Ama Dablam and Lobuche Peak Climbing

An early morning flight takes us to Lukla, where the dramatic Himalayan landscape unfolds beneath us. The short but thrilling flight offers breathtaking views before we touch down on one of the world’s most adventurous runways. After meeting our Sherpa team, we begin our trek with a gentle descent towards Phakding.

The trail follows the Dudh Koshi River, passing through lush forests and traditional Sherpa villages. We take our time, allowing our bodies to adjust to the altitude while soa

king in the serene beauty of the Khumbu region. Along the way, we cross several suspension bridges adorned with prayer flags, a reminder of the spiritual significance of these mountains.

By afternoon, we reach Phakding, a charming village where we spend our first night on the trail. The cozy teahouses provide warm hospitality, and we enjoy a hearty meal before settling in. This short trek serves as a perfect warm-up for the days ahead.

Today’s trek brings us closer to the legendary Namche Bazaar, the gateway to Everest. We follow the river before beginning a steady ascent, crossing the iconic Hillary Suspension Bridge. The climb becomes steeper, but the anticipation of reaching Namche keeps us motivated.

As we ascend, we catch our first glimpse of Everest’s mighty peak, a sight that fills us with awe. The trail winds through pine forests, and with each step, the air grows crisper. Upon reaching Namche, we’re greeted by a bustling town filled with colorful markets, cafes, and lodges.

Namche is a vital acclimatization stop, and we spend the next day here to adjust to the altitude. The vibrant atmosphere, combined with stunning mountain views, makes it a highlight of our journey. We rest well tonight, knowing the real adventure is just beginning.

Acclimatization is crucial for a safe and successful climb, so we take a well-deserved rest day in Namche. However, staying active helps with adaptation, so we embark on a short hike to the Everest View Hotel. From here, we enjoy panoramic views of Everest, Lhotse, and Ama Dablam—an unforgettable sight.

We return to Namche for lunch and spend the afternoon exploring the local market, visiting the Sherpa Culture Museum, or simply relaxing with a cup of Himalayan tea. Our guides brief us on the upcoming days, ensuring we’re mentally and physically prepared.

By evening, we gather for another delicious meal, sharing stories and excitement for the trek ahead. This day of rest strengthens our bodies for the higher altitudes awaiting us. Tomorrow, we continue towards Tengboche, home to the region’s most famous monastery.

Leaving the vibrant energy of Namche Bazaar behind, we set out on one of the most visually stunning legs of our trek. The trail unfolds like a painting, weaving through fragrant rhododendron forests and across suspension bridges draped in prayer flags that flutter in the mountain breeze. With every step, the views expand—Everest, Lhotse, and Ama Dablam rise like silent sentinels, their snow-capped peaks gleaming under the morning sun. The path descends to the Dudh Koshi River before climbing steadily toward Tengboche, testing our stamina but rewarding us with ever-grander vistas.

As we ascend, the iconic Tengboche Monastery comes into view, its golden spires and maroon-robed monks a striking contrast against the stark Himalayan backdrop. This spiritual heart of the Khumbu region exudes tranquility, and we take time to explore its intricate murals and spinning prayer wheels. If we’re lucky, we might witness the monks’ evening puja (prayer ceremony), their resonant chants blending with the whisper of wind. The monastery’s courtyard offers a front-row seat to one of the world’s most breathtaking sunsets, where the peaks glow in hues of pink and gold.

We spend the night in a cozy lodge, savoring warm ginger tea and swapping stories with fellow trekkers. The air is crisp, and the sky—unpolluted by city lights—explodes with stars, a celestial spectacle that reminds us how small we are in this vast wilderness. Tomorrow’s trek to Dingboche will take us higher, but for now, we rest, lulled by the quiet majesty of the mountains.

The morning begins with a gentle descent through a forest of birch and fir, where sunlight filters through the branches and the distant call of pheasants echoes. Crossing the Imja Khola River on a sturdy bridge, we enter a starkly beautiful alpine zone, where the vegetation thins and the landscape opens into sweeping valleys. The trail climbs gradually, revealing panoramic views of Ama Dablam’s towering face, its icy ridges resembling outstretched wings.

By midday, we reach Pangboche, the oldest permanent settlement in the region, where ancient mani walls (stone tablets carved with prayers) line the path. We pause to visit Pangboche Monastery, home to a legendary yeti scalp, and absorb the village’s timeless atmosphere. From here, the air grows thinner, and our pace slows as we ascend toward Dingboche. The final stretch winds through terraced fields of barley and potatoes, where yaks graze lazily against a backdrop of rugged peaks.

Dingboche welcomes us with its stone-walled lodges and 360-degree mountain vistas. As we sip hot lemon tea, we watch the light dance on Island Peak and Lhotse’s imposing wall. This is our first night above 4,400 meters, and we lean into the acclimatization process—hydrating, resting, and listening to our bodies. After dinner, our guide briefs us on the days ahead, emphasizing the importance of patience and mindfulness as we climb higher. The Milky Way stretches across the sky like a luminous river, a silent promise of the adventures to come.

Today is dedicated to acclimatization, but that doesn’t mean inactivity! After a leisurely breakfast, we embark on a short hike to Nagarjun Hill (5,100m), a vantage point offering jaw-dropping views of Makalu, Cho Oyu, and the serrated ridge of Ama Dablam. The climb is steep but deliberate, teaching us to move slowly and breathe deeply—a rhythm we’ll need for Lobuche Peak and beyond. At the summit, we tie prayer flags to a cairn, adding our hopes to the wind’s whispers.

Back in Dingboche, the afternoon is ours to rest and explore. Some of us wander through the village, observing how Sherpa farmers tend their hardy crops in this harsh environment. Others journal or nap, soaking in the rare luxury of downtime. Later, we gather for a workshop on high-altitude nutrition and gear checks, ensuring our crampons, ice axes, and harnesses are ready for the challenges ahead.

As dusk falls, the temperature plummets, and we retreat to the lodge’s communal dining room, where laughter and the clatter of card games fill the air. Our guide shares tales of past expeditions, and we listen with rapt attention, our anticipation growing. Tomorrow, we ascend to Lobuche, where the air grows thinner and the landscape more austere. But for now, we savor the warmth of camaraderie and the quiet strength of the mountains outside.

The trail to Lobuche is a stark reminder that we’re entering the high Himalayas—a world of rock, ice, and sky. We trek across the windswept Pheriche Valley, where the only sounds are the crunch of boots on gravel and the occasional whistle of a marmot. The path climbs steadily toward the Thukla Pass, a somber yet sacred place dotted with memorials to climbers who perished on Everest. We pause here to pay our respects, humbled by the power of these mountains.

Beyond the pass, the landscape opens into a broad, glacial moraine, and the altitude makes each step a conscious effort. The jagged peaks of Khumbutse and Lingtren loom ahead, their icy flanks glinting in the sunlight. By late afternoon, we reach Lobuche, a cluster of lodges perched on the edge of the Khumbu Glacier. The air is thin and cold, but the views of Nuptse’s towering face are worth every labored breath.

After settling into our lodge, we focus on hydration and rest, knowing that tomorrow we’ll push higher toward Lobuche Peak’s base camp. The dining room buzzes with a mix of excitement and quiet determination as trekkers from around the world share their stories. As we drift off to sleep, the wind howls outside, a reminder that we’re now in the domain of giants. The real climbing begins soon.

The crunch of crampons on glacial ice marks our transition from trekker to climber today. After an early breakfast, we don our harnesses and helmets, the weight of our mountaineering gear a tangible reminder of the challenge ahead. The trail ascends steeply through rocky moraine before giving way to the Lobuche Glacier, where we rope up for safety against hidden crevasses. Each step requires focus as we navigate the icy terrain, our breath coming in short puffs of vapor in the freezing air.

By mid-afternoon, we reach the high camp, a collection of tents perched precariously on a rocky outcrop with dizzying views of the Khumbu Valley below. The Sherpa team works tirelessly to secure our tents against the gusting winds while we organize our summit gear. At this altitude, even simple tasks like tying bootlaces become laborious, and we move with deliberate slowness to conserve energy. The sun dips behind Everest's massive bulk, plunging our camp into shadow and sending temperatures plummeting.

As we huddle in the mess tent for our summit briefing, our lead guide meticulously reviews the route, timing, and safety protocols. We check and recheck our headlamps, oxygen saturation levels, and emergency gear. The excitement is palpable but tempered by healthy respect for the mountain - we all know Lobuche East may be considered a "trekking peak," but at 6,119 meters, it demands serious mountaineering skills. We force down a high-calorie dinner before retreating to our sleeping bags, where the thin air makes rest elusive despite our exhaustion.

The 2 AM wake-up call comes as a shock to our systems. We fumble with frozen gear by headlamp light, the temperature hovering around -15°C. After a quick breakfast of porridge and hot tea, we clip into the fixed lines and begin the grueling ascent. The initial snow slope gives way to a steep rock band where we must use both hands and feet, our crampons scraping against granite. Dawn breaks as we reach the knife-edge ridge, revealing the entire Khumbu region bathed in alpenglow - a sight so magnificent it momentarily makes us forget our burning lungs.

The final summit push up the corniced snow ridge tests every ounce of our determination. The thin air (less than 50% oxygen compared to sea level) turns each step into a battle of willpower. When we finally pull ourselves onto the small summit plateau, the 360-degree panorama takes our breath away - from Everest's mighty pyramid to the shimmering turquoise lakes of the Gokyo Valley. We embrace in exhausted celebration, careful not to linger too long in the dangerously thin air.

Descending requires just as much focus as climbing, our tired legs threatening to betray us on the steep slopes. By early afternoon, we're back at high camp, where we quickly pack before continuing down to Pheriche. The dramatic descent through the Khumbu Valley feels like returning to another world as oxygen floods back into our systems. That night in Pheriche, despite our bone-deep fatigue, we sleep with the profound satisfaction of climbers who've pushed their limits and triumphed.

This buffer day serves as a humbling reminder that in the high Himalayas, human plans are always subject to the mountains' whims. Whether we're recovering from the Lobuche summit, waiting out bad weather, or helping a teammate acclimatize, this day embodies the flexibility required for safe mountaineering. For those who needed yesterday as their summit day, today becomes their victory lap. For others, it's a chance to wash trail dust from our hair in the icy stream or write postcards at the Himalayan Rescue Association clinic.

The unexpected gift of time allows for deeper connection with our team. We might visit the Pheriche bakery for apple pie (a legendary treat at 4,300m) or sit with our guides as they share stories of climbing lore. This pause also lets us mentally prepare for the even greater challenge ahead - Ama Dablam. As evening falls, we inventory our gear again, knowing the next phase of our adventure will demand everything we've got and then some.

The trail to Ama Dablam Base Camp feels like entering a mountaineering cathedral. As we round the final moraine, the mountain's iconic silhouette appears - its sweeping ridges and hanging glacier so steep it seems to defy gravity. The base camp buzzes with expedition energy, dotted with colorful tents and teams from around the world. We establish our own camp near the rushing glacial stream, the constant white noise masking any remaining city-yearning in our minds.

That evening, we review Ama Dablam's technical challenges with our guides. The route's infamous Yellow Tower, Grey Tower, and Mushroom Ridge loom large in our imaginations. As we zip into our sleeping bags, the mountain's shadow stretches across the valley, both ominous and alluring. Tomorrow's rest day comes at the perfect time - we'll need all our physical and mental reserves for what lies ahead.

The thin light of dawn filters through our tent as we wake to our first full day at Ama Dablam Base Camp. Today is for rest, but more importantly, for mental and spiritual preparation. After a hearty breakfast, we gather with our Sherpa team for a final puja ceremony at the chorten (shrine) near camp. The rhythmic chanting, the clanging of cymbals, and the sweet smell of burning juniper fill the air as the lama blesses our climbing gear—ropes, ice axes, crampons—laying them before the altar alongside offerings of rice, biscuits, and chang (Tibetan barley beer).

As the ceremony concludes, we tie prayer flags between boulders, their colorful mantras fluttering in the wind, carrying our hopes for safety and success up the mountain. The rest of the day is spent in quiet preparation—organizing gear for the higher camps, hydrating, and studying the route map one final time. Some of us take short walks to nearby viewpoints, where Ama Dablam’s imposing Southwest Face looms overhead, its famous "hanging glacier" glinting in the sunlight.

By evening, the base camp takes on a hushed, anticipatory atmosphere. Teams from around the world exchange nods and quiet words of encouragement. In our mess tent, we eat a carb-heavy meal—pasta, potatoes, dal bhat—while our lead guide goes over the climbing sequence again: "Camp I to the Yellow Tower, then the Grey Tower, then the Mushroom Ridge… take it slow, one pitch at a time." We crawl into our sleeping bags early, knowing that tomorrow, the real climb begins.

The crunch of crampons on rock wakes us before dawn. After a quick breakfast, we rope up and begin the steep climb out of base camp, traversing a loose scree slope before reaching the fixed lines. The route quickly turns technical—a mix of scrambling, short rock climbs, and exposed traverses. The infamous "Yellow Tower," a 30-meter near-vertical rock step, forces us to fully engage our climbing skills, jamming hands into cracks and trusting our footholds.

By midday, we haul ourselves onto the small platforms of Camp I, perched precariously on a rocky ledge. The Sherpa team has already set up tents, and we collapse inside, gulping down warm juice to combat dehydration. The view is both breathtaking and unnerving—below us, base camp looks like a toy village, and ahead, the route to Camp II winds up an exposed ridge of ice and rock.

The afternoon is spent resting, melting snow for water, and checking gear for tomorrow’s push. At this altitude, even boiling water takes forever, and the cold seeps into everything. As the sun sets, the temperature plummets, and we cocoon ourselves in down sleeping bags, listening to the wind howl against the tent fabric. Sleep comes in fits and starts—partly from the altitude, partly from the knowledge that tomorrow will be even harder.

Today is the most technically demanding day yet. We ascend fixed ropes up the "Grey Tower," a steep rock and ice section where every move requires absolute focus. A misstep here would mean a long, uncontrolled fall—the exposure is relentless. The Sherpas move like spiders up the wall, while we climb methodically, pausing to catch our breath in the thin air.

Above the Grey Tower, the route eases slightly onto the "Mushroom Ridge," a narrow snow arête with dizzying drops on either side. We move one at a time, clipped into the safety line, trying not to look down. The ridge seems to go on forever, but finally, we spot the tents of Camp II—a few small platforms hacked into the ice, the highest and most exposed camp on the mountain.

As we settle in, the reality of our position hits us: we are now higher than Kilimanjaro, clinging to the side of one of the most beautiful—and dangerous—peaks in the world. The sunset paints the entire Khumbu Valley in gold, but we’re too exhausted to fully appreciate it. Dinner is a quick affair—freeze-dried meals and hot tea—before we retreat into our tents. The summit push begins in just a few hours, and we need every minute of rest we can get.

The alarm screams at 1 AM. It’s -20°C inside the tent, and our breath has frozen on the walls. We fumble with headlamps, pulling on every layer we have—down suits, thick gloves, balaclavas. After forcing down some energy gel and hot tea, we clip into the fixed lines and begin the climb in total darkness, our headlamps carving small cones of light in the inky blackness.

The route is a mix of steep snow, ice, and rock. The famous "Dablam" (the hanging glacier) looms ominously to our left, its seracs creaking in the cold. As dawn breaks, we reach the final snow slope—a 50-degree incline that seems to go straight up into the sky. The altitude is brutal—every step feels like running a marathon. Some of us use supplemental oxygen now, while others push through on sheer willpower.

And then, suddenly, there’s no more "up." We crest the summit ridge and step onto the small, snow-covered peak. The world falls away in all directions—Everest, Lhotse, Makalu, and the entire Himalayan range spread out beneath us. Tears freeze on our cheeks as we hug each other, too exhausted to speak. The Sherpas tie new prayer flags to the summit pole, whispering prayers of thanks.

The descent is just as dangerous as the climb. Fatigue sets in, and we must concentrate hard to downclimb safely. By late afternoon, we stagger back into Camp II, where hot soup and warm sleeping bags await. We did it. We stood on top of Ama Dablam.

These days exist because the mountains demand flexibility. For some teams, this might mean waiting out a storm at Camp II. For others, it could be an extra day for a slower summit push. If we’ve already summited, we use this time to descend safely, retracing our steps through the Grey Tower and Yellow Tower back to base camp.

The Khumbu Valley weather is unpredictable—one moment clear skies, the next a whiteout blizzard. These buffer days ensure that no one feels rushed, that everyone has the best chance at success without unnecessary risk. If we’re lucky and the weather holds, we might even get a second summit attempt. But the mountains decide—not us.

These days exist because the mountains demand flexibility. For some teams, this might mean waiting out a storm at Camp II. For others, it could be an extra day for a slower summit push. If we’ve already summited, we use this time to descend safely, retracing our steps through the Grey Tower and Yellow Tower back to base camp.

The Khumbu Valley weather is unpredictable—one moment clear skies, the next a whiteout blizzard. These buffer days ensure that no one feels rushed, that everyone has the best chance at success without unnecessary risk. If we’re lucky and the weather holds, we might even get a second summit attempt. But the mountains decide—not us.

Leaving Camp II feels like saying goodbye to an old friend. The descent is bittersweet—we’re exhausted but triumphant, sad to be going down but relieved to be heading toward thicker air. The fixed lines feel easier now, our movements more confident after days of climbing.

By the time we reach base camp, our legs are jelly, but our spirits are soaring. The cook team greets us with cheers and steaming mugs of tea. That night, we celebrate with a feast—fresh vegetables, cake, even a bottle of rum that’s been saved for this moment. We laugh, tell stories, and stare up at Ama Dablam one last time, its summit glowing in the moonlight.

The walk out feels like a victory march. Each step takes us further from the icy heights and back into the green valleys of the Khumbu. The air is thick with oxygen, and we can’t stop smiling. In Namche, we revel in the luxuries we’d forgotten—hot showers, cold beer, and even Wi-Fi (though part of us misses the simplicity of the mountains).

The final leg of our journey is both joyful and melancholy. We cross familiar suspension bridges, pass through Phakding, and finally arrive in Lukla, where it all began. At the lodge, we share a farewell dinner with our Sherpa team, exchanging contact info and promising to stay in touch.

The Twin Otter plane ride from Lukla is just as thrilling as the first time. As Kathmandu’s chaos envelops us again, we realize how much we’ve changed. That night, we gather for a final celebration dinner, toasting to summits gained, challenges overcome, and friendships forged in the thin air of the Himalayas.

As you board your flights home, the peaks of Nepal shrink beneath the clouds. But they’ll remain with you—in your dreams, in your stories, and in the quiet knowledge that you pushed ourselves further than you thought possible.

Outward Adventure Treks doesn’t just guide you up mountains—we help you discover what you’re truly capable of.

Until the next adventure… "Namaste, and travel safe!" 🏔️🙏