Pisang Peak Climbing with Annapurna Circuit Trek

Today, we dive into Kathmandu’s rich heritage with visits to UNESCO World Heritage Sites. At Swayambhunath (the Monkey Temple), we climb ancient steps flanked by prayer wheels, reaching the stupa just as morning sunlight illuminates the city below. Next, we explore Patan Durbar Square’s intricate woodcarvings and golden temples, where Newari artisans still practice centuries-old crafts.

Back in Thamel, we complete our final preparations—double-checking climbing gear, renting any missing equipment, and receiving a detailed safety briefing. A hands-on session with our climbing guide ensures we’re comfortable with harnesses, crampons, and ice axes. As dusk falls, we savor a farewell-to-civilization feast, indulging in yak steak and thukpa (noodle soup), already feeling the pull of the Himalayas calling us toward tomorrow’s journey to Dharapani.

An early start takes us out of Kathmandu’s urban sprawl and into Nepal’s lush foothills. The winding road follows the Trishuli and Marsyangdi Rivers, offering glimpses of terraced farms and roadside waterfalls. We stop for lunch at a cliffside eatery in Mugling, where gurung bread with honey fuels us for the afternoon’s dramatic ascent into the mountains.

As we climb toward Lamjung, the landscape transforms—pine forests replace rice paddies, and snow peaks appear on the horizon. The final hours to Dharapani test our patience with bumpy switchbacks, but the reward is immense: our first proper mountain village, where stone houses cling to steep slopes and the air carries the crisp scent of juniper. After checking into a cozy teahouse, we explore the cobbled streets, meeting local Manangi traders and savoring our first Tibetan bread with garlic soup, a trekking staple

Morning sunlight filters through apple orchards as we begin our first proper trekking day. The trail winds through pine-scented forests, crossing suspension bridges adorned with fluttering prayer flags. At Timang, we get our first clear view of Manaslu (8,163m), its icy summit glittering against cobalt skies—a preview of the grandeur ahead.

By afternoon, the valley narrows into a dramatic gorge where the Marsyangdi River roars through marble-lined cliffs. We spot rock faces carved with ancient Tibetan mantras as we approach Chame, the administrative capital of Manang District. A hot shower at our lodge revitalizes us before we explore the village’s natural hot springs. As dusk paints Annapurna II in alpenglow, we gather around the bukhari (wood stove), swapping stories with fellow trekkers over steaming mugs of tongba (fermented millet drink).

The morning air carries the crisp scent of pine as we leave Chame, our boots crunching on the frost-covered trail. The Marsyangdi Valley unfolds dramatically, revealing the first proper views of Annapurna II's icy flanks. We pass through apple orchards in Bhratang, where local farmers press fresh juice – a sweet, energizing break before the day's steepest climb.

As we ascend to Upper Pisang, the landscape transforms into a surreal high-altitude desert. The trail clings to sheer cliffs, revealing the medieval village of Pisang clinging to the mountainside like an ancient fortress. Our teahouse balcony offers a front-row seat to the "Dragon's Back" ridge of Pisang Peak, its imposing summit glowing crimson at sunset. Tonight, we sip sea buckthorn tea – a local remedy for altitude – while our guide explains tomorrow's acclimatization hike to prepare for the thinning air.

Morning sunlight floods our room as we wake to the rhythmic chanting from Pisang Monastery. Today's active rest day begins with a gentle hike to the hilltop Ghyaru village, where 360-degree views reward our efforts – Annapurna II, III, and IV form a glittering semicircle across the valley. The stone houses here feature intricate mani walls carved with Tibetan Buddhist mantras.

After a picnic lunch overlooking the Marsyangdi's turquoise glacial waters, we visit the 500-year-old Pisang Gompa. The resident lama demonstrates prayer wheel spinning techniques while explaining how Buddhism intertwines with local mountain culture. Back in Upper Pisang, we organize climbing gear for tomorrow's push to basecamp, testing crampons on the lodge's stone courtyard as curious yaks watch from nearby pastures.

The trail disappears today as we leave established routes behind, scrambling up moraine ridges where blue sheep tracks outnumber human footprints. Our boots sink into scree slopes that echo with the distant rumble of avalanches across the valley. By midday, we're walking on permanent snowfields, getting our first practice with ice axes on gentle slopes.

Basecamp appears like a mirage – yellow tents pitched beside a glacial tarn reflecting Pisang Peak's imposing north face. After setting up camp, our lead guide points out tomorrow's route: a series of rocky ribs leading to the high camp col. As the temperature plummets at sunset, we huddle in the mess tent for a carb-loaded dinner of Tibetan bread pizza, listening to veteran climbers share stories of legendary ascents on these very slopes.

Pre-dawn frost crystals glitter on our tents as we begin the steep climb to high camp. The thin air makes every step feel weighted, but fixed ropes on exposed sections provide reassuring security. At the "Ice School" plateau, we spend hours practicing self-arrest techniques, learning to stop falls on 40-degree slopes – drills that are equal parts exhausting and exhilarating.

High camp perches precariously on a wind-scoured ridge, the tents anchored against gusts that threaten to steal anything unsecured. As we melt snow for water, our guide points out the summit route: a serpentine line weaving between crevasses on the upper glacier. With headlamps checked and summit packs prepared, we attempt rest in the oxygen-starved altitude, knowing the 2 AM alpine start will come all too soon.

The crunch of crampons on blue ice echoes in the darkness as our rope team ascends the glacier's frozen waves. Dawn breaks during the steepest section – a 50-degree ice wall where each axe placement sends crystalline showers down the face. The final ridge narrows to a knife-edge, our boots straddling thousand-meter drops into the Annapurna Sanctuary.

Then suddenly – the summit. Prayer flags snap in the jetstream winds as we stand atop Pisang Peak, the entire Annapurna range unfurling below like a topographic map. Tears freeze on windburnt cheeks during the emotional summit rituals: placing a kata (ceremonial scarf) around the summit pole, sharing chocolate with teammates, and a silent moment remembering those who couldn't be here. The descent to basecamp feels both triumphant and bittersweet – the mountain's challenge met, but its magic now forever in our blood.

This buffer day reveals the Himalayas' unpredictable nature. As planned, we use it for extra rest at basecamp, massaging sore muscles and journaling about the summit experience. But we witness another team's failed attempt turned back by sudden whiteout conditions – a humbling reminder that these peaks dictate their own terms.

In the afternoon, we explore the lateral moraines, discovering prehistoric-looking ice formations and quartz veins glittering like buried constellations. Our guides share tales of legendary storms and miraculous rescues, emphasizing why this "extra" day is sacred in expedition planning. By evening, the weather clears enough for a farewell ceremony – leaving a puja offering of rice and incense at the glacier's edge in gratitude for safe passage.

The scent of juniper smoke greets us as we descend into Manang, where cobbled streets wind between medieval stone houses. After days in the alpine wilderness, the village feels bustling—yaks jostle past teahouses, and children in traditional chubas play near ancient stupas. We celebrate our summit success with apple pie from the famous Himalayan Cafe, its glass walls framing Annapurna III like living artwork.

At the village's altitude clinic, a visiting doctor checks our oxygen saturation, nodding approvingly at our acclimatization. The afternoon finds us soaking in the local culture—watching Tibetan monks debate scripture in the courtyard of Braga Monastery, its golden roof gleaming against the stark cliffs. As the sun sets, we join a tsampa (roasted barley flour) cooking demonstration, kneading the dough with butter tea while our guide translates stories of Manang's historic trade routes.

Morning light transforms Gangapurna Lake into a mirror, perfectly reflecting the glacier that births it. Our acclimatization hike takes us along lateral moraines littered with erratics—house-sized boulders dropped by retreating ice. At the glacier's snout, we witness climate change's stark evidence: our guide points to painted markers showing 300 meters of recession just in his lifetime.

The real magic happens when we press our ears to the ice—deep groans and pops reveal the glacier's slow movement. Local herders share a picnic of chhurpi (hard yak cheese) and wild rhubarb stalks, teaching us to spot edible high-altitude plants. Returning to Manang, we visit a women's cooperative producing yarsagumba (Himalayan viagra) handicrafts, their intricate embroidery depicting the very peaks we've climbed.

The trail climbs steadily past the last stands of dwarf juniper, entering a windswept plateau where only the hardiest grasses survive. Blue sheep blend perfectly with the slate cliffs—we spot them only when they move, their curved horns silhouetted against the sky. At Ledar, an elderly ama (grandmother) invites us into her seasonal yak herding hut, serving salty butter tea in wooden bowls worn smooth by generations.

Yak Kharka ("yak pasture") lives up to its name—the entire hillside vibrates with the deep bells of grazing herds. We help our crew collect dried yak dung for fuel, learning how this "brown gold" sustains high-altitude life. As temperatures plummet at dusk, we huddle around the bukhari stove listening to our guide's tales of yeti sightings in these very valleys, the flickering light making the stories feel deliciously real.

The morning's short but lung-busting climb reveals Throng Phedi's dramatic setting, a cluster of lodges clinging to the base of the pass's towering headwall. After lunch, we scout the initial switchbacks, our boots sinking into the loose scree that will challenge tomorrow's pre-dawn ascent. The lodge owner demonstrates the "Manangi rest step"- a slow, energy-saving technique perfected by centuries of salt traders crossing this pass.

At dusk, we witness a rare celestial phenomenon, a "moon halo" caused by ice crystals in the atmosphere, creating a perfect ring around the nearly full moon. Our guides interpret it as an auspicious sign for tomorrow's crossing. Later, we lay out gear by headlamp, balaclavas, down mittens, and thermoses lined up like armor for the highest challenge of our trek. Sleep comes fitfully in the thin air, each breath a conscious effort.

The crunch of frozen gravel underfoot marks our 3 AM start, headlamp beams weaving a serpentine path up the mountain's dark flank. Near the pass, altitude turns simple tasks into feats—tying a bootlace requires three attempts as numb fingers fumble. Then suddenly, the prayer flags appear through blowing snow—we've reached the highest point of our journey!

At the summit cairn, we participate in a traditional pass-crossing ritual: adding a stone to the pile, spinning the prayer wheels, and leaving a few grains of rice as an offering. The descent into Mustang reveals an entirely different world—rain-shadow deserts stretching to the Tibetan Plateau. By Muktinath's sacred temples, we scrub off weeks of grime under 108 ice-cold waterspouts, purifying body and soul after our Himalayan trials.

The Kali Gandaki Gorge whips up its famous afternoon winds as we trek through ancient villages frozen in time. At Jharkot's medieval fortress, a practicing amchi (Tibetan doctor) shows us his centuries-old medical texts, explaining how high-altitude herbs treat everything from headaches to heartbreak. The trail becomes a geological wonderland—we pocket fossils of prehistoric sea creatures from when these mountains were ocean floor.

Jomsom's airstrip appears like a mirage, its apple orchards and paved streets feeling surreal after weeks in the wilderness. We celebrate with bottles of local Marpha brandy distilled from Himalayan apples, toasting to blistered feet and expanded horizons. The evening brings a bittersweet farewell to our mountain crew—porters who carried our burdens, cooks who fueled our climbs, and guides who became family.

The Twin Otter aircraft banks sharply between Dhaulagiri and Annapurna, offering one last breathtaking panorama. Pokhara's tropical warmth feels shocking as we shed layers upon landing. At Fewa Lake, we paddle to the Tal Barahi Temple, our trek-hardened legs making light work of the pedals.

The afternoon finds us at the International Mountain Museum, where we trace our entire route on the giant relief map—the distances covered seeming impossible in retrospect. As dusk falls over Lakeside, we indulge in long-missed luxuries: proper espresso, hot stone massages, and cotton sheets that don't smell of smoke. Yet part of us already misses the simplicity of life on the trail.

The Prithvi Highway unwinds through river gorges and terraced hillsides, each switchback bringing us closer to urban chaos. Back in Thamel, we navigate the sensory overload—incense, honking taxis, and trekking shops blasting folk music. At the historic Garden of Dreams, we find unexpected tranquility, sipping lemongrass tea amid neoclassical pavilions.

Our farewell dinner features a cultural show—masked Lakhe dancers and the haunting strains of sarangi violin. As we exchange contact information with teammates, we realize no photo can capture what we've truly gained: the quiet confidence from facing mountains and ourselves, and the knowledge that some paths, once walked, forever change you.

Morning finds us packing carefully—dirty trekking boots wrapped in plastic, prayer flags folded between clothing as fragrant souvenirs. At the airport, final hugs cement bonds forged through shared struggle and wonder. As the plane lifts off, we press foreheads to the windows for a last glimpse of the snow peaks—now not just distant postcard images, but places where we laughed, bled, and discovered our best selves.

Somewhere over the Tibetan Plateau, it hits us: we didn't just climb a mountain; we let the mountains climb into us. Their lessons will unfold slowly—the patience learned from altitude's forced slowdown, the resilience built step by painful step. And though our boots may dry, part of us will forever walk those high trails where the wind carries the whispers of yetis and the laughter of sherpas.

Until next time, Himal.