouds, I hiked to the top of a ridge above the village and started waiting. Soon, bits of Ama Dablam started uncovering. I was starting to get hopeful when, on a whim, I turned around and was stunned for a moment by the view: Taboche and much of the Cho La valley were in plain sight, covered in just enough clouds to add interest to the images and bathed in amazing light. After an hour, as I thought things couldn't possibly get any better, the moon rose above Makalu.

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