Peak Views with Leanne Hughes
Updates daily from Leanne's trip to Nepal in November 2025
Hi, I’ve had quite a few people ask me how to follow my adventures in Nepal this month with the fab team from Experience Not Felt Possible, so thought I’d create one space within Work Fame.
If you’re interested, bookmark this site and check back daily. I won’t have my laptop with me, but pending internet connection, I’ll be sharing voice notes with my podcast producer. She’ll use those to produce my daily podcast, Leanne on Demand.
But if you prefer reading, an article/transcription/highlight will appear here.
Also, leave comments! I look forward to reading them when I can. You can also follow on Instagram or Strava.
But let’s rewind to the day I made the decision to do this
Packing Day: 4 November 2025: 🎒 Geeking Out Before Nepal
Today is all about packing. And when I say “all about packing,” I mean full-on, spreadsheet-level, obsessive packing. Somehow, I’ve turned the simple act of putting clothes in a bag into a major pre-trip ritual. Maybe it’s the Virgo in me. Maybe it’s the Everest Base Camp reality slowly sinking in. Either way, I’ve been researching, screenshotting, joining Facebook groups, reading gear lists — basically preparing for a mission to Mars disguised as a trek to Nepal.
I’ve never done a proper hike before, so the whole logistics of packing feels simultaneously thrilling and ridiculous. I’ve got a suitcase, a day pack, and a duffle bag that porters will carry. Clothing layers, medications, hand sanitizer, wipes — it’s a long list of tiny comforts that feel like insurance against whatever the mountains throw at me. Shoes alone have been a saga: I’ll wear trail runners most of the time, boots only if there’s snow, and yes, I’ve got ankle tape at the ready because old injuries die hard.
Then there are the little treasures that make packing feel like a mini celebration: a custom-made down sleeping bag and jacket rated for -20°C (massive win), travel pants with deep pockets, and a convertible Lululemon crossbody/bum bag that keeps my passport safe and my hands free. Base layers, thermals, waterproofs — some sourced in Australia, some waiting for me in Kathmandu.
Right now, I’m somewhere between mild panic and total excitement, imagining wearing all this gear while flying through Singapore and landing in Kathmandu. Tomorrow, the real adventure begins — and I can’t wait to start sharing the highs, lows, and everything in between. For now, it’s all about packing, planning, and savoring the build-up.
Listen to the episode:
Wednesday 5 November ✈️ Departure Day: Coffee Club Chronicles
This morning started in a blur, half excitement and half chaos. Now I’m sitting at the Coffee Club in Brisbane International Airport, catching my breath and sipping what might be the most deserved flat white of my life. It feels weird being here, honestly. I usually fly with Qantas and breeze into the lounge, but today it’s just me, a table by the window, and the hum of travellers heading everywhere. It’s cozy in a chaotic kind of way.
The lead-up to this moment has been anything but calm. I’ve been “mentally packing” for months, tossing bits and pieces into a box in the spare room, but when it came time to actually pack, it turned into full-blown Tetris. Somehow, my check-in bag weighs 17 kilograms, my carry-on about seven, and for the trek I’ll need to get it all down to ten. That doesn’t even include the sleeping bag, liner, and waterproof gear still to come. I genuinely don’t know how the maths will work. Half my weight is medicine, because let’s be real, that’s not the stuff you want to lose, even if Nepalese pharmacies apparently sell you anything without a prescription.
Chris asked me how I was feeling this morning, and the truth is I hadn’t stopped long enough to feel anything. Between last-minute work deadlines, a webinar, and a much-needed deep-tissue massage (thank you, Carlos), it’s been a sprint to the start line. Maybe once I’m on the eight-hour flight to Singapore, or during the four-hour layover before the next five-hour leg to Kathmandu, I’ll finally have the mental space to catch up with myself.
I’ve got the basics sorted: passport, US dollars for the visa, boots, credit card, and phone. Everything else, I can figure out in Nepal. Tomorrow, the tour begins, but I’m landing a day early to get my bearings, explore, and sip on all the lemon and ginger tea Kathmandu has to offer. There’s a quiet buzz in me now, a mix of nerves and wonder, knowing the next time I sit down to write, I’ll be halfway across the world.
So here’s to early flights, chaotic mornings, and the moment before everything changes. Tomorrow, the adventure begins.
Listen to the episode:
Thursday 6 November 🏔️ Arrival Day: Nostalgia at 30,000 Feet
I’ve just touched down in Kathmandu after what feels like a 48-hour blur of planes, airports, and not nearly enough sleep. Right now, I’m sitting outside a little café called Rise & Grind Coffee with a cappuccino in hand, watching the world slowly wake up. There’s something about this crisp mountain air that forces you to slow down. I’m calling it “mountain time.”
But let’s rewind to Brisbane Airport. The flight into Singapore was fantastic — smooth skies, good food, and a genuinely lovely crew. I met Tim, Benjamin, and Renée before boarding, and Benjamin cracked a line that stuck with me: “Everyone’s talking about AI taking over the world, but we still have two-prong airplane headphones.” He’s right. The world’s moving fast, yet here we are, still plugging in 1980s tech at 30,000 feet.
That little dose of nostalgia carried me through the flight. My friend Julian Ma once said, “The more change we have, the more familiarity we crave,” and it couldn’t have been truer. On the in-flight screen, Singapore Airlines had an entire “Reboots & Retakes” section: Superman, Karate Kid, The Naked Gun. I ended up watching Ace Ventura — comfort viewing at its best. Something is grounding about laughing at a movie you’ve seen a hundred times, especially when everything else in your life feels like it’s shifting.
Kathmandu Airport was… let’s just say, an experience. After landing, we waited 30 minutes just to park the plane. Then came the visa machines, three different lines, and nearly two hours before we finally made it outside. It was chaotic but strangely endearing, a reminder that we’re definitely not in Changi anymore. Things here move at their own pace, and that’s part of the charm.
By the time I reached the hotel, I was wrecked. There’s a nightclub nearby (of course), but exhaustion beat the bass. I woke up with a dull headache, probably dehydration or maybe just the come-down from sprinting toward this trip for weeks. So this morning, I did what I always do on day one in a new city: I went for a walk. Four minutes later, I found this café, and here I am, easing into Nepal one slow sip at a time.
The group I’m traveling with seems wonderful, a mix of seasoned trekkers and complete beginners and I’m excited to get to know them before the real climb begins. Later today, I’ll wander over to the Garden of Dreams, fix the hotel safe I somehow locked without setting a code (rookie move), and keep chasing that sunlight.
It’s only day one, but already I can feel the shift. From airport rush to mountain rhythm. From overdrive to stillness. Here’s to the start of it all.
Listen to the episode:
Monday 10 November 🏔️ Kathmandu Calm Before the Climb
I’m back in Kathmandu, sitting at a little café with a mango smoothie and my duffel bag half-zipped beside me. It’s Monday afternoon, the day before our trek begins, and I’m trying to soak up this strange mix of nerves and excitement.
We had our group briefing today with Matt Stewart from Experience Not Felt Possible, and it suddenly feels very real. Tomorrow we fly into Lukla, the world’s most dangerous airport, and from there we just start walking. No transfer, no easing in. You land and you hike. Wild.
I was late to the briefing, which I never am. Bianca and I had been shopping, the kind of distracted, giggly shopping where time doesn’t exist, and before we knew it, we were starving, inhaling food, and sprinting up the hill. Not the best first impression, but at least I could laugh about it. Matt was calm, reassuring, and big on safety, every decision anchored in wellbeing. That alone eased something in me. He also revealed this year’s trip theme: GOOYW (Get Out of Your Way). It hit me hard, because honestly, I know I can be my own biggest obstacle. The overthinking, the independence, the preloaded assumptions about what’ll be “hard.” Sharing rooms, no showers, altitude… all of that is in my head. The real work is stepping aside and letting the experience happen.
Bianca and I have already bonded. She’s 28, a teacher, full of energy, and knows everything about outdoor gear. We spent hours wandering the markets, comparing specs, taking photos, and I ended up with the most beautiful electric-blue North Face jacket for $50, down from $175. Add a lilac vest and three pairs of gloves (my splurge of the day) and I’m officially gear-ready. Whether I can pack it all is another story.
Tomorrow’s alarm is set for 4:00 a.m. We’ll meet in the lobby by 4:45, ready for that tiny plane and our first full day of trekking. I’m equal parts thrilled and terrified, which feels about right. Before I left Brisbane, my performance coach Kyle sent me a message that I keep replaying: “Don’t be shit.” It’s blunt, but I love it. When things get tough — the altitude, the cold, the exhaustion — that’ll be my mantra.
Tonight’s plan: finish packing, wander for one last lemon tea, and journal before bed. Tomorrow, we climb.
Listen to the episode:
Tuesday 11 November 🌄 Namche Bazaar : Breathless Beginnings
I’m writing this from Namche Bazaar, wrapped in layers, watching the sun drop behind the mountains. The air is thin and cold, but somehow it feels alive, like every breath carries a little bit of the Himalayas with it. We’re sitting at about 3,440 meters, and for the first time since arriving, I feel like I’m finding my rhythm.
The first couple of days were tough in every way: altitude, exhaustion, fear. But something changed today. My body is finally catching up to where my heart already was, in awe of this place.
When I woke up this morning, my oxygen levels had climbed to 94 percent, which felt like a quiet win. Yesterday they were hovering around 88, and I honestly wondered if my lungs had forgotten how to do their job. But that’s what this trek seems to be teaching me: patience, humility, and faith in the body’s ability to adapt. We had a slow start in Namche, and for the first time, I wasn’t rushing anywhere. I sat outside with a mug of hot lemon tea, layered in thermals, and just watched the day unfold. Yaks carrying gear, locals chatting in Nepali, the distant clang of bells from a monastery above. Life here feels stripped back to its essentials, and there’s something deeply peaceful about that.
The hike itself was steady. Not easy, but grounded. I’ve learned that “flat” in Nepal usually means “a gentle uphill,” and “a small climb” means prepare to sweat. I’m starting to laugh about it. Every step is deliberate, every view its own reward. We passed lines of prayer flags and small stone stupas, bursts of color against the muted grey of the mountain path. At one point, I caught myself smiling for no reason at all, just quietly happy to be here, breathing this air, moving at my own pace.
Evenings have become my favourite time. Everyone crowds into the dining room of the tea house, still in thermals, trading stories over steaming plates of dal bhat. It’s simple food: rice, lentil soup, spinach, potatoes, maybe yak curry if we’re lucky, but it tastes perfect after a long climb. Brendan, the documentary filmmaker traveling with us, spends his days sprinting ahead to get the best shots, carrying all his camera gear. Watching him work reminds me that everyone has their own version of hard up here. Mine just happens to involve slow steps, steady breathing, and a lot of self-talk.
It’s strange how clear my mind feels here. Back home, I’m always thinking ahead, juggling a dozen things at once. Here, there’s only the next step, the next sip of water, the next breath. It’s focus by necessity, and I think that’s what makes it feel so freeing.
Tonight, the plan is to try what’s rumoured to be the best woodfired pizza in Nepal. It feels almost surreal, pizza, laughter, mountain air, but maybe that’s the beauty of it. These small, unexpected comforts make the hard moments feel even more worthwhile.
Listen to the episode:
Wednesday 12 November 🏔️ First Views of Everest
Today feels like the first time I’ve truly arrived in the Himalayas. After days of walking, flying, and adjusting, Namche Bazaar feels like a reward. It’s a bright, bustling mountain town perched on a slope with views that make you forget how hard you’ve worked to get here.
Yesterday was our acclimatisation hike, which sounded like a gentle rest day but turned out to be anything but. Every few steps on the steep trail, I had to pause for air. The altitude makes you humble very quickly. But then we reached the top, and there it was, our first clear view of Mount Everest. We stood there sipping mint tea, speechless, watching the clouds drift across its summit.
Back in Namche, I decided to lean into the small comforts while they’re still around. I had a massage, got my hair washed and braided, and felt instantly human again. It’s funny how something as simple as clean hair can lift your spirits at this altitude. Namche is full of surprises with shops, bakeries, and even wood-fired pizza. We had some last night, and it was surreal eating pizza surrounded by peaks that scrape the sky. Soon, these little luxuries will disappear as we move higher, so I’m savoring them while I can.
Physically, I’m doing well. I had a mild headache a couple of nights ago but rehydrated and felt better by morning. The air is dry and cold, so I’ve been focusing on nasal breathing to protect my lungs. It’s not easy, especially on the climbs, but it helps. I brought my oximeter, which has become a bit of a group obsession. My oxygen levels were eighty-eight at one point and up to ninety-four at the Everest viewpoint, which felt encouraging. Most of the group has started taking Diamox for altitude, but I’m waiting until I really need it.
Breakfast this morning was an omelet, hot milk, and lemon ginger honey tea. I’ve stopped drinking coffee because hydration feels more important up here, and the tea with thick slices of ginger feels restorative. Today we’ll cover another ten kilometers with a steep climb into Tengboche, gaining around four hundred meters in elevation. I’m a little nervous but mostly excited. I’m usually near the back of the group, taking it slowly, and I’m completely fine with that. There’s no competition here, just the quiet rhythm of walking, breathing, and remembering to take it one step at a time.
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Thursday 13 November 🌿 Breakdown on the Trail
There are days when the mountain doesn’t just test your legs, it tests your spirit. Today was one of those days. I woke up feeling strong, ready, even a little confident after surviving the previous climbs. But somewhere along the trail, that confidence started to slip.
I honestly didn’t expect it to hit me like this. I thought I’d already faced the hardest day on this trek, but somehow each one seems to bring its own version of “most challenging.” On paper, today shouldn’t have been so tough. The altitude wasn’t as high, and technically the hike wasn’t as steep. But for reasons I still can’t quite explain, my body just gave in.
At one point, I put in my AirPods, hoping a bit of music would lift me the way it usually does when I’m running. But instead of giving me energy, it made me feel more disconnected, like I was floating outside of myself. I had to remind myself to stay present, to feel the ground beneath my boots and the poles in my hands. The guide behind me noticed I was struggling and gently suggested a break. I stopped, sat down on a rock, and out of nowhere, I started crying. Not out of pain or sadness, just pure exhaustion. It was like a wave washing over me, and I had no control over it.
I’ve pushed through marathons, brutal netball training sessions, and long-distance runs that made my legs shake, but I’ve never cried during exercise. It caught me off guard. I think it was the realization of how weak and drained I felt, and how much I’d underestimated the need to fuel properly. At altitude, you lose your appetite, and even eating becomes work. For someone who loves food as much as I do, that’s saying something.
The sun was relentless today, and when it finally dipped behind the mountains, the temperature dropped so sharply it felt like another world. Nepal is full of these extremes: hot and cold, effort and stillness, joy and struggle.
If there’s a takeaway from today, it’s to just take it one step at a time. The hardest part wasn’t the climb itself, but looking too far ahead, seeing the rest of the group high above me on the trail, and wondering how I’d ever get there. It reminded me that sometimes it’s better not to look too far ahead at all. Just focus on the next step, the next breath, the next small moment that keeps you moving forward.
Listen to the episode:
Thursday 14 November 🏔️ The 5,000 Meter Club and the Art of Staying Present
Today I joined the 5,000 Meter Club, which feels wild to even write, especially after having exactly zero hours of sleep last night. I’m sitting here in Dinboche at around 4,400 meters, absolutely shattered but strangely proud. This morning’s acclimatisation hike was meant to be “lighter” than a travel day, but it ended up being three solid hours of steep uphill that never let up. The air is thinner now, the oxygen lower, and every step demanded total focus. I haven’t been thinking about anything philosophical or deep on these hikes because honestly, all I can think about is where my foot is going next. But maybe that’s the point. The Himalayas don’t give you much choice but to be in the present moment.
Yesterday, after recording the breakdown episode, something beautiful happened. Paul from our group invited me to visit the monastery in Tingboche, and we sat and meditated there for a while. It was quiet, grounding, and exactly what my nervous system needed. I felt lighter afterward, like the mountains were holding me up a little. Even today, with the incline forcing us to stop every hundred meters, I’d close my eyes, catch my breath, and feel the mountains surrounding me. It was one of those rare moments where exhaustion and awe somehow coexist.
Sleep continues to escape me, and everyone keeps saying it’s just the altitude, but I’m determined to get at least a few hours tonight. The group I’m traveling with is wonderful, and our shared meals bring so much comfort. Lots of dal bhat, rice, and endless cups of ginger honey lemon tea that warm you straight through. I’m not taking altitude tablets like many others, but apart from the fatigue, I’m feeling okay. Still, this trek is no joke. People online say beginners can do Everest Base Camp, but I’m not convinced. This is easily the toughest thing I’ve ever done: negative ten-degree mornings, no heating in the rooms, layers on layers, and the mental challenge of backing it up day after day.
Tonight all I want is dinner, a few pages of a book, and hopefully the kind of sleep that feels like disappearing. For now, I’m keeping my focus small. Not the next few days, not the full trek, just the next meal, the next rest, the next step. One foot in front of the other. That’s the rhythm up here.
Listen to the episode:
Monday 17 November 🏔️ Ice, Memorials, and the Magic of Making Do
Today’s hike wasn’t technically difficult, but the long stretches of ice meant I had to stay focused the whole way. Ten kilometres doesn’t sound like much, yet the constant attention to every step left me more mentally tired than physically. Along the way, I saw men on horseback passing through the valley and then suddenly we came across a memorial for trekkers who never made it back. I felt this tightness in my chest and couldn’t tell if it was the altitude or just the weight of seeing those names. It’s a strange mix up here — feeling so alive and so aware of the risks at the same time.
Now I’m settled in a warm tea house in Lobuche, feeling good overall. No real altitude symptoms today, aside from that moment earlier. The Wi-Fi is surprisingly strong, the room is cozy, and I even managed another hot shower, which feels like an unexpected luxury at this height. I’m hoping to keep recording episodes daily, but I won’t be surprised if the next few days become a little more challenging.
One thing I’m noticing is how much creativity you need when you’re living with so little. Every night I’m reorganising my duffle bag, trying to make everything fit even though nothing new has been added. Maybe it’s the altitude or maybe it’s just the slow chaos of trekking life, but the bag feels smaller every day. I’m learning to rotate layers, switch buffs, change hats, and somehow create a feeling of “freshness” with the same small selection of gear.
A few things have proven to be absolute heroes: my ioMerino layers that somehow never smell, my Rockwear thermals that kept me warm today, and my toe-sock liners that prevent blisters — well, the ones I haven’t lost yet. Up here, you can’t replace anything, so you really learn to reuse and rethink what you already have.
My evenings look pretty much the same now: repacking the duffle, topping up snacks in my day pack, sorting tissues and wet wipes, clearing out rubbish. It’s a small routine, but it grounds me when everything else feels unpredictable.
What I’m taking from today is this idea that you don’t always need more. Sometimes you just need to look at what you already have and find a new way to make it work.
Hopefully I’ll be back tomorrow, if the mountains and the Wi-Fi cooperate.
Listen to the episode:
Tuesday 18 November ❄️ Learning to Walk on Ice (and Other Unexpected Lessons)
This morning I strapped on crampons for the very first time, something that still feels surreal to say out loud. They looked simple enough when our guides pulled them out: metal spikes, stiff elastic, a few straps. But the moment I tried to fit them over my boots, I realised I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. My fingers were freezing, the elastic was stubborn, and the spikes were far too close to my own shins for comfort. Once they were finally on, I took my first few steps and felt like a newborn giraffe wobbling around on legs it hasn’t quite figured out yet.
The trail was a mix of ice, mud, and melting snow, unpredictable and slick and completely unforgiving. With every awkward step, I kept catching my own feet, the spikes clipping together and tripping me up more than the terrain ever could. By the end of the day, Paul from our group noticed my not-so-subtle struggles and shared a few tips that would have saved me a lot of flailing if I had heard them earlier. Still, I am oddly glad I had no choice but to stumble through the learning curve. There is something grounding about being a true beginner again.
And the best part is that I used those crampons to walk all the way to Everest Base Camp today. The place itself is nothing more than a giant rock covered in graffiti declaring the altitude, but standing there, surrounded by prayer flags and mountains stretching up into the sky, I felt a quiet sense of disbelief. I actually made it. Even with my baby-giraffe legs.
Paul’s three simple tips to widen your stance, walk directly on the ice, and stamp your whole foot down landed like metaphors I did not know I needed. Up here, everything seems to. Widen your perspective. Stop avoiding the hard parts. Commit fully. I never expected a pair of metal spikes to teach me anything beyond how not to fall, but the Himalayas have a way of turning even the smallest lesson into something much bigger.
Tonight my legs are exhausted, my brain is mush, and my crampons are stuffed into my pack waiting for tomorrow. I am ending the day feeling proud, a little tender, and deeply aware of how lucky I am to learn from this place, one uneven step at a time.
Listen to the episode:
Wednesday 19 November 🏔️ High Camp, Heartbeats, and the Waiting Game
Today felt like the morning before a grand final. I spent time talking to Matt Stewart, who’s heading up with the team to tackle the peak, and it really hit me—this isn’t just about physical climbing, it’s about sitting with anticipation, nerves, and excitement all at once. The waiting is almost harder than the climb itself. We replayed the scenarios in our heads, imagining every step, every technical move, every icy stretch. It’s funny how fear and excitement can feel almost identical. My chest tightens, my mind races, and I’m not always sure which emotion is which.
Tonight, the team will head to high camp at 5,500 meters. It’s just a cluster of tents perched on the mountain, cold enough that they’ll sleep fully geared. Tomorrow, they’ll clip into fixed lines, attach to their Sherpa and their buddy, and take on a 60-degree pitch up to the summit. It sounds intense, and it is, but it’s also precise, deliberate, and thrilling. Sitting here, hearing Matt walk me through it, I can almost feel the altitude pressing in and the sheer focus required to keep moving safely.
Reflecting on yesterday, reaching base camp was surreal. The first days of the trek were tough. I had moments of doubt and even a mini meltdown, but with each step I felt stronger, more confident, more acclimatised. Standing there, looking around, it felt like a place I’d never imagined I could actually be. There’s something about being this far out of your comfort zone that makes even small achievements feel enormous. Watching Matt and the team prepare for the summit tomorrow, I feel proud, excited, and a little in awe of what human determination can do when you just lean in and keep moving.
Hopefully I’ll be back tomorrow with more from high up, if the Wi-Fi holds and the mountains cooperate.
Listen to the episode:
Thursday 20 November 🌫️ Pheriche and the Art of Slowing Down at Altitude
Pheriche has a way of making the whole world feel quieter, as if the mountains themselves insist you finally take a breath. After days of relentless trekking, cold nights, and thin air, my body slipped into a slower rhythm the moment we arrived here. It wasn’t planned, and it didn’t feel earned; it just happened. The stillness settled around me, and for the first time in a long stretch of days, I could actually feel my shoulders drop.
While we rested, news filtered through that the Lobuche Peak summit team had reached the peak. Every single one of them. The message felt almost unreal, considering what they set out to do. It’s easy to romanticise a summit, but imagining their climb felt visceral: crawling out of frozen tents at one in the morning, stepping into negative twenty degrees, and inching upward in absolute darkness. A few people here have loved ones on that team, and the moment the update came through, you could almost see the tension leave their bodies. Pride mixed with relief in a way that makes you understand why people chase mountains in the first place.
The tea house we’re staying in is tiny but deeply comforting. Timber floors that creak with every step, warm light drifting through the common room, and a calm that seems to seep into your bones. Yesterday I had my first beer since we hit high altitude, still above four thousand meters, but the descent has officially begun and that small sip felt like a little milestone. My hiking poles are already packed away, waiting for the helicopter that will take us back to Lukla tomorrow before we return to Kathmandu for a few days of real recovery.
Lunch found me mid-sentence a cheese sandwich with chips, another plate of carbs in a long parade of carb-heavy meals. I’m still eating vegetarian until we drop lower, which is practical, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss flavour at this point. My Oura Ring gave me a readiness score of 47 this morning something I only ever see after a big night out in Brisbane which says everything about how my body is coping up here. Low HRV, a restless heart rate, congestion every morning. Altitude doesn’t just linger; it demands patience.
There isn’t a grand revelation forming for me today. No metaphor hiding in a moment, no sudden clarity. Everything feels softer and slightly foggy in a strangely peaceful way. What I’m holding onto instead is gratitude. Gratitude for the team who made their summit safely. Gratitude for this warm little outpost in the mountains. Gratitude for a rare day where nothing needed to be conquered, solved, or pushed through.
If the weather cooperates, we fly tomorrow. And maybe that is the only lesson I need right now letting things unfold at their own pace.
Listen to the episode:
Friday 21 November 🏔️ Summit Reflections: Stars, Snow & Sheer Grit
Today unfolded in that gentle, reflective way that only happens after a big group milestone. I found myself sitting with Tim, one of the absolute powerhouses in our trekking crew, who summited Lobuche Peak just a couple of days ago. He’s still a bit croaky and moving slowly, the kind of tired that settles deep in your bones, but listening to him talk through the climb felt like getting a front-row seat to something both brutal and extraordinary.
He set off at midnight—breakfast in the dark, ropes clipped on, and six or seven hours of climbing straight into the unknown. Because it was pitch black, he couldn’t see the summit, just the faint glow of head torches above, blinking like stars. Every time he thought they were making progress, he’d look up and realise those “stars” were actually other groups still far ahead. I can’t imagine how mentally crushing that must have felt. And all of this while he’d been really unwell for nearly two weeks—no appetite, constant coughing, dropping weight he didn’t have spare. Yet he still pushed himself up a 6,200-metre peak. Truly unbelievable grit.
But the moment that stuck with me most was when he said this climb changed his entire understanding of the word hard. That landed in my chest, because I feel it too. These past two weeks of altitude, cold, exhaustion, and constant motion have stretched me in ways I didn’t expect, even without attempting the summit myself. There’s something about Nepal that rearranges you quietly—your resilience, your tolerance, your perspective. Hearing Tim describe it all so vividly made me realise how much this place is reshaping each of us, whether we make it to the top or not.
I’m proud of him. Proud of myself. Proud of the whole crew, really. These mountains take so much from you, but somehow give something back in equal measure.
Tomorrow we keep moving, and I have a feeling I’ll be carrying this conversation with me for a long time.
Listen to the episode:
Read the full recap here:
